Extraordinary Times: And Everyday Lives

By Melissa Sturm and Norma Harris

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 Henrys choice of duty over his love for her. Father is left to worry for his sons 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?

• Language: English
• Publisher: AuthorHouse
• Release date: Feb 7, 2011
• ISBN: 9781456733780

Melissa Sturm

Norma Harris has been blessed with many good years and experiences in all the different phases life has to offer. Married young, she travelled throughout the United States while he was in the service. Together, they raised three wonderful sons. Retired from a lengthy career in figure skating, Norma now enjoys the grandmother phase with two precious teenage granddaughters, Ashley and Megan. Born a country girl, she and her husband are happy to be enjoying life amid the woods of New Hampshire. Melissa Sturm has enjoyed writing and history (especially the Civil War) since she was twelve years old. It is her dream to do nothing but write. In the meantime, she has done various things and lived all across the United States. The oldest of eight wonderful siblings, she enjoys books (and books and more books), traveling and ice cream. Wherever she resides, her heart remains in New England among the wooded hills, colorful autumns, beautifully cold winters, and lilac-scented springs.

Book preview

Prologue

The afternoon sun, moving west in its slow descent over the horizon glared off the still water in startling brilliance. Even as Henry’s eyes narrowed to gaze across the broad span of water, he had to admire its beauty. Back home, there weren’t rivers as large as the beautiful Potomac.

As he looked away from the river, Henry shook his head to clear the dark splotches from before his eyes. He licked the tip of his pencil and started to write on the wrinkled paper he held on a board on his knee. He got as far as writing the date and location before he looked up again to observe his surroundings. He felt strange – almost as if he wasn’t really where he knew himself to be. Only four months ago he had been a printer in the little town of Lawrence, Massachusetts. He was a hardworking employee; the ink stains on his fingers permanent reminders of his chosen trade. At the age of twenty-two, he thought a little about his future. Perhaps he would work for a larger printing company one day. Buy his own house, farm a little and, of course, marriage to a very special and pretty young lady. That was as far as his thoughts went. Until April 19, 1861.

Oh, he had heard of the secession of the Southern states. He heard the news of the firing of Fort Sumter in South Carolina as it came over the telegraph wires. The word war was on the tongues of many, but he could not quite get it in his head that his nation was really at war. Yet when Massachusetts raised one of the very first volunteer regiments in answer to President Lincoln’s call for troops, he was as proud as anyone in the state to hear of the men marching south. When word came of the mob attacking the regiment in Baltimore, he was stunned. Four Massachusetts men were killed by the mob. A mob of Southern rebels. Rebels who wanted their own country, their own leadership, and their own way. Like an angry child throwing a fit. It made Henry’s blood boil. Shortly afterwards, he quit his job and joined the Army: Company A of the 13th Massachusetts Volunteer Regiment. A month later, his regiment marched south.

For a young man who had never been any further south than Boston, it was a grand adventure to take a ship to New York City and then trains through Pennsylvania and on into Maryland. He had never known that such big cities or wide, open plains existed. At home, trees surrounded the fields and large cities were non-existent. So were rivers as big and wide as the grand Potomac.

Thoughtfully, Henry licked the tip of his pencil yet again, but what should he write about? He had written about the trip south. There wasn’t much to write about yet as far as being a soldier went. He had not seen any Rebels. All he and the others in his company did were read newspapers, write home, prepare meals, drill a few times a day, clean their equipment and try to wile away the long hours. Truthfully, being a soldier wasn’t quite as much of an adventure as Henry had thought. Yet he was proud to be one and as soon as he did come across a Rebel, he would show his mettle, fight like a man, and perhaps even die on a battlefield.

Until that day, he would write home about the sights he was seeing, his dull daily life, and the needs he had. For while the army kept him well equipped with bullets, a tent, and coffee; they were a little short on stationary, pencils, stamps and even money. Didn’t make much sense to Henry to take young men miles away from home and then not expect them to write the family. Or maybe there was a way to make a bullet into a pencil. He would have to think about that…

Henry grinned to himself, licked his pencil once again and finally began to write:

Dear Father…

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.

