Buckeye Dreams Read online

  How could she have been so foolish as to have let her emotions get the better of her? But the things her father had said that evening at dinner … Even now his horrid, ugly words rolled back and forth in her mind, causing her to shake with anger. If only she had kept her tongue, Chloe would never have been beaten senseless and Katherine would have no scar to mar her face.

  She sighed and looked at Mary. Chloe hadn’t been the only one affected by her rash actions. “How did Thomas take it when I left?” she ventured. Her father had sent her off to Charleston for six months after the incident.

  Mary hesitated. “It was hard for him.”

  “I’m sorry, Mary. I’m sorry I hurt your feelings … and Thomas’s. Father said you bewitched me.”

  Mary said nothing, and Katherine knew she was trying not to say what she felt. She had hoped Katherine would one day truly become her daughter by marrying her son.

  That had been Katherine’s hope as well, but any chance she may have had with Thomas was dashed when her father forced her to break off all communication with the O’Neals. And he made arrangements to make sure it would stay that way. For the past seven years, Katherine had no contact with them until the night she and her aunt were forced to find refuge with Mary after their house had been destroyed.

  “That’s all water under the bridge now,” Mary said finally. “I just hope your father and your brother made their peace with God before the war took their lives.”

  “I hope Aunt Ada does the same,” Katherine said thoughtfully. “I’m going to write to her and let her know I’m safe.”

  “That would probably be best. Maybe you’ll be able to reconcile with her.”

  “I’m afraid I’ve burned that bridge.” Her aunt had disowned her when Katherine insisted on going north with Mary rather than accompanying her to Charleston. “I’ve never seen her so angry, not even after … Chloe.”

  Mary sighed. “Well, we should be getting back to sleep. Lots to do tomorrow.” Mary rose and pulled the quilt over Katherine. Her face fell a little. “I guess we’ll both be posting letters. I have to write to Daniel. He and Dolly were close.”

  “I’ll keep him in my prayers.”

  Her friend gently smiled her thanks and went back to her room.

  Katherine rose and, in spite of the chill of the room, stood in front of the window. She looked up at the moon and watched its soft light gently play on the bare trees outside her window. Sending up a quick prayer, she asked God to comfort Daniel Kirby’s heart when he heard the news of his mother’s passing.

  As she turned to go back to bed, she noticed piles of books on the floor with more stacked on a rough-hewn table. She longed to see what tomes Mary’s nephew possessed, but she knew if she started looking at them now she would never get back to sleep.

  She climbed into bed. Help me sleep well, Father, so I can be a help to Mary tomorrow. But as she laid her head back, she found herself fingering her scar. She rolled over, trying not to drown in the guilt that washed over her.

  Chapter 3

  Appomattox Courthouse, Virginia, April 9, 1865

  Confederate general Robert E. Lee stepped out the door of the borrowed farmhouse belonging to Wilmer McLean. While his horse was being rebridled, he pulled on his riding gloves and seemingly without thought plowed his fist into his other hand several times. He didn’t seem to notice the numerous Union officers, who were waiting in the yard, rise respectfully at his approach. The arrival of Traveler seemed to wake him, and with great dignity, he mounted the gray horse.

  At that moment, Union general Ulysses S. Grant, to whom Lee had just surrendered his forces, approached him and tipped his hat.

  Major Daniel Kirby was among the officers waiting outside the house when Lee came out. He and the others around him followed Grant’s example.

  Lee returned the act of respect and courtesy in kind and rode off with his aide, Colonel Charles Marshall.

  Daniel looked after the valiant general with sympathy. He had fought hard and bravely for his cause, and while Daniel knew that cause had been terribly wrong, he still felt such valor should be respected and honored. Gunshots, a victory salute, suddenly rang out, and the twenty-five-year-old snapped his head around in consternation. It’s over; they are our countrymen again. We shouldn’t humiliate them.

  It was as if General Grant had read his thoughts, for he quickly ordered all celebration to cease. He, too, saw no need to crow over their prisoners. As he turned, Daniel caught the general’s eye and gave him a small nod of approval. Grant gave him a wink and the barest of smiles as he went back into the McLean house.

