World Enough And Time

A Historical Novel based on True Events

by Nancy Madison

At the end of the Civil War southerners look forward to more peaceful times. Instead the Reconstruction Period is a tumultuous era. Many former Confederates leave their homes in search of a better life. About twenty thousand southern residents sail to Brazil to homestead. In late 1865 Tom Mahon and his friend disinherited Virginian Randolph Carlisle finally reach Galveston after traveling cross-country from a Union prison in Maryland. Good-natured, trusting Tom is no match for clever, unscrupulous cardsharp Randolph to whom winning is everything. Meeting Tom’s dark-eyed sweetheart Mattie Ratliff, Randolph decides to steal her from Tom. He has Tom framed for a crime he didn’t commit then sails off to Brazil with Mattie and her family, leaving Tom in a Galveston jail.

ISBN 1-59431-589-2 Historical / Romance

Cover art by Maggie Dix



Chapter 1

Point Lookout, Maryland

January, 1865

Bayonet fixed, a grim Union soldier charged Tom Mahon as he tried to help a wounded comrade on a Virginia battlefield. Trapped, Tom squeezed his eyes shut and braced himself to die.

Seconds later when nothing happened, Tom woke. He sighed with relief finding himself back in his tent at Point Lookout Prison Camp. He had been part of a group of captured Confederate soldiers transported there the day before.

Water dripped on his head through a hole in the tent and the wind howled through the openings in the canvas. At the moment a cold rain mixed with sleet soaked him and the eleven other men huddled in the inadequate shelter.

Tom stood and hugged the remnants of his threadbare Confederate uniform to his body in a desperate attempt to keep warm. In all his nineteen years, he'd never lived anywhere as miserable. Texas was never like this.

A few feet away an older soldier raised his head. "Go back to sleep, son," the man advised Tom in a Virginia drawl.

Reluctant to return to his pallet in the crowded, malodorous quarters, Tom climbed over several snoring bodies and flung open a flap of the Sibley tent to peer into the darkness. It was twenty-four hours since a Union train brought them to Point Lookout. It seemed an eternity.

How long would it be until they regained their freedom? The last two years the Union refused to exchange prisoners. Unless that policy changed, the war must end before they were free of this godforsaken hellhole.

At supper last night another man complained about the meager rations. In response, an indifferent guard jeered at him. Tom remembered the guard's words. "You men are lucky to be here. This place is heaven on earth compared to Andersonville."

Tom wasn't about to argue with their keepers yet based on what he'd seen so far, their current dwelling place must be worse than any prison camp created by the Confederate forces.

An old-timer in their tent warned Tom and the other new arrivals. If they survived the winter, they'd face another adversary. Swarms of mosquitoes thrived in swampy areas in warm weather, often carrying malaria.

The war he'd been so eager to join last autumn dragged on after almost four years. Loyal to the Confederacy, Tom still hoped his side would emerge victorious. But he was beginning to think he might have supported a lost cause.

The North outnumbered the South in manpower and supplies. It would take a miracle for the Confederacy to defeat the Union.

As Tom watched a wintry sun rising in a pewter-gray sky, bugles announced the arrival of another day for the inmates, mostly military with a sprinkling of Maryland sympathizers.

"Wake up." Tom nudged a large dirty mound of rags with his boot. Slowly the mound unfolded to become Floyd, one of Tom's friends. The large, grizzle-bearded man spread his long legs like an arthritic stork and stumbled to his feet.

Randolph Carlisle, a man closer to Tom's own age still slumbered under his rag of a blanket. Having failed to wake the Virginian, Tom leaned over and yelled in what he presumed was Randolph's ear. It was hard to tell. Like the rest of the Confederate prisoners in camp, Randolph's shaggy hair would challenge any barber.

"If you don't get up, I'll eat your breakfast," Tom said. Grinning, he watched Randolph scramble to his feet.

Tom, Floyd, Randolph, and Rob, a younger soldier they'd befriended on the train, pushed their way out of the tent. After a hurried walk to the mess hall, they joined one of the lines of prisoners waiting for breakfast.

While they waited they chatted with other inmates. A Maryland native next in line told them about Point Lookout.

