She raised his head and tucked the pillow underneath. At least she could try to make him comfortable.
He stirred and slowly opened his eyes.
“Oh, thank goodness.” She leaned closer, searching his face.
He squinted up at her, looking as though it was a challenge for him to focus.
“You’ve fallen, and we’ve got to get you back in bed.” She glanced at the door. “Just lay still now, and I’ll go get my father.”
His eyes flashed, and he reached for her arm. “No. Please.”
“It’s all right. My father’s a doctor. You have nothing to fear.”
He loosened his hold, but lines still creased his forehead. “There’s no need to wake him.” He pressed his lips together and slowly sat up. But he swayed, and his face drained of color.
“Let me help you.” She placed her arm around his back. Working together, they got him up on the bed. He sat on the side, his bandaged arm cradled against his chest.
She returned his pillow to the bed. “Just lay back now, and I’ll help you get situated.” He lowered his head to the pillow, and she lifted his legs. Then she pulled the covers over him. “There, are you comfortable?”
He nodded but looked deathly pale. “Thank you,” he whispered. “You’re very kind.” His British accent became clearer each time he spoke, stirring more questions in her mind.
She folded down the sheet and smoothed it over the top edge of the blanket. “I’m glad to help. Now, why don’t you rest, and I’ll let Father know you’re awake.”
He reached for her arm again. “Please wait . . . who are you?” His eyes seemed to plead another unspoken question, and she had the feeling he wanted to keep her there or keep her father away.
“My name is Rachel Thornton.”
“This is your home?”
“Yes. This is Springside.”
“How far from Nashville?”
“About six miles.”
His eyes flickered, and he nodded.
“And you are?” She smiled, hoping to put him at ease.
He glanced away, then turned back and met her gaze. “James Galloway.”
“And where are you from, Mr. Galloway?”
He hesitated. “Bristol, England.”
She waited, hoping he would explain why an Englishman happened to be traveling at night on a country road in Tennessee. But he stared at the fireplace, looking lost in his thoughts.
“Well, I’m sure my father will be happy to hear you’re awake.” She turned to go, half expecting him to reach out and stop her again.
But this time he simply closed his eyes and released a heavy sigh.
Chapter Three
Father took over care of their patient a little after midnight. She offered to stay longer, but he insisted he would be fine and sent her off to bed.
The next morning she slept in later than usual. She hurried to wash and dress, then checked her reflection in the mirror and ran her hand over her auburn hair, smoothing it back from her face. The center part drew attention to her large hazel eyes, straight nose, and high cheekbones. It was more fashionable to have blue eyes, an upturned nose, and a round, full face like her sister, Susan, but she had not been blessed with those features.
Remembering her mother’s words, “A cheerful countenance improves everyone’s appearance,” she put on a smile. It helped some, but it couldn’t disguise the fact that she was willowy and almost as tall as her father.
Her thoughts shifted to her sister again. Susan had developed a lovely figure that was full in all the right places—places where Rachel had only slight suggestions of her womanhood.
She turned away from the mirror, scolding herself for stirring up jealous feelings. She dearly loved her sister. She’d watched over her since their mother died five years ago when Rachel was fifteen and Susan was ten,
The memory of her father’s compliments brought her a bit of comfort. “You have character, warmth, and intelligence, my dear, and those qualities are more valuable than a full figure and a round face.”
She hoped he was right, but she doubted they would improve her marriage prospects. Most of the eligible young men in the area had been called away to fight in the war, and her family’s Union loyalties separated her from all but a few who remained.
Perhaps she would stay at Springside forever and take care of Father. Most days, that seemed preferable, especially when she thought of the officers who visited their home and showed an interest in her.
Not one could compare to Andrew Tillman. She reached in her top drawer and pulled out a small tintype. Dressed in his Confederate uniform and wearing a solemn expression, Andrew looked older than his twenty years. Her heart ached as she gazed into his eyes and recalled the dreams she had envisioned for their future.
