Basket Brigade of Decatur, Illinois by Jo-Ann Roberts

Let's face it, no historical romance author would write historical novels if we didn't love the research. We plan family vacations around historical landmarks, Old West forts, Early American seaports and ships, and living-history museums. We search the internet, historical archives, books, and artifacts that were touched by people decades or centuries ago.

History inspires us, amazes us, fascinates us, and torments us. No matter how small a part it plays in our books, we want to get it right!

Such is the prologue in my newest release, A Builder for Bronwyn (The Mail-Order Papa Series - Full Series).

During the American Civil War, women played a significant role in supporting the troops. One such group was the Basket Brigade of Decatur, Illinois. The Brigade was a group of women who provided encouragement and a taste of home to wounded soldiers offering them home-cooked food.  At the war's end, Confederate, as well as Union soldiers were recipients of these tender mercies.

The Brigade was formed in March 1862, when several battles had been fought on what was then the "western front" of the war. All available hospital beds around Cairo, Illinois, and into Kentucky and Tennessee were filled. The U.S. Army ordered that wounded men who could travel be relocated to hospitals farther north. The ladies of Decatur stepped up. Every day for months, the northbound train stopped at the depot in Centralia, Illinois, where a count was taken and the number of wounded on the train telegraphed ahead. When the train stopped in Decatur at 5:00 in the afternoon, the Basket Brigade ladies were waiting to provide the first home-cooked food many of those men had eaten in months. In her memoir, Jane Martin Johns recounts the first time the ladies met the train.

"When five o'clock came, there were twenty or thirty women on the platform...Baskets of hot buttered biscuits, cold meats, pies, cakes, and pickles, will gallons of milk and cream were ready..."

 "Pale, emaciated, half-starved and disheveled, the men met us with apologies for their appearance, smoothed down their hair with their fingers, and tried to hide the dirt that covered their wounds..." 

Although the Basket Brigade only lasted nine months and fed over 1,200 soldiers, for the storyline in A Builder for Bronwyn, I extended their contributions until the end of the war in 1865.

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She’s not what he expected…but could she be what he needs?
What she thinks she wants, isn’t what she gained.

Whispering Pines, Minnesota 1865

The stipulation of her father’s will was to the point.
In order to retain ownership of Stewart Woodsmiths, Bronwyn Stewart must marry or forfeit the business to the highest bidder. With three half-siblings to raise, little money, and no place to go, she needs help not only with the business but with the children. Yet, when Ian Taggart lands on her doorstep, she sees just the opposite of what she advertised for…or what she needs.
Imprisoned during the War Between the States, Ian Taggart doesn’t see himself as a worthwhile candidate for anything…much less a husband. Yet, when he meets his soon-to-be-bride, he sees a woman wounded in spirit.
Forging ahead in faith, can Ian and Bronwyn find the courage to see beneath the surface and create a forever family?

Prologue

Decatur, Illinois
April 1865

     Ian Taggart clutched the bundle an elderly woman tucked into his arm and shuffled forward. Up ahead, the mouth-watering aroma of fried chicken and biscuits mingled with the warm spring air, making him lightheaded. He stumbled, crashing into the line of soldiers that stretched out along the length of the train depot.

   “Hold on there, soldier,” someone called out. A moment later, several hands reached out to him, attempting to keep him upright. 

   “Get him out of the sun,” A swish of skirts accompanied a feminine voice barking out the order, and immediately those same hands shuffled him to a bench inside the depot. If he had the strength, he would have smiled at the woman’s officious directive. There was something in her tone that reminded him of his mama. A sob crawled up his throat. Though he missed her desperately, he was glad she was finally at peace, and away from the clutches of his father.

   Surprisingly cool inside the sprawling brick building, Ian dropped his head between his knees. Taking in steady gulps of air, he breathed in through his nose and out through his mouth several times until the spots before his eyes stopped dancing. Slowly, he leaned back and rested his head against the wall. Memories of how he got to this point flipped through his mind like a child’s zoetrope in a dizzying forward motion.

   The wheatfield in Gettysburg. Minié balls striking the trees like hail stones all around him. A bullet striking and passing through his arm. Yankees surrounding him. The prison at Point Lookout in Maryland. The train ride to Elmira. The Shohola train wreck. The march by torchlight to Elmira Prison.

   A moan slipped from his lips as he pushed these thoughts away. The war was over. And with it came freedom, though he recognized the fact that as a Southerner he’d always be viewed as the enemy. He also knew he needed to find work if he wanted to survive.

   “You’ll feel better once you drink this and get some food in your belly, son.”

   Ian opened his eyes and focused on the planked ceiling before he eased his head forward. The aroma of chicken and biscuits was stronger now, sending his stomach into a swirl again.
“Would you like coffee or milk? I brought both.”

