The Liberator Series Box Set: Christian Historical Civil War Novels

by Stephenia H. McGee

  She was quiet for several moments before speaking again. “Do you think he will come to Rosswood instead?”

  “Westerly is the larger holding. I’m sure you will want your main residence there.”

  Her shoulders slumped. “I wish to remain at my family home.”

  The quiet words settled on him. If George had Westerly, could she perhaps settle for a brother who would come to her plantation…? He cut the thought short. Foolish.

  “I’m sure that’s a discussion better left for my brother.” Matthew cleared his throat. “I cannot assume to speak for him.” A little voice nagged that in setting up a wife without George’s permission, he’d already over-spoken for his brother. He just hoped George would see reason, and Annabelle would never be the wiser to the plan.

  “Of course.”

  They sat quietly for a while, until the flames began to wane. Then Matthew stacked a few larger pieces of wood on the flames and brushed his hands on his pants. “Well, I have no idea how late it is, but I fear morning will soon be upon us. Perhaps we should find our rest.”

  “Yes, of course.”

  He found a spare place on the ground, not far from her feet, and lay on his back, his hands laced behind his head.

  “Matthew?”

  The way his name slid from her lips stirred something in him. “Yes?”

  “Thank you for talking to me. I feel safer now that you are here.”

  His chest warmed. “I’m most glad. Rest assured I will see you protected.”

  “I thank you. Goodnight, then.”

  “Goodnight.”

  After a few moments, her breathing fell even, and he relaxed. Still, Matthew could not sleep. He spent the remainder of the night staring at the stars and trying to remember that the woman who was slowly stealing his heart belonged to his brother.

  “We have planned out the roads to be taken, if we only succeed in taking Lincoln.”

  Mount Crawford

  Augusta County, Virginia

  February 28th, 1865

  Annabelle didn’t ever want to ride a horse again. This was the fourth—or was it fifth?—horse she had ridden throughout this seemingly never-ending trip. Long days of hard riding had been followed by short nights of insufficient rest at various inns, homes, and camps along the way. She was tired, cold, and more than a little irritable.

  A cold drizzle had been falling on them for most of the morning, and the long woolen mantle Mr. O’Malley had given her was nearly soaked through. Annabelle pulled her hood down lower over her face, glad that she had been outfitted with something warm that actually covered her legs, even though she still rode astride.

  The men had even traded out their uniforms for plain attire, which had likely helped them avoid further confrontation along the way. Finding properly fitting, readymade clothes had proven to be somewhat of a feat for Matthew. Fortunately for him, there’d been a curvy seamstress in Tennessee who was more than willing to stay up deep into the night with him and let out seams. She’d even convinced a cobbler to stay open late and fashion Matthew a proper set of shoes.

  Annabelle tried not to remember the way the seamstress had been able to walk with a sway in her hips. Some women seemed to know exactly what to do with their womanly wiles. Annabelle didn’t think she even had any feminine wiles, much less the ability to wield them. Not that she should be thinking such things.

  Why had she ever agreed to such a trip? Riding hard, ever with an eye out for danger, might have seemed like some grand adventure the girl in her would have longed for, but the reality was anything but exciting. It was exhausting. Why hadn’t she insisted harder that she stay behind and wait for George Daniels to come to her?

  She still didn’t know much about him. Or his brother, for that matter. Since that first night in the woods, she’d had only mundane conversations with Matthew, who for some reason seemed set on keeping her questions at bay. What did he have to hide?

  Maybe she was being too harsh. He was likely just too tired at the end of the day to endure her questions. Even an army man had to be getting weary of the jostling riding and spine-jarring hooves. Who would have thought she would have ever come to despise a horse so?

  At least they were letting the animals walk for a change as they neared a village that seemed to be little more than a cluster of homes. She didn’t see the first shop, let alone an inn. But surely they wouldn’t be coming here if they were not planning on staying?

  So focused was she on the thought of climbing off this loathsome beast that she did not immediately understand why Matthew held up a hand and called for them to stop. Confused, she looked around until she saw the reason for his concern.

