"Marnie Pehrson Kuhns has a true gift for infusing her books with honor, hope, and love in all its world-altering glory. Angel and the Enemy is a Southern charmer, a delectable novel not only for those who love romance and history,
but for anyone who loves to read!"
- Kerry Blair, author of Ghost of a Chance and This Just In

Angel and the Enemy
By Marnie L. Pehrson Kuhns
A Barnes & Noble Top 100 Best Seller
Paperback 287 pages, ISBN 0-9729750-9-8

The War between the States is raging and Angelina Stone's world is falling apart.  Her beloved father lies rotting in a Union prison and when her Georgia home is invaded by Yankee officers, Angelina knows she will never be the same again.  One night will change her life forever...

Will Angelina be able to overcome her fears, lay prejudice aside, and learn to trust?  When the stakes are high, will she risk losing everything?  Only by doing so can she face the demons of her past and win the battle that rages in her own heart - a heart that is eternally tethered to . . . the enemy. 

Angel and the Enemy is an historical romance set against the backdrop of the Civil War where loves were lost and lives were changed.  It was an era where men fought for freedom, independence, and unity. Yet, when the dust settled and the war was over the real battle raged on within the hearts of individuals.  Angel and the Enemy captures the strength of the human spirit in overcoming adversity in a sweeping tale of love, honor, and betrayal.    

"Marnie, historical romance novels aren't usually page turners, but I didn't even look up to begin making my notes until chapter 9, and I was still thinking of Angelina during my work day. To me, those are the marks of a winner. Well done. You also hooked me from the first page with a palpable feeling of dread, and the pace never slowed...Your ability to stir the near-immediate empathy in your reader is a gift that I credit to your talent for constructing vivid characters, living dialogue, and tangible scene." - Judge in Writer's Digest 17th Annual International Self-Published Book Awards

Chapter 1  

August 1864

Angelina stomped her weathered work boot down on the shovel. It jarred her entire body, but her efforts did little to break through the unyielding earth. She was discouraged by the insignificant amount of dirt that resulted from her efforts, but tossed it into the pile forming under a large hickory tree. She and her brother had been working for some time, but the hole still wasn't deep enough for a decent grave.

With each shallow scoop of earth Angelina removed, the thunder cracks grew louder and the lightning flashes brighter. Again her foot pounded on the shovel, and then as if choreographed to match her footwork, rain broke through the heavy gray blanket overhead. Within seconds, Angelina's blouse and skirt soaked up the moisture.

The rain softened the ground somewhat; making it a little easier to break the soil, but Angelina knew from experience that Georgia clay only becomes heavier when wet. She quickened her pace as ragged lightning attacked a helpless dogwood on the other side of the pasture. Angelina's eyes moved from the tree to the thick clouds above her. She glanced at her lanky younger brother, Cal, who motioned for her to give him the shovel so he could take a turn again. He took it, pushed up his shirtsleeves on his tanned arms and started digging.

"This may have to do. No point 'n gettin' ourselves killed too," Angelina looked from the shallow grave to the corpse.

I'm sorry, boy, so, so sorry! Angelina shook her head as she stared at the dog's white fur. Her mind darted back to the previous afternoon when Sam had trotted alongside her, wagging his tail happily as he accompanied her to the barn. He'd been such an enjoyable companion, sitting with her as she milked old Gerty every morning and night. Such a good listener! A wistful smile flickered across her face as she remembered pouring out her troubles to the dog. Her mouth hardened into a quivering line, and she blinked back the threatening tears, for the eighteen-year-old couldn't shake the feeling that it was her fault.

The rain fell in buckets now, and Angelina's blouse and skirt clung to her feminine form. She brushed her hand across her forehead, but water continued to drizzle down her face. Her long brown eyelashes batted in a vain attempt to stop the river of liquid from pouring into her vibrant green eyes. 

"This 's gonna have to do, Cal," she reached toward the dog. Cal took one set of legs while Angelina took the other, and they dragged the stiff, seventy-pound animal into the shallow grave. Having only one shovel between them, Cal scooped dirt from the pile onto the dog while Angelina shoved her gloved hands into the mound and threw clods of earth over it. The dirt was even heavier than expected because the clods clung together, connected by mangled strands of grass and buckwheat.

