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on.”
    “No, Christine, you don’t understand. I can’t live without him. I am his Ten-Cow woman.”
    “He called you a cow?”
    Sophie nodded. “Reverently.”
    Christine settled her head against the chair as Sophie shared the fable.
    “There is a story of a farmer with three daughters. One was fair-haired and lovely, and her hand in marriage was exchanged for a high price of seven cows, eight chickens, and five pigs. His second born was equally pretty as the first, but her hand came for far less a price at five cows. Then the youngest, a quiet young maiden, not particularly pretty, but sweet. The old farmer feared his youngest daughter would never marry and he’d be stuck with her. So he set her price at one cow and the runt of a sow’s litter.”
    Christine wrinkled her nose. “She sounds positively homely.”
    Sophie chuckled. “One day, a young man came to the farmer and told him he had fallen in love with his youngest daughter and he would do anything to marry her. The farmer informed him of the bride price and the suitor left without comment. A year went by, and although both his other daughters had married, his youngest remained at home, pining for her young man.”
    “You’d think she would have married someone else by then.”
    Sophie raised an eyebrow. “Is romance lost on you, then?”
    Christine lifted her cup to her mouth. “Sorry, continue.”
    “Anyway, the farmer and his wife weren’t sure how they were going to break it to their daughter that, obviously, her young man just didn’t feel she was worth the one cow and piglet. When the maiden had lost all hope, her young man came. With ten cows in tow. He’d also brought with him, three goats, six pigs, and twenty chickens. The girl’s father met him at the door, and the young man said, ‘I believe you have highly undervalued your daughter. Here are ten cows, which is what I believe she is worth.’”
    Tears slipped down Christine’s cheeks, and she pulled a handkerchief from her cuff to wipe them away. “My word, Sophie. How romantic.”
    “I know. I feel sometimes I take that for granted.” Sophie frowned. “His love for me is overwhelming at times.”
    “I also lost my husband.”
    Sophie gasped. “You did? Oh, Christine! I’m so sorry.”
    Christine held a hand up. “I’m only telling you because I’m proof that life will go on.”
    “How did he die?”
    “He was killed at Shiloh.”
    “April 1862,” Sophie whispered.
    Christine’s eyes widened. “Yes, that’s right.”
    Sophie gathered her dishes and set them on the bureau as Christine continued her story.
    “A wonderful man, handsome and kind. Peter became my world. We were married for three years before the war started, and when it did, I truly thought it would be over quickly and he would come back to me. My brother, Andrew, was his closest friend, and they decided to join together.” Christine got a faraway look on her face. “Such a difficult time.” With a sad smile, she faced Sophie again. “Our little girl, Eleanor, had just died from influenza. She was only two years old and the grief was overwhelming. I think Peter tried to forget, so when the opportunity came to join the Union, he jumped at it.”
    “That makes sense,” Sophie said as she turned from the bureau to face Christine.
    “A few days after the battle at Shiloh, I volunteered at the hospital and received word that Andrew made it to Charleston, despite severe wounds. I convinced Michael to travel to him, and harder still, persuaded him to take me. I was still quite surprised we were even notified.”
    “How did they know about him, or for that matter, you?”
    “Andrew and Peter purchased disks they wore around their necks. They had their personal information engraved on them. We had never heard of anything like that before but were grateful.”
    The first dog tags.
    Sophie leaned forward. “What happened?”
    “They brought my brother in unconscious, his face badly bloodied and shrapnel