corporal.”
He nodded. Strange, indeed.
****
A salty tang rode the sun-warmed air. Gulls circled overhead, their shrill screeches melding with the crash of waves on the shore. A solitary figure ambled at the water’s edge. One hand cupped her wind-whipped skirts; the other was clamped atop her straw bonnet. She paused and bent to reach for something in the sand.
She was calm now, but what would happen once he told her about Lance? He’d seen her volatility before. Had a scab on his throat to prove it.
He gave the surroundings a quick check. They were alone, but he knew better than to assume no one watched. If she became overly distressed, she’d draw unwanted attention. How would he explain her hysteria to the soldiers?
She straightened and turned, eyes gleaming as she caught sight of him. A smile dimpled her rosy cheeks, and his heart sank to his feet. She’d risked life and limb getting to Point Lookout and her brother. And now Lance was gone. The news would break her heart, and the thought of causing her pain nearly strangled him.
Damn. When had he started to care?
“Jack,” she greeted as he drew closer. “How was your day at the prison? Good, I hope.”
Good? Not quite the word he would use. “It was productive. I gathered a lot of useful information for my newspaper article.”
“Like what?”
“Well, I learned the prisoners are fed twice a day. That’s as much as the staff can manage with so many mouths to feed.” The real issue was not how often, but what they were fed. Pig slops from what he saw at the cookhouses. But she didn’t need to know that. It would only fuel her anxiety.
“I suppose twice a day is better than nothing.”
“It certainly is.” He fished in his pocket. He was stalling, he knew, but he just wasn’t ready to face her disappointment just yet. “I brought you something.”
“Oh? What?”
“It’s a necklace of seashells. The prisoners make them to relieve the boredom and to barter for goods at the sutler’s store.”
She took the necklace and fingered the tiny shells, her expression awed as if he’d given her a crown jewel. “How pretty.” Her lips tipped into the sunny smile he’d come to adore. “Thank you, Jack.”
“You’re welcome. So, what did you do with your day? Did you visit the lighthouse?”
“I did. Sure is an interesting place. The keeper, Miss Edwards, was very sweet. Invited me to have tea.” She leaned closer and lowered her voice. “I think she might be a Reb sympathizer. She didn’t speak too highly of the Yankees. Said the conditions inside the prison were horrible. Are they?”
So much for keeping her sheltered from the ugly details. “Unfortunately, with so many men crowded into one small plot, it’s hard to maintain an ideal environment.”
“By that, you mean, it’s bad.” Her smile faded. “What else did you find out?”
She meant regarding her brother and Jeb. Dread roosted in his gut. No more delaying. He had to deliver the news.
He stepped closer and folded her into his arms. She tensed at first, then thankfully relaxed against him, her warmth seeping through the linen of his shirt. She felt so good, so right, as though she belonged in his arms.
He wished to God she did.
“Is someone watching?” she whispered.
She assumed he was playacting as he’d done at the farmhouse. If only he were. “I have some news, and I want you to promise to stay calm.”
She stiffened. “Is it...is Lance..?”
“Your brother’s fine.”
“Oh, God. Jeb—”
“It’s not him either. He’s still alive and being well cared for at the prison hospital.”
She sagged against him. “What is it then?”
“Lance is alive, but he’s not here.”
“Not here?” She tipped her head back. Though the brim of her bonnet shaded her eyes, it didn’t conceal the worry-lines creasing her skin. “Where is he?”
“He and four hundred other prisoners were sent to another prison to relieve the overcrowding here at Point
He nodded. Strange, indeed.
****
A salty tang rode the sun-warmed air. Gulls circled overhead, their shrill screeches melding with the crash of waves on the shore. A solitary figure ambled at the water’s edge. One hand cupped her wind-whipped skirts; the other was clamped atop her straw bonnet. She paused and bent to reach for something in the sand.
She was calm now, but what would happen once he told her about Lance? He’d seen her volatility before. Had a scab on his throat to prove it.
He gave the surroundings a quick check. They were alone, but he knew better than to assume no one watched. If she became overly distressed, she’d draw unwanted attention. How would he explain her hysteria to the soldiers?
She straightened and turned, eyes gleaming as she caught sight of him. A smile dimpled her rosy cheeks, and his heart sank to his feet. She’d risked life and limb getting to Point Lookout and her brother. And now Lance was gone. The news would break her heart, and the thought of causing her pain nearly strangled him.
Damn. When had he started to care?
“Jack,” she greeted as he drew closer. “How was your day at the prison? Good, I hope.”
Good? Not quite the word he would use. “It was productive. I gathered a lot of useful information for my newspaper article.”
“Like what?”
“Well, I learned the prisoners are fed twice a day. That’s as much as the staff can manage with so many mouths to feed.” The real issue was not how often, but what they were fed. Pig slops from what he saw at the cookhouses. But she didn’t need to know that. It would only fuel her anxiety.
“I suppose twice a day is better than nothing.”
“It certainly is.” He fished in his pocket. He was stalling, he knew, but he just wasn’t ready to face her disappointment just yet. “I brought you something.”
“Oh? What?”
“It’s a necklace of seashells. The prisoners make them to relieve the boredom and to barter for goods at the sutler’s store.”
She took the necklace and fingered the tiny shells, her expression awed as if he’d given her a crown jewel. “How pretty.” Her lips tipped into the sunny smile he’d come to adore. “Thank you, Jack.”
“You’re welcome. So, what did you do with your day? Did you visit the lighthouse?”
“I did. Sure is an interesting place. The keeper, Miss Edwards, was very sweet. Invited me to have tea.” She leaned closer and lowered her voice. “I think she might be a Reb sympathizer. She didn’t speak too highly of the Yankees. Said the conditions inside the prison were horrible. Are they?”
So much for keeping her sheltered from the ugly details. “Unfortunately, with so many men crowded into one small plot, it’s hard to maintain an ideal environment.”
“By that, you mean, it’s bad.” Her smile faded. “What else did you find out?”
She meant regarding her brother and Jeb. Dread roosted in his gut. No more delaying. He had to deliver the news.
He stepped closer and folded her into his arms. She tensed at first, then thankfully relaxed against him, her warmth seeping through the linen of his shirt. She felt so good, so right, as though she belonged in his arms.
He wished to God she did.
“Is someone watching?” she whispered.
She assumed he was playacting as he’d done at the farmhouse. If only he were. “I have some news, and I want you to promise to stay calm.”
She stiffened. “Is it...is Lance..?”
“Your brother’s fine.”
“Oh, God. Jeb—”
“It’s not him either. He’s still alive and being well cared for at the prison hospital.”
She sagged against him. “What is it then?”
“Lance is alive, but he’s not here.”
“Not here?” She tipped her head back. Though the brim of her bonnet shaded her eyes, it didn’t conceal the worry-lines creasing her skin. “Where is he?”
“He and four hundred other prisoners were sent to another prison to relieve the overcrowding here at Point
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