Excerpt

Taken from Chapter One:

Chapter One

A trickle of sweat slid down the observer’s brow as the Georgia sun burned white against the late-summer sky. His horse stamped irritably at a yellow fly, and the young man lifted his spyglass again, adjusting the focus with his right hand. His left was wrapped in a soiled bandage, the cloth frayed and darkened from use. The farmstead lay less than a thousand yards distant—far enough for him to remain hidden among the pines, yet close enough to watch every movement of the gathering below.

He still wore Confederate gray, though his trousers were tattered and loose, held up by a pair of worn suspenders. A kepi sat low on his head. Barely twenty, his patchy beard and faint mustache betrayed his youth, but his eyes held the weary hollowness of a man who had seen far too much of war.

He watched in silence as the small celebration unfolded at the farm. His gaze drifted from one girl to another, lingering long enough for each image to settle like a pressed flower between the pages of his mind.

At length, he lowered the spyglass, slipping it into its case before wiping the sweat from his face with the back of his unbandaged hand. Another day, he thought. I will wait another day. No sense in spoiling their party. Giving his horse a quiet nudge, he turned away from the scene and rode back into the cover of the woods.

Old Raford Jones wheezed out something that faintly resembled The Bridal Chorus on his mouth organ once the couple had spoken their “I do’s,” and the guests surged toward the long feast table set beneath the oak. Abigale lingered behind, not wanting to appear overeager for the food—and not wanting to lose sight of the guests. Mostly Ben Hopkins.

Not that Ben was much to look at, but he was the only young man present anywhere near her age.

Ben had been eyeing her, too. All through the ceremony, she had felt his glances brushing against her like fingertips, and each time she dared look back, he snapped his gaze away with a snicker, as though embarrassed to be caught. But the moment the call went out for folks to line up for food, Ben forgot her entirely and muscled his way to the front, ending up second in line behind the bride and groom.

The wedding guests crowded around the feast table, the air thick with laughter, clattering dishes, and the warm scent of fried chicken and sweet bread. Abigale smoothed her dress, drew a steadying breath, and moved through the gathering toward her father. Angus McKinley stood a little apart from the others, leaning heavily on his cane while pretending to study the spread of food rather than the people.

“Pa,” Abigale said softly as she came up beside him.

Angus glanced her way and offered a smile—small but warm, like a lamp burning low. “Your sister made a fine bride,” he said. “Grace always did have a good head on her shoulders.”

“Yes, she did.” Abigale hesitated, then pressed on. “Pa, have you spoken to James again? About staying? Even for a short while?”

Angus shifted his weight and the cane sank into the soft earth. “I’ve spoken with him, darlin’. Twice now.” His voice dropped, meant only for her. “But James is set on leaving. Says they need to be in South Carolina before the week’s out.”

Abigale’s shoulders stiffened. “So soon?”

“He’s got the railroad work waiting in Lexington. Claims they’ll lose their place if he delays.” Angus let out a slow breath and lifted his gaze toward the newlyweds, who were laughing with guests near the table. “He means well. Wants to take care of your sister proper.”

“But what about taking care of us?” The words escaped before she could soften them.

Angus’s brows drew together in gentle reproach. “We’ll manage until Jesse gets home.”

Abigale looked down at her hands. “If Jesse comes home.”

“He will.” Angus said it firmly, though the flicker of doubt in his eyes betrayed him. “And we won’t be alone. Rufus is stayin’ on. Told me so this morning.”

Abigale’s worry only deepened. “Pa, Rufus is near seventy. His back hurts him somethin’ awful. He shouldn’t be doing chores meant for two young men.”

Angus tapped his cane twice, the gesture more thoughtful than impatient. “He won’t be workin’ himself to the bone. Just helpin’ us keep things steady. That’s all we need for now.”

“But what if—”

“Abigale.” Angus placed a calloused hand over hers. The weight of it was both reassuring and heartbreakingly frail. “We’ve weathered worse than a few weeks alone. Your brother will return, and until then, you and I will keep this farm together.”

She wanted to believe him. Wanted to trust the quiet strength in his voice. But her gaze drifted to Grace and James—laughing, hopeful, preparing to leave—and then to the distant treeline where the shadows settled thick and watchful.

Something in her heart whispered that change was coming faster than any of them were ready for.

