Marching Through Culpeper: A Novel of Culpeper, Virginia, Crossroads of the Civil War

By Virginia Beard Morton

Through the pages of this meticulously researched epic march the heroes of both great armies. We share their triumphs, feel their pain, and sense their vulnerability. This gripping page-turner, set in the most marched across county of the Civil War, is sure to please lovers of history, romance, and adventure.

Spirited eighteen-year-old Constance Armstrong, younger of two daughters, has been raised by her elderly judge father as a free thinking intellectual. She shares his love of politics and harbors literary aspirations.

Constance’s surrogate brother, Frank Stringfellow, is rejected by the cavalry due to his sparse size. Undeterred, he captures the pickets of one cavalry unit, and gains acceptance due to his daring. He becomes a scout and spy and undertakes countless hair-raising adventures, frequently entangling Constance.

Three dashing officers, two Confederate and one Union, vie for her affection as she struggles to survive the swirling chaos of war. Contending armies destroy her world but not her iron will as she doggedly provides for her sister's family. We watch this unpredictable heroine nurture, heal, kill, spy, hate bitterly, and ultimately love passionately

• Language: English
• Publisher: BookBaby
• Release date: Jul 1, 2000
• ISBN: 9781483514789

Book preview

chapter.

1

Storm Clouds on the Horizon

July 3-5, 1860

Fanaticism never stops to reason.

President James Buchanan, 1860

July 3, 1860: Rixeyville, Virginia

A feeling of exhilaration engulfed Constance Rixey Armstrong as she spurred her chestnut filly, Queen Elizabeth, to gallop faster. They flew through the lush emerald fields of rolling farmland framed by the Blue Ridge Mountains, twenty-five miles to the west. With the breeze rippling through her curly ebony hair, she turned to see her father rapidly approaching on her left. Head down to the run, he shouted when his horse galloped past her. With a nod of agreement, she spurred Liz forward and they raced down the hill, swiftly gaining speed. Several minutes later she watched her father and his black stallion sail over the two-foot-wide gurgling brook. Leaning forward, she and her filly likewise flew across as if they were one.

Enjoying the sweet aroma of honeysuckle, Constance slowed her mount to a trot and rode beside Charles Hudson Armstrong III. Father, did you see how beautifully she jumped the creek? She seems to know my every wish. She’s the most wonderful birthday present you could have given me! The eighteenth birthday surprise had been an extravagant gift, but Charles Armstrong adored Constance, and their mutual love of riding strengthened the deep bond of affection between them.

Indeed, he said with a laugh. The two of you appear to be made for each other. Frisky, spirited, and strong-willed.

A vivacious smile lit her face. Liz and I certainly think alike. Should we start back for dinner?

Yes. We don’t want to keep Sadie waiting, and I’m famished. He headed his horse across the small wooden bridge and onto the path back to their house, Panorama.

Constance absorbed the tranquil serenity of her surroundings. Her gaze to the north revealed Rose Dale, the three story yellow frame house of her great aunt and uncle, Martha and James Rixey. Far on the horizon to the south, she scanned the silhouette of Pleasant Hill, an imposing brick home built by another relative, Charles Rixey. The rich undulating farmland encircled her like a rumpled patchwork quilt. Alternating strips of wheat, corn, tobacco, and beans intermixed with pastures where sheep, cattle, and horses grazed lazily. Panorama, the two-story white frame house built by her grand-father, crowned the hill before her. He had married Katherine Rixey, daughter of a wealthy landowner in the area. Katherine’s father bestowed five hundred acres of land on the newlyweds. The young lovers hiked every inch of the property in order to select a building site with the most expansive view. The high ridge on which they constructed their home encompassed a 360-degree panoramic view with the mountains to the west and the Hazel River meandering below to the north. Hence, they named their home Panorama.

They rode up to the stable where Abraham Jordan greeted them with a big grin. Y’all have a good ride, Miss Constance?

It couldn’t have been more marvelous, Abraham. Liz performed like a champ. Walk her until she cools down. Abraham took the reins of the two sweating horses. Soon they would be stabled with Charles Armstrong’s ten other horses, some of the finest thoroughbreds in Virginia.

Father and daughter walked arm in arm up the hill. Constance stared intently at the 5-foot, 9-inch, fit seventy-year-old man beside her. Gray haired with a curling mustache, he epitomized a distinguished Virginia gentleman. His blue eyes sparkled with merriment.

The aroma of freshly baked bread drifting from the detached kitchen drew them forward. Judge Armstrong’s grandson, Hudson, dashed down the hill towards the two of them, with Isaac Jordan, Abraham’s grandson, in close pursuit. Grandpa, look what I found! Hudson said.

What exciting discovery have you made today? Charles stooped down to peer into Hudson’s cupped hands.

It’s an empty bug, the blonde-haired boy said.

No, said Isaac, a year older and wiser. Mista Armstrong, ain’t that a locust’s shell?

On closer examination, Charles chuckled. You’re absolutely right, Isaac. The locust sheds its shell when it becomes an adult. That loud noise we’ve been hearing at night is the locust’s mating call. Unfortunately, they’re eating all the leaves off the trees in the orchard.

Grandpa, can I keep this locust shell? Hudson pleaded.

Certainly, but I don’t know why you’d want to remember anything as destructive as the locust. They’re stripping our lands.

Come on, Hudson. Constance took his hand. We need to get you washed up for dinner. They stepped on the porch that stretched across the back of the house, and Constance’s older sister, Amanda, appeared at the door.

I’ll take him, Connie. She peeked into his cupped hands. What have we here?

A locust shell, Hudson said.

Oh my, what next?said his tall, slender mother.

The sweet scent of her mother’s roses greeted Constance in the center hall with its eleven-foot ceilings. Harriet Taylor Armstrong breezed by while father and daughter washed their hands in the bowl of water on the mahogany dry sink. Good heavens, Constance, don’t tell me you were riding in pants again.

You know I prefer to ride astride. Don’t worry, Mother, I didn’t scandalize the neighborhood. We stayed on the farm.

The stately lady stared down her sophisticated nose at her contrary daughter. You’re not coming to dinner in those riding pants. That’s inappropriate for a young lady.

Constance folded her arms. Father’s wearing his riding pants. We’re only family, so what difference does it make? Harriet threw up her arms in a hopeless gesture.