As Angelina's gaze shifted from the corpse to the mound of dirt, she wasn't convinced this was enough soil to keep the carcass from stinking later on in the sweltering August sun. It would have to be enough, though. They must finish the job now. She certainly didn't want to come back later to complete the task. It broke her heart to see Sam already turning yellow around his mouth and eyes. It was bad enough to face his death once, but the thought of returning when the body would be rotting, wet and stinking was more than Angelina could take.

A loud crack of lightning rumbled, sending a shiver up Angelina's spine. Her wide eyes met her brother's. The pair threw clods of dirt and grass upon the animal as fast as they could until the carcass was covered with a layer of earth. Satisfied they'd done all they could in the little time they had, the teenagers took off running.

They stopped at the gate, opened it, and Angelina ran toward the house, leaving Cal to latch the gate behind them so the horses wouldn't get out of the corral. "Toss 'at shovel down," Angelina called back over her shoulder. "Metal just draws the lightnin'!"

Sixteen-year-old Cal dropped the shovel by the gate and soon his lanky legs caught up with and surpassed his sister. As they ran up the hill toward home, Angelina swiped at the torrents of water cascading down her face and obstructing her vision.

Panting from their quick ascent up the hill, the siblings stopped on the front porch to catch their breath. Angelina tried to wring the water from her blouse and skirt, letting it splash on the wooden porch while Cal stripped off his wet shirt and tossed it on a rocking chair, then reached to remove his muddy boots.

A little girl's fingers opened the door a crack, her chubby face peeking out to observe her older siblings and the torrential storm.

"Did ya bury 'im?" eight-year-old Eleanor flinched at the deafening thunder crack that rumbled on for several seconds. A second chubby face joined her at the door. The little girl clasped his hand protectively, her fist tightening around six-year-old Joseph's fingers until his appendages looked more like little red sausages than fingers. His big blue eyes grew even wider as his head darted toward another flash of light.

"Yep, done the best we could," Cal answered in a relaxed even tone, unruffled by the lightning and thunder so typical of a Georgia summer rain. Even though her brother was two years her junior, Angelina always felt safe knowing he was nearby. She remembered the day their father rode off for war and how Cal gave her hand an assuring squeeze then pulled her into a comforting embrace, letting her soft cries melt onto his shoulder. Cal had wanted to join with their father to fight for the Confederacy, but of course, he was far too young at the time. Everett made his son promise that no matter how long the war lasted, he'd stay with the family and look after them while he was gone. Cal obeyed with reluctant agreement, but once the promise was made, Angelina felt safe because she knew her brother was always true to his word.

Cal's muddy hand shoved the door wider as he tromped inside in his sock feet. Angelina twisted a few more cupfuls of water from her hair, then gave up and tried to wring out her clothing. Finally, giving up on the hopeless endeavor, she stepped inside with the objective of finding a secluded spot to remove the heavy garments. Her mother, Lelia, hurried to the door carrying a towel in each hand and extended them to her children.

 

~*~

As Angelina's now dry body lay on her cot in the loft, she looked up at the log planks that her father had placed himself when he'd built the house after he and Lelia first married. The piece of Georgia property just South of Chattanooga, Tennessee had been their home for almost twenty years. They'd been happy there until the day Everett left to join the Confederate forces about two years earlier. The family had received periodic letters from him, but they'd heard nothing in nearly six months - ever since word came that he'd been incarcerated in a Union prison.

Whether he lived or not was anyone's guess. A tear trickled down Angelina's cheek, and she rolled over on her side, brushing the moisture away. Sam's death only served to increase her fear that her father was gone along with his favorite dog. She berated herself for not burying the scraps from the previous night's supper further away from the house. Sam had managed to unearth one of the chicken bones and choked on it that morning around daybreak. 

"What a waste! What a complete and utter waste!" Lelia had lamented as she stood over the dog's stiff body with tears welling in her eyes.

Life seemed suddenly so precarious, so fragile and fleeting. One moment a body was alive and hopping about and the next it was snuffed out of existence. None of them verbalized it, but Cal, Lelia and Angelina all harbored in their hearts the secret dread that the dog's passing meant that Everett too was gone.

