Everlasting Light - A Civil War Romance Novella by Andrea Boeshaar
Authors: Andrea Boeshaar
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Chapter 1
December, 1865
Desolation. Gray and bleak. As far as the eye could see.
Standing on the covered porch of her in-laws’ large farmhouse, Alaina Dalton McKenna hugged a knitted shawl more tightly around her and gazed across the ravaged land. Her heart ached. Yankees. I hate every last one of them.
Even as the thought formed, Alaina could hear Reverend Pritchard’s voice last Sunday, commanding his congregation to “love your enemies.” But that, of course, was easier said than done. Charleston lay in ruins, Fort Sumter had been abandoned by the Confederate army, and much of Columbia had been burned beyond recognition. Surely this was the end of the world.
Looking toward the orchard, Alaina couldn’t fight back tears as she viewed the charred peach trees. Their skeletal remains added even more barrenness to the dull winter landscape. Why did they have to burn everything?
Last February when Sherman’s troops made their march from Savannah to the sea, they hit South Carolina particularly hard, since the war had started in the state. The Yankees set fire to everything in their paths. The prosperous McKenna farm in Richland County had been no exception. As her mother-in-law, Eloise McKenna, said, it was a miracle their house still stood, proud and erect. Their barn, animals, equipment, and outbuildings were gone. All gone. However, this past summer, they had been able to grow a few crops, which would keep them from starving to death this winter.
If only Braeden would come home. She yearned for her missing husband. He’d know what to do.
A familiar bout of melancholy enveloped her as Alaina stepped off the porch only to meet a gust of cold wind that tugged at her dark skirt. Shivering, she strolled down the winding dirt pathway to where a pretty, white picket fence once stood, separating the McKenna property from the road. Only a scant few fence posts remained of it now—another visible wound brought upon this farm and family by those wretched Blue-bellies! Except Alaina supposed the McKennas had fared much better than most in these parts, and she forced herself to be thankful that she at least had a roof over her head. If Braeden would come home, she’d be more than thankful. She’d be absolutely ecstatic!
Glancing down the dusty road, she barely had the strength to combat disappointment. She saw no shadowy figure of her gallant cavalryman husband in the distance, riding home from war. Only more desolation of the countryside.
Oh, God, please bring Braeden home. Please bring him home for Christmas.
Emptiness swelled inside of her, and Alaina wondered why she bothered to petition the Almighty. He didn’t seem to hear her. God must surely be a Northern sympathizer. Still, she clung desperately to the last remnants of her faith and held fast to her memories. The past helped her endure the present.
She inhaled deeply and gave her mind free rein. Beloved images mingled with tears as she thought back five short years ago, to a simple, serene time before this nightmarish war ever began …
******
“You got an invitation!” twelve-year-old Rebecca shrieked, running through the six-room farmhouse and bursting into the kitchen.
Alaina dropped the dough she’d been kneading. “An invitation? Me?”
Breathless, her younger sister stopped in front of her and held out the elegantly folded envelope. “It just came. Open it. Quick. I want to know what it says.”
“No doubt it’s from Jennifer Marie Stokes.”
Rebecca frowned slightly. “She’s that rich planter’s daughter, isn’t she? The one Mama said ain’t worth an ounce of your attention.”
“Oh, now, Jennifer Marie isn’t all that bad.” Alaina wiped the sticky bread dough from her hands and took the proffered invitation. “She’s just lonely and needs a friend. She says I saved her life, and I suppose that’s true, but—”
“Mama said that pride goes before destruction and a haughty spirit before a fall and that
December, 1865
Desolation. Gray and bleak. As far as the eye could see.
Standing on the covered porch of her in-laws’ large farmhouse, Alaina Dalton McKenna hugged a knitted shawl more tightly around her and gazed across the ravaged land. Her heart ached. Yankees. I hate every last one of them.
Even as the thought formed, Alaina could hear Reverend Pritchard’s voice last Sunday, commanding his congregation to “love your enemies.” But that, of course, was easier said than done. Charleston lay in ruins, Fort Sumter had been abandoned by the Confederate army, and much of Columbia had been burned beyond recognition. Surely this was the end of the world.
Looking toward the orchard, Alaina couldn’t fight back tears as she viewed the charred peach trees. Their skeletal remains added even more barrenness to the dull winter landscape. Why did they have to burn everything?
Last February when Sherman’s troops made their march from Savannah to the sea, they hit South Carolina particularly hard, since the war had started in the state. The Yankees set fire to everything in their paths. The prosperous McKenna farm in Richland County had been no exception. As her mother-in-law, Eloise McKenna, said, it was a miracle their house still stood, proud and erect. Their barn, animals, equipment, and outbuildings were gone. All gone. However, this past summer, they had been able to grow a few crops, which would keep them from starving to death this winter.
If only Braeden would come home. She yearned for her missing husband. He’d know what to do.
A familiar bout of melancholy enveloped her as Alaina stepped off the porch only to meet a gust of cold wind that tugged at her dark skirt. Shivering, she strolled down the winding dirt pathway to where a pretty, white picket fence once stood, separating the McKenna property from the road. Only a scant few fence posts remained of it now—another visible wound brought upon this farm and family by those wretched Blue-bellies! Except Alaina supposed the McKennas had fared much better than most in these parts, and she forced herself to be thankful that she at least had a roof over her head. If Braeden would come home, she’d be more than thankful. She’d be absolutely ecstatic!
Glancing down the dusty road, she barely had the strength to combat disappointment. She saw no shadowy figure of her gallant cavalryman husband in the distance, riding home from war. Only more desolation of the countryside.
Oh, God, please bring Braeden home. Please bring him home for Christmas.
Emptiness swelled inside of her, and Alaina wondered why she bothered to petition the Almighty. He didn’t seem to hear her. God must surely be a Northern sympathizer. Still, she clung desperately to the last remnants of her faith and held fast to her memories. The past helped her endure the present.
She inhaled deeply and gave her mind free rein. Beloved images mingled with tears as she thought back five short years ago, to a simple, serene time before this nightmarish war ever began …
******
“You got an invitation!” twelve-year-old Rebecca shrieked, running through the six-room farmhouse and bursting into the kitchen.
Alaina dropped the dough she’d been kneading. “An invitation? Me?”
Breathless, her younger sister stopped in front of her and held out the elegantly folded envelope. “It just came. Open it. Quick. I want to know what it says.”
“No doubt it’s from Jennifer Marie Stokes.”
Rebecca frowned slightly. “She’s that rich planter’s daughter, isn’t she? The one Mama said ain’t worth an ounce of your attention.”
“Oh, now, Jennifer Marie isn’t all that bad.” Alaina wiped the sticky bread dough from her hands and took the proffered invitation. “She’s just lonely and needs a friend. She says I saved her life, and I suppose that’s true, but—”
“Mama said that pride goes before destruction and a haughty spirit before a fall and that
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