One day soon he would have to say good-bye to Rachel. No matter how much he cared for her. A cold, hollow feeling gnawed at his stomach. Gritting his teeth, he forced himself to climb the stairs to his room.
Chapter Six
Rachel pressed her lips together as she watched James walk through the parlor doorway. She could tell his ribs were still hurting. But at least he was up and walking.
Lord, thank You that he has come this far. Please complete his healing.
Her prayer faltered as she thought of what would happen when that prayer was answered. James would leave, and she would be left behind again to wait and worry about him. Perhaps he wouldn’t even write to let her know how he fared. Andrew had only penned one letter, and it had arrived after the devastating news of his death.
A wave of panic rose, making her heart pound. Would the same thing happen to James? How could she live with the fear of not knowing if he was dead or alive? She blinked away hot tears and stared at the worn sock stretched over her darning gourd. The gaping hole in the toe seemed to mock her, daring her to try and close it.
The sound of horses approaching drew her attention. She set aside her darning and rose to look out the window. Two men on horseback rode up the long drive toward the house. They wore blue officers’ jackets, but the rest of their clothes looked dirty and worn. She didn’t recognize them.
A shiver raced down her arms. Amos was mending broken fences in the hillside pasture. Esther had gone to lie down after dinner, complaining of a headache. She and James were alone in the house.
The men dismounted and climbed the steps to the front portico.
Rachel’s heartbeat pounded in her ears. Who were they? Did they bring news about her brother?
A loud knock sounded on the door. She looked over her shoulder, wishing Amos or Esther would appear.
“Help me, Lord,” she whispered, then crossed the foyer and opened the door.
The taller man looked her over with a sleazy grin. “Afternoon, ma’am. Is this Doc Thornton’s place?”
Rachel’s stomach quaked, but she forced her gaze to remain steady. “Yes, it is.”
“We’d like to talk to the doctor.” The tall man exchanged a brief glance with his shorter companion.
The hair on Rachel’s arms prickled. She didn’t feel comfortable telling them her father wasn’t home, but she didn’t want to lie either. An idea flashed into her mind. “I’m sorry. He’s with a patient. He can’t see you right now.”
The short man grinned and rubbed his dirty hand on his pants leg. “Well then, we’ll just have to come in and wait ’til he’s free.” He pushed past her into the foyer.
Rachel gasped and clutched the door. “You can’t just barge in here. You’ll have to wait outside.”
The other man chuckled, then grabbed her arm and pulled her away from the door.
“Let go of me!” Rachel tried to pull free, but he only tightened his grip.
The tall man kicked the door closed, and the short, heavyset man stepped up next to her. “Now, maybe you’d like to tell us the truth. Is your daddy home?” He reeked of wood smoke, sweat, and tobacco.
Revulsion rose in her throat, and she clamped her mouth closed.
“Now listen here, missy,” the tall man said as he gave her a shake, “you better open that pretty little mouth of yours and start talking, or we’ll have to find a way to loosen your tongue. Who else is in the house?”
Her face flamed, but she maintained her silent glare.
The short man glanced around the room. “Whooee, look at this place. Your family must be mighty rich. How’d you hold on to all these fine things? Your daddy in cahoots with Governor Johnson and the rest of those filthy Union men?”
Alarm raced through her like an electric shock. These men weren’t Union officers. “Those uniforms you’re wearing obviously mean nothing to you.”
The short man grinned and slapped his hand against the front lapel of his jacket. “Oh, these? We helped ourselves to these fine jackets from some dead officers down Murfreesboro way. And I ain’t gonna tell you how them officers died.” He cocked his head, grinning like a drunken fool.
Her eyes widened, and she felt like she might be sick.
“Shut up, Horton.” The tall man tightened his hold on her arm. “Now, I asked you real nice if anyone else is home, and I’m still waiting for an answer.”
****
Where could he have put that tin of drawing pencils? Just yesterday he’d seen them on the small table next to the bed. James knelt and looked under the bed. He spotted the tin and carefully maneuvered himself into position to pull it out.
The sound of a door closing downstairs and male voices made him stop and listen. Rachel hadn’t said she was expecting anyone, but people often came calling unannounced. He rose and made his way to the top of the stairs.
“I told you, my father is seeing a patient, and we have a few servants working around the place.” Rachel’s voice sounded unusually high.
“Go get your father and bring him out here.”
James frowned, then knelt and looked between the balusters of the curving stairway without revealing his presence.
Two men stood with Rachel. One had ahold of her arm while the other looked her over with a leering grin.
“I can’t disturb my father,” Rachel insisted. “You’ll have to leave and come back another time.”
The men laughed. “Oh no, missy. We aren’t going anywhere.”
James’s anger seethed. He had no idea who these men were, but they were up to no good, and it was his responsibility to defend Rachel.
He dashed back to his room as quietly as possible, dumped the contents of his saddlebags on the bed, and grabbed his pistol. Checking to be sure it was loaded, he hurried back to the top of the stairs.
