Songs of the Shenandoah (45 page)

“Do you not think it wise to consider changing your sermon this morning?” Ashlyn whispered to Seamus during a brief lull in their duties of greeting congregants at the door.

“It is, I am afraid, too late for that my dear bride.” Seamus adjusted his collar constricting his neck. “But it is not too late for you to take my lovely daughter home so she can avoid the embarrassment of seeing her father stoned.”

“Speaking of your lovely daughter.” Ashlyn, who was wearing her long, blue dress, pointed with a finger of her white gloved hand. “I find it so dear how she continues to dote on young Anders, even with his condition being as it is. I believe it is a fine testimony to her character.”

Seamus observed his daughter approaching on the walkway leading up to the old wooden church, her arm under the elbow of Anders's remaining good arm. His left sleeve was folded up to nearly his elbow. Ashlyn was right. When the young man returned to Taylorsville with his injury, Grace never wavered in her affection for him. If anything, it grew stronger.

Ashlyn gave Grace a hug as she came up, while Seamus tapped Anders on his shoulder.

“You're getting along better each day,” Seamus said.

“He's an inspiration.” Grace beamed at Anders.

“I don't know what all the fussin' is for,” Anders said. “I still got one good arm left.”

They entered the doors of the church and behind them trailed Anders's parents.

“Good morning, Coralee.” Ashyn held her hand out to the woman, who wore black from her hat to her shoes with Fletch accompanying her in his usual overalls.

“There is nothing good about today. Nothing at all.” Coralee pulled out a fan from her purse and flapped it open. “This is the darkest of all Sundays I fear.”

“Fletch.” Seamus held out a hand to the smuggler who shook it and offered a disconsolate nod.

More entered into the small church sanctuary, and it was clear the mood was more akin to a funeral procession. As the parade of grief filtered by him, Seamus reconsidered Ashlyn's advice. So many widows and parents had lost husbands and sons. They had sacrificed so much and would no doubt be unwelcoming to today's sermon.

It had been months since Pastor Asa had died rather suddenly. When Seamus assumed leadership of the tiny Taylorsville church congregation, the transition had not been easy as Asa was beloved and had baptized and married most of them. But for the most part, they no longer saw Seamus as a Northerner. Whether he was comfortable with it or not, they believed he was now one of them.

Much of this could be credited to Ashlyn's deep roots in the community and her heart for caring for others. Although Seamus was the pastor, it was her love of Taylorsville's people and history that allowed them to forgive any of his reservations about their traditions.

But it also was his service in the war. Even though he was in the position of chaplain, the South treated all of their Confederate veterans with a high degree of honor, and Seamus was no exception.

Most of all, it was Seamus's growing love and acceptance for his congregation. They were flawed and difficult at times, but they were the people God had trusted to him to shepherd. And who was he to complain of the shortcomings of others?

So with all this being considered, and with his hands shaking at the prospect of what he was about to say, was it worth risking this hard-fought rapport with the people?

Seamus already knew the answer, because it was a message God had not only shared with him, but insisted that he deliver to others. It was as if all of his life was leading up to the words he was about to preach.

“I think that's all of them, Pastor Hanley.” Ashlyn gave him her usual smile of assurance, the one that brought dimples to her cheeks.

Now that the last of the stragglers had arrived, he escorted Ashlyn inside to her seat next to Grace, who ever since Anders had returned sat in the front row with the Fletcher family.

When Seamus made his way to the lectern, there was a hush among them in anticipation of what he might have to say. He could see in their faces an anxiousness, a craving for some word of encouragement. They were all desperate for something to ameliorate their pain. To soften the hurt of defeat. As he panned the faces, he saw mostly women, children, and the elderly. Each of them now locked gazes with him, thirsty for the waters of restitution.

He closed his eyes briefly, then exhaled. “As I am sure you are all aware, our precious valley has been lost. Our own brave General Jubal Early has been defeated. Having nobly defended this territory on our behalf, he and his army have been driven south, leaving us at the mercy of the soldiers of the opposition.

“Many of you have suffered both personally and dearly for the sake of this war. Sons. Husbands. Brothers. Lost. Generations impacted by this tragedy. As you all know, I am not here to judge the merits of this conflict, and many of my opinions are not shared by most here.”

There was an uneasy shifting in their seats at this reminder.

He glanced to Ashlyn and drew strength from her lifted chin and steady gaze. No stumbling of speech on his part would erode her support as she understood the intentions of his heart.

“It is not my aim today to instill any sense of hope in the plans and intentions of our generals in striving for victory, nor to dissuade you of that possibility. Neither do I claim a stake in those outcomes for my interests lie solely in the strength of your faith and your proper expression of this faith.”

Seamus looked out among them for some sense of affirmation, but there was only numbness and some emerging hints of discomfort.

His throat felt dry and he coughed in his hand. “We all see the danger rising on the horizon, a terror approaching, and we know these well to be the orders of the Union's General Philip Sheridan. It is by his command that the fields of the Shenandoah have been put to the torch, and our livestock scattered or slaughtered.”

There were groans and gasps from the assembly.

“The reports are they will be here tomorrow. For those who remain behind, we will be helpless to stop them.”

“We are not helpless!”

Seamus held up his hand. “It is beyond our strength to protest because we are overrun. Our boys have fought bravely. Many have laid their lives down to protect us. But it is over now.”

“It will never be over!”

“We'll fight to our last breath!”

“We will be stripped of all we possess.” Seamus raised his voice to speak above the clamor. “So what can we do?” He lifted his Bible and opened it to where a red ribbon was holding its place.

