Jordan's War - 1861

Jordan’s War - 1861

By B.K. Birch

Jordan’s War - 1861

By B.K. Birch

Jordan’s War
is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are products of
the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual events, places, or persons,
living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

Front cover design by
Ebook Indie Covers

2013 e-book edition

Text Copyright 2004
by Brenda Birch

All rights reserved.

Acknowledgement
s

Jordan’s story began
as serial fiction back in 2002 and soon became an Editor’s Pick in the
historical genre. But after languishing in traditional publishing attempts, it
sat on an external hard drive for years until, with advancements in publishing,
I am able to share it again.

I’d like to thank
fellow writers Lara Stauffer, Colin Galbraith, Eva Schegulla, Michelle Miles,
and Terri Molina for their encouragement these past ten years and author J.A.
Konrath for sharing his knowledge of the publishing business so freely.

But most of all, none
of this would have been possible if not for my husband, Jeff, and my kids,
Joey, Jennifer, Lizzy, and Jimmy. Your support all of these years means
everything to me.

Lastly, I would like
to thank you, the reader. I hope you enjoy reading Jordan’s story as much as I
did writing it.

All
the best,

Brenda

Chapter 1

 
May 1861

“Fight!”

Jordan Sinclair rushed towards the crowd
surrounding the mercantile window and squeezed his way to the front. Sure
enough, two men he didn’t recognize were wrestling in the dirt, shouting words
he’d certainly heard before, but wouldn’t dare say out loud. Blood spurted from
the smaller man’s nose as his face took blow after blow. 

“Alright, Oscar,” Mr. O’Malley said as he
pulled the larger man off the smaller one. “That ain’t going to solve
anything.”

The smaller man got one good punch in before
another stranger from the crowd grabbed his arms.

“Everyone needs to
go about their business,” Mr. O’Malley called out. The crowd slowly started to
disperse.

Of course he’d say
that. He owned the mercantile and if everyone was standing outside watching two
grown men roll around in the dirt, then there was no one inside buying
anything. Jordan looked around for any sign of his father, Finnian and his
brother, Eamon, but didn’t see them. They must still be inside lollygagging,
Jordan thought as he walked back to the wagon to finish loading the feed.

Lazy bums! He
grumbled nonstop as he hoisted sack after heavy sack onto the back of the
wagon. He was mad and he didn’t care who saw him, not that anyone was paying
him any mind anyway, as most everyone was still gathered around the store
window. His grunting and stomping, coupled with the way he kept slamming the
sacks hard enough to shake the wagon, didn’t disturb anyone except the horses.
The animals were excited and working up quite a foam.

Their trip off the
isolated mountain to the small town of Renick took all morning and now he was
doing all the work by himself. Pa and Eamon were off with the other grownups,
probably in one of the back rooms discussing whatever was going on. It must be
something really important because Jordan was the only one loading anything,
even though there must was at least seven other wagons sitting out in front of
the old weathered building.

He wiped a stream
of dirty sweat flecked with hayseed from the side of his face and stretched his
neck to see if he could see Pa or Eamon. There was no sign of them, but he did
spot a rain barrel next to the building, partially hidden behind a blooming
goldenrod. He grabbed a bucket for the horses and trotted over for a taste,
making a point to whistle a bit too loud and swing the bucket back and forth
just a little too high. Still, no one noticed him as their eyes, attention, and
conversation were drawn to the notice tacked inside the filthy glass.

The muscles in his
back and legs ached, almost too much these days for a spry lad of twelve
although the cool water did quench his thirst for the time being.

He dipped the
bucket and walked back to the wagon, slopping water down his leg. The horses
seemed parched and drank as far down in the bucket as their large snouts would
fit. He had to make another trip.

Doggone it! He was
going over there to see what all that commotion was about. The crowd was now
three deep, and what few women were there kept dabbing their eyes with their
handkerchiefs. A few of men whispered amongst themselves so that Jordan could
only tell by their expressions that something was amiss.

Jordan attempted
to wedge his way through them, but after catching more than one elbow to his
cheek, he gave up and stood where he could hopefully hear what was going on.
Making no sense from all the sobs, whispers, and swearing, he sulked back his
work, still not knowing what all of the ruckus was about. The wagon shook as he
plopped himself on top of the feed sacks and after digging his finger through
the weave of the fabric, he picked out a loose kernel of corn to chew on while
he waited.

The sun was
shining bright overhead and if they didn’t get moving soon, it would be well
after dark before they got home. Ma would be worried something awful, but she
fretted so much these days, it seemed normal.

