The Quaker and the Rebel

by Mary Ellis

  Emily exhaled a weary sigh. She hadn’t come south to wear fancy silk dresses with embroidered slippers, or sip champagne under twinkling chandeliers, or recite the sonnets of Shakespeare to her employer while drinking cups of tea. And she certainly wasn’t here to be held in the arms of a rich Virginia planter, no matter how handsome.

  Suddenly the breeze turned chilly. Crossing her arms over her chest, Emily wished she’d accepted the butler’s offer of a wrap. “I can be useful,” she whispered. “And you, Alexander Hunt, will be useful too.” Emily smiled. At least there’s certainly no chance of me falling in love with you, Mr. Hunt. You don’t possess an ounce of the gumption or conviction of Matthew Norton. You can keep your beautiful manners, expensive clothes, and gracious dancing. I can be coy like your belles if need be, but once I have you in the palm of my hand, you’ll be too smitten to notice a few less people around the place.

  “Good morning, Miss Harrison.” Alexander’s voice boomed through the open doorway. “Are you famished for breakfast? You missed the midnight repast.”

  Emily had waited in the kitchen until Mrs. Bennington came downstairs, hoping to avoid being alone with him that morning. She assumed any man worth his salt would have gone to his business concerns or at least to chores around the farm. She should have known better than to expect a lazy aristocrat to rise early. “Good morning. I don’t believe I am hungry.”

  “Emily, please join us,” summoned Mrs. Bennington from the dining room.

  “Yes, ma’am.” She sighed as she tried to step past him, but he blocked her path.

  “You refused breakfasting with me, but acquiesced to my aunt?” he asked, furrowing his brow.

  “I cannot refuse my employer or her hostess. Please excuse me, Mr. Hunt.”

  Alexander stepped aside and then followed her into the dining room.

  Emily couldn’t believe Mrs. Bennington was up this early. Was this the same woman who slept past ten each morning, took breakfast on a tray, and never appeared downstairs before noon? “I noticed your wheelchair still remains in the back of the carriage. You’re managing nicely with your two canes.”

  “Truly, I am. The reunion with my favorite sister has done wonders for my health.” Mrs. Bennington beamed at Mrs. Hunt.

  “I am your only sister.” Mrs. Hunt winked over her porcelain cup.

  Emily peered at one and then the other as her heart swelled. There was a sparkle in her employer’s green eyes. Years had fallen away from her face in the comfort and ease of Hunt Farms. Emily hadn’t planned to grow fond of Augusta Bennington, but she couldn’t help herself. “Dr. Bennington will be pleased with your improved health when he returns,” she said, sampling sliced peaches in heavy cream. “I didn’t see him last night at the ball. Was he detained at the field hospital?”

  Mrs. Hunt shook her silvery head. “James was unsuccessful in persuading Porter to attend. ‘Men are dying here for lack of care,’ ” she said, mimicking Porter’s voice. “ ‘And you wish me to come home, put on a penguin suit, and waltz around a ballroom as though things were normal?’ James volunteered to help until it was time to dress for the ball. Porter found plenty of nonmedical tasks to keep him busy.” Mrs. Hunt clucked her tongue. “Even with the help of convalescing soldiers, they are still so understaffed.” She nibbled a piece of toast daintily.

  “Dr. Bennington spent the night in a battlefield field hospital?” asked Emily.

  “He sleeps for a few hours on a pallet in the corner of the surgery tent. He hasn’t eaten properly or slept in a decent bed in days.” Mrs. Bennington delivered this news in a whisper.

  “I hope the casualties will soon taper off.”

  Dr. Bennington continued to confound Emily. People had been simpler in the Ohio River Valley—they were either good or not.

  Sipping her tea, Mrs. Bennington studied her companion. “Let’s change the subject. My nephew would like to take you for a ride on this absolutely beautiful morning. I think it’s a wonderful idea. That would give me time to catch up on gossip with my sister.” She reached for Mrs. Hunt’s hand.

  “I’ll have to see if I have the time.” Emily couldn’t look at Alexander, who had remained uncharacteristically quiet during the meal. Clutching her cup with both hands, she stared into her coffee as though life’s mysteries were about to be revealed in its depths.

