 
# LOVE ALWAYS

**North and South. Enemies and Lovers.**

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In the aftermath of a bloody Civil War battle, Jackson makes a promise to his dying friend.

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He must find Leah and tell her that her brother died in battle.

* * *

While fulfilling his promise to his friend, Jackson's life changed forever.

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If you love romances set during the Civil War, read Love Always and get lost in the world of a Civil War romance.
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www.kathrynkaleigh.com

www.kstpublishing.com

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kathryn@kstpublishing.com

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# Love Always

### An American Historical Romance Novel

## Kathryn Kaleigh
This is a work of fiction. Similarities to real people, places, or events are entirely coincidental.

LOVE ALWAYS

Copyright © 2020 Kathryn Kaleigh.

Written by Kathryn Kaleigh.

Published by KST Publishing, 2020

All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  Created with Vellum

### Contents

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Epilogue

Beyond Enemy Lines

Also by Kathryn Kaleigh

# Chapter 1

_April 1864_

_A nother calf was born yesterday. Leah stayed up all night helping the unfortunate cow get through a breech birth. The cow was give out, so Leah cleaned up the calf and fed it herself. The way Leah took to the task, you'd never know she was born and bred in town._

_Leah does anything I need her to do and, as you can imagine, those things have gotten to be more and more as my eyesight continues to diminish. The doctor says there's nothing that can be done. I know I've told you that before, but I'm still trying to wrap my head around the knowledge that I'll be blind within what the doctor says will be only a few more months. Even now, the world is getting hazy and this is probably the last letter I'll be able to pen for myself._

_Leah has promised to write my letters for me, so I'll still be able to write you. She's a God-send. I truly don't know what I would do without her._

_We don't get much news these days, but I did hear that General Richard Taylor is on his way toward us here in Pleasant Hill. I don't know if you're with that regiment or not, but if you are, I hope you'll be safe and I hope that maybe you can come home sooner than later. Will this war ever end?_

_I think of you every day and I hope that you are staying safe. I hope to see you soon._

_Love always,_

_Grandma Maria Hudson_

* * *

Jackson Holcomb refolded the letter and balanced it on his thighs. The camp was quiet now - the only sounds were from the cooks preparing breakfast. The morning air filled with dew, a balm to the scorched land. The evening battle had been the worst Jackson had seen. His eyes hurt from lack of sleep and from the burn of gunpowder.

The men weren't speaking. There was an occasional moan from the med tent and some movement in and out. The men they carried out hadn't made it. In the last hour alone, Jackson had counted six men carried out.

It had been a bloody battle indeed.

The wind picked up - heralding what was sure to be an April shower. _Perhaps it will wash away the smell of death._

Jackson picked up the haversack lying on the ground next to him. It belonged to Stephen Hudson - his friend and fellow soldier. They had marched from Alexandria, Louisiana to Tennessee and back again to Louisiana in the space of three years. Side by side. They had stood together in battle. Slept side by side night after night.

Three years of constant companionship.

There was little they hadn't known about each other. In fact, Stephen knew more about him than any of the other soldiers combined. Stephen had known that Jackson was from Ville Platte, Louisiana. His family never owned a slave, but he'd be damned if he'd let a bunch of Yankees tell him what he could and could not do. Jackson's blood stirred just at the very thought of it.

Stephen had known that Jackson's father was killed at the battle of Bull Run. They'd bonded over that. Jackson's father had been killed at the same battle. No one really understood the seriousness of the war until after that battle. No more picnics on the battleground held to watch the war.

Stephen had known that Jackson had studied at West Point, but had given up his education when the war started. He would follow Robert E. Lee anywhere. Prior to the war, Jackson had worked with his father who was an attorney and it had been their plan to be Holcomb and Holcomb, Attorneys at Law. Now that would never come to pass. Jackson mourned that way of life destroyed by the war. Jackson had never known his mother. She had died in childbirth with Jackson. He carried a vague sense of guilt with him about that, probably an unconscious vibe from his father, who, to his credit, never once indicated that he blamed Jackson for his wife's death. In fact, Jackson reflected, his father had always treated him with utmost kindness.

It was more than just their history though, that they knew about each other. Stephen had known that Jackson liked to get up and watch the sunrise. That was his favorite part of the day. He had known that Jackson often used that early morning time to stare at the picture of the girl he had left back home - the girl he had planned to marry. He knew that Jackson couldn't remember what she looked like without the picture to remind him. He knew that they hadn't spoken since the war began and had never exchanged a letter. They knew not whether or not the other lived or died.

Jackson placed a hand over his heart where he had kept the picture. It was gone now, soaked with blood.

Jackson knew that Stephen had never been betrothed, but was sweet on one of the laundresses that followed the army around.

Jackson knew that Stephen received a letter every month from his grandmother and he carried every one of them with him in his haversack, tied together with a blue ribbon. Stephen had openly shared those letters with Jackson - Maria Hudson had a way with words that brought the way of life back home to life. Through those letters, Jackson had learned that not only had Stephen's father died at the Battle of Bull Run, but his grandfather had succumbed to illness at the Siege of Vicksburg. Stephen's mother had died when Stephen was ten.

Stephen's family had three servants - two to help with the cotton and one to help out inside. Even though Stephen's father had signed the papers giving them their freedom when the war broke out, they had all three chosen to stay on with the family.

The servant who worked in the house passed away two years ago, but the two men were still there, working in the fields, tending what livestock was still there.

He also knew that Stephen had a younger sister named Leah who had been away at boarding school when the war began, but had returned to live with her grandmother when the school closed. Maria had mourned the loss of her son and anxiously awaited the return of her grandson.

Jackson scrubbed his face with his hands and studied the darkening sky. There was one thing he didn't know.

He didn't know how he was going to tell Maria and Leah that Stephen had been shot and killed yesterday at the Battle of Pleasant Hill.

His instinct was to ignore the whole thing and walk away. But he couldn't do it. He couldn't just walk away.

He had made a promise.

Leah Hudson cranked the lever to pull a bucket of water from the well as she watched the clouds darkening in the west. Wind whipped her long hair into her eyes. She turned into the wind and allowed it to clear her vision, sweeping her hair out of her eyes. The smell of rain was in the air. She welcomed it. Since last evening when the sounds of cannon fire had filled the air, the smell of gunpowder had lingered. Gunpowder and something else she wouldn't allow herself to think about.

She'd had an uneasy feeling since yesterday - an edginess that she couldn't shake.

Taking the bucket with her, she went back inside and locked the door behind her.

"Leah?" Grandma Maria called from the parlor.

"It's me, Grandma," Leah said, sighing. The last few months had been heart-wrenching. Grandma had progressively become less and less able to see. She described it to Leah as though she was looking through the bottom of a jar. Everything was distorted. Leah had sent for the doctor after Grandma could no longer see well enough to read. The doctor had said there was nothing he could do. _Sometimes older people lose their eyesight._

Grandma still got around quite well, Leah reminded herself. It was just the letters.

Grandma's favorite pass-time was to write letters to the soldiers. She wrote to Leah's brother, Stephen, but she also wrote to other soldiers that she knew from church.

It was no longer safe for them to go to church, but Grandma kept a list of those soldiers she knew from town. Leah often wondered if any of them actually received the letters. How many times had she had to bite her tongue? _You're wasting your time, Grandma._

"What are you doing, Dear?" Grandma asked, coming from the parlor.

"Just washing up from breakfast."

"Do you want me to help?"

"No, Grandma. I've got it." She poured water into the kettle and put it on the stovetop to heat. While the water heated, she cut up potatoes to prepare a soup for tonight's meal.

The rain started lightly, then the thunder rumbled in the distance. It sounded a lot like the cannon fire from the battle last night.

_Where are you, Stephen?_ The words were always there.

It had been three years since she had seen her older brother. Three years since her father, brother, and grandfather had donned Confederate gray and marched off to join the southern army. First, word had come that their father had been killed at the Battle of Bull Run. Then last year, her grandfather had succumbed to illness during the Siege at Vicksburg.

And still no word from Stephen. She sent up a silent word of prayer that he was safe.

Leah scrubbed the plates from breakfast and dried them as the rain came in torrents.

_Hopefully to wash away the smells of battle._

# Chapter 2

By mid-afternoon, the rain had moved out, leaving the air fresh. Jackson watched the house for over an hour, but there was no movement.

Right now he would rather be in the midst of battle than faced with the task at hand. _I can't do it._

But somehow he knew he would.

Stephen had underestimated the size of his home. It was no mansion, but it was no cottage either, as his friend had described it. It was a white two-story house with a front porch as large as Jackson's bedroom back home. Two rocking chairs sat side by side, but it was otherwise unadorned.

_It was the war,_ he thought. The war discounted all things unnecessary - leaving only the bare bones.

As he approached the front porch stairs, a svelte black man approached and hovered nearby, watching.

Jackson nodded in his direction. The servant moved forward and leaned against the porch, but allowed him to reach the door. _I suppose my uniform is the right color._

Jackson breathed in deeply. Held his hand up to knock on the door, but pulled it back. Lowered his head. Then taking a deep breath, rapped quickly on the door.

_Perhaps they aren't here._ A little surge of hope shot through him. He turned away.

The door opened behind him. His hopes dashed, he turned around and his breath caught in his throat.

Stephen had been a handsome man. That knowledge should have provided him with forewarning.

"Are you lost?" She asked. The voice of an angel.

Jackson stared into the very same blue eyes of his friend. _I'll think about that later._ Black hair framed the most beautiful face he had ever seen.

"Do I know you?" She asked, a small smile playing about her lips. Luscious pink lips.

Jackson wavered. Perhaps it wasn't too late to turn and walk away.

"Leah," he murmured.

The smile faded from her lips and she glanced behind him. Saw the servant hovering behind him now. Stood her ground. _She doesn't know me._

"How do you know my name?" She asked, her eyes full of suspicion now.

"I apologize," Jackson said. "I don't mean to frighten you."

"Who is it?" A woman called from the back of the house.

"It's alright, Grandma. Just someone looking for directions."

Leah stepped over the threshold and pulled the door behind her. "Who are you?" She asked. "You seem to have the advantage."

"I apologize. My name is Jackson Holcomb."

"Private?"

"Yes."

"Well, Private Jackson Holcomb, how may I assist you?"

* * *

Jackson shifted and her eyes lit on the haversack over his right shoulder. Stephen's haversack. He'd forgotten about the embroidered initials on the shoulder strap.

Her gaze lifted to his. Recognition merged with knowledge. Her expression questioned.

There was nothing he could say. He shook his head slightly.

She swayed. Then the most beautiful angel fainted into his arms.

Before he knew what had happened, his arms were full of her. He cradled her close to him, putting his arms beneath her knees and picking her up. She was light as a feather. Nudging the door open, he carried her inside.

"Oh dear. What's happened?" The woman he knew to be Grandma Maria Hudson got up from the settee and came towards them.

"I'm afraid she's fainted," Jackson said.

"Here. Put her on the settee."

Jackson lowered her gently onto the settee and swept her hair from her face. "Do you have a wet cloth?" he asked.

"I'll get one," Grandma said, turning.

Jackson knelt on the floor and adjusted her feet hidden by mounds of pale green cotton. He located a small pillow which he gently placed beneath her head.

Grandma returned with a cool, damp cloth. Jackson ran it along her pale cheeks, across her forehead. Dark lashes lay against her soft skin.

Something shifted in his heart and he knew in that moment that he was lost, but in not the way she indicated. His heart was lost to her.

And he had brought her the most awful news of her life. Not only had the war claimed the life of her grandfather and her father, but that of her brother as well.

"Is she going to be alright?" Grandma asked.

Jackson turned to the other woman straining to see them. And now he had to tell this woman that her grandson had died in his arms.

There was no God when such grief had to be bestowed upon such pure, heavenly creatures.

"Yes," he answered. "She'll come around in a moment."

"I've only known her to faint one other time..." Grandma's voice drifted in mid-thought.

She studied him. He wasn't sure how well she could see at this point. But he had a feeling she could see well enough.

"You're a soldier," she stated.

"Yes ma'am."

"You've come to give us news of Stephen," she said, lowering herself to the chair.

Such tragedy that these women expected the worst. Such tragedy that they were correct.

"Yes ma'am," he said, again.

"He won't be coming home," she said, sitting back in the chair and closing her eyes.

Jackson wasn't sure what to say, "I'm sorry," he said simply, resuming his ministrations of the cool cloth against Leah's skin.

She stirred.

He sat back on his heels and her eyes fluttered open.

_Perhaps I made the wrong choice in coming here._ Even as the thought crossed his mind, he knew that it had not been a choice. It had been a promise.

Leah's facial expression shifted from confusion to memory to sadness. Slowly she sat up. Shifted her gaze to her grandmother. "Grandma?" she said, alarm evident in her voice. She stood up to go to her grandmother. Her balance unsteady. Jackson automatically reached out to take her arm to steady her.

She sat on the arm of her grandmother's chair. Maria opened her eyes, took her granddaughter's hands. He watched as the two women clung to each other.

"Is it true?" Grandma asked Leah.

Leah turned and looked at Jackson, her eyes filled with unshed tears.

"I'm sorry. I shouldn't have come here like this."

Leah shook her head. "On the contrary. "You were very kind to come to us. And brave," she added.

"I should go," he said.

"No," Leah said, standing up. "Please don't go. Please tell us what you know."

Jackson stood up, removed his hat as an afterthought, and glanced toward the front door.

"Please," she said, nodding toward the settee. "Sit."

Jackson glanced down at his uniform, still dirty from battle. He would have changed clothes, but he had nothing else to wear. He'd washed the blood off, but it had left a stain. He should not have come here with Stephan's blood on his uniform. "I don't dare," he said.

Leah shifted into action. "I'll get you something else to change into. You can clean up while I make you something to eat. You must be starved."

She left in a whirlwind, leaving him with Grandma.

"Tell me your name," she said.

"Jackson Holcomb."

"Did you know my grandson well?"

"Yes ma'am."

"You fought together, then?"

"For three years."

"He never wrote," she murmured.

"He wanted to," Jackson said. "He read all your letters - over and over."

Her face brightened - even if just a little.

"He kept them," Jackson said, pulling the haversack from his shoulder.

"You read them," she said.

"He read some of them to me," He said. _I read every one of them – over and over._

Leah rescued him then, coming back into the room with a stack of folded clothing in her hands. "I'll show you where to wash up," she said, "and you can wear these. They were Stephen's. You look to be about the same size."

"You're most kind," he said, then turned back to Grandma. "Will you excuse me?" he asked.

"Of course," Maria said. "We'll talk later."

Leah led him down into the hallway and up the stairs.

"I'm sorry," he said. "I'm sorry to come here like this. To intrude."

"If you hadn't come, how would we have known?" she asked, leading him into a bedroom with clean water in a basin on a washstand. "You can come back downstairs when you've cleaned up and changed," she said. "I'll make you something to eat."

_"_ Thank you."

She closed the door behind her. Had this been Stephan's room? Without the war, he could have come here with his friend. Met his family. Fell in love with Stephen's sister and, perhaps, if he hadn't brought her such bad news, she could have fallen in love with him, too. And they could have spent a life together.

He shook his head. The war had addled his mind.

He took his pistol from his belt and, looking around, tucked the gun beneath the pillow on the bed. Using a cloth next to the basin, he wiped the blood and grime from his skin, then put on the clothes that had belonged to his best friend - brown cotton pants and a white cotton button-down shirt. A perfect fit.

_I'm sorry, my friend. I wish you were here with me._

"Let me do that," Leah said, when Grandma picked up a knife to begin cutting potatoes to put into the soup.

"I've been cutting potatoes for seventy years before your father was even a thought."

"I don't want you to cut yourself."

"I can see well enough. Anyway, I do it mostly by feel."

Leah took a deep breath. It was a balancing act - knowing when to help Grandma and knowing when to let her do things for herself.

Right now they both needed something to keep their hands busy.

"I knew something was wrong," Grandma said. "He didn't write."

_He had three years to write._ But Leah kept her thoughts to herself. Stephen had been older than she. He had left for West Point when she was only thirteen. Even when he was at West Point, he hadn't been one to write. One letter. Only one to the family letting them know he had arrived safely.

He had joined the war with only a telegram. Why had he kept his distance from them?

"He never was one to write," Leah pointed out as she stoked the fire in the stove. The water began to boil.

"No," Grandma mused. "Stephen preferred outdoor things to paper and ink."

Leah stirred cornmeal, salt, water, milk, and butter together in a bowl and poured the mixture into a pan which she slid onto the shelf in the stove. While she had the stove door open, she added a couple of sticks of wood.

Standing up, she wiped her hands on her apron and turned. Her breath caught in her throat. She wasn't sure whether it was seeing the man standing in the doorway wearing her brother's clothes or if it was the man himself.

"The clothes fit you well," she said, a lifetime of breeding overcoming any visceral reaction she may have had.

"Your brother and I were about the same size," he said.

"Come," she said, gesturing to a chair at the little kitchen table. "Sit. It'll be a little while before the food will be ready, but I can offer you some water."

"Thank you," Jackson said, pulling a chair from the kitchen table and sitting down next to Maria.

Leah poured water into a glass and put it in front of him. "How did you get away?" she asked.

"I was due leave," he said.

"Were you nearby? We heard cannons last night."

"Yes," he answered, drinking the water in one gulp, avoiding her gaze. Leah refilled his glass.

"You were in the battle," Maria insisted.

"I was."

_He doesn't want to talk about it._ "Where are you from?" Leah asked.

"I'm from Ville Platte."

"I've not heard of it."

"It's a small town a good bit south of here."

"I see. Do you have family there?"

"No," he said, drinking again.

"Oh," Leah said. Years of breeding notwithstanding, this man was being difficult to converse with.

Perhaps this was awkward for him as well.

Maria finished cutting the potatoes and Leah added them to the water on the stovetop.

As she began peeling an onion, her eyes began to burn. By the time she had it halfway peeled, her eyes were tearing.

Jackson stood up, went to stand next to her. "Are you alright?" he asked.

"It's the onion," she said, setting down the knife and wiping her eyes on her apron.

"Let me," he said, taking the onion from her hands.

"I never can do this," she said, sitting in the chair Jackson had vacated. He finished peeling the onion and begin to cut it.

The burning in her eyes from the onion seemed to open a floodgate. She got up and went to stand at the window, her back to them. Grandma excused herself and left the room.

The tears flowed freely now. _Stephen, why did you disappear? Why did you have to die?_ Leah lifted her apron and covered her face. The pain overwhelmed her and her knees began to tremble.

Then Jackson was there, putting his arms around her. She allowed him to hold her. She buried her face against his chest.

And sobbed.

* * *

This was not the onion. Jackson held her tightly to him. Let the deep, heart-wrenching sobs overcome her. His own tears silently dropped onto the top of her head. She held onto him as though holding on for life itself.

"I'm sorry," he murmured. "I'm so sorry. Shhhh."

He kissed her hair. Held her close.

As her sobs began to slow, she raised her head. "I'm sorry," she said.

He pressed his lips against her forehead. Held them there. _Just please stop crying._

"Please forgive me," she said, between sobs.

"Whatever is there to forgive?" He put a hand behind her head and cradled her face against his chest. "Whatever you need," he said. "Anything you need. Just tell me."

"I should check on Grandma," she said, but didn't move.

"Yes," he said, holding her tighter.

She pulled back a little, but he brought her close again. "I can't," she said. "We shouldn't"

"You're right," he agreed. "You don't know me."

"You don't know me either."

Maria's letters came back to him, flooding him with images. "I know," he said, against her hair, close to her ear. "that you'll stay up all night to tend a calf whose mother isn't able to. I know that you like the smell of honeysuckle in the spring and when you were a child, you liked to taste it. I know that you speak French. You're an excellent swordsman, and you can play the piano."

"And I know that I've frightened you because you're holding your breathe."

Leah sucked in her breath. Lifted her eyes to his.

If Stephan had told him that his sister was as beautiful as he was handsome, he would have deserted years ago and found his way here.

"You're right," she said. "I know nothing about you."

"Will you allow me the opportunity to remedy that?" he asked.

She pulled away and he let her go this time. She turned back to the window. "You bring news of my brother's death and yet you speak to me as though we've met at a social. As though nothing is wrong."

"I apologize," he said, his voice hoarse even to his own ears. "I'll go now."

He got as far as the door to the kitchen.

"No, she said. "You can't leave. Grandma will want to talk to you."

He turned back.

"And besides," she added, the hint of a smile at the corner of her lips. "I'm making cornbread and soup."

He grinned. "Cornbread and soup it is then," he said.

"Oh no! Cornbread!" she said, picking up her skirts.

"I'll get it," he said, reaching the kitchen with her at his heels. Taking a cloth, he opened the door and pulled out the pan of cornbread. "Perfect," he said.

"Thank you," she said, checking the pot of boiling water.

"I should go to Grandma," Leah said.

"Go. I'll get this."

She nodded.

"You want these potatoes in the soup? And the onions?"

"Yes, I'll be right back."

Jackson put the potatoes and onions in the boiling water and stirred it.

_What I am stirring with Leah?_

She'd seemed so fragile and lost. She was right. It wasn't a social occasion. Doubtless, there were things that needed to be done around the house.

He remembered seeing the servant outside. How much did he do?

Grandma and Leah had been going it alone for three years.

_I don't want to go back._ The thought surprised him.

Jackson had been in the army since Louisiana called to arms. He'd never even taken leave. General Taylor hadn't questioned him when he'd asked for leave to inform Stephen's family of his death.

_Take all the time you need,_ General Taylor had said.

They were marching today.

Without him.

_They won't miss me._

He shook his head. He'd help out here a few days - maybe a few weeks, depending on what was needed - or wanted, then he'd find his brigade.

He stirred the soup. Looked around for something else to add. Tomatoes would be nice. When Leah came back, he'd ask her if they had any tomatoes.

With nothing to do at the moment, he went over to the window and looked out over the land. There was a grove of trees a few yards out from the house. _Not safe. Too many places for people to hide._

_Watch out for her,_ Stephen had said. _Promise me you'll take care of her._

There had been Yankees everywhere. Out of nowhere. But they were winning. He only knew because there were more Yankees on the ground than Confederates.

They had them on the run. Side by side. He and Stephen had fought side by side in so many skirmishes. They were a team.

A cannonball landed in front of them, sending them backwards. The Yankees had all the machines and the advantage. Jackson landed on the ground, but Stephen managed to stay standing. Jackson had dirt in his eyes and gunpowder in his lungs.

The Yankees were beating them now. They needed to move. _I have to get up. Help me up,_ he'd said, but wasn't sure if it was out loud or just words in his head.

Stephen held his hand out to him. Jackson took it.

Then it happened.

Stephen's hand went limp and he stood like a statue. Staring ahead. Staring at nothing.

Then he fell like a tree. Fell into Jackson's lap.

Jackson knew Stephen had been hit. He'd seen enough soldiers get hit to recognize the look.

_How bad was it?_ Sometimes it was hard to tell.

Where was he hit?

_Where are you hit?_

Stephen didn't answer. Just stared at his friend.

Jackson shook him. _Where are you hit?_

When Stephen didn't answer, Jackson knew it was too late. His friend was gone.

But Stephen spoke. _Take care of my sister. Promise me you'll watch out for her._

When Jackson didn't answer, Stephen had grasped his hand. Grasped his hand with the strength granted only to dying men. _Promise me you'll take care of Leah._

_"I will," Jackson had answered. "I promise."_

_"_ Who are you talking to?" Leah asked.

Jackson jumped, jarred back to the present, and wiped the beads of sweat from his brow before turning.

"No one," He answered automatically, turning around to face the angel that he had been charged with guarding.

_My friend has no idea what hell he's condemned me to._

_How was he going to protect her from others?_

_How can I protect her when I'm the one she needs protecting from?_

* * *

"They're all gone," Grandma said. "My husband, my son, and my grandson. All the men."

"I know," Leah said, putting her arms around her grandmother. "It's the stupid war."

"War is what men do best," Grandma said, blowing her nose on a handkerchief. "They knew they were risking their lives."

"And they just had to go anyway," Leah said, the familiar heat rising on her cheeks. "What are we supposed to do now?"

"We keep going. It's all we can do."

"It's what we've been doing for three years. It's been hard."

Grandma's chin wavered a little, her eyes watery, but she kept her head high. "If we've managed this long, we'll manage longer. It's what women do. We're the strong ones, you know."

Leah took a deep breath. She had to be strong for Grandma.

"I'm just sorry I'm not going to be much help."

"What do you mean? You've always done so much."

"With my eyesight gone, you'll be taking care of me, too. I'm sorry about that. You don't need the added hardship."

"Taking care of you will never be a hardship."

"You're kind," Grandma said. "But you need to know that it won't be easy."

"We'll make it," Leah said. "We'll make it just like we've been doing. We have Silas and Leroy to help out, too."

They sat in the back parlor where Grandma kept her small desk and writing materials. The room had been her husband's study. Now it was a library/sitting area for the women. A knock at the back door interrupted them.

"There's Silas now," Leah said, going to step outside.

"Miss Leah," The tall, black man held his hat in his hand, his head lowered.

"What is it Silas?"

"Some soldiers stopped by."

"Stephen's friend, Jackson, is here."

"Yes ma'am."

"Stephen was killed at the Battle of Pleasant Hill." She swallowed the lump in her throat. Saying it out loud made it more real.

"I'm sorry, Miss," Silas lifted his eyes. "Mr. Stephen was a good man."

"Yes, he was. I want to thank you for staying on to help us out."

"Yes ma'am," he shifted from one foot to the other, his eyes down again.

"What is it, Silas?"

"We talked to the soldiers, Leroy and me."

"There were others?"

"Yes ma'am. They stopped by this morning. They said they needed our help."

"Did you help them? What did they need?"

"They want us to go help them fight the war," he said.

"You can't go," Leah said. _Could they?_

"I'm sorry, Miss Leah, but they said they needed free men to help fight the war against the Yankees."

"You want to fight?"

"Yes ma'am. We want to do our part. It ain't right - them Yankees coming down here telling us what we can and can't do."

"No, it's not right. But... we need you here."

"I know, Miss, but we're free and all. Mistress Maria said so herself."

Leah bit her bottom lip. _This is not good._ "I'll get Grandma," she said.

Leah called Grandma to come outside with her.

"Good morning, Silas," Maria said. "Is there a problem?"

"No ma'am."

"Silas and Leroy want to join the army," Leah said.

"You want to go fight?" Maria asked.

"Yes ma'am."

"You know you could be killed."

"We know, ma'am."

"Very well," Maria said. "Take care of yourselves."

"Yes ma'am. Thank you, ma'am." Silas backed away, and hurried away to join Leroy who waited for him around the corner of the back porch.

Leah watched them slap each other on the back, grinning from ear to ear.

"I hate to see them go," she murmured, back inside now.

"It happened later than I expected," Grandma said, sitting at her desk and straightening her letters. "They're free men. At least they're going to fight alongside our boys instead of against them."

"A lot of slaves went to fight for the north," Leah mused.

"Most of them did," Grandma said, running a hand along the stack of letters she had gotten from soldiers - none of them from her own grandson.

"Oh, Grandma," Leah said, going to kneel next to her grandmother. "What are we going to do?"

"We're going to survive. Just like we've been doing since this war begin."

"They're fighting right outside our door."

"They're exhausted and hungry. It can't go on much longer."

"Even now," Leah said, nodding toward the front of the house. "The war has invaded our home. Soldiers inside and slaves leaving to join the army."

"Times change, Dear. We just have to change with them."

Such a positive way of thinking. And from someone losing her sight!

"You'll want to talk to Jackson," Leah said.

Grandma nodded. "I expect he'll stay awhile."

"Why do you say that?" Leah asked, the heat climbing her cheeks. _I hope you're right. I don't want him to leave._

Grandma shrugged. "He looks like he could use a break from the war."

"I'm sure he could. I need to wash his uniform..." _I need to wash my brother's blood from his clothes._ A host of emotions were elicited from that one thought. Anger that Stephen had been the one to die while Jackson survived. Anger that Jackson was here now, acting as though it were normal. Intense loss that she would never see her brother again. And a tingle of excitement that Jackson was a handsome virile soldier in her home - willing to hold her while she grieved.

She pushed the last feelings aside and tagged them as inappropriate. Nonetheless, she would treat him with kindness as she would any other guest.

# Chapter 3

Leah found her unexpected guest still in the kitchen. He stood in front of the stove stirring the pot of soup she had left, practically forgotten, boiling on the stove. She watched as he brought a spoonful to his lips, blew on it, and sipped before stirring again.

Even out of uniform, he presented a fine figure - tall and slim, with raven black hair that curled a bit at his collar. It had obviously been several days since he had shaven.

His demeanor was calm and... content. He appeared to have made himself at home in their kitchen. He had filled the woodbox next to the stove with narrow sticks of wood. He had cut the cornbread and stacked it neatly on a plate on the little kitchen table where she and Grandma ate their meals. There was no need to drag everything into the dining room just for the two of them.

She was suddenly glad that she kept the floor swept and everything spotless. In fact, it was just this morning that she had washed the dishes and put them tidily away.

Her heart was tripping a little faster than normal.

He must have seen her out of the corner of his eye. He set down the spoon and turned to face her. "I hope you're hungry," he said, his smile a little guilty.

"Yes," she breathed, then cleared her throat. "It smells delightful," she added, a little less breathily.

"I found some canned tomatoes and added them to the soup," he told her. "I hope you don't mind."

"Not at all," she said. "I've never known a man to make his way around the kitchen."

"Is that so?" he said. "It's been my experience that if a man wants to eat, he should be willing to cook something."

She laughed. "You must be from another planet."

He returned her smile. "Perhaps I'm just ahead of my time," he said.

"So it seems."

"How's your grandmother?" he asked.

"Better than I thought," she said, going to sit at the table and taking a pinch of cornbread. "It's almost like she expected it to happen and she's content with it," she said, before putting a pinch in her mouth.

"I suppose with age comes acceptance."

"I guess," she said, chewing thoughtfully. "You and Stephen were close."

"For three years we marched and fought side by side."

"You didn't know each other before the war."

"No..."

"How did you become such good friends?"

"Sometimes you just know you're going to get along with someone."

"An instant connection."

"Yes," he agreed.

_We're not talking about you and my brother anymore."_

"Why didn't he write?" she blurted. It was the question that she had been struggling with all along.

He stirred the soup, seemed to consider his response. "I guess he had his reasons."

"Like what?" she persisted.

He shrugged

"Grandma wrote him every month and she never once got a letter back. Other soldiers wrote her back, so I know there was paper."

He laughed. "There was paper."

"And ink."

"I think this is about ready."

"So there was no reason why he couldn't write back."

"I know he read every word she wrote. More than once. Sometimes he read them to me. Or let me read them."

"So much for privacy."

"I was the only one."

"He trusted you."

"We trusted each other with our lives."

He sat down in the chair next to her. Stretched his legs out.

Now that his eyes were level with hers, she was mesmerized.

His eyes were locked onto hers. They seemed to see inside her soul.

She looked away. Caught her breath.

She glanced back, but he was still focused on her.

_I'm in over my head._

She looked down now, her heart racing.

Grandma came into the room. Leah breathed a sigh of relief.

"Something smells lovely," Grandma said.

Leah looked back at Jackson. He winked at her.

Her skin heated.

"Leah made soup, Mrs. Hudson," he said.

"Actually-" Leah began, but Grandma jumped in.

"Leah is a talented cook. She actually has many talents."

"Grandma, please."

"I'd like to hear all about them," Jackson said.

"Certainly. Over supper. Leah, Dear, why don't you get some bowls."

"It's already done," Jackson said, nodding to the three bowls neatly stacked on the stove.

"We can eat, then," Leah said. Anything to distract the conversation away from her.

Jackson filled their bowls and held the chair while Grandma sat.

