Cannon Fire: The Legend of the Ghost Train

Cannon Fire

Copyright © 2020 C.J. Baty

First Edition May 11, 2020

Published in the United States

Cover Art by Kelly D. Abell

Editing by Edits with a Touch of Grace https://www.facebook.com/editswithatouchofgrace/

Cover content used for illustrative purposes only, and any person depicted is a model.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to an actual person, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales, is entirely coincidental: unless stated otherwise and credit given to the appropriate entity.

The following story is set in the USA and therefore has been written in US English. The spelling and usage reflect that.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without the written permission of the Owner, except where permitted by law. To request permission and for all other inquires, contact C.J. Baty by email. 

Cbaty27@gmail.com

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DEDICATION

This book, and the others in this series, is dedicated to the ladies who encouraged me to reach outside the box and write something new. You know who you are.

Thank you for your guidance, patience, and friendship.  

Author’s Note and Acknowledgement

A good deal of the information in this story will be new to you, the readers. Here are some things that might help the reading along.

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The Civil War was a bloody and devastating war that nearly ravaged our country. In some states, it tore families apart and pitted neighbor against neighbor. Virginia bordered the North and South line of separation between the Yankees and the Confederates. Some families didn’t follow the path of slavery, most did.

When I was young, I had a great aunt, my paternal grandmother’s younger sister. Vergia Webb lived in between the sleepy little towns of Rose Hill and Jonesville, Virginia, close to the Tennessee and Kentucky borders. Her husband died from polio in the 1950’s leaving her to tend a farm with a tobacco crop and no children. She was a major influence in my life.

The mansion in this story White Oak Manor is copied after a house that existed not far from her home. I saw that house many times in my childhood and teen years. The cannon ball holes in the side of the house were still there the last time I drove by it. They are mentioned in this story.

The ghosts in this story come from that time period. The battles mentioned were actual battles that took place not far from Jonesville itself.

I hope you enjoy Cannon Fire.

The Legend of the Ghost Train

Today, people say that on a quiet night in the mountains of Virginia, Tennessee, and Kentucky, you can hear the far off shriek of a locomotive whistle and the rumble of the train’s cars as they clamor across the tracks. The legend claims the train moves through the valleys and mountains searching for lost souls that need a lift to the other side. 

In the early Twentieth Century, railroads were not only a way to transport people, they also carried all types of goods across the country. Lumber from the forests of Tennessee, coal from the mines of Kentucky, and tobacco from the fields of Virginia were just a few of the industries that depended heavily on the railroad system. Even the Vanderbilt’s built a train system to carry the products needed to construct the great Biltmore Estate. 

The Legend of the Ghost Train series will carry you off to a simpler time before WWII and the Great Depression. It’s about the love between two men that wasn’t spoken of and ghosts of past loves that still linger in the mountains. Some haunt the living looking for a loved one. Some want revenge for wrong doings. And, others are evil and will stop at nothing to repeat the past and kill again.

Chapter One

Luke Ryder looked up at the wall on the west side of the house where holes made by cannon balls during the Civil War could still be seen. He knew past generations of his family had taken pride in their part of the war. Walking to the front of the house and up the steps to the two paneled front doors of White Oak Manor, he used his key to unlock them. He hadn’t actually been in the house for months, not since the bank had sent the man out to tour the house and take pictures for the sale.

In its day, White Oak Manor had been the finest home in the area. Originally, five hundred acres of the best land in this south western part of Virginia surrounded the house. Corn, oats, and their number one crop, tobacco, kept the field hands busy.  A large apple orchard, herd of cattle, some horses, and a host of other farm animals made White Oak a sight to see.

The family had deserted the manor in the fifties because there wasn’t enough money to keep the place open. Most of the land had been sold off over the years to pay the property taxes. There was a small carriage house on the property and the family moved into it. Luke’s parents had lived there until their deaths, and he was their only child. He’d done everything he could to keep White Oak in the family. There was only fifty acres left now, most of it was woods and none of it was good for planting crops.

