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the first one—this one looked even younger.
    “We have company, ma’am.”
    Mrs. Logan whipped around toward the door. “June, Jeremiah, you may come in now. They’ve been chompin’ at the bit to meet you since we brought you here.”
    Thomas was set at ease by the angelic faces of the little girl and boy. He pondered how their chubby-cheeked smiles could seem so normal and happy when the country they lived in was being torn apart by war.
    Mrs. Logan gathered the children to her. “Mr. Thomas Murphy, this is June and Jeremiah Logan, my two youngest children.”
    “Pleased to meet you, Mr. Murphy.” The little girl extended her tiny hand.
    Thomas leaned forward to accept it. A terrific pain shot through his side. He emitted a low, guttural cry as he grasped for the area.
    Jeremiah’s eyes grew wide with fear, and the child fled from the room crying.
    June drew back her hand and buried her face in her mama’s skirt.
    “Oh, I’m so sorry to have frightened yer wee boy, ma’am. I seem to have found a new source of pain.” Thomas fell back. He clutched at his bandaged side and slowly breathed in and out, willing the pain to go away.
    “That’s quite all right, Thomas. I suspect you’re feeling your stitches. I sewed up a mighty big gash on your side there. Oh, and I also dug a slug out of your shoulder. It’s a good thing it wasn’t an artillery ball or else you might have lost the arm. You’re blessed that I had a full bottle of laudanum on hand.”
    “Are ye a doctor, Mrs. Logan?”
    “No…but my father was. And I’ve had quite a bit of nursing training.”
    “So, ye been plying me with opium, have ye? And how long have I been here, ma’am?” Thomas lifted up again and then pulled on his beard growth to determine how long he’d been incapacitated.
    Mrs. Logan removed her daughter from within the folds of her skirt, and the little girl left the room.
    Caroline picked up another pillow and stuffed it behind Thomas’s back. “You’ve been here three days, Mr. Murphy. And you should be glad I had that medicine.” She wiped her hands on her apron. “Heavens…it took most of the family just to hold you down while I patched up your wounds.” The woman sounded somewhat vexed. “It would have been nice if I had access to those mineral springs we passed back in the town of High Island when we moved out here. You’d be fit as a fiddle if you could soak your body in those hot springs. But I did the best I could with what I had.”
    “And indeed, I am thankful to ye, ma’am. I’m supposing I wouldn’t be alive now without ye.” He relaxed against the plush pillows, comfortable in the thought she mustn’t want him dead since she’d gone to such lengths to keep him alive. “Ma’am, if ye don’t mind me askin’, will ye tell me why ye decided to save me life? I am the enemy, after all.”
    Mrs. Logan paused from puttering around the room. She appeared to be deep in thought. “Well, Mr. Murphy, I suppose it was the Christian thing to do. What kind of people would we be if we just left you there to die?”
    “Now yer sounding like my mam.” Thomas smiled at her.
    “Ah, is she living back in New York?”
    “No, ma’am, she’s dead.”
    “Oh, I’m so sorry, Mr. Murphy.”
    “Don’t ye worry about it none. She’s been gone for some time now.” Thomas paused and felt himself being pulled into the painting on the wall—effects of the opium, he suspected. The painful thought of his mother’s death was one of dozens of memories he’d just as well forget. He turned his attention back to the woman and changed the subject directly. “And is there a Mr. Logan about?”
    “Yes, there is. My husband, Jebediah, is working in the field picking cotton.”
    “Cotton, eh? And do ye gin it yerself, ma’am?”
    “No, there’s no gin on the peninsula that I know of, but we do use a bit of it here. You’re resting your back on some right now.”
    “Very nice indeed. And what do ye do with the