Leah watched him closely. Jackson Holcomb was no ordinary man. Ordinary men didn't cook and hold chairs for older women. And give credit for it all to someone else.

She would have to ask Stephen about him...

Suddenly her appetite crashed. A tear spilled over from her eyes, but she closed them and breathed in deeply. _Not now. Later. I'll deal with it later._

"Tell us about your family," Leah said.

Jackson had been watching her closely as well. He allowed the conversation to shift from her to him.

"I grew up near Ville Platte. Unfortunately, my mother died in childbirth with me. I was their only child and my father never remarried."

"That's tragic," Grandma said.

"I never knew anything different."

"You were close to your father," Grandma stated.

"We were very close. My father was attorney and I was to go in with him. We would have been Holcomb and Holcomb."

"But the war," Leah said, the word bitter on her tongue.

"Yes, the war. It's left no family unscathed, it seemed. My father fell at the Battle of Bull Run."

Leah gasped. "As did my father."

"Yes, I know. Perhaps that's another thing Stephen and I bonded over."

"You have no family left," Grandma said.

"Some distant cousins, but no one to speak of."

"How sad," Leah said. _And all I have left now is Grandma._

"You're fortunate that you have each other."

"We are," Grandma said. "Leah has been a Godsend since she came to live with me."

"That's right," Jackson said. "You were at the boarding school in Natchitoches."

"Indeed," Leah said, glancing at Grandma. "You seem to know details of my life, in and out."

Jackson grinned. "I know quite a bit, don't I? I apologize."

"Somehow I don't think you are sorry."

"You have time to get to know Jackson, as well, Leah," Grandma said. "I think it was an honor that Stephan had someone he could share with."

"I'm glad he had you there for him," Leah said.

"The honor was mine."

Loud rapping on the front door interrupted their conversation. Leah jumped. Jackson shot out of his chair. "Stay here," he said and disappeared into the hallway.

Leah swallowed. The knocking came again, louder. "I should see who it is," she said, but didn't move.

"Maybe it's best if Jackson did that," Grandma said.

"Where did he go?"

Her gaze landing on the haversack lying on the kitchen floor - Stephen's things.

Suddenly queasy, she floated back into the chair.

He stole the letters. He stole them and read them in order to come here and worm his way into their homes.

But to what end? _We have no money,_ she argued with herself.

Perhaps to kill them and keep the house.

Perhaps for some other nefarious intent she couldn't even fathom.

They had to protect themselves.

Taking Grandma's hand, she pulled the older woman toward the hallway.

"Open the door. We're United States Calvary Officers." The soldiers knocked again.

"Yankees!" Leah breathed.

They stood in the hallway, frozen, for what seemed like minutes, but in reality was only seconds.

"We have to let them in," Leah said, "They'll break the door down."

"We should hide," Grandma said.

"They'll still break the door down and do whatever to the house." Steeling herself, she called out, "Coming."

"Oh, Leah, now they know we're in here."

"They know anyway. You should hide."

"Not a chance. I'm not leaving you."

Jackson bounded down the stairs, pistol in hand. "Is there someplace you can hide?" He whispered.

Leah exchanged a look with Grandma.

"You have a hiding place," Jackson said.

"They already know we're here," Leah said. "And we never hide from the soldiers. They've always been respectful."

"Times are hard now," Jackson said. "Let me take care of it."

He turned and began to approach the front door. The hairs on the back of Leah's neck tingled. "Wait," she said.

He stopped and turned back. The knocking came again. "Ma'am. Open the door or we'll break it down."

"Just a minute!" she cried, exasperation evident in her voice.

Leah went to Jackson, put her hand on his arm. "You can't let them know you're here. They'll capture you."

"I'm on leave. I have a paper."

"Surely you don't think Yankees will honor a piece of paper written by a Confederate officer. They'll take you to prison."

He seemed to consider. The ticking of the grandfather clock standing in the parlor echoed down the hall.

"What do you suggest?" he asked.

"We have a hidden room."

"As most people do."

"You'll stay there until they leave."

He breathed out, exasperation evident. "Very well," he conceded. "If you're right and they do capture me, I'll be of no help to you. I'll hide, but if they try to harm you, you scream, and I'll be on them."

"Fair enough," she said. "Grandma can hide with you."

"I'm not leaving you," Grandma said, standing behind Leah. "You would be even more at risk."

"Very well. I can't fight you both," Leah said, "Come," she tugged on Jackson's sleeve, pulling him a few feet down the hallway. "Here," she said, nodding to where they had just been standing.

"We were standing on it?" Jackson asked.

"Where better to hide than in plain view?"

She bent down and rolled up the wool rug revealing... flooring.

"Do you have a knife?" she asked.

"Get one from the kitchen," Grandma said, "Hurry."

Jackson was back in seconds. "Right here. Pry this board up." Leah pointed to a nail in the floor boards."

"How do you remember this?" He asked as he shoved the knife into the groove.

"It's ten grooves over and parallel to that painting," she nodded toward the painting of an older gentleman. "My grandfather" she said. "He built this."

"A man with good foresight," Jackson said. Using the point of the knife, he was able to lift the board. A whole panel, about four feet by four feet came loose. "Nice," Jackson said, putting the panel aside.

"Hurry," Leah said, glancing toward the front door. She could hear footsteps impatiently tramping on the front porch.

Jackson dropped into the hole beneath the floor. It was just high enough he had to duck before she replaced the panel and rolled the rug back over it.

"Time's up," The Yankee soldier called from the door.

Grandma reached the door before Leah. Together, they stood there and opened the door to the soldiers in blue.

"You're bold, Sir, to demand that we open our door at this late hour," Grandma said.

The soldier appeared a little surprised at her indignation.

"I apologize, Ma'am. I tend to forget your delicate Southern customs."

The Yankee soldier was tall - a big man, but not heavyset. He wore a beard, hence, his expression was difficult to read. Half a dozen soldiers stood at various distances behind him, the closest only a couple of feet behind. They were cleanly dressed and well-armed.

_They have sturdy shoes and clean clothes - uniforms one and all, to wear,_ Leah thought, _while our boys are practically barefoot in threadbare clothing, some not even in uniforms._

"What can I do for you?" Grandma asked. "You're welcome to the well water." She nodded toward the well.

"If you don't mind, ma'am, I'd like to come inside to discuss something else entirely with you."

"Don't let them inside," Leah hissed.

"It's alright," Grandma said, "We must treat our guests with utmost respect." She stepped back, and Leah had no choice but to follow suit. "Wipe your feet," Grandma told him.

Leah hid a smile as the Yankee soldier stopped at the threshold to kick the dirt from his shoes using the carpet-covered boot scraper sitting next to the door.

Leah closed the door behind him, keeping her expression blank as she glanced at the other soldiers. Grandma led him past the stairs and down the hall.

Leah's eyes widened as she stopped so that the soldier stood directly on top of Jackson's hiding place.

"What is it you would like discuss with us?" she asked, holding her chin high as she addressed the enemy soldier.

"I'll get right to the point so you can go back to what you were doing," he said.

"We received word that a confederate soldier may have come by here. Have you seen any Southern soldiers?" He asked as he peered into the kitchen.

_Three soup bowls!_ Leah swallowed a panicked gasp.

"You're the first visitors we've had," she insisted.

"Then you won't mind if I take a look around."

"We have nothing to hide. But make it quick. I need my rest."

"Of course," he said, going straight for the kitchen. Leah and Grandma followed.

_This is not good. He's going to know._

"Who else is here?" he asked.

"Just myself and my granddaughter."

"Then why do you have three soup bowls set out here on the table?"

Grandma gazed at the man curiously. "That's none of your concern," she said.

"I mean no disrespect, Madam, but I believe it is."

Grandma heaved a sigh. "Since my husband was at the Battle of Gettsyburg, I set a place for him at the evening meal. In his honor."

"Indeed?" The soldier appeared skeptical. "Then who ate the soup?"

Leah lowered her head. "I'm afraid I did. I do hate to see food go to waste when it's so very hard to come by these days. And after working outside all day, since our servants have run off, I was famished. In fact, I'm exhausted. It would be considerate of you to leave now so that we may retire."

The soldier stood silent - looking at Leah now, all his attention focused on her.

"Where is your husband?" he asked.

"I am unmarried."

"You're a beautiful young lady. I hardly see how you weren't snatched up already."

"It's a bit difficult to be _snatched up_ when all the men are at war."

"Hmm," he stroked his beard as his eyes slowly searched the room. "I don't buy it. Three plates and three cups, but I'll let it go for the moment."

"What is this?" he asked, reaching the corner of the room in three long strides and snatching up Stephen's haversack.

"Give me that!" Leah cried, rushing toward him, but he held it out of her reach.

He lifted the lid, pulled out a stack of letters wrapped in a blue ribbon. "Stephen Hudson," he read with interest.

"Where is Stephen Hudson?"

"Dead," Leah said, through her teeth, holding out her hand.

"Your husband?" he asked, ignoring her hand.

"My brother. Killed by your kind."

He replaced the letters, handed the haversack to her. "How did you come by this?"

"It was delivered to us by one of his friends," Grandma said, sitting down at the kitchen table.

"But you said no soldiers had come this way," he pointed out, looking from grandmother to granddaughter.

"It was left at the doorstep," Leah said, clutching the haversack to her. "Now, if you would be so kind as to leave.

After another visual sweep of the kitchen, he turned on his heel and left the room. He went through each of the other five rooms downstairs, while Leah waited in the hallway.

"Satisfied?" Leah asked. "Please go now."

He glanced toward the top of the staircase.

"You need to leave my home. Now," she said.

"But I haven't finished my search."

"There is obviously no one here. And you are invading our privacy."

"I'm authorized to search each and every home at my discretion."

"Authorized? Authorized by whom?"

"By orders of war."

"This is not a war zone. This is our home. And you are an invader. I will ask you again. Leave."

"After I've checked upstairs."

_Violated._ That was the best way to describe this feeling, Leah thought. This man, whom they had let into their home in order to avoid having him break down their door was violating them.

_He'll find no one here._ "When you've finished ravaging our home and invading our lives, you can let yourself out." She turned and, with her head high walked away.

Anger swirled through her veins. There was nothing she could do stop this man was searching every corner of their home looking for someone.

_Thank heavens they had hidden Jackson. They would have dragged him off. Just as she had suspected._

She went back to the kitchen and laid the haversack on the table.

"Is he gone?" Grandma asked.

She shook her head. "No. He's searching upstairs."

"We should go with him." She said, but neither of them moved.

"I couldn't stop him."

"He'll leave soon enough."

"Not soon enough," she said, gathering up the dishes to begin cleaning up.

Jackson crouched in the dark hole. They had walked directly on the floor above him. He had made out every word as they stood above him, but once they walked away, he could hear only muffled voices

He gripped the gun in his hand, ready to leap out of hiding at the least hint that Leah or Grandma was in danger.

_Protect my sister._ His friend's dying words echoed in his head. _I can't protect her if I'm captured._ The words played over and over in his mind.

_Protect my sister._

_I can't protect her if I'm captured._

His blood rushed through his ears as he heard the soldier walk up the stairs. He knew it was the soldier. Much too heavy to be one of the women.

He would find the bloody uniform.

What would he do once he had clear evidence that a confederate soldier had been in the house?

The soldier bounded down the stairs much more quickly than he gone up. The floor creaked when he walked past.

Jackson gripped the gun handle. Fought the urge to make sure it was loaded. Any sound could give him away.

The conversation moved more quickly now. Louder. But he couldn't make out the words.

Jackson breathed very deeply. _I will protect them, my friend._

Crouched there in the dark, waiting for the Yankee soldier to leave, Jackson reflected on the conversation from earlier.

Why hadn't Stephen written? Jackson would have given his right arm to have had someone to write to. Someone waiting at home. Someone who cared to know what he was doing.

And Stephen never once picked up a pen to write a note home. Why?

It was obvious that his sister and grandmother loved him and cared about him.

Finally, the soldier left. The front door slammed definitively.

The house was quiet now.

_Wait._ Jackson commanded himself.

This was a good sign that the soldier had left them.

Silence. The grandfather clock tolled the hour. Seven o'clock.

Had he taken them with him? If the soldier had captured Leah, there would be hell to pay indeed.

"Jackson," Leah whispered. "Come out."

Jackson pressed against the board and stood up. Leah crouched on the floor, waiting for him, her brow furrowed.

"I'm sorry," she said. "I had to make sure they rode off. I've closed all the curtains, so it should be safe."

"They found my uniform," he said.

"Yes and the haversack and the three bowls at the table."

"Damn."

"How did you explain it?"

Leah chuckled. "Grandma told him she sets a place for her dead husband every night."

"Ha. She's a sly one. What about the haversack?"

"I said someone dropped it off at the door. Didn't know who."

"Did he believe you?"

She shrugged. "I think he was willing to go along until he went upstairs."

"And found the bloody uniform."

She nodded.

"What did you tell him?"

"I told him it was with the haversack."

"Seems plausible."

"I thought so. Told him I didn't have a good explanation. Perhaps he could provide one."

"Ha. He knows something is amiss."

"I'm sure he does. But had no right to invade our home.

She was beautiful with the flush of anger pinkening her cheeks. He hoisted himself out of the hole. "That's a nice hiding area," he commented.

"I'm sure you couldn't tell due to the darkness, but we have enough provisions in there for at least two weeks."

"You never know when you might need it," he said. "Is Grandma alright?"

"She's better than I am," Leah said, running a hand through her hair, shoving her long hair back from her face letting it tumble down her back.

They went back to the kitchen where Grandma sat at the table and sat with her.

"They'll being watching the house now," he said.

Leah nodded. "It won't be safe for you to leave... or even to go outside."

"I'm going to bed now," Grandma said. "I'm give-out."

"Are you alright, Grandma?" Leah asked.

"Just tired," the older woman stood up and slowly made her way across the kitchen.

"It's been a bad day," Leah said.

"Let me help you upstairs," Jackson said, going to her side.

"Thank you, but I sleep across the hall now, downstairs. My knees are too old to climb up and down."

"I'll walk you to your room then," Jackson said, holding out his arm. She put her hand on his arm.

As he escorted the older woman across the hall, again he wondered, how could his friend have deserted his family?

Why hadn't he wanted to see them in the days before the battle when they were so close by?

_His loss is my gain._ Jackson shook off the unkind thought. His friend had died. Doubtless, he had his reasons. Whatever they were, he carried them with him to his grave.

"Sit for a moment," Grandma said as they entered her room. "Tell me why you're here."

* * *

Leah dried the dishes and listened to their voices drifting across the hall. It was good that Grandma had someone to talk to besides her. Especially someone who knew her grandson.

A sound outside startled her. She froze and listened, but decided it must have been the wind.

Despite the circumstances, she was grateful that Jackson was there with them. _Even if he was the reason the Yankees had come to their door._

She studied the haversack. Perhaps Stephen still lived. She shook off the thought. It was wishful thinking.

Had Jackson stolen Stephen's bag in order to place himself in their home? Was he a war criminal being sought after by the soldiers? Is that why they had followed him to their door?

Whatever the reason, she admitted to herself, as the sound of his voice intermingled with that of her grandmother's drifting across the hallway, she liked him and whatever he had done she would not sentence him to being captured by Yankee soldiers.

She could think of no reason for Jackson to insinuate himself into their lives other than the reason he had stated - to inform them that Stephen had been killed.

_I just have to be careful not to trust him overly much._

_Not to become too attached to him._

_Not to be attracted to him._

_Too late._

She picked up the haversack and emptied the contents of her brother's bag on the table. They had never been especially close, she mused. He was much older than she - ten years older, to be exact.

He had the stack of letters from Grandma. There was a knife and a small Bible. Black powder and minie balls, a knife and a comb. A fork, a tin cup, and a half-eaten piece of hardtack.

A battered gray kepi cap.

She picked up the cap, hugged it to her and tears and silent sobs wracked her body. She had a clear image of Stephen the day he left to join the army. The last time she saw him. Grinning. Wearing his cap. He was proudest of his cap.

He had taken his cap and placed it on her head. _You make a beautiful little soldier he said. As soon as you get old enough, you can come fight with me._

Leah had rolled her eyes. She remembered that specifically, but she also remembered that she'd been pleased that he let her wear his cap for a few hours before he left.

_I'll be home before you know it,_ he had said. _It won't take us long to whup the Yankees back to where they belong._

This was the worst she had ever felt. Worse than when news of her grandfather had come and worse than when the letter came regarding her father's death. It was normal to expect to grow old with your siblings on the earth with you. It wasn't normal when they were struck down early.

Especially not because they just had to go fight in some stupid war.

"Hey," Jackson's voice was in her ear. "Come here." He gathered her in his arms and she cried harder. Sobs coming from deep inside her heart.

"I'm sorry," she said, between sobs.

"Don't be sorry," he said, holding her to him, kissing the tears from her cheeks.

"You must think all I do is cry," she said.

"No, no, no," he said. "You can cry if you want to Honey."

_Honey._ Suddenly something shifted and the tears began to dry.

He handed her a handkerchief. She wiped her eyes and dabbed at her nose.

"Thank you," she said, raising her eyes to meet his.

She saw understanding reflected there. Understanding and deep sympathy.

"I'm sorry you're having to go through this."

"I'm glad you're here," she said.

"I'm glad I'm here, too," he said, wiping a tear from the corner of her eyes.

His eyes were the deepest blue she had ever seen. _Heavens, he was handsome._

He ran a finger along her cheek. Her eyes closed and her lips parted.

"You should get some sleep," he said, his voice hoarse.

Her eyes flew open.

She nodded. "As should you," she said, pulling her eyes away and taking hold of her thoughts. "You can sleep in Stephan's room," she said, "or you can sleep in the guest room."

"I don't mind sleeping in his room."

"You don't believe in ghosts, then," she said, a lame attempt at humor.

His lips turned up. "We'll just say that ghosts don't frighten me."

"Well, then," she said. "That's good to know."

He held out his hand and she put hers in his. Tucking her hand in the crook of his arm, he led her into the hallway. She paused at Grandma's half-closed door.

Knocked.

"Good night, Grandma."

"Good night, Leah," Grandma called sleepily.

"Was she alright?" Leah asked Jackson as they walked away toward the stairs.

"Exhausted, but, I think she'll make it."

"I'm all she has left," Leah said. "It's so sad."

"At least she has you."

They reached her room. "Goodnight," she said. Then on impulse, placed her hands on his arms, and, stretching up on her toes, kissed him on the cheek.

To her delight, he kissed her back, also on the cheek.

She smiled, then turning, went into her bedroom and closed the door. She leaned her back against it and closed her eyes.

Grief at the news of her brother's death. Fear from Yankee soldiers being in her home and accusing her of harboring the enemy... which she was. Excitement at meeting Jackson, her dead brother's best friend. Suspicion at Jackson's appearance and motive. Guilt at her attraction to her dead brother's best friend.

_I'm a mess._

She took off her dress and pulled her plain, white nightgown over her head. Normally, she would light a candle and read before going to sleep, but tonight, they hadn't even bothered to light candles. She climbed into bed and snuggled beneath the sheets and blanket.

Her racing thoughts became a background roar and she fell into a dreamless sleep.

# Chapter 4

Jackson woke the next morning with only a hint of daylight lightening the air. Just as he had every day for the past three years. He strained to hear the familiar sounds of the soldiers preparing coffee and breakfast.

Instead he was confronted with a deafening silence.

And a soft mattress beneath him. He'd slept on the hard ground for three years. The soft mattress was so soft it nearly made him sore

He stretched. Yawned. Maybe a little soreness was worth it.

And with that, it all came rushing back to him. Stephen dying in his arms. Jackson's decision to take leave in order to fulfill his promise to his friend - and to deliver the items Stephen would want them to have. And the soldiers keeping him hostage here in the house.

_I'm putting them in danger by being here._

Today he would have to give them the letter.

He rubbed his face and looked around. The room was sparsely furnished, but a washing basin stood next to the window.

He got up, pulled on his pants, and staggered to the basin. Empty.

_Of course, it would be empty. No one had been expecting me. And even if they had, neither Leah nor Grandma needed to lug water upstairs for me to wash with._

With that thought, he took his water pitcher and went downstairs. Hesitated at the front door. _Damn._ If he went outside to the well, would he be seen by the Yankees?

It's still dark, he thought. _What the hell._

He opened the door and slipped outside, studied the landscape. There was no one in sight. The only hiding place was the grove of trees several yards away. He would likely be seen if someone hid there. There was just enough of a hint of light.

_Don't do it._

His inner voice had kept him out of trouble enough that he trusted it over his conscious thoughts.

He went back inside, searched around a bit and found a shawl. Draping the shawl over his shoulders, he went back outside. In this light, he would pass for a woman. Keeping his eyes open, especially watching the grove of trees, he hurried to the well. Dropped the bucket down and after it splashed into the water, quickly wound it back up.

Still no sign of anyone. He took the pail and took his water back inside.

He closed the door and clicked the lock in place.

Turned.

And came face to face with a woman in a long white gown standing at the foot of the stairs.

Bobbled the water pail.

He had said he wasn't afraid of ghosts, but that was mostly because he'd never expected to see one.

But when this one laughed, he was no longer afraid.

It was Leah - in her nightgown. Fortunately, for her, the light was too dim for him to fully appreciate her intimate apparel.

"You scared me half to death," she said.

"Not usually a cause for laughter," he pointed out.

"I don't usually see an intruder wearing my grandmother's shawl."

"Oh," he said, setting the water pail down in order to shrug out of the shawl. "I figured if someone was watching the house, I'd pass for a woman in this dim light."

"You must have wanted that water pretty bad."

He nodded, walked over and handed her the shawl. "I need to wash up."

"There's water in the kitchen. I keep it in a barrel by the back door."

"Why am I not surprised?'

"It was worth it though. For the amusement."

He raised an eyebrow. "Happy to be of assistance."

"Well, you better go wash up," she said, heading to the back of the house.

"You're up this early?

"Of course. I have things to do."

He went upstairs and poured water in his basin. Splashed it onto his face.

It looked like today was going to be a busy day.

* * *

Leah went into the kitchen and put water on to boil. The first task for today was to get the laundry done so the clothes could dry.

She wasn't sure about Jackson's uniform, though. The Yankees already knew about it, so they shouldn't be surprised to see it hanging outside. On the other hand, it wasn't good to draw attention to it.

_They're probably gone anyway._ Why would they waste valuable time staking out the house of a Confederate family that may or not be harboring a confederate soldier? Didn't they have bigger things to do? Like battles to fight?

She went out back and retrieved a basin hanging on the back wall. Things had certainly been easier when Sadie had been there to help out. But even with a servant, there had always been more work than one person could possibly do.

That's where the northerners were sadly mistaken. They thought that just because someone had a servant, they had a life of leisure. Leah had always looked at servants like hired help. They had room and board and helped out around the house. When they got sick, they were taken care of. In fact, she mused, Sadie had essentially been part of the family.

And now that Grandma was going blind, most of the work fell on Leah's shoulders. She didn't mind, though, because she liked to stay busy. She spent the afternoons, lately, writing letters that Grandma dictated. Before the blindness, she had read while Grandma wrote. Grandma's letters were as interesting as any book, though. Grandma really should have been a writer.

Leah poured the hot water into the basin and put another on to boil. While the water heated, she gathered up the clothes that needed to be washed - Grandma kept hers in a basket just inside her bedroom door and Leah sprinted upstairs to gather hers up. She paused at Stephen's — Jackson's door, but decided he could bring his uniform down later if he wanted it washed.

By the time she got back, the second boiler of water was hot. She poured it into the basin and, taking the washboard and a bar of soap, began to scrub the clothes.

She found laundry to be soothing. Her mind could wander while her hands stayed busy. And, she had to admit, she enjoyed the hot water. Sometimes she would take a bath before putting the clothes in to wash, but not with Jackson there.

She sighed. It was a perfect morning for a bath.

How long would he stay? She wondered. Surely he had somewhere else to go - somewhere else to spend his leave.

A girl. The thought occurred to her. Her hands stopped. Her brow furrowed. Of course. A man like Jackson Holcomb would have a girl to get to.

Well, she thought, scrubbing harder, she wouldn't keep him.

Everything scrubbed and ready to rinse, she dragged the bucket of water to the back door and, tilting it up, poured it out. Now the rinse process began.

She set aside the washboard and poured fresh water into the basin. Looking up as she rinsed the clothes, thoughts of sending Jackson on his way vanished from her thoughts.

He stood in the doorway, watching her, holding his soiled uniform in his hands. He frowned.

"Good morning," she said, wiping her brow with the back of her hand. "Again."

"That looks like horrendously hard work," he said.

"It is."

"Let me help."

"There's no need. I do it twice a week."

"And, please tell me, what else do I have to do?"

She considered. What else indeed.

"Very well. After I wring these out, you can wash yours in this water."

Apparently watching and waiting wasn't in Jackson Holcomb's vocabulary.

As she picked up a dress to wring out, he picked up one also and mimicked her actions.

"You've done this before," she said.

"In a fashion."

"That's a rather vague response."

"We had a lady that we hired to do our laundry. And then, in the army, laundresses did it for us."

"So the real answer is no."

He shrugged. "I learn fast."

"Indeed."

She took the clothes out back. This time he did stay inside so as not to be seen. For him to be in hiding this way, he must have reason to take the soldiers seriously, she mused.

"I'll make breakfast while you scrub your uniform," she said "It's gonna be a task. You may have to let it soak for awhile."

"Sounds good," he said, picking up the bar of soap.

She watched for moment, but he did, indeed, seem to be a quick study. She took out a bowl and mixed together some flour and water for biscuits. Grandma should be up soon and she'd be wanting breakfast as well.

"Do you want coffee?" she asked.

"Sure. If you have some."

"I have lots of things," she said, going to the pantry.

While she made coffee and biscuits, he scrubbed blood and grime from his uniform.

* * *

Later that afternoon, as Leah and Grandma settled into Grandma's sitting room to begin writing letters to the soldiers, Leah, paper and pen at hand, Grandma deep in thought, Jackson sat and listened.

"Dear Christopher _,"_ Grandma began as Leah wrote. "Christopher was only sixteen when he joined the army," Grandma told Jackson. "He'll be nineteen now. He writes occasionally."

Jackson nodded, eager to hear what the older woman had to say. "The battles have come to our doorstep. As a result, we don't hear from our neighbors. Everyone stays inside - hunkered down, trying to avoid the attention of the Yankee soldiers. Just yesterday, Yankee soldiers came into our home - searching for who knows what. They had an excuse, of course, but they probably just wanted to see if we had anything of value."

Jackson sighed with relief. Grandma couldn't tell anyone that he was here. It would be too dangerous. As she talked, and Leah wrote, Jackson's thoughts wandered. He thought about the last mission he and Stephen had been on.

It had been dark as they paddled down the Red River. Only a sliver of dim moonlight guided their way as they slipped along the edge of the bank.

"Here," Stephen said, at a grove of trees. Only someone who grew up around here would possibly have known their whereabouts along this river. It all looked the same to Jackson.

They banked the pirogue and silently climbed out onto the bank. Jackson tried not to think about slithery things at his feet.

He followed his friend and comrade up the bank, then down a path. They paused at the edge of a Yankee camp.

"That's him," Jackson whispered, nodding toward a Yankee sentry.

"Yeah, right on time." Stephen picked up a rock and threw it at the Yankee's feet.

The soldier turned and ambled toward them. Stopped a few feet away. "Who goes there?" He whispered.

"Johnny Reb," Jackson said.

"What's the code word?"

"yellow jacket."

"Jackson?" Leah called. "Jackson?"

Jackson jumped, startled out of his memory. "I'm sorry," he said. "I was thinking about something else."

Leah was standing directly in front of him, her brow furrowed. "I've been calling you."

"I'm sorry. I was... somewhere else."

"Somewhere else indeed, but nonetheless, we were wondering if you would go up to the attic and bring down a box of candles. We're running short."

"Of course," he said.

"Here's the key," she said, her hand on one key that was attached to a large key ring. "There's a door at the end of the hallway. The box is marked."

Jackson took the keys and went upstairs. He had seen the door to the attic yesterday. He climbed the narrow stairs which opened up to a large, organized attic filled with chairs, boxes, and trunks. The box marked candles was near the top of the stairs. It was a sturdy box about one foot square. He picked it up, "Geez," he muttered. It weighed more than he expected.

As he made his way down the darkening stairway, one hand along the edge of the wall, the other balancing the box, his right hand scraped across a jagged piece of wood.

He jerked his hand back and the box tumbled out of his hands.

He cursed as the box of candles tumbled down to the bottom of the stairs, spilling its contents.

By the time he reached the bottom of the stairs, Leah was standing there, grasping for breath. "Are you hurt?" she asked, looking at him over the pile of candles.

"No," he said, kneeling down to begin picking up the candles. Blood splashed onto the box.

"You are hurt!" Leah exclaimed. "Do you have a handkerchief?"

Jackson pulled a handkerchief from his pocket with his other hand.

"Here, she said, taking it from him and examining his hand while she wiped the blood. "You've got a splinter."

"There was a piece of wood..." he said.

"Keep this on it," she said, Let's go down where there's more light and I'll get it out."

He did as she said, following her downstairs to the kitchen. He sat down while she took his hand in hers.

"It's deep," she said. "I have to use a needle."

He waited while she retrieved a needle from another room.

"You'll have to trust me," she said, taking his hand with one and holding the needle in her other. "Do you?" she asked.

Her lips were full, pink. Close. Right then he barely heard anything she said.

"Yes?" she asked. "It may hurt. I'm not very good at this."

He nodded, watching her lips, as they pursed in concentration.

She gripped his finger and stuck the needle alongside the splinter enough to pull it out.

"There," she said, a satisfied expression on her face. "Suck on it," she said.

"What?" he asked, his mind unable to grasp what she was saying.

She pushed his hand toward his face. "Suck on it. It'll help it heal faster."

He did as she said, raising his eyes to hers. With his free hand, he took her hand in his and squeezed it tightly. "Thank you," he said.

"You're welcome."

Taking his finger from his mouth, he glanced at it. No more blood. "You said you weren't good at this," he said, taking her other hand and pulling her toward him. He wrapped her arms around his waist and put his arms around her shoulders. Squeezed tightly.

He kissed the top of her head. "I think you're good at just about everything," he said.

Leah pulled away. He resisted, but let her go.

"I have to help Grandma finish up her letter for today."

"What can I do?" he asked.

"You can pick up the candles and bring them in here," she said over her shoulder.

* * *

The evening had gone peacefully. Leah stood on her balcony, swathed in darkness. The moon was veiled by a light layer of clouds. Since the servants had left, it was much too quiet here. Much more quiet than it had ever been. She was grateful that Jackson was there.

Otherwise, it would be just her and Grandma alone.

She was glad Jackson was there, but he was dangerous. Dangerous to her emotions.

She was getting more and more attached to him. Used to having him there.

He would leave soon.

He was a soldier and that's what soldiers did.

They went off to fight.

Every man in her life had gone off to fight.

Her grandfather. Her father. Her brother.

And they never came back.

It wasn't safe to love a soldier.

In any capacity.

It was best to keep her distance.

Of course, with him there, in the house, it was next to impossible.

The Yankee soldiers had doubtlessly moved on by now.

There was no longer a need for Jackson to stay.

As she stared at the grove of trees, her mind focused on Jackson Holcomb, a movement caught her eyes and jarred her back to the present.

Had she imagined it?

She stepped closer to the wall, felt the rough bricks behind her back. Strained her eyes.

There. In the grove of trees. A man stood watching her.

She gasped.

She had been mistaken.

Her heart tripped in her throat. He was staring right at her. He would see her if she moved.

_He's already seen me._ He was staring right at her.

She could go back inside, but then he would know that she had spotted him.

_I've got to pretend I didn't see him._

Taking a deep breath, she went to the edge of the balcony, leaned across it and closed her eyes. As though taking in a deep breath of fresh air.

