Abigail stood on the road in front of the house, staring at the only home she'd ever known. Before summer's end, it would be hers no longer. "It isn't fair," she whispered, feeling a cruel knot form in the pit of her stomach—cold and hard, like a stone. That's how she felt right now. Cold as stone. Dead...like that soldier. She brought her knuckles to her mouth and bit down hard, swallowing the burning sensation in her throat and commanding her tears to remain unshed. Nothing in this lifetime could ever make her forget that awful night. She suspected even death couldn't provide respite from that eternal nightmare. Nightmare? Yes, it had been a nightmare from beginning to end. But if not for that night of terror and death, she wouldn't have the most precious gift of her life. Wade. That lone thought drove the coldness away, though she knew it was never far. The slightest impetus would bring the chill racing back to torment her. She drew a deep breath, then closed her eyes as she slowly released it. When she opened her eyes, Abigail knew she couldn't face Rosalie and Wade just yet. She needed time to be alone, to consider everything that had happened today. Like the letter. The coldness threatened to reappear, but she shook her head and pressed her fist against her abdomen, willing the sensation to pass. Where could she go? There had to be someplace where she could rest for a while before facing Rosalie and Wade. If she slipped through the house to her room, they'd know. Then she'd have to pretend again. I can't. I just can't. Not yet. Her gaze swept the surrounding countryside, surveying the dilapidated cabins, the empty smokehouse, the barn. Then she remembered one clean cabin where she could hide for a while. A sensation of calm washed through her, urging her to pivot in the direction of Mike's cabin. Surely he wouldn't return for hours and all she required was a little privacy. A trifle of time to gather her thoughts before facing Rosalie's questions and her son's needs. Time for herself? She almost laughed. How long had it been since she'd thought of herself as something or someone more than the woman responsible for her son, Elysium, and Rosalie? How long? Oh, but she knew the answer only too well. The date was one she'd never forget no matter how desperately she tried. Abigail hurried her pace until she came to the cabin, small and square, built directly against the ground with a stone chimney at one end and a small window beside the door. Anticipating blessed privacy, her heart flipped over in her chest, but guilt immediately followed to chase away her moment of peace. Rosalie would be waiting for her. Abigail shouldn't shirk her responsibilities, nor should she enter someone else's home—albeit temporary—uninvited. Yet she knew she'd be more capable of handling Wade and Rosalie after a smattering of time to sort through her jumbled thoughts. What was wrong with her taking a rest after her long walk? After mailing that dreadful letter? A quaking sensation in her middle reminded her of the possible consequences of her actions.
"I can't believe I sent it." What would his reaction be when he opened her letter? Would he deny his own son? Possibly. She knew all too well what heinous acts that man was capable of. Anything for Wade. Drawing a deep shuddering breath, Abigail pushed open the cabin door and stepped inside. The cool dimness enveloped her and triggered a shiver from a corner inside herself she rarely visited anymore. After a moment, her eyes adjusted to the diminished light. She sighed and walked toward the chair, but her gaze was drawn to the bed. She felt so tired. So heavy. A short nap might refresh her and restore her spirits. Soon she'd be able to resume the façade, but not now. Not yet. Her decision made, she walked to the clean straw tick and paused. Mike had slept in this bed. A strange, comforting warmth chased away her earlier chill as she lowered herself to the smooth surface. Serenity—foreign and unexplainable—descended over her as she stretched out on the bed and closed her weary eyes. Mike. She smelled his singular scent and it brought her peace mingled with something totally contrary to that benign sensation. There was something about that man.
