The Brightest Day: A Juneteenth Historical Romance Anthology

by Alexander, Kianna

  They fell silent and, like she’d done these past few days, she pulled out the newspaper she’d purchased in Chicago and began reading. Logan placed his hat on the seat beside him and, with arms folded, leaned back and closed his eyes. Gracie tried to ignore his knees as they brushed against hers, focusing her attention instead on losing herself in the articles.

  She loved reading ever since Mrs. Dobson had taught her. She read everything and often. When she had come into a certain age, she had tried to share her love of the written word by teaching her family, but only her father had made the time—and had the patience—to pick up the skill. Her mother had found no use for it, not when working and maintaining a roof over their heads had been the ultimate priority.

  But for her, reading was not only a great escape from reality, it was also a way into a world her people were not allowed in. Barely two years had passed since the laws forbidding slaves to read had been removed, and she was all the more adamant that she continue to read widely.

  Unfortunately, however, she couldn’t lose herself in the pleasures of reading. It no doubt had everything to do with the man sitting across from her and his hard-to-ignore presence. With Madeline and Mrs. Dobson’s company, she had managed to at least get through one paragraph without her mind wandering to him or the warmth of his leg rubbing against hers—or the way his hard body seemed to exude power and strength.

  Gracie snapped the newspaper pages together and laid them on her lap. Stealing a quick glance at Logan, she found him peering at her through lowered lids.

  “Bad news?”

  “No,” she said, her cheeks warming as the lingering thoughts of him still drifted in her mind. “Just…bored.”

  “For a city girl, I can only imagine life on the frontier isn’t going to get any more exciting than this.”

  She shrugged. “Maybe. But I was born on a plantation, so I’m not afraid of long stretches of land or hard work.”

  He frowned. “You were a slave?”

  “I was born a slave, but we fled when I was four years old. I don’t remember much about it, but I do remember the open land and being out in the field with my mother at times, and how we would always smell of tobacco by the time we got to our cabin.”

  “A tobacco farm?”

  She shrugged. “I believe that’s what it was. Most of the plantations in Maryland were tobacco farms so I imagine it was. I just know that the smell always brings me back to our small cabin.”

  At the time, she hadn’t understood how little power and control they had over their lives. And it wasn’t until after her father had been whipped, and they had fled that night, that she realized their small cabin had been more their prison then their home. “The night we escaped was the longest night of my life. I don’t remember ever being so scared. Not even on the night we feared the draft riots would leave the city and come to us.”

  His dark brows were pulled together as he regarded her curiously. “If you were born a slave, you would have be given your owners last name. I don’t remember any Shaws in Maryland with a tobacco farm.”

  “That’s because there weren’t. I was born on the Flynn plantation, but my father changed our surnames when we reached Pennsylvania. He took the name of the first supporter who had offered us shelter our first night.” Gracie remembered the night more vividly then she should have after fourteen years, remembered the beacon of light that had glowed in the distance and had been their salvation after a long, weary night.

  Logan fell silent, his body suddenly rigid. He stared out the train window and for a moment, she wondered if he was uncomfortable with the discussion. She didn’t usually speak so candidly of her past with whites, much less a white stranger, but she was proud of what her parents had accomplished as two former illiterate slaves. They had come from nothing and yet had managed to bring up two educated children.

  Suddenly he balled his injured hand into a fist and clutched at it. Though he tried to hide it, his jaw was clenched and his cheeks were pinched with pain.

  “Are you all right?”

  He nodded, still rubbing his gloved hand. She had witnessed her father go through the same ordeal with his missing arm, clutching at the area as if he was in great pain. She wondered if Logan was experiencing the same phantom pains her father did. She had caught a glimpse of his mutilated digits at the hospital, but since then he had been careful to keep them covered.

  “Is your hand paining you?” she eventually asked when the ordeal seemed to have passed and the set of his jaw was now relaxed.

  He nodded briskly and returned his attention out the window. “Yeah, but it’s nothing.”

  She fell silent for a moment then said, “You know, my father lost his right arm in the war. There were times he would grab at his missing arm and his face would be twisted in pain. It was always ‘nothing’ with him too, and eventually my mother and I stopped asking him.” Her mother would just begin to massage her father’s shoulder or place a hot compress over the amputated area. That had always seemed to help. “Do you wear the gloves to help with the pain?”

  “No.”

  When he didn’t elaborate, Gracie asked, “May I ask why do you keep your hands covered, then?” Since they left Chicago, he hadn’t removed the gloves. She could understand why he kept them on in public but it was only the two of them in the small compartment.

  Logan turned to her. “Because I don’t want to repulse you.”

  Gracie’s eyes widened in surprise by that admission, then she shook her head. “Don’t be ridiculous,” she muttered, taking his hand.

  “What are you doing?”

  There was a tightness in his tone, but he didn’t pull away from her grip. She continued to peel the thick glove from his injured hand. The scar tissue had caused the skin to become thick, with angry marks that had healed over into jagged white streaks. She began to gently massage his hand, rubbing and kneading his palm until she felt the tendons relax.

