Their country is on the brink of Civil War; George Morgan and friends seek to escape harassment. But each must ask himself what price he's willing to pay for freedom.
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It's 1856 and the states are on the verge of a civil war, borther against brother, father against son. George Morgan and his friends just want to be left alone. Tired of being harassed because of the color of thier skin, this determined group migrates from Kentucky to the free state of Indiana. There they hope to find a place where they can live free from persecution.
The way is hard--a river takes a child, they're threatened by a slave catcher. But in the wilderness, these hardy souls carve out a new community only to find they haven't escaped the troubles.
With the conflict engaging the whole country, each man must now search his heart to discover what price he's willing to pay to be free.
He woke in a sweat, his thoughts still disturbed by a fast fading dream. He remembered cabins consumed in flames...fields, ripe with corn, swept by fire...all that remained were smoking stalks. There had been scored of men, clouds of dust trailing behind as they walked away from their homes. Left behind were their wives, aprons covering teary faces as their bent shoulders shook with their sobbing. Beside the women, the children stood, their faced filled with confusion and bewilderment.
There had been other images...more horrible...more heart-wrenching. He watched as swarms of faceless bodies surged like an ocean’s tide down lush-green hillsides to encounter other clouds of faceless bodies...watched as they came together with a thundering roar of angry voices, the roar punctuated by the sharp staccato of barking rifles. He watched the puffs of gunpowder explode...smelled the sickening sweetness of blood gushing from gaping wounds...heard the howls of shock and pitiful cries of pain and anguish. It had been so confusing, so befuddling.
What did it all mean? He gave a shake of his head, trying to break the hold of those terrible images. Suddenly, he widened his eyes in recognition of where he was...what he had to do. A picture of his family flashed before his eyes. Abigail, now eight years old, pudgy baby-fat smoothing into a solemn sprite whose large dark eyes seemed to hold the wisdom of all ages. Jacob, with his stocky well-proportioned frame that continually gave the impression of containing a coiled spring. And there was Mirabelle, their mother and the light of his life....
He jumped to his feet. He had to get her back