  “Did you two run into each other at the ball last night, my dear?”

  “We certainly did, Aunt Augusta,” Alexander said before Emily could reply. “Miss Harrison graced me with not one but three dances, although her dance card was practically full when I found her hiding in the hibiscus.”

  Emily’s head snapped up. What blatant lies. “I was observing, not hiding—merely curious because Quakers don’t attend balls.” When no one spoke, she amended her thoughtless comment. “Begging your pardon, I meant Ohio Quakers don’t dance.”

  “No offense taken,” murmured Mrs. Hunt, fixing her gaze on her son.

  Alexander beamed a most ingratiating smile. “I appreciate that you lowered your standards for my sake, Miss Harrison. What good are rules if they can’t be broken?”

  The two sisters exchanged a glance.

  “Alexander used to be a practicing Quaker before he fell in with the wrong crowd during his college years.” His mother’s gray eyes twinkled with mischief. “Front Royal has a small Society of Friends if you would like to attend meetings, Miss Harrison. Perhaps you can convince my son to join you.”

  Alexander leaned back in his chair. “I’ll give that some thought, Mother, right after the war is over.” He fixed Emily with his steely eyes.

  “Alexander takes the convictions of pacifism very seriously,” said Mrs. Bennington. “That’s why he refrained from joining the Confederacy.”

  Pacifism or fear of the enemy’s bullets? Taking deep breaths to regain control of her temper, Emily concentrated on crumbling a biscuit on her plate.

  “Aren’t you feeling well, my dear?” asked Mrs. Bennington. “You have barely said half a dozen words and eaten little more than biscuit crumbs.”

  “I feel fine, ma’am. A little tired perhaps.” Remembering her manners, she shook away her personal opinions. “Thank you, Mrs. Hunt, for your gracious invitation to the ball last evening. And thank you, Mr. Hunt, for rescuing me from the potted plant. I enjoyed our dance.”

  “Rest assured that the pleasure was mine.” Dabbing his chin with his napkin, he straightened in his chair. “What do you say to that ride after breakfast, Miss Harrison? But I must insist you wear suitable riding attire. We’re not the wild frontier here in Warren County. We don’t permit ladies to mount their own horses and trot off with petticoats flying and lace bloomers showing the way they do in dime novels.”

  Mrs. Hunt stopped eating and stared at her son as though he’d gone mad. “Alexander, what has gotten into you? Why would you say such a thing or, for that matter, read such trash when we have a library filled with classics? To my knowledge you haven’t bent the binding of a good book in quite some time.” She didn’t sound pleased with his topic of breakfast conversation. “And I have several riding habits Miss Harrison can use if she forgot to pack hers. That is, if she chooses to ride with a boorish man like you.” Smiling at Emily, Mrs. Hunt rose from the table, her breakfast complete, but she offered her son a look of tacit disapproval.

  “I believe I will ride this morning. It will give me an opportunity to exercise Miss Kitty. And thank you again for your generous gift, Mrs. Bennington.” Emily spoke with her most gracious tone of voice. She’d overheard enough witless belles last night to know how society ladies talked. “I’ll see you this afternoon, ma’am. Mrs. Hunt, thank you for the delicious breakfast and for the loan of riding clothes. I will go change.” She rose with as much dignity as she could muster and strolled from the room.

  Unfortunately, the sound of Alexander’s laughter followed her halfway up the stairs.

  Emily changed into a rather snug riding habit, high leather boots, a deep green felt
hat, and kid gloves. Before leaving her room, she plucked out the ridiculous feather sticking up from the hatband and left it on the dressing table, along with the riding crop. Having never cropped a horse in her life, she wasn’t about to start now. Outside on the front steps, she spotted two men lounging in the shade of a live oak, each holding the reins of a saddled horse. She strode toward them feeling jaunty in her borrowed clothes, never having owned anything of this quality in her life. The boots alone would cost a month’s wages.

  “I was beginning to think you changed your mind, Miss Harrison.” Alexander pushed away from the tree as she approached and bowed low. “I must say you look delightful in my mother’s clothes.”

