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Second Chance Love
Shannon Farrington


His Brother's Intended BrideDavid Wainwright is not one to shirk his duty, and helping his late brother's grieving betrothed is no exception. He'll offer Elizabeth Martin comfort and support–he'll even help her find a job. But most important, he'll continue to hide his true feelings…that he's always cherished his brother's almost-bride.Elizabeth needs to be strong for the sake of her family. So she accepts David's friendship and assistance. But she hadn't realized how much she'd enjoy and value her work at David's side. Or how much he'd come to mean to her. He's more than a would-be brother to her–and much more than a friend. Could she be ready to open herself to the risks of love for a second time around?







His Brother’s Intended Bride

David Wainwright is not one to shirk his duty, and helping his late brother’s grieving betrothed is no exception. He’ll offer Elizabeth Martin comfort and support—he’ll even help her find a job. But most important, he’ll continue to hide his true feelings…that he’s always cherished his brother’s almost-bride.

Elizabeth needs to be strong for the sake of her family. So she accepts David’s friendship and assistance. But she hadn’t realized how much she’d enjoy and value her work at David’s side. Or how much he’d come to mean to her. He’s more than a would-be brother to her—and much more than a friend. Could she be ready to open herself to the risks of love for a second time around?


“You don’t have to hide the tears from me, Elizabeth.”

The understanding in his voice stopped her in her tracks.

“I know what you are feeling. He was my brother, my best friend. I miss him terribly.”

Pain pierced her heart, but David’s honesty was an invitation. She turned to face him.

“How do you do it?” she asked.

He left the ladder and crossed the floor. “Do what?”

“Get up each morning? Go about your tasks? Your new job? I can barely breathe.”

A look of compassion filled his face. It appeared as though he were about to embrace her, yet just before doing so, he stopped, rubbed his whiskered chin.

“I wish I could take away your pain,” David said.

Upon impulse, she moved into his arms. David held her tightly. Elizabeth knew full well the strength and security he offered was only that of a would-be brother-in-law’s kindness, yet even so, she soon gave in to temptation.

The same soap… The same shaving balm…

But the added hint of peppermint brought her back to reality. He is not Jeremiah. He never will be.


SHANNON FARRINGTON and her husband have been married for over twenty years, have two children and are active members in their local church and community. When she isn’t researching or writing, you can find her visiting national parks and historical sites or at home herding her small flock of chickens through the backyard. She and her family live in Maryland.


Second Chance Love

Shannon Farrington






www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)


For He hath said,

I will never leave thee nor forsake thee.

—Hebrews 13:5







For my father, who first inspired my interest in the Civil War, and my mother, who has lovingly put up with us both for all these years.


Contents

Cover (#u25167e48-3f1b-5fd7-a1bc-5c3792fe7f53)

Back Cover Text (#u29bb019a-809e-53e3-adb1-592ba22a7aee)

Introduction (#u3cf8aeb2-9dcd-5806-a908-92e53cc3d8c0)

About the Author (#u53d03281-cd5e-5a32-92ef-74cbe9069249)

Title Page (#ud0805227-2bef-5886-af85-23ef39dfd2c0)

Bible Verse (#u46b5a181-9946-51f9-b502-9e5ef296778a)

Dedication (#uab23cc76-8372-57bf-ac42-1c6d71d26bd0)

Chapter One (#u57322545-47c3-5873-a2e3-2ce58918e173)

Chapter Two (#u3adfb2a2-5f62-5e1f-a029-c84164dcfa4c)

Chapter Three (#u7b038819-5181-55a3-a346-134cc4fc1766)

Chapter Four (#u70ef672e-904f-5c4c-9e5c-8808cbe89181)

Chapter Five (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Six (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Seven (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Eight (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Nine (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Ten (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Eleven (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Twelve (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Thirteen (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Fourteen (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Fifteen (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Sixteen (#litres_trial_promo)

Epilogue (#litres_trial_promo)

Dear Reader (#litres_trial_promo)

Extract (#litres_trial_promo)

Copyright (#litres_trial_promo)


Chapter One (#ulink_504b977d-b891-5e53-bb16-2739cf67877a)

Baltimore, Maryland 1864

David Wainwright stared past his brother’s casket to the place where Elizabeth Martin sat. Her beautiful red curls were pulled back tightly in a bun at the base of her neck. Head to toe, she was covered in black. In just a few short weeks the woman would have become part of his family, but not in the way David had hoped.

“I am the resurrection and the life. He that believeth in me, though he were dead, yet shall he live...”

The reverend presiding over the service recited the words of Jesus, but by the look on Elizabeth’s face, it appeared she found no comfort in the promise of eternal life. Pale and stunned, she stared at Jeremiah’s coffin. By all outward appearances she was the epitome of proper decorum, but the moment David caught her eye he sensed a storm below the surface.

If only you had left well enough alone,she seemed to say. I’d have given anything for just a few days with him as his wife.

Grief rolled through him in more ways than one. The loss of his brother was like a knife to his soul, and the sight of Elizabeth’s pain cut him just as deeply.

I’m sorry,he wanted to say. So sorry for everything.

She returned her focus to the minister, but David’s thoughts remained in the past.

Little had he realized when he first met her that his life, and that of his brother’s, would be changed forever. Elizabeth was a Baltimore belle, born and bred. Like many other women from her city, she had volunteered to serve as a nurse following the battle of Antietam. Scores of wounded soldiers, Union and rebel alike, had come to Baltimore’s US Army General Hospital for care and processing. David and Jeremiah were a pair of soldiers from Boston who had been assigned as stewards in the place. Elizabeth had worked in the ward alongside David. Jeremiah served next door.

Her Southern sympathy revealed itself from time to time, mostly in expressions of relief whenever she learned of rebel victories on the battlefield. As a Union soldier and the son of an abolition-preaching minister, David found that troubling. Then he learned Elizabeth’s loyalty was more to an older brother named George, who had enlisted in the rebel forces, than to the actual Confederacy.

Her devotion to her secession-supporting family member, however, had cost her the position at the hospital. For, when a rebel prisoner escaped, Elizabeth and several other Baltimore volunteer nurses were accused of assisting him. She was found innocent of the charges but was forced to leave the hospital for refusing to sign an oath of loyalty that would have demanded that she cut off all contact with her brother.

It had been a dark day when she left David’s ward, but worse ones were to follow. Shortly after her dismissal, Jeremiah had announced he was courting her.

Why didn’t I speak up then? David couldn’t help but think. Why didn’t I do something? Surely my brother would have respected my wishes if I’d told him that I’d fallen in love with her.

Three weeks later Jeremiah had proposed. He and Elizabeth had planned to marry immediately. David had done his best to speak then. He remembered every detail of that conversation.

“You can’t marry her,” he’d insisted.

“Why not?”

“Well...this war.”

“I will not reenlist,” Jeremiah had announced. “I’ve done my duty. I’m going to marry Elizabeth.”

“But you would marry her before your service is through? Why, you barely know each other.”

“We will have a lifetime to get to know each other. I love her. She loves me.”

The pain that statement had inflicted was more than David could stand, but he did not let his brother know that. “But surely you want what is best for her,” he’d said.

“Of course I do.”

“Then consider what could happen. If you married her before your service in the army is finished...”

Jeremiah had quickly dismissed his misgivings. “They have kept us in the same hospital for the past two years. There is no reason to think they would change our posting now. It’s already November! We’ll be out the first of January.”

“But you can’t be certain of that. You have no guarantee the army will keep you here in Baltimore until your enlistment ends. They could extend our service. What if we are sent to the battlefield?”

“Then I will do my duty.”

David didn’t doubt his brother’s courage, and that was exactly what had frightened him.

“For her sake, don’t be selfish, man! Think of her! Will you run the risk of making your new bride a widow? And if there is a child, would you leave him fatherless? Where will that leave her? I’ll tell you—with the memory of a short-lived love and the lifelong responsibility of rearing the consequences!”

He may have been crass, indelicate for certain, but Jeremiah saw his point and he’d postponed the wedding. For David, however, it was hardly a victory.

Sitting here now before his brother’s casket, his own words pounded repeatedly in his mind. Don’t be selfish, man! Think of her...

He had told himself he had acted for Elizabeth’s protection, but he realized now he had spoken for his own well-being. Deep down David knew he could not bear the thought of her belonging to another man, even one as good and as God-fearing as Jeremiah.

But a man without the courage to proclaim his own intentions has no business disrupting another’s.

The minister continued on, talking of Jeremiah’s unselfish nature, how he’d ministered to sick soldiers, many of whom considered him the enemy. David’s guilt grew.

I am the older brother. I was supposed to be looking out for him. That’s why I enlisted in the first place. I should have encouraged him to marry Elizabeth when he wished. I had no idea he would succumb to pneumonia just days before our service in the army ended.

He chanced a glance in her direction. She was staring straight at the coffin. Her chin was quivering, but she was trying desperately to maintain control.

The last thing on earth he’d wanted to do was hurt her, and yet that was exactly what he had done. He had stolen what precious little happiness Elizabeth could have had. He’d stolen it from Jeremiah, as well.

The casket was closed. A bone-rattling chill, one even colder than the dreadful January weather, shivered through him. The minister offered a final prayer, and when it was over, David and his fellow mourners stood.

Across the way, Elizabeth did the same. She wiped her eyes, tucked her black-trimmed handkerchief in the cuff of her sleeve and prepared to greet each of their guests. David was confident she would do so with respect and grace, no matter what she may be feeling inside. She would execute the duties of this day. He would do the same.

In a few hours he would place his brother’s casket on the northbound train. When he reached Boston, his family would then conduct a second service at their home, followed by internment in the Wainwright plot. All honors would be paid to Jeremiah for his service to the Union.

In the weeks to come David would help settle his brother’s affairs, then do his best to reenter civilian life. In all likelihood he would never see Elizabeth Martin again, but he knew what he had done to her and his brother would haunt him for the rest of his days.

* * *

Elizabeth mustered her strength and stood. She’d told herself she could get through this. She would get through this. Her determination, however, was immediately tested as Jeremiah’s older brother approached. Elizabeth had managed to avoid him all morning, but now there was no escaping his presence.

The sight of David made her heart squeeze. He wore the same blue uniform, had the same dark, wavy hair and lean yet muscular build. Were it not for the neatly trimmed mustache and chin whiskers, he could have easily been Jeremiah’s twin.

What can I say to him? What can he possibly say to me? Even if he were to apologize, he could never undo what has been done.

She would never forget the day her fiancé came to tell her the wedding would be postponed.

“You want to wait until you finish with the army?” Elizabeth had asked.

“I spoke with David and he had a good point. One never knows what the army may do. I shouldn’t want you to be carrying our child if I am sent to battle...”

