Her Rebel Heart. Shannon Farrington

promised to love him, she thought. I promised him forever.

       She backed away and Samuel’s attention returned to the stove. He stuffed it with kindling and day-old copies of the local newspaper, The Baltimore Sun. He struck a match. The fire ignited and he then turned back to face her.

       The lump in her throat grew bigger. Thank you, she knew she should say, instead out came, “Why are you here?”

       Her words were sharp and accusatory but Samuel did not flinch. He simply looked at her, his eyes melting her hard stance.

       “I think you know why,” was all he said.

       She swallowed hard and watched as he closed the burner lid then went to the pump to wash his hands. Julia held her breath, her emotions drifting through anger and remorse, respect and disdain.

       Samuel dried his hands and rolled down his shirtsleeves. When he turned toward her she quickly busied herself at the table with another pile of dough.

       “Julia, we need to talk.”

       She punched down the soft, sticky mound. “What is there to discuss? Did I not make it clear that I wish to sever our engagement?”

       “You made that perfectly clear last night.”

      Last night. Pain gripped her heart. Just thinking of Edward’s departure, of the arguing that had taken place, brought tears to her eyes.

       “Then you understand,” she said.

       “I understand that you are upset,” he said, “and rightfully so. You are worried about your brother.” He paused. “For some reason you are taking it out on me.”

       Her spine stiffened. She turned and glared at him. “Some reason?”

       “Julia, I have nothing to do with the soldiers occupying the city or with Edward’s enlistment.”

       “That’s right. You don’t. You haven’t done a thing to stop it. You abandoned Edward and the rest of the volunteers when they needed your help.”

       “What is it that you wish me to do?” he asked. “Shall I ride to Virginia tonight and join Edward? Would a saber and an officer’s commission truly make you happy?”

       Emotions tore through her. If he joined Edward, then yes, she believed she would have a measure of peace. Samuel could look after him. But experience told her otherwise.

      He cannot be trusted. He is not a man of his word.

       “It is far too late for that, Samuel,” she said. She was doing her best to keep her voice steady, in control. It would do no good to argue with him. She had already said everything that needed to be said. He had made his decision. She had made hers.

       Sam watched her in silence for a few moments. Her face showed fatigue. More than likely she had slept just as little as he. He imagined that after his departure she had spent the long night pleading with Edward not to go south.

       Even still, she was beautiful. Her dark curls had escaped her bun. Much of her hair now hung long and loose about her shoulders. Sam had rarely seen it that way. He liked it.

       His eyes drifted to her unadorned left hand. He wondered what she had done with his engagement ring. Last night she had ripped it from her hand and held it out to him.

       He had refused to take it back.

      Look at me, Julia.

       Seconds passed. He knew she could feel the weight of his gaze. Finally, she spoke.

       “If you will excuse me, Samuel. I have work to tend to.”

       He drew in a shallow breath, knowing he had a decision to make. He could argue. He could refuse to leave. He could force her to turn around.

      But when a lady makes a request, a gentleman will oblige her.

       Walking out of the kitchen was one of the hardest things he had ever done. He wanted to take her in his arms, to set things right. He wanted to convince her that her anger toward him was pointless. He loved her. She loved him. He could see it in her eyes.

       But Julia Marie Stanton was a stubborn woman. No amount of convincing could change her mind. She would have to do that for herself.

       He was determined to wait until she did.

       And in that time spent waiting, he’d pray that she would one day see things from his perspective.

       He walked back to the lean-to. He placed the ax on the shelf then gathered up his outer clothing. Rather than return to the house by way of the kitchen, he entered through the garden door.

       Dr. Stanton was still in the study. His spectacles were perched upon his nose, medical book still in his hands. He looked up.

       “Thank you, son. Will you stay for supper?”

       The offer was tempting. Goodness knows he wanted to. Even apart from his longing to stay with Julia, there was also the comfort to be found in time spent with Dr. and Mrs. Stanton. The prospect of returning to his lonely, cheerless home held little appeal in comparison.

       But he had caused enough tension in the house already.

       “Thank you, sir,” he said. “But I have some errands to run this evening.”

       “Ah, I see. Be careful. I was out this morning and I noticed several boys in blue.”

       Sam nodded. “What do you think the next few weeks will bring?”

       Julia’s father shrugged. “Hard to say but I hope it is little more than an intimidating presence.”

       It reminded Sam of the answer he had given his students.

       “After all,” Dr. Stanton added, “the state legislature voted on their own accord to remain loyal to the Union. Let us hope and pray that that is the end of it.”

       Sam shook his hand and headed out to the street, praying silently but most fervently that Dr. Stanton’s words would prove true. But the sinking feeling in his heart warned him that there was far more trouble awaiting them still.

       From a crack in the kitchen door Julia had seen Samuel’s broad back as he talked to her father. She had not been able to hear what they said. She wondered if he had told her father of their broken engagement. She wondered if Samuel had taken that moment to seek his advice on how to win her back.

      Well, he won’t win me back. He has proven his intentions. I will stand on my convictions whether he comes to chop wood or not.

       From her vantage point she watched him shake hands with her father. Then as Samuel turned, Julia let the door close. She returned quickly to the stove. As she stood stirring the chicken soup, she heard the front door shut.

       She peeked out the window. Samuel was walking down the street in the direction of the harbor. His hands were thrust deep in his pockets. His topper was set low on his forehead but she could tell he was deep in thought. Was he thinking of Edward? Was he thinking of her?

       Her father came into the kitchen. Julia immediately left the window.

       “He has gone to have a look about the city,” he said, knowing exactly whom she was staring after. “Now, do you want to tell me what is going on?”

       Julia turned from the stove to look at her father. She could tell that he had also endured a long, sleepless night. Tired lines were prevalent on his face. His left leg, which had been injured in a carriage accident years before, must have been bothering him. He was favoring it.

       “I am making soup for Mother,” she explained.

       “I’m not talking about soup, Julia.”

       Her father’s tone was firm, almost scolding.

      Samuel has talked to him, she thought. I knew he would. “He told you, didn’t he?”

       “He?” Her father repeated, eyebrows arched.