The Quaker and the Rebel

by Mary Ellis

  Almost anyone, that is. When the door swung open, he leapt down on the deserter, landing with a mouthful of flaming red hair and a sharp knee to his gut.

  “Ouff! Get off me, you oaf! Are you some sort of wild beast?”

  Hearing a feminine voice, Alexander scrambled to extract himself from a person both female and beautiful. Beautiful, that is, if one found red-faced, scowling women with leaves in their hair and dusty clothes beautiful. At the moment, he did. It was Emily Harrison—the governess who almost burned down the kitchen at Bennington Plantation. The same woman who demanded he cover his chest yet couldn’t keep her eyes off of his bare skin. He laughed at the absurdity of meeting her in the remote countryside.

  “You!” She spat out the word as though it were a distasteful mouthful of castor oil.

  “Alexander Wesley Hunt, madam, of Hunt Farms, Front Royal.” He bowed deeply before stretching out his hand. “We met last summer at Bennington Plantation. I believe Matilde had just ousted you from her kitchen.”

  She jumped back, glowering as though his hand were a serpent. “I remember you, Mr. Hunt. Perhaps you will explain why you leaped down on me?” Her voice seethed with venom.

  “I humbly beg your pardon.” Alexander swept off his hat and ran a hand through his hair. Fortuitously, he wore riding clothes with his uniform packed safely away in the saddlebag. “I thought you might be a deserter looking for a place to hide. Please forgive my indiscretion, madam. Both Union and Confederate scalawags travel this valley on their way home.”

  While Emily dusted herself off and pulled leaves from her hair, Alexander assessed her appearance. Instead of a riding habit, she wore a summer ensemble more suited to a walk in the garden. His eyes flicked over her briefly before coming back to her face. “Madam, where is your carriage and driver? May I assist you in some way? Are you lost, or did the carriage throw a wheel and you sent your driver for help?”

  “Stop calling me ‘madam,’ ” she demanded with a stomp of her foot. “You know very well I’m unmarried. And I do not have a driver, sir.”

  “Then how did you get here?” He peered around the barnyard with confusion.

  “I rode my horse, you simpleton.”

  “In that?” He pointed to her cotton dress and smock. “Without leather boots or a riding habit?” Then the full impact of her words struck him like a whack to his head. “Great Scot. I believe this is the first time in my life anyone called me a simpleton.”

  FOUR

  Emily couldn’t tell if Mr. Hunt’s shocked expression was due to the insulting word she had just used or her inappropriate attire. “Well, that rather surprises me. And it’s none of your business what I wear when I ride, Mr. Alexander Wesley Hunt of Front Royal. If you’ve finished pouncing on me, I’ll be on my way.” The masculine scents of leather and shaving balm wafted around her. She remembered meeting the arrogant nephew on the island, but she had no intention of allowing him to intimidate her again. “I am no deserter looking for a place to hide out.” She pushed past him. Her tone was dismissive, but he still followed at her heels like a puppy. “Truly, Mr. Hunt, I do not need your assistance. Good day to you.”

  Spying her new chestnut mare, his attention focused on the horse. “What a beauty! What’s her name?” He ran his hand down the shiny flank.

  “Miss Kitty. She was a gift from Dr. and Mrs. Bennington.” Emily tugged the reins loose from the branch, wishing it wasn’t her first time on the new Morgan. Though an experienced horsewoman, she always rode astride as a girl and was uncomfortable with the new sidesaddle. She didn’t need this mule of a man seeing her fall on her backside.

  “Why such a lavish gift? Did you serve some of your culinary delights at their dinner table?” He winked impishly.

  “Must you continue to refer to one accident as though no other thoughts ramble through your mind?” Her breath left her lungs in a huff. “Mrs. Bennington was pleased I agreed to accompany them east, despite the fact their daughters left for Europe.”

  “With the girls gone, why would my aunt still need a governess?”

  “She wishes me to remain in her employ as her personal assistant. Now, as I’ve answered your questions, you may continue on your way.”

  He grasped Miss Kitty’s bridle. “Humor me with one more, Miss Harrison. How will you mount without a hitching block?”

  “Not all women are helpless belles, Mr. Hunt.” Emily lifted her foot into the stirrup, grabbed the saddle and a fistful of mane, and hauled herself up. Unfortunately, she revealed an expanse of dainty petticoat lace and quite of bit of stocking above her shoe. She tugged down her skirt, but not before his eyes practically bugged from his head.

