The Liberator Series Box Set: Christian Historical Civil War Novels

by Stephenia H. McGee

  He heard her sharp intake of breath but ignored it, instead raising his voice to the guard as he came to a stop in front of the tent. “You’ll need to rouse the lieutenant colonel, Sergeant. This woman has come to the line without the proper countersign.”

  No need to mention what Holt had said about her being a spy. He didn’t want to put ideas into anyone’s head if they didn’t have cause to be there. He glanced at the girl. Even if they might very well be true, he would allow the lieutenant colonel to come to his own conclusions.

  The sergeant nodded and within a few moments returned with the lieutenant colonel, who looked as if he hadn’t been sleeping anyway.

  “What’s going on, Captain Daniels?” Hood asked, his gaze traveling over the pair.

  Matthew urged the girl forward. “I’m afraid this young woman has given the wrong counter. We figured it best to bring her to you.”

  Hood narrowed his eyes in the flickering torchlight. “Indeed. You thought her enough of a threat not to simply turn her away? You’ve likely disturbed my rest only to bring me a camp wench who’s wandered away from some man’s tent.”

  “I am no harlot!” the girl snapped, ripping her elbow from Matthew’s grasp.

  The lieutenant colonel raised his bushy brows. “Indeed? Then what business do you have here?”

  She drew herself to her full height, little that it was. “I am here to deliver a message.”

  Hood extended his hand. “Ah. A message of such urgency it needed to come in the middle of night. This I must indeed see.” He wiggled his fingers. “So, hand it over.”

  She shook her head. “I must give it to an officer from Crestview, Virginia. Do you hail from there?”

  The amused look on Hood’s face vanished, and his features tightened. “That will be all, Captain Daniels,” he said, his eyes not leaving the girl.

  Matthew frowned. “Yes, sir, but I—”

  “I shall handle this from here. Return to your post,” Hood nearly growled.

  The muscles in Matthew’s jaw clenched, but he stepped away from the girl without another word. The lieutenant colonel took her arm. “Come, my dear, and we’ll discuss this further.” He guided her forward, and she cast a worried look in Matthew’s direction before she disappeared inside the tent behind Lieutenant Colonel Hood. The flap fell closed, and the sergeant resumed his position in front of it.

  Having no other choice, Matthew turned and limped away. The farther he walked from the tent, the deeper the unease settled in his gut. What fate might he have delivered that poor girl into?

  “Now we shall soon see the end of all, or the beginning of worse.”

  Annabelle allowed the officer to escort her inside the tent, where a wave of warm air greeted her and chased a shiver from her frame.

  “Come, my dear. It seems you have caught a chill. Please, sit here while I stoke the fire.” He guided her to a ladder-back chair positioned in front of a small personal desk. She lowered herself into the chair and glanced around her surroundings, unnerved at being confined in such a small space with a strange man.

  Annabelle rubbed her arms, glad at least to be out of the biting wind for a few moments, even if it was by entering the jaws of an unknown foe. The Lieutenant Colonel had managed to cram a single-man bed, a washbasin, a table covered in all manner of papers, a trunk, and the writing desk into the small space. Even the ground underneath her feet was covered with an array of various rugs that overlapped one another. The most striking and most luxurious item in the tent was the small wood stove in front of which the lieutenant colonel stood, holding the door and prodding within. Her eyes followed the pipe up to the top of the tent where it protruded through the cloth wall. He even had a teakettle warming over the fire. Oh, how wonderful a hot drink would be on this frigid night.

  As if reading her thoughts, the lieutenant colonel lifted the kettle and turned to her. “Would you care for a cup of tea?”

  She nodded.

  He set to work and in short order presented her with a tin cup filled with the steaming liquid. “I apologize that I do not have something better to offer, but I am afraid proper china is simply impractical out here.”

  “No apology needed. I thank you for the drink.” She lifted the cup to her lips and let the aroma wash over her and the steam tickle her face.

