The musket shook in Permelia’s hand. The intruder turned his head in her direction, but she could not make out his face. What she could make out was that he was tall and muscular. And that he wore a Union uniform. All three things together portended disaster. She had spotted him from the window, sent a trembling Annie upstairs to rouse Elijah from his bed, then grabbed her gun and sneaked around the side of the house.
“I said, don’t move. I know how to use this.”
“I have no doubt of that, miss.” His voice was low and rich, like the soothing sound of a cello. Somewhere deep within her, it nipped a memory. A pleasant one, for her heart took up a rapid beat. He lifted his hands in the air, revealing the gleam of a saber hanging at his side.
“Who are you, and what do you want?” Permelia demanded.
“Miss Shaw?” He addressed her as if he were making a social call. “Is that you?”
Again the voice eased over her like warm butter. She gulped, attempting to steady the musket. “And who, sir, are you?”
Lowering his arms, he took a step toward her. Memories assailed her exhausted mind—memories of Union soldiers rampaging through her home, tossing everything they could find into sacks: jewelry, silverware, expensive vases and figurines, her father’s collection of East Indian tobacco. All accompanied by the sound of her mother wailing in the distance.
And one soldier in particular who wasn’t satisfied with only objects. Whose eyes burned with lechery as he crept toward Permelia in her chamber.
“It’s me, William.” William. The name echoed through the night air as if traveling through molasses. Permelia shook her head, corralling her terrifying thoughts.
The soldier took another step toward her. No, not again! She must defend her family. Her sister, herself.
She fired the musket.
The crack split the dark sky. The man ducked. His horse neighed. Smoke filled the air, burning her nose, her mouth. Grabbing the gun, he ripped it from her hands. But instead of assaulting her, he wrapped his arms around her and held her tight. He smelled of gunpowder and sweat and earth.
“It’s all right, Miss Shaw. It’s me, William. You’re safe now.” The comforting words drifted upon that familiar voice, sparking hope within her. William? Against all propriety, she melted into him, never wanting the dream to end. For surely it must be a dream. The same one that had made her endless nights bearable these past years.
But then he was gone. A whoosh of chilled air sent a shiver through her.
“What you doin’ there!” Elijah shoved William back and leveled a pistol at his chest. Martha, ragged robe tossed over her nightdress, appeared in the doorway, lantern in hand, their twelve-year-old daughter, Ruth, behind her.
William raised his hands again. “Whatever happened to southern hospitality?” He chuckled and a quizzical look came over Elijah’s face.
Shaking off her stupor, Permelia charged forward. “It’s all right, Elijah.” She nudged his pistol aside. “It is Colonel William Wolfe, Annie’s fiancé.”
“Then why did you shoot ‘im, miss?” Elijah studied William but did not release his firm grip on the weapon.
“I was about to ask the same question,” William said, his tone playful.
Permelia faced him, his expression still lost to her in the shadows. “I’m so sorry, Colonel Wolfe. I didn’t know it was you.”
“Quite all right, Miss Shaw.” He lowered his hands. “I’ve grown used to being shot at.”
“Well, I’ll be.” Martha held up her lantern and moved forward. “Annie’s fiancé. We thought you was dead.” The light crept over the porch and up his blue trousers, blinking off his saber, the three gold buttons on his cuff, and brightening the red sash about his waist.
“I am happy to report otherwise.” William dipped his head.
“Elijah, put down that gun,” Martha scolded.
Recognition loosened the overseer’s features. “Good to see you, Colonel.” He lowered the weapon.
Martha took another step forward. Light from the lantern slid over William’s steady jaw, regal nose, penetrating eyes, and glimmered off the epaulette on his shoulder.
The breath caught in Permelia’s throat. She’d dreamed of him for so many nights, she could hardly believe he stood before her all flesh and man.
But then Martha’s smile faded. Ruth turned away and retreated into the house. Elijah’s eyes widened.
William raised a hand to his right cheek, hidden from Permelia’s view.
“Let’s not stand here staring at the poor man. Do come in, Colonel.” Permelia swept past him, leading the way into the parlor. “Annie will be beyond herself with delight.”
Delight that now spiraled through Permelia, igniting all her senses.
