Free To Mend a Dream by Tamera Alexander Page A

lived here before him. The last Mr. Darby. Had he ever awakened at night, unable to sleep, unable to wrestle the anxiety inside him into submission? Had that man ever stared across the fields as he did now, asking for the Divine to whisper wisdom and discernment?
    Nashville had spoken of having a girl back home. Someone much like Miss Anderson— Savannah —he’d bet. The way the soldier spoke about the girl, about his home and family, about the very land itself, had reached deep inside of Aidan that day and hadn’t let go. Not even hours later when, on the battlefield, he looked over to see Nashville take a bullet to the chest. The young man lurched forward and fell face-down into the field of wildflowers. Aidan fought his way through the fray, trying to get to him. And when he finally did, he turned Nashville over, only to find him gasping, a hole ripped open in his chest.
    Nashville tried to speak, but blood gurgled out in the place of words. Still, Aidan had read the look in his eyes. And there, in the midst of battle, he’d gripped Nashville’s hand, feeling the life slip from him, watching it pour from his heart. “I’ll see that sunrise, Nashville,” he’d whispered. “I’ll taste that peach cobbler again for you too.”
    Body shaking, gasping for breath and finding none, Nashville had smiled a smile that Aidan already found familiar. Then he’d breathed his last. And the light that had burned so brightly within his friend awhile before had snuffed out.
    His friend.
    They’d known each other for all of perhaps three hours. Yet in that short time Nashville had shown more love for his family and dedication to his country than Aidan had ever encountered, regardless of their differing views on the issues that had brought them there.
    Aidan wanted to know what that felt like. To love and be loved that way. Had he made a mistake leaving Boston to come here? He didn’t think so. Had he made a mistake asking Priscilla to marry him? Most definitely. But how to fix it?
    He didn’t quite know. But he was determined to find a way. He owed that much to Nashville’s memory.

CHAPTER ELEVEN
    T HE BLAST OF THE TRAIN WHISTLE SENT STEAM BILLOWING up against the pale blue of early morning. The air wasn’t cold, but Aidan thought he saw Priscilla shiver. And he felt a bit of one himself, though not because of fear or of any doubt of what he needed to do.
    On the contrary, after the night he’d spent on the porch, searching his own heart and seeking God’s, there wasn’t a shred of doubt left within him. And he was all but certain that down deep Priscilla felt the same as he did. If only he could get her to realize it.
    â€œYou’ve changed, Aidan,” she whispered, her demeanor lacking its usual confidence.
    â€œ We’ve changed, Priscilla.”
    She frowned and looked away. Her lower lip trembled. “My father . . .” She drew in a breath. “He was always so fond of you.”
    â€œAs I was of him. He was a good man.”
    She nodded.
    â€œBut, Priscilla, your father would have wanted you to love the man you’re going to marry. Not just be with him because your father liked him. Or because”—Aidan hurried to finish, recognizing by the narrowing of her eyes that she was gearing up for battle—“marrying him will offer you security. You have security, Priscilla. Your father’s estate will allow you to live comfortably for the rest of your life.”
    â€œBut I want to be with you.”
    â€œNo, you don’t,” he said gently. “You want to feel safe again. Something you haven’t felt since your parents passed. I know. I’ve felt what that’s like. It’s lonely, and can be frightening. Loss makes you reexamine your life, who you are, and what you really want. But that’s a good thing, however painful the personal revelation can be at times.”
    She looked up at