"Now, now, Emma, darlin'. You will bear it, because you have to. Your husband is depending on you." Emma nodded, but she couldn't stop crying. "I was real proud of you in there," Cyrus comforted. "You did just fine for a Yankee." Emma reared back to look into his face and laughed, despite everything, at the mischief she saw in his wise, gentle eyes. "Does it bother you that your grandson married a northerner?" she asked, when she'd recovered herself a little and her sobs had subsided to sniffles. Cyrus smiled. "If you can get used to a bunch of Rebels, we can get used to you. Now, it seems to me that Miss Lucy was right. You're pretty as a magnolia blossom, but you need some new clothes." With"