Prologue

Columbus, Ohio

November 3, 1864

Nicholas stepped through the dense fog. The sun was only beginning to rise, casting a dim light over the bloodied fields of Ohio. The Union Army had been on the march for weeks, and now, with their enemy closer than ever, every rustle of leaves and every distant sound caused his heart to lurch in his chest.

The men he led were weary from endless days of marching. He watched as they prepared for another day. Their faces drooped, and their bodies were slower than when they first began. Some of the older men were barely able to lift their muskets. They moved silently, their eyes scanning the surrounding woods for any sign of Confederate soldiers as they readied themselves and their weapons.

Nicholas was sure they were alone, but he had no intention of risking his men’s safety. He wandered off ahead, keeping quiet and moving quickly, each step more careful than the last. His eyes narrowed as he gripped his sword tightly, the cool metal tying him to reality. It kept him alert despite the exhaustion he felt in his muscles.

In the last year or so, Nicholas had faced death more times than he cared to count. In war, death became more of a comrade than any of the men by your side. But today felt different. There was an unease in the air, a tension that felt thicker than the fog he was walking through.

Casting his gaze ahead, trying to control his focus, he noticed that the trees thinned, revealing a small clearing. Standing at its edge was Adam, the burly blacksmith. In recent months, Adam had become one of Nicholas’s most trusted soldiers and a friend to all in their company.

Nicholas was unsurprised that Adam had taken it upon himself to check their surroundings. He was a man of strength and faith. His weathered hands, once used to shape iron and steel, now wielded a rifle with the precision of a seasoned marksman. More importantly, Adam was a source of comfort for the entire company. He had a way of lifting the men’s spirits, often leading them in prayer or song when the nights grew long and cold.

Adam looked up as Nicholas approached and nodded respectfully. “Captain,” he said, “the men are ready. But there’s a feeling among them… They sense something’s coming.”

Nicholas’s eyes scanned the edges of the clearing. “I feel it too. We need to be on our guard. I think today might be the end of our march.”

Adam’s gaze was steady as he clapped Nicholas on the shoulder, his hand firm and sure. “Whatever happens, sir, we’ll get through it. The Lord is with us.”

Nicholas wished he could share the same certainty, but his thoughts were clouded with doubt. He missed his wife and son, and he mourned for the men that they had lost already. The positivity with which he had entered this war as a volunteer had been stripped away from him slowly but surely. He had led his men through countless battles, each conflict more grueling than the last, and yet the end of the war seemed no closer. He had seen too many good men fall, their lives cut short by the relentless violence that consumed the land. And now, as they faced another battle, he couldn’t shake the feeling that today might be his last.

But he couldn’t let his fears show. His men looked to him for leadership, and he would not let them down. He forced a smile onto his face and inhaled sharply.

“That He is, Adam.”

***

The following hours passed sluggishly. Each step that the company took felt dangerous. Every noise that came from their surroundings made them freeze with the knowledge that this could be their final moment. Nicholas tried his best to portray confidence, to instill bravery in his men, but it felt futile. He knew the danger they were truly in.

As they ventured towards the end of the canopy of the trees, a large clearing became visible through the mist. Nicholas stopped to address his companions.

“Men,” he called, speaking loud enough to be heard but trying not to yell, “we will soon be without cover. I do not know where the enemy is, but we can assume that they are close. We have followed them this far, after all. Be prepared, be aware, and stay alive. We will rid Ohio of these fools before long and return to base.”

The men around him cheered, raising their weapons. The noise made Nicholas wince.

“Keep it down. We want as much of the element of surprise as we can get, fellas.” Without another word, he turned on his heel and, signaling with his hand, led the march forward.

It wasn’t long before they breached the end of the woods. With his breath caught in his lungs, Nicholas took the first step into the open. He scanned his surroundings as quickly as he could, his tired eyes darting from edge to edge. On the horizon, there was some sparse woodland. That’d be their goal. Better coverage there. Between them and the woodland, though, was mostly open country. There were only a few small wooded areas, no larger than a town square, dotted across the field. He considered rushing from cover to cover, but his instincts screamed in refusal.

It was eerily quiet. There were no birds, no deer. It was as though all the sounds of the world had been switched off for this one moment.

