The Bregdan Chronicles

The sweeping historical saga that follows American history from 1859 thru ???
Spring Will Come

Preview



A Note From the Author

       There are times in the writing of history when we must use words we personally abhor.  The use of the word “nigger” in Storm Clouds Rolling In is one of those times.  Though I hate the word, its use is necessary to reveal and to challenge the prejudices of the time in order to bring change and healing.  Stay with me until the end – I think you will agree. 
       My great hope is that Storm Clouds Rolling In will both entertain and challenge you.  I hope you will learn as much as I did during the months of research it took to write this book.  Though I now live in the Pacific Northwest, I grew up in the South and lived for 11 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 choice 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 & 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 already being asked how many books will be in this series.  I guess that depends on how long I live!  My intention is to release 2 books a year, each covering 1 year of history – 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 have to leave the characters.  You shouldn’t have to be sad for a long time!
       4 books are already written and will all be released in Spring 2010.  If you like what you read, you’ll want to make sure you’re on our mailing list at www.BregdanChronicles.com.  I’ll let you know each time a new one comes out!

Sincerely,
Ginny Dye






CHAPTER  ONE

May  1862

The stillness was making Carrie nervous. She had stepped outside to get some fresh air but the heavy sultriness surrounding her, clutching at her, offered little relief.   The yellowish tint of the sky, combined with the buildup of cumulus clouds on the horizon, spoke of an approaching storm, but there was more...  Carrie’s heart told her the ominous day was prophetic of what soon was to be released upon her beloved city.  Richmond waited with bated breath for the inevitable.  The tens of thousands of Union soldiers camped at her gates would soon no longer be content to just prepare for battle.   When would the fury of the Federal forces be unleashed against the Capitol of the Confederacy? 
Trying to control the nervousness clutching her throat, Carrie took several deep breaths as she looked down on the rapids swirling as the James River cascaded its way over rocks and boulders on its way to the Atlantic.  It never ceased to amaze her that she was gazing on the same river that flowed so placidly by her family’s plantation further south. 
She never got tired of the view from Chimborazo Hill.   The elevated plateau of nearly forty acres commanded a grand view of the city.    She loved to stand outside and turn slowly as the different panoramas spread before her eyes.  Now as she stared down at the river, she looked further south and watched the many ships in harbor, with the bridges spanning the river in between.   She turned east and gazed out at the long stretch of country - cultivated fields, forests and hills that spread as far as the eye could see.  Once again the fields of Cromwell Plantation flooded her memory.  Impatiently she pushed aside the pictures of her family’s home she had been forced to flee.  Now was not the time. 
Slowly she turned west and took in the splendor of the city.  She never tired of the church spires needling their way toward heaven, the capitol building reflecting the rays of the sun, the factories and the wonderful homes that gave Richmond its charm.  From here you could pretend the horrible overcrowding in the wartime city had not clouded the charm with litter, filth and crime.  As she completed her revolution she stared long and hard at Hollywood Cemetery.  Richmonders called it the “city of our dead.”   Carrie knew many fresh graves dotted the hillsides.  How many more would lie with those gone before? 
Carrie shook her head impatiently and pushed at the strands of black wavy hair that insisted on escaping the bun she captured them with each morning.  Daydreaming and imagining what was coming would do her patients no good.  She took another deep breath, then turned and reentered the hospital.
“See any Yankee gunboats out on the river, Miss Cromwell?”
Carrie smiled at the young soldier lying closest to the door.  “Don’t be ridiculous,” she scoffed.  “You know after the beating the Union received at Drewry’s Bluff a couple of weeks ago, they aren’t going to try that avenue again!”
“We whupped ‘em good didn’t we!” another soldier called out. 
“We got ‘em that time,” a dark haired lad retorted, “but they ain’t gonna give up easy.  There’s going to be the devil to pay around here soon!” His stark comment caused the ward to fall silent as all of them contemplated more of what had landed them there in the first place. 
Carrie looked around at the saddened faces and forced a cheerful note into her voice.  “There will be no more of this kind of talk, gentlemen.  Your only job right now is to get well.  I think that should consume quite enough of your energies.  Let the fighting be done by those who have to fight.  Your turn will probably come soon enough, anyway.”  Carrie paused, dismayed by her own words – praying her face didn’t reveal her true feelings.  Many of the soldiers would never be able to fight again.  More, however, would be called back to join their units - pushed back into the boiling cauldron they had just barely escaped.  She pushed on, forcing an even more cheery emphasis.  “Who is ready to write home?” 
