Free The Velvet Shadow by Angela Elwell Hunt Page B

delicate words, but could find none.
    “What happened two days ago?” Flanna asked, her voice flat. “Tell me, Roger! Surely they have not gone to fighting!”
    “No, my dear.” He gave her a fleeting smile. “Two days ago representatives from the seceded states met in Montgomery, Alabama. They formed a new union, calling themselves the Confederate States of America. It is rumored that Jefferson Davis of Mississippi will be elected president. It is nearly certain, for no one has come forward to run against him.”
    For a long moment Flanna’s expression did not change, then his words fell into place and the color left her cheeks. “The Confederate States of America,” she whispered slowly, as if trying to translate the words. “The Confederate States—the C.S.A.” She looked up at him, her eyes alive with calculation. “I am now a citizen of the C.S.A.? What does that mean?”
    “You have nothing in common with those Rebels,” he said, moving to her side. He dropped his hat to the floor, about to sit next to her, but a loud snorting sound from near the fireplace reminded him of Mrs. Davis’s rules. Rolling his eyes, he moved toward his assigned wing chair and sat on the edge, then leaned forward, his elbows on his knees, his hands outstretched to Flanna. “Don’t fret, my dear, I believe this is for the best. Don’t you see? Now that South Carolina and the others have officially banded together, you are free from your promise to your father. Your father is now a traitor. Love him if you must, but do not think of serving him! Disavow your heritage as a child of South Carolina and vow your loyalty to the Union. Everyone will know that you do not agree with those fools in the Confederacy. What I’m trying to say…” He hesitated, clearing his throat and casting a pointed glance in the old woman’s direction. Mrs. Davis saw it, understood, and merely lifted a brow in reply.
    “Flanna, dearest,” Roger continued, turning back to the only woman who mattered, “why should we wait to be married? The Confederate States have committed this rebellious action without your participation or your knowledge. You have spent most of the last two years in Boston. Surely you belong to Massachusetts as much as to South Carolina.”
    She looked up at him, her eyes large and liquid and as distant as the stars.
    “Marry me, Flanna.” He reached out to take her hand. Mrs. Davis cackled and coughed, but Roger ignored her, pressing forward with his suit. “Forget the past and become my wife as soon as you graduate. No one will think ill of you, but they will say I am the luckiest, most fortunate man in all creation.”
    “Roger, I can’t marry you!” Her words flew from her like breathless birds released from a cage, and her expression darkened with unreadable emotions. “I won’t be married in Massachusetts! I’ll only be married at home, in Charleston, with my brother nearby and Father standing at my side. Forget the past, my family? How could I? They’re my home, my heritage, and I have promised to make them part of my future!”
    “Flanna.” Roger squeezed her hand, his determination like a rock inside him. “Charleston, U.S.A., is gone forever. The city you knew is no more. That place is now a foreign country, populated by Rebels with whom you have nothing in common. They have chosen to leave us, they have stolen American properties and lands, they have scoffed at our liberties and forfeited their claims upon our hearts! I hear the Rebels are even planning to adopt our American constitution, excepting any clauses banning slavery!”
    She jerked her hand from his and swallowed hard as tears began to slip down her cheeks. “Roger, don’t talk like that about my family! My father, my brother, and my cousins are not traitors. They have stolen nothing—they are only struggling to keep the things they’ve worked for!”
    “Flanna, I—” Roger stopped, swallowing the harsh words that sprang to his tongue. He