Disclaimer: I own neither JAG, nor it's characters; no copyright
infringement is intended. All other characters are of my own mind's
creation.
Author's Note: I have tried to be as historically accurate as possible. This story takes place in Warren County, Mississippi in the winter of 1863- 1864. The names of places and battles are for the most part completely factual. I have used surnames that where in use in that county as of the 1820 census; these names are not meant to identify any real person or family of that time period, but to make my characters more believable. Mississippi is called the "Magnolia State" and its state tree- the Magnolia Tree, its state flower- the Magnolia, hence its nickname. The motto of the state is: "Virtute et armis", which means "By Valor and Arms."
Setting: Warren Co, MS, near Vicksburg
December 1863- January 1864
Dec 26, 1862 Sweetfern Farm Kirkwood, Mississippi
Mississippi winters were generally mild, but this December was colder than anyone could imagine; there had even been a snowfall. Today she was enjoying a quiet visit with her nearest neighbor, Harriet Roberts. Harriet was Mac's exact opposite in looks. Mac was a lady of unparalleled beauty, or so many of the towns people said. She was tall for a woman, and had a graceful figure. She had soft, glowing skin, and rich chocolate colored hair that she refused to pin up. She often wore it in a long braid down her back. Harriet, though, was a pretty southern belle. Her corn silk hair was always done up prettily and her pale blue eyes were gentle and laughing. She was a year younger than Mac, and already she had a two-year- old son, whom she had named after Mac's uncle, for he had sold her husband the land for their farm.
Mac's uncle, Colonel Albert Jethro Chegwidden, had been called to command confederate troops when the war had broken out the year before.
"How is little AJ?" Mac asked. She abbreviated the name because Albert Jethro was such a mouthful.
"He's wonderful, he's spending the day with Bud," Harriet said, lovingly thinking of her husband and son. "AJ was so happy yesterday morning when he opened the Noah's Ark he carved for him that he made his papa stay home and play with him."
Mac smiled, thinking of her first Noah's Ark and its little pairs of animals.
"He hasn't taken off the sweater you knitted for him," Harriet continued, giving Mac a mirthful look, knowing perfectly well that Mac despised knitting, so her making a sweater was quite a feat.
Mac wasn't like most other plantation or farm women. Most women sat demurely indoors knitting, sewing, and eating little cakes while they entertained other wealthy women in the community. Mac enjoyed sewing and knitting, but only as much as it was necessary. She much preferred to be out-of-doors, working in her herb and rose gardens, tending to the horses, seeing to the business that was running a farm. It was this "masculine" enthusiasm that had given her Uncle the confidence to leave her in charge of his farm while he was away.
Mac returned the smile, and said, "What are your plans for the New Year?"
"We haven't made any yet," her friend replied sadly, "Actually, with Bud's 'sensibilities' I doubt we'll have any plans at all."
Mac knew what Harriet meant- Bud was an open supporter of the Union, and in the small Kirkwood community this was not well received. "Harriet, you, Bud, and little AJ are more then welcome to spend the New Year here with me and the hands," Mac said decidedly, "We're having a small party and I'd love it if you would attend."
"Oh, Mac, we couldn't impose," Harriet replied, but at Mac's happily stern face, she relented, "Alright, we'll be here."
"Good. You can bring that delicious plum pudding of yours."
Both women laughed, but amid their gaiety there came a sudden loud clatter of the kitchen door slamming shut. Mac and Harriet both rose from their seats in the parlor and hurried down the hall and into the kitchen. Standing in the middle of the room, was Bobbi, the slender black woman who was Mac's housekeeper. She was drenched from head to toe and looked as though she had seen a ghost.
"What's the matter, Bobbi?" Mac asked concerned as she pulled out a chair for Bobbi so she could sit near the fire.
"It's the Yankees, ma'am," she said breathlessly, "They've landed at Johnson Plantation."
Harriet raised her hand to her mouth, smothering a gasp, and Mac looked at Bobbi staggered. "So close? Are you sure?"
"Yes'm," Bobbi chattered. "I just saw Abram Coody, and he told me that he'd seen them land."