Charles rolled his eyes at Harriet as the family gathered around the large rectangular mahogany dining table. Harriet took the seat at the far end of the table. At fifty eight she possessed a grace and aristocratic beauty that attracted attention wherever she went. Large boned and standing 5 feet 8 inches, at first glance she appeared larger than her husband. A native of Fredericksburg, forty-five miles to the east, she was the daughter of a wealthy shipping tycoon. Nothing had been denied her. Marriage and family were postponed until she had traveled to Europe, studied art and music, and fully absorbed European culture. At age thirty three she finally returned to Fredericksburg, knowing that the time had come to settle down. Her brother introduced her to Charles Armstrong, a widower and fellow member of the Virginia Legislature. Immediately attracted to his intellect and gentleness, she accepted his proposal without giving a second thought to leaving the social life of Fredericksburg to live in rural Culpeper County. Their marriage was a strong and happy one.

On Harriet’s left sat Alex Yager, Amanda’s husband. Tall, muscular, and attractive, he had grown up in the German community of Jeffersonton, five miles to the north. His father owned a prosperous mercantile and was proud that he could send his only son to the University of Virginia, Mr. Jefferson’s university. Alex and Amanda, childhood sweethearts, had met when they attended the Jeffersonton Academy. Proud of snaring Amanda, Alex considered his marriage an upward social move. After finishing the university he began practicing law with his father-in-law. He had framed in a house for his growing family over the crest of the hill from Panorama and eagerly looked forward to moving into their own home.

Seated between Alex and Amanda, David Hans Yager cooed, blew bubbles, and played with the piece of toast on his wooden high chair tray. A healthy, cheerful baby this first year of his life, each day he grew to look more like his father with his brown eyes and auburn hair.

Amanda watched him, smiling. Her three pregnancies, including a miscarriage between the boys, had sapped her strength. Beginning to feel stronger, she prayed for the day when she could give Alex a daughter. Sophisticated like her mother, Amanda possessed a slender engaging face. Well read and musically talented, she played the flute, harp, and piano, and possessed a beautiful, well-trained soprano voice. Soft spoken, she never sought attention. However, when she performed musically, her shyness melted away as all eyes focused on her. She had been in love with Alex ever since she could remember and had not hesitated to marry him at age eighteen. Now, at twenty three, her life revolved around her family.

Constance studied her sister. She had watched Amanda become consumed with child-bearing and family responsibilities. Constance knew one thing for certain: she was not ready for married life now and perhaps never would be. She wanted freedom to be creative. Independent and highly intellectual, she devoured books. She had helped her father with legal and political research and constantly stayed abreast of current events. She knew she wanted to write, so perhaps her calling was in the newspaper business. A bitter anger welled up inside of her when she was told these professions were not open to women. Times were changing. Numerous women had written successful novels, and she refused to let her gender alter her dreams. She preferred discussions of important matters over flirtations and social prattle. Although she enjoyed a circle of interested suitors, none attracted her enough to make her consider giving up her freedom. She dreamed of a husband who would accept her as an equal.

Leaning up against his aunt, sandy-haired, round-faced Charles Hudson Yager looked hungrily at the chicken Sadie placed on the table. The four-year-old had carefully saved his locust shell in a jar before coming to dinner.

Charles Armstrong, seated at the opposite end of the table, looked lovingly over his brood. He had been blessed. After losing his first wife and newborn son in childbirth, life did not seem worth living. To overcome his grief, he had thrown himself into politics and later became extremely influential in the Virginia Legislature and the Democratic Party. Then Harriet Taylor’s sophistication and intelligence had captured his heart. At age forty five he embarked on marriage and raising a family for the second time. Harriet had lost a stillborn son prior to Amanda’s birth and then suffered a miscarriage between the girls. Her difficult pregnancy with Constance determined that she would be the last child. However, even though Charles never uttered one word of disappointment when his second daughter was born, he proceeded to raise her as he would a son. She fished and rode with him and shared his love of politics. Her intellect pleased him, and he realized she had far more legal potential than Alex did. It pained him that this profession was not open to her.

The salary of a judge was not large; Charles spent and gambled too much on horses, his weakness and passion. When his father died, he was forced to sell three hundred acres to divide the estate with his younger brother in California. Charles had retained his grandfather’s house in Culpeper Court House, where the family spent the winters. He used two rooms for his law offices and leased one room to a bookstore owner. Forced to sell another fifty acres to pay taxes last year, he possessed little savings.

He reached out his hands and the family joined hands around the table. Let us pray, he said. They bowed their heads. Most gracious and loving heavenly Father, bless this food to the nourishment of our bodies. Thank you for the bounty of nature, which we enjoy, and the beauty of your world around us. Let the voice of reason keep our nation from being torn asunder. We know that force and violence cannot solve problems and yet we wonder how our liberties and rights can be guaranteed. In these perilous times, we pray for the leaders of our nation. Grant them wisdom and compassion. Let diplomacy rule over fanaticism. Forgive us of our sins, and show us how to model our lives after Jesus Christ, our precious Lord and Savior. In His name we pray.

Amen, they said in unison.

Constance noticed the lines of tension on her father’s face. You sound very concerned, Father.

James Barbour returned today from the Democratic Convention in Baltimore, he said. He confirmed that the convention had split with the northern delegates nominating Douglas and the southern delegates walking out and later selecting Breckinridge. There’s also rumor that a fourth political party is being formed and hopes to nominate Bell as a compromise candidate.

Since the Republicans have already nominated Lincoln, that means we’ll have at least four presidential candidates on the ballot, Alex said.

The judge shook his head. This split in the Democratic Party practically assures that Mr. Lincoln will be elected.

Shock registered on every face. Heaven forbid, Alex cried. The South would never stand for having that uncouth Black Republican in the White House.

Constance leaned forward. Do you really think he can win?

It’s inevitable, Charles replied in a troubled voice. Although more people will vote against him than for him, he will still receive the most votes of the four candidates. The anti-Republican vote will be split three ways.

That’s enough talk of politics at the dinner table, Harriet said. She passed the green beans to Alex. What time will we leave tomorrow for the party?

Around 9:00, but I wonder what kind of a Fourth celebration this will be. Charles took one of Sadie’s huge rolls. You’re taking your famous fried chicken to the picnic, aren’t you Sadie?

Yas’r, Mista Armstrong, ya know it wouldn’t be no picnic without mah chicken! Sadie said. Me an’ Abraham was wonderin’ if we could ride over an’ see Mary while y’all is at Salubria? She served the potatoes.

Certainly, Charles said. How is she?

She’s fine. Lookin’ forward to bein’ a momma. Sadie’s wide grin showed her even pearly teeth.

