Jackson closed the library door and took his time getting comfortable in his chair, all the while taking in the mood of the room. Nolan sat across from his desk, a cynical smirk on his face. Marshall leaned against the fireplace with a look of expectation.

“Marshall, thank you for your help this afternoon. We may have captured the men responsible for some rapes and other violence around the outskirts of town. I had hoped that they were already dead, but that could be a false assumption.”

He looked at Nolan, his look hardening. “I suppose you are to be thanked for your help.” He extended a hand to Nolan. “Thank you,” he said, shaking Nolan’s hand. He noticed that the grip was steady, not clammy or tentative.

“So…Whitford. Tell me about Rover.” Jackson smiled affably, his eyes watching Nolan’s reaction.

“Well, I would be glad to tell you about Rover. But I find it strange that you call me into my library to ask me about my dog that died years ago. How is that relevant?” Nolan unflinchingly responded and focused on Jackson.

“Humor me.” Jackson wanted to know more about this man. He suspected what Nolan had been doing as Private White, and it created a sense of dread in his stomach. He nodded tersely at Nolan, a reminder he was waiting.

After what seemed like too much silence, Nolan shrugged and started. “Rover was my dog. I was about twelve and Ella was about eight when we got him. Had him for several years. I think my father traded cotton for him. But that is not important. Fact is Rover was my Christmas gift.” He smiled in remembrance.

“He was a Tennessee tree-hound. Ever heard of them? They are made for the land. Smart dog. He was supposed to be my hunting dog. But Ella domesticated him—made him sweet.” He laughed.

“I know that breed,” Marshall interjected. “Jackson, remember they had two dogs like that back at the fort? The handler kept them in the cages. They were handsome dogs. But you let this animal in the house?” He laughed. “Why did I ask that? Bo is in the house and he will be a big dog.”

All three men laughed at that. It helped ease the tension.

“Well yes, we did. To go on, Rover did whatever Ella asked, followed her everywhere. The only thing he loved to do with me was fish. When I’d bring out my fishing pole, he would quit whatever he was doing and come with me.”

Fidgeting slightly, Nolan reached into his pocket and pulled out the jar of salve from Ol’ Indie.

He placed the salve on the desk. “We should get this up to Ella,” he said, and pushed the salve forward, towards Jackson. His head nodded towards the library door.

Marshall moved forward and took the jar. “Okay. I’ll take it. Be right back. I will give this to Miss Lizzy.” He touched his hat and closed the door behind him.

“Ahem. Private White?”

Nolan looked unabashedly at Jackson. “Who?”

“Don’t toy with me, Whitford. I know that you are White. What I don’t know is if Marshall recognizes you as White.” He shook his head. “Honestly, I don’t know what I am to do with you. I know that when I arrest you, your sister will be heartbroken.”

Jackson stared up at the ceiling as if it held some answer, then, glared at Nolan. “I know you realize I care for her. A lot. I don’t want to see her hurt, but I’m a soldier. I have a job to do. And you and I, sir, have a lot to discuss.” He kicked his spur against the foot of the desk and moved behind to take his seat.

“But I want to know about you. Continue. Tell me more about your dog, Rover.” He studied Nolan.

Heavy footsteps sounded toward the library. “Please continue with Rover’s story. You mentioned him earlier with Ella.”

Marshall opened the door. “Did I miss anything?”

Nolan looked at Jackson and grinned. “No, suh. We were just passing time for a couple of minutes while you delivered the salve.”

Jackson puzzled. Why the deference to Marshall while the caginess with me? He knows I know what he was doing. Why provoke me? Jackson couldn’t read Nolan Whitford and needed to know the man, so he could know his own mind. This wasn’t the time for rash reactions. He wanted to think about his options before acting. Absent divine intervention, he needed to figure out what those options were. He didn’t like this feeling of being compromised, but there was nothing for it.

This smirking man in front of him was not Private Angus White. Was there ever an Angus White? he wondered. “Mr. Whitford, please continue.”

“Well, there’s nothing much more to tell here.” His lips moved in a momentary smile as he talked. “Rover didn’t like dead things, and he wouldn’t kill anything, even a fish.”

“If I’d hook a fish, he barked relentlessly, and then he would gently pull the fish out of the water to the shore. After I’d unhook him, Rover would play with him. He’d toss the fish around and bark. He seemed to know he couldn’t do it long—that the fish would die without water.

“After a few minutes of that, he’d bring me the fish, and I’d pop it in the fish barrel. He’d do the same thing every time we pulled in a fish. That was our routine. Crazy dog.” Emotion flickered in his eyes.

“Papa decided we would take Rover hunting and teach him he wasn’t a ‘prissy dog,’ as he called it. Ella cried and tried to hide Rover. I thought he would be fine. But he wouldn’t pick up the dead birds because they couldn’t play with him. Then Papa shot his gun off too close to Rover and the noise caused him to bolt. It was the next day before we found him. He was wet, sick, and cold. For a while, it was touch and go, but he came ‘round.”