  Hundreds of Confederate soldiers were positioned at the bottom of the hill, several of whom had gathered to study their approach. The rest seemed to be guarding a covered bridge spanning the river that ran along the edge of the town. Her throat constricted. Would they be recognized? Restrained?

  Annabelle looked at Peggy. Though she’d grown more accustomed to the saddle, the older woman never seemed comfortable there. At the moment, she looked as nervous as Annabelle felt. Since that first day, they had managed to avoid most other trouble, a grand feat indeed for a group of spies traveling through a war-torn country. How foolish of her to begin to think they would make it the entire way without being chased again.

  Matthew had said the trip through the Shenandoah Valley would be the most dangerous by far. How he managed to keep apprised of the armies’ movements was a small mystery she hadn’t quite solved, but she shouldn’t have dismissed his warning so easily.

  They paused there on the hill for only a few seconds as all of these things gushed through Annabelle’s mind. Then, without waiting for discussion, Mr. O’Malley nudged his horse forward and headed straight for the town, ignoring the Confederate band all together. Matthew hunched lower in his saddle and followed. Annabelle and Peggy followed suit, though Annabelle kept her eyes adverted from the group of soldiers and her hood hanging low across her face.

  They walked the horses to one of the homes near the edge of the village, which Annabelle thought was uncomfortably close to the river and the Confederate camp. Shifting her attention away from the soldiers, Annabelle studied the quaint home. It might be a bit tight for all of them, but at the moment anything warm and dry was a palace.

  Matthew slid from his horse, took the reins from the women, and secured the horses to a hitching post just inside the small fenced yard.

  A couple of chickens squawked and scurried away as Matthew lifted his arms to assist Annabelle down from the saddle. She swung her leg over the side, and he grasped her waist and gently lowered her to the ground. His hands lingered, and she looked up into his face. The worry in his eyes and the nearness of him made her chest tighten.

  “Annabelle, I think there is something I should….” He shook his head.

  “Should what?” She frowned, studying the lines of his face and the weeks of scruff covering his jaw, which seemed tight.

  “I should tell you that—”

  “Daniels!”

  Mr. O’Malley’s voice cut through Matthew’s words and the tension hanging around them, and Matthew’s hands dropped from her.

  “Now is not the time,” he said, shaking his head. Without waiting for her reply, he turned and strode toward Mr. O’Malley, the stiffness in his shoulders evidence that whatever he’d wanted to tell her was important.

  “Humph. Sometimes bein’ an old Colored woman is just worse than other times.”

  Annabelle tore her gaze from Matthew’s retreating form.

  “These old bones sure woulda appreciated some handsome lad helpin’ me down from that beast.”

  Annabelle frowned. “What?”

  Peggy lifted her brows, the humor in her features turning to something akin to smugness. “You seem a might taken with that big fellow.”

  Heat flooded Annabelle’s face. “I am no such thing!”

  Peggy stared at her, her expression
clearly stating she did not believe Annabelle’s words.

  “Besides,” Annabelle said, lowering her voice, “he is not the brother I am to court. It wouldn’t be proper.”

  Would it? It wasn’t as if she were actually bound by a betrothal.

  “Quit your mulling, and let’s get on in that house. My toes is freezin’.”

  Annabelle snapped out of her thoughts and pulled her mantle closer. Her stiff legs reluctantly carried her up a set of wooden steps and onto a small porch just as Mr. O’Malley’s knock was answered by a portly woman in a faded yellow dress and a white apron.

  “Hello there! I was thinking y’all might not ever make it.”

  Mr. O’Malley tipped his hat. “Forgive the delay, Sallie.”

  “Nonsense. Come on in out of this chill.”

  The woman smiled at the men as they passed her, but gave Annabelle and Peggy a curious look as they stepped up to the door.

  “I didn’t know there’d be a lady and her slave traveling with you, David,” the woman said, though her eyes didn’t leave Annabelle.

  Annabelle straightened her shoulders and answered for herself. “I am merely a traveling companion on my way to the same destination, though for a different purpose.”

