by Zina Abbott
“I understand.” Lorena slipped her free hand around Eustace’s arm. “I love you, Eustace Cantrell. Whether we stay here forever or eventually leave, I think it is a good place for Olivia’s little brother or sister to be born.”
The skin between his eyes creased and one eyebrow lifted, Eustace jerked his head and studied her. “Are you telling me something, Mrs. Cantrell?”
Lorena laughed and leaned into him as she squeezed his arm. “Yes, my love. No matter your plans for Jubilee, I am fairly confident that we have started some breeding of our own. I think we can expect another little Cantrell to join us no later than April of next year.”
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Author’s Notes
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The prequel of this novel starts set in Arkansas in the final year of the American Civil War. Unlike seven of the states from the South that seceded from the Union by February 1, 1861, Arkansas did not secede until May 6, 1861. The loyalties within the state were divided, part of the reason for the state capitol being moved from Little Rock, first to Hot Springs, and later, to Washington in Hempstead County. Between 1863 and 1865, both the Union and the Confederacy built fortifications to protect Little Rock.
I refer to Confederate General Stirling Price’s raid starting in September 1864, His army of Missouri and Arkansas troops entered Missouri in a second attempt to push the Union out of the state. His troops fought several pitched battles but was unable to take St. Louis. Moving west across the state, Price’s army was attacked at Westport, Missouri where he was defeated in what was the largest battle in the Trans-Mississippi Theater. During his retreat into eastern Kansas, Price was again defeated at Mine Creek. His troops fought in several small engagements which nearly destroyed his army. Price returned to Arkansas and set up his headquarters at Laynesport. All this took place during the time in my story when Lorena was forced from the rectory and planned to move in with her sister’s family in western Missouri.
The 3rd Arkansas Infantry Regiment was formed shortly after Arkansas seceded and joined the war effort. It became the most celebrated Confederate unit from that state. It was the only regiment to serve the entire war in the Eastern Theater. Among the many battles the regiment took part in was the one at Cold Harbor, Virginia, June 1-12, 1864. Members of the regiment were present at the Appomattox Court House in 1865 when General Lee surrendered to General Grant.
The Battle of Cold Harbor, Virginia is remembered as one of American history's bloodiest, most lopsided battles. Thousands of Union soldiers were killed or wounded in a hopeless frontal assault against the fortified positions of Confederate General, Robert E. Lee. The battle stretched out between May 31 to June 12, 1864, with no definite victory for either side. In his book, Personal Memoirs, written later in life, Gen. Grant said of the battle, "I have always regretted that the last assault at Cold Harbor was ever made. ... No advantage whatever was gained to compensate for the heavy loss we sustained."
I deliberately placed Eustace’s Georgia property within the path of General William Tecumseh Sherman’s “March to the Sea.” This campaign, complete with destruction of manufacturing capacity and the railroads (Union soldiers tore apart the railroad ties, heated them, and bent them around trees to create what became known as “Sherman’s neckties.”) was intended to force the South into surrender. It was not a complete “scorched earth” policy. Some of the official orders were:
... IV. The army will forage liberally on the country during the march. To this end, each brigade commander will organize a good and sufficient foraging party, under the command of one or more discreet officers, who will gather, near the route traveled, corn or forage of any kind, meat of any kind, vegetables, corn-meal, or whatever is needed by the command, aiming at all times to keep in the wagons at least ten day's provisions for the command and three days' forage. Soldiers must not enter the dwellings of the inhabitants, or commit any trespass, but during a halt or a camp they may be permitted to gather turnips, apples, and other vegetables, and to drive in stock of their camp. To regular foraging parties must be instructed the gathering of provisions and forage at any distance from the road traveled….
VI. As for horses, mules, wagons, &c., belonging to the inhabitants, the cavalry and artillery may appropriate freely and without limit, discriminating, however, between the rich, who are usually hostile, and the poor or industrious, usually neutral or friendly. Foraging parties may also take mules or horses to replace the jaded animals of their trains, or to serve as pack-mules for the regiments or brigades. In all foraging, of whatever kind, the parties engaged will refrain from abusive or threatening language, and may, where the officer in command thinks proper, give written certificates of the facts, but no receipts, and they will endeavor to leave with each family a reasonable portion for their maintenance.
I rather imagine, there was a difference between the wording of the orders and the actual execution in the field.
In my first book in the series, I mentioned the use of Sharps rifles. This breech-loading, single-shot rifle came into use toward the end of the Civil War and grew in popularity. However, after continuing my research on the Butterfield Overland Despatch stations, I came across the information that Mr. Butterfield provided Colt Navy pistols and Ballard rifles for protection of the stations. Ballard rifles were another breech-loading, single-shot rifle that was designed and patented by Charles H. Ballard in November 1861 in Worcester, Massachusetts. Between 1862 and 1865, about 3,000 were made for the military and were used by regiments from Kentucky. Variations of this rifle were produced by several manufacturers until 1891. I will make the correction to the type of rifles used by the stations in future sales of Mail Order Roslyn.
