What am I doing here?
He rapped his knuckles on the cabin door.
“Come in.”
He frowned and pushed open the thin wooden door. A loud squeak on rusty hinges gave him pause. “Mrs. Moody, it’s not wise to…”
His gaze found her in a rocker, silhouetted by the fire, a needle perched between her lips and her head bent over a basket of colorful threads. She’d pinned her hair up and the firelight danced along the shadows of a delicate porcelain neck.
His fingers flexed and curled into his palms. “Would you like me to stroke the fire?”
An eyebrow arched but she kept her head bent.
He grimaced. “Er, stoke the fire.”
“No need.” She pushed the needle through the small homespun frock in her lap. “Your man, Knowles, took care of the fire before Elizabeth fell asleep.”
His eyes adjusted to the dim light in the one room cabin and he found Little Bit’s small frame curled under blankets in the sole bed the home offered.
“You can pull a chair by the fire, if you’d like.” She nodded to a heavy chair at the hand-hewn table.
“You have a beautiful home, Mrs. Moody.” He admired the oak table and matching chairs. All were sturdy, simple designs. He’d seen similar pieces in the homes of Quaker families. Her husband could have made a considerable profit if the family lived near one of the larger cities. He moved the chair across from hers and lowered his body onto the seat.
“Thank you. Ben’s grandfather built the house after the Revolution.”
He blinked away the exhaustion.
Her fingers worked the needle and thread in a practiced rhythm. “Ben always talked about adding a room. But the war came.” Her brows furrowed and she bit her lip.
“Couldn’t your slaves have done the work?”
Her body stiffened and her fingers froze, the needle half pulled through the fabric. “General, my husband and I have never owned slaves. My family—and Ben’s too—worked our own farms in Tennessee.” She yanked the needle, snapped the thread with her teeth and shook the dress out.
They sat in silence. He regretted his assumption. Closer inspection of her hands would have told him all he needed to know. Ragged and broken nails held remnants of dirt imbedded around the edges and a half-healed scrapes crossed the backs of her knuckles.
“Your brother will be released at the ceremony. General Grant asked for Davis to be included in the official exchange of prisoners.” He glanced around the cabin, inspecting the darkened corners. “He will be free to stay with you afterwards. General Lee is drafting the order to disband the Army of Northern Virginia, but I suspect the reb—the Confederate soldiers—are already leaving. You are, of course, under house arrest until further notice.”
“Of course.”
He sighed and scratched the stubble on his chin. He’d shaved most of the beard, but he wanted a proper shave. Across the room, tucked in a darkened corner sat a small shelf. “You have books?”
“Did you think me illiterate?”
“I apologize if I’ve offended you, Mrs. Moody.”
“My mother is a refined lady from Charleston. She taught all of us to read, General.” She cast him narrowed gaze and continued to sew. “She taught us our letters and my father taught us how to shoot.”
He caught the flicker of her eyes and found the rifle over the door. “Duly noted.”
“Why are you here?” She knotted the thread. The snap echoed through the room and she dropped her mending into the basket.
“To make certain you understand the conditions of your house arrest. Do you?”
“There’s not much to understand, General. I’m ordered to stay put until the war is over.”
His jaw tightened and he nodded. “I wanted to see that you and Little Bit were comfortable—”
“We are.”
“If you need anything, come to me. Or Knowles. Stay away from the other soldiers. They’re not happy with the terms of your, ah…situation.” He knew one of his own men passed the word on to General Grant about Tamsyn Moody. After he’d ordered them to keep silent.
His lip curled. He’d been disobeyed by one of his own men. Trust was important within the unit and he was determined to find the culprit.
“Are you married, General?”
The question startled him. “Married?” He stood and moved toward her books, running his fingers across the titles. Children’s stories. “Ah, no.”
Tamsyn pointed toward his hand with the needle still in her fingers. “The ring, what is it then?”
“Oh, it’s a class ring from West Point.” He pulled the ring off and offered it to her.
“You’re a graduate of West Point?” She admired the ring and handed it back to him. “Impressive. So you are from New York?”
“Massachusetts. Boston, actually.”
“What will you do, once the war is over?”
