Jessica took her first opportunity, cane in hand, to abate a needling curiosity. She took the sidewalk at a frenetic pace up Broad. Past the mercantile and the pharmacy. Over Bridge Street toward the church. Across the street, the lovely white home of Jane Gentry emerged, elevated a little from the street and surrounded by oaks that promised to stand tall guard in a few years.
Jess took the steps to the front door and prayed her instincts, and those of her family, were wrong. Surely she hadn’t fallen prey to blindness yet again? Not after all the thick-skinned suspicions she’d nurtured.
She rang the doorbell and waited for the familiar steps of Mrs. Gentry clicking toward the large wooden door. Most days, the woman insisted on being the first to greet prospective guests. She’d always been an anomaly for most of the women in these parts with her ready friendliness and openness to cultures and people beyond the mountains.
Her small frame, gray hair pinned back in a bun, barely made a silhouette in the massive doorway. “Well, now, Jesse Ross. What brings you to my doorstep?”
“I know you’re keeping busy with all your boarders, Mrs. Gentry, but I was wondering if you had a few minutes to talk.”
Her eyes twinkled. “You know I always have time to talk.”
Which meant ‘listen’ most of the time. Almost everyone in town shared their secrets, dreams, stories, and desires with Jane Gentry. But when she did talk, it was usually about something worth hearing.
She ushered Jessica in to her home, a small table in the parlor already set for tea as if she’d been waiting for a caller. “Most of the boarders have already come for tea, but I have a pot still warm. Why don’t you sit a spell and join me?”
Jess settled into a high-back and accepted the dainty cup from Mrs. Gentry with a thank you.
“Now, what’s on your mind?”
“It shouldn’t take very long, Mrs. Gentry, but I was wondering if you’d had the pleasure of meeting a Mr. Jasper Little yet? I sent him here a few weeks ago, as you’re one of the local experts of our ballads.”
“I heard about him arrivin’ into town, but I ain’t seen hide nor hair of him. Which is a shame since the ladies seemed to think he was worth seein’.”
Jess leaned forward, her stomach curling with a growing disgust. No. Not fooled again. “He hasn’t been here? At all?”
“No. I even mentioned it to Zepporah, since I heared your Grandpa was sending him her way too. She ain’t even laid eyes on him, let alone talked to him.”
Jess took a quick drink of her tea and placed her cup down. “Then what I have to say next is even more important. Your boarders need to know.”
Mrs. Gentry starting pouring her own tea. “Yes?”
“There are two reported cases of typhoid in the camp.”
“Typhoid?” Mrs. Gentry lowered the tea pot to the table and sank slowly into her chair, her hand to her chest. “They don’t reckon it’s this La Grippe we’ve heard tell about coming from out west?”
La Grippe? Oh yes, she’d read about it in the papers but no one knew much about it, except that it was highly contagious and incredibly lethal. A new illness, The Spanish Influenza some called it, started in the West, but had spread east following the railway. It attacked quickly and left a steady death trail in its wake.
“Grandfather confirmed the diagnosis along with Dr. Peck, but we don’t know the extent or the origin yet.”
Her wise eyes steadied their gaze. “And what of Mr. Little? How does he relate to this news?”
That woman was too keen for her own good. “I hope he doesn’t.”
“Then why is he in Hot Springs?”
A question to which Jessica wasn’t certain she wanted an answer. Why, indeed? Either he was a poor researcher or he had something more sinister in mind.
She finished her tea and bid the wise Mrs. Gentry good-day. A breeze wafted up from the street below, through the oaks framing the front porch of Mrs. Gentry’s house, and dampened the fire in Jess’ cheeks from her internal self-flailing. Had she been wrong all over again? Fooled by someone else in plain sight?
She stepped down to the street and started back toward the camp. Almost in mockery, Jasper Little emerged from Kimp’s and saw her. Well, no time like the present. And perhaps all of this conjecture about Jasper Little was mere speculation and nothing more. If he was truly guilty of something underhanded, why would he remain in Hot Springs to be uncovered? But, of course, a more pressing curiosity was... why was he in Hot Springs at all?
She braced herself with a smile as false as his. “Miss Ross, where are you off to in such a hurry on this fine day?”
“I’m afraid I’m returning to the camp to see if I can be of any assistance there.”
