by Mary Ellis
“No, they won’t, but Mr. Hunt is in a lather.”
“He has lots of other slaves.” She focused on folding undergarments and setting them in the trunk.
“He’s in a lather because young Mr. Hunt has gone off again. ‘He’s never around when I need him,’ I heard him tell William. He searched for Annabelle all day yesterday. William said Mr. Hunt won’t hire slave-catchers since he can’t trust them.”
Emily huffed out her breath. “Perhaps you and I shouldn’t concern ourselves with the doings of this plantation so much. We’ll be leaving today. By the way, have you seen my gold locket? I can’t remember when I took it off, and I can’t find it anywhere.”
“No, I haven’t seen it.” Lila wouldn’t be put off so easily. “William knows what we did,” she whispered.
“What?” Emily’s voiced cracked, betraying her overwrought nerves. William was Alexander’s trusted personal employee.
“William knows what you and I and Jack did on the way to Martinsburg.” She explained as though Emily were a simpleton.
“How do you know that, Lila?”
“Because he told me.” Lila began folding the skirts and blouses Emily had strewn across the bed.
Emily had enough of Lila’s evasiveness and grabbed her by the shoulders. “Tell me what you know.”
Lila sat on the bed and crossed her arms. “William followed us when we left here. He watched us take the turnoff to Berryville.”
“Why would he do that?” Emily slumped into a chair, finding it difficult to breathe.
“Because you picked Jack over him and he doesn’t trust that rascal. And because…” Lila’s voice faltered as she lost some of her exasperating self-confidence. “William has had his eye on me since…well, forever.” Lila stared at a flower on the wallpaper, chewing her lip.
“Is that so? Is there something wrong with the man? You know, not quite right?” She tapped her temple with her index finger.
Lila shot her a mischievous look. “He probably got stung by the same bug that bit Mr. Hunt.” She waited for Emily to catch her meaning.
But Emily said nothing as she returned to the bureau drawers.
Lila followed at her heels. “Mr. Hunt told William to look after you while he was gone. That’s the other reason why he followed us. And he told me about your dining on the terrace and then taking a moonlit stroll in the garden with Mr. Hunt.”
“How could he possibly know that?” Emily demanded.
“I asked him that. William said there wasn’t much that went on he didn’t know about.” Lila pulled the stack of underpinnings from Emily’s hands. “Why didn’t you tell me about Mr. Hunt? I didn’t know you were sweet on him. I thought you hated him. You sure had me fooled.” She gave Emily a sidelong perusal.
“Apparently I fooled myself, but don’t change the subject. What about William? Will he turn us in for aiding runaways? We could land in a lot of trouble.”
“No.” Lila answered without a moment’s hesitation. “He said he felt sorry for Annabelle because she was so unhappy. But he doesn’t want to see more people disappearing. He said the Hunts are good people, and you should do your work anywhere but here.” Slamming the trunk lid, Lila put her hands on her hips.
“That won’t be a problem. We’re leaving.”
“I told him I wouldn’t help you at Hunt Farms. He said fair enough.” Then Lila began waltzing around the bedroom as though at a ball. “Beatrice said he always asks questions about me whenever he’s in the kitchen. He’s been real nice to my ma, and Beatrice saw him talking to my pa.” Lila clamped her hand over her mouth to stop rambling.
“Why, Lila Amite. If I didn’t know better, I would think you were sweet on William.” Emily feigned a Southern drawl.
“Maybe I am a little…curious. But it won’t do me a bit of good because we’re going back to Martinsburg today. I don’t know when I’ll see him again.” She plopped down on the bed and dropped her head into her hands.
Emily plunked down beside her and settled her arm around her shoulders. I don’t know when I’ll see Alexander again, she thought. And somehow, she wasn’t quite so happy about leaving Hunt Farms.