The same sickly sweet odor Mike had noticed in Honey's hair permeated the interior of the shabby building. Other hookers occupied the hallway in various stages of undress. A few open doors revealed couples in the midst of getting their cheap thrills, oblivious—or indifferent—to being observed. Milton's ancestor might be here in this hell-hole. Mike's gut coiled into a hard knot of readiness. At this moment, he could do the deed and take Milton out. What he remained uncertain of was how he would verify the identity of his victim. All he had to go on was a name and a face from the future. "This way." Honey held his hand and led him down an adjoining hallway where most of the doors were closed. Yellowed, peeling paper covered the walls; stains and scars marked the wood flooring, which creaked and groaned beneath Mike's weight. A thin film of smoke crept from beneath one closed door to mingle with the cloying moldy stench of the old building. Mike knew the peculiar odor and its insidious future all too well. So what? He had to concentrate on finding Milton. It wasn't as if he had any jurisdiction here anyway, even though he had a badge that boasted otherwise. Besides, these people weren't about to listen to reason. "In here." Honey pushed open a door at the end of the hall and gave Mike's hand a tug. When he stopped and refused to budge, she frowned. "What's the matter?" He looked beyond her toward the bed—a bare, stained mattress hanging haphazardly on a rusted iron frame. "Don't you think we'd better let your Uncle Milton know you have a customer?" Mike smiled, though he knew it probably more closely resembled a grimace. "I'd kind of like to meet this guy anyway." "Why?" Honey's brow furrowed and she dropped Mike's hand. "Why you want him?" Think fast, Mike. A shudder bolted down his spine, but he denounced it, ignoring his anxiety. He gave a cynical laugh. "Why not? I'm not afraid of him." But he'd better be petrified of me. "Why you wanna see him, sugar?" Honey's lower lip protruded and she narrowed her sultry green eyes to small slits of candid suspicion. "Did you come in here to let me pleasure you or not?" Without hesitation, she reached up and slipped her thumbs beneath the gaping neckline of her dress, then slid the garment down until it pooled near her bare feet on the filthy floor. "Take a good, long look at Honey." And he did. He didn't want to, but his gaze fixed itself to the base of her throat where her pulse thudded against smooth skin. Then he followed the line of her collarbone downward to where the two halves almost met. From that point, he looked lower still until the lush curves beckoned to him. The flesh over her breasts was taut and glistening, the color varying from brown sugar to mahogany where her nipples gathered to a tempting pucker. Damn. "You like?" she asked, taking a step toward him to wrap her arms around his neck. Her lips were slightly parted and moist—inviting. Mike's blood pulsed through him at a dire pace, left no extremity untouched, and pooled to near bursting between his legs. "I want to see Milton," he repeated, his voice hoarse. He swallowed hard. It didn't help. Honey reached down and took his hand in hers, boldly bringing it up to cover her breast. She felt soft and warm to the touch—hot. Her nipple, hardening and begging for his mouth, pierced an illusory hole through his palm. Instinctively, Mike's hand closed over her breast, kneading the pliant flesh until she moaned and dropped her hand away. She reached between them and ran her fingers along the hard ridge at the front of his jeans. "Oh, you're a big one," she murmured, rubbing the length of him through the fabric. "Big and hard. Honey likes 'em that way." Mike clenched his teeth, commanding himself to resist this professional seductress. He had to find this man named Milton. Nothing was more important than that, especially not a romp in a bug-infested bed with a possibly diseased prostitute. He dropped his hand from her breast and jerked hers away from his overzealous erection. "I want to see your Uncle Milton." She took a step back, holding out her hand. "Gimme the ring first." Mike grimaced. "Some things never change." He wrenched the ring from his finger and slapped it into her outstretched hand. "Now, take me to your Uncle Milton." And I'll bet he's no Uncle Miltie. She examined the ring, then slid it onto her thumb before pulling her dress up to cover her breasts. "I can't figure out why you don't want what you paid for." "Don't worry about it. What do you care