But all that had changed two years ago when he’d been killed in his first battle. Hope for a life with Andrew died that day, leaving only bittersweet memories in its place. Her pain had lessened over time, but she made up her mind she would never give her heart to another soldier.
She tucked his picture away next to a sachet of rose petals and a handkerchief embroidered by her mother, then turned and left her room.
Voices carried into the hall from her brother’s bedroom. The door stood slightly ajar. She slowed to listen.
“So, Mr. Galloway, tell us more about yourself.” Her father’s voice sounded warm and relaxed.
“Please, sir, call me James.”
“Where are you from, James?”
A second passed before he answered. “I’m originally from Bristol, England.”
“Ah yes, I can hear the accent.”
James chuckled. “It’s helped me out of a scrape a time or two. Seems both North and South respect the English.”
Susan giggled. “I just love your English accent. It’s so charming.”
Rachel cringed. Her sister never had been one to hold back her thoughts or opinions. She knocked and stepped into the room.
“Ah, Rachel, good morning.” Father smiled at her, then turned to their patient who still rested in bed. “I’m sure you remember my oldest daughter, Rachel.”
A faint smile lifted James’s lips. “Yes.” His gaze connected with hers. “Your father tells me I owe my life to your quick actions last night. I’m very grateful. Thank you.”
Her face flushed. “You’re welcome. How are you feeling today?”
“Like I’ve been trampled by a herd of wild horses, but I expect I’ll improve soon.” He did look a bit less intimidating with a clean face and combed hair.
“I believe you’re on your way to recovery,” her father added. “So, tell us what brings you to the Nashville area.”
James frowned slightly and glanced at the window. “It’s a rather long tale.”
“We have plenty of time.” Father sat down and told Rachel to pull up another chair next to Susan.
“Tell us your story, Mr. Galloway,” Susan leaned forward with an eager expression.
His gaze shifted from Susan to her father, then to Rachel. “First, I’d like to ask if your loyalties lie with the Confederacy or the Union.”
A shadow of concern crossed Father’s face. “We’re loyal to the Union. Have been since the beginning. I was one of the first to sign the loyalty oath when the Union took control of Nashville in sixty-two.”
The tension in James’s face eased. “That’s good to hear. I’m for the Union as well, but I know many in Tennessee support the Confederacy.”
“That’s true, but Governor Johnson has had a very strong influence here in the Nashville area. Most of those who are opposed to the Union have left or been sent away. You can’t do any business in Nashville unless you sign the loyalty oath.”
James nodded. “When I woke up last night, I wasn’t sure who you were or what you would do with me this morning. That’s why I tried to leave.” His gaze returned to Rachel. “I didn’t want to take a chance you’d turn me over to the rebels.”
Father shook his
head. “You’re safe here and welcome to stay with us as long as you need to recover.”
“That’s very generous, sir, especially since I’m a stranger to you.”
“Well, stranger or neighbor, you would’ve been treated with the same care and respect.”
“Thank you. I appreciate it very much.”
“So, are you with the Union Army?” Father asked.
“Not in the usual sense. But I’ve traveled with them as a special artist since the beginning of the war. I sketch battle scenes and camp life and send those drawings back to New York, where they’re made into lithographs for the Harper’s Weekly newspaper.”
“Ah, so you’re a newspaper correspondent.” Father beamed a smile at Rachel.
She released a deep breath, glad to hear he had an honorable occupation and reason for traveling through the area.
“Yes. I do the drawings, and my associate, Thomas Beckley, writes the articles. We usually travel together, but we’ve been separated since I was captured during the battle at Cold Harbor in early June.”
Susan’s eyes widened. “Captured? By the rebels?”
“Yes, I was a prisoner until my escape about a month ago.”
“But you’re not a soldier,” Rachel said. “Why would they take you?”
