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"Marnie
Pehrson Kuhns has a true gift for infusing her books with honor, hope, and
love in all its world-altering glory. Angel and the Enemy is a
Southern charmer, a delectable novel not only for those who love
romance and history,
but for anyone who loves to read!"
- Kerry Blair,
author of Ghost of a Chance and This Just In
 Angel
and the Enemy
By Marnie
L. Pehrson Kuhns
A Barnes & Noble Top 100 Best Seller
Paperback 287 pages, ISBN 0-9729750-9-8
The War between the States is raging
and Angelina Stone's world is falling apart. Her beloved
father lies rotting in a Union prison and when her Georgia home is
invaded by Yankee officers, Angelina knows she will never be
the same again. One night will change her life forever...
Will Angelina be able to overcome her
fears, lay prejudice aside, and learn to trust? When the
stakes are high, will she risk losing everything? Only by
doing so can she face the demons of her past and win the battle
that rages in her own heart - a heart that is eternally tethered
to . . . the enemy.
Angel and the Enemy is an
historical romance set against the backdrop of the Civil War
where loves were lost and lives were changed. It was an era
where men fought for freedom, independence, and unity.
Yet, when the dust settled and the war was over the real battle
raged on within the hearts of individuals. Angel and the
Enemy captures the strength of the human spirit in overcoming
adversity in a sweeping tale of love, honor, and betrayal.
"Marnie, historical
romance novels aren't usually page turners, but I didn't even look
up to begin making my notes until chapter 9, and I was still
thinking of Angelina during my work day. To me, those are the
marks of a winner. Well done. You also hooked me from the first
page with a palpable feeling of dread, and the pace never
slowed...Your ability to stir the near-immediate empathy in your
reader is a gift that I credit to your talent for constructing
vivid characters, living dialogue, and tangible scene." -
Judge in Writer's Digest 17th Annual International Self-Published
Book Awards
Chapter
1
August 1864
Angelina
stomped her weathered work boot down on the shovel. It jarred her
entire body, but her efforts did little to break through the
unyielding earth. She was discouraged by the insignificant amount of
dirt that resulted from her efforts, but tossed it into the pile
forming under a large hickory tree. She and her brother had been
working for some time, but the hole still wasn't deep enough for a
decent grave.
With
each shallow scoop of earth Angelina removed, the thunder cracks
grew louder and the lightning flashes brighter. Again her foot
pounded on the shovel, and then as if choreographed to match her
footwork, rain broke through the heavy gray blanket overhead. Within
seconds, Angelina's blouse and skirt soaked up the moisture.
The
rain softened the ground somewhat; making it a little easier to
break the soil, but Angelina knew from experience that Georgia clay
only becomes heavier when wet. She quickened her pace as ragged
lightning attacked a helpless dogwood on the other side of the
pasture. Angelina's eyes moved from the tree to the thick clouds
above her. She glanced at her lanky younger brother, Cal, who
motioned for her to give him the shovel so he could take a turn
again. He took it, pushed up his shirtsleeves on his tanned arms and
started digging.
"This
may have to do. No point 'n gettin' ourselves killed too,"
Angelina looked from the shallow grave to the corpse.
I'm
sorry, boy, so, so sorry!
Angelina shook her head as she stared at the dog's white fur. Her
mind darted back to the previous afternoon when Sam had trotted
alongside her, wagging his tail happily as he accompanied her to the
barn. He'd been such an enjoyable companion, sitting with her as
she milked old Gerty every morning and night. Such a good
listener! A wistful smile flickered across her face as she
remembered pouring out her troubles to the dog. Her mouth hardened
into a quivering line, and she blinked back the threatening tears,
for the eighteen-year-old couldn't shake the feeling that it was
her fault.
The
rain fell in buckets now, and Angelina's blouse and skirt clung to
her feminine form. She brushed her hand across her forehead, but
water continued to drizzle down her face. Her long brown eyelashes
batted in a vain attempt to stop the river of liquid from pouring
into her vibrant green eyes.
"This
's gonna have to do, Cal," she reached toward the dog. Cal took
one set of legs while Angelina took the other, and they dragged the
stiff, seventy-pound animal into the shallow grave. Having only one
shovel between them, Cal scooped dirt from the pile onto the dog
while Angelina shoved her gloved hands into the mound and threw
clods of earth over it. The dirt was even heavier than expected
because the clods clung together, connected by mangled strands of
grass and buckwheat.
As
Angelina's gaze shifted from the corpse to the mound of dirt, she
wasn't convinced this was enough soil to keep the carcass from
stinking later on in the sweltering August sun. It would have to be
enough, though. They must finish the job now. She certainly didn't
want to come back later to complete the task. It broke her heart to
see Sam already turning yellow around his mouth and eyes. It was bad
enough to face his death once, but the thought of returning when the
body would be rotting, wet and stinking was more than Angelina could
take.
A
loud crack of lightning rumbled, sending a shiver up Angelina's
spine. Her wide eyes met her brother's. The pair threw clods of
dirt and grass upon the animal as fast as they could until the
carcass was covered with a layer of earth. Satisfied they'd done
all they could in the little time they had, the teenagers took off
running.