After dinner, Harriet and Amanda went into Harriet’s sewing room while Constance followed her father and Alex into the study. She loved the aroma of the leather on the chairs, sofa, and the bindings for the hundreds of books lining the walls. Charles and Alex relaxed into the two worn, tawny chairs and lit their pipes. In most households, it was considered improper for a woman to accompany the men into the study. However, Constance traipsed in and plopped on the couch. Charles always allowed her to participate in political discussions.

Father. She looked at him intently. Do you think that Mr. Lincoln’s election could lead to war?

Charles Armstrong puffed thoughtfully on his pipe. His gray eyebrows drew together. I hope not with all my heart, but the southern states will most likely secede rather than be subjected to the rule of an abolitionist president. If that happens, the question remains, will Mr. Lincoln declare war?

The states have the legal right to secede, Alex said. Our constitutional rights have been violated. For years, we’ve had to pay the unfair tariff on imports. Millions of dollars have been transferred from the South to the North through the tariff. It has protected their manufacturing interests and built new roads in the Northwest Territories. Meanwhile, they throw insults at us.

They made a martyr out of that fanatic John Brown, Charles said. He broke the law, yet the Yankees proclaim him a hero and try to incite the slaves against us. I think they’re determined to destroy us.

Constance pondered her father’s words. Brown’s raid at Harper’s Ferry had stunned the citizens of Culpeper County. One of the four innocent, unarmed civilians killed, Fontaine Beckam, the mayor, had been born in Culpeper, and many of his close relatives lived in the county. Mr. Lincoln’s election could be disastrous, she said. The people will feel that they’ve been wronged if a president is elected by only the New England states. I’m afraid our founding fathers didn’t foresee this type of situation when they wrote the Constitution. No president should be elected who doesn’t receive the majority of the popular vote.

Alex inhaled on his pipe. Are you espousing the theory of one man, one vote?

Yes, Constance said. Only of course I’d prefer one man, one woman, one vote. It’s the only true form of democracy. If no candidate receives a majority of the vote, then there should be a run-off election between the top two. That way the country would never have a president who didn’t win the majority of the votes. Such a system could avert the impending calamity.

Charles Armstrong looked at his daughter with admiration. Constance, my dear, in theory, you’re absolutely right. However, only a Constitutional Amendment could make that change. Obviously, it’s impossible for that to happen before the election, or even at any other time. Meanwhile, we must deal with the situation that confronts us….but enough worrying about politics. I’ll ride Liz tomorrow so you’ll have her with you when we spend a few days at the Stringfellows. I bet she can outrun any horse on the Stringfellow farm.

Constance perked up and tossed her raven locks over her shoulder. I know she can, Father. I’ll show that Frank Stringfellow a thing or two. I imagine he thinks he knows everything now that he’s a graduate of the Episcopal High School in Alexandria. She bounced off the sofa. I’d better get my clothes packed.

Sadie Jordan wiped the sweat from her brow after she set the tray of dishes and leftovers on the pine trestle table in the brick kitchen. A tall, large-boned black woman, she conveyed strength and energy in her every movement. With a cheerful smile, she addressed her family, Y’all ready to eat supper?

I’m starvin’, shouted her grandson, Isaac.

Calm down, boy. Abraham pulled the boy down on the bench. Let’s say the blessin’ first. Abraham’s son Joseph and his wife Selene pulled Hope up to the table and they all bowed their heads.

After the prayer Sadie said, Mista Armstrong seemed pow’ful upset at dinner. Seems he thinks some man named Lincoln might be elected president an’ that could make our people very unhappy. They even talkin’ about fightin’ an’ war.

We’re pretty happy. Sure don’t want no fightin’ round here. Abraham passed the collards.

I heard at Monumental Mills that some of the northern folks wanna free the slaves, Joseph said. He piled hog and hominy on his plate. But nobody knows what they gonna do with ’em after they free ’em. Folks don’t like havin’ free blacks ‘round here. Ya know how it was for us when Mista Armstrong’s daddy freed us in his will. Mista Armstrong had to say we’d be taken care of or they’d of made us leave. Who wants to leave their home?

Humph! Abraham snorted. Two of his sons, Noah and John, had gone north and worked for the railroad. Noah had been killed in a dynamite accident and John couldn’t tolerate the hard work and the harassment of the Irishmen. He now worked as a cook at a local hotel. John’s glad to be back in Culpeper. He say this is where he wants to be.

I’m jist thankful Mista Armstrong let me be his overseer, Joseph said. He’s a good man to work for. Judge Armstrong used hired labor and paid Joseph a percentage of the profit on the farm.

Mah grandma was born on this farm, Sadie said. This is mah home. Ain’t nobody goin’ to make this chile leave her home an’ her people. She pointed her finger at her chest.

That’s easy for y’all to say, said Selene, a small woman of twenty four with fine features. Even when y’all was slaves, y’all had a good massa. But I had to put up with mean ol’ Mista Kelly. If any slave did the least little thing, he’d chain ’em inside the gristmill overnight an’ whip ’em. She stared into Joseph’s eyes. The happiest day of mah life was when Mista Armstrong bought me so I could be your wife. But, I’m still a slave, an’ so is mah kids.

Selene, Joseph said. "Ya know Mista Armstrong had to pay a big price for ya, $1500.i He only bought ya to keep me happy. Soon as I finish payin’ him back, you’ll be free. He says if the kids work for him ‘til they’re twenty five, he’ll set ’em free then. Ya don’t know how lucky ya are."

You right, Joseph. She wiped off three-year-old Hope’s face. I’m jist tired. I’ll be glad when this baby comes. She patted her stomach.

Hurry up an’ finish your dinner, Abraham. Sadie stood and collected the dishes. We’s got a lotta work to do to get ready for this trip tomorrow.

Yas’um. Abraham grinned, then stood up and headed to the stable.

Constance held the azure cotton sateen dress up in front of her and gazed at herself in the mirror. She whirled around to face Sadie. What do you think, Sadie? Should I wear this one to the picnic tomorrow? At least these ruffles over the bodice make me look bigger. Why can’t slenderness be the fashion?

Oh, Miss Constance. Sadie laughed heartily. You’s somethin’. That dress looks gorgeous on ya. It matches your blue eyes. Don’t ya fret none ‘bout your figure. You’ll fill out in all the right places. Jist give it some time. Ya know I ain’t never told ya no lie. Trust Sadie.

Constance laid the dress on her bed. I suppose. These hoops and corsets must be the invention of the devil. She tossed them into the open trunk on the floor. Why do we let ourselves be enslaved to such discomfort?

