Dreams of Chimborazo

By Leigh Barbour

A genealogist with a quest to find all of her ancestors and a Confederate soldier trying hard to keep the Yankees out of Virginia collide. He's in a uniform so he must be a re-enactor. She's dressed so scantily, she must be a lady of the evening. Will these two find each other even with 100 years separating them?
Best Seller of Wild Rose Press.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Lulu.com
• Release date: Apr 5, 2018
• ISBN: 9781387722013

Book preview

Dreams of Chimborazo

Dreams of Chimborazo

By Leigh Barbour

Chapter One

As I always did in the morning, I dashed out my front door and started my morning walk through Church Hill. Daffodils sprinkled the hillside with bright yellow interrupted by daring splashes of red tulips. I looked up at the church where Patrick Henry gave his Give me liberty or give me death speech.

The cemetery looked as if designed by a Hollywood producer for Halloween. Worn tombstones from the 1600 and 1700s sat cockeyed in the ground and a rusty black fence made of iron spears topped with triangular points surrounded the graves. The church was white and unpretentious, but with a tall steeple looking like it wanted to dominate the once Confederate capital.

I took in a deep breath and a smile curved my lips. Thank God my ex and I had decided to restore the neglected home that sat right smack in the middle of this old neighborhood. Some homes were palatial, painted various pastel hues and some narrow dark brick row houses. Church Hill had been Richmond’s most prestigious neighborhood, but around the middle of the century, experienced a period when not even the foolhardy would dare walk the streets, let alone live here. But through gentrification, the neighborhood was now almost restored to its original grandeur.

When we bought the house, I assumed my husband and I’d have a family and grow old in this three-story home with a wrap-around porch and enough ginger breading to make it look like a dollhouse. He had other plans though, especially when he met his twenty-five year old administrative assistant who administrated a lot more than his paperwork.

I’d taken back my maiden name . I still liked the way my name sounded—Evelyn Randolph. Even though I’d lost the Some homes were palatial, painted various pastel hues and some narrow dark brick row houses. Church Hill had been Richmond’s most prestigious neighborhood, but around the middle of the century, experienced a period when not even the foolhardy would dare walk the streets, let alone live here. But through gentrification, the neighborhood was now almost restored to its original grandeur.

When we bought the house, I assumed my husband and I’d have a family and grow old in this three-story home with a wrap-around porch and enough ginger breading to make it look like a dollhouse. He had other plans though, especially when he met his twenty-five year old administrative assistant who administrated a lot more than his paperwork.

I’d taken back my maiden name . I still liked the way my name sounded—Evelyn Randolph. Even though I’d lost the man I thought was the love of my life, things had been good since he left. My ex hadn’t fought me for real estate. He was so in lust with his new plaything I doubt he even realized how much better I’d come out in the divorce. Not being one to fret over lost causes, I quickly immersed myself in my newfound hobby – genealogy—so much so that it had eventually become my livelihood.

I walked through the park with its crisscrossing sidewalks and trees with bright green buds on them. I felt a tingle of excitement. Sometimes, when the light was just right, I saw a row of white one-story buildings sprawling across the hill. I was convinced it must be a mirage. I’d read about them – about how something could exist in one place, but through the refraction of light, that same object could appear in another. That meant those buildings actually stood someplace else, but on certain mornings they appeared right here in Chimborazo Park. I stepped past the last tree and peered across the horizon. The scent of baking bread wafted by. Odd, there were no bakeries in Church Hill. Someone in the neighborhood must be making biscuits for breakfast.

The early morning cast a haze over the hilltop. No, not this time, I thought. Today, the hilltop was barren. What a shame. Some days, I could see a man’s head poking out of a window in one of the structures. And it seemed like he was staring at me. He was interesting looking, with deep set eyes and a full head of honey blond hair. I moved a few feet hoping that if I was at the right angle, I could see the mirage again. No such luck.

I glanced down at my watch. Cindy, my assistant who was fast becoming my partner, was on her way. We had the Osborne family reunion coming up. Initially they contacted me to do their family tree, but when they discovered they had American Indian ancestors they insisted on knowing exactly which tribe their ancestors came from. Then they wanted us to host their Pow Wow. Many people didn’t want just a genealogical report; they wanted us to host a reunion for them, inviting all their long lost relatives. That worked out all right since that was where the real money came.

I watched Cindy from the park. She parked her jeep in my driveway and started toward the house.

Hey, I called out to her and waved.

She turned and charged toward me. Evie, where you been?

Don’t worry. We don’t have to meet the Osbornes till this afternoon. In the beginning, Cindy hadn’t known much about genealogy, but she was a fast learner, a great self-starter and, best of all, she was good at making our clients happy.

