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    Antietam: Waking the Fury
    Antietam: Waking the Fury
    Antietam: Waking the Fury
    Ebook149 pages2 hours

    Antietam: Waking the Fury

    By Tecla Emerson

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    About this ebook

    Emily at 15 is bored and annoyed with just about everything and everybody. Tired of her chores and irritated by the endless care of three younger sisters, she would like to have a life of her own. Her parents are absent; her Father is off fighting a war she doesn't understand and her Mother has left for Pennsylvania. As the eldest of the four sisters, she must take responsibility for her home and family. When the bloodiest battle of the Civil War is fought almost on her doorstep she is unwillingly pressed into service. Emily is called on to make decisions and to take charge of wounded soldiers while fending off the invading troops and protecting her younger sisters.

    Life changes forever as she discovers a courage that she did not know she possessed. Strengths emerge as she stands up for her beliefs while sheltering the enemy and caring for a runaway slave, both of which hold very serious consequences.
    In this remarkably accurate depiction of the Battle of Antietam, a legend is once more uncovered. It involves a mass of very angry bees. This dangerous, stinging swarm may well have had an influence on the outcome of that fateful day in 1862.

    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherTecla Emerson
    Release dateSep 16, 2015
    ISBN9781311770240
    Antietam: Waking the Fury

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      Book preview

      Antietam - Tecla Emerson

      ANTIETAM

      Waking the Fury

      By Tecla Emerson

      Smashwords Edition

      Copyright © 2013-2015 Tecla Emerson

      All rights reserved.

      DEDICATION

      To the three young women who have

      had such a positive impact on my life:

      Cynthia, Katharine and Suza

      "A house divided against itself cannot stand. I believer this government cannot endure, permanently half slave and half free. I do not expect the Union to be dissolved. I do not expect the house to fall but I do expect it will cease to be divided."

      ~ Abraham Lincoln, June 1858

      TABLE OF CONTENTS

      ~ CHAPTER ONE ~

      ~ CHAPTER TWO ~

      ~ CHAPTER THREE ~

      ~ CHAPTER FOUR ~

      ~ CHAPTER FIVE ~

      ~ CHAPTER SIX ~

      ~ CHAPTER SEVEN ~

      ~ CHAPTER EIGHT ~

      ~ CHAPTER NINE ~

      ~ CHAPTER TEN ~

      ~ CHAPTER ELEVEN ~

      ~ CHAPTER TWELVE ~

      ~ CHAPTER THIRTEEN ~

      ~ CHAPTER FOURTEEN ~

      ~ CHAPTER FIFTEEN ~

      ~ EPILOGUE ~

      ~ CHAPTER ONE ~

      There were soldiers, said Grace. Lots of them. Her hands tangled in her apron as she sank down on the bench.

      Where? What are you talking about?

      Her lips clamped shut in a tight line, which could only mean one thing: both girls had been somewhere they shouldn’t have been.

      Tell me now! I demanded, Or you’re really going to be in for it. Grace could be truly annoying when she chose to, and my patience was wearing thin. As the second to the youngest in my family, she still resented that she was no longer the baby and was expected to work as hard as the rest of us. There was no end to the woe she could cause when she put her mind to it.

      The soldiers, she whispered.

      You’ve said that already. What about the soldiers?

      They were there.

      Prickly fingers ran up and down my spine. Where, Grace? My temper was running close to the surface.

      They were down by the river.

      This was not going well. Lizbet was far too little, and Grace knew only too well that neither of them belonged down at the river. It smelled like trouble, and I knew it was going to be my fault.

      Which river? Which soldiers? I asked, not really wanting an answer.

      It was the Potomac! she screeched. This only made Lizbet cry harder. Scooping her up, I tried to calm her as she buried her face, soaking my neck with her hot tears.

      Did the soldiers see you?

      No, we hid just like you told us.

      Grace knew she was in for trouble – trouble I didn’t want to dish out. This was not what I wanted, or had asked for, and I still wondered how it all became my problem. Father was off fighting the war; he had been gone for over a year, and Mother had left for Pennsylvania nearly two weeks past. I had begged for her to take all of us. I wanted to be anywhere but here on this dirt poor sheep farm. I just knew I was going to be stuck here for the rest of my life with three meddling sisters who I would have loved to be shed of. Abby, who thought she was the boss, was 14, a year younger than me and Grace was going on eight. Lizbet, the baby as we all tended to call her, still needed entirely too much care, even though she was almost five.

      Grace, I said, You were supposed to be watching Lizbet. Is there nothing that you can do right? Heaven help me, those were Mother’s words coming straight from my own mouth! Stuck mothering my three younger sisters, all who needed too much care, it was not a surprise that exasperation had become such a big part of my life.

      Grace squirmed; she was not going to take this easily, I knew. She yelled at me, rising up off the bench with her hands clenched into tight fists. I WAS watching her! She ran off while I was collecting the eggs, and I looked everywhere for her. It was just lucky that I found her.

      I could tell this was true by the way Lizbet was trying to bury her face. My neck was damp with her tears, and that’s not all that was damp. Would this child ever learn to use the privy in time?

      Then tell me what happened, I said, trying to keep an even tone. Maybe if I didn’t yell back at her, much as I wanted to, I could get somewhere.

      There were a lot of them, she said. They were everywhere. Lizbet was hiding in some of the laurel on the side of the trail, and her dress was sticking out. That’s how I found her. She hiccupped and continued. When they were past, I got over to her and we waited ‘til we couldn’t hear them anymore. She’s just lucky… Her hands had bunched up her apron, wrapping it around her fingers like a pair of mittens.

