Amazing Grace (Hearts At War Book 3)

by Lena Hart

  Amazing Grace

  American Historical Romance

  Lena Hart

  AMAZING GRACE

  Copyright © 2017

  Originally published in The Brightest Day anthology.

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  E-book ISBN: 978-1-941885-43-7

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  ALL RIGHTS RESERVED.

  No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, including electronic or photographic reproduction, in whole or in part, without express written permission, except in the case of brief passages embodied in critical reviews and articles.

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  Illustration art by Doan Trang

  Contents

  Hearts at War series

  AMAZING GRACE

  Prologue

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Epilogue

  Want more?

  Author’s Note

  I. BONUS EXCERPT

  From the Author

  Books by Lena Hart

  About the Author

  Don’t forget to download the complete series!

  It’s the year 1866—the Civil War is over and slavery has ended…

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  Yet life for 18-year-old Gracie Shaw takes an unexpected turn when she is “encouraged” to marry a man sight unseen. To ensure the financial stability of her family, she agrees—until a handsome stranger captures her attention and makes going through with the marriage almost impossible.

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  Determined to start a new life far from his old one, former Confederate soldier Logan Finley boards a train headed west—to lawless territory. When he is entrusted with the duty to escort the loveliest woman he’s ever met, he realizes he wants more than just a fresh start. He wants her.

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  While Gracie wrestles with her desires, she soon learns that there is more to Mr. Logan Finley than she could have ever imagined. Will she find the grace within to forgive their past—or will her anger and pain blind her to true love?

  To Ms. Beverly Jenkins—thank you for pioneering this genre and being in the forefront of its success. Here’s to its continued growth…

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  And to taking some of that weight off your shoulders.☺

  “Darkness cannot drive out darkness; only light can do that. Hate cannot drive out hate; only love can do that.”

  Martin Luther King, Jr.

  Prologue

  September, 1852

  Northern Maryland

  “You’ll be free or die, woman.”

  Gracie watched as the stern old woman pointed the big, long gun at her mama. Fear paralyzed Gracie where she sat on the high wagon. Tightening her thin arms around her mama’s waist, she waited to see what the angry old woman would do.

  “Now you sat back down and hold on to your baby girl.”

  Her mama tightened her arms around her and instantly fell back into her seat. Gracie followed her down, never breaking her hold. The angry old woman slowly lowered her rifle, and the stiffness seemed to leave her mama’s slender frame.

  “But what if we get caught? Mr. Charlie gon’ whip us all good. Then he gon’ have Massa sell us down south like he say.”

  Gracie had never heard such fear, such earnestness, from her mama before. Actually, that wasn’t true. She had heard it once, a few days ago, when her mama had pleaded with Mr. Charlie not to whip her daddy. But the mean overseer hadn’t paid her mama’s pleas any mind. Her daddy had been beat anyway.

  And it had been all her fault.

  But tonight, with the air around them filled with fear and panic, all Gracie could do was cling to her terrified mama and keep her arms locked around her waist.

  “Your massa prolly kill you and your man if y’all go back. Then he’d sell your little girl. After he beat her. Is that what you want?”

  Her mama shook her head wildly. “No, no. Massa Flynn ain’t like that. Maybe…maybe if we go back, no one will know we missing?”

  “Hush, woman, and quit your squealing before you get us all caught. We ain’t make it this far just so you can turn back. Now, if your baby girl can be still, so can you.”

  “Moses, she just scared, is all.” The ragged words from her daddy were the first he’d spoken since they’d been riding under the guide of the moonlight. He could barely sit up straight from the lashing he’d gotten from Mr. Charlie, but he managed. “We don’t wanna go back.”

  The woman they called Moses grunted. “Good. Now we got less than an hour before we make it to the next station. This part of the land is gonna be a bit bumpy, so you tell your woman she better not jump up like she did while I’m driving this thing.”

  “She heard you,” her daddy rasped out. “Ain’t that right, Lynn?”

  Her mama swiftly nodded. Before long, they were again trampling through the dark road, with the dry autumn leaves and fallen branches crackling beneath the horse hooves and the weight of the wagon.

  The night before they’d started on their journey, her mama had told her that they would be leaving for freedom, that they would start a new life. And that this old woman was the one who would take them to this “Promised Land.” Gracie didn’t know what to expect when they got there, and when she’d asked her mama if they would be happy in this new land, her mama’s eyes had filled with tears, but she’d laughed and hugged her close. “Yes, baby, we’ll be happy,” her mama had said. “A home where we’ll be safe and together is a great blessing.”

  Gracie was anxious now more than ever for them to get to this new land. Her mama was rigid with fear and her daddy was slouched over in pain. Nothing about tonight seemed like a blessing. They had left their warm cabin only to be out here, scared and cold. It wasn’t like they had it bad at their old home. Yes, Mr. Charlie was a mean, quick-tempered man, but Massa Flynn never raised a hand to them. He was a big, burly man with a funny accent and was usually smiling—unlike Mr. Charlie. Maybe if Massa Flynn had been on the plantation yesterday, he would have stopped Mr. Charlie from whipping her daddy.