Elizabeth had blushed ten shades of crimson. How dare David discuss such intimate details of her and Jeremiah’s life! Her embarrassment had only been surpassed by the fear invoked by the validity of the statement. The thought of Jeremiah leaving the safety of the hospital, of him lying wounded in some blood-crusted field, had made her tremble. Her beloved had immediately realized her distress and taken her in his arms.

“Come now, don’t think of such things... Besides, you know that hospital can’t get along without me. Why, I heard a rumor that next week they are planning on making me chief of surgery!”

The words had been so ridiculous that she’d laughed.

But the merriment could not last for long.

A cold, wet November had brought sickness to the hospital. The army had suspended all liberty passes as pneumonia and other ailments ravaged the wards. Jeremiah had soon fallen ill himself. Elizabeth, frantic with worry, had begged to tend to him. She knew the hospital was short on nurses and her help was surely needed, but because of her brother’s involvement in the Confederate army, and her refusal to disavow him, she wasn’t permitted to step foot on hospital grounds.

It hadn’t been until dear old Dr. Turner, the physician she had once served, pleaded her case to hospital command that she’d been allowed to see her fiancé. David had come to fetch her the night Jeremiah lay dying. By then he’d been too ill to recognize her, let alone speak.

Elizabeth had held his hand those final hours and watched helplessly as he’d slipped into eternity. Her faith had slipped away that night, as well. She felt cheated, in every sense of the word. Cheated by God.

Cheated by him...

David stood before her quietly. His eyes were as blue and clear as Jeremiah’s had once been. Elizabeth didn’t want him anywhere near her, but she forced herself to display customary courtesy. She had to focus on his chin whiskers in order to keep her voice steady. “David, I must thank you for your assistance... I appreciate your willingness to allow a funeral here in Baltimore.”

“It was the least I could do,” he said. “Considering...”

Her heart squeezed again, and she was grateful he didn’t finish the sentence. Instead of claiming the place beside her, he moved to the far end of the receiving line, putting Elizabeth’s mother, Jane, and her sister, Trudy, between them. Her mother tugged on her hand. Elizabeth knew it was both a gesture of comfort and direction.

“It is time, Beth,” she whispered.

Turning to the left, Elizabeth began the difficult task of greeting her guests. All of her closest friends had gathered—Julia and her husband, Samuel Ward, Sally Hastings and Rebekah Van der Geld. Even Emily and her new husband, Dr. Evan Mackay, had come. They had arrived by way of the Washington train early that morning.

Dr. Mackay was first in line. “Your fiancé was a good soldier,” he insisted, “and a fine Christian man.”

Both the compliment and the man’s presence brought a quiver to her chin. Elizabeth fought hard to keep control. Jeremiah had once served in his ward. Dr. Mackay was skilled in treating lung ailments, and Elizabeth had no doubt her fiancé would have survived his illness had this particular physician not been transferred just weeks before to the hospital in Washington.

“May God comfort you in your loss,” Dr. Mackay added.

She had been told by others previously that He would, but so far she was still waiting.

Emily then moved to embrace her. “Don’t concern yourself with anything in the kitchen,” she whispered. “The girls and I will see to everything.”

“Thank you,” Elizabeth managed. She was grateful for her friends’ assistance, as well as for the food they had supplied. A proper funeral demands a proper meal. Today should be a day of dignity and respect.

As Emily and her husband moved to her mother, Elizabeth glanced to her left. The queue of mourners stretched throughout the darkened parlor. She willed them to disappear. She did not want their condolences. She did not even want their prayers. What she wanted drove an ache so deep through her body that she feared for a moment her knees were going to buckle. She wanted Jeremiah back.

Get a hold of yourself, she commanded. You must not cry.

She tried to steel her resolve by reminding herself she had but only a few more hours to endure, then she could retreat to the solitude of her room. There she would not be forced to make polite conversation. She could be alone.

“This world will not be the same without him,” she heard Dr. Mackay say to David.

The finality of her fiancé’s death seemed to wrap her in a tight-fitting shroud. It is not just these few hours I must endure,she realized. It is a lifetime. I will never again hear the sound of his laughter, feel his kiss upon my lips. I will never claim his name as my own or hold his child in my arms. My dreams have died with him. I will mourn his loss the rest of my days.

* * *

When the last person had paid their respects, Elizabeth very quickly left the parlor. David wanted to follow after her, but he didn’t dare. He knew she’d prefer to be alone.

As her mother gently laid a hand upon his arm, David turned. The lines around her eyes were far too many for her years. Worry and sorrow had deeply etched their mark.

“Why don’t you go to the kitchen?” she suggested. “Get something to eat.”

“Oh, thank you, ma’am, but I’m not that hungry.”

“You must keep up your strength.”

She was concerned for his health, as were many of the ladies here today. Several had been volunteer nurses and apparently thought his welfare was in jeopardy. One had asked if he had enough warm clothing for the journey north. Another if he’d been showing any signs of chills or respiratory illness himself.

David assured them all that physically, he was fine.

To please Mrs. Martin, he went to the kitchen and accepted the piece of fried chicken that Miss Sally Hastings laid upon his plate.

“How about a slice of raisin pie?” she asked.

David doubted he could even handle the chicken. “I’m certain it is delicious but...I don’t think so...”

Miss Hastings must have understood, for she smiled sympathetically. David knew she had recently lost a brother herself. “I’ll set aside some food for you to take on the train,” she promised.

He thanked her politely and then moved to the dining area. As he stepped into the once elegant room, he couldn’t help but notice some of the flocked wallpaper was peeling. In another corner, a piece of crown molding was loose. With Elizabeth’s father having passed four years ago and her brother somewhere south of the Potomac, the absence of any male presence to maintain the house was beginning to show.

David wondered why Jeremiah had not seen to such things before falling ill. I suppose he and Elizabeth had far more on their minds than household repairs. Shoving the thought aside, he scanned the faces in the room. His fellow mourners were gathered in tight groups of conversation. Hushed whispers drifted about. Most of the words centered on his brother and Elizabeth.

At the far end of the room several hospital physicians had collected along with a few members of David’s regiment who, like him, had completed their enlistment and were about to return home. Though he appreciated their presence, he had no desire to speak with any of them at the moment. The only person with whom he did truly wish to speak did not wish for him to do so.

Claiming a spot on the window ledge, he tried to force down the chicken. He soon felt nauseous and wondered if it was the chicken or the thought of Elizabeth remaining in perpetual mourning.

“I wanted to thank you.”

Dr. Evan Mackay’s voice broke in to his thoughts. David looked up to see the Scottish-born physician once again standing before him. He quickly stood and reached for the man’s outstretched hand.

“I am humbled that you selected me as one of the pallbearers.”

All the other men David had chosen had each expressed the same sentiment. They considered it an honor to provide final escort for one of their comrades.

“You are soon leaving for the train station?” the army physician asked.

David checked his watch. It was nearly three o’clock. “Yes. Within the hour.”

Dr. Mackay nodded, then glanced quickly about, as if what he were about to say was to be held in strict confidence. “I would advise against Miss Martin accompanying the body to the station.”

“Why is that?” David asked.

“I don’t believe she is up for the task. My wife is with her now.” He leveled his gaze. “You should go to her.”

“Go to her?”

The Scotsman nodded. “See for yourself.”

Though the man was no longer David’s superior, the instinct was still there to follow his commands. Especially since David knew the order was surely given out of concern for Elizabeth, for the doctor’s wife and she were close friends. Still, he balked.

You’re the physician and family friend. If she is having difficulty in some way, what can I do? She doesn’t want to see me. It isn’t my place.

Yet Dr. Mackay stared at him as if it were. David then realized, with Elizabeth’s father dead and her brother away at war, he was the closest she had to any male relative. As much as she may wish for him to leave her alone, it was his duty today to look after her.

Handing the physician the plate of chicken, David walked toward the parlor. The light was dim. The house was shuttered, and many of the windows were draped in black. The fires were lit, but winter’s chill still invaded every space. Appropriately, the place felt like a tomb.

Rounding the corner he found Elizabeth seated before his brother’s casket. Mrs. Mackay was beside her.

“But you know we must,” he heard her say.

Seeing Elizabeth’s head bowed, her shoulders shaking, pierced David’s heart. She had held her composure for so long, but here in the final moments it was crumbling. Quietly he approached. Tears streaked her face, but her eyes were as sharp as steel.

“No, David. Not yet. I won’t let you take him.”

She thought he had come to begin the processional. Now he knew why Dr. Mackay thought it unwise for her to go to the train station.

She cannot bring herself to say goodbye.

He knelt before her. “Elizabeth, I want to...help.”

“Haven’t you done enough already?” Her voice was barely above a whisper, but he clearly heard the anger. “You caused this!”

Guilt and grief rained down upon him. He felt torn between allowing her privacy and remaining with her. He foolishly chose the latter.

“Elizabeth, I’m sorry... I never should have interfered.”

“If you had left well enough alone, he would have married me. Things would have turned out differently. I know they would have. We would have been...so...”

Happy,he thought.

Anger gave way to anguish. Great sobs shook her entire frame. Mrs. Mackay immediately took Elizabeth in her arms and tried to soothe her. Frozen in his place, David wished there was something he could do to ease her pain.

“I loved him!” Elizabeth cried.

“And he, you,” Mrs. Mackay whispered. “No one on this earth could have loved you more.”

That isn’t true,David thought. That isn’t the whole story. Suddenly he wanted her to know why he had done what he did. He wanted to tell her he’d been in love with her from the moment she first walked in to his ward. His mind told him the confession would bring relief to him, but he knew for her, it would only bring more pain. So, he kept his mouth shut. Just like he had done every other time she was near him.

By now her cries had drawn the attention of the entire house. Her mother, sister and her other friends soon surrounded them. Trudy looked at him, her expression a mixture of embarrassment and pity. “Don’t worry, David. We’ll take care of her.”

“No,” Elizabeth cried.

“Let him see to Jeremiah,” Miss Hastings insisted. “It is what is best.”

“No...”

“Come with us, Elizabeth,” Mrs. Mackay gently urged.

The women pulled her to her feet, escorting her to the staircase. He watched helplessly as Elizabeth disappeared in a swirl of hazy black crepe.

“David,” he then heard her mother quietly say, “perhaps it would be best if you now see to your brother.”

“Yes, of course.”

He did not have to search far for the other men. Elizabeth’s cries had drawn each of them to the parlor, as well. In quiet reverence the pallbearers took their places alongside Jeremiah’s casket. David claimed his position at the head of the processional, his body and mind now numb.

Jeremiah’s flag-draped coffin was carried through the front door, the barren garden and out to the street. Carefully it was placed in the hearse. The pallbearers and remaining men then formed a line behind the black-adorned carriage. All of the women had elected to stay behind. David wondered if they were still surrounding Elizabeth. Were they offering words of comfort to her, words he could not give? Words she would not accept from him?