      The soldiers – were they blue or grey? I asked, although that wasn’t as important as which way they were heading.

      They were blue, she answered. We stayed down in the leaves and the bushes. They didn’t see us.

      You know you shouldn’t have been down there…

      I know that, she yelled, but that’s where Lizbet went! Why don’t you yell at her? Now Grace did start crying with great sobs.

      Stop it right now! I yelled back. We can’t have this whole family bawling their eyes out.

      I hugged Lizbet closer. I was scared, she mumbled into my neck.

      Angry as I was, I had to remember that she was only four. I was 15, an old 15. Much as Lizbet could aggravate me, I knew she didn’t do it on purpose. All these changes were hard for her. What did she know about the war, except that it made her father leave, and now her mother had left, too.

      Before everything started, she had been spoiled nearly beyond description, with everybody else working while she sat in the shade playing with her doll. Yet, it was hard for me to be mad at her; we pretty much liked the same things, and everyone said we looked so much alike, with our wild dark blonde hair. We both wore tight braids that never seemed to stay neat through the day. My eyes were just a bit darker than her blue ones, and we both had a sprinkling of freckles, although I think mine were fading. I hoped so: I’d been putting buttermilk on them whenever I could, when no one was noticing. But the sorry part was that neither of us had that milky complexion that Mother prized so much. We were both almost as brown as Indians, ‘cause we were always leaving our bonnets behind. Mother did not find that amusing at all.

      Grace was looking like she was going to get into a real crying fit. Look, I said, trying hard to lower my voice. You're almost eight, and you do a very nice job of tending to her.

      I didn’t want to be snippy with her; I didn’t need Grace for an enemy. I already had Abby, who had been standing there speechless, listening to this entire outburst, staring at me like this was all my fault. I could tell from her balled up fists planted firmly on her hips that she wanted to throw her two pennies in, and wouldn’t you know it would be to organize us all? Of all my sisters, she was the closest in age to me, and the most aggravating.

      Grace, you need to set the table, she said, paying no heed to the outburst. Abby sidestepped anything that she didn’t like. She just ignored it and pretended it wasn’t happening. At fourteen she knew the rules; she was the one who kept track of who did what, and that we were all doing what we were supposed to be doing. That was the German side of the family, or so said Mother. She had dark brown eyes and long thick braids, and Mother said that she had that sense of tidiness and orderliness that Oma, our grandmother had.

      Sometimes she got just a little too bossy and like a know-it-all, but I shouldn’t be the one to talk. I was actually the oldest, but I answered her anyhow. C'mon Grace. I'll help.

      Lizbet stayed with arms wrapped around my neck as she rode on my hip, while I set most of the table. She was heavy, but she stopped sobbing and calmed down some, as I jounced her up and down. Grace slumped down on the bench. I want Mother.

      Stop it, I said. You’re just tired. Mother will be home soon enough. That did not satisfy her. She put her head down on her folded arms, and I watched a moment as her shoulders began to shake.

      She’s coming home soon, Grace, I said. She peeked at me from under her mop of curls.

      Actually, I said, 'cause I needed to show some caution about how I spoke, or they were all going to end up in tears again. Actually, I began again, she should be here in just a few days. She just needs to settle Oma, and then she’ll be able to return.

      But her letter made it sound as though Oma was going to die. Sometimes I was sorry that Grace could read so well.

      Well, no one knows what will happen. Maybe Oma will make it and maybe she won’t, but we have to hope for the best. I was proud of my answer; it sounded so full of promise.

      Won’t you feel badly if something happens to her?

      Of course, we all will, I answered. But we will go on, and we’ll all still be here on this farm…Anyways, we hardly even know her.

      Of all the times for Mother to have to be in Pennsylvania. She had left me to run the entire farm, and who knew when Father would return. The two little ones stared up at me as if I’d beheaded a chicken on the kitchen table.

      Well, what about Mother? asked Grace.

      Mother will be fine. She’s seen so little of Oma over the past few years it’ll be hard to miss her too much if she doesn’t make it.

      And what about the soldiers? Would there be no end to these endless questions?

      The war isn't this far north. Well, not yet, but I didn't need to say that.

      But we saw soldiers.

      Well you wouldn't have, if you'd just been minding me.

      I think you’re callous and unfeeling, said Abby as she sashayed over to the table, her skirt swishing around her ankles. A pleasant scent filled the room from the towel-wrapped bowl that she placed in the center of the table. Tired as I was of lamb stew, my mouth watered. I must have been really hungry, because I was truly weary of the same old dinner night after night.

      We were trying to ration what little we had. Mother had said to use caution, 'cause she didn’t know how long she would be gone and there just wasn’t that much left, even with most of the summer harvest in.

      There was a war on, and last year without Father’s help we had had a hard enough time putting up enough food to get us through the winter.

      Remember the last time the soldiers came through and got into our food cellar and took most of what we had? I asked, as I set Lizbet down. That wasn’t exactly what I should have brought up, but I was trying to distract her a bit.

      They took Jerome, too, said Grace, with a great scowl. She was right. They had said they were on their way to rejoin their regiment. They had hitched that old horse up to the buckboard and away they went – we haven’t seen them since.

      For the United States Government, ma’am, they’d said as they trotted off. Mother watched them slapping the reins on Jerome's rump, trying her best to remember

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