by Lena Hart
And if he were honest with himself, James was going to miss it here, too. More specifically, he was going to miss the friends he had made, the places he’d been, and the ones he had yet to see. He had always had a strange pull to this country. Maybe it was the tales his father had told him of the first James Blakemore. Their family’s original patriarch had fought fearlessly for the British during the birth of this young nation—until he had met the woman that he would choose to give it all up for, just so they could be together.
That had once been a dream of his as well—to return to his home in Canada with the woman he loved. But fate had seen to it that his Maddie found love and happiness with another. As much as James resented the thought of her with another man, he couldn’t begrudge her the one thing he had always wanted for her.
Happiness.
James rose to his feet, ignoring the unrelenting tightness that always seem to invade his chest whenever he thought of their broken future. As much as he would miss this great land, there was nothing left for him here.
“Well, I better be off. It’s high-time my family saw my charming face again, not to mention the new nieces and nephews I have yet to meet. You know where to contact me, if you need me.”
Clay stuffed the documents giving him power-of-attorney over James’ U.S. assets into a file before he too got to his feet. “Everything I need is all in there. And not to worry about Anderson. Until I hear back from his kin, I’ll be sure he gets his pension, and whatever else he needs at the home.”
James nodded. Guilt over leaving Will behind, before he had a chance to get in touch with his half-sister, almost made him second guess his decision to leave. His friend was sick, the kind of sick no doctor could fix. James could only hope that Will’s sister did right by him and used his pension to see to his comfort.
“Write to me if you run into any issues.”
Clay took his hand and gave it a firm shake. “Of course. Safe travels, Jim.”
With a quick tip of his hat, James left Clay’s law office and headed toward the post office. He had one last errand to run before he started on his long journey home.
He entered the small office and went straight to the front counter. It was hard to miss the gaping stare of the young clerk. James ignored him. There were times he managed to forget about the patch covering his right eye, forget the scars that traced a jagged path down the side of his face.
Today, however, wasn’t one of those times.
“I need these three letters postmarked today.” James handed the older clerk behind the desk the envelopes, trying his damnedest to ignore the fascinated gaze of the young man off to the side. He hated being gawked at. Oftentimes, people stared long enough to satisfy their curiosity, but they eventually had the damn decency to look away.
“Where is this one going?” The old man’s eye-glasses sat perched on the bridge of his nose as he squinted down at one of the letters in his hand.
“Canada,” James replied.
The old man grunted, then made a notation on the envelope. Without looking up, the clerk slid a short form across the counter toward him. “I’m gonna need some more information from you, sir. Derrick, that mail ain’t gonna sort itself.”
James glanced over at Derrick as he took the form. The young man remained standing there, a stack of mail clutched in his hands and his wide-eyed gaze held transfixed on his eye patch.
With a sigh of exasperation, James shifted until he was standing directly in front of the young mail clerk. Leaning against the counter, James got as close as he could and flipped open his eye patch.
“Here’s a closer look.”
The blood drained from Derrick’s face and to his surprise, the boy collapsed were he stood. James released the eye patch and it fell back into place. Leaning over the counter, he peered down at the unconscious boy, mail littered all over him.
“Well, hell.”
The old man sucked at his teeth and shook his head. “He’s always had a weak stomach. Didn’t figure him a fainter too.”
“Your son?”
“Nope. My late sister’s boy, so I guess I got to claim him.” The man moved to grab the boy’s feet. “Help me with him, would ya?”
James came around the counter and grabbed Derrick’s shoulders. Together, they moved the boy’s motionless body to a nearby seat. The man stood back with a grunt then turned and studied him closely.
“I’m guessing you lost that eye in the war?”
James gave a curt nod. Though he hadn’t lost it fighting in battle, the result had been just the same. He wondered just how good a look the man had gotten at the damaged, hollowed socket. The older clerk hadn’t flinched when he’d exposed the scarred remains of his right eye socket. James could only assume he hadn’t gotten that good a look because he knew just how grotesque the sight was. There were days where he avoided his own reflection.
“Lost a brother in that damn war.” The clerk shook his head with pity. “I reckon, though, he’d rather be dead then a—”
“Cripple?” James finished for him.
The man’s face flushed with embarrassment. James ignored the man’s obvious discomfort. That was the problem with some westerners, he had come to realize. They always had an opinion and never knew when to keep it to themselves.
“I knew a few men like that, too vain to live a life with a mutilated face,” James said evenly. “But if you ask me, nothing beats death. Not even vanity.”
Derrick began to stir in his seat. “Uncle Aaron…?”
The old clerk went to tend to his nephew, clearly grateful for the distraction.
James started back around the other side of the counter when he realized he was crushing a letter beneath his boot. He snatched it up and started to toss it back on the counter when the handwriting caught his attention. It was the way the letters scrolled neat and elegantly across the front of the envelope that drew him.
He clutched the envelope in his hands as he carefully read the name of the sender. Then he re-read it again, not wanting to put his trust in fate again—or allow himself to believe in miracles.