He glanced toward the upstairs windows. Part of him wished to return to the house, seek her out, if only to say goodbye. The rest of him knew it was better this way.

Just then, Mrs. Martin stepped from the porch and embraced him. “God keep you, David,” she whispered. “May He ease your troubled heart.”

“Ma’am,” he said, “I wish there was something I could do...”

“I know you do, son, but there is nothing to be done. Return to your home, and may God keep you from any more sorrow.”

Not knowing what else to say, he respectfully kissed her cheek, then directed the men to move. The processional made its way through the slush-covered streets toward the train station. As they passed through Monument Square, carriages halted. The citizens of Baltimore removed their hats out of respect for the fallen Union soldier, although in all probability many of them had advocated secession. Honoring a life took precedence over politics this day, yet the gesture offered David little comfort. He wondered how many more funerals this city would witness before this war was over.

At the President Street station, Jeremiah’s casket was loaded on to a freight car. His fellow soldiers offered a last salute, and the men of Baltimore, their final condolences. David then boarded the northbound train, solemnly claiming a seat.

Within a few moments he heard the whispers around him. Though the mood was still somber, his fellow Massachusetts comrades were speaking of what they would do when they reached Boston. David tried to focus his thoughts forward, as well, reminding himself that he also was going home.

But I am returning alone...

The car lurched forward as the train began to roll. The coal yards, docks and military fortifications soon gave way to snow-covered fields and ice-encased forests. Glass-like icicles dangled from bare tree limbs. He tried to focus on the peaceful scene outside his window, but his thoughts kept returning to the anguish Jeremiah had suffered in those final hours. David had been powerless to do anything to help him.

Elizabeth’s words sliced his soul. “You caused all this!”

If he could turn the clock back, he would, and this time he would not allow his personal feelings to interfere. He’d swallow his heart and stand beside his brother as he kissed his bride, content to be Elizabeth’s brother-in-law.

But it is too late. Jeremiah is gone, and Elizabeth will never forgive me.

His hands began to tremble. How was he to handle returning to Boston? How could he face his family? His parents had not even the luxury of saying goodbye. His sister Clara’s difficult delivery of her first child had kept them from making the journey to Baltimore. He knew his mother and father would not blame him for Jeremiah’s passing. Their telegram had confirmed it. Though they were heartbroken, they accepted their son’s death as “divine will.”

They will do their best to be grateful for the years Jeremiah was alive, for the memories they have of him. They will encourage me to do the same.

The memory of Elizabeth’s tear-streaked face, the look in her eyes, once more crossed his mind. His parents had each other. Clara had her husband, Patrick, and their new baby.

But who will comfort Elizabeth and her family? Who will encourage them?

As the train chugged northward, he thought of all the things he had seen in her house that required tending. There was woodwork in need of repair, squeaky hinges to be oiled. Seeing to such things would not ease her pain, but it would keep her house in running order...

He shoved the thought aside as quickly as it came, telling himself any idea of returning to Baltimore was foolish. My interference would not be a comfort to her. I would only add to her grief, and she to mine.

He told himself she had friends, a church family that cared for her. Surely they had noticed what he had. They will take care of such things. Why, if I know Dr. Mackay as well as I think I do, the man has probably already issued orders for someone to complete the tasks.

He never wanted to see Baltimore again. He wanted to forget the suffering he had witnessed and experienced there, yet the thought of returning nagged him for miles.

I have my old job waiting for me back at the Boston Journal. Lord willing, I will use words to shape my country’s future, not bullets. The train crossed the Susquehanna River. Workers were busy harvesting ice. By the thickness of the blocks it looked as though spring would never come.

But it will come,David thought, and the fighting will resume. More men will be wounded. More men will grow sick. More men will die. With the exception of the Pratt Street Riot, the city of Baltimore had witnessed no battles, only the aftereffects of them. But what if all that was about to change? What if the rebels advance into Union territory?The fortifications around Washington are strong, but what if they circumvent the defenses of the Capitol, setting their sights on Baltimore instead? Who will protect Elizabeth, her sister, her mother?

If David’s brother had married her, he would have brought Elizabeth back to Boston. Jeremiah had told him he would have convinced her family to come, as well, at least until the war was over.

She will never leave Baltimore now. Especially not to visit a place that will remind her of things that can never be.

David shifted uncomfortably in his seat as once again he was reminded of his duty. My duty to see to her welfare does not end with the funeral. It is for as long as this war lasts, or until her own brother returns, whichever comes first.

He knew what he had to do, and he knew how hard it was going to be. Even so, his mind was made up. He would travel to Boston and bury his brother with honors. Then he would return to Baltimore to look after Jeremiah’s heartbroken bride. After what he had done, he owed them both at least that much.


Chapter Two (#ulink_eda40a57-75f2-5f34-b52a-18e27278be7d)

Elizabeth stared at the ceiling, just as she had every day for the past two months. Trudy had brought up a light breakfast of tea, toast and marmalade, but Elizabeth left it untouched. She could not stomach food. All she wanted to do was go back to sleep. In her dreams, she lived happily ever after.

But there is no happily-ever-after.

The words of the church matrons repeated over and over again in her mind. She’d caught their whispers before she’d made such a fool of herself at the funeral.

“Such a tragedy...so young...but the best thing she can do is go on with her life. Find herself a new beau.”

Elizabeth winced and rolled to her side. She did not want to get on with her life. Had she actually been married to Jeremiah, society would have granted her a full year of heavy mourning. But as a fiancée, she was not afforded the same right. Somehow the pain was supposed to be less. Time is moving on. I’m expected to do so, as well.

Friends and neighbors hinted at such by their constant visits to the house. They wanted to chat with her, take her on some sort of outing. Trudy and her mother were forced to receive them as Elizabeth simply could not. Not an hour passed that she didn’t spend in tears. Crying was simply a way of life now.

“Oh, Beth, I know it is hard,” her mother said repeatedly, “but you must seek God’s strength. It was the only way I survived your father’s passing.”

Elizabeth tried, but she had no more prayers to offer. I prayed for Father, but he still died. I prayed for my country, and yet war still came. I prayed George would not have to leave, but he did.

Like so many others, her brother had been caught up in the states’ rights fervor that had gripped Baltimore after the riot on Pratt Street. When the Confederacy declared independence, President Lincoln had called for soldiers to force the seceding states back into the Union. Finding the thought of firing upon their fellow countrymen appalling, most men from Maryland, including George, ignored the call. Men from Massachusetts and Pennsylvania, however, answered it expediently. Summoned to Washington to protect the capital, they’d passed through Baltimore one fateful April morning.

As the Northern soldiers had marched to the southbound trains at Camden Street, a small group of citizens gathered around them at Pratt Street. Who started what, the world would probably never know, but insults were exchanged from both sides. Rocks and bottles, in the hands of the locals, began to fly. The Massachusetts men then opened fire. When the musket smoke cleared, eleven Baltimoreans were dead, along with four Northern soldiers. Countless more on both sides had been wounded.

In the days that followed, the federal army seized control of the city. They’d closed newspapers that held any hint of Southern sympathy, arrested anyone suspected of disloyalty to the Union and instituted martial law.

Outraged, Elizabeth’s brother, as well as many other men from her Mount Vernon neighborhood, had slipped out of the city by night and joined Confederate regiments. They’d promised to soon return and deliver Maryland from federal tyranny. Though heartbroken to see him go, Elizabeth had then supported her brother’s decision. She’d loathed those Northern soldiers occupying her city.

Then I fell in love with one. And I prayed for him, as well...

Swallowing back her sobs, she rolled to the opposite side of her bed. Sunlight was pushing its way through the shutter slats, testifying that it was now well past noon. Her mother had met with a local businessman that morning in regard to selling what was left of the family silver.

Elizabeth sighed. I should have accompanied her instead of lying about. As the oldest daughter, even if it is only by a matter of minutes, it is my duty. I shouldn’t be leaving all the housework for Trudy, either.

She forced herself to rise and put her feet to the floor. Going to the washbasin, Elizabeth splashed water on her face, then stared into the looking glass. Her cheeks were hollow, her color pale and sickly.

What would Jeremiah think if he saw me like this?

She tried to ignore the pain the thought provoked, but it was no use. Her tears got the better of her, and she sank to the bed once more.

* * *

David had been back in Baltimore for three days and still couldn’t bring himself to make his relocation known to Elizabeth’s family. Mindful of his duty, though, he passed by their house at least twice each day from the far side of the street and witnessed the coming and going of many friends.

There was little going on with the war at present. The March rains had kept both armies axle deep in mud and unable to fight. All, at least, appeared to be well and safe in Baltimore. David couldn’t shake the feeling, however, that he was supposed to stay.

He’d sought employment in the only area that truly interested him. He’d gone to the Baltimore Sun and a host of other local newspapers, but no one seemed much interested in hiring a man who’d spent most of his time before the war fetching coffee and sandwiches, or covering the few cast-off assignments the feature reporters didn’t want. Then he came to the Free American.

The large brick building not far from Monument Square looked impressive from the outside, but the appearances were deceiving. David stepped inside only to discover the paper occupied just a small portion of the structure. The publisher, a man by the name of Peter Carpenter, served also as the executive editor, the editorial director and a host of other things. It was a struggling publication to be certain, but they were hiring.

I need a job, he reminded himself. And I need one here in Baltimore. If I am careful with the money I saved before the war, I can get by on meager wages, at least for a while.

“So you’re looking for work,” Carpenter said.

The man was older than David, midthirties perhaps. He was curt, to the point, with a military-like manner that reminded David of the officers he’d once served under.

“Yes, sir. I am.”

“Reporter?”

“Yes, sir.”

“You got any experience?”

The moment David mentioned he’d held an entry position at the Boston Journal, Carpenter asked to see some of his work. It wasn’t much and it certainly wasn’t very exciting, but the man looked intrigued. David held hopeful expectation.

“You serve in the army?” Carpenter asked.

“Yes, sir. I spent much of the time of service right here in Baltimore.” He told him about the hospital.

The man’s eyes narrowed. His forehead furrowed. “Then you know the lay of the land. Politically speaking, that is.”

“Yes, sir.” David was well aware Baltimore was a divided city. Immigrants and other newcomers favored a strong federal government, but many of the older established families still advocated strong states’ rights. As a Union soldier he’d received his share of derogatory remarks from those who supported the South.