Jordan didn’t mind
the darkness as he loved the mountains at night - the stars, the moon, the
smell of pine, the silence disturbed only by the faint footsteps of a curious
bobcat and especially, the feeling of being the only person on earth.

The mid-afternoon
heat soon ripped the last ounce of energy from him and his eyelids felt heavier
and heavier until he could no longer muster the strength to keep them open.

 “Wake up sleepy
head,” Pa said and smacked him on the leg. The wagon shook as Finnian and Eamon
climbed into the front.

“I wasn’t asleep,”
Jordan said. “Just got bored waiting for you that’s all. I loaded this all
myself.” His voice reflected a twinge of pride.

“I see that,” Pa
said. “I always said a little hard work wouldn’t hurt you.”

“And I always say
a little help from ya’ll wouldn’t have hurt me either,” Jordan retorted with
just enough sting to get his point across, but not quite hateful enough to get
the strap taken to his backside when he got home for being a smart mouth.

“Take this,” Eamon
said and handed Jordan a jar wrapped with layers of dusty brown burlap.

Jordan stuffed it
between two sacks so it wouldn’t break during the bumpy ride home.

“Can I have a
sip?” Jordan asked, grinning.

“Grandma will skin
you alive if you even take a sniff,” Eamon answered.

“Bet you had a
drink when no one was watching,” Jordan teased.

“Did not,” Eamon
said. His face turned red.

“Just make sure
that jar don’t break,” Pa warned. “She’ll send us back right back here tomorrow
for another.”

“I got it,” Jordan
said.

Eamon held a small
brown parcel wrapped in brown paper and tied with a string. Jordan knew exactly
what was in it – Grandma’s tealeaves. Folks on the mountain said that Abigail
McCoy could see the future in those leaves and every pregnant girl within ten
miles, every women with a straying husband or unruly children, and every man
with a failed crop or ailing livestock would come to call with a small gift of
coin, cloth, salted ham, or a poke of coffee – and ask her to read for them.
She’d put those leaves in her special cup and saucer and have them stir it.

Supposedly, the
way the leaves pointed would reveal some unknown truth or future. Ma said there
was gypsy blood running through her veins and called what she did a gift.
Jordan saw her blood once when she cut her finger and it didn’t look any
different than his. He didn’t know whether or not to believe it all, but it was
Grandma’s herbal tonics and seeing that got them through many harsh winters, so
no one dared made fun of it.

Jordan was never
allowed to watch the ritual so he never knew if she was right or wrong. There
was one time, when he was younger, he hid in the pantry and peered beneath the
gap between the floor and a curtain.

A distraught woman
came to visit and stirred the leaves while Grandma studied them and the woman.
She closed her eyes and her body froze, as if it were empty of her soul. Jordan
watched for a solid two minutes until Ma discovered his hiding place. From then
on, Jordan swore that if anyone in the family was a seer, it was definitely his
ma.

Finnian took the
worn leather reins and gave them a solid snap. The horses swaggered as they
pulled the heavy wagon onto the trail.

Jordan sat in the
back and watched acres and acres of farms pass. He knew the names of most of
the folks in the valley but was never invited to supper or anything. Ma said
valley folk thought they were better than mountain folk, but all they were just
sinners.

After a few miles,
the rolling farmland all but disappeared and endless forests surrounded them.
The budding green haze on the trees faded to gray as they descended up the
mountain passage. Even though it was the first of May, it would be at least
another two weeks before the trees up this high would burst into bloom.

He was still a
little miffed because the way Pa and Eamon left him alone earlier and he moved
from one side of the wagon to the other just like some excited dog. It bothered
him even more that neither Pa nor Eamon had mentioned one word about the notice
or what everyone was so concerned about. He hated when they treated him like a
child and couldn’t stand the silence any longer.

“What’d that paper
say?” he asked.

Finnian broke off
a piece of tobacco from a larger brick and shoved it in his jaw and handed the
block to Eamon who did the same.

“It says we aren’t
part of this here United States anymore,” Pa said.

“Is that what
those men were fighting about?”

“Yep,” Pa
answered.

“How can that be?”
Jordan asked.

“Says we’re
seceding,” Eamon snapped.

“What’s that
mean?” Jordan asked.

“Quit asking so
many darn questions,” Eamon said.

“Shut up Eamon. I
had to load the danged wagon all by myself because you hauled your lazy behind
off with Pa.”

He could be just
as cantankerous as his older brother and besides, why shouldn’t he know what
was going on around here?

