Civil War Saga: New Orleans, Memphis, and Atlanta

by Sara Orwig

Overview

This sweeping trilogy uncovers the tragedy and passion in the war between the north and the south.
 
Winner of eight Romantic Times awards, with over twenty-million copies in print, USA Today–bestselling author Sara Orwig is the undisputed queen of historical romance. In the start of this saga, New Orleans, a wealthy southern belle must choose sides in the battle between her head and her heart as two men vie for her affections. Memphis finds the ongoing war approaching the home front of a headstrong woman, just as a cavalryman makes a charge for her heart. And, in the sweeping conclusion, Atlanta, unexpected passions are ignited in a destroyed city when a Yankee colonel comes south to collect what he believes is his, only to find that some wars go on even when the smoke clears.

Product Details

ISBN-13:	9781626816275
Publisher:	Diversion Publishing
Publication date:	02/06/2019
Series:	The Civil War Saga
Sold by:	Barnes & Noble
Format:	eBook
Pages:	1364
File size:	5 MB

Read an Excerpt

CHAPTER 1

December 14, 1857

"I don't want to be tied!"

"Darcy, you don't want to bounce around the cabin like a ball," Rafferty Michael O'Brien said, holding his youngest brother's wiggling body as he lashed him to the bulkhead. Rafe heard the creaking of wood as the ship rose on another wave. Standing beside the bunk, Rafe looped a line around his waist and tied it, looking down at his mother huddled beneath blankets.

"Listen to the wind!" Caleb said, and Rafe wished he couldn't hear the keening whine that accompanied the roar of water smashing against the ship. Caleb was tied to the bulkhead, his brown curls knotted by the all-pervading dampness belowdecks.

"I want to be home!" Fortune O'Brien snapped, his fifteen-year-old voice cracking.

"Rafferty, give me your hand," Annora O'Brien said, her blue eyes filled with determination.

At the touch of her cold fingers Rafe felt panic. Framed by black hair, her pale face was beaded in sweat, yet she was ice to the touch. He wanted to shout in frustration. This was the land that was supposed to be warm and sunny and would heal her. The Great American Desert. Hope for a new life, a warm climate where she would grow strong again. Instead they were still miles from shore, caught in a raging gale, sailing on a dank ship that had crossed the ocean at a terrapin's pace.

She pulled off the emerald ring that had been in the O'Brien family for generations. "Take this." She slipped it on his smallest finger. "Use it, because it's all you have to take care of the boys except for a few sovereigns."

"You keep it," he insisted, pressing it into her hand, a knot coming in his throat, because he knew how dear she held the ring. It was a tie to his father and their home.

The boat listed, followed by a sweeping drop, and he braced for the roll to starboard, the smash of the curling wave. Instead the ship crashed against something solid, a jarring crunch that threw Rafe against his bonds. He flung himself back to hold Annora.

Wood splintered and the ship shuddered, and in spite of the howl of the storm, Rafe heard the snap of timber.

"We've struck something! Unloosen the lines! We may be going down!" he cried.

Bells clanged. Someone pounded on the hatch and was gone.

"Take the sovereigns!" Rafe snapped, jerking his head at seventeen-year-old Caleb, who was already reaching for the small metal box that held all their money.

"What'll I do with it?"

"Put the sovereigns in your boots and in Fortune's. Caleb, you hold on to Darcy. Don't let go of him on your life!" Rafe ordered, trying to think of everything they should do. How could he protect Mother? He untied Darcy, who gazed at him with wide blue eyes that mirrored his own. As if a miniature of himself, Darcy's thick black hair was a tangle, his face pale with fear. "You hold on to Caleb; do what he tells you!" Rafe yanked a slicker from a hook and pulled it on his brother. Darcy was so small, so young; pray God, Caleb and Fortune could take care of him.

He handed Darcy to Caleb and reached for another slicker, tugging free the knots that held his mother bound to the bunk. The deck tilted, the ship listing at a sharp angle, rolling with the pounding waves.

"What's happening, Rafferty?"

"I think we've struck something! We have to get out!"

