by Caryl McAdoo
North & South: Civil War Brides Book #8
Praying my story gives God glory!
This book is a work of fiction.
2020 by Caryl McAdoo > All rights reserved
First Edition May 3, 2020
Printed and bound in the United States of America
ISBN-13 : 979-861-7403-239
AISN : (ebook)
Coming soon in Audio!
TABLE of CONTENTS
All the NORTH & SOUTH Titles
Dedication
Acknowledgements
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Epilogue
Sneak Peak / A Nurse for Jacob
Coming Soon Titles / All Caryl’s Titles
Reach Out to the Author / Author Reaching out to You
Texas Romance Family Saga novels
A Few Favorite Links You’ll Enjoy!
READ ALL THE BOOKS IN TH E
NORTH & SOUTH SERIES:
THE YEAR 1861
The Civil War Bride - Christine Sterling
Minnesota Bride - Lisa M. Prysock
New York Bride - Christine Sterling
Connecticut Bride - Marie Higgins
Rhode Island Bride - Lynn Donovan
Missouri Bride - Cyndi Raye
Massachusetts Bride - Marisa Masterson
Kentucky Bride - Caryl McAdoo
THE YEAR 1862
Virginia Bride - P. Creeden
California Bride - Parker J. Cole
Ohio Bride - Lynn Donovan
Louisiana Bride - Caroline Clemmons
South Carolina Bride - Heather Blanton
New Hampshire Bride - Marie Higgins
Oregon Bride - Marlene Bierworth
Texas Bride - Patricia PACJAC Carroll
Tennessee Bride - Cyndi Raye
THE YEAR 1863
Maryland Bride - Christine Sterling
Arkansas Bride Laura Ashwood
New Jersey Bride - Marie Higgins
West Virginia Bride - Christine Sterling
Maine Bride - Marisa Masterson
Pennsylvania Bride - Christine Sterling
Indiana Bride - Cat Cahill
Delaware Bride - Cyndi Raye
Wisconsin Bride - Marianne Spitzer
THE YEAR 1864
Georgia Bride - Danielle Thorne
Nevada Bride - Caryl McAdoo
Mississippi Bride - Cat Cahill
Alabama Bride - Patricia PACJAC Carroll
Kansas Bride - Lynn Donovan
Vermont Bride - Marlene Bierworth
Michigan Bride - P. Creeden
THE YEAR 1865
Florida Bride - Cyndi Raye
Illinois Bride - Cat Cahill
North Carolina Bride - Heather Blanton
Iowa Bride - Christine Sterling
Chapter 1
Bowling Green, Kentucky
December Eleventh, 1861
“I’m going, no matter what.” Gigi tried to convince herself for the twelfth time, practicing. She stepped from the warehouse dock down into the wagon and flipped the sack of meal off her shoulder onto the stack then turned.
Gramps carried the last one, if her count was right. She jumped down to the ground, walked to the left side of the wagon, and grabbed hold of the tarp.
“Almanac calls for rain today.”
Without a word, he nodded, closed and locked the door, then eased toward the steps, coming over and helping to get the load covered. She tied it off then hurried to the front of the wagon and climbed aboard.
He came around, stopped, and stared at her.
“What are you doing?”
“I’m going with you.”
“No, Gardenie Gladiola, you are not. I can make a delivery. Don’t need a silly girl tagging along. You get on to the store and help your mother and sister.”
“Gigi, Gramps! I don’t like those crazy flower names, and you know it.” Forcing her lips straight, she did her best not to smile.
“Now listen to me, please, sir. Today is your birthday, and I want to go with you. Don’t want you being alone or dropping stone-cold dead either, on account of offloading all this cornmeal by yourself.”
“Not going to happen.”
“Please. Just let me go and help you.”
The frosty-headed gentleman stared at her, as if hunting some crazy good reason not to let her. In the end, he just snorted.
“What about Margaret? She’ll be worried sick.”
“No, sir! I already told Mama before we left that I would be going with you. Or maybe you’d rather have Marigold Verbena as your helper.”
“Ha! Why would I want a silly baby girl?” He climbed aboard. “You’re bad enough.”
Bumping her shoulder against his, she scooted closer to the old man she adored. “I love you, Gramps.”
The reins flipped over the mules’ backs. He glanced at her, winked, and smiled.
“I know you do, and I love you, too, Gardenie, but don’t be spreading that around—or ever let it slip out that you’re my favorite. You know how badly I’d hate to have to call you a liar to your face. Don’t you?”
“If you insist on calling me that, won’t you please at least pronounce it properly? Deen-neee-uh. Gardenia.” She leaned her head on his shoulder, listening to the trace chains jangle.
She loved the song they sang and riding in the wagon with any of her menfolk. Her insides hurt so bad missing Papa and Christopher so much; it already seemed like forever.
If only the stupid war had never started! The Confederates had no right taking over like they had.
The Commonwealth of Kentucky had declared neutrality to stay out of it, but that didn’t make General Buckner no never mind. It all came too quickly and just turned her life upside down. She hated it! It wasn’t fair!
After only a half of a mile or so, her grandfather turned toward her. “When we get there, don’t be telling anyone your father and brother went and joined up with the Union.”