“It don’t mean
anything to us,” Pa answered. “Fields still need to be plowed, sheep still
needs to be sheared, and hay still needs to be cut. Now quit arguing or you’ll
both walk home.”

“Why’d we do that?
Secede?” Jordan asked, his tongue stumbling to form the strange word.

“I suppose some
folks are tired of Lincoln telling them what to do,” Pa said.

“What’s he making
them do that they don’t want to?”

“Some rich folks
don’t want to give up their slaves,” Pa explained. “President Lincoln says they
have to.”

“Have you ever
seen a slave, Pa?” Jordan asked. “Nate told me he saw one in Hillsboro awhile
back. Said he was black as molasses.”

“Can’t you just be
quiet?” Eamon asked.

Jordan stuck his
tongue out at him.

“Once,” Pa said.
“About ten years back, down around Lewisburg.”

“What was he
like?”

“She was just a
girl. Big girl, but young. Not fat either, very stout,” Pa said.

“Who was she with?”
Jordan asked.

“Some woman in a
fancy dress. They was buying fabric.”

Jordan stopped
talking. He couldn’t think of any more questions even though he’d love to keep
bothering Eamon. He stared over the side of the wagon and scanned the woodland
for deer, but the rattle from the hitch probably scared them miles away.

“What’s going to
happen now?” Jordan asked.

“There’s going to
be a war,” Eamon blurted out. “Now will you shut up?”

“That ain’t true!”
Jordan yelled.

“Is too,” Eamon
argued.

 A war! Vivid images
of smartly dressed soldiers marching in rows to battle flooded into Jordan’s
mind, all courtesy of a single sketch in one of his schoolbooks that he’d never
forgotten. Other than that, he wouldn’t know what a soldier even looked like.
He leaned back and lost himself in the cadence of the drum roll for a few
moments before returning to the conversation.

“Are you going to
fight Pa?” Jordan asked.

“I’m staying out
of this one,” Pa said. “I’m getting too old.”

“What about
Eamon?”

“Can’t till I’m
eighteen,” Eamon explained.

“Are you going to
go fight when you’re eighteen?”

“The war will be
over by then,” Pa said. “Now no more talk about this. You’ll just scare your
ma.”

“Yes sir,” Jordan
said. He leaned back and sulked. Not talk about it? This was the biggest thing
that’s happened around here for ages. His thoughts drifted to the war and to
the soldiers. He hoped he got to see one before this was all over - a soldier
other than Eamon, if he could even hack it as a soldier. Sometimes Eamon could
be soft.

A shadow moved -
up ahead in the trees and Jordan quickly reached up and tugged on Pa’s shirt.

“I see it,” Pa
whispered and slowed the horses. Jordan climbed up and leaned on the back of
the bench in between Pa and Eamon. He kept his eyes on the spot where he first
saw something move.

Three horses
emerged out of the blue haze of the forest and down the pass towards them, and
it took a moment for Jordan to recognize the riders. It was those mean Vander
boys – Luke, Avery, and Charlie. Their guns were strapped to their horses and
all of them carried a bed roll.

The Vanders were
considered trash, even by mountain standards, and no one ever crossed them.
Luke, Avery, and Charlie were the oldest of ten children, all of them ornery as
sin. The sheer number of them was enough to frighten anyone. Charlie was the
youngest of these three, only a few months older than Eamon. Although Jordan
never heard of any concrete evidence to link the Vanders to any mischief, every
time something came up missing or a fence got torn down, one could bet the
Vanders would get blamed. They kept to pretty much to themselves and didn’t
even bother with Church meetings on Sunday, which didn’t sit well with decent,
God-fearing folks.

“A little late in
the day to be heading off the mountain,” Finnian called out and pulled back a
little on the reins to stop the horses.

Luke was leading
the others and stopped his horse right beside Pa.

“You see the
notice at Renick?” Luke asked and grinned. His teeth were gray, shaded by black
rot around the edges, which was odd for someone barely twenty, even in these
parts. Jordan couldn’t help but stare.

“Yep, I seen it.”

“We’re heading to
Lewisburg to sign up,” Luke said, and then turned his attention to Jordan, who
was still gawking at his mouth. “What are you looking at?”

Jordan jumped to
the other side of the wagon.

“You ain’t going
to make it there before dark,” Finnian said.

“I know that,”
Luke said. He seemed a little perturbed. “We got victuals. We’re going to ride
as far as we can, then camp. Going to be there first thing in the morning.”