"You may not think this place has much to offer but before the war Lookout was a popular beach-front resort. Its thirty acres of land were leveled for the prison camp. There used to be a fashionable hotel and one hundred cottages for vacationers here," he told them. "After the Battle of Gettysburg, the Union armies apparently needed another location for a prison camp so they selected Point Lookout since it was convenient to the eastern battlefields."

At the head of their line a sullen-faced guard doled out a cup of coffee and a loaf of bread to each man.

"How in the world do they expect us to survive, feeding us this slop? The hogs on my cousin's plantation eat better," Randolph complained while he chewed on the stale bread.

"Don't you understand?" Thinly veiled contempt rang in their youngest comrade's words. "These damn Yankees don't give a rat's nest if we live or die."

The oldest child of German-born sharecroppers, sixteen-year-old Rob had joined the Army last autumn. Rob's fierce spirit contrasted sharply with his scrawny, undernourished body. Though Rob didn't start fights, if insulted he never walked away from one. He also seemed to enjoy poking fun at those he considered snobs.

"Whether they care or not doesn't matter," Tom advised. Stepping into his self-appointed role as peacemaker for their group, Tom positioned himself between large, muscular Randolph and cocky little Rob in an attempt to ward off a possible fight. Crowded together day and night, men's tempers were often quick to flare.

"We're going to survive this miserable hellhole and go home," Tom promised his companions and himself.

Looking around he studied the other prisoners gulping down their meal. Other than Randolph few complained about the food. They'd eat almost anything the prison staff gave them just to fill their growling, empty stomachs.

To forget his own gnawing hunger, Tom focused his thoughts on home and those he loved. He remembered more pleasant times with his family and Mattie, the girl in his life as long as he could remember. A gypsy-like creature with olive complexion, dark ringlets and tawny brown eyes, Mattie had become a beautiful young lady two years ago when she turned sixteen.

If he concentrated hard enough, he could almost hear Mattie's soft voice calling his name. And if he closed his eyes, he'd envision her smiling face. He vowed they'd be together one day, whether his parents approved or not.

Mattie's father worked in Mahon's Merchandise, Tom's father's store in Galveston, Texas and her family rented the smaller house next door owned by Tom's family. Since Ratliff was hired help, Tom's mother didn't think his older daughter was good enough for her only son.

Tom shook his head, as ever puzzled by the enigma he called 'mother.' The woman was fond of Mattie's blonde almost thirteen-year-old sister Angela but didn't like Mattie.

Perhaps his mother saw herself in Angela. A handsome woman with now faded blonde looks and creamy complexion, Iola Mahon still reminisced about being the 'belle of the ball' in Charleston. That was before she met Tom's father. A poor man, Aurelius Mahon nevertheless swept Iola off her feet. The young couple had eloped after Iola's wealthy father refused Aurelius permission to court his only daughter. Her family disowned her and never saw her again.

Every time Tom saw the other prisoners receiving mail he wanted some of his own. His first message from Point Lookout was already on its way to Mattie. Reason told him that it might be a long time before it reached Galveston. Even so, he was present every day at mail call, waiting for a letter.

***

February, 1865, Galveston, Texas

The day Tom's letter was delivered Mattie hid in the pantry to read it while her parents and sister were upstairs. Wiping away tears of relief she realized she had been preparing herself for the worst, word of his death. No wonder when every week their neighbors received news of their loved ones dying on faraway battlefields.

Since Tom went off to the war, she thought about him every day. In spite of a busy schedule of running their own household, while her mother recovered from yet another miscarriage, and helping care for Tom's ailing father, she always managed to find time to say a small prayer for Tom's safe return.

Mattie chose her words with care while responding to his letter. There was no sense in worrying him. Tom was far away and could do nothing to help. She put down her pen by the ink well and walked to the window to stare out at the Bay. Since the Union blockaded Galveston harbor, she sometimes felt like a prisoner in her own city. She often caught herself watching the Bay.

Moments later a tangy whiff of stew cooking on the stove sent her scurrying to the kitchen. Angela, her younger sister had been instructed to watch the stew for a few minutes yet the girl was nowhere in sight.