“I’m not stupid, Gramps. But tell me true, don’t you think it odd that they did that? After all, we own Daisy and all.”
“She’s more family than slave. You know your father offered to take her up North when they left.”
“I know.” She raised an indignant chin. “Remember? I was there. You’re getting senile. Should I turn this wagon around right here and now? Tell me. I’ll cart you right on down to the old folk’s home. You’re bound to already know all the folks there.”
“Can’t.”
“And may I ask what could possibly stop me?”
“Such a silly girl.” He locked her head in his elbow vice, play-yanking on it. “I own the wagon and mules. Plus, them sick rebs are taking up every empty bed there anyways.”
“Why would they be there?”
“No more room in the hospital. And if that weren’t enough, I’d make your mama get a switch after you if you were to even try.”
“Pshaw, you old coot.” She laughed and wiggled free. “Haven’t you heard? I’m eighteen years old. Mama hasn’t switched me in years.”
“Doesn’t matter. She promised me when you were four—that time you about bit my finger off—she’d switch you anytime I said. I never have cashed that marker, young lady, and it’s still plenty good.”
“Dear old Grandfather, don’t you need a little nap?” Changing the subject seemed prudent, knowing better than to argue. “If you do, I am at your service, sir, to drive this team of mules. You know I can do it, especially these two good old boys.”
&nb
sp; “Might take you up on that later. Did Margaret send dinner? I saw you stowing a basket under the seat.”
“Yes, sir, she sure did. Three biscuits—two for you and one for me—and a nice hunk of smoked ham. There’s a jar of peaches, too, plus some grape jam for Aunt Peggy Sue. Mama said we could have a taste, but not to eat it all.”
“That woman has been trying to boss me around ever since she married William.” He shook his head. “If not for you and Marigold, I’d call that union a tragedy.”
“Oh, Gramps! Don’t say such a thing! They love each other! And Mama . . . Well, she just thinks she knows best about every little thing. We know her heart’s desire is to tell everyone exactly how the cow ate the cabbage and how to live their lives proper.” She giggled.
“That’s all; she isn’t all bad. I promise, she means nothing nefarious by the way she acts or the things she says.”
“Don’t go putting on airs just because you’ve read all those books.”
“What are you talking about now?”
“Nefarious. That is one of those ten-dollar words. Not for use by plain folks like us.” He looked off and muttered. “Nefarious.”
“What? And if I may ask you, sir? Why not? It’s a perfectly good word! One, I’ve heard you use it your own self—truth be known.”
He snorted, fished out his watch from its pocket, then handed it and the reins to her, so she never got to her second point.
“Here. Drive a spell. Believe I’ll shut my eyes a bit. Find us a good place to stop at noon, noon-thirty, then you can wake me.” He leaned back onto the meal sacks, twisting a bit sideways, and pulled his hat over his face.
“Yes, sir.” Just like him when he couldn’t think of some snappy retort or good argument. She learned from the best how to expertly change the subject. But she loved him so much.
How could she not?
The sweet man was just like his son—or was it vice versa? Either way, everyone called Gigi a Papa’s girl, and with him away to that stupid war—she hated it with her whole being—Gramps helped fill that hole in her heart. No surprise she loved him so.
A nice little meadow presented itself a great place to stop and eat dinner at ten minutes after nigh noon.
“Hey, Gramps.” She reined the mules off the road, turned the wagon to face the road in case of rain, and eased them to a stop before she touched his arm. “Gramps, time to wake up.”
Raising his head, he pushed his hat back and looked at her. “Let me sleep some more, Daughter. I’m not feeling myself this morning.”
“What about dinner?”
“Not hungry.”
“Yes, sir. Anything I can get you?”
“You can let me have my watch back. Did you wind it?”
“No, sir.” She turned its stem a few times then handed the timepiece over. “Here you go. So, you don’t want anything to eat?”
“No, ma’am. Thought I was going to lose my breakfast a while back. Don’t know if I could eat even if I wanted.”
“Don’t worry about a thing, Gramps.” She patted his knee. “I’ll feed and water the mules and let them graze a bit. How long do you want me to stay before we get back to it?”
“Up to you, baby girl. Peggy Sue’s . . .” He looked at his watch. “Her place is still another four hours away. Figured we’d stay the night with her and Charles, then go on to Hindman’s camp from there come morning.”
Gigi hopped down and got after the necessary chores, like her Papa had told her so long ago. She tended to the animals first. Dipped them water, grained them, then put their hobbles on so they could graze some.
The whole time she worked, the more concerned she became. He hardly ever called her daughter, or baby girl either.
No tease in those names.
And him not remembering Uncle Charles had gone with Papa and the rest who’d headed north to join the Union Army worried her the most.
Much as she didn’t want to eat, she figured she ought to nibble something.
Then the more she nibbled, the hungrier she got, and ended up eating all her biscuit and half the ham. She stowed the rest then got comfortable, leaning back on a tree trunk and read a chapter from her book.
It didn’t ease the anxiousness though.
Marking her place with a beautiful reddish leaf, she got the mules hitched back up and the wagon back on the road.