"You go! Take the boys! I can't go with you!" She caught his hand and slipped the ring on his finger. "You take care of your brothers. Leave me here, Rafferty. I'll join your father."

He felt a knot of fear that kept him from answering. He wanted to beat his fists against the bulkhead in fear for her safety. He wasn't going to lose her. They had come this far. Unfastening the lines holding her to the bunk, he pushed away the covers. "Mother, either you come with us or we all stay."

"Please, save the boys! All of you know how to swim. I don't," she said, her eyes filling with tears.

Leaning forward to balance against the slow tilt of the deck, he helped her into the slicker and scooped her up. She was a featherweight in his arms. Eighty pounds at most. How could she last if they had to go into the water? Blinking back tears, he clamped his jaw shut.

Caleb held Darcy's right hand, and Fortune gripped Darcy's left. Caleb's green eyes were solemn.

"When we reach shore, we go to New Orleans." How could anyone reach shore in this storm? "Stay there until we're together again. Understand?" Rafe asked Caleb, who nodded. He looked at each brother and into Darcy's frightened gaze.

"Boys, give me a kiss," Annora said, and Rafe held her while she kissed each one and touched them, running her hands over Caleb's cheek, across Fortune's head, hugging Darcy to her while tears spilled down her cheeks. Rafe hurt as if a knife were twisting in his chest.

He wanted to curse and he wanted to hold her close, to protect her from what lay ahead. The ship groaned and the deck slanted, causing Rafe to struggle to maintain his balance. "Get going!" he snapped.

Caleb yanked open the door and water gushed into the cabin, sweeping him back against the bulkhead. Regaining his balance, he moved forward. With black icy water swirling around his legs, Rafe held his mother against him, feeling her lock her arms around his neck as he climbed the ladder. The wind buffeted him, and the cold rain blinded him.

A wave smashed against the ship and knocked him back. He caught a line and inched toward the rail. Men shouted; the ship listed to starboard. The masts were broken, the spars were jagged stubs, and the sails trailed over decks and into the water. The ship's steam engine was silent.

Rafe caught a sailor's arm. "A boat?" he shouted, desperate to keep his mother from the sea.

"Two are in the water loaded with men! Ship's going down! Get off, or you'll go with her!"

The man was gone, and his brothers had vanished. Two men went over the side. The deck slanted, and Rafe slipped. With a grab for the rail he felt cold metal slide beneath his fingers, and then he was falling.

Icy water closed over him. He went down, and then burst to the surface, gasping for breath. Feeling panic for his mother, he caught a floating chunk of wood and wrapped his arm around it.

"Rafe, the boys ..." she said. He felt the sag of her weight.

"Mother! Mother!" Wind caught his words as he struggled to keep their heads above the turbulent sea. Feeling terror, he placed his hand on her throat. There was no pulse. "Mother!" Knowing she was gone, he clung to her while hot tears were washed away by seawater and rain. "Dear God ..."

He was caught on a giant wave, then dropped into the trough as water smashed over him. He swallowed water, gagging, fighting to hold Annora, refusing to give her up to the sea. Another swell caught them, and he felt her slip from his arms. Clutching at her, he cried out, water swamping him. As she slid out of his grasp, his hands groped but found nothing. He went down, flailing, gagging.

"Mother!" Bursting to the surface, he yelled. A wave hit him. "Mo —" Salt water filled his mouth and he choked. Where was she? Water swallowed him, taking him down into a dark, wet world. Can't find her, he thought. Give up. Can't survive. Have to breathe.

"The boys ..." His mother's last words came. His brothers. Get to the surface, an instinct commanded him. But he felt as if he had to take a breath. The same instinct told him he would drown. Caleb, Darcy, can't let go. ...

Rafe burst up through the surface and coughed. Something struck his shoulder. A piece of the hull bumped him. Struggling, Rafe pulled himself up onto the piece of hull and held fast as it was lifted by another wave. His head spun as he locked his fingers over the jagged edges of timber.

"Mother ..." he gave a faint cry.

The bitter taste of salt was in his mouth. Mother is dead. The boys ... where are they? Have to find them.