as long as you got paid?" Mike wanted this over with. While she straightened her dress, he instinctively checked to ensure his weapon was present and accounted for. Four bullets—if all went well, he'd only need one. She pushed past him and walked back toward the front of the building. Mike followed her, listening to all the strange sounds along the way, keenly aware that within the next few minutes, his time in this world might come to an abrupt halt. The death of Milton's ancestor meant Mike's death as well. Gee, that'll make Slick real happy. Big surprise—that thought brought Mike no pleasure whatsoever. He had to concentrate on the main purpose of all this—Barney and Carrie. And their baby. And all the kids who might not die from drug overdoses if Frank Milton were never born. Honey paused outside a door at the end of the hall and lifted her hand to knock, but Mike reached out and stopped her. He shook his head very slowly. "No," he whispered. "Is he in here?" Honey nodded and took a step back, looking down at her hand to admire Mike's ring. Mike turned away, no longer caring about Honey or the ring, if he ever had. The man behind this door was far more significant. Banishing thoughts of Honey—and Abigail Kingsley—Mike turned to face the door. He drew a deep breath and lifted his hand to knock. "Who the hell is it?" an angry voice growled. "Go away. I'm busy." Mike tensed and stepped to one side of the door frame. He reached for his weapon and the door knob simultaneously, checking once to make sure Honey was out of the line of fire, just in case. Instinct took command, making every muscle in his body tense to alertness. Knees slightly bent with his hand fastened over the familiar smoothness of his service revolver, Mike flung open the door and swung himself into the room with his gun drawn and aimed. Adrenaline surged through him, conversant with this routine from years of experience. Mike's gaze encompassed the room in one expert sweep, ensuring the only person present was the white-suited obese man seated behind the small desk. This was no Colonel Sanders. The man's jaw went slack and his cigar hung from his mouth at a bizarre angle as he stared at the intruder, money clutched in both pudgy hands. After a moment, he clamped his mouth shut around the cigar, puffing several times and sending up a cloud of pungent smoke. He dropped his hands to the desk and covered the bills. Good. That would keep the pimp's hands busy. Mike held Milton's gaze with his, allowing himself a leisurely inspection of fleshy jowls and beady eyes. Finally, the man reached up slowly and removed the cigar from his mouth. "Who the hell are you?" he asked with a thick Southern drawl. "A customer checking out the facility." Mike banished all emotion from his voice—a feat of gargantuan proportions. "Just make sure you keep your hands on top of the desk where I can see them." "Fine." The man complied. "I repeat—who the hell are you and why are you in my office waving that damned pistol in my face?" "I need to find out who you are." "Why?" Mike hesitated. The man's skin had a slight pigmentation suggesting the possibility of mixed race. That didn't help at all, because Frank Milton had been—would be—blond and blue-eyed. Or maybe it did help... "What's your name?" Mike asked carefully, not straightening from his crouch or lowering his weapon. "Your full name." "Milton P. Snodgrass." The man carefully enunciated each syllable. "Now, again, what the devil are you doing in my office with that gun?" Devil? Mike's hopes plummeted as suspicion coiled through his subconscious. "Snodgrass?" "That's what I said, dammit. Now what in tarnation is the meanin' of this? If you're a thief, you're a piss poor one." The man's face reddened and he leaned forward to glower at Mike. "One of my girls fail to give you your money's worth? Is that it? We got a money back guarantee here, but you don't need that gun to collect it." Mike shook his head, searching for the words necessary to get himself out of this mess and away from this man with his hundred questions. "No, nothing like that. I thought you were someone else. Sorry." "Yeah, well...?" Mike pointed his weapon toward the ceiling to indicate his intentions, then he lowered it and slid it into its holster. "Sorry for the intrusion." "Well then get the hell outta my office before I call one of them soldiers." Mike backed out through the door and pulled it shut. With a sigh, he closed his eyes and leaned against the wall, allowing his head to hit with a soft thud.