“You must have some money or valuables hidden around the place.” The bigger man pulled Rachel closer. “Come on. Give us what we want.”
James focused on the men, searching for weapons. He didn’t see any, but they could be hidden in their clothes. If he stepped out now and challenged them, would he be able to protect Rachel? The element of surprise seemed to be his best advantage. He stood, took aim, and fired.
A vase on the side table exploded. Shards of glass flew in every direction. Rachel screamed. The tall man cursed and jumped back, dropping his hold on her arm. The short man yelped and crouched, covering his head.
“I have five more bullets where that one came from,” James announced.
The tall man looked up and spotted him. “Why, you—” he snarled and took a step toward the stairs.
“Stay where you are.” James descended two more steps. “I’m a crack shot, trained in England.”
The man reached for Rachel, but she stepped back.
“Leave her alone.” James shifted his gaze to her for a split second. “Move away from them.”
Though her face was pale, she nodded and backed up toward the stairs.
“Now, very slowly, I’d like you men to leave.” James motioned toward the door, praying they would go without a fight.
“What if we don’t want to?” the tall man said in a surly voice.
“That mistake could cost you your life.” Help me, Lord. James’s gaze remained steady, but he could feel the beads of sweat forming on his forehead. Would they see the tremor in his arm or suspect he’d only recently regained the strength to stand?
The short man tugged at the other man’s jacket. “Come on, Porter. Let’s go.”
Porter cursed, then turned and walked toward the door. James kept his pistol trained on them. The short man passed through the doorway and stepped outside. As he did, Porter reached into his coat and spun around.
James fired as the gun flashed in Porter’s hand.
Porter yelled, grabbed his side, and fired at James.
The bullet whizzed past his ear. He returned fire as Porter ran out the door.
James rushed down the stairs and across the entrance hall. G
lass crunched under his boots. Once outside, the men jumped on their horses and galloped down the drive, heading for the main road. He shut the door and locked it, then turned to Rachel.
She stared at him, her face still pale.
He laid aside the gun and wrapped her in a comforting hug. She trembled in his arms. “It’s all right,” he said softly.
“But if you hadn’t been here . . .”
He tightened his hold, and tried to chase away that dark thought. “But I’m here, and I won’t let anything happen to you.” He held her close for a few more moments as silent prayers rose from his heart.
Finally, she stepped back and looked up at him. “Shooting that vase . . . scared me to death . . . but it worked.”
“I’m sure the Lord gave me that idea. I hardly had time to think.”
Rachel sent him a wobbly smile. “He rescued us both today.”
James nodded. It was true, the Lord had taken care of them, but he couldn’t push Rachel’s comment from his mind. What if he hadn’t been here? What would those men have done to her? How could he leave, knowing the danger the war could bring to her door?
Chapter Seven
Oh, Mr. Galloway, you don’t have to bring those dishes in here. We’ll get them.” But Esther’s glowing eyes told how much she appreciated his help.
Rachel smiled as she set the empty platter on the kitchen table. James had won Esther’s heart with his continual compliments of her cooking and his habit of clearing the dishes from the table.
“Esther, this was such a fine meal, I’m honored to give you whatever assistance I can provide.” James stacked the dishes on the sideboard and gave her a small bow.
“Mercy, listen to you goin’ on like that.” Esther shook her head and laughed. “You’re gonna spoil us all, then what are we gonna do when you’re gone?”
Rachel’s smile melted away, and her hands suddenly felt cold. There had been no more discussion about when James would leave, but each day he was getting stronger. Somehow she would have to find the strength to say good-bye when the time came. Right now she didn’t want to think about it.
James moved past her through the swinging door, then held it open for her. She smiled her thanks, and they returned to the dining room. Susan met them there, slowly making her way around the table, collecting the soiled silverware, looking none too happy with the task.
Father grinned at them from the head of the table. “Thank you for cleaning up. Quite different than the old days, eh, Rachel?” He lifted his brows.
She smiled and nodded as the memories flooded back. Before the war, and even farther back, when their mother was alive, they had several maids and an assistant cook to help Esther prepare and serve meals. Rachel and Susan rarely helped with any common duties. But all that had changed in the last few years.
Most of their servants left to travel north and make new lives for themselves. Rachel was sorry to see them go, not so much because it meant more work for her, but because she thought of them as family and she missed each one.
But it was probably for the best. Father could never afford to pay that many servants now. Though he worked harder than ever, few people could pay him his normal fees. He often returned from a house call with a chicken or a bunch of vegetables as payment. At least they didn’t go hungry.
Amos strode into the dining room with a broad smile on his face. “I picked up three letters while I was in town.”
Esther followed him in, clutching a dishtowel.
“One is for you, Mr. Galloway.” Amos handed a thick envelope to James. “And the other two are for you, sir.” He passed the letters to Father, then stood by, holding his hat in his hand while Father examined the first envelope.
“Thanks be to heaven,” Father whispered in a choked voice. “It’s from Nathan.”
Rachel hurried to his side. “Open it, Father.”
