Too many years have passed since I was last at the family plantation, she thought. And yet the memories do not fade. They remain strong. They haunt me.

Perhaps it is time I spoke of the past. Perhaps it is time I told the story . . . told the secrets. Perhaps if I do, I will again be able to sleep at night.

But whom could I tell? Who would care enough to listen to my tale of woe?

I should tell the story to my sister. I have not spoken to her in years. And she is so close. So close.

She sleeps next to me . . . deep inside her dark grave.

The black roses grow over her resting place. They serve as her blanket. But it must be cold in her bedâas cold as my heart.

My sister would not listen to me when she lived.

Perhaps she will listen to me now.

My story begins long ago . . . when I was young. Before my hands grew stiff and twisted. Before my skin became wrinkled and my hair white.

My story is the tale of two sisters, Victoria and Savannah . . . two doomed sisters.

We grew up together on our father's plantation, Whispering Oaks.

Savannah was the beautiful sister. Everyone said so. Her hair was the blond of moonbeams. Her eyes were the green of spring.

From the moment she was born, she was the
favorite. Our mother pampered her and our father spoiled her.

Victoria was the smart sister. Everyone called her that. Or, if people were unkind, the odd sister. She did not have Savannah's beauty. Her hair and eyes were as brown as the soil in the cotton fields.

Life was peaceful for the sisters. Perhaps it would have remained so were it not for the events of the spring of 1861.

That was the spring our brother, Zachariah, returned home from West Point. He brought a friend with himâa young cadet.

Tyler Fier.

How different our lives would have been if Zachariah had not brought his friend to the plantation.

Tyler was the handsomest man I had ever seen. His hair was as black as the night sky when there is no moon. And his eyes were as blue as a lake in winter.

I fell in love with him the moment I saw him.

As did my sister.

Perhaps if she had not fallen in love with him, we would not be here now.

Perhaps if I had not fallen in love with him, my story would have a happier ending.

I can hear the voices from the past circling around me now. They surround me just as the roses do.

The old woman trailed her finger along the velvet edge of a black rose petal.

Then she pricked herself on a thorn.

Blood trickled down her finger.

Black blood.

Drop by drop it dripped from her finger and soaked into the ground.

PART ONE

Whispering Oaks
Georgia, Spring 1861

Chapter

S
avannah Gentry stood on the wide balcony of Whispering Oaks, her family's magnificent plantation house.

She gazed out over her father's land. On any other day, she would have seen slaves toiling in the distant fields. The cotton they planted and picked made her father a wealthy man.

But the slaves were not working in the fields today. This was a special day, a day of celebration.

The older slaves set the tables for Savannah's party. The younger slaves turned spitted calves and pigs over blazing open fires.

Neighbors from miles around had been invited to share this momentous dayâas her father called it. The day of Savannah's birth.

Even her brother, Zachariah, had returned from West Point in time to attend her birthday party. And he brought a friend along.

Tyler Fier.

Savannah smiled when she thought of Tyler. I have known him less than two weeks, she realized. But already I feel that he is a part of me.

I should never have let him out of my sight this morning. Savannah stomped her foot.

I shall give Zachariah a proper tongue-lashing when he returns from his ride with Tyler, she decided. My brother knows Tyler will soon leave for his home in the North. It was selfish of him to take Tyler riding without me.

She stood on tiptoe. Straining to see any sign of the two young men.

“Fiddle!” She dropped her heels back on the floor and smoothed the skirt of her green silk gown. “They promised to be back in time for the picnic.”

Savannah heard the rumble of wagon wheels. She walked to the corner of the balcony and peered around the corner at the front of the estate.

Wagons filled with laughing couples traveled up the dirt path. Savannah barely glanced at the young men driving the wagons. Once she had taken an interest in those young men. Once she had sat beneath the shade of an oak tree and sipped lemonade with each of them. And once she had promised to marry each and every one of them.

Now she cared only about Tyler.

“Fiddle!” she repeated. “I wanted him here to meet my friends.”

Then she heard the sound of pounding hooves. She whirled back to face the fields. Tyler galloped toward the plantation house on his black horse, Zachariah close behind.

Lifting her green hoopskirt, Savannah rushed into her bedroom. She snatched up her matching green parasol. Then she raced out of her room and down the sweeping stairs into the grand entryway.

“Savannah!”

She skidded to a stop at the sound of her mother's voice.

Her mother walked gracefully across the foyer. “Ladies do not run,” she scolded. “Especially young ladies who have just turned seventeen.”

Savannah blushed. “I know, Mother, but Tyler is waiting for me.”

Her mother smiled gently. “Tyler, Tyler, Tyler. Every sentence you utter these days has his name in it.”

“I enjoy his company,” Savannah said breathlessly.

“Have you seen your sister?” her mother asked. “Have you seen Victoria this afternoon?”

“No,” Savannah answered. “But I am sure she will be at the picnic.”

Her mother's eyes grew troubled. “I hope so. I hope she is not in the slave quarters again.” She shook her head. “I do not approve of the strange habits she is acquiring.”

Savannah shuddered. She didn't like the changes in Victoria either. And she knew something her mother didn't. Victoria was fascinated by the dark arts some of the slave women practiced.

Victoria wanted their strange powers for herself. That was the true reason she spent so much time in the slave quarters.

I won't worry about Victoria now, Savannah decided. I won't let my sister spoil my birthday.

Chapter

“S
ee you at the picnic, Mama,” Savannah called as she rushed out the wide front doors.

Zachariah and Tyler walked over as soon as she set foot on the porch.

“I would like to show your sister one of the flowers in the garden. I have never seen it growing in the Northâand I thought she could tell me its name,” Tyler said.

Please, Zach, Savannah begged silently. Please, oh, please. She could count on one hand the number of times she and Tyler had managed to be alone.

Zachariah winked at her, his green eyes sparkling. “I wouldn't want to stop you from studying our beautiful southern flowers,” he told his friend. “But don't take too longâor I'll have to come looking for you.”

Savannah felt herself blushing as Tyler led her down
the porch steps, across the formal gardens, and deep into the woods.

“I stumbled across this spot on a walk,” Tyler said when the trees gave way to a clearing. Now Savannah could see the small white gazebo sitting next to the lake.

“Zach used to take girls here,” Savannah admitted.

Tyler broke a magnolia blossom off a tree. He handed it to her as they stepped inside the wooden gazebo.

“I love the fragrance of magnolias,” she said.

Tyler wrapped his arms around her waist and drew her close. Our first kiss, Savannah thought as he lowered his lips to hers.

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