So this is just a post to let y'all in on whats happening with this site (well that, and to keep Xanga from shutting it down ;) )

Officially, Chance Encounter was just a vignette that morphed into a novel and has ended up  in the freezer. I may occasionally post any other vigs I write, but that's about it. have a wonderful day!

~Laura

Chance Encounter

By Laura V.

Prologue

A girl fought the wind and pouring rain to collect the much-needed firewood to keep their dwelling to a tolerable heat. She knew that it would be little help, drenched as it was, but it was her family’s last hope. The cannon’s thunder had ceased the night before, and with it, their meager supply of fuel.

 She stumbled in the dark and the hem of her petticoat caught on the thorns of a blackberry bush. Once used for the shaping of her stylish gowns, the tattered and muddy garments were now used only for the paltry warmth they provided. She shivered in the biting cold as she dropped the few fagots she had gathered to free her hands. Working as quickly as her stiff fingers would allow, she plucked the fabric from the plant, thorn by thorn.

By the time the task was complete, she was soaked through from the torrent of rain. Guided by the occasional streak of lightning in the sky, she continued to collect the brushwood nearby. She knelt to pick up a particularly large branch but stopped in mid-reach when the sound of a horse whinny reverberated throughout the small gully. She pushed aside the hair plastered to her face and slowly turned her gaze to the far end of the forest, seeing nothing in the black of night. A flash of light, accompanied by a clap of thunder, illuminated the figure of a young man on horseback twenty feet from where she knelt. The bloody and tattered gray uniform he wore identified him as a soldier of the Confederate army.

 She stood, shocked, as she studied the man through flashes of lightning. The rain had drenched his clothing and the water ran in small rivulets off of his cap. His shoulders were slumped as he sat in the saddle, betraying his lack of confidence. Endless weariness was etched in the drawn lines of his face. As he raised his head to look at her, a hardness from seeing the realities of war was present. And when she looked in his eyes and saw the depth of the pain hidden there, she knew that the blood splattered on his coat was not from his own wounds, but from the wounds of fallen friends and comrades. A lone tear mixed with rain as it dribbled down her cheek. Without a word the man turned his mount and was gone, riding off into the dark night. She stood there for some minutes, her breath creating clouds of fog in the air. Then she gathered the wood and, like the soldier, turned and disappeared into the darkness, forever haunted with the memory of a stranger’s pain.

Chapter 1

Five Years Later…

            Jonathan Hawker’s eyes flickered open. How many times had he dreamt about the girl he’d stumbled across after the battle of Atlanta? How long would the fear in her eyes haunt him? He squeezed his emerald eyes shut again, trying to blot out the grisly images of war that always accompanied the nightmare. Despite his efforts to control them, the memories washed over him. Jonathan remembered every detail of the longest four years of his life; how proud he’d been to don the gray uniform of the Confederate army, how he’d struggled after taking his first human life, how he’d watched friends die slowly from both battle wounds and diseases that could have been prevented.

            He had been barely sixteen when the war began. Although he was not the son of a wealthy plantation owner, Jonathon fought with no less fervor for the secession of the South. Although many people thought otherwise, Jonathon, and indeed most of the South, fought for their rights as states of the Union rather than for the protection of slavery. Throughout the long and arduous war that pitted brother against brother, He never forgot the cries of agony each time his bullets hit their mark. Jonathon thanked God daily that he survived the war alive and unscathed unlike so many of his fellow soldiers.

            Shaking his head to rid himself of the memories, Jonathon sat up on his bunk. He swung his legs over the side and swiftly jumped to the wooden floor, a light thud disturbing the stillness of the night. To his left, a gentle chorus of snores began. Jonathon grimaced and paused for a moment before slipping his shirt off a hook on the wall and shrugging it on. Aided by a stream of moonlight coming in from the only window, he located his boots and pulled them on before quietly moving to the washstand. As he poured water from the pitcher into the basin he offered up a prayer for clarity of the tumultuous thoughts rolling through his mind. He quickly splashed the cool water on his face and shook the droplets from his hands. Running his fingers through his dark wavy hair, he opened the door and stepped out of the bunkhouse. After grabbing his Stetson from the post where he’d left it earlier, Jonathon walked into the night.

He needed time to think.

~

“Are you sure you’ve thought this through, boy?” Jonathon grimaced inwardly at the man’s choice of words.

“Yes sir.” Feeling much like an adolescent despite his 24 years, Jonathon looked down and toyed with the brim of the Stetson he held. The room in which he stood was decidedly opulent for a working cattle ranch, making him feel quite out of place. As the older, portly man looked up, a condescending scowl flitted across his rotund face.

“You do realize workin’ on my ranch would give you a much higher wage than the Idleson’s are payin’ you?” Jonathon briefly wondered if the man opposite him could even count high enough to calculate his small wage, and just as quickly dismissed it. Lord, forgive me. That was unkind… nevertheless, he can’t seem to comprehend it. I know you never said doing your will would be easy, but this is getting ridiculous!  Although he had been asked this question three times already, Jonathon merely set his mouth in a grim line and nodded.

“I understand that, Mr. Velkern, but I believe that it’s best that I keep to my loyalties.” He was resolved. After much prayer and thinking, Jonathon had decided he could not walk out on the Idleson’s. Not after all he’d been through. Not after all they’d done for him.

Velkern leaned back into the hunter green wing-backed chair and slowly lit his cigar. Even though the balding man had little hair, he ran his fingers over his head in an unbroken habit. “Hmpf! Well, I suppose you can’t say I didn’t try.” Jonathon nearly rolled his eyes a mixture of exasperation and relief.

“No sir, I guess you can’t”