Everlasting Light - A Civil War Romance Novella

by Andrea Boeshaar

  “Ellie! Ellie! It’s too good to be true!”

  Mama McKenna walked out onto the back porch and stood with hands on her slim hips. “I declare, Jonathan, you’ll wake the dead with all this commotion!”

  “Get out your best kettle, woman!” A grin split across his face. “Michael killed a buck this morning, and I suddenly have a taste for venison stew.”

  “Hmph. Is that all?” Mama McKenna lifted her chin indignantly, but Alaina could tell the older woman was just as anxious to cook a hearty meal as the men were to eat one.

  “Now, Ellie …”

  She smiled. “I shouldn’t jest. This is a blessing, to be sure.”

  Giving her an affirming nod, Papa McKenna and Michael set out across the barren pasture, heading for the Wheeler place. Before the war, there were four strapping, young Wheeler brothers and their widowed father on the neighboring farm, but Michael’s siblings were killed, one by one, in various battles. Michael’s father died of a broken heart, according to Mama McKenna, and Alaina figured the diagnosis was probably accurate. She understood how broken-heartedness could be fatal.

  With the bedding on the line, she wandered around the house to the front porch. Every ounce of energy she possessed evaporated. Sitting down on the steps which were badly in need of paint, she thought about Michael’s marriage proposal. True, he was kind, handsome, and a hard worker.

  But he wasn’t Braeden.

  She leaned her cheek against the wooden railing and stared off into the distance. The twittering of a tiny bird in a surviving palmetto tree reached her ears, and then she heard something else.

  Singing.

  Alaina strained to hear, only to realize the low, smooth-sounding voice crooning “Dixie’s Land” was getting closer by the moment.

  “O’ I wish I was in da land o’ cotton, ol’ times dar am not forgotten, look away! Look away! Look away! Dixie’s Land.”

  Alaina stood and ran down the walkway to the road. She peered to her left and saw the gleaming, dark face of a man in a white shirt and bedraggled, gray pants supported by suspenders. As he neared the house, she got a clear view of his battered, gray cap and the blue kerchief tied to a long stick that he carried over his shoulder.

  “Ezekiel,” she breathed in recognition. Reality set in. “Zeke!” With renewed spirit, she ran to greet him. “Zeke, is that really you?”

  “Miz Laina!” He flashed his infamous wide grin. “It shore is me. And you’s a sight for sore eyes!”

  For the first time in months, Alaina laughed. “Where have you been?”

  “Been ever’where, I reckon.” A look of sadness suddenly filled his eyes. “I been ever’where and nowhere, but now I’m home.”

  “I’m so glad to see you.” She squeezed his bear-like hand before falling into step alongside him all the way up to the house. By then she’d worked up the courage to form the supreme question. “Have you seen Braeden?”

  They stopped at the front porch.

  “You mean he ain’t home?”

  Alaina shook her head and the familiar sadness plumed inside of her.

  Zeke’s broad shoulders sagged. “Last I saw him it was nigh onto a year ago. He got hisself shot at the railroad station in Virginia. Looked pretty bad, but he weren’t dead when I seen ’im. I stopped to help, but Braeden tole me to keep goin’. He said, ‘Git outa here, Zeke, afore you git your fool head blowed off.’ I tole him I wouldn’t leave him. I pulled ’im over to the brush near the tracks an’ I lays down beside him like I’s dead.” A sad smile crossed the black man’s face. “Well, the war done went on ’round us, and by some miracle o’ God, we didn’t git ourselves kilt. Come nightfall, it looked like the Yankees won that fight. Them mean ol’ Blue-bellies come walkin’ down the tracks like they owned ’em, kickin’ bodies to see if’n they’s really dead. They come to us, and they give Mistah Braeden a kick. He yelped like a hound, so the soldiers done took him ’way and put ’im in a wagon. An’ that’s the last I seen ’im.”

  “Braeden got captured?”

  “I reckon so.”

  The flicker of hope inside of Alaina dwindled. “We should have been notified. We should have been told.”

  “Shouldda is right. But in this war, nothin’s like it should be.”

  Heavy-hearted, Alaina sagged onto the porch steps.

