The Civil War scattered her family and now, a desperate young woman must travel across a war-torn country to collect whatâs left of her life.
For fifteen-year-old Ellis Cady, life has gone quiet on her western Tennessee homestead. Her father and older brother left to sell horses to the army two years earlier and never returned. She watched her motherâs health decline, finally succumbing to a broken heart. Her twin brother left in search of their father, and while he was gone neighbors moved out of their Quaker community, searching for peace ahead of the final sweep of war.
Ellis is left with nothing but the company of the remaining horses and the journals she continues to write, trying to make sense of a desolate world. When soldiers ride through to claim the last of the herd, hope for the return of life as she knew it, evaporates.
One head-strong mare, Billie, returns, and Ellis takes it as a sign to leave. Disguised as a boy, she rides off to find her twin. Though war refuses to fade, Ellis stumbles upon an unlikely group of rescuers who teach her family is more than blood, and love has no limits.
The Civil War scattered her family and now, a desperate young woman must travel across a war-torn country to collect whatâs left of her life.
For fifteen-year-old Ellis Cady, life has gone quiet on her western Tennessee homestead. Her father and older brother left to sell horses to the army two years earlier and never returned. She watched her motherâs health decline, finally succumbing to a broken heart. Her twin brother left in search of their father, and while he was gone neighbors moved out of their Quaker community, searching for peace ahead of the final sweep of war.
Ellis is left with nothing but the company of the remaining horses and the journals she continues to write, trying to make sense of a desolate world. When soldiers ride through to claim the last of the herd, hope for the return of life as she knew it, evaporates.
One head-strong mare, Billie, returns, and Ellis takes it as a sign to leave. Disguised as a boy, she rides off to find her twin. Though war refuses to fade, Ellis stumbles upon an unlikely group of rescuers who teach her family is more than blood, and love has no limits.
Dear Daddy,
Itâs spring again, the year 1865. I never realized how alive this place was when you were still here. You and Walter working the horses and Mama yelling at Earl to help do whatever it was he was supposed to be doing. I couldnât wait to open my eyes in the morning so I could breathe in the scent of horse sweat, leather and breakfast. I can still hear Mama singing to herself in the kitchen. And Earlâs laugh, and the nickering of the horses like they were laughing back at him.
The morning you and Walter left with that string of geldings, headed toward Memphis, everything changed.
Ellis stopped writing. She reached out and ran her fingers along the spines of the small leather-bound notebooks lined up on her desk. Welded horseshoe bookends held them upright. All those years ago her mother had given her the first diary for her birthday. Every time she filled one, some celebratory event caused another to appear; another birthday, extra chores accomplished, good marks in school. And ever since, Ellis wrote. Doing chores or wandering the woods of Western Tennessee, she would soak up the details that would later flow through her fingers to her pen. Like the constancy of the river, a force, strong and natural, settled her at the desk, dipped her pen, and put it to paper. Her mother would tell Ellis to write down her feelings. She would never ask to see what her daughter had written. She had wanted Ellis to write freely and âget it out on paperâ so she could then get on with daily life. When her mother passed, Ellis thought sheâd never be able to write again. She would sit for hours at this desk in her upstairs bedroom, staring at a blank page. All she could think of was trying to get in touch with her father or find her brothers. And so, though she had nowhere to send them, she wrote letters. Perhaps someday there would be an address.
The house was too quiet, though it echoed the normal aches and pains of a wooden building. The pine stairs creaked and moaned under nothing but their own weight, reminding her of her twin brother, Earlâs, footsteps as he would sneak into his room, across the hall from hers, after not showing up for dinner. The wind groaned like a twister coming through but it was only a small zephyr at worst, or an early spring breeze. Loneliness amplified.
Her bedroom window faced north, with a view of the back corrals. For a few days now, long before sunrise, an unnatural glow illuminated the horizon. And today, a shift in the wind, a distant pounding. Maybe it was just the blood beating in her head, but she got up from the chair at her desk and walked to the open window. April usually promised warmer weather and new growth, but todayâs breeze smelled like the ending of a story, not the beginning. She breathed in. The air, stark and barren, did not promise spring. The teeming life that once surrounded the homestead just wasnât there anymore. War does that.