They
stopped at the gate, opened it, and Angelina ran toward the house,
leaving
Cal
to latch the gate behind them so the horses wouldn't get out of
the corral. "Toss 'at shovel down," Angelina called back over
her shoulder. "Metal just draws the lightnin'!"
Sixteen-year-old
Cal
dropped
the shovel by the gate and soon his lanky legs caught up with and
surpassed his sister. As they ran up the hill toward home, Angelina
swiped at the torrents of water cascading down her face and
obstructing her vision.
Panting
from their quick ascent up the hill, the siblings stopped on the
front porch to catch their breath. Angelina tried to wring the water
from her blouse and skirt, letting it splash on the wooden porch
while Cal stripped off his wet shirt and tossed it on a rocking
chair, then reached to remove his muddy boots.
A
little girl's fingers opened the door a crack, her chubby face
peeking out to observe her older siblings and the torrential storm.
"Did
ya bury 'im?" eight-year-old Eleanor flinched at the deafening
thunder crack that rumbled on for several seconds. A second chubby
face joined her at the door. The little girl clasped his hand
protectively, her fist tightening around six-year-old Joseph's
fingers until his appendages looked more like little red sausages
than fingers. His big blue eyes grew even wider as his head darted
toward another flash of light.
"Yep,
done the best we could,"
Cal
answered in a relaxed even tone, unruffled by the lightning and
thunder so typical of a
Georgia
summer rain. Even though her brother was two years her junior,
Angelina always felt safe knowing he was nearby. She remembered the
day their father rode off for war and how Cal gave her hand an
assuring squeeze then pulled her into a comforting embrace, letting
her soft cries melt onto his shoulder.
Cal
had wanted to join with their father to fight for the Confederacy,
but of course, he was far too young at the time.
Everett
made his son promise that no matter how long the war lasted, he'd
stay with the family and look after them while he was gone. Cal
obeyed with reluctant agreement, but once the promise was made,
Angelina felt safe because she knew her brother was always true to
his word.
Cal's
muddy hand shoved the door wider as he tromped inside in his sock
feet. Angelina twisted a few more cupfuls of water from her hair,
then gave up and tried to wring out her clothing. Finally, giving up
on the hopeless endeavor, she stepped inside with the objective of
finding a secluded spot to remove the heavy garments. Her mother,
Lelia, hurried to the door carrying a towel in each hand and
extended them to her children.
~*~
As
Angelina's now dry body lay on her cot in the loft, she looked up
at the log planks that her father had placed himself when he'd
built the house after he and Lelia first married. The piece of
Georgia
property just South of Chattanooga, Tennessee had been their home
for almost twenty years. They'd been happy there until the day
Everett
left to join the Confederate forces about two years earlier. The
family had received periodic letters from him, but they'd heard
nothing in nearly six months - ever since word came that he'd
been incarcerated in a Union prison.
Whether
he lived or not was anyone's guess. A tear trickled down
Angelina's cheek, and she rolled over on her side, brushing the
moisture away. Sam's death only served to increase her fear that
her father was gone along with his favorite dog. She berated herself
for not burying the scraps from the previous night's supper
further away from the house. Sam had managed to unearth one of the
chicken bones and choked on it that morning around daybreak.
"What
a waste! What a complete and utter waste!" Lelia had lamented as
she stood over the dog's stiff body with tears welling in her
eyes.
Life
seemed suddenly so precarious, so fragile and fleeting. One moment a
body was alive and hopping about and the next it was snuffed out of
existence. None of them verbalized it, but
Cal, Lelia and Angelina all harbored in their hearts the secret
dread that the dog's passing meant that
Everett
too was gone.
Angelina
looked across the room to Eleanor who lay curled in a ball napping
on her own cot. The poor child had cried herself to sleep in sadness
over the loss of their family pet. Cal and Joseph were equally
heartbroken, and it felt to Angelina as if a thick, muggy blanket of
gloom draped itself over the household - smothering, relentless and
sticky like the humid
Georgia
afternoon.
At
the sound of horse hooves approaching, Angelina rolled over and slid
out of her bed, kneeling by the loft window. Two Union soldiers
dismounted their horses and tied them to a tree. With
firearms drawn, they approached the house with determination in
their footsteps. Angelina leaned over the loft and looked down at
her mother and Cal who stood on either side of the front door.
"Yankees!"
Angelina's anxious whisper hissed over the loft railing.
Lelia
gestured affirmatively and waved her hand, motioning for Angelina to
stay hidden in the loft. "Keep the children out of sight!"
Cal
stood
on the other side of the door, his rifle raised, his arms flexed and
ready to defend his family.
The
two soldiers stepped onto the front porch and approached the door.
The stocky one adjusted his navy cap on his head, smashing down his
greasy mouse-colored hair. He raised his muddy
boot in preparation to kick down the front door, but his companion
outstretched an arm to stop him. He tightened his bearded jaw with a
negative nod, and shot an irritated glance down at the shorter
soldier.
"No
need in that," he said and lifted his knuckles to the door and
knocked.
