Across the Great Divide

by Michael Ross

  ACROSS THE GREAT

  DIVIDE

  ACROSS THE GREAT

  DIVIDE

  Book 1 The Clouds of War

  Michael L. Ross

  © 2019 Michael L. Ross

  Across The Great Divide

  Book 1 The Clouds of War

  All rights reserved. No portion of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means—electronic, mechanical, photocopy, recording, scanning, or other—except for brief quotations in critical reviews or articles, without the prior written permission of the publisher.

  Published in Nashville, Tennessee, by Elm Hill, an imprint of Thomas Nelson. Elm Hill and Thomas Nelson are registered trademarks of HarperCollins Christian Publishing, Inc.

  Elm Hill titles may be purchased in bulk for educational, business, fund-raising, or sales promotional use. For information, please e-mail SpecialMarkets@ThomasNelson.com.

  Publisher’s Note: This novel is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. All characters are fictional, and any similarity to people living or dead is purely coincidental.

  Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

  Library Congress Control Number: 2018958218

  ISBN 978-1-595559340 (Paperback)

  ISBN 978-1-595559272 (Hardbound)

  ISBN 978-1-595559500 (eBook)

  Information about External Hyperlinks in this ebook

  Please note that footnotes in this ebook may contain hyperlinks to external websites as part of bibliographic citations. These hyperlinks have not been activated by the publisher, who cannot verify the accuracy of these links beyond the date of publication.

  DEDICATION

  For my wife, Marti, without whose support this would never have happened.

  CONTENTS

  Will On His Own

  Will’s Gun

  Ashland

  Lexington Rifles

  Sisters

  Escape from the Jameson Plantation

  The Clouds Thicken

  John Brown’s Body

  Christmas Romance

  Lost and Found

  The Storm Breaks

  Fighting Rifles

  Fly Away

  Morgan’s Raiders

  Shiloh

  On the Underground Railroad

  You Can’t Go Home Again

  On the River

  Morgan’s Raid

  Behind Bars

  The Sun Breaks Through

  Author’s Notes

  BOOK 1

  THE CLOUDS OF WAR

  “I worked night and day for twelve years to prevent the war, but I could not. The North was mad and blind, would not let us govern ourselves, and so the war came.”

  —JEFFERSON DAVIS

  WILL ON HIS OWN

  April 1859

  Lexington, Kentucky

  Trouble seemed to follow Will Crump. Today, his particular trouble was weeding, planting, and a straggling three-year-old sister. Any other day, he might have paused to take in the beautiful countryside. Will trudged toward the north field of his father’s eighty-acre farm, determinedly dragging a burlap feed sack full of corn and carrying a hoe. A slingshot hung out of his back pocket, in hopes that he might see a rabbit.

  His sister Lydia stumbled along behind, carrying her corncob doll and singing to it. Will fumed. He had no time to look after Lydia; she should be his older sisters’ problem. He felt the weight of his responsibility as much as the heavy sack. Without his father, the work would take much longer. Without a plow animal, finishing the plowing was impossible.

  The heat would soon blister the ground and his arms. The swimming hole beckoned and he longed to jump into its wet coolness. Will had no eyes for the kaleidoscope of wildflowers or the emerald grass. He had no ears for the symphony of birds in the Kentucky spring around him. He itched to get his work done before the coming heat, and glared back at Lydia.

  “C’mon, Lydia, hurry up—don’t fall behind! I got lotsa weedin’ and plantin’ to do before lunchtime.”

  Lydia scowled, flipped a strand of long brown hair back into place, and halfheartedly tried to move faster.

  Will straightened his back and attempted to lift the seed bag. Muscles bulging, he strained with all the force his five-foot-five, fifteen-year-old frame could muster. Sweat ran down his forehead. It was no use. The bag fell to the ground with a thud. Will shook his head, picking up the hoe, and resumed dragging the bag. Lydia stopped, watching her big brother with her thumb firmly implanted in her mouth. As Will dragged the bag onward, Lydia solemnly resumed trudging along after him, her eyes blue and round, her bare feet, dusty from the road, peeking out from under her yellow calico dress. Their mother had entrusted her to his care for the morning.