David wondered what view the man before him subscribed to and what position his paper took. He can’t be too sympathetic to the South, though. The city’s outright pro-Southern papers have all been closed. But does he lean too far in the opposite direction? Fearing suspension, many publications now painted the federal government in such a glorious light, it was simply unbelievable. David believed wholeheartedly in the preservation of the Union, but he also believed in freedom of the press. He was impressed when Carpenter then said, “Notice the sign on the door says the Free American. You can’t have a free America without a free press. I don’t care which army occupies this city, or who is vying for control of the statehouse. Here we stick to the facts. We don’t bury or sugarcoat them, and we don’t try to make the local leadership something they are not.” He paused. “If you can check your own political agendas at the door, the job is yours.”

David’s heart skipped a beat. “Thank you, sir.” Then suddenly fearing a return to coffee and sandwiches, he asked, “What exactly is the job?”

“You’ll be handling local news and features.”

He could feel the grin tugging at his lips.

“You’ll report directly to me,” the man said, “and you can start immediately.”

As excited as he was to take pen in hand, immediately was a little too soon. There was another matter to which David must tend, even though he dreaded doing so. I need to visit Elizabeth. I can’t put this off any longer. For, once I begin reporting, I don’t know what my schedule will be like.

“Sir, I appreciate that, but given that I’ve only recently returned from Boston, I’ve a few matters I must see to first. Would tomorrow suffice?”

Carpenter squinted. “Why were you in Boston? I thought you said you’d spent your service here.”

“I did.” He explained his brother’s passing and then his return home. He didn’t tell him why exactly he had come back to Baltimore. He hoped the man would not ask. David wasn’t certain what he would say if he did.

“My condolences,” was all Carpenter said. “I should have noticed the black armband. See to what you must. Tomorrow will suffice.”

“Thank you, sir.”

“Before you go, though, let me show you about.”

Carpenter reached for a cane that was hooked to the back of his chair. David hadn’t noticed it until now. The man rose somewhat awkwardly from his seat. Knowing his newest reporter was curious, he said, “No. It isn’t from the war. I was born this way.”

David nodded but didn’t say anything. He followed the man as he hobbled toward the newsroom. The space was clean and well organized but much smaller than what David had been used to in Boston. A half dozen or so desks were scattered about. Only a handful of men claimed them.

“Gentlemen,” Carpenter announced. “Our newest reporter, Mr. Wainwright. He comes to us by way of the Boston Journal.”

The men nodded their respect. Their publisher/editor then pointed to each one, starting with an older gentleman wearing spectacles. “This is Mr. Collins, business manager. He handles our advertising and circulation.”

David acknowledged him.

“Mr. Russell covers local events. Mr. Detwiler, foreign news and finance. Mr. Ross, cultural events and daily humor.” To which Carpenter then added, “The ladies seem to like him.”

David wasn’t certain if the comment was made in regard to the man’s articles or looks. He did not ask, however. He was still too busy taking in his surroundings. There were no artists, no copy editors, no other reporters present.

Perhaps they are in another office or out on assignment,he thought. Surely this isn’t everyone.

“Well, that’s about it,” Carpenter said, as if he’d read his mind. “For now, anyway. Oh, and I forgot to tell you, you’ll also be handling whatever comes in over the wire concerning the war.”

David gulped. So he was to cover national news, as well? It was sink or swim. I wanted a chance to write, he thought. It appears I have one. “Yes, sir. Thank you.”

At that moment a boy, who couldn’t have been more than sixteen or so, came into the room. He handed Carpenter a proof copy of the day’s edition. Evidently the man saw to that job, also.

“And this is young Mr. Keedy, our assistant,” he said.

David shook the boy’s hand. Keedy was wide-eyed, and innocent-looking, much like David had been before the war. God willing, the suffering will end before this young man comes of age to serve,he thought.

Carpenter dismissed Keedy, then motioned David toward the staircase. “Our press is this way...”

The moment David smelled the ink and paper, his excitement stirred. This is what I was meant to do.

Given the limited number of news staff, he half expected to find an old-style flatbed press churning out today’s edition. Much to his surprise, however, the Free American boasted a decent-sized rotary press, a Taylor Double Cylinder, in fact. It was a little worse for wear but functional. David wondered if Carpenter had acquired it from one of his competitors who’d recently been closed down.

A handful of typesetters and pressmen were busy preparing the machine, their over sleeves and fingers stained black. Carpenter introduced each of them, then motioned for David to return to the stairs.

“You change your mind?” he asked, as though he feared David had. “Want to try your luck at the Sun?”

David chuckled but did not let on that he’d already been there and been turned down. “No, sir,” he said.

“Good. Before you go, I’ve got some work I want you to take with you. Notes and outline are all in order. Just write the piece after you settle your business. It won’t take long.” From his coat pocket he pulled out a folded set of papers, handed them over.

So you’ll have me start immediately after all, David thought, but he wasn’t the least bit put out. Rather, he was intrigued. “What is this?” he asked as he quickly perused the notes.

“The city provost marshal, Colonel William Fish, has been arrested on charges of fraud and corruption. The man and his accomplices allegedly made a business out of arresting innocent citizens, accusing them of being rebel spies and whatnot, then interceding on their behalf.”

“For a price,” David guessed.

Carpenter nodded.

“I see.” It was exactly the kind of thing that made David feel so strongly about returning to Baltimore. There was already the risk of a rebel invasion. Elizabeth and her family shouldn’t have to fear the predations of unscrupulous, greedy bureaucrats, as well. David was again pleased to see his publisher had the courage to cover such a story, even if it would cast a shadow on a member of the Union army.

“I’ll have this on your desk first thing tomorrow,” he promised.

The man nodded matter-of-factly, then hobbled toward the staircase. “Eight a.m.,” he insisted. “Sharp.”

“Yes, sir.”

His own inexperience, coupled with the workload, was going to make his job here at the Free American a challenge. Keeping Elizabeth and his brother out of his thoughts while doing so was going to be an even bigger one. Even so, David had a feeling he was going to like working in Baltimore.

Leaving the paper, he returned to his room at the Hotel Barnum. The location worked well for his purposes, for the establishment was a fixture in Mount Vernon. This placed him in Elizabeth’s neighborhood, as well as close to the newspaper.

Sitting down at a small writing desk, David looked over the very detailed notes and outline Peter Carpenter had given him. Colonel Fish’s court martial was to take place in the next few weeks. If convicted, the man would be sent to prison in Albany, New York.

It was a straightforward, simple assignment. Although he wanted to dive right in, he didn’t. I can take care of this tonight, he thought, and he forced himself to leave pen and paper behind.

Feeling much more uncertain than he had knocking on Peter Carpenter’s door, David approached Elizabeth’s house. The wreath on the front door and the black crepe that had draped the windows at the time of his brother’s funeral had been removed. In the garden, crocuses were in bloom and the daffodils were just beginning to flower. Spring had come, yet David wondered if winter still held Elizabeth in its icy grip.

Drawing in a deep breath, he stepped to the porch and rang the bell. Trudy greeted him. Her eyes flew open wide the moment she recognized him.

“David!” she said, quickly hugging him. “What a surprise! Oh! It is so good to see you!”

He chuckled slightly. It was nice to know that someone had missed him. “Hello, Trudy. It is good to see you, as well.”

Stepping back, she happily ushered him inside. “Come in! Come in!”

She was an exact duplicate of her sister in features, yet whereas Elizabeth carried herself like a queen, Trudy was more like an excited child.

“It is so strange to see you out of uniform,” she then remarked.

It was still strange to him, too. He’d looked forward to the end of his service, but little had he known he would put away his blue wool for a black suit of mourning.

“The coat looks nice,” she said. “Have you come to Baltimore on business?”

He wasn’t certain how to answer that. It didn’t seem right just to blurt out, I’m here to look after you and your family. “Business in a matter of speaking, I suppose.”

“May I take your hat?”

“Yes. Thank you.” As she laid it on the table behind her, David realized just how fast his heart was beating. Any moment Elizabeth will round the corner or appear at the top of the staircase. What will I say to her? He wasn’t one who had trouble with words, except when it came to her.

“I’m afraid Mother isn’t here,” Trudy said. “She’s out on business herself, but she should be home very soon. Please, come visit for a while.”

He balked. She had not mentioned Elizabeth, but even if she was here, that meant the ladies were alone. “Perhaps, I shouldn’t...”

Trudy cocked her head and offered that delightful, innocent grin. “Don’t be silly. You are no stranger. You’re family. Mother will be pleased to see you.”

Yes, he reminded himself. Family.Elizabeth’s would-be brother-in-law.

She motioned toward the parlor. David stepped forward and drew in a shallow breath. The furniture had all been returned to its original position, but the setting from the funeral remained raw in his mind. He still had trouble believing his brother was actually gone. Some days he expected him to appear, as if returning from a long journey.

But he isn’t coming back. I buried him. His coffin was right there. I sat here...and she...she sat there... Her face flashed through his mind. He forced the memory of her heartbroken expression aside.

“Shall I fetch you some lemonade?” Trudy asked. “You must be thirsty after that long train ride.”

He knew he should be honest, and he felt himself redden. “Actually, I’ve been in Baltimore for several days.”

She blinked. And you are just now coming to visit? her look said. It was quickly replaced, however, with a smile. “Well, I imagine you must be thirsty, anyway. I’ll fetch you a glass.”

“Thank you, Trudy. I would appreciate that.”

She scurried for the kitchen. The moment she had gone, the floorboards above his head creaked. David swallowed hard, for he knew exactly who was treading overhead. Had she heard his voice? Was she now on her way to see him?

Will she be pleased to find me here?

He suspected not. Silently he prayed God would give him both guidance and grace to handle whatever was coming. He claimed a chair beside the fireplace, only to immediately stand. Trudy had returned with the lemonade.

“Oh, please,” she insisted, “sit.”

She handed him the glass, then a plate of freshly baked scones and afterwards took a seat opposite him. The creaking overhead had stopped. David kept one ear cocked toward the staircase but heard nothing further. ApparentlyElizabeth wouldn’t be coming down anytime soon. He wasn’t sure if he was troubled by that or relieved.

Trudy seemed to know what he was thinking. “Elizabeth is upstairs,” she said, “but I’m afraid she won’t be joining us.”

“I see,” was all he could think to say.

There was a long pause. When Trudy bit her lip, the hair on the back of his neck stood up. “What’s wrong?” he asked.

She hesitated, making him all the more concerned. “David, please, don’t say anything...but...I’m worried about her. You saw how she was at the funeral.”

Not an hour went by that he didn’t think of that. The memory of her cries still cut him to the core.

“It has been two months and she will not leave the house. She barely steps foot outside her room. Julia and Sally come almost every day, but she will not receive them. She hardly even speaks to me or Mother.”

David’s heart ached.

“I’ll tell you the truth,” Trudy continued. “I have never seen her this way. When father passed, she grieved, of course, but she attended to mother faithfully. And when George left for the war, she stepped up and tried to fill his shoes.”

“She kept busy,” he said.

