The Liberator Series Box Set: Christian Historical Civil War Novels

by Stephenia H. McGee

  But none of the people beginning their day seemed to be in an unusual hurry, and none appeared to be looking for escaped prisoners. How had Matthew gotten him out? And alone in the middle of the night, no less? It must have, indeed, been a miracle.

  Footsteps sounded on the stairs and Annabelle turned in that direction. Soon the rounded form of the innkeeper’s wife came into view. The woman’s gaze slid over Peggy and then landed on Annabelle. Annabelle’s pulse quickened, despite telling herself that this woman had no way of knowing they shielded an escaped prisoner only a few feet away. Could she?

  The woman smiled cheerfully, and some of the tension released from Annabelle’s tight shoulders.

  “Moring, miss. My husband says you will be resuming your journey today.”

  Annabelle nodded. Matthew must have already spoken to the innkeeper as well.

  The woman looked to the door, tucking a strand of gray hair under her white cap. “Well, I’m going to go ahead and gather the linen and things, seeing as how your bags are already packed. Got others needing the room.”

  Annabelle moved quickly to block her path. “Oh, not just yet. My…um…Mr. Daniels is still changing.”

  The woman’s eyes tightened with the sting of disapproval and Annabelle desperately wanted to explain that their sharing a room was not inappropriate, but could not find words that would suffice. “Very well.” The woman sniffed, her gaze roaming down Annabelle like she were something distasteful.

  Peggy spoke up, surprising them both. “Sure has been kind of her cousin to help Miss Smith here reach her kin, seein’ as she done lost both of her parents now.”

  The woman blinked at Peggy, though Annabelle didn’t know if she was caught off guard by Peggy’s words or the mere fact that she had even spoken. Peggy never spoke to white people she didn’t know unless they addressed her directly.

  “Oh. Yes, well,” she said, eyeing Annabelle again. “How kind of your cousin. I am sorry for your loss, miss.”

  She turned and hurried away back down the stairs, leaving the two of them in the hall. Annabelle crossed her arms. “You know she didn’t believe you, don’t you?”

  Peggy shrugged.

  “I thank you for your intent, but you needn’t lie.”

  Peggy placed her hands on her hips. “I didn’t like the way she was lookin’ at you.”

  “Neither did I, but what difference does it make? We will soon be gone from here.”

  As if on cue, Matthew swung the door open. “I’ve gotten him as dry as possible. He even opened his eyes for a moment.” He looked at Annabelle hopefully. “That’s a good sign, isn’t it?”

  Annabelle put more confidence into her smile than she felt. Fevered men opened their eyes and still did not see what was in front of them. It didn’t mean much, if anything at all. “Of course it does. He will be up and going soon, and then we can start putting some meat back on his bones.”

  As soon as she said it, she wished she hadn’t. His features hardened again and he spun away. “I’ve left the wagon out back. We just need to get him down without notice.”

  Annabelle didn’t see how that was possible in the busy morning hours when all of the people taking their stay at the inn would be finding their breakfast, but she didn’t voice it. Instead, she said, “Perhaps we should take the bags down first, leave Peggy with them in the wagon, and then I can help you get him down with as little notice as possible.”

  Matthew dipped his chin in compliance, but Annabelle could tell from his expression that he did not think they would go entirely unnoticed either. He and Peggy hurried away with the bags while she stood guard at the door, though her patient never once stirred.

  Matthew returned a few moments later. Annabelle watched as he scooped his brother up as one might a child, cradling him in his arms. George’s head fell back across Matthew’s sleeve, and his bare feet protruded from the bottom of the blankets. Matthew looked as though he were carrying a dead body in those quilts, and he would most certainly raise suspicion. She hurried ahead of them, glancing down the staircase. Seeing no one, she nodded for him to follow her down.

  As they descended, the din of the dining room increased. Voices mingled with the clink of silverware scraping on plates and people laughing as they took their eggs and pork. The smell of cured meat filled Annabelle’s senses, and she had to push aside her hunger.

