by Ginny Dye
Looking
To The
Future
October 1868 – June1869
Book # 11 in The Bregdan Chronicles
Sequel to Walking Into The Unknown
Ginny Dye
Looking To The Future
Copyright 2017 by Ginny Dye
Published by Bregdan Publishing
Bellingham, WA 98229
www.BregdanChronicles.net
www.GinnyDye.com
www.BregdanPublishing.com
ISBN #1973979144
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 Mrs. Patterson – the greatest 5th grade teacher in the world. In the midst of a chaotic life, she made me feel special and loved. My “safe place” was her classroom.
I will forever be grateful.
A Note from the Author
My great hope is that Looking Into The Future will both entertain, challenge you, and give you courage to face all the seasons of your life. I hope you will learn as much as I did during the months of research it took to write this book. Once again, I couldn’t make it through an entire year, because there was just too much happening. As I move forward in the series, it seems there is so much going on in so many arenas, and I simply don’t want to gloss over them. As a reader, you deserve to know all the things that created the world you live in now.
When I ended the Civil War in The Last, Long Night, I knew virtually nothing about Reconstruction. I have been shocked and mesmerized by all I have learned – not just about the North and the South – but now about the West.
I grew up in the South and lived for eleven 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 choices 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 and 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 constantly 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 – 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 must leave the characters. You shouldn’t have to be sad for a long time!
You are now reading the 11th book - # 12(Horizons Unfolding) will be released in Winter2018. If you like what you read, you’ll want to make sure you’re on my mailing list at www.BregdanChronicles.net. I’ll let you know each time a new one comes out so that you can take advantage of all my fun launch events, and you can enjoy my BLOG in between books!
Many more are coming!
Sincerely,
Ginny Dye
Chapter One
Granite shifted restlessly, mirroring Carrie Borden’s impatience. It was easy to settle her towering, gray Thoroughbred with a gentle hand to his neck, but it did nothing to diminish her own restlessness. “Are you coming?” she called loudly, smiling when a flock of cardinals blasted from a nearby tree, competing with the brilliant red of the foliage.
“I suppose I should be thankful there are some things in life that will never change,” Rose called back in a serene voice as she led her small mare, Maple, from the barn.
Carrie narrowed her eyes as she smirked in response. “I was born impatient. Personally, I don’t see a reason to change—especially since it’s a perfect fall day to go riding.” Her smirk dissolved as the reality sank in. “It’s our last day together since you’re leaving for college tomorrow,” she said somberly. “I’m tired of sharing it with other people.”
Rose’s teasing smile disappeared immediately. She swung her lithe form into the saddle and urged Maple into a trot. Moments later, she was beside Carrie and Granite. “Let’s get out of here,” she said.
Carrie kept Granite to an easy trot as they moved down the road bordered on both sides by harvested tobacco fields. The ring of axes in the brisk October air provided evidence that winter was not far away. Now that another successful harvest was finished, it was time to lay in a store of firewood that would take everyone through the cold months ahead. Carrie had been riding since arriving home from New Mexico nine days earlier, but she had not really paid much attention to her surroundings; her entire focus had been on the people she was with. Now she trained her eyes on the horizon, and then frowned. “Things are different.” Her narrowed eyes explored the scenery before her, searching to discover what had changed.
“They are,” Rose agreed. “The men cleared another hundred acres of woods while you were gone. It took until the end of summer to have all the stumps and roots pulled out, but the fields will be planted for next year. Moses is pleased with how fertile the soil is.”
Carrie cast her a look of disbelief. “How could his men do all that work and still handle the harvest?” Her frown grew. “How could I not have noticed this before? Have I been that self-absorbed?”
“Hardly self-absorbed!” Rose protested. “You were gone for more than nine months, and the plantation has been a bedlam of people and activity since you returned home. It’s little wonder you didn’t notice.”
Carrie appreciated her best friend’s response, but her lack of observation still bothered her. “So how did they do it?” The last time land had been cleared on Cromwell Plantation had been before the war, and it had taken dozens of slaves laboring all through the winter to make it happen.
“Moses had Franklin hire a dozen new men,” Rose said proudly. “They worked hard to get the land cleared.”
Carrie turned to stare at her. “Only a dozen men?” She shook her head. “A dozen men cleared one hundred acres?”
