A Stranger On My Land - A Civil War Romance Read online

  A Stranger

  on My Land

  Sandra Merville Hart

  A STRANGER ON MY LAND BY SANDRA MERVILLE HART

  Published by Lighthouse Publishing of the Carolinas

  2333 Barton Oaks Dr., Raleigh, NC, 27614

  ISBN: 978-1941103272

  Copyright © 2014 by Sandra Merville Hart

  Cover design by writelydesigned.com

  Interior design by Sherry Heinitz: www.sherryheinitz.com

  Available in print from your local bookstore, online, or from the publisher at: www.lighthousepublishingofthecarolinas.com

  All rights reserved. Non-commercial interests may reproduce portions of this book without the express written permission of Lighthouse Publishing of the Carolinas, provided the text does not exceed 500 words. When reproducing text from this book, include the following credit line: “A Stranger on My Land by Sandra Merville Hart published by Lighthouse Publishing of the Carolinas. Used by permission.”

  Commercial interests: No part of this publication may be reproduced in any form, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form by any means—electronic, photocopy, recording, or otherwise—without prior written permission of the publisher, except as provided by the United States of America copyright law.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, and incidents are all products of the author's imagination or are used for fictional purposes. Any mentioned brand names, places, and trade marks remain the property of their respective owners, bear no association with the author or the publisher, and are used for fictional purposes only.

  Brought to you by the creative team at LighthousePublishingoftheCarolinas.com: Julie Gwinn, Barb King, Rowena Kuo, Michele Creech, and Eddie Jones.

  Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

  Hart, Sandra.

  A Stranger on My Land / Sandra Merville Hart 1st ed.

  Dedication

  To my husband, Chris, who willingly joins me on

  adventures to discover the history that brings the story.

  Thank you for believing in me.

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  • PROLOGUE •

  Lookout Mountain, Tennessee,

  Tuesday, November 24, 1863

  Private Adam Hendricks gripped his rifle as he stared up at Lookout Mountain. As a soldier in the Ninety-ninth Ohio Infantry, he had learned to follow orders, but the task assigned to his brigade was a daunting one. They had received orders to advance up the steep slope, over rocky ground, and toward the fortified rifle pits of the enemy. Heavy fog hid the landscape, but Adam knew what lay beyond the veil of gray. The sporadic discharge of musket fire from the pickets as they pushed up the mountain reminded him of the dangers lurking in the shadows.

  Adam stared at Brigadier General Whitaker, noting an unsteadiness to his steps. Was his new brigade leader’s speech a little slurred? Adam’s spirits dropped even further. Whitaker wouldn’t have been drinking before an attack on the enemy, would he? On the other hand, his commander would not be the first soldier to seek courage from a bottle.

  Adam exchanged a concerned look with Hugh Bellamy, a close comrade, then returned his attention on their leader.

  Whitaker seemed jovial enough as he addressed his men, confident they would win the upcoming battle. He invited his men to share a drink at his quarters afterward.

  Adam appreciated Whitaker’s confidence in them but had his doubts about what lay ahead. He bowed his head in a quick plea for protection, then fell in line as his regiment followed Brigadier General Geary’s division up the mountain.

  His unit maneuvered around and over jagged rocks, trampled down bushes, and plunged deeper into dense woods. Ahead, the “pop-pop” of gunfire became more frequent. Cannons boomed from atop the summit, their shells exploding near by. Onward they marched. Their advance became a serpentine line of blue as infantry climbed their way up the steep incline. A few paces further and his regiment was ordered to turn north toward the Tennessee River. They crossed a creek and came upon a group of over forty Confederate pickets, all captured by Geary’s division’s sudden thrust up the mountain.

  A break in the mist revealed open ground on the north slope and strong fortifications in front. The rest of the division came up quickly, forming a line from the base of the upper picket line to the mouth of the Chattanooga Creek. Flashes of gunfire marked the forward elements of the Confederate line. Geary’s division slogged forward, driving the enemy from the breastworks. Union troops advanced up the slope, staggered under deadly musket fire, regrouped and pushed on. Grape and canister fire from Confederate artillery opened large holes in their lines. Men fell, others rushed forward to take their place.

  By two o’clock the clouds, which had obscured the top of Lookout most of the day, became so thick General Hooker ordered Geary’s division to halt. The men in Adam’s regiment took cover in a ravine to wait for better light. Only once did the fog lift enough for him to see a whitewashed frame house with its long porch. Adam remembered his commanding officer comment earlier about the Cravens' house and how it might serve as a rally point for their final assault.

  Adam took cover behind a log. On his commander’s orders he took aim and fired into the mist. Instantly, Confederates returned fire. The fog and its gentle rain provided a false sense of protection from the deadly hail of lead. Though neither army could see the other, Brigadier General Whitaker’s men continued firing into the fog. Adam felt something tug at his sleeve. At first he thought it was Hugh trying to get his attention but when he looked back he saw he remained alone. Then came the searing pain. He checked his arm. He’d been struck just above the elbow. Already the blue fabric of his uniform was reddish brown with blood. He dropped lower behind the log to inspect the wound. It hurt but didn’t bleed too badly. He tried to reload his rifle and found the arm worked fine.

