#Historical Chapter Nine - Loving the Enemy

When the Gruens came over, Emily thought at first it was for a social visit, but as soon as she saw Mr. Gruen’s ramrod posture sitting stiffly next to Mrs. Gruen’s tearstained face, she knew.  She didn’t even have to hear the words to know what their news was.

“We can’t stay for coffee Mrs. Evans.  We just thought you might want to hear that we received a letter from Jakob’s commander.  He and John died hero’s deaths.  In battle.  Like men.”  His words were delivered with a harshness that masked his sorrow.  His eyes scanned the yard, falling on Abe, who leaned against a barnpole, chewing on a piece of straw.  Shoulders stiff, Mr. Gruen sniffed, his mouth turning down in distaste.  As he snapped the reins that catapulted his horses into motion, steering the buggy away, Mrs. Gruen broke down into more sobs.  Rachel only stood next to Emily, stoic as always, before turning and going back inside the house.  Emily was struck dumb.

She’d been living in a make-believe world on the farm, doing what she was told and what she knew to do to keep everything for the men-folk so they’d have something to come home to.  Then, when Jakob came back they were to build their own home over the hill from this house.  That’s the way things had always been. 

The soldiers were a means to that end.  They were going to help the women keep the bank from taking their property.  Not complicate her feelings about everything.

She couldn’t bring Jakob’s face to mind, only blurry images floated around her memory.  When she finally forced them to her mind, they came with a vengeance.  John and Jakob had been friends since they were born together practically, so most of her memories of John were infused with Jakob--tugging on her pigtails, stealing her lunch pail, tying their fishing line around her ankles while she slept by the creek.

It was no wonder their parents wanted them to be married.  And it was no wonder she loved him so.  She’d grown up with him.

The pain welled up in her belly, blooming outward until it encompassed her entire body.  She clutched her belly, the source of the pain, as she ran.  Her legs pumped, pistoning her away from the house toward the creek, her safe place.

The tears flowed but she didn’t feel them, didn’t see anything through her grief.  Emily wondered if they’d suffered, if they were aware when they died, where they went after.  Of course they went to heaven, that’s where good God-fearing men went.

Only they weren’t men.  John and Jakob were just boys.  Her brother and her friend.  Her future.

One by one, her family was getting smaller.

Emily tried not to think about the fact there was still no word from her father, so there was still hope he was coming back.  Not that it would be the same.  But he would come back.

She and Mama had been doing so much to keep the farm, working until well past dark, trying to keep everything running for Papa, so he would have a farm to come home to.  Now he would have two fewer children when he came back, and his daughter wouldn’t be married like they’d planned.  He wouldn’t have to help her build her new home.

Emily rolled onto her stomach and clutched at handfuls of dirt while she wailed her sorrows into the earth.  She was far enough away from the house she wouldn’t be heard by the soldiers or mama, or her sisters, but of course, she’d been followed.

Iron arms wrapped around her in a warm cocoon and picked her up to settle her against a chest.  It was familiar, but not the chest she wished it was.  She honestly wished her brother was comforting her in her time of need, but it was Isaack, shushing her and rocking her with his quiet strength.

“It’s okay.  They probably went fast without suffering.  I’m sure that’s how it was.”  His low voice was comforting, and he let her cry.  And it infuriated her.

But she did cry.  She succumbed to the useless tears that wracked her entire body.  She cried for the loss of her family, and then she cried for the futility of it all.

“They didn’t even want to go!”  Beating her fists against Isaack’s chest, she felt helpless.  “They were conscripted!  They didn’t want to fight!  They died for nothing!”

Her tears were gone, yet she still cried, and Isaack continued to hold her.  When he spoke again, his voice brought her more comfort than she realized.

“In my experience most death is utterly futile.  We can’t question it.  It just is.”

She’d never heard him speak much, and these words sounded so formal, bringing to light how different he was from her.  He was a Yankee, probably had more education than her elementary school-house certificate coupled with reading Mama’s books from Boston.  He had been fighting against her family in the war, he probably chose to fight, because he believed in whatever the ridiculous causes were they warred over.

She hated him and everything he stood for.

Pushing herself away, she managed to see him past her headache pounding behind her eyes.  “Leave me alone.  You probably killed them.”  She spat the words, hearing them come from her like she was floating above her body, not actually speaking them.

He understood her though.  She saw it in the grief of his eyes as he clenched his fists at his sides.  He opened his mouth, but apparently thought better of it, because he clamped it shut like a steel trap.  Slowly, he rose to his feet and turned his back on her and her tears.

She didn’t think he went far.  Emily knew he was never far away from her.  Isaack was always watching her.  Her shadow.

