by Bobbi Smith
"Don't worry. I have enough money put aside to buy you a ring," he assured her.
"Thank you." She gave him a quick, sweet kiss.
Logan cast one last, longing glance at the bed as they started from the room. He wanted to tear Eden's clothes off and lay her down on the bed and make love to her again right then, but he knew they had responsibilities. They were due back at the orphanage that morning. They could afford no delays. Logan knew, too, that if he did give into his impulsive desire, they might not make it to the Haven at all that day. He smiled as he imagined the eyebrows that would be raised if they did not show up for work.
"This one is perfect," Eden told Logan a short time later as she stared down at the elegantly simple gold band he'd slipped on her finger at the jewelers.
The ring was wide and had one heart engraved on it. She had deliberately not looked at the very expensive rings, for she didn't want to embarrass Logan. She'd fallen in love with this piece right away, and she was thrilled that it was a perfect fit.
Logan reveled in the happiness evident in her face as she gazed down at the band, and he turned to the merchant. "We'll take this one."
"Would you like me to put it in a box for you?"
"Oh, no," Eden spoke up quickly. "I'll wear it." She smiled up at Logan. "Thank you. It's beautiful."
Logan paid the jeweler, and they left the store to return to the Haven.
"I think it's time I walked the grounds," Braden said as he sat in the shade with Danner and Taylor. The heat of the day was waning but the tree still offered welcome protection from the sun.
"Are you feeling that much better?" Taylor asked.
In the days since his fever had broken, the lieutenant had regained some strength, but Taylor was still concerned that his wound might reopen.
"Yes," Braden answered almost angrily. "I can't stand to just sit here anymore. The sooner I start moving, the sooner we can figure a way out of here." Braden's frustration was great. He was a man of action, and it galled him to be helpless before his captors. "What do you say, Tay lor? Don't you think it's time we started planning a way to escape?"
"It's past time, as far as I'm concerned," Taylor responded. "But you still ain't completely healed yet, Lieutenant. So don't go getting too frisky on me. I'd hate to have to start nursing you again.
"I'd hate for you to have to nurse me again, too," Braden growled. "That's not in my plans."
"So you've already got a plan, Lieutenant?" Danner was instantly alert. He was loyal to Lieutenant Matthews and would follow him anywhere.
"Not yet, but I will have real soon." Braden had been watching and keeping track of the guards' activities. The long days in the makeshift prison camp were taking their toll on all of them. There was little in the way of food, and Braden knew that if they waited too much longer, they might not have the strength to get away. "Let's take that walk."
Braden struggled to get to his feet.
Danner was there to help him with a steadying arm. "Are you sure you're ready to try this?"
"There's no time like the present," he told him, his jaw locked against the weakness and pain that swept over him. He was determined not to give in to it. The only way to rebuild his strength was to start getting some exercise and pushing himself to the limit.
The three of them moved slowly out to circle the grounds. Taylor and Danner matched their pace to Braden's.
The guards kept watch over them, their guns in hand. They were surprised to see that the Yankee lieutenant was still alive. They'd thought he was a dead man for sure when he'd first been brought into camp.
"Is this the usual number of guards for this time of day?" Braden asked.
"Yes," Danner replied. "Near as I can tell, there are six total, and they're all heavily armed."
Braden slanted him a pained grin as his physical exertion began to take its toll. "Think they're expecting us to give them trouble?"
"It looks that way, sir."
"Think we should oblige them, Taylor?"
"I'm looking forward to it." The youth grinned back at him. He was relieved that the lieutenant was feeling good enough to make a joke.
Braden only nodded as pain wracked him again. They trudged on, slowing their pace, yet taking careful note of all the surroundings and the location of the guards. They were almost back to their shaded spot when Braden stumbled.
Taylor was beside him instantly when he grew unsteady, offering a supportive arm around his waist and a shoulder for him to lean on.
