Amanda quickly discovered it wasn’t easy to conduct business on a moral high ground, at least not in North Carolina, while America was embroiled in a bloody war. Not one warehouse contained, or one Wilmington factor had access to, cotton picked solely by free hands. Her brother-in-law wasn’t the only cotton factor supporting slavery in the Carolinas. Yet each letter from Charles Pelton was always the same: Dunn Mills needs all the raw materials you can provide.
And, apparently, her mother’s financial requirements hadn’t diminished since her father’s passing. Mama’s complaints about the social obligations for a widow in Manchester had become relentless.
Amanda had fully intended to implement changes before seeing Nate again. But despite her good intentions, she had little choice but to do business with Jackson until Mr. Pelton contacted potential suppliers in South America. Her shopping excursion to Cooper’s last week yielded no poignant reunion with the proprietor. A hand-painted sign indicated that the store was “Closed Until Further Notice.” Salome decided that Baxter’s, well away from the waterfront, would receive the Henthorne patronage once again. Amanda yearned to pay a visit to the Simses on Castle Street, yet she knew that Abigail wouldn’t approve.
But it had been two weeks since Nate’s afternoon visit to the rose garden, and following Jackson’s ridiculous accusation, she couldn’t wait another day to see him. The idea that Nate could be involved with a band of lawless anarchists would be humorous if not so frightening.
Amanda wrapped a heavy shawl around her shoulders and slipped out of the house as soon as she and Abby finished breakfast. Because her sister usually took a long bath and then read for hours in her room, Amanda’s absence wouldn’t be noticed until luncheon. The brisk walk in the cool air exhilarated her, lifting her spirits and lessening her burdens. When she discovered the door to the store ajar, Amanda practically burst into song.
“How long have you been open for business?” she crowed as she crossed the threshold. Then she caught the whiff of a foul odor and spotted Nate’s shocked face at the same moment.
“Wait there, Amanda, and I’ll join you. You don’t want to get lye soap on your shoes.”
She ignored his warning and entered the shop she’d grown so fond of. “Goodness, what happened here? Was this due to that flood two weeks ago? I couldn’t fathom why your market was closed. Jackson mentioned that the river had overflowed its banks, but his home only suffered a soggy garden for a few days. Even the stone floor of Salome’s kitchen remained dry.”
Nate shucked off his heavy gloves on his way up the aisle. “That’s the difference between mansions on the hill and businesses along the waterfront. Even the shops on Market suffered only dirty sidewalks and streaky windows.” Pulling off his soiled apron, he draped it over a rung of the ladder. “How are you? You’re a sight for sore eyes on this less-than-auspicious occasion.” The smile filling his face warmed her heart.
“I am well, thank you. I didn’t realize you suffered this much damage. What is that smell?” She pulled a handkerchief from her bag.
Nate sniffed the air. “My nose has grown accustomed to it. You’re smelling fermented river muck on my pine floorboards. I’ve scrubbed the walls, shelves, and windows, but I’m afraid the floor will require extra attention. Many boards are warped and will need to be replaced.”
Amanda tried to breathe through her scented linen. “What about your merchandise?”
“Much of it was ruined, I’m afraid. Some of the backroom stock is salvageable, along with my canned goods, but I had to have the rest hauled away. The Simses’ home was also damaged, so I helped them first before trying to reopen the store.” Nate peered around the room, shaking his head. “This isn’t a fit place for you. Let me wash up and meet you up the block. Shall we say under the elm tree?” He turned on his heel before she could utter a yea or nay.
Amanda felt oddly offended being sent away instead of invited to pitch in. She cared for Nate and thus what happened inside his market. She waited for him on the iron filigree bench, a spot she recalled from their first acquaintance. “At least we have a fine day for November,” she said cheerily when he arrived.
“Indeed, was it the weather which brought you to town? I hope Salome doesn’t require a pound of sugar or flour. I would be forced to send you to one of my competitors.”
