Lucy
Prairie Roses Collection
Malachi knew Nevada Territory separated from Utah Territory—just in time for the war to start. That gave the federal government greater control over the gold and silver coming from the western part of Nevada Territory—wealth they needed to finance the war. His lips twisted with a smile that sought to break free as he appreciated the irony. Once again, the timing was politics. In spite of clenched fists resting on his thighs, Malachi felt pounds lighter, as if a great burden had been lifted. Michael did not prefer Southern politics that were more closely aligned with the political beliefs of Malachi’s uncle.
“Kentucky is about half and half, but I come from the half that’s mostly Union.” Will tightened the muscles in his jaw and nodded. “My kin never did cotton to no slavery. Slavery wouldn’t of done us no good, that’s certain. We was as poor as any plantation slave and, most of the time, probably had less to eat.” He hesitated before shifting his gaze toward Malachi. “Hope I ain’t stepping on no toes, Malachi. Don’t recollect you saying much about your stand on any of this.”
“No Southern leanings here.” Malachi folded his arms with the hope this discussion about war and politics would end soon. One of the benefits of keeping his head buried in books was to avoid coming up with answers when people probed into his political stand and that of his family.
Although Malachi had been raised in Illinois, his family—his uncle in particular—did not consider themselves supportive of the Union. Instead of lauding that a fellow Illinoisan had risen to become president of the United States, Josiah Foster—a staunch Stephen Douglas supporter—considered Abraham Lincoln being elected to office to be one of the greatest tragedies to befall this nation. The year before Lincoln assumed office, his uncle also became prominent in the Copperhead movement—which opposed abolitionists and maintained sympathies for Southern beliefs. Some Copperheads might not go so far as to give outright support to the Confederacy, but they often gave tactical support by withholding it from the Union.
“Malachi, I want you to go, too. I like how you work with the oxen, and I know I can trust you.”
As Michael’s words penetrated the fog of his ruminations, Malachi straightened in his chair and met the man’s gaze. “Sorry. I was woolgathering. Where do you want me to go?”
“And you didn’t even have a book in your hand this time.” Michael chuckled. “I just asked Will—and I’m also asking you—to travel back to Atchison by the Missouri River to buy wagons and goods that we’re having difficulty finding here in the Eagle Valley. I’d go myself, but I still need to supervise supply trains up to Gold Hill and Virginia City.”
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