On the first Sunday in June, there were at least another twenty men in the congregation than had been there the previous Lord’s Day. It appeared news of Reverend Adair’s fine preaching was spreading.
From her chair near the organ, Shannon was pleased to see that Joe Burkette, whom she’d met the previous day, was among the newcomers that morning. And the way his eyes kept turning in her direction, she couldn’t help thinking she might be the reason he’d attended, that he’d come to see her rather than to hear her father preach the Word of God.
She shouldn’t be pleased by that thought, but she was. It flattered her to have a handsome Southern gentleman notice her. Back before the war, she’d enjoyed the attentions of many such gallant men of Virginia.
Shannon pictured herself in one of her beautiful ball gowns, dancing in the arms of her dear Benjamin, resplendent in his uniform of gray with gold trimming. Oh, she’d been the envy of all the young ladies of the county when he’d asked for her hand in marriage. Benjamin Bluecher Hood had been quite the catch, heir to a great tobacco plantation.
But Benjamin was dead, and his family’s plantation had been destroyed by the invading Union Army. Oh, how she hated the Yankees.
Father would be ashamed of me.
She lowered her eyes again.
“My dear girl, there is enough blame to go around. The Confederacy is not without fault in this civil war,” her father would say to her, as he’d said before. “And besides, we must love our enemies. We must do good to those who spitefully use us.”
She knew that was true, of course, but it was hard after all she’d seen and endured. At the very least she knew her father would never have accepted assignment to this territory if not for the war. They could have gone on living in Virginia, living the genteel lives they’d always known, spending their time with beloved friends.
“‘We know that all things work together for good to them that love God, to them who are the called according to His purpose,’” her father would add. “Even from war, Shannon. He can work good even from war, for He is sovereign.”
She wanted to believe him. She wanted to believe that one day she would look back and see that God had brought good out of so much misery and loss. But it was hard to do. Hard to believe when tens of thousands had died on the battlefields or from sickness. When tens of thousands more had been severely wounded, many of them losing limbs or eyes. When civilians were left in hunger and want or forced to move far from the homes they loved. What good could come out of that?
She felt an awkward hush in the sanctuary and looked toward her father—who was likewise looking at her, waiting. Realizing she’d missed her cue, she moved to the organ bench and began to play the closing hymn, hoping her face didn’t look as flushed as it felt.
Miss Adair’s embarrassment, Matthew noted as he joined the rest of the congregation in song, had brought a pink hue to her cheeks that he could see even from the last pew of the sanctuary. Rather than detracting from her beauty, the heightened color only made her more so. She was without a doubt the prettiest female in the church that morning. And she was likely the only unmarried one, other than his widowed sister.
Unmarried.
Married.
It was a ludicrous idea, what Alice had suggested: that he should take a wife.
Matthew married to Shannon Adair.
That was an even more ludicrous idea. Even if he wanted to marry her, she would never want to marry him. She thought him a fool— or something worse—because he refused to choose a side in the war. And maybe she was right. Maybe he was a fool for not giving the war much thought. It seemed far away, but he supposed it wasn’t. If the Confederacy won the conflict, it would change this nation forever. If the Union won . . . Well, the nation would be changed because of that too.
After the closing strains of the amen, Alice touched his arm and softly said, “She would be a good choice.”
He glanced down at his sister. “I don’t know what you mean.”
“Yes, you do.”
“She doesn’t think much of me, Alice.”
“You could change her mind.”
He offered the crook of his arm. “I doubt it.”
Alice glanced once more toward the organ. “Perhaps I can help. After all, she has agreed to spend a great deal of time with me and with Todd until . . . until she’s no longer needed.” She offered him a courageous smile.
It didn’t remove the sting from her words, the reminder that she was dying and there was nothing he could do to change it.
Together they left the church, complimenting the reverend on his sermon as they passed him in the narthex. Then they made their way slowly up the hillside toward home. Todd raced on ahead of them, eager to get home to play with Nugget.
“Stay in sight,” Alice called to him.
“I will, Ma.”
The boy was obedient. Matthew had to give him that. But he couldn’t fend for himself. He still needed looking after. Nine was young to be orphaned and living in a gold camp. He would need his uncle to make wise decisions regarding his care and upbringing. When Matthew returned to driving stage—and he would return to it—he’d have to know Todd was in good hands. If he was a wealthy man, he supposed he could send the boy off to a boarding school. But he wasn’t wealthy.
Wasn’t likely to ever be wealthy. Which brought him right back to his sister’s suggested solution: a wife.
When Shannon stepped outside the main doors of the church, she found Joe Burkette standing at the bottom of the steps. He smiled and tipped his hat when he saw her.
“Miss Adair.”
“Mr. Burkette.”
“A fine service. I told your father so already.”
So he was waiting for her and not her father. Once again, she felt a rush of pleasure.
