Colonel Jackson Ross had rounded up as many of the Confederates as his men could find. The prisoners who weren’t injured were moved to a prison camp. The battle had been costly despite the Rebel surrender and early retreat.

The outcome pleased General Burnsides. Federal forces had taken control of the major port city of New Bern and the train that ran from Wilmington to Goldsboro. His job would be to serve as a provost marshall and restore order to the area. It would not be easy.

In the past six weeks, his men had gone to great lengths to account for all of the Union soldiers. So far, they could only find one person unaccounted for, dead or alive. Private White was the only man missing.

A small posse of men was scouring the area looking for him. Jackson didn’t want to think of the man wandering around in need of medical help.

Oddly, Jackson recalled White. He had struck him as alert bright, and not the type to bolt. He was nowhere to be found. It seemed the lad was a runner. They would find him.

The military established several hospitals because there had been so many wounded on both sides of the battle. The thought occurred that he should check them, in case the young man had been improperly identified. He realized it wouldn’t be easy. General Burnsides was already talking about making New Bern a regional hospital site for the wounded, and he was bringing in more doctors.

Jackson recalled previous medical facilities he had assembled. The government wanted more money and attention going into this area— and it made a big a difference. These hospitals used the latest methods and medicines. They had buildings to work with, including the two-story New Bern Academy, and the Dixon House. Still, with so many sick men.  he needed more nurses. But how could he accomplish that?

Perhaps he could speak with Sara Larson at The Griddle. She may have some helpful thoughts on the matter.

* * *

Heavy rain soaked the town for days. The morning the skies cleared, Jackson did something he’d been thinking about doing since meeting Ella Whitford. He headed across the street to The Mercantile. He had a niggling feeling and hoped he could solve it with this visit.

Opening the door to the store, he stepped in and the bell chimed behind him. “Morning, Mrs. Smyth.”

Startled by the slam of the door, the short, plump woman stopped talking to her husband. “Oh, good morning, Colonel Ross. What can we do for you today?”

Mr. Smyth scurried to the backroom, leaving his wife at the front counter, not waiting to hear a response.

Mrs. Smyth smiled at Jackson. Her hands twisted a rolled-up dust cloth tightly.

She was nervous. But why?

He grinned and moved in her direction, trying to put her at ease. “I wonder if you could help me.” He lowered his voice, watching her face as he continued. “This is important. What can you tell me about a family living on a plantation called Silver Moon?”

“You are referring to the Whitfords?” she asked haltingly.

“Actually, yes.” He drew up to the counter, leaning against it in a conspiratorial manner. “I met one of the members of the family. I believe she may be the lady of the house, a Miss Ella Whitford.”

“Colonel, yes, yes. We know Ella very well. A loyal and hard-working young woman.” Visibly relaxed, Mrs. Smyth leaned forward, keeping her voice low in case someone walked into the store. “Very nice family—well, what is left of the family. She has been running things since her father up and left her and her little brother a while back. Took all of their money, I heard. Had a strange notion about finding his son—who isn’t lost. He’s a soldier fighting... ah… fighting for the South.” Mrs. Smyth flashed an apologetic look as she rushed on. “She depends on a handful of house slaves.”

He stood there for a moment, silent, knowing that the woman he met this week was living in isolation and with no protection. He felt a strange sense of concern. She relied on the money from the eggs and vegetables. Jackson was glad he insisted she take money.

“Is her husband serving in the war?”

“Oh, no. No husband.”

He tried to quell the strange feeling of pleasure sweeping over him. He hadn’t noticed a ring, but he also knew many Southern women gave up their jewelry to help fund the Confederacy’s strapped coffers. He wanted to smile, but paused for a long moment, thinking.

Mrs. Smyth gave him a look. “She was mighty popular growing up and would have been the belle of the ball here.” She sniffed and blew into a handkerchief. “What with the war, well, things have changed. She is now a mother to her brother. She teaches him how to read and cipher and keeps food on the table.  She is very devoted to little Aiden.”

“Yes, and from what you’ve told me, she seems to have taken on quite a few things to keep her home intact.”

Mrs. Smyth fidgeted with the pad and pencil she had laid on her counter. “Her mother was a close friend of mine, God rest her soul. Eleanor died giving birth to that little boy.” Looking away, she wiped a tear from the corner of her eye. She was quiet for a long moment. “Mr. Whitford loved his wife and his family very much. But when Eleanor died…he never was himself again. He up and left a year ago. Ella takes care of everything herself, and she’s doing a real fine job.”

The thought of Miss Whitford’s vulnerability kept turning over in his mind as he listened.

