Matthew ducked his head and hurried under the sign that marked the place as an inn, though it sounded more like a tavern. No one seemed to notice him.
He trudged through the moonlit town and soon found his way out onto the road that would lead him out of here and back past the barn where he was supposed to be meeting O’Malley. Indecision clawed at him, and his anger grew with every passing step. Curse this war, the North, and the Yanks that had taken George. Though he might long to return to his unit, he knew well enough that he would likely spend weeks in detainment for leaving, regardless of the reason. Unless he brought the girl back, they would string him up by the thumbs for defecting during the night. Might even accuse him of conspiracy.
As he wrestled with his thoughts, his feet took him ever closer to the farm at the edge of town. Fatigue begged him to bed down in the barn for the night. When was the last time he’d slept? O’Malley had said it would be safe for him. Then he could decide in the morning if he wanted to stay and wait to see if O’Malley would come, or if he should take his chances with the army. He was simply too tired now to think clearly. He would be able to have a better perspective in the morning.
When the barn came into view, Matthew turned from the road and through the tall grass that reached mid-calf, glad he had on boots in case he came across any cow patties. The thought of one sticking to his socks wasn’t pleasant.
He opened the doors and stepped into the dank building. How good it would feel to be out of the cold wind and to rest for a few hours. He pulled the doors closed behind him and eased forward in the complete darkness, feeling ahead with his outstretched hands. After making his slow shuffle down the aisle, he eventually brushed his fingers against the rough ladder on the rear wall that would lead him up to the loft.
He’d just put his foot on the first rung when a voice startled him, and he leapt backward, his hand instinctively going for the knife at his side.
“Who’s there?” the voice said from above.
Matthew strained his eyes in the darkness but could not even make out the shape of the man above. He lifted his blade but said nothing.
“Answer me, or I’ll shoot!”
Matthew fell into a fighting stance, his blade at the ready.
“Harry! Get out of my way,” said O’Malley’s familiar voice.
Matthew lowered his blade slightly. He hadn’t expected them so soon.
“Daniels, that you?”
He sighed and lowered the knife to his side. “Yeah, O’Malley, it’s me.”
“Excellent. I knew you would return.”
Matthew frowned. Something in O’Malley’s tone set his intuition on edge, but he couldn’t quite place why. He was probably just overly tired.
“Who else is here?” Matthew asked. It was always beneficial to know how outnumbered he would be if the situation turned ugly.
“Just me, Harry here, and then Benson—who seems to be sleeping like a dead horse.”
Matthew said nothing. The other man grumbled something about lost sleep and then fell silent.
“Well, come on up.” The buoyancy in O’Malley’s voice seemed rather out of place for their circumstances.
Matthew scaled the ladder and crouched on the platform, his senses still insisting there was danger. He waited to see if he would be ambushed and pushed off the loft, but no one seemed to be moving in his direction. It was hard to tell, though, when he couldn’t even see the knife he held out in front of him.
“Over here, Daniels. There’s a big enough pile of hay for you near the corner.”
Matthew kept at the ready but followed O’Malley’s voice. When his searching hand came in contact with a heap of musty straw without incident, he pocketed the knife and sat.
“Where’s the girl?” O’Malley asked, his voice only an arm’s length or so to Matthew’s right and low enough so as not to be heard by the others.
“Gone. Maybe even in the middle of a Union camp by now,” Matthew said in a harsh whisper, the annoyance in his voice surprising even him.
O’Malley was quiet for a long moment, and Matthew began to think he’d come to the same conclusion. The girl was either never a part of the group or she had betrayed it. Either way, she was best forgotten.
“We’ll have to get her back,” O’Malley finally said.
“Why?”
O’Malley shuffled closer, lowering his voice even further, so much so that Matthew had to strain to hear. “I need to know what was in that note.”
“Don’t you already?”
“Not exactly.”