  “I shore is sorry to tell you.”

  “I know you are.” She barely eked out the words.

  The front door opened and Mama McKenna stepped from the house. “I thought I heard voices … Zeke!” Unfamiliar delight filled her voice. “You’re home!”

  “I shore am, Miz Ellie. I shore am!”

  ******

  By evening, the tantalizing aroma of venison stew drifted from the cookhouse and seemed to permeate every corner of the farm. Alaina and Mama McKenna had worked most of the day, butchering and curing the deer meat. They wrapped up portions for Pastor Pritchard and his family, along with Braeden’s sister, Suzanna, and her clan. Then Michael and Zeke delivered the goods, but they made quick work of it and returned by suppertime.

  “My, but this looks like a feast!” Michael declared after Alaina set his plate down before him. “God truly sees after our needs.”

  “Amen!” Zeke exclaimed, and Alaina dished up a plate for him too. When she handed it to him, he said, “Thank yo’, Miz Laina, and now I’ll just be goin’ to eat out on the back po’ch.”

  He got as far as the door before Papa McKenna halted him. “Wait! I want you to eat with us here at the table.”

  Zeke turned, his dark eyes wide with disbelief. “But Mistah Jonathan, that ain’t fittin’. No Negro oughta eat with whites at the suppah table!”

  Papa McKenna expelled a weary-sounding sigh. “You went off to war with my sons, Zeke. Sure, I know that you were first employed with the cavalry as a servant, but it wasn’t long before they put a gun in your hand too. Your blood’s the same color as theirs—as mine.”

  Zeke hung his head sadly. “I shore am sorry for yo’ loss of all them boys yo’ raised up. They’s good boys too. Mebbe it shouldda been me who died, ’stead of them.”

  Tears filled Alaina’s eyes while animosity for the Yankee Army filled her heart. “No one should have died.” She tossed the serving spoon into the pot of stew. “I hate those Federal soldiers! I hate every one of them!”

  “Alaina!” Mama McKenna drew back and placed her hand at her throat.

  “I apologize for offending you, but I refuse to apologize for cursing Union troops.” Molten anger coupled with the deepest of all sadness blinded Alaina. She darted from the kitchen into the rapidly cooling December dusk. She sprinted through the yard, past the cinders littering the barn’s foundation, across the cold, hard dirt in the garden, and there she leaped over the tiny creek. She ran through a cluster of unmarred oak trees and continued to run until her lungs burned, rendering her breathless.

  Sagging to her knees, she let go of the sob threatening to choke her. “Oh, God, I wish I was dead.” She wept and poured out her anguish to the Lord. Finally, there wasn’t another tear left.

  But now what did she do? How could she move beyond her grief and go on?

  My grace is sufficient for thee, came the Divine reply, for My strength is made perfect in weakness.

  Alaina lifted the edges of her apron and dabbed at her swollen eyes. She believed God’s Word was truth. She’d memorized that very passage of scripture as a girl—2 Corinthians 12:9. It had remained in her heart ever since.

  The Savior’s promise filled her being. “… and, lo, I am with you always, even unto the end of the world.”

  She sniffled and then felt the urge to recite a portion of Psalm 23. “Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil: for Thou art with me … surely goodness and mercy shall follow me all the days of my life: and I will dwell in the house of the Lord forever.”

  Never before had she thought she’d feel so grateful that her mother had insisted she memorize selections fro
m the Bible. Now, as the Lord brought His Word to mind, Alaina felt as though she could feel His arms around her, comforting her, encouraging her to rise from the cold earth and walk back to the house.

  “Alaina!” Papa McKenna’s booming voice hailed her through the cold and dark. “Where are you? Ellie is worried half out of her mind.”

  She crossed the stream. “I’m all right. I’m almost there ...”

  ******

  It wasn’t long after Jennifer Marie’s eighteenth birthday party that Braeden called upon Alaina and asked her father’s permission to court her. At first she feared Papa wouldn’t allow it. After all, he still referred to her as his “little girl” even though she was seventeen—and even though Rebecca was really his little girl! Braeden was twenty. Would Papa think he was too old for her, or too young?

