The Memory House

“Brain fever, Miss Charlotte,” Lizzy said. “His mind is gone.”

“Captain!” someone called from the doorway. “Come quickly, sir.”

The poor captain appeared torn. So many needs. So many voices calling for him.

There were too many strangers in her house.

“I’ll tend to this man, Captain. Lizzy, is there a potion that would soothe him?”

In caution, Lizzy’s dark eyes cut between her and the captain and the other listeners in the room. Not everyone approved of the maid’s medicines. “I’ll see what I got.”

She scurried from the room just as Charlotte’s husband burst in from outside. He gazed around the scene, bewildered, but quickly settled on Charlotte. In a cold, irate voice, he demanded, “Mrs. Portland!”

Charlotte rose to her knees. “Edgar, please. This man is—”

“In my study. Now!” And he stormed through the parlor with little regard to the sick and injured beneath his feet.

* * *

Charlotte jumped as her husband slammed the study door and strode to his desk. Hands on the wood, he leaned toward her. His face was florid, his mouth tight with anger.

“Have you no decency?”

Charlotte waited with her hands in the folds of her dress. She knew better than to argue.

Edgar slammed his fist onto the desk. In spite of her efforts not to, Charlotte jumped again.

“Speak when I speak to you!”

Her chin came up. “There are wounded men in our house, Edgar, whether we want them or not. It seems indecent not to help them.”

“I don’t want them here.”

“Nor do I, but there is little we can do to stop them. Isn’t cooperating better than being shot?”

“Cooperating? Is that what you call wallowing on the floor with a Yankee?”

“The soldier was out of his head. He didn’t know what he was doing.” She took a step toward him, one hand outstretched in a plea. Edgar always responded better when she asked. “Please allow me this ministry. Tending the sick is the Christian thing to do.”

His face worked for several tense seconds before he cursed and spun toward the narrow window, showing her his back. “Go on, then. Go coddle your Yankees.”

Charlotte waited two beats of time, her knees shaking and her stomach twisted in knots. “Thank you.”

Edgar whirled and shouted, “I said go, woman!”

With what dignity she could muster, Charlotte slipped out the door and was shocked to see the young captain in the hallway.

“Are you all right, ma’am?” he asked quietly.

Heat burned her cheeks. Humiliated but grateful for the kindness, Charlotte nodded.

Moving closer, the captain murmured, “We’ve put you in a difficult situation. I apologize.”

Charlotte glanced toward the closed study, fearful that Edgar would exit the room and cause another scene.

Captain Gadsden took her arm and led her a few feet down the hall. “Could I fetch you a glass of water?”

Her cheeks burned hotter. “I’m fine.”

With a tilt of his head, he released her and started to walk away.

“Captain.”

He turned, holding her with gentle eyes, his head tilted to one side.

“Thank you,” she whispered.

The moment stood still while she and the handsome captain stared at each other in the dim hallway. The floor seemed to shift beneath Charlotte’s feet. Her ears buzzed and she had the strongest urge to reach out to him, this complete stranger who’d offered her more kindness than her own husband.

She sucked in a quick breath, shocked at her thoughts, and hurried back to the groaning soldiers.

6 (#ulink_532c166b-499a-5f36-948e-7ccfac6282e0)

Peach Orchard Inn Present Day

Valery was late coming down to work, which could mean two things, neither of them good, both of them probable.

Julia served breakfast by herself, relieved they had only four guests this morning. Mr. Oliver came back from his Good Samaritan trip about the time the first couple was leaving the dining room. He slid into place next to a window overlooking the back lawn. Someday she’d have a garden there, and the old carriage house would be a pretty sight instead of a reminder of all that remained unfinished at Peach Orchard Inn. Unfinished. Incomplete. Like her life.

“Did you get the man’s car started?” She delivered Bob’s breakfast plate and a fresh carafe of coffee.

“Fixed him right up. Brought back your cup. I’m afraid the other fellow must have forgotten about his.”

Julia made a face. That’s what she got for noticing the man’s good looks instead of remembering he was a stranger. “I wonder where he was headed. He seemed sort of lost.”

“Said he was going in to Honey Ridge.”

“Really? Does he have family here?”

“I wouldn’t know. He was polite enough and grateful as a pup but tight-lipped and watchful, too, as though he couldn’t believe I was lending a hand.”

“I’ll have to ask Mama. She knows everything that happens in Honey Ridge, usually before it happens.” She smiled at her own joke. “She and the good old boys at the miniature-golf club.”

“You keep telling me about that place. I’m going to have to stop in there sometime.” He dipped a fork into his casserole. “My wife made an appearance yet?”

“Not yet.”

He shook his head and chuckled. “Save her some of this casserole, will you?”