He halved the distance between them. “Assistance at the camp? What in heaven’s name would you do to help a gaggle of German prisoners?”
“I suppose you’ll need to know as well, for your own safety of course.” She studied him, searching for any shifts in his pristine expression. “There’s been two reported cases of typhoid inside the internment camp. I don’t know the names of the two men, but I mean to help, if I can.”
“Typhoid?” He frowned. “Isn’t that caused by some contamination of the food or water supply?”
She held his gaze, challenging him. “Indeed, it is.”
He shook his head. “I never expected them to stoop so low.”
“So low? What do you mean?”
“Well, it’s no secret that the Germans didn’t want to leave Hot Springs for the prison camp. Everyone knew that. They’re practically on holiday here and Georgia is a work camp for true prisoners. Desperation brings on all sorts of illogical choices.”
“Are you implying that they did this to themselves? Suicide?”
He shrugged his apology. “What else could it be? Some nasty scheme from a random villain?” He chuckled. “Now that is a plot meant for a novel.”
“Or a plan meant for a devious mind.”
His gaze never wavered. “Do you suppose someone with such evil intent lives in your little town? And if so, why wouldn’t they have attempted their plan well before now? It doesn’t seem very sensible to me.”
“Desperation rarely is.” She stepped closer, her trepidation evaporating in the face of his extreme arrogance. “Perhaps someone with a festering bitterness planned it? Or maybe someone new in town?”
“I think, my dear Miss Ross, you should stick to your novels and not tamper in things beyond your depth.”
“You give me little credit then. I’ve been tampering in things beyond my depth for a long time. I mean to uncover the truth.”
His lips twitched into an unpleasant smile. “Whatever truth your German feeds you isn’t going to bring you closer to an answer. You’ve clearly been corrupted by your delicate German sympathies.”
“German sympathies? What of human sympathies, Mr. Little? If someone did purposefully infect the men in the camp, then it is clear to me he’s lost all sense of right and wrong. Anger has a pinpointed way of twisting our logic, and I find it highly unlikely they would bring such a vile illness to their own doorstep out of sheer rebellion.”
“It appears you’re the one with unclear logic in this case. Do you think any one of them would not go directly to the Front and fight against our countrymen if they had the chance? All of them would betray whatever friendships they’ve developed here to follow through with the Kaiser’s murder.”
Gone was the English accent and the false charm, and now... now, she stared into a similar face as she had two years ago, one flushed with the maddening purpose of revenge. How had she been so wrong? So blind? All this time. Had she learned nothing from Lt. Snyder?
He took off his hat and pointed it toward the camp. “I know them. They’re all desperate cowards who would rather die an agonizing death than suffer the embarrassment of a prison camp. Which is exactly where each and every one of them belong.”
“I can’t believe I fell for your little façade.” She stared him down, unflinching. “Who are you, because clearly you are not here for balladry?”
He opened his mouth to protest but she wouldn’t allow it. “I’ve already been to Jane Gentry. You never spoke to her, and my father noticed your false accent.”
He flinched at her words.
“So the real question is, who are you, why are you playacting as an Englishman, and what are you doing in our little town—because if you ask me, Mr. Little, your presence is as suspect as you portray the Germans. If you’ve lied about your reason for visiting Hot Springs, what other lies have you told? Would you be the type of person who would falsify letters to incriminate the internees? Or sabotage a chapel, perhaps? Or tamper with a water supply?” She searched his face. His jaw tightened to the twinging point. She ignored the warning. “Are you on some vengeful vendetta to redeem the loss of your brothers and your arm? Because, if so, this is not the way to do it.”
“You’re going too far, Miss Ross.”
He towered over her, but she faced him head-on. “Oh no, Mr. Little, or whatever your name is, I’ve not gone far enough, you can be sure. I’m notoriously stubborn, and I find I have a new opportunity, as it were, to help uncover the origin of whatever or whoever is unleashing all of this hardship. I suggest you either get out of the way or help me, because you’re certainly not going to stop me.”
His laugh turned ruthless. “You would protect and even befriend a man of the same patronage as the killers who ruined your brother and you?”
She drew in a shaky breath, a sudden revelation buoying her defense. “Mr. Little, my brother is not ruined.” She stood taller, challenging him. “And neither am I.”
