The Liberator Series Box Set: Christian Historical Civil War Novels

by Stephenia H. McGee

  “Ah. One more thing,” Molly said, clapping her hands together and pulling Annabelle from her musings. She slipped behind the curtain, and Annabelle could hear her rummaging around in the store. She returned a few moments later. “Now, with this band and a little of the lace, we can make a nice head covering to match.”

  Annabelle’s lips turned up. “A bonnet will do fine. I don’t need a complete ensemble. You’ve done plenty already.”

  Molly frowned. “Hold on.” She snatched up a piece of the blue trimming from the dress, completely ignoring Annabelle. “No, no. It’s easy to make.” She held it out and then pulled it back. “Oh! But we must do something with that hair.”

  Annabelle lifted her brows but said no more. Molly unwound Annabelle’s braid and let a mass of spiraled hair tumble down her back.

  “Oh, yes. These curls are much better,” Molly said, gathering them up and securing them to Annabelle’s head with several pins before placing the headband on top and pinning it down.

  Annabelle had to admit the style did look rather fetching. If she were ever to have an evening out, she might even be the finest dressed lady in the room.

  Annabelle grabbed Molly for another hug. “Again, I find myself indebted to you.”

  “Nonsense. I’m sorry I didn’t have a proper day dress for you. I do hate to cause you such embarrassment.”

  Annabelle laughed. “As opposed to the embarrassment of walking about in a tattered skirt with my head uncovered and my hair a mess?”

  “Well, yes, there is that.”

  Annabelle sobered. “Thank you, Molly.”

  She smiled. “Anything for my oldest friend.”

  Annabelle stepped out into the late-morning sun and felt like a new woman. With a proper dress, she could hold her shoulders back and no longer have to hide herself in shame.

  Now all that remained was to hire a hackney and secure a ride home. With purpose in her step and a determined posture, Annabelle steeled herself for what lay ahead.

  “This shall be terribly avenged by-and-by.”

  Matthew swiped his hand across his brow. The mid-afternoon sun shone down on him and chased away the thoughts of a cold night spent in the hay loft. Mississippi fickle springs could never decide if they wanted to appear in early February or late March. The weather could send a man into a sweat one day and then bring a frost the next. He almost shed his jacket, but decided against it.

  Matthew looked up at the sky and grumbled to himself. The men had let him sleep almost to the sun’s zenith, then after a quick noon meal of hardtack and jerky, he’d set off. He’d half expected O’Malley to change his mind. The fact that he hadn’t left Matthew both worried and baffled. He’d tried to keep vigilant in discovering which one of them was likely trailing him, but the fellow must have been good. He hadn’t seen any of them on his heels the entire way. Still, he knew one had to be there, somewhere.

  He stopped at the beginning of a long drive, the remnants of once-plentiful fields lining either side like dead sentries. Yes, he remembered it well now. They had been on their way to Natchez and had stopped here because of the Rosswood man’s wedding and, of course, Matthew’s father’s interest in the family. It had been Matthew’s cousin Charles who had introduced Eliot Ross and his father.

  Matthew shook his head and started down the drive, not seeing anyone in the dried-up acres stretching before him. What exactly did he think he would accomplish here? Likely, he would do nothing more than prove himself a fool. Well, better a fool who knew the truth than a fool being outmaneuvered by a tiny woman with a sharp tongue. He would confront her and get to the bottom of this mess she had caused him.

  Matthew glanced to his side and noticed a section of ground dotted with mounds of rocks. Many of the older-looking ones, where the stones appeared more settled, had crudely built crosses at the head of the rock mounds. Graves? By the looks of it, there could be nearly two dozen of them. Why would so many be buried here?

  As he neared the house, the answer greeted him by way of a flag tied to the upper balcony. Made from what appeared to be a bed sheet or quilt, the yellow banner had been painted with a large white H.

  Hospital.

  A tingle snaked down his spine. He hated hospitals. However, that would explain a few things about Miss Smith, who he was increasingly certain was, indeed, Miss Ross.

