by B. K. Birch
Jordan’s War - 1861
By B.K. Birch
Jordan’s War - 1861
By B.K. Birch
Jordan’s War is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are products of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual events, places, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
Front cover design by Ebook Indie Covers
2013 e-book edition
Text Copyright 2004 by Brenda Birch
All rights reserved.
Acknowledgements
Jordan’s story began as serial fiction back in 2002 and soon became an Editor’s Pick in the historical genre. But after languishing in traditional publishing attempts, it sat on an external hard drive for years until, with advancements in publishing, I am able to share it again.
I’d like to thank fellow writers Lara Stauffer, Colin Galbraith, Eva Schegulla, Michelle Miles, and Terri Molina for their encouragement these past ten years and author J.A. Konrath for sharing his knowledge of the publishing business so freely.
But most of all, none of this would have been possible if not for my husband, Jeff, and my kids, Joey, Jennifer, Lizzy, and Jimmy. Your support all of these years means everything to me.
Lastly, I would like to thank you, the reader. I hope you enjoy reading Jordan’s story as much as I did writing it.
All the best,
Brenda
Chapter 1
May 1861
“Fight!”
Jordan Sinclair rushed towards the crowd surrounding the mercantile window and squeezed his way to the front. Sure enough, two men he didn’t recognize were wrestling in the dirt, shouting words he’d certainly heard before, but wouldn’t dare say out loud. Blood spurted from the smaller man’s nose as his face took blow after blow.
“Alright, Oscar,” Mr. O’Malley said as he pulled the larger man off the smaller one. “That ain’t going to solve anything.”
The smaller man got one good punch in before another stranger from the crowd grabbed his arms.
“Everyone needs to go about their business,” Mr. O’Malley called out. The crowd slowly started to disperse.
Of course he’d say that. He owned the mercantile and if everyone was standing outside watching two grown men roll around in the dirt, then there was no one inside buying anything. Jordan looked around for any sign of his father, Finnian and his brother, Eamon, but didn’t see them. They must still be inside lollygagging, Jordan thought as he walked back to the wagon to finish loading the feed.
Lazy bums! He grumbled nonstop as he hoisted sack after heavy sack onto the back of the wagon. He was mad and he didn’t care who saw him, not that anyone was paying him any mind anyway, as most everyone was still gathered around the store window. His grunting and stomping, coupled with the way he kept slamming the sacks hard enough to shake the wagon, didn’t disturb anyone except the horses. The animals were excited and working up quite a foam.
Their trip off the isolated mountain to the small town of Renick took all morning and now he was doing all the work by himself. Pa and Eamon were off with the other grownups, probably in one of the back rooms discussing whatever was going on. It must be something really important because Jordan was the only one loading anything, even though there must was at least seven other wagons sitting out in front of the old weathered building.
He wiped a stream of dirty sweat flecked with hayseed from the side of his face and stretched his neck to see if he could see Pa or Eamon. There was no sign of them, but he did spot a rain barrel next to the building, partially hidden behind a blooming goldenrod. He grabbed a bucket for the horses and trotted over for a taste, making a point to whistle a bit too loud and swing the bucket back and forth just a little too high. Still, no one noticed him as their eyes, attention, and conversation were drawn to the notice tacked inside the filthy glass.
The muscles in his back and legs ached, almost too much these days for a spry lad of twelve although the cool water did quench his thirst for the time being.
He dipped the bucket and walked back to the wagon, slopping water down his leg. The horses seemed parched and drank as far down in the bucket as their large snouts would fit. He had to make another trip.
Doggone it! He was going over there to see what all that commotion was about. The crowd was now three deep, and what few women were there kept dabbing their eyes with their handkerchiefs. A few of men whispered amongst themselves so that Jordan could only tell by their expressions that something was amiss.
Jordan attempted to wedge his way through them, but after catching more than one elbow to his cheek, he gave up and stood where he could hopefully hear what was going on. Making no sense from all the sobs, whispers, and swearing, he sulked back his work, still not knowing what all of the ruckus was about. The wagon shook as he plopped himself on top of the feed sacks and after digging his finger through the weave of the fabric, he picked out a loose kernel of corn to chew on while he waited.
The sun was shining bright overhead and if they didn’t get moving soon, it would be well after dark before they got home. Ma would be worried something awful, but she fretted so much these days, it seemed normal.
Jordan didn’t mind the darkness as he loved the mountains at night - the stars, the moon, the smell of pine, the silence disturbed only by the faint footsteps of a curious bobcat and especially, the feeling of being the only person on earth.
The mid-afternoon heat soon ripped the last ounce of energy from him and his eyelids felt heavier and heavier until he could no longer muster the strength to keep them open.
“Wake up sleepy head,” Pa said and smacked him on the leg. The wagon shook as Finnian and Eamon climbed into the front.
“I wasn’t asleep,” Jordan said. “Just got bored waiting for you that’s all. I loaded this all myself.” His voice reflected a twinge of pride.
“I see that,” Pa said. “I always said a little hard work wouldn’t hurt you.”