She hesitated, suddenly nervous. “Is there something wrong out at Silver Moon?”

Jackson lifted his hat and stepped back from the counter. “No, no. No trouble out there that I know of. I, well, I ran into her a little earlier this week. I was unaware that there was a young woman heading up the family occupying the plantation. It’s my responsibility to know this area and protect the citizens. It’s one I take seriously. These are dangerous times with runaways and deserters. I appreciate the information. I do. Thank you, ma’am.”

Mrs. Smyth beamed. “I’m pleased I could be of help, Colonel.”

He started to leave, but recalling the cigars on display, he returned to the counter. “Mrs. Smyth, I’ll take two packs of those nice cherry-blend cheroots.” He pointed to the cigars on the shelf behind her. “And how about another bar of that soap you sold me last week? Sandalwood, I believe it was.”

“Yes, suh. Give me one moment. I’ll wrap that up for you. That’ll be… erm… forty-two cents, please.”

Jackson reached into his chest pocket and pulled out a small purse. He pulled out a silver dollar, laying it on the counter. “Thank you. Please keep the change. You have been very helpful.”

He stepped out on the porch and pulled one cheroot out, lit it, and tucked the rest of the package inside his coat pocket. Lingering a moment, he looked towards Silver Moon and smiled. A simple plan formed in his mind as he puffed on his cheroot.

Jackson muttered, his voice too low to hear. “I think we will need a perimeter headquarters that will allow my men to spread out and practice drills. And the bigger the property, the better it serves. This will please the general.” He smiled, his mind made up. He would scout out his new headquarters soon.

He headed home. Once he was relaxing in his bunk, he watched the swaying tree limbs in the window. Ella Whitford lingered on his mind, and thoughts of her were almost maddening in their intensity. Had it been too long since a woman had been part of his life?

Had it been two years since he had been engaged?

Maria had taught him a valuable lesson. Love would never be part of the equation again. He didn’t want to be made a fool of twice, not over love. She had cheated on him with Nate, his close friend. Love had been placed on the chopping block for him. There was no need for it anymore. Marrying Maria had been his dream, never hers. Nate was her aspiration, it seemed.

He had his career to focus his attention on.

He had plenty of work. It was important to find a better spot for his men to camp and he suspected that perfect spot lay on the outskirts of town.

Burnsides and the Mass 21st claimed many of the vacated homes in New Bern when the wealthier residents fled just before the battle. In most circumstances, the homes were still furnished. Many were stocked with food. Hungry soldiers enjoyed the cured hams and preserves they found. As enticing as many of the homes in town were, Jackson felt a perimeter location could better serve his needs and the needs of the military encampment here.

Ella’s face and green eyes flashed in his mind. A smug smile lit his face. Yes, he needed to get that perimeter location for law and order.

With that justification in mind, Jackson got up from his cot and grabbed his jacket. He pulled on his boots and grabbed his hat.

“Marshall, we will check out a new site for our men. Saddle my horse and yours. I’ll meet you out front in five minutes. I’m running back to The Griddle across the street and should be back.”

 “Sounds good, Colonel!” Lieutenant Colonel Marshall Jameson. Jackson’s best friend and sidekick gave a sly smile.

“What? Why are you giving me that look?”

“Jackson, we’ve been together for the last fifteen years through everything—school, women, and now war. I know where we are going. In the last couple of days, you have mentioned a plantation being run outside New Bern by one Miss Ella Whitmore. And you mention her frequently.”

“You wound me. This is a sound idea.” Jackson felt his collar heating. That damn Marshall knew him too well.

“Can’t deny that. It is a sound idea to have perimeter security. Goes along with our need to have small militia units on some outposts.” 

“Thank you.” He wanted to be on his way, unwilling to give this one to Marshall.

“I’m just happy to see you so excited about your job. That’s all.” His grin widened, and he grabbed up his hat.

Jackson bit back his retort. He would not dignify Marshall’s goading. The perimeter was a sound military decision. Miss Whitford’s plantation just provided the perfect location.

He strode across the street to Sara’s place. The bell hanging from the door jangled as the screened door slammed closed, announcing him. Embarrassed, Jackson turned too late to catch the door.

“Sorry, ma’am,” he said to Sara. “If you have just a moment, I would want to take a minute of your time.”

“Well hello there, Colonel! I’m so happy to see you this morning! Let me see to this order and I will be right with you.” Sara pushed the kitchen door open and disappeared.

Jackson wondered how much information Sara would give him. He wouldn’t mind seeing Miss Ella Whitford again, but there was the issue of her safety. He had not realized there was an occupied plantation on the outskirts of New Bern, or at least not one occupied by a young woman, a small child, and a handful of loyal slaves. That setting would be a target for deserters and runaways and others.