She counted to ten. Hugged herself as though cold, then turned and went back inside.

Closed and locked the door behind her.

She went to the bed and blew out her candle.

Then, her feet on the cool wood floor, she sprinted to the hallway and went to Jackson's room. Knocked.

No answer.

She knocked again, but still no answer. Perhaps he was asleep.

She eased the door open and peered inside. The room was empty.

She stepped inside, searched, but he was not here.

She ran downstairs, checked the kitchen, the parlor. He wasn't in the house. She checked all the doors.

Jackson Holcomb wasn't there.

# Chapter 5

Jackson had some things to clean up. As bad as it seemed, even to himself, it had to be done.

If he didn't make things right, Leah and her Grandmother would never be safe.

He entered the grove of trees, knowing that he was playing two sides against the middle.

He had one more letter to deliver. Then he would have completed his obligation.

"Who goes there?" The man asked.

"Johnny Reb."

"What's the password?"

"Yellow jacket. What's yours?"

"Green skies."

Jackson stepped out into the clearing, as did the Confederate soldier.

"Where's your uniform?" the man asked.

"Hanging on a line. Drying."

"Where's your comrade?"

"Killed."

"I'm sorry,"

"Yeah, me too." Jackson handed the man the letter. "This is the last one," he said.

"Getting out?"

"Yeah without my partner, it's too dangerous."

"Convenient, too, now that you've found that woman."

"Not your business."

"Could be."

"Trust me. It's not. You'll let them know that I'm out?"

"Of course.

"The Yankees came looking for me."

"I can't control the Yankees."

Jackson sighed. Ran a hand through his hair. _I never should have gotten mixed up in this business._

"This will be helpful," the soldier said.

"Probably not. But it's all yours.

"Thank you."

The man disappeared into the shadows. Jackson stood, watching where he had gone. Turned back to look toward the house. The man had had a perfect view of Leah's balcony.

_This is not over,_ every instinct screamed at him.

_It's all I have to go on at the moment._

If there was one thing he'd learned in the war, it was that life was lived one day at the time. You can't live for tomorrow and you can't live for yesterday. The only sure thing was today. Right now.

And right now all Jackson wanted was to put all this behind him and get back to the house. Where he had left Leah.

He made his way back to the house and crept up to his room.

He opened the door and nearly jumped out of his skin.

It was the ghost again.

Sitting in the chair next to his bed.

Leah.

With an odd expression on her face.

He blew out a deep breath, wiped a hand across his eyes, and looked away.

_You have to tell her._

"You don't have to explain," she said, getting up and walking toward the window, shuttered with thick drapes.

"No," she said, turning back to face him, "I think maybe you do. I would like an explanation."

He faced her squarely. It was all he could do.

"You put me and my family in danger," she continued. "I deserve to know what's going on. Not because I care what you're up to, but because I need to know if you're putting my family in jeopardy."

"You're right," he said.

She stood squarely in front of him now, her arms crossed across her heaving chest.

"You have every right to be angry," he said. "I should have told you."

"Yes, you should have told me." Her eyes locked onto his. Didn't let go. "What is it you should have told me?"

He bit back a smile. Her anger had turned to confusion. "Should you be in here?"

"No," she said. "Should you have been outside?"

"Probably not."

He swept a lock of hair back from her cheek. His thumb lingered near her lips. _So beautiful._

Her lips parted and her eyes closed. He pressed his lips against the corner of her mouth. Held them there.

Then he pulled her to him. Hugged her against him.

The clock bonged eleven times. A dog howled outside.

"You should get some sleep," he murmured.

She pulled away. Her eyes blinked open.

He took her hand and led her from his room, across the hall to her own room. It, too, was sparsely furnished. The bed was a large, four-poster bed with gray curtains draped over it. The canopy curtains matched the thick velvet drapes pulled closed over the wall of floor-ceiling windows. There was a wash basin stand and a dresser where she kept her brush and a collection of colorful ribbons. There was a trunk at the foot of the bed and a wardrobe, that matched the wood of the bed, on one wall.

She yawned.

"Do you need some help getting into bed?" he asked.

"I think I can manage," she said, glancing in the direction of the step stool standing next to the bed.

"Good night, then," he said, squeezing her hand.

* * *

_I must be addled._

Kneeling, Leah folded her nightgown and placed it in her wardrobe. She had climbed into her bed after Jackson had left her standing there.

When he had left her, she had felt bereft.

_And I had barely said two words. Indeed, he must think me daft._

She sat back on her heels and savored the memory of his lips against the corner of her mouth. He'd been so close to kissing her, she had felt his breath against her lips.

_Addled._

Leah glanced toward the window. She would have to go downstairs soon to start breakfast. But she'd been avoiding Jackson.

She stood up. Stretched. Took a deep, steading breath.

And went downstairs.

Hot __ biscuits sat on the stove - and a plate with warm slices of ham.

She went across the hallway to see if Grandma had already been up. Grandma stood at the water basin. "Good morning," Grandma said.

"Good morning. Have you already been up and made breakfast?"

"Oh no, Dear, I just got up."

"Well, breakfast is on the stove," she said.

"It was Jackson," Grandma said. "He stopped by to tell me."

"Oh."

Grandma picked up a brush and ran it through her hair.

"Where is he?" She asked, unable to resist.

Grandma glanced at her, then went back to brushing her hair. "I'm not sure. He's not in the kitchen?"

"No," she said, shifting from one foot to the other. "I think I'll go look for him."

"Very well, Dear," Grandma said, as Leah turned and headed out the door. "I'll be in for breakfast in a few minutes."

Leah dashed upstairs, peeking into Jackson's room - his door was wide open, then hurried back downstairs. Her heart raced.

_He left._

The thought sent a spiral of panic through her.

_I wanted to find out more about my brother._

She went back to the kitchen. Still not there. Ignoring the food on the stove, she went back into the hall.

And heard a commotion coming from outside the back of the house.

Not sure what to make of it, she eased toward the back door. The commotion occurred again. She slipped the door open and peeked outside.

And found Jackson. Axe raised in the air. A stack of freshly split wood all around him.

Relief and panic surged through her all at once.

Relief that he was still there and panic that he was outside.

"You're outside," she said.

He set down the axe and smiled at her. "The wood needed chopping."

"But... the soldiers."

He shrugged. "It probably doesn't matter. I needed some fresh air anyway.

"Well, don't blame me if you get sent to prison."

"Don't worry," he said with a mischievous grin. "I would never blame you. Besides," he continued, propping up another log to chop. "They'd have a hard time pulling me away from you."

Her heart skittered.

"Sit," he said, nodding toward the porch steps.

She sat, pulling her skirts around her, and put her elbows on her knees. "I'm listening whenever you're ready to tell me," she said.

He raised the axe and split the log clean in two. "I have a letter for you," he said.

"A letter? From who?"

He began picking up the logs and piling them into a stack near the steps.

"From Stephen?" she asked.

He dusted his hands. "Do you want to read it now?"

"Of course I want to read it now," she said, standing up and moving toward the door and then back to the rail. She looked down at him as he tossed a log onto the pile beneath her "Do you have it?"

"Not here," he said. "I'll get it while you eat breakfast."

"I can't eat now," she said, wondering how he knew she hadn't eaten yet.

He gazed up at her. "All right," he said, "I'll get it."

He followed her inside to the kitchen where he opened Stephen's knapsack. In the very bottom, beneath the lining, he pulled out a letter hidden there.

He held it out to her.

She took it gently in her hands. Her name was scrawled across the front in Stephen's handwriting. She took a deep, steadying breath, and opened it.

And read.

* * *

_Dear Leah and Grandma,_

_If you're reading this letter, then you must know that I have died. Thank you for sending the letters. For letting me know that you were well. It allowed me to focus on my duty as a soldier - knowing that you were safe. I'm sure you're wondering why I never wrote to you over these years. I wanted to. Please know that. But I didn't because I wanted to keep the horrors of war out of your heads. I've seen things. And done things. Things that even I struggle to live with. Just being out here. Being a soldier has tainted my life. I can't imagine living the rest of my life with all these images in my head. If I'm dead it's probably for the best. But if I had lived, I know that I would have dealt with it the best way I know how._

_I want you to remember me the way I was - before the war. When life was happy. I miss you more than I could ever begin to convey. Please know that. I've asked my good friend, Jackson, to deliver this letter to you. He begged me to write to you, many times, but I couldn't bring myself to do it._

_I shared your letters, Grandma, with him. He has no family. So I shared mine with him. I hope you don't mind. I don't know what else to say except that I carry both of you in my heart with me every minute of every day._

_With all my love,_

_Stephen_

_P.S. I wasn't going to tell you this, but Jackson insisted that you have a right to know. He can give you more details. Please be wary. The Yankees may come looking for you._

* * *

She read it all the way through quickly. Then read it again from the beginning - slower.

"This is rather cryptic," she said.

Jackson scoffed. "That's what I said," he said, biting into a biscuit. "Along with a few choice words of appreciation for leaving the dirty work for me."

"He did do that, didn't he?"

"He did."

"Is this why you disappeared last night?"

"It is."

"He said you would give us more details," she said.

"More details about what?" Grandma asked, coming into the room.

Leah glanced at Jackson. He shrugged.

"Jackson brought a letter," she told her grandmother.

"What kind of letter?"

"A letter from Stephen."

Grandma froze. Then took a step and dropped into a chair. "After all this time," she said, holding out her hand.

"Do you want me to read it to you?" Leah asked.

"Oh bother," Grandma said. "I forgot. Not really, but I suppose that's the only way. Can I hold it?"

"Of course," Leah said, handing the letter to her grandmother.

Grandma ran her hands along the paper. Held it close to her bosom and closed her eyes. "All right," she said. "You can read it to me."

Leah took the paper back and read the letter through.

"Would you read it again?" she asked.

Leah read the letter a fourth time, this time out aloud. _I'll have it memorized before long._

Grandma stared at Jackson. "You took your time giving this to us," she said.

"I had to take care of some things first."

"Are things taken care of now?"

Jackson glanced at Leah. "Things are moving along," he said.

Leah flushed.

"Then what can you tell us about what you and Stephen got yourselves into?" Grandma asked. "And why exactly might the Yankees be looking for us?"

"They might actually be looking for me. I think he thought they might try to find me through you."

"They already came here looking for you."

"Hopefully they won't come back."

Leah bit her lip. She wanted to know where Jackson had been last night, but didn't want to ask him in front of Grandma. Just in case...

"If you want to stay on for awhile," Grandma continued. "Any friend of Stephen's is welcome here.

Despite Stephen's letter, Leah couldn't shake the feeling that Jackson was holding something back.

"I wouldn't mind staying around for awhile," Jackson said, "but only if you let me do some things around here."

Leah's sense of relief battled with her suspicion and won out. She smiled at the idea that Jackson was planning to stay for awhile.

"We do have some things that need to be done. What with Silas and the other servant running off. Did you have servants at your home?"

"No ma'am. My family never had any help."

"Well, the most we ever had at any time was six and they were part of the family."

Leah found her attention wandering. She went to the stove and put some biscuits and ham on a plate and brought it back to the kitchen table.

Suddenly Jackson had her attention.

"I need to leave for a little while and take care of something" Jackson was saying.

"You didn't tell me you'd be leaving," Leah said, unable to keep the disappointment from her voice.

"I only just now decided," he said.

"Where are you going?"

"I have to take care of a personal matter."

_Personal._

She had questions. Lots of questions. But she also knew it was rude to further inquire when someone stated that a matter was personal in nature. "I see," she said.

Grandma, on the other hand, was more understanding. "Take care of your business," she said, "And come back whenever you're ready. You're always welcome here."

More understanding. And forgiving.

Leah bit her tongue. She wanted to tell him that if he had something so much more important to do, he should just go do it and not come back. But... Grandma would view that as being ungracious. And she didn't want Grandma to be disappointed in her.

Instead, she excused herself and went across the hall to the study. Plopped down in her chair and picked up a basket of wool. She was knitting socks for the soldiers. She attacked the knitting needles, allowing the socks to take the brunt of her frustrations.

Why had he come here anyway? Why hadn't he just sent the letters. He didn't have to come here and upset everything. It was completely unnecessary. She and Grandma had been doing just fine before he came along.

He certainly didn't need to think he was doing them a favor by coming back here after he went off to do whatever it was he had to do.

They had put their own lives on the line for him. They had protected him. Kept him from from being captured. And he repaid them by going off to take care of _personal matters._

He and Grandma were laughing in the kitchen. Grandma had innocently welcomed him into their fold, but now they would probably never see him again. _That's fine with me._ _We got along great before him and we'll get along just fine after he leaves._

"I'm sorry I offended you," Jackson said, coming to stand in the doorway of the study.

She didn't look up. "I'm not offended," she said, jabbing the needles.

"I can see that," he said. She shot a glance at him, saw the humor playing about his lips. Which only fueled her anger.

"You needn't come back," she said.

He swallowed a chuckle.

"We can manage on our own," she said.

"I have no doubt about that whatsoever," he said, sobering.

"Then go on," she said, stopped to undo a loop she had just made in the wrong place. She groaned and tossed the knitting into the basket. Set it aside and stood up. She went to the window, her back to Jackson. Without the servants, the grounds seemed deserted. Except for a couple of chickens in the yard, there was no movement.

She straightened and lifted her chin. _I won't let him see my anger._ "Do what you need to do," she said. Waited.

When she turned back, he was gone.

Going to the nearest chair, she melted into it. Lowered her head and closed her eyes. She rubbed her forehead and allowed the sense of loss to sweep over her. _I'm just lonely,_ she told herself. _Lonely and Jackson was my last tie to Stephen._

Raising her chin, she took a deep, cleansing breath. _It's better this way. It's best not to get too attached to strangers._

Her stomach grumbled, reminding her that she hadn't eaten today, eliciting practicality.

It was difficult to admit but Jackson Holcomb took a little piece of her heart with him.

* * *

Jackson smiled to himself. Leah was beautiful, but she was even more stunning when she was angry. And all that passion was directed at him. There was one thing she could be certain of. He would be back.

His best friend's sister was a woman he couldn't seem to get enough of. Under normal circumstances, he would have courted her He would have called upon her and filled her dance card. Under the circumstances, however, he could only make her breakfast and chop wood for the fireplace.

And take himself away from her to avoid putting her in danger.

After hearing her read Stephen's letter twice over to Grandma, Jackson had come to the conclusion that instead of waiting for the soldiers to come to him as they had the other night, he had to seek them out and fulfill any obligations he had to the war. He didn't want to be the one attracting soldiers, Yankee or Southern to their home.

* * *

The soldiers had marched south after the Battle of Pleasant Hill and it had taken him two days to catch up with them. Fortunately, they had stopped to build a bridge, so they hadn't been so very far out.

Jackson's uniform had felt a little strange at first, but now that he was back at the camp, it reminded him of Leah. He wasn't sure why, but everything reminded him of Leah.

As he walked through the campsite, a couple of the men greeted him, but mostly they were so weary, they kept doing whatever it was they were doing and ignored him - from cleaning a gun to stirring a pot of beans, to writing a letter.

The letter definitely reminded him of Leah.

_Focus._

He marched up to Major General Richard Taylor's tent and informed the sentry that he need to see the man.

The sentry ducked inside and was back within seconds, holding the flap open for him.

"Sir," he said.

"Lieutenant Jackson Holcomb," Richard took his hand, slapped him on the back. "I took you for dead, son."

"I apologize for that, Major," Jackson said. "Stephen was killed and..."

"A great loss."

"Yes sir. He had family in Pleasant Hill, so I took his things to them and they needed some work done - not having had a man around for the duration of the war."

"Understandable," Richard said. "I'm glad you're back. We could use some intel."

"I was hoping to talk to you about that."

"Is there a problem?"

"A problem? No sir." Jackson had rehearsed what he was going to say, but now, with so much riding on this conversation, he wavered. "I'd like permission to take leave."

The older man didn't answer, just raised an eyebrow.

"Extended leave," Jackson continued.

"We're fighting a war here," Richard said.

"I know, sir. I know I shouldn't ask.

Richard sat down, picked up a snifter of brandy. Took a sip. "We're fighting a war that isn't likely to go on much longer. It's already dragged on past its usefulness."

"Yes sir," A sliver of hope shot through Jackson.

"Sit," the older man said, "drink with me."

Jackson sat down at the little table, waited while the Major poured brandy in a snifter. He lifted the glass, took a sip. It had been far too long. "Thank you, sir. I don't know how many more men will be sacrificed until this thing ends, but I see no need in allowing all my good men to die."

"Are you considering my leave request sir?"

"I've already considered it. I'm a man of quick decisions."

"You have to be."

"I've always been that way. It's probably why I'm in this position now.

"It may be," Jackson considered. Did the job make the man or the man make the job?

"I'll grant you your leave, but on one condition."

"What would you have me do?"

"I need you to carry out one more mission."

# Chapter 6

Leah knew she had been irrational.

She didn't understand it.

_I didn't want him to leave. I had grown rather fond of him and now that he's gone I'll never see him again._

_Irrational._

He had said he would be back. _But men don't come home. Grandfather. Father. Stephen._

_It doesn't matter if he comes back or not, she told herself for the hundredth time_.

Today.

And at least a thousand times yesterday.

She put wood in the stove - wood that Jackson had cut, and put on coffee. She didn't normally drink coffee, but today was chilly and she was in the mood to drink something hot.

When the coffee was ready, she added some sugar and took a few sips, wrinkling her nose. Instead, opting to let the cup warm her hands,

Today, she had promised to pen some more letters for Grandma. Since reading Stephen's letter, neither of them had really wanted to do any letter writing, but Grandma was feeling guilty since three more letters back had arrived yesterday in the post.

Today was laundry day, so she put water on to heat. That also meant it was bath day. She gathered up a clean dress, towels, and soap in anticipation. Dragged the tub in from the back of the house.

Poured in one bucket of water and waited for the second to heat.

She took the pail out to the well and lowered it. And found herself watching the road as she wound the lever to pull the bucket back up.

_Silly,_ she admonished herself. _He's not coming back. Stop watching for him._ She surveyed the grove of trees. No movement except for a flock of birds fluttering toward the sky.

She took the bucket inside and locked the door.

Grandma had been sleeping until mid-morning and today was no different.

She filled the tub, added some soap for bubbles, and shrugged out of her clothes. Stepped into the steaming water and lowered herself in. And felt the tension drain from her body. She closed her eyes and thought about Jackson.

His lips on her face next to her lips. Why didn't he just kiss her?

Maybe he had a wife or a betrothed waiting for him. Maybe that's why he had to leave.

She shook herself, tried to drag her thoughts away from him. Thought about all the things she had to get done today. And her thoughts circled back around to Jackson.

Sighed and gave up. Thoughts would go in whatever direction they chose. _I just have to allow myself to think about him when it happens, accept it, and move on._

Feeling calmer now and more relaxed, she stepped out of the tub, dried off, and put on a clean dress. Leaving her hair wrapped in the towel, she went upstairs to gather the clothes to wash for the day. After gathering her clothes, she stopped by Stephen's room on the outside chance there was something there that needed to be washed. There was a handkerchief on the bedside table. _Jackson's._ She picked it up and when she did, a letter fell out from under it onto the floor.

She picked up the letter, examined the seal, then slowly sat down on the bed, broke the seal, and began to read.

The letter was dated one week ago and had no salutation.

_Once they have constructed the bridge and have crossed it, we will destroy the bridge. That will allow us to isolate them. They will be cut off from supplies._

Leah's mind raced. She flipped the paper over, but there were no identifying factors. The letter obviously belonged to Jackson. And with it being dated only one week ago, he had obviously acquired it while he was staying there with them.

_He must have gotten it the night he disappeared._ Was this note written by Yankees? And, if so, how did Jackson come to possess it?

This was dire information. _This is important._

She reread the letter. Stared at it. _What am I supposed to do with this?_

"Leah?" Grandma called from downstairs.

Leah went downstairs, her head reeling from the information in her possession.

"Good morning," Grandma said. "The water is hot."

"Oh bother," she said, running to the stove, grabbing a towel, and hefting the kettle from the stove.

She poured it into the bucket and added the clothes she had brought from downstairs. "Did you sleep well?" she asked.

"I slept pretty well," Grandma said. "You seem a little... distracted."

"I'm sorry," she said. "I'm just thinking about everything that needs to be done."

Grandma sat at the table and ate a biscuit while Leah scrubbed the clothes.

_I can't just ignore the message._ She twisted a skirt, wringing it dry. _I can't leave Grandma here alone._

Caught in a dilemma, she put her energy into the laundry.

Gathering it up, she took it outside to hang on the line. The sun was up now. It was about mid-morning. The days would start to be hot soon.

She watched the road. That was another battle she gave up on fighting with herself on. As she hung a pair of Grandma's pantaloons, a buggy started down their road.

She stopped and watched as it neared the house.

It was Father McVay.

Hastily, she hung up the last shirt and dashed inside.

"Grandma," she said, "Father McVay is here!"

Grandma was in the study, sitting at her desk. With her fading eyesight, there was little she could do to pass the time.

"That's wonderful," she said, "Let's go meet him at the door."

Grandma appeared to have no trouble getting around in the house. "Can you see alright?" Leah asked.

"Things are hazy, and I can't see to read at all anymore, but I can see enough to get around."

By the time they got to the front door, Father McVay was on his way up the front porch stairs.

He was a middle-aged man, attractive, clean-shaven, tall, and thin. He had silver hair and a welcoming smile. He hugged Leah, then held her at arm's length. "I can see it's been too long since I was here. You've grown into quite a woman, even since I last saw you."

Leah blushed, but knew that Father McVay made that statement with the best of intentions. She had known him since birth.

Then he moved to hug Grandma. "It's so good to see both of you."

"And you," Grandma said. "How have you been?"

"I've been busy riding all over. So much loss these days."

"Come inside," Grandma insisted. "Sit." They went into the parlor and settled into the chairs.

"I'm afraid I have bad news," Grandma said. "We've lost another one."

"Not Stephen, too?"

"I'm afraid so." As Grandma filled Father McVay in on what they knew about Stephen, Leah went to the kitchen to make tea.

She brought back a tray with three mugs on their fine china. After distributing the refreshment, Leah sat quietly, allowing Grandma to talk.

Father McVay prayed for Stephen.

While the priest prayed for her brother, Leah wrestled with the dilemma of the letter tucked in her skirt.

She possessed knowledge that could potentially save the lives of other southern soldiers. If she did nothing, others would no doubt die - just as Stephen had and other families would be left to grieve.

_Stephen's sacrifice can't be for nothing._ For whatever reason, the task had fallen into her hands. _I may be a girl, but I can do my duty to my country._

Her mind made up, Leah began to plot.

When Father McVay got up to take some air, she followed him outside.

"Are you alright, my child?" He asked.

"Yes," Leah said. "Father McVay, I need your help."

* * *

Jackson watched the Yankees through his binoculars. He was on his belly on a knoll, hidden in the grass. A young soldier waited beside him.

It was a cavalry unit. Jackson had been part of a cavalry unit once, before he was recruited into scouting or what some would call espionage. Turns out there was a fine line and he and Stephen had operated in the gray areas. There was also the matter of his horse being shot out from under him. He wasn't sure which one had come first. Nonetheless, he needed to discern what the enemy was up to.

"What do we do now?" The young soldier asked. His name was Will.

"Now we wait," Jackson said.

"I could take out at least three of them."

"You'd have the whole Yankee army descending upon our heads."

"There's only eleven of them. Don't see anybody else."

"There's a regiment over that knoll there."

Will frowned, shook his head. Looked at Jackson as though he was daft. But when he turned back, the United States flag appeared over the knoll followed shortly by a unit of Yankee soldiers. "How did you?"

Jackson grinned. "Experience, my boy. Experience."

Will gulped as the enemy kept coming. They began marching toward them. "Shouldn't we leave?" he asked.

"They'll veer off shortly," Jackson said, though this time, he was betting his odds. He held his breath as they came close enough for him to see that the soldier in front hadn't shaved in a few days.

He let out his breath as they veered to the left. _Experience indeed. And a whole lot of luck._

"They're headed for the river," Will whispered.

"Yep," Jackson said.

"What do we do now?"

"We report back."

Will started to squiggle backwards.

Jackson put a hand on his arm. "Don't move," he said.

Will blew out his breath. "Experience," he said.

Jackson smiled.

* * *

Leah rummaged through Stephen's clothes. She had given his best pants and shirt to Jackson and he had left them there. However, Leah had not washed them and she didn't relish the thought of wearing the clothes next to her skin that Jackson had worn next to his.

Determined not to wear the same clothes, she found another pair of pants, a little smaller, if a little threadbare at the knees, and a blue shirt that she remembered Stephen wearing. Keeping the pants out, but setting the shirt aside, she chose a red plaid shirt that she had no memory of.

She slipped out of her dress and, leaving her chemise on, put on the pants and the shirt. Without the volumes of skirts, she felt a little freer - much like when she wore her nightgown, only better. _Perhaps we girls should rethink the way we dress when we're doing work around the house._ She tucked her pants in her boots and laced them up.

She went across the hall and examined herself in her mirror. Decided she could pass for a boy - with one minor detail. Her auburn hair cascaded down her back. She twisted it up and clipped it high on her head. She went back to Stephen's room and found a cap.

She smiled as she studied the finished product in her mirror. Studied the image of a slim, young lad. _Yes,_ she nodded to her reflection, _this should do._ She tucked the letter into her pocket and picked up the knapsack she had packed with provisions.

Having already said good bye to Grandma, she slipped down the stairs and out the back door. The morning sun cast a glow over the barren fields. There would be no cotton this year. And probably not the year after.

Her brows furrowed, she wondered, for the first time suddenly, what she and Grandma were going to do for income.

_I'll have to worry about that later._

Father McVay had unhooked his horse from his carriage after taking it around to the stables. Leah took a saddle she had used years ago, when they still had horses, and put it on the sable horse.

_Let's see if I can still do this._ She put one foot in the stirrup and pulled herself over the back of the horse. Settled her other foot in the right stirrup.

She'd always rode astride until she went to finishing school. They had been aghast that she didn't ride side-saddle. But she'd tried to explain that the ride into town, or anywhere, actually, required more attention than trying not to fall off the horse. Nonetheless, she had learned to ride side-straddle and felt rather accomplished in the fact that she could ride a horse every way but backwards. She had left that shenanigan to Stephen.

She took off down the road, getting a feel for the reins in her hands. It had been years since she'd ridden a horse.

Leaving her property, she turned left, and cantered along the river road. And immediately wished she had not backed the pistol in her knapsack, but instead put it where she could easily get to it.

Father McVay had helped her quickly devise a story to support her absence. Grandma had been unhappy to say the least with Leah leaving the house at all. Father McVay had not only been fully supportive of Leah's plan, but he had been instrumental in convincing Grandma that Leah needed to go

The story, however, had been slightly altered...

At the sound of a carriage coming toward her, Leah ducked her head and veered several feet off the road - far enough that she wouldn't be recognized.

Fortunately, she didn't recognize the older man in the carriage. She had gotten out so very seldom since the war started, that no one likely recognized her anyway.

As she rode, the sun rose over the river, illuminating the upward tendrils of fog.

She jumped at the sound of thunder in the distance. Turned in her saddle and saw the dark clouds moving in. Groaned inwardly as a raindrop splashed on her hand. This was going to be more difficult than she had planned.

She stopped, pulled the letter from her pants pocket and put it in her knapsack. It would not do to have it soaked with rain.

She kicked the horse's side and rode faster. Even knowing she couldn't outrun the rain.

_Maybe I'm not the right person for this job._

Anybody who tries to outrun a rain storm can't be smart enough to be depended upon to carry a life and death message.

_I may not be worthy, but nevertheless, it's fallen on my shoulders._

She followed the river, moving quickly, but quietly. The rain, though she didn't outrun it, moved east, at least for the time being. The clouds swirled overhead, threatening to open up at any moment.

As she neared the bend in the river, she smelled the military camp about a mile before she reached it. It was a mixture of firewood, cooked meat, and the unique odor that could be attributed only to an army of men.

She didn't know if the army was northern or southern.

_I'm not in uniform. I should be safe._

When she reached the bend in the river, she knew she had gone too far. The river was heavily guarded at this point.

She pulled back on the reins, but she had already been spotted.

The first sentry stepped behind her and took her reins. His blue uniform sent a stab of fear down her spine.

"Get down," he said.

"No," she said.

"Where are you going?"

"To tend my sick aunt in Natchitoches."

"Are you a doctor then?"

"I'm an apprentice," she said.

"Get off the horse."

"I will not."

He reached up, put his arm around her, and pulled her from the horse. She fought him, but to no avail.

"Why are you stopping me?" she asked.

"You can't go this way."

"I have to get into Natchitoches.

"We can't let you go this way," the soldier said.

"There's no other way," She pulled away and stuck her foot back in the stirrup.

He grabbed her by the waist and pulled her back. Releasing her, but standing between her and the horse, he looked at her with an odd expression on his face. "What's your name?" he asked.

"William," she said, pulling her father's name out of the air.

"Well, _William,_ " he said. "If you go this way, you're going to be walking right into the midst of a battle. And, I could be mistaken, but I don't think you want to do that."

She stood back on her heels. Looked toward the river. _I have to get this message to the southern army. Obviously I'm not going to do it this way._

"Very well," she said. "How can I get through to my aunt in Natchitoches?"

"I don't think you can right now."

"I have to," she said, but her voice sounded defeated, even to her own ears.

"You won't stop trying, will you?"

She shook her head."

The soldier sighed. "You can come with us."

_Oh no!_ She lifted her chin. "That's very generous of you."

"Saddle up," the soldier said and assisted her in mounting her horse. He turned and spoke quietly with the other soldier. The other soldier gave her that same odd look.

_They know. They know I'm a girl._

As long as they didn't attempt to stop her, perhaps she could use it to her advantage.

The two sentries gathered up their bags and the one soldier took the reins of her horse and began walking along the river.

"What's your name?" Leah asked.

"Michael," he said.

"Where are you from?"

"Pennsylvania."

Leah had studied the maps. "You walked all the way from there?"

"Unfortunately, yes."

Leah couldn't fathom walking hundreds of miles. She knew that soldiers walked hundreds of miles, but she'd never met anyone personally who had done so.

"You must be tired," she said.

He laughed. "I didn't do it all at once," he said. "And we did ride on a boat part of the way."

"Oh, well, that helped."

"It helped a little," he said. "What's wrong with your aunt?"

"She has sepsis."

"Oh. I'm sorry."

"Yes, I just have to make sure she's comfortable. Of course, with the war, it's difficult to make anyone comfortable."

"Indeed. I'm sorry to hear about your aunt."

"You're kind," she said. He was, indeed the kindest Yankee she had met. Of course, there had only been a handful that she had interacted with

They walked along in silence now. Leah's stomach grumbled. Michael must have heard it.

"Would you like a biscuit?" he asked.

"I would. Thank you."

Michael reached into his knapsack and pulled out a large handkerchief, untied it and revealed fresh biscuits. He held one out to her.

She took a bite and closed her eyes. She hadn't eaten since last night. And these biscuits were still warm. "Thank you," she said.

"My pleasure."

They rode along in companionable silence for awhile. Within the hour, they could see a Yankee regiment up ahead. It appeared that they had stopped only momentarily as no one was dismounted and the soldiers stood at attention. A couple of dogs ran around at their heels, then raced toward the woods.

"What are they doing?" Leah asked.

"Awaiting orders," Michael said.

_I need to get this letter to the Rebels._

"Are you going to take me to Natchitoches to my aunt?"

"No, but I'm going to take you to my commanding officer."

"All right," she said, gulping. This was definitely not in her plans.

Michael dismounted and handed his reins to another young soldier. "Where is General Banks?" he asked.

The young soldier nodded over to a group of men that had just dismounted.

"This really isn't necessary," Leah said. "I just need to go past to see my aunt." She was beginning to actually believe the story herself.