Dragging off his hat, William stepped through the doorway. Elijah grabbed the musket and took a spot beside his wife, while Ruth clung to the shadows beyond the stairway. All three lowered their eyes to the floor. Something they hadn’t done since before Lincoln’s proclamation had freed them from their chains.
Whatever was wrong with everyone?
Closing the door, Permelia tried to settle her erratic breathing. William was alive! Not only alive but standing in her foyer. She studied him while his back was turned, trying to gain her composure. Light from an overhead chandelier cascaded over him, accentuating the war-honed muscles stretching the fabric of his coat. Hair the color of rich coffee grazed his stiff collar, curling at the tips.
Why would her heart not settle? He came for Annie. Not for her. Taking a deep breath, Permelia moved to face him.
The first thing she noticed was the depth of pain in his eyes. The second, that the right half of his face hung in shivered purple flesh. What was left of Permelia’s breath escaped her lungs. She stifled the gasp that tried to force its way to her lips. His jaw stiffened, and he looked down, fumbling with his hat.
Permelia took a step toward him. His eyes met hers. Those brown eyes, deep and rich like the soil within a lush forest. The same eyes she remembered. Yet not the same. The haughtiness, the innocent exuberance, was gone, replaced by wisdom and deep sorrow. Her own eyes burned. For the agony he must have endured. For the pain, the heartache.
“Martha, would you please go get Annie,” Permelia said.
“I’ll put some tea on.” Elijah grabbed Ruth and pulled her from the room as Martha headed upstairs.
William attempted a smile. “You are not repulsed?”
Permelia shook her head. “No. Of course not.” Shocked. Grieved. She wanted to tell him that he could never repulse her, but the words faltered on her lips. “I cannot imagine what you must have endured. How did it happen?”
William shifted his boots over the marble floor. “An exploding cannon.”
Permelia threw a hand to her mouth. “Oh my. When?”
“Nearly nine months ago.”
So that was why his letters had stopped. “When I—Annie didn’t hear from you, we feared the worst.”
Miss Permelia’s eyes flooded with concern as she reached up to touch William’s face. He shrank away, uncomfortable. Yet she kept her eyes upon him. She did not run away in horror as so many others had done. That alone gave him hope. A hope that had stirred at the mention of Annie’s name. A hope that kept him rooted in place, willing to risk allowing her to see him in full light.
And perhaps, dare he hope, to look at him in the same way her sister was doing right now. Not in pity but with concern, and something else that gave him pause. He shrugged it off when he heard light footfalls on the stairs. The swoosh of satin and the lacy bottom of a gown materialized. The steps increased. The gown bounced, and the angel appeared.
His Annie.
Hair like gold silk was pinned back from a face that rivaled perfection: alabaster skin, pink lips, luminous blue eyes. Curls danced over the nape of her neck with each graceful movement down the stairs. She raised her gaze to his. Her smile washed away. The flame in her eyes turned to ice. An ice that froze her in place. She drew a hand to her chest.
William’s heart shriveled.
“William?” Annie managed to breathe out in a halting sob.
“I’m afraid so.” Though he wanted to turn away, to spare her the horrendous sight, he kept his gaze steady upon her, waiting—waiting to see love sweep away the shock and horror in her eyes.
Instead she lowered her chin and turned her face away. Gripping the banister, she wobbled.
Risking her repulsion, William vaulted the steps between them and grabbed her by the waist before she fell. She stiffened at his touch. Permelia reached her other side and after exchanging a compassionate look with William, led her sister down the stairs and into the parlor.
William hesitated, his insides crumbling. Should he follow? Was he welcome? But Permelia’s gentle smile beckoned him onward.
The servant woman he remembered as a slave brought tea and William chose a cushioned seat in the shadows. Annie sat on the sofa, staring at the cold hearth.
Permelia approached him. “Colonel, please join us.” She gestured toward one of the chairs in the center of the room. “It’s only the shock, I’m afraid.”
“Please call me William.” He heaved a sigh. “And I won’t be staying.”
Annie’s eyes shot his way.
Permelia smiled. “Don’t be silly, William. You’ve no doubt had an arduous journey and are welcome to stay with us as long as you wish.” She made her way to the table and began pouring tea.