"Mike, Mike." An appropriately perverse epilogue to this scenario, the familiar voice speared right through him. He groaned. Of course, he should've known Slick would be lurking nearby to witness this fiasco. "Oh, God." "Not hardly." Mike opened his eyes and looked in the direction of the voice, but saw only Honey leaning against the opposite wall. "Where is he?" Mike asked, realizing how stupid he sounded. "Right here, boy genius." Honey's mouth moved. That slimy used car salesman's voice came from between her lush lips. "Man, you just get sicker and sicker with these disguises." "Yeah, and I'm getting one helluva kick out of this one, too." Slick sighed and ran a hand over Honey's voluptuous breast. "Too bad you didn't take Honey up on her offer. I was sorta looking forward to revealing myself to you at just...the right moment." "Like I said—really sick." Mike pushed himself away from the wall and took a few steps toward the door, but he hesitated, pivoting to stare at Honey—rather, at Slick. "Is there a Honey, or are you going to disappear again with some cheap theatrical gimmick?" "Oh, I'm just borrowing Honey's bod for a while. First thing I did was give her a nice, long bath." Slick looked down at Honey's breasts, cupping both of them and squeezing them into greater prominence. "These are magnificent, don't you think?" "For some reason they looked a lot better to me earlier." Thank God there was no one else in the hallway to overhear their ridiculous conversation. Mike couldn't imagine what someone might think, hearing Slick's voice coming from Honey's body. "Why don't you leave the poor girl alone?" "Yeah, I suppose it's just as well. I can't quite figure out a way to pork myself. What a waste." Slick's diabolical laughter filled the narrow hallway. "You think you came in here on a wild goose chase, huh?" "Yeah. I suppose you had something to do with this, too." Slick's gaze narrowed and Honey's green eyes underwent an instantaneous transformation. Piercing, hypnotic red held Mike in place with brain-numbing power. "Mike, I think you're beginning to figure out that old Slick doesn't do anything without a reason." He laughed again. "At least I hope you are...for Barney and Carrie's sake." "You son of a—" "Time for me to vacate this luscious bod. Remember, listen and pay attention to everything. You might get lucky when you least expect it." Slick sighed and gave Honey's breasts another squeeze. "It's been nice, Honey. Gotta go—someone's coming." Mike took a step toward him—or her—but a pair of voices from the adjoining hallway distracted him. Instinctively, he stiffened and slipped his hand inside his jacket to rest near the butt of his gun. Heavy footsteps came closer and closer.
Apprehensive, Mike pressed himself against the wall. "Where'd they say Lieutenant Denny was heading when he was last seen?" one voice asked. "Some plantation a few miles north of town," another man answered. "For a while, we thought he'd been...killed at Vicksburg, but his body was never found." The footsteps stopped and Mike strained to hear the words, never moving his hand away from his weapon. Who were they? Why did overhearing their conversation suddenly seem so urgent? Then he remembered Slick and shot Honey a probing glance. She looked up at the soldiers and he swore there were dollar signs in her eyes. The real Honey had definitely returned. What Mike couldn't be certain of was at which point in this comedy of errors Slick had taken control of Honey. Terrifying thought. "Which plantation?" the first voice asked, jerking Mike back to the present. Then another voice sounded in his mind—a taunting, sing-songy voice. Listen and pay attention to everything. You might get lucky... "Slick." Mike barely whispered the word and his heart hammered against the wall of his chest. The red-eyed monster had been trying to give Mike a hint for some reason. Pay attention, Mike, he reminded himself when the sound of a boot scraping against the wood floor reached him. Slick's words held him paralyzed, waiting for the men to continue their discussion. "It had a really bizarre name. Utopia, or something like that." The other man chuckled. "You gotta be kidding." "No, it wasn't Utopia, but something real similar." Silence. Mike frowned—his brain had slipped into neutral, but he forced it back into gear, trying to sort through the jumbled messages until they made some sense. Hell, nothing made sense anymore. "E-ly—Elysium—that's it." Elysium? "These Rebs sure were proud of their plantations. Can you imagine naming a cotton farm something like Elysium?" Elysium. Their laughter was loud and rough. "So Denny was on a mission behind enemy lines when he disappeared?" one man asked. "Yeah, he was with Milton's scouting expedition just after the Vicksburg campaign." No! "Oh, yeah. I remember that incident now." The footsteps paused again near the intersection of the hallways. "Denny'd been reported missing after a small skirmish. Somehow, he ended up here. Milton said..." Milton. "That's right." The sound of a match striking wood filled the silence. "I don't understand why we're going to so much trouble over one missing lieutenant." "You don't have to understand, Brown. Denny's daddy owns a huge shipping company. Andrew Johnson says find the man's son, so we're gonna find his son." Damn. "Or at least find out what happened to him." A derisive chuckle punctuated the other man's comment. "Hell, you and I both know Denny's dead. He must be dead—he has to be." The man's voice roughened. "All I can say is his daddy must be one powerful son of a bitch." "Waste of time, if you ask me."