“And I always say a little help from ya’ll wouldn’t have hurt me either,” Jordan retorted with just enough sting to get his point across, but not quite hateful enough to get the strap taken to his backside when he got home for being a smart mouth.
“Take this,” Eamon said and handed Jordan a jar wrapped with layers of dusty brown burlap.
Jordan stuffed it between two sacks so it wouldn’t break during the bumpy ride home.
“Can I have a sip?” Jordan asked, grinning.
“Grandma will skin you alive if you even take a sniff,” Eamon answered.
“Bet you had a drink when no one was watching,” Jordan teased.
“Did not,” Eamon said. His face turned red.
“Just make sure that jar don’t break,” Pa warned. “She’ll send us back right back here tomorrow for another.”
“I got it,” Jordan said.
Eamon held a small brown parcel wrapped in brown paper and tied with a string. Jordan knew exactly what was in it – Grandma’s tealeaves. Folks on the mountain said that Abigail McCoy could see the future in those leaves and every pregnant girl within ten miles, every women with a straying husband or unruly children, and every man with a failed crop or ailing livestock would come to call with a small gift of coin, cloth, salted ham, or a poke of coffee – and ask her to read for them. She’d put those leaves in her special cup and saucer and have them stir it.
Supposedly, the way the leaves pointed would reveal some unknown truth or future. Ma said there was gypsy blood running through her veins and called what she did a gift. Jordan saw her blood once when she cut her finger and it didn’t look any different than his. He didn’t know whether or not to believe it all, but it was Grandma’s herbal tonics and seeing that got them through many harsh winters, so
no one dared made fun of it.
Jordan was never allowed to watch the ritual so he never knew if she was right or wrong. There was one time, when he was younger, he hid in the pantry and peered beneath the gap between the floor and a curtain.
A distraught woman came to visit and stirred the leaves while Grandma studied them and the woman. She closed her eyes and her body froze, as if it were empty of her soul. Jordan watched for a solid two minutes until Ma discovered his hiding place. From then on, Jordan swore that if anyone in the family was a seer, it was definitely his ma.
Finnian took the worn leather reins and gave them a solid snap. The horses swaggered as they pulled the heavy wagon onto the trail.
Jordan sat in the back and watched acres and acres of farms pass. He knew the names of most of the folks in the valley but was never invited to supper or anything. Ma said valley folk thought they were better than mountain folk, but all they were just sinners.
After a few miles, the rolling farmland all but disappeared and endless forests surrounded them. The budding green haze on the trees faded to gray as they descended up the mountain passage. Even though it was the first of May, it would be at least another two weeks before the trees up this high would burst into bloom.
He was still a little miffed because the way Pa and Eamon left him alone earlier and he moved from one side of the wagon to the other just like some excited dog. It bothered him even more that neither Pa nor Eamon had mentioned one word about the notice or what everyone was so concerned about. He hated when they treated him like a child and couldn’t stand the silence any longer.
“What’d that paper say?” he asked.
Finnian broke off a piece of tobacco from a larger brick and shoved it in his jaw and handed the block to Eamon who did the same.
“It says we aren’t part of this here United States anymore,” Pa said.
“Is that what those men were fighting about?”
“Yep,” Pa answered.
“How can that be?” Jordan asked.
“Says we’re seceding,” Eamon snapped.
“What’s that mean?” Jordan asked.
“Quit asking so many darn questions,” Eamon said.
“Shut up Eamon. I had to load the danged wagon all by myself because you hauled your lazy behind off with Pa.”
He could be just as cantankerous as his older brother and besides, why shouldn’t he know what was going on around here?
“It don’t mean anything to us,” Pa answered. “Fields still need to be plowed, sheep still needs to be sheared, and hay still needs to be cut. Now quit arguing or you’ll both walk home.”
“Why’d we do that? Secede?” Jordan asked, his tongue stumbling to form the strange word.
“I suppose some folks are tired of Lincoln telling them what to do,” Pa said.
“What’s he making them do that they don’t want to?”
“Some rich folks don’t want to give up their slaves,” Pa explained. “President Lincoln says they have to.”
“Have you ever seen a slave, Pa?” Jordan asked. “Nate told me he saw one in Hillsboro awhile back. Said he was black as molasses.”
“Can’t you just be quiet?” Eamon asked.
Jordan stuck his tongue out at him.
“Once,” Pa said. “About ten years back, down around Lewisburg.”
“What was he like?”
“She was just a girl. Big girl, but young. Not fat either, very stout,” Pa said.
“Who was she with?” Jordan asked.
“Some woman in a fancy dress. They was buying fabric.”
Jordan stopped talking. He couldn’t think of any more questions even though he’d love to keep bothering Eamon. He stared over the side of the wagon and scanned the woodland for deer, but the rattle from the hitch probably scared them miles away.
“What’s going to happen now?” Jordan asked.
“There’s going to be a war,” Eamon blurted out. “Now will you shut up?”
“That ain’t true!” Jordan yelled.
“Is too,” Eamon argued.
A war! Vivid images of smartly dressed soldiers marching in rows to battle flooded into Jordan’s mind, all courtesy of a single sketch in one of his schoolbooks that he’d never forgotten. Other than that, he wouldn’t know what a soldier even looked like. He leaned back and lost himself in the cadence of the drum roll for a few moments before returning to the conversation.