“Yes.”

That was how she’d managed at the hospital when she was troubled. Whenever one of the wounded had died, she’d immediately taken to changing the bed linens, preparing for the next man.

“She won’t eat,” Trudy said. “Mother and I are at a loss as to how to help her.”

Tears filled her eyes. David reached over and took her hand. “Don’t cry, Trudy. We’ll think of something.”

Hope now flickered across her face. “We? Will you be staying in Baltimore for a time?”

“Yes. Indefinitely, as a matter of fact. I have taken a job with one of the local newspapers.”

“Oh, David, that’s wonderful! You are an answer to prayer!”

He wasn’t so sure about that, but her eagerness encouraged him. “I’ll be here, and if you, your mother or Elizabeth have need of anything, do not hesitate to ask.”

She didn’t. “Will you come for supper this evening?”

“Supper?”

“Dinner, as you say up north.”

He knew to what she was referring, and although he greatly appreciated the invitation, he wasn’t certain it would be wise to accept. True, he’d just told her he’d do anything to help, but he’d been thinking more along the lines of household repairs, assistance with business transactions.

If Elizabeth isn’t even receiving her closest friends, what makes Trudy think she’d be willing to endure a dinner with me?

“I know what happened between the two of you,” she said.

David dropped her hand immediately and sat back in his chair, wondering just what exactly Trudy knew. Have my feelings for Elizabeth been obvious? Does Elizabeth know, as well? Is that why she was so angry with me?

“I know you convinced Jeremiah to delay the wedding. Despite that, I believe your presence could be a comfort to my sister. She always spoke very highly of you.”

“I don’t believe she thinks very highly of me now.”

Trudy shook her head in protest. “As dreadful as the circumstance are...you acted in her best interest. A baby is more than a keepsake. And in times like these...” Knowing she’d said far too much, she then blushed. “Forgive me. I don’t normally go about discussing such things. It’s just that...well, as I said before...you are family.”

Why did that word cut him and yet console him at the same time? “I am honored that you think of me that way, Trudy. Still...I regret what I did.”

“We all have regrets, David. I regret encouraging her to volunteer for the hospital in the first place. I suppose a body can only take so much suffering. I think her having watched all those other soldiers die makes Jeremiah’s death all the more difficult.”

“I believe you are correct.”

David didn’t know what to say next. He wanted to make Trudy feel better in some way, but he didn’t know how. He wanted to make up for what he had done to Elizabeth but had no idea where to even begin.

“Will you then come?” she asked. “For supper?”

He drew in a breath. He still wasn’t certain it was such a good idea, but he knew he had to do something. He wanted to be there for Trudy’s sake, if nothing else. “What time should I arrive?”

Her face brightened. “Around seven.”

“Seven it is, then.” Though it pleased him that he had made her happy, it was her sister’s smile he most wanted to see.

* * *

Elizabeth heard the front door shut. Wanting to apologize to her mother for not lending whatever assistance she could, she hurried for the staircase. Trudy was in the foyer. She had a happy look on her face, so Elizabeth assumed the silver had brought a good price.

“Did Mother’s meeting go well?” she asked.

The look faded to a more cautious one. “I don’t know. She hasn’t returned yet.”

“I thought I heard the door.”

“You did. It was...David.”

“David?”Elizabeth blinked. “David Wainwright?”

“Yes.”

She felt the blood drain from her face. “What was he doing here?”

Trudy stepped toward the staircase and leaned against the banister. “He has returned to Baltimore. Apparently he’s taken a job with one of the local papers, although he did not say which one.”

Oh, no,Elizabeth thought. That means today’s visit more than likely will not be the last.Why would he come back to Baltimore? He always said that when his enlistment was over he would go back to his job at the Boston Journal.

She pondered for a moment. Perhaps Trudy had misunderstood. Perhaps the Boston paper had sent him here on assignment. If that is the case, then he will not be in town for very long. I can simply avoid him.

Trudy still held the rail. She now looked rather sheepish. “I invited him for supper tonight.”

Panic spread over Elizabeth. “Supper? Oh, Trudy, what were you thinking? I can’t sit across the table and make polite conversation with that man!”

“That man? Beth, he’s family, and I believe he is grieving as deeply as you. Perhaps even more so. He regrets interfering. He told me so himself.”

Indignation tightened Elizabeth’s jaw. He may indeed regret what he has done, but it doesn’t change anything, and it doesn’t make the thought of supper with him any more bearable.

“You could be a help to one another,” Trudy insisted.

“I don’t see how.”

“You could be a comfort to each other. You could also be a comfort to Mother. I know it will do her good to see him.”

Elizabeth seriously doubted she or David could benefit from the presence of each other, but Trudy had a point. Their mother liked him. She always had. When Elizabeth had worked at the hospital, Mother had often visited the wounded men. She would bring fresh bread and flowers to cheer them. While some of the Northern soldiers did not wish to be bothered with the local civilians, David had always treated her mother with courtesy and respect. As a result, she thought very highly of him.

And if she knew how I spoke to him at the funeral, she would be severely disappointed in me. Embarrassment burned her cheeks as she remembered her words. I told him he could not take Jeremiah away. I told him it was all his fault. He must have thought me mad.

She knew she should apologize, and not just for the lunacy of trying to postpone the unavoidable. He was not responsible for his brother’s death.

Even if Jeremiah and I had married when we wished, our marriage would not have held back the inevitable. He still would have been a soldier. He still would have been working in that disease-infested hospital. He still would have taken ill.

Trudy was waiting patiently at the bannister. Her words echoed through Elizabeth’s mind.

He is grieving as deeply as you...perhaps even more so. He regrets what he has done.

She still didn’t like the idea of his company, but she did need to apologize for her behavior at the funeral. And if spending the evening discussing his new job or whatever else he is now involved in will lift Mother’s spirit, I should do my best to comply.

“For Mother’s sake, then,” Elizabeth said.

Trudy offered her a gentle smile. “I’ll help you dress, if you like. I’ll roll your hair for you.”

Elizabeth appreciated the offer. Tonight’s supper made it impossible for her to go about in her gown and morning robe or even a cotton wrapper, but the thought of putting on that black taffeta dress again made her tremble. She had not worn it since the funeral.

In tune to her thoughts, Trudy moved toward her. “It’s only David, Beth. He won’t be expecting witty conversation.”

Nor will he offer it, she thought, for he had always been a quiet man, seemingly content to observe life rather than participate in it. So unlike his brother. “He probably won’t stay long, will he?”

“No. Probably not.”

* * *

By the time the supper hour approached Elizabeth was properly dressed, and Trudy had managed to roll her mangled mass of unruly red curls into a low conservative bun.

“Shall we now go downstairs?” her sister asked.

Hiding a sigh, Elizabeth complied and followed Trudy to the dining room. Their mother had set the table with their finest dishes, minus the silver. The wall sconces were glowing. A vase of freshly cut daffodils was on the table. Trudy fingered one of the bright yellow petals and smiled once more.

“I picked them earlier this evening,” she said. “They just opened.”

“That was kind of you,” Elizabeth said.

Her sister was well aware that daffodils were her favorite flower. She appreciated the gesture, but all she could think of was the last time there had been food and greenery in this room.

We covered the table with pine boughs. People hovered about speaking in whispered tones. David kept staring at me, looking as though there was something he desperately wished to say but could not bring himself to do so.

The kitchen door creaked, and her mother stepped into the room. Elizabeth noted her face looked a little brighter than it had the past few weeks.

“The table looks lovely, Mother,” Elizabeth said.

Jane Martin set the soup tureen on the table, then kissed her cheek. “I am pleased that you approve.”

The doorbell rang, and Elizabeth’s stomach immediately knotted. She knew exactly who was now standing upon her front porch. Since Trudy had run to the kitchen to fetch the bread, Elizabeth’s mother urged her to the door.

“That’s him, Beth. Please, welcome him while I see to the last of the food.”

Her knees felt weak. She had no idea what she was going to say when she opened the door, but forcing her feet forward, Elizabeth went to greet him.


Chapter Three (#ulink_d410c25d-2f65-52ca-ba4f-92f0450e632c)

Elizabeth slowly opened the door. Even with the civilian clothing and chin whiskers, his resemblance to his brother stole her breath. The same nose, the same forehead, the same smile.

David appeared to be just as taken aback by the sight of her.

Yes,she thought. I look dreadful.

Being too much of a gentleman to actually say such a thing, he quickly removed his hat. “Hello, Elizabeth.”

“David...”

He hesitated, as though he wondered if he should greet her with a kiss of the hand or a brotherly peck on the cheek. He did neither. He just stood there, the awkwardness between them very apparent.

Finally, she had the presence of mind to step back and invite him inside. As he crossed the threshold, she offered to take his hat.

“Thank you,” was all he said.

Elizabeth laid it on the table and tried desperately to think of something to say to him. It was no use. All her thoughts revolved around Jeremiah. Just when Elizabeth felt tears gathering in her eyes, her mother stepped into the foyer. She cheerfully embraced David.

“How good it is to see you again. Trudy tells me you have taken a job with a newspaper here in Baltimore.”

His face brightened. “Yes,” he said. “The Free American.”

“Oh? I’m not familiar with that one. Is that one of the penny presses?”

He chuckled slightly at her mother’s question. “We aim to be a penny press, but I suppose as of now we’re more a halfpenny.”

“Well, with you there, no doubt it will grow to be as big as...as...” Her mother was searching. “What was it you and Jeremiah were always reading?”

“Harper’s Weekly.”

“Yes. That was it.”

Elizabeth winced at the mention of Jeremiah’s favorite paper. David even pronounced it the same. Hahpuh’s Weekly,as if there were no r’sin a Massachusetts man’s alphabet. “Congratulations,” she managed, forcing herself to enter the conversation. “I supposed, though, you would return to your position in Boston. You mentioned that quite often when we worked together.”

The smile he had given her mother faded. A look of uneasiness took its place. “My job at the Journal was only as an assistant,” he said. “I didn’t get to do much writing. Here I will.”

“I see.” She tried to think of something else to say but came up empty.

After another long pause, her mother directed them toward the dining room. “Well, won’t you join us, David? Everything is on the table.”

“Yes. Thank you.”

They moved to do so. Trudy also welcomed him with a hug, while Elizabeth stood silently by. As soon as her mother offered David the seat at the head of the table, however, it was all she could do to keep from crying out. No! That’s Jeremiah’s seat!

He had claimed that position on the very last evening they had dined together. Elizabeth could remember every detail. He had been the one to ask the blessing. It was his fingers that brushed hers when the serving dishes had been passed. Now David said Grace and offered her bread and butter. The pain cut so deep it was all she could do to remain at the table.

“Tell us about your reporting,” Trudy insisted. “Have you been given any interesting assignments?”