Angelina looked across the room to Eleanor who lay curled in a ball napping on her own cot. The poor child had cried herself to sleep in sadness over the loss of their family pet. Cal and Joseph were equally heartbroken, and it felt to Angelina as if a thick, muggy blanket of gloom draped itself over the household - smothering, relentless and sticky like the humid Georgia afternoon.

At the sound of horse hooves approaching, Angelina rolled over and slid out of her bed, kneeling by the loft window. Two Union soldiers dismounted their horses and tied them to a tree.  With firearms drawn, they approached the house with determination in their footsteps. Angelina leaned over the loft and looked down at her mother and Cal who stood on either side of the front door.

"Yankees!" Angelina's anxious whisper hissed over the loft railing.

Lelia gestured affirmatively and waved her hand, motioning for Angelina to stay hidden in the loft. "Keep the children out of sight!"

Cal stood on the other side of the door, his rifle raised, his arms flexed and ready to defend his family.

 

The two soldiers stepped onto the front porch and approached the door. The stocky one adjusted his navy cap on his head, smashing down his greasy mouse-colored hair.  He raised his muddy boot in preparation to kick down the front door, but his companion outstretched an arm to stop him. He tightened his bearded jaw with a negative nod, and shot an irritated glance down at the shorter soldier.

"No need in that," he said and lifted his knuckles to the door and knocked.

Angelina could sense her mother's fear, but watched with pride as she pushed it down and put a resolute hand to Cal's chest and then opened the door. Cal stood beside his mother, his rifle raised.

Lelia eased open the door a crack and peered out, "Yes, how may we help you, gentlemen?"

"I'm Lieutenant Elijah Willoughby and this is Captain Jacobsen," the dark-headed soldier removed his hat, ran his hand through his thick black hair and pointed to his companion. "We . . . " he hesitated. His pensive blue eyes softened and he tilted his head as if he were groping for some polite way to say what needed to be said.  "We were wonderin' . . ."

Impatient with Lieutenant Willoughby's delay, the gruff one called Jacobsen pushed his way forward and barged into the house. He spit a wad of tobacco juice on the floor, "We'll be commandeering your home as a base of operations."

Lelia's eyes followed the stream of spittle as it splattered on her fresh swept floor. Her eyes closed and she drew in a deep breath.

Willoughby grimaced and his apologetic eyes swept from Cal to Lelia.  His thumb and forefinger unconsciously twirled a silver rope-design ring on his right hand as he seemed to be silently assessing the situation.

"What if we don't want you in our home?" Cal pointed his rifle at Jacobsen, but Lelia raised her hand gesturing for Cal to move the weapon to a less threatening position.

"It's all right, Cal," she muttered. Angelina's anxiety increased, her pulse throbbing in her ears as she peered down from the loft. She knew her mother's first concern was always for the safety and peace of her family. Being alone without her husband, she would attempt to comply with the enemy. She wound't confront them and risk harm to her family. Angelina watched the Captain closely as he ordered Cal to relinquish his rifle. Cal hesitated but their mother nodded for him to cooperate. Jacobsen took Cal's rifle and holstered his own pistol.

Willoughby looked up toward the loft, his gaze traveling from one fair countenance to the other until his eyes met Angelina's. The fear searing through her veins ever since she'd observed the Yankees' approach subsided and the expression of apology in the soldier's penetrating blue eyes sent a warming calm throughout her body.

His eyes broke from hers with an abrupt shift and trained on her mother. "We could set up our headquarters in the barn, Ma'am, so's not to be in your way," Elijah Willoughby offered. His companion looked at him as if he'd lost his senses.

"I don't think so!" Jacobsen retorted. "If the house is good 'nough for rebs, it's good 'nough for us!" Jacobsen's stomping stride resounded through the house. He inspected every corner as if he owned the place.

Angelina's anxious eyes watched the ruthless officer shove open the door to her parents' bedroom.

"This room will do nicely," Captain Jacobsen barked and stepped into the room.

Cal lurched forward, "That's my Mama's room. No Yank'll be sleepin' in my Mama's room!"