  “Let us pray the peace in the next few months is as respectful.” Daniel turned to see General Joshua Chamberlain mounted on his horse, Charlemagne, standing next to the fence.

  He walked over to the general, leading his own horse, Scioto, behind him. “I know that’s how the president wants it, sir.”

  Chamberlain nodded. “Unfortunately, not everyone up North is very pleased with the prospect.” He pulled a letter from his wife out of his pocket. “Fanny writes that people are eager for reprisals, revenge.”

  “If there is that type of bloody work, there won’t be peace for long,” Daniel replied grimly.

  The general nodded in agreement. They both gazed down the road General Lee had just ridden down.

  “ ‘Rejoice not when thine enemy falleth, and let not thine heart be glad when he stumbleth,’ ” Daniel softly quoted.

  “Amen.” The general turned to look at the young major. “Have you heard from your people recently?”

  Daniel looked up at the general, his face suddenly quite sober. He indeed had received word from home—an unexpected letter from his aunt Mary. It had come just as the siege at Petersburg had ended and they had General Lee on the run. There had been no time for him to reply or even think about it until this very moment. He took the letter out now and looked at it gravely.

  “What is it?” His friend’s voice sounded small and far off.

  “I could use some coffee,” Daniel heard himself reply.

  “Mount up and let’s have some then,” Joshua said quietly.

  Putting the letter back into his pocket, Daniel mounted Scioto and followed the general to his encampment, not far from town. They didn’t speak, and Daniel was glad.

  Joshua always seemed to know when to speak up or remain silent. Like the time they had first met, a day or so after Fredericksburg, at the beginning of the war. It had been a horrific battle, and Daniel still winced at the mere thought of it. His regiment, the 4th Ohio Infantry, had lost a shocking amount of men. The platoon he had been charged with had nearly been wiped out. Joshua, then a lieutenant colonel, had called to him as he aimlessly wandered through the army’s encampment and invited him over to his campfire. Daniel had approached him warily, wondering if he was about to be reprimanded for the loss of his men. He had only been a first lieutenant at the time. But the superior officer spoke not a word about the battle and instead asked about Daniel’s schooling, having heard he had graduated from Ohio Wesleyan and had taught there before the war. He asked about the university and talked about his own years as a professor of rhetoric at Bowdoin College in his home state of Maine, and their friendship began. Joshua never treated him like an underling while they were off duty, and they watched out for one another in battle. They had saved each other from certain death more than once. Daniel was proud to have such a man as a friend.

  They eventually reached Joshua’s tent, and Daniel soberly read his aunt Mary’s letter while his friend made the coffee. When he had finished, he looked up to find Joshua seated at the small table he used to lay out military maps. Two tin mugs of coffee sat in front of him, and Daniel sat down and took a sip of the harsh brew. He looked at the general. “It’s from my aunt Mary.”

  Joshua’s brows knit together. “I thought she was in South Carolina.”

  Daniel shook his head. “When General Sherman went through, she made her way back up to Ohio. When she g
ot back, she found my mother dying from pneumonia.”

  He covered his eyes with his hand. The war was coming to a close. Death, his close companion of four years, was supposed to have fled, yet here it was still, leering at him with its hideous pale face. He’d been through some of the bloodiest and most brutal battles of the war, yet this was harder than any of them. Lord, give me strength.

  “I’m truly sorry for your loss,” he heard his friend say quietly.

  Daniel abruptly took his cup and went to the tent flap, where he finished his coffee in one large gulp, welcoming the heat of the liquid. It helped stop the tears from forming in his eyes. If he was going to succumb to grief, he wanted to do it in private.

  “You need to go home, Daniel.”

  He had a dozen arguments ready, but they died on his lips. While the war still raged further south in parts of North Carolina and Alabama, Lee’s surrender had been the beginning of the end. It was only a matter of time now. At any rate, the Army of the Potomac, which the 4th Ohio was a part of, wouldn’t see any more action.

