Beneath the Slashings
Divided Decade Collection
by
Michelle Isenhoff
Beneath the Slashings. Copyright © 2012, 2014 by Michelle Isenhoff. All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without permission except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.
Scripture quotations are taken from the Holy Bible, King James Version, Cambridge, 1769.
Cover image by D. Robert Pease of www.WalkingStickBooks.com.
All rights reserved.
Edited by Amy Nemecek.
Candle Star Press
www.michelleisenhoff.com
Table of Contents
1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8
9 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | 14
15 | 16 | 17 | 18 | 19 | 20 | 21
Historical Notes
Divided Decade Collection
Ella Wood Trilogy
Got Kids?
Saginaw, Michigan
1865
Chapter 1
Grace Nickerson hated surprises. Moments ago, her world overflowed with eager anticipation. After years of war, Pa was coming home! She and her twin brother, Sam, would move with him back into the house they were born in, the house Grandpa and Grandma Harper had built in the forest when they came to Michigan thirty-four years before. The fields the pioneers had cleared would grow green with crops again, and the empty barn would fill with sheep and cattle and horses. Even reacquaintance with the smelly chicken coop couldn’t quench Grace’s eagerness.
Then the letter arrived in the post.
“What’s wrong, sweetie? Has your father been delayed?” Aunt Sally noticed her sudden soberness. “It takes time to muster out so many soldiers. Have patience. He’ll be back soon.”
But Grace just shook her head, all enthusiasm stilled.
“There hasn’t been an accident, has there?”
Outside the window, the vegetable garden labored under the weight of its own yield. Grace watched a honeybee work a late cluster of tomato flowers that would be hard-pressed to swell into juicy, round fruit before frost blackened the vine. She chewed on her lip, trying to come to terms with the news she had just read.
Aunt Sally touched her arm. “Grace, what is it?”
The girl turned stricken eyes to her. “Pa’s taking us away.”
“Of course he is, dear. But your farm is just up the road. You can visit Uncle Peter and me anytime.”
Grace shook her head again. “No, he’s taking us far away. To someplace I’ve never heard of before.”
“What?” Her aunt snatched the letter away, her face growing dark as her eyes finished the note. “That fool! I thought he gave up lumbering years ago. He promised my sister.”
Cold dread wrapped a hand around Grace’s throat then, squeezing off her breath. She backed up a step, but Fear was an adversary she had come to know well, one she could not defeat. “I don’t want to go, Aunt Sally,” she rasped.
The woman’s eyes snapped. “Of course you don’t. You’ve lived in Saginaw County all your life. You belong here.”
“I—” she whispered, swallowed, and tried again, “I don’t think I even want him to come home.”
Grace knew it was a terrible thing to say about her own father, especially after he’d been gone so long, but the war had shaken her world as an earthquake scrambles a building. It had robbed her of her best friend, Sarah Snyder, who moved back East when her family lost their farm. It had stolen her beloved Sunday school teacher, Miss Brimley, when she left to volunteer in a veteran’s hospital. And it had snatched away her cousins, Cooper and Thomas, who died only weeks apart, one in Virginia and one in Tennessee, leaving Aunt Sally and Uncle Peter childless.
Grace had never been brave. She wasn’t one to swing out over the creek on a hot summer day and drop blindly into a pool. But she might inch into the coolness, feeling carefully with her feet and keeping her head safely above the water. Now, however, Fear had become her constant companion, reminding her endlessly that war inflicted pain and death changed everything with a certainty that could not be undone. For the past four years, she had lived each moment dreading the next.
With the South’s surrender, she finally had a chance to put the horrible years behind her. She was desperate to resume a normal life, to reconstruct a sense of security. How could her father drag her somewhere new? How could he expect her to give up her home, her town, this long-awaited chance for peace? Maybe it would be easier if he simply stayed away.
