1861 - 1866 It should not be. Young men marching off to war. Mothers and fathers left behind to worry. Sisters packing boxes of mittens, scarves and pies to send to their brothers on the fields. Young women with hopes of marriage and homes of their own left to wait and wonder if their dreams will ever come true. Yet it is the life of many as President Lincoln calls up Northern troops to keep Union together and the South prepares to defend their homes. Henry Harris cannot deny the call of duty. He puts on the Union blue and marches South to War. His family and beloved Olivia are left behind. Overnight, it seems, everything changes. Olivia cannot accept Henry's choice of duty over his love for her. Father is left to worry for his son's safety. Sister Sarah puts on a brave face, packs boxes full of good things, and tries her best to be an anchor as the waves of War wash over their lives. Henry must do his duty. As the years rush by, the South is destroyed and the North receives a battered victory. Letters from Henry are the only line connecting him to the changing lives of his family back home. But are those letters enough to protect the hearts of the ones he loves? Or will the many miles and long days of separation destroy all hopes and dreams?
Extraordinary Times And Everyday LivesAnd Everyday Lives
By Norma Harris Melissa SturmAuthorHouse
Copyright © 2011 Norma Harris and Melissa Sturm
All right reserved.ISBN: 978-1-4567-2827-4 Contents
Prologue.................................3Chapter One..............................5Chapter Two..............................11Chapter Three............................23Chapter Four.............................37Chapter Five.............................51Chapter Six..............................63Chapter Seven............................77Prologue.................................93Chapter Eight............................97Chapter Nine.............................109Chapter Ten..............................125Chapter Eleven...........................137Chapter Twelve...........................147Chapter Thirteen.........................159Chapter Fourteen.........................175Part Three:..............................1863Prologue.................................195Chapter Fifteen..........................199Chapter Sixteen..........................209Chapter Seventeen........................219Chapter Eighteen.........................229Chapter Nineteen.........................237Chapter Twenty...........................249Chapter Twenty-One.......................259Part Four:...............................1864Prologue.................................271Chapter Twenty-Two.......................277Chapter Twenty-Three.....................287Chapter Twenty-Four......................297Chapter Twenty-Five......................311Chapter Twenty-Six.......................321Chapter Twenty-Seven.....................331Chapter Twenty-Eight.....................339Prologue.................................349Chapter Twenty-Nine......................353Chapter Thirty...........................363Chapter Thirty-One.......................375Chapter Thirty-Two.......................383Chapter Thirty-Three.....................393Chapter Thirty-Four......................403Prologue.................................413Chapter Thirty-Five......................417Chapter Thirty-Six.......................427Chapter Thirty-Seven.....................435Chapter Thirty-Eight.....................445Chapter Thirty-Nine......................453Epilogue.................................463
Chapter One
August 9, 1861 Camp Independence Washington County, Maryland Dear Father, I have safely arrived with my regiment and here I sit on the grass by the side of the beautiful Potomac ...
Sarah Harris sat on the front stoop next to Father who proudly read the letter from his son. She listened intently, digesting every word written by her dear brother and imagined the beauty that surrounded the spot where he lay on the grass.
... it is a good cause we are going for and I will fight till the last and if I should fall you will have it to say that your son Henry, was one of the Patriots of "61" and fell in good cause ...
Sarah noticed a tear of pride in her father's eye at his son's words as he read on.
... I should like you to send me a small box by way of Harden's Express. I want you to put in some stationary, not much and above all some lead pencils for it is cheaper to write with lead pencil than with ink for we cannot always get ink. I should like you to send stamps and if it is not much trouble, you might tuck in something, for my money is about gone. We do not get any pay for a month. You cannot tell how I miss home and all folks. Even now I am shedding tears at the thought of having to be gone so long away from home. My country needed my services and it was my duty as a young man of the North to volunteer my services together along with thousands of others, to help put down this rebellion. I must ready for roll call and dress parade. Give my best respects to all friends and accept this from your ever loving true son, who is now so far away from you but always thinking of friends at home, you and my dearest sister Sarah who I am in hopes will keep my dearest Olivia company while I am away at war. Henry
Sarah swatted away a pesky fly from her face, scrunching up her nose and swiping an extra time just to make sure the little insect didn't bother her again. It was a hot summer evening. Far too hot to do anything but sit and wish for a cool breeze, a cool breeze that did not seem to exist.