“Return to Boston, I suppose. Help my father and brother with the family’s shipping business.” He watched her in silence for a moment, gathering his courage. “Do you miss your husband?”
She sighed, leaned back into the chair and began to rock. “Ben had been gone for a long time. I grew accustomed to his absence.”
He nodded. He understood loneliness. “I will bid you goodnight, Mrs. Moody. If you need anything, you only have to call out.”
“Call me Tamsyn, please.”
“Good night, Tamsyn.”
“Good night, General.”
****
Tamsyn listened. General Steele settled onto the rocker on the porch and she smiled when she heard the familiar creak the chair made. Comforted by the steady rhythm, she stretched and yawned. Elizabeth sprawled out on the bed in the deep sleep only children can manage. Tamsyn eyed the extra quilt. Spring nights often carried a sharp chill.
I wonder if he needs a quilt.
She picked the covering up and ran her hands over it. She’d brought it with her from Tennessee. Passed down from her grandmother, her mother passed it on to her after she’d wed Ben.
May there be much happiness under this quilt,
her mother whispered.
She held the quilt against her, inhaling its familiar scent. There’d never been any happiness under the quilt. Or any quilt. She dropped the quilt back onto the bed, her heart heavy.
I’m sure he has everything he needs.
With swift movements she unclipped her hair and it dropped around her shoulders. She pushed back the coverlet and crawled into bed. Heat radiated off Elizabeth like a log lit from within and Tamsyn closed her eyes to recite her prayers.
Now I lay me down to sleep.
His arms are nice.
The sudden thought of him naked with his arms around her jolted her awake. She rolled and buried her head into her pillow, embarrassed.
Shameful thoughts!
Ben was not yet cold in the ground and she lay, whispers of desire pimpled her flesh while she thought of General Steele’s strong arms wrapped around her. She tried to forget his hazel eyes and the way one lock of black hair fell across his forehead. Several times she’d found herself fighting the temptation to push it back.
Lavinia would have set her charms on him lickity split.
She smiled at the thought of her friend. Lavinia set her charms on every handsome man in eastern Tennessee.
And even some of the not-so-handsome ones. Of course, Lavinia would think such things. Lavinia brazenly spoke of such things.
Her mind drifted to the front porch of her home in the mountains, where they’d spent hours giggling over their prospects and about their future.
“You did not, Lavinia Jackson!” Tamsyn squealed. Her mouth agape from the detailed description her friend gave.
“Shhh.” Lavinia giggled and leaned closer, her dark brown eyes looked to see that no one paid the two girls any attention. “I did,” she whispered. “Wasn’t the first time either.”
“But, Lavinia…”
“Don’t be such a prude, Tamsyn Hart.” Lavinia pushed bright red hair behind her ears. “You should try it with that fellow trying to court you.”
Tamsyn made a face.
“I don’t want to touch his hand, much less that!”
Lavinia burst into fresh giggles.
“The best part—” Lavinia tried to regain her composure. The bright twinkle in her eyes told Tamsyn it really would be the best part. “Is when they do it to you.”
Tamsyn stared at her friend.
“You…l-let him?”
Lavinia grinned and whispered, “It felt wonderful. Like an explosion on the inside.”
Tamsyn recalled the conversation with such clarity. She could recall the smell of the roses next to the veranda. It was that afternoon, ten years before, when she’d started down the path to her present.
She frowned. The good feelings Lavinia always described were lost to her. It just never happened. Not with Ben—and not before either.
She sighed with frustration and images of the Yankee general forced their way back into her mind, robbing her of her good senses.
He is very nice.
Chapter Seven
Monday, April 10, 1865
Early morning
It wasn’t unusual for him to hear the screams in his dreams. Men often screamed in battle. Or after battle in the medical tents. The screams rushing into his dreams this time were different. General Steele stood and began to move before his eyes opened. Screams poured out of the cabin. He shoved the door open with his shoulder, his hand on the Colt revolver at his hip.
Inside he found the cabin empty of intruders. No one crept past him while he slept. Tamsyn sat straight up in bed, her arms clutched her leg while Little Bit sat, wide-eyed next to her mother.
“Cramp.” She gasped between sobs. He kicked the door closed behind him and hurried toward her.
Her foot curled and the muscles of her leg spasmed under her skirts.