  As it happened, Samuel Dalton took an instant liking to the gallant young man pursuing his daughter, and he allowed Braeden to visit once during the week and spend Sundays with their family. It was on one of those Lord’s Day afternoons that Alaina packed a picnic lunch for herself and Braeden to share under the expanse of a thick oak tree. It was unseasonably warm for the last days of March. “Would you care for another piece of chicken?”

  “No, Laina.” Braeden groaned and patted his stomach. “I’m so full I might bust.”

  She laughed softly and watched him stretch out on his back, his blond head close to her lap.

  “Did you fry that chicken yourself?”

  “Well, um …” A warm blush surged upward into her neck and cheeks. “No, I must confess, Mama did it, but I helped.”

  A chuckle came from under his breath. “I wouldn’t care if you didn’t know how to set a kettle to boiling.”

  “Oh, yes you would—when your stomach started to rumble, then you’d care.”

  “True,” he drawled teasingly, “maybe I’d care a little.”

  Alaina clucked her tongue and smiled. “You!” With that she gave the top of his head a good swipe with her red-checkered napkin.

  Braeden sat up and spun around on his tailbone. He bent his legs, resting elbows on knees, and a sudden, earnest expression crossed his face.

  “Laina, war is coming to South Carolina.”

  “War?” She let out a huff of exasperation. “That’s all you men talk about these days.”

  “It’s a grave concern. South Carolina seceded from the Union last December. Since then, other states have followed suit, including Texas. The Union has made it clear; it won’t stand for what it considers our rebellion.”

  “I know all that.” Aggravation sliced its way into her heart. Why did Braeden have to ruin a perfectly wonderful afternoon with this senseless talk about secession and the Union? She heard plenty from her father and older brother, William.

  “Laina, look at me.”

  She refused and continued picking at the imaginary lint on her skirt until Braeden took hold of her chin and forced her gaze to meet his troubled, amber eyes.

  “I’m a man torn in two over this, Laina.” His soft tone erased the irritation she felt.

  “You’re torn? Why?”

  He appeared both relieved and satisfied that he’d gotten her attention. He dropped his hand and a heavy breath left him. “I’m a simple farmer but a true-blooded South Carolinian. I was born and reared here, and I love my land. I will fight for the new Confederation because my heart is here. Here, where my Irish grandfather carved out a life, a legacy. But therein lies the problem.”

  “No, Braeden, don’t fight. It’s not worth it.”

  “But it is.” He stared off into the distance. “I’m not sure if I agree with all the aspects surrounding the slavery issue. I’ve seen terrible abuse inflicted upon some Negros by their masters. Then I think of Ezekiel and Abraham, and the opposite is true. We boys all grew up together and I can recall their mammy giving me a well-deserved licking or two right along with them. We have our differences, but they didn’t stop us from working side by side in the fields. While I reckon they’re our property under the current law, I love them as much as I love my family and our farm—a love so fierce that I’m prepared to die for the right to keep what’s mine.”

  “Don’t say such horrid things!” Alaina’s insides knotted. Her heart crimped. “I can’t bear the thought of you dying.”

  “Would you miss me if I died, Laina?”

  What was wrong with him? “Silly man, of course I would!”

  A mischievous glimmer entered his eyes. “How much would you miss me?”

  So he was fishing, was he? “Mmm, let me think—” She’d teach him to toy with her sensibilities. “Actually, I wouldn’t miss you one bit, Braeden McKenna.” She plucked a handful of grass and threw it at him, striking him in the chest.

  “Imp!”

  “Hardly.” She laughed and moved to stand, but he caught her upper arm, pulling her toward him. She sat so close now that Alaina could feel his breath on her forehead. She watched the mirth fade from Braeden’s expression.

  “Truly, would you miss me, Laina?”’ His eyes searched hers.

  “Yes,” she whispered. “Yes, I truly would.”

  ******

  Alaina awoke still feeling the delicious warmth of her dream. She rolled over and reached for Braeden—only to feel the cold sheet on his half of the bed.

  Stark reality settled upon her. “Oh, Braeden …” The whispered words came on the tail of a sob. “I wish I would have known just how much I’d miss you.”