Her father and older brother, Walter, had been excited when they were first made aware of what everyone thought would be a short dispute far to the east. Ellis had heard her father talking to the other men at the Society of Friends hall. Some were upset about what they were hearing, but her father reckoned selling horses to the troops would enable him to expand the homestead, finally building the ranch he wanted. And somehow he thought it would be an occupation neces- sary enough to the war effort that it might exempt him and his sons from the battlefield. Her father was no coward, but killing another man was wrong and this wasnât his fight. Thatâs what heâd said. He did not hold slaves, and the community in which they lived would not allow it. But heâd traveled south and brought back stories of thousand-acre plantations that couldnât be run without them.
On the promise of a sunny summer day in 1863 he and Walter left with a string of saddle horses to be sold to the army. They said theyâd be back for her birthday. She was about to turn thirteen then. That was two years ago.
Ellis returned to her desk and started to write again, ... Mama tried...she stopped, turned to look out the window, then looked back at the paper and the ink stains on her fingers where she held the pen. Weariness slowed her hand and she leaned forward, resting her head on crossed arms.
Days before the soldiers showed up Ellis had tried running the horses off into the woods, where they couldnât be found, but the well-trained equines just startled, ran around the pasture and came back. She had watched her father make deals since she was old enough to walk and ride, but she wished her brother were here to help. Most of the neighbors had started to clear out well before Earl left, her friend Prissy and her folks holding out the longest. Many headed west to the Mississippi and then north. But Mama insisted they wait for Daddy. And then Mama got sick.
At first sheâd just talk to herself or to Daddy as if he were standing beside her. One night Ellis woke to a voice coming from the corral, Mama trying to rope a horse that wasnât there. And then the night it rained so hard, Mama out in the garden in her nightgown, digging potatoes. Earl had helped Ellis get her dried off and back into bed. When Ellis returned to her motherâs room with tea, Earl was holding the worn paper of Daddyâs letter. A letter written at least a year ago, before the war crept so far west. She saw a sadness on her brotherâs face she hadnât seen before. Mama had read the letter once to them, but they knew she kept it in her pocket to read over and over. Earl had tried to hide his emotions from Ellis, but the next day he was gone. He left a cryptic note about finding Daddy and Walter, but Ellis knew he hadnât a clue where they might be, or where to start looking.
Mama stopped getting out of bed. She wouldnât eat much. She would ask Ellis to read to her until she fell asleep.
Ellis didnât think Earl would have gotten too far when he left. He never did have any patience, could barely sit still for a meal, always moving. But neither one of them had been farther from home than the river, by themselves. Earl had been gone a month, now. Or was it longer.
Time had become ghostly, just dark and light. Ellis remembered she had been washing up in the kitchen when she heard the horses stir. The morning had been quiet; the kind of quiet like before the sky turned black, ushering a storm. The cavalry riding up the road was a small group, only five of them. But she was pretty sure there were more coming. The color blue barely clung to their faded, dusty uniforms. They flew no flag. It wasnât that they were Union soldiers, but that they were soldiers at all that unnerved Ellis. Only months before, the community had felt safe; uninvolved with the trauma of a war they thought wasnât theirs. But a troop had swept through the village a week before Earl left. Her brother had said heâd heard they wiped out the Hopkinsâ place. Took all but a couple of laying hens. Took two horses, their milk cow and calf. Then more news of more raids. Neighbors emigrating.
As the soldiers rode up to the front gate, Ellis stood in the doorway. Her fatherâs shotgun leaned against the inside wall, sparking a memory of Earl teaching her to shoot. Her mother and father had argued about their daughter handling a gun. But her father wanted all of his children to be able to provide for themselves. He had taught Earl well and knew Earl had shared those skills with his sister.
The leader, a sergeant by his uniform, dismounted and walked up to the house while the other men remained on their horses. âMiss.â The sergeant tipped his hat.
Ellis nodded.
âYour Pa around?â he asked.
Ellis hesitated, realizing how much more protected she felt when he had been around. âNo,â she answered.
She thought she saw a hint of a smile bloom on the sergeantâs face and then fade away. He squinted, as if looking at her more closely, then glanced back at the others. He stepped back to better survey the house. âYour Ma?â
Ellis had buried her mother two days before, but she wasnât about to tell him that. She couldnât fight off these soldiers. She wondered what her father would do.
