Chapter 1

 

Michigan, May 1861

 

The barn doors had been thrown open, allowing the night air to cool the overly warm structure and the eager crowd of dancers. Samantha Whitefield fanned her flushed cheeks as she maneuvered through the onlookers toward the barn’s opening. She’d danced every song so far, and while she happily planned to continue until the farewell party was over, she hoped for a moment to catch her breath.

The need for fresh air drew her all the way outside, where a pleasant breeze pushed the heat from her cheeks and played with strands of her dark blond hair. The nearby budded trees were silver in the bright moon. The beauty of the evening contrasted so sharply with the knowledge that somewhere far away men had begun fighting—and dying—a fight that the young men of the town would soon join. Including Rexford Montgomery. A tremor of misgiving, the first she’d felt all evening, rocked through her and hardened in her stomach.

“There you are.”

Samantha knew the voice without turning. It was Rex. Her best friend. Her longtime neighbor. And the boy she’d bested as many times as she’d lost to during their shared years at the one-room schoolhouse up the road. Their competitive dares hadn’t ended, either, when Rex, two years her senior, had graduated. Though Samantha had enjoyed being the shining star of the classroom for those two years.

Except now that she was eighteen, she’d noticed things about Rex that she hadn’t before. Like the way his jaw bristled with tiny dark hairs in the late afternoon. Or the way his blue eyes matched the sky when he was happy. Or the way his arms muscled beneath his shirt when he worked around his family’s farm.

“What are doing out here?” He came to a stop beside her and nudged her shoulder with his broad one. “Thought you’d dance till dawn.”

Samantha shot him a haughty look, if only to cover the rapid footfalls of her pulse. When had the beat of her heart become tied to his nearness? “I will, soon as I rest my feet a moment.”

He folded his arms loosely across his chest and stared up at the moon. “Sure is pretty. I hope the moon looks the same down South.” He threw her a grin. “Can’t wait to find out.”

His arrogant tone jerked a frown from her lips. “You sound happy to go.”

“Of course I am.” Rex turned to face her. “I want to see more of the world than just our tiny corner. Remember all those places Miss Rogers taught us about? New York? New Orleans? Paris? London?”

“But you aren’t headed South to travel, Rex. You’re going to be a soldier.”

The uneasy knot inside her tightened at her own words. She couldn’t imagine her life without him. They might be too old for their dares, as her older sisters were constantly reminding her, but their competitive friendship had been something Samantha could always count on, something that would always be there.

“I’m going to come back, Sammie.” His hands came to rest on her shoulders, firm yet comforting. Only he and her father still called her by her childhood nickname. In the moonlight, his eyes were oddly serious. “Which is why I’ve been meaning to ask you something all night.”

Her heart picked up a quick tempo again. “What is it?”

Rex glanced around, then taking her hand in his, he led her around the side of the barn. “This is better.”

“Better for what?” Samantha moistened her lips. She expected him to release her at any moment and restore order to her pulse. But instead he placed her hand against his chest and covered it with his own.

“For what I have to say.” Though the shadows obscured most of his face, his intense gaze was hard to miss. “I’ve wanted to ask you this for a month. Ever since I decided to volunteer.” He emitted a half growl, half cough, the telltale sign he was nervous. “I want you to be my girl. I have for a long time.”

Samantha blinked. Surely this was all a lovely dream, not unlike the ones she’d had over the last six months. “Wh-what do you mean? Be your girl?”

“You know, wait for me. Promise your heart to me, and no one else. Until I get back.” He placed a gentle kiss on the pad of her index finger, causing shivers up her arm despite the temperate night. What would it be like for her lips to meet his?

Her muddled brain finally began to work and her first thoughts were of incredulity. “Why me?” He could have his pick of any girl in town, any girl in the county. He had for years.

“Is it so hard to believe,” he answered in a low voice, “that all this time I’ve been trying to win our dares, I’d already lost my heart to you?”

The words rang through her, as inspiring and appealing as church bells. Had their longtime friendship turned into something more, for both of them?

Before she could decide, Rex leaned toward her and brushed his lips over hers. It was as if she were dancing again, her heartbeat thumping as fast now as her feet had earlier. Samantha sucked in a sharp breath of surprise, but she didn’t move, afraid she’d break the hypnotic spell of the moonlight and Rex’s entreaty.

Her patience was rewarded. Rex tugged her closer, and this time when his mouth met hers, it was with greater confidence. A thrill traveled the length of her, from her bare head to her pinched toes inside her too-small shoes. She lifted her free hand to rest it lightly against the back of his neck, where his hair curled slightly. This was her first real kiss and she wanted it to last forever.