  “I would feel much better if I rode with you, Miss Harrison,” he said, shifting his gaze from her leg to her face. “May I see you safely back to my uncle’s home?”

  “You may not. Now, please let go of my horse, sir.”

  “A woman shouldn’t be out here alone,” he insisted.

  With a glare Emily leaned forward in the saddle. “And why not, may I ask?” Her voice dripped with scorn; her jaw set with determination.

  “These are dangerous times. Aren’t you afraid of running into the Gray Wraith? Rumor has it these woods are his usual haunt.”

  “I’m not afraid of any ghost, Mr. Hunt. I would simply shoot him with my hidden derringer.” She quickly straightened her back as the saddle shifted precariously.

  “My word, you ride around the county unchaperoned carrying a hidden pistol?” The smirk on his face belied her assertion. “What, may I ask, are you doing here?” He hooked a thumb toward the barn. “You’re a long way from…Martinsburg. I believe that’s where my uncle moved his practice.”

  Emily released an exasperated sigh. “I was out riding on this pleasant day and grew fatigued. I spotted this old barn and decided to rest inside.”

  “I see.” Again his tone indicated little belief in her story. “You chose a mice-infested, cobweb-shrouded barn for your afternoon repose? Perhaps bales of moldy old straw for your chaise?” He grinned, revealing white teeth to contrast his tanned, ruddy face. A two- or three-day beard, along with his long hair loose around his shoulders, gave him a feral look.

  “You forget, Mr. Hunt, that I’m a simple farm girl, unaccustomed to tapestry-covered sofas. The hay smelled fresh and I saw no mice.” Emily picked leaves from Miss Kitty’s mane to keep her focus off his well-cut jacket and white shirt, unbuttoned at the neck. A bit of skin showed where his shirt gaped open. Just for a moment she stared at his muscular chest. Then she swallowed hard and forced her gaze upward. Meeting his eye, her stomach twisted into a knot

  “Excuse me, Miss Harrison. I forgot that the sight of a man’s chest is unsettling for a maiden.” He buttoned his shirt with deliberate exaggeration. “Forgive my imprudence.”

  “I have seen men with their shirts off. That is not what I find unsettling about you,” said Emily, acutely aware of her own disheveled appearance. She didn’t remember Mrs. Bennington’s nephew being so handsome…for a rich, aristocratic Southerner. “I ask you again to release your hold on my bridle.”

  “I’m reluctant to let you leave with the Gray Wraith prowling the valley. Would you be pleased or terrified if he crossed your path?”

  “If I run into the Gray Wraith, I shall shoot him between the eyes and spare the Union Army the task. He is a murdering desperado that even a noose is too good for.”

  “Goodness, you would shoot an unarmed man without benefit of a trial? Aren’t you a Quaker and a pacifist by nature?” He clucked his tongue in mockery.

  “Times of war call for extraordinary measures. Some Quakers have enlisted in the Union Army. Anyway, the Wraith probably carries a hidden gun. How else could he accomplish what they say with only trickery and a saber?”

  “A hidden gun, similar to your hidden derringer?” Alexander scratched his chin as though pondering the idea. “Women say they would swoon with undying love if they met him, yet you seem immune to his mystique. A
h, but you are a Yankee.”

  With cheeks aflame, Emily tugged the reins from his grasp. “I have no more time for idle chitchat. Good day to you.” Giving Miss Kitty a small kick to her flanks, she took off from the dusty barnyard. Halfway up the path, she stole a glance over her shoulder, powerless to stop herself. Alexander stood with both hands on his hips, laughing at her…again.

  Blast it. Shoot the Wraith with my hidden gun? Of all the ridiculous things to say. If I had a hidden gun, I would shoot myself. Of all of the out-of-the-way, abandoned spots she had seen, this had been undoubtedly the most hidden. Now this oaf of a man had not only stumbled upon it, but upon her as well.