  The woman crossed her arms. “That so? What kind of purpose?”

  “A personal one,” Annabelle said, lifting her chin.

  Matthew appeared and cupped her elbow. “Come this way, Annabelle.”

  Annabelle inclined her head to the curious woman and followed Matthew into a small sitting room. The wooden floors were covered with brightly colored woven rugs topped with simple furnishings. No paintings adorned the walls, but a fire roared in the hearth, filling the room with warmth. Annabelle lowered her hood, and no sooner had it hit her back than Matthew’s hands were there to help her remove the mantle.

  Sallie bustled around the room, collecting their damp coats and outerwear and hanging them on pegs on either side of the mantel to dry. Annabelle sat in a straight-backed chair near the fire and watched the others. Peggy took a place near her, standing against the plank wall.

  Annabelle’s eyes followed Mr. O’Malley across the room. He pulled Sallie aside, whispered something in her ear, and pressed something into her hand. The woman nodded, and then the two of them slipped from the room. Annabelle narrowed her eyes. What were they up to?

  Matthew paced in front of the fire. She turned to watch him, wondering what kind of secrets he was keeping and just how deeply he was involved in the plot that the others were clearly trying to hide.

  “Sure am glad to be off that horse,” Harry said, pulling her attention his way. He was talking directly to her.

  She gave a small nod. “Indeed.”

  “So, miss, what do you expect to do once we reach Washington? You haven’t yet said where we are going to leave you.”

  “Leave me?”

  Matthew stepped up beside her. “She is to remain with me.”

  Harry scratched at his chin. “Well, now, I don’t see how that’s going to work, not when….”

  Matthew stepped closer to Harry, and the other man’s words drifted off. “She will stay with me until I can safely hand her off to my brother,” Matthew repeated.

  Annabelle bristled. Hand her off?

  Before the tension could grow thicker in the room, Mr. O’Malley and Sallie returned with trays of food. The smell filled the small room, and everyone’s eyes turned in their direction.

  “Come on to the table, now,” Sallie said as she swayed through the room. “I made a feast worthy of the heroes gracing my home.”

  Heroes? Annabelle glanced at Peggy, who gave a small shrug. Annabelle rose from her seat and began to follow the others before realizing Peggy was not going to follow. She pressed her lips into a line. How to handle this properly?

  “Excuse me, Sallie?”

  “Yes?” the woman’s voice said through the other doorway, which Annabelle assumed separated the dining area from the living space.

  “Where shall my maid eat? She is in need of a good meal as well.”

  Peggy glared at her, but she ignored it.

  Sallie slid around Matthew, who was taking up much of the doorframe, and looked between Peggy and Annabelle.

  “I’m sorry. I’m not accustomed to having slaves inside the house.”

  Annabelle waited.

  The woman scratched at the small white cap on her head. “Well, I reckon she can eat out in the kitchen, so long as she doesn’t steal anything.”

  Annabelle suppressed her annoyance. “I assure you, Peggy is quite reliable.”

  Sallie didn’t look convinced but gestured for Peggy to follow her. “Come on. You can help me bring in the rest of the cornbread and the pie, and then you can have some of what’s left on the stove.”

  Peggy cast a sour look at Annabelle but followed the woman without a word. Annabelle clenched her teeth and spun around to find Matthew watching her.

  “What kind of relationship do you have with that slave?” The look of honest curiosity on his face stifled the retort that popped onto her tongue.

  She leveled her gaze on him, trying to project the proper image of a refined lady. Despite her effort, emotion still filled her voice. “Peggy has been with me since I was born. When my mother died, she was the one who was able to comfort a grieving child. From then on, she raised me as a mother would and has been the nearest to one I’ve had since.”

  Understanding dawned in his eyes rather than disgust, and her heart immediately leapt toward him. “I, too, was nearly raised by a mammy,” he said. Then softer, he added, “Thank you for sharing with me.” Curiously, he winked at her.

