Chapter Five

Abigail’s stomach twisted. The men surrounding them looked harsh and ruthless—much like the Rebel raiders her father had provided sanctuary to during the war. Father didn’t favor one side or the other. He just did what was required to keep his family and Seven Swans out of harm’s way.

The bearded man spat a stream of tobacco juice into the snow. “What’re you doing out here, bluebelly?”

Evander held the man’s gaze. He might be cooperative, but he was no coward. “We mean you no harm. We’re just passing through on our way to Waynesboro.”

“Your kind does nothing but harm. Our people went hungry after that devil Sheridan came through. Burned everything in sight.”

The burning. That’s what the valley folks had called Sheridan’s atrocious deed. The Union general had ordered his soldiers to torch anything that might be of service to the Rebel army. She’d been horrified by the newspaper accounts. War or not, innocent civilians did not deserve such treatment. Their bitterness was understandable, yet she couldn’t let them take their anger out on Evander.

“I’m sorry your kinfolk suffered,” Evander said. “But Sheridan only did what he had to in order to stop supplies from reaching General Lee.”

“He put innocent women and children at risk. We won’t ever stop fighting against such Godlessness.”

“In case you haven’t heard,” Evander said in a polite, but pointed tone. “The War is over.”

The man let out a growl and shoved the butt end of his gun against Evander’s temple. He sprawled face first into the snow, red blossoming around his head.

A scream blasted from her, and she shot from the log to kneel beside him. His breaths were coming in short gasps. She dug her knees into the snow and gave him a shove. He rolled onto his back with a groan. Blood trickled from a gash at his temple. She scooped up a handful of snow and pressed it to the wound.

“Evander.” She shook his shoulder. “Evander, look at me.”

His eyelids fluttered open. Dazed blue eyes met hers. “Abigail.”

Good. He knew who she was. She glared up at his attacker. “That was cruel and totally unnecessary.”

“He’s lucky I didn’t use the business end of this here shotgun on him. Though that would be a waste of a good bullet.”

“Let’s string him up,” one of the other men called out. “We can use the rope from his mule pack.”

“Yeah,” another replied. “Just like that mangy Custer lynched our brothers.”

No. No. No. This could not be happening. She couldn’t let them do this. “Please. Leave him alone. He hasn’t done anything to warrant an attack.”

“Just wearing that uniform is cause enough.”

If reasoning wouldn’t work, maybe something a little more substantive would. “I have money, silver and gold coins. It’s in my satchel. You can have it all, just please, don’t hurt Major Holt.”

The bearded man’s eyes narrowed. “You’re from the South.”

She nodded. “Kentucky.”

“What are you doing with this Yankee scum?”

“He’s escorting me home.”

“You two married?”

“No. But, he’s a trusted friend of my family.” A little embellishment never hurt, especially if it saved a life.

The man grunted. “You cain’t ever trust a bluebelly, little lady.” He cut a glance to where his men were busy removing the pack from the mule. “You got that rope yet, Homer?”

“Almost. That bluebelly done strapped it down tighter than a spinster’s undergarments.”

There were a few snickers. One man coughed. Another let out a bray of laughter. Their humor was like fingernails on slate.

“Soon as you get that rope loose, find a sturdy tree limb. And bring me the lady’s satchel.”

Abigail’s heart pounded against her ribs. She couldn’t let them hang Evander. He was good and kind. She didn’t know if there was more to her blossoming feelings for him, but she wanted to be able to find out.

She pushed to her feet and put herself between the men and Evander. “I won’t let you do this.”

“Abigail, don’t,” Evander urged.

“I can’t let them take you from me.”

The leader spit out a laugh. “She’s got a soft spot for you, bluebelly. You can carry that pretty little thought with you to the grave.”

The one called Homer approached with her satchel. The leader took it and dug inside. He pulled out the rolled up canvas.

“What’s this?”