  “You hit, Adam?” Hugh called to him amidst the dense thicket of trees.

  “My arm. But it’s not too bad. Just grazed me.” He managed to wiggle his fingers to demonstrate.

  Hugh grinned at him with approval. “Keep your head down.”

  “You, too.”

  Steady musket fire from the enemy kept him pinned behind the log. Hours passed with neither side giving ground. The mist turned into a steady shower. The expanding stain of blood mixed with rain made his injury appear worse than it felt. Adam avoided looking at it.

  Dusk and fog swallowed the last rays of sunlight. Darkness seemed to amplify the sharp report of musket fire from the enemy. Neither side advanced, nor did they give ground. He could tell from the screams of his comrades that the Confederate fire was having an affect. He watched for a flash from the opposing line, aimed, and fired. He had no ideal way of telling if he hit anything. Gradually dusk deepened into night. Raindrops froze on contact. Adam’s clothes were soon coated with ice. He shivered. His wounded arm ached. He wished now he’d taken more time to check on the injury. Maybe the musket ball did more damage than he’d supposed.

  The steady rain and his own shivering drowned out all but the screams of men moaning around him.

  Ahead in the forest a twig snapped. He rose up to fire. Before he could swing his musket at the phantom figure, a musket ball smashed into his upper arm
, spinning him around. His rifle fell from his hands. Thoroughly dazed, he groped in the darkness for his weapon. His comrades fired off a few rounds at the approaching line, but it only drew more fire. Fumbling blindly about, Adam found his rifle, but his right arm dangled by his side. A searing pain radiated from his shoulder and down to his arm and chest.

  Following Hugh’s advice, Adam kept his head down and crawled away from the gunfire. Getting captured would serve no purpose. He’d seek medical help then return to his unit. His kepi fell off his head when he crashed into a bush but he didn’t stop to search for it. At last he reached a gully that offered some protection from the shots flying overhead. He stood, felt faint, and fell against a tree for support. Surely the rear of their line had to be close. Only a few more paces, maybe half a mile at most.

  But first he needed to rest. He dropped to the ground and leaned against the rough bark of a tree.

  He lost track of time.

  Musket fire died away.

  Twice he thought he heard men tromping through the woods but he was too weak to call out. Exhausted, he closed his eyes.

  The pain in his shoulder awoke him. The rain had stopped. The sky had cleared.

  As he looked at the full moon, shadows crossed it until an eclipse totally hid it. Could this be an omen, he wondered? The awe-inspiring sight might have moved him more if he hadn’t been so cold and thirsty. He remembered the poncho tied to the knapsack on his back. Reaching around with his left hand, he slipped it off his shoulder, groaning as the knapsack jarred his right arm.

  It took a couple of minutes for him to undo the ties that bound the poncho, but at last he arranged the waterproof cloth over his body. The blanket tied to the knapsack was drenched and of no use to him. A thirst stronger than any he had ever known assailed him. Though he knew he should conserve the little bit of water in his canteen, he drank it all and still longed for more.

  Severe pain robbed him of the ability to sleep. Shifting to a prone position under the relative protection of the leafless tree, he waited. No one would find him tonight, but his friends would come in the morning.

  Or so he hoped.

  • CHAPTER ONE •

  Lookout Mountain, Outside of Chattanooga, Tennessee,

  Wednesday, November 25, 1863

  As the sound of a hundred firing muskets echoed across the valley, Carrie Bishop stepped out of the darkness of the cave that had sheltered her family for over two months. Peering left and right before replacing the branches that obscured the mouth of the small cave, she felt grateful for the wispy fog. It should help to mask her movements from any watchful eyes in the valley. Leaving the safety of the shrubs and one tall oak tree that further hid the entrance, she exhaled with relief to find no sign of the soldiers on Lookout Mountain. A noisy battle had taken place here yesterday.

  Leaves rustled behind her. “Can I come out there with you, Carrie?”

  Turning swiftly at her little brother’s loud whisper, she motioned him back inside. “No, Jay. I told you to wait for me.”

  “Aw, come on, Carrie. I don’t want to stay with Aunt Lavinia.” Her nine-year-old brother raised his eyebrows imploringly.

  Carrie sighed. They’d both been stuck inside too much lately, and their bedridden aunt’s bitter complaining didn’t make returning to the cave such a pleasant prospect. “Let me look around first. I’ll be right back.”

  Keeping her slim frame below the top of the bushes to hide from any curious eyes in the valley or across it on Missionary Ridge, she crept about twenty feet away from the cave, her eyes darting in every direction without finding any sign of the blue-clad soldiers that had so terrified her during their approach yesterday.

  The Confederate Army had been on the mountain for a couple of months, causing no end of trouble for her. When the family’s only horse had disappeared, Carrie had vowed the soldiers wouldn’t get the cows and chickens too. They moved the livestock inside the cave with them. They’d managed to keep all the animals safe so far.

