Gone for a Soldier

by Ward, Marsha

  Rulon Owen loves two things more than life—his country and Mary Hilbrands.

  When Virginia secedes from the Union, Rulon enlists, and finds himself fighting foes both in battle and in his own camp. He struggles to stay alive against all odds, with a knife-wielding tent-mate and a Union army that seems impossible to defeat. It will take every ounce of vigilance he has to survive and, with a little luck, he might make it home to his wife and the son he’s never seen.

  Forced to live with her parents for the duration, Mary faces a battle for independence. With a mother whispering that her husband won’t come home to her and a son who needs her to be both father and mother, Mary has to dig deep for strength to overcome her overwhelming loneliness and the unknown future ahead.

  Separated by war and circumstance, Rulon and Mary discover that not all enemies wear the Union blue.

  Gone for a Soldier

  The Owen Family Saga

  A novel

  Marsha Ward

  © Copyright 2014 Marsha Ward

  http://marshaward.com

  Cover Design by Linda Boulanger

  http://www.telltalebookcovers.weebly.com

  Smashwords Edition

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any means without prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief passages embodied in critical reviews and articles.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination, or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  Smashwords Edition License Notes

  This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your enjoyment only, then please return to Smashwords.com or your favorite retailer and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

  Table of Contents

  Dedication and Acknowledgements

  Notes and Disclaimers

  Important Characters

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 21

  About the Author

  Other Books by Marsha Ward

  Connect Online with Marsha Ward

  Dedication and Acknowledgements

  For the readers, without which writers have no reason for being.

  With grateful thanks to Becky Rohner, Julia Griffin, Connie Wolfe and Justin Knudsen for their suggestions; to C. Michelle Jefferies, Carol Crigger, Bill Markley, Patricia Nipper, and C. David Belt for their endorsements; to Taffy Lovell and Deb Eaton—who won naming rights for several characters—for the use of family and other names; and to all those who have encouraged me to keep writing.

  Notes and Disclaimers

  Since the Shenandoah River flows south to north to empty into the Potomac River, locals refer to points south on the river as up, and points north as down. Thus, one would go up to Harrisonburg from Mount Jackson, and down to Winchester. It’s an elevation thing.

  You will encounter words and phrases used differently here than in our century. Dear in one instance means costly. Make love to means pay court to, except where it doesn’t. You will know the difference. I use the term secesh early on as an adjective. It was slang for secessionist. Waynesborough, Spottsylvania, and Harper’s Ferry are spellings used in those times. Many people did not adhere to established spelling norms, although they considered themselves literate.

  For purposes of story, the details of some military encounters may not align exactly with the historical record. I have, however, made such attempts as were possible after almost two years of intensive research, to use existing accounts with as much accuracy as possible in regards to troop movements, skirmishes, battles, and the like in this novel.

  Where I have had characters enroll in military units, they are actual companies in actual regiments and brigades. Their commanders are genuine, in most cases.

  The notable exception is the cavalry company raised by the character Roderick Owen. It is entirely fictitious, although I have inserted the “Owen Dragoons” into actual encounters with enemy forces.

  Important Characters

  Families

  The Owen Family of Shenandoah County, Virginia

  Roderick Owen, farmer, horse breeder

  Julia Helm Owen, his wife, whom he calls Julie

  Rulon – age 20, sometimes called Rule

  Benjamin – age 19

  Peter – age 17

  Carl – age 16

  James – age 14

  Marie – age 13

  Clayton – age 11

  Albert – age 10

  Julianna – age 8, also called Jule or Anna

  The Hilbrands Family of Mount Jackson, Virginia

  Randolph Hilbrands, merchant

  Amanda Hilbrands, his wife

  Mary – age 14

  Ida – age 13

  Sylvia – age 11

  India – age 7

  Eliza – born late in 1861

  The Allen Family of Shenandoah County, Virginia

  Theodore Allen, wealthy businessman and landowner

  Louisa Allen, his wife

  Merlin, their son, who doesn’t play much of a role

  Ella Ruth, their daughter – age 16, who does

  Other Characters of Importance

  Ren Lovell, corporal in Rulon’s company

  Owen Leoyd, private soldier in Rulon’s company

  Garth Von, private soldier in Rulon’s company

  Vernon Earl, from whom Rulon learns a valuable skill

  Chapter 1

  Rulon — April 19, 1861

  Rulon Owen hadn’t intended that crisp Friday in April to be momentous.

  In fact, when he’d saddled his horse in order to do an errand in Mount Jackson for his ma, he hadn’t given much thought to anything but stealing a few moments to see Mary Hilbrands.

  She was only a little bit of a thing, a girl with dark hair and eyes that shone like... well, they kind of smoldered nowadays whenever she looked his way. Those smoky dark eyes gave him a shaky feeling that spun his head in circles and tied his gut into knots that...

