Howard Hill: The Creighton Family Saga-Book Two

by Betty Larosa

Overview

The exhausted Union cavalry company under the command of Col. Philip Creighton arrives at Howard Hill plantation where they find five frightened women living alone. Philip informs Caroline Howard, the widowed mistress of the plantation, that they are confiscating her home for a few days of rest. But those few days stretch into the nearly- ten month siege of Petersburg, Virginia. Watching Caroline cope with the stress of constant bombardments of the nearby city, the endless numbers of Union wounded arriving daily, and a mother-in-law who is slowly going mad, Philip feels compelled to provide her with sorely-needed food and necessities, as well as seeing to her safety from his own men. Shortly thereafter, he is seriously wounded, nearly fulfilling his wish to die in battle. Through Caroline's care, he learns to trust again and at last finds all he's been seeking in life. After recovering his health, Philip again sees action where he suffers a severe concussion that leaves him temporarily blind. This blindness forces him to acknowledge at last his feelings for Caroline Howard. His war experiences transform Philip from bitter disillusionment to a completely different perspective of his future, including some painful truths about his family. At the war's end, ill and grief-stricken, he struggles to overcome the demons of his past and must learn to deal with the loss of all that is precious to him. But what should he do about his scandalous secret?

Product Details

ISBN-13:	9781434382757
Publisher:	AuthorHouse
Publication date:	06/16/2008
Pages:	320
Product dimensions:	6.00(w) x 9.00(h) x 0.72(d)

Read an Excerpt

Howard Hill

The Creighton Family Saga Book Two

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By Betty Larosa

AuthorHouse

Copyright © 2008 Betty Larosa
All rights reserved.
ISBN: 978-1-4343-8275-7

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CHAPTER 1

SINCE ITS FOUNDING 153 years ago, the mistresses of Howard Hill had never given a thought to doing laundry—or any other menial task, for that matter. It had never been necessary before. Before Fort Sumter. Before the food shortages. Before the slaves ran off. Before the Yankees.

Caroline Howard, current mistress of Howard Hill, straightened up and arched her aching back. Since early this hot June morning, she had been bent over the laundry tub washing the bed sheets. Several times, she'd become light-headed in the oppressive Tidewater Virginia heat, but managed to overcome it.

How delicious it would be, she moaned to herself, to bathe my face in cool water, sit in the shade of the gazebo and rest my back. But there was no time for that. Cassie and Mina, the remaining house slaves, had already aired the mattresses and carried them upstairs. The sheets had to be taken in, ironed and put away after she finished washing the last of her undergarments.

Later that afternoon, while ironing the sheets at the back door to catch the cross breeze from the front door through the entry hall, Caroline cocked an anxious ear. "What is that commotion down on the main road?" she wondered aloud to Cassie who had just come downstairs.

"Don't know, Miz Caroline," Cassie said. "Me and Mina was wonderin' that ourselves. Sounds like the whole Confederate army down there."

"Haven't we had enough to deal with," Caroline grumped, and spit on the iron to test it.

As she folded the last of the sheets, Caroline heard her mother-in-law Dorothea call from the front porch, "Caroline, please come and tend to these people. They have no business on our property and are creating such a furor."

"How I hate this war," Caroline muttered to herself. "It can't end soon enough for me." Picking up the sheets, she started toward the porch.

At the front door, she gasped in disbelief at a sight she had never seen in all of her twenty five years. A huge cloud of dust hovered above the City Point Road nearly a quarter mile away. The cloud appeared to be moving toward the plantation, and within that awful disturbance, she could see animals and wagons.

As the mass of dust, animals and humanity moved closer up the driveway and spilled out into the meadow, she saw scores of soldiers on horseback, others in wagons or on foot, covered with dust and sweat and blood, dropping to the ground from exhaustion and the deadly heat. But they are not our boys, she thought with panic. They are Yankees!

"Caroline, tell those Yankees they will have to move on," Dorothea Howard commanded with a wave of her fan at the intruders. "I cannot permit those people on the place while Morgan is off fighting for the Glorious Cause."