  He took a seat on top of the trunk near the foot of his bed, directly across from her. She looked at him from under her lashes and took her time sipping the tea in order to avoid speaking and give herself a little time to think. Never had she been alone with a man in the intimacy of his private quarters, and she certainly did not wish to be so now. However, it seemed she had little choice, and if she was going to free herself from this predicament, she would need to choose her words wisely.

  The lieutenant colonel studied her, his dark brows turned down slightly in concentration. What did he think of her? As if suddenly remembering something, he slapped his knee and caused her to startle. “We have not proceeded with proper introductions!” He rose to his feet and gave a small bow. “I am Lieutenant Colonel James B. Hood, originally of the 31st Arkansas.”

  She inclined her head. “Miss Smith.” Intuition told her using her real name would not be wise, so she simply spoke the first one that flowed from her lips.

  He lifted a brow, but when she gave nothing further, he returned to his seat. “So, Miss Smith, you have come to deliver a message to a man from Crestview. Who has told you to seek someone from that town?”

  She lowered the cup and decided that in this, she would give the truth, so much as she knew it. “I was asked by Lieutenant Monroe of the Mississippi 35th.”

  “He was not able to do this task himself? Why send you?”

  She wrapped both hands around the cup and enjoyed the sensation of warmth on her fingers. “He was wounded and has been under my care for some time. When we believed he was getting well, he wished to return to the army.” She paused, trying to judge the officer’s reaction, but picked up on little more than intense curiosity.

  “I see. So, you are a nurse, then?”

  “In a manner of speaking. I was an aide until everyone in the hospital moved on. Then I did my best to nurse the few left to my care, sir.”

  He stroked the short beard on his chin. “Very good. We could use another nurse.”

  “But, I’m….”

  He waved his hand. “Forgive me, merely observance. Please, continue.”

  She shifted in her seat and glanced at the entry. There would be no way to leave this place except with the blessing of the man across from her. If she had any hope of asking him to locate her uncle, she would have to find a way for him to realize she was harmless. She offered the officer a sweet smile. “Where was I?”

  He returned the gesture with a tolerant smile of his own, not unlike the one she had often seen from Grandfather when he believed her too dull to comprehend his words. “You were saying how you were a nurse.”

  “Oh. Yes. Lieutenant Monroe seemed to be recovering, and he wished to return to duty. He intended to locate the Northern Virginian and join up with them.”

  “And why didn’t he?”

  “He died.”

  Silence fell on the tent, and Annabelle lifted the cup to her lips to take another sip and an opportunity to avoid the man’s steady gaze. When she looked up, she found him still staring at her. She sighed. “I had hoped he was doing well enough to travel. What I did not realize was that his wound had begun to fester, and the fever returned even stronger. There was nothing I could do for him.”

  Hood nodded. “I see.”

  Did he? She shifted again. “I was only returning a favor for him. If it is any trouble, I will simply take it along with me as I continue my journey.” Better to find another way to send her message than to be detained here.

  “Oh, no. That will not be necessary.”

  Panic fluttered through her, but she fought to suppress it and tilted her head. “Oh? Then the officer I seek is here?”

 
“Indeed. It so happens that I am a man from Crestview.”

  She kept her features even. “Oh? Well, imagine that. How convenient for me.”

  “I have never heard of a Lieutenant Monroe, so you must forgive my suspicions. We have had problems with spies, and as you can imagine, this war has caused even the best men to become leery.”

  Well, perhaps he did have a reasonable point. A small measure of relief loosened the constriction in her chest. If he truly were the man she needed to deliver the message to, then perchance she could get this matter solved and request his aid. “That is understandable, of course. I am glad I will be able to help the lieutenant with his final request.”

  Interest lit Hood’s face, and she suddenly regretted her words. Should she have given away how important the message had been to Monroe?

  “Yes, yes. That is good, indeed.”