He told them about an article on the former provost marshal, but Elizabeth was only half listening. What route the conversation then took she could not say, but all of a sudden she heard David ask, “Have you heard from George?”

Elizabeth looked up just in time to see her mother and sister exchange hesitant glances. Evidently certain that David’s question was one of brotherly concern and not a reporter’s inquisition, her mother then answered.

“I’ve not heard from my son since the summer.”

“Not since Gettysburg,” Trudy added.

“I’m sorry to hear that,” he said.

Elizabeth’s eyes returned to her plate, her throat even tighter than it was before. Her brother’s letters had been few and far between since he’d joined the Confederate army, but he had always managed to send word. The more time that passed, however, the more fearful she became. Over six months had gone by, and she had no idea where he was currently or what battles he may have been involved in. Julia’s brother Edward was now a prisoner of war. Sally’s brother Stephen had been killed. Elizabeth could not escape the thought that something terrible had happened to George, as well.

For if harm could befall a soldier at even a safe posting such as Jeremiah’s, what horrors could the front lines bring?

“I pray for him daily.” David’s voice broke into her thoughts.

She looked up once more to find him staring straight at her. He may have been a member of the opposing army, but Elizabeth clearly noticed his concern and could not doubt the honesty of his words or his intentions. Sympathy was written all over his face.

I suppose that is something we have in common, she thought. He, too, knows what it is like to worry about a brother.

David then looked back at her mother. “Forgive me if this is too forward, but I have noticed there are things around this house which need...tending. I should like to be of assistance to you, until George is able to return.”

Elizabeth didn’t know what to think of that offer. It was considerate indeed, but she didn’t wish to have him make a regular appearance. It was simply too hard.

“That is very kind of you, David,” her mother said, “but you are our guest...”

“Please, do not think of me that way. I should like to do my part. As Trudy reminded me earlier today, we are family.”

Her sister nodded, and her mother smiled appreciatively. Clearly they welcomed his presence.

Why is he doing this? Elizabeth wondered. Why would he wish to return to Baltimore, given all that has taken place here? Why would he leave his family and his business opportunities in Boston for a paper as small as the Free American, no matter how much writing he may be able to do?

Trudy’s earlier words passed through her mind. “He is grieving as deeply as you. You could be a comfort to one another...”

Then it made sense to her. David had left Boston because he could not sit at his own family table. He could not view Jeremiah’s empty chair.

A wide array of emotions rushed through her in that moment. David’s voice, his face would be a constant reminder to her of what could never be, but Elizabeth knew her sister was right. He was grieving as deeply as she, and Elizabeth wouldn’t wish that pain on anyone. If oiling a few squeaky hinges and having a bite to eat with us now and again will help him cope with his loss, I can hardly say no. After all, Jeremiah would want his brother to be looked after.

As if reading her thoughts, her mother urged her with a hint of a smile. Elizabeth drew in a quick breath, then looked to David. She tried to sound calm, but her voice was shaky. “I believe we will accept your offer of assistance, only if you will accept an open invitation to dine with us whenever your schedule permits.”

“Thank you, Elizabeth. You have no idea how much I appreciate that.” His face had visibly brightened, and for a moment he looked almost happy.

* * *

The hour was not late, but David knew he should go. He could tell the evening had been difficult for Elizabeth, and he did not wish to prolong her pain. She had done her best to manage polite conversation, but it had clearly been a struggle. For him it had been, as well. The moment she’d opened the front door, a rock had lodged in his throat that he could not swallow.

The sight of those hollow cheeks and vacant eyes cut him deeply. Her grief had been apparent at the funeral, but the weeks since had levied an even harsher effect. Her skin was as pale as New England snow, and those green eyes of hers held no promise of spring. As they walked to the foyer so he could take his leave, he searched desperately for something encouraging to say. All he could come up with was a promise to return tomorrow or the following day to oil the hinges on the kitchen door.

She nodded quietly, and thanked him.

“I noticed there is a sizeable oak limb on the parlor roof,” he then said.

“Yes. It came down a few weeks ago during an ice storm.”

“I’ll see to that, as well. Some of the roof tiles may have been damaged. If they have, they’ll need to be repaired before the next rainstorm.”

“I’d appreciate that.”

The tension between them was so thick that you could cut it with a knife. As uncomfortable as he was, though, he believed he was doing his duty. His father, although he knew not David’s true feelings for Elizabeth, had encouraged him, as well.

“Looking after those ladies is the Christian thing to do,” he had said. “There is no guarantee that young Mr. Martin will ever return from battle.”

And if he does, David thought, in what condition will he return?

He’d served in the hospital long enough to know how many veterans, rebel and Union alike, would return in wretched condition. Scores would be legless, armless, others half-witted or unable to comprehend at all.

They return as helpless as they were in infancy. They can no longer care for their families. Their families must care for them.

He wondered if Elizabeth thought of such things. Did she fear that fate for her brother?Had she ever confessed such fears to Jeremiah? Had he been able to comfort her?

The thought of his brother holding her tight, kissing away her tears, made David’s chest burn, but he forced the image away.

I have no right to think of such things. I came to protect her, to lend a hand in practical matters, as any decent male relative should.

When they reached the front door, Elizabeth asked about his sister. “Has Clara recovered? Is the baby strong?”

Trudy had asked the exact same question at dinner. Elizabeth must not have been listening. “Yes,” he replied once more. “Both mother and son are doing well.”

She tried her best to smile. It wasn’t a very convincing one. “I am pleased to hear that. I imagine that is a great comfort to your family. What did they name him?”

David swallowed hard. “Jeremiah.”

Immediately her eyes clouded, and it was only then that she asked about the burial. David delicately told her the details. Her chin quivered when she learned the band had played his favorite hymn.

“‘What a Friend We Have in Jesus,’” she whispered.

“Yes.”

He was hesitant to give her what he’d been carrying in his vest pocket, uncertain how she would respond, but taking a chance, he withdrew the handkerchief. A ragged gasp escaped her throat when he unfolded it and revealed the lock of his brother’s hair.

He stumbled through his words. “I thought you would like to have it...perhaps for...a...piece of jewelry...”

Brooches and pins made from a loved one’s hair were common art forms where he came from. David suspected the trend was practiced here in Baltimore, as well, for Elizabeth quickly accepted what he had offered, pressing the handkerchief to her heart.

“I never asked him for a lock of his hair because I did not want to think that something terrible could happen. And yet...”

Tears squeezed past her eyelids. David ached to hold her, but he didn’t dare. He knew no matter what repairs he made to her home, he’d never be able to repair the damage to her heart.

“Elizabeth, I’m sorry—”

She looked up at him with those sorrow-filled eyes. “It is I who owe you an apology,” she said. “I shouldn’t have spoken to you the way I did at the funeral. It was wrong. Please, forgive me. It’s just... I miss him so much...”

“I know you do.” He swallowed back the lump in his throat. “And you need not apologize. You were to be his bride. You’ve done nothing for which you need feel ashamed.” Elizabeth now stared at the floor.

“I should have asked this from the beginning,” he said. “I want to be of assistance to your family, but in doing so, I want to respect your wishes. Please, answer my question honestly. Does my presence trouble you? Would you rather I keep my distance?”

She was still clutching the handkerchief to her heart, only now with both hands. David couldn’t help but notice the engagement ring she still wore on her finger. He braced himself for the rejection that was surely coming.

“No,” she said finally, looking up. “I appreciate what you are trying to do. It’s just...you remind me so much of him.”

He knew she meant that as the dearest of compliments, but the words were still hard to take. He picked up his hat. “I’ll see you sometime tomorrow,” he managed, and with that he turned for the door.

* * *

Elizabeth stood in the foyer for a few moments after David had gone, still holding the handkerchief close. It smelled like peppermint drops. She was not surprised, for David always kept the candy in his pockets. Elizabeth had often seen him munching on them at the hospital.

Words could not express what his gesture and the acceptance of her apology meant to her. She would indeed have Jeremiah’s hair made into a memorial brooch as soon as she could afford to do so.

She turned for the kitchen. Although Elizabeth would rather seek solitude, there were dishes to be washed, and she did not want the burden to fall to her mother and sister yet again. But being the expedient workers they were, the task was already complete by the time she stepped into the room.

Did I really spend that long conversing with David? It didn’t seem so. “I’m sorry, Mother,” she quickly said. “I’d intended to help.”

Her mother smiled at her, as did Trudy. “Oh, Beth, you have already been a help,” she said. “I am so thankful that you invited David to join us. I’m certain he appreciated that greatly. Did you see how his face lit up when you did so?”

“I did.” But the look hadn’t lasted long. The moment they were alone, his troubled expression had returned. She understood. Her heart was just as heavy. She showed them the handkerchief with its precious contents.

“That was very thoughtful of him,” her mother said.

“Indeed,” Trudy said, laying aside her dish towel and reaching for the lamp. “I shall enjoy having him about. I hope he will come often.”

Elizabeth then thought of something she had not before. “Mother, I am sorry, I did not even think of the hardship this may bring. The extra food to prepare, the extra expense...”

Jane Martin kissed her daughter’s forehead, like she had often done when Elizabeth was a child. “We will make do,” she said. “I, like Trudy, shall enjoy having him about.”

Elizabeth wished she could feel the same, but she didn’t. There wasn’t anything she enjoyed these days. Life was not something to be celebrated; it was something to be endured.

“Come, join us in the parlor, Beth,” Trudy then insisted. “I’m going to play a few hymns. Your voice would benefit my playing greatly.”

But Elizabeth told them she didn’t feel much like singing. Instead she went to her father’s library. Her sketchbook was lying on the desk, and although she had not touched it in weeks, tonight for some reason she felt a pull toward it. Picking it up, she claimed a nearby chair. Her father had given her the book when she was sixteen, shortly after visiting a gallery showing in New York.

As a child Elizabeth had always been interested in art, and when she became older, her interest grew. She had been so taken with the works of Thomas Doughty and others from the Hudson River School that she wished to copy the quiet, serene landscapes they had painted. She’d spent hours trying to emulate what she had seen, views so lifelike that one could almost expect to step right into them. There was nothing, however, even remotely realistic about her landscapes. Still, her father had encouraged her to continue.

“You’re a talented young lady, Beth, but perhaps landscapes aren’t your strong suit. Why don’t you try something like those sketches you see in the paper?”

She’d been intrigued by the suggestion, and so her father saved the newspapers. Elizabeth made careful study of the sketch artists’ lines, their use of perspective and shading. She’d copied drawing after drawing, everything from the local politicians’ portraits to the political cartoons poking fun at then President Buchanan.

Her work had improved, and soon she was capturing everyday life in the household.

She fingered through the drawings of her father, her mother, of Trudy and George. Our life was so happy then, she thought.