ELEVEN
LATE SUMMER 1862
The infamous Gray Wraith and his Rebel Rangers were a perfect terror to the Yankees. They moved silently under the cover of night, struck swiftly, and usually took only what they could carry. They fed the Confederate Treasury with a steady stream of gold and greenbacks, and the cavalry with replacement horses for those killed in battle. They knew the Shenandoah Valley and the flatlands to the east like the backs of their hands. The rangers were familiar with every road, bridle path, farm trace, bridge, river ford, and observation point in a six-county radius. The men had grown up in these remote valleys, hunting and fishing in the isolated bogs and ponds. They could creep up on an enemy camp, eavesdrop on a conversation, and leave with the information without the pickets hearing more than a rustle of leaves.
The press loved their larger-than-life reputation. Northern newspapers described them as rogues operating within the limits of decent society. The rangers stretched but didn’t break wartime codes and traditions, unlike the bushwhackers of Missouri, whose barbarous acts had been described in detail across the country. Even Northerners viewed them more as romantic Robin Hoods than dangerous desperados like their Western counterparts. Women pored over their bloodless exploits as they would yellow-backed novels, with any reproach directed at the Union Army’s inability to catch them.
Southern papers portrayed them as dashing cavalrymen, living lives filled with romantic intrigue. Many a belle fell asleep dreaming of the notorious Gray Wraith carrying her away on his magnificent white steed. Local townsfolk willingly fed and sheltered the rangers, considering it their duty to the war effort in the same vein as knitting socks or rolling bandages for the hospitals.
Prior to the war, many wealthy rangers had failed to develop any self-discipline whatsoever. Because slaves did most of the work, these honorable gentlemen grew to manhood with time and money on their hands. Their parents seldom frowned on indolence. It was accepted for these upper-class gentlemen to spend their days drinking, racing horses, chasing women, and spending money lavishly. Although most were churchgoing men, their behavior would have shocked most Northern Christians.
Gambling was widely accepted among Alexander’s peers. They bet on everything from palmetto bug races to the outcome of an election to who would be appointed the next Yankee commander. Almost every tavern provided card games and billiards in which debts of thousands of dollars were amassed in a single evening. Professional gamblers roved through Southern towns stripping more than one plantation heir of a significant part of his fortune.
Although most churches frowned on drinking, pastors often overlooked indulgence by the rich. Some plantation masters sipped something alcoholic from sunup to sundown, remaining in a mildly inebriated blur. The blue-blooded aristocracy was allowed leeway in their romantic pursuits too. Women were expected to remain virtuous until marriage but men were not. Brothels could be found in most Southern towns, unheard of in New England villages.
The rangers, many from aristocratic families, carried their undisciplined ways into their brand of cavalry. Whereas the regular Confederate Army fought battles separated by boring stretches of camp life, rangers could stalk their enemy, strike an unprotected underbelly, and still stay close to home. They enjoyed adventure and glory while avoiding the tedium of camp life. Only the Gray Wraith prevented them from disintegrating into a mob of plunderers.
Rebecca Hunt’s strong Quaker upbringing didn’t permit dissipated behavior in the Hunt household. Although she served spirits at dinner parties or balls at the insistence of James, drunkenness wasn’t tolerated. Neither was gambling, swearing, and certainly not visiting fancy houses. Alexander didn’t have much trouble growing up under her rules. Although newspaper accounts depicted the Gray Wraith as the leader of a band of rakes, nothing was further from the truth. His g
oal was simple: assist the beleaguered Confederacy to the best of his abilities. He harassed the Union Army by disrupting communications and thereby dividing their strength before a battle. He aimed to appropriate every provision he could from their railroads and supply wagons without personal advancement or financial gain. But each day it grew harder to maintain discipline among his troops. With increasing frequency he noticed soldiers with fancy clothing, new expensive weaponry, and flashing rolls of bank notes around the campfire.
On this summer day, Alexander wasn’t a happy man. Lately his satisfaction from serving the Confederacy had become tangled with conflicting emotions. It didn’t help that he was in love with a Unionist. He’d finally acknowledged to himself that he’d been smitten by a Yankee schoolteacher from Ohio—one who may have stolen away to meet another man in Berryville. Why had she responded to his kisses if she loved someone else? Fool. He was a stupid fool. Alexander knew only too well that a woman could feign passion she didn’t feel. Rosalyn had professed love for him while plotting the deaths of his soldiers. Refusing to listen to Nathan’s warnings, Alexander desperately wanted to believe Emily wasn’t like Rosalyn. Yet, in his heart, he knew the truth. Why had he allowed himself to become caught in her web of deceit?