But a week later, when Grace caught site of Pa loping up the road, her heart made it clear that “normal life” would never be quite right unless her father was a part of it. “Pa!” she screamed, flinging herself through the door and flying blindly up the gravel drive.
Strong arms engulfed her. “Sweet Pea! I’ve missed you!”
She clung to him, and a reservoir of anxiety poured from her with the strength of the Saginaw River. She sobbed against his chest, smashing her face into the rough wool of his uniform. He felt solid as an oak tree, as firm as the ground under her feet. For a moment, standing in the circle of his embrace, her world stood upright.
“Pa!” Sam shouted behind her. “Pa! You’re home!”
Reluctantly, Grace moved aside to let her brother and Aunt Sally and Uncle Peter greet her father. But she stayed tucked under his arm, even after the joyous knot made their way into the kitchen.
Aunt Sally scooped out large wedges of blueberry pie, and Pa settled into a ladder-back chair, stretching lanky legs out in front of him. Grace pulled a stool beside him, as close as she could get it.
“That train ride from Detroit was the longest of my life!” Pa exclaimed, his eyes drinking in first Grace and then Sam. “But I’d do it twice for a reception like this. Look how you two have grown!”
“You saw us on leave last year,” Sam protested, perching on a chair across the table.
“I did. And I’d swear you were three inches shorter then.”
Grace could see how her brother straightened at the praise.
“And you,” Pa said, turning to her, “look as pretty as your mother. Have you received any proposals yet?”
“Pa!” she giggled. “I’m only thirteen!”
“Hmm…I suppose not,” he said with a wink. “But I’d better cut me a hickory switch soon, to beat off gentlemen callers.”
The grown-ups laughed at Grace’s pink cheeks.
“I’ve missed too many years,” Pa murmured. “Too many years...”
“Tell us about the close of the war,” Uncle Peter suggested when Pa lapsed into silence.
Pa shrugged as he glanced around at the expectant faces. “There’s not much to tell. After Atlanta fell, it was just a matter of knocking cities down one by one like a line of dominoes—Savannah, Raleigh, Richmond. The end was inevitable.”
“Then why did the rebels keep fighting so hard when they knew they couldn’t win?” Sam asked.
Pa’s eyes tightened as he paused to form an answer. “Sam, do you remember old Chief?” he asked, speaking of the large, mixed-breed dog that had guarded the farm for years.
“Sure I do.”
“Remember when he cornered that coon in the back of the barn?”
Sam grinned and nodded. Grace remembered, too. From the racket coming out the barn door, she’d been sure there were three or four dogs and at least a dozen cats inside.
Pa continued, “I expect that old coon knew he was done for. Chief had a hundred pounds on him, but he went down fighting. By the end of the war, the Confederates had become as desperate as that coon,
clinging to life with their teeth and their claws. At that point, they had nothing left to lose.”
Grace didn’t recognize the expression that pinched together Pa’s eyes and pressed his lips into thin white lines. Deep creases gave evidence that these new muscle movements had become habitual. At that moment, he didn’t at all resemble the man who once made silly faces at her during a prayer meeting.
Aunt Sally must have seen the new lines, too. “Tell us about the Grand Review in Washington, John,” she suggested mildly.
Pa grinned and latched onto the safe subject with enthusiasm. For the next several hours, Grace leaned on the battered kitchen table listening to anecdotes of military life, laughing at the antics of the men under her father’s command, and catching Pa up on the events of home. She hardly noticed the passage of time until Uncle Peter stood up.
“I reckon the cows aren’t going to milk themselves.” He motioned to Sam, who grabbed the scoured pail from its place by the door. Uncle Peter slapped Pa affectionately on the shoulder. “Sure is good to have you home, John.”
Pa rose and stretched. “How about I give you fellows a hand in the barn?”
Grace rushed to wrap her arms around her father one more time. “I’m glad you’re here, too, Pa. Everything will be right again when we get home. I just know it.”
She felt him stiffen beneath her embrace. “Grace, didn’t you get my letter?”
