Acknowledgments

SIFTING THROUGH HUNDREDS OF LETTERS that somehow survived fire, flood, and countless Civil War dangers, I am grateful for every small expression of care that aided their preservation: the friends, acquaintances, and postal carriers who delivered each piece across hundreds of miles; each recipient’s diligence in keeping their mail safe from loss or destruction at the marauding hands of guerrillas or toddlers; and the family members who kept these papers in drawers, trunks, or attics before graciously donating them to repositories whose professional staff processed and made these collections available to researchers today. In particular, I thank the estate of Martha Rayhill, the granddaughter of Henry Fike’s sister Charity Fike Rayhill, for bequeathing the Fikes’ letters to the Spencer Research Library at the University of Kansas, and also Lyman W. Fike, a grandson of Henry Fike’s brother Moses, and his son Stanley Fike, who donated Henry’s diary to the State Historical Society of Missouri.

In that same spirit, it is my pleasure to acknowledge and thank the individuals and institutions whose assistance helped make this book possible. The summer research fellowship, course releases, and research funding that I received from Missouri State University have all been immensely beneficial, and I want to thank Victor Matthews, retired Dean of the College of Humanities and Public Affairs, and Kathleen Kennedy, head of the History Department, for their steadfast support. I am grateful to the staff of the Spencer Research Library at the University of Kansas for their help in sharing the Fike correspondence. A few months after that first visit to Lawrence, the COVID-19 pandemic threatened to upend further archival research. The patient help of librarians and archivists, however, made my return to reading rooms an especially welcome escape from months of isolation and lockdown. At the State Historical Society of Missouri’s research center in Springfield, Erin Smither, Kathleen Seale, and Haley Frizzle-Green helped me access the diaries of Henry and Ellie Fike. I came to learn about Henry’s Civil War comrades, thanks to the assistance of many people, including Will Shannon at the St. Clair Historical Society in Belleville, Illinois; Christopher Schnell at the Abraham Lincoln Presidential Library in Springfield, Illinois; Deborah Houk, at McKendree University’s Holman Library in Lebanon, Illinois; Dennis Northcott, at the Missouri History Museum in St. Louis; Dean Blackmar Krafft, who generously shared the Civil War papers of his ancestor, James Krafft; and the staff of the Lovejoy Library at Southern Illinois University in Edwardsville.

Getting to share research with students is one of the great joys of my job. Thank you to Trevor Martin, who helped dig into the Fike letters at an early stage of this project, and to Samuel Griffin, who tackled my research questions with diligence and good cheer. I also appreciate the graduate students whose discussions of the Fike papers helped me to see ways that this collection might prove useful to historians, as well as the undergraduates who endured my tangents about Union quartermasters with more patience than anyone deserves during an 8:00 a.m. lecture.

It has been a privilege to work with the University of Georgia Press, and I am humbled to see the Fikes join the fine collections within the New Perspectives on the Civil War Era series. I appreciate the wise counsel of editors Mick Gusinde-Duffy, Susanna Lee, and Judkin Browning, along with the thoughtful feedback of two anonymous readers. I am also indebted to Madison Mosely for her help in crafting the digital supplements for this book. All of these folks have made this a much sharper collection.

John Brenner, Kimberly Harper, and Missouri Historical Review, which previously published a version of chapter 5, kindly granted permission to reprint parts of that piece here. It was my good fortune to complete some of the revisions of this manuscript at the Dairy Hollow Writers Colony in Eureka Springs, Arkansas; I was even luckier to spend that time with friends and colleagues Chelsea Davis, Michelle Morgan, Yasmine Singh, and Julia Troche. I can only begin to express my appreciation for the innumerable kindnesses of family and friends who shared a meal, a drink, a laugh, or a word of encouragement over the course of this project. My heartfelt gratitude is with Kurt Neely, Christopher Phillips, Diane Mutti Burke, Heath Oates, Bryce Oates, Matt Bell, Darren Morrison, John Alan West, Trey Schillie, Dan Ferguson, Sam and Candi Brewster, Kevin and Cara Olson, Cristin and Jeremy Blunt, Kristen Epps, Shawn Cossins, Holly Holladay, Marlin Barber, Steve McIntyre, Tom Dicke, Murray Crawford, Mary Schnelle, Kristen Beerly, John Scott, Jim Scott, Luke Rader, Jamie Wackerman, Bach Hang, Chris Rees, Kristi Kelley, Grace Chang, Caitlin Antonopoulos, and Caleb Hearon. Huge thanks also go to Angie Whitesell, Joseph Vukcevich, Karen Whitesell, Dana Chambers, Bethany Whitesell, Adam Whitesell, Kim Whitesell, and John Whitesell for their help in watching and hauling kids to piano lessons, sports practices, and after-school activities. A special note of gratitude goes to my parents, Kathy and Bob Neely, for all of the childcare, food, and boundless encouragement that they’ve provided during this project and all the years before it.

Mandy Kool believed in this project from the moment that I first described it. Her encouragement, enthusiasm, and love are gifts beyond measure and constant reminders of the power of words shared across the miles.

I also acknowledge the grudging contributions of my pets Apple, Bubs, and Lucy (named, yes, for Lucy Cimbaline Fike), who warmed my lap, sprawled across my keyboard, and sowed the kind of minor chaos that kept me from falling too completely into my work.

Finally, I dedicate this book to my children, Owen, Miles, Annie, and Ike, who thankfully have never known the terrors and trials of civil war but instead always provide me with the best of reasons—a game of catch, a batch of cookies in the kitchen, a bounce on the trampoline, a laugh in the car—to close my laptop and stay firmly rooted in the present.