First Chapters: Winds of Change by Carole Eglash-Kosoff

Pump Up Your Book is proud to bring you the first chapters of fantastic books from magnificently talented authors. Not only does this give you a chance to see the author’s writing style, but it also helps in your book buying decisions. Today’s first chapter is from Carol Eglash-Kosoff’s historical fiction, Winds of Change.

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Winds of Change
By Carole Eglash-Kosoff
Valley Ridge Publishing (September 19, 2011)
Historical Fiction
456 pages
Purchase at Amazon

Chapter One

The three of them sat, stunned and inert, in their small San Francisco apartment around the corner from Kearny Street.  The city’s omnipresent summer fog blanketed everything outside their window in an eerie epitaph.  Stephen called in sick to the Examiner, the newspaper where he worked.  Bess called in sick to Granger’s bank where she was a teller.  Josiah didn’t need to call in anywhere.  He wasn’t working regularly.  He was a pretty fair trumpet player but jobs for pretty fair trumpet players were scarce these days.

They laughed a little as they struggled to lift their spirits by recalling some of the silly things that had happened through the years.

“I remember leaving Louisiana and all of us traipsing half way across the country to San Francisco because Amy told us we should,” Josiah recalled.  “She was our aunt, our mother, and our Pied Piper.”

Bess’ tears flowed openly while Stephen and Josiah struggled to maintain a minimal masculine grace.  Stephen sat down next to Bess and put his arms tightly around her.  She nestled in the crook of his arm and bawled…deep sobs.  For a long while her sobs were the only sounds in the room.

“My mother can’t be gone.  Stephen, it must be a mistake.  Let’s call the hospital again.”

“It’s not a mistake, Bess.  It was Susan who called me…Amy’s best friend.  No one knew she was sick and then they found her, collapsed.  They couldn’t revive her.  My heart is as torn as yours, darling.  We’ll get through this.  Together the three of us will be there for one another.  We all loved her.”

By the third bottle of wine they were trying to decide what to do next.  What does one do when your compass falls overboard or fails to point to magnetic north?  They were adults but they weren’t used to making decisions without Amy to counsel them.  They finally fell asleep on the couch, Stephen’s arm still wrapped tightly around Bess.

The next morning, their three heads pounding and their bodies stiff from sleeping in uncomfortable positions, Josiah fixed coffee while Bess started to go through her mother’s personal belongings.  There, hidden where it would clearly be found, was a letter she’d written.  It was undated but the paper was so yellowed on the corners it was easy to conclude that it had been written some time ago.

My dear loved ones,

If you’re reading this you have either been digging through my personal belongings or I’ve passed on.  It’s not fair of me to do this to you and I hope that you will forgive me.  I would like to be buried at Moss Grove.  There is a particular magnolia tree near the river that has a great deal of significance for me.  I know the trip will inconvenience you but it will give you an opportunity to meet the people who meant so much to me during my life.

It will be a return to where each of you spent your younger childhood.  Eli Fineman, his wife, Ruth, and their children, still call the plantation, Moss Grove, their home.  Contact them…they will know what to do.

I leave you in the hands of God and one another.  They will all serve you well during your life.

Your Amy

It was Amy’s last request and they couldn’t deny the woman who had dedicated so much of her life to them.  It took nearly two weeks to make all the necessary arrangements.  Bess and Stephen both got condolences on their loss from people they worked with and were given leaves of absence.  Josiah had no one who cared.

They closed up the apartment and climbed aboard a train heading east.  It was far more comfortable than the one that had brought them west more than a decade earlier.  No one spoke much during the trip.  They were still overwhelmed by the sudden change in their lives.  Stephen and Bess held tight to one another and now that Amy was gone, the impediment to their getting married was gone.

You could still see the last of the snows melting into the Truckee River as the train chugged its way from the heights of California down into Nevada and beyond.  From the train’s grime covered windows they watched horses carrying men and goods moving toward Carson City and the silver mines that lay scattered like gopher holes across the land.

After several days, and numerous train connections, they reached Natchez where they rented a wagon and headed south.  They passed the first cotton plantations they’d seen since Amy had carted three children out west more than a decade earlier.

