Hello, beautiful people! I'm SO happy to be back to the fanfiction world. I can't tell you how many Bethyl AU ideas have been pinging around in my brain for the past couple of months! This is one of my very favorite ideas, but it's very different from anything I've ever done.
Let me start off by saying this: I LOVE Civil War history! I'm a Southern girl and a history teacher, and I've probably seen and read most of the things that there are to see and read about the Civil War. It was my historical focus in college. So, when I got the idea to do a Beth/Daryl story set during the Civil War, I absolutely couldn't resist!
I've tried to be as faithful to the time period as possible! All of the statistics, events, and historical facts are as accurate as my research could make them. For real, y'all, I was talking about it with my little sister, and she was like, "Nobody cares what the actual price per pound of cotton was in 1865." But I do, lol.
I've also tried to stay as true to the characters as possible. They have had to undergo some extremely minor tweaking though. Daryl is still surly, but a little more mannerly because of the time period. Beth might be a little stronger than Season 2 Beth because she's survived a war and earned her Steel Magnolia badge. Either way, I'm still REALLY happy and excited about what I have planned, and I hope you love it too!
These first few introductory chapters are a little short, but will get longer as we get into things! As always, I love you all, and I hope you enjoy!
Better Days - Chapter 1
For what felt like the hundredth time that day, Beth Greene paused from bending over her vegetable garden and wiped her forehead with the square of flannel that she kept tucked under her apron string. How the Good Lord could allow the sun to get this hot and hard in April was beyond her understanding. They weren't even properly into the summer yet, and already the thermometer that her daddy had tacked to the barn wall was creeping up over 80 degrees. She sighed, tucking a wayward strand of blonde hair back into her braid and continued weeding her row of butter beans. Truth be told, she was too old now to go around wearing her hair down in a braid. But that was only one of the many proprieties that folks had given up on now that they were into the fourth year of this war. In addition, her last net had broken a few weeks back, so there was no reason to bother now.
Upon reaching the end of her row, Beth straightened, stretching to relieve the bunched muscles in her lower back. Lifting her hand to shade her eyes from the afternoon sun, Beth peered down the lane, hoping to see her daddy returning. He'd ridden into town that morning, and since his accident, Beth was always overly cautious about him being out on his own. Her father - proud, Irish, Hershel Greene - would have laughed at her worries, but she couldn't help it. Aside from a sister a thousand miles away, he was the only real family she had left.
She sighed with heavy satisfaction as she allowed her gaze to settle over the neat rows of spring crops that were starting to pop up out of the ground. Before the War started, she'd known next to nothing about growing things. Her Mama had been determined to see her properly educated and Hershel had her big brother, Shawn, for help around the farm. But with Mama and Shawn both in the ground, one from consumption and the other from Antietam shrapnel, it had fallen to her to help Hershel with the planting. And times being what they were, they were mostly planting food. She knew it pained Hershel to see his good cotton acres lying fallow, but with no trade lines open to the Union or England, planting cotton was a fool's folly. Hershel had been one of the few small farmers wise enough to switch to edibles at the start of the war and, because of it, they'd never starved. Been hungry, sure - but never starved.
Beth threw her collected basket of weeds into the barrel reserved for composting and was just pumping water up to rinse her hands when she heard the distinct sound of hooves coming up the dirt lane. She turned, wiping her hands on the side of her threadbare apron, and relief flooded her heart to see Hershel returning - cantering wildly in her direction. She rushed out to meet him, wondering what in the world would cause him to come at such a speed.
"Beth, it's finished!" he hollered, pulling his horse's reigns so tightly that they both skidded to a stop.
He flung his leg awkwardly over the saddle and jumped to the ground, staggering a little to regain his balance. Hershel had fallen off a ladder earlier in the year, turning a slight limp left over from the Mexican war into a full-fledged problem that required him to walk with a cane. Beth tried to hide her concern, as she knew it would only make him protest that he was fine.
"What is, Daddy?" she asked, pulling his cane from its secure spot on his saddle and placing it in his hand before he fell over.
"The war," Hershel said, finally, the relief visible in his face, "Word just came in at the wire office in Senoia. General Lee has surrendered and the rest are sure to follow."
"Surrendered?" Beth confirmed, trying to stave off the bubble of panic that rose in her chest, "What will that mean?"