Yet the name on the envelope didn’t disappear…
Madeline Asher.
He knew that handwriting well. With every letter that had made its way to him during the darkest moments of his hell, he had studied her writing, memorized her words. This was her name, her handwriting, and—he brought the letter to his nose—her scent.
James whipped around to the clerk and his nephew. The look on their faces made him question his own sanity. Maybe the sweet, delicate smell he remembered was all in his head, but he didn’t care. He knew with every fiber in his being that this was her.
And he needed to find her.
“The woman who brought this in, when was she here?”
The two men stared blankly at him. James cursed.
“When, damn it?”
Aaron snapped out of his stupor. “I don’t rightly know. We had a lot of traffic yesterday and today…”
“This patron would have been hard to miss. She’s about yay high.” James levelled his hand up to the center of his chest. “She has big, chestnut brown eyes and smooth, amber-brown skin. The color of sweet butterscotch.” James shut his eye briefly, wanting to imprint the memory of her in his mind. “She has the sweetest smile and the softest laugh…”
“I’m starting to realize, Mr. James Blakemore that you have this perverse need to tease me.”
“I can’t seem to help myself, Miss Asher. It must be the fire in your eyes that I find irresistible.”
She laughed again and shook her head. “You are as peculiar as you are vexing.”
He smiled down at her, enchanted by the sweet sound of her laugh. “I assure you, I’m as ordinary as they come. But a passionate lady deserves an impassioned suitor.”
“Am I to presume that suitor to be you?”
“Well, love, you have managed all three of the impossible.”
Her eyes widened at the endearment, but she d
idn’t shy away. “And what is that?”
Further emboldened, James took her hand and kissed her wrist. “You have aroused my mind, inflamed my senses, and corrupted my thoughts.”
He opened his eye again, having lost himself in that short glimpse into the past—to his initial courtship of the most captivating and easily goaded woman he had ever met. James caught the shared look between the two clerks and a bit of warmth crawled up his cheeks.
But he refused to lose his resolve.
“I need to find her. Now, do you know where she is?”
“No,” Aaron said. “I don’t remember a woman by that…colorful description coming in here.”
“You have her letter right here,” James snapped. “She came in here sometime today. Now think!” He turned to the younger clerk. “What day were those letters you were sorting postmarked?”
Derrick’s already pale face lost what little remaining color it had. “Th-th-they were collected yesterday.”
“So you saw her?”
The young man’s eyes darted from him to his uncle. “Maybe… I-I don’t remember. I think so.”
James sighed and bit back a curse. He was getting nowhere but needed a starting place if he was going to find her in this busy town.
“Do you remember a colored woman stopping in here? Perhaps one you’d never seen before?” The boy opened his mouth, indecision plain on his face. “Think long and hard before you answer, Derrick.”
Something in his tone must have convinced him, because the boy shut his eyes and James watched as the pupils moved rapidly behind his eyelids. Then suddenly, they sprang open.
“I remember!”
James’ gut clenched in anticipation.
“She came in very early. I believe you were in the back, Uncle Aaron.”
“Do you know where she’s staying?”
“No, sir. But I heard of some colored missionaries staying at Patty’s Saloon. She could have been traveling with them.”
“Traveling?”
“Y-yes. She asked about renting a box for her letters. Asked about our schedule, too, so she knew what times to travel into town.”
“Did she say when she would be back?”
The young man shook his head vehemently.
James took a step forward. He was so close! “Are you certain?”
“He said he doesn’t know,” Aaron interjected. “Now, I think it’s about time you finish your business here, mister, and be on your way.”
James snapped his gaze over to the older man.
Maddie is my business.
But he kept the sharp retort behind his teeth. At least now, he had a starting place.
And by the following night, he finally had a destination.
Dunesville.
Chapter Four
“I heard you gave your class a proper and thorough set down last night, Maddie.”
Madeline swung her gaze over at Sherry, embarrassment warming her cheeks as she thought about her rant to a room full of grown men.
“I wouldn’t call it a set down…” Madeline began.
“Then what would you call it?”
More like a meltdown.
When she’d had a moment to calm down, Madeline realized how improper her behavior had been. Though the men had stayed until the end, including Mr. Barnes, and had showed a little more interest in her teaching, Madeline wouldn’t be surprised if none of them showed today. Why would they?
Upon further reflection, she had a chance to think about the men’s arguments. As colored men, they faced constant humiliation and degradation from the hands of their counterparts. The last thing they wanted was an “uppity” colored woman talking down to them. It certainly was the last thing they needed.
“Well, whatever you call it,” Sherry said, “it seemed to work. It’s all anyone can talk about today.”
“Wonderful,” Madeline muttered. “I’m glad I’m the source of everyone’s afternoon gossip.”
Sherry laughed. “And this morning. I had breakfast with the Duncans and even they were talking about it.”
Madeline groaned. She typically chose to skip her morning meal, and was glad for it. Now she would have to find time to explain her behavior to Ophelia.
