A Scene in Time: Wellesley/O'Brien Saga, #1

By Jessica A Clements

Adam, a Southern gentleman, knew the call to arms was near when President Lincoln asked for one hundred thousand men to stop secession and rebellion in the South. He joined the Union Cavalry -- but not before he married his best, and only, friend. Abby, an Irish immigrant that settled with her family in Virginia, was as Southern as you could get. When her husband announces that he had joined the Union cavalry, she couldn't believe what she heard. She supported the decision of the one person that she loved more than the world itself. As the war raged on, things weren't always as they seemed. Abby's sisters joined in the Southern cause, working to keep the way of life that the South had always had. Through grief, pain, and battles Abby keeps to the one place that she felt closest to her husband -- the cottage that their families had given them. A scene in time. An epic battle. And a tale of how love (through all of its forms) can transcend life and death.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Jessica A Clements
• Release date: Mar 12, 2024
• ISBN: 9798224270811

Book preview

Dedication

I dedicate this book to Peggy Kennedy, Kara Countryman, Elizabeth Schulz, Jennifer Oneal Gunn, Lindsey Teske, and Karen Koehler. Without you all, I wouldn’t know what to do with myself. Thank you for all your support!

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S

he walked down the well-worn path. Huge firs and maples sprouted up from the earth. The trees were scarred and told the story of a bloody conflict that happened here just four years ago. The undergrowth was luscious, green, and full of color. In the distance, the sound of a babbling brook broke the silence. She noted birds chirping, singing their cheery song as they flew by her. There was a time, she thought to herself, when she didn’t think the birds and wildlife would ever return to this place. So much pain, blood, and agony rippled through the land. Too much death.

She noted the subtle changes that had come to these woods. The land was slowly healing. The smells of war and death had been traded for the smell of wildflowers and the fresh scent of the trees. Grass now covered the path that many a soldier had once marched upon. The meadow in the center of the Wilderness was now a sea of green speckled with the bright colors of wildflowers.

The memories of the horror overwhelmed her and transported her to the days just after the battle. The sight was gruesome. Bodies lay maimed and broken, stacked on top of one other. The ground was littered with the dead. The memories were so real that, even though it had been four years, her skin shivered. She could still see the men who fell here. The farther she got into the woods, the more she smelled smoke. By the time she got to the meadow, there was nothing left of the bodies in her mind. The fires had raced through here so fast and furious that the dying and injured couldn’t escape.

She remembered helping others to bury the dead. There seemed to be so many of them. So many thousands of men had already died, she thought to herself. How many more would have to die? She remembered looking into the endless sea of mutilated corpses. Their sightless eyes were fixed on something that no longer existed. She remembered crying for them. These men, these children, were no older than she. To her, it didn’t matter which side of the war they were on. In her heart, she was a rebel, a Confederate. But, these men fought valiantly for their causes, no matter what that was. She now understood why people started calling it the Boys’ War.

The memory started to fade as she walked into the meadow. The smell of the grass and wildflowers beckoned to her as if someone or something was calling to her. A thin stream of sunlight broke through the forests’ canopy, adding warmth and comfort to her surroundings. She sat down in the center of the meadow. She spread her skirts around her, enjoying the atmosphere. Before long, she lay down, using her arms as pillows.

A breeze swept through the valley, causing a long blade of grass to brush against her cheek like a finger caressing her skin there. She was surprised that tears were streaming down her face. She shut her eyes to force the pain and the ghosts of her past to the farthest corner of her mind.

She woke up to the cold biting into her. The sun had long since dipped behind the treetops, and the moon was now taking its place in the starry night sky. The moonlight followed the same path that the sunlight had followed earlier that day. It forced the painful memories back to the forefront of her mind. She closed her eyes again and dreamed.

Part I

Abby

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Four years earlier

A

dam was taller than most men, standing at six feet. He had light blond hair that curled slightly in the back. His hair reminded Abby of an angel, so light it was. His eyes were a vibrant green. They shined like the purest of emeralds. They were also piercing, always looking into the souls of the people around him. His nose was aristocratic since his ancestors were of the elite in England. He was a strong man, never complaining, and he always stood tall.

