The Message in a Bottle Romance Collection

by Joanne Bischof

  In the next instant, Cora Mae appeared at his side. “May I?”

  “I think you’d better,” he said around the nails poking from his mouth like pins from a cushion.

  Hazel eyes dancing, dimples popped into her cheeks as she reached up and wiggled a nail from between his lips. “Where do you want it?”

  “There.” Hammer still in hand, Ethan pointed to a spot on the plank.

  Pinching the nail, she held it in place and squeezed her eyes shut.

  “Don’t miss!” June piped up from the bed, laughing.

  Ethan chuckled. With a sure hand, he tapped the nail into the wood until Cora Mae could release her grip. Then, with a few solid swings, he drove it into the existing wooden frame beneath. “Next,” he said around the nails.

  “Oh, stop it.” She laughed, holding out her hand. “Let me have them.”

  Bending his head, he dropped the nails into her palm. “Thought you’d never ask.” He grinned.

  Together, they drove several more nails into place all around the pane, until the cracked square of glass was completely sealed. “Done.” Ethan stood back and nodded with satisfaction. “Matches the rest of the decor around here, don’t you think?”

  She laughed. “Thank you.”

  He bowed to her. “Thank you.” She already knew he couldn’t have accomplished the task without her. He straightened. “And now I have a favor to ask. I hear you have some experience drawing patterns. And perhaps with needle and thread?”

  Her eyebrows arched. “Yes?”

  “I find myself in need of a new shirt. If I supplied the material, would you sew it for me?”

  The corner of her lips tipped up. “I would.”

  “And if I should happen to come across a bolt of fine green wool, the kind that makes warm dresses for ladies and girls in the winter—would you know what to do with that, too?”

  She smoothed her hands over the thin calico dress he’d seen her wear in Marietta. The threadbare fabric was no good for winter. “I couldn’t pay for it.”

  Moving to the hearth, Ethan positioned the fireplace pan on the floor before grasping the broom and sweeping the ashes into it. “Never mind the cost. You and June need clothing more suited to the weather. And for traveling.” He knelt and stacked more logs upon the dying flames then crushed newspaper pages and stuffed them in the chinks. “And I need to get the fabric out of the attic where it’s doing no earthly good.”

  “You already purchased it?” Her voice was laced with disbelief.

  Rising, he turned to face her. “Please. Make something for yourself. Make a shirt for me, too, and I’ll consider it a fair trade. Any extra white linen, you can use for yourselves.”

  “A new dress? For me, too?” June grinned, accentuating the point of her small chin.

  Cora Mae’s nose pinked as she looked at the little girl. “Well, then. I reckon I better get busy.” The smile she turned on Ethan held far more than a mere thank-you. “Do you know your measurements?”

  He reached into his pocket and withdrew a measuring tape. “Figured you’d do it right.”

  With a few steps across the small room, she took it. She circled around him and pressed one end of the tape to the back of his neck. A shiver swept over him as her fingertip slid over his spine, stopping at his waist. Next, she held the tape shoulder to shoulder across his back.

  “Need to write it down?” he asked.

  “I’ll remember.” She came back to face him. The faint scent of rosewater filled the space between them. “Hold out your arms, please.”

  Heat flashed over his face as he raised only his left arm and gazed through the partially boarded window. Beyond it, leaves fell in a blizzard of brown and gold.

  “Mr. Howard,” she murmured gently as she measured from shoulder to wrist. “Wouldn’t you like both your sleeves to fit you properly? It’s up to you, of course. But I think you’d be more comfortable with a perfect fit.”

  He looked at her then, his perfect fit, a wistful smile curving his lips. “Yes, I would.” His throat tightened as he struggled to swallow his longing. Still holding her gaze, he spread both arms wide and felt the weight of the emptiness they held.

  Her cheeks bloomed pink.

  His eyes closed while her tender touch trailed from his shoulder to the end of his arm, where the fabric had grown thin and torn.

