Amanda plopped down on a three-legged wooden stool that she had never seen before. Her head was still spinning, and she felt very weak. Plucking at the folds of the borrowed robe, she tried to gather her wits. She retraced her steps of the past hour, from fighting boredom and heat in the bedroom to trying on the gown in the attic. After several moments of silence, she glanced up to find Deborah gazing at her curiously. None of this should be happening. It was too incredible, like something out of a bad movie.

"Are you unwell?" Deborah asked softly, and the question provided Amanda an explanation that sounded plausible.

"Well… I did faint earlier. Perhaps that's why I'm still having trouble making sense of things. Maybe I have a concussion. Or temporary amnesia. That would explain why I don't remember things so well, wouldn't it?" Her voice trailed into hopeful silence.

Deborah took some cups from a cabinet. "Poor thing. It would certainly explain it. Your visit here is quite unexpected, you know. General Washburn evicts ten wives of Confederate officers from Memphis every time our boys fire on one of his men, so I suppose not even widows are safe. Your journey must have been… quite harrowing." She paused delicately, as if waiting for Amanda to elaborate.

Though Amanda knew a response was expected, she had no idea what she could say. After a moment, Deborah continued as if the silence were not at all strained. ' 'Jamie said nothing about your arrival to me before they left to rejoin Forrest, and he is very good about keeping me informed." Deborah gave a slight smile. "If you've been in recent contact with him, you must know that things were rather awkward right after Michael and I were married. I suppose it's only to be expected, as I was betrothed to Jamie at one time, but still, it was a strain. I'm glad it's behind us now."

Amanda could feel her head whirl again. The clue to the reason for her improbable journey had to be hidden in the family feud. But there didn't appear to be a feud. Was she here to prevent one from happening? It took her a moment of silent struggle before she asked hesitantly, "By Jamie, do you mean James?"

Deborah nodded. "Yes. I still call him Jamie, just as I did when we were children. Oh, I shouldn't go on about my own affairs. Not when it's obvious you must have had a dreadful time. I shall give Tangie a proper scold in the morning for not waking me when you arrived. I hope she gave you the guest room, and made certain there are clean linens on the bed. Is everything suitable?"

"Suitable. Yes. Yes, of course." Amanda had no idea what she was saying. She knew a response was expected, but as everything else was so surrealistic, it probably didn't matter what she said. She stood up. "I think I'll go back to bed. Maybe if I go to sleep, when I wake up everything will be normal."

"I hope so. As normal as things can be these days." After a brief silence, Deborah said, "Forgive me, but I'm afraid I never asked your given name. I feel very foolish, for I'm sure that Jamie must have mentioned you at one time or the other, but I fear that I cannot recall it."

"Amanda."

"Oh, my, you must be one of the English Brandons. But you don't sound a bit English…"

"English-oh, yes. I'd forgotten about the English Brandons. From somewhere in Somerset, weren't they?"

Deborah stared at her for a long moment. The sudden piercing shriek of the kettle broke the silence, and Deborah gave a startled jerk. "I'll make the coffee. I think perhaps I should send for Dr. Higdon in the morning."

"Now, wait a minute." Amanda paused. Her head began to throb, and she felt slightly nauseous. Maybe she should see a doctor. She didn't feel at all well. She looked up to see Deborah gazing at her with a worried frown.

"All right," she agreed faintly. "I think you're right. I should see the doctor."

"I'll light the way to your room," Deborah offered in a kind voice as she took the kettle off the fire. "Candles are in rather short supply, I'm afraid. I'll bring you up some tea to help you sleep just as soon as I take General Forrest and his officers some coffee. I imagine they need it greatly, if the little I overheard is true. Poor men. Some of them are still bloodied from the battle."

"The battle? Oh. Yes. I forgot. Brice's Cross Roads." Amanda allowed Deborah to lead the way to the main staircase. The handrail glowed with soft luster curving to the second floor with a gratifying familiarity. It was the same house that she'd always known, though subtly changed. The plaster frieze over the parlor door looked bright, and the wallpaper was no longer faded and dull. The wooden floors were bare and glowed with a rich, deep finish. So this was how the house had looked when it was still fairly new. She was grateful she had this opportunity to see it- and perhaps save it. All she had to do was figure out how.

The bedroom Deborah took her to was not the room she'd occupied earlier, but Amanda remained silent. As Deborah turned down the coverlet and helped her out of the robe and into bed, the story of Alice Through the Looking Glass came to Amanda's mind. That's how she felt. As if she'd stepped through a mirror and into a parallel world where things looked the same but nothing was as it should be. All she needed now was to see a white rabbit. Or a Cheshire cat.

Suddenly yielding to the fuzzy edges of exhaustion that had been hovering at the edges of her consciousness for some time, Amanda slipped beneath the light counterpane on the bed and lay back on a fat feather pillow. She was vaguely aware of Deborah arranging gauzy folds of mosquito netting around the four-poster bed, and murmured her gratitude just before sleep claimed her.

Chapter Five

“Who the devil is that woman?" Jesse asked his sister when he found her in the kitchen. "And where did she come from?"

Deborah shook her head. She looked puzzled. "I'm not certain. Her first name is Amanda. She said she's a Brandon. I think she must be from the English side of the family, for she was mumbling things about the queen and a cat."

"Queen Victoria?"

"No, something about the queen of hearts and a cat from Cheshire." Deborah shrugged wearily. "I think fleeing Memphis must have greatly unsettled her mind. Heaven only knows what must have happened to her along the way, for she's wearing one of the old dressing gowns I put up in the attic a few days ago. I couldn't find any sign of her own garments, but the shift she's wearing looks very new and modern-"

When Deborah broke off with a faintly embarrassed smile, Jesse grinned wickedly. "Tell me about the shift she's wearing, Deborah. That sounds much more interesting than anything about a cat."

"Really, Jesse, you're impossible. The lady's undergarments are hardly any of your business, nor any other gentleman's, I would think."

Unable to resist the temptation to tease his sister, Jesse said, "I hope your new husband is not so ungallant as to ignore all those fine silk shifts from New Orleans that you managed to bring with you."

"Jesse!" Though two splotches of color stained her cheeks, Deborah's mouth quivered with suppressed mirth. "You should be ashamed to speak so boldly to a lady."

"Ah, but I'm your brother and I've known you longer and better than anyone. Well," he amended, "maybe not better than Michael does."

Rather anxiously, Deborah asked, "Has there been any word from Michael and Jamie yet?''

Jesse raked a hand through his hair, wondering just how much he could tell her. Michael and James were assigned as scouts to report on the fleeing enemy. Obviously, something must have happened. How could he tell her that? She'd only worry, when it was probable they were just delayed in their return. From what he'd just been told, the battle at Brice's Cross Roads had been long and drawn out, and in the ensuing chaos of pursuit, it was easy to lose track of time. He should know that well enough. It had taken him an extra day and a half to get back to Oakleigh because of the Yanks fleeing Forrest. The area was thick with them, and they would have been only too glad to capture the Rebel spy they'd named the Hawk. If caught, Jesse would have been hung from the nearest tree without waiting for even the semblance of a fair trial as prisoner of war.