She sighed a little, not daring to look over at her father for fear of seeing more tears in his eyes. It was not often this hardworking, aging man shed a tear. It touched Sarah's heart almost as much as her brother's words. She knew how her father felt. She knew how every family member left behind, watching their men march south to war, felt. They all asked themselves the same question: would they ever see their loved one again?
Sarah shuddered, a chill running up her spine in spite of the warm air. Only last month a huge battle had been fought in a faraway place called Manassas, Virginia. Thousands of men had been left dead. Thousands more had been wounded. There had been so many smaller battles and skirmishes since then. So many men that would never return home to their loved ones. Would Henry be wounded in such a battle? Would he be ... no, Sarah refused to think such thoughts and began to make mental notes of the things Henry requested in his letter.
Stationary, lead pencils, stamps, money. As her father carefully folded Henry's letter and rose to go inside the small house, Sarah remained on the stoop and thought. She would begin to gather things tomorrow. No time would be wasted in sending Henry the things he needed. She would do her part in helping her brother in any way she could.
... my dearest sister Sarah who I am in hopes will keep my dearest Olivia company while I am away at war.
Olivia. Henry's sweetheart. Sarah had always considered the girl a little bit older than herself a good friend, but in the months since Henry's departure Olivia had ... well, changed. The pretty young woman wasn't as cheerful as she had once been nor as friendly. In fact, she seemed to avoid Sarah and her father.
Why had Henry written such words? Sarah really did not wish to keep company with someone who had no desire to keep company with her, but for Henry's sake she would try. It was a time of war. If Henry could make great sacrifices, Sarah determined, so could she.
* * *
When Sarah came down to light the stove early the next morning, she found a thick cardboard box on the kitchen table. Where had it come from? She had not left it there. Had her father? With a shrug, she went about her morning chores. She made coffee, put bread in the oven to warm, scrambled a few eggs, fried a few thick slabs of ham, set the table and retrieved a jar of strawberry preserves from the pantry.
At the strike of seven, her father shuffled into the kitchen taking off his hat and wiping his shoes on the mat. Without a word, he went to the sink to wash his hands. Sarah noticed she had left the handle to the pump in the up position again. Had she done that when pumping water into the pot for the coffee? When the handle was left up, it had to be primed before water could be pumped. It annoyed her father to prime the pump every morning simply to wash his hands, even though he rarely complained.
She quietly sat down at the table and served the hot breakfast, humming a tune in her head. Some mornings the silence of her father was hard to endure. His quiet ways made her miss her lively mother more. This morning, however, she had something to look forward to. She had a box to put together to send to Henry.
"Thank you, Lord, for this food and for this day. Help us use every moment wisely with loving hearts. Amen." Her father's deep voice echoed through the kitchen as he said grace over their breakfast.
Sarah echoed with her own "Amen" then reached to open the strawberry preserves.
"The box is for you." Her father's words startled her a bit. He didn't usually say more than two words during breakfast. He ate, drank his extra cup of coffee and headed out to his work at the printer's.
Sarah glanced at the box she had pushed to the side as she set the table. "For me, Father?" she asked.
"To place Henry's things in. Have Mr. Grover put the pencils and stationary on my tab at the dry good's store."
"Oh." Sarah realized how wonderful this plain, cardboard box would be. "Thank you, Father. I plan to go out as soon as I finish the breakfast dishes. I thought I might also bake Henry a cake and a couple of his favorite mince pies. They should fit in the box nicely."
Her father nodded.
"I, um, also thought I might stop by Olivia's to see if she would like to help me."
Her father looked up from his breakfast, a quiet man he never said much but he didn't miss much either. They had not talked about it, but Sarah knew her father was also concerned about the changes in Olivia. To Sarah's relief, he merely nodded and returned to his eating.
* * *
The Price home was one of the finest in all of Lawrence. A white house with a fine, large front porch; black shutters; lovely bushes and flowers planted along the front. That warm, summer morning Sarah found Olivia trimming vines of morning glories growing along the trellis in one of the small gardens. Dressed, as always, in a lovely spring gingham with her raven hair swept up in perfect order. Sarah wondered that Olivia Price favored Henry. Naturally, Sarah thought Henry one of the most wonderful men in the world. She wasn't exactly sure what Olivia thought of her brother.