“I came to see you, Nate. Gossip is being spread and I fear reprisals for you. Jackson awoke me in the middle of the night, furious after a conversation with Judge Stewart.”
Stretching out his long legs, he tilted his face toward the late autumn sunshine. “I thought the judge would regret his assertion I worked for Henthorne. I hate falsehoods perpetuated on my behalf, no matter how well-intended the motivation.”
“No, that’s not what I mean.” She wrung her hands in her lap. “The judge approached Jackson with details about a story in the newspaper. A group of hooligans—he called them anarchists—wreaked havoc on rail lines outside of town. Rebel cavalry patrolling in the area caught them red-handed and a gunfight ensued. Some of the anarchists escaped but a few were killed.”
Nate’s relaxed position on the bench stiffened. “Why would Judge Stewart connect those men to me?”
“A false connection to be sure,” she said soothingly. “The cavalry brought the bodies back to the garrison. One of the dead men had papers identifying him as Mason Hooks. Then a member of the militia said he saw you drinking with Mr. Hooks in a disreputable place uptown, along with his dead companion. I told Jackson that the man was mistaken because you never imbibe—”
“Mason Hooks is dead?”
Nate’s plaintive query chilled her to the bone. “Yes, shot by Confederate cavalry. Do you mean to say you did know the man?”
He scrubbed his face with his hands. “I do—did—and the militiaman was correct. It was me with Mason and his friend in a tavern on Campbell Street.”
“I don’t understand.” Amanda felt queasy, similar to Abigail on more mornings than not.
“I knew Mason from Balsam. We were friends a long time ago. He joined the Reb army but deserted after two years. He brought me news of my brother when he came to Wilmington. Joshua enlisted not long after the war began. The last time Mason saw Joshua, he was alive and well, serving under General Hoke. Mason and his friend, Billy Conroy, showed up the day of the waterfront flood. They helped me move some of the merchandise. I’m indebted to Mason, both for news of my brother and saving my store from even worse damage.” Nate dropped his chin to his chest, his face devoid of expression. “We waited in that uptown pub until the storm passed.”
“This deserter…Mr. Hooks…do you think he was an anarchist? Someone bent on destroying the fabric of society?”
Nate locked gazes with her. “What meaning does that term have during wartime, Amanda? Mason opposed fighting to preserve slavery, an institution which benefits only the rich planter and denies people of color their inalienable privileges promised in the Bill of Rights and then demanded by Lincoln’s emancipation edict.”
“Were you involved with tearing up tracks and burning depots, Nate? According to Jackson, Confederate guards were ambushed and killed.”
“I was not, but you should know the whole truth. I attended one of their rallies and listened to their speeches. If men don’t take action against oppression, rich men like George Dunn and Randolph Henthorne will always have the upper hand.” His lips thinned to a harsh line. “But my pacifist nature prevailed over my desire for social reform in the South.”
Amanda blinked like an owl on midnight watch. “What on earth does my father have to do with American political differences? Slavery was outlawed in my country during the last century.”
“Isn’t it the same? Rich men like your father essentially enslave those working in the mills, mines, and foundries. Their families live in crude hovels without proper heat, light, or water. Their illiterate children are put to work at an early age and old people die before their time because they can’t afford doctors.”
Amanda rose to her feet. “We have no laws against educating children, nor do we sell human beings! Men can quit their jobs and move their families elsewhere. How dare you speak critically of a country you have never been to.”
“Have you walked the alleys of a mill town? Have you stepped inside those houses and seen for yourself how your father’s employees live when not toiling fourteen hours a day?”
She gripped the back of the bench. “How do you know this?”
“The man Mason Hooks brought to Wilmington was born in Wycleft. His father died in the same accident that claimed your brother. A month later the family was out on the street. His name was Billy Conroy, although I’m sure your paths never crossed back in England.”
“Was he the other dead man?”