  At the bottom of the steps, she glanced to her left and noted the busy dining area. The patrons filling the room took their meal, oblivious that two wanted spies, one of which was a conspirator against the Union president, and an escaped Confederate prisoner were in their midst. Her gaze landed on the bold serving girl who had shined on Matthew and she watched the woman sway across the room, narrowing her eyes at the way the young woman flaunted herself at the men, even the ones with women and children right at the table with them.

  Matthew made a sound in his throat, jarring her back to her senses. She swung her gaze in the opposite direction, and saw that the receiving desk was blessedly empty. She motioned to Matthew and hurried that way, feeling him close on her heels. They passed the receiving desk and stepped up to the door leading into the kitchen. Annabelle held out her hand to keep it from swinging out on them and motioned for Matthew to go past her toward the door in the rear.

  Matthew stepped around her and as Annabelle glanced back toward the receiving desk, she saw a boy of perhaps nine years, standing there looking at them curiously. She turned full to him, hoping her form would hide some of Matthew’s movements as he tried to both secure his hold on George and unlatch the door without her aid.

  She smiled sweetly at the boy, and he waved in return. She heard the door unlatch behind her and felt a cool breeze against the back of her neck. She raised her hand and wiggled her fingers at the boy, breathing a sigh of relief as he darted back toward the dining area.

  Annabelle turned and hurried out into the bright sunlight, pulling the door closed behind her. Matthew gingerly placed George in the back of a wagon that appeared it might fall apart if they were to hit a bump in the road. She said a prayer of thanks for the hitching post out back, away from the curious looks of people on the street. This was likely where they received supplies so they could take foodstuff to the kitchen without coming through the front entry.

  Once Matthew had George secured, he helped Peggy and then Annabelle step up into the small space, each woman taking a place on opposite sides of George.

  She barely had time to adjust her skirts about her outstretched ankles when the reins snapped and Matthew sent the wagon forward with a jerk. Annabelle grasped the wood slat at her side and steadied herself.

  The wagon swayed and tugged at their spare horse, which followed immediately. George did not seem to notice their movements and did not stir. Annabelle swallowed the lump in her throat. His slow breathing was the only indication the man was even alive, and his skin looked so sallow that Annabelle feared he would not make it. They turned out onto the main road. Where other wagons had passed caused grooves in the road, and their wagon wheels were soon coated in the thick mud. The people they passed kept to the wooden sidewalks, and in a matter of moments, they were leaving Elmira behind.

  As the town disappeared behind them without incident, she let out a long breath and prayed that they would be far from town before George was discovered missing.

  “He declared his intentions of going to New York at once to perfect matters.”

  John Surratt

  George groaned as they hit another bump in the road and Annabelle laid a comforting arm on his shoulder, glancing over at Peggy. She, too, watched George closely. Peggy gave Annabelle an encouraging smile and then settled against the back of Matthew’s driving bench. Annabelle tilted her head. How could Peggy rest with all this jostling?

  The day had favored them with clean sunshine and naught but a few wisps of fresh white clouds dotting a pristine sky. It was cold still, the kind of cold that would have already fled Rosswood by now, but the air was crisp and
she discovered that the cold didn’t seem to settle as deep within her as it did at home. It seemed that warmer weather rode in behind yesterday’s storm.

  This was a good thing, certainly, since poor George needed any amount of warmth he could get. They traveled the road in peace, and even Matthew seemed to have forgotten his earlier tension, nodding at other folks as they passed.

  Though the trees were still bare and the grass had not yet returned to its lushness, Annabelle could tell this land would burst into beauty once spring finally began to bloom in the North. The sun had risen high in the sky now, and with its favor shining down on them, Annabelle found she enjoyed the peaceful quiet of simply sitting and admiring the passing landscape. Lands here appeared completely unmarred by the war, something Annabelle hadn’t seen in a long time.

