It seemed sometimes like God had a mean streak. That was what Bev had said to Eloise. But Eloise knew none of this mess was God’s fault.
Yes, life had been unfair, had taken too much from her. But her efforts to claw back what she could, well, they weren’t honest. And she had been caught.
Was there no safe place to go where people did not think her pitiful. Or worse?
There was. Even if it existed in the 18th century. And there, in the journals of Louisa Roberts, she had found another horse-crazy, motherless young woman, a big shaggy dog, a special horse, and a handsome Hessian prisoner-of-war. And although they no longer lived, alongside them was a living man, a man who was the guardian of the journal, who walked the very floors they walked, the man who welcomed her, restored her, Dabs Carter of Ivy Creek Plantation.
But the time had come to return to Atlanta, it was time for full disclosures. This mess was all hers to clean up. Forgiveness was not hers to give.
It was time to ask for mercy.