Abby thought back to the first day they had met. It was a warm summer day and the sun was warm and bright. She walked down the country road with her two younger sisters. All three of them had thick black hair, freckled little faces, and beautiful hazel eyes. Each of the girls had what remained of an Irish brogue, as the family had just recently immigrated to the United States to escape the hell that Ireland had become. So many of their friends and family had died of starvation during the Potato Famine. The youngest two were twins, McKenzie and Taylor.

None of the girls knew anybody in town—at least, not yet. They were newcomers, outsiders. All three of them were rambunctious, with the spirit of the Irish in their veins. They were halfway to the one-room schoolhouse when this boy walked up to them. They didn’t know him at all and were surprised that he’d just come up to them. He did seem nice enough, so the girls found they liked the boy’s company.

As they came upon the final bend to the schoolhouse, he stopped walking, which caused the girls to stop, as well. He held out his small hand.

Hi. I figured I should introduce myself. My name is Adam. I live just down by the Chancellorsville Courthouse. My family has been here for ages. I go to the school, as well, so that’s why I decided to walk with you three lovely ladies.

Slightly taken aback, the girls reverted to being shy. Abby felt a surge of anxiety. She didn’t know how to interact with him. Then, with some trepidation, she forced herself to speak.

My name is Abby and these are my sisters, MacKenzie and Taylor, she lilted in her Irish brogue. We live just outside of town. We just moved here from Dublin, Ireland, a couple of months ago. Thank you so much for walking with us, because we don’t know where we are going.

From the first moment on, Abby and Adam were inseparable. Even as they grew older, and through all the brawls and the taunting, Abby was glad to have Adam by her side. She had a feeling that Adam knew the reasons behind the violence. For God’s sake, even she knew it was because her family was Irish. As with everything in their lives, if Abby was in trouble, so also was Adam.

One day, Abby came running up to his house. Tears streaked her face and her breathing was ragged from the two-mile run she’d just endured. She didn’t know who else to turn to. Her father didn’t trust doctors, and the law, in any case, ignored things that had anything to do with his family.

Mom is sick and there isn’t anything we can do. What do I do, Adam?

I know your father and his problems with the doctor, but we need to go get him right now, Adam said with no hesitation.

Together, they both ran down the dusty street to the big white house where the doctor lived—the one with marble columns, manicured lawns, and a wrought iron gate and fence. They opened the gate and ran up the marble steps to the big oak door. Adam had beat Abby to the top of the stairs and started to knock insistently. He hoped it wouldn’t be long before someone opened it. Within moments, the butler opened the door.

What can I do for you? the tall man asked.

We need the doctor to come to the O’Brien house as fast as possible, Adam explained.

I will fetch the master, the man replied, but you both should be getting back to the house.

* * *

The O’Brien house was small, with just four rooms. It was the smallest house in town. But, it was just as cozy as the people inside it. The atmosphere of the house spoke of love, respect, and creativity. Every item in the house was well cared for. Every painting was beautifully displayed. Every musical instrument was polished and well loved.

Mr. O’Brien was a tall man. He had raven hair, freckles, and the same hazel eyes that the girls had. His life had been a hard one. In Ireland, he worked in the potato fields. But, when the blight came, the work was no longer there. It took him months to decide to leave his family and immigrate to the United States.

After he made the decision, Mr. O’Brien found passage on a ship destined for America, leaving his family behind. He spent many months slaving away in a textile plant in New York City. At night, he would go to the local arena and fight for extra cash, winning every match he entered.

The men respected Mr. O’Brien. Who couldn’t? The man had left so much behind and worked hard for everything he had.

A couple of years later, Mr. O’Brien had enough money saved to send for his family. Mrs. O’Brien, Abby, MacKenzie, and Taylor all came over to America in some style. Mr. O’Brien no longer worked in New York but in a little town in Virginia named Chancellorsville. It was so small at the time that it barely showed on any maps of the region. He owned his own farm, which consisted of corn, wheat, and dairy cows.

