No Refuge in Canaan (eBook)

Catherine Connally (Autor)

eBook Download: EPUB

2025 | 1. Auflage
696 Seiten
Bookbaby (Verlag)
979-8-3178-1011-5 (ISBN)

Infos

Spring, 1846. At the end of a long journey, James Sullivan returns home to the mountains of Tennessee with an abandoned baby in his arms-a tiny girl found on a street in faraway Charleston. Over the objections of his mother, a woman gifted with knowledge of the future, he and his wife, Mary, take the baby into their family. In doing so, they change their lives forever. This is the story of the Sullivans, immigrants to a promised land falling under the shadow of a looming civil war, even as James and Mary fall under the shadow of their own choices. Events are seen through the eyes of Lily Sullivan, the adopted daughter who unwittingly alters her family's destiny. As she witnesses the national conflict divide her close-knit family, she also discovers a family secret that presents an even greater threat than the war itself.

Catherine Connally is a retired schoolteacher, wife of forty-seven years, mother of three, and grandmother of almost-eight. She lives in Texas with her husband and two dogs. This is her first novel.

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No Refuge in Canaan is the saga of the Sullivans, a family of immigrants to Canaan, Tennessee---set before and during the Civil War. The Sullivans are not slaveholders but are nevertheless swept up into the conflict between North and South, with brothers in the family on opposite sides. Their story is narrated by the youngest daughter, Lily. Lily is adopted into the family as a baby under mysterious circumstances, and after her arrival the family begins to experience a long series of misfortunes. Amid those family troubles, Lily comes of age, meets the love of her life when she least expects to, and fights not only to survive in the war-ravaged South, but to overcome the dark legacy of her birth. An old-fashioned historical novel with plenty of romance and touches of fantasy, mystery, and adventure, No Refuge in Canaan explores the age-old question of fate vs. chance. Are all things simply meant to be? Or not? You decide.

Textauszug

Chapter 1

Who am I? Where did I come from? My parents should have been able to tell me, but they claimed they didn’t know. I was adopted by the Sullivans as a tiny baby, and the mysterious circumstances surrounding my birth appeared to be of little interest to them. James and Mary Sullivan simply received all their children as a blessing from God, and I was no exception. Sadly, their generous hearts proved to be their undoing.

Like they say, No good deed goes unpunished.

***

James Sullivan was a transplanted Irishman, having left his home country for America in 1839, seven years before I was born. His two older brothers, Brian and Sean, had emigrated ten years earlier, and settled in the southeast corner of Tennessee. James was determined to follow in their footsteps, so when Sean wrote home to offer him a partnership in his business, my father packed up his wife, his four children, and his widowed mother Maureen, and left Ireland for good.

Once the Sullivans looked upon the Great Smoky Mountains where they would make their home, they understood why the nearest village was named “Canaan,” after the biblical Promised Land. The countryside was beautiful—steep slopes covered with lush forests full of game, and clear, rocky rivers brimming with fish. At the time it was home to barely a handful of settlers, having only recently been wrested away from the Cherokee Nation, whose people had claimed it for generations.

The thin, rocky soil wasn’t much good for farming, but my father wasn’t overly concerned about the productivity of his new homestead. Thanks to his own father Patrick Sullivan, the village blacksmith back in County Kerry, James was skilled in that particular trade. Even better, his brother Sean, by way of marrying the local blacksmith’s daughter, had inherited the forge in Canaan. After his father-in-law died, Uncle Sean renamed the business “Sullivan Brothers’ Forge,” and he and my father worked together to make a good living for their families.

In addition, James’ eldest brother Brian taught him to hunt and trap, so he was able to supplement the family income with fur trading. I never knew Uncle Brian—he died before I was born—but I always heard that he was a fine woodsman. He and my father couldn’t have chosen a better region to practice their craft, either. The woods abounded with wildlife, including beaver, deer, bears, wolves, and cougars.

In those days, it seemed that this new country provided incredible bounty wherever a man would turn. With a growing business and a home on their very own land, the Sullivans had everything they could hope for. The family grew and flourished, with three more children born in America. Then in 1846, I came along, and nothing was quite the same after that.

***

I always knew I was adopted, and I was also well-acquainted with the unusual circumstances that brought me into the Sullivan family. My mother told me the story as soon as I was old enough to understand it. The parts that she didn’t share I gleaned by quizzing my grandmother and my brothers and sisters over the years, until I had a fairly accurate account of what had happened on that particular April evening.

It was Easter Sunday of 1846. After many weeks away, my father returned home from his yearly trek to Charleston, South Carolina, where he sold his pelts after the winter’s trapping. My mother threw the door open and threw herself into his arms, almost mashing the wriggling bundle he held.

Stepping back, she exclaimed, “Oh, James, what do we have here? A lovely wee lass?”

Soon the children were crowding around, peppering him with more questions: “Where did she come from?” “How old is she?” “Why is she so dark, Da?” “Look at those eyes!” “What’s her name?”

