His Brother’s Enemy
A moving Civil War novel about family loyalty, unexpected friendship,
and discovering the humanity of those once considered enemies.
Honor, duty, and family ran deep in the Reed household, and twelve-year-old Thomas never expected to be caught up in the brutal reality of war. But when his older brother Eli leaves to fight for the Confederacy, Thomas can’t bear to be left behind and follows in secret. Little does he know, one impulsive decision will change his life forever and lead him on a journey filled with unexpected allies and harrowing challenges.
Trapped behind enemy lines, Thomas must navigate his way through a Union army pushing south through the treacherous mountains. Surrounded by those he has been taught to hate, Thomas is forced to confront his own prejudices and fears. But amidst the chaos and violence, he also finds unlikely friendship in a tired surgeon named Samuel, a homesick colonel who reminds him of his father, and ordinary soldiers who share his hopes and dreams for home.
As the war rages on and the toll of battle weighs heavily on his young shoulders, Thomas begins to question everything he thought he knew about courage, loyalty, and the true meaning of family. But with one steadfast goal in mind, he refuses to give up hope – finding Eli and bringing him home.
His Brother’s Enemy is a heart-wrenching journey of a boy caught between loyalty and understanding in this poignant coming-of-age novel set against the backdrop of the Civil War. Delve into themes of brotherhood, courage, and the enduring power of home as Thomas learns the true cost of war and the bonds that transcend it.
For fans of powerful historical fiction and emotional reads, His Brother’s Enemy is a must-read.
Don’t miss out on this captivating story.
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Excerpt from Chapter One – His Brother’s Enemy:
Chapter One – The Soldiers Road South
The first wagon of soldiers rolled past just after sunrise, when the sky was still pink and the world still quiet. Thomas Reed stood at the edge of the yard, watching from behind the old fence rail, his bare feet sinking into the cold, wet grass.
He hugged himself against the morning chill and stared at the road filling with men. Soldiers in gray coats marched by. Rifle barrels gleamed in the pale light, and wagon wheels cut deep tracks into the muddy road. The sound was low and heavy, like faraway thunder that never quite came.
Most of the men already looked worn out.
They were nothing like the paintings Thomas had seen in town. Those soldiers looked proud and bright, with chins high and eyes full of glory. These men looked dirty and weary. Mud clung to their boots. Their faces looked tired, and their eyes stared far ahead. They were older than Thomas had expected too. Much older.
But then he saw his brother.
Eli rode near the back of the line on a thin brown horse with one white sock on its front left leg. He sat tall in the saddle, straighter than the men around him, with his shoulders square and his chin up, as if he had been born for this moment.
The moment Thomas saw him, something in his chest tightened, like a fist closing around his heart.
Eli saw him at the fence. A wide grin broke across his face.
“Go on home now,” he called out.
Thomas shook his head hard, stubborn, the way only a twelve-year-old boy can.
Behind him, their mother stood near the porch steps. She gripped her apron with both hands and pressed her lips together the way she did when she was trying not to cry. She wanted to look strong for Eli. She wanted him to remember her that way.
“Tom,” she said quietly. A warning.
But Thomas barely heard her.
The drums began to beat, slow and steady, like giant footsteps moving down the road beside the men. Boom. Boom. Boom. The sound pressed against Thomas’s chest.
Eli pulled his horse to the side and leaned down toward his younger brother.
“You mind Ma while I’m gone.”
“I can help,” Thomas blurted. “I’m not little anymore.”
Eli chuckled. It was a soft, warm sound, the same laugh Thomas had heard a thousand times in their shared room, at supper, and out in the hayfield.
“You’re twelve.”
“I’ll be thirteen once the frost comes.”
Eli’s grin widened just a little. His eyes crinkled at the corners.
“Well then, the Yankees better hope the war ends before your birthday.”
Some of the men nearby laughed, low and tired. Thomas tried to smile back.
But something stopped him. A sharp, strange feeling rose in his chest. For the first time, Thomas understood that Eli was really leaving.
Not just for Richmond. Not just for a little while. He might leave and not come back.
Eli reached down and wrapped his big hand around the back of Thomas’s neck, one firm, gentle squeeze, the same way he’d done a hundred times before when words weren’t enough.
Then his horse turned away.
The column moved on.