Alexander ground his teeth. Once he returned to Front Royal, he would demand to know whom she’d met that night in Berryville. He would give her a chance to explain her behavior. But one thing was certain—she must never learn his identity or what he did when he left Hunt Farms. He would never risk the safety of his rangers again.
He rode hard to meet Smith and Ellsworth at a small farm outside of Warrenton. The reunion went well, his argument with Nathan long forgotten. Because his rangers had attracted so much attention lately, Alexander dismissed his troops for this particular sortie. Armed with reports from well-paid scouts, they had reliable information on the movement of enemy troops in the Shenandoah Valley. Wearing Federal uniforms procured in their last raid, the three men slipped through Union lines and headed for the telegraph office at the railroad depot.
“Good afternoon, sir. What news have you heard?” asked the colonel, disguising his Southern accent.
“Not much, sir.” The telegraph operator barely glanced up from his keys. “Only that that confounded Wraith marauds on this side of the mountains with a cavalry of two hundred.”
“You don’t say.” Smiling, the colonel sank into the opposite chair. Smith and Ellsworth lounged against a wall in the small, cramped office.
“I do say, sir. That madman is cutting lines, tearing up train tracks, burning bridges, and taking hostages as we speak. He’s nothing but a ruthless guerrilla. If he were here right now, I would show him what we do to guerrillas like him and Quantrill.” In a surprising show of bravado, the paunchy operator drew a long-barreled Colt from his drawer. He flourished it before the nose of the curious, bearded officer.
“He’s taking hostages? Are you sure about that, sir?” The colonel knew his notoriety went far and wide, yet false reports of callousness raised his ire like nothing else.
“Yes, sir. He stopped a trainload of invalid soldiers and civilian merchants with women and children. He held the train captive for hours until ransoms could be paid for the passengers’ release.”
A muscle twitched in the colonel’s jaw, but he kept his voice steady. “When did all this take place?”
“Yesterday. The Gray Wraith released the train just this morning after he got paid his blood money.”
“Is that so?” The colonel leaned close to the barrel of the revolver. Then, faster than the operator could blink, Alexander snatched the weapon from his hand, spun it around, and stuck it in his belt. “If I was in Winchester this morning, how could I possibly be here in Warrenton talking to you now?”
The operator pondered for a moment and then paled considerably. He drew in an uneasy breath. “I see your point, sir. I didn’t mean any disrespect.”
“Then I suggest you not repeat tall tales to complete strangers.” Lowering his voice to a whisper, Alexander loomed inches from the man’s face. “In the meantime, kindly hand over your code book and recent dispatches to my associate.” He nodded in the direction of Ellsworth.
Paralyzed with fear, the operator stared mutely at the legendary rebel. Smith and Ellsworth cocked their revolvers. “Did you not hear the man?” barked Smith.
“Yes, sir.” The operator snapped out of his trance and provided Ellsworth with everything necessary to transmit erroneous information to telegraph offices in every direction.
The three rangers, without firing a shot, sent the Union Army on a goose chase of epic proportions. It was all in a good day’s work, but it gave Alexander little pleasure anymore.
“Slow down, Miss Emily,” Lila pleaded, hanging tightly to the side of the wagon.
“If we slow down, we’ll never make it to Berryville by dark.” Emily didn’t take her attention off the strong draft horse careening down the narrow road at breakneck speed. “And I have no desire to spend a moonless night in these woods.” She bobbed her head toward the overgrown swamp, filled with snakes and insects of every size and shape. “That wouldn’t make for a comfortable evening. We couldn’t move ten feet into these stunted pines, thorny Hawthorne bushes, and blackberry briars.”
Lila gazed into dense, moss-hung branches and nodded. “I agree, but if we throw a wheel, we’ll have a hard time explaining why we’re stuck out here. This is not the road back from Harper’s Ferry.”