"No one's positive yet," Hershel replied, his expression grave, "The slaves will be freed, first off, and after that - it's in the Lord's hands."
Beth struggled to take it all in. The emancipation didn't worry her; their farm wasn't a large one, and, as far as she knew, no one in their family had ever owned slaves. Though he was a believer in state's rights, Hershel Jeremiah Greene was a man who didn't hold with owning people. But she had no idea what it would mean for Georgia as a whole. She'd heard talk at the ladies' sewing circle that if the Yankees won, they'd bring martial law and thousands of soldiers all through the South. It could mean the end of their freedom. And what in the world would happen to all those poor men who'd fought so bravely? They were still up in Yankee territory, and she had no idea when or how they'd get home safely.
"Rumor in town is that the terms of the surrender were peaceable," Hershel continued, "Some folks are even sayin' that General Grant was very generous."
"Does that mean that we'll get to keep our land?" Beth asked, "And that the men will get to come home with no trouble?"
"I hope so, Sugar" Hershel intoned, placing his rough hand on her shoulder, "I reckon the thing to do now is wait. And plant."
"Oh, Daddy," Beth struggled not to roll her eyes, "Surely the trade lines won't open up so soon - and besides that, we haven't the money for seeds."
A mischievous twinkle, one she hadn't seen in far too long, crept into Hershel's eyes as he crooked his finger at her and turned in the direction of the house. She followed him impatiently, knowing that asking wouldn't do her any good. He'd been talking about the end of the war and getting his acres back to cotton for months now. Beth knew her father was a stubborn man, but stubbornness alone wasn't going to produce ten acres worth of cotton seed. When he stopped long enough to lift the flap on the outdoor cellar, Beth couldn't hold back her frustration.
"Daddy, what in heaven's name are you doing?" she fussed, "You know those stairs are too narrow. Now just tell me what you need, and I'll fetch it for you."
"Elizabeth Caroline," Hershel warned, his tone telling her that even though she was nineteen, he'd be tolerating no sass-mouthing.
"Sorry, Daddy," she apologized in a huff, "I just don't understand what's down here that you could possibly need so bad that-"
She stopped immediately when he began moving jars of preserves off of the shelf in the very back of the cellar. She felt very real panic when she considered, for just a moment, that Hershel might have lost his senses. Her concern turned to disbelief however, when he slid the now-empty shelf away from the wall to reveal a locked door that she'd never seen before in her life. She watched in awe as Hershel selected a key from the ring that he kept in his coat pocket and unlocked the door to reveal a dusty room.
In the dim light, Beth could barely make them out, but when she realized that she was looking at sacks and sacks of dried cotton seeds she couldn't stop herself from letting out a squeal of excitement and wrapping her arms around Hershel's shoulders.
"But when did you - How in the world di..." she stammered, knowing full well that they hadn't had a stitch of extra money since the harvest of 1861.
Hershel chuckled and patted her on the back.
"It made good sense to switch to vegetables after Fort Sumter," he said knowingly, "But I figured that whenever all this mess was over, England and Massachusetts would be needin' their cotton again. I used the last of the harvest money from '61 to stock up on dried seed that would keep down here."
Beth felt tears sting her eyes. It felt like she had something to look forward to for the first time in three years. She couldn't stop the combination of laugh and sob that shook her chest as she thought about the fact that they might be able to turn a profit and get back on their feet this year. They'd done better than most the past few years, but it had still been a mighty struggle.
"I'm goin' to ride over to Patricia and Jimmy's and tell them we'll start plowing tomorrow," he continued, "Why don't you head into the house and see about some supper?"
"Bring them back with you!" she urged, "We should celebrate; and I think I have just enough molasses left to make buckwheat cakes."
"I will, Sugar," he assured her, pulling her into a tight hug, "We're goin' to eat a feast tonight, and then tomorrow we're goin' to get that seed in the ground."
"Well, in that case," she said, laughing as she swiped at the tears on her cheeks, "It was awfully mannerly of the war to end at the beginning of planting season."
With that, Hershel laughed - a deep, hearty belly-laugh - and Beth believed, for the first time in a long time, that better days were ahead.
So, how'd I do? Too different? Too weird? Also, we'll see what Daryl's up to in the next chapter! Let me know what you thought! Love y'all!