What readers are saying about Lily, book one of the Song of the River series:
“A new historical series has readers traveling by boat down the mighty Mississippi with memorable characters who are trying to provide for themselves and their families. These two talented authors bring to life a long-ago era of riverboat adventures, weaving their own styles into the story line. They work very well together.”
—Romantic Times
“Lily is an endearing, faith-affirming story that will leave a sigh on your lips and a sweet ‘song of the river’ in your heart.”
—Ramona K. Cecil, author of A Bride’s Sweet Surprise in Sauers, Indiana
and Freedom’s Crossroad
“Diane Ashley and Aaron McCarver have written a beautiful story of the South right before the Civil War. You will feel immersed in the Southern culture and setting. I felt I was right there with Lily.”
—Margaret Daley, author of From This Day Forward
“I loved this book. Well-developed character I really cared about, authentically detailed setting, and a story line that kept me riveted to the pages. I look forward to the other books in the Song of the River series.”
—Lena Nelson Dooley, author of Mary’s Blessing, Maggie’s Journey,
and Love Finds You in Golden, New Mexico—
a Will Rogers Medallion Award winner
“Brimming with romance and history, second chances and spiritual truths, Lily takes you on a unique excursion that is utterly moving and delightful. Soft as a Southern breeze, the compelling characters wrap round your heart and won’t let go. Truly a dream of a book!”
—Laura Frantz, author of The Colonel’s Lady
“The collaboration of Diane Ashley and Aaron McCarver brings a tale as steeped in the flavor of the South as a frosty glass of sweet tea. You’ll smell the muddy Mississippi River, her bottom churned by paddlewheel boats. You’ll stand on the dock at Natchez Under-the-Hill while the breeze off the water teases your hair. Lily takes you on a pleasant journey into the colorful past. You’ll be glad you booked passage.”
—Marcia Gruver, author of the Backwoods Brides and Texas Fortune series
“Lily swept me into its pages. Ashley and McCarver have created a lasting tale as poignant and deep as the river upon which it’s set.”
—Elizabeth Ludwig, author and creator of The Borrowed Book
“With the skillful use of rich and well-researched setting description, vivid scenes, and realistic dialogue authors Diane Ashley and Aaron McCarver have crafted a riveting historical romance that is sure to leave fans swooning.”
—Debby Mayne, author of the Class Reunion series
“With themes of faith, family, forgiveness, and more twists and turns than a winding river, Lily takes readers back to the historic riverboat days in vivid detail. This charming tale of a determined, unconventional heroine and a stubborn, hurting hero is sure to capture your heart and leave you smiling at the end.”
—Vickie McDonough, award-winning author of the
Texas Boardinghouse Brides series
“With brilliant style, the team of Ashley and McCarver has perfectly blended Mississippi gentility and steamboat adventure. You will enter the characters’ world and experience the excitement and dangers they endure in this gripping tale.”
—Janelle Mowery, author of the Colorado Runaway series
“I have a special fondness for Southern literature and if the same is true for you, I think you’re going to find Lily to be a pleasurable gem.”
—Tracie Peterson, award-winning, bestselling author of over ninety-five books,
including the “Striking a Match” series and House of Secrets
“Diane Ashley and Aaron McCarver have created a compelling tapestry of characters who live their lives, loves, and faith in a fascinating era of American history in an enchanting location—along the Mississippi. Their attention to detail helps frame the story and tempts the reader to forget the armchair in which she’s sitting.”
—Cynthia Ruchti, past president of American Christian Fiction Writers and
author of the 2011 Carol Finalist They Almost Always Come Home
“Ashley and McCarver have woven a tale as gentle as a summer breeze and as treacherous as a shifting sandbar.”
—Erica Vetsch, author of A Bride’s Portrait of Dodge City, Kansas
“Gone with the Wind meets The African Queen. This book has all the action and adventure of the grand riverboat days, coupled with all the romance and grandeur of a pre-Civil-War South.”
—Lenora Worth, New York Times bestselling author
© 2012 by Diane T. Ashley and Aaron McCarver
Print ISBN 978-1-61626-543-4
eBook Editions:
Adobe Digital Edition (.epub) 978-1-62029-638-7
Kindle and MobiPocket Edition (.prc) 978-1-62029-637-0
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 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 credit: Studio Gearbox, .www.studiogearbox.com
Published by Barbour Publishing, Inc., P.O. Box 719, Uhrichsville, OH 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
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
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Epilogue
Dedication
Aaron: I dedicate this book to my wonderful colleagues at Belhaven University. When Wesley College closed, I wondered if I would ever find another school where I could do more than just teach, where I could also minister to my students. God answered through you. Not only did you take me from working part-time to working full-time, you opened your hearts and took me in as one of your own. You will never understand how much this meant to me. I lost a family I had worked alongside for twenty years, but you replaced it with another that has become just as precious to me. Thank you for your love, support, encouragement, and full acceptance as a Blazer. I love you all.