  Her cheeks flushed pink. “Must you be so irritating on a day as lovely as this?” Scratching Miss Kitty’s nose, she turned toward the tall, muscular black man holding her reins. “I am Miss Emily Harrison. How do you do?”

  “Very well, thank you, ma’am.” He swept his hat from his head and bowed.

  “Excuse my manners,” said Alexander. “Miss Harrison, this is William Tyler, my right-hand man and trusted friend. William, this is Aunt Augusta’s companion. Miss Harrison hails from Ohio but now resides in Virginia, making Martinsburg that much fairer a city.”

  “Ma’am.” William nodded before replacing his cap.

  “Are you a slave, Mr. Tyler?” Emily asked without preamble.

  Momentarily flummoxed, William hesitated before answering. “No, ma’am, I’m a free man of color employed by Mr. Hunt. But come to think of it, it’s been so long since my last increase in wages that perhaps I should check my papers to make sure I read the fine print.” The two men exploded into laughter.

  Emily failed to see the humor, but she refused to be baited into displaying any fits of temper. “I can mount without assistance, thank you.” She lifted her boot heel into the stirrup and swung up effortlessly into the sidesaddle.

  Alexander moved behind her, perhaps in case she fell on her backside. Then he mounted his huge, spirited stallion in one fluid motion and turned the animal around with the barest of nudges. “I keep telling you, William. Once you stop landing me in the doghouse with my mother regarding my absences, then we’ll talk salary increases. Shall we be off, Miss Harrison?”

  “I’m as ready as I ever will be.” As they cantered down the oak-lined drive, she couldn’t help noticing Alexander was an imposing presence in the saddle. His well-cut jacket and starched linen shirt were rather conservative compared with his dandified outfit of last night.

  “Are you admiring my riding attire, Miss Harrison?” he asked, noticing her perusal.

  “I am, Mr. Hunt. You look quite at home in the saddle. And in regards to clothing, a country girl like me prefers these less formal occasions.” She aimed a gloved finger at his stirrup. “Your boots certainly have received far more wear than I would expect from a gentleman farmer.”

  “You are right. They are worn down to the soles. In wartime few leather goods are available in stores, and I would certainly never deprive a Southern cavalryman of footwear. Besides, I’m not half the gentleman you imagine me to be, Miss Harrison.” When the Hunt Farms tree-lined lane met the county pike, he spurred his horse and sprinted off at full gallop, not looking back once. Alexander and his stallion soon disappeared from sight around the bend.

  Of all the rudeness! But Emily wasted no breath on recriminations without an audience. She pressed her heel against Miss Kitty’s flank, and the mare bounded down the dirt road. In the sidesaddle, Emily couldn’t grip with her thighs as her father had taught her so many summers ago. She bent low in the saddle, gripping the reins and clinging tightly to the animal’s silky neck. Heat radiated from the beast’s skin as they galloped across an open field in pursuit of the stallion. Scattered, craggy apple trees indicated this had once been an orchard, though it was now well beyond its productive days. Despite the fact she was hanging on for dear life, Emily made no attempt to slow her horse. It felt wonderful to have the wind in her face and her hair streaming behind her. Mrs. Hunt’s chic fedora bounced against her back, with only knotted ribbons preventing it from becoming lost forever. Emily held her breath as Miss Kitty leaped fallen logs and shallow streams. Her stomach rose once or twice into her throat, but after a while she abandoned herself to the delicious taste of freedom.

  Breathless and flushed, Emily and Miss Kitty eventually caught up to the two males as they slowed their pace to a walk.

  “Well done, Miss Harrison. Phantom tried his best to lose you, but apparently we have met our match.” Alexander slipped from his mount and grasped Miss Kitty’s bridle as she pranced restlessly under a shady cedar.

  “Miss Kitty has a smooth gait and is very responsive to even an unfamiliar rider. But why did you extend an invitation if you didn’t wish to ride with me?” She patted the horse’s neck and flashed a wounded expression.

  “Come now, my little Yankee, I was joking. Of course, I wanted to ride with you.” He offered his hand to her.