The murmur of conversation swelled as more guests pressed in around the long table, eager for a share of the wedding feast. Children raced between the adults’ legs, snatching biscuits when they thought no one was looking. The older women pretended not to notice, though several hid smiles behind their handkerchiefs.

Old Raford Jones, having stowed his mouth organ, busied himself filling a plate so high it teetered. “A weddin’ ain’t a weddin’ if a man don’t eat enough to regret it,” he declared to anyone listening. “And I plan on regrettin’ plenty.”

Mrs. Kline, the town seamstress and self-appointed guardian of propriety, clicked her tongue. “Raford Jones, you’ll be regrettin’ it right quick if you collapse in front of the bride.” But her voice softened as she looked toward Grace in her modest gown. “Lord bless the girl. She’s glowin’.”

Raford winked. “She oughta be glowin’—she got herself a husband who can swing a hammer straight.”

Further down the table, Ben Hopkins—mouth full of cornbread—attempted to flirt with a pair of cousins visiting from Macon. He ran a hand through his hair, puffed out his chest, and grinned wide enough to show the chip in his front tooth.

“You ladies ever seen a hog wrestled clean to the ground?” he asked proudly.

One girl raised an eyebrow. “Not recently.”

“Well, I done it twice,” Ben boasted, spraying a few crumbs for emphasis.

Abigale caught the exchange as she and Angus began moving toward the table. She shook her head slightly. “That boy’s head is full of sawdust.”

Angus chuckled. “Maybe so. But sawdust burns bright if you spark it right.”

“Pa,” Abigale sighed, though a reluctant smile tugged at her lips.

On the other side of the table, Grace’s younger friends were fussing over the bride, lifting her lace hem and spinning her about in a burst of giggles.

“You look like you stepped straight out of a storybook,” one said.

“More like she stepped out of a washtub,” another teased. “Grace, you worked so hard this mornin’ I thought you’d faint right in front of the preacher.”

Grace laughed, blush rising in her cheeks. “Well, I didn’t faint, and I got myself married, didn’t I?”

James, standing beside her, slipped an arm around her waist, pride warming his features. “You sure did.”

Meanwhile, Mr. Darby, a neighbor whose hearing had grown worse with age, kept shouting blessings that could be heard clean across the yard.

“THE GOOD LORD WILL GIVE YOU TWELVE CHILDREN!” he bellowed.

Grace nearly choked. James looked like he might faint after all.

A ripple of laughter spread through the guests, though Mrs. Kline clutched her chest as if the mere idea were indecent.

Through it all, Abigale watched with a stirring mix of joy and unease—joy for her sister’s happiness, unease for the uncertain days stretching ahead. The celebration around her was lively, full of life and promise, yet she could not ignore the hollow ache of something missing… or something approaching.

As the afternoon stretched toward evening, the heat softened and long amber shadows reached across the yard. One by one, the guests began taking their leave, lingering only long enough for one last slice of pie, a final blessing, or a farewell embrace.

Mrs. Kline wrapped her shawl tight around her narrow shoulders. “Grace, dear, you write the moment you settle in Lexington,” she instructed, wagging a finger as though the bride were still a child. “And you, James—mind you don’t let any harm come to her. Since her ma passed, we’ve all had a hand in raising her.”

“Yes ma’am,” James replied dutifully, though his eyes danced with amusement.

Raford Jones tipped his hat. “I’ll be back by morning to fetch them leftover biscuits,” he announced. “Don’t you dare feed ’em to the hogs.”

“You ate half the table today, Raford,” Angus chuckled. “If you eat the other half tomorrow, we’ll have to roll you home.”

“Wouldn’t be the first time!” Raford cackled as he shuffled toward his wagon.

A pair of wagons creaked down the road, wheels grinding against the dirt as families clambered aboard. Children waved from high perches, some clutching flowers pilfered from Grace’s bouquet when she wasn’t looking. Dogs barked and raced after them for several yards before giving up and trotting back.

Ben Hopkins—hat pushed back, cheeks flushed from the day—approached Abigale with what he must have imagined was a dashing grin.

“Fine weddin’, isn’t it?” he asked, rocking back on his heels. “Reckon the next one oughta be yours.”

Abigale forced a polite smile. “Reckon you oughta go help your mama pack up that tablecloth before she comes after you.”

Ben’s grin collapsed. “Oh. Yeah. Right.” He hurried away, tripping once, recovering poorly, and deciding it best not to look back.