It’s still two weeks away, Mother. Which reminds me, did Mrs. Wright receive the lace from Boston for my dress yet?

What dress? Mr. Price asked.

The new dress you said I could have, Papa. It will be ready just in time for the social.

I said you could have a new dress, but I don’t remember anything about the fall social.

It’s not a frilly dress, Randall, Mrs. Price said. Just a little lace and a few ruffles. A very flattering neckline. Olivia will be able to wear it to church and other functions after she wears it to the social.

I didn’t think she would be going to the social.

Randall, why ever not?

Mr. Price frowned. Polly, in case you haven’t noticed, our country is at war. It is hardly the time for us to be gallivanting off to socials and spending money frivolously.

We always have a fall social, Mrs. Price said. Olivia only spent the money you gave her.

Furthermore, Mr. Price continued, the young man who has been quite publicly courting our daughter for the past four months is now a soldier in our nation’s army. I hardly think it appropriate for Olivia to be attending a social full of dancing and flirting when he is away from home.

Olivia huffed. Papa, I don’t flirt.

Yes, you do, Monty said.

Olivia scowled and kicked her brother under the table. He kicked her back. Olivia wished she could stomp him.

Oh, Randall, really, Mrs. Price said. It’s only a little get-together. I’m sure it is perfectly appropriate. Henry loved socials. He would want Olivia to go.

Would he now? Mr. Price asked with a frown.

I hardly think its fair, Papa, to take away my pleasures just because Henry is away for a few months. The war will probably be over before the social even takes place. All the papers say so.

I hope not, Monty replied. I want to be a soldier when I’m old enough.

You are not going to be a soldier, Montgomery, Mrs. Price said firmly. Now, Randall –

I’ve stated my piece, Polly, Mr. Price interrupted his wife. I do not think Olivia should attend the fall social. However, she is old enough to make her own choice. I only hope she will make the right one.

•

Saddling a horse is men’s work, her mother so often said, but Olivia had never been bothered by rough blankets, heavy saddles, or tangled bridles. Saddling her own mount to go out for a ride in the countryside was half the fun. She never bothered to ask one of her father’s hired hands to do it. She was a little thing, but she could well manage to saddle her own horse. Today, she was glad to have the chore of heaving the heavy saddle over her mount’s back. It gave her something to throw her frustration into.

It would be easy to say she was frustrated at her father and the ridiculous choice he had offered her, but it wasn’t a choice at all, really. He expected her to do what he wanted her to do: not attend the social. She wished to do the exact opposite, but attending the social was a trivial matter. Her frustration dug deeper and it annoyed her to no end.

She couldn’t say why she was feeling frustrated, angry, bitter and maybe a little bit sad. Henry Harris had never brought on such feelings before. From the very day they met, any thoughts of him had brought her pleasure and enjoyment. It was only right for Henry was a pleasant young man. That’s what had attracted her to him in the first place. She had crossed his path many times in their little town, but she had paid him no mind until that day at the dry goods store when upon opening the door he knocked her bag of groceries right out of her arms. Groceries flew everywhere. He claimed later it was all her fault. What man wouldn’t have an accident gazing upon her? She waved his flattery away, though she loved it.

His smile, crooked and sheepish, made him look all of ten years old. That smile he sent her way as he hurried about picking up the dented cans and groceries. That smile he offered her as he crushed his felt hat in his large hands and introduced himself. She loved that smile.

In disgust, Olivia cinched the saddle straps tight around her horse’s belly. The animal’s involuntary jerk made her realize she was being too rough with the creature. It wasn’t the horse’s fault that Olivia now hated the very memory of Henry’s smile. It made her sick to her stomach. It made her mad at the world. It made her want to cry.