“Might I walk you home?” he asked.
This was the second time in two days that Joe had made this offer.
Since her home was a mere stone’s throw from the church, it wasn’t as if she needed an escort, but it flattered her that he seemed intent on looking out for her.
“Civilization can come slowly to the camps,” Joe said as she took his arm and they began walking. “A fine minister like your father will go a long way toward bringing that to pass in Grand Coeur.”
Yesterday she’d cared only for the news he could share about what was happening in Virginia. But today she was growing more curious about the man. “What is it you do here, Mr. Burkette?”
“I own the livery stable.” He smiled as he leaned closer, his voice lowering, as if sharing a secret. “It has been my observation that those who provide goods and services to miners become far richer than the miners themselves. Of course, that doesn’t mean I don’t hope to strike it rich on my own claim.”
This surprised her. Mining for gold didn’t seem a gentlemanly profession, and Joe Burkette seemed a gentleman. But then, society was quite different here in the West, a truth she had best accept.
“Perhaps I might take you for a buggy ride tomorrow afternoon. I’d like to show you my mining claim, if you’re interested.”
The image of Alice Jackson and her son—along with Matthew Dubois—popped into Shannon’s mind. She’d seen them that morning, sitting in the last pew. That the effort to attend church had taken its toll upon Alice had been obvious to Shannon, as had Matthew’s concern for his sister. She supposed a man could not be all bad if he could care so much for his family. Perhaps she’d judged him too harshly when they first met. Her father seemed to believe so.
“Miss Adair?”
She shook her head, returning her attention to Joe Burkette. “It’s a kind invitation, sir, but I’m afraid I won’t be able to accept.” Reaching the parsonage, she released his arm. “You see, I’m helping to care for a member of our congregation who is ill. I shall be quite occupied most days with my nursing duties.”
“Then perhaps another time.” He sounded disgruntled, as if he wasn’t used to being refused.
She smiled, hoping to soften her refusal. “Yes, perhaps another time.”
Joe took a step back, tipped his hat again, and then wished her a good day before walking away.
How odd. She should have felt sharp disappointment that she couldn’t accept his invitation. It was ages and ages since a handsome young man—with all of his limbs intact—had called upon her. And Mr. Burkette was certainly both handsome and young. It also wasn’t as if she had no curiosity to see a mining claim. She did.
And yet she wasn’t disappointed.
Nor was it Joe’s image that lingered in her mind as she turned and entered the parsonage.
Dearest Katie,
I pray that you and your mother are doing well. I was informed yesterday that a major battle has taken place in Cold Harbor. I hope against hope that the news is wrong, that General Lee has not been pushed south as far as Spotsylvania. You promised you would write often, and I watch with anticipation for a letter from you so that I might know you are well and safe.
Father and I have been in Grand Coeur for two weeks. We have settled into the parsonage and have hired an Oriental woman, a Christian, to cook and clean for us. Her name is Sun Jie. Her husband, Wu Lok, owns the mercantile where we do most of our shopping. We were advised that he is the most honest merchant in town, and he seems to have the best prices as well. They live in a section of Grand Coeur known as Chinatown. I find myself quite fond of Sun Jie, and I am fascinated by her stories of China. In appearance, she looks to be no more than thirteen, but she is almost my own age.
In my last letter, I shared that I wasn’t sure what I would do with my time and that I missed helping Dr. Crenshaw. It seems that God was watching as I wrote those words, for He has sent me to care for a woman who is, according to the local physician, dying. Her name is Alice Jackson, and she is a widow with a nine-year-old son. Mrs. Jackson came to Grand Coeur soon after our own arrival to live with her brother. She told me she expects us to become good friends, but I do not see how that would be possible. She is a Unionist. Her husband was killed fighting for the Yankees. If he had not died before Benjamin, it could have been her husband who shot my fiancé. How can there be friendship between two women who support such different causes?
I also took an instant dislike to her brother. Mr. Dubois stated in our first conversation that he does not care who wins the war, that it makes little difference to him. Can you imagine? But Father does not seem bothered by this man’s point of view. In fact, I believe he thinks rather highly of Mr. Dubois. Heaven knows why.
A sudden image in her mind of Matthew caused Shannon to pause in her writing. It was tempting to describe him to her dear friend— tall, dark hair, blue eyes, firm jaw, broad shoulders, muscular arms, large hands. But why would she when he meant nothing to her? Better to think on someone who could mean something to her.
I have also made the acquaintance of a gentleman from North Carolina. His name is Joe Burkette, and he owns and operates the livery stable in Grand Coeur. His grandfather knew my grandparents. I believe he has taken an interest in me. Perhaps I shall write more about him in the future.
I will continue to watch for a letter from you. I pray that the tides will turn soon for the Confederacy.
Your devoted friend,
Shannon Adair