by Jenna Brandt
Nodding, Faith stated, “We'll take both.”
“I'll tell Theo what you need. I'll be back in a moment.”
Faith picked through several of the pamphlets of recipes the shop offered that helped families manage meals with the limited supplies of food.
From behind her, a voice soared, “I thought it was you, Faith. I saw you through the window.”
Turning to face her strawberry-blonde best friend, Faith smiled. “I was hoping I would run into you in town, although I’m surprised you could get away from Mrs. Richardson.”
Hope Hammond snickered as she rolled her brown eyes. “I’m taking a short break. I must be back no later than ten.” Hope lowered her voice as she leaned towards her friend in confidence. “You know how Mrs. Richardson can be.”
Faith sure did. Mrs. Richardson acted as if their small library, which was actually just a moderate-sized room attached to the post office, was as grand as any library in a big city.
Two years ago, Faith had forgotten to return her library books on time by one day. Mrs. Richardson had given her a scorching rebuke. She never did it again.
“Are you free tomorrow after church? You can come to our place for lunch afterward,” Faith offered.
Hope nodded. “I’d like that. Father isn't feeling well again.”
Faith knew what that meant. Hope's father, Luke Hammond, was drinking again. He had been an officer with the Confederacy until he lost his leg during the war. Hope’s older brother, Gregory, however, fared even worse. After being conscripted into the military only two months after his father returned home a cripple, Gregory died during the siege of Charleston during the second bombardment of Fort Sumter. Heavy artillery had thundered down on the entire region, and Gregory was one of the many casualties.
On top of all that, the Hammond plantation was failing. With several bad harvests, no workers, and little oversight, the place was close to the brink of ruin. Mrs. Hammond was doing what she could to help the plantation recover, but it was difficult without the support of her husband. Luke preferred to spend his time dwelling in the bottom of a bottle rather than help his family save their plantation. Hope did what she could, helping her mother at the plantation when she wasn’t working at the library to cover the household costs.
Despite the immense struggles they faced, the Hammond women continued to maintain their strong faith. They were a true testament to the whole town.
“I’ll see you tomorrow,” Hope said, reaching out and giving a quick hug to her friend before taking off.
After the best friends separated and Faith paid for her items, she left the shop to find her brother. She saw Davis on the other side of the street talking to a man in uniform. Faith darted across the road and slowed as she came up to her brother’s side.
“We're taking a few select soldiers who can be valuable in the right circumstance. You look like you’re a mighty bright fellow and I have a man who can fix you up with the right papers so you can enter the war now. You won’t need to wait until you’re eighteen. All you need to do is—”
Faith reached out and grabbed Davis’s arm. “We need to be getting to the general store, Davis. Come with me right now.”
With an irritated look, her brother allowed Faith to lead him away.
“Father would have your head if he knew you wanted to join the military early. What were you thinking?” Faith chastised.
Davis responded in defense, “I’m thinking all my friends are already serving and I want to do my part. It's unfair that because I’m the youngest of my friends, I end up having to wait longer than all of them.”
“Did you ever think it was what God intended? It’s bad enough the military made Nathan return; now you want to join by choice. Nathan would be disappointed with that decision.”
“Well, Nathan isn’t here is he?” Davis stated resentfully.
Faith flinched at the statement. Although true, she didn’t like how flippant her brother was about it.
He must have noticed her reaction because he apologized. “I’m sorry Faith, I didn’t mean it. Please forgive me. You know how much I care for Nathan.”
“If you do, stop being foolish about fighting in the war. You don't want Nathan to return to find you gone.”
She could see in her brother’s eyes he didn’t have the same hope she did regarding Nathan’s return. He didn’t voice his feelings though, and instead said, “You win, Faith. I won’t talk to those men anymore.”
“Good. Glad to hear it.” Patting her brother on the back, Faith changed the subject. “Let's go get the rest of the items on the list.”
Davis nodded as they headed towards the next corner of Main Street.
Chapter 8
Groggy and disoriented, Nathan opened his swollen eye and saw his good friend and mentor looking at him.
“How long have I been out?” Nathan inquired, still confused from all that had happened to him.
“Two days. While you were asleep, I loaded you onto the wagon and moved you farther away to a safer location.” Peter chuckled. “Did I mention, for a skinny fellow, you sure weigh a lot.”
“Don’t make me laugh. I hurt everywhere.” With a shake of the head, Nathan stated with shock, “I still can’t believe it’s you.”
“When God tells me to do something, I do it. He told me to come here and wait for you.”
Nathan smiled as he thought about Peter Hawarden’s resourcefulness. After leaving the military’s service, Nathan had wandered around the country for three months until he found a job on the Abernathy plantation in Myrtle Grove. One year later, he received a letter in the mail from Peter. Apparently, he had looked into his whereabouts so he could resume communication.
Sitting up, Nathan swung his legs over the side of the cot. The room began to spin and nausea took hold. For several moments, he focused on keeping the bile from coming up.
“Are you all right? Do you need me to get you a glass of water?” Peter asked with concern.