1866 was a very busy year when it came to ownership of the stagecoach and freight line that ran along the Smoky Hill Trail. David Butterfield built the Butterfield Overland Despatch stagecoach and freight line in 1865. It soon ran into financial trouble due to the losses of livestock, stagecoaches, stations, and employees as a result of conflict with the Native Americans, primarily the Cheyenne, who struggled to prevent any white men from crossing their lands and disrupting the migration of the buffalo herds.
Another large stagecoach and freight company that served the western United States at that time was Ben Holladay’s U.S. Overland Mail and Express Company along the Overland Trail. He held the cross-country mail contract awarded by the Post Office Department from Omaha, Nebraska to Salt Lake City, Utah.
Wells, Fargo and Company held the mail contract between Salt Lake City and San Francisco, California. Fearing encroachment by Wells, Fargo and Company in the form of them attempting to acquire the Butterfield line—thus putting them in position to capture the mail contract for the entire distance between the Missouri River and Pacific Coast—he moved to protect his mail contract and guard his hold over the stagecoach and wagon freighting ventures as long as there was money to be made in them.
Holladay sent out two inspectors (corporate espionage) to discover the financial condition of the Butterfield Overland Despatch. He knew the company had obtained a thirty year charter from the Kansas legislature for building and operating lines. Upon learning that the company was nearing bankruptcy, he pressured the then-president of the company, Edward P. Bray, to sell the line to him. In all, Holladay bought eight small stagecoach lines around that time.
In March, 1866, the Butterfield Overland Despatch became the U.S. Overland Mail and Express, Smoky Hill Division. Who knows when the changes were implemented, but the company’s records showed several stations with name changes, and there were changes made to which stations served as home stations and which were stock, or relay, stations. For the purposes of my book, I put that change effective the end of June, 1866.
Holladay had effectively blocked Wells, Fargo and Company from building a competing mail and wagon freight market between Denver and to the Missouri River using the B.O.D. line, but he knew the future wa
s in railroads. He intended to hold onto his stage and freight lines only as long as he deemed them profitable.
During 1866, he realized the railroad construction across the plains was progressing faster than he originally anticipated. On July 3, 1866, Congress authorized the Union Pacific, eastern division, to extend their route across Kansas to Denver, which would ultimately make the Smoky Hill Division line obsolete. On July 30, the postmaster-general ordered Holladay to cut back mail service on his Overland line to thrice weekly. Shortly after, he was ready to sell.
Fortunately for him, Wells, Fargo and Company believed they had at least six more years in which to make significant profits in this market. On November 1, 1866, Holladay sold out to them. By December 10, 1866, the name of the vast former Holladay holdings was officially changed to Wells, Fargo and Company.
~o0o0o~
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Thank you for reading
Mail Order Lorena!
Each book in the
Widows, Brides & Secret Babies
series is a Clean, Sweet Historical Romance. You may find all the books in this series as they are published by searching for
“Widows, Brides and Secret Babies” on Amazon.com
If you enjoyed this book, please help other readers find it by leaving a review on
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Reviews help authors gain new readership, and they are the best way for a reader to say, “Thank you.”
If you enjoyed reading Mail Order Lorena, you might also enjoy Mail Order Roslyn,
Book 9 in the
My first book in the Widows, Brides & Secret Babies series
Which is also set on the Kansas frontier following the American Civil War.
Here is an excerpt:
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Chapter 1
~o0o~
Junction City, Kansas
April 30, 1866
A s soon as Roslyn Welsh closed the hotel room door behind her, she turned and flopped against it, using the hard surface to support her back. She pressed both forearms against her nipples to stop the flow of milk. She squeezed her eyes shut and bent over, willing the let-down sensation to stop. How long before my milk finally dries up? It’s already been two days. After several seconds, she stood up and brushed aside the once royal blue Zouave jacket her aunt had dyed black. She inspected the front of her shirtwaist and heaved a sigh of relief. No wet spots. The folded muslin pads she had stuffed into the front of her corset were holding. She poked the side of one breast with her forefinger. Rock hard.
Doing her best to ignore the discomfort of her engorged breasts, Roslyn stepped toward the single bed that dominated the room. She untied the now-bedraggled black ribbons holding the straw hat on her head and tossed it on the bed. She stared at the head covering that was as out-of-date at the rest of her clothing but focused her thoughts elsewhere. Emmy, your ma loves you. Truly, I do. Tears filled Roslyn’s eyes. I miss you so much.
Anger welled up inside Roslyn. She yanked the jacket off her arms and shoulders before tossing it across the room. I always hated this outfit on Penelope, and I like it even less on me.
Roslyn stared at the garment for several seconds before she relented and picked it back up. I’ll admit, when it was still blue and the black trim stood out in contrast, on Penelope, with her dark brown hair. It did not look bad. It is the way Aunt Mena fusses over Penelope while she finds reason to fault me that I resent. On me, this sad attempt to make it appear I’m a widow in half-mourning looks ghastly. She smoothed out the back and front panels of the jacket and draped it over the footrail of the iron bedstead. Hopefully, the creases pressed into it as a result of her stagecoach ride from Lawrence would ease out of the wool fabric by morning. She owned nothing else suitable to travel in, which was why Aunt Mena insisted Penelope give it to her. And, I really cannot blame Penelope for the nasty trick played on me. It was her mother’s doing. Dear old Aunt Almena—the despicable witch.
