The Loyal Heart Read online

  ACCLAIM FOR SHELLEY SHEPARD GRAY

  “Gray is a master at integrating rich details and historical accuracies to create an engaging tale that will take the reader back in time. Strong secondary characters are well integrated. It is a shame to see this series end."

  —ROMANTIC TIMES 4-STAR REVIEW OF WHISPERS IN THE READING ROOM

  “Full of vivid descriptions and beautiful prose, Gray has a way of making readers feel like they are actually in Chicago during the World’s Fair . . . the mystery surrounding the ‘Slasher’ keeps the reader engaged throughout.”

  —RT BOOK REVIEWS, 4-STAR REVIEW OF DECEPTION ON SABLE HILL

  “Downton Abbey comes to Chicago in Shelley Gray’s delightful romantic suspense, Secrets of Sloane House. Gray’s novel is rich in description and historical detail while asking thought-provoking questions about faith and one’s place in society.”

  —ELIZABETH MUSSER, NOVELIST, THE SWAN HOUSE, THE SWEETEST THING, THE SECRETS OF THE CROSS TRILOGY

  “Shelley Gray writes a well-paced story full of historical detail that will invite you into the romance, the glamour . . . and the mystery surrounding the Chicago World’s Fair.”

  —COLLEEN COBLE, USA TODAY BESTSELLING AUTHOR OF ROSEMARY COTTAGE AND THE HOPE BEACH SERIES

  ALSO BY SHELLEY SHEPARD GRAY

  LONE STAR HERO’S LOVE STORIES

  The Loyal Heart

  An Uncommon Protector (Available February 2017)

  CHICAGO WORLD’S FAIR MYSTERY SERIES

  Secrets of Sloane House

  Deception on Sable Hill

  Whispers in the Reading Room

  NOVELLAS

  An Outlaw’s Heart found in Among the Fair Magnolias

  THE CHARMED AMISH LIFE

  A Son’s Vow

  A Daughter’s Dream (Available May 2016)

  A Sister’s Wish (Available September 2016)

  BRIDES OF PINECRAFT

  The Promise of Palm Grove

  The Proposal at Siesta Key

  A Wish on Gardenia Street

  A Wedding at the Orange Blossom Inn

  A Christmas Bride in Pinecraft

  ZONDERVAN

  The Loyal Heart Copyright © 2016 by Shelley Shepard Gray

  ePub Edition © June 2016: ISBN 978-0-7180-7775-4

  Requests for information should be addressed to:

  Zondervan, Grand Rapids, Michigan 49546

  Names: Gray, Shelley Shepard, author.

  Title: The loyal heart / Shelley Shepard Gray.

  Description: Grand Rapids, Michigan : Zondervan, [2016] | Series: A lone star hero's love story ; 1

  Identifiers: LCCN 2016001987 | ISBN 9780310345398 (paperback)

  Subjects: | GSAFD: Love stories. | Christian fiction.

  Classification: LCC PS3607.R3966 L69 2016 | DDC 813/.6--dc23 LC record available at http://lccn.loc.gov/2016001987

  Scripture quotations are from the Holy Bible, New Living Translation. © 1996, 2004, 2007, 2013 by Tyndale House Foundation. Used by permission of Tyndale House Publishers, Inc., Carol Stream, Illinois 60188. All rights reserved.

  Any Internet addresses (websites, blogs, etc.) and telephone numbers in this book are offered as a resource. They are not intended in any way to be or imply an endorsement by Zondervan, nor does Zondervan vouch for the content of these sites and numbers for the life of this book.

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means—electronic, mechanical, photocopy, recording, or any other—except for brief quotations in printed reviews, without the prior permission of the publisher.

  Publisher’s Note: This novel is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. All characters are fictional, and any similarity to people living or dead is purely coincidental.

  16 17 18 19 20 / RRD / 20 19 18 17 16 15 14 13 12 11 10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1

  To my husband Tom

  Create in me a clean heart, O God. Renew a loyal spirit within me.

