Living History

“Dad, I’m going to hang around with some friends.”

Summer meant no school, but he kept learning. Patrick and I were Civil War living historians, and this event at Mine Creek left him surrounded by hundreds like us, all bound by the love for our nation’s history. I relaxed, confident in his safety.

“OK, but don’t stay out late.”

I crawled into our tent and dozed until he came in and deeper sleep took me.

Around two that morning, I woke and checked on him. He wasn’t there and had never been. I rose and walked around our area. Only snores. The site encompassed acres, and campfires dotted the night. I couldn’t begin a methodical search. I’d lose my bearings in the dark and might visit the same fire several times.

The cavalry! I could get the people with horses to look for him. I stopped short. But, what if it isn’t anything serious? I’d wake them for nothing, and the horses needed their rest. I turned away, but paced toward and away from them with the ebb and flow of my internal debate.

I returned to my tent to wait until dawn. If he wasn’t back by then, I’d go ask the cavalry to saddle up.

Worry sent my imagination into overdrive and every horrible scenario flashed through my mind. Fallen into the creek? Plausible. Kidnapped? Unlikely, but still possible. And what would I tell my wife? I started to rise, but the tent flap opened and he walked in.

“Where have you been?”

“Down at Scott’s campfire.”

My voice began to rise. “I told you to come back early. Do you know—”

“Shh, Dad, you’ll wake the others.”

Now that he was safe, I could sleep, but I think he shortened my life by decades that night.

William Bartlett lives in Belton with his family.