"Good morning, Olivia," she said in her cheerful voice.
When the girl looked up her green eyes twinkled brightly, but Sarah noticed the shadow that fell over those eyes when they saw it was only her – plain Sarah Harris. Had Olivia been expecting someone else? Or did the young woman just not wish to see her?
"Good morning, Sarah," Olivia said kindly, turning back to her flowers. "Out for a morning walk?"
"In a way. I stopped by Mr. Grover's Dry Goods. I bought pencils, stationary, and stamps."
She rustled through the basket on her arm, showing each of her purchases to Olivia. Olivia gave a small smile of acknowledgement.
"We got a letter from Henry yesterday," Sarah continued, hoping that her own excitement would excite Olivia. "He's in Maryland."
"That's nice." Olivia continued working on her flowers.
"He asked us to send him a box. I'm going to put these things in it."
Only the rustle of the vines responded.
Sarah plunged ahead. "I thought I would make him a cake and a couple of mince pies. He does love mince pies."
Olivia clipped away a dead blue flower.
"I thought you might like to help me. It could be fun, and you can read the letter from Henry."
Finally, Olivia's hands grew still. She looked up, but not at Sarah. Her eyes seemed to look at something very far away. Sarah couldn't quite read the expression. Was it patience? Worry? Hopefulness? Indifference? She wished she knew. Or, perhaps, she didn't.
"Thank you for the invitation, Sarah," Olivia said with her first smile all morning. "I wish I could come, but I'm afraid my mother promised my presence at Mrs. Weddell's tea this afternoon."
Sarah struggled with her feelings of disappointment and anger. In her mind, putting together a box for Henry was much more important than some silly afternoon tea party. "Well, perhaps you would like to come this evening and help me pack the box."
"Well ... I'll have to ask Mother. Shall I see you Sunday at church?" Sarah attempted a bright smile. "Of course. Have a nice tea this afternoon."
"Thank you, Sarah. Good bye."
Sarah nodded her reply, turning away to walk home. She sighed. Why did Olivia act so distant? Before Henry left for war, the girl always had time to bake and enjoy the company of the Harrises. She never refused an invitation to the house, but now she always appeared too busy with teas, sewing circles, or helping her mother. She never came to see if Henry had written or just chat about the weather.
Why would the girl not want to read a letter from Henry? Or bake his favorite pie? Or pack a box, hoping he would feel their love for him when he opened it? Why, if she had a young man who went off to war....
Sarah sighed again. She didn't want to think about it anymore.
* * *
Another hot, sticky August night. Sarah lay restless in her bed, questions bouncing in her head. How long would this war last? How long before Henry would return home? How long would it take for her dear brother to receive the box she had packed that day? Would the pies and cakes get crumbled or moldy? Would Henry be hurt or worse? Would Olivia remain faithful until Henry's return home? Sarah couldn't control these thoughts. She longed for her mother to share her concerns with. But Mama had been gone for over a year now. Only the pain of her absence remained.
"Dear Lord," Sarah whispered into the darkness, "I pray you will protect all those I love, especially Henry. Help him and keep him safe. Please guide us all along the right paths in life, that we will make the decisions in our lives that are pleasing to Thee. I especially pray for Henry's safe return home from this war. Oh, Lord, help me. I so miss Mama sometimes. Please, be with those I love now and forever. Amen."
The tears fell from her eyes and rolled down her cheeks. She turned over, pulled the blankets close and wished for sleep. Maybe in the morning, things would look brighter.
Chapter Two
"Olivia!"
The voice sang in a cheery, but off key tone. Olivia ignored it. She gazed on her mirror's reflection of the curls caressing her neck. One wasn't quite right. The end simply wouldn't curl in the same direction as the others. She frowned, caught the end of the curl and forced it tightly around her delicate finger.
"Olivia!"
Her mother's voice didn't sound so cheery now. No doubt Father told Mother to be more demanding. He wanted his daughter at the breakfast table. If she ignored this call, Father would call her name next. That would mean trouble.