  “Good,” she breathed, and he lowered his arms. “I just need one more measurement.” Pressing her lips together, she lifted the tape over his head and drew it snugly around his neck, her fingertips cool as they brushed his skin and feathered his hair just above his collar. The flush in her face matched the heat in his own. She was close enough to hear his hammering heart.

  “When will my dress be done, Mama?” June asked, a welcome distraction.

  Cora Mae placed the measuring tape into Ethan’s palm without taking the time to roll it back up. “Patience, Junebug.” Whirling around, she brought the backs of her hands to her cheeks.

  As June improved in health and spirits, Cora Mae’s hands stayed busy with needle and thread. Every stitch she made on Ethan’s seams seemed to bind her heart closer to him, though she knew the end was coming. A knot would form, and the thread would finally be cut.

  Snow fell in great white flakes, coating the trees outside the window in frosty, delicate crystals and casting a silvery glow into the room. At last, the dresses were made, the shirt was complete, and June had all but stopped coughing. When Ethan purchased three tickets for the steamboat to Louisville, Cora Mae felt the threads that bound them pull taut. After the coming journey was over, the strands that tied them would snap.

  Chapter Thirteen

  December 14

  Rain pelted the windows like shrapnel as the train hurtled between Louisville and Nashville. Cora Mae braced her hands against the corridor in the passenger car as she slowly made her way back to her own compartment on the rocking train. If there was any other way to get home, she would have taken it. If there was any way to be near him without wanting him, she had to find it. How could she give herself to Mr. Ferguson while dreaming of Ethan Howard? No, it would never do.

  Resolved to steel her heart, she opened the door to their compartment and promptly failed. In her new, green wool dress, June had curled herself between Ethan’s arm and his chest, her braids all askew. The little girl looked so peaceful, Cora Mae feared she might break the spell as she latched the door closed. Noiselessly, she seated herself across from the dozing pair.

  Wind roared past the train as they rushed into the night. Shadows quivered across the compartment as she picked up her sewing and began stitching again. If she could concentrate, June’s new apron would be finished by the time they reached Nashville.

  But the straight seams didn’t require much focus, so her thoughts drifted stubbornly away. They weren’t a comfort. Sighing, she dipped her needle in and out of the white cotton and then carelessly pricked her finger. She glared at the drop of blood on her fingertip then wiped it quickly on a scrap of fabric in her basket.

  “The light’s too dim for that kind of work, maybe,” Ethan offered.

  She met his gaze. “I see just fine.” When she saw that June didn’t wake up, she spoke again. “I see my little Junebug is quite attached to you.”

  He squeezed June’s shoulder, smiling down at her. “She is, isn’t she? Quite latched on.”

  “That’s not what I meant. She’s so fond of you.”

  “Good taste in men.” His green eyes sparkled. “I’m fond of her, too.”

  Cora Mae stabbed her needle through the corner of June’s apron pocket and pulled it through the other side. “I’m pondering whether she’s too attached. You’re not going to be around for much longer, you know. If you keep being so wonderful with her, it’ll only make it harder when she says good-bye.”

  His eyebrows raised. “Should I pinch her?”

  She swallowed the laughter that threatened. “You’re impossible.” Lips pressed together, she turned to the wi
ndow. Once they arrived in Roswell, she would not be able to keep June and Ethan both.

  “We’re stopping,” he murmured as the chugging slowed, rousing the little girl from her sleep. “Stay close to me once we get off. Nashville is glutted with Yankees.”

  “So I recall.” The iron wheels screeched to a halt, and steam hissed and belched from the funnel as they climbed down the narrow steps. “Button your coat,” she told June, wrapping the green-and-red-plaid shawl over the child’s head before tying her own tartan flannel beneath her chin.

  Ethan offered his arm. “So I don’t lose you.”

  Cora Mae took it, holding June’s hand on the other side, and followed him as he weaved through the crowded platform to the depot where they’d purchase fare for the next stretch of the journey.

  “Two adults and one child for Chattanooga, please.” Ethan’s breath steamed against the glass above the ticket counter for the Nashville & Chattanooga Railroad line.

