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harbored feelings that he’d politely rejected so as not to hurt the poor girl. She was barely in her teens.
    The last time they’d spoken was particularly strange.
    “Mr. Murphy.” Elizabeth came into the bedroom. She was hiding something and shut the door. She uncovered a plate of biscuits and a small pot of honey. “Here you go.” She held the plate out to Thomas. “Mama was saving these for tomorrow, so don’t tell anyone I gave them to you. It will be our little secret.”
    Thomas couldn’t accept the gift. “Elizabeth, I don’t think ye should take things without asking permission.”
    She scowled and continued holding the plate out to him. “But I took them for you!”
    Thomas didn’t know what to do.
    After an awkward silence, Elizabeth slammed the plate onto the chest of drawers and stormed out of the room. There had been other disturbing conversations and situations. It seemed as though she wanted him to feel sorry for her in order to win his affections.
    Margaret was the apple of his eye. The most beautiful thing he’d seen since leaving his homeland of Ireland. He couldn’t stop thinking of the girl with the coal-colored hair, skin as smooth as fresh-churned butter, and those violet eyes. But she seemed to hate everything about him. He was the enemy.
    The Logan parents, however, went out of their way to make him feel welcome.
    Thomas patted his belly. He’d eaten more food since his injury than his whole time in the Navy. Aye, but yer getting fat, Thomas Murphy. He’d decided to get up and move around over the next few days in order to build up his strength. He was determined to somehow work for these fine people—to repay their kindness.
    A tapping came at the door.
    “Yes, come in.”
    Jebediah Logan entered the room, a smoldering pipe in his hand. He took a long draw from the beautifully carved wooden instrument before speaking. “Good afternoon, Mr. Murphy.” Jebediah pulled up a chair and sat down.
    “And a good afternoon to ye, Mr. Logan. How are things going with the cotton pulling?”
    Jebediah released the smoke he’d inhaled, the slow stream escaping from his mouth. Mr. Logan did everything slow and easy. “Oh, we’re just about done with the pulling. Now we gotta get it ready to take over to the docks for shipping. I’ve got Elizabeth and Margaret to help me with that though. Mostly, I’ve been working on the garden. About time to put out the winter vegetables.” Mr. Logan wiped a bit of ash from his pant leg. “Well, son, you’re looking a might better than when we first brought you here in the donkey cart. Are you feeling any stronger?”
    “Aye.” Thomas lifted his arm and made a muscle. “A wee bit every day.”
    An uncomfortable silence filled the room. Jebediah Logan was a man of few words.
    It was up to Thomas to fill the void. “Mr. Logan, ye mind me asking a question on…a personal level?” Thomas averted his eyes and rubbed his leg.
    “I suppose you’re welcome to ask. But I’m not agreeing to answer until I hear what you have to say.” Jebediah crossed his arms.
    “Of course, sir. Y’see, I’ve been wondering since ye brought me here why yer not fighting with the Rebels.”
    “Oh, that…of course.” Mr. Logan set his pipe on the tray and rolled up the right sleeve of his pale blue cotton shirt. “There was an accident at the lighthouse I manned down in South Louisiana.”
    “Oh my, sir, what on earth happened to yer arm?” Thomas cringed.
    “There was a strong, gale-force wind blowing that day, and I was having a hard time keeping the light lit. Anyway, I needed to fetch more oil, so I started down the stairs, which happened to be slick with seawater. Well, there weren’t any handrails and my legs went out from under me. Just about that time, I heard a gust of wind come up, so I grabbed hold of the stair rung with all my might.” Mr. Logan picked up his pipe and pointed it at Thomas. “It was either that or be thrown down the stairs and not