"Let me help you down," Michael said, pulling her from the horse without waiting for permission. He held her for a moment as she steadied her legs.

"It's been awhile since I rode so long at the time," she said.

"I understand," he said, holding her elbow as she regained her balance.

"I'm ready now," she said, though she held back when he started toward the group of Yankee officers.

"Come on," he said.

Her feet glued to the ground, but she forced herself to follow him. _He's not going to let me get by without this._

They approached the group of men and the hair tingled at the back of her neck. She continued to walk over the grass that had been beaten down by the droves of Yankee soldiers milling about.

"Wait here," Michael said. She breathed a sigh of relief. He would just state her case and she could be on her way.

While he talked, she studied the men.

And realized why she her nerves had been on edge.

It wasn't just the fact that this was a group of Yankee officers; the man that had come to her home searching for Jackson was among them.

Would he recognize her?

She turned around, as though to gaze at the river. Hoping he wouldn't see her face.

"William," she heard someone calling.

"William," Michael said, coming up behind up.

"Yes?" she said, realizing with a start that she was William. _I think I just gave myself away._ "I was thinking about something else."

"I completely understand. Come and meet General Banks."

"General Nathaniel Banks?"

"The one and only."

_This is not good. "_ I really don't need to meet him."

"He won't harm you. I promise."

Her feet dragging, she followed him to the group of men

"This is William," Michael said. "He's trying to get to his aunt in Natchitoches. His aunt has sepsis."

"I'm General Banks," an older, kindly man said, coming forward to shake her hand.

_I'm a boy._

She shook his hand, feeling like a complete imposter. She had never shaken a man's hand in her life.

The general glanced at Michael as he released her hand. She felt him shrug next to her.

"It's not safe here," General Banks said.

"I know," she said, "but my aunt is ill and I have to go to her."

"So I heard. What is her name?"

_Heavens. I don't know._ "Aunt Mary."

His lips twisted into a smile. "Would Aunt Mary have a last name?"

"Hudson," she said, without thinking.

The men glanced at each other. "There are quite a few Hudson's around here," he said. "from what I hear.

The man that had come to her home was watching her closely. But then, they all watched her closely.

She fought the impulse to run. She felt like a fly caught in a spider's web, about to be devoured.

"Indeed," the man said. "I spoke with some Hudsons just a few days ago."

_I'm about to be captured._

"It's a common name around here." She shifted from one foot to the other.

"You can travel along with us," General Banks said.

"Really?"

"Of course. We may be Yankees, but we're not completely inhospitable. It's really not safe for a... person to be traveling alone these days."

"You're very kind, Sir. I appreciate it."

"Just keep your head down," he said, "when the bullets start to fly."

Her eyes widened. Being in the midst of battle was not in her plans.

There was no longer any doubt. She was a fly tangled into the spider's web and the more she tried to work herself free, the more entangled she seemed to become.

# Chapter 7

Jackson passed the time by training his binoculars on the soldiers passing by. They were so close he could smell the horses and feel the breeze of a horse's tail.

Suddenly he froze.

_No._ The binoculars bobbled in his hands.

It wasn't possible.

But it was. It was Leah. He recognized the face. Now even more similar to Stephen's with her hair pulled back. He had seen her with her hair pulled back before after she had washed it and had it pulled back with a towel.

What in the hell was she doing here riding with Yankee soldiers?

_Perhaps I'm hallucinating. I've thought about her so much that I conjured her up and here she is._

"We've got to follow these soldiers," he said.

"I thought we had to report back," the young soldier, Will, said.

"We've had a change of plans."

"Why?"

"Experience," he said.

Leah had been at the end of the caravan. When the last soldier had passed, he waited a beat, to make sure there were no soldiers lagging behind.

Then he stood up, tossed his binoculars into his knapsack, and slid down the knoll. "Come on," he said, over his shoulder.

Will followed. "Where are we going?"

"We have to follow those troops."

"I don't think that was in the plans."

"Well, it's in the plans now."

Jackson started down the edge of the road, ignoring the dust from the troops.

"Why the change of plans?" Will asked.

_I may as well tell him. He's going to find out eventually anyway._

_Only what he needs to know._

"They have one of our men held prisoner."

Will ran to keep up, hoisting his rifle over his shoulder. "How do you know?"

"I saw... him."

"Well, what makes this prisoner so important?"

Jackson stopped and turned. Will nearly ran head long into him. "He's one of ours," Jackson said. "So we're going to rescue him." With that, he turned and started walking.

They trudged in silence, each keeping watch all around them.

"How are we going to do that?" Will asked.

Jackson listened to the cadence of the army marching in front of them, interspersed with the clopping of horses. Men yelling. Men laughing.

Sounds of an army.

How on earth did Leah get caught up with the Yankee army?

And how on earth was he going to rescue her?

* * *

Leah was in trouble. She was surrounded by Yankee soldiers. Yankee soldiers who were being far too kind to her.

They had taken her on her word that she was going to see her aunt who was ill. The soldier who had come to their house had recognized her. She was certain of that. Especially after she said her name.

Her mind raced as she followed along with the soldiers.

And she wasn't in uniform. A lad of her age should be in uniform.

_They know I'm a girl._

It was the only explanation.

The big question was what were they going to do with her? And why were they going along with her?

And there was one other question that she couldn't answer. How was she going to get away in order to deliver the letter? The letter that lives depended on. The letter that indicated the Yankees were planning to destroy the bridge that kept the confederate army connected.

It was going to be impossible to get away.

Perhaps at night she could slip away.

_I found the army alright. I just found the wrong army. Some spy I am._

She chuckled to herself.

Michael twisted in his saddle to look at her. "Are you alright, William?"

"I'm well, thank you," she said.

_Heaven help me and all the soldiers depending on me._

"Let me know if you need anything. If you need to stop for... anything."

"I will." He definitely knows. Other soldiers or even prisons weren't treated with such white gloves.

She opened her mouth and the words nearly tumbled out, but she caught herself. _What are you going to do with me?_

Right now, she told herself, she just had to focus on staying alive. And focus on keeping as much attention away from herself as possible.

The army stopped and she gazed around her.

Swallowed a gasp.

There was the bridge.

They had done it. They had built a bridge over the Red River.

Leah was definitely impressed. The bridge was wide enough to easily accommodate a wagon.

_Why aren't they guarding it?_

She strained to see, but saw no sign of soldiers near the bridge.

"That bridge will take you to Natchitoches," Michael said.

"I'm free to go then?" she asked, knowing the answer already. Besides, even if they approved, there was no way she was going out on that bridge alone.

"I don't think that's a good idea," he said

_Neither do I._

"We have to check it out first," he said, glancing toward the sky. "We'll have to wait until morning though."

The black clouds that had dissipated earlier were rolling back in with a vengeance.

"We'll put you in a tent," he said.

They would have to work fast. Leah could see a shield of rain falling in the distance. The wind whipped around them. The horses, even were restless.

The soldiers began to work, reminding Leah of ants working frantically with no obvious purpose if observed individually, but yielding what could only be a result of working toward the greater good.

The tents were erected and the camp was readied before the skies spilled its water. Leah was ushered into a tent - a small tent, but dry and out of the wind. Michael tied the flap leaving her on her own.

Other than a blanket someone had tossed inside, she had nothing other than her own knapsack and saddlebags. Hence, she had food, her gun, and a dry little corner of the world. She reached inside the haversack, pulled out the letter and reread it.

It would be difficult for the Yankees to destroy a bridge in the rain. Wouldn't it? She prayed for the rain to last for days. And for a solution. She shook her head. They only way to get this message to her own soldiers was to cross the very bridge that the enemies were going to destroy. She was not about to dash out across the bridge. As sure as she did they would either blow it up or shoot her. Neither one was an acceptable outcome. She just had to bide her time and keep her eyes open for another solution. Something would present itself. It had to.

The rain battered the little tent and whipped the sides. The other soldiers hunkered down in their own tents, leaving a quietness. She felt alone. Alone and isolated. But dry.

She wondered where Jackson was. If he was well and dry. Reminded herself that she was mad at him for leaving. It was his fault she was in this situation to begin with.

Then her thoughts circled back to how he had held her in his arms while she grieved for her brother. How he had been there for her. How his lips felt against her skin. How much she wanted to kiss him.

She sat on her blanket, and after a few minutes, laid down, and was quickly lulled to sleep by the rain and wind.

* * *

Jackson followed the soldiers to their camp - next to the bridge he was tasked to protect - in a round about way. He needed to get word back to his own officers that the Yankees had located the bridge and were doubtlessly planning to destroy it. He needed to find a way to get a message to the confederate army. The only problem was, most of them were on the other side of the bridge.

"Will," he said to the young man crouched next to him, huddled in the drenching rain, his head down, shivering in misery. "I need you to take a message to General Taylor. Tell him what we see here."

"Are you coming?"

"No."

"You're gonna rescue that soldier?"

"I am."

"Sir?" he asked. "With all due respect, I don't see how you're going to do that. There are hundreds of Yankees in that camp."

"Don't worry," he said. "Just do your part and I'll take care of this."

"You want me to help you with this or just go and inform General Taylor of what's going on here?"

"Just go. The rain has bought us a little time, but he needs to know now what we're up against. Tell him the Yankees are here to blow up the bridge and he has to get here before the rain stops in order to stop them."

"All right, Sir," Will said, standing and brushing the mud off his knees. "I will be on my way then."

"God speed."

Jackson felt a sense of relief that he was left to his own devices. It was difficult to explain his determination to rescue what looked to be a lad, not even in uniform. It was going to be even more difficult to explain when that lad turned out to be a woman.

He was quite curious what explanation Leah would have for being what looked to be a prisoner of the Yankee army. Actually, with her own horse, she looked to be more like a guest.

Whatever had possessed her to strike out on her own with the enemy all around them? With battles being fought practically on her front door?

Whatever the reason, he planned to rescue her and ask questions later.

All he had to do now was to find her.

* * *

Leah woke to the sound of... men. That was the simplest explanation. There was banging, yelling, laughing.

_I'm not at home._

She opened her eyes and looked around her. _Where am I?_

Sitting up, she saw her pants. And it all came back to her - the events of yesterday when she had set out to take a message to confederate soldiers.

She wiped her hands over her face. She needed to go to the outhouse. _Uh oh._

There was no pan. Just her blanket and the bare floor.

She stood up, stretched, and went to the door of the tent. The rain was only misting at the moment. She stepped outside, keeping one hand on the flap behind her. The wind whipped at her hair. She swept it out of her eyes with her free hand.

The flurry of activity supported the sounds. Two soldiers walking by her tent stopped and stared at her. She nodded at them. The soldiers sitting in front of the tent next to hers turned one by one and stared.

She glanced down to make sure she was fully dressed. Looked around for a place for privacy.

The staring increased and the noise dropped a level.

Michael appeared at her side.

"What's going on?" she whispered.

A smile played about his lips. "It's been awhile since the men saw a goddess."

She frowned. Looked around her. Saw only men. "I don't understand."

"Your hair," he said, simply.

She caught a glimpse of her hair swirling around her in the wind. Gasped. And looked at him, the panic in her throat.

"Let's go inside the tent," he suggested.

She flushed. "I really need some privacy."

He looked confused for a moment, then understanding dawned on his face. "Come with me" he said.

She followed him to an area roped off with tarps. Held one aside. "I'll wait out here for you," he said.

She took care of her business, then joined him outside again. The rain had started falling again.

"We should hurry," he said, leading her back to her tent. Men were ducking inside their own tents to get out of the rain.

Leah chuckled to herself. _I guess men will tolerate only so much rain even to gawk at a goddess._

He lifted the flap on her tent and allowed her to duck inside. She swiped at her shirt which was only a little damp.

"I guess my cap fell off," she said with a shrug.

"I guess it did."

"Did it work?"

"The cap?" he asked.

"Yeah."

"Only at a distance. Certainly not up close and certainly not when you spoke."

"So you knew?"

"Of course."

"Then why?" she asked, shoving her hair back, "Why did you pretend to not know?"

"I supposed you had your reason for masquerading as a boy. I wanted to allow you the respect to do whatever it is you were doing."

"Thank you," she said.

"So," he said. "What it is that you are doing?"

She frowned. _What game is this?_ "I was going to see my aunt."

"As a lad?"

"I didn't feel safe traipsing through enemy territory as a girl."

"That's logical," he said.

"But if you knew I wouldn't be able to get into Natchitoches," she asked. "what were you planning to do with me?"

"I hadn't quite decided yet.

Leah was suddenly aware that she was alone is a tent with a strange man. Isolated by a sheet of rain. If she screamed, would anyone help her? Anyone in this man's world? The world she in was the alien and for all they knew, she was with Michael.

He was studying her suspiciously. "Why do you think you won't be able to get into Natchitoches?"

"I don't know. No one is crossing the bridge. Is something wrong with it?" _Did I tip my hand? I'm truly not cut out for this spying thing. What do they do to spies anyway? And is carrying information spying? Or just being patriotic?_

He shook his head and turned to look outside.

"So will I?" she asked. "Will I be allowed to cross the bridge and go into Natchitoches? _Please say no. I don't need to be isolated with the others. I've decided I need to be on this side so I can prevent you all from blowing up the bridge._

"Of course," William said. "You'll cross when we cross." He glanced back at her, then left her alone again in the tent.

Suddenly exhausted, she lay back on her blanket and listened to the rain crashing on the tent. At least, she thought, even if she was captured, she was dry.

_I need to get away._ And the sooner the better. Once the rain stopped, it was doubtless going to be too late.

Lightening flashed and thunder followed within seconds. She jumped.

Squeezed her eyes tightly shut. What was Grandma doing now? _Father McVay will take care of her._

It was so quiet, she heard frogs in the distance. Every now and then a man's voice would drift her way. Under other circumstances, the sounds of the rainy day would be comforting.

She dozed.

And woke with a hand over her mouth.

She screamed, but the sound was no more than a moan.

"Be quiet," someone whispered in her ear. "It's me."

She froze. She knew that voice. She'd heard it over and over in her head.

She opened her eyes and came face to face with Jackson. She gasped, but his hand was still over her mouth.

"Nod if you can be quiet."

She nodded.

He removed his hand.

"How did you find me? What are you doing here?" She whispered.

He placed a finger to his lips. "Everyone is talking about the southern goddess," he whispered.

She rolled her eyes. "Yankees."

"Exactly. Now, come on, let's get out of here."

"The rain," she said, as thunder crashed all around them.

"Perfect timing," he said, taking her hand and pulling her up from her blanket. He already had her knapsack and saddle bag. "Let's go."

She took a deep breath. She reminded herself that she trusted this man. Tried not to think about the soaking that she was about to be subjected to.

Jackson was about the only person she would do this for. _And for myself,_ she reminded herself. And her soldiers.

She nodded. "I'm ready," she said.

Jackson had been right. There were only a couple of sentries patrolling. And she realized with a start, Jackson was wearing a blue uniform.

She followed him, but her mind collided with itself. What was Jackson doing wearing blue? He was a southern boy.

Her hair was plastered to her head, water dripping in her eyes. "My cap," she said.

"I'll get you another one," Jackson said. pulling her along behind him.

They reached the edge of the camp without being noticed. He had walked her past the tents set up for privacy. The sentries, even if they noticed them, doubtlessly thought he escorted her there. But they passed the tents and kept walking.

"I have a horse," she said.

"Not anymore."

"But it's not mine. It belongs to Father McVay."

Jackson looked askance at her "A priest was involved in this?"

"Yes," she said.

"How is that even possible?"

"I can't leave without Father McVay's horse. I promised him I would return it," she said, digging in her heels. He pulled on her hand, but she pulled back.

"We don't even know where to look for the horse."

"It's with the other horses."

"You'll have me hanged for horse thievery."

"But it's his horse."

Jackson shook his head. "No," he said. "I went in there for you. I won't go back in there for a horse."

"Fine" she said. "I'll got get it," she turned and started back toward the camp.

Before she even knew what was happening, she felt herself being tossed over his shoulder. She squealed.

"You're gonna get us both hanged," Jackson said as he almost sprinted away from the Yankee camp.

"Put me down," she said.

"No. Not until you show some reason."

"Who made you the determiner of reason?" she asked against his back. The ridiculousness of the situation not lost with her.

"I'm bigger than you," he said, "hence it's my job to keep you safe."

"I'm not a child."

"Then seriously, stop acting like one. I'll buy you another horse for Father McVay, we have to get away from here. Those men may have seemed nice, but all in all ,they are our enemy.

Leah found it difficult to breathe, much less form a complete thought to put into a complete sentence. All she could do was to ride along quietly. She really preferred not to have the Yankees come after them. After all, she had a greater purpose.

She attempted to lift her soggy hair enough to see where they were going, but it wasn't worth the effort. And all she could see was Jackson's back anyway.

"Can I get down now?" she asked against his back.

"Can I trust you not to run back to the Yankees to try to retrieve a horse?"

"Yes," she said, her reply muffled against his back.

He set her on her feet. Held her arms to keep her steady. She pulled an arm away to sweep her hair out of her face.

"How did they know I wasn't a boy?"

He scoffed. "Yankees may be idiots, but they aren't stupid."

"No, I mean before my cap fell off."

He looked askance at her. Ran his eyes down to her feet and back up to her eyes. "Again, not stupid idiots."

"Well, at least I tried," she said. "Are we going to the confederate camp?"

"No."

She stopped. Again. "Why not? Where are we going?"

"I'm taking you home," he said, over his shoulder.

"No. I have to get to the camp."

He stopped, turned around to face her. "Alright," he said, "I really want to hear this, but I really want to get out of the rain first."

"We don't have a tent."

"No, unfortunately, the Yankees have all the conveniences," he began walking again.

Obviously, he assumed she would follow. She rolled her eyes, but followed him. "How do you plan for us to do that?"

"There's an abandoned cabin up ahead."

She trudged through the mud to catch up. Anything would be better than being out here in this incessant rain. She could barely see where she was putting her feet for the water falling over her head. "How far?" she asked.

"Not too bad" he said.

"Would be a lot closer if we had our horse," she muttered.

"Can't do that," he said, splashing in the mud ahead of her.

_Damn, his hearing was good._ She sighed, knowing he was right.

Thunder and lightning crashed all around them. _If we die, it won't matter anyway._

About what was most likely ten minutes later, though it seemed like hours, they arrived at what looked to be a lean-to.

"We're here," he said.

Leah looked around. The rain clouded her vision. "Here. Where?"

"At the cabin."

She stared at the lean-to through the rain. Did it even have a roof on it? Tears rolled down her cheeks. Tears that mingled with the rain drops.

Jackson nudged the door open. "Come inside," he said.

Leah pulled her feet out of the mud and walked to the door of the cabin, finally, out of the rain. Jackson was already inside, rummaging around.

She blinked the raindrops out of her eyes and the tears along with them. Here, at least, they would be dry.

Within seconds, Jackson had lit a lantern, lightly illuminating the inside of what turned out to be a cozy cabin after all. There was a cache of dry wood next to the fireplace. Someone was definitely prepared.

"How do you know this place?" she asked, absently, taking in the kitchen table with three chairs, the bed in the corner, neatly made with a coarse blanket, and the trunk next to the bed. Not a lot of furnishing, but enough to get by.

"I can't tell all my secrets, now can I?

Leah shivered. What she wouldn't do to have dry clothes... and a hot bath. They were dripping water all over the floor.

"What did I tell you?" he asked, getting a fire going in the fireplace.

"It's nice," she said.

"It's brilliant actually," he said.

"Brillant?"

"On the outside, it looks dilapidated, but inside, it's solid."

"Do you know the people who live here?"

"Nope," he said. "No one lives here."

"How do you know that?" She looked around, but saw no personal items.

"It was deserted the first time Stephen and I came here."

"What did you use it for?" she asked.

"Shelter," he said, "like now."

"Who else uses it?"

"Nobody that I know of."

"You and Stephen would come here a lot?"

"When we needed to get out of the weather and sometimes to sleep. Only a couple of times, but it's in a good location."

"You cut the wood?" she asked.

He poked at the logs. She wondered if he heard her. Deciding he didn't want to talk anymore, she went to the table and rummaged in her knapsack until she found the biscuits she had packed.

"Stephen cut the wood," Jackson said. "The last time we were here. He said, 'you never know what's going to happen and you might need to come here.'"

Leah sat in one of the chairs. Stared at Jackson's back as he continued to tinker with the fire. "That's kind of an odd thing to say," she said.

"Yeah," he said. "I thought so too."

She had four biscuits left. She set two on the table and put the other two back in her knapsack. Food was going to be an issue if they stayed more than overnight.

"You miss him," she said.

"I miss him every day," he said.

"I'm sorry,"

He shook his head. Scoffed. "He's your brother. I'm sure you miss him far more than I do."

"I haven't seen him in three years. Before that, I was away at boarding school. We didn't spend a lot to time together."

"We didn't have a lot of time apart."

"At least you had each other," she said, at a loss.

Jackson stood up, wiped his hands on his pants and turned around. "I think we can agree that we both miss him," he said. "I'm sorry the war took him from you."

"So am I," she said. "Are you hungry?" she asked, nodding toward the biscuits she had set out on the table.

He reached her in two steps, took her by the elbows and pulled her up. Wrapped her arms around him and held her tightly to him.

Leah shivered. They were both drenched and needed to dry off and put on dry clothes.

Right now none of that mattered. Right now all that mattered was the feel of his body next to hers.

Her head fit perfectly beneath his chin. She could feel his heart beating against her cheek - through his soggy shirt.

He edged back enough to put a finger under her chin. She trembled as he raised her face. Her eyes fluttered closed and his lips touched hers ever so gently.

The seconds ticked past as they stood there, their lips lightly pressed against each other.

He groaned and moved his lips against hers. Devoured her.

She held onto him and devoured him back. He sat down, pulling her into his lap, his lips never leaving hers.

She couldn't get enough. His lips were soft and firm and ever so seductive. _I want to stay this way forever. I never want to move from this time. Right now._

* * *

Leah seemed to be the only thing that could pull him out of the darkness. Being inside the cabin, burning the wood that Stephen had split and carefully stacked in the wood bin. _In case it was ever needed._

His mind had spiraled around, circling until it went down an endless black hole. He felt every step he had ever taken had led him to this moment in time. To this cabin. With this girl. The more he tried to make sense of it, the more entangled he became in the web of his thoughts.

His lips against Leah's, though, saved him from the hell of those thoughts. With her he could just feel, no thoughts.

She was his best friend's sister. The best friend that had died in his arms. He'd told himself he should stay away from her. _My task is to protect her, not ravish her._

But, oh... he so wanted to ravish her. She tasted like early morning sunshine full of fresh dew from the dampness of night. She tasted like water to a man dying of thirst.

She was heaven.

And he was the devil.

The devil who couldn't takes his lips off his best friend's sister.

He groaned and pulled away. Perhaps the darkness would stay at bay a little longer. "We've got to get out of these wet clothes."

She nodded, her lips swollen from his. Her eyes slanted - like a kitten that had been pulled away from her mother's milk.

If he didn't find something to distract himself, he would be all over her. He went to the trunk and lifted the lid. The trunk had been here when he and Stephen had first found the cabin. It was packed with women's and men's clothing. Outdated by a few years, but clean and neatly packed. Jackson often wondered what had happened to them. They had either fled when the war came near or were killed. He'd never found their bodies, so he liked to think that they had taken other clothes and these were just older ones that they no longer needed.

The left of the trunk had the man's clothes. He picked out a pair of breaches and a shirt. Moving to the woman's side of the trunk, he pulled out a blue dress, shook it out and, turning, held it up for Leah's inspection. It had lace around the collar and the sleeves and the skirt was more like the nightgowns that Leah wore than the full dresses she wore during the day.

She bit her lip and chuckled. "This cabin has everything," she said.

"So it seems," he said.

He saw the panic in her eyes as she looked around the cabin. The rain sounded like it had settled in for the night.

"I'll step out and give you time to change," he said. "You can dry off with this blanket," he continued with a nod toward the bed.

"You'll get wet."

He laughed. "It's not like I could get much wetter. After you get changed, you can turn your back while I change."

There weren't many other options. She shrugged. "All right," she said

At least the thunder and lightning had stopped, he thought, as he stepped back outside into the wind and rain. It would be good to be out of these soaked clothes.

They could stay here as long as it rained, he mused, but after that they needed to move. He needed to get her home. It wasn't safe having her out among the fighting. It wasn't safe, really, around any army of men.

_She's not even safe around me._ He closed his eyes and forced himself to recall Stephen's words.

_Take care of my sister. Promise me you'll watch out for her. Promise me you'll take care of Leah._

_I will take care of Leah. I will watch out for her._

Jackson lifted his face and allowed the rain to wash over him. And silently vowed to keep his hands off of Leah.

This is going to be hell, he knew. He could go back in there and find out why she had ventured out of her safe home with a horse that belonged to a priest. Then she would curl up on the bed and he would lie on the floor. Sleep would be too strong a word. It would be impossible for him to sleep when she needed to be guarded.

The door creaked open. "I'm ready," she said.

Relieved to be drawn out of the personal hell of his thoughts, Jackson hurriedly went inside and closed the door behind him.

Her hair was still wet, but otherwise she was dry. She wore the blue dress with the lace at the collar and on the sleeves. Other than being a little loose at the waist, the dress fit her perfectly.

Her cheeks were flushed.

She was beautiful.

"I'll sit here by the fire," she said, while you get changed.

She took a blanket from the bed and tossed it on the floor in front of the fireplace. Then she knelt in front of it, with her back to him.

He shed his clothes, dried off with the remaining blanket, and put on the clean clothes. They were a couple of inches too short in the hem and the sleeves didn't cover his wrists so he rolled them up.

"All better," he said.

She kept her eyes focused on the fire. "It's nice to be in dry clothes. I hope whoever they belong to is somewhere safe and happy."

"Agreed," he said, stopped by the table to pick up the uneaten biscuits. He knelt beside her on the blanket and handed her one. "Eat," he said.

She obeyed, finally making eye contact and smiling at him.

His heart fluttered.

"Tell me what you're doing out here," he said.

"I 'um was looking for something and come across a sealed letter."

Jackson knew exactly what letter she was referred to and he knew exactly what the letter said. He'd resealed it and then misplaced it. It hadn't mattered, though, because he knew it was somewhere in the house. "A letter."

"Yes. A letter warning the confederates that the bridge was going to be blown up. The bridge that the Yankees have already captured. The one we just abandoned."

"I know the letter," he admitted.

She looked at him. "You knew?"

"Yes."

"But it was sealed. I don't understand."

"It was sealed in case it got into the wrong hands and no one would know that it had been read."

"You know what it says."

"I wrote it."

She gasped. "You wrote it!"

"Unfortunately yes."

"But... I don't understand."

"The letter is actually a decoy." He finished his biscuit. "It was intended to be placed in Yankee hands _accidentally_ to keep them at the bridge while we attack them downriver."

"Oh," she said, her chin trembling.

"It's alright," he said.

"I left Grandma there with Father McVay, whose horse I lost and who helped me lie terribly to my grandmother." She lowered her gaze. "For a fool's errand."

"You were bringing the letter?"

She got up, took the letter from her haversack and handed it to him.

"I was trying to save lives. It sounded so urgent."

Jackson set the letter aside. Held out his hand and pulled her down next to him. "Here," he said, holding her and rocking her gently.

"You have a priest who lies?"

She laughed against his chest. "Father McVay. He's not like any other priest you'll ever meet. He helped me concoct two stories. One for my grandmother. That my cousin in Natchitoches needed me. That she was having a baby. And another story in case I got caught - that I was a boy on my way to Natchitoches to help my aunt who has sepsis."

"Goodness," Jackson said. "Your Father McVay has a creative imagination."

"I've known him since I was a child. He'd do anything for me. I feel terrible that I lost his horse."

"It wasn't exactly your fault. You didn't lose it. It was captured. Just like you were captured."

She pulled back. Looked at him. "Captured? You think I was captured? Everyone was so very kind to me. I was their guest."

"You were no guest, my dear. They were keeping you there until they figured out what to do with you. Probably put you in prison."

Her mouth dropped open at his words. "I was so stupid."

"More like innocent," he said. "War is like that."

"I've been an idiot," she said. "An idiot on a fool's errand from the beginning."

"Don't be so hard on yourself," he said. "I'm glad you're on my side of this war. I've known men not nearly as brave as you who call themselves soldiers."

She flushed. "I wanted to do my part."

"You are doing your part. You're keeping the home fires burning for soldiers to return to." As soon as the words were out of his mouth, he wanted to pull them back. She had lost three men in this war - her grandfather, her father, and her brother. There would be no soldiers returning to her home.

It took a moment, but she came to the same realization. He saw it on her face. That look of loss. Crestfallen.

"I'm suddenly exhausted from the day," she said, getting up. "I'm going to go lie down."

He let her go, though it was a struggle. He wanted to pull her back. But he also wanted to give her a moment alone. A moment to grieve.

Besides, he needed a moment himself to think about the meaning behind his words. She had no one coming home and he had no one at home to return to.

What he was feeling right now was that she was keeping the home fires burning for him. He was coming to think of home as her home.

_I have no right to think that. Her home is not mine. Her home belonged to my friend. And I have to keep her safe._

He poked at the fire. Listened as she settled into the bed, pulling the blanket around her.

_How am I going to keep her safe if I'm not there?_

He groaned. All right. The first order of business was to try and take away some of Leah's pain. Then he could wrestle with his own demons.

He stood up. Stretched.

Walked toward Leah. She was buried under the covers.

"Leah," he said. "I'm sorry."

He stepped closer. He could barely see her in the dim light. The blanket was pulled up to her chin. Her eyes were closed. She slept.

"You're there at home," he whispered, even though he was certain she couldn't hear him. "I want you to be there for me when I return."

# Chapter 8

The rain had stopped in the night. Leah woke to the unexpected sound of silence. Then she heard the frogs and crickets.

And a bird.

It sounded like a beautiful spring morning.

She looked around the little cabin. The fire had burned down to embers only. Jackson was not there.

A moment of panic shot through her. Had he left her here alone? She had no idea where she was. It would be a challenge to get home from here.

Since he had thrown her over his shoulder, she had no idea which direction they had traveled in. A man could probably find his way home, but Leah rarely traveled, at least not off road.

Before panic could settle in, Jackson came back inside. Smiled at her. "Good morning," he said

"Good morning," she echoed.

"We have to go," he said.

"Why? What's wrong?

"The rain stopped. The Yankees will be moving. We need to head home and hopefully avoid their path."

Together they packed everything up and got ready to go.

"I guess it's ok to take their clothes," she said, running her hands down the skirt.

"They're not coming back," he said. "Even if they did, it's been so long that they wouldn't expect everything to be here."

"That's sad," she said. "We're like thieves."

"If someone came to your house, wouldn't you give them clothes to wear?"

"Of course I would. I gave you clothes."

"What about a complete stranger?"

"I would. And you were a complete stranger."

"Well, there you go. I'm sure if they were here, they would offer the clothes to you. They seemed like nice people."

Leah laughed. "How can you tell they're nice people when you haven't even met them."

"I don't know. This is at least the third time I've spent the night in their home and I've felt very welcome here each time." He winked at her.

"You have an interesting way of looking at things Jackson Holcomb."

"Thank you Leah Hudson." He picked up their bags. "Are you ready to go?"

She nodded. And they left the little cabin. She glanced back at it as they left. It did, indeed, look like a shack from the outside. She wondered if that was by design or if it just happened that way. Perhaps they wanted to be sequestered away from the rest of the world. Just the two of them.

Leah understood that. She wouldn't mind being sequestered away with Jackson. Last night, they had kissed and she had never wanted to stop.

Then they had talked about home and family and she had suddenly needed to get away. Exhaustion from the events of the day had overwhelmed her and as soon as she had climbed into the bed, she had fallen into a deep sleep, not waking once until this morning to the sounds of birds and frogs... and no rain.

