Chapter thirty-one
Smithville, North CarolinaMrs. Cogswell had been out of bed for more than an hour. As she watched her black maid scurry about in the kitchen, she heard someone stumbling in the front hall.
“Victoria!”
It was a man’s voice. A familiar voice. Her husband’s.
Mrs. Cogswell hurried to the entrance, and froze at the sight of the five men standing before her. At first she thought they were all drunken beggars. One man, unconscious and bleeding from the chest, was held up by two others. The house suddenly reeked of salt water and sweaty, unwashed bodies.
“It’s me, Victoria,” one of them said. His face was black from soot and he was cut on his cheek.
“Homer?” She embraced her husband, in spite of his appearance.
“Hello, my dear.” Homer hugged his pretty, light-haired, stea