Those wooded areas, he thought. We need to steer away from them.

Carefully, he led the men out, line by line. They crept warily across the field, almost forgetting to breathe as they focused on each careful step. By now, the sun was out, and the mist had started to clear. Nicholas could see the fields before them fully, which meant his platoon was also now very visible. The rays of sunshine beat down on them, illuminating the barrels of their muskets and the handles of their sabers. Sweat beaded on Nicholas’s forehead, and he wiped it away with the back of his hand. Glancing to his left, he saw Adam scouring their surroundings too.

“Clear?” he whispered.

“As far as I can see.” Adam nodded.

They continued forward for a while longer. The march was starting to seem unsettlingly easy. The terrain was flatter than they’d been used to. There was still nothing around them. A moment of false confidence passed through Nicholas’s mind.

And then it all changed.

The attack came without warning.

One moment, Nicholas was leading his men through the field; the next, the air was filled with the crack of muskets and the deafening roar of cannon fire. His nose was filled with the acrid scent of gunpowder. Clouds of dust and smoke filled the air, making it hard to breathe. Confederate soldiers, hidden in the trees and underbrush, had run out, unleashing a barrage of bullets and shrapnel, cutting down the Union soldiers before they had a chance to react.

“Take cover!” Nicholas shouted, but the words were almost completely drowned out by the sounds of explosions and screams. He dove behind a fallen log, landing heavily on the ground, followed quickly by Adam. Pulling his revolver from its holster, he scanned the chaotic scene around him. His men were scattered, scrambling for cover as the Confederate soldiers pressed their advantage. What seemed to be an endless barrage of soldiers continued to emerge from the trees with bayonets fixed and rifles blazing.

Nicholas’s heart pounded in his chest; this wasn’t his first fight, but he’d never been so outnumbered before. An acidic taste filled his mouth as he peeked over the log and aimed his revolver. He fired at the nearest enemy soldier, the man dropping to the ground with a grunt as the bullet found its mark. He didn’t have time to see if the man was dead before another Confederate was upon him, the sharp edge of a bayonet glinting through the fog of war. Nicholas barely managed to roll out of the way. Jumping up, he slashed at the soldier, cutting through the gray wool of the man’s uniform and sending him stumbling back, blood spreading across the fabric on his chest.

Beside him, Adam was a whirlwind of motion, his rifle cracking as he fired round after round into the oncoming wave of Confederate soldiers. There were too many of them, and they were too close. Nicholas knew there was no way out of this. Not for all of them. The realization settled heavily upon his mind. This was his last fight.

He watched solemnly as a soldier broke away from the crowd running toward Nicholas with his gun raised, the barrel aimed directly at the captain’s heart. All Nicholas could bring himself to do was brace himself for the shot, his fingers tightening around the hilt of his sword. His eyes closed as his mind filled with images of his wife, Anna, and their son, Percy. He prayed that they’d be safe.

Nicholas heard the shot but felt no pain. He opened his eyes to see that Adam had moved, gliding over to slip between Nicholas and his attacker. He watched in horror as Adam staggered back, falling into a crumpled heap by the log that had just protected them, clutching his chest where the bullet had struck.

“No!” Nicholas shouted, lunging forward. He could hear Adam’s ragged breathing behind him as he drove his sword into the Confederate soldier’s side. The man’s scream was bloodcurdling, but it was brief. Nicholas didn’t waste any time pulling the sword back out as the soldier fell to the ground in front of him. He dropped to his knees beside Adam, his hands trembling as he pressed them to the gaping wound in his soldier’s chest.

“Adam! Hold on, we’ll get you out of here,” Nicholas said, his voice trembling with desperation.

Why would he do this? There’s so much blood… Lord, help me.

Adam’s breath was ragged, his face pale as he struggled to speak. “It’s… it’s too late for me, Captain.”

“No, don’t say that,” Nicholas insisted, his heart pounding in his chest. “We’ll get you help.”

But Adam shook his head, his hand reaching out to grasp Nicholas’s arm. His grip was weak, and his fingers were clammy. “Listen to me, Captain,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper. “You have to live. You have to get home. To… to Anna. To Percy.”