There it was again, that subtle shift in tone that fueled Matthew’s unease. Suddenly O’Malley’s hand patted his shoulder. Matthew stiffened. How could the man even see to find him in this inky darkness? The fact that he could see made Matthew feel even more at a disadvantage.
“Easy now, friend. You are more nervous than a mouse in a room full of starving cats.” O’Malley leaned close, his breath on Matthew’s ear. “We were waiting on that delivery for weeks. It came from our contact up north and was to let me know when the plan was supposed to go into action. Without it, we don’t know when we are supposed to make our move.”
“As I see it, the move has already been made. Unless you plan on returning to the army with me in the morning.”
The fingers on his shoulder tightened. “Return?”
Matthew shrugged free. “Look, I don’t want to be a deserter. Maybe I really should just return and tell them I chased after the escaped girl, then lost her. A few nights strung up won’t kill me.”
“And you think they will believe that?” O’Malley hissed.
“I’ll take my chances.”
Matthew could hear O’Malley controlling his breathing with long, deliberate inhalations. After about the fourth one, he finally said, “That wouldn’t be wise, you know. Then who will help your brother?”
Matthew clenched his jaw. O’Malley took his silence as a chance to continue. “Look, here’s what I am offering you. You go north with me, hear the plan, and use our sources to find out which camp your brother is in. Then you can decide what to do.”
Matthew considered it. If he found where George was being held, maybe he could figure out how to get him on his own. Somehow. He sighed. “Very well. I will go north with you, but I am not making any promises.”
“Oh, but you already did.”
Matthew let out a low rumble and sensed O’Malley scooting a little farther away.
“I am only reminding you of your word.”
Matthew leaned back against the stack of hay. “O’Malley, we will discuss it in the morning. I am in need of rest.”
“Of course, my friend. You certainly deserve it. Only one more thing, and then I will let you be.”
“What?”
“Do you know anything about this girl?” he asked, once again scooting closer and dropping his voice. “I am beginning to fear she is not who we thought and therefore may be in grave danger.” The concern in his voice seemed genuine.
“I have the same fear. I think either she unknowingly got caught up in this, or she is a northern spy.”
“Daniels,” O’Malley said urgently, “we need to know where she is.”
He was probably right. “She went with a Yank. I don’t know where he took her.”
“Do you know anything else about her? Anything that might help us?”
“Perhaps….” he hesitated. “But you’ll have to let me handle it.”
“Of course, of course.”
“I may know where she is going. Assuming, of course, she’s really not a spy.”
“Excellent. Where?” O’Malley said a little too eagerly.
Matthew rolled to his side, putting his back to O’Malley. “It’s only a very unlikely scenario, one I don’t even believe myself.”
O’Malley was silent.
Matthew sighed, his lids growing heavy, his body unable to refuse sleep much longer. “I will make you a deal of my own. I will go and see if there is any tr
uth to my suspicion. If there isn’t, we will assume her a traitor or a spy and go north without her.”
O’Malley was quiet for a moment. “Very well. And, if you do find her?”
“Then you agreed to let me handle it.”
“Indeed, I did. And I will not go back on my word. A man is nothing without his word.”
Matthew bristled at the prod at his honor. “Good night, O’Malley,” he said through clenched teeth.
Rustling indicated O’Malley was settling into the hay. “Sleep well, my friend. We have quite a journey ahead.”
Despite the worry that desperately clamored for his attention, Matthew closed his eyes and told himself it would all be clearer in the morning.
“How disheartening the Southern papers read: Sherman is riding rough-shod over the whole South, carrying destruction everywhere.”
Private Grierson, Annabelle wrote across the rough paper the young serving girl had brought up with a pen and well of ink this morning at her request.
I am sorry to leave you this way, but I feel it is of utmost importance that I return home. All the things I told you yesterday are true, and I do hope you will believe me. I will be ever grateful for your aid after I was thrown from my horse.