“Right here, Miss Cromwell!”  one young boy, barely sixteen, called out.  “My mamma is worried sick about me.  I’ve got to let her know I’m getting along just fine.”
Carrie’s heart went out in a rush of sympathy.  She smiled at the boy and walked over to his bed.  Pulling out paper and pencil, she settled down in a chair beside him.  “All right, Samuel.  What would you like me to say?”  She wrote as the boy talked, but privately wished she could just whisk him away to his mother’s love and care.  That’s what he needed more than anything.  
Carrie had lost track of what battlefield Samuel had come from.  But she could never lose track of the constant reminders of what he had been through.  The bandaged stump of his amputated right arm and the sling encasing his left one spoke louder than any words of the horror he had been through.   Yet she had never once heard him complain.   The words he was sending home to his mamma were ones of strength and confidence.  How many mothers, miles from their loved ones, were helpless to save them from the pain and suffering?
It was the same with the rest of the men.  There were hardly any murmurs or complaints.  They seemed to have accepted this war as their lot in life, and if they were left less than whole, well, they weren’t alone.  Once this war was over there would be lots of one-legged, one-armed men running around.  They were fighting for a cause, and everyone knew great causes demanded great sacrifice.  That was just the way it was.   When the South had soundly whipped the North and sent them running back with their tail between their legs - and it was bound to be soon - then all of it would be worth it.    They would all be heroes and they would rebuild their new country the way they wanted it to be.
Carrie was not going to be the one to challenge or destroy their hope.  She had hated this war from the very beginning – when it was still a murmur in the streets.  Her feelings had only intensified as she witnessed the suffering and senselessness surrounding her.  The only thing that helped her make any sense of it was her work at Chimborazo Hospital. 
She had only been at the hospital for a week, but already she loved her work.  Every morning she would walk from her father’s house on Church Hill to the sprawling complex of buildings and tents.   Chimborazo had begun receiving patients earlier that year and was constantly being expanded for the anticipated increase in casualties.  Dr. McCaw, the founder of the hospital, did not share the naive beliefs of many that the war would be over soon.  He was preparing for the long haul.  He was also preparing for the worst. 
“Hey, Miss Cromwell!”
Carrie looked up from the letter she was just finishing.  “Yes, Walker?” 
A rough-looking boy from the mountains of Tennessee smiled brightly at her.  “Tell us the story of how you got to Richmond.”
Carrie groaned as the chorus of agreement rose from the men around her. 
One of the hospital wards, a kindly man in his mid-forties, laughed as he entered the room.  “Looks like it’s going to be a while before they get tired of that story!  Kind of nice to have a hero around here,” he said.  He dropped a pile of fresh bandages on the table next to the door, winked at her, chuckled at her grimace, and left. 
“Come on, Miss Cromwell.  Tell it to us!”  Walker urged again.
Carrie had told the story so many times that even in her dreams she narrated the events.  Yet, the soldiers seemed to love it, and she could see the hope it sparked in their eyes.  If a lady could outwit the Union army, then there was not so much to be afraid of after all.   A quick look satisfied her there were no immediate needs in the ward.   She laid aside her writing supplies and forced her thoughts back.  “Just a few weeks ago I was busy growing crops on my father’s plantation.”
“Cromwell Plantation,” Walker interrupted.
Carrie nodded, then continued,  “Anyway, we were trying to grow crops to feed the hungry people in Richmond.  Instead of planting tobacco, we were planting food crops.  We had corn, beans, peppers, okra - oh, all kinds of things.”  Carrie tried not to envision the wasted effort.   “I didn’t realize how close the Union army was until I heard the sounds of the battle in Williamsburg.”
“That’s the one where I lost my arm!”  Samuel said proudly.
Carrie heard the tinge of pain in his voice and smiled at him warmly.  “The day after the battle, my father’s slaves had finally convinced me to leave the plantation and come to Richmond, but before I could leave, the Union soldiers came searching for food.  They broke into my house.”
“If they was looking for food, why’d they break into your house?” a new patient asked.   “I heard they were clearing fields and smokehouses.  I thought most everyone had already high tailed it for Richmond, anyway.”
Carrie frowned, anger sharpening her usually pleasant voice.  “There was a man who betrayed me.  He told them I was still on the plantation.”  Her eyes took on a remote look as the memory of that day flashed before her.  She clamped her jaw shut, a muscle twitching in her cheek. Her father’s old overseer, Ike Adams, had sent the soldiers to rape her.
