A Thousand Shall Fall

A Civil War Novel

Kregel Publications

August 15, 1864

Ooh, that Sarah Jane!

Carrie Ann Bell stared at her youngest sister's sloppily scratched note. How could that girl do such a scandalous thing? Running off with a lowlife peddler? Certainly Sarah had threatened to run away numerous times in the past, but who would have thought she'd actually do it? Mama would be heartbroken when she learned the news.

Heartbroken and angry. Carrie could practically hear Mama crying and blaming her for Sarah running off. Mama would say Carrie paid more attention to Papa's newspaper than her sisters ...

And maybe Mama was right. But her sister Margaret was eighteen and Sarah, fifteen. They weren't that much younger than Carrie herself. And writing for the Bell Tower in Papa's absence had been Carrie's refuge, a place of normalcy in a world turned topsy-turvy.

Staring at Sarah's note, Carrie debated whether to withhold this information from Mama. Maybe she'd go looking for her youngest sister and bring her home to the Wayfarers Inn —

What a contradiction. The Wayfarers Inn was no more a home than a damp, dark cave was an elegant mansion. Still, it was a roof over her family's head.

Carrie paced the small newspaper office, paused, and ran one ink-stained fingertip over the smooth service of Papa's desk. Surely she could catch up with Arthur Sims, that no-account speculator with whom Sarah ran off . He couldn't have traveled far in that large, rattling contraption of his. Painted in obnoxious shades of yellow and orange, it resembled a circus wagon.

Carrie's hand shook as sudden fire flowed through her veins. She was tempted to notify the law and file kidnapping charges against the man, except the law had better things to do than go hunting for a fast-talking swindler who rode off with a starry-eyed girl.

Lord Jesus, what should I do?

Praying, thinking, plotting, planning, Carrie resumed her aimless wander, circling the obstinate Washington Iron Hand Press. She halted once more. What would Papa do if he were here?

She'd asked herself that question countless times in the past. With Mama ill and occasionally out of her mind, Margaret behaving like a veritable hussy, and now Sarah Jane running off, Carrie was sure she'd failed miserably at the task of taking care of her family in Papa's absence.

And the Bell Tower ... sales were almost nonexistent for want of supplies. Worse, the old press continually gave her fits.

Her shoulders slumped under the weight of defeat. This newspaper was Papa's purpose for living, and under Carrie's management, the next issue of the Bell Tower wouldn't even go to press. But perhaps it was only a temporary setback and the newspaper could be printed regularly again once the War Between the States ended.

If only Papa would return.

Unfortunately, he wasn't here now. It was up to Carrie to find Sarah and bring her back to the Wayfarers Inn.

Stuffing Sarah's note into the pocket of her faded dress, Carrie exited the tiny newspaper office and locked the door behind her. The summer heat had increased since she'd arrived at dawn, and now, as she hurried down Main Street, perspiration moistened her brow and nape. People were out and about, mostly women, as only they, old men, and boys were left in Woodstock these days. They swept their walks and shared information with each other in front of their residences and establishments, but no one seemed to notice Carrie's haste, which was just as well. Mama would have a fit if she saw her unladylike gait.

As she trotted past the printers, then Massanutten Mercantile, Swifts' Seams and Tailoring, and Owens' Bootery, she glanced across the street at the National Hotel and couldn't help recalling the days when this town had seen finer times. Now the brick and wood structures lining Main Street needed paint and repairs. On the next block over, buildings stood riddled with gunshot. Others looked like soulless ghouls, dark and vacant.

Carrie rushed on, into the less prominent part of the town, thinking, worrying, and praying over her sister.

That spoiled Sarah Jane, adding to Mama's worries like this! Lord, what am I going to do now? Imagine running off when her family needed her and just because she wanted a real home. Carrie wanted the same — and more. A family of her own. A husband who adored her.

A pair of brandy-colored eyes surfaced in her memory, eyes that belonged on a Union captain's handsome, bearded face. Wounded and bleeding heavily, he'd come into the Wayfarers Inn more than a year ago. The owner and innkeeper, Mr. Veyschmidt, had ordered her not to aid or assist Yankees. But Carrie, an independent-minded journalist just like her papa, hadn't chosen sides in the conflict, unlike most citizens of Woodstock, who were decidedly Confederate. To Carrie's way of thinking, any man who was wounded, whether grayback or blue, deserved to be helped. So she defied Mr. Veyschmidt and sutured the deep gash on the captain's forearm. Turns out, the captain was the nicest, most charming Yankee officer she'd ever met. Handsome too. Carrie could still feel the warmth of his gaze on her face as she'd stitched the wound. Immediately, she'd sensed something special about the man.

After she'd finished bandaging his arm, she gave him a copy of the Bell Tower. The issue contained the article she'd written about several of Lieutenant Colonel John S. Mosby's partisans who stayed at the inn. Drunk one night, Mosby's men bragged about ambushing a Union supply wagon and killing the Yankees accompanying it. The captain read her article as he ate his supper, and afterward he thanked her. He said the information was as helpful as her doctoring. He'd also complimented her writing style, something few people ever did around here. Such a pity the handsome captain got himself killed at Gettysburg — at least that's what she'd heard from a Union sergeant who'd marched through Woodstock last fall.