Thomas stood by the road long after the soldiers disappeared into the dark trees at the bottom of the hill. He stayed until he could no longer hear the wagon wheels. Until the drums faded away. Until even the mud began to swallow the wagon tracks.
Then he walked back to the house, full of longing and indecision.
By suppertime, his mind was made up. He was going after Eli.
He did not say the words out loud but in his thoughts, he planned over and over what he would do. In a house where his mother still moved from room to room as if she were listening for something precious she had lost, the truth felt too heavy to speak. She set plates on the table, then took one away without thinking. She stirred beans that did not need stirring. Twice she drifted to the door and looked down the empty road.
Thomas watched her from the bench by the hearth. His heart ached for all the things he could not say. He also felt anger burning inside him for the Yankees who had taken his brother to war.
“You best eat,” she said, her voice gentle but far away.
“I ain’t hungry,” he whispered.
“You’ll eat anyway,” she replied, more out of habit than hope.
He picked up his spoon, turning it in his fingers like something new.
Across the table, little Mary held her cup with both hands. Her eyes were red and puffy from crying. At only seven, she still believed enough tears might bring someone home.
“Will Eli come home by Christmas?” she asked, her voice trembling on the edge of hope and fear.
Their mother did not reply at once. Silence stretched, broken only by the soft snapping of the fire.
The fire crackled in the silence until Thomas could not hold his words in anymore. “He’ll be back when he kills the last of them Federals,” he said through clenched teeth.
“Thomas!” His mother turned quickly, glaring. “We don’t talk such hatred in this house.”
“Yes,’um,” he muttered, though his heart fought the words.
“I pray he does,” she said at last to Mary, her words soft and uncertain, as if prayer alone might tip fate in their favor.
Thomas hated the way she said it. Not yes. Not of course. Just I pray.
He pushed the beans around his plate, stirring them in circles, until his mother’s gaze pinned him to the moment.
“Thomas.”
“Yes, ma’am.” He answered without looking up.
“You heard what your brother told you.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“You’ll mind me.” The words left no room for argument.
“Yes, ma’am.”
“And you’ll stay close to home.”
His grip tightened around the spoon, knuckles whitening with the effort not to betray himself.
“Yes, ma’am.”
The lie burned hot and bitter on his tongue.
After supper, Thomas brought in wood, filled the water bucket from the spring, and swept away the mud Eli had tracked in that morning. Every chore hurt.
His brother’s boots had stood by the door just yesterday. They looked big and strong, like a soldier’s boots. Thomas remembered placing his own foot beside one and seeing how much growing he still had to do.
That night he lay awake on his mattress beneath the sloping roof and listened to the house settle around him. Mary breathed softly from the pallet across the room. Downstairs, his mother moved once, twice, and then finally grew still.
Thomas waited and watched the moonlight slide slowly across the floor. In his mind, he went over his plan again and again. He thought about where he would walk, what food he would take, and what he would say when he finally found Eli.
He would not show himself right away. First, he would follow the soldiers until they were too far from home to send him back. Then, when a battle came, he would step forward, prove he was brave, and help them win. After that, everyone would see they needed him after all.
He did not know how long he waited. Long enough for the moon to rise high in the window. Long enough for his courage to start thinning into fear.
At last, he sat up, listening again for movement before leaving his bed.
The floorboards were icy beneath his feet.
He dressed in the dark, pulling on his trousers, shirt, and the patched coat Eli had outgrown the winter before. It hung loose on his thin shoulders and still smelled faintly of smoke, sweat, and pine. Thomas stood still for a moment and pressed one sleeve to his cheek.
Then, hardly daring to breathe, he crept downstairs.
He moved carefully, avoiding the third step because it creaked and stepping around the kitchen floorboard that always popped. The house was full of little secrets he had learned from years of sneaking biscuits before sunrise.
In the kitchen, he packed what he could carry in his haversack: two pieces of cornbread wrapped in cloth, a strip of dried pork, three apples from the basket, and his father’s old canteen, battered but precious.
He paused at the breadboard, then picked up the knife and slid it into his belt, pretending to feel braver than he did.
At the door, he paused with his hand on the latch, the night pressing close beyond the walls.
His mother’s Bible rested on the little table beneath the window, with a scrap of cloth marking her place. Thomas looked at it, then looked away.
If he touched it, he knew he might never leave.
So he slipped through the door and stepped out into the waiting night.
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