by Ginny Dye
On
to
Richmond
Book # 2 in The Bregdan Chronicles
Sequel to Storm Clouds Rolling In
Ginny Dye
A Voice in the World Publishing
Bellingham, WA
www.AVoiceInTheWorld.com
[Type a quote from the document or the summary of an interesting point. You can position the text box anywhere in the On to Richmond
Copyright 2010 by Ginny Dye
Published by Together We Can Change the World Publishing
Bellingham, WA 98229
www.BregdanChronicles.com
www.GinnyDye.com
www.AVoiceInTheWorld.com
All rights reserved. No portion of this book may be reproduced in any form without the written permission of the Publisher.
Printed in the United States of America
For Scarrie, my incredible little sister who had the courage to
fight for her freedom, and who is now using that same
courage and spirit to pursue her dreams.
I’m proud of you and I love you!
A Note from the Author
There are times in the writing of history when we must use words we personally abhor. The use of the word “nigger” in Storm Clouds Rolling In is one of those times. Though I hate the word, its use is necessary to reveal and to challenge the prejudices of the time in order to bring change and healing. Stay with me until the end – I think you will agree.
My great hope is that Storm Clouds Rolling In will both entertain and challenge you. I hope you will learn as much as I did during the months of research it took to write this book. Though I now live in the Pacific Northwest, I grew up in the South and lived for 11 years in Richmond, VA. I spent countless hours exploring the plantations that still line the banks of the James River and became fascinated by the history.
But you know, it’s not the events that fascinate me so much – it’s the people. That’s all history is, you know. History is the story of people’s lives. History reflects the consequences of their choice and actions – both good and bad. History is what has given you the world you live in today – both good and bad.
This truth is why I named this series The Bregdan Chronicles. Bregdan is a Gaelic term for weaving. Braiding. Every life that has been lived until today is a part of the woven braid of life. It takes every person’s story to create history. Your life will help determine the course of history. You may think you don’t have much of an impact. You do. Every action you take will reflect in someone else’s life. Someone else’s decisions. Someone else’s future. Both good and bad. That is the Bregdan Principle…
Every life that has been lived until today is a part of the woven braid of life. It takes every person’s story to create history. Your life will help determine the course of history. You may think you don’t have much of an impact. You do. Every action you take will reflect in someone else’s life. Someone else’s decisions. Someone else’s future. Both good and bad.
My great hope as you read this book, and all that will follow, is that you will acknowledge the power you have, every day, to change the world around you by your decisions and actions. Then I will know the research & writing were all worthwhile.
Oh, and I hope you enjoy every moment of it, and learn to love the characters as much as I do!
I’m already being asked how many books will be in this series. I guess that depends on how long I live! My intention is to release two books a year, each covering one year of history – continuing to weave the lives of my characters into the times they lived. I hate to end a good book as much as anyone – always feeling so sad that I have to leave the characters. You shouldn’t have to be sad for a long time!
Four books are already written and will all be released in the spring 2010. If you like what you read, you’ll want to make sure you’re on our mailing list at www.BregdanChronicles.com. I’ll let you know each time a new one comes out!
Sincerely,
Ginny Dye
CHAPTER ONE
MAY 1861
Carrie Cromwell frowned as she stared out over the raging, turbulent waters of the James River. Four days of steady rain had transformed the usually placid river into a furious monster tearing at its confining banks. Torrents of water sweeping down from the western Appalachian Mountains would soon enable the river to succeed in its quest to top the banks and seek its claim on the surrounding farmland. Massive tree trunks swept by like weightless match sticks, their solid darkness almost matching the muddy swirl of the water.
Carrie lifted her eyes from the river to gaze up into the brilliant blue sky. The rain had ended just the night before, leaving the air crystal clear and deliciously fresh. She allowed herself to stare up into it for just a moment before she turned her eyes back to the river. It more closely matched her thoughts.
“Are you going to tell me about the letter you got from your father? Or are you just going to continue stewing about it?”
Carrie managed a slight smile as she turned to look at Rose. “How did you know?” Then she laughed. “Don’t even bother to answer that question. I should know by now that you know me almost as well as I know myself.”
Carrie lapsed into brooding silence again, knowing Rose would give her all the time she needed to answer her question. Granite, her towering grey Thoroughbred gelding, moved under her restlessly as the waters of the river won their fight with the muddy banks and began to edge slowly toward where the two friends watched from astride their horses. Finally, she reached deep into the pocket of the navy blue dress she wore and pulled out a thick envelope.
“This letter from Father came just this morning.”
Rose nodded. “I saw the man who delivered it.” She paused and then asked carefully, “Is it bad news?”
Carrie managed a slight laugh. “Is there anything but bad news in our country right now? Fort Sumter has fallen. Virginia has seceded. The war has begun...” She shook her head. It would not do to let her thoughts go where they wanted to. She knew the thoughts would come - later - when it was dark and there was no flurry of activity to block them out. But for now she would concentrate on what was at hand. She raised her hand and stuffed an errant, wavy black strand of hair back into her long braid. In a hurry to get to the river, she hadn’t even bothered to shape it into a bun. Now the silky strands sought to escape the confines of the thick braid as the breeze teased her hair into rebellion.
