Free Surrender the Wind by RITA GERLACH Page B

a good morning and she turned.
    “How do you like the house, Mr. Braxton, now that it is light?”
    “I’ve no heart for it. I’m out of my element and would rather be back in Virginia plowing fields and raising horses. But, I felt obligated to my sister, and I’m glad to have come when I did.”
    She gathered her hair in her hand. “Your arrival has eased her grief and given her hope.”
    He rubbed his jaw to ease the razor burn.
    She pulled at a loose thread on the seat cushion and twisted it between her fingers. “They say war hardens a man, that he loses sensitivity.”
    “The things I saw and did in war taught me compassion if nothing else,” he said. “The Lord knows we need it.”
    “I did not mean to imply you had lost sensitivity.” She yanked the thread until it broke. “I have said the wrong thing.”
    “You dislike Americans, don’t you?”
    “I lost my brother in your battle for independence.” “I’m sorry.”
    Juleah turned back to the window, pushed it wider and threw out a handful of breadcrumbs from the dish on the sill. “This is a subject we should not discuss.”
    He smiled over at her and hoped to ease the tension between them. It ebbed and flowed, like the tide. “Politics is a volatile subject of conversation.”
    She tossed him a glance over her shoulder. “Unless you know the person well enough.”
    “Even then it can be touchy.”
    “Indeed.” She touched the edge of the ribbon on her bodice, dropped her hand when his eyes follow her gesture. “Ladies are not encouraged to talk of such things with men.”
    “You are free to speak your mind to me anytime you wish.”
    A smile grew in her eyes. “I apologize if I gave you the impression I would not.”
    A gentle laugh tugged at the corners of Seth's mouth. “I believe you. Tell me your mind now. Does it bother you that a rebel inherited an English estate?”
    She gave him a shrug and dusted the dish out with her hand. “No more than what you’d feel if an Englishman bought land next to yours in Virginia. It doesn’t matter, as long as people are good neighbors and conduct themselves honorably.”
    Seth inclined his head to her. “Touché , Miss Fallowes.”
    Was she always quick to speak to a man in this fashion? Where had her boldness come from? Did she have to prove herself to him, that she was not the timid English girl that kept her eyes down, that only spoke when spoken to, that did not laugh in public or interject her opinion?
    “I have spoken my mind too swiftly.” She trailed off, those fascinating eyes of hers meeting his again. “It is a flaw, I am told.”
    Seth shook his head. “I doubt you have many. What some call an imperfection may be a strength.”
    Juleah stood and stepped aside from him, for he was close. “I would think it would be hard to break ties and journey to a country not your own.”
    “I broke no ties. Both my parents are buried on a hillside that overlooks the river. For now, I’ve lent my fields out for planting.”
    “Your father would be pleased. I imagine he was a good man.”
    “He was the best of men. If he had lived, things would be different.”
    It was a delicate subject, to talk of the past war and the loss it had brought not only to his life, but hers. Before he could divert the topic, a change in Juleah's expression went from genial and warm, to pale and distant.
    “My brother would have made a difference if he had lived, too.” Sadness edged in her voice.
    Seth's feelings for her surfaced, and he picked up her hand and held it a moment. “I suppose we’re equals on that account. We’ve both felt the pain of losing people we love.”
    She withdrew from his grip. “I shall never understand.”
    He watched the glow of the morning sun play over her face and hair. He paused and drew in a breath. “Does anyone besides Claire and Will know about the loss of my nephew?”
    “The sexton at the church, the woman who cared for him, and Mave Proctor. Unfeeling creature.