Tears blurred Nicholas’s vision as he looked down at the man who had become more than just a soldier under his command. Adam had been a friend, a true brother-in-arms, and now, he was slipping away right before his eyes. “I will,” Nicholas choked out the words as he held back his tears of grief. “I swear it, Adam.”

Adam’s grip tightened for a moment, then weakened as his body went limp. His eyelids fluttered shut as his lips parted, and he whispered. “Take care of them… And tell my fiancé… Tell her I’m sorry we never got… that Christmas wedding.”

Nicholas nodded, unable to find the words to respond. He felt something cold and hard pressed into his hand. He looked down to see Adam’s bloodied silver crucifix, the necklace he had always worn around his neck, now resting in Nicholas’s palm.

“She gave it to me,” Adam murmured, his words barely intelligible. “A promise… of our love. Tell her… I’ll always be with her.”

Nicholas clutched the cross tightly, the metal digging into his palm, his heart breaking as he watched Adam’s eyes glaze over. “I’ll tell her, Adam,” he said, his voice trembling. “I’ll tell her everything.”

The gunshots and yelling around Nicholas seemed to fall silent. Nothing was real anymore except for this moment, burned deep into his memory. He watched as one final breath escaped Adam’s lips. Staring at the man’s chest, he waited for it to rise again, but there was no movement. Adam was still.

He was gone.

Take care of him, Lord.

Nicholas wiped his cheeks as tears streamed down them. Pocketing the necklace, he moved Adam’s hands, placing them together on his stomach.

“I wish I were able to give you a proper funeral, friend,” he whispered. “May you find Heaven and rest in peace. May God have mercy on your soul.”

On shaky legs, Nicholas stood up. The necklace felt heavy in his pocket, reminding him of Adam’s sacrifice as he rushed forward, mindlessly aiming and firing at as many Confederate soldiers as he could,.

We will win this war, Nicholas thought to himself.

The hope that had been lost, the will that had been dwindling, and the confidence that he had been losing day by day seemed to return all at once. It was as if by passing, Adam’s faith, a blessing, had been gifted to Nicholas. True resolve passed through him. Suddenly, winning was no longer an option. It was their destiny.

Chapter One

November 1, 1867

Cincinnati, Ohio

On the edge of town stood a small, weather-beaten building. During the day the schoolhouse was warm and full of life, but as evening fell, it became impossibly still by comparison. Wooden paneling showing through the waning whitewash, and the once bright red tiling on the roof was now beaten a tarnished brown. An old bell hanging in the belltower swayed gently, even October’s strong winds barely able to move it. The shutters batting against the walls and the rusted doors squeaking intermittently were the only sounds that broke the evening stillness.

Inside the schoolhouse Marguerite wrapped her green, woolen shawl tighter around her shoulders as she hunched over her desk. There was a harsh and biting chill in the air that seemed to only be worsening as the evening went on. The thin windows of the small schoolhouse rattled in the wind, and the bare branches outside scraped and scratched against the windows, putting her slightly on edge. Her body shivered as she held her arms close to her chest, her teeth chattering involuntarily.

She took a deep breath and straightened up, pausing her writing to warm her numbing fingers over what was left of the day’s dwindling fire. The embers were barely glowing, but she knew that the wood was a precious commodity. It wasn’t fair to use it, not when it was only her in the room. It was best to save it for when the students were in. Many of them would not have warm homes, so the least she could do was ensure her classroom was a comfortable temperature, even if it meant her after-hours work was a little frosty.

The November cold always took her by surprise, but it seemed particularly harsh this year and had arrived early. It had covered Cincinnati with a beautiful but deadly white blanket. No number of fires could keep anyone warm, not when the bitter winds brought unrelenting cold with them day in and day out. In her years as a schoolteacher, she had adjusted to the chill of her classroom, but this year felt different. She wasn’t sure whether it was because it was so near the anniversary of her fiancé’s passing or if she was just tired, but that day, the cold felt as if it were seeping into her very bones.

Rubbing her hands together, she regained some feeling in the tips of her fingers and returned to her work. Dipping her feathered pen into the inkwell, she continued to write out the arithmetic problems for the next day’s lessons. She tucked a rogue curl behind her ear and looked around her quiet classroom, wracking her brain for more calculations for the children. A smile tugged gently at the corners of her lips.

