though, he completed her. And, up until last night, she could not imagine life without him.
The knot in the pit of her stomach tightened. She turned from the window and moved to the stove. She had responsibilities, none of which included watching him.
I am right to break the engagement. I thought I knew him but clearly I did not.
A pot of chicken soup was waiting to be heated. Julia planned to take a bowl up to her mother. She knew it would make her feel better.
She stirred the cold mixture then moved to the counter. She punched down a mound of rising dough then kneaded it carefully. She could hear the chop, chop, chop of Samuel's ax. She tried to ignore it. She slipped the dough into a waiting pan.
A few minutes later, the back door opened with a creak. Julia resisted the urge to turn around. She busied herself by wiping the flour from the table. She then washed her hands. From the corner of her eye she watched him.
Samuel carried in the wood for the kindling box. He quietly loaded the crate then moved to the stove. Julia started to object, ready to say she could light the fire herself. She turned to face him fully. Just one glimpse of his brown eyes brought a lump to her throat.
I promised to love him, she thought. I promised him forever.
She backed away and Samuel's attention returned to the stove. He stuffed it with kindling and day-old copiesof the local newspaper, The Baltimore Sun . He struck a match. The fire ignited and he then turned back to face her.
The lump in her throat grew bigger. Thank you, she knew she should say, instead out came, "Why are you here?"
Her words were sharp and accusatory but Samuel did not flinch. He simply looked at her, his eyes melting her hard stance.
"I think you know why," was all he said.
She swallowed hard and watched as he closed the burner lid then went to the pump to wash his hands. Julia held her breath, her emotions drifting through anger and remorse, respect and disdain.
Samuel dried his hands and rolled down his shirtsleeves. When he turned toward her she quickly busied herself at the table with another pile of dough.
"Julia, we need to talk."
She punched down the soft, sticky mound. "What is there to discuss? Did I not make it clear that I wish to sever our engagement?"
"You made that perfectly clear last night."
Last night. Pain gripped her heart. Just thinking of Edward's departure, of the arguing that had taken place, brought tears to her eyes.
"Then you understand," she said.
"I understand that you are upset," he said, "and rightfully so. You are worried about your brother." He paused. "For some reason you are taking it out on me."
Her spine stiffened. She turned and glared at him. "Some reason?"
"Julia, I have nothing to do with the soldiers occupying the city or with Edward's enlistment."
"That's right. You don't. You haven't done a thing tostop it. You abandoned Edward and the rest of the volunteers when they needed your help."
"What is it that you wish me to do?" he asked. "Shall I ride to Virginia tonight and join Edward? Would a saber and an officer's commission truly make you happy?"
Emotions tore through her. If he joined Edward, then yes, she believed she would have a measure of peace. Samuel could look after him. But experience told her otherwise.
He cannot be trusted. He is not a man of his word.
"It is far too late for that, Samuel," she said. She was doing her best to keep her voice steady, in control. It would do no good to argue with him. She had already said everything that needed to be said. He had made his decision. She had made hers.
"
Sam watched her in silence for a few moments. Her face showed fatigue. More than likely she had slept just as little as he. He imagined that after his departure she had spent the long night pleading with Edward not to go south.
Even still, she
The knot in the pit of her stomach tightened. She turned from the window and moved to the stove. She had responsibilities, none of which included watching him.
I am right to break the engagement. I thought I knew him but clearly I did not.
A pot of chicken soup was waiting to be heated. Julia planned to take a bowl up to her mother. She knew it would make her feel better.
She stirred the cold mixture then moved to the counter. She punched down a mound of rising dough then kneaded it carefully. She could hear the chop, chop, chop of Samuel's ax. She tried to ignore it. She slipped the dough into a waiting pan.
A few minutes later, the back door opened with a creak. Julia resisted the urge to turn around. She busied herself by wiping the flour from the table. She then washed her hands. From the corner of her eye she watched him.
Samuel carried in the wood for the kindling box. He quietly loaded the crate then moved to the stove. Julia started to object, ready to say she could light the fire herself. She turned to face him fully. Just one glimpse of his brown eyes brought a lump to her throat.
I promised to love him, she thought. I promised him forever.
She backed away and Samuel's attention returned to the stove. He stuffed it with kindling and day-old copiesof the local newspaper, The Baltimore Sun . He struck a match. The fire ignited and he then turned back to face her.
The lump in her throat grew bigger. Thank you, she knew she should say, instead out came, "Why are you here?"
Her words were sharp and accusatory but Samuel did not flinch. He simply looked at her, his eyes melting her hard stance.
"I think you know why," was all he said.
She swallowed hard and watched as he closed the burner lid then went to the pump to wash his hands. Julia held her breath, her emotions drifting through anger and remorse, respect and disdain.
Samuel dried his hands and rolled down his shirtsleeves. When he turned toward her she quickly busied herself at the table with another pile of dough.
"Julia, we need to talk."
She punched down the soft, sticky mound. "What is there to discuss? Did I not make it clear that I wish to sever our engagement?"
"You made that perfectly clear last night."
Last night. Pain gripped her heart. Just thinking of Edward's departure, of the arguing that had taken place, brought tears to her eyes.
"Then you understand," she said.
"I understand that you are upset," he said, "and rightfully so. You are worried about your brother." He paused. "For some reason you are taking it out on me."
Her spine stiffened. She turned and glared at him. "Some reason?"
"Julia, I have nothing to do with the soldiers occupying the city or with Edward's enlistment."
"That's right. You don't. You haven't done a thing tostop it. You abandoned Edward and the rest of the volunteers when they needed your help."
"What is it that you wish me to do?" he asked. "Shall I ride to Virginia tonight and join Edward? Would a saber and an officer's commission truly make you happy?"
Emotions tore through her. If he joined Edward, then yes, she believed she would have a measure of peace. Samuel could look after him. But experience told her otherwise.
He cannot be trusted. He is not a man of his word.
"It is far too late for that, Samuel," she said. She was doing her best to keep her voice steady, in control. It would do no good to argue with him. She had already said everything that needed to be said. He had made his decision. She had made hers.
"
Sam watched her in silence for a few moments. Her face showed fatigue. More than likely she had slept just as little as he. He imagined that after his departure she had spent the long night pleading with Edward not to go south.
Even still, she
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