  “Better?”

  He nodded but said nothing. Gracie continued her gentle kneading.

  “What happened?” she eventually asked.

  He hesitated for a moment. “It happened during the war.”

  She glanced up at him in disbelief, though it shouldn’t have come as a surprise. From the short time she’d spent with him, she figured he was someone who fought for what he believed in. What battle had he fought that led to such mutilation?

  “My father was also a Union soldier. He always said he fought alongside some very brave men.”

  Tension once again invaded him. “I fought for the Confederacy.”

  Her movements stilled. This time, she couldn’t mask her astonishment. He didn’t behave like a man who believed in such a brutal foundation such as slavery. How could someone who fought for such a degrading institution be so…kind? And how many Negro soldiers had he slaughtered with this hand?

  The hand she was now providing comfort for.

  Gracie thought of her father and his injury. A man very much like Logan had been the cause of that. Her father had endured unimaginable pain to end slavery, and this man sitting across her had fought to keep it?

  A pang shot through her, but she was glad she managed to conceal her outrage. Gracie slowly released his hand, her movements stiff. Why should she ease the pain of a man who had fought to keep her people enslaved?

  “A quick massage and hot towel always seemed to help my father,” she muttered, keeping her eyes averted. She concentrated on the unnecessary task of arranging her skirts, wanting to fill the awkward silence that had suddenly settled between them.

  “Thank you,” he said, clenching and unclenching his hand.

  She nodded and noticed he kept the glove off this time.

  “You’re not going to ask me how it happened?”

  She stiffened, not sure she wanted to know. But she heard the slight teasing in his voice and forced herself to relax. He was clearly making light of her curious nature. He wasn’t here to hurt her.

  The war was
over.

  Slavery has ended.

  You don’t have to be afraid anymore.

  “How?” she asked, her curiosity eventually winning out.

  He stared down at his hand and his eyes took on a faraway look as if he was being pulled back into that time. “Another soldier and I were tasked with transporting a group of Union soldiers to a nearby prison camp where we held the prisoners. I was surprised when the other soldier decided to release them into the wilderness. I didn’t try to stop him. I figured whether they took their chances in the wild or came back with us, they were dead men anyway. They had no weapons and the conditions of the camps…not many survived.”

  Gracie clamped her hands together tightly on her lap and unconsciously glanced down at his hands. She kept her voice light when she asked, “Did those prisoners attack you?”

  He scoffed and glanced up at her then. There was a hollowness in his brown eyes that frightened her and made her ache for him, despite his decision.

  Logan glanced at the window again. “No, I got my hand shot at because I tried to keep the other soldier from committing murder in front of me. It wasn’t smart on my part to grab the firing end of a gun, but the son of a bitch took me by surprise.” He shook his head and absently rubbed his injured hand. “I had joined the war to fight for my home that had been pillaged and destroyed, and to honor my father who had been slaughtered in Sharpsburg along with ten thousand others. But I hadn’t signed up to gun down defenseless men as they fled from us.”

  Gracie slowly released her breath, but didn’t speak. She couldn’t. She didn’t have to ask if these fleeing prisoners were black because she knew they were. Reports of black soldiers being massacred upon captivity by the Confederate army had been written about in the papers and that was a harsh fact they both were aware of. She had read about the brutal attacks on Negro soldiers across the country, had heard about the massacre at Fort Pillow, yet hearing Logan recount such brutality was no less jarring.

  But, black or white, no one deserved to die like that. How those men must have felt, knowing they were moments away from death? Gracie glanced down at his hand again. How Logan must have felt putting himself in harm’s way for men he was supposed to see as his enemies?

  “Why are you telling me this?” she asked quietly.

  “I fought in the war to honor my father, Gracie,” he said after a long pause. “Regardless of what caused it.”

  You mean slavery. She continued to study his still form. As bad as she wanted to know, she could quite bring herself to ask if he himself had owned slaves.

  “Do you regret saving their lives?”

  He scoffed. “Getting shot for some Blue Coats was never my intention, but I was a soldier, not a murderer. I had joined the war for two reasons. My father and my home.” His gaze was transfixed on the rolling hills outside the window. “But after that day, I wasn’t sure what the hell I was fighting for anymore.”

  Gracie turned to look out the window as well, the slow rocking of the train oddly easing some of her tension. He always seemed so sure of himself, so confident that she would have never imagined he too struggled to find a place to belong.

  His journey west suddenly became clearer to her. Logan wasn’t only looking for a new start, he was looking for his place and purpose in this great country. Just as she was.

  “So…” she began, still looking out at the captivating landscape. The hills that rolled by were high and green, and the vast mountains painted a dusky silhouette in the backdrop. “What happened to the other soldier after he shot you?”

  The silence that followed was answer enough.

  Chapter 7

  Logan couldn’t have asked for smoother travel.

  For three days, they rode in the sleeper car without incident, enjoying each other’s company. At least Logan had.