Despair swelled inside her like thick, heavy bread dough. The magic of his return had driven the letter from her mind.
“Grace?” He tried gently to release her grip, but she pressed her face into his shoulder as if clinging to him could hold off the inevitable. The room grew silent as a church sanctuary. She could feel the looks passing between the adults above her head.
“We received it, John,” Aunt Sally answered in guarded tones.
Pa pried Grace’s hands from his uniform and held her apart so he could look into her eyes. “Then you know we’re not going home, Sweet Pea,” he said softly.
She gripped her hands together so tightly her knuckles stood out like creamy yellow curds. “I don’t want to leave, Pa,” she whispered. “Please don’t make me.”
Anguish washed over Pa’s face. He glanced down at the floor then focused again on her face. “Grace, I have the opportunity to give this family a fresh start, one we desperately need. I’ve given this a lot of thought. We’re going to Manistee.”
A familiar tremble began in Grace’s knees, sloshed its way through her stomach, and quivered up her spine. She could feel her composure crumbling like the dry edge of a cookie. Before it gave way completely, she lashed out, “Then you haven’t thought of me. Don’t I count for anything?”
Pa cringed. “Of course you do. I considered both you and Sam in my decision. I’ve hardly thought of anything else. I know this won’t be easy for you, darling, but I believe it will be best for all of us.”
“I won’t go!” She had never raised her voice to her father, and the outburst felt all wrong, like trying on shoes that belonged to someone else. But the surge of rebellion kept Fear from overpowering her completely. “You can’t make me go with you.”
“Grace,” her father’s voice was compassionate but firm. “We’ve been apart too long. You and Sam are coming with me.”
She wrenched away, a hot rush of anger engulfing her. “I hate you!” she sobbed. “I—I wish you had died in the war!”
Chapter 2
Grace slammed the kitchen door and collapsed against the back of it, gouging her knuckles into her eyes. Her body shook, wracked with sobs and scored by flashes of heat and ice. Tears leaked hot and wet between her fingers.
Of course her words weren’t true. For years, the image of Pa lying on some distant battlefield had left her light-headed and nauseous. But she couldn’t take the words back. She couldn’t go with Pa. The thought of leaving made her feel just as ill.
Behind her, the kitchen was quietly embarrassed. She heard the scrape of a chair and the thud of a heavy body dropping into it. Then the back screen creaked softly, and Grace knew Sam and her uncle had left to tend chores.
“John, you always were a stubborn fool.” Her aunt’s words were low.
“That’s comforting, Sally. Thank you,” Pa remarked dryly.
“Well, how did you think Grace would take the news?”
“I confess, I didn’t foresee that.” There was the sound of a coffee cup clattering against a saucer. “You know I’ve never been a farmer, Sally. I tried. For LeighAnn’s sake, I tried.”
“My sister would turn over in her grave if she knew your plans.”
“Likely,” he admitted. “But after everything I’ve seen, after everything I’ve done, I need the woods.”
“And your children need a father.”
Grace could imagine the muscle that always jumped in Pa’s jaw when he tensed up. “They’ll have one. In the forest. I grew up in logging camps.”
“Then you should know they’re no place for a young girl.”
“Grace will be fine. She’ll be under the influence of the cook’s wife.”
“Your daughter doesn’t need some strange woman to raise her. She needs her family, this town, and all the familiar things that can put her world back together. She’s terrified, John.”
“I’m sorry, Sally,” Pa said regretfully. “It’s done. I’ve already sold the farm. We’re leaving as soon as I can make all the arrangements.”
The SS Timber Wolf had traced the Michigan shoreline for hundreds of miles: from Bay City, up through the Straits of Mackinaw, and down the west side of the state. Slowly, the silver, rocky outline of Lake Huron had merged into golden mounds of sand that bordered Lake Michigan’s eastern shore. And for all those miles, just beyond the reach of the waves, the forest had followed, slowly shedding its splendid autumn coat.