“Oh, praise the Lord.” Esther grabbed Amos’s arm. He nodded and patted his wife on the back.
Susan joined Rachel and gave her a quick hug, while Father tore open the letter.
He adjusted his spectacles and read aloud, “‘My dearest family, I am well and now working at the Armory Square Hospital in the center of Washington. We have a thousand beds here, and they are almost always full of sick and wounded men. I know my training is not all that it should be, but I am glad I can help these brave men and ease their pain. We are able to save many lives, but sadly, not all.’”
Tears misted Rachel’s eyes. She swallowed and tried to blink them away. James walked over and laid his hand on her shoulder. How thoughtful he was to notice her response. She looked up and sent him a grateful smile.
Father continued, “‘Your wonderful letters have been a great comfort and encouragement. I am sorry I have been slow to reply. Many times I sat down to write, but the weight of the day seemed so heavy on my soul that it was hard to put the pen to paper. I know you understand.
“‘I hope to be home to celebrate Christmas with you all this year. I will write again to tell you when I’m coming, but know that my heart is already there, and each night I fall asleep with visions of Springside and my dear family on my mind. Please write again soon. Your loving son, Nathan.’”
Rachel sighed and gazed toward the fireplace. Nathan carried a heavy burden, treating so many injured soldiers day after day, but he was well and they would all be together again at Christmas. That would make their celebration so special.
Father folded the letter and patted her hand. “Can you believe it? Our Nathan will be home in just a few weeks.”
“Who sent the other letter?” Susan leaned over Father’s shoulder.
He opened it and scanned the page. “It’s from my brother Edward.” He read the first section to himself, then nodded and smiled. “He and your aunt Julia plan to come for a visit later this month. They’ll arrive next week and hope to stay through the end of November to celebrate Thanksgiving with us.”
Rachel squeezed Father’s arm. “Oh, it’ll be wonderful to see them again.” She laughed and looked at James. “So much good news in one day. I hardly know how to take it all in.”
He returned her smile and nodded, still holding his unopened letter in his hand.
“Edward says they’ll also bring his wife’s cousin Daniel Kincaid, a young lawyer who has just opened his practice in Bowling Green.” Father looked at Rachel. “I’ve never met him, but of course he’s welcome.” He put his arm around Rachel’s shoulder and gave her a quick squeeze. “That will make it a fine Thanksgiving with so many gathered around our table.”
“What about your letter, Mr. Galloway? Is it from your family?” Susan sat at the table, and Rachel joined her.
Sadness flickered in James’s eyes, then faded. “No, it’s from my editor. That’s why I’m in no hurry to open it. I imagine he’s not too pleased that I haven’t sent the story and sketches he asked for.”
“But you’re still recovering. He ought to understand that.” Susan pushed her hair over her shoulder. “Perhaps Father should write him a letter on your behalf and explain your condition.”
James smiled. “That’s a thoughtful suggestion, but I doubt my editor would appreciate it.” He tore open the letter, and several bills of currency fell to the floor.
Susan gasped. “Oh my, look at all that money.”
Rachel tugged her sister’s sleeve as James stooped and picked it up.
“It looks like your editor must not be too upset with you,” Father added with a chuckle.
James laughed along with him. “Apparently not.” He stood, tucked the money in his vest pocket and glanced at the letter. His face brightened as he read.
“Is it good news?” Susan asked.
Rachel tugged at her sister’s sleeve again.
Susan turned and glared at her “What? I just asked a simple question.”
James grinned at them. “My associate, Thomas Beckley, will be coming to Nashville. My editor wants me to wait here to meet him rather than traveling to Virgin
ia.” As he continued reading his expression darkened.
Fear knotted Rachel’s stomach. “What is it, James?”
“He says the election is stirring up deep feelings all over the North and South. Even with the colder weather, both sides appear to be sending troops to Tennessee. He expects a major battle will be fought here soon.”
An icy shiver raced along her arms. She glanced at Father and then at James. “In the Nashville area?”
“It’s possible. I’m sure the Confederacy would like to retake Nashville if they could. But no one knows their plans for sure.”
Father turned to Amos. “Did you hear any news of troops moving toward Nashville when you were in town?”
Amos shook his head. “I just picked up the mail and ordered that new part for the wagon like you asked.” He rubbed his chin. “I’m sorry, sir. If I knew you was wanting war news, I could’ve gone down to the newspaper office or asked around at the livery.”
“It’s all right. I have to go into town tomorrow to see a few patients. I’ll see what I can learn then.”
Rachel’s stomach tensed. The Union’s control of Nashville had allowed them to live in relative peace and safety for the past two years. If the South regained control, everything would change. Their loyalty to the Union would put them in a dangerous position.
A sense of foreboding rose in her heart, and she gripped the edge of the table. Looking across the room at James, she saw his eyes reflecting the same troubling emotions. The war was coming to Nashville, and there was no way they could stop it.
Chapter Eight
Rachel stared at her book and read the same lines for the third time, but their meaning didn’t sink in. She glanced at James.
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