Today We Go Home
Page 1
Also by Kelli Estes
The Girl Who Wrote in Silk
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Books. Change. Lives.
Copyright © 2019 by Kelli Estes
Cover and internal design © 2019 by Sourcebooks
Cover design by Nicole Hower/Sourcebooks
Cover image © siro46/Shutterstock, David Madison/Getty, Cavan Images/Getty, Magdalena Russocka/Trevillion Images, Jose A. Bernat Bacete/Getty, Patti McConville/Alamy Stock Photo
Photo illustration by Debra Lill
Sourcebooks and the colophon are registered trademarks of Sourcebooks, Inc.
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means including information storage and retrieval systems—except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews—without permission in writing from its publisher, Sourcebooks.
The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious or are used fictitiously. Apart from well-known historical figures, any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental and not intended by the author.
All brand names and product names used in this book are trademarks, registered trademarks, or trade names of their respective holders. Sourcebooks is not associated with any product or vendor in this book.
Published by Sourcebooks Landmark, an imprint of Sourcebooks
P.O. Box 4410, Naperville, Illinois 60567-4410
(630) 961-3900
sourcebooks.com
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Names: Estes, Kelli, author.
Title: Today we go home / Kelli Estes.
Description: Naperville, Illinois : Sourcebooks Landmark, [2019]
Identifiers: LCCN 2018052437 | (trade pbk. : alk. paper)
Subjects: LCSH: United States--Armed Forces--Women--Fiction. | United States--History--Civil War, 1861-1865--Participation, Female--Fiction. | Women soldiers--United States--History--19th century--Fiction. | Post-traumatic stress disorder--Fiction. | GSAFD: Historical fiction.
Classification: LCC PS3605.S7355 T63 2019 | DDC 813/.6--dc23 LC record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2018052437
Contents
Front Cover
Title Page
Copyright
Prologue
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
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Chapter Thirty
Chapter Thirty-One
Chapter Thirty-Two
Chapter Thirty-Three
A Note from the Author
More about the Real Women Featured in This Story
Reading Group Guide
A Conversation with the Author
Recommended Reading
Resources
Acknowledgments
About the Author
Back Cover
Dedicated to all women, past or present, who have served in the military.
Thank you.
“Home isn’t where our house is, But wherever we are understood.”
—Christian Morgenstern in Stages: A Development in Aphorisms and Diary Notes
Prologue
April 16, 1861: Wilson Family Farm, Stampers Creek, Indiana
The sounds of gunshots echoed across the field, each one making Emily clench her teeth tighter together until her jaw ached. For an hour, she’d listened as her menfolk shot at whatever they were shooting at, and she’d told herself to stay out of it. She knew they were doing more than hunting by the way they’d whispered among themselves when David arrived home from town and then grabbed their muskets and headed to the creek. With each shot, her imagination conjured an explanation that was worse than the one before. A rabid dog. A pack of wolves. Brutal Shawnee here to reclaim their land.
She moved the soup pot off the stove and yanked on her warm coat. She was through waiting. If no one saw fit to inform her of the danger, she’d discover what it was herself and help dispel it. She’d been shooting all her life alongside her brothers and often bagged game for dinner. Whatever was out there, she could handle it. Women weren’t supposed to be the strong ones, but she did not always have to pretend to be weak.
She reached for a musket behind the door but found the men had taken them all. Looking around, her gaze landed on the kitchen knife. Any weapon was better than none. Gripping it firmly in her fist, she set out across the fallow cornfield toward the creek. She couldn’t see anyone, but the gunshots directed her to the wooded area where she and her brothers had spent countless hours playing as children, back before Mama died and Emily had become the woman of the house.
As she reached the trees, the sound of three shots firing almost simultaneously made her jump, and she realized she’d best announce her presence before one of them shot in her direction. “Pa, I’m coming your way. Don’t shoot!”
Holding her knife firmly, ready to attack anything that might run toward her, she followed the path into the clearing, her heart pounding in her ears as loudly as the gunshots. But she was ready. She’d defend herself and her family against whatever threat awaited her.
What she saw made her stop short.
There was no danger.
Her brothers lay on the ground with muskets in hand, calmly listening to whatever Pa was telling them. Uncle Samuel stood behind them, puffing on his pipe and watching, his own musket resting in the crook of his elbow.
“No, not like that,” Pa said to Ben. “You want to lie flat on your belly and only raise up as much as you must to fire. Make yourself into the smallest you can be so you’re harder to hit.”
Emily released her pent-up breath and watched as Ben straightened his legs so he was lying flat on his belly. Propping himself on his elbows, he sighted the shot.
