To Win Her Favor
Page 42
The man’s eyebrows arched, then he nodded, gradually, as if working to figure something out. He motioned to the fire. “Dinner’s all ready, Lieutenant. Think you could see fit to eat a mite?”
Ridley looked at the pot of beans and meat bubbling over the flame, then at the tin of biscuits set off to the side, his stomach already answering. The man was offering to feed him? All whilst knowing what he was here to do? Ridley eyed him again, not trusting him by any stretch. Yet he had a long journey back to camp, and the dried jerky in his rations didn’t begin to compare. “I’d be much obliged. Thank you.”
They ate in silence, the night sounds edging up a notch as the darkness grew more pronounced. The food tasted good and Ridley was hungrier than he’d thought. He’d covered at least seventy-five, maybe a hundred miles since leaving camp in Nashville.
Just four days earlier, Union headquarters had received rumor of a slave out in these hills, reportedly hiding prized blood horses for his owner. Word had it the horses were bred for racing and were worth a fortune. Ridley would’ve sworn they’d confiscated every horse there was in Nashville when they first took the city. But he’d bet his life that the man across from him right now was the slave they’d heard about.
He lifted his cup. “You make mighty good coffee. Best I’ve had in a while. And this is some fine venison too.”
“Thank you, sir. My master, he got the finest deer park in all o’ Dixie. Least he did ‘fore them no-good, thievin’—” The Negro paused, frowning, then seemed to put some effort into smoothing his brow, though with little success. “I’s sorry, sir. I ‘preciate all your side’s tryin’ to do in this war, but there just ain’t no cause for what was done at Belle Meade last year. ‘Specially with Missus Harding bein’ delicate o’ health, and Master Harding packed off to prison like he was. Them Union troops—” He gripped his upper thigh, his eyes going hot. “They shot me! Right in the leg. I’s just tryin’ to do what I’s been told, and they shot me straight on. Laughed about it too. And here we’s thinkin’ they come to help.”
Reminded again of another reason he hated this war and why the South no longer felt like home and never would again, Ridley held the man’s gaze, trying to think of something to say. Something that would make up for what had been done to him. But he couldn’t.
Ridley laid aside his tin and, on impulse, reached out a hand. “First Lieutenant Ridley Adam Cooper . . . sir.”
He knew a little about the slave’s owner—General William Giles Harding—from what his commanding officer had told him. To date, General Harding still hadn’t signed the Oath of Allegiance to the Union, despite the general’s incarceration up north last year at Fort Mackinac—a place reportedly more like a resort than a prison—and the lack of compliance wasn’t sitting well with those in authority. Not with Harding being so wealthy a man and holding such influence among his peers. It set the wrong precedent. Union superiors hoped the outcome of this scouting mission would provide General Harding with the proper motivation he needed to comply with the Union—or suffer further consequences.
The Negro regarded Ridley—the crackle of the fire eating up the silence—then finally accepted, his own grip iron-firm. “Robert Green, sir. Head hostler, Belle Meade Plantation.”
About the Author
TAMERA ALEXANDER is a USA Today bestselling author whose richly drawn characters and thought-provoking plots have earned her devoted readers worldwide, as well as multiple industry awards. After living in Colorado for seventeen years, Tamera has returned to her Southern roots. She and her husband make their home in Nashville where they enjoy life with their two adult children who live nearby, and Jack, a precious—and precocious—silky terrier. And all of this just a stone’s throw away from the beloved Southern mansions about which she writes.
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