The Liberator Series Box Set: Christian Historical Civil War Novels

by Stephenia H. McGee

  “I don’t see why you encourage such behaviors. It is hardly proper,” she said stiffly.

  He tilted his head. “What behaviors?”

  She glared at him. “One would think you like such illicit attention, Captain Daniels.”

  They were back to Captain Daniels again? Either she was truly angry at him, or her jealousy was worse than he’d thought. He shrugged. “Why should it bother you so? Not many women are as beautiful as you, so they have to try harder. It doesn’t mean anything.”

  He wouldn’t have thought it possible, but her face reddened further. “Yet you still encourage it.” She dabbed her pink lips with her napkin. “Just like that dressmaker,” she mumbled.

  Dressmaker? When had they been to a dressmaker? Matthew thought back until he remembered the curvy brunette who had let out some seams in the readymade shirts and trousers O’Malley had purchased for him when they’d first started for Washington. He hadn’t given any attentions to that girl, had he?

  Matthew chose to say nothing on the matter. He couldn’t remember enough about his time with the woman to rebuff Annabelle’s accusation, so it was probably safer to just keep quiet. But, after they’d both nearly finished their meals and she hadn’t said another word to him, Matthew began to think this was less of a flirtatious game and more something that truly bothered her. He cleared his throat. “Annabelle?”

  “Yes?”

  “I did not mean to upset you.”

  She folded her napkin and placed it on the table beside her plate. The other travelers had already finished, and the dining room was beginning to clear. “You haven’t. Why should I care if you play with the attentions of random women?”

  Her jab stung. He studied the determined glint in her eye. “Annabelle, I have no control over how people talk to me. I did nothing to encourage that young woman’s attention, nor do I have any intentions to return it.” He looked at her earnestly until the tension melted from her shoulders.

  “Well, I suppose you are right. You can’t help that they throw themselves at you.”

  He pressed his lips into a line to keep the corners from turning up. Throwing themselves at him? How had he ever thought this innocent young woman might be a camp follower? She apparently had no idea what women would do in order to tempt a man. And he loved her all the more for it.

  His thoughts came tumbling to a halt. She looked at him with clear blue eyes. A guarded hope filled their ocean depths and it churned his gut. How could he pass her to George? Surely his brother would understand….

  Matthew lurched to his feet. George! They needed to be thinking about George. How could she have distracted him to the point he’d nearly forgotten why they were here?

  Yes, he could no longer deny it. At least, not to himself. He loved Annabelle. So much so that he would do whatever he must to see her taken care of and happy. Let her meet George. Then she could decide for herself which Daniels brother would be her choice. He would not give away his feelings and muddy her decision.

  Annabelle startled and rose with him. “What’s wrong?”

  He tossed the coins on the table. “Nothing. I just think we should get going. I want to get up on that platform before the crowds start.” Disgust rose like bile in his throat and curled his lip.

  Annabelle blinked at him. “Oh, yes, of course.” The hope in her eyes vanished, replaced by the cool formality Matthew had grown to dread.

  Drat. Did she think the look of contempt was for her? Annabelle started toward the door. Peggy, ever the mother hen, trailed behind, shaking her scarf-wrapped head at Matthew’s foolishness. Not that he could blame her. Peggy had seen his feelings for Annabelle days ago, and it seemed her patience with him was wearing thin.

  Matthew hurried to get in front of Annabelle so he could hold the door open for them, and the three stepped out into a clear morning.

  “I was thinking,” Annabelle said, tugging the ribbon on her bonnet tight. “We should go to the prison this morning instead of to the platform.”

  “What for?” He held out his arm and surprisingly she took it, and together they stepped onto the muddy street.

  “Well, that woman on the platform yesterday said that some of the prisoners were being released if they signed loyalty papers. It seems that may be our opportunity to get him out.”

  A thin hope. George would never betray his country like that.