It angered Braden that he was still weak, but he accepted the help and leaned heavily on the youth for a moment until he managed to right himself again. It was that simple contact that startled Braden. He looked down at Taylor and scowled, for he had just discovered how skinny the boy was beneath his baggy clothes. There was nothing to him. Taylor was only skin-andbones and felt downright fragile to Braden. He worried over Taylor's physical condition. If any kind of fever took the camp, and that happened regularly in this climate, the boy wouldn't have enough strength to fight it off.
"You need to eat more," Braden ordered sternly.
"I would if I could, but there ain't a whole lot to eat around here, Lieutenant," Taylor came back at him easily. Though the truth was, Taylor had deliberately been doing without to slip extra portions to the lieutenant and help build up his strength.
They finally reached the shade again.
Braden all but collapsed on the hard ground. He was exhausted from the effort, but already creating an escape plan in his mind. His weak reaction to the little exercise they'd done irritated him, but he wasn't going to let that stop him. As soon as he was strong enough, they would make a run for it. It was his fault that he and Danner had been taken captive, and he planned to make up for it. Braden was still angry with himself for not anticipating the raid on the steamer. He would never let the Rebs catch him unaware again. He just hoped it wasn't too late to redeem himself.
When the time came for the evening meal, the guards brought up a pot of something that was supposed to be stew, but it looked and tasted more like slop to the prisoners. Still, they had no alternative. It was this or starve, so they took as big a portion as they were allowed.
Taylor waited in line, hating the close contact with their captors. The farther away they stayed, the better.
"Hey, you!" a sharp voice rang out.
Taylor ignored it. The guards shouted all the time, so there was no reason to respond.
"I'm talking to you!"
A strong hand grabbed Taylor by the shoulder and jerked the youth forcefully around.
"I was talking to you, Yankee. Pay attention."
Taylor stood silently, glaring up at the tall, mean-looking man.
"I want your chain," the guard demanded, his hold on Taylor's shoulder bruising. He'd seen the glint of gold around the young soldier's neck and wondered how he'd missed seeing it before. Any captive's personal possessions were fair game as far as he was concerned, and a gold chain could bring a pretty penny.
Taylor deliberately slumped a little, trying to keep the chain hidden. "I ain't got no chain, Reb."
"Look, boy, you can give it to me or I can take it. It don't matter. Either way, it's mine, so you might as well just hand it over and save yourself the fight," he sneered, looming over him. The guard was surprised at the defiance the youth was showing, but that didn't matter. In the end, he was going to have what he sought from him anyway.
"I told you, Reb, I ain't-" Taylor never got to finish the sentence.
The guard grabbed Taylor by the shirt front and jerked him forcefully toward him. His rough treatment tore the shirt and revealed not only the chain the youth had hoped to hide, but tight bandages wrapped around his chest. The hamfisted guard snatched the chain, breaking it as he tore it off. Then he threw Taylor bodily to the ground. The youth lay there stunned for a moment, a look of terror passing over his face.
"You ain't got no chain, huh?" The guard laughed at him as he examined the fine chain and crucifi
x. "You miserable, lying, little bastard!"
"Give it back!" Taylor demanded in fury, struggling to stand up, ready and willing to fight the bigger man to get the precious chain.
The guard just chuckled and planted a filthy booted foot in the middle of Taylor's chest. Fight as the youth might, the guard's weight was too great.
"Shut up or I'll break a few more of your ribs," he threatened, increasing the pressure of his foot against the boy's bound chest.
Taylor was pinned to the ground, helpless.
"Let the boy up!" Braden commanded fiercely as he came to Taylor's aid.
The guard looked from Taylor to the outraged lieutenant and grinned coldly.
"You're lucky them ribs is all you got broke, boy," he snarled as he pocketed his stolen prize and walked away. He was quite satisfied with himself.
Braden hurried to Taylor's side, concerned.
"I didn't know you were already injured. Are you all right?" He held out a hand to help him up.