This stupid war. Olivia didn’t know what it all meant. So some southern states wanted to leave the nation because of their rights. What did that matter to her? Let them go. No reason to start a war over it – a war that would take young men away from their homes, even possibly to their deaths. The men in the village talked about duty, defending their homes, and preserving their nation. Henry gabbed on and on about such things. Things that led him to leave his job at a print shop, sign some paper, put on a uniform, and march hundreds of miles south to some foreign place. It was all so stupid, it made Olivia want to spit.

Tugging the bridle and reins from a nail on the stable wall, Olivia knew she was being a bit harsh with the horse as she shoved the bit into his mouth and threw the reins over his head. She didn’t care. She was mad at the war, at men’s ideas of duty, at her father, at Henry, and at herself. She simply didn’t know why.

With a heavy sigh, Olivia mounted her horse and kicked its sides to get going. She hoped a good, hard ride down to the river would help calm her nerves. It frustrated her to be mad at so many things when she didn’t really know why they bothered her. Other people in town were proud of their young men who had joined the army and marched south to defend their nation – like Sarah Harris. Henry hadn’t been gone three months, and the girl was already sending boxes off to him. Olivia knew Sarah only wanted to kindly include her in the sending of the package, but she just couldn’t send something. Not yet. She couldn’t even write him a letter, although he had asked for one in the two he had sent her. She had tried to do as he asked. A dozen times she had sat down to put pen to paper, but each time she rose from her desk in anger. Why? Why did Henry have to leave her? If he wished to choose duty to his nation over loyalty to her, fine. He could rot in that place called Maryland. She was not going to write him.

She could feel a trickle of sweat running down her back. Her carefully curled hair fell from its pins. The horse itself felt damp from the hard ride. She could feel her anger draining away a bit, but as she stopped at the river to allow the horse a drink, pain and loneliness crept in to replace the bitterness.

More than anything else in the world, Olivia wanted someone to love her. She wanted someone to give her pleasure, security, and attention. She needed someone to fill all her desires and dreams with strong arms and a loving smile – to give her complete joy. Olivia had thought she had found such a person in Henry. His sheepish smile, his ruffled hair, his dreams of a successful future. The joy he showed in pleasing her. For months, she had dreamed of what it would be like to become Mrs. Henry Harris. Oh, perhaps it would be hard at first as he worked long hours to become successful in his career; but he would do it for her. He would do everything for her.

Now her dreams were shattered. Henry was gone. He had marched off to war. All in the name of duty. She was left behind to what? Wait for him to return in great glory? Write long letters she didn’t feel like writing? Fill boxes with silly things in order to make her feel useful? Well, she wasn’t going to do any of that. She would never forgive Henry Harris for leaving her all alone or placing duty above her. She had better things to do.

The fall social was the highlight of the autumn season. In the midst of the harvest, chilling weather, and turning leaves; the people of the village loved that evening of dancing, chatting, and eating. Olivia had attended the social for the past seven years. She had danced most of the dances, flirted occasionally with the most handsome of the young men, and made sure she drew attention from everyone with a new dress. She had no intention of changing her plans this year simply because the President of her nation decided to start a war.

After all it is not her fault that Henry had left her all alone. She had begged him not to go. Told him it was a foolish thing to do. Everyone said the war would be over in mere months and why leave for such a short time? To no avail. Henry could be as stubborn as she was. He felt he needed to be of service to his nation and so he was.

Olivia shook Henry from her thoughts. She had to think of something pleasurable. She brought her new dress to mind. It would be the loveliest gown at the entire social. A v-neckline cinched tight at the waist that mushroomed out at the floor. She would buy new crinolines to enhance the gown and ribbons of the same color to match her green eyes. Her hair would be worn softly caught up on the top of her head allowing the thick, long, shiny, dark fullness to cascade down, resting gently on her shoulders. She had a pearl comb that would look perfect against her dark hair. Yes, she would indeed have the attention of every man at that social. And the envy of every woman.