  Yesterday afternoon, it seemed that most of Lookout Mountain had been crawling with soldiers, Confederates and Union alike. Jay had wanted to sneak outside the relative safety of their temporary home to see the battle, but Carrie couldn’t allow it. She lived in constant fear that the hidden opening to their cave would be discovered by soldiers from either side. After the Southern Army stole her horse, it created a hardship for her family. She hadn’t felt good about them since that day. As for the Northern Army, they were the reason her papa had to leave home and fight for General Lee’s Confederate Army in far-off Virginia. She had a stomach full of both armies, with little tolerance left for either.

  Aunt Lavinia’s bitterness exceeded her own. Only she blamed Abe Lincoln’s Union Army as the source of all her woes, including her poor health.

  The big battle fought on the mountain yesterday had frightened her more than anything else that happened since the beginning of the war. Much of it seemed to come from the direction of the Cravens' house. Part of the fighting between the Confederate Army and the Yankee soldiers took place not far from her family’s cabin, empty now of all food and as many possessions as they could carry. She’d heard stories of hungry soldiers taking food from families. Not knowing how long the war would last, she had none to spare. If any soldier found their hiding place, there would be no way to conceal their food. And her family would starve without it.

  She and Jay had spent most of yesterday near the mouth of the cave, listening to cannon blasts and musket fire. They could peer through the carefully placed branches that obscured the entrance to the cave, but dense fog had covered the mountain. Since Carrie's home was about a third of the way up the mountain, most of yesterday’s fighting took place above them. At times, the shouts had been far too close for comfort, though the men had been too far away to distinguish any words. That’s when Carrie prayed the hardest. She asked God to hide them and keep them safe. So far He’d done that. No one had found them.

  Higher up the mountain, the battle had continued until late into the night when the musket fire finally decreased. Until the shooting died down, Aunt Lavinia had fretted aloud they’d all be killed. After Aunt Lavinia quieted down in her bed across the room, Carrie had fallen into a troubled sleep. Worry awakened her several times. The battle hadn’t seemed too close but was their cabin still standing? Property could easily be destroyed during intense fighting. Would they have a home to return to once the armies left?

  She had to go and find out. Hopefully, no one would notice her while fighting continued across the valley.

  A finger tapped on her shoulder. She jumped and stifled a scream. “Jay! You scared me to death.”

  “Sorry, Carrie.” Jay’s green eyes held an apology. “I thought you heard me behind you.”

  She put her hands on her hips. “Now, why would I hear you behind me when I asked you to wait?”

  Cannons blasted across the valley, reverberating in her ears. The blasts added to the sound of hundreds of muskets.

  Blond hair fell across Jay’s forehead as the heavy artillery claimed his attention. “Those cannons are going off down toward the Tennessee River. Looks like the Yankees are attacking Missionary Ridge. I heard them cheering this morning up on the mountain and down in the valley, too. I’ll bet that means the northerners won yesterday.”

  Hundreds of blue-jacketed Union soldiers ran across Lookout Valley toward the rifle pits at the base of Missionary Ridge, guarded by the Confederate Army. “I reckon the fighting’s moved over there. It’s been going on for hours.”

  “I’ve been listening to it, too.” Jay stared across the valley as smoke from the ridge showed the Confederates firing on Union soldiers from the rifle pit. “You think that means the soldiers will be leaving Lookout Mountain?”

  Carrie focused troubled eyes, so like her brother’s, on the battle, wishing she could protect him from further bad news. “There’s no telling the plans of these armies. There was a heap of fighting yesterday. Looks like the northerner
s won. That probably means the Yankees will be here a while longer.”

  Confederate soldiers in gray or butternut leaped from the rifle pits. As the Northern Army overran the rifle pit, the southerners climbed the steep grade of Missionary Ridge to join up with other Confederate soldiers. Once they began to arrive on top, the soldiers on the ridge shot down toward the Union soldiers who had no place to hide in the rifle pits. Mesmerized, Carrie and Jay watched as hundreds of Union soldiers climbed the steep sides of Missionary Ridge while Confederate soldiers shot at them. Carrie’s stomach twisted in knots as one man dropped his rifle before tumbling backward. Had she watched a man lose his life? Her heart plummeted at the possibility.

  “Come on. While they're busy across the valley, let's see if our cabin's still standing.” She tucked a few wisps of blonde hair behind her ears that had escaped from her customary style, a single braid that almost reached her waist.

  Leading the way up the path, she attempted to stay behind the brush as much as possible, knowing movement on the mountain could attract someone’s attention. Last night’s rain clung to some of the branches, wetting her plain brown cloak as she brushed against the foliage. She shivered in the cold breeze as they skirted around boulders.

  It wasn’t long before signs of the recent deluge of soldiers passing through became apparent. A few hundred yards beyond their property, trampled underbrush and young trees bent over at the base showed the hurry with which soldiers climbed the often steep grade. Part of the battle must have been fought less than a mile from her home.

  When they were within a hundred yards of the cabin, she heard a faint cry.

  “Did you hear something?” Unable to pinpoint the source, her eyes darted from side to side.

  “Nothing but a thousand musket shots—and those cannons rocking the whole valley.” Jay’s eyes remained riveted on the fighting.

  “Help! Help me, please.” A man’s raspy cry came from further up the mountain.