The early 20th century saw the golden age of porch swings, with their popularity reaching new heights. Manufacturers began producing porch swings on a larger scale, making them more accessible to a wider audience. This era saw the introduction of innovative designs and materials, including metal and wicker. The porch swing became synonymous with the idyllic American home, featured in homemaking magazines.
“There’s something important I want to
discuss with you, Griffin.”
Looking up at the canopy of stars in the
blue-black night, Griffin smiled. Despite what little time they’d been in each
other’s company, he knew when something was troubling her. “Nice evening for
courting, don’t you think?” he said before he raised her hand to his lips then
meshed his fingers with hers. Even if the glow from the nearby lantern hadn’t
confirmed it, he knew a rosy blush had risen to her cheeks. It was, as his
mother reminded them, their wedding night.
“Your mother is about as subtle as a
boulder.”
Her words were tinged with a note of
laughter, and this time Griffin chuckled aloud. “That she is. She practically
shoved the food down our throats then insisted we ‘go set’ as she calls it.”
“But she did promise that we could put Jack
to bed.”
“Her one concession,” he noted, setting
the swing into motion with the toe of his boot. “Now tell me what’s so
important that has you worrying your bottom lip from the moment we came out
here.”
Within the confines of the porch swing,
their bodies touched from ankle to shoulders and when Kate inhaled a deep
breath, Griffin couldn’t help but feel her uneasiness.
“I want to continue working with Dr.
Wells as his nurse. There’s such a need, Griffin, with so many people either migrating
West or choosing to settle in Marietta. And your mother tells me many enslaved
folks often pass through here on their way North.”
“Did Mama mention that she often hid
families fleeing slavery? She would hang a particular quilt, I think the
pattern was called the Log Cabin. It would relay the message to that here was a
safe place.”
Kate remained quiet for a long moment.
“Now I know why you are an honorable man. You were raised with compassion, a
duty to help the less fortunate, and with the guidance of a good woman.”
“And a time or two spent behind the
woodshed.” His grin faded, thinking of his wild days as youth. Now, as he so
often did, he gave thanks he didn’t find himself on the same slippery slope as
Jasper Pike.
“I think working with Doc Moore is a
fine idea. Why did you think I’d have objections?”
Kate’s shoulders orchestrated a shrug.
“I’ve heard comments to the effect that once your husband returns from the
fighting, he’ll want you to behave as a proper wife and have a passel of
children.”
It had crossed his mind more than once
wondering if Kate would be open to having children of their own. The thought
added a different type of heat to the already warm night. “The war has changed
a great many things, Kate, including what constitutes a proper wife. But I am
curious about one thing.”
“What’s that?”
“The idea of having children.”
The words hung there as the swing slowed, the rhythmic easing of its bolts and hinges adding to the symphony of the katydids and night owls. “I’ve always been open to having children. Unfortunately, Hugh and I were never blessed with any. When he died, I consoled myself with the thought that at least he didn’t leave behind children who might not recover from the death of a father.”
“What regiment did he serve with?” Griffin
hoped she didn’t mind the question.
“General Ambrose Wright,” she answered
then gave a soft, tired sigh. “Hugh was proud of his Georgia heritage. Our
fathers were friends from their university days in medical school in Augusta. I’d
always scoffed at those twitterpated ninnies who fell in love at first
sight…until I met Hugh at a dinner party. By the time dessert arrived, I knew
he was the one. We’d been married eight years when the war broke out and he
joined the Georgia Brigade. I’d already suffered the loss of my father at
Manassas Junction three months after the war started, so when the news arrived
about Hugh’s passing, I realized I was truly alone.”
“I’m sorry, Kate.” He pulled her closer
against his shoulder. The
battle resulted in a Confederate
victory, shocking the North and boosting Southern morale.
She nodded her assent. Yet, her fragile
smile didn’t convince him.
“There’s something more, isn’t there?”
With her eyes closed, she pulled in her
bottom lip. “I can’t be sure but I believe I spotted Jasper Pike on the
platform at the train station.”
“Pike?” A sudden coldness hit his core.
“Did you ever mention to him where you
might be headed?”
A
muscle jumped in Griffin’s cheek and his jaw clenched. “The last time I saw
hide or hair of that—” He swallowed a word he wasn’t in the habit of using. “Just
after he aimed his rifle and shot me in Marietta.”
“Oh, dear heavens, Griffin!” Kate’s hands flew to her
heart and her eyes grew round. “But, Griffin, you never said anything. Pastor
Alden or Opaline or I could have alerted someone to go after him.”
“I did tell Sergeant Dalton when he came to see me at
the Methodist church after I was stitched up. And later when I returned to my
regiment General Garrard took my statement. But by that time we were on the way
to Atlanta. Scouring the countryside for—”the word surfaced again—“Pike wasn’t
a priority for the Union Army. I guessed they figured he was either killed or
deserted.”