Well, every woman except Sarah Harris. Though the girl was a couple years younger than Olivia, she showed more maturity. Sarah was a hard worker, thought deeply, and enjoyed life less selfishly. A bit of a goody-two-shoes. Sarah Harris was devoted to her brother and the cause he was serving. She would not consider attending the fall social. She would think it inappropriate. Besides, she couldn’t possibly have a thing to wear to it. A new dress for her would simply be out of the question. Mr. Harris barely made a living as a small farmer and part-time printer, and Henry’s wages as a soldier were slim at best. Without a decent dress, Sarah would never consider coming to the social.

Olivia smiled. Now she felt better. She didn’t care what her father wanted of her. Nor did she particularly care what Henry would think. He was hundreds of miles away, and she was lonely and bored without him. The social would give her a reason to smile and forget her troubles. Her father would have to come to understand that. As for Henry, she just wouldn’t tell him.

Camp Hamilton

Darnstown, Md.

Sunday, Sept. 15, 1861

My Dear Father,

I received yours last Friday evening and one from Jamie, but I see you commenced where you left off, and kept kind of a journal till you sent the letter; well that is a good way, for it saves postage stamps. When I last wrote you, I finished my letter in the hospital, but now, I am sitting in the woods about 30 miles from Sandy Hook, and only 23 from Washington, writing to you. I have been out of the hospital about a week, since we arrived at this place. We started from Sandy Hook last Tuesday the 3rd just for this place, in 4 canal boats, as the canal runs within about 4 miles of here, and went 15 miles till we got to the Point of Rocks, where we left one company to take care for Monocacy Junction to guard the bridge at that place, and to search the cars as they passed by. As the 6th Reg. did at the Relay House. You remember of seeing in the papers about the rebels burning the bridge at Point of Rocks and throwing the large rock that overhung the railroad. It now lies in the canal. It overhung the railroad, and they took bars of iron, pried it off, and it dropped on the railroad, and obstructed the railroad, and the railroad company tipped it off into the canal. There is one regiment camped there, the 28th Pennsylvania, who keep guard on the canal as far up as Harper’s Ferry. We stopped there about one hour, and then took up our passage on the raging Canal, and went about 10 miles farther, till we got to a place called Edward’s Ferry, when we met the pickets of the New York Tammany Reg. who are on guard on the canal. They challenged us, and told us we were opposite battery on the opposite side of the river, and we had to go back about two miles and stopped for the night. It rained quite hard during the night, and the boys got pretty wet, having had to lie out of doors on the ground. They had our boat for the Hospital boat, having about 30 in the hospital, and among that number, I was one of them. The canal boats are old and leaked. We stayed there till the next day about 4 o’clock when the Reg. started for this place, about 12 mile distant, and in order to get the sick here as easily as possible, the Hospital boat continued down the canal about 13 miles further, to a place called Seneca Mills, about 4 miles from this place. The regiment arrived here the next day about noon, and pitched their tents. The Hospital boat stayed at Seneca Mills. They sent most of us up here Thursday afternoon, but 7 they took to Baltimore General Hospital. I was some tired when I got here. There is everything here that we could wish for, except grub, and that we do not, or have not had enough of. If they will only give us enough to eat and drink, and clothes to wear. We are pleasantly situated about a mile from the village of Dornstown, on a hill called Mount Ire, on the road to Washington, with about 9 or 10 regiments right around us, together with Gen. Bank’s headquarters just over the hill. The names of the regiments in the Division, I do not know all of them, but I know two or three which I will tell you. Vis: N.Y. 9th, Penn. 29th, Mass. 12th, Mass. 2nd, Conn. 4th and 5th , Indiana 16th, Wisconsin 3rd, and together with a regiment of regular cavalry, and a battery of Artillery. We are attached to Gen. Hamilton’s Brigade, which consists of the Wisconsin 3rd, N.Y. 9th, Penn. 29th, and us, and they say he is a very good General, having been in the Mexican War, and he was a Col. of the Wisconsin 3rd, but he was promoted to Brigadier General since he has been here. We have to drill a good deal now and then Dress Parade at sunset. Saturday afternoons and Sundays, we do not drill. Sundays we have inspection and Guard mounting in the forenoon and divine service at 11 o’clock. We expect marching orders every day. We had a visit from the Mayor of Boston and the city Messenger. He was very much pleased with the appearance of the Reg. We keep everything looking pretty nice round our tents, and on the Parade Ground. We have mail about 3 times a week. Our Chaplain is our postmaster. In relation to that skirmish we had at Antietam Ford, which you saw in the paper, you see we were keeping guard on the canal at that point, and I was on guard with the others. A messenger came from the camp, where there were two companies posted after reinforcements, as they said they saw cavalry on the other side of the river. They were afraid they would be attacked, and we sent up 50 of our men from our companies, and while they were gone, some of the guard, I among the number, was lying round the bank of the river, while others were on guard. There came a volley of shots from the cornfield on the island in the river, right amongst us, some striking within a few feet of some of us, but none hitting us. We jumped up and grabbed our muskets, and the companies hearing the alarm came down on the double quick, and we all got behind trees, the canal bank, and anything to shelter us, and began popping away, but it did not last long, for it was nothing but about a dozen cavalry from Harper’s Ferry, out on a scouting expedition and they saw us laying there, so they popped away and rode on. I don’t think we hit any of them, as we heard no groans, or saw anything fall, but I guess we scared them some, for they rode off as fast as they could gallop. I went over to the Webster Reg. the other day, and found several Haverhill boys among them David Ellsworth, the young man that used to work at the Sentinell office, and Geo. S. Merrill, he told me when I wrote, to give his respects to Charlie Weston, and tell him to send him some papers. He is in Co. E. Capt. Saltmarsh, 12th Reg. M.V. Bank’s Division, Washington, D.C. (tell him to direct it so) and then he will get it, as that is the way they direct letters now. It is about time for Dress Parade, and I will finish this tomorrow.