Mike remained pressed against the wall as the men walked by. They paused to stare at him for a moment, but all he could do was swallow. He didn't trust himself to speak. The taller soldier shook his head slowly. "Must be one of those poor bastards who came home with only half his wits." "Hello." Honey stepped out in front of the soldiers, swishing her skirts around her bare ankles. "You come to see me?" "We're leaving now," the tallest soldier said, turning away from Mike. "What's your name? I'll ask for you next time I'm down this way." "Honey." "Hmm. Honey. I won't forget that." "Promise?" At his nod, Honey stepped aside and let the soldiers pass. Mike continued to stare as the blue-clad officers turned the corner, leaving behind only lingering pipe smoke and the thundering between his ears. His gut coiled and wrenched, threatening to spill this morning's fish on the floor. Elysium was the key—had been all along. "Holy shit." Mike's whispered words sounded more like an injured animal's last breath—the death rattle. Old Slick never does anything without a reason... Mike jerked his gaze around to where Honey still leaned against the opposite wall, admiring his ring. No sign of Slick now. Raking his fingers through his hair, Mike pushed away from the wall and let his hand fall away from the butt of his gun. His fingers felt numb—his brain felt numb. Instead of solving riddles, his adventure had merely provided more questions demanding answers. But now he had some idea where to look. He'd been there all along. There had to be a reason for Slick to have sent Mike to this particular point in time. What? Damn. Mike swallowed hard, clenching and unclenching his fists to restore circulation.
For a few hellish moments, his heart must've stopped. Just like that night. Like Barney. His constricting throat nearly gagged him as he took a few staggering steps toward Honey. He didn't know why. All he knew for certain was that he had to solve this mystery soon. It hurt too damned much to continue like this. Was Honey another key? Or simply a vehicle for one of Slick's depraved games? She didn't look up, even when he stopped in front of her. Breathing seemed to take every ounce of strength Mike could muster as he maintained his balance. The pounding in his head did a fair imitation of the last rock concert he'd attended, reverberating through his bones, making the blood in his veins quiver like gelatin. The New Madrid Fault had nothing on this. Elysium. A man had disappeared there during the war—Denny. Who the hell was Denny and what did he have to do with Milton? Major Milton. Imagine that. And Abigail had denied knowing anyone by that name. Realization unfolded inside him like internal chemical warfare. Mike stiffened—every muscle in his body tightened. His heart hit the gas pedal and sent his pulse into overdrive. Elysium was only part of the picture. Like a combination lock, other factors were required to open the mechanism. Other factors like Abigail Kingsley.
"Well, it's about time." Mike looked up at the sound of Slick's voice. A sneer transformed Honey's face into a hideous mask of evil. The devil's flunky had set Mike up big time. "I want to know where to find Milton. Tell me, damn you." Mike clenched his teeth and waited, though he knew Slick had no intention of making this mission easier. After a few moments, he took a step closer, not caring that his chest pressed against Honey's breasts. "You're enjoying this, aren't you?" "Smart, Mike. You're making progress. For what it's worth, we're both already damned, but go ahead and say it if it makes you feel better." Slick laughed, then consumed Mike with his cutting gaze. Honey's green eyes slowly gave way to the red flames of Hell. "This is your mission, Ace—you find your own answers. I'll leave you with a few more hints, though. It keeps me... entertained." The junior-devil's voice sounded like F.D.R. announcing the bombing of Pearl Harbor. Doom. Peril. Mike stared, transfixed, as the flames seized control of his mind and implanted Slick's message.
