Bethel

By Tabbie Chamberlain

A Christian Historical Novel

Bethel chronicles the lives of Plantation owner, Samuel Hebron, his wife and six children from 1861-1865. As each member of the Family is drawn into the Civil War, humor, suspense, romance, and strong family ties will hold readers spell-bound from beginning to the very exciting climax.

It is August 1861. Bethel Plantation, a place of tranquility and peace, located in Franklin Parish, Louisiana, remains virtually untouched although the Civil War is in full swing. As the war moves throughout the South, the Hebron Family is swept into the conflict.

Hannah Hebron leaves the peace and tranquility of Bethel and becomes the most sought after spy of the Civil War. She never intends to fall in love with the mysterious officer who rescues her more than once from arrest and prison. Who is he? Is he living a life of pretense? Is he a double spy? Her life of intrigue and suspense is intensified by a recurring, haunting dream.In desperation, Hannah realizes there is only one way to rid herself of the disturbing dream. However, her endeavors are fruitless until the dream becomes a reality.

Bethel endeavors to bring to the reader a generation of the past, depicting a way of life. An era likened unto a vapor, that appeared for a little time then vanished away.

• Language: English
• Publisher: WestBow Press
• Release date: Feb 14, 2022
• ISBN: 9781664252257

Tabbie Chamberlain

Having lived in Louisiana all of her life, and love for her homeland, greatly influenced the author for the setting of this book. Although this is a book of fiction, there were many Civil War battles fought on Louisiana soil. The author captures the hearts of the readers, carrying them from the Northeast, where she was born and raised, to the Southwest, where she has lived for sixty three years. In 1940, Tabbie Chamberlain (Sharie Winborne) was born in the southern farming town of Winnsboro, part of the cotton belt of Louisiana. After graduating from high school in 1958, she moved to the Lake Charles area, met and married Sam Chamberlain in 1962. Since Sam’s death in 2017, Tabbie lives in MossBluff, a suburb of Lake Charles. Other books by the author: “Living at the End of the Road” “Picking Dandelions” “When I Sit In Darkness”

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Copyright © 2022 Tabbie Chamberlain.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced by any means,

graphic, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, taping or by

any information storage retrieval system without the written permission of the author

except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

WestBow Press

A Division of Thomas Nelson & Zondervan

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Bloomington, IN 47403

www.westbowpress.com

844-714-3454

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.

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Getty Images are models,

and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

Certain stock imagery © Getty Images.

Cover picture: Used by permission

Credit: Rosedown Plantation State Historic Site

12501 Highway 10

St. Francisville, LA 70775

Biblical Names and Scriptures are taken from the Holy Bible, King James Version.

United States History information, https://en.wikipedia.org/ free encyclopedia

Civil War, 1861-1865, History - Christian Romance – fiction, Suspense – fiction.

The Gate Of The Year: Minnie Louise Haskins-Public Domain

Where real life historical figures appear, situations, incidents and dialogues concerning

those persons are fictional and are not intended to portray actual happenings. All

other characters are the author’s own imagination, and any resemblance to actual

persons, other than family, are not intended. War battle locations, some incidents,

and sequences are based on true happenings, however, description of such are the

authors own thoughts and imagination. This is a work of fiction. The author, therefore,

makes no claims or warranties as to quality or accuracy of historical events. The

author, by no means, intends discrimination, prejudice or criticism against any social,

cultural, ethnic, creed or location. This is simply a book of fiction, in which the author

endeavors to bring to the reader a generation of the past, depicting a way of life. An

era, likened unto a vapor that appeared for a little time, then vanished away.

ISBN: 978-1-6642-5224-0 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-6642-5223-3 (hc)

ISBN: 978-1-6642-5225-7 (e)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2021924832

WestBow Press rev. date: 01/24/2022

Contents

Dedication

The Gate Of The Year

Prologue

One year earlier, August, 1861

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

1862

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

1863

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Chapter 31

Chapter 32

Chapter 33

Chapter 34

Chapter 35

Chapter 36

1864

Chapter 37

Chapter 38

Chapter 39

Chapter 40

Chapter 41

Chapter 42

Chapter 43

Chapter 44

Chapter 45

Chapter 46

Chapter 47

1865

Chapter 48

Chapter 49

Chapter 50

Chapter 51

Chapter 52

Chapter 53

Chapter 54

Chapter 55

Chapter 56

Chapter 57

Chapter 58

Chapter 59

Chapter 60

Epilogue

About the Author

Dedication

Dedicated to the loving memory of my dear Husband,

Samuel Hershal Chamberlain,

Who departed this life October 29, 2017, at the age of 83.