"Caleb!" How could anyone hear him over the storm? How could anyone see him for all the water? The world was a blur of sea and rain.

How many times was the bit of wood lifted and dropped over the next hours, as the water poured over him? When did the storm abate?

Now stillness pervaded, and a soft pink suffused the surface as dawn came. A bit of wood floated nearby. There was no sign of the shipwreck, no bodies, no survivors, nothing except him and his raft.

He was thirsty; his head throbbed, and his shoulder ached. Too much effort to do anything. Mother was lost. The boys ... They had to be all right. He had made it. Caleb and Fortune would take care of Darcy.

The calm surface belied the violence of the night. How could he have drifted so far from the wreck? So far from any survivors? Too tired to move, he fell back, closing his eyes.

Time lost meaning; when night came, he was chilled. Was he drifting out to sea? The emerald ring was a dark blur on his finger. He unfastened his black trousers, finding lose threads in a seam and tying the ring where it would lie against the inside of his thigh. Exhausted, he lay back and closed his eyes.

Want water.... Don't drink sea water. Can't last without water. He sat up and gazed around, noticing a dot on the horizon. He stared at it wondering if it was his imagination, but it grew steadily. "Help!" His voice was a croak, and the ship was still too far for anyone to notice him. He could only wait, but it came steadily on until he waved his arms wildly, using the last bit of his strength. Voices rose over the steady putter of an engine as the ship loomed within yards of him, men pointing toward him.

"Please ... help!" A whisper. He waved his arms. "Help ..." Dizziness struck, and he crumpled on the raft. As the world spun, unconsciousness came.

The next time Rafferty stirred, he felt cold water trickle past his lips. "Where am I?" A stench made him gag.

"Here's water," came a deep voice, and a chain rattled. A cup was raised to his lips. As he drank, his eyes adjusted to the darkness. Surrounded by men, he was in the hold of a ship that was filled with a seething mass of humanity, men talking and moaning in low voices. Chained men. Rafe's head throbbed and he felt faint. Jammed against the ladder, he was beneath an open hatch, where a breath of air stirred.

Bodies crammed every available inch. Row after row of men on their sides, fitted together like spoons.

"Where are we headed?" His head spun, and he ached all over.

"The States. Louisiana. They tossed you here because they expect you to die," the man said in a melodic, slightly British accent. "The man who had your space died two nights ago. You want another drink?"

How the hell did the man know English? Rafe lifted a shaky hand to the cup held out to him.

"Thank you," he said. "I'm Rafferty O'Brien. You speak English."

"I'm Tobiah Barr. Haitian, but my father is British. I'm to be sold with the others. My white father in Haiti wanted to be rid of me." He jerked his head toward the hatch. "Captain Boyden doesn't expect you to live."

Rafe looked around again. Bodies glistened with sweat. The smell made his stomach churn, sour odors of fear and sweat. Tobiah Barr from Haiti. Exhausted, Rafe sank down on the hard planks. "No one else helped me," Rafe said, looking at Tobiah, unable to see his expression in the darkness.

Rafe fell asleep, to wake with a hand beneath his head and the cup of water again at his lips. He drank, feeling better than he had since the shipwreck. He sank down and closed his eyes. When he opened them again, he was alone. Slim shafts of sunlight streamed through portholes. He stood up and walked around, looking at the vacant hold and empty chains.

Stumbling, he moved on weak legs to the ladder. A breeze swept over him and he inhaled, stepping on deck and looking around. Fresh air and freedom. He felt a loathing for the system that enslaved men; Tobiah Barr's water had probably saved his life. While sailors worked on the ship, the Africans walked unrestrained. Rafe crossed the deck to a sailor. "Where's the captain?"

The man turned to look at him. "We've taken bets whether you'd make it or not."

Rafe himself wouldn't bet that he would, if he had to stand in the blazing sun much longer. "The captain?"

"Over there, mate, but you won't get much from him. You won't bring a price when we land. These devils will."

Rafe clutched the rail. "Can I get food?"

The sailor shrugged. "If you're some nabob who was lost at sea, or a ship's captain, or a man of wealth, Cap'n Boyden will come around. Eh?" He squinted at Rafe. "If your pockets aren't lined with gold — too bad, mate."

