Better Dig Two (The Kansas Trilogy Book 1)

In Bleeding Kansas, Vengeance Has a Cost

Boston, 1854. Sam Miller and Abigail Clark journey west in search of freedom—but find themselves in the crossfire of a nation at war with itself. As Kansas Territory erupts in bloodshed between abolitionists and pro-slavery forces, Sam is drawn into a violent spiral fueled by loss, betrayal, and the ghost of a father he can't escape.

When a sadistic slave hunter shatters their fragile peace, Sam’s desire for justice becomes an obsession. But in a land where revenge is currency and mercy is weakness, every choice carries a price.

Set against the real-life chaos of Bleeding Kansas, Better Dig Two is a searing historical novel about love, trauma, and the ruinous weight of retribution. When the line between right and wrong vanishes, how far will one man go before he loses everything?

A brutal and haunting portrait of a nation tearing itself apart—and the souls caught in its wake.

Excerpt from the book

“Kill ‘em! Kill the heathens!”

John Brown’s voice boomed through the crisp spring air as he recounted last night’s dream. The abolitionist’s eyes gleamed with a fervent intensity, his cadence rising and falling like a hellfire preacher. The firelight cast ominous shadows across Brown’s weathered face, deepening the lines etched by years of righteous anger.

Sam Miller had joined Brown's ragtag band of abolitionists for a different reason than most. He agreed that slavery was a vile institution, but his primary motivation was a thirst for blood—anyone's blood would do. The beatings he had endured at the hands of his father had left him scarred, both physically and emotionally. With the old man now dead, Sam sought to ease his pain by inflicting violence upon others, a twisted form of retribution. It’s damned hard to get even with a dead man, Sam mused. Brown remained unaware of Sam's true intentions, believing him to be a fellow crusader in the fight against slavery.

As Brown droned on about his divine vision, Sam's thoughts drifted to the irony of the situation. The abolitionist was a staunch believer in the word of God, yet he seemed to have no qualms about taking lives in the name of his cause. All this reflection called for whiskey, but there was none to be had. Brown's intolerance for drinking was well known, but apparently, killing was perfectly acceptable—there was a lot of that in the Bible.

The men huddled around the campfire, their faces illuminated by the flames. They camped at the confluence of the Pottawatomie and Mosquito Creeks near Palmyra in eastern Kansas. Four of Brown's sons, two neighbors, and Sam listened intently as their leader revealed his divine mandate. The air was heavy with tension and a palpable sense of anticipation.

"I saw the sins of the slavers laid bare before me," Brown declared with righteous fury. "The Lord showed me the suffering of the enslaved, their blood crying out for vengeance. He has chosen us, my brothers, to be the instruments of His divine retribution!"

Sam fought the urge to scoff at Brown's grandiose claims. Brown often compared himself to Moses. He looked the part, with a horse blanket wrapped around him to fend off the night air and a staff fashioned from hickory. Sam cared little for the man's visions and holy proclamations, seeing them as nothing more than the ravings of a madman. All Sam wanted was to spill some pro-slaver blood and numb the ache in his own soul.

Brown unveiled his plan, his words painting a grim picture of the carnage that was to come. The men gathered around him and checked their weapons—their hands trembling. Sam ran his fingers along the cool metal of his own blade, finding a twisted comfort in its lethal promise.