“How’d you get away?” one of the men near her asked anxiously. 
Carrie knew Howard, a Georgia farm boy, had just come in that morning.  This was his first time hearing the story.  “I managed to hide from them until they quit searching the house.  Then I snuck out to the barn and waited for it to get dark.”  Once again, she wasn’t telling the whole story, but the secret of the tunnel under Cromwell Plantation was going to stay just that - a secret.
“How in the world did you hide from them?” Howard asked.  “I’ve heard about how Yankees search a house!”
“Let’s just say I have my ways...”  Walker sang out in a high falsetto.
Carrie laughed with the rest of the men at Walker’s imitation of her standard response.  Then she continued.  “Anyway, I waited till about midnight and then managed to jump on my horse and race past the guards outside the barn.”
“And get this,” Walker broke in again.  “She was riding that horse bareback.  A great big Thoroughbred! This pretty, little, slender thing rode that horse just like a man!”  Then he sobered.  “I’m sorry, Miss Cromwell.  I need to let you be telling your own story.” 
Carrie told the rest quickly.  People had tried to turn her into a hero for jumping Granite over a tall fence, even after being shot in the shoulder in her attempt to escape.  She still had occasional dreams about her ride through the dark woods alone before she had finally connected with Warren Hobbs, the soldier Robert had sent to help her.   She had made it.  That was what counted.
Her story worked its usual magic on the patients listening to her.   If turning her into a hero helped their own morale she would just keep on telling it.   It also helped to take her focus off Robert.  Daily she battled the fear of what this war could do to the man she loved. 
“Them Yankees ain’t no big deal!”
“Yeah, even a woman can outwit them!”
“Yeah, it may have been a Yankee that put me in this hospital, but I bet there’s three or four I put in one of theirs!” another boasted. 
Carrie let them talk as she moved from bed to bed checking on the condition of the patients.  Not that she could do anything if she found a need  - other than call a doctor, or nurse, or one of the ward aides.  It had been made clear to her from the beginning that her sole job was to dispense comfort to the soldiers by reading to them, listening to them, or writing letters for them.  Anything medical was to be done by one of the male employees.   Her eyes flashed with anger as she recalled the words of a doctor when she had tried to point out to him that one of the soldiers was developing an infection in a wound. 
“My dear Miss Cromwell,” he had drawled in a patronizing tone.  “I hardly think I need your assistance in this manner.  Such a thing is not really suitable for a lady.  I would think you would be rather embarrassed to have an interest in such things as medicine.  Surely you know that interest such as this would be nothing but injurious to the delicacy and refinement of a lady.”  He had looked at her in a way that indicated there were grave reasons to have doubts about her being a lady.  Then he had continued... “I realize you are probably just trying to be helpful in this most trying time but it will not help our cause to have our ladies natures become deteriorated, or to have their sensibilities blunted.  You just give our soldiers a little comfort and care.  Leave the medical care in our hands.” 
He had patted her hand and walked from the ward, leaving her to fume and pound pillows into shapeless submission on the  beds she was straightening.  All her anger had done was cause her shoulder to ache.  Since that time her anger had steeled into determination.  She had wanted to be a doctor since she was little girl, but she had a long, uphill battle ahead of her.  There had already been plenty of warnings that she would be greeted with prejudice and ignorance at every turn.  She would just have to get used to it.  Someday it would be different. 
“Your green eyes are flashing up a storm, Miss Cromwell.  Did one of the soldiers in here do something to make you angry?”  Samuel asked.  “You just give me the word.  I’ll take care of it!”
Samuel’s concerned voice broke into Carrie’s thoughts.  Instantly she replaced what must surely be a frown with a smile.  If she was going to bring cheer into this ward, she would have to do a better job of hiding her feelings.  “Of course not, Samuel!” she said brightly.  “You boys are the light of my life.”  She settled down in the chair beside him.  “Didn’t you tell me you have a grandmother who is very special to you?  Don’t you think she would like a letter from you, too?  One just for her?”
“Granny?  Why, sure.  I bet she’d think that was really something - getting a letter from a real war hero!” 
He had started talking his letter even before Carrie picked up her paper and pen.  Writing swiftly, she filled several pages.   She had just signed his signature to it when she heard her name called.    Carrie looked up, smiling broadly.   “Hello, Janie.”
“Are you planning on staying here all day?  You promised your father you would have dinner with him tonight.”
