Welcome, Linda.
Tell us about Her General in Gray.
My back list includes a novella (sweet romance—any of my readers will tell you I usually don’t write sweet romance!) called Her General in Gray. Today, nostalgia crept up on me, and I decided to post on that book.
In Her General in Gray, John Sibley Allen (my grandfather’s real name BTW) is the hero. He was a Confederate General killed at the Battle of Antietam. The culprit was one of his own soldiers, a turncoat without the courage to face almost certain death.
The Battle of Antietam, also known as the Battle of Sharpsburg (particularly in the South) occurred on September 17, 1862 and was the first to be fought on Northern soil. This horrible engagement was the single bloodiest battle in American history. Antietam derives its name from Antietam Creek.
At dawn, Union forces mounted an assault on Lee's left flank, attacks and counterattacks sweeping across Miller's Cornfield and churning around Dunker Church. Union soldiers finally pierced the Confederate center, but the Federal troops did not follow-up on their advantage. Later, however Major General Burnside took a stone bridge spanning the creek and advanced on the southern forces’ right. Lee’s soldiers were outnumbered 2 to 1, his men suffering crippling casualties.
I saw a post on Facebook last week listing wars in which this country had fought and giving casualty statistics. The Civil War wasn’t even mentioned nor, of course, was Antietam. I know nowadays that conflict isn’t popular, but I’ve read several scholarly articles, including this blog post, that spoke about how the War between the States wasn’t really about slavery but, like most wars, economic. In order to be reelected, Lincoln supported abolishing slavery when, in fact, the war was fought over cotton. The South was selling its cotton to Britain when the North needed it for their mills.
At one point in Her General in Gray, the heroine Autumn thinks of the hero as ‘a man who’d ridden into battle in his gray coat, into a doomed fate from a doomed society, still a lovely moment in the passage of the years.’
The setting is present day.
Blurb:
Autumn Hartley purchases Allen Hall at a steal, but the northern lass gets far more than a beautiful plantation in the South Carolina Low Country. The house comes complete with its own ghost, a handsome and charming Civil War General—for the Confederacy. The stage is set for another civil conflict.
John Sibley Allen died in battle from a wound in the back, the bullet fired by the turncoat, Beauregard Dudley. The traitor’s reincarnation is Autumn the Interloper’s first dinner guest. Sib bedevils her date and annoys her with fleeting, phantom touches, certain he can frighten her away as he did previous purchasers. As time marches on, her resident ghost becomes more appealing while her suitor, Beau, pales in comparison. Autumn finds her ability to love didn’t perish in the divorce that sent her south seeking a fresh start.
After over a century in the hereafter, Sib discovers he is falling for none other than the feisty Yankee girl, but what future could a modern woman and an old-fashioned ghost possibly hope for?
Check out this trailer.
Excerpt
She in her PJs and he in his bloodied uniform, they swirled and dipped in a spirited waltz, both laughing as he guided her around her office.
“In my time, most everyone—North or South, young or old, country or city—enjoyed dancing. Balls were a way to forget the conflict for an evening.” His hand was as warm as his voice.
“You’re a wonderful dancer.” She’d expected his touch to be cold. It wasn’t.
“Thank you. I return the compliment to my partner.” He swept her into another graceful turn. “Where did a modern lass learn to waltz?”
“That’s one thing fun my Ex and I did. Take ballroom dance classes. I still have to count the three-beat.” She giggled merrily. “He wasn’t bad, but not nearly as good as you are.”
He bestowed a breathtaking smile, his arm tightening at her waist for far too short a time. “Again, my thanks” We would have made a splendid show at the balls.”
“I’d have enjoyed those gorgeous gowns.” Autumn was dying to be held closer. “I love this rendition of the song.”
“It’s remarkable. Quite different from the rendition of my time. Not the same instruments, I think.” He closed his eyes. “One of my Mary’s favorites. I saw her once during the war.” His eyes opened, misted by the reminiscences.
“Mary?” Autumn frowned. “Your fiancée? She lived at the neighboring plantation, right?”
“She did, and her most recent female ancestor is named after her. Sadly, she bears no resemblance to my Mary. I caught a glimpse of today’s Mary Jane when she and her mother brought baked goods as a welcome gift to your predecessors.”
The stupid romantic she mostly ignored tensed in his embrace, resenting that his Mary had actually danced with him to this tune at an elegant ball. A little frown flickered over his brow. The song ended. Silence encompassed the house again. No traffic noise or calls for a cab disturbed the peace. The stillness was beautiful, but loneliness threatened Autumn.
“Shall I play another?” She bent over her desk, positioning the mouse’s cursor.
“As many as you like. We’ll have our own ball, Ms. Hartley.”
“What is your favorite song?” Autumn glanced over her shoulder.
“Gioachino Rossinni's William Tell Overture, still in style today. The former owners, husband and wife, played it on the piano together.”
“The Overture is on this web site. Here you go.”
The phone rang, interrupting her before she clicked the link.