Despite the girl’s promise that she could leave a sealed letter for the young man who had paid for her lodging, Annabelle knew well enough that nothing would be delivered to a Union soldier unread. Even if the Union was now in control of Lorman. She would have to be very careful with how she worded her letter.
I do hope that aiding the enemy will not go poorly for you and will be seen only as an honorable act of helping a lady in need, despite her status as a Southerner.
Perhaps that would help staunch some of the rumors that would surely circulate. She held the pen over the page, contemplating how she should sign it. A drop of ink fell and splattered on the page. She sighed. Years ago, her tutor would have made her begin again for such sloppiness.
Making up her mind, she quickly scrawled the remainder of the short message.
I thank you again for your assistance.
Sincerely,
Anna Smith
She folded the paper and poured a small amount of candle wax across the fold. It would have to do. She stood, relieved to find that her ankle felt much better this morning and could hold her weight without too much discomfort. She would do her best to rest it once she returned to Rosswood.
She secured her hair as best she could, tried to straighten her tattered dress, and descended the steps. No one seemed to notice her as she walked out the front door and into the cool, clear morning. Who would ever think such a dirty girl was the true lady of Rosswood? With her uncovered head, they probably thought her a lady for hire anyway. It was for the best, even if it gnawed at her sensibilities.
Turning to her left, she walked as quickly as she dared down the street, made a left and then two rights, and came to the front of the dressmaker’s shop just as the throbbing in her ankle began to demand she stop.
The bells on the door tinkled as Annabelle stepped inside, thankful no other people were examining the few bolts of cloth remaining on the shelves.
Molly appeared from behind a curtain on the rear wall. “Annabelle! Oh, my heavens! How nice to see… oh, dear.” Molly stopped and placed a hand over her mouth.
Annabelle grimaced. “I know. I look a fright.”
“What happened?”
Molly was still her closest friend, even though they hadn’t seen each other in a long time. Father had allowed the friendship when she was a child, letting the girls play while he and Molly’s father talked of business or whatever else men spoke of. Back then, Molly’s father had been a successful merchant, and Molly was near enough Annabelle’s station that staying nights at Rosswood had been proper.
War had brought the death of both of Molly’s parents, and like Annabelle, Molly had found out that survival required great changes. She’d come once to check on Annabelle when the Union had first taken over Rosswood for the hospital, but Annabelle had not seen her dear friend since, as Grandfather did not allow her to come into town. Just looking upon her friend’s concerned face brought a manner of relief.
Annabelle looked around with appreciation. “You know, Molly, you’ve done very well to care for yourself. It isn’t easy for a woman to have her own shop.”
Molly gave a tight smile. “I thank you. Now, what happened to you?”
She should have expected Molly would not let her steer the conversation away from her disheveled state. “I was thrown from my horse, and I’m afraid I’m in need of a new dress. Or a skirt and blouse, at least.” Sometimes Molly made skirts from the leftover fabric when she finished a lady’s dress and sold them to the poorer women or to the ladies to give to their slaves. But, since that line between the privileged and the poor became thinner every day, Molly might not have even remnant patch skirts on hand.
Molly lifted her delicate dark brows. “Homer threw you?”
Annabelle felt the heat in her cheeks rise. She grabbed Molly’s wrist and pulled her to the curtain at the back of the store that separated the cloth selection area from Molly’s sewing space. “Come on. I’ll tell you what happened.”
Molly followed her into the sewing room littered with cut fabric and threads. A nearly finished dress lay across a wide table in the center of the room. Annabelle studied her friend’s troubled expression for a moment, then decided it would do her good to spill her heart.
“Grandfather wants to force me to marry Andrew.”
Molly gasped. “Your uncle?”
“Only by marriage. It is legal.”
“Oh, dear. Your father always said you could choose.”
Annabelle straightened. “I will not do it. I was going to try to find my true uncle, to see if he would help me, but…that has been difficult.” It was best not to tell anyone what she had been through. Though unlikely, if anyone were to ask, she didn’t want to cause Molly any trouble. “Anyway, Grandfather thinks I have been with you to be fitted for a wedding dress.”