  His aunt had also sent word that his brothers were dead, but Daniel had already known. He had been at Cold Harbor and seen Toby lining up with a Pennsylvania regiment. He’d been shocked to see him. It had been decided at the beginning of the war that Toby would stay home and help their mother keep up the farm. He’d had every intention of finding the nineteen-year-old after the battle and figuring out a way to get him home. But there had been no chance. His brother died that very day, and having no heart to break the news to their mother, Daniel requested that Toby’s commanding officer write to tell her the news. And as for Jonah, one of his older brother’s fellow soldiers had written him. His body had never been found, but the man had been positive he had seen Jonah fall in the midst of battle, mortally wounded. With his mother and brothers gone, the farm was his responsibility now. Like Pa always wanted, he thought grimly. He turned back to Joshua. “General Grant is most likely still at Mr. McLean’s house.”

  Joshua rose from his chair. “If he’s not, we can ride on to headquarters.”

  Daniel slowly nodded and, putting down his cup, followed his friend out of the tent.

  Chapter 4

  Saturday, April 15, 1865

  Katherine walked down to the edge of the drive and stopped, raising her face to the bright spring sun. With closed eyes, she allowed the rays to play and dance on her face before steeling herself to the chore ahead.

  She was headed into Ostrander to check on the mail and buy a few things at the mercantile. Mary had written Daniel almost a month ago, and there was still no word from him. And with General Lee’s surrender a scant two weeks ago, her friend had become terribly worried.

  Katherine looked back at the sweet little farmhouse and checked her desire to go back inside. She had to do this because Mary could not undertake the task herself. Grant me strength, Father. Making sure her bonnet was straight and readjusting the basket on her arm, she turned and started to make her way down the dirt road.

  Her first month in Ostrander had been interesting to say the least, starting with Dorothy Kirby’s funeral. It seemed as if the entire township had shown up and crowded into the Kirby parlor. Unfortunately, the viewing hadn’t been going on for five minutes when she sensed very clearly she was not a welcome addition to the community. With some there was a tangible, yet polite coldness, and they kept their distance. With others it was an occasional barb or remark she was sure to overhear.

  Ruth Decker had even pointed out a few people Katherine should take great care to stay away from. “Oh, there’s the Hoskins,” she would say. “Their son died at the Rebel victory at Bull Run.” Or “There goes Estelle Perry. The Rebs killed her husband at Gettysburg.”

  But by far the worst comment the woman made concerned a young widow only a few years older than Katherine. Dressed in black, the young woman had seemed so quiet and grave sitting all alone in a corner of the room that Katherine had forgotten herself and made her way over to see if she needed anything.

  “Are you quite all right, ma’am?” Katherine asked. She was going to ask if she wanted any coffee, but the words died on her lips at the long stare the young woman gave her. Abruptly, she got up and left the room.

  “Adele Stephens.” Katherine turned to see Ruth Decker standing beside her and shaking her head sadly. “Such a shame. Her husband was captured and killed when he tried to escape.” She grasped Katherine by the arm and drew her closer. “They say it was a South Carolinian who did the filthy deed,” she hissed.

  “Excuse me, Mrs. Decker,” Katherine murmured and rushed outside to see the young widow pull away in a worn-out buggy. She was sure the woman had been crying. Later she learned Adele Stephens resided in town with her young son, an eight-year-old boy named Jacob.

  Now, as she brushed her fingers lightly across her jaw, Katherine could only hope they would not meet today in town. Father, please bring peace and healing to Mrs. Stephens’s heart.

  She was drawing close to Mill Creek Church. As she approached, she looked around. No one seemed to be about, and she quickly slipped through the gate to the graveyard behind the little brick building. She quickly walked through the rows until she came to Dorothy Kirby’s grave. Although Mary hadn’t asked her to stop, Katherine had felt she should just to be sure it was neat and tidy. The weather had finally decided it was spring a few weeks ago, and everything was blooming. She wanted to make sure a stray weed hadn’t sprouted.

