The Better Angels: Hearts Touched by Fire, Book 4

blanket and the leatherworks that held his ammunition, caps and food with the tin cup bouncing off the tie to the haversack, made him feel bulky, everything shifting as he walked. The rough leather brogans were uncomfortable, even with the wool socks, but it was the uniform and he fit in with the rest. Days of riding across green fields and managing a plantation now just a distant past. Emma, though, wasn’t.
They marched over the rise then sank into the pit on the backside, every soldier settling in.
“Them Yankees won’t be messing with us here,” one man boasted. “If their scouts be any good, they’ve seen us and won’t go against the Tigers!”
A mumbled agreement filtered down the line. Francois sank down, putting the rifle down and yanking the roll off his shoulders. He needed to feel that locket in his pocket. The boiled wool of the grey-brown jacket was thick so he reached inside and searched the inner breast pocket till he found the oval shape. Relief flooded through him as he pulled it out, rubbing his thumb pad over the gold cover.
“I’d be keepin’ an eye on that piece, if I was you,” Morris whispered. “Gold is scarce around this place.”
“Anyone who even thinks of takin’ this will soon find himself without any fingers,” Francois threatened softly. With practiced ease, he flipped the lid back so he could see his ladylove. It was a small portrait, painted years before the war, he reckoned, but still, he could see the beauty that captured his heart. She’d given it to him when he’d wooed her and he thought it odd she’d never asked for it back, though the unexpected return of Jack no doubt pushed any thoughts of him aside…
“Who’s that?”
He closed his eyes as he slowly shut the pendant and slid it back inside his jacket, to the pocket over his heart. “Emma.”
“She is waiting for you?”
Morris was a damn bit too nosey, Francois wanted to grumble. Instead, he sighed and uttered the worst word of them all. “No.”
His friend frowned. But before he could mutter a word, a hail of gunfire exploded from across the river.
She was convinced she was lying to herself. The post came and she rushed to the poor corporal who had the terrible position of distributing the parcels. What should be a wonderful moment was always laced with dread simply from the prospect not everyone got a piece. The waiting soldiers often stormed the poor man. For those poor souls with no mail, this was the worst, for they appeared forgotten in this hell they lived in. Ada tried to convince herself she was more worried about them than whether or not she got something. Walking away empty-handed was never her fate, thanks to Dragon Dix and her constant reminder of reports, but what she desired was a letter from her beloved, something that rarely happened…
Already she was devising a distraction along the lines of rearranging the medical storage in search of another easier method and burying her heart beneath a crate or two. But this time, her luck changed.
“Nurse Lorrance!”
She darted her way through the throng and reached for the post. Four envelopes, three of which had Dix’s handwriting, but the fourth was only addressed to her and in a masculine script. Could it be? Did she dare hope? With a deep gulp, she pulled the edges apart.
It was him! Her beloved! She devoured every word of this very short note, written two weeks past. It was the last line, though, that made her stomach flip.
It has been unsightly here. The wounds that never stop, the saws that never rest. Rosecrans attempts to beat Bragg has become a bloodbath that trails from Atlanta back to here in Nashville. As I scribe this, I find my own strength taxed so apologies for the shortness. Just assure me that you are far from this madness and you risk nothing to get closer to me. We shall reunite when we’ve won, or they have their independence, for at this point, either is possible from what I see at the surgeon’s view.
Your humble and obedient servant, always,
Colonel Richard E. Peregoy
Medical Dept
United States Army
She pressed the letter to her breast, a surge of relief from hearing his words raced through her veins. He’d finally replied to her correspondence and it made her heart sing, despite the rather cool closure. But he no doubt wrote it with little care, pressed by the war, like they all were. He’d made the leap to staff surgeon and was fully encompassed with the Army of the Tennessee. At times, it made her wonder whether he remembered who he was writing to, but his advice to be cautious she didn’t think was for another. Despite its rather cold signature, signed in military style and missing any endearments her heart longed to hear, she’d hold onto the hope that he was alive, thinking of her and the hint of seeing her again…
“Ada.”
She blinked hard, realizing she was standing awkwardly still, in the footpath of the hospital row, clutching the letter as her eyes pooled with unreleased tears. Blinking furiously, she cleared her vision to find Dr. Letterman before her. The great surgeon and instigator for advancement here, on the battlefield for the wounded, surprised her.
“Yes, sir,” she replied, sliding the letter into her skirt pocket.
“Are you all right, madam? Perhaps you should go inside and take a seat.” A concerned looked etched across his forehead. He motioned toward the tent behind her.
“No, I am truly well. It was news from a close and dear friend. I’d been worried about him, being with the Army of the Tennessee.”
“Ah, yes. General Rosecrans’s venture. Bloody affair through and through!” Letterman shook his head.
The silence that followed made her frown. “Sir, how may I help you? For I doubt your visit here is simply to inquire after my health.”
Letterman nodded. “It has come to the attention of the staff that some of our physicians