Diane: For Lisa M. Davis, my sister from different parents. The hardest thing for me to do this year was tell you I was retiring from the Legislature. How could I give up the desk next to yours? How could I not talk to you every day? How co
uld I leave you behind when we are best friends? When we count on each other to keep sane in the madness of the Capitol? Over the years, you’ve been there for me through hard times and good times. We’ve shared tears, laughter, and our deepest, darkest secrets. Even the phrase “town girl”—the one I use in my bio—came from you. And don’t get me started on trips to the beach. Some things need to stay just between the two of us. The only reason I can bear to leave is the knowledge that nothing can break the bond between us. We may not talk as often, we certainly won’t get to share the trivia of our daily lives. But I know when we do get together the time apart will disappear in an instant. Hang in there. I love you.
Acknowledgments
As always, we are so grateful to Becky Germany, Becky Fish, and the wonderful staff at Barbour Publishing. You truly make us feel like we belong.
Steve Laube, we couldn’t do it without your invaluable assistance … and we wouldn’t want to.
Bards of Faith, you are our anchor in the ocean of writing and publishing. Your friendships and prayers keep us grounded and fill our sails.
And most importantly, to our Lord and Savior Jesus Christ, all for You!
Chapter One
Boonville, Mississippi June 17, 1861
Jonah Thornton did not want to die.
His fingers cramped, and he loosened his grip on the trigger of his Sharps carbine. The butt of the rifle seemed grafted to his shoulder, an extra arm with deadly intent. He bent his head and sighted down the thirty-inch barrel, wondering if he could really pull the trigger. Wondering if he could take the life of another man. He raised his head and moved the rifle back to marching position, heel at waist level, barrel with bayonet over his shoulder.
A twig broke some distance away, and the tempo of Jonah’s heart soared. Was it a scout looking for evidence of the force mustering in the area between the city of Boonville and the Mississippi River? Or a rabbit or deer foraging for an early morning meal?
His awareness stretched outward. Around him, the breaths of his fellow soldiers sounded loud, as did the whisper of gunpowder sliding into the throats of their muskets, followed by the snick of minie balls—a sound as deadly as a rattlesnake’s tail. The moment was fast approaching when he would find out exactly what it meant to fight for his beliefs. Even to the point of risking his life in the protection of those beliefs.
Sweat sprouted on his forehead as he caught the rhythmic cadence of marching feet. The rest of the battalion was about to reach his position between two cornfields on the edge of Boonville. He had been aboard the first steamer to arrive before daybreak and had marched with the other troops toward the town where the Missouri State Guard and Governor Jackson waited.
The time to fight was upon them. His heart raced. Could he do it? Could he find the courage to leave his protected position? Could he jump to his feet and run forward when the order was given? Would the bullet from an unseen rifle tear through him? And if it didn’t—if he somehow survived the assault—could he aim his own weapon at another human being and pull the trigger?
Jonah swallowed against the bitterness in his throat. Lord, please let this end peaceably. Let them surrender without opening fire. Protect me and the other men. You know I don’t want to kill. Fill them with fear and confusion so we might prevail without bloodshed. Amen.
“Now!”
The single syllable catapulted Jonah to his feet. He ran without thought, almost propelled forward by the movement of the troops. They ran full tilt, up and over the ridge where the enemy soldiers were gathered. Cannons behind them boomed, but Jonah ignored the sound, centering his attention on one target, a man with short brown hair whose mouth had fallen open. Part of his brain noted the broad forehead, the lock of damp hair, and a pair of brown eyes wide with fear. Jonah reached for the rifle flung over his shoulder, bringing it around to his chest in one smooth movement. Tugging slightly on the trigger, he felt the movement as it began to move under the pressure.
A bullet whined past his ear, and one of the soldiers on the ridge crumpled. Still hesitating, he lifted his head slightly and realized the men on the ridge were running away from the charging soldiers. Jonah thought the battalion might prevail without further casualties until one of their officers began shouting. The fleeing soldiers halted and reached for their own weapons, apparently only now comprehending they could defend themselves.
Realizing the battle was not yet over, he sighted once more. His eyelids fluttered as he squeezed the trigger. The carbine slammed against his shoulder, and the intense fear that had been his constant companion for the past hour disappeared as the unfortunate man he had targeted jerked.
A surprised expression tautened the man’s features. His rifle drooped as he looked down at his chest, at the dark stain spreading on his uniform. Then he looked up. His gaze slammed into Jonah. A scowl clouded his features. He raised his weapon a few inches before his features went slack and he crumbled to the ground.