Nolan picked at his collar. “Look, I’m not sure what talking about a dog is all about. I…we loved our dog. End of story.”

Marshall was the first to break the silence. “You Whitfords sure have a knack for finding good dogs.” He smiled and nonchalantly slapped his leg. “That Bo is smart—and one heck of a tracker!”

Nolan grinned, more relaxed. “Yes, it seems my little brother Aiden also has a way with dogs. Bo wouldn’t let me near the house because he didn’t know me.”

“Which brings me to ask,” Marshall continued. “Where did you come from today, and where have you been?” A flicker of irritation and impatience shone in his eyes as he glanced first to Nolan, and then Jackson.

Silence descended on the room.

Nolan watched Jackson. The atmosphere was tense as they tried to read each other.

“I had just gotten home. I ran a high fever and was hospitalized for a long while. A small leave gave me time to get to my next post. But after word came that my sister was here alone with my little brother, I wanted to check on my family. Got word that my Papa up and left. No one knows where he is, but he left almost a year ago.” Nolan emitted a growling sigh of displeasure. “I returned home to find out Ella had been abducted and Aiden near got kidnapped himself. I took off after her. Aiden helped me with Bo. Lizzy filled me in on you and your men being here. But I had to choose… Anyway, I love my sister.” He heaved another sigh but maintained eye contact with Marshall.

“Well, that was great timing.” Without missing a beat, Marshall stood. “I suppose you are a Johnny Reb?” He stared at Nolan, expecting an answer.

The question took Jackson by surprise, but he noticed Nolan’s calm composure was unchanged. He thought he saw a fleeting look of sadness in his eyes.

“Suhs, I am a Confederate soldier.” He turned his focus to Jackson. “I have a question of my own.”

Jackson nodded. “Go on.”

“What makes you think you will ever be good enough for my sister?”

* * *

He knew this could happen—arrest, prison, maybe death. It was a risk he took to save his sister.

I had hoped to rescue Ella and bring her home, or…damn! Maybe I should have listened to Sara and didn’t give that enough thought. All I knew was Ella was being harmed.

Nolan was determined not to show any emotion. Especially fear. He focused on his throat, hoping to maintain his cool exterior. They thought to throw him off by asking him to talk about Rover. Jackson was smart, but he had also learned those tricks. I enjoyed thinking about old Rover.

This meeting could mean the difference between freedom and imprisonment for his family. What the hell? He came home to find his family forced to host the enemy. He knew little about Jackson—only what he had observed in his brief time as Private White. His men had respected him. But that didn’t recommend the man being here with his sister. Nolan grasped that his was not a good position, but he vowed he would protect his family, somehow. To do that, he needed to survive this ridiculous interview.

Nolan bit the inside of his cheek to maintain a look of deference, something that was necessary if he was to get past this mess. There had been jams before in this war. He regulated his breathing, to control his outward appearance of emotion, thoroughly trained in the body language. He knew what indicated lying. While he couldn’t control his pupils, he sent commands to his body, hoping to maintain a calm exterior.

The cards were in the Yankee’s hands, except one. He didn’t want to go there, but Nolan realized it may come to that.

Marshall interrupted his thoughts. “Well, soldier…Mr. Whitford, what are you doing this far from your unit, and what unit would that be?” Marshall said, a meaningful look in his eyes.

This was a problem. If he gave the right unit and escaped to it, they would know it was nearby. In fact, these two probably knew where all the Confederate units were at this moment… at least the major concerns. He had to be careful.

Nolan was sure his regiment, the 35^th North Carolina, was still in Kinston, but they may still believe he was dead unless Captain Wilson got the message he’d sent days back. He knew other regiments likely to be around. They would want to take New Bern back and would watch or creating the chance.

“The 26^th Regiment, North Carolina, suh.” Nolan prepared to embellish this story.

Marshall remained focused on Nolan. “Where was your unit when you were…given leave?”

Marshall was fishing. He’d give him something to think about. “Suh, my unit left me behind because of illness—I mentioned the high fever, but I also had a nasty rash. I believe they thought I had smallpox and feared a spread.” He maintained eye contact with Marshall.

Marshall backed up.

Nolan fought to hold back a grin. Pleased Marshall had bought his story, Nolan pressed on, hoping to give enough information that other questions weren’t asked. “I wanted to see my sister, and when I got here, she had been kidnapped.” Nolan glanced over at Jackson. The man was scrutinizing him. “I don’t think there is anything I could add to that.”

“You appear well, Mr. Whitford,” observed Jackson. “The 26^th North Carolina, you say? Hmmm… an interesting development came out of that regiment. It spread like wildfire after the New Bern battle. Something about a woman and her husband both fighting in that unit? Do I have this right, Marshall?”

“Yes. I believe you do. What were their names?” He glanced at Jackson with a machinating look, and then back to Nolan, a silent demand he answer.

