“A Thousand Shall Fall is an intriguing tale of romance in the midst of a country divided. I’ve long enjoyed Andrea’s work and this book was no exception. I look forward to reading book two.”
—Tracie Peterson, best-selling author of over 100 novels, including the Brides of Seattle series and the Heirs of Montana series
“Lovers of Civil War sagas will delight in this historically rich tale. Boeshaar’s research shines, making A Thousand Shall Fall a sparkling story that leaps from the pages and into the reader’s heart.”
—Jocelyn Green, award-winning author of the Heroines Behind the Lines Civil War series
“Andrea Boeshaar writes the kind of books I love. They always go to the top of my to-be-read pile. Her settings are authentic, her characters leap off the pages into my heart, and her story lines are interesting. The spiritual threads are not preachy, but show how characters can react to the conflicts of life in a way that leads them to the heart of God.”
—Lena Nelson Dooley, award-winning author of 8 Weddings and a Miracle and A Texas Christmas
“A beautifully written novel with characters who are larger than life, conflicted between the loyalty of family or the fondness of a special friend…. Civil War buffs and fans of historical novels will rejoice with this latest offering from Andrea Boeshaar.”
—Patsy Glans, reader and independent reviewer
“Andrea Boeshaar writes compelling Christian historical romance that is a joy to read. She is one of my favorite go-to authors, with a voice so lovely, the spirit of the Lord is clearly felt in her stories.”
—Carrie Fancett Pagels, author of Lilacs for Juliana and Return to Shirley Plantation
“Andrea Boeshaar does it again. With beautiful description and historical detail, A Thousand Shall Fall portrays the gamut of emotions from a turbulent time in our great nation’s history. With a story of war, heartache, betrayal, and love, Boeshaar captured my attention from the first page.”
—Kimberley Woodhouse, best-selling and award-winning author of Beyond the Silence and All Things Hidden
A Thousand Shall Fall: A Civil War Novel
© 2015 by Andrea Boeshaar
Published by Kregel Publications, a division of Kregel, Inc., 2450 Oak Industrial Dr. NE, Grand Rapids, MI 49505.
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means—electronic, mechanical, photocopy, recording, or otherwise—without written permission of the publisher, except for brief quotations in reviews.
Distribution of digital editions of this book in any format via the Internet or any other means without the publisher’s written permission or by license agreement is a violation of copyright law and is subject to substantial fines and penalties. Thank you for supporting the author’s rights by purchasing only authorized editions.
Apart from certain historical facts and public figures, the persons and events portrayed in this work are the creations of the author, and any resemblance to persons living or dead is purely coincidental.
Scripture quotations are from the King James Version of the Bible.
ISBN 978-0-8254-4381-7
Printed in the United States of America
15 16 17 18 19 20 21 22 23 24 / 5 4 3 2 1
A thousand shall fall at thy side,
And ten thousand at thy right hand;
But it shall not come nigh thee.
Psalm 91:7
AUTHOR’S NOTE
Although the Shenandoah Valley Saga is fictional, much research has gone into this series.
The Shenandoah Valley
Being a Wisconsin native, I had much to learn about Virginia state history during the time of the Civil War. One of the more interesting facts is that because the southern part of the Shenandoah Valley has a higher elevation than the northern part, the Shenandoah River runs northeast and empties into the Potomac. As a result, when one is traveling north on the Valley Pike, from Woodstock to Winchester, for example, one is going north, down the Valley. Traveling south, from Winchester to Staunton, is considered going up the Valley. It’s opposite the traditional concept of “down south” and “up north.”
Whiskey and Cigars
You’ll notice that my male characters, although they are Christians, indulge in a swallow or two of whiskey from time to time and smoke cigars. In fact, the Union army sent cases or kegs of whiskey to its troops to keep the men’s morale up so they would continue fighting. Furthermore, history shows that whiskey was widely used by Union and Confederate troops alike for medicinal purposes, and the occasional brandy and a good cigar was socially acceptable for men. For example, about a decade after America’s Civil War, Charles Spurgeon was reported to have said, “Well, dear friends, you know that some men can do to the glory of God what to other men would be sin. And notwithstanding … I intend to smoke a good cigar to the glory of God before I go to bed to-night.” While I don’t personally condone the practices, I felt it was important that my story be as historically accurate as possible—but without scandalizing my readers.