Dead. The man was dead. He would never rise again, never laugh or speak or march again.
Horror filled Jonah as the realizations hammered him with the impact of the bullets flying between the two groups of men. He seemed frozen in the midst of the fierce fighting even though men continued to fire all around him. The sounds of battle faded, lost in the midst of the insistent ringing in his ears.
Nausea welled up, mixed with grief and remorse. He doubled over, and spasms shook him, turning his skin cold and clammy. When he thought the nausea had abated, he tried to push himself to his feet. But it was a futile effort as the horror overwhelmed him again, and his whole body convulsed once more.
It seemed to take forever before he regained control of his senses. Awareness of his surroundings crept back to him. The air was thick with smoke even though the deafening blasts of gunfire had been replaced by moans of pain.
Jonah pushed himself up and turned to survey the aftermath of the battle. Choking smoke hung low over the dirt road and clung to the few cornstalks remaining upright after the charge of the battalion. It blocked out the sun. Or had the sun set? Jonah wasn’t sure of anything.
A hand clapped his shoulder, and Jonah’s breath caught until he turned and recognized Cage, the dark-haired Arkansawyer who had befriended him when they met in Tennessee at the recruiting office.
“Are you all right?” His concerned gray gaze raked Jonah’s face.
Hot tears pushed against his eyes, but Jonah clenched his jaw and nodded. He would not cry like a boy in short pants. He was a grown man, a soldier. He had to be all right.
Cage continued staring at him for a few moments before he nodded and cleared his throat. “You dropped this.” He held out Jonah’s rifle.
“Thanks.” The single syllable scraped against his raw throat. When had he lost his weapon? A fine soldier he was turning out to be. Instead of reloading and killing more of their enemy, he’d run away. What if the battle had been won by their enemy? He’d likely be sprawled out on the ground, a bullet hole in his back. Jonah took his carbine from his friend’s hand.
“You and I have talked about the necessity of war before.” Cage nodded toward the road behind him. “We’ve prayed together about the Lord delivering us as He did the Israelites. ‘In the world ye shall have tribulation—’ ”
“ ‘But be of good cheer; I have overcome the world.’ ” Jonah finished the quote for him.
Together they walked toward the riverbank to await the short voyage back to Jefferson City. Jonah knew he should be thankful for having such a strong Christian example as a friend. Over the past weeks they had spent time poring over the Word, reading from Cage’s pocket Bible and discussing the significance of book, chapter, and verse.
But right now he wanted nothing more than to run from this world. To go back to New Orleans and the privileged life he’d enjoyed there. Why had he ever left home? And given the circumstances of his departure, would he ever be able to return?
“I don’t know how we got separated on the way back.” Cage’s famili
ar drawl brought Jonah’s head up.
Jonah could have told the other man he’d purposely searched out a corner on the crowded steamboat and turned his back on the soldiers. Shrugging, he looked toward the center of their encampment where, in spite of the warm evening air, the other soldiers sat laughing around a blazing campfire. Even if Cage was a close friend, Jonah didn’t want to admit the shame keeping him apart from the others.
Cage looked at him for a moment before handing Jonah a tin plate and settling himself on the nearby trunk of a fallen hickory tree.
“You shouldn’t look so glum. We won the battle this morning.” Cage dug into his plate of beans with gusto. “According to what the others are saying, the Missouri State Guard has been routed. We beat them with a minimum of bloodshed, at least on our side. General Lyon has succeeded in subduing the Rebels before they could infect the whole state.”
“I guess so.” The words had little meaning tonight. Not when the memories were so sharp in his mind. Jonah knew he wouldn’t be able to force a single bite of food past the lump in his throat. He picked up his hardtack and turned it over and over in his hand.
“Do you think you’re going to find any answers there?” The other man’s voice held a note of sarcasm.
Jonah shook his head and let the hard biscuit drop to his plate. “I’m not hungry.”
“I see.” Cage swallowed another mouthful.
Feeling his friend’s gaze even in the deepening gloom, Jonah shrugged. “I can’t get it out of my head. He was so young, so shocked …”
Cage’s spoon clattered as it struck the edge of his tin plate. “That will pass, kid. And it’ll be a little easier the next time.”
“I’m not sure that’s a good thing.” Now that the words were out, Jonah wished he had not voiced them. Would his friend think he was a coward? And wouldn’t that be a correct estimation? Tendrils of shame curdled his stomach as he thought of his reaction during the battle. The only reason he had not died was because the Lord had protected him for some unfathomable purpose. Jonah stared at the unappealing food on his lap and waited for Cage’s condemning words.
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