Pa hoped to tame that forest—that vast, endless wood filling the whole peninsula—but Grace didn’t think it could be done. Not in three lifetimes could such a wilderness be subdued. But Pa had signed on as foreman of the Bear Creek lumber camp to accomplish just that. He would be coming to it late, inheriting the crew and whatever problems might have arisen.
Sam joined Grace at the bow of the steamer. “Pa said just a few more minutes now.”
She tried to relax, to draw a deep breath, but her chest felt like hard-baked clay. Despite an entire week of hurt and tears and anger, Pa had remained as immovable as the granite boulder that reared its head in Uncle Peter’s back pasture, so Grace had stopped speaking to him altogether. Sam started relaying messages soon after they stepped on board the steamship four days ago. “We’ll be turning into the channel, and Manistee is only a mile or so up the river,” he told her.
Sam was just as excited to reach their destination as Pa. Grace could see the sparkle of eagerness in his dark eyes, like moonlight dancing on water. Sam hadn’t wanted to sell the farm at first, either, but he adjusted to change quicker than she did. She envied him that. No matter what waves broke over him, Sam bobbed to the surface and swam on.
“Go get your things!” Sam urged. “I don’t want to have to wait for you when we dock.”
Grace could see the slash of dark water where the Manistee River cut through the sand dunes. As the steamer chugged up the channel, she slipped into the stateroom she shared with Sam and Pa.
Each of them had been allowed to fill only two suitcases. Pa said camp was no place for anything but necessities. Sam, of course, had no trouble throwing together a few changes of clothing and filling the rest of his space with pocketknives, slingshots, and all the other gadgets every boy seemed to need, but Grace labored through a lifetime of memories.
How could she leave behind the carved wooden dog that Grandpa Harper had made for her seventh birthday? Or the crazy quilt Grandma had sewn before Grace was born? Or the bookshelf full of treasured volumes? Or the china doll that had belonged to Ma?
In the end she packed the dog, the quilt, a volume of Aesop’s fables, and a colle
ction of fairy tales by Hans Christian Andersen, removing a dress to make room. The rest of her treasures she laid carefully in a trunk to be stored at Aunt Sally’s, hoping that one day she might return to claim them.
“Come ON, Gracie!” Sam urged as he burst into the room, scooping up his own bags and pushing her onto the deck. “We’re here!”
Grace felt a gentle bump as the boat nudged the dock. She tried to muster some enthusiasm for her twin’s sake, but her trepidation had not stayed behind in Saginaw. It had followed her onboard and whispered frightening scenarios into her ear the entire trip.
What if there had been some mistake? What if Pa’s job had been filled by one of the many ex-soldiers wandering about looking for work? What if they couldn’t get home? What if they had a run-in with one of the soldiers? Were the drifting men dangerous?
She was glad for her brother’s presence, even if he was dragging her across the ship straight into the unknown.
Her first look at the town did little to allay her fears. A few rows of weathered gray buildings, Manistee looked as rough and unkempt as the men who filled its muddy lanes—men working the docks, men driving teams, men pouring off the ship. Not a single skirt, she noticed, swept the dirt of the street anywhere.
“This is it? This is where we’ll spend the whole winter?”
Sam must have missed the distress in her voice. “Of course not, goose,” he answered. “The camp is still fourteen miles away.”
She gnawed at her lip, the fragments of her courage threatening to blow away altogether.
Pa pushed through the disembarking passengers and joined his children at the rail. One large bag hung across his chest, and his left hand grasped a long-handled ax. “If you two are ready, let’s get off this tub and find out where we’re going.”
Sam followed Pa eagerly, but Grace lagged behind, stepping uncertainly along a dock that dipped and bucked beneath her. Pa, noticing her lurching steps, moved to take her elbow. “You’ll be all right in a minute, Sweet Pea. You just have to regain your land legs.”
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