Martin said, his hands busily looking for signs of injury.

"How bad?" Meg asked.

"I don't know."

"Did I kill him?" Daniel yelled as he ran toward the crowd. "Did I kill the yellow-bellied-"

Meg rose to her feet, spun around, and slapped Daniel across the face with a force strong enough to

send him staggering back.

"How dare you!" she hissed. "How dare you judge this man and condemn him to death!"

Daniel regained his balance, squared his jaw, and took a step toward her, his blue eyes blazing. "How

dare you defend him!"She angled her chin. "Who better than the woman who loves him?"He jerked back as though she'd hit him again. "You don't mean that, Meg. You can't fall in love with a man by watching him sit in the back of the church."

"No, you can't," she admitted softly. Her stomach tightened, and her mouth went dry. How often had Clay felt this slight trembling of nerves and continued on, standing his ground? "I fell in love with him by

spending my days in his company. I asked him to carve a monument to honor our heroes. I thought the task would serve as a punishment for him. I thought it would make him face his cowardice. Instead it made me face my own.

"Every day, I went to his farm and watched him work, waiting for that moment when he'd drop to his

knees and ask for forgiveness." Sighing deeply, she glanced at the still figure lying in the mud. "Eventually, I realized there was nothing to forgive."

"My brothers are turning in their graves," Daniel said vehemently.

"No, they aren't, not in the graves Clay dug for them. He got to Gettysburg after the battle. The Yankees were dropping the Southern soldiers into mass graves. Clay buried every man from Cedar Grove in a separate grave away from the battlefield."

"I swear, Meg, if you're telling the truth, if he touched my brothers, I'll shoot him dead before the sun sets."

"Why?" she asked softly.

"Why?" He took a step toward her. "Why? Because he's a coward, and I know they'd rather lie in a mass grave than have his hands touch them."

"I don't think so, Daniel." She placed her hand on his arm, and he wrenched free. So much bitterness, so much anger, so much hatred. "Mama Warner left me a letter that Kirk wrote her. He told her that he wrote Jefferson Davis asking that he exempt Clay from serving the Confederacy. He said every man in his company signed the letter. Every man, Daniel. That includes our brothers. They knew Clay wasn't a coward."

"That's a goddamn lie! He didn't fight!"

"He did fight, but he fought for what he believed in, not what they believed in. And he fought as bravely as they did."

Meg swept her gaze over the gathered people. "When was the last time any of you talked with Clay?

Who among us asked him why he didn't enlist? I know I didn't. I assumed he was a coward because he didn't follow my

husband and my brothers. Like your sons, they were soldiers, yet they saw honor where we didn't. Clay would lay down his life for any one of us. He just won't kill for us."

Meg didn't think it was possible for the crowd to become more somber. People shifted their gazes as

though they didn't know whom or what to look at.

"Father, forgive them for they know not what they do," Dr. Martin said in reverence. He twisted in the mud and planted his arm across his thigh, leveling his gaze on the silent crowd. "Those were the words

Clay spoke as he stood awaiting his execution. Funny thing, though. After he said his prayer, they couldn't find a soldier willing to shoot him."

Meg knelt in the mud as Clay's eyes fluttered open. Dr. Martin held up two fingers. "What do you see.

Clay?"

Clay shook his head slightly. "Nothing. It's too dark, but I want to thank you for coming. Doc."

Dr. Martin's worried gaze met Meg's before he turned his attention back to Clay. "It's always a pleasure

treating you, you know that"

"I don't want to die," Clay said quietly. "I don't think you're gonna die."

"One might miss, maybe two, but not all six. Not six Southern boys with rifles." He closed his eyes. His

face grew ashen, and Meg felt the icy fingers of death wander slowly along her spine.

Pulling himself free of the mud, Dr. Martin stood. "I need someone to carry him to my office."

"I'll carry him," Robert said.

"He's always been like a son to me. I'll help you," Kirk's father said.

Meg watched Robert slip his arm beneath Clay's knees as Kirk's father took Clay's shoulders. Together, they carefully lifted Clay out of the mud.

She glanced one last time at the somber faces surrounding her, then followed Clay in silence... alone.

Sitting beside the bed in Dr. Martin's office, Meg made herself loosen her grip on Clay's hand. He'd lose use of it as well if she continued to hold it so tightly.

"Meg?" a quiet voice asked behind her.

She twisted and looked toward the door. "Hello, Tom."

Uncertainly, he stepped into the room, holding a bundle. "Sally sent me with some clothes. We thought you might want to get Clay out of those muddy clothes."

Rising, Meg took the clothes from him. "Thank you. That was very thoughtful."

Blushing, Tom cleared his throat.

"Since you said you'd been watching Clay work, I was wondering if you knew anything about our little

girl's marker... his pa didn't make it, did he?"

Meg hesitated, wondering how Clay would feel about their knowing the truth. She hoped if these people

came to know him as she did, perhaps the hatred would melt away. "No, his father didn't make the marker."

"Didn't think so. I was walking through the cemetery, lookin' at the markers his pa made, the ones he

made. The ones Clay made look different. I can't explain it, but it's as if he put his soul into it."

"Carving is very special to him."

Nodding solemnly, he settled his hat on his head. 'Tell Gay that when it's time to harvest, I'll help him with

his fields. It's the least I can do to pay him back for the marker."

"Would you do me a favor?" Meg asked.

"Sure."

"Would you run out to the Holland farm and let Lucian know what happened?"

"I'd be happy to, but John and Caroline Wright already went. Caroline said she'd watch the twins if

Lucian wanted to come in." He smiled and shrugged. "Reckon some of us are startin' to see things a little

different."

He left, and Meg returned to Clay's side. She brushed the hair off his brow. The bloody and bruised knot near his temple frightened her. She had a feeling it frightened Dr. Martin as well.

Leaning over, Meg combed her fingers through Clay's hair again and again. "Please, Clay, I know you're tired of fighting, but please fight once more for me. Wake up so we can go home."

The pounding in Clay's head increased as he opened his eyes. Yesterday was a haze. He remembered Meg kept prodding him to wake up. Every time he did, she kissed him and told him to go back to sleep.

Her actions made no sense.

When Dr. Martin woke him, he'd ask Clay how many fingers he was holding up. Clay figured that as a doctor, the man would be smart enough to know how many fingers he was shoving in Clay's face.

He preferred for Meg to wake him.

He eased his legs off the bed and pressed his hands to his temples. He didn't remember coming home, but home he was.

He stood and walked to the chair where someone had left his carefully folded clothes. He worked his