  Regardless, the house stood quiet, its porch unoccupied by healing soldiers. Likely, they had moved on from here. Seeing no one around the yard, slave or free, he continued closer.

  He stepped up to the front lawn, now remembering stepping down from their own carriage on the circle drive and passing down the long sidewalk through the small garden area at the front of the house. As he drew closer to the house, Matthew noticed the dead, thorny branches of a no-longer-tended rose garden, which surrounded a small dried-up fountain. He passed the cracked fountain and neared the front porch. That was when he heard the shouts.

  Matthew tensed, studying the house. Despite the date, the unusually warm day had lured the house’s occupants into opening all the lower windows on the front of the house. Odd, really. Who would want the cool breeze dispersing the stored heat when fires were still needed at night?

  “I will not be disobeyed again!” A male voice shouted from the room to the left of the front door. Matthew frowned.

  “Grandfather, please! Just listen to me.”

  That voice. It was her! Matthew clenched his teeth and stepped quietly onto the front porch in his too-tight boots that nearly made his feet go numb. What was she about?

  “This matter has already been settled!” the grandfather said, the final word nearly disappearing into a fit of coughs that sounded deep and ragged.

  When the fit subsided, the grandfather spoke again. “Andrew has received his leave and will be here at any time to secure this arrangement.”

  Matthew pressed his back against the house and eased closer to the window, which, strangely, had no curtains. If he could angle himself just right, perhaps he could see….

  “I will not marry my uncle, Grandfather. You cannot force me.”

  Matthew halted. Her uncle?

  “You will marry him, or you will be put out on your own. There is a choice for you, since you always demand to have one. Let’s hope you aren’t quite as simple as you are plain.”

  Anger began to churn in Matthew’s gut. Who was this man who would speak to a woman, let alone his own kin, in such a manner?

  The girl said nothing. The silence stretched on for quite some time, and Matthew had begun to think they had left the room. He started to step away from his position when he heard her speak again, this time without a waver in her voice.

  “I choose not to wed, and I will not leave. This is my home, left to me by my father, and you cannot—”

  Her words were suddenly cut off by a resounding crack, followed by a small whimper. Matthew’s blood boiled, and without pausing to consider his actions, he turned and in one stride was pounding a heavy fist on the front door.

  A harsh whisper came from the open window, but Matthew couldn’t decipher any words from it. Then the coughing came, all the way to the door, which cracked open slowly to reveal a man with graying hair and a hawkish face.

  Matthew shoved down as much emotion as he could, but his voice was strained. “Good day, sir. I am here to see Miss Ross, in regards to the arrangement her father set forth with my brother.”

  The plan formed quickly in his mind, as shot through with holes as it was. But, it was near enough the truth that perhaps, if he was lucky, he might even be able to employ it.

  “Excuse me?” The man said, narrowing his eyes as he looked up at Matthew. “We are not expecting any visitors, and my granddaughter has no arrangements. Good day.”

  The man started to close the door, but Matthew caught the edge of it and held tight, refusing to let the elder man push it closed.

  “Forgive me for not sending prior notice, but as we are at war, such things have become difficult. I h
ave been granted a short leave while we are near, and I must speak to Miss Ross before returning to my unit.”

  Matthew forced a grin, but instead of coming across as pleasant, it must have betrayed a deeper feeling, because the man’s face grew pale. Matthew continued, not giving him a chance to speak. “Allow me to introduce myself. I am Matthew Daniels, son of Winston Daniels of Westerly. Perhaps you remember my family?”

  The man narrowed his eyes. “I can’t say that I do.”

  Liar. His eyes told otherwise. Matthew lifted his brows. “You are certain?”

  The man shook his head, jaw clenched.

  Matthew cocked his head, still holding firm to the door. He began to push on it until he felt the old man strain against it, then said, “Perhaps you should let me in, so that we may come to terms on my brother’s betrothal.”