“The Confederates don’t appreciate Harper’s views on the war, and since I was carrying a weapon when I was captured, they shipped me off to prison with the rest of the men.”
“Why, that’s terrible!” Indignation filled Susan’s voice. “I can’t believe they imprisoned a civilian, and a journalist at that.”
“Where did they send you?” Father asked.
“To Richmond first. I spent two months in Libby Prison, then I was sent south to a prison in Salisbury, North Carolina. That was an intolerable hole. The worst conditions you can imagine. I spent a month there. Finally, in mid-September, I escaped with three other men. We split up after the first day, and I made my way west searching for the Union lines.”
Father frowned. “You traveled all the way over the mountains of Carolina and halfway across Tennessee? Why, that’s several hundred miles.”
“Yes, sir. I found a horse, saddled and wandering in a field the third day after my escape. There were even saddledbags filled with items I needed for the trip.” He hesitated and shook his head as though it still surprised him. “I traveled at night and kept off the roads, heading toward Nashville, hoping it was still in Union hands.”
Father shook his head. “I hope you know it’s a miracle you made it this far. God was obviously watching over you.”
“Yes, sir.” James nodded. “I believe you’re right. And I’m deeply grateful to Him, especially for bringing me here.”
Rachel’s eyes misted. What amazing strength and courage it must have taken to make such a long journey. A hundred questions rose in her mind, but this wasn’t the time to ask them.
“Oh, Mr. Galloway, I’ve never heard such an exciting story!” Susan clasped her hands. “You have to tell us how you managed to escape—”
Rachel gave the slightest shake of her head, but Susan ignored her.
Father rose from his chair. “I’m afraid that will have to wait. Mr. Galloway needs to rest and regain his strength.”
Susan’s lower lip jutted out. “But, Father, I’m sure it wouldn’t tire him to tell us—”
“Susan, I’d like you to go downstairs and help Esther in the kitchen.” He sent her a warning look she couldn’t ignore.
Susan stood. “I hope you’ll tell us more about your adventures later, after you’ve had time to rest.” She smiled at James, then turned and left the room.
“Rachel, I’m going to get some clean bandages. I’d like to check and redress James’s wound before we leave him to rest. Will you get some fresh water?”
“Yes, Father.” She rose from her chair.
Father nodded to them and walked out the door.
“I’m sorry I caused you so much trouble last night when I tried to leave.”
“It’s all right. I’m just glad we convinced you to stay.” As soon as the words left her mouth, her face flushed. She hadn’t meant to sound so forward. “Excuse me.”
She turned and fled the room with the memory of his twinkling eyes making her quicken her steps.
Chapter Four
Rachel entered the warm kitchen and found Esther bending over the hearth, stirring a bubbling pot. A cheerful fire crackled in the large stone fireplace.
Esther glanced over her shoulder. “Morning, Miz Rachel. How’s that young man doin’?”
“He seems much better today. Father’s with him now.”
“Good. Where’s he from?”
Rachel relayed highlights of James Galloway’s story, including his capture at Cold Harbor and escape from a Confederate prison.
“I would’ve never guessed he was a newspaperman. He looks mighty rough. More like a travelin’ man of some sort.”
“I’m sure that’s because of his prison experience.” How would James Galloway look with a clean-shaven face and new clothes? The question sent a shiver through her. She reached up and took a clean pitcher from the shelf.
“Poor man. Spendin’ all that time in a prison and then escapin’ over the mountains. We’re gonna have to take good care of him and fatten him up.” Esther lifted a large wooden spoon to her lips and took a sip. “Mmm-mmm. This is just what he needs.”
Rachel smiled. “What is it?”
“Chicken soup.” Esther took another taste. “Nothing better for healing than my soup.”
Susan entered the kitchen humming a tune. She spun around and waltzed up to Esther. “Did you hear James is an artist for Harper’s Weekly newspaper?” A dreamy look filled her eyes. “And he’s from England.”