Monday, September 16, Well here I am again, sitting in my tent after a sumptuous breakfast of hard bread and coffee, sitting on my knapsack, with about 20 jolly good fellows sitting around, some cleaning their rifles. Tell the Dr. I should like some medicine for the diarrhea, as I am troubled with it very much, and he may put in some cigars.

P.M. Have just finished my dinner, which consisted of boiled rice and molasses, but not half enough of it. I am the first one inside the tent, but when it rains, it is the worst place, as the water runs down under me, the other night it rained I laid in a puddle all night. Then I thought of home, I tell you. Well, as I was saying before, I want you to tell Jamie to get me that knife, and three or four sheets of Emery paper, pretty fine and a bottle of sweet oil to clean my gun, for they do not find us anything of that kind. We have to keep our rifles looking clean so that they will pass inspection, which is every Sunday morning. Tell Jamie I received his letter, and will answer it when I get time. Give my best respects to all the friends in Lawrence and accept this from your ever loving and true son. Who is now so far away from you, but always thinking of friends at home and you. Henry

Chapter Three

Already the paper was worn and creased from the many handlings, re-readings, foldings and unfoldings. Father tried to be careful as he folded it yet again, holding it tightly for a moment before returning it to his inside coat pocket. He had nothing more to say, although around him the men talked and argued about the contents of the letter.

Where was Harper’s Ferry, Virginia exactly? On the ocean or in the mountains? Why did the Rebels seem to want that location so especially? Why did the army insist on fighting skirmishes all the time? Bring the Rebels out in the open. Fight it out and have done with it. Of course, how could one do that if the government wasn’t feeding the army well? Hard bread and coffee? No wonder poor Henry Harris had trouble with diarrhea. Probably the whole army was down sick.

Every man gathered around the checker table in the back corner of the dry goods store had an opinion. From old Mr. Haggerty, puffing on his bad-smelling pipe, to young Jamie Fraser, loud and reckless as always. All the men had an opinion to share, except James Harris. He had nothing to say as to how the war was going, or what it was about, or who could do what better for it to end soon. When the war had first begun he had contemplated on those things. Now they didn’t seem to matter. His only son had marched off to fight in a war he felt was right. For James Harris all that mattered now was his son’s survival of that war and a safe return home.