  Emily ignored it and slipped effortlessly to the ground. “Once again I don’t find your humor amusing.” Spotting a small stream under a stand of pines, she headed in that direction.

  Alexander tied their mounts to a low branch and quickly caught up to her. “Had you no rascally brothers to tease you while growing up?” He grasped the elbow of her jacket. “Please don’t be cross with me. If you pout, I won’t share the picnic Beatrice packed.” He danced around like a schoolboy trying to win favor with a treat.

  Emily settled herself demurely on a fallen log in the shade. “I’m not hungry, Mr. Hunt.” She dabbed a tiny bead of sweat from her lip. “So you needn’t perplex yourself with whether or not to share your lunch.” Her voice was melodic and refined, although on the inside she wished she could wipe the smug look from his face. “And I assure you, I’m not your little Yankee or anyone else’s.”

  Alexander plopped down on the riverbank and stretched his long legs over the edge. “Forgive me, Miss Harrison. My mother was correct at breakfast—I’m a complete boor, unfit to spend an afternoon with gentle souls. My grandmother once described me as ‘a mule in horse harness.’ ”

  “Sounds like your granny was an astute judge of character.”

  His shout of laughter sent a flock of birds on to a quieter location. “She was at that. I still miss her.” He glanced at her over his shoulder. “If you give me another chance, I will try to change.” Rising to his feet, he sauntered toward her with exasperating confidence, plucking a buttercup along the way. “What do you say?” He offered it as a peace token.

  Emily gazed at the flower and then the man. “I’ll give you the rest of the afternoon.” Close as they were now, she found him more handsome than ever. True, his nose was too prominent and his chin a bit severe, yet his eyes were mesmerizing and his smile lit up his face. Of course, people with abundant wealth had that much more to smile about. She accepted the flower and sniffed it. “I don’t know why people smell wildflowers. They almost never have much scent.” Emily tossed the buttercup into the tall grass.

  “It’s a natural reaction.” He lowered himself to her log. “We anticipate a sweet fragrance despite our previous disappointments.”

  Suddenly, it seemed to grow cloyingly warm under the shady cedars and pines. “Tell me how your skin became so suntanned,” she asked, desperate for benign conversation. “I wouldn’t think you had that many outdoor chores at Hunt Farms.”

  He moved closer on the log. “You’d be surprised how much work I do on a given day.” Suddenly, he took hold of her chin.

  “What do you have in mind, Mr. Hunt?” she asked as her breath caught in her throat.

  “Only this.” Alexander leaned over and kissed her. Without asking her leave, he tilted his head and simply kissed her.

  Shivers shot up her spine. Her legs went numb, her palms grew clammy, and her stomach turned a somersault—all a reaction from one little kiss. She might have toppled from the log if he wasn’t holding her face steady.


  “What are you doing?” she squeaked.

  “I’m kissing you, Miss Harrison.” Their lips hovered an inch away. The space between them filled with enough energy to move boulders.

  “Is that why you brought me out here? To catch me off guard and steal a kiss?”

  “Not a kiss. I intend to steal several.” His last word became muffled as his lips pressed down on hers with intensity.

  Her stomach took a second tumble until she placed a hand on his chest and pushed. When he lifted his head, she said, “Stop! Is this your best attempt at civilized behavior?” She turned away and straightened her skirt in a dignified manner.

  “I beg your pardon, Miss Harrison, but it’s your effect on me. You have my sincere apology.” He stood, bowed, and then headed toward the horses.

  For a short while Emily feared he would mount his stallion and leave her alone on the creek bank. She waited, trying not to hold her breath, as he dug into his saddlebags.

  He returned carrying a cloth sack. “I promised to share lunch and I must keep my word. That is, if you have forgiven me.” He snapped open a checkered cloth, spread it across the grass, and then dropped down to his knees.

  “There are new things to forgive every moment. But yes, I have, mainly because my appetite has returned.”

  “I’ll take whatever grace you might extend.” He set out slices of cheese and ham on a linen napkin, along with a cluster of grapes and a pickled egg for each of them. Pulling out the cork of a flask, Alexander offered her a drink.