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  Wearing a smile, Lorena turned to her brother-in-law. “Thank you for the supper, Timothy. I am rather fatigued as a result of our journey today. If you don’t mind, I ask you to please gather your valise and find your room. I’ll see you in the morning.”

  Timothy quirked the side of his mouth up and shook his head. “I did not get a separate room.”

  Lorena’s eyes widened and her breathing accelerated. She studied his eyes, looking for the window to the soul she had always been told the eyes could be. What his gaze revealed was a soul devoid of compassion and any concern for her. She clutched her bodice below her mourning brooch. “Whatever do you mean?” She turned and glanced at the double bed and spun back to face him. “There is only one bed. Even if there were two, or you intended to sleep on the floor, it is highly improper, even if we are family.”

  Timothy stepped toward Lorena, close enough that, if he leaned forward two inches, their bodies would touch. “What I mean is, Lorena, I registered us as Mr. and Mrs. Mayfield. You are Mrs. Mayfield, are you not? And I am Mr. Mayfield.”

  “I – I’m aware of that, Timothy, but ours is not the kind of relationship that allows us to share the same room.”

  “Who does not allow it, Lorena? That God to whom you assign so much importance? Where was He when your husband died? Where was He when you needed your father, and he also left you?”

  Lorena’s lips quivered. How many times this past year had she fought the temptation to ask, “Why did he have to die?” How often she wished to know what more she could have done so that God would have spared Edward, and, then later, her father? “God’s timing for our lives is His own. He will help us through the challenges of life.” In spite of my sorrow, He was with me to comfort me.

  A sardonic smile on his face, Timothy shook his head. “No, you are wrong, Lorena. I am the one who will help you now.” He stepped even closer until their bodies touched. He wrapped his arm around her back to prevent her from pulling away. “I can be very good to you, if you will let me. But you must understand this—I will have what I want. Right now, I want you.”

  Lorena blinked several times as she leaned away. “Why? Why would you want me? And for what purpose?”

  Timothy tipped his head back and laughed. “Oh, for a woman who has been married, you are naïve.” He tipped his forehead forward, once again serious. “For the usual reason, Lorena, and because you were Edward’s wife.”

  “Because I was his wife…?” Lorena pulled away as she shook her head. “No, Timothy, my having been married to your brother makes no allowances for what I think you are suggesting. I cannot allow it.”

  As fast as a snake striking its prey, Timothy’s hand shot out and grabbed Lorena on each side of her jaw. “You do not tell me no, Lorena. I refuse to live in my brother’s shadow any longer. I will not be satisfied until he ends up in my shadow. I lived through the war where he did not. That should have been a start, but it did not satisfy my father.”

  “I’m…I’m sure your father welcomed you home, Timothy.” She struggled to get the words out. I need him to loosen his hold on my jaw.

  Timothy snorted and shook his head. “No hero’s welcome for me—not even a prodigal son’s welcome. You see, I was at Cold Harbor, too—the same battle where Edward died. The only solace I could offer my father was my company did not engage the 3rd Arkansas Infantry, so it could not have been my bullet that killed him. However, after seeing the carnage of that battle—seeing the way General Grant showed such disregard for life by sending hordes of men against a superior fighting force, day after day without cover, to needlessly die in droves—I saw no reason to continue serving under the man. Shortly afterward, I left on a foraging mission and never returned. I came home two months ago, before the surrender was signed. My father had been contacted about my desertion. He still prefers the son who died with honor over the son who fought through a living hell and survived.”

  Lorena felt her stomach drop. She struggled to calm her pounding heart. She knew she dared not aggravate him needlessly. Yet, how could she agree to what he implied? “Perhaps he needs time, Timothy. Like me, he probably is still grieving your brother. In time, he will appreciate he still has you.”

  Timothy looked off to the side. As his tone of voice grew more thoughtful, he loosened his grip on her face. “Perhaps. But I do not trust it to happen on its own.” He returned his gaze to Lorena. “I intend to have you, Lorena, starting tonight. You will stay with me now. I hope you have decent clothes in a different color than black or gray in that trunk of yours. If not, I will buy some. I will not allow you to dress in mourning for my brother while you are with me.”

