1.

Rachel

Hello. My name is Rachel Basset. Of that much I'm sure of. That and that alone. My story is not at all simple. And it is not entirely about me. It is also about two brothers. Who were handsome, brave and dashing. And who hated each other more than anything in the world. But I'm getting ahead of myself. My story is not one that can be told easily in one sitting, as if on a whim. No, I'm afraid mine is a complicated one with a delicate past and an even more unsure future. And so with that, I continue.

It all began in 1863. When Civil War between the once aligned states raged on. One side, the Confederacy; rebels of the south that held to slavery, the dirt from whence he came and whence he ate, and the sweat of a mans brow. The second side being the Union, the northern men who clung to their power, their law, and their constitution. Both lands, once beautiful, were now war torn and destroyed.

I grew up in Virginia with my father, having lost my mother to yellow fever at a young age. My father, Admiral Maxwell Basset, was a firm believer at where a slave's place was. However, he was never cruel and treated his slaves with utmost kindness, preferring to call them "servants," rather than "slaves."

When the war began I was nineteen my father was then called to leave for battle. I of course argued that he was far too old to go to war and that his limp would not allow it. However, with his experience as a captain in the Mexican war, he was a necessary asset to the confederacy. His leg had been injured while dragging his friend to safety in the battle of the Alamo. His friend, Edward Welling, would have died that day if not for him and father told me he was therefore eternally in debt. My ever loving father refused to allow me to stay in at our Estate, Blue Acre Springs. Apparently, with the country in such state it was no longer safe for a young lady to reside unattended. With the officials too busy fighting each other, highwaymen and barbarians ran amuck. So despite my pleas, father headed off to battle and had me shipped off to his good friend, Edward's, Estate. So it was there, in a little carriage heading up the cobblestone path to the Welling Estate, that my life changed forever.

I sat on the cushioned seat of my fathers carriage filled with a great mixture of feelings. Worry, for my fathers safety. Anger, for being chauffeured off, like I couldn't take care of myself. But mainly curiosity and fear, for I would be staying in a strangers home for some time. Though my father had assured me that the war would end soon, I could not help but wonder if he was wrong.

I let my head rest in the soft, wine red cushions. The carriage rattled back and forth with each clop of the horses' hooves. I leaned my head forward to the window and pulled back the velvet drapes so I could see where I was to be boarded. I saw we were already on the estate grounds and headed up the road to the front of the mansion. Two slaves stood on the stairs awaiting the carriage along with there master. Although I was a little ways off from the house, I could make out the older man with gray stringy hair wearing a brown vest and holding fine walking stick in his hand.

I brushed the drape back and sighed. The gardens that were surrounding the Estate were lovely enough, although I could not take many walks now for it was just the beginning of march and though the snow had melted, it was still bitter cold. The Mansion itself seemed like a very nice, comfortable place. Perhaps it was just because it wasn't home that it gave me a disappointed feeling. It also made me extraordinarily homesick.

I felt a slight chill as the breeze blew through….Why, I'm not even sure where it came from, for they kept the carriage closed up. A moving prison cell which I could not escape from. Nevertheless, I pulled my shawl over my milk white skin.

Suddenly, there was a small jolt and the moving prison came to a stop and I knew we were there. There was a short pause before I heard the sound of Walter, the driver's, feet hitting the ground. From outside the horse gave out a half-hearted, "Neigh." Knowing it was time to get out, I immediately brushed off my rose pink dress and smoothed my hair. I waited anxiously as Walter's footsteps lead up to the carriage door. Finally, the door gave a click and swung open, a small glow of gloomy daylight flooded by clouds shot into the carriage. Walter gave me a smile and wordlessly held out his hand to me. I graciously took the hand and put my weight on it as I stepped down from the carriage. Once both feet hit the floor I removed my hand from his and made my way to the steps leading up the manor. The manor was freshly whitewashed and surrounded by well trimmed bushes. A large fleet of stairs led up to the door where my charge awaited me with a smile.

So this was Edward Welling. Like her father, he was in his mid. fifties with gray hair blanketing his head. He was pock faced with wrinkles all around his eyes and forehead. His lips were curved into something I could only guess was an attempt at a smile.

