time. I should have whistled a tune or something to warn you I was coming.”
“Can you whistle a tune?” Charlotte asked to give herself time to recover her poise. She hid her hands in her skirt so he wouldn’t see the dirt under her fingernails.
“Of course,” he said and began whistling “Yankee Doodle Dandy.”
She couldn’t keep from laughing even as she wondered if such joviality was proper in a graveyard. “You are a man of many talents, Mr. Wade.”
“So I’ve been told.” His eyes settled on her face. “But don’t you think we’ve shared enough familiar moments for you to call me Adam?”
Her cheeks warmed and her lips tingled at the memory of some of those moments with him. She fixed her eyes on the blades of grass at her feet and tried to ignore her heart thumping in her chest as she said, “I daresay some familiar moments are best not remembered.”
He stepped closer to her and put his fingers under her chin to tip her face up to look at him. It was a replay of the moments in the garden, except this time the sun was shining brightly and there was no chill in the air to necessitate him offering her his jacket. But he seemed to be offering something more. Understanding, or perhaps compassion. Why, she didn’t know. He couldn’t read her thoughts.
“Don’t say that, Charlotte. I quite enjoyed the moments of which you speak.”
She told herself to step away from him. To look away from the blue gray eyes that were probing her soul. But she stayed still as she said, “And how many times have you enjoyed like moments in other gardens?” Her voice was barely above a whisper.
“I won’t deny there have been other gardens, but no girl so lovely. Or lips so enticing.” He moved his fingers from under her chin to trace her lips.
She pulled herself together and stepped back from his touch. It was colder there but safer. Much safer. “We’re not in a garden now, Mr. Wade.”
“Adam, please.” He kept his hand in the air reaching toward her face for a moment before he dropped it to his side and looked around. “And you’re right. I do have to admit I’ve never enjoyed such a moment in a graveyard.” He nodded toward the stone behind her. “The beautiful first Mrs. Vance, I assume.” “She was very pretty,” Charlotte said as she glanced back at the stone. “I don’t look anything like her.”
“Did you want to?”
His unexpected question brought her eyes back to him. “What?”
“Look like her. Be like her.” His eyes were probing her again.
“No. I always thought her too fragile.” Her words sounded disloyal in her ears, but she didn’t stop talking. “At times she seemed almost afraid to leave her couch. As if she feared the day would be too difficult to face.”
“Are you afraid of your tomorrows?”
She looked at him, not sure how she should answer, but his eyes demanded honesty. “I don’t know,” she said at last. “Last week I would have said not, but now if not afraid, then I do admit to being unsure of my future.” She stared straight at him with wanton disregard of proper behavior, but a graveyard seemed a place to pitch aside social conventions and reach for the truth. “What about you?” She hesitated before she added, “Adam.”
The corners of his lips lifted in a brief smile at the sound of his name. Then he grew solemn again as his eyes shifted color to more gray than blue. “I don’t entertain fear. Instead I seek opportune possibilities.”
“But there are oftentimes reasons for fear.”
“Unfortunately you’re speaking truth even not knowing the news that’s come to us this morning.”
“What news?” Dread woke inside her. The news couldn’t be good.
“The Confederates fired on and forced the surrender of Federal forces at Fort Sumter. War is now inevitable.”
“War,” she echoed. She looked away from him out toward the horizon once more and now she couldn’t keep from picturing cannons lining up against cannons. Perhaps
“Can you whistle a tune?” Charlotte asked to give herself time to recover her poise. She hid her hands in her skirt so he wouldn’t see the dirt under her fingernails.
“Of course,” he said and began whistling “Yankee Doodle Dandy.”
She couldn’t keep from laughing even as she wondered if such joviality was proper in a graveyard. “You are a man of many talents, Mr. Wade.”
“So I’ve been told.” His eyes settled on her face. “But don’t you think we’ve shared enough familiar moments for you to call me Adam?”
Her cheeks warmed and her lips tingled at the memory of some of those moments with him. She fixed her eyes on the blades of grass at her feet and tried to ignore her heart thumping in her chest as she said, “I daresay some familiar moments are best not remembered.”
He stepped closer to her and put his fingers under her chin to tip her face up to look at him. It was a replay of the moments in the garden, except this time the sun was shining brightly and there was no chill in the air to necessitate him offering her his jacket. But he seemed to be offering something more. Understanding, or perhaps compassion. Why, she didn’t know. He couldn’t read her thoughts.
“Don’t say that, Charlotte. I quite enjoyed the moments of which you speak.”
She told herself to step away from him. To look away from the blue gray eyes that were probing her soul. But she stayed still as she said, “And how many times have you enjoyed like moments in other gardens?” Her voice was barely above a whisper.
“I won’t deny there have been other gardens, but no girl so lovely. Or lips so enticing.” He moved his fingers from under her chin to trace her lips.
She pulled herself together and stepped back from his touch. It was colder there but safer. Much safer. “We’re not in a garden now, Mr. Wade.”
“Adam, please.” He kept his hand in the air reaching toward her face for a moment before he dropped it to his side and looked around. “And you’re right. I do have to admit I’ve never enjoyed such a moment in a graveyard.” He nodded toward the stone behind her. “The beautiful first Mrs. Vance, I assume.” “She was very pretty,” Charlotte said as she glanced back at the stone. “I don’t look anything like her.”
“Did you want to?”
His unexpected question brought her eyes back to him. “What?”
“Look like her. Be like her.” His eyes were probing her again.
“No. I always thought her too fragile.” Her words sounded disloyal in her ears, but she didn’t stop talking. “At times she seemed almost afraid to leave her couch. As if she feared the day would be too difficult to face.”
“Are you afraid of your tomorrows?”
She looked at him, not sure how she should answer, but his eyes demanded honesty. “I don’t know,” she said at last. “Last week I would have said not, but now if not afraid, then I do admit to being unsure of my future.” She stared straight at him with wanton disregard of proper behavior, but a graveyard seemed a place to pitch aside social conventions and reach for the truth. “What about you?” She hesitated before she added, “Adam.”
The corners of his lips lifted in a brief smile at the sound of his name. Then he grew solemn again as his eyes shifted color to more gray than blue. “I don’t entertain fear. Instead I seek opportune possibilities.”
“But there are oftentimes reasons for fear.”
“Unfortunately you’re speaking truth even not knowing the news that’s come to us this morning.”
“What news?” Dread woke inside her. The news couldn’t be good.
“The Confederates fired on and forced the surrender of Federal forces at Fort Sumter. War is now inevitable.”
“War,” she echoed. She looked away from him out toward the horizon once more and now she couldn’t keep from picturing cannons lining up against cannons. Perhaps
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