  The man behind the counter shook his head. “No passage for civilians.”

  Dread drizzled over Cora Mae. She rubbed June’s hands in her own to keep them warm.

  Ethan glanced at them before turning back to the counter. “But I was just on this railroad a month ago coming the other way.”

  “A lot’s changed in a month.”

  “Such as?” Ethan stuffed his fist into his pocket.

  “Such as Sherman diving down south and General Hood making a dash at us while he’s away. After Hood got walloped at the battle at Franklin—that’s near twenty miles south of here—he’s not giving up. The line between Nashville and Chattanooga is to be kept clear for military use only right now. Sorry.”

  Cora Mae studied Ethan’s face as he led them away from the counter. For a moment he didn’t look at her, scanning the crowd instead. Outside the depot, carriages and wagons rattled over the street, and horses stomped and nickered.

  “Well, Mr. Howard?” she tried, tentatively. “What do we do now?”

  When he turned to face her, his jaw was set. “We improvise.”

  Chapter Fourteen

  South of Nashville

  December 15

  A knight in shining armor, Ethan had never claimed to be. But as he walked between June and Samson, a worn-out artillery horse he’d procured in Nashville yesterday, he couldn’t help but feel just how far he fell from the ideal rescuer.

  Looking over his shoulder at the Union embankments they’d just crossed through, he prayed they wouldn’t all need rescuing before the day was through. Those soldiers had been ready for battle. Ethan wasn’t. So when one of the Yankees tipped him off that Hood’s army had gathered to the southeast of town, Ethan decided to travel west of it in a wide arc before cutting east to the Nashville & Chattanooga Railroad track. They might not be allowed on the train, but they could follow the rails south.

  “A little looser with the reins, Miss Stewart,” he called up. “Samson is mouth-sore and won’t appreciate pressure on his bit. Remember, reins are for steering, not for balance. Keep your weight squarely in the saddle and stirrups.”

  Cora Mae nodded, her face tight and pale. The gray cloak he’d bought her draped over the Percheron’s black haunches, hiding the moss-green riding skirt she wore. The double black ribbons she’d sewn to its edge resembled Confederate officer’s stripes.

  Walking beside Ethan, June shivered in her knee-length cloak. “Are we going to walk all the way to Roswell?”

  “I might,” Ethan said. “But you and Miss Stewart can share Samson just as soon as those two get to know each other better.” Samson wasn’t up to hauling any more cannons for the Union army, but he could carry both Cora Mae and June at once for spells.

  The roads were rutted and glazed with ice, so both man and beast had to choose their path carefully. Ethan called instructions to Cora Mae, quite content for her to learn some horsemanship while he hoofed it on solid ground. Poor Samson surely wouldn’t know what to do with a one-armed rider at the reins.

  When thunder rolled, Ethan glanced at the heavens. There wasn’t a cloud in the sky.

  “June, ready to ride?” He nodded to Cora Mae, whose serious eyes reflected the urgency he felt. “Miss Stewart, want some company up there?”

  “Whoa.” She drew rein, and Samson stopped.

  Ethan took a knee, and June used him to climb into the saddle in front of Cora Mae. “Careful not to kick your heels into his belly, now, June. He might be ticklish.” The smile he pasted on his face felt counterfeit. It didn’t seem to fool Cora Mae.

  “That’s…some thunder,” she said coolly. “What do we do?”

  “We keep going. We’re headed away from it, if we can trust that Yankee’s word.”

  She raised an eyebrow, as if to say, What if we can’t?

  He swallowed the answer to her unspoken question. “We go southwest until it stops. Then we’ll turn east and carry on until we reach the Nashville & Chattanooga Railroad. We’re going to follow that south and retrace the journey you took north in August. When we come to the place where Sherman had the railroad torn up, we’ll follow the ripped-up land that’s left all the way home. Do you understand?”

  A boom shook the ground beneath their feet, and another closely followed. Cora Mae’s wide eyes scanned the perimeter. “Yes. I understand.”