  The wagon went over a hump and landed hard, jostling them in their seats. Her father groaned but made no complaint. Gracie wanted to tell her mama that she wanted to turn back too. To get back to their home and into her warm bed. But she didn’t dare say a word. The way the old woman managed the horse and buggy said she was determined to get them to their destination. Besides, if her daddy could endure without complaint, she would too.

  “Y’all see that light?” Moses finally said, breaking the silence in the wagon. “That light means we’re close to reaching friends.”

  Gracie pulled away from her mother and peered out into the darkness toward the direction the old woman was pointing. In the distance, she saw a soft glow of light. It wasn’t the brightest beacon of hope, but that small glimmer filled Gracie with a large amount of anticipation and faith. Their new life was near, and soon they would never have to be scared or cold again.

  The wagon went over another ditch. This time, they all bounced slightly from their seat. Without her mama as an anchor, Gracie slid from the wooden bench. She released a small screech as she nearly went flying over the wagon, flailing for something to grab. A strong hand latched on to her arm and hauled her back in.

  “Don’t worry, little darling. I ain’t never lost a passenger and I ain’t gonna tonight!” Moses released a quick chuckle before she eased her tight hold.

  Gracie peered up at the old woman as her mama gath
ered her in her arms. Once her heart slowed its wild beating, Gracie settled against her mama’s side and, with a soft smile, silently joined in on the old woman’s humming.

  The brightest daaayyy that I can saaayyy… Coming for to carry me hooommme…

  Chapter One

  June, 1866

  Outside New York City

  “She’s a beauty, for sure, Mr. Finley. How much do you want for her?”

  Logan Finley spat on the ground, taking his time before he answered. The right response was crucial in that moment if he wanted a good price for his brown beauty.

  “Two hundred.”

  The old shopkeeper whistled. “That’s pretty steep, don’t you think?”

  “You said yourself she’s a beauty. Strong teeth. Fine bones, too. I won’t take anything less for her.”

  The man made a show of thinking over the price, but Logan knew it was just a buyer’s ploy to get him to squirm over the potential loss of a sale. But two hundred dollars for his brown chestnut was, in his opinion, already a bargain. He hated to part with the horse, but he couldn’t make the trip west with her. He’d just have to hope he could find a suitable replacement with the money from this sale.

  “Do you want her or not, Mr. Morgan? I have other offers lined up for her.” Logan didn’t, but the other man wasn’t the only one who had a few tradesmen tricks. Besides, the older man owned several local businesses in the town. He could afford it.

  “Okay, Mr. Finley. You’ve got yourself a deal.”

  Mr. Morgan stuck out his hand, and Logan grasped it in a firm handshake. He noticed the way the older man’s eyes widened as he looked down at his disfigured hand. Logan was prepared for the man to awkwardly pull away, as so many had done while they attempted not to stare at him with pity. The old shopkeeper did release his hand, but he didn’t avoid asking him about it, as Logan expected.

  “What happened there?”

  Logan glanced down at his mutilated right hand where his last three digits had been severed. It was now covered in scar tissue and rough, leathery skin. He usually wore his gloves in public, but with the intense summer heat rolling in, the thick black glove had been uncomfortable. But not as uncomfortable as the sympathetic look the old man was sending him. Suddenly, Logan was eager to get this last sale over with.

  “The war happened,” Logan finally replied, annoyed and embarrassed by the pity he saw on the man’s face. His hand was a small price to pay given the brutality of the war. Unlike his friends and his father, he was still alive, and that was all that mattered.

  Mr. Morgan made a sympathetic sound and shook his head. “You’re a brave man, Mr. Finley. What a tragedy that our country had to endure such a senseless war by those damn Johnny Rebs. But we sure showed them what for!”

  Logan grunted as the man slapped his back, but said nothing. It probably wouldn’t go over well with the old Yank had he known he was conducting business with a “damn Johnny Reb” and Logan wasn’t going to enlighten him. The modest savings he’d inherited, along with the money he’d made from the assets he’d sold, had afforded him minor luxuries, like new clothes, easy meals, and temporary lodging—luxuries many of his counterparts hadn’t been privileged to enjoy. After the Confederate army had disbanded, thousands of his brothers-at-arms had been left in the poorhouse, forced to work menial jobs, or enter into a life of crime just to get by.

  But Logan didn’t spend a lot of time worrying about what had become of his old regiment. The war was over, and everything—and everyone—he’d known was dead, including his allegiance to the Confederacy. Along with all the things he had once believed in. There was nothing more for him to do but to move forward. More precisely, move westward. There, he would be able to start over and build a new life.

