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© 2009, Christy Poff Reviews For THE HASTINGS SAGA Book 2: DEATH OF AN ANGEL, JESSIE by Christy Poff From Chrissy at Romance Junkies - a
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3 cups Sample Chapter For THE HASTINGS SAGA Book 2: DEATH OF AN ANGEL, JESSIE by Christy Poff A train traveled along the rails, its wheels making a rhythmic sound while the miles passed away. Charlie Freeman, the engineer and in his early sixties, had been working this trip since the railroad started this run. On a cold day in November 1864, he enjoyed the day’s run, the air crisp and the sun bright but looked forward to the end of the line. His fortieth wedding anniversary, his wife Constance would meet him so they could celebrate. He had a surprise for her—his decision to retire. The train traveled to the Union-held territories in the West with a passenger car half-full with three men and a woman on the way to Nebraska. The next car held the Federal gold shipment used to pay Union troops occupying the region. Charlie had Joe, the fireman, stoke the fire to build up more steam to get up the hill they approached. New to the job, Joe had come onboard at the last station, a last-minute replacement for Ben, Charlie’s partner. Ben Stoner and Charlie went back to the beginning. They’d met when the railroad first posted jobs, stood next to each other in the line to sign up, interviewed and hired on together. Assigned to the same train, the two friends worked well together. They watched their families grow up and had grandchildren to brag about. With Charlie retiring, Ben decided his time had come as well. After pulling out of Washington, Ben and Charlie talked about it and he made his decision. The train headed toward the northern part of Kentucky from Maryland with a planned stop near Louisville to take on supplies, water, and one passenger. Then Ben took ill. While workmen loaded the freight car, a young man named Joe ran up to Charlie and shouted to him that Ben sat in the station, sick. When Charlie got to him, Ben had whitened to the color of a sheet, sweating from fever. Whatever he had came on quick and put him down hard. Charlie worried about what caused it, since the railroad couldn’t afford both of them taking ill and the Federal payroll not getting through. Yelling for somebody to get a doctor, Charlie tried to talk to him but Ben had passed out. By the time the doctor arrived, it’d been too late—whatever struck Ben killed him. Charlie walked back to the locomotive, put his foot on the bottom step to climb up to the train’s controls and wanted to be alone with his thoughts, unable to believe his friend had just dropped dead. How many years has it been? What Charlie would never know would come out months later. Ben had been poisoned, all part of an intricate plan against the Union. He sat in the same seat he’d used since his promotion to chief engineer with the railroad. Lost, the schedule meant nothing to Charlie. Then the strange little man named Joe called up to him from the platform. “Hey, Mister, that guy over there told me to come over here to help you with the rest of the run.” “What?” “You need help with the rest of the run, don’t you?” “I guess so,” Charlie replied, still in a daze. “Come on up.” Joe climbed the steps to the engine. A skinny man who looked like he could use some food in his belly, he had blond hair and a mustache. He struck Charlie as the weaselly–type, especially with the speed he climbed on the train to take Ben’s place. He couldn’t abide this type of person. What do I do? The run has to be made. Charlie told him to stoke the fire before the engine started moving. When the train pulled away from the platform, those watching from inside grinned—step one complete. A short distance from the station, Charlie pushed the engine to gain speed realizing he had a job to do and unfortunately, he could do nothing for Ben. How will I tell Ben’s wife? The weasel, as he thought of him, added wood to the fire and speed came. The train had just cleared the hill when Charlie felt a cold steel barrel poke him in his back. “Don’t turn around, just keep the train going,” the weasel ordered. Charlie couldn’t believe this scrawny, little man now tried to run his train. “What do you think you’re doing?” he asked, dumbstruck. “Don’t worry about it, old man. Just shut up and keep this thing goin’ ’til I tell ya otherwise.” He continued to prod Charlie with his gun. “Son, I’m not doing any—” “You’ll do as I tell you or I’ll blow a hole through you!” the weasel screamed, agitated. “The boss said this’d be easy and you wouldn’t be a problem.” The weasel—Joe Walters—had run away from home in one of the poorer sections of New York City. Always made fun of because of his looks, he got to the point he’d had enough and left hoping to make something of his life. Instead, he became involved with a group of dissident Yankee soldiers. Having joined the Army as soon as could, he ended up in an artillery unit. When that didn’t work out, he switched to a different division under Colonel Jonathan Sherman Pryce which seemed to fit him better. Pryce had a reputation for hating the country and everything it stood for. His