âI know youâre here to take the horses. We donât want you to take them but youâre going to anyway, arenât you.â She struggled to keep her voice strong; emit the confidence sheâd witnessed when her father sold horses.
âYes, maâam. But itâs not like you mightâve heard. We pay good money for stock.â
âWeâve got good stock.â Ellis felt a pull in her gut, her face burned, but she planted her feet. This same feeling overcame her every time a horse left their property. She knew her father was in the business of selling horses, but she became attached to each one. Always shedding a tear when they left.
One of the other soldiers rode over to the pen and opened the gate. The horses just stood there. The sergeant moved toward Ellis. She grabbed the shotgun, trained it on him and had it cocked before he took two steps.
âEasy there, girl, Iâm not gonna hurt you. Donât have the time.â He smirked and checked over his shoulder. Just outside the picket fence, soldiers slumped on tired horses. One had a hand on his sidearm. The sergeant waved him off. âBut we pay for what we take. Here.â He handed Ellis a folded piece of paper. She kept the shotgun pointed at the soldier, but tucked it under her arm. She reached out to take the payment with her other hand, glanced at it, moving the paper with her thumb. Inside were a few Union bills. She wasnât sure how much, but they both knew it didnât matter. She uncocked the shotgun and lowered it. The sergeant watched her and she met his eyes.
She thought heâd probably been a handsome boy once. He looked like Tommy, a school friend whose family had left at the beginning of the conflict, and wondered if time and war had ravaged his innocence, as well. She wondered who was winning this war. Or if a war could be won.
âYouâll take good care of them,â Ellis ordered more than asked. She couldnât look at the horses. Her breath labored. In her mind she was running to them, fighting off the soldiers, pulling the trigger.
The sergeant stiffened and then looked back at the others again, lifted his chin and chuckled. âSure, sure we will. You donât have to worry.â He backed away, mounted his horse, and joined the ragged troop to surround the small herd and drive them south.
Now Ellis watched the horses go. They moved along with little agitation, the herd keeping itself together, following other horses. These were the older ones and the ones who had been too young to take before. She knew them each by name, by their face and leg markings, who in the herd they were attached to. The old gelding, Tucker, the first horse her father let her ride, was swaybacked now. Billie was just green broke.
They kicked up dust and memories of her father. She heard his voice. She, Earl, Walter and her father had moved a herd for a rancher once, an overnight drive. Earl mostly grumbled about going. Walter had told him how hard the work was. Long days in the saddle. Ellisâs mother didnât think her daughter should go, didnât think it proper for a girl, but the twins were turning twelve and never got much for their birthdays. Ellis made it clear the drive was all she wanted. When she came down to breakfast that morning her mother put two packages on the table, one in front of Ellis and one in front of Earl. The siblings looked at each other and smiled uncomfortably at their mother. They both knew it was another diary, but opened their packages feigning surprise. Ellisâs package also contained a new pencil. She looked up at her mother.
âCanât be taking ink on a trail drive,â her mother had said.
On the trail, Ellis had asked her father why the horses stayed with them. She was warmed by these horseback conversations as her father loaded a pipe, lit it, and smoked as they rode. They were out in the open, she had said, the horses could have run off anywhere, but they stayed together.
âBecause horses are herd animals,â he said with a smile. âThatâs what they do.â
âBut sometimes we have to ride out by ourselves. They donât need the herd then,â she questioned.
âWell, now,â heâd said, sweet smoke drifting from his lips, âsometimes they do and itâll be hard to get them away from the herd. But if you ride well enough, well, you become their herd and all they want to do is be with you.â
âLike when weâre working them in the round corral? When they hook-on and follow you like their mama?â
âYep, just like that.â His eyes would sparkle as he looked at his daughter, before heâd tap his pipe clean on his leather chaps, tuck it into his pocket and lope off to circle the herd before making camp.
The young mare named Billie was her fatherâs pride and joy. She was fiery and sturdy built. She was pretty, too. A blood bay with clear black points, sheâd dapple in the summer. Of course her father, Thomas Cady, cared more about bloodlines and soundness than color or esthetic appeal. When Billie was just a yearling, sheâd taken to following Ellis around. Her father put a stop to it because he didnât want the young horse getting spoiled. Once he started training the horse for riding, she took a little longer on a few lessons than he had hoped. But it was because she was smart, not just stubborn. The one thing that consistently proved problematic with Billie was that she hated being tied. You could leave her untied and just drop the reins and sheâd stay there all day if you didnât move her. But tie her to a hitching post and sheâd find it in her to leave, every time.