Esther clicked her tongue and pointed the spoon at Susan. “Now don’t you go gettin’ all worked up over that man. He’s probably married or has a sweetheart back home. He was calling for her last night. Isn’t that right, Miz Rachel?”
Rachel pumped water into the pitcher. “Mr. Galloway hasn’t told us if he’s married or not, but it doesn’t matter. Susan is too young to be thinking about men in a romantic way.”
“I am not too young!” Susan scowled. “I’ll be sixteen in eight months, and that’s certainly old enough to start thinking about men, especially handsome men like James.”
“You’re to call him Mr. Galloway.” Rachel set the pitcher on the counter and snatched a dishtowel to wipe her hands. “And you must stop gushing over him. It’s not ladylike.”
Susan lifted her eyebrows. “I am not gushing.”
Rachel batted her eyelashes, imitating her sister. “Oh, I just love your English accent. It’s sooo charming.” She dropped her false smile. “That’s gushing. And it gives a bad impression.”
Susan’s eyes flashed. “You’re just jealous because I know how to carry on a conversation and keep a man interested.”
An angry response rose in Rachel’s throat, and she struggled to hold it in. It was true her sister could converse with anyone and was a favorite of the Union officers who visited their home. But they thought of her as a younger sister, didn’t they?
Rachel smoothed her hand over her skirt. “You may not like what I said, but I’m trying to help you see how you appear to others and keep you from embarrassing Father.”
Susan’s mouth dropped open. “How can you say that? I am not—”
Esther raised her hand. “Whoa now. There’s plenty of battles goin’ on in the countryside. I don’t need no more in my kitchen.” She pointed at Susan. “Now you best listen to your sister and mind your manners around Mr. Galloway.” Esther’s expression softened, and she patted Susan’s cheek. “Besides, a pretty young lady like you don’t want to lose her heart to some newspaperman who’s gonna run off and leave as soon as he’s able.”
Susan warmed to Esther’s sweet talk. “I suppose you’re right, but he is a very charming man.”
“Well, whatever kind o’ man
he is, we best get busy. We’ve got dinner to fix, and your father’s not gonna be too happy if it’s late.”
Rachel pulled in a sharp breath. Father was waiting for her to bring the water. She grabbed the pitcher and hurried out of the kitchen.
****
James examined the painting of a horse on the wall above the fireplace in the bedroom. She was a beautiful black mare with a white blaze on her forehead. He stared at it so long he felt certain he could recreate it in his drawing book—if it hadn’t been stolen. Discouragement washed over him as he recalled all the sketches and thoughts he had recorded during his months in prison and then after his escape. They were all gone now, probably tossed in some muddy hedgerow where the wind and rain would destroy them.
Anger burned in his stomach. If he ever found the men who attacked him, he’d make sure they never did that again.
He huffed out a breath and rolled to his side to gain another view.
A knock sounded at the door.
His spirits rose. He would welcome a visitor, any visitor. “Come in.”
The younger sister, Susan, entered carrying a tray with a covered dish. She smiled, her pretty blue eyes sparkling. “I hope you like chicken soup and corn bread.”
“That sounds wonderful.” He shifted, preparing to raise himself.
“Oh, don’t worry about sitting up to eat. I can help you.” She placed the tray on the table next to his bed and scooted a chair closer.
The idea of being spoon-fed, even by this pretty young woman, didn’t agree with him. “I’m sure if you brought another pillow or blanket to put behind my back, I could sit up and handle a spoon.”
Her smile faded slightly. “All right.” She opened a wooden chest at the foot of the bed and took out a quilt. He leaned forward, and she placed it behind him. “How’s that?”
The effort to sit up left him feeling lightheaded and short of breath. “That’s fine. Thank you.”
“The soup has a lot of carrots and potatoes with nice chunks of chicken.” She set the tray in his lap and removed the cover from the bowl.
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