Turning from those early efforts she came to the more recent pages, ones she’d done from memory, or from her imagination. There were numerous sketches of George marching along some distant battlefield. There were soldiers from the hospital, as well, the ones that haunted her dreams. The drawings had been her offerings to God, prayers of a sort when her mind was too troubled to formulate words.

Then she turned to the final sketch, the one she’d desperately poured out just before David had come to fetch her the night Jeremiah died.

Dark wavy hair, that clean-shaven chin, the dimples when he smiled...

When she’d first met Jeremiah she hadn’t known she would fall in love with him. Back then he was simply David’s brother, just another steward she occasionally worked alongside. She’d had no idea he had taken notice of her until after she had left the hospital.

One day in late October, her church had held an afternoon tea. The event was an opportunity for courting couples, and those who soon hoped to be such, to spend time with one another while properly chaperoned. Since neither she nor her sister had been presently interested in any particular beau, they’d agreed to serve the tea.

Jeremiah had attended the event along with a few other Northern soldiers who had managed a day’s liberty. Most of the men had socialized with the unattached Baltimore belles seated at the tables, but Jeremiah had made no effort to do so. He’d simply stood quietly against the wall, drinking his tea. Repeatedly he’d approached Elizabeth asking for more. By the fourth cup she’d suspected he had taken an interest in her, but with little more than a thank you, Miss Martin each time he departed, he’d obviously lacked the courage to make his intentions known.

She’d found his persistence, however bashful, absolutely charming.

By the fifth time he’d come to the table, it was all she could do to keep her smile in check.

“More tea, Private Wainwright?” she’d asked.

“No,” he’d then said. “In all honesty, I have never really cared for it.”

She’d blinked. “You certainly gave a good impression up until now.”

A pair of dimples, along with the most handsome smile she had ever seen, emerged. “A good impression is exactly what I hoped to give.”

Elizabeth had burst into laughter, and he did, also.

Sorrow sliced her soul as she remembered the scene. She ran her fingers over the paper. Oh, how she longed to touch him, to hear his voice, feel his arms tighten around her. Now all that I have is this portrait and a lock of his hair.

Her stomach rolled. Knowing she was about to be sick, Elizabeth laid aside the sketchbook and ran for her room.

* * *

Although David’s assignment was simple, it was a struggle to complete his article on the provost marshal. It wasn’t because he couldn’t read the notes Peter Carpenter had given him or turn words into sentences. It was because thoughts of Elizabeth kept invading. The task took much longer than it should have, but he somehow managed to pen the necessary lines and even catch a few hours of sleep before meeting his editor the following morning.

“Well, you’re punctual,” the man said. “I’m pleased to see that.”

David appreciated the remark, but he hoped Peter Carpenter would be pleased with more than just his management of time. He held his breath as the man perused his work.

“Fine, fine,” Carpenter said, and he laid it aside. “I’ve got another assignment for you. I’m certain by now you’ve heard that the people of Maryland will soon decide whether or not they wish to end slavery.”

“Yes, sir.”

Lincoln’s Emancipation Proclamation, which had taken affect well over a year ago, had not freed slaves in the border states. Since that time Maryland abolitionists had been pressing the politicians to rectify that. The present state constitution insisted slavery would exist for all time. Having just won elections in the fall, a new crop of legislators promised to write a revised governing document if the people of the state so wished. The vote was to take place in early April. If enough of the population voted to outlaw slavery, the legislators promised to see it done.

“I want you to cover what’s happening with that,” Peter said. “Talk to the newly elected delegates here in Baltimore. If we can manage it, I’ll send you to the statehouse in Annapolis.”

Covering a story from the statehouse! David’s excitement perked. That was a far cry from fetching coffee and sandwiches in Boston. “Thank you, sir. I would like that.”

Carpenter nodded. “In addition,” he then said, “I want a series of articles showing the thoughts of the voters, the opinions of both sides. Tell me, who are the faces of slavery? Who are the owners? Who are the slaves? How will the proposed changes impact this state, morally and economically?”

The opinions of slaves? David liked that idea, but he wasn’t so certain he’d find many willing or able to sit down for an interview. He mentioned his concern.

“No. No. Of course not. That’s not what I’m getting at,” his editor said. “You are not a Maryland man, therefore you have an outsider’s perspective. Write what you observe day to day. If people will talk to you, then by all means...” Carpenter paused, squinted shrewdly. “I don’t know where you stand on this issue...”

David was honest. “I oppose slavery, sir.”

His editor offered a curt nod. “Well, to make no bones about it, I hope it’s outlawed once and for all.” Leaning forward in his chair, he then pointed his finger at his newest reporter. “But I’m not running some two-bit press backed by rich, anonymous abolitionists from up north. Don’t editorialize this. Your job is to tell the facts. Let the readers decide for themselves how they will vote.”

“Yes, sir.”

Even with the man’s stern warning, David could barely contain his excitement. This was exactly the kind of writing he wished to do. He wanted to report on issues that would make people think, cause them to look at life from another’s perspective. He hoped to challenge readers not only to become better citizens of this nation but of the Heavenly one, as well.

Carpenter shuffled the stack of papers on his desk as though searching for something. David waited to see if there was something else.

“You don’t sketch, do you?” the man asked.

“Sketch? No, sir.”

“Pity. That would really add to your series. At present, though, I can’t spare you an artist.”

David kept his grin in check. That’s because we haven’t got one, he thought. Anyone worth his salt is at the Sun.

Still shuffling through his littered desk, his editor gave him a time line, then waved him away. “Any question or concerns, see me immediately.”

“Thank you, sir.”

Carpenter’s motion stilled as he then looked up. “And it’s Mr. Carpenter or Peter,” he said. “You can drop that sir business. You’re not in the army anymore.”

“I apologize. Old habits are hard to break.”

“Well, see that you break that one.”

“Yes—” David caught himself. “I’ll do that.”

Carpenter eyed him for a moment, then went back to his work.

When David left the office that afternoon he could hardly wait to tackle “The Faces of Slavery” assignment. But there was another assignment now to be completed. With a sigh and a prayer, he went to visit Elizabeth.

* * *

Elizabeth turned the dirt in the backyard. The ground was still a bit muddy, but it was time to get in the lettuce and other spring vegetables. She chopped the shriveled remains of what she had planted last fall. It felt good to work, to unleash some of the pent-up energy she’d been carrying, but once spent, there was left a void.

She was determined to shake off the black cloud hovering around her, to not let it keep her from completing her task. I will accomplish this. I told Trudy I would. The garden has to be planted. At the rate the money is draining, we will need it.

She continued on, hoeing, scattering seeds, patting down the dirt. The job took quite some time, but that was not an inconvenience. In fact, she welcomed it. It gave her a good excuse for not attending the sewing circle. Trudy had been asking her for weeks now, but Elizabeth just couldn’t bring herself to go.

Every Friday for as long as she could remember, her neighborhood friends had gathered for tea and needlework in each other’s homes. Currently they were meeting in Julia’s home. The group was always busy with one project or another. At the beginning of the war they had knitted socks for their brothers’ regiment, then later crafted more when many of those same men became wounded prisoners.

But did any of our efforts accomplish anything? All the socks, all the prayers... Most of those men have died. Elizabeth sighed. Her seeds now buried, she tossed her hoe aside and stared Heavenward. Thick, gray clouds were gathering. She couldn’t tell if the rolling late-March sky held the promise of spring’s gentle rain or a return to winter’s chill. After taking her tools to the lean-to, she headed for the house. She peeled off her muddy shoes and soiled pinner apron at the back door, then went into the kitchen to wash her hands. Her mother was standing at the table, stirring a pitcher of lemonade.

“Thank you for getting the seeds in, Beth. It will be so good to have fresh greens again.”

“I apologize for not getting them in sooner.”

“You have done it today. That’s all that matters.”

Elizabeth appreciated her mother’s kind understanding. “I planted more rows than last year,” she said.

“That was probably wise. I suppose with David now joining us, we will need them.”

The unmistakable sound of hammering then filled Elizabeth’s ears. “He is here already?”

“Yes. He arrived just a little while ago. I tried to get him to sit for a spell, being as he’d just put in his first full day at the newspaper, but he was insistent upon getting to work.”

Elizabeth was not surprised. It was his nature to put duty above pleasure. Jeremiah had been the same way. But whereas David always conducted his duties in a most serious fashion, Jeremiah had found humor in everything.

The hammering continued. “Bless his heart,” her mother said. “He has already oiled all the first-floor hinges and seen to the loose molding in the dining room. He must have found more in the library.” She poured a glass of the lemonade. “Will you take this to him? I am certain he must be thirsty.”

“Yes, of course,” she said with more eagerness than she actually felt. As she started for the library, her mother called after her.

“And invite him to attend church with us on Sunday.”

“Yes, ma’am.” Elizabeth knew the invitation was an effort not only to bring David into their particular fold but to lure her, as well. She hadn’t attended church since Jeremiah’s passing. After what had happened at the funeral, she could not face her fellow congregants. She still could not get through an hour without crying. She knew she’d never be able to last an entire service, especially with David beside her.

I could barely manage supper time.

As she walked toward the library, she mentally prepared to face him. I’ll give him the lemonade. I will invite him to attend church with Mother and Trudy, then I will leave. I will not focus on the family resemblance. I will not cry.

The hammering had stopped. The moment she crossed the library threshold she discovered why. David was seated in the chair that she had occupied last evening. In his hands was the sketchbook. She hadn’t remembered leaving it there until now.

Panic seized her. “Please, don’t look at that!”

Startled, he immediately stood. “It was lying on the chair,” he stammered. “Forgive me, I...couldn’t resist.”

Elizabeth quickly handed him the glass of lemonade, and he passed the book to her. He’d been studying the picture of Jeremiah. She pulled the portrait close, hiding it from view.

“I didn’t know you could draw,” he said.

“It’s not something I share.”

“You should. You have talent. You captured him perfectly.”

His compliment surprised her. David wasn’t one to offer gentlemanly flattery. He had always been a man of few words, but that was because he weighed them so carefully. Elizabeth slowly lowered the sketchbook, staring down at the picture. He stepped a little closer.

“My guess is that’s a Hahpuh’sWeekly in his hands.”

“Yes.”

“My brother wouldn’t read anything else.” He offered her a smile. Elizabeth tried her best not to think of Jeremiah’s handsome dimples, but she was certain David had a matching pair beneath his mustache and chin whiskers. Her throat tightened.

“Mother wishes to invite you to attend Sunday services,” she announced.

“Oh? Well, thank you. I would be pleased to attend services with you.”

“Not with me,” she quickly corrected. “With Mother and Trudy.”

The sentence hung in the air for several seconds.

