of the luxury car, Mara was vibrantly aware of his close proximity. His arm was stretched along the back of the seat, his fingers inches from her shoulder. The broad expanse of his chest seemed to offer its use as a hard pillow for her head. A feeling of intimacy threatened to swamp her.
She wrenched her gaze from his to stare at the road, her lips tightening in anger. "Stop looking at me that way," she demanded.
"What way?" Sin questioned blandly.
She couldn't answer that, so she changed the subject. "In the afternoon, the rebels attacked the right flank of the Union army north of Gettysburg. They succeeded in routing the North and driving them through the streets of Gettysburg. But instead of keeping the Union soldiers on the run or taking the high ground of Cemetery Ridge, the Confederates withdrew and regrouped to wait for Lee, who was several miles away when the battle started."
Following the route of the Union's retreat, Mara drove back through town, pointing out the buildings that still showed the battle scars from that time. She told Sin of how General Hancock had rallied the northern troops and of the arrival of General Meade and his army after a record-breaking forced march.
From Culp's Hill to Little Round Top, she explained the uncoordinated attacks by the South the following day on the firmly entrenched Union forces on the high ground. Possession of strategic locations seesawed, changing hands several times. The failure of the Confederate battle plan to encircle the Union army ended the day in a stalemate.
As she drove slowly along Confederate Avenue, it seemed fitting that the trees were stark and bare of leaves and the grass brown and yellowed with autumn. A wide, open field stretched before them to Seminary Ridge.
"Since Lee's plan to outflank the Union army failed the day before, he decided to send his army straight up the middle of their defenses, split them in two," Mara recounted. "That is the field Pickett's men had to cross—no trees, no cover. The rebel soldiers were lined up in rows, shoulder to shoulder, for a mile and a half, facing Seminary Ridge. You've heard the story of the Charge of the Light Brigade? It couldn't match Pickett's charge. They marched across this field with Northern soldiers blowing holes in them, but they didn't stop. The creeks around Gettysburg ran red with blood. Less than an hour later, ten thousand of Pickett's fifteen thousand men were casualties and they'd failed to take the ridge."
"Stop here," Sin ordered, and Mara turned off the highway to park alongside the road. "Let's get out and walk."
A cold wind whipped at her as she stepped from the car. She reached into the back for her coat and slipped it on. She didn't bother to button it, holding the front closed with her hands thrust into the pockets. Sin was standing a short distance from the car, overlooking the field Pickett's men crossed. Mara walked forward to join him.
"Lee was here waiting when the survivors came back," Mara continued her narrative in a low voice. "Some said there were tears in his eyes when he met them. He didn't blame them for falling. He told them it was his fault because he had believed they were 'invincible.' The next day, Lee led the remnants of his Confederate army and retreated south. It was July 4, 1863."
A brief shiver quaked her shoulders, but it wasn't caused by the cold wind blowing around her ears. It was a sober understanding of why the Union soldiers felt no glory in their victory that long-ago day. It had cost too many lives on both sides.
Her sideways glance encountered Sin's gaze. The look in his eyes seemed to hold a half-formed question, and she was curious to find out what it was.
"Was there something you wanted to ask?" she inquired, keeping her tone distantly impersonal.
Sin glanced toward the battlefield as if he wasn't going to answer. He stood quietly, the collar of his coat turned up against the wind.
"I was just wondering," he spoke at last, "whether you
She wrenched her gaze from his to stare at the road, her lips tightening in anger. "Stop looking at me that way," she demanded.
"What way?" Sin questioned blandly.
She couldn't answer that, so she changed the subject. "In the afternoon, the rebels attacked the right flank of the Union army north of Gettysburg. They succeeded in routing the North and driving them through the streets of Gettysburg. But instead of keeping the Union soldiers on the run or taking the high ground of Cemetery Ridge, the Confederates withdrew and regrouped to wait for Lee, who was several miles away when the battle started."
Following the route of the Union's retreat, Mara drove back through town, pointing out the buildings that still showed the battle scars from that time. She told Sin of how General Hancock had rallied the northern troops and of the arrival of General Meade and his army after a record-breaking forced march.
From Culp's Hill to Little Round Top, she explained the uncoordinated attacks by the South the following day on the firmly entrenched Union forces on the high ground. Possession of strategic locations seesawed, changing hands several times. The failure of the Confederate battle plan to encircle the Union army ended the day in a stalemate.
As she drove slowly along Confederate Avenue, it seemed fitting that the trees were stark and bare of leaves and the grass brown and yellowed with autumn. A wide, open field stretched before them to Seminary Ridge.
"Since Lee's plan to outflank the Union army failed the day before, he decided to send his army straight up the middle of their defenses, split them in two," Mara recounted. "That is the field Pickett's men had to cross—no trees, no cover. The rebel soldiers were lined up in rows, shoulder to shoulder, for a mile and a half, facing Seminary Ridge. You've heard the story of the Charge of the Light Brigade? It couldn't match Pickett's charge. They marched across this field with Northern soldiers blowing holes in them, but they didn't stop. The creeks around Gettysburg ran red with blood. Less than an hour later, ten thousand of Pickett's fifteen thousand men were casualties and they'd failed to take the ridge."
"Stop here," Sin ordered, and Mara turned off the highway to park alongside the road. "Let's get out and walk."
A cold wind whipped at her as she stepped from the car. She reached into the back for her coat and slipped it on. She didn't bother to button it, holding the front closed with her hands thrust into the pockets. Sin was standing a short distance from the car, overlooking the field Pickett's men crossed. Mara walked forward to join him.
"Lee was here waiting when the survivors came back," Mara continued her narrative in a low voice. "Some said there were tears in his eyes when he met them. He didn't blame them for falling. He told them it was his fault because he had believed they were 'invincible.' The next day, Lee led the remnants of his Confederate army and retreated south. It was July 4, 1863."
A brief shiver quaked her shoulders, but it wasn't caused by the cold wind blowing around her ears. It was a sober understanding of why the Union soldiers felt no glory in their victory that long-ago day. It had cost too many lives on both sides.
Her sideways glance encountered Sin's gaze. The look in his eyes seemed to hold a half-formed question, and she was curious to find out what it was.
"Was there something you wanted to ask?" she inquired, keeping her tone distantly impersonal.
Sin glanced toward the battlefield as if he wasn't going to answer. He stood quietly, the collar of his coat turned up against the wind.
"I was just wondering," he spoke at last, "whether you
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