Fire by Night (Refiner's Fire) (Volume 2)
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Encounter the Civil War through the eyes of two very different Northern girls in this moving, Christy-award-winning novel--now with a brand new look!
truth that he had been a widower all this time. The feelings she’d had toward him hadn’t been shameful at all. “I thought I loved my wife,” James said, “but it was a very selfish kind of love, based solely on what she could give me. That’s what you have for Julia. You want to make her into what you want her to be, then keep her all to yourself, possessing her as your very own, using her to complete yourself. But believe it or not, I know Scripture, too—it says that husbands should love their
should stay and help clean up.” “I’ll send a dozen servants over in the morning to help. Come on.” There was little she could do but obey. Arthur quickly helped her into her coat and led her outside. She could see her breath in the cold night air. Fresh snow had fallen while they’d been inside, covering the dirty slush and making the city look pretty. Snowflakes sifted gently down as she walked to the carriage, dusting her shoulders like powdered sugar. Arthur was quiet as they settled inside
satisfaction on his face. “I’ll accept those tears as your apology,” he said, taking her chin in his hand, “and I’ll pick you up for the ball as planned.” Julia’s entire body began to tremble with rage. She pushed his hand away a second time. “I don’t care what you tell my father,” she said. “I don’t care if you’re the last bachelor in Philadelphia. I’d sooner die an old maid than spend my life with a man who thinks he can buy a woman’s affections—not to mention a man who bullies and bribes and
blue-uniformed men, thousands and thousands of them, lying beneath the blazing June sun. She saw a line of flatcars with white awnings parked on a side rail and realized that the train bore a cargo of still more wounded men, packed together like freight. Above the squeal of gulls and the noise of the ship’s engines came the strange sound she’d heard from a distance, louder now—a heartrending chorus of moans and cries, the sound of grown men weeping, begging for help, for mercy. The sound sent
Mrs. Haggerty. Phoebe had no choice but to change her clothes. She barely got the blasted skirt closed around her waist. And she’d grown bigger on top, too, so the shirtwaist gaped open between each of the buttons. It would serve Mrs. Garlock and Mrs. Haggerty right if the buttons popped clear off right in front of Mr. Haggerty, that leering old coot. Phoebe folded up her shirt, overalls, and union suit, stuffed them into the burlap sack with the rest of her things, and said goodbye to the cabin