Free Hart by Kelly Martin Page A

writing away.
    Like a loser.
    I've decided Lucien will never read this, though, since it’s logged in the back of our grandfather's. They weren't close like we were. Well as close as I am with anybody.
    My brother, my grandfather, and my father. I guess those are the only people I've ever been close to. And my grandfather is dead now. My father has been acting differently lately. I'm not positive why. Perhaps he now sees my mother for what she is, but it’s too late to do anything about it.
    My mother is still young and beautiful. Fiery red hair with an attitude to match. She has aged much better than my father, who looks twice her age, even though he’s a few months younger than she is.
    It’s strange, to say the least. The only thing that makes sense is that the war has aged Father more than Mother. It must be difficult with sons of fighting age. Since Tennessee hasn't joined the Confederates (though I feel it will happen soon), neither my brother nor I have joined. Only one boy I know, Thomas Buck, has joined for the South. He met with them in Virginia, or so I hear. His mother paces the floor of the mercantile. His father asks us when we will enlist ourselves.
    Truth be told, I'm not sure I want to enlist. Or if I do, which side to fight for.
    I have plans, big plans, for my life, and dying on some battlefield isn't one of them. I want to get away from Prospect. Maybe go to Nashville. Make my way in the world. I would love for Lucien to come with me. Might be nice to do something successful with my big brother. I don't see him leaving our mother, though. He’s a Mama's boy for some reason. Even if she does frighten him. Her favorite son.
    I'm not sure why or what I've done to make her hate me, but it is what it is. As long as it doesn't make my brother hate me, I can manage it. He's all I have. The only person who’s ever in my corner. More so now after the church fight eleven years ago.
    If I ever wanted someone to cover my back, it's my brother.
    Anyway.
    I hear him coming up the path. It’s past dark, and he left the house hours ago to go to the mercantile for Mother.
    I haven't gone in a few days. Mother has me busy weeding and other things of no consequence.
    …
    All right, this is odd. Even for him.
    He's been sniffing flowers and whatever for the past few days.
    Now… he's singing.
    My brother is singing.
    Surely he isn't sweet on someone. He hasn't been sweet on anyone since, well, I can't even remember when.
    Lucien is the quiet type, which is irksome at times. I don't like to brag. Wait, yes I do. I've courted my share of girls. I've kissed and, well, other things. I don't even think my brother has held anyone's hand. Ever.
    Ever!
    I don't know what he's so nervous about.
    And now he's singing and sneaking back home at all hours of the night.
    I'll let him sneak. I won't tell him I saw him. I can't. Then he'd know that I hide up here sometimes. And he'd come sneaking around and find this journal.
    We can't have that.
    I think that's enough for tonight. I may never pick this back up. Who knows? Maybe if I have something else to say or if I get bored.
    Yeah, I'll never write in this again.

Tuesday, May 7, 1861
     
    I MET C OLLEEN TODAY.
    Look, I'm not going to get all sappy in this journal. And I'm not going to pour my heart out or anything.
    I met a girl. A girl like every other girl I've ever met.
    I don't know why I'm lying. What good does it do to lie in here? Lying to myself. Such a dumb thing to do.
    Colleen is… well, maybe I should start at the beginning.
    I actually went into town today. Mother didn't send me, and I'm not sure she ever noticed I was gone. It doesn't matter either way. I've given up on my mother caring about me. I am a nineteen-year-old man. A man. I do not need my mother's approval or her love.
    Love makes a person weak.
    Lust. Now lust is another story.
    Lust is an emotion, a feeling, I’m all right with.
    I've seen all the girls in town. I mean seen them, not seen them