"Do the Africans get food?"

"Course they do. They're worth more than good horses."

Rafe couldn't continue the conversation. "When will we land?" he said, changing the subject.

"Tomorrow we put into Paques' plantation and sell our smuggled cargo. It's illegal trade, but still big business. Then we go upriver to New Orleans."

Rafe's knees buckled, and he staggered to the shade of a sail and sat down on a cask.

"Morning, Mr. O'Brien."

He looked up at a giant of a man whose tawny skin covered hard muscle. "Tobiah?"

"Yes, sir." The man nodded.

Rafe felt his stomach knot. He needed food. "Captain," he said, pointing and standing up, catching Tobiah's arm. Tobiah helped him across the deck, but just before Rafe reached the captain's quarters he pushed Tobiah's arm away. "I'm grateful to you."

He knocked, and when the captain called out, Rafe entered. The cabin was sparse, littered with papers and tobacco stains.

"Sir, may I talk to you?"

"It'll have to be brief," he answered. His red beard was thick; one long braid hung down his back. His bright blue shirt and white pants were dotted with yellow stains. The smell of the cigar in the corner of his mouth made Rafe's stomach heave.

"Thank you for coming to my rescue. I'm Rafferty O'Brien." It was an effort to stand and talk. "I need food. I don't have money."

"Irish," the captain said with contempt. "You can work. Scrub the deck. You work and you can eat."

Feeling dismayed by the man's callousness, Rafe stared at him. "I haven't eaten since the ship went down. I'll work, but I need to eat. I can't walk ten feet without feeling faint."

The captain picked up an apple from a small crate. He pulled out a knife to peel it. Rafe's mouth watered, and he wanted to snatch the fruit from the man's thick fingers.

"You work, you'll eat. Find Rienzi. He'll put you to work. You can go."

Anger flared. Rafe opened his mouth to protest, looked at the narrowed black eyes staring at him, and closed his mouth. How could he get out of the cabin without falling down? He closed the door behind him, took two steps, and felt the deck spin up to meet him as he slammed against it.

When he came to, he was back in the hold. Tobiah shook him. "Eat, while no one is watching," he whispered.

Tobiah held out a biscuit. Grabbing it, Rafe bit into it.

"Careful. I'll go above again before I'm missed. I stole this from the mess."

Too hungry to talk, Rafe nodded, chewing the tough biscuit. It was the grandest food he had ever tasted. In front of him was a battered tin cup half-filled with water, a bit of dried beef, and an apple. A banquet. Tobiah went up the hatch and left Rafe alone to eat.

Shouts came from above. A sailor thrust his head through the hatch. Rafe tried to shift his body in order to hide the cups of food and water, but he was too late.

"He's got food!" the man yelled.

Defenseless, Rafe gobbled his meager rations. The noise on board was raucous, and then a bell clanged.

A sailor thrust his head through the open hatch. "Cap'n says to get your arse up here. The slave gets a beating for slipping you food."

"Dammit!" Rafe was horrified. Tobiah had saved his life with the food and water. When Rafe stepped on deck, men were lashing Tobiah's wrists to a grating in the deck. The captain stood watching, his features impassive. Rafe unfastened his pants, reached inside, and yanked free the ring.

He buttoned the front flap of his trousers and moved forward, pushing through the crowd. Sailors lined up to watch the flogging. A mate stood with a whip, raising it high. It came down with a crack and Tobiah bucked beneath the blow.

"Captain!" Rafe yelled, lengthening his stride as he heard the second blow fall.

"You're fortunate I don't have you strung up beside him!" the captain snapped.

"Stop the beating! Let me buy him right now!"

Captain Boyden's eyes narrowed. "I don't trade work for a slave. Cash only."

(Continues…)

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Excerpted from "The Civil War Saga"
by .
Copyright © 2014 Sara Orwig.
Excerpted by permission of Diversion Publishing Corp..
All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
Excerpts are provided by Dial-A-Book Inc. solely for the personal use of visitors to this web site.

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