“Are you going to fight Pa?” Jordan asked.
“I’m staying out of this one,” Pa said. “I’m getting too old.”
“What about Eamon?”
“Can’t till I’m eighteen,” Eamon explained.
“Are you going to go fight when you’re eighteen?”
“The war will be over by then,” Pa said. “Now no more talk about this. You’ll just scare your ma.”
“Yes sir,” Jordan said. He leaned back and sulked. Not talk about it? This was the biggest thing that’s happened around here for ages. His thoughts drifted to the war and to the soldiers. He hoped he got to see one before this was all over - a soldier other than Eamon, if he could even hack it as a soldier. Sometimes Eamon could be soft.
A shadow moved - up ahead in the trees and Jordan quickly reached up and tugged on Pa’s shirt.
“I see it,” Pa whispered and slowed the horses. Jordan climbed up and leaned on the back of the bench in between Pa and Eamon. He kept his eyes on the spot where he first saw something move.
Three horses emerged out of the blue haze of the forest and down the pass towards them, and it took a moment for Jordan to recognize the riders. It was those mean Vander boys – Luke, Avery, and Charlie. Their guns were strapped to their horses and all of them carried a bed roll.
The Vanders were considered trash, even by mountain standards, and no one ever crossed them. Luke, Avery, and Charlie were the oldest of ten children, all of them ornery as sin. The sheer number of them was enough to frighten anyone. Charlie was the youngest of these three, only a few months older than Eamon. Although Jordan never heard of any concrete evidence to link the Vanders to any mischief, every time something came up missing or a fence got torn down, one could bet the Vanders would get blamed. They kept to pretty much to themselves and didn’t even bother with Church meetings on Sunday, which didn’t sit well with decent, God-fearing folks.
“A little late in the day to be heading off the mountain,” Finnian called out and pulled back a little on the reins to stop the horses.
Luke was leading the others and stopped his horse right beside Pa.
“You see the notice at Renick?” Luke asked and grinned. His teeth were gray, shaded by black rot around the edges, which was odd for someone barely twenty, even in these parts. Jordan couldn’t help but stare.
“Yep, I seen it.”
“We’re heading to Lewisburg to sign up,” Luke said, and then turned his attention to Jordan, who was still gawking at his mouth. “What are you looking at?”
Jordan jumped to the other side of the wagon.
“You ain’t going to make it there before dark,” Finnian said.
“I know that,” Luke said. He seemed a little perturbed. “We got victuals. We’re going to ride as far as we can, then camp. Going to be there first thing in the morning.”
“Ain’t Charlie too young?” Eamon asked.
“I’m sixteen,” Charlie chimed in.
“You got to be eighteen,” Eamon explained. “That’s what the notice said.”
“They can’t prove I ain’t,” Charlie said.
“I can’t wait to kill me some of Yanks,” Avery said.
“What if they kill you first?” Finnian asked.
“That ain’t likely,” Avery said and patted his musket. His horse jerked as the gun barrel poked into its belly.
“Aren’t you going?” Charlie asked Eamon.
“He ain’t going anywhere right now,” Finnian interrupted.
“Pa always said you Sinclairs weren’t nothing but cowards,”
Luke chided.
“That ain’t true!” Jordan yelled and stood up.
“You want to fight about it?” Luke asked him.
“Sit down Jordan,” Finnian said.
Jordan sat down, but kept his narrow-eyed stare fixed on Luke’s face.
“Eamon will join up when he’s old enough,” Finnian said. “You boys best get moving while you have some daylight.”
“You too,” Luke called. “Wouldn’t want the scared yellow-bellies out past dark.”
He gave his horse a quick kick with his heels and started down the trail. Avery and Charlie fell in behind him.
Pa clicked his tongue against his teeth and the horses started walking again. The wagon lurched a few times then commenced it’s slow, steady decent towards home.
Jordan watched them until they disappeared in the mist.
“You can sleep easy boys,” Pa said.
“Why is that?” Eamon asked.
“The Vanders have joined the army! Virginia is saved!”
Jordan busted out laughing. Eamon was howling so loud Ma probably heard him all the way to the house. Pa just smiled.
The last of the sun’s warming rays fell behind the summit and sent the temperature spiraling downward. A chilling wind whistled through the pines and gave Jordan a shiver.
“You know it’s not too smart to argue with the Vanders,” Eamon said to Jordan when they calmed down enough to talk. “They might sneak over while we’re asleep and burn our house down.”
Jordan didn’t say anything. He was scared and his insides were still shaking, despite Pa’s joke. Part of him wished he hadn’t said anything to Luke. Another part of him felt pride and a newfound courage. He’d back-talked to a Vander. Not just any Vander. It was Luke, the ugliest and the meanest of them all. He wanted to pray that none of them came back from fighting because Luke wouldn’t forget their meeting. But praying for someone to die just wasn’t right, even if the mountain would be a better place without them. Jordan felt God already knew that and it was all just a big fat test to get into Heaven.
