Handpicked Family. Shannon Farrington
Shenandoah Valley, Virginia July 1865
Trudy Martin took one look at the ragtag collection of men blocking the road and pulled the wagon to an abrupt stop. She had not had much experience handling buckboards before. In fact, this was a first, and she had only learned to do so today out of necessity. Her friend Emily Mackay was teaching her because the teamster scheduled to drive had not showed. Neither had their armed Federal escorts, intended to protect this party from any thieves or malcontents they might meet along their journey.
How I wish for their presence now, Trudy thought.
Fear snaked up her spine, for even though the approaching crowd consisted mostly of gaunt-faced, frail-looking war veterans, some missing arms and hobbling on crutches, she saw the expression of determination on their faces.
They are just hungry people, she tried to tell herself, but Trudy knew full well that desperation often bred trouble.
Beside her Emily drew in a nervous breath. “They know we have food,” she whispered, “and I fear they intend to claim it.”
Emily’s husband, Dr. Evan Mackay, pulled a matching buckboard alongside them and paused. His lanky, rib-boned mare gave a snort as if to say she, too, was wary of the approaching men. With good reason, Trudy couldn’t help but think. Meat is meat no matter how poor the quality.
She scolded herself for the dark thought, but she knew from what the Mackays had told her, as well as from the articles she’d been proofreading for her employer’s newspaper, that here in western Virginia, food was scarce. The country had just endured four years of war and the Confederacy a humiliating surrender—but not before the land they had claimed as an independent nation had been ravaged by Federal forces. Families had been destroyed, and unemployment was widespread. Any soldier fortunate enough to return with his mind and body still intact was hard-pressed to find gainful work, but here, the devastation was particularly acute.
Desperation doesn’t even begin to describe this, she thought. How can the people expect to move forward when all they once had is in ruins? Nine months after the Federal army had scorched this land it was still as desolate as the moors of Scotland.
Trudy glanced heavenward, noting the angry gray sky. Rain is on its way, she thought, perhaps even a thunderstorm. She shivered, half because of the changing weather, half because of the still approaching men.
“Just keep on with the plan,” Dr. Mackay said calmly.
The plan had been to offer what help they could to a little community that had seen more than its share of hardship and horror. How exactly the town of Forest Glade had been chosen, Trudy could not say, but when she had learned this was to be the team’s destination, she’d jumped at the chance to be part of it. Her brother, George, had repeatedly marched and fought through this valley in his service to the Confederacy. He had also been wounded here. But for the grace of God and a kind minister named James Webb, he might not have survived.
George had been treated for his wounds at the church in Forest Glade. Her brother, who had told her about the events in subsequent letters, was currently in a Federal prison, still awaiting release. He could not come and express his thanks to Reverend Webb, but she could.
Also, as a former volunteer nurse from the Baltimore military hospital, Trudy had been confident that she could offer assistance. Dr. Mackay and Emily had thought so, as well. And yet while they had organized this relief mission, they had not initiated this trip. The original invitation had come by way of Trudy’s employer, Peter Allen Carpenter. As publisher and editor of The