Rose nodded. “It’s amazing what people can do when they know they will be rewarded for their efforts.”
“America is changing,” Carrie murmured. She knew that productivity on the plantatio
n had soared since all the workers not only received pay, but were also awarded a bonus percentage from the crop. Still, the dozen men had accomplished a daunting job during what must surely have been brutal summer heat.
“It is changing,” Rose agreed, “but not enough, and not fast enough.” Her voice hardened. “What is happening here on Cromwell Plantation should be happening all over the South, but despite the obvious successes with our crops, most plantation owners still insist on doing things the old way. Slavery may no longer be legal, but that doesn’t change the fact they are determined to treat the freed slaves as if they are still property.”
Carrie’s lips thinned. “I know you’re right…” Her voice trailed off before she continued. “But Moses has so much to be proud of,” she said enthusiastically. “What he has done here is remarkable!” She pulled Granite to a stop and fixed her eyes on Rose’s beautiful face. “How can Moses stand to be away from it? Is he happy in college?”
Rose looked away, stared out over the fields for a few moments, and then met Carrie’s eyes squarely. “I don’t think so,” she said, and then frowned. “Not that he’ll ever say anything. He knows how much Felicia and I want to be in college. He would never take that away from us, and he would never leave us.”
Carrie knew that was true, and she wanted Rose and Felicia to go to college, but her heart ached for Moses. She knew how hard it was to choose to do something you weren’t passionate about.
“Am I being selfish?” Rose asked suddenly.
Carrie stared at her friend, struck by the vulnerability lacing her words. “Selfish?” she scoffed. “You couldn’t be selfish if you tried, Rose.”
Rose didn’t look away. “I’m serious, Carrie.”
Carrie peered closer, recognizing the truth of Rose’s words. “And so am I,” she assured her. “You pushed aside your own desires and passions for years, waiting until the time was right. The doors opened for you to go to Oberlin College. Moses chose to go. I understand why he would rethink his decision, and I sympathize with how much he misses being here, but he is a grown man who made a decision for his family.” She reached down for Rose’s hand and grasped it warmly. “He made a decision because he loves you. That is all the reason he needs. College won’t last forever,” she added.
“And if I take a job in a city far from the plantation?” Rose asked softly.
Carrie took a deep breath, knowing she didn’t hold the answer to her friend’s question. “You’ll have to cross that bridge when you come to it,” she finally replied.
Rose smiled. “‘Don’t cross the bridge till you come to it, is a proverb old, and of excellent wit.’”
Carrie returned the smile as Rose quoted the words from a favorite poem from their childhood. “Do you remember when we read The Golden Legend before the war started?”
“I do,” Rose assured her. “I was surprised when Felicia came home from school with a collection of Henry Wadsworth Longfellow’s poems before we came here. She’s been reading them constantly. She read The Golden Legend to me just last night.”
“Did you tell her about us reading it together when we were teenagers?”
“Hidden away in your room because no one else in the Big House could know that a slave had taught herself how to read.” Rose nodded. “I told her. And I told her that I probably would have been beaten if it had been discovered.”
“My father did not beat his slaves!” Carrie protested. She despised the entire institution, but she also felt loyal to her father. She didn’t want Felicia to see him as anyone except the man she had grown to love.
“He wouldn’t have done it himself,” Rose agreed quietly, “but he also didn’t know all the things Ike Adams did.”
Carrie understood the bitter anger that tainted Rose’s reply, but wondered why the past seemed to be filling her friend’s thoughts again. Perhaps it was knowing how much Moses wanted to return. “I know it was awful,” she said gently. Her own memories of the old Cromwell Plantation overseer carried their own angry resentments. She could feel nothing but relief that he was dead.
Rose nodded. “I hate thinking about the past, but I don’t believe it is wise to pretend it didn’t exist just because slavery has been abolished. Felicia and I talked about how far blacks have come since then. We also talked about how far we have to go.” She smiled slightly. “Felicia asked me what I really thought Longfellow’s poem meant.”
“The part about crossing the bridge?” Carrie asked.
“Yes.” Rose’s smile grew brighter. “I told her it meant that they ain’t no use borrowin’ trouble that ain’t eben be here yet.”
Carrie laughed as Rose quoted Old Sarah, sounding just like the woman she had adored for her entire childhood. “I can imagine how tired your mama grew of telling us that over and over. We both had a habit of borrowing trouble before it got here.”