  The galloping grew louder behind them. Dust rose up in great billowing clouds from the winter-silvered land. With a jolt, Ethan realized the Union cavalry was flanking Hood and headed straight toward them. If Hood heads this way, too…

  His heart pounded to the rhythm of the hoofbeats in the distance. “You need to get out of here.”

  June twisted around to see him. “What about you?”

  “Remember the plan. Ride until you can’t hear it anymore; then head for the tracks.”

  “No!” June wailed. “Mama, we can’t leave him here!”

  “Hush!” Cora Mae scolded, but her face was pale as cotton, her knuckles white on the reins.

  Ethan slapped Samson’s flank. “Git!” The horse loped into a trot, kicking up icy mud behind him.

  Pulse rushing in her ears, Cora Mae rose up in her stirrups and clucked her tongue to Samson.

  “Ow!” June bounced painfully, her hands clutching the pommel. “Slow down!”

  She didn’t. Every step, she hoped, was a step toward safety, and while she couldn’t very well gallop with June wedged into the saddle, she dared not slow their pace from a trot.

  Cold penetrated her fingers that were wrapped around the reins. The shawl slipped down the back of her head, and the wind knifed through her hair.

  The thunder crescendoed behind them, louder and louder. It’s only the cotton mill clanging and banging, she thought, trying to lie to herself. But the truth was too obvious to deny. The war was right here, right now.

  Movement flashed in the corner of her vision, and she turned her head, careful not to turn the horse as well. A current of bluecoats flowed over the road Samson had trod mere minutes ago, and into the field to the left. Thousands upon thousands of them poured by. The cavalry pounded the earth, their shining leather boots squeezing the sides of their sleek mounts. The sky-blue trousers of the infantry marched together, the sunlight bouncing off their rifles and the brass buttons of their dark blue coats.

  June turned to see them, too. “They’re like water over the Vickery Creek dam!”

  They were too many to count. Too powerful to stop. Too purposeful to change their course—unless the battle turned and they were driven back.

  They couldn’t be here if that happened. Cora Mae urged Samson into a quicker trot, and they continued their path. Minutes later, from some place unseen, a bugle sounded bright and bold. Then the Rebel cry split the air, slicing straight to her heart. Musketry rattled, and the ground shook with cannon fire. Smoke knit together in a blanket of haze that smelled like rotten eggs, obscuring the view but not the sound.

  The air cracked, over and again, with a force she’d never imagined possible. But worse t
han that were the cries of men hurtling themselves into the fray, and of men struck down. A gust of wind carried gun smoke to Cora Mae, and she coughed at the terrible smell of battle. She looked left and saw the cloud of smoke light up in snatches but could only guess at the carnage that lay beneath.

  Minutes dragged as she prodded Samson along the road, and away, she hoped, from danger. The sun held no warmth as it peered down on the fighting below. June no longer looked anywhere but right between Samson’s ears. Reaching down, she patted his neck with one hand.

  Fixing her gaze once more on the shredded road ahead of her, Cora Mae steered him away from the worst ruts. Suddenly, his foot faltered in a mud puddle, and June swung to the right. She dropped the rein and lashed her arm around the girl’s body, pushing her back up straight again. Samson wheeled left, off the road.

  “Mama!” June yelled over the roar of battle.

  Frantic, Cora Mae looked over her shoulder and saw the road shrink to a dingy ribbon behind her. Smoke rose from the ground to her left, but the air was clear to the right. If she was lucky, she’d already passed the edge of the battle, though the clamor still rang in her ears. Truly, if she waited until she could no longer hear it, she’d ride miles upon miles away from where she wanted to be.

  She dug her heels into Samson’s flanks, and he broke into a gallop. It was all she could do to stay upright and keep June from vaulting off Samson’s back. With all her might, she squeezed her legs around the horse’s middle and urged June to do the same.

  Hoofbeats pounded. As she looked left, her heart leaped to her throat. A mounted soldier in a pitiful excuse for a uniform headed straight for her.

  “Halt!” he cried and thrust his thin gray horse in front of Samson.