Ellisâs guilt at letting the horses go was only overshadowed by her relief that the soldiers left without hurting her or burning the house and barn. Sheâd pointed a gun at a man, but could she have pulled the trigger? They had looked spent, yet pleased with themselves. Maybe this war was coming to an end like sheâd heard. But there was a sorrow or something in that soldierâs eyes when he handed her the money. There were words he wasnât saying.
What remained after the soldiers left with the horses, was an emptiness Ellis had never known. Hope faded. Her mother had kept hope alive until it denied her. And then she was gone, too.
Ellis woke slowly, her forehead numb where it rested on the desk, her ink-stained fingers slipping from the pen. A slight breeze blew the worn curtains on the window. A soft light moved the darkness. In the pastures the gentle wind would be bending the grasses in waves. The waves on the riverâEllis stiffened, more fully awake as worry shadowed her thoughts. The river might be too high to cross now. She should have left sooner. When Prissyâs family and the Carters took the riverboat up to St. Louis, they wanted to take Ellis with them. But Ellis wouldnât leave. She still had the horses then and expected Earl would be coming back. She had to be here when he returned. She listened, hearing nothing. Then a breeze stirred the silenceâcarried a soft nickering.
Ellis stood up so quickly that the chair fell back. She stumbled to the window, her bare feet hardly feeling the floorboards. Billie! The mare grazed idly on the resurgent lawn. In that second at the window Ellis felt the warmth of the horse beneath her, smelled her nervous sweat, and heard each word her father had taught her about educating horses and why this young mare was so special to what was to become the Cady brand. She remembered that morning in the barn, before the war took hold, her father had grasped the fillyâs halter and held Ellisâs young hand, declaring, âHere is our genesis.â
Ellis stepped into her brotherâs trousers and tucked in her fatherâs nightshirt. As she quickly descended the stairs, scenes from the past filled her head as they did every morning. Daddy working the horses with Walter and Earl. Mama fixing breakfast. A fog hanging in the woods, cooling the morning, promising a warm day. She shook her head and didnât bother pulling on her boots before she ran out the front door and up to the grazing horse.
Ellis didnât know if the soldiers would take the time to come back for one horse, but she took Billieâs return as a sign and thought now was as good a time as any to go. Something stirred her blood. She wouldnât wait any longer. She had to find Earl.
She saddled Billie and packed an extra shirt, some hardtack and dried beef in her saddlebags. She stuffed the money the soldier had paid her in her pants pocket and then thought better of it and put that in the saddlebags along with the few shotgun cartridges she had. Earl had taught her how to make a snare for rabbits and how to fish with just a line and a hook. She added those supplies, and her diary and pencils, before buckling and draping the bags over the back of the saddle. She rolled the old shotgun up in her bedroll and secured it over the bags with the leather saddle strings. When she was done, she stood next to her horse and then looked back at the house. She tied Billie to the hitching post and ran inside and up to her room. She had been wearing her brotherâs clothes since he left. Somehow it kept him near. She changed out of the nightshirt, holding it up to her face, and hesitating before folding it and placing it on her bed. It still held the scent of her fatherâs pipe tobacco. She donned her trail clothes over her brotherâs shirtâa wool vest and canvas duster, a yellow neckerchiefâand grabbed an extra pair of woolen socks.
She looked around her room, memorizing the scene; the desk, its oil lamp, years of diaries and books read and reread, her bed covered by the quilt the Friends made for her mother when she was pregnant with the twins, the side table next to the bed that her father had hewn from river driftwood, its small drawer lined with letters never sent. She retrieved an envelope from the table, backed out of the room and stepped across the hall to Earlâs room. Narrow beds stood against opposite walls. Walterâs was made up as if waiting for his return. Earlâs looked as if heâd just been there tossing and turning. Ellis straightened Earlâs bedding and placed the envelope on his pillow.