  There weren’t many women like Gracie Shaw—polite and delicate on one hand and fiery and passionate on the other, especially when it came to social issues and politics. He enjoyed playing devil’s advocate with her just to see her riled, to see the passionate woman come alive from inside her proper Christian exterior.

  Besides their lively debates, they found other ways to pass the time and ease their restlessness. He taught her how to play poker and even a few card tricks, while she occasionally read or sang short hymns. He enjoyed her singing. When he confessed as much, telling her that she had the voice of an angel, he had gotten the pleasure of watching her turn sweetly bashful.

  Everything about her was lovely, and he wouldn’t have minded another three days on the rocking train if it meant spending more time in her company. The past three days had been like a breath of fresh air, and she was that lightness he had been searching for.

  By the time they reached Nebraska, he knew he had fallen hard.

  “I have good news and bad news,” Logan said as he came up to where she waited on the train platform.

  “Okay,” she said, inhaling deeply. “Bad news first.”

  He couldn’t help but smile as he watched her visibly steel herself. “The missing luggage is not on the baggage car. We searched and…nothing.”

  Her shoulders fell, but she didn’t look as distraught about it as she had in Chicago. He imagined she hadn’t been hopeful about them finding it hidden behind another piece of luggage somewhere.

  “And the good news?”

  His smile widened and he paused before replying, building her anticipation. “They found it in Chicago and it’s on the way here. It should be arriving on the next train.”

  She gaped at him for a moment then cried out and threw her arms around him. “Oh, thank you!”

  The hug was unexpected, but he instinctively wrapped his arms around her and pulled her close. Her soft frame pressed solidly against his, and he breathed in her sweet scent. His reaction to her nearness, her touch, was nothing short of salacious, but he reveled in it. For three long days he had wanted to do this—wanted to know how she would feel in his arms.

  She felt perfect.

  Without thinking, he pressed his lips along the smooth, warm curve of her neck. A slight tremor passed through her before she stiffened and pushed away from him. He released her.

  “Please don’t do that,” she said, wrapping her arms around herself and fixing her gaze on his chin.

  Embarrassed, he ran his gloved hand through his hair. He wanted her like he had never wanted anyone in his life, but it was an impossible fulfillment and he needed to remember that.

  “Sorry.”

  “That can never happen again.”

  “It won’t,” he said tightly. “You have my word.”

  She glanced down at her hands, her shoulders slumping in what he could only imagine was relief, and he gritted his teeth in annoyance. Never had he thought he would want a woman so much that he didn’t care she was promised to another. If she would let him, he would do more than steal a quick kiss on her neck. But she wouldn’t betray her fiancé’s trust, and he could respect that.

  He just didn’t like it.

  In silence, they made their way into the relatively popular boomtown, which he assumed, for this part of Nebraska, was as much of a bustling city as it was going to be. If they were going to wait for her late-arriving luggage, they would need to find lodging for the night.

  In the underdeveloped town, they passed as many tent homes as they did buildings and cottages. There were also a fair number of drunks and whores littering the streets. Not too far from them, a shouting match between two men escalated into a full-blown fistfight. Logan pulled Gracie close to his side as other men began to gather and cheer them on. His immediate sense to protect her was so instinctive, he didn’t realize how tight he was holding her until she patted his hand, and he eased his grip around her waist.

  They finally came upon an establishment that looked to be the most reputable in the area. Only a few customers occupied the small saloon inside, and they all sat gawking at them as they walked pass. Logan knew why and kept his hand firmly on Gra
cie’s back as he guided her to the bar.

  “Do you have an available room?”

  The thinning-haired keeper glanced from them both before he settled his glare on Logan. “Yes, I may have a room or two open. But if you plan to keep her in here, it’s going to be extra.”

  “Fine,” Logan barked, feeling the tension in Gracie’s back.

  “And you be sure to keep her out of sight, God damn it,” the man added. “I don’t need any trouble around here.”

  “She won’t be any trouble.”

  “No, she won’t,” Gracie snapped. “Because she’s not staying here.”

  Logan cursed as she pulled away from him and rushed out of the door. He followed after her, grabbed her elbow before she could get far, and turned her to face him. He hated to see the distress in her eyes, the tears that she was fighting hard not to shed.

  “Gracie—”

  “I’m not staying in there. I would rather sleep in a tent then to patronize that foul man’s business.”

  “To hell with him. The man’s an idiot, that’s for sure, but he also has a warm, safe place for us to stay tonight. And trust me, you’ll be happier with a roof over your head. A tent would be no better than sleeping in mud.”

  She shook her head. “I don’t care. That’s the beauty of freedom. I can choose what I want to do, where I want to go and when. And I’m not staying in there,” she snapped, gesturing to the saloon behind him.

  “You’re being foolish,” Logan said sharply. “This town is not the kind of place you want to find yourself camping outside in. Sometimes it’s worth putting up with a bit of bullshit for some security.”

  She wrinkled her nose. “No, it’s not. And it’s not foolish to demand some dignity. Nothing is worth being looked at with such disgust, or treated with such contempt. I’m tired of you white men going around as if you’re some kind of superior race, like those who are different or darker than you don’t matter.”