"How many men?" Mac asked as she draped Bobbi's rain-soaked heavy cotton shawl over another chair, and then bent to untie her boots. The Hannah, the plump black cook, and young Gunny, a farmhand who'd been lounging in the kitchen, had now crowded around them to hear what was going on.
"Abram said there must have been thirty thousand Yankees against the nine thousand Confederates," Bobbi said her teeth still chattering.
Mac had gotten her boots off and set them by the fire to dry, but Bobbi was still shivering. "Come on, Bobbi, let's get you some dry clothes," she said in a compassionate yet commanding tone.
"No need to worry, Miss Mac," Bobbi tried to excuse herself, "I'll dry off in a few."
"In about a century," Mac finished for her as she began to gently push the other woman toward the back staircase, "You can borrow some of my work clothes for the rest of the day."
Resignedly, Bobbi nodded. "Just as long as it's not those drawstring pants of yours."
Gunny and Hannah both snickered, and though Mac was smiling, too, she turned to them and said, "Now, Hannah, don't you have something to roast or bake? And, Gunny, I want you to go around and tell all the hands that I want the men bunking in the barn and the women and children in the house. I don't want anyone at their own little cottages tonight. And be quick about it."
Gunny's grin disappeared and he nodded solemnly, "Yes, ma'am."
Mac then turned to look at Harriet, "I'm sorry our visit has been cut short, Harriet."
"Don't worry about that," Harriet said, putting on a strong face, "I've got to be getting home to warn Bud and our hands. I'll see you in a few days."
"Yes, of course," Mac said as she embraced her friend, "Take care, friend."
Harriet smiled a warm, motherly smile before she turned from the kitchen a left.
That night, while the hands lay sleeping, Mac walked around the big house, carrying with her a single candle. She stepped silently over their sleeping forms, as she made sure they were all accounted for. There hadn't been a battle so close to Kirkwood since the beginning of the war, but Mac had heard the terrifying stories of the actions of wayward soldiers. They'd harass, rape, and sometimes even kill slaves, or freed slaves, or even hired hands, in their own cottages. And she, Mac, wasn't about to let that happen to any of her hands.
Once she was certain they were all present, and comfortable, she herself went up to bed.
Author's Note: I have tried to be as historically accurate as possible. This story takes place in Warren County, Mississippi in the winter of 1863- 1864. The names of places and battles are for the most part completely factual. I have used surnames that where in use in that county as of the 1820 census; these names are not meant to identify any real person or family of that time period, but to make my characters more believable. Mississippi is called the "Magnolia State" and its state tree- the Magnolia Tree, its state flower- the Magnolia, hence its nickname. The motto of the state is: "Virtute et armis", which means "By Valor and Arms."
Setting: Warren Co, MS, near Vicksburg
December 1863- January 1864
Dec 26, 1862 Sweetfern Farm Kirkwood, Mississippi
Mississippi winters were generally mild, but this December was colder than anyone could imagine; there had even been a snowfall. Today she was enjoying a quiet visit with her nearest neighbor, Harriet Roberts. Harriet was Mac's exact opposite in looks. Mac was a lady of unparalleled beauty, or so many of the towns people said. She was tall for a woman, and had a graceful figure. She had soft, glowing skin, and rich chocolate colored hair that she refused to pin up. She often wore it in a long braid down her back. Harriet, though, was a pretty southern belle. Her corn silk hair was always done up prettily and her pale blue eyes were gentle and laughing. She was a year younger than Mac, and already she had a two-year- old son, whom she had named after Mac's uncle, for he had sold her husband the land for their farm.
Mac's uncle, Colonel Albert Jethro Chegwidden, had been called to command confederate troops when the war had broken out the year before.
"How is little AJ?" Mac asked. She abbreviated the name because Albert Jethro was such a mouthful.
"He's wonderful, he's spending the day with Bud," Harriet said, lovingly thinking of her husband and son. "AJ was so happy yesterday morning when he opened the Noah's Ark he carved for him that he made his papa stay home and play with him."
Mac smiled, thinking of her first Noah's Ark and its little pairs of animals.
"He hasn't taken off the sweater you knitted for him," Harriet continued, giving Mac a mirthful look, knowing perfectly well that Mac despised knitting, so her making a sweater was quite a feat.