The thought made him angry and stirred up his protective instinct. Uncomfortable, he shifted and looked out the screened door, waiting for Sara to finish in the kitchen.

The door to the kitchen swung open. Sara pushed through carrying a fresh pot of coffee and a basket of rolls. Nodding at the table next to her, she signaled for Jackson to come and sit.

“Would you mind if we sat while we talked? I haven’t had a moment to take a breath all morning! The breakfast crowd finally left, so I thought you might enjoy a couple of my leftover biscuits and another cup of coffee.”

“Thank you. Don’t mind if I do.” Jackson slid a chair out for Sara. When she got comfortable, he helped himself to the chair across from her. Clearing his throat, he tried to think how to best begin. “I am headed out to Silver Moon. I need a perimeter location for my men. And until a couple of days ago, I didn’t know there was an occupied plantation in this area. And I didn’t realize there was one occupied by a young woman and a small child.”

“Suh, are you suggesting that you will take my best friend’s home away from her?” She drew back.

He lowered his voice. “You realize she could be in harm’s way. Please tell me what you know about the number of servants she has on the property.”

There. It was up to her. He knew Sara cared about her friend, but he was not sure he had established a level of trust with her.

While she had not taken the pledge of allegiance to the Union yet, he had detected no outward feelings of mistrust. He knew her sympathies were with the Confederacy, but he liked her. All the men felt comfortable coming to The Griddle.

Anything she could tell him would be important. Jackson stayed quiet and watched Sara struggle to respond.

Sara was quiet for a moment. “Ella is a private person. We have been friends since we were small girls. I know that she will not take kindly to your intrusion. In fact, she will see it as hostile.”

“I imagine you could be right, but I feel that while it serves the Union, it’s in her best interest. She will need a little coaxing.”

At that, Sara smiled. “Ella has her cook, a few house servants, her overseer and a few land workers. They respect her, and she returns the sentiment.” Sara’s voice lowered almost into a whisper as she looked at the customers in the restaurant. “The Whitfords were always good to their slaves, treating them like they were family. Nowadays, she works right alongside her people.”

Sara stopped talking as if she might have revealed too much. She was worried about Ella’s reaction, too.

After a moment of silence, Jackson cleared his throat. “Thank you, Sara. I will not betray your confidence. I wanted to know what I could run into. It’s dangerous around here for all of us. And I agree. Miss Whitford is taking a big chance living on her own. I plan to move out there with my men. I expect she will not welcome me.” With that, he rose from the table.

Smiling, Sara responded, “Count on it, suh. But I have worried about her living out there by herself with the soldiers and the escaped slaves all around us. I have heard awful things!” She shuddered. “Why, just last week Mrs. Smyth told us they discovered a broken window in the back of their store. They boarded it up. But still, it just made me shudder to think of how vulnerable we could be.”

“I had not heard of that. That concerns me. I will check into it. I’d appreciate it if you would let me know if you hear anything about her plantation—anything you think I should know, Miss Sara.”

“I will, suh. And… good luck.” Sara stood up and picked up the basket of biscuits and the coffee pot while Jackson slid the chairs back under the table. She stood very quietly. “Please be good to her.”

Shielding his eyes from the sun as he left The Griddle, Jackson reached into his pocket and pulled out his watch. He winced. Ten minutes. Marshall will be waiting. He quickened his pace down the steps and crossed the street to the Taylor House.

The townhouse was the central command post and home for Burnsides’ commanding officers. Burnsides had commandeered a roomy mansion a few blocks over for his headquarters.

Approaching the Taylor House, Jackson slowed down and took in the look of the town. It appeared quiet today. He puzzled over the break-in at The Mercantile and wondered why Mrs. Smyth hadn’t mentioned it.

He recalled that both she and Mr. Smyth were acting strangely. They were nervous. That would have to wait. Today he had a perimeter fortification he needed to remedy. Jackson crossed the street, headed to the stables behind his headquarters.

As he predicted, Marshall was waiting. Looking up at the sound of crunching boots on the gravel, Marshall tipped up his hat and shot Jackson a lopsided grin. Jackson noticed and fought back his irritation towards his friend.

Marshall could be like a dog with a bone. Jackson could tell when Marshall thought he was onto something. Jackson didn’t feel in the mood for sparring, not caring what Marshall thought he knew. Seeing Marshall with his horse, he squared his shoulders and took a deep breath.

“Ready? Let’s head out of town.”

“Sure. Did you get what you needed from The Griddle?”