Carrie glanced quickly at her watch.  “I completely lost track of time!”  In just moments she had gathered her things, called a good-bye to her patients and followed her friend out the door.  A quick look at the sky confirmed her earlier suspicions.  The sky, now a deeper yellow, was outlined with boiling black clouds.  The heavy air was still stagnant, but if the clouds were any indication a strong wind would be assaulting the city soon. 
“I think we have time to get home, but it looks like it’s going to be a bad one.”  Janie spoke quickly as she strode down the hill.
Carrie matched her stride.  She missed the plantation and all her father’s slaves who had become dear friends, but she was glad to be in Richmond with Janie.  They had exchanged letters on a daily basis since that fateful day when Carrie had assisted in saving Janie from a drunken soldier.  Next to Rose, her best friend since childhood, Janie was her closest friend.  “How did your day go?”
Janie shrugged.  “It was fine.”  She hesitated.  “If watching mere boys learn how to live their life without arms and legs can ever be fine.”  Her voice sharpened.  “We lost three today in our ward.  Their bodies just couldn’t fight anymore...”  Her voice trailed off and her eyes filled with tears.  “I don’t know if I’ll ever get used to it.”
“I pray to God you don’t!”  Carrie exclaimed, her eyes welling with moisture.  “I hope we never become immune to the death and suffering around us.  The only way for that to happen is for part of us to die.  I’d rather deal with the pain than become hardened.”
Janie nodded, then changed the subject, obviously wanting to tread on lighter ground.  “Matron Pember got a letter from her sister today.” 
Carrie looked up at the sound of amusement in her voice.  “The one in New Orleans?”
“Yes.  It seems the ladies of New Orleans are not taking kindly to Union occupation.”
“What do you mean?”
Janie made no effort to hide the laughter in her voice.  “Matron Pember’s sister evidently has the same strong personality she does.  Her letter said she was arrested on the charge of laughing as the remains of a Federal officer were borne past her residence.   She claims she was having a party at the time and the laughter was the result of something a child had done.  General Butler...”
“Who is certainly not a popular figure around there!”
“Exactly.  General Butler didn’t believe her and demanded she apologize.”
“Which of course she didn’t.”
“Of course not.  When she refused to apologize, General Butler called her a ‘vulgar woman of the town’ and banished her to Ship Island.”
“That tiny barren island of sand in the Gulf of Mexico?”  Carrie exclaimed.
Janie nodded.  “She wrote Matron Pember that her response to the General’s banishment was to tell him, ‘It has one advantage over the city, sir; you will not be there!”
Carrie laughed along with her friend.  “You’re right.  She’s definitely the Matron’s sister.”  Then she sobered.  “I feel so badly for her, though.  What a terrible thing to be stuck out on that island.”  Her sympathy was compounded by the genuine affection she had developed for the no-nonsense, outspoken Matron Pember.  The Matron had overheard the doctor’s comments that had so infuriated Carrie.  She had waited for her in the hallway and told her not to be bothered by the doctor,  that soon the South would be begging for women with medical ability.  Her exact words still rang in Carrie’s mind.
“The South is sending off all its men.  The time will come soon enough when it will be the women who will save the day.  Things will never be the same after that!”
Janie nodded, but was still smiling.  “Matron Pember says the Union will probably send her back.  She is sure her sister will give them no rest.”
Carrie laughed.  “From what I can tell there are a lot of women in New Orleans like her.”
“The Matron’s letter told more about that.   The women there are spitting on the soldiers, regaling them with derogatory remarks and gestures.  Why, one lady even dumped the contents of her chamber pot on General Butler’s head as he was passing under her balcony.”  Janie’s laugh rang out.
Carrie spun and regarded her with flashing eyes.  “Janie Winthrop!  You can’t possibly think that is respectable behavior.  Those soldiers are just doing their job!”
Janie shrugged.  “Maybe.  But I have a feeling I will feel the same way if those Union soldiers out there take over Richmond.  How are you going to like having to bow to their every whim if they take the city?”   She turned to glare at Carrie.
Carrie thought about it for a minute.   “Pouring a chamber pot on his head.  Ugh!”  The sound of her disgusted voice as she pictured it sent Janie off into peals of laughter again.  Soon both of them were doubled over with mirth.  In the midst of war it was difficult to find a reason to laugh.  You took what you could get.
An ominous rumble of thunder and a distant flash of lightning got them moving back down the hill.  There was quiet between them for several minutes.
