Page 29 of Dalliances & Devotion (The Truitts 2)

Alone. And scared. And doubting.

Only the Truitt brothers, the other Jews in the 91st, spoke to him, and he’d been convinced it was only out of pity.

As they marched once more and spring started to turn into summer, he retreated more into his head. He would question—would question everything. Why he was there. What he was doing.

Because no one understood. He’d been so lonely, so ready to give up, side of rightness or not.

Maybe he was no Joseph and the Tanach—the Bible—was just a bunch of silly stories designed to force people into submission and order. He’d been so low, so terrified, his hope near gone.

That one single letter had been everything in the moment. One person cared or seemed to care. More, one person kept her promise and never demanded more. He’d presumed the correspondence would stop quickly. But as the weeks went by, the volume of writing grew.

In those letters, when they wrote about nothing, little anecdotes about every day, unimportant, but oh so ordinary things: her mother’s unruly cat, the horrible mush they fed him, her older sister’s tendency to projectile vomit when pregnant...

He’d been able to pretend, for a moment, that she was actually his friend. That she wouldn’t betray him. Or she would never discover why everyone else did.

And for a few months, the questions stopped and Will was right, he smiled. Even after Simon’s death.

He raked his fingers over his eyes.

Make sure someone looks after my sister.

Right. Because he’d done so well before. But right now, he was all she had.

With a heavy sigh, David reread his notes from the day four times before stuffing them into the dossier. Witness statements, Meg and Will’s observations, his own thoughts, all swirling together, but nothing made sense.

Who could possibly want to hurt Amalia? He slammed his file on the table. Nothing. No clues, no reasons. He stared and stared at the pages and pictures.

But an hour later, he still had nothing, no answers. Perhaps sleep then. Yes, sleep. Tomorrow was another day and another city. And maybe a detour, because the best he could do was keep whomever was behind the attacks guessing as well.

Yes.

Time to use the line’s extension. Time to go to Bedford.

Chapter Ten

A pounding drummed in Amalia’s head as she blinked her eyes open into darkness.

Was she dead? Well, she couldn’t be dead. She’d only cut her hand and no one died of a hand wound, did they? In fact, one could probably lose a finger or two and be perfectly fine. Didn’t Cinderella’s stepsisters lose parts of their feet? And their eyes? She shuddered. They’d lived though.

And she wasn’t dead now. Amalia snuggled farther beneath the covers. The floor rattled and the horn tooted its familiar rhythm. She reached out with her weaker left hand—as moving even a muscle on the right was like dousing her entire limb with kerosene and lighting it on fire—and pulled aside the silk curtains blocking the window. Still dark, but the stars winked out, making way for the sun. And the new day.

Cold fingers of dread crept up her neck in the snug, soft bed.

Someone was after her. Someone wanted her dead. She was in real trouble and if her parents found out...

Well, she’d be locked in her room forever. No column, no charity. And all those women...people had no idea how hard it was to leave a marriage as a woman without a powerful family behind her.

Especially women with children. Amalia shuddered. Children could be used as pawns—were often used as pawns. Even liberal Indiana required someone to be at fault. And if it was the woman, well, she’d lose all her property. And what mother wouldn’t trade all her worldly possessions for her child?

At least those women were free. The ones whose husbands caught them before they got to safety, who sent their wives to asylums so they could retain the property, retain a mistress, retain their children... Competency hearings were expensive and hard to win and took forever while women wasted away.

Amalia squeezed her eyes shut. She couldn’t stop, wouldn’t stop. Because what was happening was wrong and there was no one else with means who gave a damn.

She’d just have to force her parents to listen, to see, and to help.

You’re bossy, do you know that?

David’s teasing words echoed in her head. If only. If only she could demand what she needed, be a real champion for all those women. She drew her knees to her chest. If ever there was a time she needed her friends back in Delaware... Or Simon, because unlike the rest of her family, Simon never made her feel like a dunce. And he was loyal.

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