  A week ago, the family mule died. Will’s father left, searching for a new plow animal that the family could afford or acquire by trading work. Will’s oldest sister, Julia, was visiting their aunt’s family in Nicholasville for a few days. Albinia, two years older than Will, often went to see her friend Lucy at the Clay plantation. The extra chores his mother took on with his sisters gone meant that she had little time to make sure Lydia stayed out of trouble.

  They crossed a small bridge over a gurgling creek lined with bulrushes and cattails and soon arrived at the field.

  “What’s in the bag, Will?”

  “Corn kernels for plantin’, so’s we got corn to eat come next fall and winter. Now sit down here in the corner of the field, play with your doll, and stay put. Don’t go wandrin’ off or bother me with fool questions. I’ll be looking for you each time I come down the row,” Will said irritably.

  “All right. Me an’ Sally will play here.”

  “Good girl. Now mind—stay put!”

  With that brotherly admonition, Will set off with his hoe, first attacking any weeds that had gotten the jump on his planting. His father had told him before leaving, “I’m countin’ on you to get that north field ready and planted while I’m gone. Ol’ White Tail and me got it mostly plowed ‘fore he died on us, so that shouldn’t be a problem for you. But if we don’t get it planted, next winter could be mighty lean for us. You be the man of the house, I know you can do it.”

  Will bent to the work, concentrating on every green sprig he could detect growing in the rows of brown earth. At the end of each row, he looked to find Lydia happily instructing her doll on the fine art of giving a tea party and giggling merrily. As the sun moved higher overhead, he became steadily hotter. He focused even more on his work until a shadow loomed overhead—a hawk, circling lazily in hope of any rodent the hoe might scare out. Will looked up at the hawk, suddenly realizing that he had not checked on Lydia lately. Had it been two rows or three? A quick glance confirmed that her corner was empty.

  Just then, a piercing scream came from the direction of the creek. “Willeee!”

  Will dropped the weed in his hand and sprinted toward where he thought the scream came from, carrying the hoe with him.

  “Willeee!” Lydia screamed again. “It’s a snake!”

  He arrived just in time to see his sister at the creek’s edge, a large water moccasin slithering through the water toward her. He thought of the slingshot, but the risk of a miss was too great. Could he get there in time? Will darted forward.

  “Lydia, it will be all right. Don’t move.” He tried to sound calm and steady, which was difficult given he was out of breath. His own fear made him feel shaky. He quickly reached forward with the hoe and struck at the snake’s triangular head. The snake dodged, struck the hoe with its fangs. Will tried again and missed. When the snake struck at the hoe a second time, Will took
the opportunity to flip it several feet away and grabbed Lydia, running back to the field. He almost dumped her on the ground, nearly collapsing and out of breath. She began to cry, and Will rolled over. He hugged her close.

  “There now, Lyddie girl, don’t cry. You’re all right. You’re all right.” He crooned to her softly, and soon the sobs ceased as she rested her head on his shoulder.

  “C’mon now, let’s go back to the house and get ya cleaned up. Maybe Mama has some lunch for us by now. What d’ya say to that?”

  She looked up adoringly and nodded, seeming to forget her terror of a few minutes before.

  “Where’s Sally?” she asked.

  “Ya prob’ly dropped her back there, near the creek,” Will sighed.

  Cautiously retracing the path to the water’s edge, he found the beloved corncob doll and dusted her off, handing her back to Lydia. Hand in hand they walked slowly back to the rough wooden cabin they called home, passing the long split-rail fence along the dirt road marked with ruts from the heavy farm wagon. The road kept going on, but a small path turned up behind a grove of poplar trees. A clearing opened into a barnyard with chickens, ducks, and geese busily pecking the ground.