“Well, enjoy this now,” Madeline said. “Because it’ll be the last. I plan to apologize to the men tonight for my behavior. At least to whoever decides to show up…”
Sherry shrugged. “From what I hear, there’s nothing for you to apologize for, Maddie. The Duncans admired what you did. You’re a teacher now, a mentor to your pupils, and sometimes that means ruling with an iron fist.”
Madeline frowned. “These are grown men we’re talking about, not children. How will I expect to gain their respect if I go around talking down to them and making them feel low?”
Sherry shook her head. “Take it from someone who teaches children, being firm-handed doesn’t mean you’re talking down to them. You think I go around coddling my kids? No. I praise them often when they have earned it, and reprimand them when they misbehave or challenge my authority. Don’t go undoing what you’ve done, Maddie. You have their attention and respect now. Use that to continue pushing them.”
Though Madeline wanted to be as optimistic as Sherry, she couldn’t help feeling as if she had already set a negative precedent and she had a lot of work ahead of her if she was going to convince any of them to return to her class.
Later that evening, Madeline realized she had gotten it all wrong. She entered the classroom and her mouth fell open.
The room was packed.
Not only did it include new male faces, there were also some women in attendance. Madeline surveyed the room of black and brown faces—some behind desks, others on the floor—all looking to her with interest and an excitement she hadn’t seen before. There were maybe about twenty to twenty-five people in the small classroom and they were all ready to learn.
“If it’s okay with you, Miss Madeline, some of us would also like to learn to write our names.”
“And maybe read what’s in those books you carry around,” another called out.
“Yeah, I’d like to learn to read a few pages myself,” someone else shouted from the back.
Madeline beamed at all of them, her heart swelling with wonder and another emotion she couldn’t name.
“Of course it’s all right,” she said. “I just hope some of you are comfortable on the ground like that. This class runs for about an hour.”
“Yup, Miss Madeline. We’re all good down here,” someone from the ground called out. “Just as long as the ground is the hardest thing my backside is going to suffer in your class.”
Everyone laughed and Madeline couldn’t help but join in their amusement.
“I promise you, it is,” she assured them. “Now, shall we get started?”
It was high noon when James rode into Dunesville.
If he had thought finding Madeline in the private community would come easy, he learned swiftly just how private and guarded the people of Dunesville really were.
He’d been there less than an hour, and yet all his questions about Madeline Asher had been met with silence and blank stares.
But James knew she was here. He felt it in his gut. Nothing, not even the residents’ wariness of him, would stop him from searching for her.
He made his way to the church, hoping he would find better luck there. The mail clerk had mention something about her being part of a missionary group. If he was lucky, his search would end there.
James drew his horse alongside the large white building and jumped off. He tethered it to a nearby tree, never taking his attention off of the newly but poorly assembled building. After helping construct over a dozen veteran homes these past two years, James could spot poor handiwork and lazy construction from just one glance.
As he neared the church, a loud crash came from inside, followed by a heavy grunt. James rushed inside to find a short, balding man dressed in a long, black robe and starched white ne
ck collar. The man appeared to be about fifty, yet he was attempting to lift a pew that had sunken into the floor boards on his own.
Without a word, James went to the other end of the pew. The reverend glanced up at him, perspiration glistening above his dark brows and brown face, and his eyeglasses were dangerously close to sliding off of his nose.
James grabbed the bottom of the pew. “On three.”
He started counting and on three, they managed to lift the heavy bench enough to slide it out of its trench. The reverend straightened and adjusted his robe.
The man gave him a quick once over, his narrowed gaze not hiding his obvious suspicion. A sinking feeling settled in James’ gut when he realized his hope for answers would not be found here either.
“You the carpenter from town?”
James nodded stiffly. It wasn’t a complete lie since he’d spent the last three months there working on the new veteran home. That had to count.
The reverend’s lips pursed with disapproval. “What took you so long, then? Oliver said he sent for you hours ago.”
James jerked at the unexpected question. He was just about to tell the man that he was mistaken until he realized his advantage. Though, James didn’t like the idea of deceiving a man of God, he had to know if what he felt in his gut was right.
“Sorry about that, Reverend,” James began. “I was held up on another job.”
The reverend grunted. “You could have sent word. I told them the floors have been groaning for weeks now. Had you been here sooner, I wouldn’t be in this predicament.”
“Again, my apologies.” James held out his hand. “Lieutenant Colonel James Blakemore, at your service, sir.”
The reverend shook his hand, and James knew the title had impressed him as he had intended it to. Whatever he needed to do to gain the man’s trust…
“Reverend George Lincoln. Named after our two great presidents,” the man said proudly. “But everyone calls me Reverend Linc. You a Union soldier, James?”
“Yes, sir. Served in the one-hundred and fifth Infantry regiment.” James glanced back down at the collapsed floor. “I didn’t have time to get the details from my boss, but I’m guessing you need the floor beds secured?”