"Welcome, Miss Basset. I'm very glad to finally meet you. It will be a pleasure to have your company here." Mr. Welling turned to his two slaves and gestured to the younger woman, "Mabel will give you a tour of the house and show you your room.. Please, make yourself at home," he said in a friendly tone. At that, he turned and headed into his house without so much as a question on how my father was, not that I had expected any less.

Typical.

Mabel smiled shyly and turned to go into the house. "Follow me, Miss."

I obliged and walked through the open pair of giant doors to a lavish lobby. There was a magnificent chandelier hanging above me and a beautiful carpet beneath me. Mabel guided me through each of enormous rooms. The piano room, the art room, the sitting room, the lounge, the dining room, the kitchen, the study, the library, and eventually my room. It was decorated in gold linen and made it spring out at me. In truth, it was quite pretty, but somehow it felt completely inadequate to my old room. Though it wasn't quite as elegant as my new room, it was filled with memories since I was born into this confused world. The only thing I really liked out it was the window seat that laid under a giant window in my room. It was perfect for sitting and reading on. I could just imagine watching the sun rise and set. I really loved just the very idea of it.

"Danny already brought up your stuff, missus. It should be in da wardrobe. If that'll be all, mam', I'll be return'n to my chores," said Mabel with rehearsed grace.

I gave her a little smile. "Yes, that will be all for now, Mabel. Thank you for your time."

With a nod, she exited out the way we came in and I turned, with sigh, to my giant bed. Feeling exhausted after my long travel there, I walked over to the mattress and jumped up on it. Perhaps not a very lady-like thing to do, but I was beyond the state of caring whether or not it was lady-like. The wool blanket rubbed my skin and I instantly began to fade, sinking into the comfortable silk pillows.

Joseph

Hello. My name is Joseph Welling. My story is a complicated one. God knows I'd love to tell you that my life was normal. No Civil War. No dispassionate father. No sibling hatred. Now, some may say that the battle of siblings is merely a normal part of life. They would be right, too. Except mine was not a battle. It was a war. My brother, Henry, and I had only agreed on one thing since 1858: We hated each other. I had not even seen my brother for five years, since he ran off to the gold rush.

But I'm jumping ahead of myself. It all started in 1863, with the civil war raging on across the USA. According to my father, it was time for me to take my place in the world by joining the war. The only thing was that I had about as much desire to do this as I did to see my brother. Unlike Henry, I always preferred the indoors. I loved to just simply stow myself away in the library and read a good book. While my brother always enjoyed the wild things like hunting, fencing, archery, horseback riding, fishing and dancing, I hated it all. He was the one that took off on his wild adventures while I had to become the perfect son in his place. I was twenty and he twenty-four, making him the eldest and therefore the original heir to the Estate by tradition.

My father had his will written in 1853, back when he acknowledged David as his son. However, after he disowned my brother he was too embarrassed to change the will, since it had been already published and he would be disgraced if he canceled it. I always thought my father cared too much what people thought. Even so, the will stated that the Welling Estate was to be split between us.

Not that it concerned me too much. My brother had been gone since he was fifteen and I didn't think he'd return again. He was wild and untamable, never able to stay in one place. Never able to understand honor and duty. The only name he ever made for himself was among the ladies. O yes, my brother was quite the charmer and he knew it. The perfect smile. His reputable eye-thing that he did. Always knowing what to say and how to say it. I could still hear his slick and clear voice in my head when he'd first instructed me on how to approach a woman.

"Calm and collected, brother. Never show them that your nervous, it gives them the upper hand and trust me, you always want to be the one with the advantage in a relationship."

I had cocked my head. "Isn't that a little unfair, Henry?"

His rumbling chuckle echoed through my ears, "All is fair in love and war, little brother."

Little brother.

I gritted my teeth. Oh, how I had hated it when he called me that. Never Joseph, always little brother, like he thought it was some sort of hilarious joke. That was just like him, never able to take anything serious.

I sat on the big brown armchair next to the oak bookcase that sat on the north side of the library. My boot-clad feet were propped up on the matching footstool opposite the chair. Unlike David, who secretly wore reading glasses, my eyes were keen and very able as they focused on the worn pages of The Tale of Two Cities.