  The man’s eyes widened, and he pushed harder on the door but could not pry it from Matthew’s grasp. When a gleam of sweat appeared on the man’s forehead, he began coughing and lost his grip. He barely stumbled out of the way as Matthew pushed past him. Now, where was that girl?

  She stepped out of the room on the left in a swish of blue fabric. Matthew paused, his eyes traveling up the fine dress to the smooth shoulders and long neck exposed above. This could not be the waif who had come to the line. Here stood a lady. Not some camp follower or…anything else. She narrowed her eyes at him, and as she did he no longer had any doubt this was the same little woman who had time and again caused him undue trouble.

  The side of her face was an angry red, and a small bit of blood began to well from her lower lip, which was already beginning to swell. The fire in Matthew’s veins stoked again. Despite what predicaments she had caused him, he would have to get her out of here.

  The old man was still behind him, succumbing to a fit of coughs. His condition was likely what had caused them to bring in fresh air. Sick or not, however, he was no suitable guardian for her. Matthew locked eyes with Miss Ross and mouthed trust me.

  She did nothing more than glare at him. Would she play along? How was he to help a stubborn woman who would refuse his every aid? He turned his back to her and faced the man who was recovering from his fit. He dabbed his lips with a handkerchief, but not before Matthew noticed the blood that stained it.

  “I do apologize for my intrusion,” Matthew said, straightening to his full height. “But my leave is short. I have been granted permission to fetch my brother’s betrothed and see her safely to Westerly. As previously arranged by my father and hers, she is to consider a wedding with the Daniels family upon reaching her twentieth year, which I do believe is not far off.” That last bit seemed to be a good idea, since she’d said her birthday was near.

  Miss Ross let out a small gasp.

  The man grabbed Matthew’s arm. Matthew looked down at the gnarled fingers, letting a little of his fury escape from his eyes. The man immediately withdrew.

  “That arrangement was forfeited before the war!” the old man protested.

  Matthew smirked. “Ah, so you do remember my family.”

  Another sound came from Miss Ross, though he couldn’t quite pin the emotion behind it. Surprise, perhaps? Regardless, he had what he needed. The man did remember his family, and he obviously knew something of the arrangement. That would have to be enough.

  “Oh, not at all,” Matthew continued, his voice calm and cold. “The arrangement still stands. And now that my father is gone and my brother has become the Master of Westerly, he wishes to honor Father’s arrangement before seeking any other options for the lady of Westerly.”

  He gave a small nod to Miss Ross, who looked rather pale but thankfully said nothing.

  “Well, there is no need, as you see she is already betrothed to another.”

  “I am not!” Miss Ross said with more venom than he expected, and a small smile tugged at his lips. She glared at Matthew. “I am betrothed to no man, and will not marry.”

  Matthew inwardly groaned. Was she really that dense, that she couldn’t see he was trying to help her? Insufferable woman. She stared at him, and behind the bravado and erect posture, he sensed her fear, her anxiety. He forced a smile.

  “As I was about to say, our fathers agreed for you to come to Westerly and decide for yourself if you wished to bind your family to mine, which, I do believe, they thought would be mutually beneficial and provide you with some protection.” He let the final words fall a little heavier and hoped she picked up on his implication.

  Her delicate brows pulled slightly together, and she hesitated, then gave a small nod. “Oh, yes, I do remember it now, though it was so long ago. I had all but forgotten my father mentioning it.”

  Matthew grinned as the older man began to sputter. “I’ll have no such thing!” he bellowed, beginning to step closer to Miss Ross, who immediately started to shy away. Matthew made to stop him, but as he began to move, the man halted, shooting him a heated glance that did not hide his fear.

  He looked past Matthew to Miss Ross. “You will stay here,” the man said, his raspy voice growing low and his hands forming into fists, “or you will forfeit any claim you think to have on this land.”

  Miss Ross opened her mouth, but Matthew cut her off. “That seems unlikely to me, sir,” he drawled, “As I know her father intended for this plantation to become hers upon her marriage.”