“Are you scared, Carrie?”  There was no amusement in Janie’s voice now.  Her normally bright, blue eyes were dark with worry, her attractive face pinched with fear.  “Oh, I suppose I’m being silly,” she suddenly exclaimed without waiting for Carrie’s answer.  “I guess this storm is just getting to me. 
Carrie looked at her quickly.  The glib response on her tongue died at the expression on Janie’s face.  “Yes,” she said slowly, “I suppose I am scared.”  They had not talked much about the thousands of Union soldiers outside the gates of Richmond.  The Union cry of “On to Richmond”  had become a frightening reality.  Carrie hated the war and wanted it to end, but the idea of being in a captured city was not appealing.   While the people in the outlying areas of Richmond had fled to the city for safety, many residents had fled to escape possible Union occupation. 
The whole city had been in a panic when she had reached the safety of Richmond after fleeing the plantation, but the panic had now settled into a calm defiance.  She had heard some people describe it as apathy but as far as she could tell there was no apathy on the part of Richmonders – they simply realized they could not stop what would happen.  They could only deal with it and fight as hard as they could.  Until then, all they could do was wait.  They would not give up their city without a mighty resistance. 
“What if our boys lose, Carrie?  Will the Union destroy Richmond?  I know how many Northerners are calling for it.”
Carrie listened to her in dismay.  Should she tell her what her father had told her just last night?  It would only frighten her more.  On the other hand, Carrie had decided it was better to know the truth.  “I talked to my father about that last night,” she finally admitted.
“What did he say?  Surely he knows what they plan to do since he works with the government.”
Carrie spoke slowly, remembering the pain on her father’s face as he talked.  “The military authorities have decided to make sure the Union doesn’t get its hands on the valuable supplies here in the city.”  She hesitated.  “All the tobacco and cotton is to be burned if the Union enters the city.”
“But the warehouses are right in the heart of the city!  What if it spreads?  It could destroy the whole city!” 
Carrie knew Janie was fighting to keep panic from overwhelming her.  “They know that.  And the very idea of it scares them to death.  But they feel it is the only thing to do.”  Then she made her voice positive.  “But all of that is only if  the Union captures Richmond.  That is still a long way off.  Our army is strong and about to get stronger.”
“Jackson is coming back from the Shenandoah Valley?”
“My father says he is on his way back.  He did the job he was sent to do wonderfully.  President Lincoln was so certain Jackson was heading to attack Washington, he called off the reinforcements he was sending to McClellan.  General McDowell was called back to guard their own capitol.  Father says it makes the odds a little more even.”
Janie shuddered.  “There is going to be so much suffering when the fighting finally starts.  We already have so many patients from the Battle of Williamsburg.  What’s it going to be like?”
Carrie said nothing.  She had a good idea what it would be like.  It was too horrible to contemplate.
After a long minute Janie looked at her again.  “Do you want Richmond to fall?  Neither one of us believe this crazy war should be happening.”
Carrie almost smiled.  Janie was so much like Rose.  She always managed to cut through to the crux of the matter.  Suddenly she wanted to cry.  Where was Rose?   How was she?  Carrie knew her friend had reached the safety of Philadelphia after she had helped Rose and Moses, her husband, escape slavery, but were they still okay?  Fear clutched her heart.  Lately she found that her emotions could swing from one to another in seconds.  She supposed it was just this crazy war – but it was exhausting.  Suddenly she remembered Janie’s question.  A quick glance at her friend told her she was patiently waiting for a reply. 
“Do I want Richmond to fall?”  She shook her head helplessly.  “I want this crazy war to end but I hate the idea it might take the destruction of the city to make it happen.  I’ve lost one home.  I don’t want to lose another.  And I know it would kill my father.  Working for the Virginia government saved him after my mother died.  He has thrown all he is into building a new country.  I can’t wish more pain for him!  And what about Robert?  The man I love will be out there fighting.  If the city falls it will mean even more Southern deaths during this battle.  But maybe it would stop the escalation of the war – if it’s not too late for that…”  She shook her head again as the confusion swelled in her voice.  “Yet, I can’t wish for the South to win.  It would only mean the continuation of slavery.  I can’t abide the idea that more helpless people will have to suffer and be denied their freedom.”   Her words tumbled to a halt as her eyes filled with tears.  “I just know I hate this whole stupid war!” she cried. 
Janie reached out and held her hand for a long moment.  Nothing more was said on the way down the hill. 



