Gib

By Nancy L. Markley

This is a story of a fictional family in the mid 1800s that left their comfortable life by the sea to venture into a new lifestyle in the wild, untamed distant mountains.

We follow young Gib and his family as they encounter many adventures while establishing their new homestead.

• Language: English
• Publisher: AuthorHouse
• Release date: Jan 5, 2016
• ISBN: 9781504965774

Nancy L. Markley

Nancy is a retired school auditor who lives with her husband of many years, Harold, a retired antique dealer and farmer. They reside on a fifty-four-acre farm in the beautiful hills of Wild Wonderful West Virginia with their dog, Holly, and resident bossy cat, Darby.

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2016 Nancy L. Markley. All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted by any means without the written permission of the author.

Published by AuthorHouse 01/04/2016

ISBN: 978-1-5049-6541-5 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-5049-6577-4 (e)

Because of the dynamic nature of the Internet, any web addresses or links contained in this book may have changed since publication and may no longer be valid. The views expressed in this work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of the publisher, and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.

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Contents

Acknowledgments

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-one

Chapter Twenty-two

Chapter Twenty-three

Chapter Twenty-four

Chapter Twenty-five

Chapter Twenty-six

Chapter Twenty-seven

Chapter Twenty-eight

Chapter Twenty-nine

Chapter Thirty

Chapter Thirty-one

Epilogue

Acknowledgments

This book would never have gone to print without the

support and patience of my husband and friends:

Carol Clevenger Birdsell, my childhood typing

whiz friend, and friends Dixie and Jo Lynn who encouraged

me and of course, fellow West Virginia author

and mentor, James E. Martin.

Chapter One

Just to introduce the characters in this story; my name is Virginia Helene Collins Gibson. Ginny as my friends and family address me. I have been married to my sweetheart, Benjamin Isaiah Gibson, for 9 years.

Ben is a very tall lean man with dark hair that he pulls to the nape of his neck and ties with a string of leather. Ben is 29 years old and I am 25. I am a small woman barely reaching to Big’s shoulder. I have long light brown hair that seems to always be in my face.

I need to explain why Ben is called Big. Note his initials? When our sweet baby boy came into our family, 8 years ago, when I was just 17, I knew we must name him after his father. So, Benjamin Isaiah Gibson, Jr. he became. Only problem was folks around here wanted to call him Little Big. A name he grew to resent, so now he wants to be called Gib, which is fine with us.

We live in a small town off the coast of the Atlantic Ocean called Seaside. In fact, we are within walking distance of the shore. Seaside is a quaint little town that has just about everything a body could want; a church, school, mercantile, doctor, and of course the blacksmith shop and livery. The streets are packed dirt, which are dusty in the summer and muddy in the winter, but our sidewalks are constructed of wood. So, we feel we have a pretty modern existence.

The year my story begins is in 1846. We have had a good life in our little town. Ben works with his father as a blacksmith in his blacksmith/livery shop. They are both very talented, skilled men and business has been very good for both our families.

We live in a small house next to the shop and my parents live just off the Main Street of our town. But, I am getting ahead of myself.

Ben had been outside working and when he came to the kitchen door early one Monday morning, I was startled! Once he gets involved in something outside he usually does not come in until I call him for lunch. I had just spread fabric on the kitchen table preparing to cut out pieces for a new frock I planned to sew.

Ginny, do you want to go for a walk with me? he asked.

Again I was surprised for that in itself was unusual. I hurried to the hall and got my wrap and bonnet from the hall tree, as in late August the wind coming in with the tide can be chilly in the mornings.

I met up with him on the front walkway. We crossed the road and walked hand in hand like two lovers down the well used path to the water. Over the years, residents of our little town, Seaside, have worn down the sea grass and sand to a well trod path. The air was fairly warm and the soothing sounds of the tide flowing in and out lulled us into no need for words. I could live forever and never get tired of the constant movement of the sea.

Sea Gulls flew over waiting to catch small fish that were beached by the foaming surf. The ocean gives off its own scent, one you can never forget. We both have lived here our entire lives and it has become a part of us.

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When we got to the end of the path, I sat down on a log that had washed ashore and proceeded to untie my shoes and remove my stockings. I felt like a young girl again with my young man. Without comment, Ben looked at me, grinned and sat down beside me and started to remove his shoes and stockings. The silly grin on his face reminded me of when we first met how sweet he was and so protective of his little friend.

We tied our shoe laces together, slung our shoes over our shoulders and started walking in the damp sand. We were acting like children, letting the tide chase us away from its lapping foamy water. I don’t think I will ever grow old with this man as he will keep me young. This is a side of him very few people have ever seen. When you see him in the shop wearing his leather apron with sweat pouring from his body, as he pounds hot iron on his anvil, he looks very intimidating.

Ben began working in his father’s shop when he was just a very young boy. Being tall for his age gave him the advantage of looking older. When he wasn’t running around the blacksmith shop, he was working in the livery rubbing down horses and carrying water and hay. We are not sure who first started calling him Big, but we feel it was one of the men who hung around the shop.

Ginny, there is something I need to talk to you about, Ben said.

I hope it is something nice for I wouldn’t want to spoil this romantic mood we have, I replied.

He suddenly grew very serious and I could tell he was having trouble putting his thoughts into words.

You know, Ginny, I love being a smithy and love working with horses. And I am probably one of the few men in the world that think the sweet smell of hay and horses is not unpleasant. But, I have this urge to need more space. I can’t explain it. This town is growing. More houses going up, more traffic on the streets stirring up dust and more roughneck children in the area. I have discovered I have a longing for green grass, privacy, blue skies, fruit trees and quiet time with my wife and young son.