  This he knew for certain, as it was precisely why Father had wanted to push for the marriage. Ross was going to turn over the plantation to his daughter while he and his wife took up residence in their Natchez home. The immediate bestowment of such an asset had made Father determined to see Matthew wed. Matthew had balked at the time, but looking at her now….

  He forced his thoughts, and his eyes, away from her and addressed the man. “Since her inheritance of this land was one of the things in the discussion for the betrothal, I do not see how you can think she would forfeit any claims to it.”

  The man snarled at him. “Women do not own lands.”

  Matthew smirked. “Regardless, as she is already betrothed, and upon marriage her husband will gain control, I find it hard to believe the court would see you trying to eject her from her own land as anything other than illegal.”

  The man gaped at him. Suddenly, a small hand slipped onto Matthew’s arm, giving him a slight squeeze. She narrowed her eyes slightly, as if trying to figure out exactly what to do with Matthew’s offer. Finally, looking resigned, she turned to her grandfather.

  “You know this to be true. My father did have a suitor in mind for me, and I remember him talking about the family being a match for us.”

  She glanced at Matthew, confusion flickering in her frosty eyes before she looked back at the other man. “Since you are so eager for me to be wed in order to secure my future, I’m sure you are pleased that we have discovered my forgotten betrothal to an affluent family. Certainly, my marriage to someone who can help restore the lands would be the preferable choice?”

  The man’s face darkened, and Matthew silently cheered Miss Ross on. How could this be the same harried girl he’d followed through the woods? The woman on his arm was smart, confident, and the picture of a proper lady.

  “I’ll not have you leave with this stranger.”

  Miss Ross lifted a delicate brow. “He is not a stranger. As I recall, we once met at Father’s second wedding.”

  Matthew’s eyes bulged, and he had to scramble to cover his surprise. She remembered that? How much did she know? If she had recognized him before, why had she not said? She continued speaking, cutting off both his own words and the stuttering ones beginning to spew from the older man.

  “I will take Peggy with me for a chaperone, and I will travel to Westerly with Captain Daniels to see this matter settled. Then I shall return.”

  “I forbid it!” the grandfather shouted.

  She lowered her eyes, and her grip on Matthew’s arm tightened, but bless her, her words were strong and steady. “I do not see how you can stop me.”

  Pr
ide and a strange sense of protectiveness welled in Matthew, and he patted her hand gently, hoping it bespoke of his approval. He would see her safely removed from here. And, if he could help it, he’d see her safely returned to claim her right to the plantation. What if his lie were to be made true? She certainly needed a husband, and George was widowed. He would need a new wife….

  The thought caused a stirring of anxiety that unnerved him, so he pushed it aside. “It seems settled, then. Miss Ross, why don’t you ready your belongings, and we shall be on our way.”

  She slipped free without a word, and Matthew ignored the sense of loss as she removed her hand from his arm. Then he turned his attention to the cur seething in front of him.

  “The best-laid schemes seemed blocked on every side.”

  Annabelle rushed out of the house and down the rear steps, her heart pounding in her chest. She pushed through the kitchen door, slamming it against the wall. Peggy let out a sharp yelp.

  “Child! What in the heavens is you doin’?” Peggy looked at her with wide eyes. One hand pressed against her chest while the other clutched a rolling pin.

  Annabelle closed the door against the cool air and enjoyed the bread-scented warmth of the kitchen for only a second before hurrying around the table.

  “We need to start packing our things. Hurry, now.”

  Annabelle started to rummage around for a basket or sack to start stuffing supplies into, but Peggy’s flour-covered fingers grasped her wrist. “Now, look here, child. You just swept in here this very mornin’ with your fancy dress and shaky story, and now you’s wantin’ to run off again?” She placed her hands on her hips. “You ain’t makin’ no sense. You said you was gonna stay here and refuse to marry Andrew. You know if you run off, they’s gonna take this place from you.”