Mrs. O’Brien, a woman of short stature, had fiery red hair and emerald green eyes. She was a woman of fierce passions and strict convictions. Her family was her life. Her only weakness was that she had always been sickly. The doctors were unsure if she would make it through her pregnancy with the twins, let alone a move to a different country. Her cheery disposition gave her the strength and poise to make it through any situation no matter how hard or difficult it may be.

Mrs. O’Brien had much to lose, and still more to gain. The respect that her husband had earned in America was new to her. No one respected the Irish. They were treated as if they were only good enough to do menial duties, not true labor. So, this new respect was something she wasn’t used to.

Now, her girls when they first moved to America were aged five and six. Abby, the oldest, was a very hotheaded girl with her father’s dark hair, freckled face, and hazel eyes. The twins, MacKenzie and Taylor, were exact replicas of their older sister. MacKenzie, though, had her mother’s temperament, while Abby and Taylor had their father’s.

* * *

On this day, though, Mrs. O’Brien lay in the bed in the largest room of the house. Her eyes were bloodshot, beads of sweat poured off her face, and her body was frail. Neither her daughters nor her husband had ever seen her this ill. McKenzie, Taylor, and Mr. O’Brien stood near the bed, trying to make Mrs. O’Brien as comfortable as they could. Abby had run for the doctor not a half hour ago.

Mrs. O’Brien’s breathing was sharp, the rattling in her chest echoing in the room. No one was sure what would happen or whether the sickness would finally end.

Before long, the door opened. Abby, Adam, and Doc Winston stepped into the house. The doctor was a short, squat man. His hair, white and worn long, was receding in the front. The doctor sat down on the bed next to Mrs. O’Brien and checked her vitals.

How long has she been like this?

Just a couple of days, Mr. O’Brien replied. I tried to keep the fever down myself since I don’t trust doctors. They never seem to know anything. They always think that bleedin’ will cure my wife. But nothing of the sort ever did.

Sir, your wife isn’t doing well. If you had come to me sooner, I could have saved her. But, the fever has taken over. There is nothing I can do. For now, all you can do is make her comfortable.

* * *

The doctor stood up and walked toward the door, knowing what he would see if he were to take a glance behind him. It was then that he looked over his shoulder, and his eyes welled up with tears as he caught a glimpse of sadness on the family’s faces. He was right. There was nothing he could do. Nothing that anyone, even the best doctor or surgeon, could do. That woman had been sick for many years. How could he have made it easier for the family? What more could he do? What more could he have said?

The doctor knew little of the family but what he did know was that the woman lying on the bed was its rock—its foundation, for lack of a better word. He knew what losing a loved one was like. To be perfectly honest, he knew much more about this disease then he let on—for his wife had died of the same infection many years ago. It was a dreaded diagnosis. This family, the doctor thought to himself, needs to stick together more than ever.

* * *

As the doctor strode out the door, Abby felt Adam’s arms slide around her in a familiar embrace. She knew that Adam understood what her family—and she—was going through. She remembered him telling her about his younger brother, Isaac. He was born dead and his mother didn’t survive the birth. It destroyed Adam’s family.

She took comfort knowing that Adam would be with her, to protect her. From Adam’s story, she knew what grief could do to a man. She hoped to God that wouldn’t happen to her father. For now, though, all they could do was wait.

The family stayed in the room as Mrs. O’Brien gasped for her final breath. They watched in sorrow as the strong woman closed her eyes and slipped away. No one knew who started crying first. No one seemed to mind.

A week later, the preacher came to do the funeral. They had dressed Mama in her best Sunday dress and put her in the coffin that Mr. O’Brien had made for her. Mrs. O’Brien was buried under the big sycamore tree in the backyard behind their house. It was the most beautiful spot on the property. The preacher said his piece as some of the men from town lowered the coffin into its final resting spot.

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I

t was a beautiful day. The sun was shining, the sky was bright blue, and the flowers were blooming. It had already been two years since the death of her mother. The first year was hell for Abby. Her father went into a deep