A devout Southerner, he loved this great United Sates of America.

Serving in the United States Air Force during the Korean War,

from 1952-1956, revealed Sam’s loyalty to the great

Flag of this Nation, The Stars and Stripes.

The Gate Of The Year

And I said to the man who stood at the gate of the year:

Give me a light that I may tread safely into the unknown.

And he replied:

"Go out into the darkness and put your hand into the Hand of God.

That shall be to you better than light and safer than a known way."

So I went forth, and finding the Hand of

God, trod gladly into the night.

And He led me towards the hills and the

breaking of day in the lone east.

(Minnie Louise Haskins /Published/1912)

Prologue

1862

T he young soldier dared to lift his head. Slowly, he raised himself just enough to peep above the dead log that was sheltering him from the enemy.

How long have I been here? Carefully reaching into his pocket, he pulled out an old pocket watch. Thankfully, it was still working. His whole body weight had landed on top of it, when he fell to the ground. Glancing at the face, which no longer possessed a crystal, with shaking hands, he held it up to his ear, barely able to hear the familiar ticking over the pounding of his heart.

Oh, my, four thirty, he whispered. Guess I’ve been here thirty minutes or longer. Don’t really know what time I collapsed behind this log. Lovingly, he ran a finger over the face of the treasured watch. Popsy Howard had given it to Papa on his twenty fifth birthday. Papa gave it to him the night he told his family he had joined the Confederates. He was ready to fight with his countrymen and for their beloved South.

Cautiously, the young soldier looked around. Not seeing any signs or evidence of the Federal patrol that had sent him running deeper into the wooded area, he removed his left boot. Feeling inside, he pulled out a folded piece of paper. Quickly stuffing it back into the toe of his boot, then putting the boot back on, trembling, he got to his feet. Looking around cautiously, and seeing no sign of the enemy, he breathed a sigh of relief, remembering how close the patrol had passed to his hiding place. Had any one of the enemy wandered off and spied him, he no longer would be a free man. I shudder to think of the consequences had that happened, he uttered.

The weary soldier once again took up his flight, trudging through wet forest, mucky marsh land, while sometimes hiding amidst the cattails for fear of being seen by the enemy. Wading through swamps, stumbling over hidden tree stumps and cypress knees, dodging snakes and hungry alligators, he followed his instincts, making his way more inland toward his destination, while all the time being aware of eminent danger. The enemy seemed to be everywhere, lurking behind trees, hidden in underbrush, perched in treetops and camouflaged with branches and leaves. The young soldier refused to be deterred, even while dodging bullets from skirmishes he encountered. Exhausted and out of breath, he paused, momentarily. Then, in the distance, he saw it. With renewed strength and vigor, he continued his arduous journey and was soon on the steps of a brick building with a Confederate flag flying high in the wind. Taking the flight of steps with a limp, the result of an enemy bullet that had grazed his hip, he stopped in front of a sentry who appeared to be very adept with the rifle he was holding.

May I help you? the sentry asked.

I must see Major General Lovell.

Who sent you and from where did you come?

While the sentry looked on, the young soldier bent down and took off his boot once more. After removing the folded piece of paper, he handed it to the sentry.

It’s an important message for the Major General.

The sentry handed the paper back to the soldier, and gave the okay for him to enter the building. Stepping inside, the weary soldier was greeted by a young man wearing an officer’s uniform.

Looks as if you’ve come a long way, soldier, the officer said, sizing him up from head to toe. I’m Officer Bradley, what can I do for you?

The soldier handed him the paper. Officer Bradley read with extreme concern on his countenance. Come with me, quickly.

Exhausted and limping rather badly, with difficulty, the young soldier followed the officer.

Officer Bradley glanced backward to be sure the messenger was following. Why are you limping, soldier?

Oh, it’s nothing. I’m okay.

You don’t appear to be okay, but if you say so.

Shortly, they exited the hall and entered a spacious room. A distinguished man was standing behind a desk, with his back to the door, studying a large map that was attached to the wall.

General Lovell.

Hearing his name, the General turned. Yes, Officer Bradley?

The officer handed him the note. This soldier has obviously come a long way, Sir, to deliver this. I also think he is wounded.