There were new unfamiliar types of equipment plowing the dark brown earth but the bent over sweaty black backs toting long bags hadn’t changed.  Smoke wafted from the tiny cabins and small dark-skinned children ran in and out of the jeans and cotton dresses hanging from the clotheslines.  The war had allowed blacks and coloreds to be free men but, in fact, their lives had scarcely changed.

They swung their wagon up the long well-tended pathway protected by towering oak trees.  Josiah’s grandfather had planted them all a half-century earlier, building a cotton plantation from scrub and marsh land.  They approached Moss Grove’s main house and a shiver ran through Josiah’s body as memories of his childhood overwhelmed his body.  Bess sensed it and clasped his hand.  Stephen held her other hand.  It was an uneasy step into the past for each of them.

Eli and Ruth Fineman were waiting at Moss Grove’s front portico as their wagon pulled to a stop.  Two handsome young adults stood next to their parents, the entire Fineman family smiling warmly at their arrival.   Mr. and Mrs. Fineman looked older, grayer hair… less tone in their demeanor.   Stuart, their son, was barely recognizable.  The lanky boy they’d played with had grown into a tall oak, his near black hair flowing while he sported a carefully trimmed mustache.  Stuart’s eyes twinkled as he clasped Josiah’s shoulder affectionately.  They had been close boyhood playmates getting into all sorts of trouble.  But it was his sister, Rachel, who took Josiah’s breath away.   Stuart saw his eyes lock on her and laughed.

“She’s too old to have her hair pulled, I think,” Stuart laughed.

“Rachel, hello,” Josiah stammered.

“Hello, Josiah,” she said, in a soft voice that matched the sultriness of her purple eyes.   Her cream complexion and full lips were framed by dark hair formed into long loose curls that cascaded down around her bare shoulders.

“Bess!  How good to see you all again.   You have your mother’s beauty,” Rachel said, sliding easily across the porch and extending her arms in greeting.

“And Stephen, you are quite dashing.  I would venture you have left a trail of broken hearts in San Francisco.”

“We are so shocked to hear of Amy’s death.  She was a unique woman and we all loved her very much.  But your journey has been a long one.  We will all have time to reacquaint ourselves.  Take some time to settle in your rooms and get comfortable,” Ruth Fineman interjected.

Moss Grove lies just north of Baton Rouge in Louisiana’s lush fertile cotton growing area.  Josiah’s father, Henry Rogers, like his father and grandfather before him, oversaw the plantation along the Mississippi river where his cotton could be easily shipped and black slave labor was plentiful.  The Civil War brought an end to men being able to own other men but the economic realities of life returned many freed slaves to the same harsh work and similar poverty, now as share croppers.

Josiah found himself wandering the rooms he’d haunted as a young child.  He imagined hearing the voice of his father shouting instructions to his overseer, or the thinness of his mother’s voice, overwhelmed with the task of organizing the kitchen or managing the household staff.  She always seemed to speak in a high pitched beseeching fashion, he recalled.

He walked outside to the small family cemetery and stood in front of the marble headstones that marked the graves of his mother, Elizabeth, and his father, Henry.  Josiah was a young boy when his mother died and his only recollection of her was as someone who always sublimated herself to her husband.  It eventually drove her to overdose on laudanum, and when she died, he remembered being sent away to a boarding school.   His father’s personality, on the other hand, dominated everyone who crossed his path.

Henry Rogers, 1835 – 1873

Soldier, Husband, & Father

The brevity of an inscription doesn’t tell very much about a man’s life, does it?    So many memories!   Josiah knew that his father had been a Captain in the Confederate Army.    An artillery shell had taken off his arm and nearly cost him his eyesight as southern forces vainly made their last stand against a Union flotilla moving up the Mississippi River, making it impossible for the Confederacy to move supplies or sell its cotton.  Thaddeus, then a young runaway slave from Moss Grove and who, coincidentally, was fighting in that same battle, saved his father’s life and brought him back through enemy lines here to Moss Grove.

Years earlier, when Henry Rogers was in his teens, he’d raped a young slave girl who was picking cotton in the fields.  Nine months later she gave birth to Thaddeus, a mixed race infant.  Josiah’s father always hated seeing the boy, a reminder of his youthful impropriety, but there he was, a colored son, sharing the same icy blue eyes as the father who sired him and his legitimate son.