A sudden clamp on her shoulder, and Carrie missed her next step. She fell forward, the plank walk coming up fast to meet her.

"Whoa, girl." A pair of strong hands brought her upright before she hit face-first.

Her feet planted firmly again, Carrie stared into a familiar sun-bronzed face. Joshua.

Relief turned to irritation. "I almost fell on account of you!"

"Nice to see you again too, Carrie Ann." He regarded her with apparent reprimand. She'd known Joshua Blevens since ... well, ever since she could remember. "What are you doing, running down the street like the bluebellies are charging into town?"

She hurled an annoyed glance skyward. "I wouldn't run even if they were charging into town. If you'll recall, Federals have charged into Woodstock before."

"Federals?" Joshua turned and gazed at his comrade. Carrie hadn't seen the other man until just this moment. "This girl ain't always so prim and proper, I assure you. She usually calls the enemy blue-bellies or Yankees like the rest of us."

"Speak for yourself." Carrie clasped her hands in front of her. "Margaret told me you were back in town." Her sister was far too friendly with soldiers, graybacks and blue. "I'm glad to see you haven't gotten your fool head blown off yet."

"You always were a source of encouragement to me." Joshua's dry tone said he didn't appreciate her teasing. After combing strong fingers through his walnut-brown hair, he plopped his hat back on his head. His cheeks looked hollow and the line of his jaw more narrow than Carrie remembered. No doubt survival proved as difficult for him these last few years as for her.

Carrie dropped her gaze. Like the Bible said, these days life truly was a vapor that vanished away, and she wouldn't want the last words spoken to her longtime friend to be a thoughtless jest.

She peeked at Joshua. "Where'd you get that uniform?" Amazingly, his butternut trousers weren't soiled or tattered. She touched the sleeve of his gray shell jacket. Single-breasted with five shiny pewter buttons going up the front. Black piping along the collar and sleeves added distinction, and the ebony belt circling his trim waist boldly sported the silver letters CSA — the Confederate States of America. He stood tall, his chin held proudly. "Quite impressive, Joshua."

He bowed slightly. "I'm an officer now, Carrie Ann. I've been promoted to major — Major Joshua Blevens."

"My, my. Your folks must be so proud of you." She smiled. "And so am I. Congratulations."

He grinned, his gaze fixed on her face, until his friend cleared his throat.

"Speakin' of folks," the other man said, "didn't your mama teach you any manners, Blevens?"

He whirled around and faced his cohort.

"Introduce us," the man prompted.

"Of course. Excuse my rudeness." Joshua took a step back. "Miss Carrie Ann Bell, meet Major John Rodingham. Likewise, Major, allow me to present the sassiest girl this side of the Alleghenies."

Rodingham strode forward with an air of confidence. His eyes resembled two lead balls set into deep sockets. Oddly, the major's suntanned skin and brown hair were a perfect match, and the exact color of Papa's pipe tobacco. "A pleasure, Miss Bell."

She froze beneath his weighty gaze. His cold, flat eyes reminded her of the reptiles Joshua had teased her with as a child, not all of which were harmless.

She blinked, wondering which type he was.

"Carrie Ann?" Joshua jabbed her with his elbow.

She swallowed her misgivings. "The pleasure is all mine, sir."

"Carrie Ann's been working hard, operating her father's newspaper in his absence," Joshua explained, and she detected a note of pride in his voice. "Mr. Bell marched off with General Jackson, taking it upon himself to document the war in hopes a publisher will purchase his writings. Ain't that right, Carrie Ann?"

"Yes, that's correct." But would she ever cure Joshua of using the word ain't? Probably not.

"Heard from him lately? Your papa?"

"Not for a while. His last letter arrived some three months ago." Carrie didn't add that it was postmarked from Washington, that Papa must be doing research about the Union army now. She didn't even want to think what Joshua and his friend would do if they found out her father was working inside a blue-belly camp.

"I wouldn't fret if I were you, Carrie Ann." The consolation in Joshua's voice did little to comfort her.

"Folks here in Woodstock say Papa's dead." Carrie's chin quivered in spite of her best efforts to appear as brave as the Rebel officers who blocked the walkway. "But I refuse to give up hope."

Joshua reached for her hand and gave it a brotherly squeeze.

"Quite the honor to be endorsed by General Jackson, may he rest in peace." Rodingham slapped his leather gauntlets against one palm. He too wore a gray shell jacket. "You must be very proud."

"Indeed I am, sir."

The major stepped toward her, and Carrie backed away.

Joshua set his hand on her shoulder and she felt a measure of protection. "In her spare time, Carrie Ann works at the Wayfarers Inn up the block with her sisters." His gaze met hers. "What's for breakfast this morning, Carrie Ann?"