  When she’d asked, Matthew had told her that as far as he knew, no battles had been fought within the state of New York. As she had not seen the first charred house, Annabelle was beginning to believe what he said was truth, and not merely words meant to calm her fears as she had first expected.

  The people of New York had sent scores of their men to the South and had surely seen heavy losses, but at least no one had scorched their fields or set their homes ablaze. Annabelle pushed the bitter thought aside. She shouldn’t begrudge the people for having their lands left alone. At least somewhere in this divided country the women and children left behind did not bed down each night in fear. She tilted her head back and let the sun warm her face and wondered if she would ever travel again without remembering what their journey through all those battle-torn towns had been like.

  But war had not found her mother’s homeland, and if Annabelle tried hard enough, perhaps for a few moments she could pretend that all the horror the South had endured did not exist. For the moment they were safe, George was found, and the earth was clean and fresh. A small smile tugged at her lips, and her heart whispered a prayer of thanks for such great blessings.

  The wagon lurched again, but Annabelle had learned not to tense herself against it, rather letting her weight shift with it as it went. She found this to be much easier on her back, which no one seemed to have noticed she wasn’t keeping straight.

  She drew a long breath of the crisp air, and glanced down at George, only to find him staring up at her with clear eyes.

  “Oh!” she gasped. “You are awake!”

  At her words, the other two perked up, Peggy leaning closer to look at George and Matthew suddenly drawing up on the reins, bringing them to a quick halt. The horses had not come to a complete stop before Matthew twisted fully around in the driver’s seat, pulling his knees up underneath him and leaning over to examine his brother.

  George’s amber eyes widened, and a grin split his face, making him appear truly alive for the first time. “Matthew?”

  “Yes, brother!” Matthew’s voice hitched as he said the words, and Annabelle’s heart swelled. “I’ve kept my word. I found you!”

  George squirmed, wrenching one of his arms free of the tightly wrapped quilts and thrust it toward Matthew. The men grasped one another by the forearms, and though no words were spoken, the communication that came from their eyes was all they needed. As the moment passed, George glanced at the two women flanking him curiously, clearing his throat. “So, brother, care to tell me why I’m packed tight in blankets and riding in the back of a wagon?”

  Matthew let out a hearty laugh. “You tried to find your death in an icy river, but I denied you of your whims.”

  George’s brow wrinkled as he thought on this. “I remember moving men on the rafts during the flood, but nothing more. Where did you come from?”

  Matthew spat over the side of the wagon. “I have been in Elmira a couple of days, looking for you from that loathsome platform, searching for any opportunity to pull you free. The flood gave me such a chance.”

  George gasped, and he struggled to sit up. Annabelle placed a staying hand on his shoulder, giving a slight shake of her head. Surprisingly, George did not protest this, but settled back flat on his back and stared at the face of his brother hanging over him. “Tell me this is one of your jests, brother.”

  Matthew’s features turned thunderous. “Why would I jest with your life?”

  George drew a long breath, coughing a little as it exited his lungs, then gave a small shake of his head. “Your loyalty and courage know no bounds, but I am afraid you often act too rashly.”

  Matthew scowled. “Of what do you speak? Had I left you on that bank, they would be burying you this very moment.”

  George blanched a little at this. “Perhaps you are right. I don’t know if they really would have given me the papers, anyway.”

  Matthew tensed. “What papers?”

  “The allegiance papers I signed. They were in process to release me.”

  Matthew glanced at Annabelle, his expression slightly incredulous, as if he had never really believed such papers existed. She kept her features smooth, and he looked back at George. “You signed loyalty to the North?”

  Instead of anger, sympathy dawned in George’s eyes as he regarded Matthew. “Do not say it with such disgust. I was offered my life, my freedom, and a chance to return to Westerly and run it in peace. So, yes, I did what I thought needed to be done.” His voice took on more strength as he spoke, and a determination entered his steady gaze that Annabelle did not miss.

