Kristin wanted to say something to comfort him. A lot of good men were experiencing the same despair, she knew. But she could think of nothing to say.
He turned around and tipped his hat to her. "You're free, young lady. I'm going to see to it that an escort takes you and your sister home."
"But how —"
A grin tugged at his lower lip. "Someone got through to your brother, and he raised all kinds of hell with the higher-ups. And then…"
"And then?"
He shrugged. His eyes twinkled. "Well, you see, Kristin, I know Cole. And a lot of other cavalry boys know Cole, so we know damned well that he isn't any outlaw. But people who don't know him, well, they're still convinced that he's a bad 'un. At the moment, that's all right, because there's a rumor out that he's heard about you and Shannon being held up here and that he's steaming. After everything that's happened, well… we can't have troops everywhere. Some folks are afraid he might ride in here and destroy the town just to get to you. I decided not to dispute that with any of them. I thought you deserved the right to go home if that was what you wanted."
Kristin stared at him a long time. Then she kissed him on the cheek. "Thank you."
"You see Cole, you tell him I sent my regards. You tell him I miss him. I never did meet another man who could ride or shoot like him."
She nodded. "Thank you. Thank you so much. For everything."
"Be there for him. He probably needs you."
Kristin smiled ruefully. "He doesn't love me, you know. You see, he only married me because he felt he had to. To protect me."
"Love comes in a lot of ways, young lady. You give him a little time. Maybe this war will end one day."
He tipped his hat to her again, and then he was gone.
• • •
In retaliation for the attack on Lawrence, General Ewing issued General Order Number Eleven, which forced almost everyone in Missouri to leave. People were given fifteen days to leave their property. The exodus was a terrible thing to watch, one of the worst things Kristin had seen in all the years since the fighting had begun. Poor farmers were forced to leave behind what little they possessed, and others were shot down where they stood because they refused to leave. Because the McCahy ranch belonged to Matthew, a soldier serving in the Union Army, Major Emery was able to keep his promise and send Kristin and Shannon home, however.
The young lieutenant who escorted them was appalled by what he saw of the evacuation. Once he even told her that it was one of the cruelest measures he had ever seen taken. "This war will never end," he said glumly. "We will not let it end, it seems. The people who do not fight are ordered to leave, and the bushwhackers will come through here when they're gone, stealing whatever they leave behind!"
It was true, Kristin discovered. Even when they were home, when it seemed that they had returned to something like a normal life, Peter often came to her at night to tell her that he had seen another house burning somewhere, or that he had found cattle slaughtered, a sure sign that guerrillas had been in the area, living off the land.
In the middle of September they had a letter from Matthew. He was trying to get leave to come and see them, but so far he hadn't been able to manage it. He explained:
But the Rebels are in worse shape than we are. I think that perhaps by Christmas I will be able to come home. There was a battle fought in a little town in Pennsylvania called Gettysburg. Kristin, they say it was the most awful yet, but General Lee was stopped, and he was forced to retreat back to the South. Since then, there has been new hope that the war may end. Some of these fellows say that they will force the South to her knees. They do not know Southerners. I cannot imagine your husband on his knees, nor do I ever quite forget that I am a Missourian myself. But I pray for it to end. I watched another friend die yesterday of the dysentery, and it seems that we do not even have to catch bullets to drop off like flies. John Maple, who was injured in our last skirmish, had to have his leg amputated. Kristin, if I am caught at all by shot, I hope that the ball passes straight to my heart, for those operations are fearful things to witness. There was no morphine, but we did have some whiskey, and still, John screamed so horribly. Now we must all pray that the rot does not set in, else he will die anyway.
Kristin, forgive me, I wander again into subjects that do not fit a lady's ears, but you are my sister. I am still so grateful that you and Shannon are home. Every man who heard of the incident in Kansas City was appalled, and none was proud. That you might have been killed there chilled me to the bone, and I waited very anxiously for the news that you were safe.
As I said before, the Rebs are hurting badly. They have good generals, and good men, but those that die cannot be replaced. I am telling you this, aware that you must be worried for your husband. If you do not see him, you must not instantly fear the worst. They have probably refused to give him leave. They are desperate now to hold on to Virginia, and perhaps they are keeping him in the East.
Kristin set her brother's letter down and stared out the window. She wondered if Cole would come if she thought hard enough about him. Then she wondered, not for the first time, if he had been at the battle of Gettysburg. They talked of it constantly in Kansas City. It seemed that the death toll had been terrible there, but she had read the lists endlessly, looking for his name, and she had not found it. She had thought, too, that he might have been with John Hunt Morgan, along with Malachi, but she had read that Morgan had been captured in July, though what had become of his men was unknown. She had checked the lists of the dead again and again. Once her heart had nearly ceased to beat when she had read that a Slater had been killed, but it had been Samuel Slater from South Carolina, no relation, she hoped, to Cole.
Looking out the window would not bring Cole back to her. Wishing for him to appear would not help, either.
Every night she left a light burning in the window, hoping he would return. Even if he were to try, it would be hard for him to do so, she knew. The Union was getting a firm grip on the area. There were almost always patrols somewhere in the vicinity.
Every night she stood on the steps before going up to bed, and she lifted her chin, and she felt the breeze, and she waited. But it was all to no avail.
All to no avail…
Until one night in late September.
There had been no breeze all day, but there was the slightest whisper of one now. The night had been still, but now a tumbleweed lifted from the ground. Fall was coming, and in the pale glow of the moon the world was dark brown and pale gold and rich orange.
She thought she had imagined the sound at first. The sound of hoofbeats. But she had learned how to listen, and she closed her eyes, and she felt the wood beneath her feet shiver.
She stumbled out onto the porch and down onto the bare earth. She felt the hoofbeats more clearly. A rider was approaching, a single rider.
She needed to run into the house. She needed to grab one of the Colt six-shooters, or her rifle. The breeze was cool, and she was standing there barefoot on the cold ground, dressed only in a white cotton nightgown. The wind swept the gown around her and molded it to her breasts and hips and thighs. The breeze picked up the tendrils of her hair and sent them cascading behind her.
Then she saw the horse, and saw the rider, and she was exhilarated and incredulous and jubilant.
"Cole!"
"Kristin!" He reined in his horse, cast his leg over the animal's haunches and slid quickly to the ground. He frowned at the sight of her there, but she ran to him, laughing, and threw herself into his arms.