“Now imagine there’s a secesh hiding in those bushes,” Pa coached. “Take a breath as you aim, and as you exhale, pull the trigger.”
As the musket fired, a puff of smoke rose from the barrel. David, lying beside Ben, fired his weapon. Both of her brothers rolled to their backs to reload without sitting up.
Emily crossed the clearing and stopped next to Uncle Samuel. “What’s a secesh?”
He glanced at her before returning his gaze to her brothers. “It’s what
they’re calling people from the seceding states.” He grunted. “Short for secessioner.”
“Why are we shooting at them?” She watched as her brothers fired again.
“Keep going,” Pa said to the boys. “Try to make your shots hit that beech tree there by the water.” He stepped over Ben’s legs and came to her with a sheepish smile. “Did we miss supper? Sorry, Em.”
Emily shrugged. “Why are you pretending to shoot at secesh?”
Pa sent a look to Uncle Samuel, who lifted one eyebrow and kept puffing on his pipe, and then he turned to her. “I don’t want to worry you, but word has come that we’re at war against the Southern states who have seceded from the Union. President Lincoln called for volunteers yesterday, and Governor Morton says we’re to gather in Indianapolis for training.”
She stared at him. “Who is to gather?”
Pa shuffled his feet and looked away. “The Indiana volunteers, of course.”
He didn’t need to say it for Emily to understand he would be one of them. She watched her brothers fire on the beech tree. Both missed. Calmly, she reached for the musket Uncle Samuel held, trading it for her knife. “Is it loaded?”
Samuel left the pipe clamped between his teeth and wordlessly handed her a paper cartridge from the pouch at his waist.
As the men watched, Emily expertly ripped the cartridge open with her teeth, poured the powder into the barrel and shoved the ball inside, pulled out the rammer, pushed down the shot, and replaced the rammer. Then, shoving her skirts out of the way, she settled onto her stomach on the ground between her brothers.
Without saying a word, she cocked the weapon, aimed, and fired. A chunk of gray bark flew off the beech, right where she’d aimed.
Satisfied, she got back to her feet, handed the musket to her uncle, and faced her pa. “I’m coming with you.”
Chapter One
Present day: Lakewood, Washington State
Larkin Bennett grabbed hold of the cold, steel handle and noticed her hands were shaking. She felt as vulnerable as if there were armed insurgents on the other side of the gray metal door, but it was only her best friend’s storage unit. She blew out a breath and shoved the rolling door up so hard it rattled and banged. When the light flickered on, she saw only stacked cardboard boxes, a couple of lamps, and bulging black garbage bags. The innocuous objects might as well have been insurgents firing on her for the pain that swept through her entire body.
For several long moments, she could do nothing more than stare at Sarah’s belongings. Mentally, she went through all the reasons why she had to do this now rather than run far, far away.
It was December. The rental contract on the unit would end at the close of the month, and there was no reason for Larkin to waste money renewing it.
The storage unit was an hour away from her hometown, two with traffic, and she had no plans to come back to this area anytime soon. She needed to deal with it while she was here.
There was no one else to take care of this, and besides, Sarah had wanted her to have these things.
The last one was the kicker.
Nausea rolled through Larkin as she reached for the nearest box and stacked it on the rolling cart she’d brought up in the elevator. She intended to load everything into her car and take it all to her grandmother’s house, where she’d be living until she figured out what to do next. Once she got Sarah’s stuff there, she could go through it another day, when it wouldn’t hurt so badly.
Moving robotically, she stacked another box on the cart and reached for a third, trying her hardest not to think about Sarah or why she wasn’t here to clean out her own storage unit.
This third box was heavier than the last two, and Larkin grunted as she lifted it. Pain shot through her legs and back, and she welcomed it.
Larkin’s cell phone rang from where she’d stuck it in her back jeans pocket. “Damn it,” she muttered as she lurched to the cart and bent her knees to set the box down. She misjudged the placement, though, and it tilted sideways and crashed onto the floor, the top seam bursting open and scattering Sarah’s things.
Her damn phone was still ringing. Larkin yanked it from her pocket without looking to see who was calling. “What?”
“Larkin, is that you?”
Guilt shot through her, and she took a moment to draw a breath in through her nose to calm down, her eyes squeezed shut. Her grandmother didn’t deserve her temper. When she trusted her voice to come out evenly, she opened her eyes and answered, “Yes, Grams, it’s me. Sorry, I just dropped something.”
“Where are you? I thought you’d be here by now.”
Larkin eased herself down onto the edge of the flatbed cart and dropped her head into her free hand. “I’m sorry, Grams. I decided at the last minute to take care of something. I’m in Lakewood, down by Joint Base Lewis-McChord. Cleaning out Sarah’s storage unit.”
