Keep Me Safe

By Kathryn Kaleigh

Antietam. The bloodiest day in American history. 

 

Camila lives a simple life. Until the war forces her family into hiding. But instead of making life easier, her world turns upside down.

 

Wyatt Quinn fights battles of his own. Things other than just the war. 

 

Their attra

• Language: English
• Publisher: KST Publishing Inc.
• Release date: Aug 27, 2023
• ISBN: 9781088278529

Kathryn Kaleigh

Kathryn Kaleigh is a bestselling romance novel and short story writer. Her writing spans from the past to the present from historical time travel fantasy novels to sweet contemporary romances. From her imaginative meet-cutes to her happily-ever-afters, her writing keeps readers coming back for more.

Book preview

CHAPTER 1

Near Sharpsburg, Maryland

September 15, 1862

Camila Miller hugged her six-year-old sister, her attempts at shushing her unsuccessful.

They had been two of the last ones down the wooden ladder into the dark, musty cellar.

Can you quiet that young’un? A man called gruffly from the opening at the top of the ladder. I can hear her bawling all the way up here.

I’m trying, Camila said, mostly to herself, and held her sister more closely. She and her sister wore matching bonnets and matching dresses, all cut from the same bolt of gray cloth their father had been given in payment for repairing a bench in the church. The cloth was a rough homespun material and had given Camila an abrasion under her arm after a long day of washing clothes on the washboard.

As her eyes adjusted to the dim light, she counted five different families huddled in the cellar. Including hers.

The cellar smelled like tobacco which wasn’t a surprise since three of the families grew tobacco for profit. The others, including hers, grew corn to feed their cows and if any was left, they might trade it for something like cloth or fruit.

Camila turned her attention back to her sister. She’d been crying since Camila had grabbed her up and half carried, half dragged her to the safety of the cellar.

Grace? What is it? Why do you cry?

Grace looked up at her with huge eyes, her cheeks stained with tears. We left Bandit.

Bandit was their six-month-old kitten. Grace, with Camila’s help, had kept Bandit alive after it was abandoned by its mother at only three weeks.

Now Grace always had Bandit somewhere near her, night and day. Camila had been in such a rush to join the others in the cellar, she hadn’t noticed that Bandit wasn’t with her.

Grace’s chin trembled. She was about to cry again.

Where is she? Camila asked trying to ward off the impending round of tears. I didn’t see her.

She ran toward the church when Father started yelling.

Camila had been scrubbing clothes on the washboard and her sister had been playing nearby. Her father had been gathering corn and her mother had been husking it when the stranger came and spoke to her father.

As the stranger rode off, her father had shouted at them to get to the neighbor’s cellar. The neighbor being old Mister Barnes, the man shouting at them from the cellar door above.

That had been their plan all along since the war started. Her father would help her mother get the baby to the cellar and Camila would make sure Grace got there. Now that her mother was with child, it was even more important that Pappa help Momma.

Camila was the third child of soon to be five siblings. Her two older brothers were soldiers in the war. Her parents had begged them not to join, but in the end, they couldn’t stop them.

Her father was particularly unhappy since both her brothers were fighting for the south.

Camila hadn’t been surprised since Maryland was a border state. They had neighbors who were sympathetic to the north, some who were sympathetic to the south, and some who tried to stay out of it altogether. That was their little community. Simple people living their lives, not bothering anyone.

Grace, Camila said. I’ll go get Bandit.

Grace’s face lit up.

But you have to promise me, Camila said. You have to promise you’ll stop crying. Can you do that?

Grace nodded.

Go to mother, Camila said. Do you see her?

Grace nodded again and started toward their mother.

Camila stood up, stretched to her full five feet four inches and took a deep breath.

Then she climbed the ladder that put her back into the neighbor’s corn field.

She had to find Bandit before the soldiers got there.

CHAPTER 2

Wyatt Quinn nudged his mare, picking his way through the rows of corn.

Over the last few days, he’d become accustomed to the lush, sweet scent of ripe corn. Many of the Maryland farmers were in the middle of harvesting their crops. The leaves of the corn plants seemed to be turning brown right before his eyes.

Wyatt had grown up around tobacco and horses. He’d seen more corn plants in the past few days than he’d seen in his entire life.

A flock of birds scattered as he approached, their wild flight startling Wyatt. The farmers could thank him later for doing his part to save their crops.

Wyatt was a scout in the Union army. He wore blue pants, a blue wool jacket, and a blue cap. His usual job was to gather information about the location of the Confederate army and present it to General McClellan. Today his job was to scout the land and help the General choose a place to set his troops.

The General wanted information on the land he was about to occupy and defend.

The whitewashed one-story schoolhouse was up ahead. They’d been able to see it standing out against the otherwise green vegetation across the valley. Wyatt came out of the corn rows into a clearing. The schoolhouse was on the other side of the clearing.

Wyatt stood and took a moment to soak in the lay of the land. He was known for his detailed reports. After just a few minutes, he could memorize everything he saw and then after returning to camp, recreate it on paper. His maps were exceptionally accurate and had earned him the dubious honor of reporting directly to the Union General – George B. McClellan.

Wyatt reached the schoolhouse and dismounted. Leaving his horse, he darted up the front steps of the newly whitewashed building. A building being newly whitewashed was something rarely seen in the south these days, even in the border states.

He entered the building and immediately saw that it wasn’t a schoolhouse at all, but it was a church. A church with windows and doors on each side. There were two rows of pews about five on each side. And a pulpit at the front. A large unadorned wooden cross hung on the wall behind the pulpit.

Feeling a bit out of place in the cool, quiet of the church, Wyatt turned to leave.

Just as he was turning, he caught a flash of movement toward the front of the church immediately followed by a cat’s growl and hiss. Then there was a thump. And he thought he heard a muted shriek. A human shriek.

Wyatt turned back and slowly walked toward the front of the church. His boots echoed in the quiet space as he took slow deliberate steps. He pulled his pistol out of the holster and held it at his side.

He reached the last bench and saw a young lady wearing a gray dress and simple gray bonnet crouched on the floor. Her head was down, her arms wrapped around a white kitten, clawing and twisting with everything it had.

Do you need some help? he asked. Wyatt had two younger sisters and his immediately reaction toward the girl was protection.

She shook her head. Wyatt couldn’t tell much about her with her head down. She was small in stature and had long blonde hair, a few strands, falling in a loose curl on one side of her face.

She must have seen him and was frightened. Since Wyatt wasn’t in the business of frightening young ladies, he turned and took two steps toward the door.

Then he heard a volley of gunshots followed by the Rebel yell. Wyatt was from North Carolina and had made a mild version of the Rebel yell himself a few times while hunting.

But the sound of an army howling together sent chills up and down his spine everytime.

It wasn’t McClelland’s unit. McClelland was waiting for Wyatt’s report. It had to be a couple of small regiments that had crossed paths.

Sometimes small regiments were more dangerous than large ones.

Wyatt could not, would not, leave this girl alone.

CHAPTER 3

Camila held the cat against her chest, its little kitten claws stabbing through the material of her dress and digging into her skin.

She had watched through the window as