Emily tugged on the reins, slowing the team. “You’re right. I’m just eager to be done with this. Dr. Bennington said the Union Army has taken Winchester and are encamped all around it. That’s not far from here.” A shudder ran from her shoulders to her feet.
Lila gave her an odd look. “Why are you so worried about running into Yankees? I thought you were a Yankee yourself.”
“I don’t wish to encounter soldiers from either side. Both would demand explanations as to what we’re doing out here. And the less said about that, the better.”
“We wouldn’t fool anyone that you’re a lady out for a drive with her personal maid,” huffed Lila. “Not when you insist on driving the wagon yourself. No mistress would ever do such a thing.”
“That’s another reason to finish and head back to Martinsburg, but you have a point.” Emily begrudgingly handed the reins to Lila.
It wasn’t the possibility of running into Union pickets or Confederate scouts that concerned Emily. Her steady stream of lies to Porter and Augusta Bennington had begun to take their toll. She also worried about involving Lila in her personal mission, and that the amount of food they gave the runaways wouldn’t be adequate for their trip north. When the wagon rounded the final curve and began the steep descent into the barnyard, Emily breathed a sigh of relief. Both women were so tired they didn’t notice trodden weeds or fresh hoof prints in the dirt.
Emily jumped from the wagon and hurried into the barn, leaving the door ajar in order to see.
“Hello? Hello?” she repeated. “I am Miss Harrison from Martinsburg. I received a message from Mr. and Mrs. Brent.” With the name of the previous safe house, she heard a slight rustle in the dark. Emily squinted, trying to focus in the thin light. To her surprise, an ancient black man with pure white hair and a deeply creased face stepped from behind the bales.
“Yes’m, I’m Jacob and this is my wife, Ruth.” The man had to be eighty if he was a day.
“How do you do?” Emily watched as he helped an equally old woman to her feet. Her arthritic fingers curled around a walking stick, and a white film covered her right eye. Seldom did slaves their age wish to make the journey to a new life in an unknown land. The woman gazed at Emily for a long moment.
As though reading her mind, Jacob explained, “They were gonna split us up. Send me to Richmond to be the daughter’s driver and not let my wife come with me.” He patted Ruth’s hand with tenderness. “Nobody gonna split us up ’cept the Lord in death. And that only be for a short while.”
When the barn door opened, Jacob moved protectively in front of Ruth.
Lila led the Percheron inside. “Looks like rain. He might break loose and bolt if we get thunder.” Lila stole sidelong glances at the couple as she cross-tied the horse and broke open two bales of hay.
The couple gawked at the well-dressed black woman.
“S’pose you haven’t seen too many free people of color. Where y’all from?” Lila used country dialect to try to put them at ease.
“We’ve seen freemen, but none looked like you.” Jacob rubbed his bristly chin. “We escaped a tobacco farm in the Carolinas.”
Emily still wasn’t sure what to say in these situations. Her parents never prepared her for face-to-face encounters. “This is my helper and friend, Miss Amite. We’re both recently from Martinsburg, but formerly of Parkersburg in the western counties of Virginia.” The couple turned their attention from Lila back to her, their expressions increasingly anxious.
“Now that you have made proper introductions, we can all fill out our dance cards for the ball later,” Lila whispered under her breath to Emily and rolled her eyes. “In the meantime I’ll fill the water buckets.”
Emily wrinkled her face into a scowl. “Speaking of which, I had better start dinner.” She headed for the wagon with Lila on her heels.
“I’ll fix dinner after I get water. You can make our guests comfortable for the night.” Lila set down the buckets and retrieved the hamper from the wagon.
“Don’t be silly, Lila. You already unhitched and fed the horse, so it’s my job to cook. We split work down the middle, remember?” Emily pulled the hamper from Lila’s hand.
“The horse was no trouble. I insist you let me make supper.” Lila huffed like a riled hen.
“What will they think if I let you do all the work?” Emily spoke softly so the runaways wouldn’t hear.
