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Authors: Heather Graham
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son…
Stroke his daughter’s cheek, see her eyes.
If only.
While the chaplain continued with his prayers, the company about the scaffolding, Yanks and Rebs alike heard the coming of the horsemen.
No cry of alarm was given by the Federal lookouts, nor was a cry necessary, for the men who rode toward them were a company of Yanks. Standing very still, the captain realized the company was being led by a brigadier general, and the brigadier general, in charge of the command, was now dismounting from a fine sorrel horse.
He started suddenly, realizing that he recognized the man in the Union army brigadier general’s uniform.
The man was an old friend.
They’d gone to school together.
His name was Peter Tracey, and he hailed from atownship not far away. They’d ridden together, hunted together, drunk brandy together…
Shared dinner together. At this very house. And more. They’d entered into a special association together, the brotherhood of Freemasons.
Freemasonry was an ancient brotherhood. George Washington had been a member, but the founding of the Masonic organization went back further than the founding of the country; many historians theorized that the rites went back as far as the days of the ancient pyramids and Egyptians. Then, perhaps, it had stood for the work-related industries of man. Now, of course, it was far more a gentlemen’s club, but one dedicated to the good of its members and the world around them. Being a Mason demanded certain secrecies of its members, and called upon them to help one another in times of need.
The brigadier general—whose rank equaled that of George Armstrong Custer, who had ordered the hangings—was staring at the captain. The captain could hear him demanding to know what was going on that Rebel prisoners should be executed on Christmas Eve. Young Yank Lieutenant Jenkins was explaining the situation.
And watching the brigadier general’s eyes, the captain saw dismay. He would have little right to gainsay Custer’s orders.The captain was grateful that his hands were not bound, for his friend was staring at him now with horrified eyes. Rebs and Yanks lost friends frequently in battle. Brother had been called upon to fight brother; sons and fathers had taken different positions in this wretched war.
Yet to see a man, a friend, hanged for no greater crime than fighting for his own convictions was a hard sight.
A bitter one. The captain suddenly found himself praying. He wanted to live. He wanted to breathe the cool, fresh air, touch the icy smoothness of the snow.
He wanted to cherish the gift of love he had known, and forgotten to value.…
The captain offered the brigadier general a signal.
The ancient Masonic signal that he was in distress.
Any Freemason would have been obliged to help.
The brigadier general watched the captain.
The captain barely dared breathe.
He waited.…
Chapter Five
W hen she stepped into the living room the following morning, Julie was relieved to see that her husband had awakened early.
The sofa was clear of both pillow and blanket. Jon was already dressed for work, brewing coffee, popping toast, and on the phone in the kitchen when she emerged from the bedroom. He was in a suit and tie, his customary outfit, but this morning she was somewhat startled to realize how nice he looked in it. Jon was a nice height, and the shoulders of the suit emphasized the fact that he’d kept himself in good shape the last twenty years. He was brisk, businesslike, and competent on the phone, all appealing qualities. His auburn hair was freshly washed, smoothed back, his green eyes were sharp and aggressive as he spoke, and he moved about the kitchen with a strange domestic grace as hedictated a memo to the secretary who was apparently on the other end of the line.
He was good. When he chose to be. When he opted to give the family his time, he could do it with impressive agility. Not only was he managing, he was managing well. His focus and energy
Stroke his daughter’s cheek, see her eyes.
If only.
While the chaplain continued with his prayers, the company about the scaffolding, Yanks and Rebs alike heard the coming of the horsemen.
No cry of alarm was given by the Federal lookouts, nor was a cry necessary, for the men who rode toward them were a company of Yanks. Standing very still, the captain realized the company was being led by a brigadier general, and the brigadier general, in charge of the command, was now dismounting from a fine sorrel horse.
He started suddenly, realizing that he recognized the man in the Union army brigadier general’s uniform.
The man was an old friend.
They’d gone to school together.
His name was Peter Tracey, and he hailed from atownship not far away. They’d ridden together, hunted together, drunk brandy together…
Shared dinner together. At this very house. And more. They’d entered into a special association together, the brotherhood of Freemasons.
Freemasonry was an ancient brotherhood. George Washington had been a member, but the founding of the Masonic organization went back further than the founding of the country; many historians theorized that the rites went back as far as the days of the ancient pyramids and Egyptians. Then, perhaps, it had stood for the work-related industries of man. Now, of course, it was far more a gentlemen’s club, but one dedicated to the good of its members and the world around them. Being a Mason demanded certain secrecies of its members, and called upon them to help one another in times of need.
The brigadier general—whose rank equaled that of George Armstrong Custer, who had ordered the hangings—was staring at the captain. The captain could hear him demanding to know what was going on that Rebel prisoners should be executed on Christmas Eve. Young Yank Lieutenant Jenkins was explaining the situation.
And watching the brigadier general’s eyes, the captain saw dismay. He would have little right to gainsay Custer’s orders.The captain was grateful that his hands were not bound, for his friend was staring at him now with horrified eyes. Rebs and Yanks lost friends frequently in battle. Brother had been called upon to fight brother; sons and fathers had taken different positions in this wretched war.
Yet to see a man, a friend, hanged for no greater crime than fighting for his own convictions was a hard sight.
A bitter one. The captain suddenly found himself praying. He wanted to live. He wanted to breathe the cool, fresh air, touch the icy smoothness of the snow.
He wanted to cherish the gift of love he had known, and forgotten to value.…
The captain offered the brigadier general a signal.
The ancient Masonic signal that he was in distress.
Any Freemason would have been obliged to help.
The brigadier general watched the captain.
The captain barely dared breathe.
He waited.…
Chapter Five
W hen she stepped into the living room the following morning, Julie was relieved to see that her husband had awakened early.
The sofa was clear of both pillow and blanket. Jon was already dressed for work, brewing coffee, popping toast, and on the phone in the kitchen when she emerged from the bedroom. He was in a suit and tie, his customary outfit, but this morning she was somewhat startled to realize how nice he looked in it. Jon was a nice height, and the shoulders of the suit emphasized the fact that he’d kept himself in good shape the last twenty years. He was brisk, businesslike, and competent on the phone, all appealing qualities. His auburn hair was freshly washed, smoothed back, his green eyes were sharp and aggressive as he spoke, and he moved about the kitchen with a strange domestic grace as hedictated a memo to the secretary who was apparently on the other end of the line.
He was good. When he chose to be. When he opted to give the family his time, he could do it with impressive agility. Not only was he managing, he was managing well. His focus and energy
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