The Liberator Series Box Set: Christian Historical Civil War Novels

by Stephenia H. McGee

  The man had a point, but it was too outlandish to consider—nothing but the wild dreams of men desperate to see an end to this misery. “This is harebrained.” Matthew pushed himself onto his knees and struggled to his feet, pulling against rough pine bark that scraped his palms. “I can’t let my brother’s life depend on some half-formed plot to abduct one of the most closely-watched men in the Union.”

  David O’Malley stepped closer and clenched Matthew’s arm. “We have a man who can get near to him. He’s even been invited to the White House on several occasions.” Matthew frowned, but O’Malley hurried on before he could speak. “The target likes him. Trust me, he can get close. We know all of the president’s moves.”

  “Let’s say by some chance you actually pull this off. Then what? Do you really think you will get what you want?”

  O’Malley released Matthew’s arm and stepped back. “I do. I think the North is so bewitched by him they will do whatever they must to get him back. Think of it. It could turn the tide of this war.”

  Matthew let his head drop back and looked up at towering pines filled with twittering birds that had no idea about the dangers the men below them discussed. What would it be like to be that free? Never to have to fight wars or see your family destroyed? He sighed. “I only want my brother back.”

  “And if you could get him back and return to your way of life in peace?”

  Matthew let his gaze return from the peaceful treetops to the anxious—and perhaps hopeful?—look on O’Malley’s face and ran a hand through hair that felt thick with grime. “I suppose that would be ideal.”

  O’Malley nodded fervently, excitement lighting his eyes. “So, you see reason.”

  “Well, I—”

  “Hey there! You two!”

  O’Malley whipped around as the owner of the voice stepped closer. “Hello, there!”

  Matthew didn’t recognize the soldier plodding through the underbrush; he had to be a member of the company they’d joined camp with. His bushy brows lowered over deep-set eyes as he regarded Matthew and O’Malley. “What are you two doing out here?”

  O’Malley lifted his canteen. “Just getting a full jug after that long march. No worries, I’ve finished filling up and was just helping my friend here to his feet. He took a shot to the leg.” He tilted his head in Matthew’s direction.

  The soldier slid his gaze to Matthew and studied him as if he would find the secret to life in Matthew’s features. Finally he shrugged. “Well, now that you’re finished, I’d be glad to help you get your lame friend here back to the medical tent.”

  Matthew stiffened. “I have been to the surgeon. He released me.” The man looked skeptical, so Matthew hurried on. “Lieutenant Colonel Hood placed me on perimeter duty. Said it was a good place for me to go gentle on the leg and remain on duty.”

  Surprise and something akin to respect lit the soldier’s features. “Admirable. Most men would have relished the opportunity to lie on their backs and shirk their load. Come, I will see you set up. My cousin is on perimeter.” He grinned. “Might do him good to spend a little time with the likes of you.” He whirled around on his heel in crisp military fashion.

  O’Malley cast Matthew a loaded look. Despite his misgivings, Matthew feared a shot in the dark might be better than no shot at all, so he gave a single nod. O’Malley seemed satisfied with the halfhearted gesture and sauntered up to the retreating soldier, attempting to befriend him with a joke about two Yanks in a bawdy house.

  Matthew ground his teeth against the pain in his leg and followed them, wondering about how each had insisted on helping him and yet neither did. Not that he wanted or needed assistance.

  By the time O’Malley scurried off with a final wink and Matthew was properly introduced and settled on the rear perimeter, sweat had begun sliding off his forehead and into his eyes, despite the lingering chill in the air. He wasn’t entirely sure of the date, but hopefully, winter had given its last fanfare with that spattering of snow they’d seen a few days back. Maybe, if he was lucky, they would start to see spring soon.

  “Here you go, sir,” a young private said, offering him a place on a large tree stump. Matthew nearly refused. A good soldier did not lounge on duty. But even his pride could not outweigh the pain in his leg or the exhaustion that was creeping up on him. He nodded in thanks, lowered himself onto the makeshift stool, and let out a long breath. The young private gave a sloppy salute and mumbled something about returning in a few moments with instructions before he scurried off. Matthew watched him go, shaking his head.