  The cabin was a log-and-mud-chinked affair built by Will’s father using trees cleared off their homestead. Its center stone chimney divided the two rooms, one where the family slept and the other the kitchen and living area. The only hint of luxury was one glass window that let sunshine into the kitchen, a product of one year’s bountiful harvest. Off to the side was a small barn, providing shelter and safety for their meager livestock, and built into the hillside was an icehouse, where blocks of ice cut from the river could be stored packed in sawdust or hay. In front of the cabin, seemingly asleep, lay Rustler, their brown-and-white hound dog. He opened his eyes, tail flopping slowly at Will and Lydia’s approach, and went back to sleep.

  As they arrived at the cabin, Sara Crump brushed back chestnut hair that escaped the bun she wore pinned in back. She was just finishing laying the table for lunch.

  “Well, there you two are—and probably hungry,” she said. Glancing up and seeing Lydia’s tear-stained face, she rushed over and scooped her up in her arms, her brown eyes full of concern. “What happened?” she asked Will.

  “There was a big snake, an’ I was scared, an’ Willy saved me,” said Lydia.

  “Wasn’t anything special,” Will said. “She sorta wandered off, and I brought her back.”

  Setting Lydia down, Sara sighed. “Sounds like more than that. But thank the Lord you’re safe. So what did you learn about moving away from where Willy told you to be?”

  Hanging her head a little, Lydia mumbled, “It’s not safe, and I might get in trouble.”

  “That’s a good girl.” Sara smiled. “Now get some cold water from the pump for Willy.”

  When Lydia was out of earshot, Sara asked, “What sort of snake was it?”

  Will was embarrassed. “Water moccasin.”

  “That was a brave thing you did saving her like that, but next time make sure you keep a closer eye on her. Sometimes a little more care saves the need for heroics later.”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  Sara smiled at him, softening. “I appreciate all that you’re doing while your pa is gone. You’re almost a man, and I hate to ask you to take care of Lyddie too. But I have to keep the fire going and be in and out of the cabin all the time—I just can’t keep dragging her around. You can at least put her in one place and just keep an eye on her. But you’ve got to check on her often. Three-year-olds can disappear in a flash. I think you learned that today.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” Will said with a guilty sigh. “She just seemed to be doin’ so well, and I got working on plantin’ and the weeds and plumb that I forgot to check after a while.” He felt like slumping on the log bench by the table but instead busied himself with helping his mother lay out food, slicing the ham with sure, strong strokes.

  Lydia came back, dragging her doll behind her and carrying a carved wooden cup filled with cold water, which she extended to her brother.

  “Here, Willy.”

  He looked down and smiled at her, accepting the cup and gulping the water gratefully. Lydia walked over to the miniature rocking chair her father had made for her. She carefully seated her doll in it, wiping dirt off its face, and then began lecturing her sternly, “Now, Sally, you’ve got to keep more clean. You can’t just get dirty an’ messy; you got to act like a lady.” Will suppressed a chuckle, listening to his sister echo the admonitions her mother had given her so many times.

  When they sat, Sara nodded at him as they held hands around the rough table and he offered grace. The simple meal of ham, applesauce, and peas from the garden was over quickly. Will was about to leave for the field again when their dog began barking and baying, wagging his tail at the same time. Will hurried out into the yard, wondering if he should grab the Springfield musket that hung on pegs over the door. Hesitating, he decided against it.

  He looked to the edge of the clearing and saw two yoked oxen coming down the road, driven by his father. Curiously, he also carried a shiny rifle slung over his shoulders. Will wondered how he’d managed to buy one. Rustler ran to greet him, startling the oxen, who eyed him warily.

  “Hello, Son!” Robert called out cheerily.

  “Hello, sir.” Part of Will wanted to run out and hug his father as he used to when he was younger, but he stayed put, wanting to retain his “man of the house” image. Will watched as Robert took off his hat, freeing curly brown hair, and wiped the sweat from his forehead before he unyoked the oxen and led each one to a stall in the barn. As soon as he finished, Lydia, who had been impatiently hopping from one foot to the other, ran to her father, having no ladylike scruples whatsoever. Robert grinned and scooped her up in his arms, holding her high over his head. She squealed with laughter and then hugged him tightly when he brought her down. Extricating himself, he walked to where Sara waited in the doorway and gave her a quick hug, then made his way to the water trough and pumped a drink into the ladle that hung there, drinking long and deeply. He pumped some more to pour down his back.