type of commander, Walters proceeded to worm his way onto the colonel’s staff. That happened at the beginning of one of the worst times in the battle between the Union and the Confederacy, one neither side wanted in the history books. Walters stood behind Charlie watching and waiting for the signal to stop the train. Once the train stops, the rest will be easy, or will it? So far, things hadn’t gone well at all. The old man had some life left in him. Walters would have to be very careful in the next few minutes. Charlie didn’t like being helpless, not knowing what kind of temperament he dealt with and decided to be very careful. He wanted to make it to the end of the run and see his wife, needing to talk to her—Constance and his family all that mattered. To hell with the train and the railroad! They traveled for a while before Walters got the signal he waited for. When he did, he shoved the gun into the middle of Charlie’s back and told him to stop the train, but Charlie didn’t. Instead, he increased the speed to run through to the next depot. “What the hell do you think you’re doing? Stop the train, damn it!” “No!” Charlie stated firmly. No matter what, the train had to get to the next station where Union Army troops waited. “Stop the train now or I’ll kill you!” “I’m not stopping this train. I’m going to the end of the line, so do what you have to.” “Don’t make me do it, old man. Why can’t you be easy like the other guy?” Charlie glared at him and dropped his mouth. “You son of a bitch!” Now the story became clear. This must be a robbery attempt like the one he’d read about in the Washington Chronicle. The article stated a band of robbers had stopped a westbound train and taken the entire Federal payroll being shipped in bags of gold dust. The authorities had no idea who they dealt with because of the military precision of the operation. If he remembered right, the crew on the other train had been murdered and some of the passengers injured. God, please don’t let this be happening to me. * * * * Colonel Jonathan Pryce, a Federal officer and mediocre at best, had been promoted, not because of his performance in battle, but because he knew which higher-ranking officers he should brown-nose—something he did with a great deal of success. Managing to stay in the background while not an important part in any major campaign, Pryce somehow managed to be around the commanding officer, safe and out of the limelight—the story of his life. Born on the eastern coast of New Jersey to a relatively easy life until his father died, he wound up becoming the head of the family. Then his mother came home one day with an Englishman who started calling on a regular basis. They married within the year, with John hustled off to a boy’s academy in Philadelphia. His life as he knew it would never be the same. After he graduated, his stepfather used some connections to get him into West Point, the last place he wanted to be. When four years passed, Pryce had the distinction of graduating last in his class with record low grades. He went to an infantry division and started making his way up through the ranks—not liked much and not caring about the hatred and resentment. If possible, he would get through this his way and to his advantage. Over time, he came to hate the military, especially the high command—Lincoln and Stanton. He started devising a plan whereby he got rich at the government’s expense after hearing about the Federal payroll shipments and the delivery methods. Before the troops got paid, the government shipped the payroll as gold dust by either train or guarded wagon. The Union shipped arms and other munitions to various points also, both presenting two very good avenues for him to pursue. First he would plot his strategy then carefully pick his conspirators. West Point had taught him everything he needed to know and now it’d be a huge advantage. Through various means, he got the schedules to all the trains and stages carrying the valuable items he wanted then set his plans and figured out who he would need to pull off the raids and finally, how to move the stolen property to throw off anyone sent to look for them. Little did he know the government would send their very best for them. * * * * Joe continued to hold the gun on Charlie and prayed the old man would come to his senses and do what he’d been told. He didn’t want to hurt the engineer, but he had orders—the colonel said to shoot the old man if he had to. No matter what, this operation would go through, successful at any expense. Charlie pushed the engine to the maximum she could give him, refusing to let this happen. If, in any way he could play a part in stopping these people, he’d do what he could. The faster he went, the harder the weasel shoved the barrel of the gun into his back. “You might as well use it. The only way this baby stops is when she runs out of steam. I won’t help you.” “Don’t make me do it!” Joe screamed, as Charlie turned and faced him, both feeling the engine gain speed as the plan fell apart. Why me? Pryce said it’d be so easy but it’s not. Charlie stared at him. Joe pulled the trigger seeing his victim’s
eyes open wide before he slowly slid to the floor of the locomotive.