Carrie had just changed into a fresh dress when she heard a knock at the front door.  She wasn’t expecting anyone, so she continued to smooth her hair back into place. There were so many people living in the house now it could be for anyone. For a moment she gazed into the mirror, wishing she was back on the plantation and could leave her hair in a long braid without having to confine it to a bun.  Wild and free, she would race across the rolling fields on Granite and let the wind whip it.  Closing her eyes, she could almost imagine the feeling. 
“Miss Cromwell.”
The sound of her name startled Carrie back to the present.  Quickly she finished her hair and moved to the door of the room she now shared with Janie.  “What is it, Micah?”  She smiled at her father’s butler. 
“Lieutenant Borden be here for you, Miss.”
“Robert is here?”  Carrie exclaimed.  Swiftly she ran down the stairs to the front foyer, a wide smile on her face.  “Robert!” she exclaimed.  “It’s wonderful to see you.  I wasn’t expecting you.”   She took his arm to lead him into the parlor.
Robert shook his head.  “I don’t want to be inside.  Can we go out on the porch?”
Carrie frowned at the serious tone in his voice.  A closer look revealed tension on his handsome face.  “Of course,” she agreed quickly. 
Once outside, Robert moved slightly away from her to stand against a column on the porch.  Carrie gazed at him for a moment.  The promised wind had already begun to stir the city, and was tossing Robert’s wavy dark hair.  Outlined against the threatening pallor of the sky, he looked like a mighty warrior in his Confederate gray uniform.  “You’re leaving,” she said simply. 
Robert continued to just look at her.  Carrie knew he was trying to burn a vision of her in his heart.  He had told her how much the memories of her had helped during the long winter campaign.   She fought the urge to run into his arms. 
Finally Robert nodded.  “General Lee is sure something is going to happen soon.  He has promised to send General Johnson every available man.”
“When do you leave?”
“In a few minutes.”
Carrie fought to control the fear on her face.  As hard as she tried, though, she couldn’t hide the tremor in her voice.  “I see.”  She didn’t know what else to say.  Thankfully, Robert saved her by opening his arms wide.   Without a word she walked into his embrace. 
Several long minutes passed as they stood in silence.  The streets around them bustled with activity as people rushed home to escape the encroaching storm.  Doors banged open as women dashed out to save their laundry hanging on the lines.  The trees, just a few minutes ago swaying in the breeze, were now bending low under the storm’s powerful gusts.  The roll of thunder grew louder as flashes of lightening lit up the sky with increasing intensity. 
Carrie longed for the moment to never end.  If only wishing hard enough could make all the horrid realities of the war melt away.   If only wishing could transport them back to her secret place by the river.  It had only been two weeks since Robert and she had moved beyond all the turmoil of their relationship.  The issue of slavery was still a bone of contention between them but Carrie was no longer pretending her whole heart did not belong to him.  What if these two short weeks were all they were to have? 
Robert was the first to step back.  “I have to go, Carrie.”  All of his longing and pain was expressed in those simple words. 
Carrie gazed up at him, trying to etch his face into her memory.  She fought to stop the tears welling in her eyes and managed a tremulous smile.  “I love you, Robert.  Take care of yourself.”
Robert looked at her hungrily a moment more, then moaning slightly, he bent his head and covered her mouth in a warm kiss.  Carrie let her response speak all the words hidden in her heart.  Both knew they might never see each other again.  A loud crack of thunder startled them both and they drew apart.  Robert raised his hand to let it rest on her face, then stepped back.
“God bless you,” Carrie said tenderly. 
Robert nodded, turned, strode down the stairs and vaulted onto the tall Thoroughbred waiting for him. 
Carrie ran down the steps after him and laid her head against the horse’s face.  “Take good care of him, Granite.  You better come back to me, too,” she whispered. She had given Granite to Robert just days after arriving in Richmond.  He needed a good mount, and there was not enough food in Richmond to take care of any non-working horses.  She was glad for Robert to have him but it ripped her heart to think something might happen to her beloved horse as well as the man she loved. Stepping back, she smiled brightly at both of them.  “Go save my city, Lieutenant Borden!”
Robert smiled back, tipped his hat at her and urged Granite into a fast canter down the road.  Carrie watched until they had rounded the curve and were out of sight.  Even when she could no longer see them, she stood there, oblivious to the whipping dirt stinging her face and arms.  It was the sharp crack of a limb that brought her back to the present.   Looking up, she watched as limbs and leaves did a frantic dance in rebellion against the gale battering them. 
“Carrie!  Get in this house.”
