My husband was only home a short while before he mustered in again at Indianapolis.  He went straight into battle at Cheat Mountain, which lasted days.  He was one of the lucky ones to survive, just like my father and brothers.  I count my blessings constantly. 

Oliver writes and explains the south is suffering, and there have been many victories, but I still feel like we are sitting ducks.  Eventually, the South will want to cross into the North, and we are sitting exactly where I can foresee troops crossing.

I worry night and day about Oliver and our family.  He has already been in three battles that I know about, either from news I hear in town, or his letters.  I do know he survived all three, and so have my father and brothers.

I find it much harder to get around these days.  My midsection has grown considerably, and whether it's one or two babies, they must have their fathers stamina.  Night and day, they remind me of their presence.  Dr. Sams cannot say for certain, but he did feel around and says there are most likely two children growing inside me. 

This has put more stress on Oliver. Mothers being lost in childbirth isn't uncommon, and delivering two will not be easy.  I've given up hope that he will be here at home when I give birth.  He will not know about our children for possibly weeks after they arrive.

His letters are sporadic.  Sometimes I receive one he wrote, after another that comes later.  On average, I receive one or two a month.  It's not quite enough, but I write him daily and mail them once per week.  It's hard telling if and when he receives them.

Last week I was in the barn, when Eugene and Wilford decided to set off dynamite.  It scared my horse, and I was put in harms way. 

Armstrong had a complete fit and confiscated all of their explosives.  They promised never to do it again, but these two men remind me of juvenile boys.  My hands are full enough. 

I'm also no longer to be in a stall with any horses or large farm animals.  The risk is too high, and my reflexes have grown slower carrying the weight of my children.  I feel as if daily I am losing more and more freedoms. 

Again, I'm in the barn, but this time just because I needed some time alone. There are several new kittens since I last checked.  I bent over to pick one up, and the voice I heard behind me sent chills down my spine.

"Isn't that a cute one."  I slowly turned, and my living nightmare has come true. 

Thomas Vest with his scarred up friend stood facing me. 

"My god, you're with child."   They both chuckled.  "Just think Bodine, that could have been your child if you had more time that day."

"What are you doing here?  You're supposed to be in prison."  I backed away. 

"Well, you see, the Union isn't always that smart."  He tapped his head.  "It's not hard to escape under the cloak of darkness."  He took a step toward me and sniffed my hair.

"You and that husband of yours have kept us from the war we always wanted.  Look, now he's nowhere in sight to save you."

His hand latched on to my arm and he twisted it.  "How is your back healing?"  Thomas shoved my face into the support beam and ripped off my blouse.  I wasn't wearing a corset, and he pulled down on the neck of my shift to expose the scars on my back.

"That's your handy work Bodine.  You should be proud."  They both laughed.

I tried to scream, but Thomas covered my mouth and reached up under my skirt.

"Bodine, we've got a wild one.  Why Mrs. Westlake, where is your petticoat?  Bodine, go keep watch while I give this lovely woman some attention."  He touched the nakedness between my legs. 

He pushed his nasty old body against mine and smelled my hair.  "It's been some time since I've had a woman.  Especially one as soft as you."  He shoved a finger inside me, and I cried out. 

"Hands off the woman."  Thomas stopped and turned around.

"Well, who do we have here?"  Thomas let go of me. 

I turned and saw a man in grey pants and white shirt.

"A deserter ?  We got a goddamn traitor in our midst Bodine!"  He laughed.

"Bodine won't be answering.  He's out cold." 

Thomas circled the man.  "Are you harboring deserters Mrs. Westlake?" 

I shook my head.

"She's never seen me before.  I was just crossing up from the south today when I got lucky enough to walk into this mess."

"This mess?  You mean interrupting me when I was about to bed the sweet piece of northern..."

"Watch your language around the lady."  The stranger said.

"She ain't no lady.  She doesn't even wear a petticoat.  As a matter of fact, she was just begging me to take her right where she stands.  She ain't no lady, she's a nigger lover." 

"Well, then it seems you have a problem, because so am I."  The man pulled up his revolver and pointed it at Thomas.

Thomas laughed.  "You really think that soaking wet revolver will fire?  You'd shoot an unarmed man?"  Thomas laughed.

"No, but she will."  He nodded toward the door, and as soon as Thomas turned around, the stranger knocked him behind the head with the butt of his revolver.

"Ma'am, are you okay?" He watched me as he grabbed rope to tie Thomas up. 

I nodded, but backed away.  "It's okay, I'm not going to hurt you.  I'm on my way to Corydon to enlist on the right side of things."  He spoke with an accent, but it's not Southern.

I looked to the door and there's another stranger.  She looked shocked.  She's a beautiful dark haired woman.  She almost looks like the perfect southern belle.  She is absolutely beautiful.

She is still in shock.  The woman had no gun.

"I'm looking for Oliver Westlake."  She said.

"That was incredible timing."  The strange man said.

"Who are you people?"  I shook my head in disbelief.  Two strangers show up on my property at the same exact moment.

"Ma'am, my name is Patrick Guilfoyle.  I've been endentured in the south for many years.  I used the war to escape after I was forced into the Confederate Army."  He held out his hand, and I shook it.

I understand now.  He's Irish, and has probably been endentured longer than his contract.  To the rebels, he is seen as dirtier than the colored folk.  He won't bring as much money at auction.  It's the Irish women they really want, so they can lighten the skin of their slaves.  These are horrible people.

"I'm Mrs. Oliver Westlake, and who are you to be calling after my husband?"

Her face fell, then she saw my pregnancy.

"That's Oliver's child?"  Her voice cracked.

"I did say he is my husband."  I responded.  "I also asked your name." 

"Claudine Prickett."

I shook my head.  "No, the Claudine my husband knows is mulatto and lives in Canada with her husband."

She let out a deep breath.  "I am, but I do pass as white.  My husband met his death last spring, and Oliver always said for me to return here.  I have nowhere else to go.  Oliver stopped writing a year ago.  I was unaware of his nuptials.  Congratulations on the wedding and also the child.  I'll be on my way now."  She turned to walk away.

"Wait,"  I sighed.  Dang, I'm tired of always being the good girl.  Oliver would never forgive me if I turned either of these people away.

"You can stay.  Our home has always been a place of refuge.  Mr. Guilfoyle, what do you suggest we do with these two?" 

"You need to call in the Army, Ma'am.  I'm sure they're looking for him."

"Are you safe if a Union officer shows up here?" 

I noticed he is favoring his left side.  "Are you wounded?" 

"Yes Ma'am.  I received it on Cheat Mountain."

That's where Oliver fought.  This wound is old.

"Help me make sure these men are secure, and we will get Mr. Guilfoyle to the house.  I'll send someone to town for help."  I looked at Claudine, and she gave me a blank stare.