  A nauseated feeling sloshed in his gut like from the days when he’d guzzled too much red-eye in the taverns. But it had been perhaps some three years now since he’d even taken a swig. Probably not since that night he and his cousin Charles had helped a Yank out of an inn full of hot-blooded Southern boys who were still full of war fever.

  If he ever made it out of this death march, he would have to make a visit to Ironwood. He heard Charles was expecting his first child. He stretched his leg out in front of him and gently massaged the sore tissue, his wandering thoughts returning to the outlandish plot he’d been presented. Could there be any hope in O’Malley’s foolish plan?

  “Hey, there.”

  Matthew turned to look into the face of the soldier who had escorted him from the woods and to his new post before leaving him with the sloppy private who’d offered him this stump. How long ago had that been? He was too tired to tell. Not long enough for the rest to do him any good, he knew that much. He stifled a groan that threatened to escape his throat as he forced himself up and his leg to hold his weight. “Hello, Captain Holt.”

  “It has come to my attention you have never been on perimeter patrol before.”

  Matthew nodded.

  “Very well. I will instruct you on the proper sentry duty.”

  What was there to instruct? If you saw an enemy approach, you raised the alarm. Even a child had enough wits to know as much. The muscles in his jaw worked, but he said nothing.

  “If any Yanks approach, you are to give up a yell and then engage, unless they are carrying a white flag.”

  We are not to ask them to dance? Well, I’ll be…. Matthew stopped the thought and forced himself to keep the odd mix of annoyance and amusement from showing on his face.

  “And if it is a fellow brother in gray, you ask for his name, rank, and unit, and if he has a properly signed pass by an official.”

  “Understood.”

  “If he does not possess paperwork, he is to give the proper words of passage.”

  Matthew tilted his head. This he had not expected. “I do not know the proper words.”

  Holt looked incredulous. “That is precisely why I am here. It is time to deliver the new codes. We change them routinely. Now that we have new soldiers among us, I have been instructed to give a new countersign.”

  Feeling foolish, Matthew chose only to nod rather than to release another string of dense words.

  Holt handed Matthew a small slip of paper. “This has what you need to know. If anyone, anyone at all, approaches, they must give the proper countersign. It does not matter who they claim to be or what tale they spin. If they do not give the proper sign, they are to be detained.”

  “Understood.”

  Holt narrowed his eyes. “Be sure that you do. It is imperative. We have had all manner of innocent-looking folk approach, spewing all types of lies. It is better for you to detain someone on suitable business than to let a spy pass.”

  Matthew had heard rumors of spies with secret messages and encrypted letters but had been too busy shooting Yanks and staying alive to pay it much mind. “I will see that it is done.”

  Holt seemed satisfied and stalked away to deliver the message to the next sentinel on the line. Matthew settled back on his seat and unfolded the paper.

  It read simply:

  Countersign, February 6, 1865

  “Rome”

  Official: M. Hood

  “Anot
her year begun and still we struggle on with no hope beyond despair…”

  Dearest Peggy,

  I am terribly sorry to leave you a note this way, but I know if I told you what I was doing you would find a way to stop me.

  Annabelle lifted her pen, shocked at her own foolishness. What was she doing? In her stress, she’d thought a letter would be easier than saying goodbye. She had to be half out of her wits, writing a message to a woman who couldn’t read! She crumpled the wasted paper in her hand and tossed it into the embers of the near-dead fire in the kitchen hearth. The wad caught, and a small flame flared, devouring her excuse to avoid confrontation in a matter of moments.

  Peggy had retired to her room in the basement hours ago. Annabelle wouldn’t have much longer before she was supposed to rouse Lieutenant Monroe and slip out into the moonlight. She suspected if they left in the next hour, they could reach town at dawn. It would be at least another hour or two after that before anyone noticed their absence.

