In the Morning Sun (Hearts at War Book 2) Read online

Madeline ignored her friend and fellow missionary, Sherry Thomas, and proceeded to slip the small Derringer into the holster strapped around her boot ankle.

  Teresa Miller snickered. “Someone forgot to tell her the war’s over.”

  Madeline snapped her gaze over at the other woman. “If you think that, then you’re a fool. We’re not safe as colored people and we’re especially not safe as colored women. Until that day comes, the war will never be over.”

  Teresa rolled her big, chocolate-brown eyes—an action that left Madeline irritated on enough occasions to make her want to smack the other woman just to see how far back her eyes could roll.

  “Don’t start up again, Militant Madeline, or I’ll have Oliver make you ride outside the stagecoach the rest of the way to Dunesville.”

  Madeline let her lips stretch into a smile that held no humor or warmth. Their travel from Philadelphia had been long and she about had it with the infuriating woman.

  “That’s fine by me, Teresa. Your brother keeps better company and it’ll save me from having to suffer through your endless chatter.”

  Teresa sucked in a sharp breath of outrage and as usual, Sherry jumped in to intervene.

  “Now, now ladies. It’s been a long ride to Nebraska. We’re almost to Dunesville and you two need to muster up some of that Philly charm and start getting along. At least through the end of our contracts. Those poor folks out there don’t need to suffer through six months of your bickering. Remember, what we’re here to do is bigger than your petty squabbles.”

  Sherry was right.

  Madeline couldn’t let her irritation with sassy-mouth Teresa Miller turn her into a petty child. She had volunteered to join the missionary so that she could help educate the freedmen of one of the largest Negro communities in Nebraska, not argue sense into Teresa. Now that the old territory had been admitted into the Union as the thirty-seventh state, it was critical that every able-bodied man cast their vote for this election—including the Negro men. And if that meant linking arms with all her sisters to make that happen, Madeline would set aside her differences long enough to do so.

  But before Madeline could apologize, Teresa slapped on her travel bonnet.

  “Oh, quit your meddling, Saint Sherry.” With those crisp words, Teresa stormed out of the room they had all shared for the night.

  Madeline turned to Sherry. “I swear that woman exists just to annoy me. I don’t know how you put up with her.”

  “I’ve known her longer than you.”

  “Then you really are a saint.”

  Sherry giggled. “She’s really not all that bad.”

  That remained to be seen. Madeline had only met Sherry last year, after joining the American Missionary Association in Philadelphia, but they had become fast friends—something that almost never happened for Madeline. But where Sherry was pleasant, genuine, and passionate about their cause, Teresa was uppity, arrogant, and praise-seeking.

  And what are you?

  Wasn’t she also here for her own self-serving reasons?

  Madeline pushed the uncomfortable thought aside and pinned up the soft coils of her hair atop her head. She took one last look in the mirror, pleased with the way the simple blue gown concealed everything she wanted it to hide, including the remaining bits of fear and anxiety that had travelled with her from Philadelphia.

  Her decision to come to Dunesville to teach had not been an impulsive one. The association had been transparent about the dangers the previous instructors had faced by those who had seen their presence as an insult to their bigoted beliefs that Negroes ought to remain uneducated, uninformed, and disinterested in their country’s government. She had read about the savagery that had befallen men of color in certain parts of the country who presented any interest in exercising their right to vote, but that had not deterred Madeline from signing on to help with the effort.

  As much as she longed for the day when women would be granted those same rights, she couldn’t continue to sit idly by, listening to those injustices. It was that same anger and disgust that had led her here, farther west then she had ever been, and she could only hope she could do her part for the freedmen of Dunesville. Maybe then she would find the inner peace that had eluded her for the past two years.

  With a wary sigh, Madeline grabbed her small travel bag and started toward the door. “I’ll meet you downstairs, Sherry. I need to stop by the postal office before we start off again.”

  “You’re not having breakfast?”

  “I’m not particularly hungry this morning.” And her nerves were strung too tight for her to try and force down any food. “I won’t be long.”

  Madeline slipped out of the room, her mind already on her next and final task before she, Sherry, and Teresa were dropped off in Dunesville.

  Clutching her valise in one hand and the long letter she had written to her sister in another, she made her way down the busy streets and toward the small postal office. It had taken her about three drafts before she had been satisfied with the final letter.

  Her final goodbye letter.

  Madeline couldn’t anticipate how her sister would take the correspondence but if she had to guess, she would assume shock first followed by immense anger. The last thing Madeline wanted to do was anger her only living relative, but the past two years in Philadelphia under her sister’s charge had been unbearable. She could no longer stand to be in a city that reminded her so much of what she had lost—nor could she take any more of Elaine’s pitying looks. The kind that suggested Madeline would never amount to more than being an unclean and unhappy spinster.

  But she was much more than that.

  Now that she was of age to access the small inheritance her father had set aside for her, Madeline planned to start a new life for herself elsewhere. Someplace she could be an asset and truly make a difference—and Dunesville made a great starting place.