  —PSALM 51:10

  Let us go home and cultivate our virtues.

  —ROBERT E. LEE, ADDRESSING HIS SOLDIERS AT APPOMATTOX

  CONTENTS

  PROLOGUE

  1

  2

  3

  4

  5

  6

  7

  8

  9

  10

  11

  12

  13

  14

  15

  16

  17

  18

  19

  20

  21

  22

  23

  24

  25

  26

  27

  28

  29

  30

  DISCUSSION QUESTIONS

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  PROLOGUE

  Johnson’s Island, Ohio

  Confederate States of America Officers’ POW Camp

  January 1865

  THEY WERE DIGGING ANOTHER GRAVE. THE THIRD THAT week, which Devin Arthur Monroe, captain in the C.S.A., reckoned was hard enough without knowing it was for Rory Macdonald. Rory had been all of nineteen, the youngest member of his unit by far. Because he had been a private, he shouldn’t have even been imprisoned with them in the first place. He wouldn’t have been, except for some clerk’s error.

  The clerk’s mistake had been Rory’s good fortune, however. Conditions had been better for him here than they would have been in the enlisted prisoner-of-war camp in Columbus. Devin had been grateful for that. Rory had been a good man. He’d been a good soldier too. If they hadn’t been captured down in Tennessee, he would have made sergeant before too long. The Confederacy had needed more young men like him.

  Devin had been certain Rory was going to walk out of their prison in the middle of Lake Erie, go home to his family’s loving arms, find a pretty girl to marry, and accomplish something great. In short, Devin had been sure Rory Macdonald was going to do them all proud.

  Instead, the best of them was going to spend an eternity in an unmarked grave surrounded by Yankee soil.

  Just thinking about it stung.

  “I still can’t believe he won’t be heading back to Texas. Ever,” Lt. Robert Truax said as he tossed another patch of dirt over his shoulder. “Why did God have to go and decide the kid should die of pneumonia?”

  Devin said nothing. Merely looked toward the dead zone—a line of fencing surrounded by a three-foot gap and another higher wooden fence. Their worthless Yankee guards were instructed to kill on sight any man who went beyond their restricted boundary.

  Devin had seen them do it.

  Lord knew, none of the structures that confined them were all that well put together. But that was the charm of their prison—at least for the Yankees. Even if a Rebel was able to escape the barricades without being shot and killed, the broad expanse of Lake Erie surrounded them. If the swim in the frigid waters didn’t kill them, the frozen Canadian wilderness on the other side surely would. They were good and trapped. And for the most part, bored out of their minds.

  “It should’ve been me,” Robert muttered as he propped a boot on the edge of his shovel, using his weight to help him dig into the frozen ground.

  Robert had taken the boy’s death especially hard. Devin figured that was to be expected. For all his rough-and-tumble ways, his second lieutenant had a soft heart. But the man’s tone was dark enough to pull Devin out of his reverie.

  Turning to him, he glared, his expression vivid in the moonlight. “Nothing we can do about the dead. Rory is in a better place. I thought y
ou would have come to terms with that by now.”

  Impatience flashed in Robert’s eyes. “The kid was only nineteen. Too young to die.”

  “You know the answer to that,” Devin chided. “A great many men have died in this war who were too young. What you need to remember is that Private Macdonald definitely did not consider himself too young. And he’d likely try to box your ears if he could hear you saying that.”

  “He would box your ears for even thinking it,” Sgt. Thomas Baker pointed out as he thrust his shovel into the hole they were digging. “Mac had no patience for anyone discussing his age.”

  “Well, now he’s dead,” Robert said. “He should have had his whole life ahead of him.”

  “I reckon the good Lord didn’t see it that way. A great many men should have been looking forward to a bright and sunny future.” Thinking of Gettysburg, Devin felt his throat clog. He cleared it, at the same time pushing away the gruesome memories that never completely went away. “But they’re gone too.”

  “It doesn’t make any sense.”

  “War doesn’t.”

  “Neither does a healthy nineteen-year-old boy dying from pneumonia.”

