© 2010 Across the Cotton Fields by Diane T. Ashley and Aaron McCarver
© 2011 Among the Magnolias by Diane T. Ashley and Aaron McCarver
© 2011 As the River Drifts Away by Diane T. Ashley and Aaron McCarver
Print ISBN 978-1-62416-733-1
eBook Editions:
Adobe Digital Edition (.epub): 978-1-62836-311-1
Kindle and MobiPocket Edition (.prc): 978-1-62836-312-8
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted for commercial purposes, except for brief quotations in printed reviews, without written permission of the publisher.
All scripture quotations, unless otherwise noted, are taken from the King James Version of the Bible.
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. Any similarity to actual people, organizations, and/or events is purely coincidental.
Cover image: Image Source
Published by Barbour Publishing, Inc., P.O. Box 719, Uhrichsville, Ohio 44683, www.barbourbooks.com
Our mission is to publish and distribute inspirational products offering exceptional value and biblical encouragement to the masses.
Printed in the United States of America.
TABLE OF CONTENTS
Across the Cotton Fields
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Epilogue
Among the Magnolias
Proluge
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Epilogue
As the River Drifts Away
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Epilogue
Dear Readers,
Welcome to this peek into the history of my (Diane’s) home state. We enjoyed writing this series about three generations of one family living in Mississippi. If you read Tennessee Brides, you will run into several familiar characters. If not, don’t worry. This series stands on its own. We enjoy creating characters who are connected in some way to other stories we’ve written, but everything you need to know is contained in the pages of the book you are holding.
Whenever we begin writing a new story, we set it in a specific time in our nation’s history. The three stories in Mississippi Brides begin during the latter days of the War of 1812, and follow the events leading up to and during the Civil War, exploring the trials faced by those who lived during the deadliest time our country had seen. We strive to write realistic characters who struggle with such issues as slavery, women’s roles within marriage, and the relevancy of faith. Some trust in God immediately—their faith as strong as a shining beacon. But for others it takes longer. Like so many of us today, they have to fall flat on their faces before they turn to the One who has every answer. We hope you’ll be uplifted by these stories, and that they will ignite or reaffirm your faith as you follow each character’s journey to romantic and spiritual fulfillment. After all, people haven’t changed all that much, have they?
Thanks to the wonderful team at Barbour Publishing for sharing our vision. Without your hard work and dedication this book would not be possible. We love working with you and look forward to future projects.
To God be the glory.
Diane T. Ashley and Aaron McCarver
ACROSS THE COTTON FIELDS
Dedication
To my Wesley College family—from my years as a student through twenty years of ministry, God has used you all to enrich my life beyond measure. As our chorus says, “Wesley College, thou art owned of God….” She is still a blessing to us all.
Aaron
For Mr. CJ and Mrs. Dorothy—thanks for trusting me to care for your oldest son and welcoming me into your family with such warmth and love. You are the best parents-in-law in the world.
Diane
Chapter 1
Nashville, Tennessee
August 1815
Alexandra Lewis sniffed and pressed a handkerchief against her dry lips. Would the tears ever stop? Or the pain? She wanted more than anything to go back to the time before. Before the world had changed. Before the sheriff had come to tell them about Papa’s death. Before finding out the father she loved had been a liar, a thief…and a murderer.
How she wished she could just go to sleep and wake up to find the past week had been a terrible nightmare. But the sunlight pressing against her forehead and cheeks seemed real enough. Even though she didn’t want to, Alexandra realized she would have to face the truth—their future was not going to be as easy as she had always imagined.
Tucking her handkerchief into the sleeve of her dress, Alexandra shifted her parasol to protect her face from the rays of the sun, then put her free arm around her mother. “It’s okay, Mama. Everything is going to be okay.”
Choked sobs answered her, but Mama leaned her head on Alexandra’s shoulder. She sighed and patted her mother’s back. Perhaps everything would be easier once they made it through the funeral service.
Not wanting to look toward the pine box that held her father’s remains, Alexandra let her gaze roam across the grassy knoll on which she and her mother stood. No one else had come to support them in their grief, no one except the minister and his wife.
Alexandra lifted her chin and told herself they should be glad the whole town of Nashville was not here. As the townspeople had learned of the tragedy, they had taken pains to separate themselves from the Lewis ladies. Invitations no longer arrived, visitors no longer stopped by, and few notes of condolence found their way to the house.
It was not surprising given her father’s actions, but Alexandra wished at least one or two of the people she considered particular friends had decided to come. Like Asher Landon, for example. He had been a frequent visitor in the weeks before…before the nightmare. But from what Mama was told, he was there the day Papa’s villainy had been exposed. Perhaps he didn’t want to be near her anymore.
