“Well”—MaryNell quickly turned away—“let me fetch Andrew’s coat for you. I know you must be eager to get home. Today being his birthday and all.”
“MaryNell . . .” Aletta attempted to gain her attention, but to no avail. How did she even begin to broach such a subject? And what if her suspicions proved wrong? It could mean the end of their friendship. On the other hand . . . if Mr. Cornwall’s visit was of a sordid nature as Aletta suspected—he hailing from the bank and MaryNell being behind on her mortgage—how could she stand by and say nothing?
MaryNell handed her Andrew’s coat and scarf, avoiding her gaze. “Here you go. I hope you two have a pleasant evening.”
“MaryNell . . . I realize you may think this is none of my business and you may well be right, but I—”
“Andrew tells me you’re making your famous chocolate cream pie tonight. He’s only mentioned it six or seven times today.”
Neither the abrupt change in topic nor the forced brightness in MaryNell’s tone could mask the hint of unshed tears—and fear—in her eyes. But they did all but answer the question in Aletta’s mind. And she felt sick inside.
She knew that fear, knew how swiftly life could change. So many widows, so many fatherless children. Life was so precarious. She’d asked Warren before he’d left if he was certain he could take another man’s life. “Aletta, I think every man is capable of killing another man . . . given the right circumstances.” Did that same thinking apply to a woman too? Could a woman commit acts she’d usually never dream of?
“Yes, I’m making that pie,” she said softly. “It’s his favorite.” Then a thought occurred. “Why don’t you and Seth come over for a slice this evening? And we’ll celebrate together.”
The knowing look in MaryNell’s expression said she was wise to the motivation behind the invitation. “Thank you, Aletta. But . . . not tonight.” She walked to the door.
Aletta followed, then paused beside her, realizing she hadn’t told her the news yet. The words didn’t come easily. “I . . . lost my job at the factory today. Several of us did, in fact.”
“Oh, Aletta. I’m so sorry. Truly.”
Aletta nodded. “Thank you.”
The silence stretched and MaryNell started to open the door, but Aletta covered her friend’s hand on the knob.
“If there’s anything you need, MaryNell, I’m here. I’ll do anything I can to help you. You’re not alone, please know that.”
MaryNell looked at her, the false brightness in her expression faltering only for a second. Then she looked away, taking a quick breath. “Seth will miss seeing Andrew every day. But we’ll be sure to get the boys together again soon.”
MaryNell opened the door and Aletta stepped outside, the bitter cold wind all but blowing straight through her.
CONFEDERATE CAMP
OUTSKIRTS OF NASHVILLE
“Hold still for me, Captain Winston.”
The steel scalpel cold against his temple, Jake obliged as the doctor cut the bandages from around his eyes. “I take it you’ve done this before, Doc.”
The army surgeon laughed beneath his breath. “Nope. You’re the first.”
Hearing the teasing in the older man’s voice, Jake smiled to mask the tightness in his chest, trying his best not to let his thoughts go where the deliberately imposed darkness of the past seven days had threatened to take them.
“I consulted with another surgeon, Captain, who agreed with my diagnosis. Allowing your eyes to rest for the past few days, especially with that salve on them, should have advanced the healing process. Once I remove the bandages, I want you to keep your eyes closed.”
With the cloths removed, the coolness of the air intensified around Jake’s eyes. Even with them still shut, he sensed the brightness inside the hospital tent, which wasn’t a surprise. He wasn’t blind, after all. The whack on his head he’d suffered after being shot had simply blurred his vision a little.
“I’m handing you a warm compress, Captain . . .”
Jake opened his hands.
“Press it gently to your eyes. It will help dissolve whatever salve remains.”
Jake complied, the warmth and moisture feeling good. He rubbed carefully, the ointment’s once-pungent scent, smelling a little like bitterroot and rosemary, all but gone.
“Now, still holding the cloth up to your eyes, I want you to open them a little at a time. Let your eyes adjust to the light.”
Jake squinted, then winced. Even the dimness of the tent seemed overbright. Finally, after a moment or so, he managed to open his eyes fully. He blinked as his immediate world came into view.
“How do things look, Captain Winston?”
Jake held his hand out in front of him. “So far, so good, Doc.”
