Because of Winn-Dixie

“Why,” said Miss Franny, “it’s a wonderful story about the Civil War.”

“The Civil War?” I said.

“Do not tell me you have never heard of the Civil War?” Miss Franny Block looked like she was going to faint. She waved her hands in front of her face.

“I know about the Civil War,” I told her. “That was the war between the South and the North over slavery.”

“Slavery, yes,” said Miss Franny. “It was also about states’ rights and money. It was a terrible war. My great-grandfather fought in that war. He was just a boy.”

“Your great-grandfather?”

“Yes ma’am, Littmus W. Block. Now there’s a story.”

Winn-Dixie yawned real big and lay down on his side, with a thump and a sigh. I swear he knew that phrase: “Now there’s a story.” And he knew it meant we weren’t going anywhere real soon.

“Go ahead and tell it to me, Miss Franny,” I said. And I sat down cross-legged next to Winn-Dixie. I pushed him and tried to get him to share the fan. But he pretended he was asleep. And he wouldn’t move.

I was all settled in and ready for a good story when the door banged and pinch-faced Amanda Wilkinson came in. Winn-Dixie sat up and stared at her. He tried out a smile on her, but she didn’t smile back and so he lay down again.

“I’m ready for another book,” Amanda said, slamming her book down on Miss Franny’s desk.

“Well,” said Miss Franny, “maybe you wouldn’t mind waiting. I am telling India Opal a story about my great-grandfather. You are, of course, more than welcome to listen. It will be just one minute.”

Amanda sighed a real big dramatic sigh and stared past me. She pretended like she wasn’t interested, but she was, I could tell.

“Come sit over here,” said Miss Franny.

“I’ll stand, thank you,” said Amanda.

“Suit yourself,” Miss Franny shrugged. “Now where was I? Oh, yes. Littmus. Littmus W. Block.”

Chapter Sixteen

“Littmus W. Block was just a boy when the firing on Fort Sumter occurred,” Miss Franny Block said as she started in on her story.

“Fort Sumter?” I said.

“It was the firing on Fort Sumter that started the war,” said Amanda.

“Okay,” I said. I shrugged.

“Well, Littmus was fourteen years old. He was strong and big, but he was still just a boy. His daddy, Artley W. Block, had already enlisted, and Littmus told his mama that he could not stand by and let the South get beat, and so he went to fight, too.” Miss Franny looked around the library and then she whispered, “Men and boys always want to fight. They are always looking for a reason to go to war. It is the saddest thing. They have this abiding notion that war is fun. And no history lesson will convince them differently.

“Anyway, Littmus went and enlisted. He lied about his age. Yes ma’am. Like I said, he was a big boy. And the army took him, and Littmus went off to war, just like that. Left behind his mother and three sisters. He went off to be a hero. But he soon found out the truth.” Miss Franny closed her eyes and shook her head.

“What truth?” I asked her.

“Why, that war is hell,” Miss Franny said with her eyes still closed. “Pure hell.”

“Hell is a cuss word,” said Amanda. I stole a look at her. Her face was pinched up even more than usual.

“War,” said Miss Franny with her eyes still closed, “should be a cuss word, too.” She shook her head and opened her eyes. She pointed at me and then she pointed at Amanda. “You, neither of you, can imagine.”

“No ma’am!” Amanda and me said at exactly the same time. We looked real quick at each other and then back at Miss Franny.

“You cannot imagine. Littmus was hungry all the time. And he was covered with all manner of vermin; fleas and lice. And in the winter, he was so cold he thought for sure he would freeze to death. And in the summer, why there’s nothing worse than war in the summertime. It stinks so. And the only thing that made Littmus forget that he was hungry and itchy and hot or cold was that he was getting shot at. And he got shot at quite a bit. And he was nothing more than a child.”

“Did he get killed?” I asked Miss Franny.

“Good grief,” said Amanda. She rolled her eyes.

“Now, Opal,” Miss Franny said, “I wouldn’t be standing in this room telling this story if he was killed. I wouldn’t exist. No ma’am. He had to live. But he was a changed man. Yes ma’am. A changed man. He walked back home when the war was over. He walked from Virginia all the way back to Georgia. He didn’t have a horse. Nobody had a horse except for the Yankees. He walked. And when he got home, there was no home there.”

“Where was it?” I asked her. I didn’t care if Amanda thought I was stupid. I wanted to know.

“Why,” Miss Franny shouted so loud that Winn-Dixie and Amanda Wilkinson and me all jumped, “the Yankees burned it! Yes ma’am. Burned it to the ground.”

“What about his sisters?” Amanda asked. She moved around the desk and came and sat on the floor. She looked up at Miss Franny. “What happened to them?”

“Dead. Dead of typhoid fever.”

“Oh no,” Amanda said in a real soft voice.

“And his mama?” I whispered.

“Dead, too.”

“And his father?” Amanda asked. “What happened to him?”

“He died on the battlefield.”

“Littmus was an orphan?” I asked.

“Yes ma’am,” said Miss Franny Block. “Littmus was an orphan.”

“This is a sad story,” I told Miss Franny.

“It sure is,” said Amanda. I was amazed that she was agreeing with me about something.

“I am not done yet,” Miss Franny said.

Winn-Dixie started to snore, and I nudged him with my foot to try to make him quit. I wanted to hear the rest of the story. It was important to me to hear how Littmus survived after losing everything he loved.

Chapter Seventeen

“Well, Littmus came home from the war,” said Miss Franny as she went on with her story, “and found himself alone. And he sat down on what used to be the front step of his house, and he cried and cried. He cried just like a baby. He missed his mama and he missed his daddy and he missed his sisters and he missed the boy he used to be. When he finally finished crying, he had the strangest sensation. He felt like he wanted something sweet. He wanted a piece of candy. He hadn’t had a piece of candy in years. And it was right then that he made a decision. Yes ma’am. Littmus W. Block figured the world was a sorry affair and that it had enough ugly things in it and what he was going to do was concentrate on putting something sweet in it. He got up and started walking. He walked all the way to Florida. And the whole time he was walking, he was planning.”

“Planning what?” I asked.

“Why, planning the candy factory.”

“Did he build it?” I asked.

“Of course he did. It’s still standing out on Fairville Road.”