She fisted her hands at her sides. It was the reason she was on this ill-fated mission. If she hadn’t insisted on getting home, Evander’s life wouldn’t be in jeopardy. She ignored the little voice telling her if she hadn’t insisted, then she never would have discovered the one man she could give her heart to.

“It’s a painting of the lake at my family home,” she said.

He unrolled the canvas. “Mighty pretty. You paint this?”

“No, I commissioned an artist in Richmond.”

“A Rebel painter?” At her nod, he smiled and added. “My missus would fancy having a picture like this hanging in her parlor.”

She hauled in a breath and then another. She didn’t want to do it, but she had to. For Evander. “You can have it if you’d like. Take it home. Give it to your wife.”

Evander stirred behind her. “No, Abigail. You can’t.”

She turned around. He’d gone up on one elbow and was trying to rise. She stooped over and stopped him with a hand to his shoulder. “No, Evander. Stay still. You’ll only hurt yourself more if you move about. Just let me handle this.”

Pain and worry flitted across his face. His jaw muscles tightened as if he gnawed on a tough decision. Relinquishing control was clearly not something that came easily to him.

“Please, Evander. Trust me.”

His rigid gaze softened. He gave her a nod and dropped back to the snow.

She tossed a prayer skyward. Please let this work. She eyed the bearded man. “Well? What do you say? The painting and my money in exchange for Major Holt’s life?”

He ran a finger over the canvas. “These are swans, ain’t they?”

“Yes. They return every year to the lake on our estate. My father named the place after them—Seven Swans.”

The man lowered the painting, his expression puzzled. “Seven Swans? In Kentucky? What’s your father’s name?”

“Jedidiah Whitlock.”

The one called Homer scratched his temple. “Ain’t that the man what let us hide out until the Yankees retreated back in ’63?”

The leader nodded. “It is.”

She pushed the cracked door wide open. “Would you say then, that you and your men are indebted to my family?”

He looked from her to Evander and back. His fierce expression eased, and he began rolling up the canvas. “I believe we are, Miss Whitlock.”

She nearly slumped in relief. If there was one thing she knew about mountain folk, it was their strict adherence to their own brand of social mores. High on the list was making good on a debt owed.

The leader slid the painting into her satchel and handed it to Homer. “Secure this and the rope back on the mule. You other men, come help this officer to his feet. There won’t be a lynching today.”

****

Abigail wrapped the last of the bandage around Evander’s head and secured the tail end. His eyes were closed, his breathing even and steady. He would be fine after a good night’s rest, so the doctor had assured her.

She traced his jaw with a finger. He’d come to mean so much to her in the past few days. She didn’t know what she would do if she had lost him. Luckily that bridge hadn’t required crossing.

After learning it was her family that had concealed his unit during the war, William McCann and his kinsmen had helped her and Evander complete their journey to Waynesboro. They had secured a room at a hotel and had even carried Evander up the stairs when he’d collapsed from pain and exhaustion. In her opinion, the McCanns had repaid their debt—twofold.

She tucked the bed sheet tighter around him. She and Evander would be parting ways soon. But she wouldn’t think about that. Right now, all that mattered was his recovery.

As she started to rise, a hand on her arm stopped her.

“Abigail.”

She sank back onto the bed. “Yes, it’s me.”

He opened his eyes. His confused gaze roved the room. “Where are we?”

“At the Gibbs Hotel. In Waynesboro.”

“You got us here on your own?”

“No. The McCanns helped us.” She gave him a closer look. Was his head injury worse than the doctor claimed? “You don’t remember any of it?”

He lifted a hand to his bandaged temple and grimaced. “Last I thing I recall is my head meeting the butt end of a rifle.” His frown deepened. “And something about a lynching.”

“You are correct on both accounts. A small band of ex-Rebel soldiers wanted to hang you in retaliation for what the Union Army put their families through during the War.”

He briefly closed his eyes. When he opened them, his gaze was clear and fixed on her. “I remember now. You stood between me and them. You shouldn’t have put yourself in danger like that.”