Abigail. Elysium. Lies. Secrets.
As Slick's eyes slowly lost their feral glow, Mike came out of their spell. The hints he'd been promised had done nothing but plant more questions—more doubts. Dizziness gripped him, threatening to send him crashing to the floor as the redness vanished completely and Honey became herself again. "Oh, you changed your mind," she said, pressing herself more firmly against him. "No." Mike jerked himself free, staggering to the opposite wall. He let his cheek rest against the peeling paper for a few moments. "Abigail," he whispered in supplication. "Who's Abigail?" Honey's voice came from right beside him. "She your woman?" Mike slowly shook his head and forced himself upright. Drawing a deep breath, he looked at Honey. "Where's the door? Get me out of here." Honey sighed and clicked her tongue. "Suit yourself." She walked ahead of him, then stopped where two hallways intersected. "There." She pointed down the shortest of the two passages. "And don't come back 'til you got money. Honey'll cost more next time." "Not in this lifetime." Mike squared his shoulders and walked purposefully out the front door. Outside, he paused.
Abigail. Elysium. Lies. Secrets.
Slick's words reverberated through Mike's mind as he turned and walked up the hill. Reaching the edge of town, he turned onto Cemetery Road and broke into a run. A dead run. Anger fueled him—charged his muscles and made him fly along the red dirt road.
Abigail. Elysium. Lies. Secrets.
His endorphins kicked in, but rather than calm him, his body's chemicals made him burn. Burn for revenge. Burn for justice. He had to find a release. Somehow there had to be a way to break this consuming madness before it broke him. Images flashed through his mind as his arms pumped at his sides, alternating with his long strides. Carrie's face when she'd announced her pregnancy. Barney's neck—a pulpy mass. His first encounter with Slick...
Abigail. Elysium. Lies. Secrets.
Abigail had answers. And, by God, he'd have his answers today. Dark, sinister clouds gathered, darkening the sky to slate. Mike looked up, slowing his pace as he neared Elysium. Lightning sizzled across the sky; thunder shattered the quiet countryside. The perfect ambiance for his mood. His rage was a palpable entity, feeding off his physical form to torment and control him. A frigging vampire. He was crazy with the need to vent his fury...
A lull in the weather seemed unlikely, at best. It was just as well—a few hours to devise a plan might help him control the rage that continually warred with his sense of reason for jurisdiction. Maybe. Lightning struck close again, making the ground rumble and shake beneath his bare feet. "Damn, that was cl—" A startled cry from the corner knifed through him and he jerked his head around to stare in disbelief. At Abigail Kingsley. In his bed...
~~~~
By now, you may have read my Memoir brief Intro based upon this book on my sister blog. I will be doing a closing one as well. In addition to the many things about the book that I enjoyed--time travel, romantic suspense, extreme emotional issues, the main character--you might say the extreme villain--added a dimension to the story that I appreciated, especially at this time when religion has entered the political scene. In fact, when you think about it, many individuals are considering the time of the civil war and that division of the country, as very similar to what "appears" to be happening in the world right now.
We enter Stover's novel in the present, when a police team had been caught in a bad situation where both are in danger. The two officers happen to be related. One is married to the sister of the other officer. In other words, not only do they have the normal bonding related to being partners in a constant dangerous environment, they also enjoy sharing about family. In this case, the main character, Mike, has just learned that he is about to become an uncle. But Barney, his brother-in-law apparently didn't see that this needed to change how he acted on the job. Because before Mike knew it, Barney had acted quickly and soon...was...dead...
