engraved plaques listing troops from her home state–regiment commanders, company commanders, officers and soldiers.
She wandered from one to the next, pausing now and again to absorb a name. Each represented a singular life. Husband, father, brother, uncle, friend–men with dreams and aspirations who’d fought for a cause they believed in.
“Arianna.” Caleb’s voice was flat, breaking her reverie. She gave a guilty start to find him standing a step away, scowling in her direction. “We should go upstairs and see what the children are doing.”
Children. He’d never once said ‘kids’ throughout the long course of the day. “They’re fine, Caleb.”
“I think we should go.” There was no disguising the tension in his voice.
She hedged, unable to understand why the monument didn’t enthrall him the way it did her. There was something in his eyes that hinted of sadness. He seemed uneasy, anxious that she be away.
“Don’t you realize these are the names of the men who fought for the Union while representing Pennsylvania? How can you not be affected, given all you know of the war?”
“I never said I wasn’t affected, I said we should go.” He stepped closer, towering over her, his gaze touched by the unnatural silver sheen that claimed it from time to time.
“You go check on the kids if you want. I’ll be along in a minute.” Her instinct was silly, but she was certain he didn’t want her to see something. Something among the many plaques in the monument. Her gaze strayed to the nearest.
“Annie.”
The name sent a tiny thrill through her. His voice was softer now, quiet. She was starting to enjoy the way he shortened her name in a manner no one else did. There was always intimacy in his voice when he called her Annie.
“Ms. Hart,” Lisa called from the doorway to the stairs. “Come quick! Danny and Scott are spitting off the balcony, betting on who can hit someone below.”
Arianna rolled her eyes. She should have known that sooner or later Danny Tusoni and Scott Albright would show their true colors. They’d behaved all day, but the allure of the open two-story monument was too much for them.
Caleb raised a brow. “Want some help?” He grinned, once again at ease.
“What do you think?” Arianna beckoned him to follow, leaving the bronze tablets and their list of names behind.
* * * *
Caleb lingered after she left, tension flowing from his body. All day he’d been anticipating their arrival at the monument, uncertain how he would navigate Arianna’s interest in the memorial. He’d known she was too impassioned about the men who fought in the war to give the shrine only a passing glance. To her, the names on the plaques meant more than forgotten lives. They’d been husbands, fathers and sons, all with dreams and ambitions.
Men like Private Stan Hipplewhite, who’d never had the chance to wed his childhood sweetheart. The nineteen-year-old bugler should have grown old with the girl he’d planned to marry, children scampering at his feet. Instead he’d coughed his lungs out, bleeding to death in Caleb’s arms on a smoke-choked battlefield, the roar of cannons booming in their ears. There’d been no wife for Stan, no freckle-faced farm girl to welcome him home with outstretched arms and a loving smile.
“Her name’s Molly, Sir,” the boy had told him as he lay dying. “Know’d her all my life, since we was young’uns. Promised I’d come back after the war and make her my wife. Her pap’s got a farm in Hanover…promised us land…”
Caleb had seen other men die, but the bugler haunted him.
If he hadn’t come on the trip, Arianna might have stumbled across the discovery he’d protected for the last three years. A few more steps to the rear of the monument and she would have seen the names of soldiers belonging to the Fiftieth Regiment–many he could recite by memory, their faces crowded in his mind. He wasn’t sure if it was morbid curiosity or fatalistic reality that made him turn the corner. His mouth flattened in a tight line as he beheld the name of the commander emblazoned at the top of several regimental plaques:
Fiftieth Regiment Infantry, Col. Caleb R. DeCardian.
It was an odd feeling, seeing his name immortalized in brass. He’d survived Gettysburg only to be listed as missing in action a month later. Wyn had tracked down the information on something he called the web by delving into historical archives.
“Mr. DeCardian?”
Caleb jerked, surprised to find Trudy Walker gazing up at him. Lanky for her height, she was all arms and legs with enormous blue eyes and a straight fall of corn-gold hair.
“What are you looking at?” the girl asked innocently, her eyes straying to the nearest tablet.
“Nothing.” Caleb gave her shoulder a gentle push, ushering her to the center of the monument. She craned her neck to glance over her shoulder, but he diffused her interest with a breezy smile.
“How about showing me the upper level? I could use a guide.”
Trudy beamed. “Sure. This way.” She waved him toward the stairs, preening to be chosen as his personal tour guide.
Caleb sent one last glance behind him, the past and its many ghosts fading from memory as the present eclipsed his former life.
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