“Yes, Amanda. His was a senseless death after a pitiful life.” Nate looked away a moment before returning his gaze to her. “I am no traitor to North Carolina and certainly not an anarchist. Nevertheless, the news of Mason and Conroy’s deaths brings me little joy.”
“You blame me for men like them?”
“Of course not. They died by the sword they chose to brandish. But the rich must realize that everything comes with a price. Whether here in America or back in Manchester, great wealth often leaves behind a trail of broken lives.”
For a man who fancies himself in love, I have an odd way of showing it. This and other recriminations ran through Nate’s head during the next two weeks. Arduous days of restoring his store were followed by interminable nights of tossing and turning in his room. Why had he taken Mason’s side in an argument with the woman he cared for? How could he blame Amanda for society’s ills, both here and across the Atlantic? She was no more responsible for the mill towns of Manchester than he was culpable for slavery two years after the Emancipation Proclamation.
A man without an effective course of action lashed out at those in close proximity. Was he surprised she hadn’t returned? Rufus posted handbills announcing the reopening of his market everywhere. The boy personally delivered one to each cook on Third Street to no avail. So when Nate closed up that afternoon, he had only one destination in mind. He changed shirts, wrapped his finest smoked ham in bright paper, and hiked up the hill to beg forgiveness from the kindest person he knew.
Running a hand through his hair, he knocked boldly on the kitchen door, the most likely place to find servants at this hour. With growing unease, he noticed an absence of people in the courtyard and in the row of slave cabins. Nate pounded again on the carved oak panel with little regard for those who might be napping after a full meal.
“Who’s there?” A voice demanded from within.
“It’s Nathaniel Cooper.”
When the door swung wide, Salome stood in the opening, her girth effectively filling the space. Her husband, Thomas, glowered over her shoulder. The man was only half as wide but towered a foot taller. “Whatcha doin’ here, Master Cooper?”
“Forgive my intrusion at a late hour, but I must speak to Miss Dunn. I promise to be brief.” Nate mustered a smile for the pair.
“Sorry, sir, that not possible.” The cook began to close the door.
“Please, Salome, if you would deliver a message to her, I would be ever grateful.” He wedged his boot against the wooden frame.
“You can’t see her ’cause she ain’t here, Master Cooper.” At last Thomas offered a reasonable explanation. “Master and Mistress Henthorne are spending December at his papa’s plantation. Not enough parties in town this season, so Master celebratin’ Christmas in the country with his folks. Miz Henthorne insisted Miz Dunn come too and wouldn’t take nay for an answer.”
“She will be gone the entire month?” Having rallied enough courage to visit, Nate couldn’t fathom Amanda not being there.
“That right, sir,” said Thomas. “They be back after Christmas because Judge Stewart is throwin’ a New Year party.”
Salome issued a final harrumph on the subject.
“Thank you for telling me. I wish you both a joyous holiday.” Nate dipped his chin, took a step back, and then remembered the gift. “This is for you.” He extended the wrapped package.
“What that?” Salome appeared suspicious.
“A ham I brought for Miss Dunn and the Henthornes, but I want you to have it instead.”
Thomas was hesitant. “Don’t know, sir, if we should—”
“Thank you and merry Christmas.” Salome tucked the package under her arm and closed the door.
Nate walked back to his quarters on Castle Street more depressed than the night of the flood. It would be two weeks before Amanda returned to Wilmington at the earliest. No way could he pay a social call at the Henthorne plantation even if he knew the location. His sole option for Christmas was to help make the holiday special for Rufus…and pray that God would keep Amanda safe and sound.
On Christmas Eve Nate decided to close the store early. Customers had been few and far between all week. Either Mr. Baxter had dropped his prices or the Henthornes weren’t the only residents to abandon the city. After he swept his floors and latched the shutters, Nate heard the bell over the door jangle. “Sorry, ma’am, but we’re closed,” he called, blowing out the lamp.
“It has been a long time, but surely you can tell the difference between a gal and your brother.”