This morning, he was all business. Would he kiss her again? Or had it been a one time thing? _I suppose there's a time for everything and this isn't the time to be thinking about kissing._

But kissing was just about all she could think about. Being alone with him again in the cabin. Kissing.

Had he lost interest in her when she went to bed? Had he considered that rejection? Or... perhaps he thought her wanton since she hadn't resisted his kisses.

She stopped. And watched him walk ahead of her. That was it. He had lost all respect for her because she hadn't resisted. She had been alone in the woods with no chaperone and had not only allowed him to kiss her, but had nearly devoured him as he devoured her. He was a gentleman and she hadn't behaved like a lady.

He must have realized she had stopped. He turned back. "What's wrong?" he asked. "Are you hurt?"

"No," she said and started walking again. She would allow him to escort her home and she would not throw herself at him again.

He walked alongside her in silence.

_I should say something. I should apologize._

How did one apologize for being wanton? That wasn't something that could be taken back. Once a girl had practically throw herself at a man, there wasn't a way to undo it

She straightened her back. Lifted her chin. She may have thrown herself at him last night, but it wasn't her fault. He had started it.

He needn't worry. _It won't happen again._

Leah would just keep her distance from him.

Lost in her own thoughts, it didn't register that he was calling her name until he had pulled her down in a ravine.

"What-?

"Shh," he urged.

Then she heard it. Sounds of an army coming towards them. It was the Yankees. She couldn't pinpoint how she knew that, but somehow she instinctively knew. Either way, they needed to stay out of sight.

Jackson pulled her close, and she huddled close to him as the army approached.

So much for keeping her distance.

Hoofbeats shook the earth. Drums echoed. Then there was the singing.

As they drew closer, she could hear the wagon wheels and, closer still, she heard the leather of their saddles. The jangle of their gear. The neigh of a horse.

She could smell them.

As they began to pass by above them, Leah trembled uncontrollably. Jackson held her close. Her face was pressed against the dirt.

Dirt, kicked loose by the men marching and horses passing by, fell into her eyes. It's strong earthy scent almost sent her over the edge.

She felt she was suffocating. She began to hyperventilate

After what felt like an hour, the last of the army passed by. Neither of them moved. Not a muscle.

"Deep breath," Jackson whispered into her ear.

His voice startled her, but she did as he said - took a deep cleansing breath. Then another. Until the panic began to subside.

It was then that Jackson scrambled to his feet, bringing her with him. Her knees wobbled a bit. He held onto her waist.

"I'm sorry," she breathed.

"Don't be."

"What we just experienced would easily bring a soldier to his knees. You're very brave."

"I'm not brave. I just had no choice."

He kissed the top of her head. "We have to go back."

"Home," she agreed.

"No. To the cabin."

"What?" she asked, the panic evident to her own ears.

"There's about to be a battle and we can't be near it. If we go back to the cabin, we can wait it out in safety.

"How do you know there's going to be a battle?"

"After three years in the army, I can tell. Those men are ready to fight."

She sighed. If he was right, and she had no reason to doubt him, then she should do as he suggested.

"No really, how do you know?"

"They're somber," he mused. "And focused. Not relaxed like after a battle."

There was no reason to take a risk.

She nodded.

They would wait out the battle.

Then they could go home.

To Grandma. Who was doubtless beside herself with worry.

"All right," she said.

And felt the relief shoot through him.

And a little thrill of anticipation shot through her. Despite feeling the need to return home to be with Grandma - who needed her to help as she was losing her eyesight, Leah savored the notion of returning to the cabin with Jackson.

"Wait here," he said, standing up and surveying the area.

He slid back down into the ravine and helped her up. "It looks clear," he said, taking her hand.

They retraced their steps back to the cabin. As they walked in silence, Leah assured herself that Grandma was well taken care of by Father McVay. _He won't desert her._ If too much time passed, he could take her to a neighbor's house. _He's accustomed to taking care of people in need._ Forcing herself to put faith in her priest allowed her focus on her current situation.

She, too, was putting her life in the hands of someone accustomed to caring for others. As a soldier, Jackson could be trusted to make good decisions to keep them safe. If he said they needed to hide out for awhile, then they would hide out for awhile. _He knows more about this war than I do._

Before she could begin to sort out her feelings for Jackson, they were at the cabin door.

"Can you make a fire?" he asked.

"Of course."

"While you make a fire, I'm going hunting. We need food."

He left her there, alone, in the little cabin. She cleaned out the fireplace from their fire last night and laid in wood for a fire. Within minutes she had the fire going. It took the chill of the morning air off the room.

She straightened the blankets on the bed and found a broom in the corner behind the door to sweep the floor.

With nothing left to do but wait, she sat in front of the fireplace and poked at the fire.

And thought about Jackson. His body pressed against hers. His lips.

The way he looked at her.

Warm now, she curled up on a blanket in front of the fire. And dozed off.

A little later, she woke and instantly knew she wasn't alone. "Jackson?" she said.

She sat up, pushed the hair out of her eyes.

And shrieked.

A man sat in one of the chairs. Watching her. He was a bearded man, probably middle aged, though it was difficult to tell. He wore tattered clothing. Tattered and dirty. Possibly bloody.

She shifted backwards.

He chewed on something that looked like a piece of wood. And watched her.

Her gaze darted about. Jackson was definitely not here.

She felt the fire, that only moments before had been comforting and cozy. Now it blocked her escape.

"Looking for someone?" he asked.

She didn't answer. Swallowed thickly.

She glanced toward the door. _Perhaps I can just leave._

"Going somewhere?" he asked.

Her heartbeat raced. She stood up. Inched toward the door. The man didn't move. As she neared the door, she turned and ran. She reached the door, turned the knob. It didn't open. Locked? She twisted the knob. Couldn't get the door to open.

Panic lodged in her throat. Somehow he had secured the door.

She turned around.

"Guess you're not going anywhere."

"What do you want?" she asked.

He chewed on his piece of wood. Watched her. "I'm sure I'll think of something."

How much time did it take to kill a squirrel or a rabbit? Surely Jackson would be back soon.

The window. She started toward the window.

"You don't want to do that." The man said.

She stopped when she heard the click of a gun.

"Come back over here. Sit." he insisted.

She inched back to her blanket, watching him warily.

"Sit," he said, pleasantly. "It looks comfortable."

She glanced at the floor. Sitting on the floor, comfortable?

He nodded toward the floor.

She knelt on the blanket, keeping her eyes on him

_There has to be a way out of here. Maybe if I talk to him. Find out what he wants._

"Do I know you?" she asked, in a feeble attempt to connect with him.

"Not yet," he said.

"What's your name?"

"You can call me John."

She steeled herself. This was not the time to freeze up. "Well, John," she began. "why do you have me locked in here?"

"It would inhospitable for you to leave your guest here all alone."

"You're my guest?"

"Yep. This is your house."

"It's not my house."

"Most people don't sleep in a house that isn't theirs."

"Some do."

"I guess that means you're just passing through then."

"Yes," she said. "Just passing through. And you?"

He leaned back in his chair. "No, I think I'll just sit a spell."

"Can I get you something? Some water perhaps?"

"A lady of breeding. All the better," he said. "Yes, some water would be nice,"

"I just need to go outside to the well and get some."

"Nice try," he said. "There's no well out there."

"I thought I saw one. But then it was dark when I got here."

"Hmm." He set the gun on the table next to him.

"I guess we'll skip the pleasantries then."

It occurred to her that she had a gun in her knapsack. She just had to get to it.

"Perhaps a biscuit then? she asked. "I think I have one left."

"A biscuit would be nice. You gonna cook?"

"No, I have one in my bag."

"All right," he said. "You can bring me a biscuit."

She got up and went to her knapsack. Rummaged inside for her gun.

It wasn't there. When she looked up at him, he held up her gun and smiled.

_It was her gun he was holding her hostage with._

_"_ I guess you don't get any biscuits then," she said. "I don't share my food with people who steal from me."

"You didn't have any biscuits anyway."

"How long do you plan to keep me here?"

"I'm not in any rush."

"What do you want with me?" she asked again.

"That remains to be seen."

"I have to go now," she said.

"I don't think so."

"I'm expected home tonight."

"You're going to be a little late."

"You can't keep me here."

He toyed with the gun. "It seems I can keep you here."

"Why would you want to?"

"I'm a soldier and I'm lonely. Surely you wouldn't deny succor and aid to a soldier of your country."

"To a soldier who holds me against my will, I would."

He settled back in his chair. Continued to watch her.

She leaned back on her haunches and watched him. _I won't let him get the best of me. He can't keep me here forever._

As they sat there staring at each other, the sun began to set. _Jackson where are you? We don't need to eat. Just come back._

Someone was at the door. "Leah?"

"Yes," she called, jumping up. "I'm here."

"Open the door."

She went to the door, knowing the gun was pointed at her back. Not caring.

"I can't," she said.

"It's locked. I can't get inside."

"Break it down," she said.

She heard him muttering. He moved around to the window. Looked inside. She met him at the window.

"What the hell?" he asked, looking inside."

Leah pressed her hands against the glass.

She felt the cold muzzle of the pistol against the back of her neck.

"Who's your friend?" John asked.

Leah swallowed. Her voice caught in her throat. Jackson disappeared.

Leah whimpered. _Don't leave me._

Before she knew what was happening, the front door crashed down and Jackson stood in the doorway, his gun pointed at them.

"Let her go."

John pulled her against him - kept the gun pressed at her neck. "Nice of you to join us," he said. "Come on in and put your gun down."

Leah whimpered. _Something was wrong with John. He would kill them both and never blink._

"Come on in," John repeated. "The more the merrier. Just put the gun down and I'll let her go."

Jackson wavered. Leah could see it in his eyes. She shook her head. Felt the tears welling in her eyes. Jackson slowly set his rifle down and walked into the room.

He held up his hands. "All right. I'm here. Let her go."

John released her. Leah immediately ran into Jackson's arms.

And cried.

"It's all right," he soothed. "I'm here now."

"All right," John said. "Both of you. On the blanket."

They went to the blanket and sat down, Leah wiped her eyes before facing John.

"Now what?" Jackson asked. "You've got us both here at gunpoint. What now?"

"Now we visit a bit."

"I don't feel particularly like visiting. In fact, I think we'll be moving along."

"No," John said. "I'd like you to fix my door first," he said.

Jackson stood up. Examined the broken door. "Your door," he said.

"Yep," the man said, chewing his wood.

"This is your house?"

"It is."

"Where is your wife?"

"She couldn't make it."

"This is your home?" Leah asked.

"Yep," John said. "And that's my pants and shirt you're wearing."

"Where is your wife?" Leah asked again.

"She's with the Lord."

"Oh. I'm sorry to hear that."

"I doubt that since you're wearing her dress."

"No. I really am."

John stared at her. His expression impassionate.

"I'm sorry about the dress. Our clothes were wet. And, well, we didn't have anywhere else to go."

"I really don't care," he said. "I want my door fixed. Now."

Jackson lifted the door, pointed out the splintered wood. "It's busted," he said, "I can't fix it."

The man got out of his chair and for first time, she noticed that he had a wooden leg. He limped over to where Jackson stood. "You broke my door. You're going to fix it."

"With what?"

John hit Jackson with the butt of the gun. Jackson fell to the ground.

Leah ran to him, knelt beside him. Blood gushed from the side of his head.

"I'm alright," he said, looking at her. "You have to run," he whispered. "The door is open, run. Get help if you can, but run."

"No," she sobbed. "I won't leave you."

"I'll be ok, but you," he closed his eyes. "You aren't safe here. You have to go."

"I won't leave you," she said again.

John stood over them, then. "She won't leave you. She's a good woman. She loves you so you're stuck with her."

Tears trickled down Leah's cheeks and dropped onto Jackson's face. He reached up, wiped them away. "Seems like you're always crying around me," he said. "maybe I'm bad for you."

"No. You're perfect."

John grabbed Leah from behind. Pulled her arms behind her and tied them with a rope. Then he did the same with her feet. Within seconds, she was trust up like a turkey. Then he did the same with Jackson. Tied his arms together behind his back, then tied his feet together.

Then he pulled Leah over toward the bed and tossed her onto it. Jackson got up on his feet and began hobbling toward her. John grabbed him by the arm and dragged him, also, to the bed. Shoved him onto the bed with Leah.

"What are you going to do with us?" Leah asked.

"I'm not gonna read you bedtime stories," John said.

"Your wife was a good person. She wouldn't want you to hurt us."

"You don't know her. You shouldn't even try to talk about her," he said.

"All right," she said, "I want you to talk about her."

John went back to the table, shoves his chair around and sat in it to watch them again.

"How did she die?" Leah asked.

"She took sick," he said.

"I'm sorry."

"You didn't have permission to come into my home."

"You're right," Jackson said. "That's my fault. I was trying to protect Leah. Just let her go."

"I'm not letting her go." John leaned back in his chair and closed his eyes.

"Are you hurt?" Jackson whispered.

"No. He didn't touch me."

"God help him if he did."

"You can't really do anything all tied up."

"I won't be tied up forever."

"Let me see where he hit you," she winced at the knot forming on the side of his forehead. "Does it hurt?"

"Only a little."

"I'm so sorry. I should have warned you not to come in here."

"I wasn't leaving you alone with him. But," he mused. "I suppose it would have been more helpful if I'd just shot him."

"It would have been easier, but you don't want to shoot him."

"The hell I don't," he said, with a nod at his tied wrists.

"Nobody's shooting anybody," John piped up.

"Then how long do you intend to keep up tied up?"

"As long as you need to be."

"That time is already up."

"That's for me to decide."

"I think he's addled," Leah whispered.

"Agreed."

They sat silently, side by side, with their backs to wall, on the little bed and warily watched the owner of this little cabin. The little cabin that had seemed so welcoming before.

"What are we going to do?" she asked.

"I'm still thinking about shooting him," Jackson said.

Leah choked back a laugh. "It might be the most viable option."

John snored.

"Now," Jackson said, climbing off the bed.

He hobbled, but his boots were too loud. John's eyes opened and his gun came up.

"Let us go," Jackson said.

"On one condition," John said.

"What's that?"

"Apologize for killing my wife."

"What? I didn't kill your wife."

"You did. I saw you."

"I've never killed a woman in my life."

"If you didn't, it was one of your kind. Is she your wife?" he asked with a nod toward Leah.

"No."

"Close enough. What would you do if someone killed her?"

"I'd tear them apart."

"Then you're planning to make her your wife."

Leah's eyes widened.

"I don't see how that's any of your concern," Jackson said. "And I can't see how either way gives you justification to hold us hostage."

John shrugged. Chewed his wood. "It doesn't."

Leah noticed that Jackson had worked his way out of the ties around his wrist and was holding the rope in his hand behind his back.

His feet were still tied, though, so she wondered what he could do. Especially with a gun pointed to his head.

"Jackson," Leah said. "I have to 'um..." Her face flushed. "I need to go to the outhouse."

Jackson turned to John. "The lady needs some privacy," he said.

John spat out a splinter. "There's a chamber pot in the corner."

"Surely you don't expect her to use the chamber pot with us in here."

John shrugged.

"Untie her feet and let her go outside," he said.

John was silent for a few seconds.

Leah held her breath. Would her ploy work? Would the distraction help Jackson? As the seconds ticked, her hope faded. There was no way she was going to use the chamber pot in the corner with them in the room. She would explode first.

John stood up, walked past Jackson and bent to untie Leah's feet. When he did, Jackson pulled a pistol out of his boot and hit John over the head.

John fell to the floor. Jackson took a knife from his other boot and slit the ropes holding Leah's hands and feet, then his own feet. He grabbed their bags with one hand and her hand with his other and within seconds, they were running from the cabin.

After about five minutes, Leah was falling behind, struggling to catch her breath. Jackson stopped.

"I'm sorry," he said.

"It's alright," she breathed, leaning against a tree.

"We just needed to get away."

She waved him off. "I'll be better in a moment."

Breathing easier now, she stood up straight. "Thank you for not shooting him."

Jackson shook his head. "He's a sad old man. Not right in the head. I was hoping to avoid having to shoot him." He smiled. "Thanks to your quick thinking."

She smiled in return. "It seemed like a perfect opportunity," she said.

He closed the distance between them. Placed his lips on hers.

"I'm all for taking advantage of opportunities.

_Opportunities. Is that what I am?_ Her previous line of thinking crashed back in her mind.

She ducked under his arms and escaped.

"I'm sorry," he said. "Bad timing."

She allowed him to take her hand. "We need some distance from him."

They traveled, walking now for about an hour before stopping to rest.

"Do you know where we are?" she asked, sitting on a fallen log.

Jackson looked up at the sky. "We're heading north. Which is the right direction, I think."

"Home?"

"Yes." He propped a foot on the log. "I'm sorry I took so long getting back to you. I didn't have any success hunting."

"That unusual, isn't it?" she asked.

"The cannons have frightened off all the animals."

"I suppose it would. Is that what we hear in the distance?"

"Yes. We're gonna need to circle around."

"Alright," she said.

He took her hand, kissed the back of it, then pulled her up and held her close. Tilted her chin up and pressed his lips against hers.

She sighed

Perhaps it was her plight to be a wanton woman. _Maybe it's worth it._

"What are you thinking about?" he asked.

"Just how sad it is about John."

"The war is difficult. It sounds like his wife was killed by a soldier."

"It made him addled."

"So it seems," he said, running his fingers through her hair. "Are you sure you're alright?" he asked.

"I will be," she said. "I never expected that to happen."

"Neither did I," he said. "It's dangerous out here.

"I'm fortunate that you found me in time."

'It was extremely fortuitous," he said.

"Do you think we'll make it home in one piece?"

"I do."

"What happens then? Are you going back out to fight again?"

"I'm finished with fighting. That message that you found was my last mission."

"But you said they would be looking for you."

"They might, but I don't think it's quite as likely now."

"Do you think the war is about to end?"

"God, I hope so." He kissed her lightly on the lips. "There's something I haven't told you," he said.

Her brother's face flashed in her mind. "What is it?"

"I made a promise to your brother."

"What kind of promise?"

"I promised I would keep you safe."

"You have kept me safe. I think you fulfilled your promise."

"I don't think it's the kind of promise that has an expiration date."

"What do you mean?"

"It's a little hard to explain, but I got the idea that he wanted me to protect you indefinitely."

"Indefinitely is a long time. You don't have to do that."

"Maybe indefinitely isn't quite the right word, but I think he at least wanted me to make sure you're taken care of and maybe even check on you from time to time."

"That's a lot to ask of someone. He probably wasn't thinking clearly."

Jackson sighed. "Probably not."

"I think you've already done more than he ever could have anticipated."

"Not really. I'm the one who accidentally left the letter. I was careless. I guess I didn't think anyone would read it and do anything about it. I should have known you were enough like you're brother that you would have to do something. It seems I sorely underestimated you."

She smiled. "Yes, I suppose you did."

"I had no idea that you would leave your grandmother and set off to warn the army."

"I'm not sure I would have left her if Father McVay hadn't come along at just that time."

"Maybe it was fortuitous. Turns out I missed you."

"I would never have seen you again."

"Oh, you would have seen me again. Remember, I promised your brother I would watch after you."

"A promise you aren't obligated to keep.

"I think you're underestimating me now."

"I don't mean to. Maybe I'm letting you out of your obligation."

"I suppose if you don't want me around, then Stephen would have understood."

"I never said I didn't want you around."

He ran a finger over lips.

"For all I know," she said, "you have a girl or even a wife back home waiting for you there."

"There's no one waiting for me."

"Surely you left someone behind."

"There was a girl," he said.

The bottom dropped out of Leah's heart.

"There was a girl, but I doubt I'll ever even see her again. We never wrote each other."

"Trust me," Leah said. "That doesn't mean she's not waiting for you."

"We weren't betrothed, so she would have no reason to wait for me."

"Except perhaps, that she loved you."

"I'd be surprised," he said. "Our fathers were the ones who wanted us to get together. Now that my father is gone, I don't think there's any obligation there."

"And now that Stephen is gone, you have no further obligation to him," Leah said, standing up.

This wasn't about any obligation. This was about him taking advantage of an opportunity.

"This is different," Jackson insisted.

"I don't think so." She began walking, in what she only could hope was the right direction. "I think you're obligated to go back there - to where ever she is to make sure she's not pining away for you.... before you go around kissing someone else. Like me."

* * *

Jackson watched her a moment, then followed. He had no choice. He considered putting her over his shoulder again, but decided once was enough. Letting her go without him wasn't an option.

Instead, he rolled his eyes and followed. Fortunately, she was going in the right direction.

He bit his tongue to keep from arguing.

There was no way in hell he was going to go home to chase down Lucy. He'd never really been attracted to her anyway. She was much too gruff and... skinny.

Jackson preferred a woman who had a touch of curve about her. And soft features like Leah.

Leah was perfect. Whether it was because of his friendship with her brother or not that he'd ended up here with her was actually irrelevant at this point. This is where he wanted to be and where he was going to stay.

"You might as well get used to it," he muttered to himself.

She either didn't hear him or chose to ignore him. Probably the latter, considering that she stiffened her spine and picked up her speed.

Jackson was at a loss to figure out what had caused the change in Leah. One moment, they had been kissing, then suddenly she was pulling away and keeping him at arm's length. _Pushing me away is more like it._

He wracked his brain, but couldn't determine what had caused the change in her. Perhaps it was the trauma of being held hostage.

There was no understanding women, sometimes. They just were what they were. He'd learned a long time ago, to just follow along with them. Eventually, he would discover what had happened so that he could fix it.

In the meantime, he just had to give her a little space.

They tramped through the grass, sounds of cannon fire growing more and more close.

Jackson listened, trying to determine why they were moving toward the cannon fire when they needed to be moving away from the fighting. Leah ignored it and kept walking.

He closed the space between them. "Wait," he said, "putting a hand on her arm. "Something isn't right. We should be moving away from the cannon fire."

She stopped. Looked at him then.

_That's a good start._

"Should we turn around?" she asked.

"I'm not sure," he said "If you'll wait here, I'll go scout ahead and try to see what's going on."

"Not a chance," she said. "Not after what happened to me last time. You're not leaving me alone."

Jackson smiled to himself. She didn't want to be with him, but she didn't want to be away from him.

"Very well," he said, "you can come with me. But no guarantee that you'll be safe."

"I don't ask for any guarantees."

They changed directions, veering west away from the river. The cannon fire grew louder. As they moved toward it, Jackson thought he could hear men's screams. It went against his better judgement to take Leah toward the sound of battle.

He froze at the sound of someone running toward them. Pulled Leah with him behind cover of a tree.

A confederate soldier ran past, his eyes full of fear.

He was gone before Jackson could stop him. The second soldier approached, not quite so quickly. Jackson stepped out. "What's happened? Why are you retreating?"

"The Yankees flanked us and split us up. We got the signal to retreat. I don't know if they're following, man. You should get out of here."

By the time the soldier passed them, an army of soldiers followed, all on foot, some running, some walking.

"We need to go," Jackson said, taking Leah's hand, as they joined with the retreating soldiers. They ran, albeit at a slow pace this time.

"How long will they follow?" Leah asked.

"Not long," Jackson said, "but I want to make sure you're safe. We don't know which direction is safe, so we'll stay with the soldiers.

_I should have stayed with Leah - at her house. I should have ignored the urge to return to service._

As the soldiers began to gather, to regroup, Jackson and Leah kept walking.

"Where are we going now?"

"I'm taking you home."

"I think we're going the wrong direction. I'm all turned around but I don't think this is right."

"We'll get there eventually. Right now I just want to keep you safe."

They came to a road and began to follow it south.

"Now I know we're going the wrong way."

"There's a house down here. If it's still standing, we can stay there for the night and rest. There is one thing I need you to do for me though."

"I'll do what I can."

"The house belongs to an elderly couple. I need to tell them you're my wife."

# Chapter 9

Within minutes they came to the bottom of a little hill, but there was no house on the hill before them. It was a mansion.

She glanced down at her soiled blue dress. The dress that didn't fit quite right to begin with. She must make quite a sight.

Her heart was beating a little too fast at his words. She could think of only one reason why it mattered how he identified her.

"You know these people?"

"The woman is my great aunt on my mother's side."

"So she's your mother's mother's sister?"

"Yeah," he said. "I think so."

"All right," she said. "I'll go along." _I'd claim to be just about any one's wife right now to be able to sleep and to have something to eat._

_"_ We used to come here to visit before the war."

"So you know them well."

"Yeah. They're family - albeit distant."

So she had gone from being a convenience to being his wife.

"Are you sure you want them to think I'm your wife?"

"We're traveling together. Alone. It's the best explanation."

"Won't it get back to the rest of your family?"

"I don't have any other family."

"Your friends then?" _Your girl_

_"_ So what if it does?"

"I don't know. It'll be hard to explain later when I'm no longer with you."

He looked at her oddly. As though she spoke a foreign language.

The climb up the hill left her winded.

"Wait," she said. "I need to catch my breath."

They stood a moment, while Leah's heart hammered in her chest, at the back of the house. It needed a coat of paint, but then what house didn't with the war dragging on?

When she began to breath more evenly, he took her hand. "Ready?"

She nodded. _Not really._

A large dog came out to meet them - barked loudly. "Hey, buddy,"

The dog stopped barking and began licking Jackson's hand.

"I think he remembers you," she said.

"I don't know how. It's been about five years since I've been here."

"That's a long time for a dog.

They reached the front porch and climbed to the door. Before he could knock, the door opened and an elderly black man opened the door.

It took only about a second, but recognition swept his face and he broke into a wide grin. "Mister Jackson! Lordy mercy, get on in here. I didn't think I ever would see you again. Come on in here."

Jackson embraced the older man as they stepped through the door. "It's good to see you Lucas."

"Good afternoon, Miss," the man addressed Leah.

"This is my wife, Leah," Jackson said.

"You done good for yourself, Master Jackson," the man said. "It's nice to meet you ma'am."

"Thank you," Leah said. "Likewise."

"Let me go tell Master Clark. He'll be beside himself."

"Nice house," Leah said, looking around at the spacious hallway with fresh flowers in a vase next to the wide staircase.

"They're good people," Jackson said.

"Come on in to the parlor," Lucas said. "Mister Clark is in there."

They went into the parlor where an elderly man sat with his foot propped on a stool.

"Pardon me for not standing up. I blew out my knee," the man said.

"Uncle Clark, don't think anything about it," Jackson said, as he went to shake the man's hand and they clapped each other on the back.

"Where's Aunt Eden?"

"She's down south with her sister. When the war broke out, she couldn't stand to be up here away from her family."

"Are things better down there?"

"No, but once she got there, she kind of got stuck."

"Oh, goodness. You've been here by yourself for a few years then."

"Yep. Just me and Lucas."

"I'm sorry. I'd like you to meet my wife," Jackson said, stepping aside and taking Leah's hand to pull her forward.

"Wife?" he said. "I thought I'd never see the day. Come over here."

Leah went and stood in front of Uncle Clark. "It' nice to meet you, Sir."

"I've been trying to get this boy married off for years."

"Really?" Leah asked, turning to look at Jackson. "Is that so?"

"Yeah. Girls go after him, but it's always been like he never even noticed."

"I thought there was a girl before me," Leah said.

"If there was, I never knew about it. Like I said, he just rolls past them. I guess he finally found what he was looking for."

"I guess so," Leah said, with a smile for Jackson.

He looked a little sheepish.

"You two must be exhausted and hungry."

"We are," Jackson said. "We haven't eaten in awhile."

"I'll have Lucas bring some water up for a bath and some food."

"Oh, that would be absolutely wonderful," Leah said. _A bath. And food._

"Thank you for taking us in like this," Jackson said.

"You don't have to thank me. We're family. Tomorrow, we can talk about what you're doing here if you want to."

Lucas led them upstairs to the guest suite. "I'll heat some water for a bath," Lucas said.

"I'll help you," Jackson said and went with Lucas to heat water for Leah's bath.

Looking around room, she took in the velvet drapes framing floor to ceiling windows. On one side was a window seat with pillows tossed around invitingly. On the other wall was a fireplace.

The four-poster canopy bed was huge - matching blue velvet curtains draped around it as well as mosquito net at the ready.

There was bureau on one wall, a pitcher of water and a small writing desk with an ink well.

Everything a guest could possibly want with plenty of space to move around.

Leah sat in the window seat and waited. Though the house was perched atop a small hill, sitting on the second story, she could see down the hill and across the fields.

Uncle Clark still had a couple of cows grazing. Jackson had said that Clark had invested in livestock instead of cotton. Looked like he had lost some of his cows now. And if the Yankee soldiers came by, the rest of them would be gone for food as well.

The Yankees were like locusts. Taking everything for themselves.

Leah sighed. She was so tired. Tired of worrying about the Yankees. Tired of worrying where the next meal was coming from. She yawned.

Just tired.

Jackson brought the tub in and set it in the middle of the room while Lucas brought in a bucket of water. "We'll be right back," he said

She leaned her cheek against the cool glass of the window seat. And closed her eyes. Jackson was one of the kindest men she had ever met.

The splashing of water brought her awake. She turned and, her eyes hooded from being in a semi-asleep state, she came face to face with Jackson.

He hadn't shaven in several days, leaving his face ruggedly handsome. His eyes were blue and at the moment they were intent on her.

"Need some help with your bath?" he asked

She felt the heat rise to her cheeks.

He laughed.

"Take your time," he said. "When you're finished, I'll be right through those doors.

After he left, Leah went to stand in front of the steaming hot tub of water. She gazed at the door. She wasn't sure just how comforting it was that he was on the other side of that door. It was a little disturbing actually.

In a good way

She sighed and stepped out of the soiled dress. Right now all that mattered was getting clean.

She slipped into the hot water and sighed. Someone had left a bottle of soap next to the tub. She squirted some into her hands.

Jasmine.

She breathed in the scent that took her back to the days before the war. The days when things were simple and they had baths and sweet smelling soaps. And no one was shooting at them.

Before washing her hair, she lay back in the porcelain tub and enjoyed the hot steamy water. Washed herself leisurely. Took her time. Wanting to spend as much time as possible in the hot water.

She felt safe here for some reason, in this house on the hill, with the man with the busted knee. The man who knew Jackson when he was a child.

Maybe that was it, she reflected. Maybe it was the feeling that she was among family. Jackson's family. And Jackson was just next door.

And, she remembered, he had told his uncle that they were married.

_That meant he's thought about it._

The thought was stray and unexpected.

Had she thought about marrying Jackson?

"No," she said out loud. Then ducked beneath the water to get her hair wet. Laughed at herself.

One minute she was accusing him of kissing her because it was just convenient and he was taking advantage of her. Then next minute he was telling his family that they were married and watching out for her.

He had promised her brother that he would watch out for her.

Well, he had gone above and beyond the call of duty on that one. Nothing said he had to marry her. Men didn't marry someone because they'd made a promise.

Did they?

Lost in the rambling of her thoughts, she finished up her bath, and stepped out, using a towel to dry herself.

_I'll never figure all this out if I don't stop thinking about it. I'm just going to drive myself insane._

Promising herself not to think about it anymore, she tied the towel around herself and pondered a more important predicament at the moment. She had nothing to wear except for the dirty dress.

Surely there were clean clothes in this house.

She went to the door and knocked lightly. "Jackson?" No answer.

She knocked again, louder this time.

Jackson appeared at the door. Opened it. His eyes widened. He had bathed, but he hadn't shaved yet. He wore only a pair of pants and a thin white shirt, unbuttoned at the collar. His hair. like hers, was still wet.

_What was it I needed? Focus._

"I don't have anything to wear."

"No, I don't suppose you would."

"Can you see if there's anything here I can wear? Anything that's clean?"

"I can do that," he said, but he didn't move. Instead his eyes stayed locked on hers. He closed the gap between them.

Ran a fingertip along her exposed shoulder.