Before, she’d felt flattered by the attention.  It had made her feel protected, especially after the incident at the creek.  He was attentive, and when she had trouble with something he was always there.  She only had to notice something broken, and the next time she saw it, it would be fixed.  She only had to wish something done, and the next thing she knew he’d done it.  Fence mending, wood chopping, anything.  Once, she’d been daydreaming about venison for supper, and as if he read her mind, he brought a skinned and butchered deer to the door.

So she was under no illusion he’d actually left her alone to cry herself into oblivion, and instead of angering her, it actually pleased her deep down.  But she wasn’t ready to admit that.

Not yet.  Not the day she found out her fiancé was dead.  Had been killed in battle while she was at home, kissing the enemy.

#Historical Chapter Eight - Loving the Enemy

After laying awake, aching for Isaack’s touch again, Emily rose early, trudging about her chores.  Going out to the barn, she found that the cow had already been milked.  Isaack.  He’d been following her more obviously since their stolen moment under the stars, and she resented it.  He was everywhere, even when he wasn’t.  Her eyes darted around, looking for him, maybe standing behind a barn pillar watching her, but she couldn’t see him.  She knew he was somewhere though.  He was always watching.

She longed to get away, out from under his piercing gray eyes.  Emily couldn’t explain herself.  But she hated him for kissing her like that.  He had no right to her, no right to make her feel the feelings that betrayed everything she’d ever known.  Isaack had no right to make her want things she couldn’t have.

Abe and Nathan still snored in the barn.  She told herself they worked into the night, but she knew better.  They worked hard during the day, but never rose before daylight.  By contrast, Mr. Potter was probably already out in the fields.  He’d taken a vested interest in the running of the fields, and had spent the last few days trying to make sure the grounds were drying at an appropriate rate.  If the ground around the corn didn’t dry quickly enough, the roots would rot.  If it dried too fast, it developed a crust that was equally as bad.  Mr. Breck had taken to sleeping in town, Emily suspected he’d found one of the ‘ladies’ at the saloon to keep him company.  Sometimes, he showed up, sometimes, not.

Which left Isaack.  He was close by.  She could feel it.  It was like there was an invisible energy between them, and she always felt when he was near.  It made her crazy, because it made her feel things she had no business feeling.

Deciding she could make a trip into town with what corn they had in the crib, to show Mr. Stein they were serious about repaying his ridiculously inflated debt, she went to the crib.  The mill was on the other side of town, and would keep her away from the house for most of the day.

The corn crib was on the other side of the barn, built into the side of it, kept secure from prowling critters and curious chickens.  A sturdily built structure, it was smallish in comparison to the massive space of the barn, and held most of a harvest these days.  After drying on the stalk, the shucked corn was stored in the crib until it was dry enough for grinding at the mill.  Some of it had already been pulled off the ear, mostly for something for the men to do, and bagged up.  This was what Emily would take to the mill today.

But the faint smell of soured corn assaulted her when she opened the door, and a cry rose at the back of her throat.

“Oh no!”

A standing puddle squelched at her feet, and a sense of hopelessness took over every other thought Emily had.  The crop was ruined.

Isaack was at her side in an instant, and she could hear Mama as she banged out the front door.

“What’s wrong child?”  Her mother’s concern overrode everything else, and tears of frustration welled in Emily’s eyes, but she wouldn’t let them fall in front of Isaack.

“The corn got wet.  It’s ruined.”

Rachel stood there, next to Isaack, whose face had paled, even as his lips thinned into a white line across his face.

Wiping her hands on her apron, Rachel spurred into action, pulling the door open wide.  “Isaack, pull those wet bags of corn out of there and bring them to the wagon.  We’ll spread it out, get the ruined corn out and dry out the rest under the sun.  We’ll see what can be salvaged.  Emily, help him spread it.”  She went back inside to finish breakfast, but her steps weren’t as purposeful as usual, and her shoulders sagged.

As they went inside the crib, Emily couldn’t help but notice the gaping hole in the roof, where shingles had come off.  Sunlight streamed in, making the dark space light.  Corn dust swirled in the air, and Emily let out another wail, purely against her will.

“Didn’t you check the roof a fortnight ago?”

Isaack’s mouth was still a thin, whitened line, and now his eyes darkened with fury as they met hers.  “Yes, I did.  It was strong enough a wind couldn’t have done that.”

Then someone had purposely pulled off the shingles.  Who would do something to sabotage their efforts like that?

Mr. Stein.

“There’s nothing to be done for it now.  I’ll fix the roof after we get the corn out and started drying.  Your mother’s right.  We need to take care of this first.  I’ll find out who’s responsible for this.”  His voice was intense, and Emily had the sudden realization he’d been a man of power before the war.  The tone he spoke with was one which brooked no arguments, telling her he was in charge.

But it was her family’s farm, and he was an interloper.

“Don’t tell her it was intentional.  She has enough to worry about.”  She needed something to give herself authority over him.  Finding something to boss him about was the only way she could do it, even if he argued with her.  But he didn’t.