***
The guards wouldn’t allow Jessica into the camp, even though she argued her point for ten minutes, so she’d walked the length of the fence until the wood changed to wire. Her father and grandfather worked behind the walls of those clapboard buildings, seeking to help as best they could against such a devastating illness. Typhoid was not uncommon in the dank world of war, with its nasty trenches and nonexistent drainage.
And Jasper? Something in those eyes warned her that he was much more dangerous than she’d imagined. An eerie light, an unsteadiness... the blind rage inspired by a festering bitterness. Without grace and people to inject reason into her hardened heart, would she have turned to a darker path? She pinched her eyes closed, battling the voice of failure’s seething lies. No, God had brought her far beyond the fisted fury and wrath which led her down that twisted path.
But what could she do to discover the truth? To keep people safe. Especially the people she cared about.
Through the crowd of sailors, over the expanse of a lawn cluttered with trees and woodwork, August emerged like an unexpected knight in a fairy story. He stopped his stride across the lawn and time slowed as she took in the view of him with new vision, with a sense of sweet connection.
He walked toward her, strength and grace in his stride, as evident as in all of his actions toward her and her family. His white buttoned shirt and khaki slacks were smudged with bits of dirt from his day’s work, and he removed his straw hat as he approached. The coveted golden lock fell over his forehead with its usual distraction, but what held her captive most were his eyes. So gentle and filled with every dream she dared never voice about the desires of her heart.
Somehow, within an expanse of one day, all her childish fancies and grown-up daydreams began and ended in the man she recognized now. Well, it had taken more than a day. He’d gradually etched his way into her heart over the past two months, peeling back her pain and replacing it with hope. She’d been so stubborn and rude to him. So hateful and wrong. How could he look at her with such unshackled admiration?
Before he even reached the fence, her confession burst out. “I’m sorry, so sorry, August. Please forgive me.”
His brow crinkled beneath the golden lock and he came to a stop in front of her. “Forgive you? What tragic sin have you committed, Mause?”
She smiled at the tenderness wrapped in his humor. A blush of heat rushed to her face and she ran a palm down her makeshift braid, her breath shallow. “I’ve been so blind. Too blinded by my own pride and anger to really see you.”
He tilted his head, his gaze roaming over her face in pensive observation. “And what do you see, Jessica Ross?”
She failed to waver beneath the intensity of those eyes. He’d cradled in her in his arms during a storm, abated her fury with his gentle humor, and unraveled all her doubts with his unswerving constancy. She stepped forward, gripping the metal fence, and faced him as honestly as he’d done her.
Her breath swirled into a thick, heated knot in her throat, but she would not back down now. Not after all that had happened, all he’d done. He’d forgive her without this declaration. His kiss had already spoken it, but she had to confess. “You are much more than I ever imagined.” She sighed, staring down at her fingers clutching the fence. “With more patience than I deserve and a faith I crave.”
He stepped close, curling his warm hands over hers against the fence. “Look at me, Mause.”
Sweet warmth pooled over her at his endearment she’d once shunned. Tears burned her eyes, blurring her vision, but she lifted her head, staring into the periwinkle tenderness. “Forgive me, August. Please. For being hateful and slow and too broken to see you. Forgive me for... for all of it.”
“We are all broken in some way or other, yes? But love binds the broken.”
And any final reserve fled under such a beautiful notion. Love. It melted through every choice he made, colored every touch and word, and encased her in a sudden sense of belonging. Safety. Sweet rest, as if he held her in his arms.
Love.
A word much too small for the power reverberating from its bearers. From August. He embodied the love she’d grown up learning about, God’s encompassing, covering, beautiful love—a fragrant, comforting balm to her threadbare heart.
A sob caught in her throat and she lowered her head again, his compassion overwhelming and too sweet. “I don’t understand why you would still... care about me. I’ve been fairly horrible to you.” She pressed her forehead against the fence, half-praying the fence might disintegrate and half-afraid that if it did... would he let her fall to the muddy earth at his feet?
His palm left her hand and slipped through the fence to skim her cheek. The tears loosed, dripping onto their braided fingers. “You were beautiful in your letters and a lovely challenge in your fury.” His whisper breathed over her hair. “But now, in your tenderness, coming to me for... love?” His voice deepened with emotion.