   The woman’s tone was kinder when she spoke this time. As dearly as he loved coffee, the memory of the swill he’d been forced to swallow at Elmira turned his stomach. “I’ll take the milk,” he said, finally facing his champion in calico.

   He reasoned that if he’d known his grandmothers, one or both might have resembled the woman sitting next to him. While not exactly plump, she possessed a stout figure. Dressed in a serviceable cotton dress and sturdy black shoes, she wore a black cockade on her bodice adorned with a daguerreotype of a soldier. He’d seen enough of those to realize she’d probably lost a loved one in the war. Hidden beneath a simple straw bonnet trimmed with a frayed grosgrain ribbon, a few silver curls framed her face.

   “Somehow, I guessed you’d choose milk. I don’t imagine they gave you anything to drink that even closely resembles coffee in Elmira,” she said, draping a cloth napkin over his dirty, tattered trousers before handing him a tin plate. He noted her hands, wrinkled with age and nicked with years of work. He was certain those hands could soothe and calm better than any salve a doctor might prescribe.

   “How’d you know I was at Elmira?”

   A veil of sadness dimmed her bright blue eyes. “When a train from the northeast filled with Southern boys like you arrive in Decatur, it’s coming from Elmira. Just as a train from the south, filled with federals in much the same condition as you arrive, we know it’s coming from Libby Prison, the Florence Stockade, or…Andersonville.”

   Tamping down the urge to tuck into the food, he put out his hand. “I’d consider it an honor, ma’am if you’d pray over the food with me.”

   Her gnarled fingers clasped his with predictable strength. “Nothing would give me greater pleasure, son.”

   Ian listened with heartfelt gratitude that he’d reached this place of grace. “Lord, allow this boy acceptance of all things in his life and give him peace that passes all understanding. Fill him with Your promises and show him Your perfect will. Bless this food to our use and us to thy service. And keep us ever mindful of the needs of others. Amen.”

   “Amen,” echoed Ian. A little bit of heaven filled his mouth as he bit into the biscuit and sighed.

    “Glad you didn’t offer me hardtack, ma’am. The Yankees thought they were doing us a favor by giving us a “worm castle”. Begging your pardon, ma’am…it’s what we called it at Point Lookout. It wasn’t uncommon for us boys to find the surface of our coffee swimming with weevils after we’d broken up the hardtack and soaked it.”

   Understanding his meaning, her brows nearly reached her hairline. “That’s simply scandalous! It seems that along with every other propriety thrown by the wayside these last four years, Christian values were trampled on as well.”

   “It was war, ma’am.” Not knowing what else to say, Ian dropped the denuded chicken bone onto the plate and wiped his fingers. “Thanks for the food, ma’am—”

   “I’m Josepha Blake,” she interrupted. “Most folks call me Josie. And you are?”

   Ian smiled, realizing it was the first time in quite a while he recalled doing it. “Sergeant Ian Taggart, 7th Virginia Infantry,” he drawled, reminding himself he’d need to shuck the accent if he hoped to find work.

 

The Mystery of Sonora's P. Kelly's Stable Location by Zina Abbott

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

          One of the drawbacks for using a real locality and attempting to pull in some historical characters and incidences is that the available information can get murky. That quite often sends me down the research rabbit hole. In Sonora, those rabbit holes often lead to dead ends, such as the one I traveled in an attempt to find the location of the P. Kelly Feed and Stable business.

          The following is taken from my Author’s Notes at the end of A Watchman for Willow:

          For my book, I wished to use the incident of the shooting that took place at the P. Kelly Stable on April 26, 1886. It was in neighboring California newspapers—most notably the Stockton Mail, the Merced Sun-Star, the Mariposa Gazette, and the Daily Alta California newspapers that I found sufficient details to get a general idea of what took place between Peter Kelly and Michael Keefe and the outcome of the incident. Finding unindexed, microfilmed issues of the Union Democrat, which might have offered more details that came out in the trial, would have required a day or two (or more) of perusing the microfilms at the California State Library. 

          Since this incident was not the primary plot in my novel, but simply a climatic action incident I set up for my hero’s night watchman work, I chose not to go into more detail than that available in the above-mentioned newspaper sources, or refer directly to this family. For one thing, Michael Keefe coming to visit Peter Kelly took place in the morning. Since my character, Jesse Randolph, worked as a night watchman, the timing did not work. The other reason is because this might still be a sensitive issue for the descendants of both the Kelly and Keefe families, some of whom might still live in Tuolumne County. It was an unnecessary and unfortunate incident that I imagine resulted in a great deal of grief and hardship for two families. Instead, I chose to write a fictional scene inspired by the incident.

          Here is some of the information I found:

          P. Kelly Feed Stable was a livery run by Patrick Kelly. It operated a stagecoach between Sonora and Strawberry to the east, as well as hauling lumber for various logging companies. 

