The Whippoorwill Trilogy - Sharon Sala Page 0,313

her strength, her faith, and her spirit. He loved her face, her laughter, and her body—even the baby within. Still, he had no rights and no hopes beyond what already was. He’d told himself that he could be happy just knowing that Letty and her child would be happy and live a good long life. Most of the time, he believed it.

Carson Mylam rode up the mountain with ease. The weather was a little hot for the wool uniform, but he was convinced it would help make his case. Even though his hired horse was less remarkable than his fine blooded gelding back home in Philadelphia, he knew he looked good.

He had a letter from Abraham Lincoln, himself, as well as letters of reference from two of his superiors, both of whom were generals. He had no doubt that she would be suitably impressed. Lord knows he was impressed with himself. The visions he had in his head of returning to Philadelphia with what amounted to “the fatted calf” were many, and all awash in grandeur.

That he had to get past Robert Lee Slade to make that happen was a situation of which he was yet unaware.

Robert Lee saw the man coming from a quarter of a mile away. Seeing that he was wearing a soldier’s uniform was somewhat surprising, but he held his opinions to himself. He didn’t care if the man was sporting badges from every law enforcement agency in the nation. He wasn’t getting to Letty until Robert Lee said so.

He glanced back toward the Potter house. Katie was playing with T-Bone in the front yard. Delilah was digging in the flower bed beside the steps. From time to time, he caught glimpses of Mary, who was at the side of the house, hanging laundry. Since it was nearing noon, he knew Alice would be in the kitchen preparing the meal. He looked up at the second floor, where he knew Letty’s bedroom to be. He imagined her reclining, with her feet up and her body great with child, only his imagination was far from the truth.

Had he been able to see a little farther around the back of the house, he would have seen Letty standing beside an open fire and stirring a concoction in a large iron kettle. But he couldn’t see, and the wind was taking the odor of soap making in the other direction.

Oblivious to the small drama playing out on the other side of her house, Letty was focused on the last steps of making her lye soap. Among other things, it took animal fat, lye, and wood ash to make the concoction, which in itself, made a phenomenal mess. Although she could have ordered tons of fine, scented soap that wouldn’t have put a dent in her finances, she favored her own over what Milton Feasley kept in his dry goods store.

“Need some help?” Mary asked, as she walked toward the house with an empty wash basket.

“Yes. I’m about ready to pour it up,” Letty said. “Tell Alice to come help. It’s going to take all of us to lift the kettle.”

Mary hurried into the house, returning moments later with Alice at her heels. Together, the three women emptied the contents in the black cast-iron pot into four long, shallow, wooden troughs. The liquid soap needed to cool in the troughs before it would solidify. After that, they would cut it into small bricks to be used in washing everything from dishes, to bodies, to clothes. As they were filling the last wooden flat, Major Mylam was topping the hill upon which Letty’s house had been built.

It was the sight of a magnificent elk bounding out of the trees and into his path that distracted Carson Mylam’s focus. There was a moment when man and animal looked into each other’s eyes. At another time, they would have been adversaries. Fortunately for both, they were focused on other agendas. The elk whistled sharply, then cleared the road in one leap and bounded away.

Carson inhaled deeply, still lost in admiration of the spectacle, and missed seeing Robert Lee’s appearance. When he did look back at the road in front of him, it was to find an armed man standing between him and the elegant, two-story house.

“I say!” Carson exclaimed, and automatically put his hand on his pistol.

“Don’t do it,” Robert Lee said softly. “State your business.”

Carson Mylam wisely obeyed. Although he hadn’t expected this kind of reception, his good mood was broken. He