Grace, now glowing with the soft exhaustion of a bride who’d smiled too long, made her rounds offering hugs and thanks. The girls from Macon embraced her fiercely, promising to visit before she and James left for South Carolina.

“Write us when the train lines open,” one urged.

“I will,” Grace laughed. “I’ll send a postcard if they ever teach me how.”

James loaded the last of their gifts—bundles wrapped in quilts, a few pans, a Bible from the preacher—into a small wagon hitched to a borrowed mule. He clasped Angus’s hand, turning serious for a moment.

“Thank you for trusting me with Grace,” he said quietly.

Angus squeezed back. “Take care of her, son. That’s all I ask.”

When most of the company had gone, the yard fell into a gentler hush. The trampled grass, the overturned chairs, the scattered petals and crumbs gave the place a lived-in warmth, like the afterglow of a song.

Abigale stepped beside her father, watching the dusty road where the last wagon disappeared over a low rise.

“It’s strange,” she murmured. “A full yard one minute, empty the next.”

“Life’s full of comin’ and goin’,” Angus replied, leaning on his cane. “Folks pass through our lives same as travelers down that road.”

James finished securing the mule’s harness and the last bundle of gifts when Grace stepped up beside him, smoothing her dress as though doing so might slow the moment. The sun hovered low over the treetops, gilding her hair in soft gold. Abigale approached, her breath catching at the sight—her older sister, already half belonging to another life.

Grace turned at the sound of her steps. “Abby,” she whispered, voice trembling just a little. “I didn’t think it would feel this real until now.”

Abigale forced a smile. “Leaving home usually doesn’t, not until your feet are already on the road.”

Grace flung her arms around her, holding tight. Abigale clutched her in return, pressing her cheek to her sister’s temple. For a moment, neither spoke. The mule shifted and snorted, the harness jingling faintly in the quiet.

“You’re sure about all this?” Abigale murmured.

Grace pulled back, her eyes bright—not with sadness, but determination. “I am. James has work waiting, and Lexington’s rebuilding and growing. They say it’ll be a new beginning for folks willing to build it.” She cast a quick, soft look toward her husband. “And I want to be with him.”

Abigale nodded, but her throat tightened. “I just wish… you could stay a little longer. At least until—”

“I know.” Grace’s voice slipped gentle and sorrowful at the edges. “But Pa told me Jesse’s likely to come home any day.”

Abigale didn’t argue, though worry flickered across her face.

Grace’s hands tightened around hers. “And you’ll write me, won’t you? Every week? Let me know when Jesse returns. Perhaps I can come see him.”

“Every day if I have to,” Abigale said, blinking back the sting in her eyes. “Besides, James can’t build railroads if he’s too busy reading my letters to you.”

Grace laughed—a soft, trembling sound that made Abigale laugh with her. For a moment they simply stood together, the world quiet around them.

Behind them, Angus approached slowly, leaning heavily on his cane. He rested a hand on each girl’s shoulder.

“Time to let ’em go, Abigale,” he said gently. “Grace has her own life to build now.”

Grace turned and hugged him tightly. “Pa… thank you. For everything.”

Angus’s voice roughened. “Just be happy, darlin’. That’s all a father wants.”

James stepped closer, hat in hand. “We’ll send word once we reach Lexington,” he promised. “And if the railroad expands the way they expect, maybe it’ll bring the whole country back together sooner ’n we think.”

Angus nodded, though his eyes showed the years and losses of a man who’d learned not to trust promises made by war or men.

Grace took her place at James’s side as he helped her into the wagon. Abigale held her breath, memorizing the sight—her sister framed in the soft evening light, bonnet ribbons fluttering gently beneath her chin.

“Goodbye, Abby!” Grace called, lifting her hand.

Abigale waved, but the word stuck behind her heart.

James snapped the reins lightly, and the mule started forward. The wheels creaked, the wagon rolled, and little by little the newly married couple became part of the long, dusty road stretching toward South Carolina.

Abigale watched until the wagon was no more than a pale shape between the trees—watched even after it disappeared entirely, as though her gaze might hold her sister close across the miles.

A breeze stirred her hair.

Angus touched her arm. “Come on, darlin’. Let’s get the yard straightened.”

But Abigale didn’t move right away. Her eyes remained on the shadowed road, her heart caught between love and loss, between hope and an unease as to how they would continue.