Well, I say our soldiers need to stop marching around aimlessly watching the Rebs and drive them out to a full blown battle, Jamie declared.

We did that only a few months ago at Bull Run, my boy, and lost, Jeffery Fraser said, shaking his head at his rash son.

The older man had spent the last twenty-some-odd years attempting to rein in his only child. The dashing young Jamie, always grinning from ear-to-ear with a glint of mischief in his eyes, shook off any attempts at being harnessed. He didn’t seem to care if he was right or wrong, doing something good or getting into trouble. For James Fraser, life was meant to be lived.

Look how many regiments Henry said were already there. More regiments than the South has states. We could whip them all the way down to Florida! Jamie bragged on, hardly noticing that his father had even spoken.

What is this ‘we’, young fella? Old Mr. Haggerty’s husky voice resounded loudly even from his pipe. I don’t see you down there shooting at Rebs like young Henry Harris. Now when I was a soldier –

Doesn’t make sense to me, another man interrupted Mr. Haggerty, as someone was always in the habit of doing. Everyone in town had heard Old France Haggerty’s wild claims of his fighting the British during the War of 1812. No one believed him. The man couldn’t be that old, no matter how old he seemed. If we have as many soldiers as Henry Harris claims, why is Lincoln shouting for more?

Cause the South has more men! Jamie said.

So General McClellan keeps telling us, the same man scoffed, but I’m not believing it yet.

Are you calling our general a liar? Jamie demanded.

The man shook his head. No. I’m just not so sure he doesn’t need glasses.

Even Father had to smile at that while other men around him chuckled. Jamie frowned, shaking his head and opening his mouth with some sort of loud retort. Fortunately, he was stopped as the bell above the front door rang, ushering in yet another customer.

Well, I’ll be, Jamie said with a grin. Look who’s just come back to town.

Father turned with every other man gathered around the checkerboard to see who had just entered the store. He could hardly believe his old eyes. It was George Rawlings. He hadn’t seen the boy in years, not since the Rawlings family had moved to Haverhill where Rawlings Senior had taken over a very prosperous doctor’s office. Word had come from time to time that the Rawlings had become rather well off, the daughter had married a very wealthy man in Boston, and one of the sons had become a surgeon in Worcester. Father couldn’t remember hearing anything about George, the youngest of the Rawlings children. He certainly had not heard anything about the grown young man returning to Lawrence.

George Rawlings!

It was, of course, Jamie who did not stand upon ceremony. The man was across the room and pumping George’s hand before anyone else had a chance to put two words together. At first, poor George looked a little confused, not to mention shaken from Jamie’s hard shake.

It’s Jamie, Jamie told the bewildered young man. Jamie Fraser. You remember me. I locked you in the outhouse that once at school.

Light dawned in George’s eyes. Oh, yes, he said, but it was more than once.

Jamie laughed heartily. Probably was. What are you doing back here? Just passing through? I didn’t hear you were coming.

Well, I didn’t really tell anyone. George glanced around the store, clearing his throat awkwardly when he realized that everyone had stopped their business to watch him. I didn’t want to cause a ruckus.

A ruckus? Jamie echoed. "In Lawrence? Hah! So, tell me, what brings you back here? Or should I say who brings you back here?"

Even from across the room, Father could see the blush rise through George’s clear-cut features. The young man turned away from the gazing crowd, although he could not escape Jamie’s nosy questions. They kept coming, hardly giving George any time to quietly answer them. Father couldn’t hear any of the answers and didn’t wish to pry. It wasn’t in his nature to be nosy. Besides, he felt sorry for the young man. He felt sorry for anyone cornered by Jamie Fraser.

Yet he wondered. Should he greet George Rawlings? Should he discover why the young man was in town? He did have reason to wonder. At one time, Sarah had been quite close to George Rawlings. Of course, that was many years ago when both of them were quite young. But both George and Sarah were thoughtful