Joe looked down to Charlie’s stomach at the gaping bloody hole
the shot created. Joe went crazy. Nowhere in the whole scheme of things did it say he would be the engineer. Having no idea what to do and seeing the plate which said brake, he pulled the lever below it hard. The train lurched, screeching to a stop. When the engine finally came to a halt, he breathed a sigh of relief. Why did the old man cross me? * * * * The sudden lurch of the passenger and freight cars threw the few passengers and the four Federal soldiers guarding the gold shipment to the floor. The end door of the passenger coach flew open, three men dressed in Confederate uniforms bursting in, guns drawn. “Everybody down and no one will be hurt!” The woman in the center of the coach screamed and went to the man she had been flirting with moments before. The one who seemed to be in command shouted at the others to get going. They immediately bound the men’s hands and feet, then coldcocked each of them unconscious. One of the raiders went over to the woman, grabbed her by the arm and shoved her toward the door and into the freight car. Using her as a shield in case the Union soldiers shot first, they burst into the next car. The Army lieutenant yelled for everyone to hold their fire. The thieves entered the car holding guns on their captives. “We’ll trade the woman for the gold and no one will be hurt!” She stood next to him and shook like a leaf with a pleading look in her eyes. “You know we can’t do that.” “Then we have nothing to talk about!” He opened fire on the officer taking the others by surprise. The woman started screaming. The other thieves opened fire and when it ended, all the Union soldiers lay dead, along with one of the thieves. “Let’s get it off of here!” the one ordered. The side door to the car unlatched and opened, they offloaded the gold dust to a waiting wagon. Once done, one of the thieves turned to the woman and extended his hand to her. She took it then they went to the edge of the car where he helped her down and they kissed. “Why, Colonel, gray does not become
you!” she said while looking at Colonel Jonathan Pryce. “You make this fun, Katherine. You’re the icing on the cake which makes these plans go smoothly.” He helped her into the seat of the wagon and she waited. Mitchell went to the front of the train to get Joe. Joe couldn’t believe what he had done. Mitchell found him and congratulated him on a job well done. Joe looked at him and started to rant. He hit Mitchell, almost knocking him from the train. Once he regained his balance, Mitchell shot the lunatic, got off the train and walked back to his horse. “Let’s go! We don’t want to be caught in the wrong uniforms, do we?” “What happened to the kid?” Pryce asked. “Liability removed.” The raiders took off to where they would hide until things settled down and if all went as planned, they would wait a month before the next theft. They hid the spoils from the first two thefts in a rundown shack on a nearby farm, long abandoned. After the men hid the gold, they put the wagon in the barn and brought out a fancy carriage to take Katherine Maguire back to the hotel. She would check in and wait to hear from her lover. The couple kissed long and passionately before she left. The others went back to their regiment. According to company records, they’d been out on a scouting mission for advantageous positions. Colonel Pryce submitted his report without mentioning the death of the trooper named Joe, the man nonexistent in his scheme of things. He left it up to the authorities when they finally got to the train. He started planning the next hit on a rail line farther south of their present position. It occurred to him the pickings had to be better closer to where Grant concentrated his attempts to take the Mississippi region. Vicksburg and other areas had been challenging to take, the Federals concentrating a great deal of manpower and arms there and in the eastern campaigns around Richmond and Petersburg, Virginia. Besides, the farther southwest they went, the closer to Mexico and freedom they got. * * * * Major Sean Mitchell came from New York City, one of five sons born to Irish-Catholic parents. Growing up slightly well off, Sean’s father dealt in mercantile—the sons growing up in the business. Unhappy, Sean felt a need for independence. He broke with family tradition by signing up for the military. Assigned to an artillery regiment in the west, he fought in the Mexican War and some other minor engagements. By the time the War Between the States began, he held the rank of captain. Sean felt he could do better and began looking to improve himself, not caring how he did it. His efforts won him a promotion to major and a position with General Benjamin Franklin Butler. This took him to New Orleans after the Union forces took charge of the city and many strange laws went into effect due to the clash of South versus North. The main thing Sean hated about this assignment—the South. He felt contempt for the people and anyone—especially Yankees—who had anything to do with them. He believed the South could rot in Hell and wanted a hand in bringing down the Confederacy. He gained satisfaction one day in early May 1863 when a local couple came into his office, wanting to contact a Federal lieutenant colonel. Imagine their nerve. Then they had the nerve to inform him one of their relatives had married the Union officer. In disbelief any Yank in his right mind would stoop so low, he sent them packing but not before the man leveled a threat at him. The couple left after being thrown out, a solution to a problem he handled—in his estimation—quite well. Weeks later, his commanding officer disciplined him for his handling of the incident. The colonel who served under Butler berated him for his lack of compassion with respect to the couple. “I don’t respect