Jacobsen turned his expression of disdain to Cal, and then raked his lascivious countenance over Lelia from head to toe. "I don't know, boy. Your Mama might be needin' a real man in her room."

"Lay a finger on a single member of my family and you'll find a bullet through your head," Cal threatened, his eyes meeting the Captain's with an icy glare. Angelina's heart hammered as she witnessed her brother stepping closer to the man, staring down the barrel of his own rifle, which the Captain now pointed at him.

"That's enough!" Willoughby stepped between the two men. "There's no call to treat these folks like this."

"Just let me gather a few o' my things, and I'll join my children upstairs," Lelia countered with the charm of a Southern lady simply making room for invited guests.

Willoughby stood in front of Jacobsen letting Lelia pass into the room. The pair waited while she gathered her belongings and handed them to Cal. The young man stood on the second rung of the loft ladder lifting the items to Angelina while his protective eyes remained on his mother.

"We expect supper within the hour, so get that brood of yours to work," Jacobsen barked at Lelia and pointed toward the loft.

Willoughby 's face turned red and his eyes clenched shut for a brief instant. His broad chest rose and fell with controlled indignation. Jacobsen pulled Elijah's arm, tugging him into Lelia's room and shut the door.

"Damn Yankees!" Cal spat, "Come in 'ere, barkin' orders like they own the place!" His furious gaze remained on the bedroom door.  "I've half a mind to show 'em what a reb's really made of." 

"Shhh, they'll hear you," Lelia whispered.

Angelina climbed down the loft ladder and approached her mother.  " Cal 's right, Mama.  You're too accomodatin'.  This is our home and they're intruders," she whispered.

"Better to be accommodatin' than dead!" Lelia said.

"I wish Daddy were here. He'd a sent 'em packin'!" Cal retorted.

"I wish your Daddy were here too," Lelia muttered as she reached for an iron skillet and set it atop the stove.  

Read more of Marnie Pehrson Kuhns' books at
http://www.MarnieKuhns.com * marnie@marniekuhns.com 

Listen to the author read an excerpt from the book:


MP3 File  
(from Writer's Show radio interview 3-4-07)

What People Are Saying...

"Atrocious things happen during wars, and [Pehrson] handles those difficult scenes with both blunt honesty and a delicacy that is commendable ... she ... delivers a first class tale of war and romance...I heartily recommend this book both to history buffs and to those who like a bit of romance." 
- Jennie Hansen, Meridian Magazine

"You will not be able to put Angel and the Enemy down! This is one of the most beautifully written books I have read in ages. The beautiful words danced on each page, while my eyes could not get enough. To all your success!" 
    -  Marna Goldstein 

"Mom, put the kids to bed. Relax with your favorite cup of tea and pamper yourself with this magnificent historical romance. Savor each vivid scene as the author leads you into the war torn South during the Civil War. Lose yourself in Angelina's world as she faces the war, the enemy, and love."
       - Jean Tracy

"Marnie has a real talent for historical fiction, and just when I think she's written the perfect man, she writes another book with one that I love even more. She shows that some people are inherently good no matter which side of the line they're standing on."
      - Joyce Pierce

"I was completely captivated with Angel and the Enemy. This book has it all---the dashing hero, the independent heroine, all set against the sweeping backdrop of the Civil War. I couldn't put this one down!"
     - Julie Coulter Bellon

"Living in the Far East and not having a clue how the land Ms. Pehrson wrote about looks like, I was still able to picture in my mind's eye the scenes she painted with her words. The landscape came alive and the various scenes were splendidly depicted. ... Care has clearly been taken to picture each and every portion of this book."
     - Aneeta Sundararaj

"Angel and the Enemy, is a romantic story with Angelina, from a confederate family and Elijah, one of the union soldiers that commandeered their home. Trust is hard to build with the enemy. But, honor and faith is never far away. I was swept away with this story and enjoyed reading about characters that had character."
    - Beth Dargis

"A Great Read that will warm all hearts! A fabulous Christmas Present as well!"
    - Mary Desaulniers

"Marnie Pehrson has done it again with Angel and the Enemy. I personally encourage you to get a copy of this book for you and your loved ones! Great stocking stuffer!"
   - Candie Price