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opportunity to escape?” As she ended her explanation, she dropped her voice to a whisper.
    â€œExcuse me just for a minute, Miss Dunn.” Nate marched into the stockroom without the slightest idea as to how to fulfill her request. He sold linens, powders, sacks of grain, and canned goods, not meals for those out for the day without a lunch hamper. He scanned burlap sacks of barley, flour, and rice; stacks of foolscap for penning letters; and kegs of apple cider and maple syrup. But he had no cookstove even if he found enough ingredients to prepare a simple meal. Nate reentered the store carrying his only solution.
    He spotted Miss Dunn by the front door, assessing tins of salt and spices. “You’ll find a basin behind the counter should you like to wash.” He rolled out a clean linen cloth and poured a cup of cider. “Here you are, miss. I hope my special-of-the-day meets with your approval.”
    She washed and dried her hands and then climbed onto a tall stool at the counter. “My, this looks delicious.” Miss Dunn lifted the top piece of grainy oatmeal bread and peered at a thick slice of farmer’s cheese covered with spicy tomato relish. Holding the sandwich in both hands, she took a bite. “It’s wonderful! While I eat, why don’t you explain how merchandise finds its way onto your shelves?”
    Nate perched on the opposite stool. “Vegetables and sacks of grain arrive in wagons from outlying farms, along with pickled meats and canned goods. I carry smoked hams, dressed turkeys and pheasants, and fresh venison whenever available. Fabric, notions, and cooking implements come by train from the west. Lately, those deliveries have been haphazard. Coffee, sugar, vanilla, and spices from abroad are becoming scarce because of the blockade, while pineapples, oranges, and bananas from the tropics arerare as snowstorms. Many residents are drinking more tea since the plantations around Charleston increased production.”
    â€œSplendid. Colonists are returning to the favored beverage of their mother country.”
    â€œIt’s been a long time since Carolinians thought of themselves as colonists. That war is past history. We’re smack dab in the middle of another conflict now.” Nate tried not to stare as she ate, but her creamy complexion and curvy figure beneath the dark dress drew him like a bee to nectar.
    â€œWeren’t you compelled to run off and enlist for the Glorious Cause? Our newspapers made it sound as though men were fighting for noble reasons, but taking someone’s life is killing, plain and simple.” Miss Dunn dabbed her mouth with the napkin.
    Nate felt the tiny hairs lift on his neck. “I’m no coward, if that’s what you’re implying. I thought about signing up, but Wilmington is the center of trade for the Confederacy. If every man took up arms against the Yankees, who would be left to run the port?” He busied himself cleaning up bread crumbs. “Besides, I’m not from around here. No one back home owned slaves—they were too poor. I can’t see the point of dying to maintain slavery. That evil practice only helps the rich get richer.” Nate locked gazes with her.
    â€œForgive me, Mr. Cooper. It wasn’t my intention to question your bravery or loyalties. In my attempt to understand the Southern culture, I have insulted you for the second time today.”
    â€œI’ve become quite adept at explaining myself.” Nate ran a hand through his hair. “And there isn’t one Southern culture. Quality of life depends on whether you’re rich or poor, black or white. I suppose the same can be said in…”
    â€œVillage of Wycleft, outside of Manchester. And indeed that is the case.”
    â€œWhere does your sister live, if I may inquire?”
    â€œAbigail and Jackson Henthorne live on Third Street at the corner of Orange. Are you acquainted with