these people. They should all be taken and tried for treason as far as I’m concerned.” “Your actions made it to the desk of General Ulysses S. Grant who, to say the least, is not pleased with the way you treated the family of one of his officers.” “Then his officer should be disciplined. I mean—isn’t it treason to conspire and sleep with the enemy?” “That is not for you to judge and sentence. You riled the general and this is his reaction.” “I don’t believe this…” “You’d better believe it. You are officially on report for actions unbecoming an officer in the United States Army. I’d change the attitude and fast or your career is over because you’ll be in the stockade after your court-martial.” Mitchell stalked out of the office. How can General Grant do this to me? If anyone should be on report, it should be that turncoat officer. He decided to look into the matter for future reference. Since the United States Army didn’t see fit to taking care of this guy, he would do it for them. Sean thought nothing more of the matter until an officer came into his office one day in July 1863. The man looked like hell but he didn’t question the colonel. He didn’t need any trouble—at least, not now. The officer approached him and requested to see General Butler, unavailable at the time. He smelled like he’d been in a burning building. Sean had no time for an officer of the U. S. Army who didn’t take the time to clean up before he came to meet with the general, his disrespect clear. Sean guessed the officer’s identity due to receipt of a letter to General Butler from Grant. It stated a Colonel Hastings would be in the city in search of the renegade soldiers and his wife. His contempt and hatred became even more obvious. “Major, I have a very good idea as to the reasons behind your treatment toward me, rank notwithstanding. I don’t appreciate it, but since I don’t have the time or the inclination to deal with you, I’ll say this. Tell General Butler the colonel searching for the three deserters and their hostage—the object of your contempt—checked in and I’m on my way.” “Yes, sir.” They saluted and the colonel left, obviously disgusted by the actions of one of his own troops. Then something unexpected happened. Colonel James Andrew Hastings stopped, turned around and returned to the office where Mitchell looked at him surprised. He didn’t like the officer because of his Southern attachment although he’d heard him to be fair unless crossed. What is the colonel going to do? “I know General Grant disciplined you regarding the treatment of my sister-in-law and her husband. You evidently figure he has no authority over what you say or do. Let me tell you a little secret. If I ever hear of your actions being untoward to anyone in my family or friends as well as ignorance of a commanding officer’s words, I will hunt you down and take care of you personally. Do you understand me, Major?” “Yes, sir,” Mitchell stammered,
shaking slightly from the threat he realized to be very real. Sean did some more checking on Hastings to see just what kind of a man he had to deal with. The desire to do something came easy but doing it would be all together different. It would take some work but he would find out what made the colonel tick. After all, I have time. A few days later when Sean went through some private files, two things happened. First he found information on Colonel James Andrew Hastings and his Reb wife along with the final reports from local news articles on the deaths of Jeff Baker, Stanley Gordon, Donald Baker and the suicide of Ron Samuels. So engrossed in reading the newly found information, he never heard Butler come into the office leading to incident number two. Furious watching some ferret of a person going through his personal papers in his private office, Butler told the major to consider himself through in his command and the papers transferring him out would be processed immediately. Sean’s stomach churned, not counting on getting caught and having no idea what to do next. Butler sat down at his desk, took out a form and filled it out. When Sean’s new orders came through, he found himself in an infantry outfit under the command of Colonel Jonathan Pryce. The worst thing to happen in Sean’s life, he might actually have to soldier. In the time before he left New Orleans, Sean found out everything he could about Colonel James Andrew Hastings and his family, learning Hastings’ wife’s family had been well respected after having had a good deal of financial success. The articles told of the wedding of Caitlyn and Jason Davis—the couple he first sent on their way, the deaths of Theresa and Victor Templeton and the one thing of major interest to him. He found information on Lieutenant Colonel James Andrew Hastings and Jessica Amanda Templeton’s marriage in August 1861, still not understanding their union and figuring like others before him, the guy had to be hard up or something. He found another mention of the lieutenant colonel in an article dated April 1863. Word has come that Mrs. Jessica Templeton Hastings, wife of Lt. Colonel James Andrew Hastings, USA, has been kidnapped from her home by three Army deserters who took valuables and food then murdered the family’s long-time groomsman, Marcus. His body found behind the estate’s carriage house, the cause of death a massive blow to the head. The three Army renegades have added another violent act to their crime spree. Considered armed and extremely dangerous, they are wanted by both governments for a long list of charges. Sean Mitchell couldn’t believe what he read, noting all the information in a book he kept hidden in his saddlebag. He didn’t know when or where it would come in handy, but eventually it would. The colonel helped bring him down, ousting him out of his very nice and easy job on Butler’s staff. One day I’ll return the favor. |