Sadie slowly poured the hot water into the large wash bowl. I suppose it’s ‘cause ya wanna look pretty an’ attract the gen’men. She pulled Constance’s silky hair up in a ribbon to keep it from getting wet. Ya need anything else, Miss Constance?

I’m not sure I see the logic in that argument. But no, Sadie, I’m fine. Good night.

Sadie kissed her on the forehead and closed the door. Constance smiled inwardly. She loved the old Negress like a member of the family.

When Constance crawled into bed, she gazed out of her upstairs window at the last rays of pink light fading behind the dark blue peaks. Fingers of red glowed on the clouds floating above the shimmering Hazel River as nature’s kaleidoscope unfolded before her. This was her little corner of the world, this hamlet called Rixeyville, seven miles northwest of Culpeper Court House. She sighed with contentment and well being. If only those locusts would quit making that pulsating racket she could sleep. She flung the pillow over her head, trying to drown out the grinding whir. Damn the locusts and damn Abrahma Lincoln for invading her peaceful world!

Next day, July 4, 1860: En route to Salubria

Constance fanned herself while the carriage creaked eastward along the dusty road past the tiny village of Georgetown, nestled at the foot of Pony Mountain. The trip would go faster now, because the land flattened out eastward towards the Rapidan River. Fields of golden wheat rippling in the breeze waved back at her. The wheat crop, the county’s biggest money crop, looked bumper this year.

Her mother, seated beside her, dabbed her face with a handkerchief. I see Ashland. She pointed to the frame farmhouse in the distance. It’ll be good to see the Beckams today. I always love this Fourth celebration because it gives us an opportunity to see all our friends.

Amanda, seated across from them, shifted the napping boys leaning against her. Come now, Mother, she said. We know you’re the most excited about spending a few days with your dear friend Anne Stringfellow.

Harriet laughed softly. She and Anne had grown up next door to each other in Fredericksburg and were as close as sisters. You know me well, my darling. One of the reasons I agreed to marry your father and move to Culpeper is that I knew Anne was here. Her almond eyes crinkled at the corners when she smiled. I’m joking, of course. I would have married your father anyway. But Anne’s friendship has been a source of joy to me.

And you’ve been a blessing and strength to her since Rittenhouse died, Constance said. I still can’t understand why she’s never remarried.

Her mother paused to reflect. I suppose no one has measured up to him. She’s doted on her three boys and has fortunately had Thornton and other relatives to look after her. She’s content. Harriet tilted her head to look Constance in the eye. She worried that her strong-willed daughter did not seek enough female friends. Now tell me Constance, who is your best friend?

Constance wrinkled her face in deep concentration. Well, the person who knows me the best, and always makes me laugh is Frank. He’s my adopted big brother, and I believe he’s my best friend. There’s no one else I would confide in or trust like Frank.

Are you sure, little sister, that he’s just a friend? Amanda stroked David’s hair. You know that Mother and Anne would be ecstatic if you and Frank would marry!

Constance leaned forward. Mandy, don’t be ridiculous. That would be like incest. I think of Frank as a brother, and that’s all. Besides I’m not in any hurry to get married. Why is everybody trying to push me down the aisle?

Now girls, calm down or you’ll wake the boys, Harriet said with arched eyebrows. Constance, I’m delighted Frank is a good friend to you, and I’m not trying to hurry you into marriage. Look how long it took me.

Sorry Constance, Amanda mumbled. I didn’t mean to rile you. She looked out the window thoughtfully. I think of Fannie Barbour as my best friend. She’s always concerned about my feelings, and oh, how we do laugh when we’re together.

Constance sulked with her head against the window and stared across the acres of fertile farmland towards Clover Hill, the home of her father’s good friend, John Barbour. The frame house, built in 1775, fascinated her. The steeply pitched shake roof was adorned with narrow, double-arched windows topped with fake peaked dormers, almost giving the structure the appearance of an English cottage.

Charles and Alex rode up close to the carriage, and Charles called, We’ll stop at Stevensburg to water the horses.

Stevensburg, the oldest and once the largest town in the county, nestled at the intersection of Kirtley’s Trail, the primary road to Fredericksburg, and the Carolina Road, the main north–south artery originally used by the Indians. Inns and taverns were interspersed among numerous houses at this popular stopping place for travelers. Notorious pastimes such as horseracing, cock fighting, and all forms of gambling, had thrived in the early village. Many of the Quaker families, no longer able to condone these rowdy activities or slavery, migrated to Ohio around 1820. The completion of the Orange and Alexandria railroad in 1854 made growth move to Culpeper Court House, centrally located and now the most populous town in the county. Stevensburg reverted to a sleepy little village. Perhaps things would have been different if Thomas Jefferson had selected it as the location of the University of Virginia. Local legend said the town was seriously considered but was ruled out because of an insufficient water supply.

Look, exclaimed Amanda when the carriage pulled into Zimmerman’s Cross Keys Tavern, There are Fannie and James.

Everyone piled out of the carriage. David and Hudson rubbed their eyes, and Amanda rushed over to embrace Fannie. Amanda, said Fannie Beckam Barbour, shifting her baby daughter on her hip, How wonderful to see you. I’ve missed our visits. Please ride the rest of the way to Salubria with us so that we can visit.

I’d love to. Amanda pulled baby Ellen’s nose. How she’s grown!

Momma, whined Hudson, I don’t wanna ride with those babies.

Well, of course not young man. You’re much too old for that. His grandmother chuckled, then bent over and took him by the hand. I’d be honored if you’d ride with me. She turned to Amanda and winked.

James Barbour, influential member of the Virginia House of Delegates, shook hands with Charles and Alex. Looks like all roads lead to Salubria today.

Indeed, Alex answered. But this year’s celebration may be more subdued than usual.

Perhaps you’re right. James, thirty seven, wiped beads of sweat from his brow. But we must work to ensure that next year we’ll still be celebrating the Fourth of July.

Constance caressed Liz’s nose and rubbed the horse’s long muscular neck while the filly drank from the trough. I know it’s hot, baby, but we’re almost there, she whispered. She moved to the shade cast by the tavern building dating from 1800 and wondered if the simple two-story frame structure with a porch across the front had changed much since Thomas Jefferson stopped there en route to his inauguration. Constance strolled over to the well to join the others for a drink of cool water.