  Lorena’s voice a whisper, she forced out her objection. “No, Timothy, what you are suggesting would be a sin. As for my dress, it is not just for Edward I grieve, but for my father, too.” He’s insane. How could I not see it before I agreed to allow him to escort me?

  Timothy shook his head. “Your time of mourning is over. I want to see you in colorful plaids or pastels with white collars and handkerchiefs.” Timothy grabbed the mourning brooch and ripped it from her dress. “This has Edward’s hair in it, doesn’t it?” He tossed it across the room. It bounced against the wall and dropped to the wood floor with a thud. “Throw it away. I never want to see it again.”

  Lorena blinked back tears. “I’ll…I’ll get rid of it.” I’ll put it where you won’t see it.

  Timothy laughed. “Good. As for sin, do you mean because we’re not married? I cannot offer you marriage, Lorena, unless you are willing to be married to a bigamist.” He tipped his forehead toward her and grinned. “You see, a young woman I was seeing before my father decided I needed to enlist in order to grow up and take life seriously managed to be foolish enough to get herself with child. Her father insisted I make an honest woman of her. If not, he intended to see to it I did not live long enough for the Rebels to kill me. She and my daughter live with my parents.” He looked off to the side and, frowning, breathed deeply several times. “I can no longer abide being in the same room with her, let alone the same bed. In my father’s eyes, I failed by managing to get myself trapped in an inappropriate marriage.” His voice filled with bitterness, he returned his gaze to her face. “Only Edward chose a suitable wife.”

  Lorena shook her head. Feeling as if she was entranced by a cobra, wide-eyed, she stared at him as he outlined his crazy scheme.

  “So, you see, Lorena, unless you wish to trade the sin of being illegally married to a bigamist for the sin of not being legally married, you will settle for being Mrs. Mayfield, and me being Mr. Mayfield. As long as you say nothing, no one we come in contact with in the future will be the wiser that we are not legally husband and wife.”

  God will know. “But, my sister…”

  He shrugged and spoke in a light-hearted tone. “You may write and tell her of your good fortune to have found a new provider and protector in the form of marrying your brother-in-law. You may tell her you are on your way to your new home.”

  “I can’t lie to my sister like that.”

  Timothy’s face transitioned into a scowl. “Your morals are getting tiresome, Lorena. I will write the letter, then, and save you from the lie. I have her address from your correspondence with my father, informing him of your father’s death and telling him where he might send a letter to reach you at your new home. After that, you may write her and tell her of your new life, without any mention of our…special arrangement.”

  Lorena closed her eyes and slumped as she tried to ease away. “Please, Timothy, please don’t do this. I do not want this arrangement.” The next thing she knew, Timothy pulled her to him and pressed her body against his. He reached up with his right hand and ran his fingers along her jawline.

  “I want this, Lorena. I told you, when I get what I want, I can be very nice.”

  Lorena flinched when his finger reached the sore spot where he had grabbed her. She swallowed and tensed as he kissed the side of her face. She felt his breath agai
nst her ear.

  “See what you made me do, Lorena? Already, you are starting to bruise. I don’t want to hurt you, but whether or not I do is up to you. I mean to have you. You may come to me as a wife and allow me to be nice. Or, you can fight me, and I will treat you like a whore until I break you down and you submit. But, Mrs. Mayfield, either way, in the end, you will be mine. You will give me what I want. In exchange, I will take care of you.”

  Lorena gulped, afraid to ask what he wanted so desperately that he felt driven to threaten her in such a manner. Lord, what do You want me to do? She garnered her courage and forced out the question. “What, Timothy? What do you really want from me?”

  Timothy stared, the firmness of his expression enforcing the seriousness of his demand. “What I want from you, Lorena Adams Mayfield, the reverend’s most proper, well-educated, and acceptable daughter, is what my paragon of a brother did not give you. I want a son to carry on the Mayfield name.”

