Courage to Love (Flynn Family Saga) by Erica Graham Page A

you.”
    Maggie stood, trembling, in her nightgown.  Tears blurred her vision.  “My baby is dead, and Flynn is gone.”
    Sam nodded.  For a moment, compassion softened his expression.  “I know, honey.  Ben sent me a telegram.”  Then, his expression hardened.  “But that’s no excuse for imposing on the good nature of two people who don’t have a lot to share.  Now get dressed.  There’s a stable that needs mucking out and cows to be milked.”  He turned and left Maggie alone.
    Fury spurred her.  Angrily, she pulled on her dungarees and work shirt.  She stomped down the stairs and into the barn.  For a moment, she didn’t recognize the strange horse that stood in Patches’ old stall.
    Then, she remembered.  She sank to her knees and started to cry.  “Patches!”
    Strong hands lifted her to her feet.  Sam held her while she mourned the little horse that had carried her through so much, but she couldn't face the loss of her child and her husband.  Not yet.
    Finally, she stopped crying.
    Sam handed her a brush.
    Maggie drew a deep breath and began to curry Lady.
    And to her surprise, the motion eased her grief a little.
    That night, Maggie helped Emma with dinner.  She sat at the table and peeled potatoes.  She cut her finger, and her blood dripped onto the worn table.
    Emma took the knife from her.  “What’s wrong, Maggie?”
    Maggie looked away.  “Flynn.”  She turned back to Emma.  “How could he do that?  How could he leave me?”
    Emma sat down at the table and continued to peel potatoes.  “You know, I asked Ben that question when he came back.”  Emma sighed and set down the paring knife.  “Men and women grieve differently, Maggie.  Women need company.  That’s what comforts us.”
    Maggie swallowed hard.  “What do men need?”
    Emma smiled sadly.  “Solitude.”  She reached across the table and squeezed Maggie’s hand.  “I know Flynn.  And I’ve seen the way he looks at you.  He’ll come back.”
    Maggie looked down at her hands.  “I don’t believe that.”
    Emma smiled and patted her hand.  “Then I’ll just have to believe it for you.”  She got up and went to her ragbag.  She handed Maggie a strip of clean linen.
    Maggie wrapped her injured finger, but her hands still shook.  “Emma?”
    “Yes, Maggie?”
    Tears filled Maggie’s eyes.  “Does it ever stop hurting?”
    Emma was still a long time.  Then, she shook her head.  “No, Maggie.  There are still days when I wake up and remember.  I go to their graves and put flowers on them and try to imagine what they would have been like if they had lived.”  She drew a deep breath.  “And then I come back and fix breakfast for Ben and the children or do something else useful.”
    “Something worthwhile with your life,” Maggie murmured.
    “What?”
    Maggie smiled faintly.  “Something my grandmother used to say.  The best memorial for someone you love is to do something worthwhile with your life.”
    Emma nodded.
    Maggie picked up the knife and finished peeling the potatoes.
    *  *  *
    Flynn rode steadily eastward.  He rode Wakta as hard as the little horse could stand.  Whenever he stopped, pain loomed over him, like a black storm cloud from the west.  For several days, he didn’t sleep at all.
    Finally, five days after he left Maggie, he fell into an exhausted sleep.
    He dreamed of Manassas.  He dreamed that he lay on his belly on the side of Matthews Hill overlooking the Stone Bridge.  His rifle felt heavy and cold in his hand.  Fear made his hands slippery with sweat.  He saw the ranks of the Union soldiers advancing toward him.
    He hadn’t been this scared since his first day at the Lewisburg Academy when he was five years old.
    Colonel Evans walked down the line.  He stopped beside each man.  “How ya doin’, son?”
    Flynn licked his dry lips.  “Just fine, sir.”
    Evans laughed.  “Well, I’m so scared that I can’t spit.”
    Flynn smiled