  Had she given away something too personal? Nervousness fluttered in her stomach. She offered him a tentative smile, which he returned with enthusiasm. Curious again. Why was he acting so strangely? Matthew gestured for her to enter, and she kept her eyes downcast as she stepped past him into the dining area and chose a seat.

  Matthew sat next to her, and in a moment Sallie and Peggy delivered the remaining meal. Sallie seated herself at the head of the table, and Peggy disappeared without a word. They passed the food around, and Annabelle served herself smaller portions than she truly wanted, making little piles of peas, okra, and greens on the chipped plate. Interesting, how a woman who did not appear to have a husband around had such an abundance of food.

  No sooner had they begun to eat than shouts arose from outside. O’Malley leapt from his seat and dashed out the door. Matthew glanced at Annabelle only briefly before following him out. Harry and Sallie scurried to the windows in a flurry of tossed napkins and rustling fabric. The appetite that had snapped like a starved wolf withered as Annabelle swallowed down the fear rising in her throat. Deciding it would be better to look over Sallie’s shoulder than to get too close to Harry, Annabelle chose the window farthest from her seat at the table and strained to see outside.

  Men in gray rushed about; several carried torches. Annabelle clutched the fabric at her throat. “What are they doing? Are they going to burn the town?”

  Sallie swung around to face her, her eyes incredulous. “What makes you say such a thing, miss? Why would our own burn our homes?”

  Annabelle just stared at her.

  Sallie turned back with a huff, and Annabelle watched the streams of men flow past the window. Seconds behind them, men in blue crowded her vision. Sallie squealed and jumped back from the window, knocking into Annabelle and making her lose her footing. She stumbled out of the woman’s way as she hastily pulled the curtains closed.

  How did Sallie still have curtains? The thought distracted her as she was pulled back into the sitting room. Stunned, she allowed Harry to push on her shoulders and lower her into a chair.

  Matthew and O’Malley burst through the front door just as she plopped down in the chair hard enough to jar her teeth. Matthew strode across the room and knelt in front of a small couch, pulling a rusted rifle out from beneath it. Annabelle gawked as he positioned
himself near the front door. How had he known the weapon was there? Worse, did he think he would need it?

  Witless woman, her mind mocked. The enemy waits outside the door. Do you think to escape them again?

  O’Malley cursed, snapping her attention to him. “That Custer is here.” He said the name as if it were another foul word she wasn’t supposed to hear.

  O’Malley stalked the room like the caged lions Annabelle had once read about. “Rosser’s trying to hold the river, keep those Yanks from joining up with Sheridan.”

  Fear flooded her veins. Peggy! Annabelle lurched from her seat. “I’m getting Peggy!”

  In her shock, she’d forgotten that Peggy was in the kitchen. Guilt accompanied her fear, and she strode for the door.

  “You’re going outside to fetch a slave when there’s Yanks storming through here?” Sallie asked, disbelieving. Her brown eyes bulged in her face. “She’s probably already run off anyway, soon as she saw blue!”

  Annabelle ignored her and dashed through the door at the rear of the house where she had seen Sallie and O’Malley go earlier. Sure enough, there was a short walk to a kitchen just to the right of a miniature garden. Annabelle hurried across the path and flung open the kitchen door. Peggy was standing near an open window at the rear wall, watching soldiers file past.

  “Peggy!” Annabelle cried. “Come on!”

  Peggy turned to her and shuffled across the room, grabbing a hunk of cornbread and shoving it into her mouth before following Annabelle out the door.

  The drizzle had stopped, but the cold wind hit Annabelle hard in the face. She blinked away the sting of moisture that sprang into her eyes, only to find a man in blue standing in her path.

  He sneered at her. “Hey there, little Rebel.”

  Without thinking, Annabelle spun on her heel, grabbed Peggy by the wrist, and darted behind the kitchen.

  “Hey!” the man yelled.

  They didn’t stop. Without protest, Peggy ran with her around the back of the kitchen and across the grass as she tried to angle out to the other side of the yard. She scurried around the house and stopped short so quickly that Peggy ran into her with a grunt.