A Southern Moon Rising

A Southern Moon Rising

copyright@2007 Melanie D. Calvert

ISBN: 978-1-897512-15-9


While Edmond Anderson is working as a spy for President Lincoln, to undercover an assassination attempt, he’s threatened with death by the plotters.
Requesting safety from the President, he’s quickly posted to the army and then to Vicksburg, Mississippi, for protection. Near Vicksburg, as the battle
rages ferociously, he suffers a severe wound to his head. As he recovers from his injury, he is ordered to carry dispatches and suffers a bloody wound to
his side. Seeking shelter at an isolated cabin, he meets a beautiful Southern Belle, Sara Wainwright, who steals his heart, which already belongs to another.
While she detests all things Union, she discovers all Yankee’s are not the same and falls in love with Edmond.

Torn between his loyalties to the Union or his love for Sara, Ed decides to desert the army and stay with the woman he loves more than life. When a small
family of runaway slaves suddenly appears at Sara’s door, she is unable to turn them away. Discovering the black man is a skilled blacksmith, she quickly
establishes a thriving business. However, when a gang of Southern cutthroats visits the business, a customer and the two adult slaves are killed, but only
after the woman is brutally raped. The deaths of the blacks leave their infant an orphan, who Sara protectively takes under her wing. The same raiders visit
the surrounding area and late that night, the son of the man killed on Sara’s farm comes for assistance, his whole family dead. Together the four of them head
west—to Arizona territory. They soon discover the trip is easier to talk about than to make, due to Sara’s pregnancy, Indians, grizzly bears, and Amos Wees,
a man determined to rape Sara and kill Edmond.


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Read chapter 1 at: http://www.melaniedcalvert.com

CHAPTER 1

Sergeant Edmond D. Anderson, called Ed by his friends, had never been as frightened in his short twenty-two years of life. He was rushing toward the Confederate lines and bullets were flying around like angry bees. Anderson was a big man, a little over six feet and weighed just over two hundred pounds. He wore his brown hair long, but his beard was always neatly trimmed. His eyes were brown and as keen as an eagle's.

"Forward men! Damn all of you, I said forward!" Screamed a young captain running near Ed, a second later his head exploded in a gory mist of blood and brains. The sword held high in his right hand fell to the ground, but landed without notice, as the battlefield turned into a pure living hell. The noise of the battle, which had been loud before, now grew so thunderous thoughts became difficult.

Men screamed in pain and surprise as mini-balls or shrapnel from cannon balls exploding over-head struck them, their white cotton balls raining injury and death. He saw a man beside him grasp his face with his hands, a large piece of shrapnel protruding, and then fall to the ground thrashing wildly. Men were falling all around as the fierceness of the battle grew to the point he thought he might lose his mind.

Suddenly, the firing ceased, as if turned off by the wave of God's almighty hand, and the field of death grew unnaturally still, as if out of respect for the dead and dying. The silence only lasted a few seconds, when it was interrupted by a thousand loud Rebel yells. From the trees, men dressed in gray or butternut uniforms burst forth, the sun reflecting from the long bayonets on their rifles. Gun shots were heard and once again agonized screams of the injured filled the morning air.

Unexpectedly knocked back hard by the impact of a bullet striking him, Ed was surprised to find himself looking at the green grasses in front of his eyes. Strange, but dew is still on the grass, even with a battle going on. He attempted to stand, only to discover his body wouldn't obey his mind. If this is death, it ain't so bad, he thought a second before he entered the black world of unconsciousness.



Ed's head hurt, it throbbed unmercifully and even though his eyes were closed he knew he had survived, because a dead man would feel no pain. Cautiously he opened his left eye and looked around. Near him and scattered for yards were wounded soldiers. Most wore Union blue like him, but a few gray and chestnut uniforms were seen, as if to balance out the colors. His head ached, his vision was blurred and he had a hard time keeping his thoughts organized.

Touching his head, he felt the thick outline of a cotton bandage and knew he'd been struck in the head. Must have just grazed my noggin or I'd be dead. Opening his right eye, he took the whole scene in. The wounded were still there, only now he discovered the scent of wounds and death. It had the foul odor of human waste, which made him feel uneasy and nauseated.

"I see you survived. Not many survive a head wound." An unknown voice said from behind him.

Turning his head, he saw a rail thin tall corporal with red hair and glasses smiling at him. Giving a slight moan, Ed replied, "Yep, lucky as hell, I guess."

The corporal moved to his side, kneeled and said, "My name is Abraham, just like the Presidents, only most folks call me Too-Tall. Nope, your survival was not luck. It was the hand of God, like so many other things that happen in this war. Don't ya see?"

"Well, then I'll have to thank him when I see him."

"Do not joke of something like this, for God is listening."

Growing irritated by the thin Bible-thumper lecturing him, Ed replied heatedly, "Ain't you got someplace to go or something to do?"

"I do the work of the Lord and while I have other duties here on earth, they are small compared to God's work."

"Look, Abraham, go bother someone else. I got a headache and don't feel up to talking right now," Ed replied, head thumping remorselessly.

Standing, the tall man replied, "I shall return and perhaps we can pray together."

Laying back on his blanket, Ed replied, "That might be nice," but thought, just leave my butt alone, I hurt and don't need this right now.

When the man left Ed went back to sleep, awakening only much later in the day, as bright red, yellow and orange filled the western sky. Next to him, a middle-aged man who'd been sleeping earlier in the day, gave him a weak smile and asked, "Where are ya hit, 'sides yer head?"

"That's it, only my head."

"If it ain't serious they'll make ya work some, ya know? Haul water, chop wood, or some other such nonsense."

"I figured as much. Work hurts no man and maybe it'll keep me from being bored," Ed said, as he thought, great, that's all I need.

Giving the man a closer look, Ed saw he was of average size and build, but his eyes were weak. He squinted as if he'd once worn glasses but lost them in the battle. He wore his black hair long, thoug