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as they collided.
    “Whoa!” he exclaimed in surprise.
    Katherine looked up into a pair of soft green eyes, which were intently surveying hers from beneath the broad brim of a Union slouch hat. Dark blond hair curled slightly at the collar of his jacket, and while she was uncertain of his rank, she had seen enough Union soldiers on her way to Ohio to know he was an officer. In spite of a thin, unkempt beard, he was quite handsome. And quite tall.
    A tear escaped and slid down her cheek.
    His brow furrowed in concern. “Are you all right, miss?”
    Katherine merely nodded in reply. In light of her reception in the mercantile, she had no desire to open her mouth and give away her undesirable origins to—of all people—a Union officer. She could only imagine the look on his face when he discovered she was a Southerner. Looking down, she struggled with the strings of her reticule, searching for her handkerchief.
    The young officer released her. “I suppose it is a day for tears.”
    Catching the sad note in his voice, she looked up quickly, realizing he was referring to President Lincoln. She nodded once more.
    He tipped his hat. “May God help us all, North and South,” he said gravely.
    His comment caught Katherine completely off guard, and she stared after him for a moment as he walked away. He stepped into the mercantile, and she walked out of town surprised to be hearing such a thing from a Union officer.

Chapter 5
    D aniel rode Scioto out of Ostrander with a considerably heavier saddlebag. Coffee, tea, crackers, even some candy—everyone in town was so glad to see him and so sorry over the loss of his mother, he was lucky to get away without one of Mr. Henderson’s purebred sheep in tow. A small smile touched his lips.
What a sight that would have been
. But the humor he normally would have found in the picture faded quickly. Too much had happened for him to laugh over anything right now.
    General Grant had only been too happy to discharge him once Joshua had explained the situation. The great man had shaken his hand, offered his heartfelt condolences, and thanked Daniel for his service. Joshua had helped him pack and ridden with him back to Petersburg, where the army had a military train depot. The whole trip back to Ohio had been uneventful, a blessing that gave Daniel time to process the news of his mother’s death. He reflected, prayed, and read parts of the battle-worn Bible he had preserved and protected through the war. His mother had been one of the most faithful women he had ever known; that she was alongside her Lord, he did not doubt for a moment. But he would miss her kind and gentle presence for a very long time.
    Yet just as he was beginning to come to terms with his mother’s passing, his world was once again shaken. Upon arriving in Marysville that morning, a town in the adjacent county west of Ostrander, he decided to ride Scioto the last nine or so miles. The horse had ridden most of the way up in freight cars, and Daniel knew his mount would be eager for exercise. He was just tightening the girth on his saddle when a general uproar erupted outside and within the telegraph office. The news quickly ran up and down the streets that President Lincoln had died—killed by an assassin’s bullet. Daniel initially found it very hard to get specifics. All of Marysville was in complete turmoil. Eventually he learned of the terrible crime John Wilkes Booth had committed—the single gunshot to the back of the president’s head, the wild leap onto the stage at Ford’s Theater, and the escape somewhere into the Maryland countryside.
    He had ridden to Ostrander in a daze. Daniel had been a great admirer of Abraham Lincoln, and by the end of the trip he still could not believe his president was gone. Lincoln had been a good and just man who, like Daniel, abhorred slavery. As Scioto loped along, he pulled his leather glove off and flexed the hand the great man had once clasped.
    When Lincoln had traveled