  “Anyway,” she continued, “if nothing else, going to inquire about him from the prison office seems to be a better idea than hoping we see him from the viewing deck.” Her voice tightened. “At least then we will know for sure he is here.”

  Matthew tried to ignore the doubt threading her words. He couldn’t bear to think George wasn’t just inside those walls. He’d come through too much these last weeks to give up hope now. “I understand your point, but I don’t know if it will be a good idea.”

  Something caught the corner of his eye and he cut his gaze over the top of Annabelle’s head and to the building on his right. A figure ducked behind the wall before he could get a good look. He’d told himself he was being paranoid, but this was now the third time he’d seen a figure ducking just out of sight. He tightened his grip on Annabelle and quickened his pace.

  “Why not?” she asked, bobbing along to keep up with him.

  “You can’t just sashay into a prison and ask if George is there. It will raise too many questions,” he said, guiding her around a puddle.

  Annabelle bristled. “Well, that is precisely how I found him in the first place,” she answered with a bite. “You know, people often prove to be helpful if you will only ask them.”

  He slowed his pace and glanced down at her, lowering his voice and leaning closer. “If you go in there asking questions about him, it will bring him to their attention. Then it might be that much harder for me to break him out.”

  She pulled her lower lip through her teeth. “We might just have to take the chance. That woman said they were letting men go if they signed the papers. That has to be easier than breaking him out.” She watched him closely, and seeing that he could not deny her logic, she continued. “What could be simpler? I’ll pose as a poor Union girl whose brother defied the family and chose the wrong side of the war. Then I’ll ask if he can be offered the papers and be returned to his family.”

  Matthew frowned. She did make a good point. “Perhaps it’s not a bad idea.”

  A gloating smile flowered on her lips. “Of course it’s not.”

  “But you won’t be the one going in there.” He straightened and quickened his pace again, trying to nod at the loathsome people of Elmira as if they were decent folk. The way most hurried out of his path hinted he might be failing at the attempt at civility.

  Annabelle came to a halt, her hand slipping free of his arm. “What? Why not?”

  Matthew paused and looked back at her, cocking his head. “Too dangerous.”

  She huffed. “As opposed to what? Fleeing Confederate soldiers across the South?” She narrowed her gaze at him, and he nearly recoiled from the anger erupting on her features. “Or perhaps you think that talking to a man at a desk is more perilous than trying to stop an abduction?”

  Matthew snatched her elbow and drew her up close to him. She was getting looks from people as they passed. “Keep your voice down.”

  She squared her shoulders and kept walking, pulling herself free from his grasp. “I’ll have you know, Captain Daniels….” He inwardly groaned. “That I am perfectly capable of handling myself.”

  “Of course,” he said with a sneer. “You would have done just fine in detainment with my unit on your own. I apologize for getting in your way.”

  She glanced up at him sharply, then the anger that had tightened her features dissolved into melancholy. “Is this how it’s always going to be?”

  Unable to answer her, he said nothing more and the moment passed. They made their way down the street in uncomfortable silence. Behind him, Matthew heard an obvious sigh. He’d nearly forgotten tha
t Peggy was trailing behind, Annabelle’s ever present shadow. He glanced back at the older woman and was met with a flat stare.

  He gave her a smirk, which she returned with a frown. What did Peggy think of Annabelle going into the prison? He probably wouldn’t face the brunt of Annabelle’s displeasure if he had her trusted maid on his side. He slowed his gait and fell into place next to Peggy. “And what do you think about the matter?”

  Peggy looked at him as though he were an idiot, her brown eyes flashing from shock to amusement before finally settling into discomfort. “Captain Daniels, this here ain’t proper. You walkin’ beside me like this.”

  He shrugged. “As I recall, proper went down with the boat some time ago. Now, I know you have an opinion, so you might as well just be out with it or I’ll simply walk right here along beside you until you do.”

  Peggy glared at him and snapped her jaw tightly closed. It was to be a war of wills, then? “How about I take your arm so you don’t slip while you’re thinking it over?”

