The Last Cavalier [NOOK Book]

Read an Excerpt

Blackfield's Mountain
Now...
"I tell you, it was very nearly the worst move old Stonewall made during the entire war!"
Liam Douglas's blue eyes were ablaze beneath his shocking white brows and his gnarled old fist made a startling smacking sound against the rough wood table.
Vickie poured more draft into Milt Mahoney's stein and watched a little anxiously as her grandfather drew breath for a reply to Liam. "Jackson was the best general the Confederacy ever had, and Lee damned well knew it!"
Gramps was just as vehement as Liam. His great fist thundered against the table and his eyes crackled with the same blue fire beneath brows as white and bushy as Liam's. The difference between the two octogenarians, Vickie decided, was that Liam had a few strands of hair left, while Gramps was as bald as a buzzard.
"I say that Jackson made one hell of a mistake here!" Liam insisted.
Vickie decided that it was time for her to step into the discussion. "Boys, boys, boys, now!" She swooped into the midst of them, giving both Gramps and Liam refills on their beer. She smiled sweetly at all six of the old men filling her grandfather's tiny establishment and reminded them, "The war ended quite some time ago, you know! Well over a hundred years ago now! It was 1865, remember?"
Liam grinned sheepishly; Gramps looked disgruntled. His kepi was askew on his bald head and despite the air-conditioning in the little tavern, he was sweating. This was a big week for the small Virginia farming town. Not only would the battle itself be reenacted on Saturday, but already, some of the largest reenactment encampments ever drawn together were being set up out inMiller's cornfield right alongside the mountain. Everyone in town was involved in the reenactment in some way. Even those bored by history were entranced by the money-making possibilities stretching before them.
Of course, Gramps had always been a major-league Civil War buff, just like Liam. And therefore, she thought, so was she.
Gramps had gleefully decided that with all the tourists in town, they should dress just like the reenactors. So there he sat, in a Virginia militia field-artillery uniform, while she was walking around serving coffee and beer, dressed in a long antebellum dress. Gramps wanted to get the folks into the spirit of the festivities when they came in for their sandwiches and drinks, and this was the way to do it, he had decided.
She had refused point-blank at first--Gramps's passions got to be a bit too much for her at times--but then he had looked at her so mournfully that she had changed her mind. Gramps's business included an artifacts shop as well as the tavern, and there were times when it felt as if she'd had the history of the place up to her teeth.
But she loved Gramps. He was her only living relative. He'd been there for her when Brad had been killed. Gramps had been her only strength. While she still had the dear old man in her life, she was going to do her best to cherish him. He had wanted her in the dress and petticoats, and she could handle that. But she'd drawn the line at the pantalets and corset. There was no way she was crawling into that part of the costume, and he'd better think good and hard about it! Who was ever going to know what she wore beneath the dress?
Gramps had conceded, but it seemed that she had gained a small victory now. Her russet hair was clumped into a net at her nape and she was dying to set it free, just as she was dying to rid herself of the hot layers of her calico gown.
Glancing up at the clock, she saw that the afternoon was gone. She had promised Karen and Steve that she would come down to the Union camp and see them for dinner. Had she told them six? It was almost six now.
The discussion among the old men had picked up again. They had moved on to the battle of Gettysburg. Vickie politely interrupted them. "Do you need me anymore, Gramps?"
"What? Uh, no, honey. You can run on out and see your friends." He hesitated and added gruffly,
"You still going to the Yankee camp?"