Read Online Surrender the Wind by Elizabeth St. Michel - Free Book Online
Authors: Elizabeth St. Michel
Tags: Fiction, Suspense, Romance, Historical, Thrillers, Action & Adventure, War & Military, alpha male romance, female protagonist, mystery and suspense, action and adventure, Women of the Civil War, Wartime Love Story, America Civil War Battles
Ads: Link
later, he heard her listening at the door. Assuming he was asleep, she tiptoed in the room then, lay far to her side of the bed, fortifying the pillow defenses and covering them with the new quilt. Years of war had made him practiced, vigilant of his surroundings. He was even more aware of her. He listened to her breathing slow into a gentle rhythm of sleep. Tearing apart the silly barrier, he tossed the pillows on the floor and gathered up her slumbering form in his arms. Before returning to the Cause, he would appeal to his greater inclination. The war would not rob him of this one small pleasure.
Chapter Five
Catherine had walked two miles to the town of Pleasant Valley. After forwarding a telegram from the telegraph office to John’s brother in Washington, she headed to the dry-goods store. She took two steps back. On a bench was a discarded newspaper, bannered with another headline of the war’s progress.
The tone of the day’s events contrasted to what Catherine remembered back in 1861, at the advent of the war. “To overcome the wicked Rebellion to destroy the Union,” the northern papers had trumpeted and inspired. “We must combat the lawlessness and treason of Southern leaders as now fully manifested.”
From the battle cry, marched the patriot sons of blood in zealous numbers with their bright uniforms and shiny rifles to conquer their tyrannical and oppressive brethren of the Southern States. Throngs of New York’s electrified populace in perfect ovation to the soldiers’ line of march, filled the sidewalks with drowning huzzahs for the Union accompanied with many touching scenes of farewell.
She had begged her brother, Shawn, not to go. With their parents dead, he had no opposition. Who will manage the Rifle Works? Despite her great criticism, Shawn, enamored with war fever, responded to the call.
Catherine walked the block of stores, the wood planks, creaking beneath her feet. She lifted her nose from the smell of horse dung piled against the blacksmith’s shop then stepped into Dinkle’s Mercantile and Dry Goods, adjusting her eyes to the dim interior.
“Miss Callahan, a pleasure seeing you again,” Elias Dinkle gushed, his Adam’s apple bobbing up and down. He ushered her to a milk can, slapped his apron over it to knock off the dust and offered her a seat. “Goodness gracious, you make the sun come out on a rainy day.” With his fingers, he combed a few remaining strands of hair over his balding pate, and to Catherine’s horror, blew a steady stream from his bulbous nose.
Catherine moved away from her admirer, fingering the bolts of calico. “I’m in a hurry, Mr. Dinkle. Would you be so kind as to help me with some of my purchases?” she said, hoping to remove him to behind the counter. She rattled off a list of her requirements.
“Miss Callahan, why on earth do you need a straight razor and men’s clothes?”
She pointed with her gloved finger. “And boots…those black ones on the shelf.”
“What does a schoolteacher need with men’s boots?” Did his nose glow brighter?
Mesmerized by the rapid motion of his Adam’s apple, Catherine prevaricated. “I’m expecting a visit from a dear sweet cousin and wish to have a few gifts set aside. He’s poor and in need of a few essentials.”
If only the poor cousin excuse was enough to abate Dinkle’s wagging tongue. With certainty, Father Callahan would get wind of it when he returned. No way did she desire to invite that drama. Her uncle and his Irish temper made an angry grizzly look tame. She fidgeted with the licorice jar and leaned forward. “This is all hush-hush. He’s a simple soul, dull-witted, you see.” And then burgeoning with inspiration, she added, “It wasn’t his fault, dropped on his head as a baby.”
Dinkle beamed with delight. The new schoolmarm who he held a snowballing romantic fascination, had taken him into her confidence.
Catherine added a few jars of peaches to her purchases, picked up as
Chapter Five
Catherine had walked two miles to the town of Pleasant Valley. After forwarding a telegram from the telegraph office to John’s brother in Washington, she headed to the dry-goods store. She took two steps back. On a bench was a discarded newspaper, bannered with another headline of the war’s progress.
The tone of the day’s events contrasted to what Catherine remembered back in 1861, at the advent of the war. “To overcome the wicked Rebellion to destroy the Union,” the northern papers had trumpeted and inspired. “We must combat the lawlessness and treason of Southern leaders as now fully manifested.”
From the battle cry, marched the patriot sons of blood in zealous numbers with their bright uniforms and shiny rifles to conquer their tyrannical and oppressive brethren of the Southern States. Throngs of New York’s electrified populace in perfect ovation to the soldiers’ line of march, filled the sidewalks with drowning huzzahs for the Union accompanied with many touching scenes of farewell.
She had begged her brother, Shawn, not to go. With their parents dead, he had no opposition. Who will manage the Rifle Works? Despite her great criticism, Shawn, enamored with war fever, responded to the call.
Catherine walked the block of stores, the wood planks, creaking beneath her feet. She lifted her nose from the smell of horse dung piled against the blacksmith’s shop then stepped into Dinkle’s Mercantile and Dry Goods, adjusting her eyes to the dim interior.
“Miss Callahan, a pleasure seeing you again,” Elias Dinkle gushed, his Adam’s apple bobbing up and down. He ushered her to a milk can, slapped his apron over it to knock off the dust and offered her a seat. “Goodness gracious, you make the sun come out on a rainy day.” With his fingers, he combed a few remaining strands of hair over his balding pate, and to Catherine’s horror, blew a steady stream from his bulbous nose.
Catherine moved away from her admirer, fingering the bolts of calico. “I’m in a hurry, Mr. Dinkle. Would you be so kind as to help me with some of my purchases?” she said, hoping to remove him to behind the counter. She rattled off a list of her requirements.
“Miss Callahan, why on earth do you need a straight razor and men’s clothes?”
She pointed with her gloved finger. “And boots…those black ones on the shelf.”
“What does a schoolteacher need with men’s boots?” Did his nose glow brighter?
Mesmerized by the rapid motion of his Adam’s apple, Catherine prevaricated. “I’m expecting a visit from a dear sweet cousin and wish to have a few gifts set aside. He’s poor and in need of a few essentials.”
If only the poor cousin excuse was enough to abate Dinkle’s wagging tongue. With certainty, Father Callahan would get wind of it when he returned. No way did she desire to invite that drama. Her uncle and his Irish temper made an angry grizzly look tame. She fidgeted with the licorice jar and leaned forward. “This is all hush-hush. He’s a simple soul, dull-witted, you see.” And then burgeoning with inspiration, she added, “It wasn’t his fault, dropped on his head as a baby.”
Dinkle beamed with delight. The new schoolmarm who he held a snowballing romantic fascination, had taken him into her confidence.
Catherine added a few jars of peaches to her purchases, picked up as
Similar Books