Mike went crazy. Not only seeing his partner dead, he immediately thought of his sister, alone, having her baby without Barney... Blame, remorse, anger at the criminals set Mike into a whirlwind of devastation that he couldn't handle... It was the perfect time for action by a nearby demon, to be called Slick...
And, of course, Slick had an offer that he was sure that Mike couldn't refuse... Even the presentation of the deal, for me, flashed as to who is known for deal making, which seems to never be carried out. But, of course, Mike in his fevered state, said he would do anything...
Now, the readers, if they are "connecting" what they read, will quickly know who Mike has been sent to kill... What he wanted was to find the man who had killed Barney and at least stop the criminal enterprise that was doing so much damage... Of course, personal retribution was really what Mike sought...
Now, here's the kicker, in the deal made, he would be sent to a location where he could find and eliminate the entire mob... He wound up in the same location, but had traveled through time to the period when the Civil War had ended, but the misery continued for the families who had been caught--the innocents who had never wanted a war in the first place!
Mike's trip resulted in his being found on the floor of a local plantation home called Elysium. He wakes up as Rosalie is calling to Abigail that there is a man laying on their floor... Abigail and Rosalie were born in that home. Now everybody else is gone. There is little to eat, and little to purchase food. Everything in their home has been stolen by the soldiers... It didn't matter which side, it seemed, soldiers were men and they were "in charge..." After one high ranking soldier visited, he did leave a "surprise"... Wade was born 2 years before Mike was found in their home...
Wade was the only thing that was keeping Abigail and Rosalie together as a family, striving to keep them all safe. Trying to find some type of food which would be given to Wade first to eat... An egg found in the barn... Some hidden coins that could at least buy cornmeal that would be cooked with water--not tasty but they all had to survive... Day after day...
But that wasn't enough. Soon the federal government came in and declared that back taxes on their homes would have to be paid, or the property would be taken as payments... Abigail was becoming even more desperate. And when, Mike literally fell into their home, they didn't even notice his strange clothes. Little by little Mike realized that he had been sent here for a reason, and he could see these people needed help, and also might be able to find the family he was seeking. They formed a tense agreement to help each other... First, Mike began fishing! Both women had tried, but had little success. Now fish was being provided at each meal... More importantly, Mike had traded his watch for a cow, even knowing he had conned the farmer because the watch would soon die without power... The goal was to feed Wade and bring him back to being a healthy normal little boy...
Of course, there is a romantic attraction that develops between Mike and Abigail; however, each of them also has a secret--Mike's real identity and what his deal requires him to do... And, Abigail's secret of who is Wade and who his father is, and will she choose to contact him to ensure a long-term home for her son!
One of the spotlights of a book such as this is to immediately begin to see the comparisons between our present life and our historical background. It should not be surprising that the innocent family members who are torn apart by a war initiated by men for the supposed good, suddenly becomes just another way to control those affected by that war and ensure that some type of financial gain will result for the government. Does the greater good mean that the individuals affected must continue to suffer? To me, this was illogical. IS illogical. I don't know the historical accuracy of this novel, but it struck me that when the union soldiers came in, they were treating those whose lives had been torn apart, just as the slaves had been. They were then forced to continue to pay through the loss of their homes! It of course made me realize that, just as now, political promises are forgotten and, often, power grabs for wealth and personal gain becomes the driving force...
On the other hand, the author has created a brilliant ending that still has me wondering--Who, exactly, won the Deal? I'll be talking more about this in my follow up discussion for this book...
GABixlerReviews
Note: I had previously reviewed this for the publisher in 2011... I recently got a copy free, not immediately remembering I had read earlier. I found my response even stronger having read it during this time now in the United States... My thoughts and opinions now were moved much more strongly, so if you're curious, I've provided link.
Hopefully, I'll follow up with further discussion tomorrow.
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