  Matthew’s chuckle surprised her, but apparently not his brother. “Always the responsible one, you are. You would give your own hide to the tanner if you thought it was what needed to be done.”

  George grinned. “Well, one of us has to be responsible, you know. Else we’d probably both have been worm food long ago.”

  Matthew sobered and studied George, giving a small nod. Then his gaze darted to Annabelle and indecision marred their blue depths. She gave a slight shake of her head. There was no reason to tell George anything of the betrothal now. There would be plenty of time later.

  Looking almost relieved, Matthew tilted his head in Annabelle’s direction. “George, forgive my lack of manners. My I introduce Miss Annabelle Ross of Rosswood Plantation.”

  George’s gaze turned back to Annabelle and he tucked his chin. “A pleasure, Miss Ross. I do hope you will forgive my current condition. It is hardly an acceptable way to greet a lady.”

  Annabelle almost laughed, sure he was speaking in jest. Why would he need to apologize for a condition he most surely could not help? But the seriousness of his features and the embarrassment that tightened the lines around his mouth gave her pause and she inclined her head instead. “Do not loathe your condition, sir. I’ve cared for many a man lying wounded on my floors who found themselves far worse off. You will very soon be robust with health once more.”

  This seemed to be a pleasing response, because the tension dropped from him like a shrugged coat and he offered her a genuine smile. “I thank you, miss, and hope to very soon see your words proved true.”

  She patted his shoulder, discreetly tucking the quilt back tightly around him to seal in the warmth. She looked up at Peggy. “Oh, and this is Peggy. She has been with me all my life,” she said simply, not knowing any other way to describe a relationship that most didn’t understand.

  He glanced over at the quiet woman who sat with her eyes downcast and simply nodded. Matthew cleared his throat. “We best keep moving. If I keep at a good pace, we might make it there by dark.”

  Apprehension squirmed in her gut, but Annabelle managed to keep it from her face. Matthew turned back in his seat and popped the reins, bringing the two lead horses into a brisk walk. The rope tightened and tugged at the gelding in the rear, pulling his head up from his vain search of the roadbed for a bit of grass to eat. The scraggly gelding had been Peggy’s mount, and the two seemed about as fond of one another as two old hens trying to share a nest. He nipped at her and she swatted at him. Both seemed content to have the wagon.

  They began to sway again, and Annabelle could feel George’s
eyes on her face. She looked down at him and smiled. With his wild beard and gaunt cheeks, he hardly looked anything like Matthew, save his piercing eyes. It was his eyes that had made her think of Matthew when she’d first seen him in the prison. It appeared he had been thinking of the same thing, because he asked, “I saw you at the major’s door, didn’t I?”

  She nodded. “Yes.”

  “Why were you there? They never allow women inside.”

  Annabelle lifted her shoulders. “I insisted.” His eyes widened, but he didn’t ask what that meant, so she continued. “I needed to speak with someone to see if you were truly held at Elmira, like the office of the Commissary General in Washington said you were.”

  George opened his mouth to speak but Matthew’s voice came first. “It is a long tale, brother. One I will recount to you in front of a hot fire after we’ve filled our bellies. For now, you need rest.”

  George looked at Annabelle and then glanced to the sky, shaking his head. Annabelle covered her mouth to hide the giggle that tried to escape. She found she already liked George. The thought unsettled her, knowing the conversations soon to come.

  Better to follow Matthew’s lead and put off such things for now. Telling too much of how she’d discovered his location would lead to a multitude of questions she did not want to face here on the road. So, she plastered a smile on her lips and looked down at George. “He is right,” she said loud enough for Matthew to hear clearly, though it seemed listening to their conversation had not been difficult. “You need to try to find your rest, if you hope to recover. There is time enough for the tale once you get some of your strength restored.”

  George looked as though he wanted to protest, but then decided against it. He turned his gaze up to the sky and Annabelle settled back against the seat once more. The next time she glanced down at George, he was sleeping.