"Porridge, same as every other day this week. It's been so hot that the chickens won't lay their eggs. Then again, I left before anyone else was awake, and Margaret is the one who gathers eggs each morning."

"Were you at the newspaper office?"

She nodded. "I'm having trouble with the printing press again."

"That dilapidated ol' thing." Joshua wagged his head. "Wish I could help you with repairs like I usually do, Carrie Ann, but I've got more important things on my mind."

"Understandable. Besides, I managed to get it working." She glimpsed her stained fingertips and quickly stuffed her hands into her apron pockets. She'd been so distracted when she left Papa's office that she'd forgotten about washing up and putting on gloves and her bonnet. She must appear a disgrace to Rodingham, although she wasn't bent on impressing him as much as she hoped she hadn't embarrassed Joshua.

Sarah Jane's note brushed against her bare palm, and Carrie's gaze bounced back to her childhood friend. Would he help her — just like he used to when they were children?

"You back home for a while now, Joshua?"

"No. Awaiting orders is all — and trying to show everyone in Woodstock that continued support of the Confederacy will bring prosperity."

Carrie's hopes deflated like one of the Union Balloon Corps's aerostats that she'd read about.

"These new uniforms and our victory at Cold Harbor a couple of months ago prove it." A look of pride spread across Joshua's face. "About two thousand Yankees dead, and we didn't even lose a hundred men."

Carrie knew the details. She'd printed them in the Bell Tower. "And so far, you've been able to protect Petersburg from falling into Union hands."

"The Yankees'll never get Petersburg," Joshua muttered.

Rodingham cleared his throat. "Tell us, Miss ... what are you doing in town this fine morning, galloping down the street such as you were?"

Joshua stared at her from beneath an arched brow.

Carrie's cheeks burned with a rush of indignation. "I have an important message to deliver to my mother." Not that it's any concern of yours.

She turned to her friend. "Joshua?" There had to be a way he could help her, especially now that he was an officer. "May I speak to you privately?"

He cast a brief look toward Rodingham. "I'm a busy man, Carrie Ann."

"It's important." She gave him a pleading stare.

Meeting her gaze, his blue eyes turned steely-gray, revealing a hardness that Carrie had never seen in Joshua before. Obviously he'd witnessed more on battlefields than human beings ought to see — things Carrie only heard about when soldiers were well into their cups at the Wayfarers Inn.

Joshua clasped her upper arm and led her down the walk several paces. "All right, what is it?" Impatience clipped his every word. "I don't want to keep Rodingham waiting."

"It's Sarah Jane." Carrie got right to the point. "She's run off with that peddler who was here in town. He and his big fancy painted wagon rolled in a couple of days ago."

"I know who you mean." Joshua narrowed his gaze. "He's quite a bit older than Sarah Jane. How do you know they ran off together?"

Carrie thrust her sister's note at him. "Sarah left this."

He read it.

"Might you know where that no-account was headed?" Carrie asked.

"Well, if it's the same fellow who tried to sell me a cheap pocket watch last night, then he's likely continuing down the Valley. He mentioned having kin somewhere near Front Royal."

"I've got to go after him and bring Sarah back."

"I knew you'd say that. But get the fool idea out of your head. There's a new army just formed, and it includes some of the most ruthless cavalrymen the Union's got to offer. From what I hear they'll give Ol' Jube a run for his money," he said, referring to General Jubal Early. "But the Confederacy will prevail. Even so, I can't imagine what those devil cavalrymen would do to a naïve Southern girl like yourself if they found you outside of town on your own."

"But Sarah is —"

"No! You hear me?" With his hand around her arm again, Joshua gave Carrie a shake.

"Stop it. You're hurting me!"

"What do you think those Yankee invaders will do to you?"

Carrie pulled free from Joshua's grasp.

"Having difficulties over there, Blevens?" Rodingham's mocking voice sailed over on a slight breeze.

"Nothing I can't handle." Joshua rubbed tanned fingers along his clean-shaven jaw. "I'll inform Rodingham of the situation and between the two of us we'll —"

"Don't bother." Carrie peeked at the man from around Joshua's left arm. "I get the feeling that your friend won't be much help. Besides, I don't trust him."

"You never trusted anyone, Carrie

Ann. Why would you start now?"

"I trusted you." Maybe she shouldn't have. "The war has changed you."

"It's changed everyone."

"Well, pardon me," Carrie huffed. "I thought you were my friend."

"I am your friend." Joshua set his palms on her shoulders. "And you'll always be like my little sister." He expelled a breath. "Don't worry, all right? Sarah Jane is probably homesick by now. She'll be back soon enough. And we'll keep our eye out for her. But, Carrie Ann, you can't go after her. There's blue-bellies camped all around Woodstock."

"If it's too dangerous for me, imagine Sarah out there alone. She's just a child. What's more, she's in the company of a man who will likely ruin her by nightfall." She grabbed hold of the front of his shell jacket. "I can't stand the thought, Joshua, and I'll confront the entire Union army — the devil himself if I have to — in order to find my sister."