"What do you want?" she heard herself ask in an embarrassingly husky voice.

To her surprise, he reached out to lift a strand of her hair in one hand. Rubbing it between his fingers, he met her gaze steadily. "That's a dangerous question to be asking me right now," he murmured.

Amanda's breath caught in her throat when she saw the glitter in his eyes. When he wound the length of her hair around his hand, bringing her closer to him, her knees suddenly felt weak.

"Captain-"

"Jesse," he corrected softly. His hand was next to her cheek, and his thumb caressed the side of her face in a soft motion. She shivered, and the crooked smile deepened.

Putting her hand over his, she gently but firmly removed it from her face; her hair swung back against her shoulder. "I'm certain you didn't come to my room just to make small talk, Captain. I repeat-what do you want?"

Not seeming at all chastened by her rejection, he gave a shrug of his broad shoulders. "It's not just what I want," he said. "It's what Forrest wants."

"Forrest. Oh, yes. The man in the plumed hat."

"He's a bit more than a man in a plumed hat," Jesse said dryly, "but yes, that's the man I mean. He's come up with an idea. Would you be willing to take a risk to help your country?"

"A risk-my country? How on earth could anything / do help my country?"

"You apparently got out of Memphis, so you'd know how to get back in, right?"

Blinking, she muttered, "Straight up Highway 78 until it turns into Lamar at Shelby Drive sounds like the best way to me. But I guess you wouldn't know about that."

It was Jesse's turn to blink in confusion. Then his eyes narrowed and he shook his head. "You must still be unsettled. I told Forrest it wasn't a good plan, that you were unsuitable. But once he gets an idea-"

Amanda sat down abruptly on the bed, and put her face in her palms. Her words were soft and muffled. "I'm beginning to feel like Dorothy in Oz. Have there been any tornadoes through here lately?"

Jesse was silent, and after a moment she looked up at him. Of course. The Wizard of Oz hadn't been written yet. She sighed and quoted under her breath, "I do believe in spooks, I do, I do…"

"What?"

She shrugged. "Never mind. Let's just say that I had an unconventional upbringing, if it makes it any easier to understand," she murmured. "Will that do?"

"Guess it'll have to do." Jesse raked a hand through his hair. "What's your answer? Will you assist Forrest?"

"Just exactly what is it he wants me to do? I mean, I should hardly agree to something when I don't know what it involves, should I?"

A faint smile curled one side of his mouth. "No, I don't expect you should. Since Memphis is shut off tight by the Yankees and they have sentries stationed on all the roads leading into town, not even the railroads are safe. Remember when our boys had snipers firing on the Memphis and Charleston line of the railroad, so the Yankees put prominent Memphians in the cars as targets? If we'd been able to receive word of what the Yankees had done, no innocent citizens would have been hurt. Forrest is determined nothing like that will happen again."

"I still don't understand-"

"It's simple, really. We pose as a married couple traveling into Memphis. If we make it through the sentries, I'm to deliver a message to a certain gentleman, then return here with a reply."

"Sentries. Oh, God. Do you mean like armed guards?"

"Like armed guards, yes. Are you agreeable?"

"Why do you need me? Can't you get through by yourself?"

"Posing as part of a married couple, I wouldn't be as suspect. Besides, you obviously know the way out, and we can use the same way to get back in."

She studied him for a moment. Beneath the calm veneer, she sensed tension. Her reply was important to him. And who knew-it might help Oakleigh.

Maybe that was the reason she heard herself stalling for time, saying, "Let me think about it."

A faint grin squared his mouth, and his eyes narrowed slightly as he took a step closer and let his gaze rake over her much more boldly than made her comfortable. "Go ahead and think about it. I'll give you until tomorrow morning."

His close proximity was unnerving. She leaned back to distance herself physically and mentally. "Don't wear yourself out waiting," she said coolly.

"Oh, I won't." Reaching out, he lifted a strand of her hair again, as if he couldn't resist touching it. "I can't help but wonder if you're really who and what you say you are."

Her nerves tightened. "Why would I lie?"

Releasing her hair, he said bluntly, "I can think of a hundred reasons you might be lying, and not one for why I should trust you."

"Then don't. It doesn't matter to me what you think. I assure you, if I wasn't a Brandon, I certainly wouldn't be here like this."

He frowned slightly. "Maybe not," he said after a moment. "But only time will tell the whole truth."

"If you're through mouthing platitudes," she said pointedly, getting up and moving to the door, "it's time you leave."

Shrugging, he went to the door, then paused in the opening to say softly, "You'd better be who you say you are, or I'll see to it that you're sorry you were foolish enough to pretend differently."

“Good-bye, Captain Jordan," Amanda snapped, and flung the door closed behind him.

It took several minutes for her anxiety to subside, and by then, Amanda knew what she was going to do next. She stood for a moment, then swung open the door and stepped out into the hall. It was quiet and shadowed. She could hear voices, but they sounded distant.

Slowly, she crept down the hallway. It looked so different and unfamiliar to her. No hall light, no bathroom, no electrical outlets. Oddly familiar, yet so strange.

When she reached the first floor, she paused. The parlor was much the same, except for the arrangement of the furniture and the absence of lamps. Candles stood in tall brass holders. Hesitating, she wondered which way to go. The sound of a voice drawing near prompted her flight toward the door at the rear of the dog-trot, or long hallway with outside doors at each end. In place of the former pantry, the breezeway leading to the kitchen was just out the back door. The attic stairs were outside, and she sped up the narrow steps, half tripping over the long hem of the robe. Why had she ever thought she could manage long skirts?

Once in the attic, she gently closed the door and leaned back against it as her eyes adjusted to the dim, hazy light. The window was open, and weak sunlight filtered over the wooden floor. The attic looked almost deserted, except for a few items she barely remembered. She searched several minutes for the newspaper she'd seen the night before. There was no sign of it. A few copies of Godey's Ladies Book were all she found, and she sighed with frustration. It wasn't here. She hadn't really expected to find that particular news article, but anything pertinent would have been useful. Now what did she do?

She turned toward the attic door in defeat. Then her gaze fell on the satin dress, and she moved toward it slowly. It lay in a crumpled heap over an open trunk. She lifted it, and the satin rustled. In the daylight, it looked new. None of the beautiful beadwork was missing from the intricate patterns. Did the dress have unusual powers? Had it brought her back to 1864? There was only one way to find out.

Taking a deep breath, she slid it over her head again. It fell around her in cool, soft folds. With trembling fingers, she began to fasten the buttons. A sudden wind blew through the open attic window, tugging at the dress and making her shiver. She felt slightly dizzy for a moment, then the wind died. Amanda stood in the shadowed silence of the attic and waited. Minutes passed. Nothing happened. Sliding a hand over the dress, she felt loose threads and looked down. A button was missing.