Tamera Alexander - [Timber Ridge Reflections 01] by From a Distance Page A

He was just being mannerly. She felt awkward in the moment and somehow put in her place by his kindness. Her defenses rose accordingly. “I just want to be clear that I don’t expect you to do those kinds of things for me.” She glanced at the box. “I’m perfectly capable of managing on my own.”
    He stared, his expression inscrutable. Then he adjusted the crates in his arms. “Thanks for making that so clear for me.” Without a word, he deposited her box in her arms and walked out the door.
    She’d underestimated the weight and dropped her envelope of photographs in order to balance the load in her arms. She stared at Ranslett’s back, half amused, but mostly annoyed that he would just dump the box in her arms and leave. She quickly glanced around to see if anyone had overheard their exchange.
    Two women nearby moved away, while a man standing down the aisle a ways made straight toward her. He was rough looking and lacking refinement, the sort she’d seen when passing by the gaming hall in town. She couldn’t believe he was coming to help her.
    She glanced down at the envelope. “Thank you, sir. I appreciate your assistance.”
    But he didn’t move. And from the thick bulge in his cheek, he was enjoying a distasteful pastime. “Out here, ma’am, we appreciate a woman who knows her place, and who remembers what that means. And who don’t go traipsin’ round town flauntin’ some nigger on her arm.”
    Elizabeth’s body flushed. She worked to keep her voice calm. “I know very well who I am and what my place is . . . sir, as I can clearly ascertain what sort of man you are.”
    His actions portended what was coming. The dark spittle landed squarely on the envelope. And with a parting glare, he turned and strode from the store.
    Elizabeth saw Lyda Mullins approaching. Flustered, embarrassed, she glanced down at the man’s parting gesture. “I’m sorry about what just happened, Mrs. Mullins.”
    Lyda patted her arm. “Don’t you worry about it at all, and it’s not you who needs to be apologizing.” She retrieved the envelope and wiped it with a towel. “I appreciate what you’re doing here in Timber Ridge, Miss Westbrook. I think it’s mighty brave.” Her smile was short-lived but genuine. She tucked the photographs inside the box. “Here’s a letter that came for you this morning too.” She slipped it in as well. “You take care now, and Ben and I are looking forward to Sunday lunch. Come about noon, if you want. Or earlier and go to church with us.”
    Elizabeth nodded. “Thank you,” she whispered. “I’d like that.”
    She secured her grip on the box and continued down the aisle, peering to the side so as not to trip over anything and draw further attention to herself. She expected to find Ranslett waiting outside on the boardwalk and searched for him first in one direction, then the other. But he was gone.

    Daniel awakened in a cold sweat, his flesh crawling. He bolted upright in his bed, blinking in the darkness, not sure where he was for a moment, only that the wraiths that haunted his sleep were pressing especially close tonight.
    Beau whined and nudged closer, and Daniel ran a hand along the dog’s back, gaining a measure of calm from the softness of his fur. He took in a lungful of air. Then another. This had been a bad one. Despite the many battles he’d lived through, two in particular reigned over his dreams—the night Benjamin had followed him . . . and the battle at Chickamauga he’d just dreamed about.
    Passing years hadn’t dulled the images. Lowering his face into his hands, he remembered everything—the smell of smoke from the Federals’ campfires a mile away, and the pangs of hunger gnawing a hole in his belly.
    The misty haze of a Georgia dawn had lain lightly on the northwest mountains, and trees stood stark and naked in the gray light, stripped by an early frost. His right cheek flush against the barrel of his newly requisitioned Whitworth, Daniel searched