The physician handed him a book. “Try reading for me.”
Jake opened the cover and flipped over a few pages—and felt that unwelcome tug on his thoughts returning again. He squinted. “I can read the words. But they’re a mite fuzzy.”
“That could be due to some lingering salve.”
Jake nodded, but he didn’t think so. He’d wiped the ointment clean.
“Try your rifle sight next.”
The doctor crossed to the entry of the tent and pulled back the flap. The cold followed quickly on the heels of a dull November sun as Jake pulled the sight from his pocket and peered through. His pulse edged up a notch. He closed his right eye, then opened it again, trying to focus. But couldn’t. He swallowed hard.
“Don’t be discouraged, Captain. Similar to the wound in your shoulder, your eyesight needs time to heal. At this point, we still have every reason to believe your full sight will return.”
Again Jake nodded. But the apprehension in the surgeon’s expression, and the way the man looked away when he spoke, told him a different story.
A story no sharpshooter ever wanted to hear.
“I’m here to see Mr. Tanner, please.” Aletta attempted to appear composed while Andrew tugged on her hand, doing his best to pull away. But she noticed other patrons in the bank beginning to stare.
The young woman behind the desk glanced down at an open ledger. “And do you have an appointment, Mrs. . . . ?”
“Prescott. And yes, I do, of a nature.” Aletta shot her son a last look of warning. “I came by on Monday, three days ago, and spoke with Mr. Tanner. He told me he needed to meet with the board about my situation. Then he asked me to stop back by today for their response.”
The young woman nodded, but Aletta didn’t find her frown particularly comforting.
“Wait here, please, Mrs. Prescott.”
The secretary disappeared into Mr. Tanner’s office and closed the door behind her.
Andrew tugged harder. “This isn’t any fun!”
“Not everything can be fun, Andrew. Now hold still. This won’t take long.”
Or at least she hoped it wouldn’t. Mr. Tanner had given her strong reason to believe that the board would, under the circumstances, extend her more time to pay the mortgage. She prayed he was right.
“Mrs. Prescott . . .”
Aletta turned. “Oh, Mr. Tanner! Thank you, sir, for seeing me.”
“Most certainly.” He gestured. “Why don’t we meet in my office? That will allow us more privacy.”
She felt a twinge of uncertainty at his suggestion but worked to maintain her optimism, while also working to keep hold of Andrew. The boy couldn’t seem to stay still. His unruliness reminded her of the first weeks after Warren had left to fight over two years ago. Andrew had constantly challenged her. Much as he’d done in recent days while she’d scoured the town of Franklin looking for work—with no success. He’d been obstinate and resentful. Not that she could blame him. His world had been upended yet again. He needed the loving influence and firm hand of his father.
A father who was never coming home.
She claimed one of two chairs opposite Mr. Tanner’s side of the desk, and Andrew took the other while eyeing a candy dish on the bank officer’s desk. In a blink, Andrew hopped down, grabbed a piece of peppermint, and popped it into his mouth before she could react.
“I’m sorry, Mr. Tanner,” Aletta whispered, assisting Andrew back into his chair with a scolding glance. “Andrew, we must ask permission first.” She placed a restraining hand on her son’s leg before turning back. “Candy is a rarity these days, sir.”
“It’s not a bother, Mrs. Prescott. Tell me, have you had success with securing employment?”
“No, sir, not yet. But I won’t give up,” she added quickly, her smile feeling brittle. “I’m hoping to find something soon.”
“I share that same hope, ma’am.” He cleared his throat. “Allow me to come directly to the point, Mrs. Prescott.”
He hesitated, and her heart fell.
“The board of officers met,” Mr. Tanner continued, “and . . . unfortunately, given your present situation and lack of employment, they do not believe that granting you more time to bring your loan current would be prudent. Nor practical. I’m so sorry.”
The sincerity in his voice worked to undermine her already tenuous emotions.
“Therefore, the board voted to proceed with the foreclosure. But I was able to persuade them to allow you and your son more time before you must vacate the home.”
Vacate their home. She took a deep breath, the ache of missing Warren in that moment nearly unbearable. “Thank you, Mr. Tanner. That’s something, at least.”
“They granted you until the first of December to find somewhere else to live.”