Thaddeus and his son, Robert, had come to Moss Grove for Amy’s funeral, as well, traveling from their home just outside Washington D.C.  Thaddeus was older, his hair more than a little speckled with grey, but his electric blue eyes shined as bright as they had when we’d first met nearly twenty years earlier.  Josiah was a sad young toddler before he understood that he and Thaddeus were half-brothers, but it wasn’t until Amy’s revelation that he understood that they both had colored blood in their veins as well.

A light breeze began to rise off the Mississippi River, not too far away, tiny white caps breaking the surface.  The late afternoon sun was drifting lazily down toward the western river banks and the voices of the early evening birds broke the silence.  A horned owl picked up the rhythm and one could feel a chill from the approaching evening.  Josiah couldn’t move.  He remained frozen in front of his father’s headstone, his thoughts locked in the past.

Amy’s funeral was the next day.  The sun came out and cast its glow on Amy’s special magnolia tree as the Reverend spoke.  The cicadas sang a soft dirge, accented by the occasional whistle from a paddle wheeler moving north or south on the nearby Mississippi.  Josiah took out his trumpet when the service was finished and played some of the songs she’d love most to hear, including ‘Everyday ‘ll be Sunday By and By.’   Their hearts were empty as four strong Negro sharecroppers eased the casket bearing this woman they loved, slowly into the ground.  Tears flowed freely as they hugged one another but there was nothing to say.  Eventually all they could do was remember what Amy had meant to each of them.  They drifted toward the house, each carrying heavy burdens of their personal sadness.  Everyone except Thaddeus!   He sat down under the same magnolia tree, Amy’s special tree, his blue eyes red with sadness, lost in his thoughts.  They left him there to his solitude and all the personal things that had passed between him and Amy so many years earlier.

The rest of the family wandered through the house recalling moments long forgotten, their conversations brief and in hushed tones until they sat down for dinner.   Thaddeus’ chair was empty.  Everyone assumed he’d returned to his room, exhausted from the trip, and the emotion of the funeral.  Eli and Ruth kept looking over at Bess and Stephen.  It was impossible not to notice their hand holding, secret looks, and knowing smiles.  They were clearly two young people in love.   As dinner ended Eli took Stephen and Josiah aside.

“May I speak to you privately?” he asked, ushering them into the library and closing the door.

“Ruth and I have come to the realization that there is a part of your history that was never explained to you.”

“If you mean my having colored blood in me,” Josiah responded,  “that bombshell has already been dropped.”

“No, Josiah, although I’m sure that was quite a shock.   I’m referring to you, Stephen,” he continued.

“I know I’m colored, Mr. Fineman.  That’s never been a secret; both of my parents were mulatto.”

“Let me just blurt it out,” Eli said, uncomfortable with the task he’d taken on.  “Your parents were not who you were told.  The Carmodys agreed to claim you as their son and raise you out of the love they felt for your real parents.”

“You’re telling me that Rufus and Melanie Carmody were not my parents,” Stephen stammered.  “That’s ridiculous.  I know I was pretty young when they were killed but no one ever said anything.  And why would Amy drop one bombshell and withhold something so critical?”

“I’m sure she never assumed she would die suddenly, Stephen.  She loved you so much, but she kept the secret of your birth out of her love for your birth father,” Eli stopped and took a deep breath.  He, too, had always been bound to keep their secret.  But now, the blatant love Stephen and Bess were displaying left him no option.

“Amy was your mother…Thaddeus is your father!  You and Bess are half-siblings.”

“Holy shit!” Josiah cried as he and Stephen both sank into deep chairs.

There was silence for a few minutes.  Eli wanted to give both of them time to absorb what they’d just been told, particularly Stephen.

“Thaddeus and Amy were emotionally connected from the moment they met as children here at Moss Grove.  Amy’s family moved here when Baton Rouge was occupied by Union troops early in the Civil War.  It would have been too dangerous for them to remain there.

“Thaddeus was being reared as a house slave, the property of the Rogers family.  Each of them felt different, and quite alone, until they met.  They were drawn to one another and became immediate soul mates.    Their feelings never diminished and by the time Thaddeus returned from the Civil War as a Union soldier, no longer a slave, their affections had fully blossomed.  They both understood that their sort of a mixed race relationship had no chance, especially here in the south.  At some point love overcame caution and Amy became pregnant.  She kept it a secret from everyone but her closest friends, Rufus and Melanie Carmody.  Thaddeus was never told that he and Amy had conceived a child together.”

