Free Faith by Lyn Cote Page A

exchanged glances.
    Dev waited, his collar tightening around his neck.
    “You had a cousin who served with us in Mexico,” Grant said. His son gazed at him, obviously listening carefully.
    “Yes. That was Lieutenant Bellamy Carroll. He fell at Monterrey. Jack is his younger brother, who enlisted as a private and came west in the infantry.”
    Grant nodded, gazing at a point over Dev’s left ear as if recalling scenes from the past. “Monterrey,” he muttered.
    That had been a bloody day Dev would never forget, Bellamy dying in his arms . . .
    “Upon your agreement, Osterhaus,” General Grant finally said in his quiet way, “I think Knight’s losing a month’s pay is commensurate with this . . . incident. This war is a civil war. We can’t help meeting family and old friends across the field.” He gazed toward the brigadier general, who nodded once in agreement.
    Dev stood frozen, stunned.
    “Colonel, you are dismissed,” Grant said in a kind voice.
    Racked by relief and guilt, Dev saluted and left. Outside, he paused to catch his breath.
    “That was lenient,” he heard Osterhaus say within.
    “Calvary colonels face death on the front line practically every day. Knight’s a good man. We need him.”
    “You’re right. He’s a good officer, and we do lose colonels at a more rapid pace than any other officer.”
    Grant rumbled his agreement. “My point exactly.”
    Dev walked away then, not wanting to hear any more. Instead of a court-martial, he’d received a slap on the wrist   —all because they expected him to be killed sooner rather than later. They weren’t wrong. He’d already accepted that he’d die in this war.
    Meeting his end was just a matter of time and chance. But before he died, he’d find Jack and make him pay. This was war, but not even in war did a gentleman heap dishonor on his whole family. As it was said, “Death before dishonor.” And Jack had chosen the latter.

O N HER COT, Faith blinked herself awake to the sound of the drummer, beating the tattoo that would call every soldier to evening roll call. She lay staring at the drab inside of the conical tent, recalling images from the aftermath of yesterday’s battle. Pushing these dread reminders away, she realized she must have slept the day away. A dull hunger gnawed at her.
    But then the image of the colonel’s expression as he confessed his cousin’s treachery reared up and dominated her mind. She was an abolitionist, a pacifist, and he was a slaveholder and a soldier. But God had brought him into her life. So what was she going to do about him? She should distance herself from him. Perhaps it was the situation with his cousin’s injuries and escape that had drawn her sympathy. The colonel did not deserve this backhanded blow.
    Honoree ducked inside, holding a plate heaped withbeans, rice, and corn bread. “I was delayed getting back from supper at the mess tent.” She held out the plate. “Sit up and take this. I will go pour you a cup of coffee.”
    Empty, Faith did as she was told. She began eating, not really tasting the tepid food. Her stomach clamored for her to eat faster, but she knew that would only cause her upset.
    Honoree reentered and set a tin cup on the dirt floor beside Faith.
    Faith glanced up, drawn from her thoughts about the colonel to her friend’s obvious recovery. “Thee is better, then. I’m glad.”
    “My head aches less than before. I know I should have gone to nurse today, but I put us both on sick call and stayed here with you.”
    Chewing, Faith merely nodded.
    “I’m going to take a walk before bed.”
    Unwilling to have Honoree out walking alone, Faith tried to stand. “Wait. I’ll come with   —”
    “I have an escort.” Honoree smiled a real smile.
    Noticing only then that her friend sported a freshly ironed white apron and a red kerchief over her hair, Faith raised an eyebrow.
    “Armstrong is here to accompany me.”
    “Oh.”
    Honoree chuckled as if amused by