Rose nodded, fixing Carrie with her piercing dark eyes. “Is that what you’re doing now? You’re as restless as a willow in a windstorm.”
Carrie opened her mouth to refute her friend’s observation, and then closed it. “You always know.” She shrugged her shoulders. “I don’t know what is bothering me,” she finally admitted. “Everything seems to be jumbled up inside.” She made no attempt to hide the frustration in her voice.
“Of course you are.” Rose’s voice was unperturbed, her eyes calm.
“Of course I am what?”
“Jumbled up and frustrated,” Rose responded. “You spent nine months on a wagon train and in a Navajo internment camp in New Mexico. You experienced things you never dreamed of experiencing. You became even more of a leader.” Her voice softened. “And now you’re back on the plantation—back where you started—and you’re wondering what is coming next.”
Carrie remained silent as Rose laid out exactly what she was thinking.
“You’re happy to see everyone,” Rose continued, “but the last nine days have been nothing but constant activity and talk. You’ve gotten used to the quiet on the Santa Fe Trail. You love the plantation, but you know it’s just a stepping stone to whatever is waiting.”
Carrie stared off into the distance for several long moments as she let the truth of Rose’s words penetrate her heart. “Cromwell Plantation will always be home, but…” Rose continued to wait while Carrie fought to give voice to her thoughts. “I thought I had found so much peace about losing Robert and Bridget…” This time her voice wouldn’t continue around the clog in her throat.
“But being back here brings back all the memories,” Rose finished tenderly.
Carrie nodded, knowing there was no reason to deny her feelings. “I thought it would be easier,” she confessed. “I thought… after being gone for nine months that it wouldn’t have the same power to swallow me.”
“It will be easier in time,” Rose assured her, “but it’s still too fresh.”
“It’s been a year and a half,” Carrie murmured.
Rose was the one to reach out and take her hand this time. “You lost your husband and your daughter at the same time, Carrie. Eighteen months is nothing. You have moved past the depression, and you have done amazing things since then, but that does not erase the pain or ease the ache of missing them. That will take a long time.”
“How long?” Carrie demanded impatiently. She knew no one could tell her, but it didn’t stop her from asking. She hated how volatile her emotions had become since returning home.
“I can’t answer that for you,” Rose said gently. “We all have to walk our own path.”
Carrie wanted to scream when a fresh wave of frustration threatened to engulf her. She wanted answers, and the fact that no one could give them to her did nothing to make her feel better. When Granite snorted, she was suddenly certain of the one thing that would help. Knowing Rose would understand, she gave Granite his head and leaned forward in the saddle. Within seconds he was in a dead run, his body low to the ground as his legs flashed. Carrie threw back her head and let the wind tear at her curly, blac
k hair tamed into a braid that would soon be in tatters.
A short time later, with no direction from her, Granite was making his way at a steady trot down the trail that led to the one place guaranteed to give her peace. Carrie took deep breaths as they wound under the glistening red and gold canopy of maples and oaks that lined the narrow path. Red berries hung from dogwood trees like ruby raindrops. Ferns, still verdant and rich, carpeted the forest floor, lifting toward the patches of sunlight that broke through the leaves. Soon, the ferns would be battling a smothering cover of leaves, but for now they were still free to dance.
Carrie felt the knots begin to unravel. When they reached the banks of the James River she dismounted, slipped Granite’s saddle and bridle off, and freed him to graze. He nudged her toward the water, snorting softly, and then turned away to feed on the lush grass. Carrie watched him for several minutes. Leaving behind her beloved horse was always the hardest thing about leaving the plantation. So much had separated them—the war, school, the Santa Fe Trail. She could communicate through letters with everyone else, but not with Granite. There was just a gaping hole where her horse should have been, yet she knew he would always be waiting for her, always be happy to see her. She wished, for what surely must be the millionth time, that he could go with her every time she departed.
Granite, as if called by her thoughts, lifted his head to gaze into her eyes. Swallowing back tears, Carrie rested her hand on his muzzle. “I will miss you,” she whispered. Granite sighed and dipped his head in recognition of her words, and then went back to grazing. She knew his unconditional love would always accept her actions, but it did nothing to make it easier to leave him.