Too soon he eased back with a chuckle. “Didn’t know you knew how to kiss.”

Samantha shot him a halfhearted glare. “You don’t know everything about me, Rexford Josiah Montgomery.” He cringed, as she knew he would, at the use of his full name.

“So what do you say?” His thumb caressed her cheek. “Will you wait?” His eyes shone as bright as the moon as he added in a husky whisper, “I dare you, Sammie. I dare you to wait and be mine the moment I return.”

How many times had those words prompted her to act in the past, with no real thought to the consequences? But this dare wasn’t about racing to the creek or hurdling a fence or getting a better mark in spelling than him. This dare involved their hearts and their longtime friendship. If she accepted, there would be no going back to the way things had been.

Another niggling fear made her hesitate. What if Rex didn’t return? Nearly everyone else dear to her had left—her mother and baby sister in death and her older sisters in marriage and setting up their own homes. The pain of never seeing Rex again would surely leave her gutted and empty.

Or what if he lived but met and fell in love with some Southern belle instead? Samantha didn’t want him returning to her out of obligation.

“Are you afraid?” he asked softly when she continued to stand there silent.

Tears blurred his face for a moment. “Yes,” she whispered. “What if . . .”

He cut off her question with another lingering kiss. “We’ll make it through, together, Sammie. I’m not going to forsake you.” He pressed his forehead to hers. “But more importantly, God isn’t going to forsake you either.”

How many times had he reminded her of that through the years? She wanted so much to believe it, but didn’t that require effort on her part?

Hiding her smile, she pretended to eye him thoughtfully. “Will you write me every day?”

A full grin brightened his face. “Every chance I get.” He took her other hand in his. “Does that mean you’ll wait for me?”

Please keep him safe, Lord. Help me take this leap of faith.

She pushed out a soft sigh and nodded. “Yes, Rex. I’ll wait for you.”

He let out a whoop that surely the dancers inside the barn could hear before he clasped her close and swung her around. Samantha laughed. The worry in her middle diminished some.

“I’m the luckiest man around,” he said, setting her on her feet again. “And I promise to let you know that every day. In letters now but in person later. I promise.”

She placed her hand alongside his jaw as she tried to memorize this moment and the beloved features of his face. “I’m going to hold you to that.”

 

• • •

 

Virginia, December 1862

 

Another deep cough slashed through Rex’s lungs. He pulled the ends of his blanket closer, but he guessed the temperature inside the tent wasn’t much warmer than that outside. On his knees he balanced pencil and paper to write a reply to Samantha’s recent letter. The page remained blank, though, the words that usually poured out of him as frozen in his mind as the surrounding landscape.

He would soon commemorate another Christmas as a soldier. Another Christmas away from Samantha and his family. It wasn’t difficult for him to picture the festivities at home. His mother would decorate the house with pine boughs and tie ribbons to the jars of her carefully prepared jam. Those jars would be added to the pile of presents Samantha and her father delivered to their neighbors and friends on Christmas Eve.

A longing to be there filled him with sharp pain. As deep and visceral as what he’d felt after losing his two closest friends during the regiment’s recent battle at Fredericksburg. His life had become a kaleidoscope of blood and death and battle, broken only here and there by moments of normalcy before twisting out of focus again.

“You done yet, Rex?” his tentmate asked, glancing up from writing his own letter.

Covering another cough with his fist, Rex shook his head. “Not yet.”

“Is it to your family or your girl this time?”

He cleared his throat, desperately trying to ease the pain in his chest. “My girl.”

Samantha was still his girl, wasn’t she? He might not hear from her as often as he’d hoped, but he didn’t fault her. The mail didn’t always reach them. More than eighteen months had passed since he’d last seen her, but he’d thought of her every day. Her lovely face and his connection with God had pulled him through what had become the most difficult and gut-wrenching time of his entire life.

And yet lately he couldn’t shake the feeling that he might not be worthy of either one anymore. He’d experienced things he didn’t want Samantha ever knowing. Things that haunted his dreams and left him gasping for breath and sanity when he woke. Ever since Fredericksburg, though, his nightmares had changed—he was home again, but when he saw Samantha, she hadn’t recognized him. She’d taken one look at him and averted her gaze.

Running a hand over his beard, he stared hard at his paper, willing the words to come. He didn’t really believe Samantha wouldn’t recognize him when he came home. His physical appearance would still be familiar. But the inside of him . . . Would she recognize that part anymore? Down deep he could feel himself starting to harden, to grow cold, to fester with fear. A fear that he would leave her a grieving sweetheart if he died and a fear that she would reject the man he’d become if he lived.