She looked up to meet his gaze, his smile undefinably sweet.
“You are breathtaking.”
And she knew, without a doubt. August would catch her.
***
If the fence didn’t separate them, August would have shown her just how much he cared with a kiss to strip all doubt. But here they were again. Not separated by her prejudice and anger, but by a fence neither of them built and a war neither wanted.
“I wish this blasted fence wasn’t in the way.”
He grinned at her sentence, as if she’d read his thoughts. “If willpower broke wire, it would disappear in a moment.” He ran his hand over her cheek, soft and damp from her tears. Tears for him. “But I’m not certain your desire to remove the fence isn’t as desperate as mine, Mause.”
“I wouldn’t place a wager on that statement. You do recall how dogmatic I am, and that carries through to all of my passions.” She waved her hand toward him and sighed, her gaze taking him in from shoes to head and leaving a radiating warmth. “And now, I cannot get to you.”
What sweet torture was this! He’d expected her care, but to have her devotion and her passion too? Blasted fence, indeed. “If I had the power, I would rip the fence out of the ground.”
She squeezed his hands through the fence. “I’m so sorry it took me this long, and I was blind about you and then Jasper—”
“No more, Mause. No more. It is enough to have your affections now, as they are.” He bathed in the glow of admiration in her eyes—admiration for him. Yes, this blasted fence was a nuisance. “Let us start from today. We have good memories from today.”
Her emerald focus dropped to his lips and a fiery warmth followed their target.
“Very good.” She looked up at him, the glint from her eyes sending residual sparks. “But I could do with more practice. I’m certain of it. I like to get things just right.”
“Do not torment me with a freedom I do not have.” His fingers curled around her shoulder, wishing to tug her against him but unable. “For I would gladly oblige.”
Her eyes rounded in apology. “If I hadn’t been so slow—”
“Your wounds were deep, Mause.” He loosened his hold, breathing out the frustration of their separation. “And sweeter the prize is the one that requires effort, yes? For both of us?”
“And God would pick this moment to separate us?”
His grin spread. “Perhaps it is for our protection. If you are as impassioned for me as you confess, then we might very well need separation to maintain our virtues.”
She smiled, drawing her face as close to his as she could. “Want to make another wager about it, Mr. Reinhold? On who has the most passion?”
He groaned, appreciating her competitive streak for all the wrong reasons. “There is no way I could lose that wager, Miss Ross.”
She lips slanted with her grin and her beautiful gaze revealed a sweetness no woman had ever shown him. She not only admired him, but her expression filled with promises for him alone. Powerful. And for this, he’d waited, prayed, and hoped. This glorious bond of mutual respect, thankfulness, and attraction. He would cherish it with his life.
“Where did you go once you left your father and me?”
“Sunnybank, to speak with Jane Gentry.” Her face sobered. “Jasper had never gone to Jane, or several of the other women.”
“I am not surprised.”
“August, do you think he’s responsible for the chapel? For the sickness here?”
He looked past her to the buildings of the town in a vain search for the mysterious stranger. Dr. Cater had taken Jasper on a tour of the camp, and Jasper knew of August’s work on the chapel. The possibility turned August’s stomach. Why? Was it as simple as revenge?
He captured her gaze again. “Promise me you will be careful.”
Her lips tilted. “I will be as careful as I am able.” She cupped his cheek before he could reiterate his warning, her soft touch reminding him of their kiss. “You’re the one trapped in a camp with a contaminated food or water supply. I don’t give my heart lightly, Mr. Reinhold. Never have. You’d better plan to stay on this side of eternity for a good many years.”
He covered her hand, sandwiching it against his cheek. “I have your heart, Jessica Ross?”
“From what I can tell, August, my heart went right along with that kiss. There’s no going back. I’m either all in, or nothing.”
“I love all of you. Every single freckle on your face and glint in your eyes.”
“And every stubborn streak?”
“All twenty-seven of them.”
She laughed, the sound reverberating through him, deeper and sweeter with each repetition. Her finger traced his bottom lip, her brow furrowing. “I’ll be careful if you will.” The vulnerability in her look, the break in her strength to entreat him, hollowed out his chest with a need to embrace her. A need he couldn’t fulfill. “Please, be careful.”