  Eager to get going, Logan finalized the sale with the old shopkeeper and headed to the ticket station. Tomorrow morning he planned to be on the first train out of this town. He would make it to Colorado, find himself a nice plot of homesteader land to settle on, and finally build a home to call his own.

  With his train ticket in his breast pocket, Logan made his way back to the small lodging he’d been renting a room in these past few days while he finalized last-minute business. As he approached the Negro-owned establishment, the irony wasn’t lost on him that he now depended on shelter from a race of people he had once been the provider for. In fact, many of the homes and businesses in the area were owned by blacks. But they didn’t bother him and he didn’t bother them.

  He watched as women and their children roamed the streets, some moving in hurried steps as they tugged their young ones along, others taking leisurely strolls or stopping to socialize. Not unlike how things had been on his farm, but now these people could go and come as they pleased. Hell, if some of the radical Confederates he encountered in the war could see them now, they would realize how wrong their views were. It was apparent the Negroes could live and thrive on their own.

  Logan couldn’t say he was nostalgic for his old life on his father’s small farm. He had just turned sixteen when his father had fetched him from Mexico to live and work on his tobacco farm. Surprisingly, his relationship with his father had been better than one would expect from a man who had only just reunited with his illegitimate son. Having spent the majority of his youth working in order to ease the burden from his overloaded mother, Logan had not been a stranger to hard work. But over time, he had grown accustomed to his position on the farm, and managing servants and slaves had come easy.

  Before the war, the farm had been his life and Logan had never imagined how much he—and everything he believed in—would change because of it. Now he was undergoing yet another change in his life, and it involved letting go everything he had been taught during his time with his father.

  Logan crossed the courtyard and passed a crowd of men, women, and children gathered in a semicircle. There was a small stage being erected with crates and planks of wood. More people gathered, and a young woman in a yellow and white day dress was helped up on the stage. Her dark brown skin glowed beautifully against the high afternoon sun. Her thick black hair was twisted into two large coils and held together by a snood at the back of her head, revealing a smooth, round face and large, dark eyes.

  His interest and curiosity got the better of him, and Logan moved to take a better look. Before he could get closer, something solid bounced against his boot. He glanced down to find an apple resting beside his foot. A young boy, who couldn’t have been more than six years old, stood frozen in front of him, gripping a folded paper in his hand. Logan tried to offer him a friendly smile, but the Negro boy continued staring at him with more wariness than should have been on his young face. The look in his stricken gaze was as if he was staring at the devil himself.

  With a small sigh, Logan lifted the fallen fruit, which now had a small bruise on the bottom. He held it out to the young boy. “It’d be a shame to let a fine apple go to waste.” Logan shrugged. “But if you don’t want it….”

  He waited as the boy took ginger steps toward him to retrieve it. There weren’t many whites in this area of town, and Logan couldn’t blame the boy for his hesitance. Tales of the violent New York draft riots had made their way down South, and many Confederates had been filled with pride over the news that Negros had been targeted. Not even the burning of an orphan asylum housing colored children had stopped their celebrating. “Finally the damn Yanks realize who side they should be fighting for,” one commanding officer had boasted.

  The boy snatched the apple from his hand and took off running. Logan sighed again. He couldn’t blame the boy for his fear of him. With the things he’d seen, the things he’d done, it would put the fear of God in anyone.

  He turned back to the crowd, and a dark man dressed in religious garb got on the makeshift stage and proceeded to address the crowd in a commanding voice.

  “Good afternoon, brothers and sisters. Thank you for joining us for our official celebration of freedom. Three years ago, our president, Mr.
Abraham Lincoln, God rest his soul, signed the Emancipation Proclamation into law. But it wasn’t until last June, in Galveston, Texas, that all slaves were finally set free.”

  The crowd cheered as the reverend went on to highlight points from the proclamation. Logan watched the jubilant crowd, again noting with some amazement how much things had changed from what he once understood to be his way of life.

  The reverend brought forward the young woman in the yellow dress. Her bright skirt was tapered close to her waist, outlining her figure nicely while still remaining modest. Logan vaguely wondered just how shapely she was under the prim and proper garb.

  “Now, as many of you know,” the reverend began, “Miss Gracie and Miss Madeline will be leaving us tomorrow. So, tonight is also a celebration of not only our independence, but also of them and all they’ve contributed to the community. As we bid them farewell, let’s remember to keep them in our hearts and prayers for their long journey west.”

  The crowd murmured and nodded their praise, while Logan stared up at the young woman who appeared bashful yet charmed by the attention. The way she gripped her hands in front of her also revealed how nervous she really was. Her strained smile was another indication, though her obvious tension didn’t diminish how enchanting she was. From where he stood, Logan could see she was a very attractive woman, with a look of innocence that could easily replace all the ugliness he’d ever seen.