They worked side by side for the rest of the morning, dragging out bags of corn and spreading the grain out in the bed of the wagon.  Not as much was spoiled as Emily had been fearful of, but enough was relegated to chicken feed to last them for months and months. 

Working next to Isaack was surprisingly soothing to Emily.  His strong assurance was welcome, as he hefted the bags and poured the corn into the wagon, while Emily spread it around to dry evenly.  A few times, he opened his mouth, as if to speak, and Emily would always shake her head in fear.  She didn’t want to discuss anything, because the only thing to discuss would be the kiss.  And she wanted to forget it ever happened, even if there was no way that was possible. 

#Historical Chapter Seven - Loving the Enemy

Emily had been to the creek more often lately, and Isaack had followed her every time.  He had no idea if she knew he was there or not, but he also knew she wasn’t daft.  He told himself it was because her mother had asked him to watch out for her.  It was for her protection from the men, the ones with the wrong intentions, like Abe, or Breck.  But the truth was too hard to admit to himself.

Since the boy had died, Emily had come to the creek a lot.  She hadn’t come much in the last week, because it had been raining so much, but now that the rain had stopped, she’d come back. She seemed to get a lot of peace from these visits.  Her steps back home were lighter, as if she left a weight in the creek water.

And he’d followed her.  Isaack couldn’t seem to leave her alone.  She was a vision—one that ingrained itself on his mind’s eye, even in his dreams.  Her golden hair, tied back in an austere braid in the mornings, but had fallen around her face as she worked through the day, her enormous coffee-colored eyes that sang him to sleep and visited his dreams—all conspired to completely undo him.  He hadn’t thought of intimate relations or romantic entanglements since his beloved wife had died, but now, he was a hot ball of lust, would up so tightly, he was liable to come unraveled at any given moment.

And if that’s how he felt, he was afraid to think of how the others were handling her proximity.  That thought kept him by her side more than anything.

From the trees he watched as she knelt by the edge of the water, the banks having overflowed slightly.  The rocks that had previously been visible were submerged, but the water running over them rippled, giving clues to hidden obstacles under the water.

Isaack was hidden behind the branches, not willing to let her know he watched.  He realized that wasn’t right.  He should just show himself, because his intentions were muddled by the secrecy.  But he couldn’t bring himself to speak.

So he watched, like a man with sex on his brain, only for Isaack that wasn’t it entirely.  Surely, there was a big part of him that wanted to see what her lush body looked like naked, to feel her lips against his, to know if the skin she kept hidden was soft.  But he longed to protect her as well.  To provide for her the luxury she deserved instead of this harsh life in the wilderness.  To make her his.

When she looked around furtively, he knew what was next and he closed his eyes while every other sense went on high alert.  Some misplaced sense of propriety called him to do this, even though a gentleman wouldn’t follow her out here every day.  He listened to the rustle of clothes as she removed her dress and petticoat.  Then the slosh of water as she sank into the current with an exhale of breath before he opened his eyes again.

She was in up to her waist, which was deeper than she’d gone before, her chemise clinging to her body.  He watched as she seemed to fight the current, leaning into it to keep from being whisked downstream.  She let out loud breaths as she fought the water.

His skin prickled with unease, as the hair on his scalp stood on end.  Something wasn’t right.

He felt the rumble in the earth at the same time Emily began to struggle against the current.  Her eyes widened when they both heard it, and her arms began to pump along with her legs.  The roar in the distance was getting closer, and she needed to be out of the water.

Breaking his cover, Isaack ran to her.

“Emily!”

She saw him and reached toward his outstretched arms, eyes wide, just as he saw the wall of water out of the corner of his eye.  He didn’t dare get a good look at it, knowing exactly what was happening.  Flash floods were fearsome and this one was no different.

He clutched her hand in his and yanked her slender wrist.  She cried out in pain, but he held tight, unwilling to let go of her.  He dragged her out until he could reach her with both hands, and he pulled with all his weight to get her out of the water’s reach.

Emily landed on top of him with a huff and he wrapped one arm around her slender waist as he pulled them both back with his other arm.  The breath was knocked from him by her sudden weight atop him, as well as the chill of her wet chemise wrapping around his legs.  Then again, the knowledge that she was in such a position with him was making him light-headed, since all the blood was flowing from his head to an ungentlemanly place, further south.

His lusty haze was broken by the wall of water and rubble—fallen trees, branches, dirt—flowing down what used to be a stream but was now a small river.  A path of destruction Emily had just narrowly missed.  And if she hadn’t, she’d be gone.

Just like Marie and Beth.

A shudder racked his body, as Isaack stared at the sky, blinking hard, unable to speak about what had almost just happened. Christ.

Clenching his eyes closed, he didn’t realize he was squeezing her hips until she struggled to sit up.

“Isaack,” she whispered against his neck.