  She drew a long breath and threw out her request while he seemed to be in a pleasant disposition. “I was also wondering if I might be able to send a message out with one of your men, if any are going to the Northern Virginian?”

  Hood leaned back in his chair. “I’m afraid I cannot help you with that, Miss Smith, as I presently do not know exactly where they are. We have no official correspondence between us at this time.”

  She leaned forward, feeling the first flutter of hope since she’d lit the match and laid Monroe to rest. “But do you know where their general location is? Perhaps that will help me.”

  “Why is this so important?”

  She sat back in the chair, resisting the hopelessness that had begun to creep in. Clasping the cup, which had now grown cold in her fingers, Annabelle kept her eyes down, lest they give away emotions she did not wish to reveal. “I am seeking my uncle.”

  “And why is that?”

  She stiffened, her eyes snapping to his face. “That is of a personal matter, and I do not see how it pertains to our current conversation.”

  “Hmm. Indeed, it does not.”

  He stared at her, his expression sending the message that if she did not speak further, then he would in no way aid her. Her shoulders slumped. “He does not know that my father has died, and he is my only remaining male relative.”

  The officer stroked his chin. “Tell me, Miss Smith, who was your father?”

  Panic stirred anew in her chest, and she lowered her gaze. “He was a captain, and he died in battle. I’m afraid I don’t know too many of the details. Why do you ask?”

  “You speak as a well-born lady and not at all like the waif you currently appear to be.”

  Her hand involuntarily rose to her face. “I am not a waif. Nor a camp follower, and certainly not a harlot.” Her voice rose in irritation.

  “So, you are high-born, then.”

  She studied him. Seeing no harm in giving her status, and hoping perhaps it might aid her, she nodded. “I suppose. My father was a small plantation owner.” Better not to give away any details on Rosswood, lest he deduce she had given him a fake name. He couldn’t know all of the plantations in Mississippi, could he?

  “Well, Miss Smith, as you are obviously not a threat to us, you are welcome to rest here tonight, and then you can be on your way on the morrow. As soon as you deliver what you have come to do, of course.”

  Relief flooded through her. “Oh! Of course.” She reached into her pocket, pulled forth the piece of paper, and handed it to the lieutenant colonel. She watched him closely as he unfolded it. Surprise flickered across his face but was quickly concealed. “Thank you, Miss Smith. This is indeed great to have.”

  “You can read it, then?”

  “Oh, of course. We often do things in this manner to keep enemy eyes from reading our correspondence. Even when it is nothing more than news of home, as this is here.”

  “News of home?”

  “Indeed. Just letting us know our dear town is safe from Union raids and is faring well.”

  Annabelle frowned. Why would Monroe act with such urgency for something so mundane?

  “But, you see, something still baffles me,” Hood said.

  “What?”

  “There is not a family by the name of Monroe from our town. I wonder, then, why he would have such a salutation?”

  Annabelle lifted her shoulders, nervous words tumbling from her lips. “Oh, well, that is simple enough. I actually found the letter on another soldier, who died a few days before Lieutenant Monroe. But Lieutenant Monroe must have been close to the man, because he was rather insistent the message be delivered on his behalf. Perhaps this other man is someone you know.”

  Hood’s eyes lit with interest, though his face remained passive. “That would make sense. What was this man’s name?”

  Annabelle made one up. “Joseph Franklin.”

  “Yes! The Franklins live not too far from town.” He stroked his beard.

  Fear clawed in her stomach. What game did this man play? She needed to get out of here. She forced a smile.

  “Wonderful,” Annabelle said, bounding to her feet a little too quickly. She had to catch the chair before it toppled over. “Well, since that has been resolved, I think I will be on my way now.” She started for the entrance.

  Hood rose to his feet and stepped in front of her, his face darkening.

  “Oh, no, Miss Smith. I am afraid that is not an option.”

  She lifted her brows. “But you said I could go on my way once the message was handed over.”

  “So I did.” He clamped his hand down on her arm. “But that was before you proved yourself to be a spy.”