Carrie turned and managed a smile at Janie.  “I rather like it,” she shouted above the din.  “When I see a storm like this it helps to remind me it takes a very powerful God to create such a thing.  It gives me hope that maybe he really is in control of all this.”
Janie strode down the stairs and took her arm.  “And it would give me hope that you still have some sense in your head if you wouldn’t keep standing out here waiting for a limb to knock you silly!” she retorted.
Carrie allowed her to pull her onto the porch and then turned to stare back out at the building fury. 
“Was that Robert I saw leaving?”
Carrie nodded.  “He has been called to the front.”
“I’m sorry,” Janie said simply.  She took Carrie’s hand and stood silently. 
Carrie was grateful she said no more.  There was nothing to be said, anyway.  This same scene was being played thousands of times daily in every town in the country.  There were no words to ease the pain, or take away the questioning and worry in each heart as loved ones left for the battlefield.  It was simply to be endured. 
Finally she spoke.  “There seem to be nothing but questions about the people in my life that I love.”  For just a moment it seemed as if it would overwhelm her.  The pictures swirled through her mind, fighting for first position.  Moses, who had helped save her from the Union soldiers on the plantation, was himself a Union spy.  Where was he?  And what would happen to him if caught by the Confederates?  And what about Rose?  The last Carrie knew she was safe in Philadelphia, but what if slave hunters were still pursuing her?  What if Ike Adams went after her again? 
Pictures of Aunt Abby swirled into the collage.  Her special friend, who was so much like a second mother to her, now lived in the foreign country of the North.  There had been no communication, save one smuggled letter through the Underground Railroad, for over a year.  And Matthew - Robert’s close friend from the North who had recently been released from a prison in Richmond.  Would his job as a newspaper war correspondent once again put him in danger? 
Overlaying the collage of swirling pictures was the image of a tall, handsome lieutenant mounted on a towering, gray Thoroughbred. 
A deafening crack of lightening ripped through the darkening sky.  The sound of an explosion and a flash of light told Carrie a tree had attracted more than its share of the storm’s fury.  As she stared out the first huge raindrops fell.  Within seconds, the drops had turned into a pounding deluge that made all talk impossible.  Stepping farther back into the shelter of the porch, Carrie allowed the fury of the storm to carry some of her feelings of helplessness and powerlessness away with it.  She had always found strength in storms.  This one was no different. 
Tomorrow would come.  There was nothing she could do to stop it.  All she could do was wait and see what the new day would bring.



Carrie tried to look like she was listening as she forced herself to eat the supper May had fixed for the household.  Overcrowding in the city had filled every house to capacity.  Until a month ago, her father had lived by himself with his two house servants.  Now the household totaled twelve.  She and Janie shared a room upstairs.  The other seven were men employed by the government.  All of them were pleasant enough, but Carrie had been busy at the hospital and had had little time to become acquainted with them.
Thomas Cromwell cleared his throat as he reached for his glass of water.  “I have proof today that all of Richmond is indeed trying to do their part for the war effort.”  He allowed his voice to trail off, inviting questions.
Carrie roused herself with an effort.   Her father had been casting anxious looks at her since reaching the table.  She had seen Janie talking to him just before they were called to dinner so she was sure he knew Robert had been called away.  She forced a light note into her voice.  Giving into despair would do no one any good.  “And just what evidence did you acquire today?”
Thomas turned to her eagerly, obviously relieved by her show of interest.  “Even the proprietors of our gambling halls have embraced the patriotism of our time.”
“And just how, pray tell, have they done that?” Janie asked in an openly skeptical voice.  “Are they opening their doors to Union soldiers as well so that they might make more money?”
Thomas laughed, but shook his head.  “They have closed their doors for a while.”
“What?”  That was enough to get even Carrie’s attention.  She had only been in town for short periods during the last year but she was well aware of the gambling hall’s reputations.
Thomas nodded.  “They’ve decided to suspend operations for a while because too many of our officers were being lured from their duties. But that’s not all,” he said, and paused dramatically.  “They have also voted to give twenty thousand dollars to our cause.”
“Be still my beating heart!”  Janie cried dramatically as laughter rang through the room. 
“They have decreed it be used to purchase articles needed to treat the wounded in whatever may be coming.”
Carrie felt the now-familiar fear clutching at her throat.
Her face must have betrayed her emotions, for her father looked at her regretfully and said, “I’m sorry, Carrie.  That was thoughtless and insensitive of me.”