Caroline stared at her mother-in-law as she rocked languidly in her wicker chair and watched the approaching blue-clad intruders through narrowed eyes. Mother Howard truly is losing her mind if she expects me–a woman alone, armed only with freshly ironed sheets—to tell the Union army to move on. She stood on the top step of the porch, one hand shading her eyes from the sun, and watched as a Union officer approached her on horseback.

"Good afternoon, ma'am. I am Major John Wesley Madison, at your service." Removing his hat with a gallant flourish, he bowed in the saddle to her. "In the name of the United States Army, we are hereby confiscating your property."

"What did you say?" she shouted back at him. "I cannot hear you above all this noise. Did you say you were confiscating our property? No, Major," Caroline shook her head, "I am afraid you will have to move along. We simply cannot allow Yankees on the place. Goodness, what would people think?"

"I am sorry about this, ma'am," Major Madison shouted back, his tone polite, "but we cannot concern ourselves with that. As you can see, my men and their mounts are exhausted."

At this point, an officer with a scruffy beard appeared out of the swirling dust and noise. "What is the problem here, Major?"

"Sir, I am having trouble convincing this lady that we are confiscating her property for a few days."

"I see." The Colonel fixed his intense black eyes on her. "What is your name, madam?"

She shrunk away from those eyes that were at once intimidating and pain-filled. "Mrs. Morgan Howard," she managed to say loud enough to be heard, before breaking into a fit of coughing from the dust. "And this is my mother-in-law, Mrs. Justin Howard."

The Colonel touched the brim of his hat to acknowledge Dorothea before turning back to Caroline. "Colonel Philip Creighton of the Strickland Pennsylvania Volunteers, at your service, and we are indeed confiscating your property."

"If you have come looking for food, Colonel, our own quartermaster department has already picked us clean. In case you haven't noticed," she added, pointing toward the empty fields in the distance, "we are in the midst of a drought. And now, you descend upon us like the plague and disturb the tranquility of our home with all this dirt and commotion, and expect me to greet you as welcome guests."

Colonel Creighton removed his dusty hat and slapped it several times against his thigh. "Madam, we are fully aware of the conditions hereabouts. We have been strangling on this damned dust for weeks. But I promise you, we will be here just long enough to rest and feed the men and animals then be on our way."

Stiffening at the Colonel's course language, Caroline informed him in clipped tones, "In that case, Colonel, I must ask you to mind your language."

The Colonel placed his hat over his heart and shouted, "My deepest apologies for my offensive language, Mrs. Howard. Allow me to assure you that no harm will come to you or your property during our brief stay. I will issue orders to that effect." After clapping his hat on his head, he barked over his shoulder, "Lieutenant Southall!"

"Sir?" Another officer rode forward and favored Caroline with a dazzling smile before looking to Colonel Creighton for orders.

At the handsome Yankee's smile, Caroline suddenly became aware of her disheveled appearance and tried frantically to tuck in the loose hair that straggled about her face.

"Lieutenant," the Colonel was saying, "secure this area. Find water for the men and horses. There should be a well at the back of the house. And see if there is a stream nearby. Ask First Sergeant Powell to send a trooper up and down that main road to find someone who can tell us where the hell our provisions are. Let headquarters know that we are encamped here for the time being.

"Then, after posting pickets and looking over the grounds, give me your recommendations at a staff meeting," the Colonel glanced at his pocket watch, "in about an hour. Meanwhile, I need to lie down. This damned leg is still killing me. I beg your pardon again, ma'am," he offered by way of a perfunctory apology to Caroline.

"Yes, sir." Lieutenant Southall saluted and rode off, calling for Sergeant Powell.

Caroline watched the Colonel dismount with a tightlipped grimace, and limp up the porch steps. As he passed by her, she wrinkled her nose at the odors emanating from his person. It has been quite a long time since the Colonel has come in contact with soap and water, she thought, and lowered her eyes. Just then, she spied a bandage on his left leg that was spotted with fresh blood and wondered if he had recently been wounded, which would account for his foul mood.