He forced his grip loose and she rolled off him, breathing heavily.  His eyes still clenched shut, Isaack forced back the images of what could have happened as he focused on the sounds next to him.  She was dressing herself.

She was alive and dressing herself.

“Are you hurt?” He forced himself to ask her, praying to all that was holy for the right answer.

“No.  I’m not hurt.”  Her voice was soft and meek, unlike Emily’s normal voice, and his eyes opened as he turned his head toward her.  Her deep brown eyes pierced him, her blonde hair like a halo shining in the sunlight.  “Why were you there?  Watching?”

“I wasn’t,” his tongue was thick in his mouth with the deception.  She knew it.

“Yes, you were.  You’re always there,” she smiled down at him, and her hand caressed a lock of hair from his forehead.  Her touch scorched his skin and he flinched.  Her eyes turned wary.  “Why?”

Because she made him feel for the first time in seven years.  She stripped away the grime of his life and left it feeling clean.  She brought color into his world.  If she were gone, he would have nothing again.  “I don’t know.”

“Thank you.  For being there.”  She smiled at him and rose from the ground.  “Walk me back to the house?”

He stood next to her, and they walked back together.  He didn’t skulk along behind like he normally did.  Isaack walked next to her, trying not to feel the sensations that engulfed him.

In the short time he’d been here, she had shown him more love than any other woman in his life.  Even Marie, and that felt heretical to think.  But Marie had been an innocent when they met, giving him everything he’d asked for willingly.  Emily gave it all without him asking.  She took him in and cared for him.  She took care of the farm, cooked, washed, she was a woman unlike any he’d ever met.  All the women in Boston were genteel and soft, or else they were the street women who were harder than granite.  Emily was both.

When they approached the house he stopped next to her as she slowed her walk and stiffened her gait.  Isaack hung back, wary, yet ready.  The banker man was there, sitting on the rocker on the porch looking like he hadn’t a care in the world.  The girls were missing, and Rachel was standing over him, hands on her hips, looking very unhappy.

He was using his thumb to tamp down tobacco in his pipe and as he put it in the corner of his mouth, he lit a match on the sole of his boot.  Rachel only raised her eyebrows as Emily stalked up the steps, Isaack hanging back in the yard.

“Mama, what’s going on?”  Emily’s voice was tense, yet still quiet enough not to be disrespectful, and Isaack saw her restraint in the way her shoulders were squared, her breath coming in deep, even gulps.

“Mr. Stein was just saying that in order for us to keep the farm, we’ll have to double our payment next quarter.”  Mrs. Evans’ strong jaw jutted forward with the words and everyone in the yard heard the disdain in her voice.

A few of the other men came from the barn as her voice raised over the din of activities.  Isaack couldn’t stop his feet as they stepped forward.  “I’ll stay and help you with the harvest, Mrs. Evans.”  He purposefully kept his gaze on the banker, who’d lit his pipe in the corner of his mouth and took careful puffs of the acrid smoke.

“I will too.  I’d be happy to,” Potter stated amicably.  Isaack tossed him a grateful look.  He would actually know what to do.  Isaack wasn’t a farmer, but Potter was.  He’d had a corn farm in upstate New York before the war.  “I can’t travel far with the seasons changing anyway.  It would be best for me to start out late winter anyway.”

“I can stay too, Mrs. Evans,” Breck piped up.  Of course.  Never one to be left out of anything that might include some action.

“And I’m sure Joe will return soon.  Don’t worry, Mr. Stein.  You’ll get your precious payment.”  Her face was just short of a sneer, and even Isaack felt the chill travel down his spine.  “You can see yourself off my property.”

With that parting shot, she spun on her heels and went inside.  One last look from under Emily’s eyelashes, and she followed her mother with a swirling of skirts.  Isaack wanted to make sure she was okay from her ordeal at the creek, but knew this wasn’t the best of times.  He and a few others stayed stock-still until the banker finally stood with a mumble under his breath and put his pipe in his pocket.  On his way down, Abe stuck a leg out and he went sprawling.  Abe was a horse’s ass, but in this case, it was an ass pointed in the right direction, and the men all laughed at the banker as he turned red and began his blustering way to town.

**

That night, after everyone had gone to bed, Isaack was still awake, wandering the yard, making a mental list of chores for tomorrow.  He didn’t sleep much.  Hadn’t for as long as he could remember, at least seven years or so.  Between calculating how much wood needed to be split, he was gazing up at the stars.  They were so peaceful, twinkling in the night sky.

Fireflies lit up the evening, as if they were just as glad the rain had stopped.  The wilderness here had a specific beauty to it, and even though he’d been sleeping in a smelly barn for the last month or so, he preferred it to the luxury he’d been accustomed to in New York.  Even more, he preferred sleeping under the stars, and didn’t know how he’d ever go back home.  It wasn’t his home anymore.  Right now, on this farm, with the fireflies buzzing around, flashing their mating signal, he was more at home than he’d felt in years.