While the classroom was silent now, she could still hear the children’s endearing chatter and laughter. It filled the room whenever they were here. It followed them around. She could hear them enter the building in the mornings, and when the last bell rang, she would hear them leave. The chatter would get quieter and quieter as they got further away from the building until she was left with an empty silence. She imagined their parents would welcome the sounds of their laughter as they got home, and for a moment, she pictured one of her students, sitting at home with their parents, the fire crackling in the corner, a hearty meal on the table before them.

Her chest ached.

She longed for a family. She still mourned the one she once had, and the one she had almost been able to build with Adam. She’d lost it all, leaving her with a cold and empty home to return to when she was done at the cold and empty schoolhouse.

She swallowed harshly and paused in her writing, staring at the half-finished lesson plan as memories surged uninvited to the surface. Three years. It had been three long years since Adam’s death, and yet the pain of losing him still felt fresh, like an open wound that refused to heal. Marguerite closed her eyes, willing herself to push the memories back down where they belonged. She had work to do, and she couldn’t afford to dwell on the past. Not now.

But the sadness lingered, as it always did, a constant companion in the quiet moments when there was no one else around. It was in these moments that Marguerite felt the weight of her loneliness most acutely. She had thrown herself into her work as a schoolteacher, following in her father’s footsteps with a determination that bordered on obsession. But no matter how hard she worked, no matter how much she tried to focus on her students and their needs, the overwhelming emptiness remained.

Marguerite sighed earnestly, setting down her pen and rubbing her temples.

A sudden knock at the door pulled her from her thoughts. She looked up in surprise, tilting her head to one side. It was rather late, and she was usually the only one left in the building by this time of night. She hesitated for a moment, then slowly rose from her desk. She carefully stepped toward the door and stretched her hand towards the doorknob. With a deep breath, she turned the near-frozen handle, pulling the door toward her.

More cold air billowed into the room as she opened it, causing a gasp to escape her lips as it stripped her of what little warmth she had left. Standing in the doorway was Lilian, her best and oldest friend. The two of them had grown up together, so Lilian felt more like a sister to her than anything else. The woman was short and slim, with red hair pinned in a neat bun at the back of her head. Her warm smiling face was a welcome interruption from the cold, dark classroom, but an unexpected and surprising one; usually Lilian was busy with her new husband and their son.

“Lilian? What’re you doing here?” Marguerite asked, her lips curling up into a confused smile. She stepped to the side, allowing her friend to pass into the room.

Lilian grinned and stepped gracefully past Marguerite. Giving a quick look around the room, she glanced towards the waning embers before crossing her arms across her chest. Lilian gave a telling shiver. “I could ask you the same thing, Marguerite!” she exclaimed. “Why are you here in this freezing cold schoolhouse and not at home by the fire?”

Marguerite gestured to the desk behind her. “There’s still work to be done.”

“Does it have to be done in icy cold temperatures?” Lilian asked with a laugh. She nodded towards what once was a fire. “You’ve got stacks of firewood here.”

“That’s for the students. I can’t just use it for myself,” Marguerite said, shaking her head and shrugging her shoulders.

Lilian frowned. “Nonsense. Working like this is bad for your health. There’ll be nobody to teach the students if you don’t look after yourself, Marguerite.”

Marguerite opened her mouth to protest, but before she could say a word, Lilian rolled her eyes and strode over to the firewood. Confidently taking several pieces in her arms, she took them over to the dying pile of embers and shoved them inside.

Marguerite watched dolefully as her friend tended to the fire. A sharp pang of guilt washed over her entire being. Something within her always felt uneasy when people looked after her. She’d been alone for so long and had become so self-sufficient. But at the same time, she knew that Lilian was right. She could see her breath leave her body and hang in the air; her muscles all felt tight with cold, as if she were turning to ice herself. Freezing temperatures were definitely no environment to work in, not really.

She kept her eyes locked on the fire as it grew bright, the light and heat slowly starting to spread out across the room. As the tender glow enveloped her, she let out a small, satisfied hum, her limbs slowly loosening, welcoming the gentle embrace of the warmth.

“Thank you,” she slowly whispered. “I didn’t realize how cold it was in here.”