The voice, as familiar as the back of his hand, sounded oddly incongruous in the dark. “Joshua? ” The name issued forth more like a croak than a question. Nate turned to see the hauntingly thin face of his only sibling…younger in years, but looking much older than his own reflection in the mirror.
“Ah, so you do still remember me.”
When Joshua opened his arms, Nate stepped clumsily into his embrace. “I’m mighty glad to see you.” With a tight throat, his declaration took nearly a minute to deliver. “Have you left the army?” He studied his brother at arm’s length. Joshua’s uniform, tattered and stained, was the usual Confederate shade of butternut.
“General Bragg sent our regiments to reinforce Fort Fisher. I’m in General Hoke’s division. We’ve been at the garrison for two weeks. Because Admiral Porter keeps sending gunboats up the Cape Fear, Colonel Lamb needed a hand to convince those Yankees it was time to go home.”
“How on earth did you find me?” Nate released his tight grip before he bruised his brother’s arms.
“One of the quartermasters procuring supplies for the fort asked me if I had kinfolk in town. He said there was a shopkeeper named Cooper who talked just like me.”
“We don’t sound much alike anymore, but I’m glad he made the connection. Apparently, my attempt to lose the mountain twang is an abysmal failure.” Nate laughed. “You’re a lieutenant now. Pa would be right proud.”
Joshua swept off his hat to finger the braiding. “If enough men in the regiment die, the commanders will make anyone still breathing an officer.”
“I’m sure you distinguished yourself on the battlefield.” Inexplicably, Nate felt a wave of shame or perhaps regret. He felt confused by his reaction.
“I can shoot straight and try to keep my head down. That’s about all we can do at this point. The Yanks got us outnumbered and outgunned at every battle. But we’re well entrenched now. If the admiral tries to land troops again, we’ll be ready. We built a new breastwork and planted torpedoes in the river.” His young face glowed with a soldier’s pride of accomplishment—rare for a member of the Confederate army lately.
“How long is your furlough? Are you hungry? When was the last time you had a home-cooked meal?”
“The major ordered our company back to the fort by midnight tomorrow—Christmas Day. Those Yanks wouldn’t dare attack on Jesus’s birthday.”
Again Joshua reminded Nate of a very young man, still filled with optimism, instead of a seasoned veteran who had doubtlessly taken many lives. “It’s been a long time since we spent a holiday together.”
“Do you live upstairs?” His gaze traveled up to the ceiling. “ ’Spose you got plenty of vittles to cook since you own a store.”
“Nothing’s upstairs but dust and spiderwebs. I rent a room from the Sims family a few blocks away. Come home with me. Ruth always has enough for an extra mouth, especially as this is Christmas Eve. Tomorrow morning I plan to show my face in church even if it causes a minor ruckus in heaven.”
Joshua grinned. “I’ll go with you in case Ma is looking down. But tonight I’d better spread my bedroll here.” He gestured toward the whitewashed floor. “My company is uptown at some watering hole. The sergeant won’t know where I went if he needs me.”
“I have a better idea.” Nate tore off a sheet of some brown paper and grabbed his charcoal pencil. “What’s your sergeant’s name?”
“Baker. Gavin Baker.”
Nate drew a crude map from his market to the Simses’ house, printed Sergeant Gavin Baker at the top, and let Joshua sign the bottom in his childish scrawl. Once he nailed the notice to his front door, he grabbed a parcel for Ruth and headed toward the door. “No brother of mine sleeps on the floor on Christmas. Let’s go home.”
Home…with the only family Nate had left in the world, other than Amanda, because that’s how he felt about her. Even though he’d had a strange way of showing it, she felt like a cherished member of his family. He hoped this would be the last Christmas they would spend apart.