If only Papa had not been so greedy, so anxious to enter the world of politics. His desire to be elected to a political position had led him
to have a family of settlers murdered so he could obtain their land and fulfill the qualifications needed to run for office. He then covered up his atrocities by making it appear the settlers had been attacked by an Indian living outside of Nashville. When his murderous actions were uncovered, he was killed in a shootout with Asher and Sheriff McGhee.
Did Asher think so little of her that he had no condolences to offer her and her mother? Or had he been influenced by Rebekah, the unsophisticated girl who wanted to drag him to the country? Alexandra lifted her chin. No matter. She didn’t need the Landons or any of the other townspeople to survive.
The sound of a carriage coming toward them distracted her from her thoughts. Curiosity made her turn her head. Three people disembarked. She recognized the young woman as someone she’d met at parties. Dorothea? No, Dorcas. That was it—Dorcas Montgomery. A beanpole of a girl with blond hair and a pale complexion. Although they had met, she didn’t really consider Dorcas a friend.
The girl nodded to her, and Alexandra tried to summon a smile. Perhaps she did have friends here in Nashville. Perhaps not everyone in town thought she and her mother were as guilty as Papa. Maybe the Montgomerys understood why his family mourned a man who had committed such awful deeds.
Of course no one knew Papa like she did. But even she couldn’t understand why he had gotten involved. Had someone else forced him to take those dreadful actions? Or had he simply become a madman?
How could she reconcile his actions with the loving father she had grown up adoring? What had happened to the man who’d ordered a fancy officer’s uniform and joined the ragged troops who defended New Orleans from British invasion? The man who had comforted and protected her for her whole life? When had he lost his way? And why hadn’t she seen the truth when she could have helped him, perhaps even prevented his death?
“At a time such as this, many verses can bring comfort to a grieving heart.” The minister, Roman Miller, opened his Bible and began to read from the book of Psalms. “‘God is our refuge and strength, a very present help in trouble. Therefore will not we fear, though the earth be removed, and though the mountains be carried into the midst of the sea; though the waters thereof roar and be troubled, though the mountains shake with the swelling thereof. Selah.’”
He flipped through some pages and began reading again. “ ‘Fear thou not; for I am with thee: be not dismayed; for I am thy God: I will strengthen thee; yea, I will help thee; yea, I will uphold thee with the right hand of my righteousness.’”
The words flowed around her, and something in Alexandra’s chest eased a tiny bit. Perhaps she and Mama would recover from the disgrace, the shame, and the grief.
A voice, cold and heartless, seemed to whisper in her ear. People said God would provide for them. They said He was all powerful, all knowing. So why would He have let her father do something so horrible? Why hadn’t He stopped all this from happening? Why was He punishing them?
The peaceful feeling slipped away, replaced by bitterness. The last few days had shown Alexandra the only one she could rely on was herself. She bowed her head when the minister said they should, but she blocked out his words. She didn’t want to be lied to…not anymore. From now on, she only wanted to hear the whole, unvarnished truth.
“Alexandra?” Her mother’s voice seemed to come from far away.
She looked up to see the others staring at her. “I’m sorry.” She could feel a flush burning her cheeks. “It’s…I…”
“Everything will be all right.” Mrs. Miller smiled gently. “Getting lost in prayer is not a bad thing.”
Mr. and Mrs. Montgomery offered their condolences to Mama, while Dorcas stepped over to her. Her hazel gaze speared Alexandra. “I’m so sorry for your loss.”
Alexandra felt exposed, as if Dorcas was searching for some sign to report to her friends back in town. She could almost hear the whispered discussion—the exclamations of shock, the tsks and titters of revulsion as Dorcas and the others in town analyzed every word she spoke, every action she made. She dug her fingernails into her clenched hands and managed a nod. “Thank you.”
Mama reached for her arm. “We should get back home. People may have come by the house, and they’ll wonder where we are.”
Alexandra’s heart dropped to her toes. Was her mother also losing her mind? Or was it grief that made her forget the lack of visitors? Should she agree? Or correct her mother?
While she was still trying to decide what to do, Pastor Miller held both arms out, one for his wife, one for Mama.
Alexandra followed them to the carriage, her eyes on the headstones of other men and women who had been buried in the cemetery. The beautiful setting was lost on her, even though she could hear the gurgle of a nearby stream. Instead of bringing comfort, its murmur seemed to reinforce her fear and loss. What would they do now that they had no man to lead the household?
