Keziah was my fourth great-grandmother and the ancestor I seem to sympathize with the most. She saw her husband, seven sons, and oldest grandson off to the Civil War. I’ve been out to her home place where she helplessly waited and waited for her boys to come home. Soldiers would straggle wearily towards home and from one spot in the yard you can see at least three quarters of a mile down the road and around a wide bend. I can only imagine Keziah dashing out to that spot at every noise, only to find a cousin, a nephew, or even the neighbor’s boy. I’m sure she was beyond pleased that they were safe, but they weren’t her boys. It wasn’t the same. Three of her sons never came home and she died, they say, of a broken heart the next year.