The wind, what little had been blowing, had come out of the south, but it stiffened some, coming then from the northwest. Like the old timers said—never trust a warm, sunny day in Kentucky to stay that way for long.
What had been nice and warm turned off quite chilly.
Pulling the coats from under the seat, she wiggled into hers without the mules even noticing she wasn’t holding the reins then draped Gramps’ over his chest. He pulled it up under his chin but didn’t comment then slept the whole way to Aunt Peggy Sue’s.
Once there, without a word, he went straightaway to bed.
After getting the mules seen to, Gigi had herself a nice visit with her mother’s younger sister. Uncle Charles had left, too, and Aunt Peggy Sue missed him something awful.
The discussion centered around the men folks’ lack of contact. A body would think one of them could have written by then. They’d been gone a full six weeks, yet not a word from any of them.
The morning came as it always did, but instead of finding Gramps in the kitchen, working on his fourth or fifth cup of coffee, Auntie stood alone there, kneading biscuit dough.
The older lady looked up.
“Gramps says he’s better, but I don’t know. He looks terrible.”
“It definitely isn’t like him to stay in bed so late.”
“I know. I just can’t help but worry.”
“Well, don’t let him hear you say that. You know what he says. “Worry hinders every promise of God.”
Her aunt laughed. “You’re right about that. Anyway, I suppose you best hitch the mules and get ready to go. Think you can make it the rest of the way by yourself?”
“Oh, certainly, I can.”
“I’ll pack you some biscuits to eat on the way, but I don’t think he should go, and I ought to stay to look after him. If you can get the wagon there, surely the soldiers can help offload the meal.”
“Yes, ma’am, and you definitely need to be here with him.”
“I hope the rest will do the trick.”
“I’ll get to it then. Gramps said the camp wasn’t that much farther. I should probably be back by one or so. Will it be all right if we spend another night if we need to?”
“Of course. I’ll make a pot of soup and try to get some down him. That might help him come around.”
“I won’t be long.”
The barn’s side door opened then closed with a bang. It didn’t help though. The drafty old building was neither warm nor cozy. Had it ever been that cold in South Texas?
A captain that Ephraim hadn’t met strode toward him.
“You Corporal Kerns?”
“Yes, sir.” He took another sip of his coffee. “What can I do you for?”
The man held out a sheet of paper with what looked like map lines scribbled on it.
“Your captain said for you to ride out on the road toward Bowling Green and escort Mister Garland’s wagons back here. Tell him we need that meal he’s hauling and not to be lollygagging.”
“Captain Bates picked me for this dangerous mission?”
“Didn’t catch his name. I spoke to Colonel Terry who relayed my request to your captain.”
Standing, Ephraim tossed his dregs then took the offered paper. “Who you with, sir?”
“I’m on General Hindman’s staff, son. Captain Yarborough. Now shake a leg. Don’t you know an Army marches on its belly?”
With only a glance at the map, he saw right off where he needed to go. “Yes, sir. I’ve heard as much. You said wagons. How many am I looking for?”
“We ordered two tons of meal from Garland. At least two, I’d guess
. Maybe three.”
“Yes, sir.” He saluted but refrained from sassing the man. He’d save that for Bates the next time he caught his old comrade-in-arms alone.
It took Ephraim less than five minutes to get his saddlebags loaded with hard tack and jerky for him and two days’ worth of grain for Big Boy then headed his mount toward Bowling Green.
He touched his gelding’s flanks, putting him into an easy lope, and stayed on the road’s shady side.
Two hours out, the sound of trace chains jangling put him into the brush. Eight hoofs plodding on the hard pack road told him only one wagon rolled toward him.
Had the others broken down or been waylaid? He pulled his carbine out, tied off Big Boy’s reins, then eased toward the road, keeping himself hid best he could.
To his surprise, a woman drove the tarped wagon pulled by two mules. A strange sight that close to where a fight was liable to break out any minute. He stepped out but didn’t raise his weapon.
“Hey, there. Where you headed, ma’am?”
Reining the mules to a stop, she stood on her buckboard, a scatter gun in her hand. Slight in frame and height, if indeed a woman, only barely one. More of a lovely young lady, he’d say.
And such a sight for eyes that hadn’t seen a comely gal in a month of Sundays. He surely enjoyed the vision.
“I’m delivering supplies to General Hindman’s camp. Who are you?”
“Corporal Kerns, Miss.” Her voice teased his ears like honey to a bear. He pulled off his hat and grinned, glad for winning the task to meet her before the rest.
“And you’re exactly who I’m hunting. My captain sent me out to escort you and the other wagons back. Something happen to them?”
“No, Gramps said twenty-five sacks, so I helped him load twenty-five. This wagon is specially made for extra weight. It can carry a ton and a half, no problem.”
“He sent you all by yourself? All the way from Bowling Green?”
“No. If you need to know, he took sick along the way. So I left him at my aunt’s under her care and came on this morning. It’s only an hour or so back. Figured the meal was needed and that I best come on with it.”
“You were right. Get your mules going, and I’ll grab my horse and catch up. Put ’em on a three-mile-an-hour pace. I’m under orders not to be lollygagging.”
