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the face of Mrs. Marsh’s hostile silence, Manning stubbornly pushed on. “You have a fine place here, with a lot of potential, but it’s going to take hard work and some seed money to make it prosperous again.”
    She should be able to see that, shouldn’t she? Would this woman let pride stand in the way of a future for her children?
    “I’m offering to put myself and my capital at your disposal, Mrs. Marsh, to get Sabbath Hollow back on its feet again.”
    Why didn’t she say something? Manning wondered. Was he meant to take her opposition for granted?
    “On what terms would you extend me this assistance, sir?” She spoke in a hushed tone, as if blaspheming against the Confederate cause and fearful of invoking the wrath of a secessionist Divinity.
    The possibility of her acceptance rocked Manning as the probability of her rejection had not.
    Her features flushed to a rosy hue, heightened by the candlelight. “What made you choose me and Sabbath Hollow in the first place? There must be other plantations that offer greater opportunities for profit, with less work and lower risk.”
    Manning’s mouth opened and closed in rapid convulsions, like the trout writhing and gasping for water on the creek bank after he’d fished them out.
    “I—I, that is, I fought in battles not far from here and I saw firsthand what a mess they made of this beautiful country. I guess I want to do a little something to make amends.” Close enough to the truth, but not too close. “I suppose that sounds like foolish fancy to you.”
    She seemed to weigh the sincerity of his words. “On the contrary, Mr. Forbes. It’s the most sensible thing I’ve heard a Yank —anyone say in quite a spell.”
    Manning could tell she grudged him the compliment. Still, it provided him with enough encouragement to plow ahead. “I make only one condition on my offer, ma’am. That our partnership be both a business and personal one.” His tongue fumbled over the words. Surely there must be a more graceful way to ask? His ears felt like a pair of red-hot fire irons. “What I mean is, I’d like you to marry me, ma’am.”
    If he’d torn the front of her threadbare dress open from collar to hem and begun to take liberties with the tender flesh beneath, Manning doubted Caddie Marsh could have looked more outraged.
    Her face suddenly pale as whitewash, with green flames blazing in her eyes, she sprang from her chair and pointed toward the door. “How dare you even suggest such a thing? Take your infamous proposition and get out of my house this instant, you no-account carpetbagger!”
    Her outstretched finger vibrated with barely suppressed violence. She must want to slap his face some bad.
    Strangely, Manning found her abuse easier to accept than the hospitality she’d shown him earlier. With all the mute dignity he could muster, he rose from the table and left the house. Part of him wanted to perform a jig of relief that Widow Marsh had refused him in such emphatic terms.
    Another part, a tiny one, to be sure, grieved his lost opportunity.

Chapter Three
    S OLDIERS MARSHALED ON the field of battle. Bugle notes punctured the expectant air. In the distance, an officer bellowed the order to charge.
    Now they were stampeding toward her, rifle barrels belching smoke and bullets. A chorus of eerie shrieks and the staccato crack of gunfire filled Caddie’s ears. She crouched behind queer breastworks made of scrub buckets, washboards and butter chums. Her hands ached from their straining grip on the rifle stock.
    “Let ’em come,” bade a voice of harsh authority. “Don’t waste your ammunition until the first wave gets good and close.”
    Caddie’s nerves quivered as minié balls whizzed by her, so close she could feel the lethal breeze of their passing. Soon the enemy would storm this vulnerable position and butcher her.
    “Open fire!”
    In one swift motion, Caddie rose, leveled her weapon and discharged a shot. It caught one of the oncoming