Roslyn lifted her head and focused her gaze on the muslin-draped sash window across the room from her. Why did you go along with her demands? What are you, a spineless worm? Roslyn knew why. In spite of her screamed threats and initial vigorous rejection of her Aunt Mena’s expectations, she knew why, in the end, she capitulated and went along with it. Emmy. I have to do what is best for Emmy.
She looked down at the dark gray skirt that went with the jacket. Because she stood several inches taller than her cousin, where the skirt, now too full to be fashionable, had been the right length for Penelope when worn over a crinoline, on Roslyn, who refused to wear more than two cotton petticoats beneath her skirts, it hung just how she liked it—above her boot tops. I better take this off and let it air out, too.
She next inspected the underarms of her white shirtwaist. At least, Aunt Mena did not insist on dying that black. Fortunately, she saw no hint of yellow stain in spite of the daytime warmth of the two days of travel. She could feel the dampness of the underarm guards. I need to wash the shirtwaist and pads, too, so they will be dry by morning.
Assuring that she had locked the door to her room, Roslyn stripped down to her drawers and chemise. She draped the skirt over the privacy screen and hung her shirtwaist over the back of the ladderback chair. Perhaps I should wash up and put all clean clothing on from the inside out. Her fingers reached for the hem of the chemise, but a sense of restlessness held her back. She turned her head and stared at the window again. Behind the muslin shielding the glass, the sun still shone brightly. She had just finished the dinner meal that came as part of her hotel lodging that day—lodging that had been prepaid by the man who had sent for her. After being cooped up in the stagecoach for the past day and a half, she refused to end the day stuck in her room. I’ll wash clothes later.
Roslyn opened her carpetbag and began pulling out the clothing she had tucked beneath the wool cape which showed wear and her knit shawl. The hairbrush and used bar of lye soap she placed on the dresser. Her clothes—what little she owned—she spread out on her bed. One clean set of unmentionables she set folded on the side of the dresser and the other she placed back into the bag. She stared at the faded, front-opening gown, the seams of which she had finally taken in just before leaving her aunt’s house. In spite of pressing, she could still see the difference in the fabric color from where it had lightened more before she had let the seams completely out to accommodate her pregnancy, and where she had not been able to take it all the way back in due to the extra weight she still carried after giving birth to Emmy. She fingered the faint needle holes from the original seams. When will I be able to alter this back to how it was before?
Roslyn grimaced and turned away from the gown. She did not feel like wearing a skirt—any skirt. She needed to move. She needed to exercise what few muscles remained to her.
Roslyn reached for the other set of clothes, the ones that had belonged to Ross. As she ran her fingers over the thick weave of the dulled white shirt, she fought sorrow from overwhelming her. She next studied the trousers—the same ones she sewed for him years before he made his way to Fort Leavenworth a month before their eighteenth birthday.
Roslyn recalled how he had left them behind for her, telling her with a laugh, that it was a backdoor birthday gift so she did not have to sneak them out of his chest any longer. Since he would not be there to help their father in the livery, she could alter them to fit her better in order to work by their father’s side in Ross’s place.
She harrumphed. In Ross’s place? Roslyn had been helping all along, especially once she completed her schooling. However, she often complained how the longer skirts she wore once she turned sixteen got in her way when she helped clean the stalls or pitched hay. More than once, her skirt fabric had tangled with a hoof she was in the process of trimming and filing, leading her to nearly being trampled if the horse was uncooperative.
When she had originally made the trousers for Ross, she had cut the fabric pieces oversized. She left large seam allowances and deep hems to allow for his teenage growth years. Instead, those seams and extra fabric at the hem had allowed those pants to grow with her and her changing shape. Although Aunt Mena had flown into one of her screaming fits once she learned a baby was coming and insisted that Roslyn rid herself of Ross’s old clothes, Roslyn refused to do so. Instead, she hid them on a shelf she fashioned in the rafters of the storage shed that became Roslyn’s “room” once Penelope and Jeremy Humphry married. She had no idea what this man she was about to marry would think of her wearing them when she performed outdoor chores, but she had no intention of leaving them behind. She looked forward to wearing the trousers once more. Today. There has to be a livery in town.
Roslyn untied her boots and kicked them off of her feet before she slipped one leg and then the other into the trousers. She sucked in her tummy, fastened them at her waist, and did up the front buttons. She reached for the shirt but paused. As important as it had been to bind her breasts once she first moved to Lawrence to live with her aunt and sought out a job at one of the local liveries, she realized it was even more important now. I’m so full of milk, will it do any good? She looked over at the man’s jacket she also wore when dressed as Ross. Between the bindings and the jacket, would they disguise her well enough? They will have to do. I have to get out and do something, especially since I don’t know what I’ll be dealing with in my future.