Silence greeted this announcement, and then Grams’s voice came softly through the line. “Lark, are you sure that’s a good idea? If you wait, one of us could drive down there to be with you.”
Larkin looked at the spilled contents of the box in front of her. A silver tube of lipstick, an old MP3 player, a silver bracelet, a brown leather book. “I was passing through and didn’t want to have to drive back down here, you know? It has to be cleaned out this month, and I know you are all going to be busy with the holidays.”
“If you’re sure.” Grams didn’t sound convinced, but she went on with the reason for her call. “How long will it take? Tomorrow is Sunday, and I was hoping to invite everyone over so we could welcome you home properly. Will you be here?”
By “everyone,” Larkin knew her grandma meant her entire extended family of parents, cousins, aunts, and uncles. Grams kept the family connected, and it was at her house where everyone gathered. All fourteen of them.
Even though Larkin had planned to load her car and finish her drive to Grams’s tonight, the idea of a family gathering sucked the energy from her. “I’m so sorry, Grams,” she lied. “I don’t think I’m going to make it tonight. Probably not even until late tomorrow night. Sarah has some furniture here that I need to get someone to pick up and too much stuff to fit into my car, which means I need to sort through it and donate what I don’t want to keep. It’ll take some time.”
The tiny closet of possessions stared back at her, mocking her lies. Larkin turned her back on it.
“I guess we can celebrate your return in a few weeks when everyone is here for Christmas anyway.” The disappointment in Grams’s voice made Larkin’s already raw heart ache even more. “But you’d better call your mom and tell her. They were excited to see you tomorrow.”
“Okay, I will.” Larkin pushed stiffly to her feet. “I’ll see you tomorrow night, Grams. Love you.”
“I love you, too, soldier girl,” Grams replied, using the nickname Larkin’s grandfather had given her years ago. Hearing it made tears come to her eyes. “I’m so happy you’re finally coming home.”
Larkin swallowed. “Me too.” She hung up, wondering if that was a lie. She really had no idea.
She dialed her mother, then righted the box and started putting the spilled items back in as she waited for her to pick up. When she did, Larkin got straight to the point. “Hi, Mom, it’s me. Grams told me to call you since I won’t be home tonight after all. I won’t be there in time for a party tomorrow either.”
“Why not?”
Larkin explained about the storage unit and that she would rent a hotel room tonight. Her mother, already angry Larkin was moving in with Grams and not back into the house where she’d grown up, did not hold back from laying on the guilt. “Oh, Larkin, I am so disappointed. Your father will be, too. Can’t you at least stop and see us on your way through town? It’s been a year, and after all that’s happened, we need to see you.”
“I know, Mom. I’m sorry.” Larkin was about
to explain, yet again, how she needed the peace and quiet at Grams’s house, and also that Grams didn’t work and both of her parents did, which meant she’d have someone around to help her adjust to civilian life again. But she didn’t say any of this because her mother already knew all of it, and really, Larkin just wanted to get off the phone. “I’ll stop by on my way through Seattle tomorrow, okay? What time should I be there?”
“Oh, good. Your father will be happy. How about six?” Kathryn Bennett sounded smug. “We’ll order some dinner.”
Resigned, Larkin agreed and ended the call, feeling the last of her energy drain away. She stuffed the phone back in her pocket and picked up the book that had fallen out of the box, intending to toss it back.
It looked well used with a stiff, brown, extra-thick leather cover sporting an embossed floral design. A leather thong wrapped around the book and tied it closed.
Curious, for she’d never seen Sarah with the book, Larkin undid the thong and opened the first page. In an old-fashioned hand, someone had written The diary of… followed by something that had been scratched out, and written below that was the name Jesse Wilson. She looked closer at the scratched-out part and thought it looked like… Was it Emily?
Something nudged at the back of Larkin’s brain, and she turned the page to the first diary entry, dated 1861. Flipping quickly through the rest of the book, she found it full of the same old-fashioned and difficult-to-read handwriting. Every now and then a word jumped out at her. Union. Army. Battle. Musket. The memory that had been poking at her burst forth.
It was the day she and Sarah had graduated from Norwich University and were commissioned as second lieutenants into the U.S. Army. Sarah’s family hadn’t been there, of course, and so Larkin had made her an honorary member of her own since her parents, grandparents, and two of her cousins had flown in for the ceremonies. After everyone had gone back to their hotels and Larkin and Sarah had returned to their dorm room for their last night as roommates, they’d gotten to talking about why they’d wanted to join the Army in the first place.