  Emily rode hard for several hours, pausing twice to rest her horse. She needed time to collect her thoughts and to put some space between herself and the nephew from Bennington Island. Of all the luck to run into him! “What am I doing here, Miss Kitty?” she whispered to her mount. “An area even more loyal to the Southern Cause.” Miss Kitty had no answer as they rode down the brick streets of Martinsburg. But what choice did she have? She couldn’t have returned to Marietta because another family now occupied her childhood home. In their last letter, Reverend and Mrs. Ames gushed with relief that she had not been fired when the Benningtons moved east. Jobs were nonexistent in the Ohio River Valley, and the elderly couple hadn’t offered to take her in while she looked for work.

  She was no different than Lila or Joshua or Matilde. Like them, she might be free to go wherever she chose, but an empty belly or thoughts of cold nights without shelter made her willing to move to keep her job. And Lila and her parents didn’t seem the least bit unhappy about relocating. Since their arrival, the Amites all but bubbled over with joy to be living in a city instead of on an isolated island. Emily knew she should count her blessings. She had no idea why Dr. Bennington invited her to accompany them after he sent the girls away to school in Paris. Mrs. Bennington had been apprehensive for her daughters, but Dr. Bennington insisted that the girls would benefit from the strict Maison Muguet. For the sake of Margaret and the especially precocious Annie, Emily hoped it would only be for one term as their father promised.

  Emily’s new role was companion to Mrs. Bennington, whose health had deteriorated during the trip. She seldom walked with her cane, preferring the wheeled chair to get from room to room. She tired more easily now and took frequent naps, so Emily’s tasks weren’t very strenuous. She would breakfast with Mrs. Bennington after her husband left to attend to his medical practice, and they usually shared lunch in the beautiful back garden. Emily’s sole duty was to read to Mrs. Bennington in the afternoon. She poured endless cups of Darjeeling tea and read aloud for long stretches of time. But this was no chore because she loved to hear the words of Sir Walter Scott brought to life.

  Often Mrs. Bennington’s rheumatism kept her in bed for days. She insisted on using Matilde, Lila, and a hired Irish girl for help, refusing to allow Emily to wait on her. On these mornings, Emily worked for Dr. Bennington in his office. During the afternoon, he suggested she take rides around town to familiarize herself, preferably accompanied by Lila. But often Emily went alone if Lila had other errands. Her jaunts into the countryside proved useful. Using her father’s maps brought from Ohio, she marked every safe house owned by Friends or other places to hide runaways. Slowly, carefully, Emily found each one and introduced herself to the owners.

  Dr. Bennington continued to be an enigma to her. Southern down to his penchant for bourbon and corn bread, he had freed his slaves and extended his medical expertise to both Union and Confederate casualties, treating both with equal kindness. Both armies alternately either surrounded or occupied the town of Martinsburg, but neither prevented the shipment of medicine to Dr. Bennington’s office. He ordered supplies from New York, Boston, and even abroad, never sure what would get through the blockade. Growing grayer by the day, with deep lines around his mouth and eyes, he returned home a tired man. Yet he still made time to share a late supper with his wife or sit by her bedside until she drifted to sleep.

  Emily yearned for someone to love her like that, but with her sharp tongue and quick temper, she thought it unlikely. For the first time since leaving home, she felt lonely. She missed her parents and Matthew. He was becoming an ever more distant memory, fading like a fuzzy daguerreotype. Some days she had to open her locket to recall his features. But even as she did, the haughty profile of Mrs. Bennington’s nephew would invade her thoughts. How could she be attracted to someone so soon after her loss? What was so special about this man that he could steal away her precious memories?

  “Emily? Are you all right, my dear?” The concerned voice of Mrs. Bennington broke through her reverie. Emily’s head snapped up at the breakfast table.

  “Yes, ma’am, I’m fine. Just a little tired.” She managed a weak smile and took another gulp of coffee. Just a little tired was an understatement of theatrical proportions. Emily had never been so sore in her life—every muscle ached. Even muscles in places she didn’t know contained muscles. Her trip to Berryville yesterday had cost her dearly. Right now she would be happy never to get on Miss Kitty again.

  “I daresay you should be tired. Matilde said it was nearly dark when you returned from your ride and that you could barely hold your head up during supper.”

  “Matilde does love to exaggerate.” She refilled her cup from the coffee carafe.

  “That she does,” Mrs. Bennington agreed, dropping the matter. “So today we will both rest because tomorrow we will be traveling. We’ve been invited to a grand ball and afterward will stay for a week to visit.”