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  Chapter 1

  ~o0o~

  Outside Eatonton, Georgia

  May, 1865

  E ustace Cantrell did not push his stallion, Brigadier, to walk faster, let alone trot or lope. His mount, like him, was worn out and showing the effects of not enough food. Although he let his horse graze and rest, preferably in the shade next to a creek or river when he could, it was not late enough in the year for the seed grains to have matured. For the most part, too many fields along his journey back home had been left fallow. What little grain grew was random and patchy. Yes, Brigadier had good grass to eat, but not the protein ripe grain would provide.

  Home. I’m going home. He shook his head. He doubted he would find much home left. The land, surely, but he and his 1st Georgia Cavalry had been part of the resistance pushing against the Yankee General Sherman who, the previous November and December, had marched from Atlanta to the sea, leaving a wide path of destruction in his wake. Eustace had not fought near his land itself outside of Eatonton. However, he knew his small plantation fell close enough to the path Sherman took to reach Savannah that it had been caught inside the boundaries of Union devastation.

  Eustace ducked beneath the limbs of a tree only to look up to see his property before him. He glanced toward his house. From a distance, it did not look too bad. However, having received word from a neighbor the year before that his great-uncle—the last of his family living in the house when he left in 1862 to join his cavalry regiment—died, he knew it probably had not been cared for. There did appear to be a faint wisp of smoke rising. That’s surprising. I would have thought they all would have left when Sherman came through. Then again, he would not be surprise if squatters did not now inhabit the main house.

  He squinted in order to better focus on the place where the slave quarters should be. Closer to the creek that bordered his land and mostly blocked by the barn and other buildings, he could not see much of them from the angle in which he rode.

  As Eustace approached the barn, he saw, across the yard behind the house off to his right, Janus emerge from the brush. The old man stopped, studied Eustace for several seconds, and then continued toward him. He walks with a limp he did not have before I left. Eustace dismounted and led Brigadier into the barn. He had the saddle and blanket off by the time Janus found him.

  “Welcome, massah. Mighty fine seeing you home again, suh.”

  Eustace cringed. He was no longer a “master,” a slave-owner. Surely, Janus knew that fact. He turned to his former slave, who appeared to be grinning with sincere welcome. “Good to see you, Janus. I guess, now you are a free man, you should call me Mr. Cantrell or Eustace.”

  The old man offered a wide grin, his teeth, now showing wear and deprivation, still a striking contrast to his dark skin. “Like I called you when you was still a young boy, before the old massah died?”

  “Yes.” Eustace forced an uncomfortable smile. His only consolation now to his father dying in 1858 had been he had not lived long enough to see this war and the devastation to the property he worked so hard to build into a fine horse-breeding business. “I don’t suppose you have anything left here in the stable resembling grain I can feed old Briggy, do you?”

  “No, suh.” Janus slowly shook his head. He stepped to the opposite side of the horse and ran his hands along his coat. “Looks like this old horse seen a few battles.” He stepped back and met Eustace’s gaze. “It good to see he come back in one piece, like you. I’ll get him some water, suh. If you’ll let me put a halter on him, I’ll show you where there’s some good grass. Um-hm, mighty fine seed heads on that grass. It’ll do old Brigadier some good.”

  “Thank you, Janus. I can put the halter on him.”

  The old black man started toward the barn door and then turned back. “I heard the war is over, suh. You and Brigadier finally back for good?”

  “I’m back for the time being, Janus. I’ve listened to so many unsettling stories about what the Union government plans for those of us in the South, I don’t know if I can afford to stay here or not.”

  Janus shifted his eyes, as if thinking about Eustace’s words, and then he nodded. “Yes, suh. I’ll go tell Minerva you’re here for supper and then get that water.”

  After Eustace groomed Brigadier and Janus brought the water, the old man motioned to Eustace.