You have an appointment at the hospital this morning, she said, more as an accusation rather than a reminder.

Oh, how could I have forgotten? I’d had some dizzy spells lately.

I can drive you down there, she said.

It was one of those brain scans and supposedly they were booked up every day. I’d been lucky to get this appointment. How could I have forgotten?

I glanced at the jeep, imagining the soft morning breeze on my skin. Let me just go get my purse.

No, Cindy said as she took off toward the house. I’ll get it. Just take a seat in the jeep.

Before I knew it, she’d used her key and gotten my purse out of the house and was bounding down the steps two at a time in her sequined flip-flops. She was up into the jeep before I could finish getting the seatbelt on. She threw it into gear, Oh, how could I have forgotten? I’d had some dizzy spells lately.

I can drive you down there, she said.

It was one of those brain scans and supposedly they were booked up every day. I’d been lucky to get this appointment. How could I have forgotten?

I glanced at the jeep, imagining the soft morning breeze on my skin. Let me just go get my purse.

No, Cindy said as she took off toward the house. I’ll get it. Just take a seat in the jeep.

Before I knew it, she’d used her key and gotten my purse out of the house and was bounding down the steps two at a time in her sequined flip-flops. She was up into the jeep before I could finish getting the seatbelt on. She threw it into gear, backed up and we were off, speeding down the hill toward downtown Richmond. I hung onto the roll bar as she fluidly steered the jeep around slower cars.

Have you called Mrs. Barbee back? I asked her.

No, haven’t gotten a chance to. As we coasted down the hill, she used the gear shift to slow down causing a deep whirring sound beneath us.

No problem at all. I traced her family back to the eastern part of North Carolina. I’d found Mrs. Barbee’s grandparent’s death certificates that indicated they’d been born in North Carolina.

I thought she said her family was from Virginia.

Some people know next to nothing about their own families.

North Carolina, huh? She gunned the engine and the Jeep bumped over a curb to get around a stalled car.

Yeah. The problem with doing genealogy work in North Carolina is that after Sherman finished terrorizing the Georgians, he came to the Carolinas and continued to burn.

Sherman, yes we studied about him, Cindy mentioned as she took a turn onto Broad Street to join the traffic jam into Richmond.

The Union general that allowed his men to rape, pillage, and burn everything in sight, I said as sarcastically as I could.

Get moving. Cindy leaned on her horn making her straight blonde hair fall in her face. So, doing genealogy work in North Carolina is more difficult because of Sherman?

Yes, he burned churches, homes with family Bibles in them, even courthouses. Quite often it’s almost impossible to locate any record of some families.

Got it. I’d better not get her hopes up when I call her back.

I thought a minute. Well, she’ll have to be patient. If she has the time and money, we’ll find her family.

Well, if there are no records, then how can you find them? She looked at me as if I had a genie in a bottle.

Through a lot of leg work, I’ve found family graveyards in the Carolinas. Even the Yankee Sherman didn’t dig up the dead. Doing genealogy in the Carolinas had made me hate Sherman almost as much as the descendants of his victims hated him.

So we’re going to end up traipsing through farmland looking for old graveyards? She got a gleam in her eyes as she looked at me for a response.

It’s not easy, but if you look hard, you can find those overgrown family cemeteries. I said.

She grinned and wriggled her eyebrows as if looking forward to stepping into manure or wallowing through waist-high tobacco fields to find long-forgotten headstones. Cindy would be a good genealogist. She was willing to do whatever it took to solve the puzzle of someone’s family tree.

Cindy pulled up to the sliding glass doors of the hospital. Here it is. You’re hardly late at all.

I sighed, my shoulders drooping, as I felt around for the seatbelt button.

Here it is. Cindy punched the button and the seatbelt slid across my abdomen.

Great, I said as I methodically turned. There’s a lot of work to do this morning for the Osbornes.

Don’t worry, Cindy said.

I held onto the seat as I prepared to let myself down to the ground.

Is the pain bad?

to solve the puzzle of someone’s family tree.

Cindy pulled up to the sliding glass doors of the hospital. Here it is. You’re hardly late at all.

I sighed, my shoulders drooping, as I felt around for the seatbelt button.

Here it is. Cindy punched the button and the seatbelt slid across my abdomen.

Great, I said as I methodically turned. There’s a lot of work to do this morning for the Osbornes.

Don’t worry, Cindy said.

I held onto the seat as I prepared to let myself down to the ground.

Is the pain bad?

Not the pain, but I feel groggy sometimes. I stood there, my hand still gripping the roll bar.

You gotta go ‘n get this test done, she intentionally drawled. You knew a Richmonder was getting upset when their speech suddenly turned more Southern than an Alabaman’s.