“Either way, I have only a week before I must report back for duty.” William shifted in his seat. His gaze wandered to the door, silently chastising himself. He’d put his selfish desire to see Annie above any thought of how the sight of him would shock her. Now he’d upset her. Which was the last thing he’d wanted to do. He should leave.
Miss Permelia handed her sister a cup. “William must stay. Isn’t that right, Annie?”
A visible sob shook his beloved Annie. Sipping the tea, she set it down with a delicate clank as his future, his heart, hung precariously on her response.
“Of course, William. We’ll not hear another word about it.” Annie’s sweet voice brought his gaze back to her, where he was graced with one of her smiles. A smile that warmed him down to his toes—as it always used to do. Hope stirred. Then grew stagnant again as she added, “But surely you must return to your regiment?” It wasn’t so much the question but the expectation in her tone that set William aback.
“After the terms of surrender were signed, my commanding officer granted me a month’s leave.” He coughed. “To settle my affairs.”
Annie spread her skirts around her in a festoon of velvet braids and ruffles. “You must forgive me, William.” She raised the back of her hand to her mouth, sorrow crumpling her features. “Seeing you… like this… it is such a shock.”
Miss Permelia gave her sister an odd look before she settled into a chair between them. “William was injured in the war, Annie.”
“Of course. I can see that,” Annie snapped. Then the sharp lines of her face softened. “I’m so sorry, William. I hope you didn’t suffer.”
Not nearly as much as he was suffering now. “No, not overmuch.”
Rising, Annie swooshed to the mantel, eyeing the gilded clock and bronze figurines sitting atop it. “We feared you had died.” Yet there was no fear in her voice.
Permelia sipped her tea. “It is very good to see you, William.”
“Yes, of course.” Annie forced a smile, tried to look at him, then glanced back at the mantel.
Unease prickled over William, his thoughts traveling to his last visit to the Shaw estate—when he’d been welcomed with open arms, enjoyed the richest foods, the southern charm of Mrs. Shaw, and the hustle and bustle of a prosperous tobacco plantation. “Where are your mother and father? Your brother?” William sipped the bitter tea. He never did enjoy it without sugar.
“They are all gone.” Miss Permelia stared at the teacup in her lap. “Except perhaps Samuel. We do not yet know his fate.”
“I hate this detestable war! It’s taken everything from me!” Annie fisted her hands beneath lacy cuffs.
Gone. William nearly dropped his cup. Instead, he set it down on the table beside him and rose. He longed to swallow Annie up in his arms, comfort her. “How? When? Why didn’t you tell me in your letters?”
Annie’s brow crumpled.
Permelia shifted in her seat. “Father died at Cross Keys. And Mother became ill and joined him last year.”
“So it is just the two of you here?”
“And Elijah, Martha, and Ruth,” Miss Permelia said.
Sorrow, coupled with alarm, assailed William. “How have you managed?”
Annie sank to the sofa in a sob, drawing a handkerchief to her eyes.
“Better than most.” Miss Permelia moved to sit beside her sister. “We keep a garden and Elijah hunts. In addition, by God’s grace, we hope to harvest our first crop of tobacco this year.” Golden specks of hope and sincerity sparked in her eyes.
William wondered why he’d never noticed how beautiful they were before.
“We’ve had to sacrifice so much.” Annie’s voice broke, tearing at his heart.
A lump formed in his throat. “I’m so sorry. You never mentioned it.” He could only surmise that in her selfless love, Annie had wanted to keep him from worrying while he was on the battlefield. Warmed by the thought, he gazed about the room, noting the rosewood center table, painted porcelain vases, gilded mirror and assorted oil paintings hanging on the wall, and the mahogany Grecian sofa upon which Annie sat. “But how were you able to keep so many of your nice things?”
Clutching her handkerchief, Annie straightened her back and glanced out the window. “We’ve made friends with some of the Union soldiers.”
“Ah, then we are not all such bellicose toads?” William chuckled.
A smile flickered then faded on Annie’s lips. “Why have you returned, William?” Her eyes swept to his. And finally remained.
And it gave him the impetus to answer her question.
“To marry you, Annie. If you’ll still have me.”