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counter, just as he had in years past. This was a friendly place, as well known to him as his home or his saddle.

    Rod walked in as though he owned the mortgage, moving with an easy, strolling gait. “Rand,” he greeted his friend, hand outstretched.

    “Well, Rod Owen, you old nag-rider, you found you another son.” Randolph Hilbrands took
    Rod’s hand and shook it. “Seems like a new one comes home every day.”

    “Just got in yesterday. Colonel Mosby kept his boys in after school let out.”

    “You, with five sons left to you, you can joke. Me, with five daughters, and only one married, well, I’m past laughing.” Rand stroked his thin black moustache.

    “Now Rand, it hardly seems likely that your girls are all of a marryin’ age. Why, wasn’t Amanda just having a child about the time I left for the fighting?”

    “That would be Eliza. But Ida, now. She fancies herself quite a lady, and her not yet seventeen. Always going around worrying about when she will marry. I’m afraid Mandy’s filled that girl’s head with a mess of nonsense.” Rand shook his head and eased his tall, fleshy frame back onto his stool.

    “She’s just the age of my Marie. I reckon she’s the same way.”

    “Not like my girl Ida. You never heard the like of the plans she makes to catch her a beau. It’d curl your hair, Rod.”

    Carl felt the heat of embarrassment creeping into his face, and turned away from Mr. Hilbrands’ somber description of his daughter’s antics. Looking around at the displays to find one out of earshot, he bumped into the saucy Miss Hilbrands herself, who had just entered from the street.

    “I declare, you are the clumsiest—” As Ida got a good look at the object of her verbal attack, she backed up a step and started over. “I am so sorry,” she drawled. “Silly me, can’t help but trip on this old floor. Now let me think. You must be Carl Owen, Rulon’s brother. I declare, you have grown up so nicely.”

    Carl stared at her, hoping his mouth wasn’t open. Ida Hilbrands had grown up very nicely herself. Above a pair of merry blue eyes was the blondest, silkiest mop of curls he had ever seen. Her nose was tiny, with a hint of mischief to its tilt. Her mouth looked as though it laughed a great deal of the time, and was just now curled upward as she smiled gaily at her prize.

    Ida threw back her head and gave a little sigh, and Carl became aware of other curved portions of her body.

    “Carl Owen, I declare, has the cat got your tongue? You haven’t said one little word since you bumped into me!” Ida smiled encouragingly, tapping her foot.

    “I—I’m truly sorry, Miss Ida. I’m not used to being home yet, and in the company of such a pretty little thing as yourself. You have surely changed since last I saw you.” Carl recalled a vague person with long braids and knee-length skirts.

    “Have you been home long?” Ida inquired sweetly.

    “I arrived last evening. Got my parole last week near Charlottesville.”

    “All this talk of paroles! Makes our men folks out to be a passel of criminals.”

    “We was prisoners of war. The paroles mean we’re on our honor to come home and wait for an exchange. I got my parole, like I said, then snuck me a Yankee rifle. Almost got caught, but I slipped away.”

    “Well, I never heard of such a thing,” Ida exclaimed. “Why on earth would you want a dirty Yankee rifle?”

    “Because it’s an almighty good one, a repeater. I needed me a good firearm.”

    “I don’t know anything about rifles and such,” Ida murmured, looking at Carl with dreamy eyes.

    “I have to see if Pa needs any help,” Carl gulped, anxious to be away from the gaze of those eyes. “It was wondrous fine to see you again, Miss Ida.”

    “You’ll have to come around and see us from time to time, now that this nasty war is over,” she countered.

    “I’d be pleased to,” Carl nodded. He looked down and stared at his boots.

    Ida tossed her head,