  Peggy gasped and tried to quicken her pace to escape him, but found she could not. Annabelle looked at them over her shoulder, but she snatched her head back around before he could determine the true nature of her expression, though he thought her eyes had held amusement. He looked back down at Peggy, who hugged both arms tightly around her middle.

  “Well, if you’s askin’….”

  “I am.”

  Peggy sighed, resigned to his victory. “I don’t want her in no danger.”

  “Exactly, so….”

  Peggy cut him off. “I ain’t finished.”

  Matthew startled. She was getting bolder. He hardly remembered the quiet maid who had first joined them.

  “We all knows you sure enough can’t go in there,” she continued, “and it wouldn’t do no good for me to try, so I reckon if this fool plan is goin’ to work, she’ll have to be the one to do it.”

  Matthew’s brows gathered. “I don’t see why I cannot pose as a Union brother same as she can pose as a Union sister.”

  Peggy stared at him flatly. “Well, I’m guessin’ it probably has somethin’ to do with you bein’ a wanted man.”

  He balked. “I am not.”

  She shrugged. “You could be. Probably is. We don’t know if the rest of them’s been caught or what. They coulda been and done told you was part of it. You gonna take that chance?”

  In front of him, Annabelle bobbed her head. Matthew groaned. “Fine. Then she can try. But don’t expect them to do anything,” he grumbled, frustrated that his plan to bring Peggy to his side had misfired.

  “You let her help you try and get your brother, like she is right determined to do. Then in return, you take her to her family.”

  Matthew stepped around a puddle and then looked down at Peggy. The pleading in the face she turned up to him melted his lingering annoyance. She was right. He couldn’t keep dragging Annabelle through his messes. He gave a nod, and Peggy smiled.

  “I’s gonna need your word on that, Captain Daniels.”

  Cornered! “Fine. You have it.”

  She seemed satisfied, and he stepped back into place next to Annabelle, wondering which of them had won the battle of wills after all. Annabelle offered him a triumphant smile as they came to a stop by the viewing platform.

  “You go on up and keep looking,” she said. “Peggy and I will make our way around to the gate and see what I can find out. I’ll meet you back here as soon as I can.”

  He shoved his hands into his pockets to keep from reaching up and brushing his fingers along her cheek. “Just, please, be careful.”

  She dipped her chin and turned to leave. Peggy gave him a grateful look, begrudging respect on her features. Well, at least he’d made progress with the maid, even if he always seemed to be going backward in his relations to her mistress.

  Matthew tossed his coin at the boy on the steps and clomped up the stairs, taking a pair of binoculars from the attendant as he passed. He placed the lenses to his face and began scanning the swollen river banks below. Deplorable. Dirty Yanks and their rotten ….

  “Excuse me, sir?”

  Matthew growled and looked down at a boy of around twelve, who had interrupted his searching. “What?” he snapped.

  The boy flinched. “Would you like a tea cake, sir?”

  “No, I do think my appetite is rather spoiled by the sight of men starving and wallowing in their own sickness and filth. I hardly think such conditions are suitable for taking refreshment, wouldn’t you say?”

  The boy cringed and shied away. Matthew glanced at the shocked expressions on the surrounding onlookers. Let them stare. What did he care? Matthew’s nostrils flared and one couple hurried away from him. He took their place at the banister and lifted the lenses to his face. By the fifth time he’d scanned the river banks with no sign of any wretch who resembled George, his shoulders slumped.

  He tilted his head to the clear sky above and closed his eyes. He hadn’t prayed since he’d asked God to help him shoot down men across the lines and to stay alive as he killed them. Now, all he wanted was a man saved. Would God honor that prayer? It seemed better than the others he had whispered in desperation.

  Please, God. I could sure use a miracle.

  He stood in silence for a moment and then, feeling nothing, turned his focus back on the tents and renewed his search.

  “Saw Booth today and introduced him to Mrs. S. After a few minutes conversation with her, John came to me with his eyes dancing with an unusual and almost unnatural brilliancy.”