At this point, Dorothea rose from her chair to confront the Yankee intruders. Her thin frame was clad in a blue flowered dress worn thin by years of washing and ironing, her gray hair pulled back into a severe knot. With blue eyes that showed no fear, she said with authority, "Sir, I cannot permit this invasion of my home. I must ask you to remove yourself and those—" she pointed her fan toward the front meadow, "—those ruffians with you."

Giving her a chilling smile that crinkled the dust on his face, Colonel Creighton bowed. "I appreciate your sentiments, madam. You have my word as a gentleman—"

Jerking her chin, Dorothea sniffed in disdain.

"—I repeat, as a gentleman, that I have already given assurances to the other lady that no harm will come to anyone on the premises. Nor will any of your property be molested. Now, if you ladies will excuse me, I must see to my men. After the staff meeting, you will be apprised of the rules you must observe during our stay here, which I assure you again, will be of short duration."

"Rules? In my own home?" Dorothea waved her fan under his nose. "I simply will not tolerate this. Caroline, tell this reprobate that we cannot abide such effrontery."

"Save your breath, Mrs. Howard," Colonel Creighton said to Caroline. "The matter has been decided." Reaching suddenly for the porch rail to support himself, he turned to the other officer, "Come with me into the house, Major Madison. We will select a room best suited for my needs. And be away from all this noise."

"Yes, sir. Ladies." Major Madison bowed to Caroline and Dorothea before following Colonel Creighton into the house.

Caroline stood, as though rooted to the porch floor, and watched the two Yankee officers disappear into the entry hall, unmindful of the frantic activity all around her. Teamsters swore at the balking, weary mules pulling supply wagons, mounted cavalry pounded up the driveway toward the back of the house, officers shouted orders. But she was unaware of it all.

Yankees had invaded her home.

CHAPTER 2

COLONEL PHILIP CREIGHTON collapsed into a straight-backed chair inside the entry hall. "Ah, it's much better in here." He surveyed their surroundings with a critical eye. "The house should suit our purposes quite nicely for no longer than we will be here."

Hardly of grand proportions, but built to accommodate a large family, the house appeared well kept. In the Southern tradition for good ventilation, the back door was situated opposite the front door in the wide entry hall. The stairs rose to the second floor on the left side of the hall. The ironing board, abandoned by Caroline moments earlier, stood at the open back door.

Through the door, Philip could see that chaos reigned. Dr. Cook barked orders about where he wanted his medical tent set up. Corpsmen scurried at his commands. Barely audible within the confusion, Philip could hear the feeble moaning of wounded men, and he shuddered.

Turning his attention to the room on the left of the front door, he observed that it served as the company parlor and music room. A small pianoforte sat in the bow windows. A tapestry sofa with gracefully curved legs placed before the fireplace was flanked by lamp tables. Two brown horsehair chairs faced the sofa. On the wall directly opposite the door hung two black silhouette portraits. Undoubtedly, Philip thought, Howard ancestors from the previous century.

The large family parlor across the hall revealed dust covers on the furniture, now layered with fresh dust. Hobbling down the hall beside Wes, he glanced into the dining room on the right, which boasted a table capable of seating twelve people comfortably. A breakfront sat on the back wall. On the opposite wall, over a mahogany sideboard, hung a beveled mirror flanked by empty candle sconces. Two large windows faced west, their lace curtains hanging limp in the stifling heat. Through the windows, Philip could see his company of men riding up the driveway toward rest and, hopefully, water.

Across the hall from the dining room, Wes pointed out a good-sized room that had obviously been used as the plantation office. A large desk sat perpendicular to the window with a red leather chair facing it. Behind the desk stood a tall bookcase containing almanacs, farm ledgers, and books relating to animals and agriculture.

Philip jerked a thumb toward the empty gun cabinet in the corner. "All the guns are gone."