A creak jerked his attention to the porch, and he saw Emily there, wrapped in her blue shawl, the one that looked so beautiful against her skin.  Silently, she pulled the edges closer as she watched him.

He felt the heat rise to his cheeks, for getting caught staring at her, but he couldn’t tear his gaze away.  She was the most magical creature he’d ever seen, and now they were out in the open, alone, at night.

Together.

Wordless, he walked up the porch steps, careful to keep to the edges so they didn’t squeak, his eyes on hers.  She tracked his progress as he stalked closer.  It had been so long since a woman made him this edgy, this tense.  He felt a buzz around Emily, a heat he didn’t know.

It was a burning energy that radiated out and pulsed within.  A fiery, pulsing buzz.  One he couldn’t extinguish.

He focused his gaze on Emily as he closed the gap between them.  When they were toe-to-toe, he didn’t know what to do next.  So he continued his stare.  He couldn’t look away if he wanted to, the pull to her was too fierce.

“Are you okay?  After this afternoon?”  He whispered, lost in her seeking eyes.  She nodded, mute.  His finger reached out to touch her hair, loose around her shoulders.  His finger made the courageous journey, twining around the tendril of corn silk.  Isaack watched it, in awe. He had wanted to touch it for weeks now, but didn’t know how to get up the nerve.

It was the fireflies’ fault for putting romantic notions in his head.

Gathering courage from his finger, Isaack took a breath, the deepest he could manage, and lowered his face to hers.

Tentatively, he touched her lips with his, feeling their softness—infinite softness.  She whispered a sigh at the contact, and Isaack’s finger tugged on the tendril of hair wrapped around it, grasping more.  Emily’s delicate fingers traced up his shirt, tickling his chest, leaving a fiery trail behind.  He couldn’t stop.  Having come this far, he couldn’t go backwards, only forward.

His other hand rested on her hip, urging her into him as his mouth opened over hers.  She trembled under his touch, every inch of her as she pressed her body against his.  He’d been wrong.  She was certainly softer than she looked.

Her innocent kiss turned to more, as she opened under his mouth, unfurling like a flower blooming in the dawn’s light.  The fiery need inside him exploded and he tugged her body closer, flush against his. Isaack felt her soft curves next to him, and he longed for more.  He willed his hands to be still, and not explore the curves and soft skin he knew he’d find under her garments, even though every fiber of his being craved it.

She tasted of sunshine and innocence, and he couldn’t get enough of her.  But, tonight, it was not to be.

With a whimper, Emily pushed him back, and he allowed it, his hooded eyes watching her shrink back against the wall of the house.  But she didn’t run.  Her eyes looked at him, full of questions, but she didn’t speak, only brought the back of her hand to her mouth and stared with wide eyes.  Her fingers trembled in the moonlight.

“I’m not sorry for that, but I probably shouldn’t have.”  His voice was a gruff whisper, as he took a step backward.

“No…”  Emily looked like she would say more, but Isaack didn’t know what she meant by that one word, and he didn’t press her.  He had no idea if she had a man off in the war or not.  He’d heard she’d been married, but there were so many widows now.

Christ.

He ran his hand through his hair as he stepped down from the porch and when he turned back, she was gone.

Guilt settled in his gut, for putting that look on her face.  But he’d never felt more alive.

Writing Texas - Olivia Hardin

Howdy everyone! A big Texas thank you to Anne Conley for letting me participate as a guest on her blog today.

So yeah, I’m from Texas. But what does that mean really? Texas is a BIG place with pockets of very distinct culture and influence throughout. I’m from Southeast Texas, specifically what I grew up calling “The Golden Triangle.” I was born and raised in Port Arthur, one point on the triangle that includes Beaumont and Orange.

Want to learn a little about Southeast Texas? One of the things I do in almost ALL of my stories is include what I call “Trivia from Olivia.” See, I’m a history junkie and I just love giving folks a snippet of little-known facts to go along with my books. And since Texas is chalk full of interesting history, I have used the Lone Star state for quite a few of them. So, here are some of my favorites…

NUMBER ONE:

In my contemporary Romance All for Hope, the male MC loves to watch old movies, one of which is “High Noon” starring Gary Cooper and Grace Kelly. It just so happens that movie won an Oscar for Best Song in 1952. The song was performed by a western singer who grew up in Nederland, Texas (within the Golden Triangle). Maurice Woodward Ritter, better known as “Tex” Ritter, was a star of the “western” film songs in the 1940s and 50s. He was also the father of the late actor John Ritter!

NUMBER TWO:

Next year I’m going to continue a series I started a while back called “The Urban Legends of Texas.” Dark Road Winding is one of the first books I actually set in Texas. I have a vague memory of driving Sara Jane Road in Port Neches when I was a teenager and looking for the hanging corpse of Sara Jane.