  “It was a real bad case of pneumonia, though,” Thomas muttered. “The kid was having so much trouble breathing, he was blue for days.”

  Robert tossed his shovel to the ground. “Show our private some respect.”

  Thomas sneered. “Or what?”

  “Settle down, Lieutenant,” Phillip Markham hissed under his breath as he knelt to smooth away a chunk of earth. For some reason, he was still recovering from a bullet’s graze. While some days it seemed like it pained him something awful, for once he didn’t seem to be suffering too much. “If you don’t lower your voice, you’re going to get our fine Yankee hosts to put us in lock-down.” Phillip’s light blue eyes glared as he continued, as always their voice of reason. “That would be a real shame, ’cause we’ve got a body to bury.” Looking up at Devin, he said, “I think the grave is deep enough, Captain.”

  Devin nodded. “Let’s do this, then.”

  Devin, Thomas, and Robert carefully picked up Rory’s body and lowered it into the ground. After Rory was settled, they surrounded the grave in somber silence.

  When Devin was able to push through the lump that had formed in his throat, he led them in prayer.

  After another moment of silence, Thomas and Robert picked up shovels and began the painful work of covering Rory’s body.

  Devin and his major, Ethan Kelly, stood to one side and watched. Devin figured he’d now stood in respectful silence dozens of times since the war began. It never got easier.

  When the grave was finally filled, they started walking back to their two-story barracks. Now that the dreaded chore was done, their mood seemed better.

  “I’ll write Rory’s mother tomorrow,” Devin said as they went inside. “Let’s hope and pray this will be the last note of its kind that I’m going to have to write anytime soon.”

  “I’ll do my best to stay alive,” Ethan quipped.

  “Me too,” Phillip said with a ghost of a smile. “Don’t forget, I’ve got Miranda.”

  Pure relief filled Devin. That comment had been exactly what they needed to get back on track. Phillip’s devotion to his pretty brown-haired wife was legendary—and the source of much ribbing.

  “Oh, we know you have Miranda, Phillip,” Ethan teased. “You never let any of us forget you’ve got a beautiful woman waiting for you at home. You lucky dog.”

  “I received not one but two letters from her today. So yes, indeed, I am lucky.” He stretched his arms. “Actually, I’m blessed beyond measure.” As always, Phillip never pretended he felt anything but enamored by his wife.

  Devin had always thought it was rather an endearing trait in their best sharpshooter.

  But Robert was still staring at Phillip in confusion. “You never complain, Lieutenant. You never say anything except you’re biding your time until you see her again. I don’t see how one woman can make all the difference.”

  This time, Thomas grinned, showing a full set of exceptionally fine white teeth. His smile was undoubtedly his best feature and he used it to his advantage every chance he got. “If you don’t know how one woman can ease a man’s burdens, then you’ve got problems, Truax! Shoot, I’d say you’ve got more problems than being locked in a POW encampment in the middle of Lake Erie.”

  Ethan smiled. “I don’t mind admitting that I’m looking forward to my fiancée, Faye, easing my burdens the moment I see her again.”

  Devin tucked his chin so Robert wouldn’t see his grin. He’d never had a sweetheart, but he reckoned Ethan and Thomas had a point.

  Unfortunately, Robert didn’t care to see it. “I’m just saying, a man needs more than the comfort of a good woman. No offense, Markham.”

  Phillip grunted but didn’t say a word.

  Devin didn’t really blame him. He’d seen a tintype of Phillip’s wife. She was lovely, everything a man would want to fight for.

  But, Devin supposed, he could see Robert’s point. If a man didn’t have a good woman waiting for him or a home to return to, there was a strong possibility of feeling out of sorts with their mission. Especially now that it seemed the war was almost over and all points were turning toward the inevitable loss for their side.

  Perhaps they did need something more. Something more than dreams and elusive promises. Something dear to hold on to and grab hold of. Something to live for. “How about we make a pact, then?”

  Ethan looked at him curiously. “What you got in mind, Captain?”