Angelina
could sense her mother's fear, but watched with pride as she pushed
it down and put a resolute hand to Cal's chest and then opened the
door.
Cal
stood beside his mother, his rifle raised.
Lelia
eased open the door a crack and peered out, "Yes, how may we help
you, gentlemen?"
"I'm
Lieutenant Elijah Willoughby and this is Captain Jacobsen," the
dark-headed soldier removed his hat, ran his hand through his thick
black hair and pointed to his companion. "We . . . " he
hesitated. His pensive blue eyes softened and he tilted his head as
if he were groping for some polite way to say what needed to be
said. "We were wonderin' . . ."
Impatient
with Lieutenant Willoughby's delay, the gruff one called Jacobsen
pushed his way forward and barged into the house. He spit a wad of
tobacco juice on the floor, "We'll be commandeering your home as
a base of operations."
Lelia's
eyes followed the stream of spittle as it splattered on her fresh
swept floor. Her eyes closed and she drew in a deep breath.
Willoughby
grimaced
and his apologetic eyes swept from Cal to Lelia. His
thumb and forefinger unconsciously twirled a silver rope-design ring
on his right hand as he seemed to be silently assessing the
situation.
"What
if we don't want you in our home?"
Cal
pointed his rifle at Jacobsen, but Lelia raised her hand gesturing
for
Cal
to move the weapon to a less threatening position.
"It's
all right, Cal," she muttered. Angelina's anxiety increased, her
pulse throbbing in her ears as she peered down from the loft. She
knew her mother's first concern was always for the safety and
peace of her family. Being alone without her husband, she would
attempt to comply with the enemy. She wound't confront them and
risk harm to her family. Angelina watched the Captain closely as he
ordered Cal to relinquish his rifle.
Cal
hesitated but their mother nodded for him to cooperate. Jacobsen
took Cal's rifle and holstered his own pistol.
Willoughby
looked
up toward the loft, his gaze traveling from one fair countenance to
the other until his eyes met Angelina's. The fear searing through
her veins ever since she'd observed the Yankees' approach
subsided and the expression of apology in the soldier's
penetrating blue eyes sent a warming calm throughout her body.
His
eyes broke from hers with an abrupt shift and trained on her mother.
"We could set up our headquarters in the barn, Ma'am, so's not
to be in your way," Elijah Willoughby offered. His companion
looked at him as if he'd lost his senses.
"I
don't think so!" Jacobsen retorted. "If the house is good
'nough for rebs, it's good 'nough for us!" Jacobsen's
stomping stride resounded through the house. He inspected every
corner as if he owned the place.
Angelina's
anxious eyes watched the ruthless officer shove open the door to her
parents' bedroom.
"This
room will do nicely," Captain Jacobsen barked and stepped into the
room.
Cal
lurched
forward, "That's my Mama's room. No Yank'll be sleepin' in
my Mama's room!"
Jacobsen
turned his expression of disdain to
Cal, and then raked his lascivious countenance over Lelia from head
to toe. "I don't know, boy. Your Mama might be needin' a real
man in her room."
"Lay
a finger on a single member of my family and you'll find a bullet
through your head," Cal threatened, his eyes meeting the
Captain's with an icy glare. Angelina's heart hammered as she
witnessed her brother stepping closer to the man, staring down the
barrel of his own rifle, which the Captain now pointed at him.
"That's
enough!"
Willoughby
stepped between the two men. "There's no call to treat these
folks like this."
"Just
let me gather a few o' my things, and I'll join my children
upstairs," Lelia countered with the charm of a Southern lady
simply making room for invited guests.
Willoughby
stood
in front of Jacobsen letting Lelia pass into the room. The pair
waited while she gathered her belongings and handed them to Cal. The
young man stood on the second rung of the loft ladder lifting the
items to Angelina while his protective eyes remained on his mother.
"We
expect supper within the hour, so get that brood of yours to
work," Jacobsen barked at Lelia and pointed toward the loft.
Willoughby
's
face turned red and his eyes clenched shut for a brief instant. His
broad chest rose and fell with controlled indignation. Jacobsen
pulled Elijah's arm, tugging him into Lelia's room and shut the
door.
"Damn
Yankees!"
Cal
spat, "Come in 'ere, barkin' orders like they own the
place!" His furious gaze remained on the bedroom door. "I've half a mind to show 'em what a reb's really
made of."
"Shhh,
they'll hear you," Lelia whispered.
Angelina
climbed down the loft ladder and approached her mother. "
Cal
's right, Mama. You're too accomodatin'. This is our home and they're intruders," she whispered.
"Better
to be accommodatin' than dead!" Lelia said.
"I
wish Daddy were here. He'd a sent 'em packin'!" Cal
retorted.
"I
wish your Daddy were here too," Lelia muttered as she reached for
an iron skillet and set it atop the stove.
Order on Amazon Kindle or Audible
Angel and the Enemy
Pehrson, Marnie L
Read more of
Marnie Pehrson Kuhns' books at
http://www.MarnieKuhns.com * marnie@marniekuhns.com |