Wes grinned. "No doubt carried off by the Howard men to fight for the Glorious Cause."

"Yes, leaving these poor women defenseless," Philip said with disgust, and limped back to the front of the house. "I will use this room as my office, Major," he said, and entered the room with the silhouette portraits. "It will afford me some degree of privacy as well as an unobstructed view of the driveway. Have someone bring my field desk in here, but only after the men have rested and seen to their mounts."

"Yes, sir. I'll see to it. By the way, how are you feeling now?"

"I'm all right," Philip said, not happy about being reminded that he'd passed out from the heat and loss of blood before his men out on City Point Road. "How is your hand?"

Wes inspected his right hand. "The swelling has gone down and it doesn't ache as much."

Philip cracked a half-smile. "It looks a hell of a lot better than my leg."

After Wes' departure, and while making mental notes about rearranging the room, Philip was startled to see the younger lady standing in the doorway, still holding her folded sheets.

Moved by the panic in her eyes, he limped toward her and said in a gentle voice, "I regret that our sudden and rather chaotic appearance has disturbed the tranquility of the household, Mrs. Howard. I assure you that we are not wild beasts on the prowl to ravage unprotected ladies. May I inquire how many are presently in the house?"

"Just Mother Howard, Aunt Emmaline and myself. Aunt Emmaline is bedfast. I believe she is dying," Caroline added in a barely audible voice.

"I am sorry to hear that. Where are your men folks? The darkies?"

She paused before answering, "My father-in-law passed on several years ago. My husband and his brother Justin were with General Armistead. Justin was killed at Gettysburg last year. I have not had any word at all from my husband since that time, or heard anything about his fate. I have been living with the uncertainty of not knowing if I am a widow. The darkies ran off, some to join the army. As for the others, I don't know. Now," she said, lifting her chin, "you know exactly how vulnerable we are."

"I am sorry about your husband and his brother, ma'am. Do you mind if I inquire as to the nature of your aunt's illness?"

"The poor thing hasn't been able to cope with the war and all the shortages. After losing her nephews and so many other family members and friends, she has taken to her room. She keeps Father Howard's sword at her bedside to thwart any Yankee who might try to molest her."

Philip suppressed a smile at the image of the elderly lady defending her honor with a sword. "I admire your aunt's spirit, but she has nothing to fear from us. She is safe in her bed. But I will ask Dr. Cook to look in on her when he has a moment."

"That is kind of you, Colonel, but I doubt that my aunt will allow him in her room." Caroline blushed and suddenly appeared flustered. "I must go now. Cassie and Mina are waiting for these." She tapped the freshly-ironed sheets and, turning, started toward the stairs.

"Wait," Philip called out. "Who are these other two women? You did not mention them earlier."

"Cassie and Mina are the only house darkies who did not run off."

"But you said there were only three of you." As he limped toward the stairs, his frown deepened. "Why didn't you mention these women before?"

Caroline cringed against the banister. "I thought you meant only white folks."

"I meant anyone living on the premises," he said in an exasperated tone, unwilling at this point to engage in a discourse about the evils of slavery. "Oh, by the way," he waited until she paused on the second stair tread and turned to face him, "I would take it kindly if you ladies stayed close to the house while we are here. We would not want anyone else learning of our presence during the next two or three days."

Caroline gave him a measured look. "In that case, Colonel, we shall pray most earnestly for your imminent departure."

During the staff meeting an hour later, Philip's men sprawled on various pieces of furniture in the room now used as his office. They all agreed that the shady meadow at the rear of the house was the ideal location for the hospital tents, due to its proximity to the well. Sergeant Powell suggested placing the mess tent on the east side of the house, nearest the stream.

"What about the horses?" Major Madison asked.

"There's a small stream on the other side of the orchard. The water is running pretty low but it's real shady down there."

(Continues...)

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Excerpted from Howard Hill by Betty Larosa. Copyright © 2008 Betty Larosa. Excerpted by permission of AuthorHouse.
All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
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