He pried her arms from around her leg and took a firm hold of her foot. The wool stockings were thick and soft. He pressed her foot upwards, against the cramp. She screamed with the sudden surge of sharp pain. He pushed the heavy skirts higher and reached for her calf muscle.
Tamsyn tried to pry his hands away.
“Dammit, woman. Stop fighting me so I can help you.”
She fell against the pillow and covered her tear stained face with her hands. He sat on the bed and leaned his back against the wall. He cradled her leg in his hands and continued to massage the muscle. Her sobs lessened and Little Bit moved next to him, dragging the quilt with her.
“Is she okay?” Little Bit whispered. She wiggled against his arm.
He glanced at her mother. Under his caress she’d drifted back to sleep. “I think so. Does she cry out like this a lot?”
“Sometimes,” Little Bit replied mid-yawn, her own eyes drooping.
Within moments the little girl slept against him. He took a deep breath. Tamsyn’s leg was thin under his hands and he looked her over. He didn’t recall her eating during the day and the leg cramps would only worsen if she didn’t get proper nourishment. Her lips puckered in her sleep.
He’d see that she ate. His eyes heavy and his body relaxed, heated by the woman and child. His last thoughts, before sleep claimed him, were of feeding her puckered lips strawberries from his fingertips.
****
Tamsyn’s eyes were slow to open. Her body urged them to remain closed but her mind sprang awake. She became aware of a warmth around her leg and she sat up. Her skirts were bunched around her knees, her leg cradled in the Yank’s hands. Snuggled under the crook of his arm lay Elizabeth, her strawberry hair lay in sharp contrast with the dark blue of his jacket. Her gaze settled on his lips.
How many women have you left weak in the knees?
A dull pain throbbed in her calf muscle and she pushed her loose hair away from her face. “Dammit.” She took a deep breath and braced her hands on the bed. Moving with care she tried to dislodge her leg from his hands.
His fingers tightened around her calf. The heat from the sudden movement of his hands sent a shock up her leg.
“What have you eaten?” His voice graveled deep with sleep and his eyes remained closed. “Little Bit is healthy. Are you nothing more than skin and bones under your petticoats?”
She drew in a sharp breath.
“I’ll not be accused of ill treatment of a prisoner. You will eat.”
A loud knock landed on the cabin door. “General? Are you inside, sir?” Knowles voice echoed. Elizabeth stirred with the noise.
He released his hold on her leg and she hobbled off the bed, pushing down her skirts. A dull throb shot up her leg.
“Come in.” She limped toward the fireplace, reaching for small sticks to stir the ashes.
Knowles pushed open the door. A thin dark eyebrow lifted. “Everything all right, sir?”
“Yes, Knowles.” He moved his arm from under Elizabeth and lowered her onto the bed. She grumbled but continued to sleep.
“I brought breakfast from the camp, ma’am.” Knowles sat a sack onto the table. “If it’s all right, I thought I might join you and the little one for the meal.”
“Yes, Mr. Knowles.” Tamsyn smiled. “I welcome the company.”
“See that she eats.” General Steele growled when he stood. “I’ll leave her under your expert care, Knowles.” He slipped out of the door without another glance at Tamsyn.
She frowned.
The least he could have done was say good bye.
“There isn’t much of a selection.” Knowles smiled and pulled out more hard biscuits.
“It doesn’t matter.” She twisted her hair up and moved to a wooden box in the corner near the books. She began to pull out butter and jelly. “I have a few things set aside. For Elizabeth.”
“Your brother is eager to join you.”
“It will be nice to have him.” Tamsyn smiled at the beardless soldier, his slender fingers accepting the plates she passed to him.
Tamsyn’s gaze swept up his arm. He’d taken off his jacket and laid it across the back of the chair and she caught the slightest swell of…
“Why in God’s name did you enlist?” Tamsyn gaped at Knowles. The delicate lines of his face—
her face.
“Please don’t tell anyone.”
“Of course not! But why?” Tamsyn dropped into the nearest chair.
“I joined with my husband.” Knowles rubbed her fingers. “We were newly wedded with no real home. No families. So we joined as brothers. He caught pneumonia the first winter and was gone before the snow thawed in the spring of ’62.”