The busy waterfront streets of New Orleans gave way to tall trees and marsh grasses as Jeremiah LeGrand neared L’Hôpital des Pauvres de la Charité, the newly reconstructed charity hospital that first opened in 1736. Charity Hospital had originally been located in town at the intersection of Chartres and Bienville streets, but this was its fourth location since it outgrew its original building. The three-story structure was sturdy, with a line of wide, arched doorways at the ground level, but complaints had already been made about inadequate care and meager supplies because of the hospital’s remote location. Jeremiah had his doubts about the decision to rebuild the hospital in the middle of the swamps, but he supposed the leaders knew what they were doing.
He stepped through wide double doors that stood open in hopes of capturing a cool breeze. It was only a few degrees cooler inside, but at least the sun no longer pounded on his shoulders. He nodded to a white-robed nun on his way to the ward on the second floor, glad he no longer had to explain his presence. Because of his frequent visits, the staff allowed him access without question.
He hoped to find his friend up and about this afternoon, practicing walking with his crutches, but Judah was still abed. Apparently the ceiling was filled with interesting designs. It certainly held his friend’s total attention. Judah’s arms were crossed beneath his head, and Jeremiah saw his light brown hair had been pulled back into an old-fashioned queue and tied with a strip of leather. His ruddy complexion had faded over the past months due to his inability to leave the hospital, but Jeremiah hoped that would change before long. The doctor had told them last week that the contagion was cured—Judah’s leg had healed. All he needed now was a way home.
Removing his hat, Jeremiah tucked it under one arm. “Good afternoon.” Sympathy washed through him as he watched his friend jerk a sheet over his legs. He tried to put himself in Judah’s place, tried to imagine not having two strong legs to hold himself up. His stomach clenched, and he sent a silent thanks to God for blessing him with excellent health.
“Hi.” Judah’s greeting had a surly ring.
“I’ve brought you a surprise.”
Judah’s expression changed from a dissatisfied frown to a tentative smile. “Is it a letter from home?”
Jeremiah nodded, and his smile broadened. He held out several folded pieces of vellum that had been sealed with a blob of red wax.
The other man took them from him, but he didn’t break the seal as Jeremiah had expected.
“Aren’t you going to read it?”
“Later. I want to savor every word.”
Jeremiah spied a wooden chair under one window and dragged it over to the cot. “How are you feeling?”
A sigh raised Judah’s shoulders. “Sometimes it feels as if my leg is still there. But when I reach down…there’s nothing.”
“I’m so sorry. Is there anything I can do?”
“Give me back my leg.”
Now it was Jeremiah’s turn to sigh. “We’ve been through this so many times, Judah.”
Judah turned his face away. “I know I should be happy to be alive, but how can I be? Here I am stuck in t
his steamy swamp for more than half a year while my wife is struggling to keep body and soul together at Magnolia Plantation. If I was any kind of real man, I’d have gotten back to Natchez long before now.”
“I’m certain the note from your wife will hold no hint of censure.”
“Of course not. My Susannah is an absolute angel. But she cannot run our plantation without my help.”
“You’ve told me how good your overseer is. He will have helped her in your absence.” Jeremiah shifted on the hard chair. “Judah, you must get past blaming yourself. It’s not your fault that you were wounded. Nor is it your fault your leg didn’t heal properly. I know it’s been hard, but you should be able to go home soon.”
A bitter laugh greeted his statement. “I can’t even walk across the room. How can you expect me to get all the way to Natchez? I cannot ride a horse with only one good leg. Do you think I can paddle my way against the river currents?” He shook his head. “I need a job so I can earn the money for a carriage. I probably won’t be able to make the trip home until after the end of the year. Susannah needs me now, not five months from now.”
“You know I can help. I’ll gladly loan you a carriage or the money to lease one. You can repay me whenever you get back on your feet.”
Judah slapped his leg, the one that had been amputated below the knee. “That’s just it. I’ll never get back on my feet. I only have one.”
Jeremiah winced at the anger in his friend’s voice. “I cannot imagine how hard the past months have been for you, but if you will only turn your mind to the fact you still have so much. Look around you at the other men in this hospital. Most of them have no home to go to. Most of them would trade places with you in an instant.”
Silence answered him. It drew longer and tighter as the seconds ticked by. Finally Judah nodded. “You’re right, of course. I sometimes forget.”
“I cannot blame you for that. You’ve had many trials.”
“And a wonderful friend to keep me from becoming too morose.”
Jeremiah ducked his head for a moment before meeting his friend’s gaze. “If the situation was reversed, you would do the same for me.” He hesitated for a moment before going on. “I promise you this, Judah. I won’t insult you by offering you money, but I have an idea or two about how to help you get home before the harvest is over.”
Mississippi Brides Page 1