  But then she would have never let him go.

  Chapter 5

  Alaina could still recall the brisk morning of April 12, 1861. She was washing clothes in the yard with her mother and Melissa. Patches of snow still covered the ground, residue from the freak snowstorm only weeks earlier.

  She heard horse’s hooves pounding the gravel road leading up to the house. She exchanged wondering glances with her mother and sister just as Braeden came into view. Another man, tall and dark-headed, rode beside him. He looked familiar, and Alaina recalled seeing him at Jennifer Marie’s birthday party. Reining in their animals, the men dismounted simultaneously.

  “No! It can’t be. Not now!” Horror pumped through her veins. She wiped her wet, soapy hands on her apron and quickly rolled down the sleeves of her blouse. With shaking hands, she finger-combed her wind-blown hair back into its chignon. “What on earth is Braeden doing calling on me at this hour?”

  With a soft laugh, Mama left her wash tub to greet the two well-dressed men walking their way. Rebecca stared on in wide-eyed, girlish curiosity.

  “Good morning, ma’am,” Braeden began with a polite bow. “Allow me to present my good friend, Michael Wheeler. Michael, this is Mrs. Dalton.”

  Mama nodded. “Mr. Wheeler.” She turned back to Braeden as wisps of her graying, mahogany-colored hair blew across her cheek. She pushed it back with one hand. “This is a surprise, albeit a pleasant one.”

  “Yes, thank you, ma’am.” Braeden’s golden-flecked brown eyes peered over Mama’s head at Alaina. He smiled before addressing Mama again. “I wondered if I could speak with you and Mr. Dalton. You see, I received word this morning that the Union has sent out one of its naval vessels with supplies for the men at Fort Sumter, but the Confederate Army has the fort surrounded and has no intention of allowing the Union passage into the Charleston harbor.” Braeden wet his lips anxiously. “This is likely the beginnings of war, Mrs. Dalton, and it’s my desire to be there when that first shot is fired.”

  “I see.” Mama looked back at her, and Alaina suddenly realized she’d been holding her breath. She let it out slowly as the conversation continued. “What has this to do with your speaking to my husband and me?”

  “Michael and I are headed into Columbia to purchase train tickets to Charleston for this historic event. Since my sister and her husband are going along, as is my cousin, Jennifer Marie, I wondered if you would allow Alaina to accompany me … us.”

  A slight smile curved Mama’s lips. “I will call for m
y husband at once.” She whirled around. “Rebecca, find David and tell him to properly water our guests’ horses. Alaina, make some lemonade. I’m sure Braeden and Mr. Wheeler are very thirsty after their ride, and I know your father and William will appreciate a drink when they come in from the field.”

  “Yes, Mama,” Alaina replied.

  Rebecca ran off to find their little brother while Alaina approached the men. Her gaze, however, never wavered from Braeden’s grinning face.

  “I promised you a train ride, Alaina Dalton, and I’m determined to keep my word.”

  “So I hear.”

  Braeden introduced her to Michael. She’d met him briefly at Jennifer Marie’s party.

  “A pleasure to see you again, Mr. Wheeler. Won’t you both come inside and make yourselves comfortable while we wait for Papa?”

  They both nodded and followed Alaina into the house. After seating them in the parlor, she quickly busied herself with preparing the lemonade.

  “You’re right, Brae, she’s a pretty little thing.”

  Alaina overheard Mr. Wheeler’s remark. She didn’t think she looked “pretty” in her plain brown skirt and white blouse. They were the clothes she typically did her chores in and hardly appropriate for entertaining guests.

  “She’s spoken for, so don’t get any ideas, my friend.” The warning in Braeden’s voice was unmistakable.

  His friend laughed good-naturedly.

  Alaina felt a heated blush rise into her cheeks at Braeden’s possessive claim.

  Minutes later, nineteen-year-old William dashed into the house. His face shone with excitement, and his dark hair was matted with perspiration. His shirt and trousers were soiled from working outside, and in all his exuberance, he obviously forgot Mama’s rule about changing in the mud room before entering her well-kept home.

  “Has the War Between the States really begun?” William panted.

  “Could be soon,” Braeden answered.