Even in history's darkest times, enlightened men looked to the heart when choosing a friend. From These Ashes, is about a young man from Barnwell County, South Carolina who inherits 150 of his fellow human-beings. Part I, A Friend Loveth at All Times, speaks of the close relationships that existed on plantations between master and slave and the unrecognized struggle for freedom complicated by loyalty to a fair master. Part II, A Brother Offended, continues the story through the war. The characters serve with the 2nd South Carolina Cavalry under Edgefield's M.C. Butler - sharing in such adventures as Brandy Station, Hampton's cattle raid and the bitter return to South Carolina to fight against Kilpatrick's Army, who gloried in burning a path from the low country to Columbia with more vengeance than Sherman dealt Georgia. After the war, the main character returns home to find another challenge. Following true accounts of the Reconstruction, Part III, Through Wisdom is a House Built, places the characters into this agonizing time. In Part III, the main character does what he must to build a safe future for those he loves from the ashes left by Kilpatrick's invasion. From These Ashes celebrates positive qualities in men of both colors. Reynolds believes what we give our power over to will manifest. With this story he has chosen to celebrate the good in mankind - the good that was present then and is now. President Lincoln once said when meeting Harriet Beecher Stowe, "So you're the little lady who wrote the book that started this great war!" Reynolds shares a veiled history with a new generation of Americans. Knowledge brings understanding and understanding empathy. So with this tale his prayer is set free... Let the South be free to celebrate her Confederate heritage.

From These Ashes Part III

Through Wisdom is a House Built ... Proverbs 24:3By T.E. Reynolds

AuthorHouse

Copyright © 2011 T.E. Reynolds
All right reserved.
ISBN: 978-1-4567-0116-1

Chapter One

The early morning songbirds woke James up on his first morning at White Oaks. For a moment he was content to just lie there — taking in everything his senses would allow. The smell of the fresh linens and the feel of the soft feather bed beneath him reminded him of how good it was to be home again. The sight of the dimly lit room with the old familiar furnishings made it seem as if a miracle had spared White Oaks from the evil that had changed so many things throughout the South. Then he thought of Melinda and her direct "telegraph line" to her Heavenly Father and smiled.

Pushing back the sheets, he swung his legs over the edge of the bed and stretched his arms over his head. He sat there deep in thought, until the north window beckoned him. At the window, he pushed back the draperies and looked towards the graveyard where Cassy lie. With no one stirring in the upstairs bedchambers, James dressed for the day then quietly left the Big House. On the path leading to the garden, he could see the sun beginning to peak over the horizon. He stopped there to gather the few remaining flowers not trampled underfoot by Kilpatrick's men, then walked across the lawn in the direction of the family cemetery. Dew sparkled on the green grass, giving the toes of his well-worn boots a polished appearance. At the gate, he paused for a moment to reflect on his past. His mind scanned a lifetime of memories laid to rest behind that fence. For several moments more, he clung to those precious moments he had spent with Cassy, moments that were gone forever.

When he placed his hand on the wrought iron gate, it felt as cold as the last goodbye kiss he had placed on her lips the day they put her to rest beneath the red earth of White Oaks. At the grave where she and their child rested, the mound of soil once heaped high was now flat with the passing of time. Knelling by the grave, he placed two flowers there — one for her and one for their child. Lingering for a moment, he thought of the irreplaceable time they had shared. Knowing the time was drawing close when he would be giving his heart away again, he whispered the words almost apologetically, "I will always love you both, no matter who else I let into my life. I want you to know that."

Then a simple question filled his thoughts. "How can I be at peace knowing you're so sad?" A tear gathered in the corner of his eye when he realized that was exactly what love was all about. And there was no doubt in his mind that was the experience they had shared. It seemed as though Cassy's words of love from the grave were giving him permission to live again. Loving her had been a good thing, no matter what the world thought of it. He would never regret those moments. She had shown him that love — sweet and pure was within his reach. Cassy and the boy would always be a part of his soul. He knew if there was such a place as Heaven, they surely were there.

While James knelt on the hillside, Willie and Leah walked towards woodpile behind the kitchen for kindling to start the morning's fire. It was there she noticed him in the growing light of day, kneeling by her daughter's grave. She sucked in a deep breath and laid a hand on Willie's arm. When she looked up at her husband, a tear rolled down her cheek. Willie smiled tenderly and wiped it away. What she saw had touched her heart. The same four years that had not diminished her love for Cassy appeared to have left James' love intact as well. It was then that Leah realized the man kneeling on the hill deserved her friendship.

Quietly Leah loaded Willie's arms with the wood, making sure she didn't disturb the young man. James stood up and walked towards the graves of the other two important women in his life. After placing a single flower on both his mother's and Mammy's graves, he walked towards the gate and swung it open. He paused with his back still to the headstones. Old insecurities, magnified by his failure of the last four years, dominated his thoughts. Then he heard the words he hated. "Worthless! You're worthless!" He turned around to look at the place where his father rested. "God help White Oaks!" The sound of Beau's voice echoed over and over in his mind.

Then James thought about how he had been told by so many that he was one of the "lucky" ones. True – he had been spared the deadly consequences of the fray, returning home with nothing more than a slight limp on rainy days. And for that he was thankful. But being one of the "lucky" ones brought its own burden. The consequences of those four years haunted him day and night in his waking thoughts and dreams. The failures he had experienced on his four-year journey back to White Oaks only served to support Beau's opinion of him. Had he not given his very best, and at times more than he had to give, during these past four years? Yet, he still had ridden home with nothing to show for his sacrifices. He had suffered the weather, wounds, near starvation, loss of his best friend and so many other good men. And once back on their native soil, in their last desperate struggle, Hampton's men had been unable to prevent Kilpatrick from laying waste to South Carolina. Had it not been enough for the damn Federals to defeat the Confederate Army without destroying so many homes and farms? Perhaps if he had fought a little harder, a little longer — ridiculous! He had given all he had and would have given more, if Hampton had ordered them to Texas.

Their bitter defeat only reinforced in his mind that perhaps Beau had been right all along. He was worthless. How could his father have been so sure he was going to be a failure? He must have seen something. Perhaps all who looked at him saw the same thing. Why did he ever think Beau had been wrong?

Then from nowhere came the redeeming voice of a child, sparing him from the hell his thoughts had created. Sighing deeply, he turned his head to little Jeffy, who was calling his name. James let the gate close behind him and walked towards the child running to greet him. When he knelt down, Jeffy flung himself into his arms. Giving his uncle a big hug, he said, "I'm so glad you're still here, Uncle James."

"So am I, Jeffy. So am I." The child had no idea just how much he really meant those words. 'Home, Sweet Home'. He must hang up such a sign as soon as he could.

"Will you sit with Jenny and me in the kitchen while we eat our breakfast? Auntie Leah has it ready."

"Certainly." James stood and took the boy's hand.

James could feel Jeffy staring at him. Finally the boy said, "You look funny in that beard."

"Oh, do I now?"

"Yes, you do. Mama said she hardly knew who you were with all that hair on your face."

"Do you think your Mama would like me to shave it off after breakfast?"

"Yes, and I should like that too. Then I'll know for sure my Uncle James is home. Are you staying forever now?"

"Yes. The war is over."

"Mama said my Papa's not coming home. She said he's in heaven."

"It must make you sad that you won't see your father again."

"Yes, but when she told me Papa wasn't coming home, I was really afraid you wouldn't come home either. When I asked her if you would be coming home, she said I must pray every night and ask God to keep you safe. So I did that. And here you are."

"You certainly are your mother's son." James smiled and tousled the boy's dark...