Most of the folks I’ve asked from the Golden Triangle recall different versions of the story at the center of Dark Road Winding. In 2007 the Port Arthur News ran an article about Sara Jane Road and reported that local historian and author W.T. Block’s mother was in fact Sarah Jane Sweeney Block. The facts of Mrs. Block’s life don’t actually mesh with the legends so it’s hard to know if she could have inspired the story.

NUMBER THREE:

To this day my absolute favorite Trivia from Olivia is from the third book in my Lynlee Lincoln urban fantasy series. In the story Lynlee gets visited by brownies, little magical creatures, who warn her of danger. Just before the turn of the twentieth century a man by the name of Arthur Stilwell was in the process of building a railway to connect Kansas City to the Gulf of Mexico. His original plan was to purchase the Houston East and West Texas Railroad and then to create a port terminal in Galveston, Texas.

Stilwell’s plans changed when, as he recounts in his autobiography:

I was warned by my nightly advisors not to make Galveston the terminal of the Kansas City Southern Railroad, because that city was destined to be destroyed by a tidal wave.

You see Stilwell claimed that from about the age of four he received messages from spirits which he called “brownies.” As a child he would warn his mother that relatives would be visiting days before the persons would actually arrive. He also pointed out his future bride when he was just 14 years old and in fact within five years Jennie Wood became his wife.

As to the railroad, Stilwell said that the brownies advised him to end the railroad at Lake Sabine and to build the terminal at the site which is present day Port Arthur. He followed their instructions, “not deviating from the plans revealed.” Just five years later the hurricane of 1900 devastated Galveston Island, killing around 8,000 people.

On April 7, 1924 Time Magazine featured an article titled “Brownies” which related the guidance Stilwell received from his nightly visitors. Other authorities at the time, including Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, believed Stilwell might truly have been psychic. I even located for auction a copy of one of Doyle’s books which was inscribed: "Yours in the great cause of Spirit-/Arthur Conan Doyle,/May, 31/22”

So there you have it… a crash-course in Trivia from Olivia. If you’re interested in checking out my books, you can get most of the series starters free. Just check them out on my website www.olivia-hardin.com.

And if you sign up for my Newsletter you’ll get a FREE ebook too.

#Historical Chapter Six - Loving the Enemy

Isaack had spent years hiding out in barns and outbuildings with these men, but now everything was different.  In the beginning, they were all a group of fresh-face, eager, idealistic men with some sense of vitality, with the exception of Isaack, who had only wanted to die. But now, they were older, and they were excited for something besides the next fight.  Isaack could admit he felt something new in the air, and he only had Emily to blame for it.

No longer were they weary of fighting, and gearing up for yet another battle.  Now they were not only rested and fed, but the war was over, and home was on the horizon for most of them.  There was a positivity most of them hadn’t felt before, and it showed in their attitudes.

They’d come to the Evans’ farm a rag-tag bunch of ill soldiers, and five had died, never to see home and family again.  Of the rest, eight had gone home, leaving seven soldiers behind.  As the oldest of the bunch, Potter wasn’t anxious to make the trek.  Isaack sensed he was waiting for Spring, when the cross-country trip wouldn’t be as arduous, but Spring was months away, and it wasn’t likely the Evans farm would be as hospitable the longer they were there.  Wiggins waited only for the rains to stop, so he could leave.  Saul didn’t speak much at all, and Isaack hadn’t pressed the man, so he had no idea of his plans.  Nathan, Abe, and Breck and their beady gazes only wanted to stay to mooch off the women, and that rankled Isaack.  He would be here as long as they were, whether he was welcome or not.

He didn’t trust the ranking officer of this group any farther than he could toss the man.

When Emily came bustling inside the barn, shaking the rain off her skirts, Isaack’s gaze snapped to her, along with every other man in the structure, with the exception of Saul, who snored in the corner. 

Clenching his fists at his side, Isaack tried to ignore Breck’s bright smile, shining with transparency.  He’d known men like Breck before the war, boys with more money than they knew what to do with, living off their father’s name.  Isaack had no doubt Breck’s commission was purchased from the governor of Massachusetts, where his father had made his fortune off the war.  The only reason they’d fought the last damn battle after the hellacious war was over was because Breck, the new commander of their regiment, hadn’t seen any action.  If he’d enlisted, like any other regular man, he’d have seen more than his share.  Breck had known the war was over when they’d fought at Palmito Ranch, but he needed to go home to tell his family about the great battle he’d fought.  And of course, that was the battle they’d lost. 

Here, Breck was constantly shoving his “cultured” ways at the women whose farm they’d invaded.  It made Isaack’s stomach curdle.  Miss Emily, for her part, was oblivious, thank the Lord, and seemed immune to his charms.