I know, I said. She understood I didn’t want to go through with the exam. I had a sense of foreboding as if looking in my brain would unlock dark spirits.

Cindy wrenched the jeep into gear. Gotta run an errand, but I’ll be back in plenty of time to pick you up.

I nodded and started toward the hospital entrance. Having a machine scan me seemed so invasive, but I needed to know what was wrong.

Ravenel, April 1864

Secession had done nothing but ruin my homeland. Slaves, damnation. Who had slaves anymore any way? After Pa died, Mama divided up the plantation amongst the few families we still owned and gave them their freedom papers. It was 1864 and it was hard to believe we had been at war for four hard years now.

I looked around at the other soldiers around me. Even though I was an officer, I insisted on being quartered with the enlisted men. The way I saw it, they were in my care. Poor souls. Some of them couldn’t even read and write and some were barely men. When wounded and their shirts removed, their milk-white hairless chests looked like those of children. They should be sitting in a classroom learning their ABCs and how to cipher. God knows they’d need it after all this was over. Burned homes and unplowed soil is all they’d find.

The soldier beside me stirred.

Zeke, I said. How ya feeling, boy? He was a private, but he didn’t need to be reminded of being a soldier right now.

I feels mighty bad, Captain Morrissette.

I wished the war were over so these boys could simply call me by my first name, Ravenel. Don’t worry, son. You’re in Chimborazo, the finest hospital in all of the Confederacy. You’ll be fine.

As if my words had made him feel better, his lips turned up at the ends in a feeble attempt at a smile and he closed his eyes for another nap.

I got up and limped toward the window. My wound was almost healed. My leg would end up being stiff, but other than that, I’d be perfectly fine.

I glanced at my pocket watch. Yes, it was the right time. I braced my hands on the window sill, looking out the window hoping she’d stroll by. Her hair was a light brown, bobbed off at her ear lobes. I’d never seen a woman with her hair cut so short except for a darkie, but that wasn’t all that was strange about her. Her legs were bare almost up to her knees so I could see the way her legs tapered from the ankles to the meat of her calves. Her knickers fit so tight I made out every curve from legs to waist, giving me thoughts no gentleman should have about a lady.

It made no sense to see a lady dressed like that. Was she out for a stroll without her clothing? Was she on her way to the clothesline? Or did she live in a home that burned and she’d lost all of her effects?

She always walked so close to the hospital, could she be a nurse? The thought of such a lovely creature whisking in here with clean linens or medicine made me stiffen.

Who could she be? A raw thought entered my mind. Could she be a lady of the evening? No, they were usually sleeping at see the way her legs tapered from the ankles to the meat of her calves. Her knickers fit so tight I made out every curve from legs to waist, giving me thoughts no gentleman should have about a lady.

It made no sense to see a lady dressed like that. Was she out for a stroll without her clothing? Was she on her way to the clothesline? Or did she live in a home that burned and she’d lost all of her effects?

She always walked so close to the hospital, could she be a nurse? The thought of such a lovely creature whisking in here with clean linens or medicine made me stiffen.

Who could she be? A raw thought entered my mind. Could she be a lady of the evening? No, they were usually sleeping at nine in the morning and although her clothing wasn’t modest, it wasn’t tight or provocative. Nor did she wear the face paint the working girls wore. From the distance, her eyes had looked fresh and her mouth full and uncomplicated. She was more of a fresh country daisy rather than one of the perfumed over-used roses that worked in Richmond’s houses of ill-repute the Yankees might one day enjoy if we weren’t careful.

My heart had almost beaten itself out of my chest when, one day, she stopped and stared right at me straight on. She didn’t bow her head bashfully nor did she give me a come hither look. She simply stared as if studying me. That was when I knew she was different, more forthright than any of the women I knew. I sensed intelligence from the intensity in her eyes.

How could I arrange it so I could be introduced to such a lady?

Chapter Two

I was knee deep in arrangements for the McGuire Reunion this week, so immersed in it that I barely heard the telephone ring. It was probably Mrs. McGuire asking how many Civil War re-enactors were coming. She wanted me to promise her that each and every soldier from the Chesterfield Brigade would show up. How could I possibly know that? We were asking them to don their Confederate uniforms and walk around on a hot day out of the goodness of their hearts. And all I could offer them was free fried chicken, watermelon and iced tea. How could I swear that every one of them would be there?

It continued to ring.

I picked up the phone expecting a barrage from Mrs. McGuire.

Evie, Dr. Lipscomb’s nurse said in an admonishing tone. You were supposed to be here yesterday for the appointment. I did call to remi-i-nd yo-u, she said. I’d gone to high school with her.

Dottie. The morning sunlight poured through