Carrie pushed aside visions of Robert lying wounded on the battlefield, and reached forward to take his hand.  “Nonsense.  I am very glad the owners of the gambling halls are finally going to do something constructive with their money.  It will be much needed.  Our soldiers deserve the finest care.”  She searched her mind for a way to change the subject and let her father off the hook but it took all her mental energy to keep from bursting into tears. 
“I understand they took care of another Union spy today.”  The statement was offered by Warren Pucket, a clerk in the War Department.  The slightly built man, in his early forties, had been turned down for the army because of medical reasons but that had not stopped him from making the trip from Alabama to offer what services he could. 
Thomas turned toward him with obvious relief.  “I had heard a little about it, but don’t really know the story.   Do tell us.”
Warren complied.  “Evidently Timothy Webster was a master spy.  Since last October he has been dispatching letters to the North detailing the Confederate’s military secrets.  From what I have been told he managed to work himself into Baltimore’s Confederate Underground.  They actually helped sneak him over the lines because they thought they were helping their own cause.”
“Rather ingenious,” Thomas muttered angrily. 
“It gets worse,” Warren replied.  “Webster posed as an Englishman here in town and made friends with officials on every level.  He hung around the newspapers and the War Department.  Why, both General Winder and Secretary Benjamin used him as a dispatcher.”
“He was used by the Secretary of the War Department?  Judas Benjamin was taken in by him?”  Thomas exclaimed. 
Warren shrugged.  “He was evidently very good at what he did.”
“How did they catch him?”  Janie asked.
“The story I heard said Webster fell ill with extremely painful rheumatism.  He went so long without reporting to Washington, they got worried about him and sent two men down to check on him.  Someone recognized the two men as northern detectives.  They hadn’t been here long before they found themselves in jail.”
“But what about Webster?”  Carrie asked.  She found the story fascinating, even though she was appalled to think these were all American citizens spying on each other. 
Warren smirked.  “The two men in jail didn’t take too kindly to the idea they were going to hang for being spies.  With a little persuasion and promises of mercy, they broke and told all about Webster and his mission.  He was really the big fish in the whole operation.  Until yesterday he has occupied one of our prisons.”
“What happened yesterday?”  Carrie asked.
“They hung him,” Warren stated flatly.
Carrie turned white and stared at him.  “They hung him?”  she repeated. 
Warren’s face hardened with anger.  “You don’t get away with spying in the Capitol.  There is no telling how many of our men died needlessly because of the information he passed out.”
Carrie saw her father open his mouth to break into the conversation, but Warren hurried on, reveling in the story.
“There weren’t many people out there to watch the hanging.  A whole crowd of folks showed up for the hanging of his two buddies but were disappointed when it didn’t actually happen. I guess they decided this one wouldn’t really happen either.  They missed a great show!”
“You were there?” Thomas asked.
“Yes.  I was asked to record it for the War Department.  Anyway, the first time the trap was sprung the rope was too long.  He fell straight to the ground.  It busted him up a little but it certainly didn’t kill him.”
Carrie shuddered as the picture sprang into her mind.  She listened in horrified silence. 
Warren, oblivious to the fact that not everyone was enjoying his story, hurried on.  “They picked him up, helped him up the stairs, fixed the ropes and sprung it again.”  He paused.  “He hung for thirty minutes before he was cut down.  Then the detectives sliced up the rope for souvenirs.”
Carrie could control herself no longer.  “How can you find anything good in such a horrible thing!  These are Americans who are killing Americans!”
Warren’s voice was flat and emotionless when he turned to her.  “I’m sorry if the reality of the war is disturbing to you, Miss Cromwell.  It is disturbing to all of us.  I freely admit I find satisfaction in knowing another threat to our way of life has been destroyed.  Timothy Webster knew the risk when he decided to come down and betray the people who put trust in him.  We are at war, Miss Cromwell.  A war we intend to win.  We will do whatever it takes to win it.”
Carrie stared at him as his chilling words sank into her heart.  Suddenly she was tired.  Very, very tired.  “Excuse me.  I think I will retire now.”  She slipped from her place at the table and climbed slowly up the stairs to her room.   When she heard her father’s chair scrape back, she managed to turn and smile at him.  “I’ll be all right, Father.  I just need some time alone.” 
In her room, she curled up on the windowseat and stared out at the rain still pounding the city. She heard the echo of words spoken by a Richmonder earlier in the week.  “I have begun to feel like the prisoners of the Inquisition in Edgar Allen Poe’s story - cast into a dungeon of slowly contracting walls.” 
The walls were closing in. 


512 Page Novel