A.M. Heath

Excerpt #1: After the Battle of Mill Springs, Kentucky

 

January 21, 1862;

Livingston, Tennessee

 

Frank rolled the quill between his thumb and finger as he considered how he would write home. The battlefield was now fully behind him, and he rested along with the others as they made their retreat into Livingston. He closed his troubled blue eyes and tipped his head back, but quickly regretted it. The moment he blocked out the light of the campfire, he was back on the smoke cover land. The ground beneath him seemed to be reaching up, eager to soak the life blood of the men around him. In every direction, the cries of the wounded screamed out. The constant sound of the drums echoed across the hills and through the valleys as the thundering cannons answered their call. With a gloved hand, he rubbed his eyelids as if the action might disperse the memories. It didn't.

 

He longed for a numbness in his soul like the numbness he had in his toes from the frigid temperatures. So far, he hadn't been granted one. He took a quick scan at the campground around him, catching the sight of various faces. Their faces showed no real emotion and so he was left wondering if he was the only one that felt as badly.

For the third time of the night, he looked over his shoulder, gazing into the dark wooded area behind him. Frank studied the trees with longing before whipping his head around once more. He wouldn't turn tail and run! The very thought of it made his stomach twist in terrifying knots, but then so did facing the front lines of battle again.

 

Had it really only been seven months since he left home? He groaned inwardly as he remembered the cocky claim that he made. “I'll whip those Yanks and be back before harvest.” His previous boast seemed to tease him now as he settled it within his mind to stay in the army for the duration of the war – however long that may be. There was still some hope for victory in the spring, but it looked promising that he would winter within these freezing tents until then.

 

His stomach felt sour to the point that he questioned whether he was coming down with cholera again. Running wasn't an option, but did he have it in him to kill any longer? This wasn't like hunting game. It wasn't even like taking out a bully on the playground. This was so much more. This was taking a father from his family. A son from his mother. A young man from his intended. The very thought of such brought visions of blonde hair to mind, but he quickly pushed those ideas aside. He couldn't deal with those longings right now. Not while his every waking thought was meant to torture him, meant to remind him that the ground below him may soon drink his blood as it had the men before him.

 

Frank dropped the quill from his hand and bent over to pick it up. He didn't remember being so shaken up after they fought at Rock Castle, but he knew why this felt different – General Zollicoffer had been among the casualties. Frank shuddered as his mind quickly brought back the image of the shot he received in the chest. A look of sheer surprise had crossed the general's face before he fell. He had watched many fall in a similar manner, but somehow hadn't expected to see the man in leadership take the hit as well. Frank suddenly felt vulnerable.

 

His stomach growled reminding him that his station here was a mean one. The peanuts, chicory coffee, and salted pork had done little to appease the horse-sized hunger that developed from within. He ground his teeth together as his stomach was taken by hunger pains again. Was there nothing good to look forward to anymore? In his mind, flashed the image of his ever cheerful sister, and he knew what he would write. He needed her excited spirit now. Taking as little time with his letter as possible, Frank was soon digging through his pack for the letters he now knew by heart. Until Claire's newest reply came, he would make due with the cheerful dictations of the previous months.

 

Excerpt #2: Selling Carrots

 

April 26, 1862;

Maple Grove, Tennessee

 

Claire stepped out into the empty street with her basket heavy with carrots from the harvest the day before. She kept many of them for canning but brought a selection of them to the store to sell. She had been waiting across the street at the blacksmith's shop when she had gotten bored and decided to venture to the general store alone. When she hatched her plan, the town was near empty, but that changed quickly as a dozen cavalrymen circled from behind the hotel. Before she could dart across the street and duck into the store, they saw her. Her heart quickly picked up the tempo and was now beating wildly in her chest. The moment they stepped into the sunlight, their eyes seemed to be fixed on her. Her long legs moved quicker, but to no avail for they were now calling out to her and moving just as quickly.

 

“Miss, shall those carrots be for sale,” one of the strangers called out. They were for sale but not to them. Not here. Not now. How she wished the ground would open and swallow her alive, removing her from the inevitable. She worked to ignore them and turned away with hastened steps, but they were just as quick and were soon surrounding her, eying her basket with hungry eyes. Claire felt a smidgen of relief when she noticed their attention was on her vegetables and not herself. There was also a brief moment of pity. Was their diet as sparse as Frank's to be so desperate for a taste of something new? If so, the fresh carrots must seem like a grand treat.

 

She had only begun to open her mouth to answer when the crowd around her soon shifted as violent shoving began. A cloud of dust and the sound of shuffling feet filled the air around Claire, cutting off the words she aimed to say. “Stop it,” she cried out, clutching the basket tightly to her body as if protecting it might protect herself as well.

 

A male voice echoed her command, but the voice was not that of her father as she was now hoping for. Soon a dark headed soldier pushed his way into the center and stood in front of her. “Step back. Allow the woman some air and she may just allow us to buy the food in her basket.” He turned a set of deep brown eyes on her. He was entirely too close for comfort, but plenty close enough to examine. There was a kindness buried beneath the excess hair that grew on his face.

 

His eyes seemed to be studying her as well, and when he smiled softly at her, her breath caught in her throat. She worked to hide her recognition of the man that caught her attention when she passed the Haynes' mansion only six weeks ago. The Union soldiers that had confiscated the home in March had only stayed for eight days before they moved on. Aside from the mess on the grounds, there was little remembrance of their stay here. Now another group had made their way into the sleepy town again and apparently it is the same men as before. For the man before her, she hadn't easily forgotten. When his smile broadened, and he answered her silent message with a tip of his head, she knew she had failed in hiding anything from him. Her limbs felt weak as the intimate stare off continued. How could one smile effect her so strongly? Finally, the man spoke, bringing her jumbled thoughts to a halt. “Miss, are those carrots you hold for sale?” His accent was familiar, and she knew immediately he was a despised traitor of the South. The thought sickened her before reason warred, reminding Claire that her own allegiance is rocky now that she was questioning their stand on slavery.

 

Claire glanced down at the full basket before looking into his warm eyes again. “Yes. I had planned on selling at the store,” a tilt of her head indicated where she meant, “but I suppose we could do business now seeing as y'all are all so eager.” Her announcement was answered with loud shouts of joy and the shifting for position began again with her caught in the middle. Someone from behind lunged forward and circled around to her front, knocking her off balance. She stumbled into the handsome stranger. He quickly reached out and grabbed both of her shoulders and steadied her on her feet. She heard him growl, and Claire didn't dare look into his eyes for she was certain she must have angered him. Heat rushed into her face. The jostling continued, and she was bumped again. Before she thought better of it, she leaned into the man that still held her. By now she greatly regretted her decision to sell the carrots to them, and only wished that she could drop the troublesome basket and run. But she couldn't. For one, this was her only good basket, and two, the stranger still had a hold of her. “Lord, please,” she whimpered from inside while closing her eyes against the ruckus surrounding her and turned her face into her capture's side. She quickly found that she was being moved again. Looking up, she found the stranger's back directly in front of her. The man's bulk shielded her from the crowd. Claire watched from behind as the man in blue waved his arms and ordered the men into submission. Soon the stranger tamed the hungry men and led her to a quiet corner where the men made a line, and soon each was buying carrots in a civilized fashion. When she dared to make a sideways glance, she found her rescuer standing nearby with his hands clasped behind his back. His dark eyes carefully watched over her and the proceedings. In time, she found herself able to fully relax. When the last man made his purchase, she turned to her guardian. “I'm grateful for your interference,” she said, swinging her basket in both hands and taking a step towards him...