A frown creased her brow again as she stared down at the letter in her hand. “Father has been asked by Governor Letcher to take a high position in the Virginia state government.”
“Surely you expected that. Your father has been working with the governor since he left in November.”
Carrie frowned again as memories of her father’s hopelessness after the death of his beloved wife, Abigail, swept through her mind. She missed her mother, too, but they had grown close only in the last month of her life, so her death hadn’t left the same gaping hole. She nodded as Rose’s words penetrated her thoughts. “Yes, of course I expected it...”
“Then what is troubling you so much?” Rose demanded.
Carrie almost smiled at the impatience in her friend’s voice. The freedom they experienced in their friendship was wonderful. A year ago things had been very different. Rose had still been her best friend, but the reality of Rose being her personal slave, while Carrie lived the luxurious life of a wealthy plantation owner’s daughter, had put an impenetrable barrier of protocol between them. The past year had blown those barriers away. Now they were like sisters.
Carrie struggled to express her feelings. “Everything is so different now...,” she began haltingly. “It was exciting to think of Father standing close to the helm of Virginia when we wer
e still part of the Union and everyone was fighting so hard to keep it that way. But now….” She paused and stared out at the rampaging river as she tried to force her turbulent thoughts into some form of order. “Father believed so much in keeping the Union together. Now he has flung himself into the struggle for Southern independence. I guess that’s what is hard. He is fighting just as hard to defend what he didn’t believe in, as he fought to keep it from happening.” She shook her head slowly. “I still can’t believe it’s true. Virginia is no longer a part of the United States. I am no longer a United States citizen.”
“What else did your father say, Carrie?” Rose’s voice was now gentle as if she sensed the deep turmoil boiling in her friend.
Carrie shook her head more firmly. “I’m sorry.” Her short laugh held no humor. “I realize I’m not being very communicative today. Let me try this again.” She gazed down at the letter she held in her hand and searched for the right place. “Here it is...” She straightened in the saddle to read her father’s words and braced herself to accept the truth of what she read.
Dearest Daughter,
I have grand news for you. Our fair capital of Richmond is being chosen for a high honor. The decision is being made, even as I write this letter, to place the seat of our wonderful Confederacy right here in Richmond.
Rose looked at Carrie in surprise. “I thought the Confederate capital was in Montgomery, Alabama.”
Carrie shrugged. “It was.” She put down the letter and tried to explain what her father had written without having to decipher his handwriting again. “It seems Alexander Stephens, the vice-president of the Confederacy, arrived in Richmond just a few days after the convention voted to secede. He was impressed by Richmond’s beauty, but it was much more than that that caused him to make his recommendation for Richmond to become the capital. He is well aware of Richmond’s economic wealth and the potential for growth.”
Carrie paused as she tried to remember what else her father had said. “Tredegar Iron Works played a big role in his decision. That, along with the other iron companies in Richmond. Stephens said the Confederate government’s war-waging capacity would have suffered a staggering blow if Virginia hadn’t seceded. They’re counting on Richmond for cannons, ammunitions, boats and other things.” She looked out over the river again as she tried to erase the image of Southern cannons pointed toward her friends from the North. “My father said something about Richmond being strategic in a military sense, but I’m not sure what he meant. He may write more about it later.”
“Do you want the South to win the war?” Rose asked bluntly.
Carrie turned to stare into her eyes. “You do manage to cut through to the quick of an issue, don’t you?”
Rose merely shrugged and returned Carrie’s look.
Carrie swung her gaze back to the river. It matched her emotions now even more than it had a few moments ago – her feelings as tossed and jumbled as the muddy cauldron. Finally, she turned back to Rose. “I don’t know,” she stated flatly. “I think this whole war is stupid. I think people should have had enough sense to keep it from ever happening. But now that it’s here? I just don’t know, Rose.” She smiled slightly. “Does that make me bad?”
Rose sat quietly.
“You’re not going to say anything, are you?” Carrie demanded.
Rose shook her head.
Carrie managed a brief laugh and then forced herself to look deep into her heart. Rose’s question had made her realize what was really eating at her heart and mind. She was living in a nation at war. Where was her allegiance? Did she have one? Did it make her a traitor to her beloved South if she couldn’t enter the conflict wholeheartedly? How could she support a war that was being fought largely over the continuation of slavery - an institution she despised? But how could she not fight to keep her homeland from being destroyed? What about Robert...? The turbulence of her thoughts once again threatened to overwhelm her, just as the river was overwhelming the defeated banks it was now spilling over. “I don’t know. I simply don’t know...” she murmured.