Only Granny Sullivan stood back silently, clasping her shawl tightly around her thin shoulders as she gravely observed her son with the new arrival.

Grinning with relief at the enthusiastic reception, my father tried to answer the bombardment of questions. “I ain’t got a notion who she might be, or where she came from. I was near to trippin’ over her, comin’ out o’ Mulligan’s Bar, down on the waterfront. ’Twas midnight and not a soul around, only a basket with this wee lass in it. I asked around the neighborhood the next day, but nobody knew a thing about her. I told myself I should be takin’ her to the Catholic orphanage, but somehow I couldn’t bring myself to do it. So, I sold the pack mules and bought a cart to bring her home, along with a nanny goat to feed her. And…here we be.”

Da stopped for breath. “I just couldn’t be leavin’ her, Mary, but ’tis a fact we have plenty of mouths to feed already. If ye want, I’ll see if I can find someone to take her. There’s always the Sisters of the Sacred Heart up in Knoxville too. They’ll not turn her away.”

Taking me in her arms, my mam didn’t hesitate. “Of course, we’ll take her in.”

“The two of ye had best be thinkin’ on this first.” Granny’s quiet voice carried over all the chatter. “’Tis plain that something isn’t right here.” She waved a hand at me. “Just look at her. This baby is not meant for the likes of us. ’Twould be no surprise to me if this is a child of the fairies, and the fairies don’t take it kindly when ye make off with something that belongs to them.” Frowning at her son, she said, “Mark my words—no good will come of this.”

Silence descended. Granny’s opinion was greatly valued, partly due to her immense wisdom, but mostly because she had the Sight, a gift she had inherited from her own grandmother back in the old country. Foreknowledge was taken very seriously by the Irish, including the Sullivans.

Da, crestfallen at his mother’s disapproval, gazed at her over Mam’s head. “Maybe we oughtn’t be so hasty after all. Perhaps there’s a childless couple in Canaan who’d feel blessed to have this little lass.” He added firmly, “But until I find her a home, she’ll be stayin’ with us.”

My mother sighed. “Well then, for however long she’s with us, she’ll be needin’ a name.” She glanced at Granny with a hopeful smile. “How about Maureen, after you, Mam?”

Granny’s expression didn’t change. “Ye won’t be gettin’ around me that easy, Mary.”

Jeannie, their shy eight-year-old, tugged on her mother’s skirt. “Mam, since today is Easter, could we call her Lily, like the pretty flowers in front of Our Lady’s statue in the church today?”

Grace, the youngest daughter, protested, “That’s silly! The Virgin’s flowers are white, and this baby is brown—like a beaver!”

“Gracie, when we’re wantin’ your sassy opinions, we’ll be askin’ for them.” Mam turned back to Jeannie, smiling reassuringly. “Darlin’, Lily is a lovely name, and a fittin’ way to thank the Lord for blessing us on this Easter Day. Lily she will be.”

***

True to his word, my father searched high and low for a new home for me, as if I were a stray kitten he’d found on the side of the road. However, no one was inclined to take me—to everyone’s relief but Granny’s. After a month it was decided. I would be part of the family.

The community of Canaan, Tennessee, more or less accepted me into the fold as well, but at first there was gossip, and plenty of it. The general consensus was that I must be a “foreigner” with my dark skin and hair, and odd, colorless gray eyes. Coming from an exotic port city like Charleston, I might be the child of a Spanish pirate, or an African slave, or a French smuggler, or a Chickamauga Indian—or someone else entirely. Or, could it be that my father was someone much closer to home? Did James Sullivan have a greater role in my history than he was willing to admit? And if so, who was my mother?

Fortunately for my father’s reputation, nothing about me resembled him in the least. James was the quintessential Irishman: fair-skinned, red-haired and blue-eyed. His other children, James Jr. (Jamie), the twins Thomas and Timothy, Jean, Fiona, Grace, and Daniel, were all various combinations of lovely, brown-haired, blue-eyed Mary and himself.

As time went on, the talk eventually died down. James Sullivan was known to be an honest man, a hard worker, and a good Catholic, and that was enough for most people to overlook any lingering gossip about his doings long ago, in a city far away.

In any event, I was duly christened Lily Maureen, since my mam held out the hope that my grandmother might warm up more easily to a namesake. I also needed a birthday, so to further appease Granny, it was decided that it would be January fifth, a likely possible date, and the very same as that of her late husband, Patrick Sullivan. Once the deed was done and there was no going back, Granny grudgingly accepted me into the family—but not yet into her heart.

It didn’t help Granny’s attitude that not long after my arrival, the family’s good fortune began to erode. Six months after I appeared, my father was kicked in the knee while shoeing a horse. The broken knee never healed properly, and he walked with a limp ever after. To manage the...

Produkt-Details

• Erscheint lt. Verlag: 8.12.2025
• Sprache: englisch
• Themenwelt: Literatur ► Romane / Erzählungen
• ISBN-13: 979-8-3178-1011-5 / 9798317810115