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With the election of 1868 underway, Madeline Asher’s mission is clear: educate and enlist the freedmen of Nebraska to vote. After losing the man she loved to war—and a small piece of herself along the way—Madeline leaves her life in Philadelphia behind, determined to reclaim her life’s purpose by making a difference in others.
With America’s Southern Rebellion at an end, so are the efforts of Union veteran James Blakemore. Tired of the injustices still plaguing the young country, he sets his sights toward his Canadian roots—until fate guides him back to the love he thought he’d lost. Vowing never to leave her side again, James joins Madeline in her cause to help the freedmen of Dunesville, despite rising threats and violence. But with Nebraska’s anti-miscegenation laws in effect, Madeline is forced to choose between a life with her new husband or the chance to shape a greater nation. ***Available in Kindle Unlimited for a limited time!*** |
Sneak Peek...
“I’m guessing you lost that eye in the war?”
James gave a curt nod. Though he hadn’t lost it fighting in battle, the result had been just the same. He wondered just how good a look the man had gotten at the damaged, hollowed socket. The older clerk hadn’t flinched when he’d exposed the scarred remains of his right eye socket. James could only assume he hadn’t gotten that good a look because he knew just how grotesque the sight was. There were days where he avoided his own reflection.
“Lost a brother in that damn war.” The clerk shook his head with pity. “I reckon, though, he’d rather be dead then a--”
“Cripple?” James finished for him.
The man’s face flushed with embarrassment. James ignored the man’s obvious discomfort. That was the problem with some westerners, he had come to realize. They always had an opinion and never knew when to keep it to themselves.
“I knew a few men like that, too vain to live a life with a mutilated face,” James said evenly. “But if you ask me, nothing beats death. Not even vanity.”
Derrick began to stir in his seat. “Uncle Aaron…?”
The old clerk went to tend to his nephew, clearly grateful for the distraction.
James started back around the other side of the counter when he realized he was crushing a letter beneath his boot. He snatched it up and started to toss it back on the counter when the handwriting caught his attention. It was the way the letters scrolled neat and elegantly across the front of the envelope that drew him.
He clutched the envelope in his hands as he carefully read the name of the sender. Then he re-read it again, not wanting to put his trust in fate again—or allow himself to believe in miracles.
Yet the name on the envelope didn’t disappear…
Madeline Asher.
He knew that handwriting well. With every letter that had made its way to him during the darkest moments of his hell, he had studied her writing, memorized her words. This was her name, her handwriting, and—he brought the letter to his nose—her scent.
James whipped around to the clerk and his nephew. The look on their faces made him question his own sanity. Maybe the sweet, delicate smell he remembered was all in his head, but he didn’t care. He knew with every fiber in his being that this was her.
And he needed to find her.
“The woman who brought this in, when was she here?”
The two men stared blankly at him. James cursed.
“When, damn it?”
Aaron snapped out of his stupor. “I don’t rightly know. We had a lot of traffic yesterday and today…”
“This patron would have been hard to miss. She’s about yay high.” James levelled his hand up to the center of his chest. “She has big, chestnut brown eyes and smooth, amber-brown skin. The color of sweet butterscotch.” James shut his eye briefly, wanting to imprint the memory of her in his mind. “She has the sweetest smile and the softest laugh…”
James caught the shared look between the two clerks and a bit of warmth crawled up his cheeks.
But he refused to lose his resolve.
“I need to find her. Now, do you know where she is?”
James gave a curt nod. Though he hadn’t lost it fighting in battle, the result had been just the same. He wondered just how good a look the man had gotten at the damaged, hollowed socket. The older clerk hadn’t flinched when he’d exposed the scarred remains of his right eye socket. James could only assume he hadn’t gotten that good a look because he knew just how grotesque the sight was. There were days where he avoided his own reflection.
“Lost a brother in that damn war.” The clerk shook his head with pity. “I reckon, though, he’d rather be dead then a--”
“Cripple?” James finished for him.
The man’s face flushed with embarrassment. James ignored the man’s obvious discomfort. That was the problem with some westerners, he had come to realize. They always had an opinion and never knew when to keep it to themselves.
“I knew a few men like that, too vain to live a life with a mutilated face,” James said evenly. “But if you ask me, nothing beats death. Not even vanity.”
Derrick began to stir in his seat. “Uncle Aaron…?”
The old clerk went to tend to his nephew, clearly grateful for the distraction.
James started back around the other side of the counter when he realized he was crushing a letter beneath his boot. He snatched it up and started to toss it back on the counter when the handwriting caught his attention. It was the way the letters scrolled neat and elegantly across the front of the envelope that drew him.
He clutched the envelope in his hands as he carefully read the name of the sender. Then he re-read it again, not wanting to put his trust in fate again—or allow himself to believe in miracles.
Yet the name on the envelope didn’t disappear…
Madeline Asher.
He knew that handwriting well. With every letter that had made its way to him during the darkest moments of his hell, he had studied her writing, memorized her words. This was her name, her handwriting, and—he brought the letter to his nose—her scent.
James whipped around to the clerk and his nephew. The look on their faces made him question his own sanity. Maybe the sweet, delicate smell he remembered was all in his head, but he didn’t care. He knew with every fiber in his being that this was her.
And he needed to find her.
“The woman who brought this in, when was she here?”
The two men stared blankly at him. James cursed.
“When, damn it?”
Aaron snapped out of his stupor. “I don’t rightly know. We had a lot of traffic yesterday and today…”
“This patron would have been hard to miss. She’s about yay high.” James levelled his hand up to the center of his chest. “She has big, chestnut brown eyes and smooth, amber-brown skin. The color of sweet butterscotch.” James shut his eye briefly, wanting to imprint the memory of her in his mind. “She has the sweetest smile and the softest laugh…”
James caught the shared look between the two clerks and a bit of warmth crawled up his cheeks.
But he refused to lose his resolve.
“I need to find her. Now, do you know where she is?”