“The detestable, odious man he is. Don’t they shoot or
hang deserters?”
Griffin lifted his shoulders in a shrug. “If they find
them. There are a dozen ways to desert. A soldier could wait until a platoon
passed by, work his way to the end of line then head home on foot. Others might
skulk in ravines and hide until the battle was over. Or like Pike, slip into the woods and never be seen or
heard from again.” He shifted his arm. Gently, with one long finger against her
left cheek he turned her face toward him. “Put Jasper Pike out of your mind, Kate.
I’m here now. Nothing is going to happen to you or Jack.”
Moisture filled her eyes. “And by volunteering to act
as a deputy sheriff in Harmony for the week is how you plan to do it? You
survived four years of war only to come home and have some…some outlaw…what if
something happens to you?”
Griffin gave an exaggerated sigh. “As much as I’m
honored by your concern, I’ve always wondered why is it that women often hear
only part of the story?” Kate stiffened beside so he hurried to
explain...again. “There are four fellas that volunteered to be deputies—should
the need arise. I’m only, I repeat, only on standby and as an advisor.”
If Kate was considering a response, the appearance of
his mother holding Jack calmed her misgivings.
“Here’s your boy, Papa.” In a gesture that seemed
perfectly natural, Griffin stretched out his arms. Jack didn’t hesitate. He
leaned forward and snuggled against his chest, finding a spot just beneath his
chin before popping his thumb into his mouth. Unconditional love flowed through
him. This child may not be of his body, but he was and always would be a child
of his heart. He tightened his grip on the baby, enjoying his warmth.
The surprise on Kate’s face mirrored his own. She
smiled, her eyes sparkling with—what he hoped—were happy tears.
His mother draped a lacy crocheted blanket over Jack.
“Since it looks like the two of you have everything well in hand, I’ll tend to
the dishes. “Oh, I moved Jack’s cot into my room for the night,” she added with
a knowing waggle of her eyebrows before going inside the house.
This time even Griffin blushed. “That woman is nothing
if not persistent.”
“Like a dog with a bone,” Kate muttered.
They sat in peaceful silence for several minutes until
Jack’s head drooped further down on his chest and his thumb slid from his
mouth.
Kate stood and reached for the lantern. “It’s time
this little one was in bed.”
Cradling Jack, Griffin rose and followed his wife into
the house. She pushed open the door to his mother’s room, which was illuminated
by a milk glass kerosene lamp with a spray of violets etched on the shade, its
wick turned low. The baby never whimpered when Griffin carefully laid him down
then kissed his dark head.
Kate stood at the threshold, her arms wrapped around
her waist. She didn’t move but only stared up at him, her blue eyes wide and
luminous.
“I want us to be with him every night, Kate
Kate’s voice was low and smooth, and wrapped around
his heart. “I was hoping you’d want to.”
Powerless to keep from capturing her mouth with his
own, he tugged her closer. Her lips were soft and inviting, and held a
sweetness he knew he’d never find anywhere else. With her soft curves molding
to the contours of his body, he deepened the kiss and wrapped her in a fierce
embrace. When her hands explored his shoulders then moved to caress his back
with butterfly touches, he groaned. The desire for his wife was like nothing
he’d ever known.
A noise from the kitchen reminded him where they were
and he reluctantly ended the kiss. He didn’t release his hold on her knowing
there was no reason not to lead her into their room. They were married in the
eyes of the Lord. That should have been good enough for any man.
Yet, something held him back.
While it was obvious there was a growing affection
between them, he also sensed an undercurrent of something he couldn’t quite
define. Meeting under the worst of circumstances, he understood theirs wasn’t a
conventional union. Mistrust, resentment, and broken homes and lives, along
with booming cannon fire and Minie´ balls had been the hallmarks coloring their
lives. If they were going to move forward and build a life together, it had to
be based on mutual trust, honesty, and in time—hopefully—love.
North and South. Yankee and Rebel. Union and Confederate.
In the midst of the Civil War, can two hearts come together?
When the tide of war sweeps south and the Union Army invades and destroys the Georgia cotton mill where Kate Brodie is a nurse, not only is her livelihood destroyed but she’s branded a traitor and shipped northward with the other workers. Only the unlikely attention of a Yankee major makes the trip tolerable.
Union major, Griffin Fletcher loathes the part of his job that requires him to destroy homes, towns, and livelihoods of innocent civilians. But he’s sworn to uphold the Union at all costs. Yet, he vows to protect these women he’s been ordered to transport to Marietta. Especially the one whose fiery determination, proud stance, and soft heart draws him closer.
Determined to remain in the South, Kate makes a daring leap of faith to nurse wounded Yankee soldiers, never expecting Major Fletcher to be one of her patients. Along with his healing, they each faced the fears and prejudices that had brought them together.
With survival so tenuous, can faith help them find love in the midst of so much tragedy?
