Gardenia Kisses

By Kathryn Kaleigh

In the heart of the American Civil War, two souls from opposing sides find themselves entangled in a passionate romance that defies the boundaries of North and South. Gabriella Beauchamp, a captivating Southern belle, is trapped under the tyrannical rule of her stepmother as the war ra

• Language: English
• Publisher: KST Publishing Inc.
• Release date: Dec 1, 2024
• ISBN: 9798348153724

Kathryn Kaleigh

Kathryn Kaleigh writes for KST Publishing. Historical Romance. Time Travel Romance. Contemporary Romance. Sometimes sweet. Sometimes with a twist of psychological drama. She has written over 100 short stories set in so many different worlds and is writing her 40th novel. Kathryn is the author of the award winning Cupid's Kiss contemporary series and the popular time travel series beginning with Twist of Fate. She grew up in north Louisiana where she currently lives with her family and fur babies, but she has lived in Houston, giving her an unquenchable love for the city life. www.kathrynkaleigh.com Email: [e-mail]

Book preview

1

Vicksburg

May 1863

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Hot. The heat was unbearable.

Emma Winters used both hands to turn the crank. Over and over.

Her light gray cat, Mittens, sat on the well ledge licking her paws.

Fresh water sloshed as the wooden bucket neared the top of the well.

She pulled the heavy bucket onto the ledge next to her other one. Dipping her cupped hands into the water, she scooped up several handfuls of water and drink.

Mittens stopped washing and stared at her.

Don’t laugh, Emma said. I learned from you.

Mittens went back to washing.

Emma wiped her brow with the back of her sleeve and pulling the buckets off the ledge one at the time, squared her shoulders and picked up both buckets by the handles.

She carried the buckets across her grandfather’s back yard, and set them by the door of the detached kitchen. Mittens followed along at her heels and lapped from one of the water pails.

Emma dreaded going inside the kitchen.

Grandpa would have a fire going in the fireplace.

He had to.

He made almost all the candles for the upper-class citizens of Vicksburg.

Since the blockage had cut off supplies, Grandpa had begun making profitable use of the beehives on his property.

Heating wax was a regular part of his day.

She saw that someone had dropped off another box of empty Mason jars.

It was a mixed blessing.

It was Emma’s job to get the old wax out and clean them up.

She tried to focus on the positive.

The more jars Grandpa had, the more candles he could make.

And the better they could eat.

He sold some of the candles, but most of them were traded for things the two of them needed.

Like food.

She opened the door and stepped inside, carrying one of the buckets.

It wasn’t as hot inside as she’d expected.

All the windows were open and it was still early.

Here, let me take that, Grandpa said, taking the bucket from her hands and pouring water into the kettle over the fireplace.

Emma brought in the other bucket.

Mittens slipped inside, ran to her blanket in front of the fireplace, and curled up.

Somebody brought some more jars, she said to Grandpa.

Good, he said. I’m almost out.

While Grandpa brought in the boxes, Emma sat at the worktable and pulled petals from a lovely white gardenia flower.

He loves me, she said, pulling one gardenia petal off the flower.

He loves me not. Pulling another gardenia petal.

Lost in the monotony of the task, her mind wandered to a simpler time.

A time before the war.

When everything was normal.

2

Jameson Roberts sat on the edge of the canopied bed and read the handwritten note a second time.

He and his men were prepared to go back into the field. To meet up with General Johnston’s men and drive the Union army away once and for all.

To intercept the Union forces before they descended on the city.

But they’d just been given other orders.

They were to stay here. In Vicksburg.

To protect the citizens who lived here while keeping the Union army at bay as needed.

That could only mean one thing. General Pemberton had given up.

Jameson pulled on a pair of worn butternut gray pants and a simple white shirt. He had better—a uniform—but saw no need for it today.

Instead of wearing a jacket, he rolled up his long sleeves.

It was hot. Though only May, the heat indicated that it was full on summer.

And, besides, he didn’t know what the day would bring.

What prepare to protect meant.

Going to his window on the third floor, he looked down at the street.

Women and children either walking or riding along in buggies. Well-dressed men on horseback. Civilians.

Had they not gotten word that the Yankees were coming?

Jameson turned, leaned a hand on the window sill and studied the room.

The centerpiece was a large four-poster bed with mosquito netting draped all around.

Jameson had tucked the netting back out of the way. After sleeping most nights on the ground, he had little use for such frivolity.

There was a dresser and a washstand on one side and a bureau for bedding and clothes on the other.

Jameson had placed his trunk at the foot of the bed, as expected, but he hadn’t unpacked it.

The house they were using as a boarding house belonged to General Pemberton’s wife’s aunt. The general’s wife was from the south and when the war broke out, she’d insisted that her husband—northern soldier General Pemberton—give his heart to the south.

It had to be hard for him. He was vilified by the Union army and distrusted by many Southerners.

Being from Philadelphia, his northern accent was evident with every spoken word.

But the ladies of Vicksburg loved him.

Every afternoon, one of the ladies would come calling on Pemberton. They would sit in the parlor and drink tea.

This had been going on for a week now and showed no signs of slowing down.

Jameson had made the mistake of joining Pemberton one time, but after sitting through an hour of hell, otherwise known as chitchat, he’d learned to make himself scarce at the first sign of a lady coming to call.

He needed to speak to Pemberton, actually.

So he pulled on his boots and set off downstairs.

Going down the stairs, he heard Pemberton talking to someone in the room he’d set up as an office.

While he met with ladies of polite society in the parlor, he met with men to discuss matters of business in the office.

As he passed through the foyer, the large grandfather clock chimed eight times.

Eight o’clock and already miserably hot.

An enlisted man left the office, giving Jameson a quick salute as he passed.

Jameson went to the door of the office and looked at the general standing behind the large wooden desk.

He looked troubled.

Good morning, he said, when he saw Jameson standing there. Come in.

Good morning, Jameson said. I can come back later if you’re busy.

What Jameson really wanted was an update on what Pemberton intended to do about their situation.

Being forced to hunker down in the town of Vicksburg was not doing anything to end this interminable war.

Pemberton took off his glasses and gestured toward the paper in his hand.

So many details, he said.

Jameson took a seat in front of the desk as Pemberton sat back down.

What is it now?

Jameson secretly hoped that the letter contained something that would get them out of this city full of civilians and back to the fighting.

Candles, Pemberton said, meeting his gaze.

Candles? Jameson tried to hide the disappointment in his voice.

I have to send someone over to pick up some boxes of candles. Apparently, with the blockade, this man, he slapped at the paper. is the person in town who has beeswax for candles.

I see, Jameson said.

Just another reason that they needed to get out of here. Discussing candles with a general of the Confederate army was right up there with having a cup of tea.

Someone knocked on the front door.

Pemberton’s face brightened. That would be the lady’s club coming by for scones.

Scones? Jameson asked, sitting forward. Where on earth did you find scones?

Pemberton just shrugged. Beats me. Martha in the kitchen can work wonders out of nothing.

Pemberton stood up, then he seemed to have an idea.

Say, why don’t you come with me? I’m sure the ladies would be happy to have someone besides me to talk to.

Jameson, standing up also, froze in panic.

The thought of having scones with a lady’s club gave him hives.

A very kind offer, he said. and I’m sure it would be enjoyable. He reached over the desk and grabbed up the paper listing the address for the candles.

But someone has to pick up these candles, he said.

Then he promptly excused himself.

Driving a wagon to the outskirts of town to pick up candles suddenly seemed like a very important job.

3

Emma stood on the dock overlooking