Taylor shrugged off his offer of help and stood unassisted, tying the torn shirt closed.
"I will be as soon as I can get my hands on a gun again," Taylor ground out, hating the greedy, sadistic guard who'd stolen the chain and cross.
"You're not the only one who feels that way," Braden sympathized. "Come on. Let's eat. We'll get your chain back before we get out of here, don't worry."
Taylor managed a tight smile at his words. "I intend to do just that."
They got their portions of food and went to sit down. They ate in silence.
Taylor concentrated on eating and fought not to reveal the overwhelming despair that threatened him. This was no time to give in to any weakness.
The rest of the day passed slowly. When darkness finally claimed the land, the prisoners sought what comfort they could in the shelter provided.
Taylor had been sharing Braden's small tent to keep watch over him as he recovered. They bedded down late, and both fell asleep quickly.
The nightmare overwhelmed Taylor.
The fear.
The terror.
The fury.
Visions of the savage battle that had claimed Taylor's brother's life and left Taylor alone in the world and a prisoner of war resurfaced.
In sleep, emotions long controlled were given free rein, unleashed by the cruelty of the guard's assault and theft. Grief and torment roiled through Taylor. Frustration fueled the youth's helplessness. With a cry of rage and grief, Taylor thrashed wildly around, fighting unseen enemies.
No.
Braden came instantly awake at the sound of Taylor's cry. He got up to go to the youth, worried that something was terribly wrong. He feared that he might have taken ill. It was dark in the tent, but there was just enough light for him to make out Taylor's tortured features.
"Taylor-wake up," Braden said in a low voice, not wanting to disturb any of the others in the surrounding tents.
Taylor tossed and turned, caught up in the power of the nightmare.
Since he didn't awaken, Braden feared he was feverish. He reached out to take him by the shoulders just as Taylor cried out.
"Charlie-"
It was a soft, mournful, pitiful cry, and the sound went through Braden like a knife in his heart.
"Wake up, you're having a nightmare," he said, touching Taylor's thin shoulder.
"What-?" Taylor sat up quickly, confused by the chaotic nightmare and startled by the lieutenant's touch.
Braden froze and stared down at Taylor. Tears were streaking down the boy's cheeks from the power of the dream, and the torn shirt had fallen open to reveal the bindings around Taylor's chest.
"Oh-Lieutenant-it's you-"
There was something about that voice.
Braden had a vague memory from when he'd been feverish of a soft and gentle voice talking to him. He'd been confused and had thought the voice was that of the woman on the steamer who'd helped him, but now he knew.
It had been Taylor.
The fearsome recognition came to Braden in a sudden shock of awareness as he stared down at Taylor's pale, tear-stained face in the moonlight.
"Dear God."
Taylor went still, realizing with apprehension that somehow, in that instant, the lieutenant knew the truth. He had discovered the secret. No one else had ever guessed, but Lieutenant Matthews had.
"Taylor-" Braden was frowning darkly now, his gaze unwavering upon that tear-ravaged visage. Anger was growing within him.
Was it really possible?
How could he have been so blind?
"What?" Taylor asked tentatively, clutching the shirt together and huddling away from the lieutenant's perceptive gaze.
"Who are you and how the hell did you end up here?" Braden growled in a low voice, not wanting anyone else to hear. He was furious, and he wanted answers.
"I'm Private Taylor, and I-"
"That's not what I mean, and you know it!" He was almost ready to swear.
Taylor had struggled to be strong for so long that she could no longer keep up the ruse. The horror of the nightmare coupled with the guard's attack were her undoing, and she allowed her tears to fall unheeded. She had been living in fear day in and day out. First, she had survived the horror of combat that had left her only living relative, her brother Charlie, dead, killed right before her eyes, and then she had suffered these weeks in this prison camp. With every breath she'd taken since her capture, she'd dreaded discovery. If the guards had learned of her secret, there would have been no telling what she would have suffered at their hands.