General Lovell looked at the soldier, then turned his attention to the note.

April 16, 1862. Farragut up the Mississippi from Ship Island. Will attack Forts Jackson and St. Phillip for a clear passage to get through to New Orleans and capture the city. I plan to hold and force enemy back, but be prepared, in case my plan fails. We must not surrender New Orleans.

General Johnson K. Duncan

You know what to do Officer Bradley. Also, send an aide to take this young man to the medic.

Yes, Sir.

General Lovell looked at the young man standing before him. What is your name, soldier?

Nathaniel Hebron, Sir.

One year earlier, August, 1861

Chapter 1

B ethel Plantation, against the backdrop of the Civil War, lay serene and placid, with its well-kept grounds, its vast cotton fields, and its grandiose grazing pastures. Located five miles from the Village of Boeuf Prairie, Louisiana, in Franklin Parish, the Plantation backed up to the east bank of the Boeuf River, which originated in Arkansas, flowed south into Louisiana, and ended at the mouth of the Ouachita River.

Colossal live oaks lined both sides of the lane leading up to the Big House. Their magnificent, towering tall branches intertwined as if embracing, creating a grandeur and imposing welcome. On any given clear day, the sun’s rays filtered through the branches, forming a shroud illusion, while spanish moss, hanging in clusters, appeared as a mirage of icicles, glistening and swaying, offering a fairy tale view.

The live oaks were a haven to many weary travelers who took refuge, from time to time, under their luxurious branches. After a few hours rest, or overnight stay, all who were privileged to pass that way, resumed their journey refreshed and strengthened.

Samuel Hebron, with his light brown hair and bluish, green eyes, was a highly respected man. Only five feet, nine inches tall and of medium stature, yet he was a stalwart of a man in character and integrity. Standing on the back veranda of the spacious and comfortable house he and his wife, Tabitha, built in 1851, Samuel gazed out over the wide expanse that made up Bethel Plantation, and was in awe, as always, of the goodness of God to allow all of this to belong to him and his family. Today, however, his thoughts were overshadowed by the war raging in the Carolinas, Missouri and Virginia, and the reality that Louisiana was doomed to be a part of it.

Can this place of peace and tranquility escape the wrath of the war? Will its modest buildings, abundant crops, and stately trees be preserved? Will the lives of those who dwell here, be unscathed? He spoke softly, with deep concern in his voice.

A slight feeling of fear gripped him. Probably not. War changes everything in its path. It does not leave places or people the way they were. Slowly, Samuel made his way down the steps of the veranda, and began his normal, early morning trek across the land that was so dear to him.

Chapter 2

G ideon Hebron walked through the double doors that led from his upstairs bedroom to a small balcony. Stepping onto the balcony, he paused, gazing out in wonder across the massive expanse of white. From where he stood, it looked like a blanket of snow stretching for miles and miles. In truth, it was acres and acres of fluffy white cotton, ready for the picking. His heart swelled with pride knowing that as far as he could see and beyond, all belonged to his family.

Gideon loved the land. He loved farming. These had been the support of his family since before he was born. In 1801, his grandparents, Howard and Ann Hebron, whom he called Popsy and Momsy, had settled on this land with two hundred acres. Every few years as finances permitted, Popsy added acreage, and today, sixty years later, two thousand acres made up the breath taking view known to all as Bethel Plantation.

As he stood gazing out across the vast fields, Gideon struggled with the solemn task facing him. Many times he had walked out onto this balcony when he was troubled, and had to think things through. Today was no exception. He had made a decision. Not that his decision was wrong, or that he regretted it. He knew it was the right thing to do. The thing troubling him, was that he must tell the family.

The family was dear to him. He knew them so well. He knew how each would react to his decision. Papa would shake his hand and tell him how proud of him he is, then grab him with a big hug. Momma would wrap both arms around him, smiling through her tears, although the news would be breaking her heart into a million pieces. He dreaded Hannah’s reaction. At nineteen, she was only two years younger than he, and they had always been so close. Nathaniel just turned seventeen and would demand to go with him. Sarah, well, although adorable at fifteen, she was nonetheless unpredictable. Malachi, eleven, and Anna, eight, in their eyes their big brother could do no wrong.