Rex tightened his grip on his pencil as an idea formed in his mind. He began writing, the sentences he’d been struggling to conjure up flowing without effort now. A nagging doubt presented itself—he hadn’t sought God’s blessing on his plan. But he easily snuffed the thought. He was doing what he must because he loved Samantha. If there was anything to pray about, it would be that she would ultimately come to accept his decision.

 

• • •

 

Michigan, One month later

 

Samantha drummed her fingers against the windowsill as she watched her father drive the sleigh up the snowy road toward the farm. Was the horse even moving? The animal seemed to be walking slower and slower. It had been three weeks since her last letter from Rex. Was he alive? Was he well? Nervousness and hope filled her, until her entire body was fidgeting. She couldn’t wait any longer. Throwing on a shawl, she slipped out the front door, gasping softly as the cold hit her face.

“Any word, Papa?” she called out as she entered the barn.

“I believe so, yes,” he said, fishing through his pockets as though searching for a letter. “Lovely day for a sleigh ride, is it not?”

She groaned. “Papa, please.”

He smiled at her as he finally extracted a letter from his shirt pocket. “Ah. Here it is. I believe it’s from Rex, but I can’t tell without me spectacles. If you’ll just go get them, daughter . . .”

With a squeal of joy, she plucked the letter from his hand. “Thank you, Papa.” His laughter followed her out of the barn and back into the house.

She raced to her bedroom and sat on the bed before tearing open the letter. The tiniest disappointment pricked at her happiness when she saw that he’d only written one page. But he was busy as a soldier. She was grateful for any correspondence from him. It shortened the distance of time and space between them.

 

Dearest Sammie,

I hope this finds you well. You are in my thoughts constantly. Another of your letters came this week and I have read it through several times. Please know that I love you still and I won’t stop praying for you.

 

Something cold and panicky crept over Samantha. Why did it sound as if he were saying good-bye all over again? She gripped the letter tighter, the edge of the paper cutting into her fingers, as she read on.

 

I don’t think we should write anymore. I’m also freeing you of your promise to wait for me. We can’t know the future, Sammie. I might not make it back to you and I won’t commit you to a half-life as the girl of a fallen solider.

This war is ghastly and I thank the Lord every night that you are far removed from it. I’m not the man I once was and you deserve better. I don’t want you to write me anymore, though I’ll cherish the letters you have written. This will be my final letter. Please don’t send a response. I won’t be writing anyone anymore except my parents.

I love you, Sammie. But this is for the best.

Yours always,

Rex

 

She could hardly make out his signature for the tears dripping off her cheeks onto the page. He no longer wanted to exchange letters with her or be her sweetheart. But why?

Anger began to boil within her, replacing her shock. She crumbled the letter in her hand and threw it against the far wall, where it hit the sampler she’d sewn as a girl. To every thing there is a season, it read in fairly even stitches.

How dare he make such a decision without consulting her? She loved him and he loved her. Surely they could have worked through whatever was devouring him from the inside out. Why did he have to charge ahead, breaking her heart in the process, and not even giving her the chance to understand?

Jumping to her feet, Samantha paced the rug, her arms pressed tight against the ache forming in her chest. She had to do something, but what? If only she could see him and talk to him face-to-face. For a moment she contemplated traveling South to find him. But she and her father had little extra money for such a trip.

Then she would write him back and beg him to explain, to reconsider. She would pour every piece of her heart onto the page, and then, he would change his mind.

But even as she thought it, she realized such a letter would do no good. Rex knew her too well. If he asked her not to write him again, she would be honor-bound to respect his wishes, and their deep friendship, by complying. Even if it tore her inside to do so.

“Oh, Rex?” she whispered as she sunk onto the floor. “What have you done?”

She had taken that step of faith by agreeing to wait for him, in spite of her fears. And he’d promised they would figure things out together, that he would show her every chance he got how lucky he felt to have her as his girl.

And yet now her dreams—their dreams—were no more, and he had blocked any effort at restoring them. How would she go on? His absence had been difficult enough to bear this last year and a half. But not to have his letters or the chance to write him back? To have cold silence replace the warmth and love and trust of their relationship? The grief sliced through her with such force that her lungs protested. She gulped in a great, sobbing breath.

After a minute or two of weeping, she reached out and picked up his letter where it had fallen. Creases marred the words and she worked to smooth them out. This was her last connection to Rex and she would keep it.

Her eyes rose to the words of the sampler. Help me make it through this season of pain, Lord. Help me keep going. And please . . . She blinked back fresh tears. Bless and protect Rex.

Though the anguish of his choice still pierced her, Samantha squared her shoulders. She would carry on. One hour, one week, one month, one year at a time. She slipped the letter into her pocket as a weight, heavy and painful, slipped onto her heart.