“Ah, Miss Emily!”  Breck’s unhampered enthusiasm was foreign in the smelly, dank, dark barn.  Isaack’s teeth gritted together at the mere sound of Breck’s voice.  “Come to see if we’ve floated away?”

“And to bring supper,” Emily responded brightly, her eyes sweeping over the men, landing at last on Isaack.  His stomach dropped every time she looked at him and he didn’t quite understand why.

Her wide brown eyes were the color of the richest mahogany, and her hair the color of spun gold with highlights of pale silk.  She was tiny and trim, but exuded a strength that belied her stature.  Freckles spread across her face from exposure to the sun like any hard working woman, but her smile was soft.  And when she smiled, her face lit up like a child of the sun.  Isaack would treasure his first waking memory in her barn, his fever-addled brain clutching to that smile like a life-line he’d long ago discarded.

Emily carried a pot of beans to the men, and Potter piped up, one of the only men there with legitimate manners.  “You don’t have to cook for us.  We’ve been getting by for a while now, it won’t hurt us to get by a little longer.”  Isaack kept his eyes down as Potter spoke, afraid if he watched her, he would say something to draw her attention.  He had no idea what it was about this woman that awoke his senses, but it frightened him.  He’d said goodbye to life a long time ago, and now was not the time to find a renewed sense of purpose.

“I know that.  But it just doesn’t seem right.  You are all welcome to stay, and as long as you like our cooking and keep up with the chores, feel free to eat,” she ended with a nervous laugh, and even though her words sounded false, Isaack knew she still had a warm smile gracing her features.  But he wouldn’t look at her face, choosing instead to watch her skirts, just shorter than her ankles.  Vaguely, he wondered if that was a practical thing, to keep her skirts from dragging, or if she couldn’t afford new material for longer dresses?  Or was that even the fashion now?  It had been too long since women’s fashion was even on his mind.

She puttered around the space, straightening and chatting, all while Isaack watched her from the corner of his eyes.  He never looked straight at her, not since the funeral of her brother.  She was too blinding, and something in her eyes spoke of a vulnerability he yearned to soothe.  Isaack longed to take care of her, to buy her the food to feed her family, to yank her out of the fields with all the hard work in the sun, to put fine clothes on her back.

“Isaack?  Do you need anything?”  His head snapped up at her words, and she looked squarely at him, not an ounce of fear in her eyes.  She flushed bright red as he shook his head, unable to look away from the fiery blush on her cheeks.  She was close enough to talk without the rest hearing, and he heard her murmur, “Just let me know, okay?”

Her hair was coming out of her braid in wisps around her face, and he longed to tuck the stray pieces behind her ear, to smooth it back, to cup her face in his hands. 

The fiery need inside him had to be squelched.  There was something secret about her, and he knew if he could ever let go of his own demons, her secrets might burn him anyway. 

Ducking her head, she continued with her straightening of their space, as if they were her family to take care of.  Guilt that she was caring for them instead of her own fired in his belly, and Isaack resolved to do more to keep her out of here. 

When she’d gone, her absence in the barn a tangible entity, Abe spit a stream of tobacco into the dirt at his feet.  “What I wouldn’t give for an hour with her in the hay loft.”

Isaack stood, fists clenched, and Abe laughed.  Nathan spoke up, changing the subject.  Breck watched Isaack under lowered lids, understanding passing unspoken between them.  Isaack would kill Abe, if Breck didn’t get his subordinate under control.

“Why do you suppose they haven’t kicked us out yet?” Nathan was planning on leaving soon, he’d been pretty vocal about it.  Isaack had wondered the same, but also knew Rachel Evans had opened their farm up to the soldiers without Emily’s approval.  The matriarch had something up her sleeve, was using them for something, but he didn’t know exactly what.  It didn’t seem nefarious, so he was willing to oblige.  They’d saved his life, such as it was, and for some reason he was thankful.

Abe made a rude gesture that Isaack grunted at, but Breck responded up with, “I suppose they’re waiting until their men come home and then they will turn us out.  There’s something comforting about having a man around, I’ve heard, and I’m willing to oblige.”

Isaack had a feeling Breck was waiting for news of a man not coming home, and he’d whisk Emily away, wooing her with promises of northern states and money.  When Abe started talking about lewd ways to make them want him to stay, Isaack stood and left.

He needed some air.

Truth was, he wanted to woo Emily to him, with whatever promises would appeal to her.  And he would keep every damn one of them.  That was the scary part.  He would do almost anything for this woman.  And she didn’t even want him here.  He didn’t deserve her.  He’d already had everything, and lost it.  He certainly hadn’t done enough in his short life to deserve two lifetimes of happiness.

Her murmured words in the barn, meant for his ears only, made him burn with need.  He had to get her out of his head.

Besides, he knew if something happened to Emily like had happened to Maria, he would be utterly finished with life.  There was absolutely nothing on this earth that could hold him.