After the short stop, the carriage slowly wound up the steady incline where Stevensburg Baptist Church became visible on the left. The relatively new brick structure with a beautiful steeple sat perched on a high knoll with a commanding view. I understand that church has grown rapidly during Thornton Stringfellow’s ministry, Harriet commented. The new church has a balcony where the servants sit.

Constance leaned her head against the window, contemplating Reverend Stringfellow, Frank’s uncle. Convinced that Africans had benefitted physically and spiritually from bondage, he had a reputation for preaching stirring sermons defending slavery based on Biblical references. It’s true; slavery had existed since recorded time and local slaves were some of the best cared for laborers in the world. Still, she wondered how the slaves really felt when they heard his sermons.

* * *

Salubria: Benjamin Franklin Stringfellow strolled past the seemingly endless line of tables laden with every imaginable delicacy. The twenty-year-old was hungry as usual, but no matter how much he ate, he could not spread more than a hundred and twenty pounds over his 5-foot, 8-inch frame. He would wait for Constance to arrive so he could enjoy her company while he feasted. He pushed the blonde curly hair back from his high forehead and turned to gaze up at Salubria. The stately mid-Georgian home, built in 1742, was the oldest brick structure in the county and an appropriate location for the Fourth of July celebration. Two lofty chimneys centered on each end of the house crowned the mansard roof. Perfectly proportional with two windows flanking each side of the front door, the otherwise plain two-story façade gained an elegant rhythm by the use of brick arches above each opening. Frank had seen numerous beautiful homes while in Alexandria and Washington, but in his opinion, none of them outshone Salubria. Perhaps his friend, architect Jeremiah Morton, was right. He believed it to be one of the best examples of Georgian architecture in America.

His eyes swept over hundreds of acres of gently rolling farmland. The flocks of sheep looked like cotton puffs contrasted against the verdant fields framing the terraced gardens behind the house. Dark green mounds of boxwood enclosed the gardens where roses perfumed the air. At least two hundred friends and relatives mingled around him. American flags waved in the breeze while red, white, and blue tablecloths adorned the food tables; picnickers sat on blankets or plank benches. His stomach growled. He looked hopefully towards the latest carriage to arrive. The sun glistened on Constance’s long hair as she disembarked. Always a prankster, he would surprise her.

Abraham helped the ladies step down from the carriage. Give our regards to the Maddens. Charles handed him Liz’s reins. Willis Madden is a fine man.

’Deed I will, Mista Armstrong. Ten o’clock soon enuff for us to be back?

I’m sure we won’t be ready before then. The dancing won’t start until dark. Charles took Harriet’s arm and guided her towards the festivities.

Robert Grayson, owner of Salubria, greeted the family at the garden entrance. It’s always a pleasure to see you.

We appreciate your generous hospitality, Charles said.

Grayson’s two unmarried sons, Robert and John, approached Constance with smiles on their faces. Miss Constance, John, a medical student, said, I would be most honored if you would save me a dance.

With a low bow, Robert, eighteen, added, I, too, would like to request the pleasure of a dance.

Gentlemen, Constance said with an inviting smile, it would be my pleasure.

The Armstrongs threaded through the crowd to the food tables, smiling and greeting friends en route. Amanda and Constance placed two large trays of fried chicken on the table, then Amanda spied Frank Stringfellow silently stalking up behind Constance. He put his finger to his lips signaling her to remain quiet and threw his hands over Constance’s eyes. Guess who? he asked in a high squeaky voice.

Constance giggled. It has to be Frank! She spun around to look into his deep-set blue eyes. Smooth faced with an impish grin, he still didn’t look a day over fifteen. I’ve missed you.

Frank hugged her and gave her a kiss on the cheek. And I, you, my dearest sister. I believe you grow more ravishing every day.

We haven’t been together two minutes and you’re teasing me already. She stuck her lip out in a little pout.

That’s what big brothers are for, he chuckled. And since you don’t have one, I’ve accepted that responsibility. I’m glad you finally arrived. I’ve been waiting for you so that we could dine together. I’m famished.

The two of them walked along the food tables, piling their plates with ham, chicken, potatoes, strawberries, biscuits, pie, and numerous other delicacies. They planted themselves in the shade on one of the improvised benches.

Looks delicious. Constance spread the red napkin in her lap. Sadie says if I eat more, my figure will fill out.

Don’t think I have the answer to that question. Frank took a big chunk out of a chicken leg. It doesn’t matter how much I eat, I still don’t gain any weight.

Abraham gave the horses free rein as the carriage jostled over the rutted dirt road towards Madden’s Tavern. Sadie smiled at the thought of her Mary being married to Jack Madden, son of Willis Madden, wealthiest black man in the county. One hard-working man, Willis owned a big farm, livestock, the tavern, blacksmith shop, and hauled produce and building materials. She considered him a lot more prosperous than some white folk, especially that riffraff over in The Flats.

Willis Madden, one of 429 free blacks in Culpeper County, came from a family that had always been free, never slaves. His grandmother, an Irish servant, conceived a daughter by a Negro. The status of the mother determined whether a child was free or slave. The free daughter served as an indentured servant on the estate of President James Madison in adjacent Orange County. After fulfilling her years of indenture, she moved to Culpeper and made a living as a seamstress. Willis, one of her thirteen children, was industrious, successful, and respected in the community. Although he could not read, he had built a tavern and thriving business located a day’s travel from Fredericksburg on the road west. Teamsters and drovers camped around his tavern with the livestock they were driving to market. Known for good food and spirits, Madden’s Tavern was frequented by most of the whites in the county. Madden’s two youngest sons, Jack, twenty, and Nathaniel, eighteen, still worked with him. Not owning slaves himself, he hired slaves from adjacent farms when he needed additional labor.

The outline of Maddens’s Tavern appeared when the carriage made a turn in the road and creaked up the incline. Several drovers with their pigs already surrounded the L-shaped two-story building with dormers, situated in a grove of trees. Abraham tied the horses to the hitching post and Willis Madden strolled out the front door to greet them. A tall, attractive, dark mulatto, he held his hand out to help Sadie down from the carriage. Mary said y’all would probably show up today. We’ve been lookin’ for ya.

Ya know we wouldn’t pass up a chance to see our Mary while we was in the neighborhood. Abraham shook his hand.

Petite Mary bounded through the door. Momma! Daddy! She hugged them both. I jist knew y’all was comin’. I made some apple pies an’ cooked a roast.

Lawd, chile, look at ya, Sadie said patting her stomach. There’s more of ya than the last time we seen ya. Ya feelin’ well?

