Sins of the Father
by Trace Edward Zaber
ISBN: 1-59279-016-X (Electronic)
ISBN: 1-59279-985-X (Paperback)
Genres: Historical / Civil War / Suspense / Thriller / Action / Adventure
Length: Extended Novel (165k words / 500 paperback pages)

(EXCERPT #1)

Faith arrived at Camp Letterman Thursday afternoon, her heart bursting with anticipation. She could hardly believe that in one week’s time Mr. Lincoln would say a few words at the festivities right here in Gettysburg.  Worshipping everything he stood for, she couldn’t wait to see him in the flesh. A great man, bringing this country through the struggle thus far, emancipating the slaves. She knew Jeb didn’t share her feelings for Lincoln, but he was a gentleman for not arguing with her over their political differences.

Generous sunshine warmed her back as she strolled along the hospital camp’s dirt avenues. The smell of bread from the cookhouse filled her nostrils. Birds trilled in the hickories, their propitious songs sustaining her lighthearted mood. As always, she looked forward to seeing Jeb. Political views aside, she absolutely and unequivocally adored him; loved his foxy humor, his stoic pride, his gentlemanly air, his handsome countenance.

And harbored hopes for a future with him.

Her understanding father might approve of Jeb, God willing. And if the war ended soon, then the country could be unified and her father might provide his blessing.

Yet the war continued. Jeb, scheduled to leave camp on the day following the cemetery dedication, was being sent to Johnson’s Island in Ohio, a prison for Confederate officers. Earlier, his recurring fevers had aided in the postponement of his transfer, but now the date loomed closer. She’d grown used to visiting him, and now experienced despondency over the prospect of losing him. But she wouldn’t allow him to see it, feeling it senseless to disclose how miserable she’d become in his absence. She’d just relish the time remaining.

Lost in reverie, she rounded the corner into the last row of tents, making for “S” Ward, just north of the area occupied by the Relief Organizations. She bumped into a Union soldier rocketing out of a tent. Jarred back to the present, she was startled to see soldiers rushing in and out of tents all along the avenue, as if searching for something.

“Excuse me,” she asked the man, “what are you looking for?”

“Escaped prisoner.” The soldier hotfooted it into the next avenue, flinging up dirt in his wake.

Jeb? she wondered with a wave of panic. Euphoria shattered by the disquieting notion, her stomach knotted. She broke into a mad dash toward his tent, praying she’d find him waiting for her like every other day. Her heart drummed in her ears. She reached his home, yanked up the flap.

Empty, but for Jeb’s gray jacket. And one item glittering on the ground near the bedstead. Her mother’s cameo brooch. “He wouldn’t leave this behind.”

She clutched her good luck charm, then bounded into the avenue where she snatched the sleeve of a passing soldier. “Who are you looking for?”

“A Secesh officer escaped last night.”

“But who?”

“Brigadier General J. S. Ellsworth.”

Thunderstruck, stomach wrought up in fear, her heart raced.

“Considered armed and dangerous, Miss. We’re asking all visitors to leave on the double.”

Numbed by the revelation, shocked into silence, Faith stood for what seemed an eternity in the midst of cursing, frantic soldiers.

Jeb? Gone? Where could he be? Why would he run? Armed and dangerous?

Tears of futility flooded her eyes as she hurried down the dusty streets to the camp’s entrance.

*          *          *

“Where might I find Corporal Sheffield?” Steven asked a Union private an hour later.

The soldier indicated a row of tents. “The telegraph tent. The big one beside the pole.”

Steven thanked him, then hobbled toward his goal, a tearful Faith at his side. “God, you’re on tenterhooks. Don’t worry. We’ll just omit details about our personal connection with Jeb.”

Faith wiped her moist cheeks. “Sorry. It’s just that”””

“I know what he means to you.”

They reached the specified tent just as a young officer exited and brushed past them. The faint scent of whiskey followed in his stead.

“Corporal Sheffield?” asked Steven.

The man wheeled to face them, teetered on wobbly legs. Lines of confusion crinkled his forehead while his chest-length beard waved in the breeze. Eyeing Faith, a hint of recognition filled his bloodshot eyes. “Aren’t you Miss Bradshaw?”

“Yes. A friend of Molly Underwood’s.”

The noncom’s cheeks mantled at the mention of his sweetheart’s name. “Then you must be Steven Bradshaw. I’ve heard some hunky things about you from Molly.”

Steven swiftly dispensed with the formalities. “We don’t mean to beguile your time, Corporal, but we’re concerned about this so-called escape.”

“Ain’t no so-called about it. A Reb officer escaped last night. A brigadier general!” Sheffield looked faint. His hand flew over his mouth, suppressing a belch.

Faith decided the corporal was coming to terms with a nasty hangover. “Forgive us, but we’ve””” She carefully chose her words. “We’ve met the man on occasion. From my understanding, he was to be transferred to an Ohio prison. Do you believe he fled for that reason?”

“If only it was that simple.” Sheffield gazed from side to side, then leaned in. His whiskey breath was unmistakable. “I’m going to tell you this only because you’re Molly’s friends. Swear to me it goes no further.”

In unison, they nodded.

“We received a telegraph last evening concerning Ellsworth’s involvement in a conspiracy. We were ordered to arrest him.”

Steven frowned. “Conspiracy?”

“This Grayback is planning to assassinate Lincoln at the ceremonies next week.”

Faith’s knees turned to jelly. She gripped Steven’s arm to maintain balance. “Twaddle! How could this man be involved? He’s wounded”””

“We’ve only been ordered to arrest him. And he apparently was forewarned.” A hangdog expression crossed his face. “He thieved a gun from a guard, then absquatulated.” Again, his forehead pleated in confusion. “Say, if you don’t mind me asking, what’s it to you anyway?”

“He owes me money,” answered Steven without hesitation.

The corporal studied them for a moment, then his face softened, apparently satisfied. “We’ll track him down erelong. Until then, keep yourselves safe.”

“We will,” replied Steven. “Thank you for your time.”

Sheffield nodded, then lurched down the road to his business.

“Impossible!” said Faith, fresh tears clouding her eyes. “Not Jeb. Impossible!”

Steven rested a hand on her arm. “I, too, have come to know him these last few months and”¦”

“What, Steven?” A look of suspicion crept into his eyes. “You believe there’s truth in the accusation? Jeb just recovered from another fever”””

“I don’t believe he could be involved””physically.“

Faith grew horrified. “He’s not!”

“You must know how he feels about Lincoln. Granted, he’s kept his mouth hushed in that form of talk lately, but he’s let it slip Lincoln’s removal would benefit the South”””

“Steven! No!”

“It’s his upbringing, Faith. You mustn’t forget how Jeb’s deceased father is still a great influence on his life. The elder Ellsworth considered Lincoln the””well, the Antichrist.”

“Steven! The sins of the father should never be passed”””

“At least consider the possibility.”

“No! Jeb’s not involved! Neither physically nor otherwise. He’s not involved!” She burst into sobs and laid her head on his shoulder. “He’s a good man. A good man.” As chill winds blasted her cheeks, she shivered in trepidation for the man she loved…

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