She breathed in, an inaudible gasp.

"You're beautiful," he said.

She lifted her eyes to his. She felt vulnerable. Vulnerable and anticipatory at the same time. The feeling was unfamiliar.

She raised her chin, closed her eyes, and waited for him to kiss her. Which he did. His lips nibbled at her, lightly, as he brought her to him and pulled her close to him. The only thing between them was her towel and his shirt.

She groaned. And he deepened the kiss.

Moved against her. Somehow the towel fell and and now she stood against him with no clothes on. His hands moved against her back, caressing her still damp skin.

He reached down and, putting an arm under her knees lifted her up and carried her toward the bed. His mouth never left hers.

He placed her gently on the bed and climbed in next to her. Then his lips were all over her. Drifting down her neck. Her collarbone. Her elbow.

She shivered. He brought a light blanket up over them.

His hands moved down her thighs, sweeping the backs of her knees, then reaching her toes. She gasped as his tongue suckled her toes - attended to each one on one foot, then moved to the other. Shivers moved throughout her. But not from the cold.

His lips traveled up her legs, up the backs of her legs.

His lips were back to hers, his tongue tasting the corners of her lips, then ravaging her mouth.

Leah was breathless. Overwhelmed. Just when she didn't think she could take anymore his hands traveled down her back, cupping her bottom. She moved with a need for... something. More...

His hands, everywhere, cupped her breasts. When his fingertips swept over her, she nearly went over the edge.

Her nipples were hard under his hands, kneading and caressing.

She whimpered when one hand cupped her privates. His hands were everywhere. One hand caressed her breast while the other ravaged her bottom. When his finger dipped inside her, she felt more intense pleasure than she had ever experienced. His finger ever so lightly rubbed her until she could no longer stand it. She wanted him to stop. She grabbed at his hair.

She never wanted him to stop. She cried out when the pleasure reached such intensity that she thought she would die. Then she cried out softly as her body exploded.

Oh. My. God.

He held her tightly against him, cooing softly. "I've got you, my love. I'm here."

She whimpered. She had no strength left in her bones. Her whole body tingled.

He held her as she floated back to earth.

_What just happened?_

She held on to him. Her blood coursed through her veins.

He kissed her cheek, her eyelids. Her lips.

"I love you," he said

"What?"

"I love you," he said again.

"I love you," she echoed, but as her heart rate slowed, she drifted into sleep.

* * *

Jackson tossed back a shot of whiskey.

_What a tangled web I weave._

"Tell me what brings you out here to the old farm," Uncle Clark said.

"Leah needed to visit her sick aunt and we got caught near the fighting."

Jackson was in no mood to talk, at the moment, but unfortunately, it was the price to pay for a glass - or two, of whiskey.

"Hmm. They don't bother us out here."

"How do you mange that?"

"We're not near a river or a railroad, so the army doesn't pay us any mind. Truth be told, I don't think they know we're here. Off the beaten path as we are."

"You're fortunate," Jackson said.

"How long have you been married to this girl?"

"Only a short time. Her brother was my friend."

"I wondered how you met her. You never showed much interest in the girls back home."

"I guess I never met anyone like Leah before," Jackson said. And that was the complete truth.

"That's how it was with my wife. I knew the moment I first laid eyes on her that she was the only one for me."

"You must miss her."

"I miss her terribly. Except for this bum knee, I'd go fetch her. I should have gone to get her a long time back, but she didn't want to leave her family."

"Women are that way sometimes."

"Funny creatures," Uncle Clark mused, swirling his drink. "Fascinating."

Jackson chuckled. Fascinating indeed. He'd crossed a line with Leah. A line he could never go back on.

_I'm sorry, Stephen, but your sister is irresistible._ Jackson didn't know what he was going to do with her, but he definitely planned to keep her.

She'd fallen asleep in his arms after he'd exposed her to secrets only a woman could know. He hadn't been able to help himself. Only now, it was worse. Now he wanted her more than ever.

How was he going to resist her when he'd found that he pleased her so delightfully?

"You can stay as long as you want," Uncle Clark, said, pulling Jackson out of his tortuous, but pleasurable thoughts

"Thank you."

"I heard cannon fire out back this morning. I fear the Yankee army is all around us."

"I agree. In fact, this is the only way we could go. We may have to take you up on the offer. Can I help out while I'm here?"

"Sure. All the servants ran off, except for Lucas, of course. He's nothing if not part of the family."

"Just let me know what needs to be done."

"There's not a lot. Why don't you just relax and enjoy some quiet time with Leah. I have a feeling the two of you haven't had much time alone, with the war and all."

"You're right about that."

"Then consider this your wedding gift. A place to enjoy each other and have some time. I can't get up and move around with this knee like it is, so you pretty much have the run of the house."

"That's a very kind offer."

* * *

When Leah woke, she immediately felt different. It all came back to her in a rush. Jackson had given her such pleasure as she had ever known. _Why did I not know about this well-guarded secret? Now I understand a little better what all the fuss is about._

She stretched and smiled to herself. She had truly believed that love making was for the pleasure of men alone. But now...

And in the middle of the day. Jackson had seen her with no clothes on. She thought that perhaps she should be embarrassed, but the intensity of the pleasure outweighed any regret.

The sun was setting. Where was Jackson?

Uncle Clark had promised them food. Somehow they had neglected the whole food thing. There was also the matter of clothing.

She got up and wrapped the towel around her. Went to the bureau and opened the doors. Dresses! The bureau was packed with gowns of all colors. She pulled out a green one and held it up to her.

There was no one to ask, so she decided to take it upon herself to borrow the dress. With Jackson's aunt down south, surely no one would mind. Men didn't seem to worry about such things as clothing.

She stepped into the dress and pulled it up. She could only reach the buttons part of the way up.

Someone knocked on the door. "Come in," she called, thinking it would be Jackson.

Instead, Lucas cracked opened the door.

"Master Clark sent me up to bring you some vittles," he said, a platter in his hands. The platter had a loaf of bread and some chunks of cheese. "This should tide you over until dinner."

Leah stepped forward, one hand at her back, holding the dress together.

"Oh," Lucas said. "I see you found Miss Rebecca's things."

"I hope no one minds," Leah said.

"I'm sure it's perfectly fine, Mistress," Lucas said, but he walked around her, set the platter on the little table next to the window and quickly scooted from the room.

Leah sat at the table, broke into the bread and took a bite of cheese. She'd never tasted cheese so good. And the bread was heavenly.

Again, she wondered where Jackson was. Apparently they were expected for dinner a little later. Although this platter contained more food than she'd had for dinner in quite some time.

After eating a few bites of the cheese and bread, she sat at the vanity and, picking up a brush, began brushing out her tangled hair.

The bedroom had two doors. One door, the one Lucas had used, went into the hallway. The other door, she assumed connected to another bedroom. Lucas had called this a suite, and Jackson had come from that door earlier. She found her eyes straying to that door.

Having dressed, groomed, and eaten, she no longer had anything other than her thoughts to occupy herself with. She went to the connecting door.

Knocked.

When no one answered, she opened the door. It was unoccupied.

Overall, it was much like her room, expect that it had a green color scheme. The bureau held men's clothing whereas hers had held women's.

Whose rooms were these? Surely not Uncle Clark's. As far as she knew, no one else was here. Just Uncle Clark and Lucas.

Giving in to a mixture of boredom and curiosity, she left the suites and ventured into the hallway. The house was quiet.

She went downstairs, hoping to find Jackson so he could fasten her dress before she ran into Uncle Clark.

She heard voices outside the front door. She inched closer. The door had been left ajar. She heard Jackson's voice as well as Uncle Clark's mixed with another man's voice that she didn't recognize.

"Even if you come here, there's no one to tend them," Jackson said.

"We have our own doctors," the stranger said.

"But do you have nurses?"

"We'll make do. We just need shelter and water. From your well."

"I can't avoid the war forever, Jackson," Uncle Clark said. "I had hoped to do so, but knew it was unlikely from the beginning."

Uncle Clark was up. He shouldn't be on his knee.

"It's up to you," Jackson said. "It's your house. I'm just afraid it'll never be the same. I've seen it happen so many times before."

"I'm an old man," Uncle Clark said. "The house doesn't matter. What matters is the lives of our boys. I'll allow it."

"Thank you, sir," the stranger said.

"When shall we expect you?"

"No later than noon tomorrow."

"Very well. We'll see you then."

Leah pressed back against the wall as Jackson and Uncle Clark came back inside and closed the door behind them.

"Leah," Jackson said, going to her.

"Will you fasten my gown?" she whispered.

"Of course." He stood behind her and buttoned the buttons she had been unable to reach.

They turned, then, and faced Uncle Clark. He was pale. Almost as though he had seen a ghost. "I'm sorry," he said to Jackson. "You won't get the peace and quiet I promised you."

"It can't be helped," Jackson said. "Is everything alright?"

"Of course," Uncle Clark said, "I just need to get off this knee." He hobbled back toward the parlor, suddenly looking old and frail.

"Is he unwell?" Leah asked.

Jackson shook his head. "I don't know. That dress looks good on you. Perfect fit."

She ran a hand along the skirt. "It's kind of odd, isn't it? I hope he doesn't mind."

"Why would he? Look," he said. "There are a few injured soldiers that need a place to recoup. Uncle Clark has agreed to let them use the house."

"Oh." This was going to change things. "Confederate soldiers?"

"Of course. I'm going to help Lucas out in the kitchen. If you'd like you can come or you can keep Uncle Clark company in the parlor."

Leah chewed her lip. It seemed a bit inhospitable to leave Uncle Clark alone in his own home. And he didn't look so well. "I'll wait with Uncle Clark."

Jackson bent down and kissed her, lingeringly, his lips silently making promises to hers. "I'll see you soon then."

Leah went to the parlor door. "Uncle Clark?" He had his leg propped up again. "Can I get you anything?"

"No, thank you, though. I think Jackson is helping Lucas with something for us to eat."

"Yes, he is. Do you mind if I come in and join you?"

"No, not at all," he waved his hand. "Come on in."

"I hope you don't mind. I borrowed a dress from the bureau."

"You can have the dress," Uncle Clark said. "You can have all the dresses."

"They belong to your wife?"

"No, the dresses belonged to my daughter. And the clothes in the adjoining room belonged to her husband."

"Where are they now?" she asked, dreading the answer.

"They were killed in a buggy accident," he said, sweeping his arm. "Right out there. On their way to church. He was driving too fast or something. I don't know. Maybe they hit a rock, but the thing tipped over and they rolled over, killing them both."

"I am so sorry," Leah wished she had never asked the dresses.

"It was about five years ago," he continued. "When things were good. It's probably just as well. They never had to see this war. He would have gone off to fight and she would have been heartbroken. They never spent more than a few minutes apart it seemed."

"That's tragic."

"It was such a lovely thing to see. Two people so in love. I think that's part of why my wife went to live with her sister. She couldn't stand to be around here." He scratched his chin. Sighed. "I didn't want to tell Jackson. But she's probably not coming back. It tore us apart."

"I can't begin to fathom the pain you must be going through." She thought of Jackson. Thought how fortunate Uncle Clark's daughter was to have died with he man she loved instead of being left behind to mourn him. She wouldn't tell him that though. There were no words that would ease his pain. She knew that. She knew from having lost her own grandfather, father, and brother. Fortunately, she had never lost a child. That was a heartbreak she hoped she never had to experience.

They sat quietly, in silence. Leah hoped Uncle Clark found some comfort in just having someone sit with him. He'd doubtless spent countless hours alone. Perhaps having her and Jackson there for a time would be helpful to him. Perhaps, even, that was why he agreed to open his home to the wounded soldiers.

"Is there anything you need me to do in preparation for the soldiers?" Leah asked after awhile.

"Actually, I was thinking it would be nice if the portraits on the wall could be put in the attic."

Leah remembered the portraits lining the wall up the staircase.

"I wouldn't want them to accidentally get knocked off and destroyed," he explained.

"I can do that for you. Just take them down and put them in the attic?"

"Yeah," he said "this knee..."

"How did you hurt it?"

"I was replacing a broken board out on the balcony and stepped wrong. Fell right through and got my leg caught in the gap. It's a wonder I didn't break my fool neck."

"Sounds painful."

"It has been. Since all the servants ran off, the place is falling apart."

"It's the same at my house."

"Anybody hungry?" Jackson asked, coming to the door.

"Starved," Leah said.

"I could eat," Uncle Clark said.

"Lucas and I have fried chicken and potato salad."

Leah's mouth watered. She couldn't remember the last time she had eaten other than the cheese and bread she had earlier.

After they ate, Leah pulled portraits from the wall and began carefully carrying them up to the attic. She had to move them one at the time, so she had over a dozen trips up the attic stairs.

Each portrait represented someone's life, she mused. A life lived and lost. All that was left was a likeness to hang on the wall. She wondered if anyone remembered them. She wondered what their lives had been like. Had they loved and been loved?

About halfway through the task, Jackson joined her.

She was in the attic, carefully standing the portraits up so as not to scratch them. She turned to go back and she jumped when she saw him standing there.

"There you are," she said.

"And there you are," he said, blocking her path.

"Where have you been?"

"Just helping out with a few things."

"Hmm. Me too."

"I can see that."

"Do you know these people?" she asked, nodding toward the portraits."

"Nope. I only know the ones that are still living. And my cousin."

"He told me about the accident."

"Did he? It was my understanding that he never spoke about it."

"Maybe I just seemed like a good listener."

"Maybe. Or maybe you reminded him of her in that dress."

"Oh," Leah said. "I didn't think about that."

"Times are hard."

"It was before the war, so times have been hard for him even longer."

Jackson turned and brought in two portraits propped outside the door. "I thought I'd help you out so we can go to bed. Tomorrow is going to be busy."

"Thank you."

They finished bringing the portraits up and covered them with a cloth.

"I don't think this is a good idea," Jackson said. "I've seen houses destroyed by soldiers. Not even on purpose. It just happens."

"I don't think the house matters to him so much right now. I think he just needs something to do."

"You could be right."

He walked her to the door of her room, pulled her into a hug. "I hope you sleep well," he said. Then kissed her lightly on the lips. "I'll see you in the morning."

He turned and went next door to his room.

Leah closed the door behind her and stood with her back to it. And stared at the door adjoining their rooms. _This is a most awkward situation._

Now that they had been most intimate, it seemed that he would want to be with her. Perhaps be even more intimate.

Perhaps it wasn't proper. Or perhaps he had been disappointed in her.

At the moment, she was the one who was disappointed. She climbed into the bed, beneath the warm blanket and closed her eyes.

Replayed what happened earlier today in this very bed. She was still in awe of the whole thing.

Within minutes, she was fast asleep - dreaming about lying in Jackson's arms. Looking forward to morning when could see him again.

* * *

Jackson was in hell. He tossed and turned, finally drifting into a fitful sleep only to have nightmares about the battle when Stephen had been killed. Woke in a cold sweat, the blankets in a pile on the floor.

He got and paced to the window. He'd known this was going to be a bad night. Exhaustion, somehow, made him sleep worse. It made no sense.

And then there was Leah. He'd had enough of a taste of her that he wanted her all the way. Wanted her to belong to him.

But that would be wrong. She was a lady. A lady he was sworn to protect. He couldn't just go around ravaging her.

He tugged on his hair. Stared out the window into the blackness. It was going to rain again. That meant the injured soldiers would be inside the house. This was not going to be good.

He dropped the curtain and turned to glare at the door separating him from Leah. It would be so easy to step through that door. Climb into bed with her.

Yes, he was in the worse kind of hell.

He reminded himself that he had allowed this to happen. He had been the one to put his hands on her. She had done nothing but be vulnerable.

In her innocence, she had no idea what he could do to her. What he wanted to do to her. Jackson was no saint, by any means, but he also was no rogue. The women he had been with weren't ladies exactly. They didn't expect anything from him. The one girl he'd had a relationship with had ended amicably, but they had never consummated it.

In truth, Jackson mused, he'd never had consummated a relationship with anyone he cared about. The realization caught him off guard.

He would have Leah. He had no doubt about that. But he also cared about her. That put a different spin on things.

His instinct from last night to leave her be had been spot on. He was going to have to tread carefully. His emotions were as involved as were hers.

He sighed. _I can't stay away from her. I don't even want to stay away from her._

_This relationship is different._

It was the voice at the back of his head. Taunting him again.

Leah was different. Unlike anything he had ever felt before. There was an attraction as well as a comfort.

Definitely not the usual.

_I need to sleep. Perhaps I can better deal with it tomorrow._

# Chapter 10

Tomorrow started earlier than anyone anticipated.

Leah woke to the sound of barking dogs. And chickens. She had seen chickens outside yesterday, but dogs?

Then there was the sound of men. She had heard that sound before at the Yankee camp.

_Soldiers._

She jumped out of bed, quickly washed her face at the water bowl, and smoothed her dress. She hadn't been able to unbutton it last night, so she had given up and just slept in it. It was a little wrinkled, but no one would notice... or even care.

She grabbed a hairbrush off the vanity and went to the window. There were soldiers in gray crawling all over the yard. And a wagon full of wounded soldiers. Wagons.

When they had asked to bring a few injured soldiers, they were understating to say the least.

To top it all off, it was thundering. She saw the dark clouds heading this way. Some of the soldiers were putting up tents, but the wounded men in the wagons were being unloaded and carried one by one into the house

_This is not good._

She left the safety of her window and went to knock on Jackson's door. When he didn't answer, she peeked inside, but there was an empty room, with a freshly made bed. Had he even slept in here last night?

She went into the hallway and the sounds grew louder.

Uncle Clark was in the foyer, directing them, setting up triage. Perhaps, he at least, would now have meaning in his life again.

Still no sign of Jackson. Looking for Jackson, she crept downstairs and stood on the bottom step.

"Oh good," Uncle Clark said, "Leah, would you go to the kitchen and start boiling some water. We're gonna need lots of hot water."

"Of course," she said, cautiously stepping around soldiers.

Where was the kitchen, anyway?

She went toward the back of the house, peeking in each room, but there was no kitchen. She opened the back door to find a pathway leading to a small structure that appeared to be a small house.

Ah ha. The kitchen. She'd visited homes before that had a separate kitchen. It was much safer, especially for large plantations to have the kitchen separate in case there was a fire. In her grandmother's house, it would have been impractical.

Fortunately there was a fire already started. She added more wood and located a large boiler for water. The well pump was just out back, so she was able to quickly get water boiling. By the time it was hot, there was a soldier at the door ready to retrieve it. Still no sign of Jackson. And the heating of water kept her busy, between lugging it back and forth between the well pump and boilers.

The rain opened up and she stopped, sat down. And realized just how sore her muscles were getting.

Jackson came to the door then.

"There you are," she said

"I've been looking for you," he said.

"Uncle Clark sent me out here to heat water."

"For the last hour?"

"I don't know. Since the soldiers got here."

"Geez, love, I thought you were still asleep."

"Asleep! That would have been nice. I've been dragging buckets of water."

He knelt beside her, stroked her arms. "Don't ever do that again."

"I just wanted to help out."

"Look at the men running around this place. Someone else can do the heavy lifting."

"Where have you been?" she asked.

"I had go take care of something with one of the pigs."

"He has pigs?"

"Yeah and a couple of cows, but with the army here, they'll be confiscated."

"It's a lot of men to feed."

"They'll leave it barren in their wake."

She scoffed. "Like locusts."

"You're gonna be sore."

"I'm already getting sore."

He stood up and stood behind her. Rubbed her shoulders.

She closed her eyes and relished the sensation. Another secret sensation. She opened her mouth to ask what other secrets he knew about, but closed it instead. She may be enjoying this, but forward she was not.

* * *

Jackson had to bite his tongue when he found out Uncle Clark had so carelessly sent Leah out here to the kitchen to boil water. First of all, Leah was a lady and ladies didn't spend hours lifting heavy kettles of water when men were around to do the heavy lifting. And, second, she was isolated back here. Anything could have happened.

Jackson had been busy slaughtering and slicing a cow and a pig which he then salted and hung in the cellar. The cellar, hopefully, was hidden from the army. After the soldiers left and ate them out of house and home, they would have food left. While he was in the cellar, Jackson noted that Uncle Clark also had dried apples stored as well as a barrel of flour and other supplies that they could use later.

He gave that much to the older man, but he would have to watch him around Leah. Jackson was much more careful about how he treated his lady.

His lady.

Jackson smiled at that as he rubbed Leah's shoulders, then her upper arms. She was going to be sore.

A soldier came to the door, a young man, probably not more than seventeen. "I need more hot water," he said.

Leah started to get up. Jackson pressed her back down.

"The water's in the well. You can pump it out, haul it in here, and heat it."

The soldier glanced questioningly at Leah, but was smart enough to grab a bucket and get away from Jackson.

"Thank you," she said.

"I'm sorry Uncle Clark sent you out here to do that. He shouldn't have."

"I'm sure he didn't intend for me to get stuck out here."

"You're kind. I don't think he even really gave it much thought."

"Why didn't he join the army?"

"Too old, I guess."

"My dad joined and my grandfather."

"I don't know why he didn't."

"Well, he seems to be in his element now."

"He does seem to be enjoying it a bit."

"Jackson?"

"What is it?" he asked, coming around, pulling up a chair, and sitting next to her.

"Do you think we'll ever get back to my grandmother?"

"Of course we will."

"I don't know. It seems like we keep getting deeper and deeper into this war."

"I'm sorry. If I hadn't shown up at your door, this never would have happened."

She put a hand on his sleeve. "You can't blame yourself."

He shook his head. "Actually I can."

"Jackson," she said, putting a hand on his cheek. "If you blame yourself, then you're really blaming my bother."

"How could I blame your brother? He asked me to look after you."

"And if he hadn't done so, you never would have shown up on my doorstep. So, you see, the only way you can blame yourself is to blame him. And I don't think you want to do that."

He sighed. She was right. This wasn't anyone's fault. It was just something that happened.

Something good that had happened, born of tragedy

He took a deep breath, looked into her big, green eyes. Eyes full of hope and... expectation.

"I'll get you home to your grandmother," he said. "I promise. It won't be right away because I want to get you there safely, but I'll get you there."

"Thank you," she said.

They went back into the house, stepping around soldiers who were in different levels of triage or else were helping those who were injured.

He escorted her back to her room, then stepped into his and froze. His room was now a tactical center. Three men hunched over a table in the center of the room, focused on a map.

One of the three bearded men looked up at Jackson. "Can we help you?" he asked.

"I'm Jackson Holcomb. This is my room."

"Sorry, son. We've had to commandeer it. All the other rooms were taken. Clark insisted we keep one room available for you and your wife. We left you the one next door."

Damn. The lie would forever haunt him. "Very well," Jackson said. "Thank you, Sir," He turned to leave.

"Wait," one of the other bearded men said. "What did you say your name is?"

"Holcomb."

The man came around the table. "You were at the Battle of Pleasant Hill."

"Unfortunately," he said.

"I remember you."

"Very good, Sir," Jackson said, turning again to leave.

"You were instrumental in our battlefield strategy."

"I only did what I needed to do."

"Why are you here? Out of uniform?"

"I'm escorting my wife back to her grandmother." It's what he had told Uncle Clark, so he had to stick to his story.

"We could use your input," the third man said.

"I'm sorry. I haven't been privy to what's been going on,"

"You know the area though, right?"

"I spent my summers here, but..."

"Good enough. Please, come look at the map with us."

Jackson saw no other choice.

He joined the three bearded men at the table and explained to them what he knew about the area.

Leah paced in her room. She had almost immediately gone to the adjoining room, but heard men's voice on the other side.

She paced some more.

_What am I supposed to do? I can't just sit here in this room all day._

There had to be something she could do to help. Something to get them one more step closer to getting out of here and getting her home.

She went back to the adjoining door one more time. It sounded like the men had settled in. That meant Jackson was not sitting around waiting. He was either in the room with the soldiers or he was out doing something.

She stepped into the hallway and made her way downstairs. She made it all the way to the parlor this time.

"Thank goodness," one of the officers said when he spotted her. "We've been needing someone."

"I'm sorry. I'm not a nurse."

"No, no. It's alright. Can you write?"

"Write?"

"Are you literate?"

"Of course."

"And you can pen a letter?"

She scoffed. "Of course I can."

"Perfect. Some of the soldiers are on their deathbed and they need to get letters back home. Either they can't write or they aren't physically able to do so. Can you pen some letters if they can tell you what it is they want to write?"

She nodded. "I have some experience in that actually."

"You're the answer to a prayer. Come with me.

Within minutes, Leah found herself kneeling next to a dying soldier with a pen in her hand and a little makeshift desk.

Then, the soldier looking into her eyes, with a mixture of resignation and hopefulness. Hopefulness that she would get his words back to his loved ones.

"Thank you for doing this," the soldier said.

"I'm honored to do it," she said.

"Ok," the young soldier swallowed thickly. "Here we go."

"Who am I writing to?" Leah asked.

"To my parents."

_Dear Ma and Pa,_

_I know you didn't want me to join the army. As always, I should have listened to you. Please forgive me for not listening. I see now why you wanted me to stay home. The things I've seen... but they haven't all been bad. I was shot somewhere in the middle of Louisiana. I really can't tell you where I am, but it's been a long walk from Tennessee._

_Anyway, I took a bullet and the gangrene has set in. I think they took off my leg, but I really don't know. I can still feel it. With the gangrene, they don't think I'll make it much longer. It doesn't hurt anymore, so don't worry about me._

_I've made my peace. All those Sundays you dragged me to church have paid off for me. I've made peace with God and I'm ready to go._

_My only regret is not seeing you and little Claire again. I'm sure she's all grown up by now. Please tell her that I miss her and that my last thoughts were of the three of you._

"What else should I say?" the soldier asked.

Leah looked up and realized that tears were running down her cheeks. She didn't bother to wipe them away. "Tell them you love them," she suggested.

_I want you to know that I love you three more than anything. I'd give anything to see you again. Again at all. Please know that. My heart is there with you now._

_All my love_

"What's your name?" Leah asked.

"My name is Joseph."

Leah took down the information required to send the letter and signed his name to the letter. She asked him if he wanted to sign it, but when he held up his swollen hand, she knew that wouldn't be possible.

She set the letter aside to dry and placed a kiss on the dying soldier's head. "I'll make sure it gets to them," she promised.

"You're an angel," he said, licking his dry lips.

Leah set her ink and pen aside and went out on the front porch.

The officer was there, watching his men move about. "Finished?" he asked when he saw her standing there.

She nodded and only now wiped at her eyes.

"There's about twenty more," he said.

"I figured as much. You don't write?"

"Good question. I do write, but I've written about a hundred of them and I just needed to take a break. It's a full-time job keeping up with the letters the boys want to send back home."

"I understand," she said, though truly she didn't. How could he just sit there and not do anything when there was so much to be done?

She went back and sat down next to another soldier. "You'd like to dictate a letter?" she asked

The man was wrapped in pretty much bandages all over. One eye was uncovered and, though it was moist, it was a lovely shade of blue. Her heart broke for him She took his hand in hers, bandage and all.

"Who would you like me to write to?" she asked.

"My girl. We were to be married when I got some leave time. She's the most beautiful girl I've ever seen. Would you like to see her image?"

"Yes, of course."

"Here, in my coat pocket, there's a photograph."

Leah hesitantly reached inside the man's pocket and pulled out a photograph. There was blood on one corner, but she could clearly see the girl's image. She was so very young and pretty. "She is beautiful," Leah said.

"I need to let her know that I won't be making the wedding."

"Alright. Tell me her name."

"Her name is Clementine."

"That's a very pretty name. It suits her well."

He nodded. Groaned.

"I'm ready when you are."

_Dear Clementine,_

_I hope this letter finds you well. I've read all your letters at least a hundred times. I have them memorized and could probably recite them back to you like poetry._

_But, unfortunately, I find myself in a stranger's house, unable to move. I got caught up in a cannon ball explosion. From what they tell me, I'm lucky to be alive. It picked me up and tossed me into the air. It knocked me out when I landed. It's alright though, because it happened so fast, I don't remember much about it._

_I'm afraid I'm going to miss our wedding, my love. They tell me to hang in there and I can pull through this thing, but I might not look the same way I did when I left home. I just hope you can stand to look at me. You're so beautiful. You deserve to be with someone who looks good, too._

_I'll understand if you want to break off our engagement. I just want you to be happy. That's all I ever wanted. Since the first time I saw you standing there with your books waiting for the bell to ring for us to go inside for our first day of school. It was so long ago and it seems like yesterday. Who ever would have thought you'd grow up to be a school teacher yourself? I sure wish you could have been my school teacher. Probably would been a little weird though._

_I don't know what else to say to you except that I miss you and love you with all my heart. You've always been the girl for me and always will be. If I don't make it, know that my last thoughts were of you. I'll see you on the other side._

_Forever and ever yours truly,_

_Thomas_

* * *

Leah wiped her eyes and folded the letter, writing the address on the outside as Thomas instructed.

These last letters home were the most heart-wrenching she could have ever imagined.

She sat back on her heels, and put her hand in his. He squeezed it tightly. A tear fell from his one unbandaged eye.

She took her paper and pen and went across the hall to take a moment to settle herself.

* * *

Jackson found her there sitting alone, her expression morose.

"You don't have to do this," he said, sitting next to her on the sofa.

"No," she said, looking up at him. "I think I do. Someone needs to do it and I seem to be the only one who's available."

"I guess we all have a task to do then."

"What are you doing with those men?"

"They need help with the area. And I know it better than anyone here, since I spent my summers here. So I was elected."

"Does that mean you're back in the army?"

"Yeah, I guess it does."

"How do you feel about that?"

"It's what I do, and it's better than being out in the field, so I guess I'm all right with it." He swept a lock of hair from her cheek.

"They took your room," she pointed out

"We'll see what happens."

"They won't want to give it up. They'll be taking my room before we know it."

"No, that was part of the deal. Your room is the one room in the house they can't go into."

"Uncle Clark did that."

"He's mostly in his own world, but every now and then he comes through."

"I can see that."

Jackson stood up. Stretched. "I just wanted to check on you. See how you're fairing. I should get back up there." He leaned in, kissed her on the lips.

"Jackson!"

"What? No one is paying us any heed. Anyway, we're married, so it's kind of expected, don't you think?"

"Right," she said. "I forgot."

"That doesn't do much for my ego, you know?"

She chuckled. "I'm sorry. That's how it is with married couples."

"Is it?" he asked, with a seriousness in his voice.

"I really wouldn't know."

"I wouldn't either. But since we're in a house full of men, if you don't mind, I'd like to make sure no one forgets that you belong to me. Otherwise, they might be getting some crazy ideas."

"We wouldn't want that," she said.

She looked much too sad. And... burdened. There had to be something he could do.

"Hey," he said, "Are you hungry?"

"A little," she said.

"Wait here for a few minutes. I have an idea."

He left her there, alone with her thoughts and went to the kitchen. The officers upstairs could wait.

Lucas was in the kitchen, boiling water.

"I see they got you hooked into the water thing."

Lucas laughed. "They have me cooking soup, actually."

"My condolences." Cooking soup for an army of men sounded like far too much work for one man. "Can you spare a few minutes?"

"For you? Anytime, Master Jackson."

Jackson told Lucas what he wanted and Lucas helped him put some things into a basket they dragged off a top shelf.

"Enjoy!" Lucas said as Jackson headed out the door with the basket.

"Don't worry," he said. "I plan to."

Leah was not where he left her. A streak of panic shot up his spine. _Too many men. It's not safe for a female to be here, especially not a beautiful one._

He darted into the next room and relief made him weak. She was sitting next to another soldier, her brow in consternation as she scribbled his words on paper. The soldier was speaking quickly and she was fighting to get the words down fast enough to keep up.

He leaned against the door jamb and waited while she wrote. The soldier stopped a moment to gather his thoughts. Leah glanced up, saw him watching her and flushed. He smiled and she smiled back.