I stopped walking and turned to look at this man who I felt I had known every thought in his head. I had a feeling of dread come over me. What could be on his mind? Did he have an urge to roam as I have heard sometimes come over men when they reach a certain age? Did someone at the Mercantile tell him about a big gold rush to the West? I had a feeling that my life as I have known it was headed for a major change.

When I looked up into his face he had a faraway look to his eyes. I didn’t know what to say so I just stood there speechless, which is unusual for me.

Ginny, you know you and Ben are my life. But between our families, neighbors, friends and my work, I feel as if we are losing touch.

I did not say anything. Whatever was on his mind, I was not going to make it easier for him to put into words.

I ran into Tom and Sarah Walker at Amos’s Mercantile a few days ago and Tom was telling me that his father had passed away. I told him I was sorry to hear that news and inquired where he lived. Well, it seems Mr. and Mrs. Walker has quite a few acres of farmland up in the mountains several miles from here. Mrs. Walker wants to move back to Seaside where she was born to live out her old age and enjoy the rest of her grandchildren. There are just too many memories of her husband on the farm and it is too much for a lady alone to keep up. For the past few months, since her husband died, she has been living with Tom’s brother, Scott and his family, who live nearby.

Again, I stayed quiet as he guided me back to the log where we both sat down. Brushing sand from my feet, I started pulling on my stockings and shoes, not giving him any encouragement for what he was trying to say.

Mrs. Walker wants to sell the farm! I asked how much she was asking for the acreage and Tom said he thought about $2,000.00 and that included some of the furnishings that were too heavy for her to worry about bringing back and some other equipment like a buckboard, plows and some hand tools.

The feeling of dread had reached my chest and my mouth had gone dry as panic had come upon me. Suddenly it hit me! He was seriously considering leaving Seaside! I finally came to my senses and cried, Wait, wait, wait, Benjamin Isaiah Gibson, are you saying you are seriously thinking about buying this farm and moving away from Seaside? How can you even think that; for where in the world, Benjamin Gibson, do you think we would come up with $2,000 even if we ever get to the important discussion stage.

I had no desire to squash his bubble and he always made most of the important decisions in the family, but this one was ridiculous, even though we women did not have much say in family matters in the eighteen hundreds.

You know, Ginny, we never make any really major decisions in this family unless we talk it over and that includes Little Ben.

Ben, do you realize what you are saying? Moving out in the wilderness with no church, no mercantile, no neighbors, no school, and no friends for Little Ben?

Well, it isn’t that isolated or so Tom says. His brother, Scott and his family live just a half days ride from the farm. But don’t get ahead of yourself as I want to go talk more with them and Mrs. Walker about this when she arrives here. Besides, he said Elsie, Mrs. Walker, might be interested in some sort of a trade for our little house and a little to boot.

"Boot, boot; Ben, where do you think we would find this boot?

You know, Ginny, I have been working for my father for years and since we got married he has always given me a good day’s wages for my work. I know we haven’t much put by, but we have some furniture we could sell … anyway, let’s not go into all this until we get more information. The problem is, if this all works out, we will have to leave within the month to get across the mountains before the winter snows start and the trail is closed.

I just about fell off the log! I think if a big sea monster came ashore I could not have moved. I know my eyes were wide and my mouth open. And, for the first time in my life, I was without words! It was like I wasn’t even there as he kept up his excited babbling!

Tom says there is a supply wagon train coming through the end of the month and we could sign on with them so we wouldn’t have to travel alone. There will be few, if any, families on it as it is only going to the local forts to trade supplies for fur.

My head was spinning as I shoved my feet into my shoes, with only one stocking on and stood up on what was now, shaky legs!

Big, I think we need to head back to the house; I need a cup of tea. I think I am going to have a case of the vapors.

We walked back to the house with neither of us speaking. The wonderful mood we just had was definitely gone. Maybe forever! I felt as if I was walking in a fog. I knew life as I now know it is about to change. I could still see the excitement in Ben’s eyes as he went on to discuss green grass, hills and cold streams filled with fish and rippling brooks, as if grass never grew in Seaside! We may not have streams but what could compare to the beautiful vast ocean and the refreshing smell in the air on a quiet morning. And fish … the ocean is full of all kinds of seafood! Besides, it isn’t even one of his favorite foods!!

I was thinking if he gets these ideas out of his head maybe he will think about all we would be leaving behind and forget all this foolishness. Surely his parents will not condone such a move. Maybe it would be best if I pretend to go along with this wild adventure, besides snakes, bears, INDIANS … well, I will just worry about all this if and when the time comes. I just cannot handle all this now!

Several wagons passed us and folks waved and called out howdys as we left the path and crossed the road to our house. I was thinking I may never again hear the word howdy in the middle of an animal infested wilderness. Needless to say, I was near tears and anyone who knows me knows I rarely cry. Big, oblivious to my state of mind, was whistling. Whistling, mind you! I could just kick him in the shins! My whole existence was crumbling at my feet and he is whistling!! O.K., if this is what is on his mind I must quit pouting, clear my head and plan some strategy. I will get a hot steaming cup of tea and start thinking. Tea is great for clearing one’s head.

After giving him a meal of some cold cornbread, butter, jam and coffee, he headed down to the shop. I was certainly not of a mind to cook him up a big lunch. But he ate with gusto and never mentioned this unusual small offering.

I picked up the pretty calico material I had put on the table, folded and returned it to my sewing basket. No more time to be thinking about a new dress now. Maybe mountain women don’t even wear dresses. Maybe I should be thinking of fashioning me a pair of sturdy britches. How about a coonskin cap or deerskin moccasins? With these thoughts a shiver ran up my body. I must get control of myself. I have a mission in mind that is more important now.

Needless to say, that evening there was little conversation at the dinner table. Gib rattled on about a fight at school and something about a