Synopsis:
Historical fiction with a twist.  Meticulously researched tale of the Civil War not about the battles but about the everyday lives of the people and told from the often neglected northern point of view from an Osage blacksmith’s unique perspective.

Victor Gant’s life is abundant with blessings.  Although his mother was an Osage Indian slave, he is a valuable member of the French and German community of Ste. Genevieve, Missouri.  As the town blacksmith he makes a proper living for himself.   He is further blessed when he marries the only woman that had ever caught his eye.

But blessings can be fleeting.  When the Civil War erupts in 1861, Victor will have to make choices.  Torn between doing what’s best for his family or following his conscience, between keeping promises or following his heart…to finally bestowing an agonizing blessing of his own.

Victor’s takes the reader on a historical  journey from the patent offices of Washington, D.C. to the battle of Wilderness to the infamous Andersonville prison, where in order for Victor to keep one promise, another must be broken.

Excerpt from Victor’s Blessings by Barbara Sontheimer

He had a full day of work ahead of him. Although a blacksmith—or a forgeron as his French friends referred to him—and not a farmer, he had been lending his help to friends and neighbors at harvest time for as long as he could remember, and his friends welcomed his help and depended on him. Plus, he enjoyed the change of pace, the camaraderie, the jokes, and meals he shared at their tables. Tonight, he would be able to chow down on Yvonne Riefler’s baked barue, or chicken fricassee, followed by her crusty bread, with baked apples or custard for dessert. Located between St. Louis and New Orleans, Ste. Genevieve was a surprisingly cosmopolitan town for its small size. There were German, French, Spanish settlers, and Indians as well. And a good deal of intermarrying between the groups. In fact, in the earliest days of the village the Catholic priests had encouraged the men to marry Indian women. White women were scarce in those days and the Jesuits thought it a good solution to the illicit liaisons they were unable to prevent anyway. Victor moved his left shoulder experimentally, knowing it was going to be a long day. He sighed quietly, hoping his bruised shoulder was up to it. Polly, Phillippe Charbonnier’s mare had kicked him yesterday. He had shod her countless times before and hadn’t bothered with a twitch. But then his striker Claude came barreling in the shop and startled her. Victor helped Andy Stoddard cut his corn two days last week and helped Jean Gustave with bundling yesterday, but the weekend he had saved for John Riefler. He knew John was ecstatic for this corn crop. With the money from its yield, he would be able to help his son James buy land like he had done for his older son Laurence three years back. He didn’t want his sister to have to empty his chamber pot, and made a quick, chilly trip to the outhouse. A delicate white haze of frost coated the ground, and he breathed in deeply, wishing he could smell the dampness that rose from the Mississippi. He couldn’t see the river from the blacksmith shop, but, across the street and behind the Woolrich’s general store knew there was an early morning mist rising from it

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