I’m feelin’ fine Momma. She led them into the main room of the tavern. Polished pine chairs and tables filled the room where several customers enjoyed dinner. This baby sure can kick. Y’all come on back to the family quarters.

They entered the back wing of the house, where upholstered chairs and a sofa sat atop a colorful wool rug before a large stone fireplace. Y’all sit down, Willis said. Jack’ll be up from feedin’ the horses in a minute.

Sadie glanced up at the mantel to see two symbols of Willis Madden’s prosperity, a clock with metal works and a photograph of himself.

Willis relaxed into one of the chairs. I have to tell y’all, havin’ Mary here since mah Kitty died has been a Godsend. I don’t know what I’d of done without her. He glanced at his daughter-in-law affectionately.

Mary clasped his hand. Ya know how happy I am to be here. But tell me, Momma, how’s everythin’ at home?

Sadie’s bushy eyebrows furrowed together. Mista Armstrong sent y’all his regards. He seems kinda upset ‘bout this Lincoln might be elected president. Might be a war or somethin’. Seems Mr. Lincoln wants to free all the slaves. That’s good, but what’s he’s goin’ to do with them after he frees ’em?

Keep hearin’ talk ‘bout sendin’ all the slaves back to Africa, Willis said with disgust. Who wants to leave their homes to go to Africa? Still our people have to be freed so we can all have more rights. He paused reflecting on his situation. I can own property, but I have to pay taxes an’ can’t vote. Guess I shouldn’t complain ‘bout that; white women in the same boat. Can’t own no weapons. I ‘member when I had to use a wooden pole to kill a rabid dog that was ‘bout to attack the kids. Can’t learn how to read…hate that the most.

I’ve got a secret, Sadie said, beaming. I told Miss Constance I wanted to be able to read the Good Book mahself. She said, no reason I shouldn’t, an’ she’s been teachin’ me to read. Y’all jist wait. Then I’ll teach all of y’all.

Muscular, stocky Jack Madden came through the back door dressed in coveralls. Well look here. If it ain’t Ma an’ Pa Jordan. Ain’t seen y’all in a coon’s age. He hugged Sadie and shook hands with Abraham. Is dinner ‘bout ready Mary? I’ve worked up a pow’ful appetite.

Yes indeed, honey. Mary took Sadie by the arm. Come on Momma, an’ help me get the food on the table. Then we’re all gonna have us a nice long visit.

The air grew cooler when the sun dropped behind the western tree line at Salubria. This traditional signal to begin the festivities caused the members of the band to tune their instruments. Robert Grayson walked forward, followed by several members of the local militia carrying the American flag and the flag of Virginia. Let everybody stand, he announced loudly, while Amanda Yager and Fannie Barbour lead us in singing the national anthem.

Amanda and Fannie walked front and center while everyone stood and faced the flag. Some saluted; others placed their hands over their hearts, while many others looked bored. Amanda and Fannie sang out lustily, but the crowd sang much less enthusiastically than in years past. Amanda’s eyes scanned the group and she noticed many simply mouthed the words, while others made no attempt to sing. The same question haunted every mind…would they be here again next Fourth of July? At the conclusion of the anthem the color guard fired thirteen shots into the air, causing babies to cry and dogs to howl. The band broke into a foot-tapping version of the Virginia Reel and couples quickly lined up to dance. John Grayson pulled Constance forward to join the festivities.

Fannie and Amanda walked to the side of the garden to watch the dancers. I felt like we were singing alone, Amanda whispered.

A tall young man in an army uniform walked towards them with a military gait and bowed. Cousin Robert, Fannie said. Allow me to introduce Amanda Yager. You haven’t seen her in many years. She’s the daughter of Charles Armstrong.

Mrs. Yager, he said in a smooth low voice, I’m Robert Beckam, son of John Beckam of Warrenton.

Oh, yes, Amanda said recognizing him. We’ve met before. My father thinks highly of your father. Are you home on leave?

Yes. He glanced at the dancers. I graduated from West Point last summer and have been serving as an engineer at Detroit where I’m doing survey work on the Great Lakes. This is my first leave in a year and I decided to spend some time with my Culpeper relatives. Constance and John whirled by. Tell me, he asked while his eyes followed them, who is the young lady in the blue dress?

Amanda and Fannie laughed. That’s my younger sister, Constance. Would you like me to introduce you?

Robert Beckam shifted his weight on his feet and looked down. Clearly blushing, he replied, She seems to be busy at the moment. However, I’ll be certain to introduce myself to her before the night is over. Mrs. Yager, it was a pleasure seeing you. He bowed and strolled away.

Flickering lanterns cast a soft shadowy light on the gardens. Thousands of fireflies twinkled, adding enchantment to the evening while laughing children chased them with glee. Overheated by the dancing, Constance joined a group of her friends. Lucy Ashby, who lived several blocks from the Armstrongs’ town home, greeted her. It’s about time you stopped to talk to us, Constance. Perhaps you can help us solve a mystery. Who’s that tall, dark, handsome young man in the uniform?

None of us have ever seen him before, said Jane, Lucy’s sister.

Heaven forbid there should be an eligible man here and we don’t know who it is, giggled Annie Crittenden.

I’m afraid I can’t help you, Constance replied. I haven’t seen anyone in a uniform yet.

Doesn’t my cousin, Daniel Grimsley, look mature and sophisticated tonight? I must admit, I’m smitten, Bettie Browning said with a sigh.

Finding this idle prattle uninteresting, Constance said, I’m parched. I must get some punch.

Constance wove through the crowd carrying her cup of punch, then noticed her father and several of his cronies talking in front of a cluster of boxwoods. Anxious to overhear their comments on the current political situation, she circled around behind the boxwoods where she would be hidden. Leaning forward, she listened intently.

Coleman Beckam, Fannie’s father, said, The hypocrisy of the North on the slavery issue is more than we can tolerate. The seafaring people of New England have made fortunes transporting slaves from Africa, and then making and trading rum back to the Africans. Now they’re getting rich using child labor in their factories to make our cotton into cloth.

This woman, this Harriet Beecher Stowe, who’s never been on a plantation, writes a book of fiction, and suddenly the northerners are convinced we all abuse our slaves, said Reverend Stringfellow. Our people are well taken care of. Those who mistreat their slaves, like John Kelly, are social outcasts.

But the real issue is state’s rights, argued Baptist Hill. Our constitutional rights are being violated. My brother, A. P., who’s stationed in Washington, says tension is mounting there.