If Joshua was surprised he lived with people of color, he hid it well. During dinner everyone swapped tales of favorite Christmases gone by—a cherished new toy, a rare gift of oranges in the dead of winter, a boy’s first muzzleloader for hunting squirrels and rabbits. Ruth served the smoked ham Nate had given her, along with baked apples, yams, and plum pudding for dessert. After the meal his brother struck up a tune on Odom’s fiddle. Joshua had acquired the talent after joining the army. Nate settled back to listen and savor the pleasure of having a brother again.
There were no heartbreaking stories of fallen comrades or grievous battle wounds, no description of loathsome rations or foul water, and blessedly none of the melancholy that defines a soldier’s life in wartime. For one magical night he and Joshua were boys again in the beautiful Blue Ridge Mountains. Their pa was sober; their ma healthy and robust. When their eyelids finally began to droop, Nate insisted that Joshua take his small metal bed while he curled up in a blanket against the wall. Nate watched his brother sleep for hours. His face, peaceful in repose, still looked innocent despite all he’d seen and done. While Joshua snored, Nate tried to fathom a way to keep him safe from the maelstrom surely headed to Wilmington.
Odom had asked Joshua during dinner why he was fighting. His brother had shrugged and replied, “If I’m a Carolinian, it just seemed like something I should do.” His simple response festered in Nate’s mind until he finally drifted to sleep.
Yet his slumber was brief in duration due to the Union army proving to be unpredictable once more. Simultaneously, Odom, Nate, and Joshua bolted toward the incessant pounding on the door. Sergeant Baker, shivering in the damp predawn air, snapped a hasty salute. “Lieutenant Cooper, sir.”
Joshua returned the formality. “What is it, Sergeant? It’s Christmas Day.”
“Yes, sir, but somebody forget to tell the Yankees. They opened fire on Fort Fisher in the middle of the night. We are to return to the fort at once. I’ve already sent the rest of the company on their way.”
Within minutes, Joshua retrieved his bedroll and rucksack, thanked his hosts for supper, and delivered the fiercest hug Nate ever received.
“I must go back. God bless you, brother. Goodbye.” Joshua disappeared into the night before Nate could utter a reply. Yet before he reached the top of the stairs, Nate already knew what course of action he would take.
December 28, 1864
Amanda couldn’t wait to return to Wilmington. Even though they were slave owners, at least Jackson and Abigail treated their slaves far better than the elder Henthornes. She had seen Randolph’s field hands in threadbare rags, while most of the children had no shoes despite cool winter temperatures. Although sufficiently attired in livery or maids’ uniforms, household servants appeared nervous and mistrustful, as though the master or mistress’s wrath could be easily provoked.
Even her sister expressed concern about the deplorable condition of the slave quarters—leaky roofs, dirt floors, and missing mortar between the rough-hewn split logs. Isabelle Henthorne dismissed Abigail’s concerns with a wave of her hand and a disdainful shrug. “We have no cotton left for them to make new clothes,” she said. “And our peanut harvest this year was barely enough to provide a new gown for me for the season. Thanks to that infernal blockade, horrible shortages have taken their toll on everyone, my dear.”
Yet you appear very well fed, Mrs. Henthorne, Amanda thought uncharitably. Always a reason, always an excuse for their lack of compassion in an atmosphere of injustice.
Amanda already had a bellyful when both ham and leg of lamb were served for Christmas dinner, while the slaves ate thin soup and coarse brown bread. When she’d commented during dessert, she received a glare from Jackson and a patronizing, “I wouldn’t expect a foreigner to understand our ways” from the elder Mrs. Henthorne.
Was this how Wycleft appeared to American visitors? If the description provided by Billy Conroy was accurate, then she knew the answer. Billy had no reason to lie to Nate. She had buried her head in the sand and never questioned the customs of her parents. Just like Isabelle Henthorne. Why hadn’t she walked the alleys where her father’s employees lived? Her mother always ordered the coachman to take certain lanes to and from the mansion. Amanda had no contact with the village children while growing up. Nannies, governesses, and boarding schools provided an insular world of wealth and privilege for the Dunn offspring. No wonder her sister found nothing distasteful in Jackson’s world.