Mac wasn't like most other plantation or farm women. Most women sat demurely indoors knitting, sewing, and eating little cakes while they entertained other wealthy women in the community. Mac enjoyed sewing and knitting, but only as much as it was necessary. She much preferred to be out-of-doors, working in her herb and rose gardens, tending to the horses, seeing to the business that was running a farm. It was this "masculine" enthusiasm that had given her Uncle the confidence to leave her in charge of his farm while he was away.
Mac returned the smile, and said, "What are your plans for the New Year?"
"We haven't made any yet," her friend replied sadly, "Actually, with Bud's 'sensibilities' I doubt we'll have any plans at all."
Mac knew what Harriet meant- Bud was an open supporter of the Union, and in the small Kirkwood community this was not well received. "Harriet, you, Bud, and little AJ are more then welcome to spend the New Year here with me and the hands," Mac said decidedly, "We're having a small party and I'd love it if you would attend."
"Oh, Mac, we couldn't impose," Harriet replied, but at Mac's happily stern face, she relented, "Alright, we'll be here."
"Good. You can bring that delicious plum pudding of yours."
Both women laughed, but amid their gaiety there came a sudden loud clatter of the kitchen door slamming shut. Mac and Harriet both rose from their seats in the parlor and hurried down the hall and into the kitchen. Standing in the middle of the room, was Bobbi, the slender black woman who was Mac's housekeeper. She was drenched from head to toe and looked as though she had seen a ghost.
"What's the matter, Bobbi?" Mac asked concerned as she pulled out a chair for Bobbi so she could sit near the fire.
"It's the Yankees, ma'am," she said breathlessly, "They've landed at Johnson Plantation."
Harriet raised her hand to her mouth, smothering a gasp, and Mac looked at Bobbi staggered. "So close? Are you sure?"
"Yes'm," Bobbi chattered. "I just saw Abram Coody, and he told me that he'd seen them land."
"How many men?" Mac asked as she draped Bobbi's rain-soaked heavy cotton shawl over another chair, and then bent to untie her boots. The Hannah, the plump black cook, and young Gunny, a farmhand who'd been lounging in the kitchen, had now crowded around them to hear what was going on.
"Abram said there must have been thirty thousand Yankees against the nine thousand Confederates," Bobbi said her teeth still chattering.
Mac had gotten her boots off and set them by the fire to dry, but Bobbi was still shivering. "Come on, Bobbi, let's get you some dry clothes," she said in a compassionate yet commanding tone.
"No need to worry, Miss Mac," Bobbi tried to excuse herself, "I'll dry off in a few."
"In about a century," Mac finished for her as she began to gently push the other woman toward the back staircase, "You can borrow some of my work clothes for the rest of the day."
Resignedly, Bobbi nodded. "Just as long as it's not those drawstring pants of yours."
Gunny and Hannah both snickered, and though Mac was smiling, too, she turned to them and said, "Now, Hannah, don't you have something to roast or bake? And, Gunny, I want you to go around and tell all the hands that I want the men bunking in the barn and the women and children in the house. I don't want anyone at their own little cottages tonight. And be quick about it."
Gunny's grin disappeared and he nodded solemnly, "Yes, ma'am."
Mac then turned to look at Harriet, "I'm sorry our visit has been cut short, Harriet."
"Don't worry about that," Harriet said, putting on a strong face, "I've got to be getting home to warn Bud and our hands. I'll see you in a few days."
"Yes, of course," Mac said as she embraced her friend, "Take care, friend."
Harriet smiled a warm, motherly smile before she turned from the kitchen a left.
That night, while the hands lay sleeping, Mac walked around the big house, carrying with her a single candle. She stepped silently over their sleeping forms, as she made sure they were all accounted for. There hadn't been a battle so close to Kirkwood since the beginning of the war, but Mac had heard the terrifying stories of the actions of wayward soldiers. They'd harass, rape, and sometimes even kill slaves, or freed slaves, or even hired hands, in their own cottages. And she, Mac, wasn't about to let that happen to any of her hands.
Once she was certain they were all present, and comfortable, she herself went up to bed.