Her troubled thoughts demanded an outlet. She shook her head and cried, “Beat you back to the house!” Spinning Granite on his haunches, she launched him into a ground-swallowing gallop. She knew Rose, on the much smaller mare Maple, wouldn’t stand a chance, but she didn’t care. She had to release her spinning thoughts. She leaned low over Granite’s neck and allowed the fresh air to envelope her. Granite pulled at the reins, and she gave him what he wanted. The big Thoroughbred flattened himself to the ground as he flew down the road leading back to the Cromwell Plantation house.
Carrie moved as one with the horse she had owned since childhood. As they flashed through the afternoon sun, flying in and out of pockets of shade, she slowly felt herself relax. She could almost feel the cobwebs floating out of her mind. She didn’t have to have any answers yet. Her heart was demanding one, but life at this moment wasn’t demanding one. She knew that for now she was supposed to stay on the plantation, doing what she had been doing since her father had left to go to Richmond. When the time came that she needed to know her heart and mind more clearly, she would know what she was supposed to do. She would simply have to believe that.
As the realization of that truth sank through, she gave a glad laugh and pulled Granite down to a slow canter. Only then did she think of Rose. She glanced back but could catch no glimpse of her friend. She pulled Granite down to a walk and turned him around to stare in the direction she had come from. Nothing. Concern replaced the glad smile with deep lines of worry. Had Rose fallen off? Was something wrong? She had taught her friend how to ride several months before, but Rose still wasn’t entirely confident on a horse. Berating herself for dashing off in a wild run, Carrie urged Granite into a gallop and sped back down the road.
She was halfway to the river before she caught sight of Rose trotting Maple calmly down the road. “Are you all right?” she cried. “What happened?”
Rose laughed softly. “I’m fine. I didn’t have any inside bombs to diffuse. Maple and I are simply enjoying the afternoon. She agreed with me that it was silly to go racing after a horse we could never catch.”
Carrie laughed at the amused expression on Rose’s face and swung Granite alongside to trot with them.
“Are you feeling better after your mad run?”
Carrie nodded. “It always helps,” she said simply.
Rose smiled and fell into a short silence. Then she looked up. “What did your father say about the plantation?”
Carrie frowned at her question. “I don’t know how long we can keep up our little game. Father asked about Ike Adams again. He was concerned that Adams would have to leave the plantation as overseer.”
“Why?”
“It seems Virginia is even more nervous about her slave population now that the war has started. They’re afraid more and more slaves will try to escape and head north to join up with the Union. The Confederacy is already calling for huge numbers of volunteers to join the army. In addition to that, the Virginia government is calling for more men to join the state militia to keep down any slave uprisings and to bring back slaves who are trying to escape. Father asked in his letter whether Adams was talking about joining the militia and leaving the plantation. He said something about the government making overseers exempt from military service.”
“So they can keep all the slaves under control,” Rose stated in a hard voice.
“There are a lot of people who are afraid the slaves are going to rebel more and more now that the war has started. They’re frightened of losing control.”
Rose merely nodded, her contemptuous look speaking her heart. Then she turned back to the subject they had started with. “He’s going to find out sooner or later, Carrie.”
Carrie nodded impatiently. “I know. I know.” She couldn’t believe they had pulled off their deception for this long. Her father was working in Richmond, secure in the supposed knowledge that Cromwell Plantation was being managed u
nder the capable hands of his overseer, Ike Adams. He had no idea that Carrie had thrown him off the plantation seven months earlier for attempting to rape Rose. Since that time Carrie had been running the plantation with only the aid of Rose’s husband, Moses, whom she had appointed as the overseer.
“I still can’t believe someone hasn’t told him. It seems like everyone locally knows about it,” Rose said.
“Father is so caught up in his work he isn’t aware of anything else.” There was no bitterness in Carrie’s voice. She had long ago accepted she was right where she was supposed to be. She hated the deception but believed it was necessary. Yet more and more, the necessity of lying to her father was eating at her. Their relationship had always been built on trust. Would he ever forgive her when he discovered the truth – which, of course, he would someday? How much longer could she live with herself - knowing she was lying to her beloved father? The plantation was still running smoothly. Isn’t that what really counted? She shook her head to push away her disquieting thoughts. Pulling Granite back down to a walk, she reached into her pocket to pull out the letter again. “Let me read you what else he wrote.”
Sunday morning, April 21, dawned warm and balmy. The churches of the city were unusually full. The final prayers were just being said by our minister when the bell on the Square began to toll. In an instant all was confusion. Soon the streets were full of shouting that the Yankee gunboat, Pawnee, was steaming up the James to shell the city! Military companies joined together, the artillery was called out, and women and children streamed to the river to watch the battle for the defense of our city.
I, of course, had to go rapidly to the Capitol to confer with the governor. Word reached us shortly that it had been nothing but a false alarm. Indeed, it was almost laughable. There was no boat coming up the river. Even if there had been, her heavy draught would not have permitted passage to the city. Richmond citizens, relieved there was no attack, were able to laugh at their gullibility and resume their Sunday routine.