Just then my father's voice interrupted my reading. He had the booming, authoritarian voice of general. Like Henry, I had been confronted with that voice his whole life. Unlike Henry, I listened to it. No matter what, no matter what little desire I had to do it, I would always hearken to my father's voice. I understood that my father only wished what was best for me. With my brother having flown the coop, I had to take up the family flag by doing things I didn't want to do. Like going to war, for example. But I was doing it, wasn't I? For my father. That was the type of family loyalty my brother could never understand.

"Joseph?" My fathers voice sounded again, closer now, as I heard the sound of the library door open and his footsteps approaching my lair.

"I'm here, father," I called out.

Suddenly, my father's face appeared around the bookshelf and he stepped forward with a slight smile. "Hiding again, are we?"

I cast my book aside to the end table and respectfully stood up, as I had been raised to do in my father's presence. "Forgive me father, I got lost in my books again, I'm afraid."

He ignored my apology and walked forward, putting a hand on my shoulder. 'Enjoy your boyhood while you can, son. In spring you go to war as a man to make me proud.'

I nodded solemnly. 'Yes, father. I won't fail you, I promise."

Without reply, his father looked him up and down, as if to examine his son's worthiness. Finally, he gave a little smile and clapped Joseph encouragingly on his back with is unoccupied hand. "Yes, I know. But for tonight, I will need you to be presentable. Our guest I told you about has arrived and I wish to celebrate her arrival by entertaining some of my friends tonight at a dance I'm throwing. I trust you will make her feel welcome, Joseph? Her father, who I'm unfortunately indebted to, has just went off to battle. Do try and make her feel at home, son."

I wasn't sure how I felt about having an addition to our family, but I had always wanted a sister, so I unsurely agreed with an deliberate nod of my head. I didn't realize what I'd just gotten myself into.

Henry

Hello. My name is Henry. I would say my last name was Welling, but I'm not sure if it would be truth. What is love? Well, I'm not sure that I should be the one to tell you that. I've had many a romance in my life, but little love. I suppose that's what defines this story. Love. Doesn't it always come down to the love of a woman? A passionate tale to the death? What would a story be, after all, without the romance of two? Accept, this is the story of a romance of three. I, of course, have committed many transgressions in my life that I dearly regret and I'm sure if books of my sins were to be written, the volumes would have filled Edward's library.

Yes, I call my father Edward. Partly in an act of rebellion, partly as a reminder that the wicked man that sired me was no more to me a father than a crocodile to a bird. I had grown to hate the old man through the past nine years as he spat on my every decision. Unlike my brother, Joseph, the perfect son,I refused to listen to him at all. He had raised me to be his tool and I failed so what good was I to him now? That's what my brother never understood. Edward Welling didn't love him, he used him.

My brother and I used to be best friends. Inseparable, we were. Why, I remember the day when my mother came out to the garden with a proud look on her face. Edward was gone so it was just her and me. She had sat down next to me with a gleam in her eye. I, only four at the time, asked what it was and she had announced that I was to be a big brother. I had thought it would be the greatest joy of my life. Little did I know it would also be my greatest curse.

The little brat had gotten everything I ever wanted without ever having to pay the price I had to. Perhaps that's where the resentment had started, jealousy. He'd gotten Edward's approval. The charge of the Estate. The honor and pride among the town's people. And the one thing I did have, he stole from me.

My mother, Martha Welling. She had been forced into a marriage with Edward at a young age, but the world never knew a more loving mother. Nor a more hating wife. She hated Edward perhaps more than I ever could. She knew what type of man he was. What type of father he would be. She was perhaps the one person in the world that understood me. That loved me. She died an hour after my brother's birth. And with that her death and his birth, something else was born: Bitterness.

My loving nanny and substitute-mother, Eliza, had told me that it wasn't his fault. Joseph had no control of what happened. Even so, I grew to hate him for it. That boy, that thing, had taken everything from me! And now he dared accuse me of what he did not know? The little nuisance would know no greater misfortune in his life than my fury, I' d decided. One day I would return and make his life a living hell. That was my one, and only, promise to God.

I heard the whistle of a cannon ball whizzing over my head and dropped to the ground, holding my hands firmly over my ears. Boom! The ground around me shook and my ears stung. I held my breath as the heavy smell of smoke whirled in. Sweat leaked from my forehead and dripped down my chin. The heat was unbearable.