Olivia scowled, letting go of the curl and turned her head to look at it closely in the mirror. It still wasn't quite right. Well, she would work on it later. Rising from her vanity, she turned to one side and then the other to make sure her dress hung well. Satisfied, she made her way downstairs with a merry smile as if her mother was not standing at the bottom of the stairs desperately waiting for her only daughter to answer her call.
"Good morning, Mother." Olivia kissed her mother's pale cheek as she swept by and entered the dining room. "Good morning, Papa. Monty."
Her father merely glanced at her from over his morning paper, and Olivia chose to ignore the frowning crease on his forehead. Monty didn't even look at her. He was too busy pouring mounds of syrup over his pancakes.
"Monty, that's enough." Mrs. Polly Price reached to stop her son from emptying the syrup jug before sitting herself down at the table. "You don't need so much syrup, dear."
"I'm hungry," Monty said.
"Then have a boiled egg,"
Monty scowled, reaching to add a couple more pancakes to his plate. "I hate boiled eggs."
Olivia rolled her eyes at her nine-year-old brother, taking up her spoon to carefully crack the boiled egg in the cup in front of her. Why her parents had ever decided to have a second child so many years after she had been born was beyond her. Little brothers were disgusting, annoying, exasperating, and pains in the neck.
"Olivia," Mr. Randall Price said as he ruffled his paper loudly, folded it and set it aside. "Sarah Harris called earlier this morning."
"Did she?" Olivia set down her spoon and began to peel away the cracked eggshell.
"I sent Martha up to get you. Did you not hear her knock?"
Olivia dared to look up at her father, weighing her answer carefully. Deep inside, she loved her father dearly. In spite of his aging years, he was a fine figure of a man – tall with wide shoulders and hardly any grey in his dark hair. Moreover, he was a very successful farmer and businessman. He earned his family a very comfortable living and everyone in town respected him. If only he wasn't so principled about everything.
Olivia decided a small white lie wouldn't hurt too much. "I did hear a knock on my door, but I was still in bed, Papa."
That was half the truth. She had been in bed when the maid, Martha, came to tell her Sarah Harris was in the kitchen. She just didn't add that she had been awake and that Martha informed her of Sarah's visit. If there was one thing Randall Price did not tolerate it was rudeness to visitors.
"She came with a box she was sending to Henry," Mr. Price continued, ignoring his daughter's explanation. "She wished to know if there was anything you wanted to include in the package before mailing it with the morning post."
Olivia smiled sweetly. "Oh, yes. She stopped by yesterday and mentioned the box, but I simply didn't have any time to get anything together. Mrs. Weddell's tea went on forever."
"Mrs. Balcom's daughter in Boston just gave birth to her first son and that was all we heard about all afternoon," Mrs. Price added to her daughter's defense. "You would think Mrs. Balcom was the first woman to ever have a grandson."
Taking a small bite of her egg, Olivia secretly thanked her mother, even though she knew the older woman wasn't helping her intentionally. Mrs. Price was a very sweet woman, small and almost pretty, but she was more than a bit absent-minded. She had no idea her husband was trying to make a point her daughter was attempting to circumvent.
"Then, perhaps, Olivia, you should put together a box for Henry yourself," Mr. Price suggested. "I noticed in the paper here a list of things our soldiers are often in need of."
Olivia wanted to scowl and even stomp her foot, but she knew better than to behave that way in front of her father. There was no way to explain to him that she had little interest in the things Henry or any other soldier needed. Her father liked Henry. He always had. He thought highly of the young men who were marching south to "preserve the Union", as he so often said. To Olivia, the "Union" meant absolutely nothing. She only wanted her life to be enjoyable. Young men marching away to war was not enjoyable.
"I think I shall write Henry a letter, Father," she said in an attempt to sound appeasing. "If only there was something of interest to write."
"I saw Hiram Anderson kissing Lottie Barrington behind the bank yesterday," Monty said, his mouth full of syrupy pancake.
"Montgomery Price, of all the ..." Mrs. Price stopped her lecture, blushing at the very thought of the words she had been about to say. Instead, she cleared her throat and turned to her daughter. "Perhaps you should write Henry about the fall social, Olivia."
(Continues...)
Excerpted from Extraordinary Times And Everyday LivesAnd Everyday Livesby Norma Harris Melissa Sturm Copyright © 2011 by Norma Harris and Melissa Sturm. Excerpted by permission of AuthorHouse. All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
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