“I’m fine,” Nathan grunted out. Forcing himself to raise his head, he looked around at the simple cottage composed of one giant room containing only a cot, a table with two chairs, and a fireplace. “Where are we?”
“I thought I should let you rest considering all you have been through,” Peter stated with a concerned look. “The Union soldiers have expanded their search parameter which means by morning, this place will no longer be safe. We need to leave tonight.”
“I still don’t understand. How did you find where they were holding me? Who was the person who brought me to you? How did you convince them to help me?”
A bewildered expression settled on Peter’s face. “What person? I’ve been here alone this whole time.”
What did Peter mean? He had to have been behind the man who rescued him. Nothing else made sense.
“Did this person ever give a name?” Peter asked, tilting his head to the side with curiosity.
“No, the person was vague. I couldn’t even get a straight answer any time I asked a question.”
“Did you see your rescuer?” Peter probed further.
Nathan tried to remember the other night. It wasn’t like him to ignore the details of any given situation, let alone a dangerous one. It was a spy's second nature to notice everything, yet he couldn’t recall any specifics about the stranger.
“No, and I’m not sure why,” he confessed with apprehension.
Peter walked over to the fire where a delicious smelling pot of food was cooking. Nathan’s stomach twisted, growling with anticipation as Peter lifted the ladle and stirred the liquid. "Is it possible God didn’t want you to see the stranger’s face, or you wouldn’t accept it if you did?”
Perplexed, Nathan furrowed his eyebrows together. “What do you mean by that?”
“There is the possibility God sent an angel to help you.”
“Whoever helped me was an angel,” Nathan nodded in agreement. “It’s why I want to know who it is. I want to find him to thank him.”
&
nbsp; “That’s just it, I’m not talking figuratively. Can’t it be possible God sent an actual angel to rescue you? He did it for Peter and Paul in the New Testament of the Bible, which means there’s a chance he did it for you the other day.”
Three days ago, Nathan would have never thought it possible. He prided himself on being a realist. He didn't put much stock in supernatural beings like angels, so the possibility one rescued him seemed ludicrous. Yet, in his spirit, the likelihood resonated. As the disbelief melted away, Nathan admitted, “I can’t believe I’m saying this, but you're right, Peter. God sent an angel to save me.”
Peter handed him a bowl of stew along with a spoon. “Since we have that settled, we need to move onto more pressing matters. After you eat, we can figure a way of getting you back to Myrtle Grove.”
“What is your suggestion?” Nathan inquired.
“We're going to smuggle you out of the North.”
Two hours later, Nathan was praying for their safety while hiding in the back of Peter’s wagon. Every bump and pothole in the road jolted Nathan as they sped through the back ways of Massachusetts. His body was still healing from the damage Christopher had inflicted on him, which made each impact more painful than the last. To make matters worse, he had several thick, wool blankets encompassing his body to keep him hidden. Although grateful for the shield they provided, they were stifling, making it hard to breathe. The blankets also created a thick layer of disgusting sweat which covered his body.
Nathan kept telling himself, if he made it through this, he would return to Faith and marry her. He didn’t care if the house was finished, or if the war was still raging on around them, he was going to marry the woman he loved and give her the life she deserved.
“How are you holding up back there?” Peter shouted.
After patting the seat, Nathan waited, too mindful of his surroundings to utter a word.
“I’ll take that as you mean you’re doing fine.”
Good. Peter got the point. Nathan was tired and didn’t want to yell through the stuffy blankets.
Several more minutes went by before the vehicle slowed to a stop. Was it another checkpoint? Every time they passed one, his stomach clenched in fear. He knew if Union soldiers found him, Nathan would be returned to the black pit he had just escaped. What worried him more was what would happen to Peter. They would consider him a Southern sympathizer and kill him on the spot.
Nathan said a silent prayer as he waited under the blankets. Lord, please help us to get through the checkpoint. Keep us safe and help me get back to Faith.
“It’s rather late for you to be traveling alone out here. Where are you going?” Nathan heard a gruff Bostonian accent inquire.
“I’m delivering supplies to the fort at Salisbury Point,” Peter stated.
“I need to see your papers authorizing this travel,” the other man demanded.
“Here you go.”
Several seconds ticked by before the Union soldier probed further, “What's in the wagon?”
“My luggage, several bags of rice, two bushels of potatoes, and some fresh apples for the soldiers. The blankets are to keep the bugs from them during the travel.” Nathan could feel him shift items in the wagon, and remembered the plan included revealing the baskets of food. “I’m a pastor out of Boston and my church collected donations to help the soldiers.”
There was another long pause as the soldier poked around the wagon, several times coming close to making contact with Nathan. His hands bawled into fists at his side, preparing to strike if the final blankets were removed to reveal his location. Nathan wouldn’t go back to prison, which left him only one option, fight or die.
“Thank you for your contributions to the war effort, Mr. London. You’re free to go."
The wagon lurched forward, and they were back on the road. Nathan sighed with relief. Apparently, Peter’s story and alias did the trick and the Union soldier believed him. Soon, Nathan would be home in Myrtle Grove with his beloved Faith.