“And Bess’ father, Amy’s husband, John Shipley, what did he know?”

“She told John, when he first proposed, that she’d always loved Thaddeus.  Obviously he loved her enough to marry her anyway and they had their own special love between them.  The same is true of Thaddeus and his wife, Sarah.”

“So not only is Bess my half-sister but Robert is my half-brother,” Stephen blanched.

“Holy shit,” Josiah interjected.  “That means we’re blood relatives as well.”

Stephen looked confused until Eli spoke up.

“He’s right.  I never made that connection.  Josiah’s father, Henry, was also Thaddeus’ father.  It resulted from the bastard’s rape of a young slave, Thaddeus’ mother.”

“Uncle Josiah…I don’t think so,” Stephen said angrily.  “I don’t want to believe any of this.  I love Bess and she loves me.  You have no proof of any of this.”

“Perhaps not, but it’s true nevertheless.  That’s why I felt I had to tell you.  Marrying Bess would be a sin before God.”

“Your God, Eli?  Your God isn’t my God.  You’ve suddenly decided to reveal a lot of information that’s been kept from a lot of people for a long time.  Do you think that was fair?” Stephen asked, unsure what type of answer he expected.

“I’m sorry.  You have a right to be angry but everything was done out of love.  Each of you was loved by both the people who raised you and the people who bore you.  Violence interrupted everyone’s plans.  Rufus and Melanie Carmody were killed.  Henry Rogers was killed.  John Shipley was killed.  And now our Amy is dead.  That leaves a lot of ache and sorrow scarring our emotions.  I’m sorry but it was their choices to make, not mine.”

“Bess, I’ve just been told we are half-siblings,” Stephen said angrily, storming into her room.  “It seems that Amy was my mother as well as yours…and Thaddeus was my father.  The Carmodys were close friends but they weren’t my parents.   I don’t believe it.  People can’t keep this kind of information hidden for so long.  I don’t want to change our lives because of bull shit stories of events that may or may not have happened two decades ago.  Marry me!  We love one another.  Let’s complete the formalities.”

“I want to.  I’ve always wanted to.  But I’m confused.  Ruth Fineman spent an hour explaining how terrible it would be if we married…deformed children and such things.  I don’t know what’s right.  The only person who can tell us is Thaddeus.  He should be able to clarify everything.”

Everyone waited with anticipation the next morning at breakfast to see Thaddeus and Robert.  There was so much to say, so many questions to ask, so many feelings to unravel.  Stephen made it a point to sit as close to Bess as possible.  Their hands clasped with one another, their body language shouted that they were in love, consequences be damned.  But her eyes were red and it was clear that her outward bravado masked her inner uncertainties.

Robert walked in, but he was alone.

“Where’s your father?” Stephen asked.

“Still asleep, I guess.  I never saw him last evening.  I’m going to check his room.  I don’t ever remember him sleeping this late.”

A few minutes later Robert returned.

“He’s not there and his bed hasn’t been slept in.”

Without a word they all rose and walked toward the river and the magnolia tree under which Amy had been buried.  Thaddeus was still sitting on the ground, his head tilted.  His eyes were closed and he looked to be asleep…but he wasn’t!  Sometime during the night he passed on, a serene look on his face.  In his hand he was grasping a tiny scribbled note.

Our stars are finally aligned!

“I don’t understand,” Robert asked as he embraced his father, laying still, a look of serenity on his face.

“Let’s bring him in the house.  There are things you need to understand,” Eli said.

Stephen, Bess and Josiah sat silently as Eli tried, once again, to explain to Robert that his father had another child that no one had known about.   Bess listened intently, hoping that hearing the story again would make it easier to understand how her mother, whom she idolized, had a child who she had never been able to openly acknowledge.  And that child was the man she’d loved since childhood.

They buried Thaddeus the next day in a plot adjoining Amy’s, the woman he loved.  A love neither of them was ever able to acknowledge during their lifetime.  Bess stayed in her room, emotionally crushed and confused by the revelations that unraveled so much of what she knew about herself.  And the man she loved and planned on spending the rest of her life with would never hold her with the intensity she needed…never lie next to her in bed…never make love to her.

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