The Fire Within. Lynda Trent

shawl and hung it on a peg by the chimney and touched her smooth auburn hair to be sure none of it had strayed from its pins. In spite of the work she had been doing, her white blouse was still clean and her skirt not muddy. Megan was one of the neatest women he had ever seen. She was nothing like the stereotypical mountain women some of his fellow soldiers had laughed about around campfires.

      Since coming to the cabin, Caleb had discovered other discrepancies in what he had been told. It wasn’t difficult to figure out that the Union soldiers, in order to justify the hardships and dangers they were placing these women in, had to lessen their humanness. He assumed the Confederate soldiers were doing the same thing. For most people, war was only possible if one could convince himself that the enemy was barbaric.

      Megan left his range of view but soon returned with a piece of paper. Still not looking in his direction, she sat on the low stool by the fire and began to draw. As her bit of charcoal moved over the paper, she started to sing.