Ignoring the barb, Jackson checked his saddle and secured his rifle. It always felt good to ride Mason. Silver Moon would be at least thirty minutes out, so he would give Mason some good exercise.

The big black stallion was a pet as much as an animal could be. Mason was special to Jackson. He was a gift from Mrs. Thomason, a lady he had the good fortune to meet in Virginia a year before.

Her husband had died trying to fight off some Rebel renegades that had invaded their farm and were trying to steal from them.

Mason was one of three horses were in the Thomason’s’ barn when the Rebs set it on fire. Jackson and his men showed up just in time to engage the renegades. They killed them all and put out the fire before it swallowed up the barn and killed the horses.

The horses were in bad shape, but they made it; her other livestock didn’t. The Thomasons had been targeted because of their Union allegiance. It was just one of the harsh realities of this brutal war.

Afterward, they helped Mrs. Thomason bury her husband. Mason had been her son’s horse. She noticed Jackson had a way with horses and asked Jackson to take Mason. With her husband dead and her barn burned, she could not keep him. Jackson couldn’t refuse her request. They needed good horseflesh.

He and his men had hitched up her wagon with her two remaining horses and loaded her belongings. They provided Mrs. Thomason a safe escort to Richmond, twenty miles away, so she could live with her sister and her sister’s husband.

Before he left, Mrs. Thomason got Jackson to promise he would try to find her son, Henry, a young Union recruit. She had not gotten a letter or any word on him in almost a year and feared he had been killed.

So far, Jackson’s search had turned up nothing. He wished he had asked if Henry was his only given name. Why had that only occurred to him now? Whether he found Henry Thomason, Jackson knew he would never give up Mason, who had become so important to him. Reaching down, he patted Mason on his neck.

His mind was trying to test his resolve to stay free, at least since breakfast the other day. Thoughts of a young woman with deep green eyes and a blue dress invaded his thoughts.

He couldn’t understand the effect she had on him and smiled almost every time he thought about her. Just who was she?

They had barely spoken to each other, yet her face was in his dreams, his thoughts, and now, leading his plans for his men. But he had seen the horrors of what desperate men would do when they only wanted food and silver candlesticks.

She was in danger. He could feel it. He tried not to worry but a picture of a burning barn made its way into his mind.

Marshall glanced at Jackson and leaned down to make sure his rifle was secure in its scaffold. He cleared his throat. “No rain today, Jackson. Should be a good day to explore the land.”

Jackson looked at his friend and nodded. He didn’t miss the concerned look on Marshall’s face. “Something feels wrong, Marshall.”

He urged Mason faster, and Marshall followed suit. The two men kicked up their speed, leaving a wall of dust behind them.

* * *

Nolan felt vibrations on the ground and heard the sounds of hooves racing towards him. He looked around. The only cover was a dead tree that was lying prone along the edge of the road, tucked up close to some dead brush. He rolled down over the log and pushed his body up against it, hiding under the dry foliage.

He knew he would pay for this later. No more than two minutes went by before two Union officers rode by, kicking up a furious trail of dirt. They didn’t slow down, so he hoped that meant they had not seen him. Nolan let out an anxious breath and wished he hadn’t.

The dust made it impossible to catch another. Where were they headed? He knew this area and there weren’t many places out this way. The most notable place was where he was headed—his home. Was Ella expecting them?

He recognized those men. A protective feeling yanked Nolan up from the ditch and moved him towards the road. Just where are the colonel twins going?

His commanding officer and his sidekick were headed towards Silver Moon. That meant only one thing to him—trouble. He tried his best to dust himself off. Nolan looked at his pants and his jacket. It was useless.

His blue uniform was almost shredded beyond recognition. He wasn’t sure what he should do. This was not going according to any plan he could have expected. The colonel twins would arrest him for desertion if they saw him. Better he gets discovered there, then at his home. He might be able to explain away the desertion with the concussion and the bite.

But if they found him at the house, he would be a suspected spy. Everyone there knew he was a Confederate officer. He was unarmed except for the stick he had sharpened into a spear. What did Ol’ Indie do with my weapons?

He touched his face and pulled at his rough beard. That is if they recognize him. He had seen his reflection and didn’t even recognize himself. He would frighten Ella if she saw him.

Reaching inside his shirt, he pulled out the locket that hung from his neck and opened it. His beloved smiled up at him, her face framed by layered curls. A lock of her hair was tucked in the locket. “Sara,” he groaned aloud, his throat seizing on him.

He hadn’t seen her since the conflict began. He closed the locket and pushed it against his chest protectively. Grabbing his large stick, he continued making his way home.