After her last visit to Nate’s store, Amanda yearned for him to visit Wycleft. Then he could see for himself that Dunn Mills provided decent employment with freedom and opportunities for advancement. Now she no longer thought that a good idea. She’d been sitting on a pile of self-righteousness. Like Nate, maybe she no longer belonged anywhere. And what did that bode for the coming New Year?
With Jackson eager to assess the situation at his warehouses and the wharf, and Abigail needing rest after weeks with a critical mother-in-law, Amanda devised a plan. On her first day back in Wilmington, she headed to Water Street immediately after breakfast. But her hope for a tender reunion with Nate dissolved on his front stoop.
A flurry of workmen carried sacks of grains, sides of smoked meat, and boxes of canned goods to drays parked along the street. Teamsters shouted at passing carriages as they fought to control their skittish horses. Filled with apprehension, Amanda walked into the store as a keg of molasses rolled down the aisle.
“Watch your step, miss!” hollered a burly man.
“Amanda! What timing. I just finished penning you a letter,” said Nate. He held up a sheet of foolscap, the ink still glistening.
She sidestepped the runaway cask and closed the distance between them. All around her the shelves were rapidly being emptied. “I hope you wrote me an invitation to—” Her jest froze in her throat like a winter icicle with the realization Nate wore the uniform of Confederate soldier. Amanda’s vision clouded, her knees buckled, and the floor rose up to meet her.
“Steady, dear heart.” In one smooth motion, Nate caught her, lifted her into his arms, and carried her out the back door.
Away from the chaos, the cold breeze restored her senses better than smelling salts. “I’m fine, Nate. Put me down,” she demanded. Once her feet reached solid ground, Amanda straightened her skirt over her ankles. “Tell me you haven’t done something desperately reckless!” A piqued tone masked the terror churning in her gut.
“I haven’t yet, but I intend to enlist once I reach the fort.” He tugged down the hem of his jacket, the many repairs attesting to hard service by its previous owner. “A militiaman supplied this so I won’t be shot as a Yankee spy along the way.”
Amanda pressed a fist to her forehead, where a dull ache throbbed beneath the skin. “Fight for the Confederacy? But why, Nate? You abhor the institution of slavery and the rich planters who manipulate laws to benefit themselves.”
Guiding her to the stone wall, Nate pulled her down next to him. “Yes, but most Carolinians fight for our state’s rights, not to preserve slavery. We want to be able to govern ourselves. As for me, I plan to fight for less philosophic reasons—my brother.” He gazed toward the river, obscured today by a blanket of fog.
The word hung in the air as though she could almost touch it. “Your brother is here in Wilmington?”
He nodded without meeting her eye. “Joshua found me on Christmas Eve. His regiment has been reassigned to Fort Fisher. Some army quartermaster remembered my store and told him where to find me.”
“Unbelievable! I’m sure you were overjoyed to see him.”
“I wish you two could have met. To spend Christmas with the two people I love would have been a dream come true.”
With the two people I love? Amanda latched on his declaration like a rope thrown to a drowning man. “Nothing would have pleased me more than to be here with you instead of with the Henthornes, surrounded by dying peanut plants.”
“While we slept, Yankees fired on the fort, cutting short our reunion. Joshua’s commander called him back and canceled his furlough.” Nate wrapped his hand around hers. “Amanda, I-I can’t bear the thought of losing him after finding him again.”
“Joshua is the reason you enlisted?”
“He is the only family I have, other than you. The army brevetted him to a lieutenant. That particular rank leads men into battle instead of giving orders from the rear like generals.” Nate tightened his grip. “I plan to fight at his side and, if it be God’s will, keep him safe. I can shoot even straighter than he can.” His lips pulled into a wry grin.
