"And when he's finished?"

"Then we'll have a tribute to those who gave their lives for the Cause."

"A tribute steeped in revenge. It'll be interesting to see if this monument will become what you envision, to

see how deeply your punishment will cut into his soul. Will you bring me my box?"

Meg knew the box. It sat in a corner beside the window. Kirk had made it, using cedar. The scent circled Meg as she shoved the box across the floor to the rocking chair.

Leaning forward. Mama Warner rubbed her fingers over the bluebonnets that Clay had carved in the lid.

Her wispy white hair fell across her cheeks and along her shoulders as though it were delicate lace. She lifted the lid and carefully placed the carving of Kirk inside the box. "There will come a day when I'll tell you to take this box home with you. You

do it without questioning me. This box and the things inside it are for you."

"I don't want the carving he made."

"A day will come when you will want it. When you're young, you wish for things in the future, but when

you grow old... you wish for things from the past."

"This box should go to your children."

"Had Kirk not died, this box would have gone to him. He loved you. He'd want you to have it. I want

you to have it, and I'll ask you to take it before I die so my children won't be fighting over it I'll be leaving

them enough around here to fight about. They're Texans, and Texans surely do enjoy their fights."

"Not all Texans." "We can't seem to steer the conversation away from Clayton. Why is that? What did he say to make you cry?" Meg felt fresh tears well within her eyes. "He told me Kirk had grown a beard." She laid her cheek against Mama Warner's knee. "It hurls. It hurts to know he saw Kirk after I did and knows things about Kirk that I don't."

Mama Warner gently brushed her fingers over Meg's hair. "I know, child."

"I hate him all the more because his memories of Kirk are fresher than mine."

"Memories don't age, Meg."

Lifting her face, Meg met the older woman's blue gaze, a gaze that very much resembled Kirk's. "No, but they fade."

Chapter Eight.

Meg set the plate op bacon on the table and took her seat. Her father sat at the head of the table. To his left, two chairs remained empty. To his right, set another empty chair. Each served as a reminder of the young men who had once toiled in the fields beside Thomas Crawford.

Meg sat across from Daniel at the end of the table closest to where their mother had sat. In the thirteen years since her mother's death, only dust and the gentle caress of a dusting rag had touched her mother's chair.

Waiting quietly while her father and Daniel scooped food onto their plates, she missed the banter that had once been as abundant as the food. Enjoyable conversation during meals had ridden away with her brothers.

Daniel moved the bacon around on his plate before lifting his blue gaze to hers. "Burned it a bit, didn't you, Meg?"

She tilted her nose. "I like it crisp."

"Thought I heard you moving around in the middle of the night," her father said.

She began Tilling her plate. She'd risen an hour earlier and thought she'd been quiet as she moved through the house. "I wanted to get my chores finished early. I thought I'd visit with Mama Warner today."

Her father leaned back, chewing his food as intently as he seemed to be studying her. "You've been spending a lot of lime with Mama Warner of late."

"She's aging. I'm not certain she'll be with us that much longer, and I want to glean some of her wisdom."

Nodding, her father returned to his meal. With shaking fingers, Meg picked up her fork. She didn't like lying to her father, but she feared he'd grab his rifle if she told him she was planning to spend the day in Clay's company.

"We'll be working Sam Johnson's fields this week if you need us."

The shortage of able-bodied men to work the fields was a hardship that the local families had overcome

by gathering to work each other's fields. With her father and Daniel working other farms, they seldom came home before dusk.

As Kirk's wife, she'd grown accustomed to her independence. It had been an adjustment when she

moved back home, but now her father expected no more from her than a meal at dawn, a meal at sunset, clean clothes, and a tidy house. Although it would no doubt wear her out, she was certain she could maintain all her chores and still spend a good part of the day watching Clay work.

"You need a husband."

Meg snapped her head around and stared at her father.

"You need a husband and children to occupy your day, not an old woman," he said.

"Who would she marry?" Daniel asked. "She don't want to marry Reverend Baxter. He doesn't even

bother to invite himself to dinner anymore. All the other men around here are either years older or years younger, except for the damn coward, and I know Meg ain't interested in him, not the way she glares at him during church service. I'm surprised he hasn't burst into flames."

The table shook as Thomas pounded his fist down on it. "By God, I don't want talk of that man in my

house." He glanced at the empty chairs on either side of him, his jaws clenched. "He turned his back on my sons. By God, we should have hanged him the day our sons rode away." Rising from his chair, he stalked out of the house, the door slamming in his wake.

Accustomed to his father's outbursts, Daniel simply shoved his plate forward and laid his forearms on the table, leaning forward slightly. "Some of us are thinking maybe we ought to tar and feather the coward."

"What would that accomplish?" Meg asked, tearing her gaze from the vibrating door.

"Might make him leave this area. Every time there's a good wind, it brings the stench of his fear blowing across the fields."

"That's not enough," Meg said quietly. "Daniel, do you remember when you took Michael's harmonica without asking?"

Daniel dropped his gaze to the table and nodded. "Yeah, and I lost it"

"Did he tar and feather you when he found out?"

"No, he just gave me that puppy dog look of his and made me feel guilty as hell for losing his most treasured possession."

"And you still feel guilty about it because you came to understand what you took from Michael. The town's coward needs to understand that he betrayed my husband and our brothers so he can cany the knowledge and pain with him for the rest of his life."

"How can we make him understand that? I sure as hell ain't gonna give him a puppy dog look."

Gazing into his earnest face, she was tempted to tell him about the monument, but Daniel hadn't yet acquired the patience that came with age. She didn't think he'd understand the motives behind the monument. She didn't want to

take a chance that he or her father would try to stop her from watching Clay work. "I don't know," she said quietly. "But I'm sure there's a way."

Meg felt the familiar ache in her heart as she watched the twins race toward her, each trying to outdistance the other. She didn't know how she could miss something she'd never had, but she did miss having her own children. Dismounting, she smiled and waited for them to reach her.

"Mornin', Miz Warner!" they cried as they ran past her, circled, and loped back, breathless from their efforts. She ruffled their red hair. "Good morning."

"Want us to see after your horse?" one asked. "Do you know how to care for a horse?"

"Yes, ma'am." The boy's eyes brightened. "Clay taught us last night. It ain't that much different from takin'

care of the mule. Clay said lookin' after a lady's horse was the gentlemanly thing to do, and he wants us to grow up to be gentlemen. Says it's important to know how to treat a lady." She handed the reins to the twins, and they started walking toward the shed.

"We had biscuits again this mornin'," the twin continued. "Clay musta used your recipe 'cuz they was better than what he cooked before. 'Course, they still wasn't as good as yours, but they come pretty close."

"Did he make three?"

"Yes, ma'am. He surely did. Course, he'll probably stop eatin' one if Lucian comes home."

"When will Lucian be home?"

"Maybe tomorrow. Maybe never. Before he left, he hit Clay."

Meg stared at the child. "He hit him?"

"Yes, ma'am. You know what Clay did?" She shook her head.

ALWAYS TO REMEMBER.

"He just got up off the ground, wiped the blood away from his mouth, and asked Lucian if he fell better."

"Did he feel better?"