Suddenly, she stopped. Good heavens, was that Darrick McDonald in a Yankee uniform? When had he shown up? Four years had passed since he left Georgia, but there was no mistaking the man she’d once loved. Memory’s pain almost felled her, and tears welled. She’d waited for him, dreamed of his return. The love she’d thought they shared still haunted her. He’d returned to Witherspoon and hadn’t even contacted her. Had he forgotten her so easily?

Across the way, he talked to half a dozen soldiers near a campfire. All seven men walked away, but there had been no mistaking Darrick McDonald as one of them. How could the man she’d loved turn traitor? Looked as if he’d joined the low down, cheating Yankees who had taken her horses and held the town captive. Worse, although she couldn’t calculate his rank, obviously he was an officer.

Her ten-year-old brother, Rob, duck-walked to a nearby holly bush. "How much longer we have to be here?" he whispered. "I been tired of this for a long time. I’m freezing my ass—,"

"Robert Gibson Bailey," she whispered back fiercely, and her breath clouded in frost.

"Um, I’m freezing my arms off. I can hardly move."

"Won’t be long now. Not another word." Bad enough they had to steal their own horses, but Rob’s complaining and her reaction risked giving away their location.

Her nerves couldn’t be more frazzled if a gun were pointed at her head. She tried not to think of the consequences of her daring. What would happen to Rob if they were caught? Surely even Yankees didn’t jail boys.

A sentry walked within ten feet of her, and she shrank back from view. Her loss of focus had almost caused her capture. And after she’d been freezing here for two hours, timing the patrols.

The guard glanced around. "What’s got you critters stirred up? You done been fed all you’re going to get, so quiet down." Warily, he peered around again, then moved on.

In the shadows of an ancient oak tree, she stood hidden from his view. Parmelia thanked her luck she’d worn men’s clothing so no skirt billowed to catch the sentry’s attention.

She had ten minutes before he came by again.

Across the corral, her mares’ ears were up. She waited a minute, then made kissy noises to get their attention. When they’d been hers—before those cheating, thieving Yankees had confiscated them—she’d used that sound to cajole her pets. They knew it meant treats.

"Get ready, Rob." She moved toward the horses.

He raced forward and climbed onto the corral’s rails. He straddled the top bar, ready to mount a horse.

Two of her mares, Lady and Beauty, pushed their way through the herd toward Parmelia and Rob. Guinevere, Star, and Venus crowded behind Beauty and Lady. How she loved these horses. She’d raised all five from foals. Seeing them in Army possession sliced open her heart. Innocent horses died in battles, too. What if one of hers fell from a cannon ball? What if a bayonet slashed one’s neck?

She gave them each a shriveled apple from her family’s decreasing supply. Running her hand over velvet noses aroused happy memories. Briefly, she rested her face against Lady’s head. But she had no time to indulge in sentiment or reverie now. She raised the bar holding the gate closed.

Rob swung onto Lady’s back. He grabbed her mane to guide her and used his boots to nudge the mare forward.

Parmelia opened the gate barely wide enough for Lady to pass. Beauty followed. Parmelia’s other horses pushed forward, but Parmelia forced the gate closed.

Tears stung her eyes. "I’m sorry, babies, but Lady and Beauty are the strongest."

She lifted the heavy board used to bar the gate, then dropped it. The sound seemed to reverberate forever. Good Lord, how could she have been so clumsy?

Star whinnied her distress and pushed against the wooden bars. Keeping the gate closed took all Parmelia’s strength. With her hip and leg firmly pressing against the rough wood, she slid the bar into place.

Rob threaded his way through the shadows. Parmelia grabbed Beauty’s mane and led her into the night.

Behind her, her other horses whinnied, obviously upset at being left behind.

From the darkness, a voice called, "Calm down, you critters. What’s got you spooked?"

Parmelia prayed he didn’t count the herd.