All around me I was surrounded by the sound of screaming. The audible screaming of perishing soldiers, both Union and Confederacy, and the silent screaming of all those who heard it. My eyes burned from the sight of blood and gore and men with severed limbs. Pain and suffering surrounded me.

And for what? Why was I here fighting this war, other than the need for action? Sure, I loved nothing more than to get the blooding rushing in my veins and the sweat rolling off my brow as I defeated highwaymen and fought Indians, but this…..this was different. This wasn't just fighting. This was manslaughter. So then why was I here? Why was I here in the midst of this savage brutality among fellow country men? Many left because they believed they needed to protect their homeland. But I, I was unique. Anyone who grew up in Virginia, like I, would of course be fighting for the confederates. However, I had made a different, and far more difficult choice. I fought for the Union.

I had returned just before I went to war to retrieve some of my things. My father found out where I was going and nearly had a heart attack. He claimed I was a stranger to him, but hadn't I been since the day I was born? My brother hadn't been there, he'd been at Harvard. But I'm sure he hated me more now than ever. It had been a hard choice. All my friends, everyone that had ever the slightest bit of respect for me, they all thought me a traitor.

Even though I was hated beyond conception, I at least had the peace of mind that I had done the right thing for once it my life. The one thing to atone for my sins. All my life I had seen my father treat our slaves with cruelty. I had never understood why. They were sweet people. They had souls just like us, so why did their color matter? And, much to my father's disdain, I made friends with them. I had once asked nanny, Eliza, why it mattered what color skin they were. She had told me that it was just the way things were, the way things would always be. That wasn't good enough for me.

I heard a shout sound out from behind me, "Henry, behind you!"

I whirled around to see a stocky built man rushing my way, sword held high and ready to strike. Without even thinking about it, my hand sprang for the pistol in my belt. A gleam of sunlight shone on his blade as it began to curve for my neck. My heart beat out of my chest and everything fell into slow motion as my life flashed before my eyes. I felt the leather handle of my pistol and desperately grabbed it.

The confederate gave out a battle cry as he swung for my head. Nothing was in slow motion now. It happened in a blink. Heart racing, I whipped out my pistol and pulled it out in front of him. I felt the wind hit my neck as the sword blade came to my shoulder. With eyes closed, I wrapped my fingers around the trigger and pulled. Bang!

The sword suddenly dropped to the ground and the simple thud echoed in my ears as I felt my blood soar through my veins. I realized my eyes were still closed and opened them to see the man drop to his knees. Blood shone through his battered, gray uniform. I watched as he fell face-first to the ground at my feet and the blood splattered my boots. He was dead.

I sucked air into my lungs and blew out as relief poured over my body like a waterfall.

Just then I heard a shout, "They've retreated! The rebel scum have fled for their God forsaken lives!"

Shouts and cries of joy sounded around me as a felt a weak smile fall into the curve of my mouth.

We won. Good God, we won!

All around me soldiers jumped and screamed and fired off their guns in celebration. Call me a fool, but with a joyous grin I lifted my up and sent off my own shots into the air as I joined my voice with the others in bellowing, "Hoorah! Hoorah!"

Sweat pouring down from my face and blood soaking into my boots mattered no more. I snatched my cap up from my greasy head of black hair hurled it into the air along with many others. Who cared if we were silly? The brutes were defeated. I cast all my feelings on those brutes being my fellowmen aside, along with the sickening feeling that I recognized the man at my feet. It was time for celebration and it would not be spoiled.

"Henry!"

I turned at the sound of the unmistakable accent to see my best friend, Nathan. His skin was as dark as midnight and his heart was as bright as the sun. With a smile I cast aside my gun and ran to him, locking Nate in an manly embrace. Here no one would judge you for hugging a black man. He was one of us. He was family.

Once I released him, he looked up at me with sparkling eyes. "We did it, Henry! We beat them! I know it's not to over yet. One battle in a war. But hang it all, we beat them!"

"Yes, Nate. We did it!"

I stared at the horizon ahead as the smoke began to clear. And as the taste of smoke left, the taste of victory filled it's place.