"...a sweet poignant tale, one of forgiveness and moving on. It is a sweet, touching love story. I liked the way the author made her characters come alive, despite the brevity of the story. I felt as if I could feel their emotions and was deeply moved by the way Wesley and Abby don't waste time when they meet. This story gave me a poignant glimpse into the the reality of the time, and I enjoyed it very much." Reviewed by Marlene @ FAR Rated 4 Angels--Fallen Angel Reviews
"Ms. Kathy Otten has written a compelling tale which took place in the midst of the Civil War. No one I have previously read had been able to put the reader in the middle of the war and show extensive action in so few words. I am impressed with her ability and the depth she has portrayed in her story. I recommend it to anyone who wants a quick read that tells a gripping saga." Reviewed by Brenda Talley @ The Romance Studio Rated 4&1/2 Hearts--The Romance Studio
"Big themes of duty and honour, cowardice and courage, and most of all love, are skillfully encapsulated in this little tale. Kathy Otten's prose is crisp and fluid, entertaining and edifying. She could probably give classes on how to write the perfect short story. Well written and moving, this one's a winner." Reviewed by Singapore Sling @ Cocktail Reviews Rated 5 champagne glasses--Cocktail Reviews
"You don't need to be a Civil War buff to enjoy this story, but if you are, you will not be disappointed. For all that the action is military, this is a wonderful and heartfelt romance. It is beautifully written and all of the action is intriguing." Reviewed by Snapdragon @ LASR Rated 4&1/2 books--Long and Short Reviews
“Stop right there.” Though she tried to sound tough her southern drawl softened the hard edge of her command. “Put your gun down and leave this house.”
“Ma’am, I mean you no harm. I don’t know why you’re here but it isn’t safe.”
There was a long pause then from behind the door came an incredulous question. “Wes?”
Nonplused he stared. “Who are you?”
Slowly the barrel lowered, and the door swung inward. A young woman stepped out from behind it.
His mouth dropped open in shock. “Abby?”
She wore her wheat blonde hair pulled back into a simple long braid. Her dress was faded and patched, and hung loose on her too thin body. Her eyes were the same soft brown, but a few tiny lines around the corners lent her an aura of maturity he found more appealing than the bright-eyed innocence she’d had at sixteen.
He almost reached out to embrace her, but checked the impulse. Instead he latched onto the memory of Manassas, flogging himself with haunting images of the battle, grinding them like salt into his wounded soul, making certain he would never forget that what he’d done that day had torn their love apart forever.
She took a hesitant step forward, her brown eyes searching his face. “You’ve been well?”
“Disappointed?”
She gasped and stepped back as though he’d struck her. “Oh, Wes, can you ever forgive me for writin’ that hateful letter? We were all so young. We didn’t understand what war was. It was all supposed to be so glorious. Our boys were goin’ to fire their guns and send the Yankees runnin’ back north. No one was supposed to die. It wasn’t your fault. Matthew would have died even if you had been standin’ right beside him.”
“But I wasn’t was I?” Self-loathing laced his words with bitterness. “No, I ran to the rear and hid behind a tree snivelin’ like a Goddamn baby.” |
