main street with his mouth open and a furrowed brow. Had he mentioned Ohio to her? Had William changed his mind? Was Thad’s skill no longer needed at the mill? Who was she?
When the fiery woman slapped the reins and drove away, wagon rumbling like a distant storm, Thad heard laughter. Turning toward the sound, he saw the apron-clad merchant leaning on his broom, his salt-and-pepper mustache curled above a wide grin.
“Ran into a wildcat, didn’t you, son?”
Embarrassed, Thad dusted his cap against his britches. “What did I do?”
“’Sakes, man, you ought to know by now. It’s not what you did. It’s who you are. Nothing that woman hates more than a Yankee.”
Thad stifled a sigh. “Who is she?”
“That furious little firebrand is Miss Josephine Portland.”
“Portland?” Realization dawned and dread seeped into his tired, hungry body.
“Yes, sir.” Merriman chuckled again and pointed in the direction of the now distant wagon. “If you’re looking for the Portland Mill, just follow her trail of dust.”
The Portland Mill operation was a handsome endeavor. Nestled in a thick green wood with vines growing up the sides of the white-mortared red brick and with the sound of clean creek water bubbling over the wheel, the mill stirred a passion in Thaddeus that nearly erased the hostile meeting with one Miss Josephine Portland.
The woman engendered any number of feelings in him, most of which he didn’t know what to do with. Amusement, annoyance and, though it made him feel disloyal, attraction.
Seeing her again at the farmhouse could prove...interesting. But for now, his focus was his cousin and the gristmill.
With Will grinning at his side and his belly filled with cold corn bread, he roamed through the mill works, pausing to smooth his hands over the fifteen-hundred-pound runner stone, immobile now as the wheel waited for his expertise.
“Who’s been running this place?” He turned to the second cousin on his father’s side who’d brought him here.
William Gadsden was a fine specimen of man. At two years Thad’s senior, he maintained his regal military bearing and air of command. Lean and dark-haired with a wisdom born of sorrows, Will was a man to trust and respect, and the fact that they’d once climbed trees together and prowled on bare feet through Grandfather’s marble factory making a nuisance of themselves made him a man to like.
“Charlotte before I came. Now mostly myself.”
Thad heard the tenderness and admiration in William’s voice. “Charlotte? A woman ran the mill?”
“Wait till you meet her, Thad. She’s the strength that kept the farm and gristmill going when others would have faltered. She’s beautiful and kind and—”
Thad clapped him on the shoulder. “And you are a happy husband.”
“In a way I thought impossible during the campaign years and even for a time thereafter. Though God spared my life from the twin hells of combat and Confederate prison, Charlotte gave me a reason to live again.”
Forever and always, I will love you.
Thad turned away, pretending to study the pulley system used to move the grain to the upper floor. The iron needed oiling, parts needed cleaning, repair and replacing. There was much to do here. But it was not the mill that occupied Thad’s mind. Though he rejoiced in Will’s good fortune, he selfishly despaired in his lack thereof. What plan did the Almighty have for one such as him?
As if he knew he’d touched a tender spot, Will said, “I am truly grateful that you’ve come, cousin. The burden you carry does not go unnoticed.”
“As I am truly happy for you and Charlotte. You seem to have found your anchor.”
“I have.”
He, on the other hand, flailed in the winds of happenstance like a feather on a stormy sea. His foundation had been yanked from beneath him, and he had no solid rock on which to stand. He, like his cousin before him, sought a reason to live again.
“I never would have picked you for a farmer and a mill operator,” he said.
“That, my friend, is where you come in. The farm thrives. On the other hand, the mill limps along like a hobbled mule. I’m convinced we can do better with the right man at the wheel.”
“The family thought you’d return to the marble factory. Grandfather’s business would have been yours.”
A soft smile lit Will’s face. “Love is stronger than commerce.”
“Stronger than the anger and resentment a Northerner encounters here in the broken South?”
His cousin cocked his head and squinted. “Your journey was not a pleasant one, I take.”
“Nor my arrival. I met one of the Portland women in Honey Ridge this morning.”
Will’s eyebrows rose. “Did you now? Who would that be?”
“A beautiful redhead named Josephine.” He unwittingly recalled her rose scent, the fire in her eyes and the heat in her touch that had made him feel alive again, if only for those few seconds.
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