He had managed to secure the carriage house and the land it sat on when the sale was finalized. It was his now, and no one could take it from him. He also kept the small barn on the property. The bank didn’t know about the antiques hidden in that barn, that he had managed to save from the manor house itself. They were things he wanted to keep to hand down to a family he might have some day. Gay men were getting married and having children now. It could happen for him. Though living in this rural part of Virginia wasn’t exactly a gay haven.

Get your act together Luke, he said to himself.

The new owner was coming by later today to get the keys. The paperwork had been done by lawyers. All Luke had was a name and the knowledge that whoever the man was, he was rich. He’d paid for White Oak with cash. Luke gave him credit for letting him keep the carriage house, but that was the only thing Luke thought he’d ever like about the man.

Stepping inside the main foyer, the room still took his breath away. The black and white tiled floors may have been covered in decades of dust and dirt, but it was still amazing. The grand staircase with its oak banisters and balustrades was over five feet wide. The red and gold carpet was threadbare with holes. It was a tripping hazard now. Looking up, he saw the cobweb covered glass chandelier. One of his ancestors had bought it while in Europe and brought it here. The room at its tallest was two stories high and the chandelier hung from a glass dome that let the sun shine through. He could just imagine the grandeur of this room in its heyday.  

Downstairs was a large parlor, a dining room big enough to sit twenty people comfortably, a kitchen, library, a ladies lounge, and a men’s smoking room. Luke knew this because his father had walked him through this house from top to bottom from the time he was old enough to walk until the day before his dad died.

When he was old enough to appreciate it, his father had given him the photograph albums. Some of the pictures went back to the 1800’s, when the house was first built, and other photos during the Civil War, when a good deal of the family had been wiped out.

Thinking of those albums, he remembered he needed to get them for the new owner. The man had requested any photographs of the house and its contents. Luke had no idea why, but he agreed to let the new owner borrow them. They were family heirlooms and he wasn’t about to give them away permanently.

Surprisingly, the staircase was still in good condition. Most of the wood in the house was oak. He remembered his father saying the first Ryder believed the oak had staying power and he wanted everything possible to be made from it. Even the four pillars at the front of the house were supposedly fashioned from one solid oak tree each. However, the outside of the house and the fireplaces were made from brick and painted white.

Luke made his way upstairs, being careful to avoid the rips in the carpet. The second floor of the house had six bedrooms and four bathrooms, each with tubs and commodes. Hot water pipes were added in the early 1900’s and water no longer had to be carried upstairs. Luke’s favorite bedroom was the one on the left side of the staircase at the very front of the house.

A portrait of Maxwell Ryder had hung in the room until Luke had taken it down and hid it in the barn. He imagined Maxwell Ryder loved this room because it faced the front yard and rose garden. He could see every carriage or horse rider who came up the long drive. Funny thing was, he thought he favored Maxwell and even his father had mentioned the resemblance at one time.

Luke was standing, looking out those tall windows, when he saw a black SUV drive up the now overgrown drive. The man, a huge smile on his face, stepped out of the vehicle looking around at the front of the house.  He looked up to where Luke was standing in the window.

This man was absolutely gorgeous. One more reason for Luke to hate him.

Rushing down the stairs, Luke opened the front door before the man could knock.

Hello. You must be Luke, Jacob Walker said extending his hand. 

Luke took the offered hand and shook it quickly. He didn’t want to like the man standing in front of him, though he was definitely his type.

Jacob was tall but only an inch or so more than Luke. His hair was styled in the latest fashion: model look, short on the sides and tall on top with sprinkles of blond highlights. He had just enough of a shadow beard to accentuate the cut of his angular jawline and very handsome face.

Luke mentally slapped himself. This city slicker from Atlanta was not going to get to him. He realized he’d been