           According to the 1870 U.S. Census for Columbia, which is five miles to the north of Sonora, three Kelly brothers lived there in 1870. All three were born in Ireland. One head of household shows the older brother, Michael Kelly, age 35, working as a stable keeper. He did not sell the Columbia livery business to George M. Trask until 1888. Enumerated with him in 1870 was his wife, Bridget, and three children.

          On the same census, the youngest brother of three in Columbia, Patrick Kelly, age 21, who appeared to live in the same dwelling as Michael, worked as a stage driver.

          Peter Kelly, who lived next to Michael and Patrick, listed his occupation as miner. He was enumerated with his wife, Ann, and one young daughter. In 1873, he advertised that he bought the Copperopolis Stage Line.

           By the time of the 1880 U.S. Census, Patrick lived in Sonora. His occupation was Livery business. The above beautifully staged photograph shows the livery and several citizens of Sonora. Patrick Kelly is the man in front wearing the waist coat and the hat set at a jaunty angle.

          In 1880, Peter Kelly, who bought out the Copperopolis Stage Line, still lived in Copperopolis. His occupation was listed as Stable Keeper. A newspaper article in 1885 indicated that, upon injury of the regular Copperopolis stagecoach driver, Peter Kelly assumed the ribbons and drove the stagecoach. I do not know if, between 1880 and April 1886, he sold his Copperopolis stable business and moved to Sonora, or if he was in Sonora the day after Easter because he and his family joined his younger brother to celebrate the holiday.

           I am not sure where the P. Kelly Stables and Feed business was located in Sonora other than documentation I found states it was on South Washington Street. None of the historic maps show its location. However, According to Michael Gahagan, author of Images of America – Sonora, this livery was the oldest livery stable in Tuolumne County.

          This does not coordinate well with my findings that all the Kellys lived in Columbia during the 1870 U.S. Census, and the livery purchased by Michael Kelly took place in February 1870. Since Patrick Kelly was listed as a stage driver on that census, I do not believe he opened his stable business in Sonora prior to 1870. Also, an 1866 photograph of Sonora includes the City Livery.

          A careful study of the photograph of P. Kelly Stable shows a rock side wall and brick with iron doors in front. Unlike other stables in the city, it appears surrounded by greenery rather than being abutted by buildings. It looks like it was most likely by either an open area as opposed to being abutted by buildings, which is why I initially thought it might be the livery found along Sonora Creek.

 

          By studying photographs online and in the book, Images of America Sonora, I first thought the City Livery, which is visible in an 1866 photograph, was near a bend to the left in the road. There are three places like that on Washington Street. One is close to where the road continuing to Columbia bends to the east, and the other two—depending on whether the viewer is facing north or south—is between Linoberg Street and Gold Street. I finally found a source that identified it as the livery along Sonora Creek. 

         It later became Pickle’s Stables. After the fire of 1970, which destroyed several buildings around Sonora Creek, the city decided to build Coffill Park rather than replace the destroyed buildings. Discovered in the ruins following the fire were the rock and brick walls of an old livery. Although this “old livery” was not identified in that article, I suspect this would have been the old City Livery/Pickle’s Stables.

The Pioneer Stable operated by famed (locally, at least) stage driver, John H. Shine, was located on South Washington Street near where the old Stockton Road intersects. This would have placed it almost across the street from the City Livery as well as being fairly close to the original plaza area and the spring that provided potable water in Sonora’s early days. 

View from second floor of Opera Hall

Its location was verified in one of two photographs I found of Shine’s Pioneer Stable which showed it located across the street and slightly to the north of the Sonora Opera Hall. 

Map courtesy of Sonora Remembered, A Nostalgic Tribute to a Gold Rush Town by Patricia Perry, City Historian, Editor (corrected to show location of P. Kelly Feed Stable)

          I still do not know where the P. Kelly Livery is located. For a livery that, if the 1900 U.S. Census is to be believed was still in business, and the image of which is impressive enough that it graced a book cover about Sonora, California, if the Sonora historians know the location of they are keeping this information close to the vest. Since I used the story of the shooting of Peter Kelly by Michael Keefe as the inspiration for one scene in my story, for my purposes, I decided to place my fictional livery near Sonora Creek.

Update as of September 25, 2023. I found the location of the P. Kelly Livery and Feed on a July 1895 Sanborn Fire Insurance Map. In some respects, it was in my research files all along. However, I needed to do some photo-editing to find it.

It is located across from and south of where Silver Street intersects with South Washington Street. Since the time of the 1895 Sanborn map, Silver Street has been renamed to Williams Street. The current address is possibly 435 S. Washington Street.

 

 

Today was the release day for A Watchman for Willow. It is currently available for purchase or at no additional cost with a Kindle Unlimited subscription. To find the book description and purchase link,

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