  “Just something to make sure we remember.”

  Thomas raised a dark eyebrow. “Remember what, Cap?”

  “To remember when one of us is sitting in the dark and wondering why he should live to see another morning.”

  “Bring it on, then,” Ethan said. “I could use some of your words of wisdom.”

  “How about we make a promise right here, right now, to live for each other?”

  “I’m already doing that.” Thomas grinned. Looking at his major, he said, “I’m already keeping you warm at night, aren’t I?”

  “Don’t remind me,” Ethan said with a scowl. “You snore like a banshee.” They all slept two by two. It was too cold otherwise.

  Devin stood up, warming to his topic. “Come on, men. I’m serious. I suggest that from now on we do everything we can to help each other survive.”

  “We are in prison barracks, sir. Unless we get pneumonia, we’ll live to see the end of the war.”

  “No, I’m not talking just about now. I’m talking about in the future too. Even after we get out of here.”

  “Sorry, Cap, but I don’t follow,” Thomas said. “After we get released from here and the war’s over, I’m not gonna have one thing to do with a uniform.”

  Thomas was truly like his name. He needed a literal, tangible reason to believe in something. Otherwise he couldn’t see it.

  “Back in Gettysburg, we were once a band of eight. Then we lost Tucker and Simon. This morning, we were six. Now we are five. I propose, gentlemen, that when this war is over, we keep a promise to ourselves. Let’s promise to always look out for each other.”

  “Always?” Robert asked.

  “Yep. Even five years from now. Even ten. I think we’re going to need to know that no matter what, we have each other.”

  Ethan nodded. “You might have something there, Cap. I like it.”

  “I don’t,” Robert said as he picked up a stick and tossed it into the dwindling fire in their old stove. “When the war is over, we’re not going to need to be looked after. Everything’s going to be fine again.”

  “Will it?” Thomas muttered.

  “All I’m saying,” Robert said, “is that most of us will have lives to go back to. We’ll be free. We won’t be worrying about dying or someone attacking us in our sleep. It’s going to be better.”

  “I hope it is,” Devin said. “But if it’s not, le
t’s promise we’ll still have each other.”

  “I’m in,” said Thomas. “This promise is as good as any, I reckon.”

  “Me too,” Ethan said.

  Phillip nodded. “I’m in too. But, uh, can I ask . . . if something happens to me, would one of you look after Miranda?”

  “You’ll get back to her,” Ethan said.

  Phillip nodded, but still looked alarmed. “Just in case I don’t?” Phillip pressed.

  “If you don’t survive,” Devin said, “I promise one of us will make sure Miranda is all right. Gentlemen, do you promise?”

  Ethan pulled his shoulders back and looked at Phillip straight in the eye. “Upon my honor as a gentleman and a Southerner, I will make sure your wife is taken care of, Lieutenant.”

  At last Phillip breathed a sigh of relief.

  Feeling satisfied, Devin finally looked at Robert. “Are you in?”

  After a pause, Robert nodded. “I’m in, Captain. No matter what happens, I will honor this pact.”

  “Good.”

  Each lost in his thoughts, no one uttered a word until the last of the fire died out.

  But as he thought about what would happen when the war ended, Devin knew they’d all be going back to a world different from when they first put on their Confederate uniforms. It was likely that their troubles would begin anew.

  Some of them wouldn’t even have their farms and houses, thanks to the Yankees’ penchant for burning down everything in their path.

  Yes, Devin Monroe feared that, after the war, when the world was at peace but so terribly upside-down, they were going to need each other even more.

  1

  Galveston, Texas

  January 1867

  AT TIMES, THE PAIN WAS SO INTENSE, SHE WANTED TO DIE.

  With a new sense of resolve, Miranda Markham skimmed a finger along the second-floor windowpane just outside her bedroom door. As she did, frigid drops of condensation slid across her fingers, moistening them, transmitting tiny bursts of pain along her skin. The glass wasn’t thick, surely no more than a quarter inch. It seemed, to her eyes at least, that the frame was rather rickety as well.