You all know that I’m an ardent Unionist, James Barbour said with conviction. Virginia gave birth to this nation, and to leave it would be a tragedy. We grow little cotton here. In many ways our farms have more in common with those of Pennsylvania than the cotton and indigo plantations of the Deep South. I believe Virginia must step forth and be a peacemaker between the two regions.

James is right. We must explore every means for a peaceful solution, added his brother John, president of the Orange and Alexandria Railroad. If war should come, the railroad would be prized by both sides. Because of our location, we’d be in the center of the strife.

Robert Beckam edged his way around the boxwoods towards Constance. Miss Armstrong, are you so bored with the party that you must resort to eavesdropping on a bunch of old men? he asked in a low voice.

She jumped, spilling punch on her dress. Oh! You startled me! She twirled around to look up into the attractive face of the dark-haired young man in a uniform.

I apologize, he said. I didn’t mean to frighten you. I’m Robert Beckam from Warrenton. You may not remember me, but I met you years ago while visiting my relatives here, but, you were only a girl then. I was hoping to entice you away from the old men, and get you to dance with me.

Dumbfounded, Constance muttered, Of course, while she struggled to make out his features in the shadows.

He took her arm and guided her out to the garden where they began moving to a slow waltz. Able to see him better now, she admired his long, slender face with its perfectly proportioned nose and features. She gazed up into his dark eyes. I’m sure you’re wondering why I was trying to overhear that conversation, she said with a demure smile. I’m quite interested in politics. However, since it would have been improper for me to join the gentlemen in conversation, my only alternative was to eavesdrop. Tell me, what’s your assessment of the state of our nation?

That, Miss Armstrong, is a difficult question. I’m now stationed at Detroit. Those of us in the army try to proceed with business as usual. There are no real hostilities amongst us. He stared into the dancing depths of her azure eyes. However, each of us knows that if war comes, our loyalties will go to our states. He watched her long lush lashes cast shadows on her china white cheeks. I do have difficulty controlling myself when I hear the Yanks making a martyr of that lunatic John Brown and condemning Virginia for hanging him. My Uncle Fontaine was murdered in Brown’s raid.

They moved in unison, circling with the music. Yes, I know. It’s frustrating that women have no voice in the situation. Our lives would be totally changed by a war, and our hardships would be great.

You’re absolutely correct; all of our lives would be changed. If Mr. Lincoln is elected, we must at least give him a chance. His strong hand guided her around another couple as his gentle eyes caught and held hers.

She studied his lean bronze face and decided to change the subject. How long will you be here?

The even whiteness of her vivacious smile dazzled him. Unfortunately, I must leave tomorrow. I’m spending tonight with Uncle James at Auburn. Then I’ll have next week to visit my parents before I return to Detroit. My greatest regret is that I didn’t meet you sooner. His smile matched hers with enthusiasm. So tell me everything there is to know about Constance Armstrong.

Constance laughed and felt her face flushing. When the music ended they continued their conversation under one of the flickering lanterns. Engrossed, she lost track of time before her father joined them, but realized she had done most of the talking.

I hate to interrupt the two of you, the judge said. But the hour is late and we must be going to the Retreat. Lieutenant Beckam, it’s been a pleasure to see you. Please give my best regards to your father.

I will certainly do that, Judge Armstrong. He turned to Constance with a smile and kissed her hand. Miss Armstrong, it’s been a pleasure indeed. I’ve enjoyed our lively conversation. His gaze traveled over her face and searched her eyes. I hope that if this lonely soldier writes to you, you will be kind enough to respond.

She felt a certain sadness that their time together was ending as she sensed an invisible web of attraction building between them. His quiet maturity fascinated her. You may be sure that I will, Lieutenant Beckam. Her eyes sparkled with anticipation. I’ve enjoyed your company. Good night.

Next day, July 5, 1860: The Retreat, near Raccoon Ford

The aroma of bacon, coffee, and biscuits finally aroused Constance from a deep sleep. At nearly 10 o’clock, she joined the others in the dining room of The Retreat.

Ah, the fair damsel has arisen, Frank announced dramatically, then heaped apple butter on a steaming biscuit.

Don’t let him tease you, Constance. We all slept late, Anne Stringfellow chuckled with a smile that showed the lines around her eyes. A petite woman with wrinkles that reflected strength, she carried herself like an aristocrat. None of us has been up long. Get a plate and help yourself to everything on the sideboard.

Constance piled fried apples on her plate. It smells delicious. It was so kind of you to invite us to stay so we wouldn’t have to make the long ride back to town.

You know Mother tries to lure you here as frequently as possible, commented Frank’s oldest brother, Robert, seated beside his wife, Eliza Green Stringfellow.

Constance sat down, devoured her breakfast, and listened to the conversation around the table. Frank’s middle brother, Martin, and his bride of two months, Nellie Madison Stringfellow, confessed to being blissfully happy, and Anne told how wonderful it was to have both families there to help with the thousand-acre plantation. She said that in honor of the Armstrongs’ visit, she had invited Thornton Stringfellow and his brood to join them for dinner. She hoped to enlist Amanda’s musical talents for the entertainment. Flattered, Amanda agreed.

Eager for action, Constance waited for a lull in the conversation and then tossed out her challenge. You know, Father gave me a beautiful horse for my birthday. I believe she’s faster than any of the Stringfellow horses.

Young lady. Frank stood up and threw his napkin on the table. I consider that a challenge! I’ll protect the good name of our stable.

Constance stood and addressed the others. Would anyone else like to join us?

No, her father replied. It’s a bit too warm today for me to ride. I believe I’ll while away the afternoon fishing.

Let’s take our two girls and your boys down to the river to swim, Eliza said to Amanda and Alex.

That sounds like a refreshing way to spend the hot afternoon, Amanda said. It’s not every day that we get to enjoy the shade beside the Rapidan River.

Frank enjoyed the view from the front porch while he waited for Constance. The Retreat, a two-story rambling frame house, sat in a grove of birch trees on a slight knoll overlooking the Rapidan River. Originally named the Rapid Ann after Queen Ann, the name of the river had been shortened over time. The plantation encompassed flat to gently rolling river-bottom land, some of the richest soil in the county. As he gazed across the river, Frank saw the high peak of Clark Mountain to his right and sharply rising hills directly across the river, the boundary line between Culpeper and Orange counties. Slightly over a mile downstream was the mill town of Raccoon Ford, located near Summerduck, the home of his uncle, Reverend Thornton Stringfellow.

Constance strolled out, properly attired in a black riding dress and holding her riding hat and whip. I’m ready.