Mattie shrugged. At eighteen, she was five years older than her sister. Even so the responsibilities of adulthood weighed her down. Angela never helped with the cooking and cleaning unless forced to do so. She preferred to spend most of her time with Tom's mother listening to Mrs. Mahon's stories of her debutante days. The girl did provide companionship for the older woman. Tom's father's health was failing so his wife couldn't stray far from home.

Well, at least Mattie didn't have to worry about her sister's whereabouts whenever she couldn't find Angela. The girl was almost always with Tom's mother except when Tom was home. Then she followed Tom around like a puppy. Mattie imagined Angela thought of him as a big brother.

Blowing a stray lock of hair off her forehead, Mattie's thoughts shifted from her sister to more immediate problems. Food was becoming more expensive all the time. Tonight they'd have a treat, a tiny tough piece of beef, some rice and peas. Even so, Mattie suspected their dinner would be better than that of many local residents. The selection at the butcher wasn't as good as pre-war and he apologized for his meager goods when regular customers like Mattie or her mother visited his shop.

She told herself that the war wouldn't last forever. If those brave young men fighting the Yankees could manage on limited rations, the least their families could do was not complain about the food they ate at home.

One thing she definitely wouldn't tell Tom. Her father was running the dry goods store on his own since Tom's father took a turn for the worse. The family doctor kept prescribing different tonics for Mr. Mahon yet nothing seemed to help. Mattie suspected the doctor didn't know just what was wrong with the man. From his cough and loss of appetite she suspected all the tonics in the world wouldn't cure Mr. Mahon.

Consumption came to mind and Mattie frowned. What would they do if Mr. Mahon didn't get well? People still died of the illness. Also, Tom's mother had a weak heart, perhaps due to her having scarlet fever as a child. If Tom's father died, the shock might kill his mother.

When Mattie visited the larger, more elaborate house next door, Angela met her at the door. Without a word she slipped past her older sister and went home.

Mrs. Mahon's gaze was pensive greeting Mattie. As usual the lady didn't appear overjoyed to see the girl her son professed to love, however Mrs. Mahon did condescend to accept a bowl of stew and some corn muffins for their dinner.

Remembering the news from Tom, Mattie flushed and handed his mother his letter before the lady asked to see it. She was rewarded with a slight smile and regal nod of the head. A former society belle, Iola Mahon never let anyone forget it.

"Thank you, dear." Tom's mother scanned the brief message and folded it again, handing it back to Mattie. "I'm sure my son will be all right. I think the Union should send him home now, don't you?"

Mattie nodded. Even if she could explain the complexities of war to Mrs. Mahon, it would be a waste of time. Let Tom's mother believe the rival armies trying to annihilate each other might consider the opinion of one foolish former debutante.

Entering her own smaller, less elaborate dwelling, Mattie ached with loneliness. I miss you.

At the dinner table her parents discussed the war as usual while Mattie and her younger sister ate in silence. Angela finished her meal first and was excused.

Pa had been too old to join the Confederate forces at the outbreak of the war. He kept up-to-date with new developments as much as possible and appeared to suffer every time news came of the Confederates losing a battle, as if his own honor had been damaged. His hatred for the Union seemed to grow with each passing day.

Seated between her parents at the dinner table, Mattie did her best to keep the conversation on local news, knowing as soon as she stopped Pa would begin another of his monologues on the war. He'd become almost rabid about the Union, President Lincoln and all he represented.

Mattie chattered on about the weather, the prices of food, and the health of everyone she knew including Tom's parents. Finally she ran out of breath and topics.

Pa jumped into the temporary lull. "You mark my words," he began, pausing to gaze at Mattie and Ma.

At that moment annoyance welled inside Mattie. Her sister should be there with her family. Mattie quickly chided herself. Don't be too harsh on the girl. She hasn't been the same since dear Andrew… It hurt to think of Angela's twin brother. The boy had drowned while he and Angela fished off-shore last year. Mattie blinked hard and focused on what Pa was saying.

"Sad days are coming," he said. "It looks like the Union may defeat us. If they do, no Confederate will be safe. The Union will grind its boot heel against southern throats, but not mine and not this family's." At this point Pa stood and saluted the Confederate flag on the dining room wall.