  John Surratt

  George’s arms ached, but he barely noticed it anymore. At least the constant sound of the sawing and the warm feeling of the sun on his back helped him try to forget where he was. Maybe if he simply concentrated on the task set in front of him and earning his bread, he wouldn’t have to think about the men huddled in tents with their blackened toes and sunken eyes.

  “Prisoner Daniels!” The voice carried over the wood yard and landed heavily on George’s ears.

  Bill straightened himself and propped his saw on his shoulder. He let out a low whistle. “What did you do to draw the attention of that one?”

  George lifted his shoulders, confused. “Nothing.”

  Bill arched his brows and returned to sawing before the corporal could get close enough to accuse him of slacking.

  “Yes, sir?” George called out, “I am George Daniels.”

  He awaited for the beefy brute the men called Corporal Carnage—on account of his taste for blood—to make his way across the wood yard. From what he’d heard, it didn’t take much to set that one off. George figured he was just the type who was looking for an excuse to hit something, and he had no intention of allowing the man the smallest measure of permission to do so.

  The corporal stalked over to George, and looked down at the papers in his hand. “Where do you hail from, prisoner?” he barked.

  George laid down his saw and scratched his dry scalp. “My family holds lands west of Tupelo, Mississippi.”

  The corporal gave a curt nod. “You’re coming with me.” Dread settled in George’s empty gut like a sandbag, and he stood rooted to the ground. The corporal narrowed his eyes. “You hear me?”

  George regained his senses and stepped forward. The corporal jabbed him in the back as George stepped past him, and he stumbled. “Get your feet under you, Rebel scum!” Carnage demanded.

  George had barely righted himself when a second jab sent pain through his side. He grunted and hurried through the wood yard. He didn’t know where they were going, but he was smart enough to know better than to ask. George just kept walking forward until the corporal slapped the rifle barrel against his right arm. “Turn left, maggot.”

  George obliged. What had he done to get himself brought up? He couldn’t think of anything. He’d always kept his head down, went mostly unnoticed, and simply tried to survive long enough for this cursed war to be done. He would give anything to get back to Westerly alive.
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br />   If he ever saw it again, he would be content never to leave. He and Matthew could run it together and never again have to set eyes on these blasted Yanks.

  If he’s still alive.

  George smothered the thought. Matthew had to be alive. He had to be, or George’s sacrifice meant nothing. He’d seen them pull Matthew from the clearing, and just before he lost sight of him, Matthew had been standing at the edge of the woods. He’d been favoring a leg, but he’d been alive.

  Please, let him still be alive.

  The corporal marched George around the wall of the Hopeless and up to the main road. Then a jab in the spine told him to continue forward. They came to a stop in front of the guard’s barrack and George’s shriveled stomach turned. He dared a look over his shoulder at the corporal and received another jab for it. George grunted, but refused to cry out despite the pain that coursed through his back.

  “Inside,” the corporal barked.

  George drew a deep breath and put his hand on the cold iron of the heavy doorknob set into a thick wooden door. Before he could earn another stab of the rifle, he yanked on the handle and pulled open the door to a small, dim chamber.

  He hesitated only an instant, then stepped inside. The toe that was sticking through his left boot touched stone floors for the first time since…sometime last summer. He tried to think back. How long had it been since he wasn’t living out of doors? He studied the way the stones all fit together, matched to create a pattern….

  Hard metal jammed into his spine and he bit his tongue to hold back a yelp. “Here, Major Patterson,” the corporal said. “I think this is the one you’re looking for.”

  George snapped up his head, trying to shake away the fog that seemed to linger in his mind more and more often. There was nothing more in the small room than one large desk and the overweight man who sat behind it. He looked around nervously.

  The man at the desk glanced up from his papers and locked gazes with George for an instant. Then he looked to the corporal and waved him away. The brute gave George one more jab for good measure before turning and striding out the door. It fell into place behind him with an ominous thud.