Taylor lifted her gaze to meet Braden's. She saw his anger, but she also saw his concern. She considered trying to bluff her way through, but knew the lieutenant was too smart for that.
"What do you want to know?" she asked in a shuddering, cautious whisper.
"Start with your first name," he demanded as he sat back, distancing himself so he wouldn't be intimidating.
"Miranda."
With her answer, his suspicion was confirmed. Taylor was no young boy. Taylor was a female in disguise, and a fine disguise it was. She'd certainly had him fooled all this time. "And who's this Charlie?"
"Charlie's my brother, but he's dead. They killed him." All the agony and torment she felt was mirrored in the depths of her gaze as she answered him.
Braden realized the pain Taylor was suffering. He wanted to offer her solace, but there was no way. His discovery about her true identity was serious, and he had to do everything in his power to make sure no one else learned the truth about her, not even Corporal Danner. He had to keep her secret.
"I'm sorry about your brother." He meant it.
"Thank you."
"But what are you doing here, dressed like a soldier?"
"I am a soldier," she replied hotly. "I cut my hair and disguised myself so I could enlist with my brother and fight with him."
"What about the rest of your family? Where are your parents? Surely they didn't approve."
"My pa died two years ago. Ma's been dead for quite a while. I had nowhere else to go, and we wanted to stay together. No one else ever figured it out. You're the only one."
"Was your pa really a doctor?"
Miranda nodded. "He was, and he was a good one, too."
"I know." Braden finally managed a half-smile as he thought of all that had happened to bring them to this point. "If he hadn't taught you well, I'd be dead right now."
Still terrified and unsure of what the lieutenant planned to do with her now that he knew her true identity, she asked, "What are you going to do?"
"About what?" He was deliberately evasive. He had heard that there were women going to war with their menfolk, but he'd never really believed that it happened until now.
"About me," she demanded, expecting the worst.
"Nothing, Private Taylor. The only thing I'm going to do is to try to get some sleep right now. I think we both could use some. It's been a real long day, and tomorrow doesn't look much better." Braden lay back on the pall
et that was his bed, seeking what little comfort he could find there.
"But-" Miranda began. His reaction shocked her. She didn't know what she'd expected him to do, but it wasn't this.
"Good night, Private. Your secret is safe with me.
"Thank you."
"Did the guard hurt you?" he asked, an edge of ferocity in his tone. He wouldn't be able to rest until he was sure she was all right and hadn't been crying because she'd been injured by the violence done to her.
"I'm sore, but it's not too bad."
"All right. Just make sure you figure out a way to fix your shirt by morning," Braden dictated. He didn't want anyone else discovering her secret. He would protect her hidden identity and try to keep her out of harm's way.
Eden and Logan passed a pleasant day at the Haven. Jenny and the children had planned a celebration for them, and the time went by quickly. That night, Francene prepared a special meal for the newly married couple, and they enjoyed a festive evening, in spite of Camille's bad mood. Eden and Logan returned to their hotel room for a few hours of privacy before he had to escort her back to the orphanage to spend the night.
"How soon would you like to move into our own place?" Logan asked as they made the drive to the Haven.
"As soon as possible," she told him, eagerly looking forward to having their own home.
"We can start looking tomorrow, if you want."
"That would be wonderful, but, Logan..."
He glanced over at her, curious, for she sounded so tentative. "What?"
"What are we going to live on? I have a little money saved, but not enough to support us for very long, and you don't have any regular income.
Her family had known hard times these last few years with the war causing so much turmoil, but somehow they'd always managed to make ends meet and keep food on the table. She'd never worried much about money before, but it had occurred to her during dinner that night that Logan didn't have a real job.
Logan smiled easily at her, wanting to calm her fears. "You don't have to worry. I have money put aside that will more than cover our expenses. And besides, the good Lord always provides for His own. Go ahead and find us a place to live. Everything will be fine."