  Delicate new grass was creeping up the soft mound of dirt in front of the gravestone, and Katherine decided to come back once her task in town was completed. Maybe some spring flowers would brighten her resting place. There might be some blooming closer to the creek.

  As she rose, her back protested, reminding her of the hard work she and Mary had been doing to keep up the farm. The work was substantial and constant; Katherine deemed it a miracle they were even able to keep up. Mary had laughed and quoted Ecclesiastes, the verse about how two were better than one.

  Katherine had gone to bed exhausted every night the first few weeks. But she was gradually becoming accustomed to her new life. Under Mary’s care the blisters that formed on her hands soon healed and formed tough calluses. And she was beginning to wake herself in the early morning rather than Mary calling for her. They would do the daily chores and then set about whatever needed to be done that day. Repairing fences, boiling down maple sap into syrup and sugar, spring cleaning—there was always something to do.

  In fact, things had been twice as busy since they had started getting the fields ready for planting. Mary had gone through Dolly’s papers when they aired out her room and discovered she had written down what would be planted and where. Katherine had wondered why Mary had been so glad to find the slip of paper until the older woman explained crop rotation to her.

  They had started plowing for corn and oats, but the day before yesterday there had been an accident. Mary had tripped and badly sprained her ankle while they were plowing the oat field. She could not put weight on it at all, but somehow Katherine had managed to get Mary back to the house.

  Unfortunately, they got no more work done that day, a sore blow to their schedule. To make matters worse, Elijah Carr had come calling the next morning while Katherine was doing the chores. They had been forced to leave the plow in the field all night, and Mr. Carr had noticed.

  “Saw you left your plow out,” he’d said as he leaned against a stall door. “Think the field will plow itself?” He chuckled.

  Katherine had clenched her jaw and was grateful her hands were busy so he wouldn’t notice how they shook. “Mrs. O’Neal took a fall yesterday, Mr. Carr.” She filled the horses’ feed boxes with grain. “I was tending to her the better part of the afternoon.”

  “Well, I’ll take my team out to your field and finish it off then.”

  Katherine stopped her work to look at him. “Whatever for?”

  Carr’s eyebrows raised in surprise. “Who else is going to plow up that field,
Miss Wallace? You?”

  “Certainly.” She quickly walked around him and grabbed a pitchfork. “Your offer is very kind, sir, but I can manage it myself.”

  The man’s face darkened, and it was all Katherine could do to stand her ground until the overbearing man left without another word.

  When Katherine finished, she went inside to discover Mary hobbling about the kitchen with the use of a homemade crutch. “I found this upstairs,” she explained.

  “Mary!” Katherine cried. “You shouldn’t even be down here. I was intending to bring breakfast up to you!”

  Mary had managed to start the coffee and the bacon on the black cookstove at the rear of the kitchen. Mornings were still cool enough that they hadn’t yet started cooking in the summer kitchen out behind the house. Katherine had been surprised at the need for one. She hadn’t realized summers could get so hot this far north.

  “Well, I have to admit I’m tired and sore,” Mary said as she leaned against the worktable in the middle of the kitchen. “But once I sit a spell, I’ll be right as rain. We’ll be a little slower plowing today… .”

  “Oh no, you don’t! I declare I never saw the like!” Katherine put her hands on her hips and gave Mary a defiant look. “You are staying right here! I have every intention of finishing up that field myself!”

  “Is that what you told Elijah Carr?” Mary asked with a small smile.

  “You saw him, then?”

  “He left here with a look that would spoil milk.”

  “Before it left the cow,” Katherine added. She gently grasped Mary by the arm. “Let me finish breakfast. You go sit at the table in the dining room.”

  While they ate, Mary had mentioned they were drinking the last of the coffee. “I’m sure you won’t let me make the trip into town tomorrow.” She chuckled and Katherine smiled. It was Friday, and they had been going into Ostrander every Saturday if only to check the mail. “We could manage without coffee, but”—her face had become etched with concern—“I’m eager to see if Daniel has written yet.”