“Please, Nate, don’t go. You will both be killed, and it will be all for naught.” Panic changed the sound of her voice. “I came to say I don’t belong in the Henthorne world any more than you do. But I don’t want to live under Mama’s thumb either. Why don’t we return to Manchester only long enough to sell Dunn Mills? As Papa’s heir I have every right. We could set my mother up on a monthly income in London and use the rest to travel the continent, or begin anew in the western territories. Your brother could join us and start fresh.” As her enthusiasm escalated, his expression changed to one of sorrow.
Nate lifted her chin with one finger. “Nothing would please me more than a future with you, my love, but Joshua won’t desert the army, and so my fate is sealed as well. Life becomes complicated when family is involved. You said so yourself. I was wrong that afternoon in your sister’s garden. I judged you for things beyond your control. Everyone is trapped by the circumstances of their birth. I’m a North Carolinian, even though we were too poor for a tombstone on my mother’s grave. I cannot abandon either Joshua or Wilmington in its final hour.” He offered her a smile filled with sorrow. “Forgive me, but I must finish packing.”
Helplessly, she burst into tears as she followed him back inside. “What will happen to your store?”
As Nate packed ledgers and documents into a leather pouch, workmen carried out everything that wasn’t nailed to the floor or walls.
“I sent word to Mr. Baxter about my intention to enlist. I offered him my merchandise at no charge as long as he donated whatever he didn’t want to charity. No sense letting good food molder.” Nate peered around the room dispassionately as though it was no longer part of his life.
“Do these men work for Mr. Baxter?” she asked as two carried out a pickle barrel.
“They do, but Mr. Baxter wouldn’t hear of a gift. He insisted on paying a fair price for everything—shelves, worktables, even my empty burlap bags. He intends to expand his market into the space next door.” Nate donned his cap and slung two bags over his shoulder as though their reunion was over. “I want to reach the fort before dark.” He pushed the leather pouch across the counter.
“What is that?” she asked with her face awash in tears.
“It contains the money Mr. Baxter paid me, along with a bill of sale for land I purchased on the Cape Fear River.”
She stared at it suspiciously. “Land?”
“Remember the spot of our first picnic on the peninsula? You waded up to your knees, hoping no one would catch you showing your lacy petticoats.”
“I remember.” She delicately pressed a handkerchief to her nose.
“I took money I’d saved and made an offer to the owner. He signed over twenty acres free and clear. I planned to build us a cabin with a dock, and then buy a fishing trawler. If you get a hankering to be a fisherman’s wife, you could still travel to Wilmington to order cotton for Dunn Mills.”
“I love fresh fish,” she murmured.
“Then what better reason would you need to marry me?”
“Let’s build your cabin on the river. That’s a better idea than sailing back to England.”
Nate draped the pouch’s strap over her shoulder. “We will, someday. In the meantime, take this back to Manchester with you. I need to know you’re safe during the upcoming battle. You could take a train north into Virginia. If you show English documents, you will be allowed to cross into the city of Washington. There will be no blockade to prevent your passage.”
“But this is my home now!” She flailed her arms to encompass the room.
“I understand, but with you gone I’ll have only Joshua to worry about.” In front of several shocked Baxter employees, Nate leaned over and kissed her lingeringly on the lips. “When this American nightmare is over, I will find you in Wycleft. I love you, Amanda Dunn.”
She opened her mouth to argue, to demand he listen to reason, but she managed only choking sobs.
Nate strode toward the door with her trailing like a pet. Suddenly, he pivoted on his heel. “I nearly forgot. Tell your brother-in-law not to send his steamers downriver. Water mines have been planted to waylay the Yankee navy. Henthorne will lose his ships along with the cargo they carry.”
“Why would you warn Jackson?” Amanda crossed her arms and clutched her elbows.
Nate tucked a lock of hair behind her ear. “For no other reason than he is your twin sister’s husband. Family does have a way of complicating a person’s life.” He ran his fingertips down her face and then he was gone, leaving her in an empty market with a heart about to break.