  “The only hope the South ever had of late will certainly now fail her. The Knights are powerless either to aid or lead.”

  “Daniels!”

  Matthew groaned and rolled over. Was someone calling his name, or was he dreaming again? Most every night brought with it the distorted memories of losing his brother, in the twisted forms of nightmares that caused his heart to gallop and his palms to sweat.

  “Daniels! Wake up, man!” the harsh whisper said again.

  Full consciousness crashed on him like a bucket of fresh well water, and he jerked upright. His tent was still cloaked in darkness. How long had he been asleep? “Who’s there?” he growled.

  “It’s David O’Malley.”

  Matthew tossed his blanket off and opened the small flap near the end of his feet to find O’Malley crouched outside. “What are you doing out here?”

  “Let me in.”

  There was scarcely room for Matthew inside, much less another man. He pulled back the flap and drew his legs underneath him as much as he could, allowing a small amount of room for O’Malley to enter and crouch at the foot of his bedding mat. Sitting hunched like this reminded Matthew of the days in his boyhood when he would build forts out in the woods and duck inside, pretending he was a great warrior defending his lands.

  Lands this war might render to shreds. The thought sent a pang through his chest, and his jaw clenched. He had to force it to unlock so he could push forth discontented words from their confines. “What is the meaning of this, O’Malley? Why in heaven’s name are you coming to my tent in the dead of night?”

  “You brought her in, didn’t you?”

  “The waif? How would you know…?” he let his voice trail off. Just how many things did O’Malley really have his fingers in?

  “I told you. It is our duty to be apprised of all that goes on where our organization is involved. That girl might be one of us.”

  Matthew snorted. “Impossible.”

  “And why is that?” O’Malley asked, his hunkered form nearly indistinguishable from the shadows.

  Matthew hated not being able to read a man’s face when they were speaking. One gathered more information from what played across a man’s features than from anything that spouted from his mouth. Not being able to see in the dark made Matthew feel at a distinct disadvantage.

  “That girl looks like she wandered in from some field,” he said, waving away O’Malley’s paranoid concerns. “It�
�s not likely she’s some conspirator in a plot to kidnap—”

  “Hush, man!” O’Malley interrupted. “Do you want to get us killed?”

  Matthew ran a hand through the hair he had let continue to grow these past years; it now touched his shoulders. “I am afraid you are going to have to explain yourself, O’Malley.”

  O’Malley drew close enough that Matthew once again noticed the often forgotten scent of unwashed bodies. “We have to be careful. It’s going to require some stealth to get her out.”

  “What?”

  “They are keeping her as a prisoner. We need to get her out before sunrise, when they will start questioning her. We need to talk to her first.”

  “You want me to help you break out a prisoner?” The man was completely mad.

  “Hurry. We don’t have much time.” O’Malley turned and began to lift the tent flap, but Matthew caught his arm.

  “Wait. Don’t you have others in your… organization… who would be better accomplices?”

  O’Malley sighed. “Look, Daniels, I put my neck on the line for you. It took a good bit of convincing to get the others to accept my nomination for you. I’m going through quite a bit of trouble to give you the opportunity to see your brother freed. You said you were with me. Are you retracting your word?”

  “Daniels men do not go back on their word,” Matthew snapped.

  “Good,” O’Malley said as he lifted the tent flap and crawled through. “Then come on. We don’t have much time.”

  Pushing down his misgivings, Matthew followed O’Malley into the night. They stalked through the camp like a pair of criminals on silent feet. Matthew inwardly groaned. He should have grabbed his boots. This had better not take long. How ridiculous was it to be slinking about in only his woolen socks?

  They neared the rear of Lieutenant Colonel Hood’s tent, where light still flickered and shadows moved within, and Matthew had no further opportunity to contemplate the measure of wits residing in O’Malley’s skull. Why were they here? Weren’t they supposed to be talking to the girl?