Gideon looked once more out across the vast domain, then turned to walk back into his room. He paused beside an old chair that set to the side of the doorway. Lovingly, he placed his hand on the back of the chair. This chair belonged to Popsy Howard Hebron, and had been his special chair at the little shotgun house he and Momsy had constructed as their first home when they first purchased Bethel. Looking out across the vast fields again, his eyes came to rest on the small building. From the distance, it looked very minute and unimportant, but it held special memories for Papa, and he kept it maintained.

Turning his attention back to the chair, Gideon ran his hand across the crude lumber, remembering the times he had perched upon Popsy’s lap as he sat in this very chair. It had been moved from the shotgun house to the modest house his grandparents had built when Papa was fourteen years old. There, it held a special place on the back porch, which Popsy had screened in, so Momsy could sit there freely and not be bothered with mosquitoes and flies. The chair had remained in that special spot until 1851 when Papa and Momma built the big house, and Papa gave the chair to him to put on the small balcony outside his room.

Gideon sighed as he stepped back into his bedroom. When shall I tell the family of my decision, he pondered? It must be a time when the whole family is together, usually, at the evening meal. That is when I’ll tell them, he whispered. I’ll tell them at supper.

Chapter 3

T abitha, lovingly, ran her fingers along the contour of the pump that had been installed on her washstand. She followed every detail of the gold ornate handle and waterspout. Carefully, moving the handle in an up and down motion, she watched as the water flowed into the ceramic basin beneath the spout. The scalloped edges of the basin, and the fluffy white cotton embossed on the bowl, were a cherished piece of art.

The Big House at Bethel Plantation was one of the very few in the nineteenth century with indoor toilets and running water. Most houses did not have them until the early twentieth century and some even later. Tabitha smiled, remembering when Samuel built the house in 1851, the indoor bathrooms were top priority with him. There were four total. Two on the first floor, one for the bedroom she and Samuel shared, and the other one was across the hall, between the library and guest room. The other two were on the second floor where the children’s bedrooms and another guest room were located. Samuel Hebron loved his family and wanted for them all the comforts he could possibly afford, although he had to sell extra lumber and cattle to give them this luxury.

Glancing up into the ornate mirror that ran the full length of the washstand, Tabitha saw her brown hair, with a reddish tint, was now accented with strands of gray, and wrinkles creased the once smooth brow. Smiling, she thought as she had so often of late, I don’t mind growing old as long as I have Samuel to grow old with me.

Tabitha Ann Winn, married Samuel Hebron in 1836 at the age of twenty. Although not strikingly beautiful, now forty five years of age, Tabitha possessed valuable qualities that permeated her character. These radiated an inner beauty that shone through and enveloped all whom she encountered. Very poised and graceful, with a stylish air about her, and while not haughty, she possessed self-assurance and self-control. Many had said, including her husband, she could well be the woman described in the Bible, Proverbs 31: The heart of her husband doth safely trust in her. She will do him good and not evil all the days of her life. She stretcheth out her hands to the poor; yea she reacheth forth her hands to the needy. Strength and honor are her clothing. She looketh well to the ways of her household. Her children arise up, and call her blessed; her husband also, and he praiseth her.

Walking across the spacious hall, which also served as a sitting area, Tabitha stepped into the kitchen. Good morning, Zipporah.

And a blessed morning to you, Miz Tabitha. You feeling okay, today?

I am. I suppose my husband has already had his breakfast?

Yesum. He wuz up early. Said he wanted to help dem workers today. Lands sakes, Missus, you better make him slow down. He don’t needs to work so hard. Dat’s what dem field workers are fer. Want me to fix yo breakfast now?

Tabitha smiled. Now Zipporah, you know Mr. Sam. He doesn’t mind a bit helping out. He likes to stay busy. We are thankful that the field hands work hard, and we don’t want to misuse them. All of our workers are here because they want to be. If they don’t want to be here, they are free to leave. We hold no one bound, including you. I’ll just have some coffee and a piece of toast.

Yesum, I knows that, but me and my hubby and young’uns ain’t going no place. Y’alls is family and Bethel is home. And y’alls treat usuns good. But my friend Liza Mae, who works for Mr. Wort, say he be a mean man. Her daughter, Macy June, say that Mr. Wort beat her boyfriend terrible bad cause he didn’t do something just sactly like he want it done. Now ain’t that really mean, Miz Tabitha? He’s a bad, bad man.

I am so sorry, Zipporah. Yes, that is very mean and bad. Maybe my husband could speak to him, or the authorities, about it.

"Oh, I don’t know about that.