Page from a Tennessee Journal (AmazonEncore Edition)

It had been a hard night and a long day. “Twenty minutes ’til dark. No need to face Eula tonight. Tomorrow will do. I’ll just take myself a little nap.”
     
     
    The rented horse was not the swiftest thing on four legs, John declared. No matter, there was McNaughton’s barn just up ahead. There were still ten more minutes ’til nightfall. John slowed the horse, raised a hand to his eyes and scanned the fields on either side of the road. No sign of McNaughton. Good. He reined in the horse to a slow trot as the side path off the main road came into view. Nobody else on the road. McNaughton wouldn’t be home before dark. John’s only worry was Miz McNaughton. At dusk, she would be heading to bed. It wasn’t like she was a colored woman who had to tend the fields from sunup to sundown, then fetch and carry for her own family ’til the moon was good and set in the sky. McNaughton’s wife was a white woman, and every white, churchgoing farmer’s wife took their night’s rest right after sunset. The last red-orange glow of the sun had just sunk below the horizon. There it was. The path to the McNaughton house. John slipped off the horse and tied the animal to the sycamore tree. If Miz McNaughton happened to be about, it would not do for her to see a colored man riding to her back door on a horse. John walked slowly up the path toward the red barn, his head down the way a respectful colored man should hold it. He sidled his eyes toward the main house. A lone lamp shone from one bottom floor window. Upstairs, another lamp lit a window. Good. Miz McNaughton was readying herself for bed. The downstairs light meant McNaughton hadn’t made it back yet. John moved to the far side of the barn. It was a risk. The pistol shot was sure to wake the wife. She’d most likely look out the window, but darkness would cover him. He would have to scoot around the back of the barn and get out of the woman’s sight if she took a notion to come outside for a look around. If he made a clean shot, McNaughton ought to drop without a sound. That way, maybe the missus would let everything be ’til morning. In the twilight, he spotted Miz McNaughton’s buckboard at the far side of the barn. He eased toward it and squatted behind one of the big-rimmed wheels. He was good and out of sight now to anybody coming up the night-dark path toward him. John pulled out his pistol, scooped up a handful of dirt and rubbed it across the barrel just in case the moonlight reflected off the gun barrel. He was giving McNaughton no warning.
     
     
    Something furry scurried across Alex’s foot. A squirrel? A chipmunk? Whatever it was took him out of his dream about Laura. He ran a hand over his eyes and looked around for the horse. Night had fallen hard, but he spotted the animal where he’d left him, loosely tethered to a branch near the stream. Alex gathered his belongings and returned them to the saddlebag. He reached behind him. The gun was still there. Nice and snug. Not that he expected any trouble. But it was getting harder to keep his promise to Laura. He mounted the horse. Hell. He had only one more day, and she’d be there in his kitchen. In the pantry he’d fix up for her. He’d have to get a good-size bed, of course. No need for the two of them to be cramped like back at the barn. He felt a warming in his pants as he headed the gray back onto the path to home. The gentle rocking of the animal as it trotted up the road to his house jostled the gun into his back with each step. He laid a hand on the handle and readjusted the revolver. “Just in case,” he muttered.
     
     
    Full dark had fallen and tonight’s moon was not quite a quarter in the sky. The upstairs light had gone out. John’s leg cramped from staying too long in his crouch. He sat long-legged to give his muscles a rest. He kept his eyes on the road.
     
     
    The clop-clop of the horse did little to help Alex keep awake. That nap had not really done the job. But no matter. There was his house. He couldn’t make out the color in this sliver of a moon, but he knew every inch of the silhouette. Clop-clop, the gray approached the path leading to his property. “Damn, if this horse don’t know the way home better than I do.” Clop-clop. One more day and he’d have his Laurie in his arms.
     
     
    The cramp eased in John’s leg. He shifted to his knees and crouched behind the back wheel of the buggy. As he settled himself, his shoulder brushed the spoke and sent up