Annabelle - Ethan Shaw

Annabelle by Ethan Shaw

Book excerpt

I have a hard time recalling much on the topic of my father, but I have a general recollection of the kind of man he was. He was a good sort of man. He was raised in the northern Appalachians, and he spent his early years living almost like a nomad. Later on in life, he settled down and made a considerable fortune out of nothing but hard work. These two contrasting periods of his life shaped him into a very wise and tough man. He was a survivalist, both in the wild and in society.

He liked to exercise his wisdom onto my brothers and me. “Most of the people you’ll meet in life will not be your ally,” he would say. “Most people will try to either take advantage of you or assert their dominance over you. Don’t let them do either. I didn’t get to where I am in life by playing nice. I fought back. I showed them I was strong. You boys will be stronger than I ever could be. But you can’t let anyone get the best of you. If someone ever tries to intimidate you or make you feel small, then you must fight back. You can’t run away in those situations. Otherwise, they’ll just continue to do it.” It was easy for him to say that. He was tough as nails. He fought in one of the Indian wars, but we never brought it up because we could tell that he didn’t want to talk about it.

I did my best to take his advice, recalling one time as a boy when a larger boy threw me to the ground over something I cannot recall. I pulled that massive boy onto the ground with me, and we tumbled around in a deathroll for what felt like an eternity. He punched me in the stomach until I threw up, but when I told my father what had happened, he was so proud of me.

I had a considerably high opinion of myself at that time. I saw myself as better than most of the people around me. Keeping me humble however, were regular occurrences of melancholy. Most of the time, I was successful in managing it.

I never could fully decipher what my peers thought of me, but I cannot imagine that I would be pleased to hear what they thought.

I did a number of unwise, ill-advised, and generally idiotic things in the waning years of my adolescence. When I reached the age of a proper “adult”, my decisions had never been more ill-advised.

I attended Henry Lee University in the fall of 1868, and I remained a student there for two semesters. Henry Lee University was one of the premier educational institutions in the country. It may seem hard to believe, but in that time it rivaled institutions such as Harvard University in its level of esteem. I was an intelligent boy, and my family had the kind of money that could get me into a reputable school. Obviously not Harvard mind you, but definitely one of its lesser-known associates. It seemed very natural for me to go to Henry Lee. I failed to make the connection prior to going, but later found out that Henry Lee was the father of old Robert Lee from the war. The school itself was situated in the middle of nowhere in the part of Virginia where you could stand on the beach facing east and see land on the horizon. That body of water separating the two landmasses was the same one Admiral Cockburn sailed upon on his way to burn down our capital fifty years earlier. It was very quaint.

The town Johnston’s Ridge was located a few miles from the university, surrounded only by scattered plantation houses. I would become familiar with two of those old relics in particular. The population of the town was close to six hundred when I lived there. The school had around two hundred students. The history of the town was mildly interesting. Apparently, there was a man named Johnston who died spectacularly at that very spot during the war.

I quite liked the physical features of that place. It was very green, and you could smell the ocean on the windy days. Had it been a landscape painting or a pastoral poem, it would have been perfect. My only issue was the people.

I found myself there at a particularly terrible time. Everyone seemed to have either fought in the war or knew someone who did; all on the rebel side. Imagine two mountains side by side. One mountain is named rejection, and the other is named acceptance. Johnston’s Ridge was stuck directly in the middle. They had fought so tirelessly for years, and now it was all they knew how to do. It took years after my departure for them to finally move past it all. Even to this day you can find a few people who remain entrenched in the war.

I will not claim to share any of the pains felt by those poor souls sent off to die by the thousands, nor will I pretend that the war ever involved me. I was simply too young to fight. My brothers, of which there were two of them, were not. My oldest brother William made no small name for himself as a volunteer in the 10th Connecticut. In fact, he was promoted to Captain before the conclusion of the war. My other brother faired in a different manner. Robert was fortunate enough to survive the war, but in doing so he sacrificed his legs somewhere in South Carolina. The loss of such an important function changed him when he returned home. We never saw him much because he preferred to be left alone and he ate only when forced to. It was heartbreaking to watch.

I never did consider myself a Virginian, despite living in Virginia for the better part of two years. Unlike most people, I never could excuse the terrible practice of slavery that everyone was so fond of. It wasn’t just the rich people who lamented over the abolition of slavery. The poor men, the ones who could never afford to own slaves, were equally upset over the recent change. This was the same mindset that many of my fellow students had, and it made them very unlikable in my eyes. They disliked me as well. I was the “Yank” as they decided to call me, much to my cha-grin. The student body included an overwhelming number of racists, bigots, and other morally destitute people. I remember once seeing a sign advertising the student-led branch of the White Southerners Union, or some equivalent group of lowlifes carrying out more or less the same purpose. These groups were a dime a dozen, and they very nearly caused me to rethink my decision to stay, but in my ignorant and selfish youth, I allowed myself to continue to pursue my fancy education and to turn a blind eye to the wrongdoings I witnessed.