  Annabelle paced the floor. What was she to do? If she did not let Peggy know her intentions, Peggy would assume Lieutenant Monroe had somehow abducted her. However, if she told Peggy of her plans, she feared Peggy would either break her fragile resolve to complete this mission or Grandfather would find a way to rip the truth from Peggy’s lips. She could not allow Grandfather to know what she intended, at least not until the messengers were on their way.

  After the fourth trip around the kitchen, Annabelle determined fretting would do no good. She shouldered the pack in which she had guiltily stored two loaves of yesterday’s bread, a handful of nuts, an onion, and three carrots. What would Peggy make for breakfast now? She shook her head and slipped out the door, pulling it closed as softly as possible.

  She paused at the back door, changed her mind, and trudged around the side of the house to the slave quarter doors underneath. Thankful Peggy never barred the door, Annabelle entered the small but homey space as quiet as a mute dormouse.

  There were no embers burning in the hearth, and Annabelle sent up a small prayer for an early spring. She tightened her paletot around her shoulders and stepped across the brick floor to the small bed against the wall. She could barely make out Peggy’s form beneath the pile of coverings: a mix of thin blankets, tattered curtains that had once graced the parlor, and other random scraps of cloth Peggy had apparently hoarded.

  Annabelle placed a hand on the softly rising heap. As soon as she began to lean closer, Peggy let out a yelp and bolted upright, the crown of her head smacking into Annabelle’s nose. Annabelle stumbled back, her eyes filling with water.

  “Hush!” she hissed before Peggy could scream again. She placed her hand to the tender bridge of her nose, feeling for damage. There seemed to be none, although the sting released moisture from both her eyes and nostrils. She fought the urge to sniffle.

  “Miss Belle! What is you doin’ down here? Somethin’ wrong?” Peggy tossed off the coverings and swung her feet out of the bed.

  Annabelle held up a hand to stay her, but she wasn’t sure Peggy could see her in the meager light. “Don’t get up, Peggy. You’ll catch a chill in here. Haven’t I told you to light a fire at night?”

  Peggy remained where she was, the shape of her flimsy white nightdress the only part of her Annabelle could see. “Don’t need no fire. I keeps plenty warm ’nough without it.”

  Now was not the time to argue. “Please, get back under the warmth,” Annabelle whispered.

  This was foolishness. She should not have come here. She glanced at the pack that had dropped to the floor. She just needed to distract Peggy with a proper explanation of her presence, return the supplies to the kitchen, and get herself into bed. There had to be another way to thwart the wedding. She could not leave Peggy here with Grandfather alone. She would likely freeze, or starve, or worse – what if Grandfather sold her and then….

  Peggy interrupted her galloping thoughts. “Child, what you doin’ down here in the middle o’ the night?”

  “Nothing. I’m sorry. Go back to bed.” She spun to retreat, but Peggy’s cold fingers clamped down on her arm.

  “What you doin’?”

  “I’m… I couldn’t sleep.”

  “Hmm. No wonder. Seein’ as how you’s dressed for goin’ out.”

  How could Peggy see her so well in the dark when she could barely separate the forms from the shadows in the room? “Well, I couldn’t go about in my nightdress, now, could I?”

  No response.

  “It doesn’t matter. I am going back to bed. I’m sorry I roused you.”

  Peggy did not release her grip. “You’s dressed and carryin’ a bag. I ain’t no half-wit. Where you think you’s goin’?”

  Annabelle’s shoulders slumped. “I was going to leave. Try to get word to Uncle Michael and inform him of my predicament.”

  “Yeah…” Peggy mused. “I reckon he’d be the one that could solve this here mess.”

  “Yes.”

  Peggy was quiet for a moment before she spoke again. “What’s this really about? We can go to town and send a post in the mornin’. Why you wantin’ to go by youself before it’s even first light?”

  “You’re right, I wasn’t thinking. I was being foolish. We’ll go to town after breakfast. Goodnight.” She turned on her heel, but Peggy’s quiet words stopped her.

  “Miss Belle, I ain’t never known you to act without first thinkin’ on somethin’ right long and hard. I don’t for one heartbeat believe you was just goin’ to sneak out of the house without knowin’ what you was plannin’ on doin’. Now, what’s you not tellin’?”

