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schools for the Christmas break. They’d spend a night in the D.C. area, rent a car, maybe spend some time in D.C., and drive out in the afternoon. How far could it be? She looked down at her calendar, trying to figure out the holidays. “We’ll arrive… the night of the twenty-second?” she suggested.
    “That’s fine, Mrs.…?”
    “Julie. Sorry, Radcliff. Julie Radcliff. My—husband’s name is Jon.”
    “Great. We’ll see you for Christmas!” the woman said.
    The line went dead. Julie hung it up. She brooded over her decision for a minute, then determined she needed to study her new multiple-listings book. She looked at the book, then realized she wasn’t seeing anything.
    Christmas. Wouldn’t it have been better if she had just said No, it’s falling apart, let’s just end it now, cleanly?
    Something inside of her rebelled against doing that. The vacation would be good. She’d have chestnuts before a roaring fire.
    With a husband she couldn’t forgive.She snapped her multiple-listings book shut and tapped into her computer. She needed some busy work. She needed to sound intelligent and informed this afternoon when she attempted to sell property.
    It was a half hour later, and she was in the middle of computer comparisons on Gables waterway houses, when she realized the woman hadn’t asked her for a credit card number to hold the reservation.
    She dialed the number back.
    “Hello? Oak River Plantation.”
    “Hi, this is me again. Julie—”
    “Radcliff. Yes, hello again! What can I do for you?”
    “I just wanted to guarantee our reservation.”
    “I beg your pardon?”
    “I need to give you a credit card number. To guarantee our reservation.”
    “That isn’t necessary, Mrs. Radcliff.”
    “Really?” Julie stared at the phone. Every hotel, motel, and bed-and-breakfast in the country—from five-star establishment to broken-down flea joint—seemed to require a guarantee these days.
    “I’m sure we’ll see you as planned.”
    “Yes, but don’t—”
    The woman’s musical laugh sounded. “Mrs. Radcliff, we only want our guests if they want tobe here. If something comes up, do please call; that’s all we ask. And we are looking forward to meeting you, of course. Till the twenty-second, then?”
    “Till the twenty-second,” Julie agreed.
    She replaced the receiver slowly. The day was improving. Human nature did, at times, prevail, so it seemed.
    She felt just a little bit better about her smashed rear light.
    But later, when she came out of the office to drive down the street for a quick bite of lunch, Cruddy-Disgusting-Joe was sitting on her bumper. He was nibbling at a half-eaten burger he probably got from the Dumpster at the far side of the parking lot.
    She slowed down, then tried not to shudder as she walked toward her car. He looked up from his burger.
    He stared at her with his colorless eyes, the left lid slashed by a scar.
    He certainly didn’t appear to recognize her from that morning, but he did seem to know that he was sitting on her car and that she needed to drive it.
    He stood, crumpled up the wrapper in his hand, looked to the ground, and ambled away.
    Poor man!
she tried to tell herself.
    So pathetic. He needs help.But her shudder continued on the inside.
    Poor man, poor man, poor man
.
    She knew she was going to have to get her car washed when she got the rear light fixed.

Chapter Two
    Christmas Eve
1862
    S he sat in a rocking chair on her cousin’s front porch just outside Front Royal.
    Rocking, sewing—Confederate wives were constantly sewing these days—and waiting.
    He would come. He would come because it was Christmas Eve. He would come because he had a way of getting leave at just the right moments, because he could move so quickly. So damned quickly. He was the ultimate horseman, an extraordinary cavalry officer, and his field of war was the field of his home. He knew every inch of the terrain. Perhaps other men could not move so quickly, but he could. He