The Rain Sparrow. Linda Goodnight

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.