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rest of it? After all, the Union navy has most of this area under tight blockade.” His own weakly spoken words brought back a fleeting memory of what he’d been doing before he was shot.
    Caroline picked up the tray. “That’s true, but we still have our ways of getting it to the mainland.” She gingerly placed the tray on his lap. “The cotton is taken to the state penitentiary up in Huntsville for processing.” She paused a moment. “Since you’re awake, you might want to try eating something. Some folks around here have expressed they are mighty tired of feeding you.”
    “I understand and can’t say that I blame them.” Thomas picked up the spoon.
    Caroline started for the door.
    “Excuse me, ma’am, but would ye mind telling me if there are others who live here? I seem to have recollection of a dark-haired young woman floating around in my mind.” Thomas stuck the spoon into the bowl and stirred it. “Aye, perhaps it was an angel I seen.” He began to laugh, but a streak of pain shot all the way from the slash in his side to the deep hole in his shoulder. Thomas cried out in pain and grabbed the blanket, almost overturning the food on his lap.
    Caroline rushed over to steady him. “N-now don’t you start laughing or else you might bust open your stitches.” Her hands and her voice trembled. “Try to eat some soup and cornbread and keep quiet.” The woman gave a small smile. “You must be having memories of my eldest daughter, Margaret. She’s the one who found you half-dead on the beach. Would you like to meet the two older children?”
    “Indeed I would, ma’am. I’d like to thank Miss Margaret.” Thomas lifted a spoonful of the steaming broth. The warm liquid soothed as it went down. He took a few more spoonfuls before his head fell to the side. Fog enveloped his brain as he relaxed against the pillows.
    Caroline moved toward the door. “Margaret, Elizabeth, would you please come to the front bedroom?”
    Her loud words jarred Thomas back to consciousness.
    “I believe they are out in the kitchen fixin’ up a batch of cookies to go along with the evening meal tonight.” She wiped her hands on her apron. “They better not burn them. We’re down to the last of the sugar and there’s no more to be found.”
    “Aye, but I shall be a lucky man if yer daughters can cook half as good as ye have prepared this soup, Mrs. Logan.”
    “I didn’t cook the soup…my daughter Margaret did.” After a moment, Caroline called for the girls again. “Margaret, Elizabeth, come now, please.”
    The two girls scurried into the front bedroom.
    “Mr. Murphy, these are my two eldest daughters, Margaret and Elizabeth. Girls, this is Mr. Thomas Murphy.”
    The younger of the two had brownish hair tied up in bows like a schoolgirl. Her yellow dress fit snug around her girlish, plump frame. She swayed as she stood with her hands clasped behind her skirt. Her face was dusted with flour, and her cheeks seemed to glow in the dimly lit room as she smiled.
    He smiled back at her.
    The other one stood silent. She didn’t look at Thomas, then her sister elbowed her in the side, and a hint of anger etched her face. Eyes the color of violets met his own. His mouth became dry and he groped for the glass of water on the tray. He attempted to speak. “I’m…I’m pleased to meet ye, ladies. What a coincidence—I had a sister named Elizabeth too.” He managed to get the words out before wiping his face with the napkin.
    The younger girl curtsied, lifting her skirt out at the sides. “It’s a pleasure to meet you too, Mr. Murphy.”
    The older girl narrowed her gaze at her sister and rolled those violet eyes before turning her glare toward Thomas. She folded her arms and stood, silent.
    Her mother nudged her crossed arms. “Margaret.”
    The young woman dropped her arms, let out a huge sigh, and dipped her head. “Mr. Murphy.”
    Thomas needed to catch his breath. The girl was beautiful with the coal-colored