  Madeline crossed the street and walked down a row of shops. Right before she entered the small postal office, a distinctly tall profile caught her attention. The man stepped out of the bank, his features hidden behind the brim of his hat but there was something oddly familiar about his wide shoulders and smooth, easy stride. He started across the street, his long-legged stride taking him further away from her, yet leaving behind a sense of recognition she couldn’t shake.

  For a moment, Madeline was held captivated as she was jerked five years into the past…

  “I don’t want you to go, Jimmy.”

  His expression softened. “I have to join, Maddie. The victory at Gettysburg was only the beginning. If we want an end to come to this rebellion, the Union needs more men to fight.”

  “But what of those who have been selected for conscription? The government will have the number of men they need to enlist.”

  “You’ve read of what’s happening in New York. Those riots are a big setback to our cause and drafting men to fight can’t be the only solution. I, for one, will not just sit and wait to be called to fight.”

  Madeline grabbed his hand and held it tight. “But you can do so much more for our cause here than in any battlefield. You don’t need to risk your life!”

  “I have a chance to do more than write recruitment bills and articles. Let me help the Union secure victory against the southern rebels and then you’ll see. Soon, everything we’ve fought hard for will finally be realized.”

  She swallowed hard, her next words barely a whisper. “And what if you die?”

  He brought her hand to his lips then gifted her with his signature smile. “You worry for naught, love. This war is close to coming to an end and you forget. I’m too stubborn to die.”

  And yet, he had.

  When will you stop being so foolish, Maddie? You need to let him go.

  The quiet reprimand pulled her out of her stupor and she quickly shook the memory away. Her silly heart and imaginative eyes needed to stop creating visions of him where there were none and accept the fact that her Jimmy was dead. Gone. And after eve
rything she had been through, she should have learned by now that pining for the dead was a waste of time.

  Turning on her heels, Madeline pushed open the post office door and stepped inside.

  James Blakemore stepped out of the bank, fifty dollars richer. It wasn’t much but what little he had managed to save from his paltry pension was now rolled up in his boot—and was just enough to see him back home.

  He crossed the busy street of the bustling Nebraska city, eager to get started on his long journey east, then north, and finally home. To Canada.

  His steps faltered, however, when a strange, warm tingle suddenly moved over him. It was the kind of sensation that came from the penetrating gaze of another. He knew how it felt to have eyes glued on him, and he tended to ignore it.

  But this time, it was different.

  Turning back, James quickly scanned the crowd for the gawker. There was no one. He caught the glimpse of wide blue skirts disappearing through the doors of the post office. For a moment, the soft sway of the woman’s hips brought back a familiarity that made his chest squeeze. James was tempted to go after the lady, but luckily he came to his senses.

  It’s not her, you blind fool.

  With a small shake of his head, James continued down the street. That was the problem of having only one working eye—it kept him from seeing straight. He needed to stop deluding himself. It wasn’t her. It couldn’t be. His love was far away from here, far away from him.

  The last he had heard, the woman who should have been his wife had gone to marry some well-to-do miner in Montana. At first, the news had crushed him, but then James had come to accept it. He wasn’t the same man he had been when he’d left Philadelphia in hopes of putting an end to one of the greatest atrocities against humanity. He had fought for the Union and emancipation had been declared, but he was now damaged goods.

  What did he have to offer a fine woman like Madeline Asher?

  “Colonel!”

  James turned to find one of the young residents of the new Veteran’s House rushing toward him. At the earnestness in the young man’s stiff gait, James tensed.

  “Philip, what’s the matter?”

  James waited as the young private stopped to catch his breath. Philip Cooper was a resilient kid, having lost his ability to ever walk straight again during his short stint in the war. But that hadn’t stopped him from running the distance he had and James couldn’t help but admire that.

  “It’s Major Anderson, Colonel. He’s left the home, but no one’s willing to go out and look for him.”

  James cursed. “Does he have a weapon?”

  Philip nodded. “Someone said he stole a chef’s knife from the kitchen.”

  James cursed again. He couldn’t blame the other men or paid caregivers for keeping their distance. Major William Anderson could be extremely dangerous. With a knife, he was deadly.

  “Do you know which direction he went?”

  Philip pointed to the south of them. “I believe he went down to the river. He was shouting something about going to save you.”

  James pressed his lips in a tight line. When Will began rehashing his time in the prison camp, he was the most unpredictable.

  “Thanks, Philip. You did good.” He cuffed the young man on the shoulder. “Now head back to the house and make sure no one else runs off.”

  “Yes, sir!”

  Though the other men in the home weren’t as mentally fragile as his friend Will Anderson, it would give the young man something to do while James went to fetch his friend. Turning toward the direction Philip had pointed, James ran down toward the river.

  It had taken him quite a bit of convincing before the home would admit his friend. They had thought Will better suited for one of the veteran hospitals back east, but James knew those places were nothing more than dressed up asylums and the conditions would only do more harm than good.

  James wouldn’t discard his friend in such a place, as many families had done to those who had returned home after the war. Will had no close ties to his family, or anyone willing to take him in, yet a life in an asylum wasn’t a fate James could leave his friend to. Not after everything they had been through together. He would see to it that Will lived out the rest of his days in comfort.