Isaack walked out of the shelter of the barn into the yard, where the rain still fell.  Turning his face up to it, he let the cleansing drops fall on his skin, cooling the overheated emotions raging inside.

He hadn’t thought of romantic entanglements since his beloved Maria had died—hadn’t wanted to.  He’d enlisted as soon as War broke out, selling his interests in the shipping business he had started with his friend, Albert.  Albert had tried to keep him abreast of things, letting him know he could buy back in whenever he was ready to, but Isaack had been too intent on killing himself—taking the dangerous scouting missions, putting himself on the front lines, volunteering for every risky endeavor put in his path.

Nothing worked.  He was still here.  Standing in the rain.  Willing it to cleanse him of his sins.

Thinking of the woman who wasn’t his wife.

“Isaack?”  Mrs. Evans’s voice broke him out of his haze of self-deprecation and he jerked to see her sitting on the porch, sheltered from the rain, working on mending.  “Whatever are you doing?  Standing in the rain?”  She patted the rocking chair next to her, the one sitting in front of the window that showed Emily sitting on the floor with her sisters and a small slate board, presumably working on letters.

If he sat there, he’d be able to watch Emily smile, and he wasn’t sure how he felt about that.

Grudgingly, he walked up the steps and sat on the porch with Mrs. Evans.  He couldn’t be rude to the woman who had opened his home to him, fed him, healed him.  Not even if it meant he had to watch the woman who’d become the focus of an infatuation.

Taking off his hat, he clutched it to his chest.  “Mrs. Evans.”  He acknowledged, as he sat.

She worked on her mending in a heavy silence for a while, and Isaack let her, knowing she had something on her mind.  She was a woman whose every move served a purpose, this he knew just from working on her farm.  If she invited him up here, she had a reason for it.

“You’re a quiet sort, aren’t you?”  She finally broke the silence.

“Yes, ma’am.  I don’t see much point in speaking unless it’s necessary.” 

She looked at him squarely, as if gauging his honesty, and he looked back, unabashed.  He didn’t have anything to hide from this woman.  She had something about her he liked, trusted.  Maybe it was the fact she was from up North somewhere, and he considered her a kindred spirit.  Her roots were northern, but she’d settled here in the wild Texas Pine forests, finding a home among other kindred spirits.  There was something symbolic about the razing of the land to cultivate it.

He longed for something like that.  To clear out his insides and start fresh.

That thought brought him up short.  Did he really?  Looking out around him, he saw the corn fields, the barn, and beyond that, the wooded area that masked the creek and the town beyond.

Yes.  Yes, he did long for it.  A home in the wilderness spoke the untamed within him.

“I’ve got a favor to ask of you, Isaack,” Rachel began, giving her chair a push with her feet to send it rocking gently.

“Anything, ma’am.”  After all the food they’d eaten from her children’s mouths, he’d go inside right now and scrub her floors if that’s what she wanted.

She was quiet another moment before the woman took a deep breath.  “I want you to watch out for my girls.  I don’t trust all the other men.  Some of them, yes.  All of them, no.  And I trust you the most, for some reason.”  His chest swelled at the compliment, and his eyes cut to the window, where he could see her girls, still studying on the floor.  Emily leaned over Irene, helping her with the chalk and slate, while Louise worked on something on her own.  At Emily’s indulgent smile to her sister, Isaack felt his own face crack into a smile.

“I would be honored, Mrs. Evans.  Your trust is a weighty responsibility.”

She leaned her head back, and the lines on her face softened slightly with the gesture as she continued rocking.  “I haven’t told the girls this, but I’m not sure our men will be back.  At this time, I’m hanging on purely for them.  This farm is theirs, and all the work done on it is for them.  I can’t just give it to the bank.”

“Understood, ma’am.”

The rain let up a bit, slowing to a drizzle.  Combined with the last four days, it was probably almost ten inches of rain on the crops.  It was out of their hands, and Isaack knew everyone was worried the corn would get wet and rot on the stalk, ruining the crops.  His gaze travelled over the neatly sown rows of green stalks with golden hair, looking for all the world like ladies in waiting, dressed in green.

The fate of these women lay in the hands of those innocent rows, waving in the storm.

Mrs. Evans shoulders were weighted with the responsibility of taking care of her family with her husband gone.  He longed to know more, how had she managed, whether there were sons off somewhere, if Emily was, in fact, married, or had she just said that to add an extra layer of protection to the already vulnerable females?  And they’d already lost a son, were there others?

The unanswered questions were heavy on his heart, heavier than the rain coming down heavily again.  Twisting his hat in his hands, he rose to leave.

“I’ll make sure the girls stay safe, Mrs. Evans.”

Taking his leave, he walked down the steps of the porch, hoping like hell he could keep his heart safe in the process.