_I don't want to live without this woman._ The thought came unbidden and unexpected. Well, he thought, _I've always heard that's how it happens. My daddy used to say that love was like a bolt of lightning. Something that sometimes happens when there's a storm and sometimes out of a clear blue sky, but you never know where or when it's gonna strike. And when it does, you won't even have time to know what hit you._

So be it then, he thought.

Leah finished the letter and, bringing her little writing box that one of the soldiers had found in Uncle Clark's study, went to him. She shrugged. "He doesn't have much time left, so wanted to take down his letter."

"It's all right," he said, taking the box from her. "Let's leave this here for a bit and take a walk."

They went outside into the sunshine.

"It's a beautiful day," Leah said.

"It is beautiful," he said, looking at her.

"Where are we going?"

"Away from here, mostly," he said.

They walked down a little path lined with trees that opened into a wide open field.

"This is nicely hidden," she said.

"It is isn't it?" He set down the basket and pulled a blanket from it which he spread on the ground. "Sit," he said.

She sat on the blanket as he suggested, arranging her skirts around her.

He proceeded to pull out sliced ham, biscuits, and a slice tomato.

"Where did you find all this?" she asked, he eyes lighting up.

"Hidden from the soldiers," he said, with a wink.

"I don't see how you could keep anything from them. They're like ants."

"I tried to tell Uncle Clark, but he doesn't seem to be concerned."

"I haven't even seen him since the soldiers started coming in," she said, taking two plates from the basket and putting food on them.

"Me either, now that you mention it."

"Maybe he left."

"Ha. Not likely. That house is his love," he commented, taking a bite of ham. He wouldn't even go to New Orleans to try to get his wife to come home."

Leah froze and lifted her gaze to his.

"What? What did I say?"

She shrugged. "It seems like if you love someone, you'd want to be around them.

"Agreed." He dug in the basket, pulled out a bowl. "I almost forgot about this." He opened the lid and produced potato salad.

"How?"

"There's a good cellar."

"I guess there is."

"Speaking of family, I need to go home to take care of some things."

Leah lowered her eyes. Didn't respond at first. "I see."

"I have some family obligations to take care of.

"All right."

He wasn't sure if she didn't care or didn't want to talk about it. "So, after we leave here, and I get you home, I'll go take care of those things. I just didn't want you to be surprised."

"I understand," she said. "You need to do what you need to do."

Relieved, he bit into a biscuit. He'd known she would understand.

# Chapter 11

When Jackson began to talk about going home, Leah lost her appetite, despite being away from the soldiers and having such surprisingly good food.

Jackson, on the other hand, seemed unaffected by the prospect of their being separated. She watched him eat. He hadn't shaved and a shadow of whiskers gave him a roguish air. Yet his kindness was immeasurable. He'd gone to the trouble to prepare this picnic for them, to get her away from the chaos of the soldiers.

His eyes, when he looked at her, were full of longing. She had obligations with her grandmother and he had obligations back at his home.

_We have to make the most of our time together._

After writing letters for the soldiers, often full of regret that they hadn't optimized their time with loved ones, she was even more aware of the importance of taking advantage of moments as they presented themselves and not so much living for the ephemeral future. A future that may or may not come

Resolving to live for the moment and not worry about how much she would miss Jackson after he went home, she smiled at him and thanked him for the picnic.

After they finished eating, he lay back on the blanket and looked up at the puffy clouds. "We used to do this as kids," he said. "Did you?"

"Maybe a couple of times. I mostly kept my head in a book."

He laughed. "Look, over there, what do you see?"

She lay beside him. Again, reminding herself to just enjoy the moment and not think about all the letters she had to write.

"I see a castle," she said.

"Yeah, I can see that. And there's a dragon coming around the back.

"Don't let your dragon burn down my castle!"

"Don't worry. I will fight to the death any dragon that comes near you."

He turned, then, and propping up on his elbow, watched her.

"What else do you see?" she asked.

"I see a beautiful princess standing at the window waiting for me to get back from fighting the dragon."

She kept her eyes on the clouds. "You have a very vivid imagination."

"Not really. Not when that most beautiful girl is right in front of my eyes."

She closed her eyes.

"Ah, now the beautiful princess is a sleeping beauty. I shall have to awaken her with a kiss if I want to talk to her."

Leah laughed, but kept her eyes closed. He sat up and bent over her, then slowly bent until their lips were only a breath away. She held her breath.

He touched his lips against hers. Her eyes fluttered open. And she breathed again.

"My God, you're beautiful," he said, his voice husky.

Then, unable to resist, his lips were back on hers, insistent this time. She gave back. So soft. So pliant. So... irresistible.

So vulnerable.

_And we're out in the open. In the middle of a field. With an army of soldiers only a short walk away._

He groaned and pulled away. Took her hand and pressed it to his lips. _I must protect her even from myself._

"We should get back before they come looking for us," he said.

"Do you really think anyone would miss us?" she asked, as he pulled her to her feet.

"I think they would miss you."

"Only because now that they're on their deathbeds, they want to say their last words to their loved ones."

"You can't fault them."

"No, not really, but they've had all this time to write and they didn't bother. They don't realize that the people waiting behind want to hear from them - anything. Just to know that they're alive and well."

"Sometimes it's hard to do."

"I know," she conceded. "I still think it would only take a minute."

"The army could hire you to sit and write letters all day."

She rubbed her right hand. "It would take me a little while to get into shape for that, I'm afraid."

He chuckled. "Is it from writing or hauling all those buckets of water?"

"I'm not sure. I don't think I'm cut out to be a soldier."

"You're far from being a soldier in my book."

He loved it when she flushed.

He loved everything about her.

He sighed.

_I am in love with Leah Hudson._

* * *

Leah was determined to keep her chin high. She had all but thrown herself at him and, still, he resisted her.

_He's just not attracted to me. He's only kind to me because he promised my brother._

God, but he was handsome. Just one night, she thought. Just one night and I would cherish the memory for the rest of my life. What had the poet written, _It's better to have loved and lost than to never have loved at all._

That line had never made sense to her until this very moment. She ached with wanting him. Just to be close to him. To kiss him again.

They reached the chaos of the house that only yesterday had been a safe haven. Jackson retrieved her writing box, kissed her on the cheek, and went back up to the war room.

She watched him sprint up the stairs, his long, lean legs taking him away from her.

She went to what she was coming to think of as the last rites room. Here were the soldiers who didn't have much time left. The ones whose letters urgently needed to be written or they would never be written at all.

She spent the next two hours writing letters. Here and there she took it upon herself to add endearments to family members when the soldier was reluctant to express his feelings. With one of the soldiers, who claimed to be illiterate, she added that the letter was written by a friend. The soldier signed his X to the letter. Leah found the care that he put into marking his signature heartbreaking in itself.

As the sun went down, the light in the room faded. She could have written by candlelight, but she needed to rest. She was physically and emotionally exhausted.

Taking her writing box with her, she went upstairs. She hadn't seen Jackson since he left her earlier.

She went into her room and lit a candle on the table next to her bed. The men were still talking next door. Did they never tire of talking war?

Last night she had slept in her dress, but today, it was much too soiled to sleep in. She had been on the floor - needless to say, there were body fluids on her clothing. She went to the armoire and found a nightgown in the bottom. Knowing the story of the clothing made her a little more reluctant to disturb the contents, but she had no choice.

There was still the problem of the buttons on the dress. _What would a wife do?_

She went to the adjoining door and knocked lightly.

No answer.

She knocked again, louder this time.

Jackson came to the door. Slipped through it. "I'm glad you're here," he said.

"I need you to unbutton me."

"Gladly. Turn around."

He swept her hair aside. And unbuttoned her dress, his fingers lightly grazing her skin.

He swept the dress off her shoulders.

"I told them I'd be right back," he said, huskily.

"All right. Thank you," she said.

And once again she was alone.

She slipped out of the soiled dress and put on the nightgown.

Picking up the brush from the vanity, she began brushing her hair. Had it been only yesterday that she had taken a bath? _I could take a bath everyday if I could._ Of course, no one did that.

She was too exhausted to think much about Jackson at the moment. She went to the window and stepped out onto the balcony. Allowed the cool evening air to wash over her. The men in the war room were laughing now. Apparently the work portion of the evening was over. Men could spend hours drinking, smoking cigars, and talking about whatever it was men talked about. They would probably stay up all night

A couple of soldiers passed by outside, and feeling exposed in her nightgown, she went back inside and after locking the window, closing the curtains, she locked both doors. She wished she had brought a book up from the library downstairs, but it was too late to worry about now.

Using the little footstool, she climbed up onto the bed. It was then that she saw her little writing box at the foot of the bed. _I could write a letter to Grandma._

She crawled down to the foot of the bed and retrieved her box. Scoffed at herself for feeling too tired to write a letter. There's always an excuse, she thought.

She took out a fresh piece of paper and dipped the quill into the inkwell.

_Dear Grandma,_

_Please forgive me for leaving so abruptly. I thought I would just deliver a message and come right home. Instead, I got caught up in this war. More than I ever planned to. Fortunately, Jackson is here, watching out for me. If Father McVay is still there, please tell him how thankful I am that he is there for you._

_While I'm waiting for it to be safe to travel again, I'm penning letters for soldiers back to their families. Many of them have never written a letter home. I don't understand it because stationary and pencils are in decent supply._

_On the other hand, mail call is the most popular time of day. Letters from home are cherished like gold. The soldiers crave news from home. It's almost like it's their lifeline._

_I'm doing well. I'm tired. This is hard work. And I miss you terribly. I honestly hope I can get home before this letter reaches you. But in case I don't, in case something happens to me, know that I love you and miss you terribly. And, again, I'm so sorry for deserting you during this time when you need me the most._

_Respectfully,_

_Leah_

* * *

She set back, reread the letter and set it aside for the ink to dry. Perhaps tomorrow she would rewrite it. In the meantime, her eyelids grew heavy. She burrowed beneath the blankets and thought about Jackson just next door. Closed her eyes and wished for him to be there with her, not in there plotting the army's next move.

Lulled to sleep by the sound of the men next door, she fell into a fitful sleep. She woke in a haze. The house was quiet now. The room completely dark.

Slowly she became aware of arms wrapped around her and she was tucked against someone. Thinking she was merely dreaming, she cuddled closer and went back to sleep.

The next morning, she woke with a vague sense of having not spent the night alone. Considering that she had slept alone, in her own bed for all of her life, the sensation was a little unsettling. Perhaps it was simply because there were so many men in the house. She had locked the door.

Hadn't she?

The day started out much like yesterday had gone. She penned letter after letter. Soldiers were either treated, lay in limbo, or, fortunately only a couple, were taken out and buried.

Leah felt pressure to get their letters down before they passed away.

She noticed that one of the officers had been watching her - she took this to be curiosity.

"You're really good with the soldiers," he said when she came back onto the front porch from taking a break.

"Thank you," she said.

"How long have you lived here?"

"Oh, I don't live here."

"Is that so? I never would have guessed. How did you end up here then?"

She stood on the porch, looked into the soldier's brown eyes. He looked harmless enough. "It's a long story," she said. "Where are you from?"

"Georgia,"

"My. You're a long way from home."

"Wasn't my plan when I started out."

"I wouldn't think so."

"Is there anything I can help you do?" he asked.

She shook her head. "No thank you. Don't you have enough to do?"

"I have plenty to do, but you seem to be doing more than anyone else here, except maybe for the doc."

She laughed. "Does he ever sleep?"

"I don't think so."

"Well," she said, "I have letters to write. If you really want to help, you can take some paper and a pencil and write some letters."

"Unfortunately, my penmanship is so poor, that no one would be able to read it if I did."

"That is unfortunate."

"I can keep you company for awhile though."

"No, that isn't necessary, really."

"I insist. I can carry your box for you."

"It truly isn't heavy."

"I have nothing else to do at the moment."

Deciding the man was lonely and just wanted some companionship, she agreed to allow him to walk with her as she surveyed the room for a soldier who may be ready to dictate a letter. "What's your name?" she asked.

"Mark."

"Mark from Georgia. I'm Leah."

"I know."

She glanced at him.

He laughed. "Everyone knows who you are."

"The men call you The Letter Angel."

She scoffed. "I'm no angel, but I do write a lot of letters," she said as she rubbed her hand.

"Here, let me," he said, setting the box aside, and taking her hand, gently massaging it. The sensation, though pleasant, sent warning bells off in her head.

"Hey," the soldier lying next to them said. "Leave her be."

"It's all right, David," Leah said. The last thing she wanted was to make a scene.

"No," the soldier said, swinging a foot over the side of the bed. His other leg had been amputated. "She's Jackson's wife. I've seen the way you watch her. Keep your hands off her."

Leah pulled her hand from his. "It's all right, David, I'm just going to sit here and let you dictate your letter.

"I'll wait," David said. "I'm not in the mood right now."

"I'm sorry," Leah said, "just catch me when you're ready. Here," she said, going to his side and putting her hands out. "Can I help you back into bed?"

"I got it," he said, maneuvering back into bed. "I'm watching you," he said to Mark, who had taken a couple of steps back.

"There's no need to get all riled up," Leah said. "He didn't mean anything by it, I'm sure."

"I don't mean no disrespect, ma'am, but you should watch out for him. There's something about him I don't trust.

"Don't worry. I'll be more careful. Thank you for watching out for me." She picked up her writing box. David settled back in his bed, Leah turned back to Mark, but he had disappeared.

Too many men, she thought, again, to herself. There was bound to be a fight, but she didn't want to be the cause of it and she certainly didn't want a man whose leg had recently been amputated to be a part of it.

David was right, though, she did need to be more careful.

Besides, she mused, even if Jackson didn't want her, she didn't have the heart to start anything with anyone else. She was too wrapped up in Jackson to even think about anyone else right now.

Most of the patients in the room were sleeping, so Leah wandered down the hallway to another room. They had just finished eating, so the healthier ones were sitting up in bed. She had written letters for most of them, so they greeted her by name.

"Anyone need a letter written?" she asked.

"I'd like to write one to my sister in Baton Rouge," a soldier named Morgan said.

"Lovely," she said, settling in next to him. Morgan had a way with words. The other men listened intently as Leah scribbled. Morgan was considerate, giving her time to catch up at the end of each sentence.

A crash sounded in the next room. Leah dripped ink across the page. "I am so sorry," she said.

Another crash.

Morgan and the other men were focused on the noise coming from the next room.

"Sounds like a fight," someone said.

"Can somebody go look?"

"I can go," one of the soldiers said, standing up and limping toward the door.

"No, wait," Leah said. "Let me go."

She went into the hallway and followed the sounds of the ruckus.

Another crash.

Men yelling. Cheering?

She found the source of the noise in what was formerly Uncle Clark's study. What _was_ Uncle Clark's study.

There were books and papers strewn everywhere. An overturned chair.

And two men on the floor surrounded by half a dozen men cheering them on.

When they saw her, however, they quieted, but closed in the gap so she couldn't see. She scowled at them. "What's going on in here?"

She nudged between two of the men just in time to see one of the men pound the other one in the chin.

"Jackson?"

Jackson looked up, but kept his hold on the man beneath him. It was Mark.

"What?" She murmured.

"Let him go," someone said.

"Lady in the room."

"Remember what I said," Jackson said to Mark, then got up and walked straight to Leah, pulling her into an embrace before leading her from the room.

They went outside, into the cool, evening air. It wouldn't be long before summer set in and there would be no more cool evenings for months. He led her to the swing on the back porch and they sat down.

"You're hurt," she said, putting a finger on his busted lip.

"I'm sorry you had to see that," he said.

"I don't understand."

"He disrespected you."

"He disr... he what?"

"I heard about what happened. It was unacceptable."

"It was completely innocent."

"To you perhaps, but not to him and not to me."

"So he disrespected you. And you put your fists on him - then claimed he disrespected me." She stood up, but he grabbed her hand to hold her there.

"No," Jackson said. "Listen to me. He disrespected us. As a married couple."

"Jackson," she said, but kept her voice low so only he could hear. "We are not a married couple. You are delusional. This charade has gone too far."

"What?" he appeared sincerely perplexed. "What do you mean?"

"We are _not_ married."

She pulled her hand away and walked away from him. She had to keep her back to him so he wouldn't see the tears that streamed down her face. She couldn't go back inside because the men would see.

_Damn it._

She had nowhere to go. Nowhere to get away from all these people. She just wanted to go home.

She picked up her skirts and started to run. She ran down the path where they had gone yesterday for their picnic. She ran, trying to escape the pain.

At the edge of the clearing, she stopped to catch her breath and to allow the sobs to rack her body.

It wasn't right, the way he toyed with her. He pretended to be her husband, but he planned to take her home and return to his own life.

He was careless with her emotions.

She leaned against a tree, felt its rough bark against her skin.

She cared for him too much. She, too, had begun to believe the charade. She couldn't really blame him for believing the same thing as she.

How had they gotten so caught up in this?

And more importantly, how where they going to get out of it?

* * *

Jackson stood a few feet from her, watched her sobbing.

He had done this to her.

It took every fiber of his being not to rush to her. To take her in his arms. To soothe her. But she needed this time, this space to figure this out for herself.

She was right. They had been caught up in a charade and it had gone too far.

She also didn't realize how important it was to maintain this charade among the soldiers. And what Mark had done today, could have been the beginning of a slippery slope. It only one sign of weakness on his part for other men to think Leah was fair game for their attentions. And in her innocence, she couldn't see that. He'd had to nip it in the bud as soon as he discovered it.

So Leah had been right, in a sense. It probably had been innocent on Mark's part. Though Jackson had a hard time believing it. But more importantly, for the other soldiers who had witnessed it, there was absolutely no shed of innocence.

What she didn't know was that he planned to make it real at the first opportunity.

But he wanted to wait. He wanted to wait until he had her safely home before he made his proposal. It was very important for him to ask Grandma for her hand.

The war may have turned things inside down, but there were certain traditions that couldn't be allowed to be ignored.

If important traditions on the home front fell apart, it would be the end of their way of life. The end of civilization as they knew it.

And he would not have a part in that

Leah's tears spent, she wiped at her face and, after looking around, turned to return back along the path toward the house.

Jackson stayed out of sight as she passed him, then followed her. She had no idea how vulnerable she was.

_I made a promise to protect her. I promised her brother. But now that promise is mine._

_I vow to protect her for the rest of her life._

# Chapter 12

Jackson steadied the wood on its end, then raised the ax and swiped it down, the wood splitting easily into two pieces.

He had removed his jacket and wore only his shirt. He needed the physical exertion. He needed to clear his head.

It was foggy this morning, the fog rose slowly with the rising sun, leaving the air misty.

He bent to pick up another piece of wood, then saw the two soldiers out of the corner of his eyes. There was nothing unusual about seeing soldiers around here, since the house had been commandeered as a hospital.

But there was something different about these soldiers. It was their stance. And the way they watched him.

And the stripes on their uniforms.

He swung the ax, split the wood, and decided the best way to handle it was head on. "You got something to say?" He asked.

The soldiers stepped forward. One of them tossed his cigar on the ground, left it there, smoking. The other one smoothed out his coat.

They stopped two feet in front of him. "Please state your name," the older one said.

Forcing himself to keep his breath steady, he bent over, picked up another chunk of wood. Stood it up on its end. "Obviously you already know it or you wouldn't be asking."

"Don't make it difficult," the younger one said.

Jackson hadn't seen these soldiers around before. They hadn't been here before. The younger one looked freshly dressed - new uniform, shiny buttons. The older one had been around a little longer. His uniform was a little frayed around the edges and faded. They both had more stripes than he had seen in quite some time.

"I'll play along. Jackson Holcomb."

"You're gonna have to come with us."

"I guess you can see I'm a little busy." He split the wood in one fell swoop. Rested the ax on his shoulder and turned to face the two soldiers. "I don't want to fight you, but I'm gonna have to if you insist on this theme."

The older soldier glanced toward the middle upstairs window. "I don't think you want to do this here," he said.

"Maybe if I knew what _this_ was, I'd be better informed to make a decision.

"Unfortunately for you, it's not your decision to make."

"Then I'm not going with you," he said, turning to the side, but keeping his eyes trained on them.

Unfortunately, he was bluffing. He had no intention of being court-martialed. So, he wouldn't fight. They had too many stripes.

The older man sighed. "Alright then, let's sit down."

Jackson buried the ax in the stump and wiped his hands on his handkerchief. "All right," he said.

The three men sat on the steps to the back door.

"You're under arrest for acting as a spy against the confederate army."

"On what grounds?" Jackson asked.

"We have it on good authority that you traded information to the Federal army."

"What proof do you have?"

"We're not at liberty to say."

"Then you have no solid proof?"

"We have an informant."

"Who?"

"You know we can't tell you that."

Jackson considered. He obviously had no options. "I'd like to say good bye to my wife."

"Spies don't get to make requests," the younger soldier told him.

"It'd be a little hard to explain," the older man said, a kindness to his voice.

"What would it take for me to be granted asylum?"

"There is no asylum for spies."

Jackson scrubbed his face with his hands. "When do we leave?"

"Tomorrow."

"Then I have time to send a message."

The two soldiers exchanged glances.

"You can send your message," the older man said. "Can we have your word that you won't run?"

"I won't run." He stood up. "I'll get some paper."

They sent a man on horseback with his message to Major General Richard Taylor. In the meantime, it was going to be a long day.

They had agreed to allow him to continue with his day; however, he was not allowed to enter what Leah called the war room.

He made what he considered a feeble excuse about not feeling well and needing to spend some time with his wife.

Considering yesterday's fight, no one questioned his decision. In truth, he suspected everyone was a little afraid of him.

The timing was off; however, in that Leah was still not talking to him. As a result he didn't have much to do, so he spent the day doing chores around the house and preparing the things Leah would need in order to return to her home.

As the day drew to a close and Jackson heard nothing back from the courier, he knew he had no choice but to speak to Leah - if she would but listen to him.

She sat alone on the porch swing, staring at nothing.

"Leah," he said, "Please don't leave," he said when she started to stand. "Please. I need to talk to you."

She sat back down the edge of the swing, her expression wary.

"I know you're angry with me. And I'm sorry for that, but I need to tell you something. I may have to go away."

She met his gaze then, her eyes full of suspicion and hurt.

"It's not by choice," he said quickly. "But something has happened that may... take me away."

"For how long?"

_At least maybe she'll listen to me._ "I'm not sure."

She looked away, the hurt evident in her face.

"Believe me, if I had a choice in the matter, I wouldn't go. I would never leave you."

"We always have choices," she murmured.

"One would think. But sometimes choices we made in the past lead to situations in which choice is taken away from future decisions."

She looked at him with suspicion now.

"I know this doesn't make any sense. But it will. I just can't tell you right now."

"It has something to do with those two officers who showed up today," she said.

"Yes," he answered, looking around, trying to hide his surprise.

"There aren't too many secrets around here."

"Actually, I think there are probably too many."

"I had a feeling they would find an excuse to send you away."

"Why did you think that?"

"Just woman's intuition," she said, a smile playing about her lips.

"I'm so sorry, Leah," he said. "In case something happens to me, I have a bag packed for you. It's in your room. It has some clothing and some provisions. It'll take you home. All you have to do is procure a horse."

"That's all..."

"I'm sure you can find a soldier to help you. You've endeared yourself to the men."

"So you won't be coming," her voice was full of disappointment. He saw the wavering of her chin.

"I will if I can. I'm just trying to make sure that even if I can't, that you'll be taken care of."

She looked away. "I'm sorry about earlier," she said.

"No need to apologize. You were right."

She shook her head. "It doesn't matter who's right or wrong. This war will tear everything apart."

"Not if I have anything to do with it."

"You look exhausted," she said. "I saw you working today."

"I was sort of banned from the war room," he told her, his voice low.

"Ah. Will you be able to get some sleep tonight?"

"I might can find a cot someplace."

"You could always..." she started, then blushed, cut herself off.

He reached out. Took her hands. Laced his fingers with hers. "Leah," he said. "No matter what happens, I want you to know that I love you. And even if you never speak to me again, my life has been better having had you in it."

Tears streamed down her cheeks. She didn't even try to hide them.

He kissed her on the cheek, kissed her eyes. Kissed away her tears.

Then he pressed a kiss at the corner of her lips.

She put her arms around his neck and shifted her face a hair's breadth to put her lips against his. He pressed his forehead against hers, bringing their faces together.

"Can I walk you to your room?" he asked.

"Please," she murmured.

They got up and, taking her hand, they walked through the house. No one stopped them or blocked their path. The went upstairs together and stopped at her door.

She opened the door and pulled him in behind her.

They didn't speak, but went together and sat on the settee. He swept the hair from her face and his gaze locked onto hers. He put a finger under chin and lifted her face to his.

"You're so beautiful," he whispered.

She closed her eyes. Sighed.

His lips locked onto hers. He couldn't resist.

He picked her up and carried her to the bed, turned back the blanket and tucked her in.

"Sleep well, my princess" he said and kissed her on the cheek.

Jackson took a blanket from the foot of the bed, went back to the settee, and settled in for the night.

Tomorrow he would be taken away from her. Tomorrow he would doubtless be taken to prison.

_I could leave tonight._

He could just walk away and no one would be the wiser. If it weren't for Leah, he might consider it. He didn't want her to think of him as a coward.

He only slept a couple of hours, before awakening. He made sure Leah was sleeping soundly, then slipped downstairs.

He walked out back, thinking he would sit in the swing and enjoy the night air. It may be his last opportunity to do so before he faced the inside of prison.

Mark, however, stood there, sporting a black eye, smoking a cigar.

Jackson hesitated, then continued to the swing, sat down. "I see you're enjoying the night air," he said.

"It's a nice night," Mark said.

"How's the eye?"

"It's been better."

They sat in silence. A dog howled in the distance.

"I guess you wanted to enjoy your last night of freedom," Mark said.

Jackson's mind spun. No one knew about his arrangement with the officers. That had been their agreement – made in private. "What are you referring to?" he asked.

"I heard you might be leaving tomorrow."

"Where did you here that?"

"When decorated officers show up, it usually means someone is about to be court-martialed."

Jackson scoffed. "Is that so? And you just automatically assumed that I would be the one to be court-martialed."

Mark put out his cigar. Leaned against the porch post. "Just a fair assumption."

"I think you just tipped your hand, my friend," Jackson said.

Mark laughed. "You had to know there would be repercussions from giving me this black eye."

"Is that so? So you think you can just go around man-handling another man's wife and not have your own repercussions."

"Repercussions have repercussions."

"You're an evil man, Mark."

"Ha. You don't know the half of it. Who do you think is gonna take care of your little wife while you're rotting in prison?"

Jackson inhaled sharply. Felt his nerves tingle, his muscles tensed with anticipation. His fight with Mark had been fair.

Now, there would be no fairness. He didn't answer Mark's taunt.

He knew what he needed to do.

"But you'll never know," Mark continued. "Don't worry about her, though, she'll forget about you. She won't think about you while she's warming my bed."

Mark stood up, wiped his hands on his pants, clenched his fists. _This won't take long._

"You'll be rotting in prison, but she'll be well taken care of. Believe me, she have all her needs taken care of."

Mark moved slowly, like a lion stalking his prey.

"In fact, I suspect she'll be more content than she's ever been with you."

_He didn't know when to quit._

Mark never knew what hit him. Jackson grabbed him by the throat and threw him to the ground.

Mark made a gurgling sound.

"Do you want to live?" Jackson growled.

Mark whimpered

"I'm going to let you live," Jackson said. "You going to live because one, you're not worth killing," he tightened his grip on Mark's throat. "And two, because I want you to remember this moment. I want to remember that if you ever... if you ever... ever place a hand on Leah again or if you even so much as look in her direction with more than the utmost respect, reason number one will no longer apply. I will kill you."

He loosened his grip on Mark's throat so the man could breath. "I will kill you because at that point you will no longer be worthy of living."

Mark attempted to disentangle himself.

"And," Jackson said, "Even if I go to prison, I won't stay there forever and when I get out, you won't know it. So, you'll go around looking over your shoulder. Sleeping with one eye open at night. It won't do you any good, though, because you won't see me coming. You'll wake up one night and there I'll be.

"That's when you'll know I'm out of prison and that's when you'll know your miserable life has come to an end.

"Do you understand what I'm telling you?"

Mark grunted

"If you don't understand, I can end your misery right now."

He grunted again.

"If you understand, you might want to nod your head."

Mark approximated a nod.

"All right, then," Jackson said, releasing Mark.

Mark scowled.

Jackson growled. "Nope. Wrong attitude."

Jackson slammed his fist into Mark's face. Once. Then again.

And Mark was knocked out.

Jackson sat up, massaged his fist.

He looked up only to see half a dozen soldiers standing around them. With stupid grins on their faces.

One of them held a hand out to help Jackson up.

"Thank you," the soldier said.

Another solider, his arm bandaged, said, "We owe you one, sir. You've done a good deed today."

"It was my pleasure," Jackson said.

He went inside to Uncle Clark's study and opened his cabinet. He uncorked a bottle of whiskey, filled a shot glass, and downed it in one breath.

Felt the burn all the way down to his belly.

He sat in Uncle Clark's leather chair, closed his eyes, and allowed his nerves to settle.

Just as he felt he had regained control, the door slammed.

"You're not going to prison," Uncle Clark said. "for being a spy."

"Geez," Jackson said, "you scared the daylights out of me. Where the hell have you been?"

"I had something to take care of."

"That's rather mysterious."

Uncle Clark scoffed. "You're a fine one to talk about mysteriousness."

"You're probably right," Jackson conceded.

"You might, however, go to prison for assaulting an officer."

"Mark? He's no officer."

"Actually, he is. He's a lieutenant. And a spy."

"What? He's idiot. He couldn't possibly be a lieutenant, much less a spy."

"Spies come in all shapes and sizes... and all levels of intelligence.

"And lieutenants?"

"Unfortunately.

Jackson scowled at Uncle Clark. The man had been missing for three days. Now he was talking about spies like he was an expert. And he was talking about prison.

"Why do you say that about prison?"

"Because you've scared the ever loving daylights out of one of our best operatives."

"I assume you're talking about Mark, since he's the only man I might have scared lately, but the man put his hands on my wife."

"Who isn't really your wife."

"Now you're scaring the ever loving daylights out of me."

Uncle Clark laughed. "I wouldn't think that would be easy to do."

"Please explain to me what's going on."

Uncle Clark sat at the chair across from his own desk.

"As you well know, we have a network of spies across the south."

"Everyone knows that."

"Well, I didn't know that you were part of that network until two days ago."

"I don't think I'm part of the network."

"Granted, you and Stephen worked on the periphery, but the network has people involved at all levels. We have to in order to make it work.

"Go on.

"When Mark decided to mess with you, he didn't know who you were. He didn't know your connection."

"That shouldn't have mattered. He had no right."

"No, and he'll be dealt with. What's left of him."

Jackson shrugged. "I'm not sorry."

"I know you're not. Anyway, when you sent the courier to Major Taylor, you invoked all manner of investigation."

Jackson eyed his uncle suspiciously. "You seem to know far too much about my activities."

"I do know a lot."

"So here's what's going to happen," Uncle Clark said. "You're going to leave in the morning."

"You said I'm not going to prison."

"You're not going to prison. You're leaving of your own accord. And you're taking Leah with you. Where you two go is your business." He held up a hand. "I have a good idea of where that is, but don't tell me. I don't need to know."

"Fair enough.

"You're going to be retired from the Confederate army."

"I thought I already was retired."

"No, you weren't retired, you were on leave."

Jackson shrugged. "Semantics."

"Important nonetheless. Retirement requires different paperwork."

"I'm ready to go," Jackson said.

"I know. That's good. So we have an agreement. You'll leave without any trouble or fanfare?"

"I'll leave as soon as the sun is up."

"You have my blessings. There is, however, one more thing I need you to do."

