He felt absolutely alone - lonesome - without a place. In the middle of the crowded Union Station in Nashville, Tennessee, he was shaken by the shudder of aloneness. His awareness returned to the smoky, busy lobby in a few seconds. To reorient himself and settle back into reality, he looked around at the variety of people moving through the lobby: the immigrants still in their native dress, country dressed farm folk, dudes in outlandish styles and colors, women, righteous and otherwise, neat, scrubbed ordinary families and rich folks moving hurriedly through the common people, not looking at them, to their private train cars he speculated, servants and porters hauling mountains of luggage behind them. Solon also saw a half dozen young Union soldiers in bright new, clean blue and yellow uniforms - cavalry and three soldiers clad in blue tunics with red trimming - artillery.
Turning to the girl and baby, he didn't hesitate as he fished a silver dollar from his vest pocket and leaned towards where the two sat. "For the little one, Ma'am," he said as he handed the coin to the dark-eyed young mother. She didn't move. Not frightened, her eyes messaged surprise and tenderness. Solon gently put the coin in a fold of the child's wrap. He then stood, took his small carpetbag and went toward the café and found his former booth. Pausing before he took the seat, he went to the bar and ordered a cold, frosted root beer. A part of him, a small part, wished it was a schooner of good Cincinnati Heidepohl beer. He'd taken the temperance pledge in prison, but had bent the vow a few times in Cincinnati. Tennessee might make fine whiskey, but their beer was only so-so compared to the beers of Cincinnati, Ohio.
Drinking beer discretely from time to time these last four years, he greatly appreciated the health burbs it produced. He had not had liquor since Baltimore and the party with the general. He didn't plan on ever drinking the hard stuff again.
Settling into the booth he went to his bag and took out a black notebook with a cover of good leather. It was about a half used. His full brown one from the war was packed in his valise in the baggage room. The flood of loneliness provoked by the encounter with the unknown young mother inspired him to find his place, any place, and the journal would testify to the reality of his being for the last three years. He opened the cover and read: "Amos Solon Stevenson Book Two - Commenced August 10, 1865 - Cincinnati, Ohio August 10, 1865 - Cincinnati, Ohio. Arrived four days ago from Baltimore. Found the church, 1st Universalist, without any trouble. It was just north of the old Mechanics Institute building on Walnut Street between 3rd and 4th streets. The Reverend, Everett L. Rexford, was kind to me, a little amazed, but kind. We talked for two hours until he had to leave for a visit to some of his sick folk. He was startled to hear my story - the war, prison and reasons for coming to him. He didn't seem surprised when I told him of my being given a copy of George Rogers' The Pro and Con of Universalism. I learned from this Cincinnati-printed book of Rogers' missionary travels south in Tennessee and Alabama. Brother Rexford said over 5,000 copies of the 1840 book had been sold all over the mid-west, south and back east. John Gurley of the Universalist newspaper, Star of the West, had printed Rogers' book's seven editions over the past twenty-five years. I resolved to go to these offices and learn about the paper and books they print by ministers and teachers."