“I couldn’t let them hurt you.” Even now, her stomach pulled tight at the memory. She patted his shoulder, more to reassure herself than him. “You get some rest now. The doctor says you have a concussion and shouldn’t strain yourself.”

“Why did you do it?”

“Do what?”

“Protect me. You said you wouldn’t let them take me from you. What did you mean by that?”

Just her luck he remembered the only nugget that would be better off remaining obscure. She rose and gathered the basin of bloody water and rags she’d used to clean his wound. The answer to his question required some time to formulate.

“I need to empty this basin and pour some fresh water to clean your jacket,” she said. “It has a rather nasty blood stain on the collar.” Oddly the sight of his blood hadn’t made her squeamish. She had been too concerned with cleaning his wound and getting him back to rights.

“Abigail. You’re avoiding my question.”

“I know.” She set the basin on the bureau and moved to the window. A quick thrust opened the window, and cold air rushed in to greet her. She welcomed the reviving slap. The heat of being around Evander had lulled her into a dreamy state. She had to be practical.

She turned to look at him. He looked so vulnerable lying on the bed with his skull swathed in white. She wanted to tell him the truth—wanted to open up to him. But seeing disgust for her on his face would be akin to a shoving a knife in her heart.

A half-truth would have to suffice. “If they had killed you, getting home would become much more difficult, if not impossible.”

“While true, that’s not the real reason you said it.”

Having his head bashed had not diluted his shrewdness. Not by a smidgen. She picked up the basin and tossed the bloodied water out the window. She had always gone full tilt at life—always gave one hundred percent of herself. It was no surprise that she’d fallen for the captivating officer in a matter of days. But would he consider that a good thing or bad?

“Tell me, Abigail.” He pushed up on his elbows. “I won’t stop until you give me an answer.”

A mule couldn’t be more hard-headed. She pitched the empty basin onto the bureau and rushed to his side. “Stop, Evander. You’re going to hurt yourself. Please lie down.” She gently pushed on his shoulders, but met steely resistance.

“Only if you answer my question. No more evasive tactics.”

“Fine. Lie back and I’ll answer you.”

He did as she asked. His gaze held hers—steady and probing. She pulled in a calming breath and pushed the words out. “I didn’t want anything to happen to you because...I have come to care for you.”

There. She said it. She studied his face, watching for signs of horror or disgust. None came. The creases around his eyes softened. His lips parted. He seemed—relieved. Hope fluttered in her chest.

“I hoped that would be your answer.”

“You did?”

He gathered her hand, his thumb running over her fingers and leaving a trail of heat. “I have developed feelings for you too, Abigail. Feelings I can’t explain or stop. It would be quite awkward if you didn’t feel the same, considering the distance we still have to travel together.”

“But it’s so sudden. Perhaps it’s just a consequence of being isolated and dependent on one another.”

“It could be. But I’ve never felt this connected to anyone before. It’s as if I have known you for years instead of days.”

That’s exactly how she felt. Penelope had gone on and on about finding a soul mate—the one man you are drawn to, the one man you wanted to spend the rest of your life with. Was Evander that man?

She shook her head. “It’s all happening so fast. I just don’t know what to think.”

“Then we’ll take it slow. Figure out what, if anything is between us.”

“And then what?”

“We’ll cross that bridge when we get there.”

What if that bridge was washed out? Their physical journey had encountered nothing but obstructions thus far. Why would their emotional journey be any different?

A knock reverberated into the room. An interruption. How could she expect anything less? She crossed to the door and opened it.

The desk clerk stood in the hallway. “Sorry to bother you, Miss Whitlock, but you asked me to check on the stage to Covington.”

“Yes, what did you learn?”

“It’s been delayed because of the snowstorm. Service should resume the day after tomorrow.”

She didn’t know whether to be disappointed or delighted. Part of her worried that the delay would cause her to miss Penelope’s wedding. The other part, the part that enjoyed Evander’s kisses, shouted for joy at the opportunity to spend more time with him.