  As he neared the riverbank, James kept himself vigilant. He couldn’t be sure what he would encounter when he got there, but he was careful not to make himself a target.

  It didn’t take long for James to spot his friend standing in the shallow edge of the river. Will had stripped out of his clothes and was slicing through the water with the long kitchen blade, muttering threats and curses to himself. James jerked off his boots, his hat following next, before he made his way toward his friend.

  “Major Anderson! Throw down your weapon. That’s an order.”

  It was a senseless order, since Will appeared more interested in carving answers from the water than following his command. But the goal was to either get Will to drop the blade or distract him enough so James could disarm him of it.

  “Those bastards got Jim,” Will muttered. “I’ve got to find him, and then make those bastards pay for what they did.”

  “No, you don’t, Will.” James stepped into the water but stopped when Will raised the knife toward him. “It’s me, brother. Jim. Your old friend. No one’s got me.”

  Will paused, assessing him with a shrewdness that hadn’t been in his bright blue eyes in a while. Then he shook his head wildly.

  “No, you’re not!” Will began pounding the side of his head. “Jim’s dead. I saw him die.”

  James glanced at the knife in his friend’s hand, coming dangerously close to his temple, and his gut twisted. Will could hurt himself—intentionally or not—and with the distance between them, James feared he would be too late to do a damn thing about it.

  “Will, look at me. Do I look dead to you? I got this funny looking eye patch but as you can see plain, I’m very much alive.”

  Will stared at him, recognition flashing across his flushed face. He lowered the knife and took a tentative step toward him.

  “Jim?”

  James nodded, keeping his eye on the blade. He held out his hand, urging his friend to hand it to him.

  “Yes, brother. It’s me. Now why don’t you give me that blade and we’ll get you back in your uniform.”

  These days, their uniform consisted of a pair of trousers, one shirt, and a jacket. With the constant fight with the government for adequate pension pay, they were lucky to have those simple provisions.

  Will stared down at James’ outstretched hand, but instead of taking it, he brought the knife down and slashed it across his palm.

  “Liar!”

  James jerked back from the intense pain, biting back a vicious curse. Will raised the knife again but this time, James wasn’t caught off guard. Grabbing his friend’s wrist, he twisted it then slammed his fist against his jaw. Will collapsed with a low grunt. Before he could fall into the river, James caught him and hoisted him over his shoulder.

  He carried his unconscious friend to a grassy patch of land and placed him down before he too collapsed beside him. James stared up at the clear sky, waiting for the rapid thudding in his heart to slow. He hated to admit defeat but this struggle between what he wanted for Will versus what was best for him was proving to be a difficult one.

  And it was a decision James was starting to realize he wasn’t the right person to make.

  Will wasn’t getting any better and it was time he considered other arrangements for his friend. Before Will seriously hurt himself—or someone else.

  As much as he hated it, James knew what he had to do.

  Taking in a deep breath, he shut his eyes against the early morning sun, letting the warm rays wash over him. Deep, dark-brown eyes and a pretty smile filled his mind and he smiled back at her. His Maddie.

  But the sweet smile he had held constant in his memory turned solemn as he recalled their last night together…

  “Maddi
e, what are you doing here?” James pulled her into his small apartment.

  “You’re leaving tomorrow, and I know I can’t change your mind, so…” She inhaled a shaky breath, her hands clasped before her. “I want to spend tonight with you.”

  There was an earnestness in her tone that made his heart ache and James reached for her. “Come here, Ladybug.” He took her hand in his, and his fingers brushed against something stiff. “What’s this?”

  Her shy smile only added to his curiosity.

  “I had this made for you.”

  James carefully took the small card from her outstretched hand and turned it over. Staring back at him was her dark, knowing gaze on her smooth, beautiful features. His heart warmed at the sight.

  “I have nothing to leave you, love.”

  She walked up to him and folded her arms around him. “That’s all right. Just write to me. Every chance you get.”

  And he had.

  As often as he could, he had sent her countless letters, along with a carte de visite when a photographer had been spotted on their camp. Unfortunately, however, her photo and the letters she had written him were now all lost to him, destroyed during the ambush on his regiment.

  But James could never forget the love that had shone in his Maddie’s eyes that night.

  She was the sunlight of his days, the delight of his dreams—and the anchor that had kept his mind from snapping the same way his friend’s had.

  Chapter Two

  “This will be your lodging, Miss Madeline.”

  She turned away from the tall, well-dressed community leader who would be their host and attendant while she, Sherry, and Teresa were in Dunesville. She surveyed the small, single room cabin and tried not to grimace.

  It’s only temporary, Madeline reminded herself. She had seen happier living quarters but this one would have to do. And the benefit was that she wouldn’t have to share the space.

  “Unfortunately, there was some flooding here recently, so it may not be pretty but it’s sturdy,” Eldridge Duncan said. “Reinforcements were added around the foundation of each place so no need to worry. Only a tornado could knock this place down.”