  “Follow me, suh. I’ll take you where you can let old Brigadier graze. It my secret pasture, uh-huh. Nobody bothered it since them Yankees came through. They thought they was burning you out, suh, but it done you a favor for spring pasture.”

  Guiding his horse by a rope attached to the halter, Eustace followed Janus across the yard and into the thicket from which he had seen the older man emerge not even an hour earlier. He looked around him, taking in the overgrown patch that, at one time, had been so familiar, but now resembled so many he had crawled through or otherwise used for cover during or after a skirmish. Fortunately, Brigadier was also experienced at making his way around dense growth and beneath limbs. Soon, they stepped into an opening. Oats in the early stages of maturity grew among the native grasses. Brigadier immediately signaled his approval of the find as he stopped and, tail swishing, began to crop at the feast before him.

  Janus continued across the field and waved for Eustace to follow. “I saved you something special, suh, something I think you’ll like. The soldiers took the rest of the horses.” Janus turned to face Eustace. “Both armies, suh, but mostly the Yankees, what was left. But I saved you the best.”

  Now curious about what his old stable hand was talking about, Eustace followed him. He wrinkled his forehead when he glanced down and spotted horse droppings—fairly fresh—certainly nothing six months old, which was about the time the Union Army pushed through the area. Every ten or so steps, his hand reaching for the Colt Navy pistol he carried, he glanced behind him to be sure no one had followed and Brigadier still grazed unmolested. I should have brought hobbles. He returned his gaze to Janus when the man spoke in reassuring tones.

  “Brigadier be all right, suh. No one around here now. Petries’ plantation empty now. They gone to Atlanta, Mrs. Petrie say not enough left here she can live. Their slaves all gone, left when Sherman come through. Daniel Raintree, he passed. Mrs. Raintree, she with her daughter. We almost there, suh.”

  Upon hearing the neigh of a horse, Eustace lifted his head and turned his ear in the direction from which it came. He glanced at Janus. The man again grinned and motioned him once more to follow. After pushing aside a large, leafy branch, he saw it—a young colt pulling at its restraint that held it tied to a sturdy tree trunk. While Janus hurried as quickly as his old joints could carry him over to loosen the horse from the tree, Eustace followed more slowly. He allowed his gaze to take in the lines and coloring of the colt. He did not recognize it; he only knew it was one of his.

  Janus brought the colt over and handed the lead to Eustace. “I call him Jubilee, suh. Brigadier his grandsire, through Beaumont. I bred
him with Regina.” He dropped his smile and grew serious. “Sorry I couldn’t save them, suh. Some Georgia cavalry captain come through here and took Beaumont. I was lucky to save Regina. She was about a month from dropping her foal then. When the Yankees come through, I got Jubilee hid, but there was no hiding Regina. She was ready to be bred again, suh, and kept calling to the stallion that Yankee lieutenant rode. Um-hum. Both that stallion and the Yankees got Regina.”

  Eustace huffed out a deep breath. “Thank you, Janus, for what you did to save this one. I can tell he has great form, just like most of Brigadier’s foals.” He reached a hand to pat the horse’s neck and withers. “I was part of the army trying to hold Sherman back, but there weren’t enough of us, not after Hood took his army to Tennessee. When it came to stopping them, we were about as effective as buzzing flies.” He paused for several seconds and looked off into the distance without seeing anything. He turned his gaze toward Janus. “Is he broke, yet?”

  Janus shook his head. “No, suh. No one here to do the breaking. These old bones not up to it no more.”

  “That’s all right. I’ll break him. I don’t know if I can afford to keep him, though. In the end, we were lucky to have food. There was no pay. Unless you have a large stash hidden away, I’ll have to start selling things for food.”

  Janus shook his head. “No, suh. Not a lot of food. Minerva and I been eating mostly slave fare we grow ourselves, but we’ll share what there is. Come, suh. I’ll put Jubilee back in the field, let him get to know old Brigadier. We’ll go see what Minerva cooked up. Come night, I’ll put them in the stable. Check my snares, too, suh, see if I caught a rabbit to give us some meat for later on.”