History Versus Reality
All the dated news reports are authentic from newspapers and telegraphs of that time period. While I did much research, I used my literary license and took great liberties with several prominent historical figures. I added an extra regiment to General Philip Sheridan’s cavalry and, specifically, to General Wesley Merritt’s division. I added stores and other businesses to Woodstock’s Main Street, and I superimposed my characters into Winchester’s history, along with Aunt Ruth’s home. Even so, I tried to remain accurate to the actual accounts and not diminish either Woodstock’s or Winchester’s significance during the Civil War. It is fun to note that General Sheridan did ride through Winchester on September 19, 1864. Historical accounts state that the general stopped on the street to speak with a couple of young ladies before he rode to the schoolhouse to thank Miss Rebecca Wright, who passed information to him and aided in the Union’s victory that day.
Victorian Love Letters
If you’re tempted to think men and women of the Civil War era were too proper to reveal their feelings in a love letter, think again. According to author Karen Lystra in her nonfiction book Searching the Heart, “Middle-class Americans believed that intimate communication between individuals disclosed their ‘true’ self and was an act of good breeding when conducted by the proper participants in private space.” These letters were very private, hid away and treasured. One would never consider sharing them even with the closest of friends. A love letter in Victorian times (1837 to 1901 in England and America) was the ultimate in romantic communication.
Helpful Resources
Additionally, I’d like to acknowledge the authors and their nonfiction titles that proved most helpful to me.
The Civil War: Complete Text of the Best Narrative History of the Civil War with over 100 Actual Photographs. Patriot Publishing Co., 1912; Kindle, MonkeyBone Publications, 2014.
Clower, Joseph B., Jr. Early Woodstock: Facts and Photographs. Woodstock Museum of Shenandoah County, 1996.
Duncan, Richard R. Beleaguered Winchester: A Virginia Community at War, 1861–1865. LSU Press, 2007.
Foote, Shelby. The Civil War: A Narrative. Vol. 3. Red River to Appomattox. 1974. Knopf Doubleday, 2011.
Gallagher, Gary W., ed. The Shenandoah Valley Campaign of 1864. UNC Press, 2006.
Lystra, Karen. Searching the Heart. Oxford University Press, 1989.
Mack, Maggie. Civil War Household Tips. Vol. 1. Fortuna Publishing, 2011.
Mahon, Michael G., ed. Winchester Divided: The Civil War Diaries of Julia Chase and Laura Lee. Stackpole Books, 2002.
McPherson, James. Battle Cry of Freedom: The
Civil War Era. Oxford University Press, 1988.
McPherson, James M. What They Fought For, 1861–1865. LSU Press, 1995.
Quarles, Garland Redd. Winchester, Virginia: Streets, Churches, Schools. 1952.
Schroeder-Lein, Glenna R. The Encyclopedia of Civil War Medicine. 2008. Routledge, 2015.
Sharpe, Hal F. Shenandoah County in the Civil War: Four Dark Years. The History Press, 2012.
Wert, Jeffry D. From Winchester to Cedar Creek: The Shenandoah Campaign of 1864. SIU Press, 2010.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
Writing and publishing a book is always a collaborative effort, and I had one of the best teams bringing this story-of-my-heart into print.
First and foremost, I’m eternally grateful to Jesus Christ for His gift of salvation and for bestowing me with the gift of words.
Next, a huge THANKS to my husband, Daniel, who doesn’t mind being my “logistics guy” whenever I do historical research.
A special thanks goes to my dear friend and literary agent Mary Sue Seymour.
And at Kregel Publications, to Dennis and Steve, who shared my vision for this book—thank you!
Also to Janyre, Lori, Dawn, and the rest of my editorial team—you’re awesome!
Finally, to my readers whose hearts are touched by my stories—thank you. You make all my hard work worthwhile!
MAJOR-GENERAL CITY POINT
August 12, 1864 — 9 A.M.
Chief of Staff HALLECK:
Inform General Sheridan that it is now certain two (2) divisions of infantry have gone to Confederate General Early, and some cavalry and twenty (20) pieces of artillery. This movement commenced last Saturday night. Sheridan must be cautious, and act now on the defensive until movements here force them to detach to send to Petersburg. Early’s force, with this increase, cannot exceed forty thousand men, but this is too much for General Sheridan to attack. Send General Sheridan the remaining brigade of the Nineteenth Corps.
I have ordered to Washington all the one-hundred-day men. Their time will soon be out, but for the present they will do to serve in the defenses.
U. S. Grant, Lieutenant-General
CHAPTER 1
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 pa
ir 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 blue-bellies 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.”
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