Chapter 9
After deciding she wanted to bake a dessert to cheer up the family, Faith pulled out the new recipe she had found in a war pamphlet called “Molasses Apple Pie,” which she planned to share at the town’s next recipe swap night. She gathered the ingredients she would need, including the molasses her neighbors produced by crushing sugar cane with wooden rollers moved by horse power. The juice was then boiled in giant wash pots, cooled, and finally stored in jars. The process was called “long sweetening” and the resulting substance could be used in place of sugar, which was in shortage because of the war. Faith was grateful they had enough to trade with her family for some of their squash harvest.
She placed the freshly made crust onto the bottom of the pie pan, then arranged the sliced, green apples—purchased from the local orchard outside of Myrtle Grove—into the pan, sprinkled nutmeg and cinnamon over the apples, and added the required molasses. She covered it with a lattice crust top and placed it in the wood-burning oven near the hearth.
As the pie heated, the house filled with the delicious smell of baking apples while Faith cleaned up. A knock sounded from the front of the house, causing Faith to pat her hands against her apron and call out, “Be there in a moment.”
As she opened the door, her mouth fell wide in astonishment and her heart raced with joy. Nathan stood across the threshold. His body exhibited visible wounds along with a leg that was bandaged up. He had a crutch under one arm and dark circles under his eyes, but otherwise he appeared intact.
Rushing towards him, Faith buried herself in his waiting embrace as tears streamed down her cheeks. "Oh, Nathan, I'm so glad you’re home!" Her body was shaking and she felt like she would pass out from the sheer shock of seeing him again.
His chin rested on top of her head as he whispered, “It's good to have you back in my arms, Faith.”
“I’ve prayed for this every day.” She wanted to say more but her throat was constricted by emotion. She had hoped and believed he would return home, but nothing prepared her for the simultaneous sensations of relief and elation she was experiencing. She basked in the familiar strength of his arms which encircled her. Her cheek rested against his chest, the recognizable rhythm of his heartbeat melodic to her ears. Wanting to take care of him, Faith leaned back and inquired, “How are you? What do you need? Something to eat? Something to drink?”
As he shook his head, he stepped back and leaned against the doorframe of the house. He appeared detached, his attention fixated on something beyond where they were. After a moment, he focused and looked at her dirty attire. Faith blushed with embarrassment. “I imagined looking in better shape than this when you came back home.”
His eyes shot to hers as he professed, “Never think it. You're the most gorgeous sight I've ever seen.”
She laughed, rebuffing his statement. “You must still be delirious from your whole ordeal. I haven’t had the pleasure of wearing a soiled-free dress in months.” Faith wasn't good at taking compliments. She changed the subject by inquiring, “Why didn’t the military inform me they found you?”
“Because they didn’t find me. Someone else did.”
Questions formed and accumulated in Faith’s head. When she could wait no longer, she blurted out, “What happened? Who found you? Why did the military assume you were dead?”
She could hear the weariness in Nathan's voice as he responded, “Can we sit down first?”
What was she thinking? Whatever he went through, he sounded exhausted and didn’t need her hammering him with questions.
Faith grabbed his hand and led him into the house. “Let’s go into the parlor.”
They made their way into the once opulent room that had been filled with expensive solid wood furniture, rich tapestries, and beautiful oil paintings. All of it was gone now, with only a couple of chairs and a sofa to fill the large room. Though it was sparse, Faith didn’t care. All that mattered was Nathan had returned. The rest could be replaced once the war was over.
“Tell me where you were, what happened to you,” Faith pleaded, wanting to understand why she had been led to believe he was dead.
“I’m not at liberty to divulge the details, but before I could complete my final mission, the Union soldiers set an ambush and took me prisoner.”
Faith was in disbelief. “The Northerners held you captive this whole time?”
“Yes, they grabbed me two weeks after the last letter I sent.”
“What did they want from you?”
“They wanted to persuade me to switch sides.”
She brushed her fingertips down his arm, touching the marks and scars that riddled his body, evidence of their persuasion. It hurt her to just see the scars on his handsome physique; she couldn’t even imagine how painful it must have been for him to endure them. “Do they still hurt?”
“Not as much as it did at first. I'm healing every day, and in a few months, the doctors assure me I will be mended, all but my leg that is. I will have a permanent limp because of the break not being treated in the beginning.”
“How awful,” Faith whispered with dismay. “I can’t believe someone could do this to you.”
“It’s in the past, and what’s important is that I came home to you. I don’t want to talk about what they did to me anymore.”
Wanting to respect his wishes, Faith focused on something else. “You mentioned someone found you? Who was it?”
Faith noticed Nathan squirmed in his seat and averted his eyes before he answered. “Peter was the one who helped me get home.”
“Peter Hawarden? The man who helped you become a Christian? The one who writes you often? How did that happen?”
Nathan nodded. “He helped me cross the Northern border and made sure I connected with the Confederate military in Virginia. He risked so much to help me; I can never repay him.”
Curious about how Peter found him, Faith inquired, “How did he know where you were?”