When they reached the stables, Abraham had Liz saddled. Her glistening chestnut coat caused Frank to whistle. Whew, Connie. She’s a beauty!

Constance stroked the horse’s nose. I’ve named her after a spirited influential woman whom I greatly admire – perhaps the most powerful woman who’s ever lived – Queen Elizabeth. I call her Liz.

She looks like a queen and even has the coloring of Elizabeth. Her markings are unique. Frank admired Liz’s long muscular legs. The horse had almost a star between her eyes, white at her hooves, and a marking like a white handprint on her right thigh.

Let’s take them around the track and do a few jumps to warm up, Constance said, swinging into the saddle.

The two of them trotted around the track several times. Liz took every hurdle easily in stride. After about fifteen minutes, Constance called out to Frank on his gray mare, Are you ready to accept the challenge?

He nodded yes and said, We don’t want to work them too hard in this heat. Let’s go one time around the track and then down and around that large oak tree off in the field. Who ever returns and goes across the first hurdle will win.

You’re on! Constance stopped beside him. Are you ready? He nodded. Go!

The two horses ran neck and neck most of the way around the track. Liz took the jumps quicker but then Frank’s mare gained a slight lead on the straight-of-way when they sped across the field. Constance urged Liz on and she took the inside curve as they rounded the oak tree. Then when they raced for the last hurdle, hooves thundering, Frank pulled slightly ahead. Come on, baby! Constance leaned forward and gave her the whip. Liz glided over the last hurdle a nose ahead of Frank’s mare.

We beat you! Constance crowed.

I’m not ready to concede defeat. Frank slowed his horse. That was a hairline finish.

Balderdash, Frank Stringfellow! We beat you fair and square and you know it, she exclaimed defiantly. If I’d been riding astride, we’d have beaten you worse.

Well, maybe, he acquiesced with a smile. Let’s go down by the river.

When they reached the cool shade encompassing the rapidly flowing river, they led the horses down the gentle bank to drink. I want to go wading, Constance said. She sat on a log, lifted her skirt, and took her boots off. Suddenly, amidst an abrupt thrashing noise, two creatures scurried out from under the log. Oh! She jumped up and dashed towards Frank.

He spied the ringed tails of the rapidly retreating assailants and laughed. Coons. Now we know how Lafayette felt when the same thing happened to him during the revolution. Lafayette had named the place Raccoon Ford.

They scared me to death! Constance gasped. But I won’t be deterred. She sat back down, and took her boots and socks off. Frank did likewise.

He grabbed her elbow to steady her, she lifted her skirt, and they waded into the dark swift current. I remember what fun we had swimming here when we were children, Frank said.

I’ll never forgive you for that day when you frightened me so badly. You remember. Frank rolled his eyes in an innocent look. You started swimming under water and you didn’t come up for several minutes. I became frantic and screamed for Mandy and Martin. I was sure you’d drowned. None of us could see you, and then we finally heard you laughing around the bend. I still can’t believe you swam that far under water.

It’s because I’m so skinny. His lips turned up in a devilish grin. But you and I were always the youngest and the biggest daredevils. Hide and seek was my favorite game.

"I’ll say! We could never find your crafty hiding places.

I’m only creative. He waded out of the water. Come sit on the log. I’ll protect you.

Constance pointed to the large rock outcropping to her left and followed him. We used to think that big rock on top looked like a duck. She dropped onto the log. And the two rocks under it were the nest.

Oh, yes, I remember how we hid secret messages and treasures between the two rocks. He turned to look her in the eye, and paused a minute. But seriously, Connie, there’s something I want to share with you. I haven’t told this to any of my family yet. Will you keep my secret?

Absolutely, she answered in earnest. You know you can trust me. I’d trust you with my life.

He looked down, color creeping up his cheeks. Connie, I’ve been smitten. I’m in love with Emma Green, Eliza’s younger sister from Alexandria.

Frank! I had no idea. I’m so happy for you.

The miracle is, she appears to return my affection. At times I believe I’m dreaming. We’ve talked of marriage, but her father has let me know that I can’t ask for her hand until she’s a year older. I must be patient.

How can you be so certain she’s the one?

It’s the way I feel when I’m with her. When it happens, you know. I have no doubt that I want to share my life with her.

I wonder if I’ll ever feel that way? she mused. But what of your immediate plans?

Next week I’ll leave for an extended trip through the South. I intend to visit friends in Richmond, Charleston, Savannah, and New Orleans. Then I’ll travel to Mississippi where I have a job teaching Latin and Greek to the little darlings of the plantations. Next summer I hope to return with money in my pocket and ask for Emma’s hand.

I hope you’ll write to me. She swatted a dragonfly away. I’ve always wanted to spend time in Charleston. Everyone says it’s a beautiful city, full of art and culture.

I’ll be your faithful correspondent. But, tell me Connie, what else do you dream of?

She pulled a piece of bark from the log and tossed it into the middle of the river. They watched it spin in a small whirlpool and then break out into the main current. It sped downstream only to be wedged against a rock. The sun glistened on the water whirling around it. Suddenly it broke loose and was swiftly carried around the bend of the river where they heard the children frolicking in the water.

I wonder if we have any more control over our destinies than that piece of bark. Life catches us and thrusts us into the currents where we spin helplessly out of control. But, she sighed, it’s still fun to dream. I’ve inherited Father’s love of history and politics. Most related professions are closed to me, but I long to write. Perhaps if I use a pseudonym, I can have some small influence in current affairs. The pen is mightier than the sword. One thing I know for certain; I’m in no hurry to marry. Naturally, I’d love to travel, but eventually I know I’d return to Culpeper. I love the sense of community and kinship here…the rich farmland. This is home.

The two friends spent the remainder of the afternoon sharing their dreams on the bank of the dark, then peaceful, river until a violent thunderstorm forced them to run. The days were numbered until tramping feet and booming cannons would destroy the tranquility of their spot.

i $30,000 in today’s money.

2

Don’t Tread On Me

December 24, 1860 – April 17, 1861

Whenever any form of government becomes destructive to these ends, it is the right of the people to abolish it, and to institute a new government.

The Declaration of Independence

…any people, anywhere, being inclined and having the power, have the right to rise up and shake off the existing government, and form a new one that suits them better.

Abraham Lincoln, 1848

Almost six months later,

Reviews for Marching Through Culpeper

[persisto_1 · Rating: 2 out of 5 stars]

Romanticized romantic novel of life in Culpeper County during the Civil War. In this reviewer's opinion, the author tries to weave historic fact with romantic fiction to ill effect.