# Chapter 13

Leah's morning started off pretty much like the last few mornings. With the light of dawn, she got up, got dressed, and took her writing box downstairs

After eating breakfast that one or another of the soldiers prepared, she went in search of a soldier who needed to have a letter penned for him.

Only today, she took a few minutes for herself.

She took her breakfast out back and sat at a little table to reflect on last night.

The soldiers were a bit more quiet this morning, especially when she was in the room, but she paid them little heed.

She hadn't seen Jackson since last night when he'd tucked her into bed and she had fallen soundly asleep. He was a most perplexing man.

A man who intrigued her immensely.

One minute he was kissing her with abandoned passion and the next he was nurturing her and tucking her in as though she was a child.

She wasn't sure what it was he wanted from her. What role she played in his life.

The man even invaded her dreams. Just last night, she had dreamed that he held her as she slept. She blushed at the vividness of the dream. He consumed her thoughts, both awake and even as she slept.

Yet when she woke this morning, she was alone in the bed. Alone with an inexplicable sense of deep loneliness.

Some things were not meant to be understood, she decided.

Pulling herself out of her thoughts, she noticed the two officers on horseback preparing to leave. She watched as they mounted and rode around to the road at the side of the house.

Their hoofbeats echoed as they left. She wondered how long it would be before she was able to return home.

"Miss Leah," a soldier called from the doorway. "Do you feel up to penning a letter this morning? I know it's early, but..."

"Of course," she said. "I understand." Usually when she was asked to write a letter, to meant a soldier was on his deathbed and time was of the essence. It was rather sad at how she had become so easily accustomed to that routine.

She took her writing box that had become her constant companion and followed the soldier inside.

He led her to of the soldiers who had been brought in just yesterday. He wasn't quite as young as many of the others, but not so old either. Probably about her age, Leah mused. Such a travesty, this war.

She sat next to him. "My name is Leah," she told him.

"I know. My name is Wyatt."

Something about his innocence pulled at her heart. Maybe she wasn't cut out for this work, she thought again.

"How are you feeling, Wyatt?"

"I've been better, but that's to be expected."

"What battle were you in?"

"The Battle of Mansfield."

"Did we win?"

The soldier laughed, then winced. "Unfortunately ma'am, that's difficult for me to know. I don't remember a whole lot."

She nodded. Placed a hand on his arm. "That's to be expected. It's not uncommon to forget things that happened following an explosion.

"That's what the doc tells me."

"Where are you from?" she asked.

"I'm from Powhattan."

She looked at him more closely now. Leaned forward. That little town was a stone's throw from her grandmother's home.

"Is that so? My grandmother is from Pleasant Hill."

He looked at her more closely now, too. "You don't say. It's a wonder we don't know each other."

"It is a wonder, but I don't recognize you. I left some time ago for boarding school and only just returned when the war started."

"That would explain it," he said.

"Who would you like to write to?" she asked.

"There's an elderly woman in my church who writes to me. I had all her letters until the explosion, then I lost them all."

"I'm sorry."

"Yeah, me too. But it's ok. I have her address memorized. I'd like to write her."

"All right," Leah said, taking about a fresh sheet of paper. "I'm ready," she said, choosing to write with a pencil today.

* * *

_Dear Maria Hudson,_

* * *

The pencil fell from Leah's fingers and clattered to the floor. As she reached to pick it up, she steadied herself. "I apologize," she said, "please continue."

"She's your grandmother," Wyatt said.

Leah nodded, unable to find her voice.

Wyatt smiled. "Nothing could have been more perfect."

* * *

_Thank you for faithfully sending me letters all these years. I never took the time to write back, but I always looked forward to getting your letters. When a letter came from you, my day was a little brighter. I had your letters to look forward to. I just wanted you to know that._

_Unfortunately, I have bad news. This will be my last correspondence. I was hit by a bullet and there was cannon fire involved, though I'm not sure which one did the most damage._

_I remember you always being there in church, always having a kind word for everyone. I remember your family and I'm sorry about your loss. Such good people. This war is a travesty, touching everyone on one level or another, but you took more than your share of the pain. And still, you give back more than anyone else._

_Whenever the evil of the war becomes overwhelming to me and I feel lost, I think of you and the goodness that you brought to the world. It helps to ward off some of the badness._

_I will hold a place there next to me in heaven, provided I make it. And if there isn't enough room for all, I'll give you my spot and take the alternative._

_Your granddaughter is penning this letter for me because my writing is illegible. I didn't want you to know that, but maybe it helps to explain some things. She is an angel. And I'm a firm believer that apples don't fall far from the tree._

_I haven't heard from you in some time. I can only hope that it's because you never heard back from me. I hope you are well and wish you all the best in this life._

_May God bless you and the angel that is your granddaughter._

_Wyatt_

* * *

Leah put the pen in Wyatt's hand and he signed his name. She put her head in her hands and covered her eyes. Allowed the sadness to sweep over her.

She had often thought her Grandmother wasted her time writing soldiers she barely knew. But here was evidence that she did good in the world.

"Excuse me for a minute," she said, and putting the letter in her little box, left the room, and went upstairs.

_I have to find Jackson._

She went to what was his bedroom and was now what she thought of as a war room. The door was open. She stood in the doorway and stared at him, waiting for him to turn to her.

When he saw her standing there, he dropped the map he held and reached her in seconds.

"What's wrong?" he asked, pulling her into his arms. Kissing the tears from her eyes, from her cheeks.

He reached down, put a hand under her knees and picked her up to carry her into her room. He kicked the door closed with his foot.

"I'm sorry," she said, "I don't mean to pull you away from your work."

He lifted her chin, examined her face. "I don't give a damn about the work when you look like this."

He sat in the chair, cradled her in his lap. There, safe in his lap, the tears came from deep inside her. She sobbed and he made cooing sounds. Until her sobbing was spent.

"Tell me what happened," he said. "Did someone hurt you?"

"No, no, not at all."

"What then? Tell me.

"I was writing a letter and it was to Grandma. It was someone she's been writing for years. I thought she was wasting her time. But this man, this soldier, this young man was so grateful. He was so grateful, it's inconceivable." She sobbed again.

"It's all right. You're going to be all right."

"It just meant so much to him. She did something to make his life better and now he's going to die." She looked into his eyes. "It's just like Stephen. I thought he didn't care because he never wrote. But there are so many reasons he may not have written back. She was so caring, so forgiving. And it meant so much to the solider. Maybe it meant that much to Stephen."

She was rambling. And she knew it. But she also knew she could do that with Jackson. She could ramble and he would follow.

"You're right," he said. "Her letters made his life better. And he didn't write because he didn't want you to know the hell he was going through."

"I can forgive him now."

"You never forgave him?"

"I don't know. I don't think I did. That soldier. That letter. It just all made so much sense to me.

"I think we can go soon."

"Go?"

"Yes, I think I can take you home soon. Don't say anything."

She wiped her nose on the handkerchief he handed her. "That's wonderful news," she said, but the tears started again, silent tears streaming down her cheeks.

"What is it my love?"

"You're taking me home.

"You want to go home, right?

She nodded. Took a deep breath. "Once you take me home, you'll be on your way." She felt her bottom lip trembling. Bit it. Closed her eyes.

_I knew this time was coming. I told myself I wouldn't let on._

He took her hands in his. Kissed her palm.

She took a ragged breath, prepared herself for the worst, and opened her eyes.

Jackson was grinning at her.

_Grinning?_

She tried to pull away, but he held her hands. "Leah."

She shook her head. _He thinks I'm clinging._

_"_ Leah, listen to me."

She grew still. Waited.

"I'm not leaving you. I never want to be apart from you again."

"I don't understand," she said. "You said you had to return home - to take of some things."

"I do have to take care of things, but not until after the war and only to sell my estate. In fact, I'm planning to take you with me. As long as you want me, I'll be there."

"As long as I want you?" she echoed.

"Yes. I'm not proposing, because I haven't asked your grandmother yet, but I want to marry you. So don't be thinking I'm going to just drop you off and leave."

A smile spread across her face. She bit her lip again.

"So you're thinking you want to live there - with me?"

"More than anything. But I'm not proposing."

She laughed. "Then I won't give you an answer."

"Good. And don't say anything to anyone.

"I won't say a word."

He kissed her on the lips. "I'm in love with you, you know," he said against her lips.

"I'm in love with you, too."

"You, Leah Hudson, are the best thing that ever happened to me."

He pressed his forehead to hers.

And Leah knew that she had found her heaven on earth.

# Epilogue

There were hundreds of things that needed to be done today. Laundry to wash, rinse, and hang, cornbread to mix and bake, potatoes to peel, cows to milk, and butter to churn. Things weren't so different now that the war had ended, Leah mused.

Looking up from the water basin where she scrubbed one of her dresses, her gaze landed on three horses frolicking in their new pen.

Perhaps things were a little different.

"Leah, the cookies are ready," Grandma said, coming out back with a plate piled with freshly baked cookies.

Leah's mouth watered. Grandma's eyesight deterioration seemed to have plateaued, and she could still manage a few things like baking.

"Wonderful!" she said, wiping her hands on her skirt and snagging a cookie from the plate as Grandma sat on the little bench that Jackson had built out of some lumber left over from building the horse pen.

As she bit into the soft treat, she felt the kick in her belly and placed a hand gently on her abdomen.

No, things were most definitely different now.

"Little Steph likes cookies, too?" Grandma laughed.

"Little Steph is gonna kick his way out if he isn't careful," Leah said. Stephen if it was a boy or Stephanie if it was a girl.

"I can hardly wait until that day comes," Grandma said.

"You can't be any more ready than I am," Leah said with a sigh.

At the sound of horse's hooves, Leah caught sight of Jackson galloping toward them.

Leah's face brightened.

"Your husband returns," Grandma stated.

Jackson dismounted and pulled her into a hug, gentle now, with the baby to protect and planted a kiss on her lips.

"Father McVay sends his regards," he said to Grandma as he took a cookie from the plate.

"He took the horse, then?"

"I've never seen a man so resistant to accept a gift, especially when the gift is a replacement."

"He can be a bit stubborn sometimes."

"I suppose stubbornness and loyalty go hand-in-hand."

"I rode back by the south field," Jackson said. "We can start planting cotton soon."

Leah smiled. Jackson had taken to the role of planter with the same enthusiasm he took to everything else.

Lifting her face to the warmth of the sun, she knew that she was blessed. So much destruction had come from the war.

But out of that destruction a new family had been forged. Soon the house would be filled with the sounds of children.

Jackson took her hand, turned her to him and kissed her forehead.

Again, that mixture of passion and compassion that melted her heart.

"Let's get you off your feet," he said, guiding her to sit next to Grandma on the bench.

And Leah wondered how simple everyday life could be filled with such contentment.

* * *

Keep reading for a preview of _Beyond Enemy Lines_

# Beyond Enemy Lines

### Chapter 1

_Natchez, Mississippi_

_October 1863_

"I'll kill those yanks! Then I'll whup their asses back to the North."

"Caleb, you're not allowed to say that!"

Sophia sighed and dropped the socks she was knitting into her lap. "Jenny's right. Eat your peas."

"I hate peas," Caleb insisted.

"I know, Baby, but it's all we have," Sophia said, with the patience of repetition.

At eleven and seven, the children, Caleb and Jenny were old enough to understand the hardships created by the war. Understanding it didn't mean they liked it.

"Sophia is going to bring us something else, right Sophia?"

Sophia pictured the pass tucked into her skirt. The pass that would allow her to travel to the hospital on the edge of town to tend injured Yankees. She shivered inside. Tending wounded Yankees in exchange for food.

She straightened her shoulders. _Food other than peas_.

"That's right, Jenny. Tonight we'll have food to eat. Not peas." Jenny had always been a reasonable, logical child.

"Can I go with you?"

Sometimes reasonable and logical translated into too old for her age. "No, Dear, it's grownups only."

"I'm seven."

Sophia smiled. "That's right. It won't be long before you're old enough." _Several years._

"When Jenny's old enough to go to the Yankee hospital, I'll be old enough to kill the Yanks."

Sophia sighed. _And be just like your father. Not a chance._ In the year since their mother's death, her siblings had begun to believe they were grown up. At age twenty, Sophia found herself in the role of parent.

_Parents_. She reminded herself. Their father had been killed at the Battle of Bull Run and their mother had succumbed to a broken heart not even a year later. Looking down at the pearl ring on her finger, the ring that had belonged to her mother, she took strength that her parents' lives had been cut short, but they had loved deeply and unreservedly.

"Eat your peas, Caleb, and God willing, we'll have something better tonight."

Caleb took a bite of the mushed peas, peas that even Sophia could hardly stomach, and swallowed with his face contorted into a scowl.

A knock at the door interrupted their breakfast. A shiver of nerves ran down Sophia's spine. She glanced at the grandfather clock. Mary was early.

"Miss Mary's here!" Jenny jumped up and ran to the door.

"Wait!" Sophia cried, running after her, dropping her knitting to the floor. "Make sure it's her."

"I know," Jenny, said, stopping to look up at her sister with a look of indignation that only a seven-year-old sister could give. Jenny peaked out the window before opening the door and throwing her arms around Mary.

"You're early," Sophia commented, but softened her words with a smile.

"I didn't want to be late. We're a bit hungry over there."

"I can offer you some peas."

"She can have my peas," Caleb chimed in from the doorway.

"We have peas, no thank you."

"Does your father know where you're going?

"Oh, my Lord, no." Mary said, moving from Jenny to hug Caleb. Caleb inched back at the display of affection, but Mary appeared not to notice. "Do you have your papers?"

Sophia patted her skirt. "Did they say how much food we'll get?"

Mary shrugged. "I heard six biscuits and a slab of ham."

"Ham!" Caleb exclaimed, jumping excitedly.

"Yes, ham," Mary said, tousling his hair. "We should go," she said.

"I'm ready," Sophia said, then turned to her sister. "Do not open the door."

Jenny rolled her eyes. "I mean it. Do not open the door to _anyone_." She turned to Caleb. "That goes for you, too."

Caleb crossed his heart.

"Work on your studies. I want a full reckoning tonight of what you've learned."

"Let's go," Mary said, glancing at the clock.

Sophia pulled on her cloak, tattered a little from wear around the edges and followed Mary out the front door. It was early yet, barely daylight, keeping the residents inside. Yankee soldiers, however, were scattered along the grounds of their town estate named Beaumont, named after Sophia's great grandfather, standing outside their tents, sipping coffee smoking cigarettes. Interesting that they had plenty while those inside the homes struggled to keep their hunger at bay.

Sophia pulled up the hood of her cloak and kept her head down. Mary was much bolder, but she had ventured out on a regular basis allowing her to grow more confident among the Yankees. Perhaps it Sophia hadn't been caring for the children she, too, would have ventured out into town more often.

They veered right at the intersection and walked toward downtown, each lost in her own thoughts. Two blocks down, they saw a group of women gathered up ahead.

"I don't recognize anyone, do you?" Sophia asked.

"No."

Sophia hesitated.

"It's alright," Mary assured her. "Everyone we knew has scattered and there are more strangers in town from the country."

Sophia continued toward the girls. Only one girl wore a hoop skirt as Sophia and Mary did. The other four wore dresses that had no hoops under them, leaving them falling straight to the ground. And the material was worn, much like Sophia wore for chores. A little coil of uncertainty niggled in the pit of her stomach.

"Are you sure this is right?" She whispered to Mary.

"You're a worry wart," Mary responded.

_I should get out more._ She straightened her back. _Biscuits and ham_.

The girls were quiet, with only darting eye contact.

They waited for about ten minutes before a buckboard wagon approached with two Yankee soldiers sitting on the front.

"I told you we needed to come ahead," Mary whispered as the wagon came to stop in front of them.

"Good morning, Ladies," the tallest soldier said.

A couple of girls responded, but mostly they kept their eyes down. What had become of their spunk? Had the war taken everything from these women's gumption?

The soldiers jumped from the wagon and went around to the back. The shorter one unloaded a step to help them get into the wagon. The wagon was empty – nothing to sit on.

"All aboard," the soldier said, gesturing for them to come forward and board the wagon. When no one moved, he added. "Now don't be shy."

Mary went first, tugging Sophia behind her. "Come on girls. Let's get moving."

Once Mary was safely in the wagon, Sophia gathered her skirts and put a foot on the single step. One of the soldiers grasped her elbow and put a hand behind her back. He then guided her up into the wagon. Crouching, Sophia moved to the front to sit on the floor of the wagon next to Mary.

As she gathered her skirts around her, she heard a rip in the material of her skirt.

"Oh no," she groaned, examining the rip in the bottom of her green dress - her second best dress.

Mary leaned over to examine it. "You can fix it," she said.

"I might can," she said, the loop of material in her hands. "But in the meantime, I have to wear it this way."

"It'll be alright," Mary said. "It looks like no one wore their best."

The girl in a gray dress, the one wearing the hoop, looked askance at her. Mary just shrugged.

Minutes later, all the girls were loaded in the wagon, the soldiers back up front, and they rolled away from town. Sophia pulled her hood around her face and kept her face down to avoid being seen by anyone she might know.

They traveled along to the outskirts of town and went down a wooded road that led to a house Sophia didn't recognize. "Where are we?" She whispered to Mary.

"It's supposed to be the hospital," Mary answered.

It was a large, white columned mansion with peeling paint and a sagging upper balcony. The house was surrounded by small tents and Yankees swarming everywhere. The grounds echoed with the sounds of male voices and laughter. Some of the Yankee soldiers were in full uniform. Others wore white shirts with blue pants. Several of the men stopped what they had been doing and stared at the girls.

Sophia shivered. There was no safety here. They were in the belly of the enemy. The wagon came to stop and the girls were unloaded without incident.

"Let's go inside," their escort directed. The girls followed him up the steps to the front door of the house. _Where were the owners?_

"Wait here," the soldier said and went upstairs, leaving the seven girls huddled together in the foyer of what obviously used to be a grand home. The floor was littered with dirt and leaves that had been tracked in from outside. The walls had been stripped of any decoration, leaving a hollowness to the house.

"The soldiers seem nice," Mary said, attempting to strike up a conversation with the girl in the hoop skirt. "My name is Mary and this is Sophia."

"I'm Abigail," the girl said.

"I'm pleased to make your acquaintance," Sophia said.

"Likewise," Abigail said, making eye contact for the first time.

"Where do you think the hospital is?" Sophia asked.

Abigail looked confused before breaking eye contact. Sophia and Mary exchanged a questioning look.

"All right, Ladies," the soldier called, bouncing back down the stairs. "Just wait here. The Lieutenant will be down in a few moments."

Moments later, the Lieutenant strode down the stairs and into the foyer. He was tall and slim, his hair dark, cut short. He was a bit older than the soldiers who had brought them here – at least thirty years of age. His face was clean-shaven. As he passed by, Sophia caught a whiff of soap. "Let's start with you," he demanded, pointing to Abigail. "Come with me."

Abigail trembled, but her feet remained frozen.

"It's all right," Sophia whispered. "Go ahead."

Abigail met her gaze and returned Sophia's nod. As though going to the gallows, she walked into what appeared to be the office to stand in front of a desk. Sophia inched closer to peek through the door.

"Name?" Wearing a scowl, he picked up the quill and dipped it into the ink.

Though she strained to listen, Sophia couldn't make out the remainder of their conversation. A few minutes later, Abigail was escorted by the young soldier past them and out toward the back of the house. Abigail kept her gaze down.

"Next," the Lieutenant called. No one moved, not even Mary.

"You," he called, pointing to Sophia.

"Me?" she mouthed, laying a hand on her chest.

"Yes," the man said, gesturing her to come forward.

Sophia swallowed thickly and, lifting her chin, went into what looked to be a man's study and stood in the middle of the room. Books, no doubt left by the owner, lined two sides of the room. The third side was lined with windows that looked on the grounds, and the fourth held a massive oak desk littered with papers. The room smelled of old books and tobacco. A credenza behind the desk held decanters of whiskey and glasses.

Wearing a scowl, he picked up the quill and dipped it into the ink.

"Name?"

"Sophia."

He scratched the pen on the paper. "Last name?"

"Martinique."

"Address?"

Sophia recited her address.

"Any illnesses?"

"No," she said, feeling a sudden surge of relief for the first time since leaving the house with Mary. It all made sense now. If they were to be working in the hospital, they had to be cleared... – and healthy.

She smiled.

The Lieutenant looked up at that moment and froze. Their eyes locked. His were a clear sapphire blue. She tilted her head to the side, her face softening.

Slowly, he set down his quill. "Edward," he shouted. Sophia jumped, her relief draining. _What have I done?_

When Edward didn't immediately appear, the Lieutenant shouted his name again. Seconds later, the taller soldier appeared in the doorway. "Edward is in the back, Sir."

"Never mind, escort Miss Sophia across the hall and have her wait there for me.

* * *

The men wanted sex and despite General Gresham's attempts to keep the men away from the sordid prostitutes of Natchez Under the Hill, they managed to find their way there. The place was like a magnet for the lonely soldiers. Three of the men had already been killed as a result of fighting in the under the hill saloons. And two others had gone missing.

Joshua inhaled his cigar and blew smoke into the cool morning air. He was no saint by any means, but after one trip under the hill, he vowed it would be his last. The prostitutes were of the most unsavory ilk and he became an avid, albeit mostly silent, supporter of General Gresham's opposition to the men partaking of the women under the hill.

It seemed that Joshua's one off-hand statement of agreement had been sufficient to spur General Gresham to enact his latest scheme.

"We need to give the men another option," General Gresham had said.

"Options?" Joshua's mind had gone down roads that were better left unexplored.

"Yes. They need to have women come to them."

"You want to bring the prostitutes up here?"

"In a way, yes."

"How is that different?"

"They would be different prostitutes."

"Some of the men use the laundresses behind the camp."

"Same idea."

"Help me understand."

"We can bring ladies from town out to the officers."

"Ladies?"

"Yes. Not prostitutes. Ladies for companionship."

"You want to turn Southern ladies into prostitutes?"

Although General Gresham had denied it, Joshua knew that ultimately what the man proposed would indeed turn ladies into prostitutes.

Joshua wasn't convinced that scheme was much better than allowing the men to seek actual prostitutes under the hill. He inhaled his fine cigar from home and watched as the men settled into their morning routine, doubtlessly bored and lonely. Joshua harbored serious doubts that they would attract ladies of solid reputation.

And considered Sophia Martinique. At first glance, he had thought she was another lady of questionable morals. Her ripped dress, dragging along the floor had given him a false first impression. However, upon focusing his attention upon her face, he knew. _This one is different._

The war brought unfortunate circumstances to most. Hunger led many to do things otherwise out of character.

What had led Sophia Martinique to respond to an ad offering bread, beans, potatoes, and ham? What situation of desperation had given her the motivation to venture into the heart of the Yankee camp?

Putting out his cigar, he made a determination. He would find out what brought her here and make sure she received the food that had been promised to her.

Furthermore, he would keep Sophia from the hands of those who would doubtless take advantage of her plight.

Joshua turned and went back inside, relieved that only seven girls had shown up and that the job of placing them was finished for the day.

"Sir," Edward said, stepping to stand next to Joshua.

"What is it Edward?"

"Sir, I was wondering if, um..." Edward's face flushed. Edward wasn't more than seventeen years old.

"You're wondering about the ladies," Joshua said, taking pity on the soldier.

"Um. Yes sir." Edward put his head down. Then Edward looked up hopefully. "What are you going to do with the one in the parlor?"

The heat rushed to Joshua's cheeks. _As though she were a piece of furniture._ "I'm not going to do anything with her." He gritted his teeth, forcing himself not to yell.

"I'm sorry, sir."

"Get out of here."

Edward darted off, leaving Joshua to regain composure. This was going to difficult as he had suspected. General Gresham wasn't even on the premises today, leaving Joshua to implement his hair-brained scheme. Joshua had to determine which girl went to which officer, then at the end of the day, he would have to make sure each girl received her promised rations. He had a stack of gunny sacks stacked in the study ready to fill.

He went to the door of the parlor and, leaning against the door jamb, observed Sophia Martinique. She was young – no more than twenty or so, yet old enough to know what she was doing. Of course, three year ago, when the war began, she would have been much younger. She was likely confused. He shook his head. His tendency to analyze everyone was tiresome. He would just have to find out.

She wore a faded blue dress, ripped at the hem, as he'd noticed earlier. Her deep brown hair cascaded down her back in loose curls. Her features were delicate, her skin porcelain. She was thin, but not to the point of being emaciated. She wore a pearl ring on her finger. Married perhaps. She sat on the edge of the chair, her back straight, her eyes straight ahead. Her chin was held high, her expression blank.

"Good morning, Miss Sophia," Joshua said, pushing away from the door.

She startled. A shadow of fear crossed her features before she regained her composure.

"Good morning," she answered softly.

He crossed to the cabinet, took out a bottle of sherry and a shot glass. Poured a splash into the glass.

"Would you like some?" He asked, already knowing the answer.

"No, thank you," she answered, only a tinge of judgment in her voice.

He smiled. If she had accepted, he would have been shocked.

He pulled a straight chair a few inches in front of her and sat, swirling the sherry in his glass. "Why are you here?" he asked, more to himself than to her.

Her eyes met his – full of questions.

"I don't understand," she responded.

"Nor do I." He sipped the sherry. Felt the burn in his throat.

"I wanted to help people."

He nearly strangled on the sherry. "Help people?"

"Of course."

"Yankees?"

"Is that so bad?" she answered. "The men are lonely and they need someone with them – to help them."

Joshua reconsidered. Perhaps Miss Sophia had limitations of the mind. Her green eyes were intense, knowledgeable. She didn't look feeble-minded.

"Have you ever ah... helped Yankees before?"

"No," she said, seemingly taken aback by the question. "Is experience needed?"

Joshua smiled, against his will. "No. Experience is not a requirement."

"I assumed that you would teach me what I needed to know."

"Of course," he said. _Oh my._

"Why then, have I been singled out? I know that Mary, also, has no experience."

"How do you know this?"

"She and I have been friends since birth."

Joshua swallowed the remainder of his sherry in one gulp. "You'll stay here today – with me." This woman needed to be protected from herself as much as from his men.

"Very well," she said, uncertainly. "There's no one for me to tend?"

"I admire your forthrightness," he said.

She flushed. "I merely wish to clarify my role."

"Today, you have no task."

"Oh," she said, her disappointment evident. "Will I still be paid?"

She had come here, after all, with the promise of food. Perhaps her motivation was simply that. Hunger.

"Of course. Are you hungry then?"

As though on cue, her stomach growled. She shook her head.

"I'll bring you something," he said.

Joshua stepped out of the parlor and loosened his tie. Sophia was an enigma. Her eyes spoke of knowledge. Her face of innocence. Yet her words bespoke of knowledge and nonchalance. Nonchalance that seemed unlikely. Yet she claimed to lack experience. He would have to discover the motivation behind her presence here to understand her.

In the dining room, he put half a dozen biscuits and a small jar of strawberry jam on a plate. He poured a glass of water and took both back to the parlor where Sophia waited.

He placed both on the table next to Sophia. "For you," he said.

She smiled.

Again, his mind went blank and he was dazzled.

"You're kind. Will anyone be joining us?" Her voice was soft, delicate, like her features. Educated. Yes, she was different.

"No. Why do you ask?"

"You brought enough biscuits to feed an army."

He chuckled. "You can take the rest with you."

"Thank you."

"I'll be just across the hall," he gestured, "if you need anything."

She nodded.

Joshua closed the door behind him. And took a deep breath. He'd heard about Southern women who put men under their spell. Perhaps she had cast some spell upon him.

* * *

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Beyond Enemy Lines

# Kathryn Kaleigh

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# Also by Kathryn Kaleigh

**HISTORICAL ROMANCE**

Southern Belle Civil War Collection Volume One

Southern Belle Civil War Collection Volume Two

Southern Belle Civil War Collection Volume Three

Southern Belle Civil War Collection Volume Four

Southern Belle Civil War Collection Volume Five

Southern Belle Civil War Collection Volume Six

Southern Belle Civil War Collection Volume Seven

Love Always

Beyond Enemy Lines

Hearts Under Siege

Hearts Under Fire

Wait for Me

Take Me Home

Keep Me Safe

Away Down South in Dixie

The Reluctant Bride

Battlefield Promise

An Errant Yankee

Guardian Angel

Southern Siren

Catch Me

Rebel at Heart

The Waltz

Bewitched

The Fortune Teller

The Message

Duly Warned

Southerners in Blue

Blue and Gray

Without a Word

Unexpected Arrangement

Christmas Eve Gift

Snow Angels at Christmas

This Christmas

Just One Letter

A Yankee's Honor

A Woman's Honor

Southern Hearts

One Night at Christmas

Married at Christmas

The Night Before Christmas

Southern Fire and Ice

Moonlight Stroll

On a Snowy Winter Morning

**CHURNING BUTTER AND COMPANIONSHIP COLLECTION**

For Churning Butter and Companionship

The Locket

Westward Bound

Westward Destiny

A Woman's Honor

Southern Hearts

Churning Butter and Companionship Collection Volume One

**TIME TRAVEL ROMANCE**

Once Upon a Time Special Collection

Once Upon a Time Collection Volume One

Once Upon a Time Collection Volume Two

Twist of Fate

When the Stars Align

Once in a Blue Moon

Once Upon a Christmas

Falling Through to Forever

Storm Born

Timeless Christmas

The Cameo

Harvest Moon

Flower Moon

Crescent Moon

Jazzy

Sapphire Seconds

The Phantom Train

Moonbeams and Time Whispers

**TIME WHISPERS SERIES**

Time Whispers Collection Volume One

Time Whispers Collection Volume Two

Time Whispers Mississippi River Collection

Time Whispers

Arkansas Time Whispers

Mississippi Time Whispers

Missouri Time Whispers

Tennessee Time Whispers

Louisiana Time Whispers

Illinois Time Whispers

Iowa Time Whispers

Minnesota Time Whispers

Wisconsin Time Whispers

Alabama Time Whispers

Georgia Time Whispers

South Carolina Time Whispers

**CUPID'S KISS ROMANCE COLLECTION**

Cupid's Kiss Collection Volume 1

Cupid's Kiss Collection Volume 2

Cupid's Kiss Collection Volume 3

Cupid's Kiss Collection Volume 4

Cupid's Arrow - Cupid's Kiss Collection Volume 5

Cupid's Kiss Collection Volume 6

Begin Again

Love Again

Falling Again

Just Happened

Just Maybe

Just Pretend

Just Because

Just Us

Just Once

Just Stay

Just Chance

Just Believe

Home for Christmas

Just One Night

Paper Airplanes

Map of the Heart

Maybe One Day

Just Christmas

In the Beginning

Miracle at Christmas

Magic of Christmas

A Chance Christmas

After Beginning Again

Snowball's Chance

**ROMANTIC SUSPENSE COLLECTION**

Serenity

Lost and Found

Courting Alley Cat

All I Want for Christmas

**STAND ALONE**

Shattered Magenta Short Story Collection

Spells and Other Useful Things

The Daffodils

Liberty Stance

The Unexpected

Finding Christmas

The Promise Point

Take the Leap

Silver Linings

Once More with Love

A Fairy Tale Christmas

Cupid Wings

Hidden

After the Summer

A Rainy Sunday Morning

A Rainy Monday Morning

A Rainy Tuesday Morning

A Rainy Wednesday Morning

A Rainy Thursday Morning

A Rainy Friday Morning

A Rainy Saturday Morning

Rainy Mornings Collection

Unbalanced Deception

Fractured

Apartment 602

Shattered Memories

Summer Love

Almost Midnight

Change of Heart

**FATED MATES SEXY ROMANCE**

Riley's Mate

Aiden's Mate

Brayden's Mate

**KAT TALES**

Kat Tales Volume One

Kat Tales Volume Two

Kat Tales Volume Three

Kat Tales Volume Four

Kat Tales Volume Five