Dear Earl,
Iâm writing you this letter in case you come back and Iâm gone. Used to be everything seemed to last forever and now it seems most folks make different arrangements. I wish you wouldnât have run off like that. Itâs bad enough Daddy and Walter left us. Well, I hate to say it, but I didnât mind Walter leaving so much. I know he was my brother, too, but he didnât always act like it. Mamaâs gone. There was no one around to help with the burying. I did the best I could.
Itâs been weeks now since the soldiers took the horses. That happening after Mama died about did me in. But Billie came back and I wonder if somehow Mama had something to do with it.
Iâm setting out to find you. I donât intend on dying along the way, but if I do, I want you to know you did everything you could to teach me how to take care of myself. I know Mama didnât like it much, you teaching me how to hunt and fish and use a knife, but I think she grew to appreciate it after you all left.
Your loving sister, Ellis
As an afterthought, she lifted the foot of Earlâs mattress and smiled at what she found there. Earl had called it a Bowie knife. He had another knife that Daddy had given him, but he had found this one in the river when he and Ellis were cooling off on a sweltering summer Sunday. He made up stories about it, said maybe it belonged to a Pony Express rider, said it was their secret and kept it hidden. Ellis held it in both hands and ran her thumbs over the tooled leather sheath. She looped it on her belt and left the room.
Walking past her motherâs bedroom door at the top of the stairs, she paused. Though she had kept the door open, she hadnât entered the room since removing her motherâs body. She stepped inside one last time. As tears came to her eyes she noticed an envelope on the floor. She remembered every word of the note inside. She picked it up and put it in her pocket.
Just before she reached the front door Ellis caught her reflection in the mirror. Daddy always said she looked like her mother. Ellis just thought she looked like Earl and since her motherâs death, more so. She took off her hat, wound her shoulder-length hair up and put her hat back on, pushing errant locks under it. She smiled at herself and then scowled. Sheâd have to remember not to smile, but then it probably wouldnât be that difficult.
Outside, Billie had pulled loose from the hitching post and was grazing calmly on a patch of grass. Ellis picked up a rein and walked the horse around the side of the house to her motherâs grave. It had taken her two days to dig the grave, carry the body from the house and fill in the hole again. But she didnât really remember much about doing it. She took the envelope out of her pocket, remembering the last time she had placed it on her motherâs pillow and, this time, placed it by the grave marker under a large rock.
Dear Mama,
Iâm writing you this letter in case you wake up when Iâm not here and wonder where I am. I went to get the doctor to come help you. I heard heâs at the meeting hall, helping folks. Iâm taking Billie because sheâs faster than any of the other horses. I know you donât really like me riding her, but donât worry Iâve ridden her before. Earl was teaching me without you knowing. Sorry, but Iâm telling you now. Iâm worried about you, Mama. Iâll be back by supper and hope youâll feel like eating something then. Iâll read to you from Wuthering Heights.
Back soon,
Ellis
The breeze stilled as the sun rose higher through the cottonwoods. Ellis mounted her horse and looked back one last time at her motherâs resting place. Billie pranced anxiously.
She hadnât been able to find the doctor.
âSorry, Mama.â
Historical fiction is a genre that I absolutely adore and never get tired of exploring. There are so many great stories within this genre and Ellis River by Nicki Ehrlich is one of them.
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From the moment you begin this novel, it captures you attention. Ellis River is a real page-turner. The author does a great job at capturing the reader´s attention with her wonderful writing. The story never felt too slow or to rushed, it was well paced, and that made the reading experience so much better. The characters in this story were also great! They were well-developed and the more I read, the more I got to know them, almost as if I was getting to know a new friend. Billie was probably my favourite character, but I am known for having a soft spot for animals so that did not come as a surprise to me. Something that I truly enjoyed was reading Ellisâ letters as they give the reader a new perspective and a glimpse into Ellisâ mind.
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The journey that the reader goes through with this story is not only captivating but also a great adventure. It is a wonderful story for anyone who loves the historical fiction genre, and even if youâre not a big fan of the genre I encourage you to add this novel to your TBR (to-be-read) list, because as Iâve said before, it is a real page-turner. Once you start reading, you will have a hard time putting this novel down. I lost count of how many times I told myself that I would only read one more chapter before I was done for the day, but that never went according to plan, and to be honest, I have no regrets. I enjoyed this story and hope to read more of Nikki Ehrlichâs in the future.