  “Whew.” Rulon realized he’d let the horse slow to a walk while he’d been off in a reverie, somewhere not in Shenandoah County, as far as he could tell. He got the horse loping again, and wished it was already a year from now. Mayhap folks wouldn’t get their tails in a twist about them keeping company once Mary turned sixteen in May next year. He was almighty tired of Ben and Peter, and especially of Pa, accusing him of trying to rob the cradle because he’d taken such a shine to the girl. Yes. He’d concede that she was young, but when she spoke his name, his knees felt like they was composed of apple jelly.

  Ma sides with me, he thought. Pa was the true cradle-robber of the family when the two of them wed. Him twenty-four. Ma barely sixteen.

  He wasn’t likely to throw his opinion on that subject in his father’s face any day soon. Firm. Formidable. The entire county used those words to describe his father. Rulon shook his head. Receiving back-sass from his offspring did not sit well with Roderick Owen. But at age twenty, Rulon hadn’t taken a lickin’ for a long spell. Maybe Pa’s gone soft in his old age. That’s likely, now that he has nigh onto forty-five years pressing him down.

  Rulon rode on, wondering what to do to get his father off his back on the subject of Mary Hilbrands. It’s time I ask Ma to say a word to Pa, he determined at last. She won’t let him ride me once I begin to court Mary in earnest.

  He s
lowed the horse to a walk as he entered the town. Ahead, he spotted his brother Ben pulling sacks of grain out of a wagon parked in front of the mill where he’d taken employment over the winter. Glancing up, Ben saw Rulon, and stopped to raise his hand in greeting, a big grin splitting his face.

  Rulon drew rein and halted. “Brother Ben.” He clasped the outstretched hand. “What makes you so happy today?”

  “I am put in a smilin’ mood from seein’ you with that enraptured look on your face. Can’t wait to thrust your hand into the cookie jar, huh?”

  Rulon snorted at Ben’s fancy.

  Ben kept on talking his nonsense. “Oh yes, indeed. You’re an enchanted man, spellbound and smitten, ready to do that girl’s bidding.”

  “Speak for yourself, brother.”

  Ben laughed and said, “Give my best to Miss Mary,” then smacked Rulon’s horse on the rump, which caused it first to shy and then to run.

  After a block atop the runaway, Rulon regained control of the animal. “Heartless boy,” he grumbled, his face hot with humiliation. He settled the horse down to a sedate walk once again as he proceeded on his errand.

  As he came in view of Mr. Hilbrands’ store, he saw a crowd of excited men, some coming, and some going. Some were running. Running! What was amiss?

  He drew up and dismounted. As soon as he had his feet on the ground, a friend of Pa’s shoved the newspaper from Harrisonburg into his hands and bid him take it home. Slapping him on the back, the man ran down the street.

  Rulon watched the man’s hasty departure, then looked at the immense black headlines of the special edition. WAR. He read the subtitles interspersed with the text on the front page. Ft. Sumter surrenders. Lincoln calls for troops. Via. Conv. votes to secede. Ratification vote in May. Counties raising Companies. Defend the Homeland. His heart went cold at the urgency of the words. It soon rebounded, and began to beat at a rate he’d not experienced many times in his life. He looked up from the paper, his breath as quick as his heart rate, and made a decision. Feeling the cogs of his life shuddering to a halt and then changing direction, he strode into the store to put his plan into action.

  ~~~

  Rulon hadn’t stepped far into the store when he found himself surrounded by a torrent of men: men shouting at each other, men who flung their arms about with great abandon, men who thumped their fists into their hands. A woman whom he recognized as the baker’s wife stood hunched in a corner, as though she were protecting herself from the volume of noise in the building. Two of her daughters hid behind her, clutching brown-paper-wrapped loaves of bread to their chests. The girls looked exactly alike, so they had to be her twins.

  He spotted his Mary at the side counter, holding her hands to her ears. Excited at the prospect of getting her approval of his newly minted plan, he grinned at her and waved the newspaper, hoping she would look up and see him. She did so as he approached, and smiled at him, but kept her hands over her ears.

  Pushing, shoving, elbowing his way, he got to the spot, leaned over the counter, and asked, “Will you have me if I speak to your Pa today?”

  She shook her head. His heart constricted. He thought it had stopped. He drew back and searched her face.

  Her countenance softened. She must have realized what she’d done, because she shouted, “I cannot hear you.”

  Rulon’s heart began to work again. He held up a finger and went to the end of the counter. He moved behind it and pulled Mary toward the back room. When he figured she could hear him, he tried again. “Sugar, do you have any objection if I ask your Pa for your hand?” He couldn’t resist planting a quick kiss on her earlobe. Then he stood back and awaited her reply.

  Her eyes widened, and a small smile tugged one side of her mouth upward. The other resisted movement, and he wondered if fear had taken root in her heart.

  “Please say you don’t object, Mary. I’m fixin’ to ask him, today. Right away.”

  “Why, Rulon? We pledged to wait for all that weddin’ talk until I’m sixteen. I’ll only be fifteen the end of next month.”

  He showed her the newspaper, pointing to the headline. “We are in a precarious situation. It’s to be war, Mary. Abe Lincoln is drivin’ us to that, and I’m leavin’ soon.”

  Mary read the banner and on down the page. Her half-smile fled. Her eyes grew even larger. She put out one hand as though she would grasp onto his shirt, then pulled it away and tucked her arm behind her back. “You’re leaving?”

  “It’s my duty to defend my home, Mary. Give me a better reason. Give me the right to defend you.”

  He saw tears in her eyes, filming the gaze that was fixed on him as though she were already memorizing his features before he departed.

  She breathed deeply. Once. Twice. Then she spoke. “You may ask Papa, Rulon.”

  At her answer, his heart began beating as rapidly as a tattoo rattling on a drumhead. He leaned in and brushed a kiss onto her cheek. “I’ll go seek your pa’s favor now.”

  He backed away and into the store, relief mixed with anxiety. What was Mary’s father likely to think about marriage talk today? Was all this ruckus good for business?

  As Rulon rounded the counter, Chester Bates, a friend of his father, clapped him on the shoulder and spun him around.

  “I see you’ve heard the news. There will be a place for you in the Mount Jackson Rifles, I dare say.”

  “Hello, Mr. Bates.” Rulon nodded a greeting to the man. “Isn’t that an infantry outfit?”

  “It is, and the finest company in the Valley.”

  “Thank you for thinkin’ of me, sir, but I have my heart set on joining a horse troop.”

  Frank disappointment showed on the man’s face. He tipped his hat. “Good luck. I haven’t heard anyone speak to raise one here.”

  “I’m obliged for the good wish, Mr. Bates.” He spotted Mr. Hilbrands coming in the front door with a broom. “Excuse me, sir. I’m on a quest.”

  Mr. Bates quirked his sandy eyebrow as he followed Rulon’s gaze. A grin overtook his face. “Ah. Good luck on that adventure, young man. I reckon Randolph’s not thinkin’ about marrying off his daughter just now.” He stuck out his hand.

  Rulon shook it, and struggled to make his way across the room.