  Annabelle sighed. “Very well. Lieutenant Monroe agreed to send my message by one of the army carriers to Uncle Michael if I delivered a secret letter for him in exchange. We were going to head to town before first light so Grandfather couldn’t stop us.”

  “That all?”

  Annabelle swallowed hard, now glad for the dim light. “Yes.”

  “Ain’t that bad of a plan, I reckon. Seems a good way to reach your uncle. But, I don’t like that part about you givin’ some letter. Why can’t he do that hisself? Don’t seem right.”

  “I know.” The strain in her voice settled on her own ears, and she felt Peggy’s grip tighten. Soon she was circled in the embrace that had comforted away many a childhood fear. But this was not something that could be chased away with affection. “I do not know what I should do, Peggy,” she said, stepping back. “I have never trusted Uncle….” Her voice dripped with disgust. No, she would call him that no longer. She straightened her spine. “I have never cared for Andrew. On the occasion we met, he seemed too slick with his words, too predatory in his gaze. I fear he possesses the black heart of Grandfather, and yet he will not even attempt to keep it suppressed.”

  “Then you knows what you gotta do. We can’t let that man force his way into here and take advantage of you. You go on to town and find some help.”

  Annabelle paused. She had not expected Peggy to agree to a plot so rife with dangers. She wasn’t quite sure Peggy understood all her plan entailed. It wouldn’t be a simple trip to town and back. What if finding the camp where she needed to take the letter took several days? What would happen to Peggy while she was away? “Come with me.”

  Peggy patted her arm. “No, child. Can’t do that.”

  “Why not?”

  “I needs to stay here. Keep you Grandfather’s nose down the wrong trail. It be better if I can keep him fooled long enough for you to get gone and get home without him knowin’ what you went to do.”

  She hadn’t thought of that. A plan began to form in her mind. “That could work. You could tell him my feminine inclinations set in, and I am excited to plan a wedding. Tell him I couldn’t sleep, I was so undone with the flutters, that I hurried to town before morning light so as to spend the day immersed in wedding details.”

  “That should work well enough. He won’t like you goin’ alone with that soldier, though.”

  “Tell him Monroe was r
eady to leave and offered to escort me to town. Grandfather will probably be glad to see him gone. He might rant a little, but what will he be able to do about it?”

  But what to do if she were gone for more than a day? She couldn’t tell Peggy she might spend the night alone with a man. She would never allow it. Hating herself for the lie forming on her lips, she took a deep breath.

  “I think once I get the message out, I might stay with Molly a few days. If you think you’ll be fine without me, I really could use the time with her.”

  “Of course, child! I been sayin’ you’s workin’ too much. You take a few days with your lady friend and talk about dresses and things like a girl your age is supposed to do!” Peggy nodded with approval, and Annabelle’s heart sank. But it couldn’t be helped. She would simply have to ask for forgiveness later.

  “Then just tell Grandfather I plan on staying with Molly a night or two so she can fit me for a dress.” She thought a moment. Grandfather wouldn’t be pleased with her not being around. “Also tell him while I am in town I will arrange for someone to come get poor old Jack and take him back to his family. He’ll be glad I got the rest of the soldiers out of the house, so maybe he won’t be too angry at me for wanting to stay with Molly for a bit.”

  “Well, all that seems fine enough, ’cept for that part about a lady ain’t to be ridin’ with no gentleman unescorted.”

  Sometimes it seemed Peggy forgot the changes that war had rendered. Good thing she hadn’t mentioned going with him to the army camp. “Peggy, I understand your concerns for my reputation, but I am afraid there is little that can be done about it. If I ever meet a gentleman I choose to wed, and he casts me away for riding to town with another man, then he isn’t the man for me anyway.”

  “I just don’t want folks in town to start sayin’ you’s a public woman.” Annabelle gasped, but Peggy kept on talking. “And besides that, what’s to say he ain’t goin’ to try to take your virtue whilst you’s away from home?”