“Oh,” David said finally, looking somewhat disappointed. He took a swallow of the lemonade. For whatever reason, Elizabeth just stood there, sketchbook once again pressed to her chest. After another moment of awkward silence, he told her about his newest assignment.

“My editor wants me to do a series of articles on the slave vote.”

Her stomach immediately knotted. She knew he and Jeremiah had strong convictions concerning the subject of slavery. Their father was a well-respected Boston minister who preached against the institution repeatedly. What would he and his family think if—? She pushed the thought aside and tried to focus on what David was saying.

“Peter wishes for me to tell all sides of the story. Even that of a slave’s perspective. I can hardly wait to do so. It could be an opportunity to influence the future for good.” His excitement was building with each phrase. Elizabeth had rarely seen such emotion from him. He had always been so somber, so subdued at the hospital.

“You know,” he then said, “good sketch artists are always in demand. In fact, we are in need of a few at the Free American.”

Sketch artists? She wondered where the conversation was going.

He took another sip of lemonade. “Why don’t you come with me while I gather information for my articles? Draw a few scenes. I’ll pass them on to Peter. If he likes them, not only will he print them, but you’ll be paid for your work.”

Elizabeth blinked, unsure she’d heard correctly. “You’re asking me to accompany you? To work with you? As an artist?”

He nodded and smiled.

He thinks my drawings are worthy of publication? A rush of heat filled her cheeks. To say she was honored was putting it mildly, for Elizabeth had once dreamed of being a sketch artist. But surely his editor will think differently. “That’s very kind of you, David, but I hardly believe I am qualified.”

“Elizabeth, I do have some experience in the newspaper business. I have seen sketches before. I wouldn’t have suggested it if I didn’t think you were good enough.”

The gentle certainty with which he spoke caused her to actually consider the idea. We could use the money. And I wouldn’t be copying someone else’s sketches. I’d be doing my own. The thought was both thrilling and terrifying at the same time.

David must have sensed her fear. “Tell you what,” he then said. “Forget showing them to Peter for now. Just come with me. Give it a try. If you don’t enjoy yourself, what have you really wasted?”

He made it sound so intriguing, so inviting, like a pleasant outing in the sunshine. Allowing her time to think on it, he set the now empty lemonade glass on the table and returned to the ladder at the far corner of the room. Soon he was back to hammering the crown molding.

For a moment Elizabeth watched him work. The cuffs of his sleeves were open, the fabric rolled up an inch or two, revealing strong, muscular forearms. Suddenly the thought struck her that she had never seen Jeremiah in anything but a federal uniform. How handsome he would have been in a pressed white shirt, silk vest and dark pair of trousers.

Tears sprang to her eyes. She could feel the black fog rolling in. As wonderful as David’s offer to sketch was, she knew she must decline. It was obvious she could not accompany him about the city. She knew she had to leave the room, lest once more she make a fool of herself in front of him.

“I appreciate your kindness, David. Really I do. But...I can’t... Please, excuse me.” She turned for the door.

“You don’t have to hide the tears from me, Elizabeth.”

The understanding in his voice stopped her in her tracks.

“I know what you are feeling. He was my brother, my best friend. I miss him terribly.”

Pain pierced her heart, but his honesty was an invitation. She turned to face him.

“How do you do it?” she asked.

He left the ladder and crossed the floor. “Do what?”

“Get up each morning? Go about your tasks? Your new job? I can barely breathe.”

A look of compassion filled his face. It appeared as though he were about to embrace her, yet just before doing so, he stopped and rubbed his whiskered chin.

“I try to remember where he is,” he said. “I try to remember there is no sickness or war in Heaven. I know he’s happy there, and one day, I will see him again.”

Elizabeth wanted her fiancé to be at rest, to be happy, but she wanted to be happy, as well. She wanted Jeremiah here with her.

“I wish I could take away your pain,” David said.

Upon impulse, she moved into his arms. David held her tightly. Elizabeth knew full well that the strength and security he offered was only that of a would-be brother-in-law’s kindness, yet even so, she soon gave in to temptation.

The same soap...the same shaving balm...

But the added hint of peppermint brought her back to reality. He is not Jeremiah. He never will be. Stiffening, she stepped out of his embrace. “Forgive me,” she said.

He took half a step back, too, and cleared his throat. Embarrassment colored his cheeks. Elizabeth felt it, as well. She wondered if David knew what she had been thinking. If he did, mercifully, he did not say. He hitched his thumb over his shoulder.

“I’m going to take this here laddah and see to those tiles on the roof.”

“Thank you,” she managed, though her face was still afire. She offered to refill his empty glass.

“I’d appreciate that.” Ladder in hand, he moved toward the door. Just before leaving the room, however, he stopped and looked back. “By the way, my brother would be proud of that sketch. I’m certain of it.”

She looked down at the image in her hands. If only he had lived to see it.


Chapter Four (#ulink_6a045c6c-3c0d-5899-8b41-f2265094df27)

David did as he had promised and carried the ladder outside. His heart was still pounding from the moment he’d held her. Elizabeth had come to him. He wanted that. He wanted to soothe her fears, be the strength she needed, the place where she found comfort.

But it isn’t me she is seeking.

He’d known the moment he’d heard the soft sigh escape her lips and felt her sketchbook pressed between them. Elizabeth was courting a memory. He shouldn’t have allowed it, for her sake and his. The instant his arms had closed around her, the desire to kiss her had been strong. He couldn’t help but wonder if she would have permitted him to do so.

You cad, he thought. She would slap your face if she knew what you were thinking. Perhaps she should. That would end this foolishness here and now.

He realized he was going to have to keep his distance from her. He would have to keep up his guard.

But just how am I going to do that?

He popped a peppermint drop into his mouth and bit down hard. Leaning the ladder against the front of the house, he then climbed to the roof. Careful inspection revealed two slate tiles were cracked, four were loose and several others were missing altogether. David craned his neck to view the tree spread out above him. There were other limbs that looked as though they would come down given one hard Maryland thunderstorm, but he wouldn’t see to them today. The clouds at present indicated the imminent coming of steady rain. The roof needed to be repaired, lest the Martin women wake to an ugly stain on their parlor ceiling.

He removed the oak limb. Perhaps the family had some spare tiles in the lean-to. If not, David would have to cover the roof until he could get new ones. He tried to keep his mind on the task at present, but it kept drifting to her.

Elizabeth’s drawings had surprised him. He had not known of her artistic abilities, and he suspected Jeremiah hadn’t, either, for his brother had never spoken of them even though he’d talked about her incessantly. Her work was as good as, if not better than, much of what David had seen in the papers. Many sketch artists could capture action, but she could convey the emotion. Love, laughter, pain, honor, he’d seen it all in the faces of her family members and the wounded soldiers she had drawn.

If Peter wants the series on the slave vote to be personal, Elizabeth could certainly do that. Her talents could help shape this state for the better.

But David couldn’t help but wonder if it was really the people of Baltimore he wished to benefit or himself. He reminded himself that there was no reason to worry about that now. She had, after all, declined his invitation, and he could tell by the sorrow in her eyes she didn’t have plans to change her mind anytime soon.

He descended the ladder and went to the lean-to, only to discover there were no tiles on hand. David did manage to find some oilskin cloth, so he covered the damaged portion of the roof. He was just about to put the ladder away when the front door opened. Elizabeth stepped out to the porch. In her hands was the promised glass of lemonade.

“How’s the roof?” she asked.

He told her. She paled when he said he would have to purchase the tiles.

“David, we—”

She stopped, but he knew exactly what she had been about to say. We can’t afford it.

He wanted to reassure her. “Elizabeth, you needn’t worry. I’ll see to the repairs.”

Her eyes widened in momentary relief, but the look quickly faded. “That’s very generous of you, but I can’t ask you to do so.”

“You didn’t ask. I offered. I know the financial situation at present is difficult.”

She blushed.

“Elizabeth, there is no shame in your family’s position. You aren’t the first woman to run low on funds because the war has lasted longer than anyone expected. Sadly, you probably won’t be the last.”

“I’ll come up with the money to buy the tiles myself. It will just take me a little time.”

“You haven’t got time. All it will take is one thunderstorm, and you’ll be facing serious water damage.”

“I know.” She bit her lower lip. “I just keep thinking George will be home soon. And when he returns to work...”

Even if the war ended tomorrow and her brother came back abled-bodied and clearheaded, David doubted a Confederate veteran would be able to simply slip back into his previous life. Too many employers feared the mark of disloyalty and the consequences it would bring. Businessmen would be careful about who they associated themselves with as long as the US Army occupied Baltimore. He didn’t tell her that, though.

“Tell you what,” he said instead, “let me see to the repairs for now, and your brother can settle up with me when he is able.”

David had no intention of actually making claim on any bills, but she didn’t need to know that, either. His suggestion seemed to please her. A look of appreciation filled her eyes. He tried not to think more of it than he should.

This is to be my business,he reminded himself. Roof tiles, loose molding, trimming tree limbs.Nothing more. “I’ll pick up the new tiles tomorrow when I finish at the paper,” he said.

She nodded. “Thank you, David. I appreciate your kindness. I know Mother and Trudy do, as well.” Then, offering to take the now empty lemonade glass, she turned and went back inside.

* * *

David returned as promised the following afternoon to repair the roof. After seeing to it, he quickly took leave. Elizabeth’s mother tried to get him to stay for supper, but he politely declined. Elizabeth was relieved that he had. After crying and falling into his arms yesterday, she preferred to limit the contact between them.

“I’ve an assignment for which I must prepare,” David explained to them. “An interview tomorrow with state delegates Nash and Van der Geld.”

Elizabeth knew the two men were bitter rivals. One supported slave owners’ rights, the other immediate abolition. She wondered how David would manage such an interview. “Are you interviewing them at the same time?”

He chuckled slightly. “No. I am smarter than that. It is to be separate interviews. If not, I doubt I’d get any questions asked. They’d be too busy arguing with one another.”

The thought crossed her mind that she could capture delegate Van der Geld’s likeness in a sketch quite easily. Elizabeth knew him personally. He was the father of her friend Rebekah. She dismissed the idea, however, as quickly as it came. She couldn’t cover the slave vote, for more reasons than one.

“I hope all goes well for you,” her mother then said to him. “I’m certain it will make for a nice article.”

David smiled. “Thank you. I suppose then I’ll see each of you on Sunday. I’m looking forward to the service.”

As he left, Elizabeth breathed a shallow sigh. Once more she had been reminded of her shortcomings. David might be eager to attend worship, but she most definitely was not. Crying at the church service would be even worse than breaking down at the funeral. Elizabeth wasn’t certain how she would manage to excuse herself from worship again this week, but she was counting on the fact that her mother would be so pleased with David’s attendance that she would be willing to accept Elizabeth’s excuse to stay home.




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