Jackson pulled a cigar and match from his inside pocket. “Care for a cigar?” Jackson lifted two more cigars from his pocket and passed them to Nolan and Marshall.

“Light?” Jackson struck a match on his boot and held the flame out first to Nolan, then Marshall. He struck another match and lit his own cigar, then tossed the matches in the spittoon near his desk.

How quaint. Next, he’ll offer me my own brandy. Nolan slowly puffed his cigar and took his time answering. He gave Jackson time to puff on his cigar, while he pretended to ponder the question. He wanted—no, needed—his answer to satisfy the needs of these two men.

An offense is always the best defense.

Uncrossing his legs and taking a deep breath, he sat up.

“I feel I’m being tested here,” Nolan drawled. Holding back a smile, he nodded towards the men. “You could be talking about Private Black, Sam, and her husband. Well, now they refer to them as the Blacks—husband and wife soldiers.” He shook his head and continued. “Sam is a woman. It’s outrageous, women joining ranks of soldiers, but it’s not unheard of with this war. This surprised the lot of us. She got wounded in the battle and her husband found her. He was in a different unit, same regiment. Colonel Vance was angry at the deception. He discharged them both two months ago.”

“No one in your unit was aware he was a she?” Jackson raised a brow and looked over at Marshall. Both men smirked.

“No, suh. That isn’t the thing you’d expect. She kept to herself. Bound her chest, and from what I understand she cut her hair short. She also wore male clothing. She didn’t look, or act, like a woman with her deceptions. I got my leave not long after their discharge.” He thought a little longer before he continued. He walked a tight line trying to give enough detail but also keep his story consistent.

“I don’t know where she and her husband went, but in my opinion, there was something off with them. I was not in agreement with turning them out as angry with the Confederacy as they were. I think their sympathies…” He looked first at Marshall, then at Jackson and continued, “Their sympathies are now with you and the Union. Word is they were bushwhacking innocent Southerners and raiding land in the name of the Union.” He scowled as he spoke the last words.

“They are brutal,” he added, “almost as if they are working off their grudge on innocents.”

Marshall looked over at Jackson, concern etched on his face.

“What?” Nolan looked at both men.

“Well, several local people have been murdered. Families bushwhacked, their homes ransacked, and livestock stolen or just slaughtered and left for the buzzards.” Jackson’s voice was steady and low.

“We had not considered a woman could be part of this. It provides a possible reason we haven’t been able to locate them. The unrest since the battle is significant outside of the town. Our patrols found two men we suspected of the killings, but they weren’t able to capture them alive to question them. The arresting posse killed the two men. We felt that they were traveling with more, but now, we have to go on what we had determined. Your information helps. Doesn’t sound like the Blacks would work with others.”

In a swift change of subject, Marshall looked up at Nolan. “So, just who are you to the Confederacy, Whitford? What is your rank?”

Silence hung in the room for several moments.

“Major, suh.” Nolan blew a ring of smoke to his left. He resisted telling them his real rank— lieutenant colonel—afraid it could be more trouble for him. Union command often treated higher ranking captured officers brutally. 

He had risen quickly in his ranks and was supposed to resume command of his own regiment—the 35^th, North Carolina. Hopefully, they were still in Kinston, waiting. They could be called away. He needed to get back to them. Caution kept him from revealing his real regiment.

The Blacks gave him an opportunity here. He only knew about them because he ran into a Confederate picket when he left to rescue Ella from Jason. The picket was looking for weakness in the Union lines around New Bern. He knew what that meant.

Thank goodness for small favors. A reason to appreciate Jackson flared in his mind. The Union forces were here with Ella and Aiden. An unprotected woman and a small boy—his family—would be prime targets for renegades and soldiers looking for physical pleasures or revenge, like the Blacks. His home would not be an easy place to attack because of the Union numbers and their readiness.

Fortunately, the picket had recognized him. He updated Nolan with the comings and goings of the various Confederate units in the area, including information about his own regiment. Nolan updated him and told him to expect him back shortly. By now, he hoped his message made it to his command, so they would know he had survived. He needed to get back.

Jackson glanced at Marshall and subtly nodded towards the door.

Marshall understood the unspoken command. “Well, I will leave you to Colonel Ross here. I think it’s time I check on the household and the men and see how things are going.” He nodded at Jackson. Taking one more look at Nolan, Marshall exited, sauntering out of the library. His heavy footfalls grew fainter as he moved further from the room.

The hair on his neck prickled at that remark. It struck Nolan as personal, the tone too knowing. He felt unsettled, more than he had during any of this questioning. No way would Marshall have referenced his sister like that in front of Jackson. He wanted to get back to Sara. But how was he going to be able to accomplish that, with the attention of these two?

“So now it’s you and me, Whitford.” Keeping his eyes on Nolan, Jackson took one more puff and put his cigar out in the ashtray next to him.