“ ‘… have dragged the dear old state out of the slough of black mud and degradation into which she was fast sinking.’ ”

“The whole country is paying attention to what has happened down here.”

“A revolution,” Sam said quietly.

Gabrielle read, “ ‘Should you want any more help in redeeming this state from Negro rule and tyranny, there are many sons of North Carolina here in Georgia who will cheerfully go to your aid.’ ”

Waddell nodded vigorously. “Revolution—good word for it. Washington and Jefferson would approve. The Anglo-Saxon tradition—when a government becomes intolerable, openly and manfully overthrow it.”

Sam started to argue with him, but Gabrielle distracted him with her reading. “ ‘Brooklyn Wharf and Warehouse Company, New York: We congratulate you on the result, in whose solution your own courage, eloquence, and self-control in the moment of success have been such potent elements.’ ”

“We’re in every newspaper from New York to San Francisco! Collier’s wants me to write them a memoir.”

Gabrielle mechanically opened another letter. “ ‘Astronomers, open your telescopes!’ ”

“Frank Wagnells has wired me for a photograph to accompany an article in the Literary Digest.”

“ ‘—Tell me what bright star I see rising which not only shines on but warms the sons of North Carolina!’ ” This time, Sam heard the merest hint of irony in her voice. Still, her eyes were hard and steady.

She picked out another letter. “ ‘As you know’ ” Gabrielle read, “ ‘I have always admired you, and now I am almost a hero worshipper—’ ”

Waddell smiled, stood from the desk, and turned to the window. Sam watched his narrow back, the crisp yellow-white shirt creased by his sharp little shoulder blades.

The Colonel said, “Thing is, I have some hard news for you, Samuel.”

“ ‘For your deliverance of your good people, you will be loved by them all their lives—’ ”

“Bad news?” Sam said. “What do you mean?” He sat forward in his chair. Had Clawson called about the story already?

“ ‘—and a remote posterity will call you blessed.’ ” Tears were forming in her eyes.

Waddell spun around abruptly. “Read the one from Congressman Thompson.”

Gabrielle did not react immediately. She stood stiffly at attention, aware that Sam was watching her. He wanted to speak to her—clearly, something awful had happened in this house—but he had no idea what question to ask. She made no attempt to wipe the tears from her cheeks. Sam’s attention was riveted on her face, which seemed hotly alive, yet rigid.

She read, “ ‘While I am an uncompromising Republican, I—like you—would stand up for and defend the honor and good name of the white women of North Carolina, the South, the North, of America—’ ”

“That’s the nub of it, Samuel.”

“I don’t understand.”

“Women. Honor. Discretion. A sense of propriety and, well, manners. Knowing one’s place.”

“ ‘—Americans should be proud of their mothers, sisters, daughters, and wives.’ ”

“Yes, wives, Sam. Your wife.”