“Hear this from the book of Proverbs: ‘If thine enemy be hungry, give him bread to eat; and if he be thirsty, give him water to drink: For thou shalt heap coals of fire upon his head, and the L
ord
shall reward thee.'”

“How can he speak this way!”

“Shall we bake them bread as they burn our fields?”

“We will spit in their faces.”

“They may believe us to be captives,” Seamus said. “There is one word in which we have great power. One that is capable of breaking all chains. It is not bitterness. It is not anger.”

The doors at the back of the church flung open and light filtered into the room. It was a Confederate soldier, but sun behind him was shadowing his face.

“Come in, friend,” Seamus said. “You are not too late.”

“I am here on the general's orders. The Yankees are approaching and will be here within a few hours.”

The congregation rose to its feet as one, and panic beset them all.

“You have all be ordered to leave Taylorsville,” shouted the soldier, who now could be seen as young and his face bright with terror. “Up northeast you will find sanctuary. But you mustn't delay.” These last words were unnecessary as the flock had already begun emptying out of the church to sounds of nervous chatter and shouts.

Seamus's shoulders slumped for a moment. But then he shifted to concern for his family, and he walked over to Ashlyn who was in discussion with the Fletchers.

“Fletch has offered to take us to his cabin,” she said. “They have provisions.”

“That's very kind.” Seamus rested his arm on the man's broad shoulder. “You are a good friend to us.”

“We should git on with it.” Fletch pointed them toward the door of what already was an empty room.

“What about Sierra?” Grace's eyes glazed with concern. “The Yankees are killing all of the animals.”

Seamus pulled his daughter into him and kissed her head. “I'll go back and take care of your horse, Gracie.”

“Oh, Seamus, do you think it wise?” Ashlyn asked, her forehead wrinkling.

He pulled her in as well and the three of them embraced. “I'll be fine.” They held each other for a while, and then he stepped back and nodded down to his pastor's clothing. “I'll be wearing this. They won't cause me any harm.”

Seamus turned to Anders. “You will take care of my ladies?”

“Yes, sir. I will do that.” The young man corralled them toward the door, and they reluctantly made their way out, leaving only Fletch standing behind.

“So?”

What was the old trader asking about? Did he want to get paid for the supplies in the cabin? He shrugged his arms.

“The word? What was it?”

“The word?” Seamus laughed. “You mean the word in my sermon? At least one person was listening, I suppose.” He thought back to where he left off when he had been so abruptly interrupted. “It's the one word that gives us the power for freedom in all circumstances.”

“Yeah. What is it?”

“Forgiveness, Fletch. The word is forgiveness.”

The man glared at him with his one good eye while the other wandered as he seemed to be pondering the meaning. Then he put his hat on his head. “I believe that soldier did you a fine favor 'cause that word woulda had you lynched.” Fletch turned and waddled his way outside, leaving Seamus alone.

“Forgiveness,” Seamus whispered to himself.

Suddenly aware of the danger that lay ahead and the shortness of time he had remaining, Seamus blew out the candles in the church. He went outside where the road in front of the church was a scramble of wagons and carriages.

Seamus looked to the darkening sky. He could already smell the smoke.

Chapter 55

Sierra

“Do you know the trouble I got into the last time I spoke to a horse?” Seamus ran his fingers across the coarse chocolate-colored mane of the animal his daughter considered one of her best friends.

It seemed so long ago when he was alone in his rustic cabin in the Rocky Mountains, wildly bearded, freezing, and on the brink of starvation. Had it really been fifteen years since he rescued the army horse in the stagecoach crash, the same event where he discovered Ashlyn's letter that led him to her?

More than time passing, it was the man in his past who seemed so distant. Back then he was grizzled, alone, and desperately seeking his sense of purpose in the world. How empty his life was without Ashlyn and Grace.

And without forgiveness.

Was Fletch right? Was it better his sermon was never completed? Or should he have insisted they all sit down so he could finish? He chuckled. That wasn't going to happen.

“What am I going to do with you, pretty lady?” He gave Sierra a carrot, and her lips extended and then her large teeth grabbed it from his hand and began to chomp.

Looking around the inside of the barn, which Grace had done a good job of keeping clean, he considered his options. The Union cavalry had descended quickly around Taylorsville, and in the short time it took him to get back to Whittington Farms, they were already close by, burning farms in the perimeter around him.

He could saddle up Sierra and make a run for it, but only at the risk of appearing to be a fleeing soldier or spy, and this choice could easily lead to him getting shot or arrested. And they would certainly confiscate or destroy Grace's beloved horse then.

Seamus couldn't bear letting his daughter down.

Sierra paused eating her carrot, and her ears perked to alertness.

“What is it, girl? Do you hear something?”

Seamus's nerves tensed and his senses heightened. He had been in many battles. Why was he reacting this way now? He looked down at the cane in his hand. Was his injury causing him to feel insecure and vulnerable? Or was it that it had been more than a year since he was in the thick of a battle?

Suddenly the latch snapped and the barn door creaked open. Seamus positioned himself between the entranceway and Sierra, as a father would in protecting his child.

The stench of burning crops entered with the breeze, and standing before him was a soldier adorned in full battle regalia.

Yet the uniform was not blue. It was gray. Seamus stepped back, planting his cane in the hay on the floor.

The man gazing at him was Colonel Percy Barlow.

“Seamus. I was so hoping I would find you here.” Percy's uniform seemed to be without wrinkle or blemish, his hat bore the full flourish of a feather, and his broadsword hilt shone with luster.