  ~~~

  Mr. Hilbrands had such a dark look in his eye that Rulon thought he was about to twirl the broom above his head and bring it down on some miscreant’s shoulder. However, the time was now, or it would never happen, so he pressed forward through the throng and got within speaking distance of the man.

  Rulon tried to speak loudly enough for Mr. Hilbrands to hear him above the hubbub in the room. “Sir, may I have a word?”

  “Not now,” the man answered.

  “I only need a moment,” Rulon said, feeling his confidence ebbing away.

  “I’ll speak to you when I’ve dealt with this turmoil,” the man said, his dark brows drawn together.

  “That suits me, sir. Do you need assistance?”

  “Not this minute.” Mr. Hilbrands raised the broom above his head, in a startling imitation of Rulon’s imaginings, and thundered at his neighbors, “This is a place of business. I have work to do, customers to tend to. If you can’t moderate your voices, take your discussions to the street.”

  Rulon had never heard such a speech from his prospective father-in-law. He wondered about the timing of his petition. How would it be received when the man was so worked up by the interruption of his commercial enterprise?

  However, when the subdued men about the room had lowered their conversations to a reasonable level, Mr. Hilbrands was evidently satisfied by his efforts, and turned to Rulon, bearing a smile on his face.

  “What can I do for you, young man?”

  Rulon gulped, trying to think what to say right off. Every thought, every carefully planned sentence had fled from his brain.

  Mr. Hilbrands arched an eyebrow, and Rulon hastened to find words to start his own speech.

  “Nice... nice day, sir.”

/>   The eyebrow inched higher.

  “You must be aware that your daughter Mary and me have been keepin’ company for some time,” he began, feeling like a veritable dolt. Of course the man knew that. He’d sat in the parlor his fair share of time to accompany them.

  Mr. Hilbrands nodded. “Yes, indeed. Go on.”

  Rulon swallowed. “Sir, Miss Mary has agreed that we should, um, wed before I go to serve my country in this comin’ squabble.”

  Both eyebrows rose toward the tin ceiling. The black, forbidding look had returned to Mr. Hilbrands’ features.

  “We had planned to wait another year to ask for your permission to marry, but sir, the state of affairs demands, um, requires a change in our circumstances.” Rulon felt like his tongue was dragging through molasses with each word, forcing him to speak so slowly that he wasn’t sure the man’s patience would hold out much longer.

  “You want to marry my daughter? Now? Before you traipse off to make war with the Yankees?”

  Rulon squirmed. The man made his proposal sound somehow improper and self-serving.

  “I reckon that’s about the size of it, sir,” he admitted, casting his gaze down to the tips of the man’s shoes.

  “This is a surprise, and not a welcome one, young man. My daughter is still of tender years. I think it a mite unseemly of you to talk marriage at this time. Hmm.”