  “A trip?” asked Emily, flabbergasted. “But we just settled in a few months ago and you have not been feeling well. What about Dr. Bennington’s practice? He can’t up and leave his work, can he?” Were these pampered Southerners so jaded they would abandon the sick and wounded for a ball during wartime?

  “You are sweet to worry so about others, but I feel stronger today. Even if I must remain in my chair, I’d love a change of scenery. And Porter’s work is the precise reason we’re making the journey. Apparently there was a battle with more casualties than the army surgeons can handle. Porter will leave at first light to assist with the wounded. We’ll follow in the carriage as soon Joshua, Matilde, and Lila can get things ready. The Amites have kin at Hunt Farms,” added Mrs. Bennington. She helped herself to a biscuit and spread honey on it.

  “Excuse me?” Emily choked out. Her mouthful of coffee almost sprayed her employer.

  “I said that the Amites have—”

  “Yes, ma’am, that part I heard. What is the name of the place we’re headed?” Emily’s voice was little more than a squeak.

  “Hunt Farms, my brother-in-law’s plantation. It’s near Front Royal. Of course, it’s not likely the fame of a Virginia thoroughbred farm would reach those living in Ohio, but you remember meeting Alexander on the island, don’t you?” Mrs. Bennington covertly studied her young companion as she asked the question.

  “Oh, Hunt Farms. Of course. I thought I had misunderstood you.” Emily cut her fried egg into tiny pieces, her appetite gone.

  Mrs. Bennington bubbled with enthusiasm. “It’s nice living so close to my sister and her family. I can’t wait to see them. Pack your new gowns, my dear. I wish we had time to have special ones made. Everyone within a three-county radius will be at their ball.”

  “I hardly think it appropriate for me to accompany you, Mrs. Bennington. I’m a hired employee, not an invited guest. I’ll spend the evening with Lila.”

  “Nonsense. You’re not a governess while the girls are in Europe. As my personal companion and my friend, you will be welcome at any ball I choose to attend.” Her statement was matter-of-fact. Mrs. Bennington rose regally to her feet and pushed her chair back from the table. When she focused her soft green eyes on her, Emily knew the matter was closed.

  Sweet as she was, Augusta Bennington always got her way.

  Mrs. Bennington couldn’t wait until the carriage came to
a halt before craning her neck out the window. “Rebecca! It’s so good to see you.”

  Emily peeked over the woman’s shoulder to study the mansion. It was a rather impressive sight, she had to admit. The house was nothing like Bennington Plantation back on the island. Entirely wood-framed with tall columns and second-floor balconies, it rambled outward from several wings and additions, yet the whole structure had a welcoming elegance. Crepe myrtle, potted bougainvillea, and lattice filled with climbing wisteria gave the home a riotous, overblown feel.

  “Augusta, it’s been far too long.” A woman hurried down the steps to greet Mrs. Bennington, leaving the master of the house to follow behind at a more leisurely pace. Tall and straight backed, Rebecca Hunt had silver-streaked hair and ruddy skin. Bone thin and hawk nosed, she wasn’t beautiful like her sister, yet something appealing radiated from her smile.

  Emily helped Mrs. Bennington down from the carriage, clutching her arm with one hand and her reticule tightly in the other. “Good afternoon, ma’am.”

  “Good afternoon and welcome.” Mrs. Hunt smiled pleasantly in her direction and then hugged her sister.

  The gentleman stepped forward. “I’m James Hunt. You must be Miss Harrison.” He extended a smooth hand that had never engaged in hard labor. “I believe you’ve already met our son, Alexander.”

  She dipped one knee slightly. “Yes, sir. Thank you for your kind hospitality.”

  “Not at all. Let me take that.” He pulled the bag from her fingers, handed it to a servant, and turned to greet his sister-in-law.

  Blessedly, the master’s son was nowhere to be seen. Emily didn’t like the way her gut tightened whenever Alexander looked at her or the way he twisted her words. He made her feel like an unpolished schoolgirl instead of a trained governess.

  “Come, Emily,” said Mrs. Bennington. “Rebecca will give us a tour of the main rooms. She’s made some changes I’m eager to see.” Arm in arm, the two sisters climbed the steps, chattering away. Because Mrs. Bennington had refused her chair today, Emily trailed close behind, ready to catch the woman should she fall.