In a Stranger's Arms by Deborah Hale Page A

went far deeper than the demands of his promise. That shook him.
    Caddie looked from the spilled water to Manning’s face, her brow puckered in annoyance. “No need to get so riled up. Of course Lon hasn’t hurt the children... except by trying to prevent us earning a living.”
    “How’s he doing that?” Unnerved by the relief that swamped him, Manning fetched the mop and swiped it over the floor.
    Caddie emptied the remaining water into a pair of pots on the stove. “By going around to the neighbors and spreading all kinds of stories about us. Making folks think it’s their patriotic Southern duty not to have any dealings with a Yankee-owned sawmill.”
    She sat down at the table and began breaking a mess of early green beans into smaller pieces for the cooking pot.
    Manning leaned on his mop. “Sounds like you and Varina didn’t have a very pleasant visit this afternoon.”
    He’d worried that Caddie might not receive too warm a welcome. Lon’s gossip spreading could only have made it worse.
    Silence fell in the kitchen, punctured by the juicy snap of the beans and the soft thud of them dropping into the pot. Caddie kept her eyes cast down, as if the mindless chore demanded her total concentration.
    It looked like his plan to make life easier for the Marshes had misfired badly. “I’m sorry if I’ve made you and the children outcasts in the community.”
    “It’s not your fault.” Her voice sounded as though it had squeezed out of a tight opening. “I hate to think what a pass we’d be in by now if you hadn’t come along. Some folks just have a knack of saying the most hurtful thing a body can hear. Unfortunately, old Mrs. Pratt has always been one of them. I don’t know what possessed me to call on her first off.”
    Though reason cautioned him to keep his distance, Manning propped his mop against the doorjamb and took a step toward Caddie. “What did she say that was so hurtful?” He didn’t really expect Caddie to answer, but he had to ask just the same. It caught him by surprise when she let out a shuddering sigh and began to speak.
    “Nothing I don’t know in my heart to be true. That’s what makes it hurtful, I reckon. Nobody wants folks telling them the things they can’t bear to admit to themselves.”
    He understood far too well. Perhaps that was what dragged him another step closer to her. He sensed her reluctance to say any more, and he shared her obvious astonishment when something forced her to continue.
    “Mrs. Pratt says I’m selling my children’s birthright for a mess of Yankee pottage.”
    Manning winced. He knew how deep those words must have cut. She’d only agreed to marry him for the children’s sake. Now she was being denounced for harming them with her desperate sacrifice. Caddie had been right about Mrs. Pratt’s talent for striking at her opponent’s gravest vulnerability.
    A direct order from General Grant couldn’t have made Manning take one step closer. But when Caddie dashed the back of her hand across her eyes and swallowed a stillborn sob, his feet turned renegade, carrying him to her. Before reason could protest, he dropped to his knees beside her chair and gathered her into his arms.
    He didn’t tell her to hush, for some intuition warned him it would do her good to cry. He’d come to know her well enough to be certain she didn’t often allow herself the luxury of a moment’s weakness.
    Denouncing Lon Marsh or Mrs. Pratt probably wasn’t a good idea either. Caddie seemed to resent him speaking ill of any Southerner. Manning longed to croon some foolish endearment, but he didn’t know any. Nothing in his past life had taught him words like that.
    Not knowing what to say, he kept quiet. He just held Caddie in a firm but gentle embrace, willing mute sympathy to radiate from his heart. He kept expecting her to pull away from him at any second, but she didn’t. Not even after her sobs subsided to a sniffle now and then.
    As those seconds stretched into