That’s a lie.

Lilian shook her head, waving her hand dismissively. She moved to sit on the edge of one of the weathered wooden desks. “You’ve always been like this,” she said. “You put others before yourself. You work too hard. It’s a great virtue to have—don’t get me wrong, Marguerite—but you need to take care of yourself, too.”

Marguerite replied with a small smile, but it didn’t quite reach her eyes. “I never intend not to,” she said. “I think… I think I just forget. It often feels like all I have left is work, and it’s hard to think of anything beyond that.”

Besides, it’s hard to find the time to look after oneself when there’s so much to do. There’s always something more important.

Marguerite thought for a second about being completely honest. She always found it strangely difficult to focus on herself beyond the bare minimum. Perhaps because she felt there was no point. After considering it, she decided to keep those feelings to herself. She didn’t want to burden Lilian. Not any more than she already had.

Lilian’s face softened, and she stepped forward, taking Marguerite’s hand carefully in her own. “That’s actually why I’m here.”

Marguerite’s brows furrowed.

“I’ve been thinking, well, worrying a lot about you lately, and I think I have found something that might just turn your life around.”

Lilian’s words stung like a whip. Marguerite hated the idea that her friends worried about her, that she was somehow interrupting their otherwise happy lives. This was precisely why she kept to herself so much. Swallowing down her feelings, she raised an eyebrow. “What do you mean?”

Lilian reached into her coat pocket and pulled out a small scrap of paper, clearly cut out of a newspaper. Handing it to Marguerite, she watched and waited expectantly. Marguerite took it and looked down at it with a curious, puzzled expression.

“Governess Agency,” she read aloud. Her eyes continued to scan the text. “Seeking educated and well-mannered women to serve as governesses in the homes of respectable families. Opportunities for travel and advancement. Apply today.” Marguerite’s eyes widened. She looked up at Lilian. “What is this?”

“It’s exactly what it looks like, Marguerite. An opportunity. I saw it and I immediately thought of you. You’ve been here, stuck in Cincinnati forever. The longer you stay, the longer you’ll be living in the shadow of your own grief. You need a fresh start. You need… this.” She gestured at the scrap of paper in Marguerite’s hands. “It could be brilliant.”

Marguerite stared at the newspaper. Her heart pounded in her chest. The idea of leaving Cincinnati, of saying goodbye to everything she’d ever known, was absolutely terrifying. She had never even been further than the edge of the city, and even then, she’d felt nervous. This was where her parents had been born, and their parents before them; it was where she felt tied to them. The house she lived in would have been hers and Adam’s. Her students’ parents all knew her; they all trusted her. She knew the pastor, the church congregation. It was all familiar. Safe. She’d created a life where nothing unexpected happened. She could coast through, surviving, just about managing, and not have to worry about any of it.

There was some part of her though, that felt abuzz as she re-read the advertisement.

A fresh start, she thought. Even the voice in her mind was quiet, unsure.

“Lilian, I’m not sure…” she said, shaking her head. “I’ve never even thought about becoming a governess.”

“Marguerite, come on,” Lilian said. “You’d make a great governess, and you know it. You’re an excellent teacher, the best we have. You’re so good with children, and you love being around them. I’ve seen the way something within you lights up around them. Besides, it’s time for a change. Maybe doing something you’ve never considered is exactly what you need to do. You’ve got to start living for yourself. No more hiding behind your losses; no more doing what you think would make lost souls happy.”

Marguerite’s eyes remained locked on the advertisement. She couldn’t bring herself to look into her friend’s eyes. Tears threatened to roll down her cheeks, and her hands trembled, her breathing quickening. What Lilian was saying was true, and she knew it. She’d been living someone else’s dreams ever since she was a girl; she’d become a teacher to feel close to her father, she volunteered at the church to feel close to her mother, and she remained in Cincinnati to hold onto Adam as best she could after losing him. She hadn’t even really realized that she’d done it. There had been no conscious decision to make a life that was far from really living. It had just kind of… happened. She’d never spared a moment’s thought for what she might want, but to hear someone else say it shook her to her core.

“I couldn’t leave Cincinnati,” she whispered softly. She looked up from the advertisement, still hesitant to meet Lilian’s eyes.