  Will was puzzled, since his father had planned to get another mule yet had come home with oxen. He would not have dreamed of mentioning it to him, however, and simply smiled, glad to have him home.

  Robert entered the cabin and sat at the table. He glanced with affection at Sara as she got out bread, cheese, and a few vegetables from the garden. Will left and came back with the ladle full of water for his father and sat across from him. Lydia excitedly filled Robert in on the morning’s events, with her father reacting in exaggerated surprise, giving Will a knowing look. Will felt proud at being treated like an adult.

  “What news from the girls?” asked Robert. “I know Julia was anxious about yer sister’s health. Any idea when she’ll be comin’ home?”

  “No word from Julia yet,” said Sara. “I spect she’s goin’ about with her cousins and makin’ eyes at some of the boys. And Albinia is still over at the Clays’ place vistin’ Lucy. I expect Albinia back within a few days. Prob’ly one of James Clay’s boys will see her home.”

  “Hmm, with all the work around here, you’d think the girls would stick closer to home. It ain’t like we got slaves and maids. Still, I s’pose if’n they are always here, they’ll never find themselves a beau.” Robert grinned. He didn’t seem to really be upset about the girls being away.

  “Well, I had me a couple of adventures.” He smiled. “Came upon a fella on the Louisville road—a tree fell and trapped his legs underneath when he was choppin’ it. I helped him get free and to the doctor in town—he was an elderly gent, and so grateful he wanted to bless me for helpin’. I couldn’t refuse without offending him, so I used what he gave to help get the oxen and a new rifle.”

  “Robert, what a blessing!” said Sara. “Though I understand you didn’t want to take charity, it will make such a difference for our family.”

  “Yep, I figge
r with this pair I might be able to farm some more land. We’ll have to see how it works out, but the Lord always provides.”

  “You said ‘a couple of adventures’—anything else?”

  “Yeah, the second wasn’t nearly so happy. I camped one night not far off the road. Just after I put my fire out and was about to go to sleep, I heard an awful commotion in the brush. I looked over to see, wonderin’ if someone was trying to steal the new oxen. I heard hounds baying, and a group of men with torches come along. Seems they was huntin’ a slave, run off from the Jameson place. I ‘spect the noise I heard first was the slave himself, so they weren’t far behind. They asked if I’d seen him, and I could truthfully say I hadn’t.”

  “What if you had?” Will wanted to know.

  “I don’t rightly know, Son. You know I don’t hold with slavery but it’s legal, and the Bible tells us to obey the governin’ authorities. I’m just glad I didn’t have to make the choice—tellin’ the truth is always the best way, but there’s times when it seems like it’s not.”

  Robert slapped his thigh and rose. “Time to go put these oxen to use. Will, you can come along, start learnin’ to drive’em. I imagine your ma can manage Lyddie for a while. With two of us, we might get another whole field plowed before dark.”

  ✳ ✳ ✳

  Julia stood in front of a mirror over a pine dresser brushing tangles out of her hair, the sunlight coming through the high bedroom window in her uncle’s cabin catching the copper highlights. If not for the tangled mass, she might have appeared at least pretty. Her face wrinkled in concentration and disgust as she tugged with comb and brush, trying to tame her unruly mane. Usually, she gave up and wound the curls into a tight bun at the back of her head. Tonight, however, she wanted to look special, more grown-up, for her uncle’s barn dance. Her cousins, Rose and Violet, had already spent hours primping and gossiping about which farm boys might come. Julia, being twenty-one, wanted to appear more mature than the younger girls. Nonetheless, she felt a flurry of barn swallows in her stomach. She only visited here a few times a year, when her mother visited her sister or a family member had time to travel with her. She knew that behind her back, her cousins talked about her short, slightly plump frame and despaired of her ever getting married. Julia herself sometimes worried that she would end up a spinster.