“Two weeks?” The scant relief she’d felt evaporated, and a rush of anger that had been building in recent days erupted. “That’s all? We have to leave the home we’ve lived in—and have faithfully made payments on for almost four years—in only two weeks? And my late husband so recently—” She caught herself. “—having sacrificed everything for his country, and this is the decision you make? This is the step the board would take if it involved one of their wives? Their children? You would push them from their home and into the streets?”
Andrew cocked his little head. “We’re not gonna live at home anymore, Mama?”
Confusion riddled his expression, and Aletta wished again that she hadn’t had to bring him along. But leaving him with MaryNell wasn’t an option at present. “Everything will be fine, sweetheart,” she said softly, wishing she believed it. She turned back and sighed. “My apologies to you, Mr. Tanner. Focusing my anger toward you is out of line. I know you did all you could. It’s simply . . . two weeks is not a very long time. Especially for a woman . . . in my circumstance.”
Mr. Tanner briefly bowed his head. “I understand, Mrs. Prescott. And may I offer, again, my sincere condolences on your loss. I, too, am sorry. I held such hope that this would turn out differently.”
She heard the finality in his voice and started to rise—when Andrew lunged again for the candy dish. She swiftly grabbed his arm. But not before he snatched a handful of peppermints. He yanked away from her, hitting the candy dish and sending it crashing to the floor. Shards of glass and peppermint scattered everywhere.
Heat poured through her. “Oh, Mr. Tanner! I’m so sorry! Allow me to help clean this up.” She rose, holding on to Andrew while already calculating how to kneel, something that was becoming more of a challenge.
“Don’t worry yourself over it, Mrs. Prescott. Please. My secretary will see to it.”
He crossed to the door and opened it, a clear message sent in the act. Trying to regain her composure, Aletta followed, Andrew in hand. She couldn’t bring herself to look up at Mr. Tanner as they exited.
“Thank you for your time, sir.”
They were nearly to the front door of the bank when Andrew tugged hard and attempted to turn back. But Aletta was having none of it, her grip viselike.
“Andrew, I told you—”
“There’s Mrs. Goodall’s friend.” Andrew pointed.
Sure enough, Aletta turned and spotted the man she’d seen at MaryNell’s house last week. He was seated behind a large desk in an office near the center of the bank. Her gaze went to the shingle hanging above the door, and the truth expelled the breath from her lungs.
Herbert Cornwall, President, Franklin Bank.
The man happened to look up, and their eyes met. His gaze deepened in recognition, and Aletta felt the heat of indignation rush through her. She still hoped her suspicions were mistaken. However thin that hope was. So much about this world was wrong, and unjust, and didn’t seem at all to be moving in the right direction. What kind of world would her son—her children—grow up in? She didn’t know. She only wished they could have had their father alongside them as they did.
She turned and strode from the bank, Andrew in tow.
“You want one?” he said after a minute. “I’ll share.”
She looked down to see him extending his hand, two peppermint candies nestled in his sticky palm.
“Mr. Tanner sneaked ’em to me as we left,” he said quickly. “I promise.”
Reading honesty in his eyes, she took one of the candies and popped it into her mouth, the cool rush of sweetness nearly overwhelming her taste buds.
“It’s good. Huh, Mama?”
She nodded, seeing Warren in his expression, and cherishing both of them.
“News from the War Department!” a newspaper boy called out from the corner.
Unwilling to part with another precious coin given her circumstances, she still wanted to read that list. Some would call her foolish, she realized. But she’d heard of a woman who had received notification of her husband’s death only to read his name sometime later in the War Department’s updates—where he was listed as having been wounded in battle and was still very much alive.
She spotted three women huddled close around a newspaper and waited, understanding their heartache, as, gradually, relief smoothed a measure of the worry from each of their expressions. One of the women happened to look up and meet her gaze. A wordless exchange passed between them, and she held out the paper to Aletta.
“Thank you,” Aletta whispered. “I’ll look quickly.”
“You can keep it,” the young woman responded, unmistakable relief softening her voice.
With Andrew beside her, Aletta turned the pages, then scanned the list of names under the heading “Tennessee—Killed, Wounded, and Missing,” all while telling herself she wasn’t nurturing foolish hope.
She was simply still hoping.