Secret Lady by Beth Trissel

Author:Beth Trissel [Trissel, Beth]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: fiction, time travel, romance, adventure, mystery, the Civil War, Virginia, Mennonites, The Shenandoah Valley, The Burning, New Adult
Publisher: The Wild Rose Press, Inc.
Published: 2018-10-18T04:00:00+00:00

Chapter Eleven

What in blazes was Jack to do? Seething with fury and frustration, he wheeled Buck around. The anxious assembly circling the wounded soldiers parted to allow him and Evie through. There was nothing here for these people but despair. Their county seat was about to be overrun. Sheridan would likely make his headquarters in Harrisonburg, blast him.

Jack hadn’t expected to be engulfed by anger at the trio’s confirmation of Evie’s warning, but he was. She somberly followed him on the mare as they navigated streets filling with loaded wagons and hurried civilians. Some folk were getting away while they still could. If they had a carriage and horses, all the better. Those who remained in town would barricade themselves in their homes, and secret food and possessions. Good luck to them, poor wretches.

Damn it all. He had to exert the utmost control not to swear the vilest oaths he could concoct. Not fit for a lady’s ears.

Gnashing his teeth would do nothing to remedy the abominable situation, and only cause Evie further distress. But oh, how it goaded him to hear of Sheridan’s imminent arrival from the mouths of those who had battled to keep the monster out. How many men had fallen in the attempt he shuddered to think. Guilt stung him for not having fought by their side, while part of him regretted ever having served in the Confederacy in the first place.

He defined torn. This only increased his vexation.

They left the dismayed townsfolk behind and Evie drew her mare alongside him and Buck. Together, they trotted the horses up and down the hilly road back the way they had come. The creak of saddles and tread of hooves accompanied their strained journey.

Should he take up arms? His valley was coming under furious attack, and defenders were few. The agonizing quandary raked his troubled mind with each rise and fall of his mount. He had choices, none of them good.

She slid anxious glances at him, as if trying to gauge his mood: black as a moonless sky with no stars. He didn’t trust himself to speak and kept his mouth clamped shut.

Finally, she turned toward him, the green feather on her black hat ruffling in the wind, her face drawn with worry. “I can’t bear to think of the soldiers burning our home.”

Pain ricocheted through him. “It’s not ours,” he reminded her and himself, annoyed that she had him thinking of the farm in such intimate terms.

The corners of her mouth turned down. “You know what I mean.”

He did. Acutely. “I have a cabin, out of the reach of the coming flames. The sensible thing would be to go there.”

Shock widened her blue-gray eyes, smudged with fatigue. “We can’t abandon the Wengers, or the house. It’s our portal to the future.”

He forced himself to reply with restraint. “I agree with giving them every support, but you must forgive my difficulty in grasping your assertion. Tell me again what phenomenon you are anticipating?”

“Grandma G. calls it a warble, when the future and past shift back and forth, opening a door between the two.

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