Molly snorted. “As if I’d be able to make a proper wedding gown these days.”
“Well, I doubt he’s thought of that.”
“So, what happens when you don’t have a dress?”
“I’m going to tell him you started all my measurements, but I changed my mind and decided not to marry.”
Molly looked Annabelle over. “And how shall we explain your current condition?”
Annabelle sighed. “I was hoping you could help.”
“It just so happens that I might be able to do that.” She pointed to the mound of patterned blue fabric lying across the table. “Mrs. Jones ordered it from me but came in just yesterday to say she couldn’t pay for it.” Her voice nearly cracked on the final word, and Annabelle’s heart constricted.
“Oh, Molly. I’m sorry.” Annabelle knew how many hours Molly put into her dresses, and she was likely counting on what little money she was getting for her work to fill her stomach. Her father had left the buildings to her, but the remaining money he’d been able to pass down upon his death had run out last year.
Molly waved her hand. “Oh, it’s nothing. I understand.” She blinked her eyes, likely to ward off unwanted tears. “None of us has much anymore. But, I was finishing it anyway, hoping that maybe one of the Union officers might have a wife with him, and she might be in need of a dress about this size….” she trailed off. They both knew how unlikely that would be. “Regardless, with a little bit of adjusting, it should fit you nicely.”
“I couldn’t.”
“Bah. You can. And you will. I won’t allow you to go home like that.” She glanced at the dress, her forced chipper tone crumbling into a grumble. “Besides, what was she thinking to want such a thing made in times like these?”
Annabelle looked down at the sorry state of her appearance and knew that it would be easier to tell Grandfather why Molly had given her a new dress than to explain what she had on. What choice di
d she have?
“I will pay you back.”
Molly smiled. “I know you will. Soon, Rosswood will be thriving again, and you’ll come to me for twenty new gowns!”
She giggled, and Annabelle joined her, both of them knowing the fantasy would never come to pass but not wanting to ruin the moment by admitting it.
In just two short hours, Molly stepped back and let Annabelle look in the mirror. “There. It’s obvious it wasn’t made for you, but it still fits you decently well.”
Annabelle turned to admire the delicately patterned fabric that made her eyes appear an even brighter blue. It might not look like a perfect fit to Molly, but Annabelle would have never been able to tell the dress wasn’t always meant for her. Tears welled in her eyes, and she tried to blink them away.
“Come now, it’s only a dress.”
Annabelle pulled her friend into a hug. “No, it’s more than that.”
Molly squeezed her and then stepped back. “I’m sorry it’s an evening cut, but I think we are going to be blessed with an early spring, so perhaps you will not freeze for too long with the wide neckline.”
Annabelle looked at the way the dress fell across the edges of her shoulders and dipped down in the front to expose all of her collar bone. How scandalous would it be to go about with so much showing during the day? Well, she could wear her paletot or a shawl for a while; it would be fine. At least it had long, creamy sleeves that brushed the backs of her hands.
The skirt at the bottom was a little less full than any of her previous gowns had been, and she wore only a layered petticoat underneath instead of a hoop skirt, which neither of them had. Hoops would be ridiculous in this situation, anyway. Who needed to worry with silly fashion standards when they were nigh on starving?
No sillier than a girl in a ball gown with her shoulders showing on a winter day.
Annabelle dismissed the thought and pressed the fabric down with her fingers, which she refused to let tremble. The blue fabric split in the middle, revealing an underskirt with delicate white lace that matched the trim on the bodice.
Annabelle stared at herself in the looking glass. In a proper bodice, she looked more a woman and less like a child. Let’s see if Captain Daniels thinks me a girl now! The unwelcomed statement startled her. Why should she care what he thought? She would never see him again.
The Liberator Series Box Set: Christian Historical Civil War Novels Page 15
