The afternoon passed quickly, each of them absorbed in their own thoughts while George slept and the miles remaining between Annabelle and her mother’s family shortened. When they pulled into a small town and Matthew stopped to water the horses, the sun had begun to touch the tops of the trees.
Matthew dismounted the wagon and took the horses by the leads, directing them to a watering trough near the hitching posts in front of the postal station. Annabelle stretched her arms over her head, and watched the people on the street.
That’s when she saw him.
Annabelle gasped, struggling forward and putting a knee into George, who groaned under her weight. She looked down at him and shifted, her gaze immediately returning to where she had seen the man on the road, but he was gone. Annabelle narrowed her eyes, scanning the faces of the few people walking about and entering storefronts, but none of them looked familiar.
Matthew grasped her arm from over the side of the wagon. “What’s wrong?”
She’d been too intent on searching to see him approach. Annabelle swallowed the lump gathering in her throat. Surely she had just imagined it. Why would he be all the way up here? Any answer she could think of was not a pleasing one, and she did not want to cause Matthew any undo worry. “Nothing. I just…thought I saw something.”
His features tightened. “Saw what?”
She removed her arm from his grasp, trying to brush away his concern. “I merely saw a man who resembled someone I know, that’s all.”
Instead of easing his tension, her words only seemed to stoke it. Matthew scanned the town, his face hard. “It is nothing, Matthew,” she said low. “Let’s not worry your brother over my silly imagination.”
Matthew looked back at her, then glanced at George, then narrowed his eyes. “Very well. But if you do see someone you know,” he said, his tone thick with meaning, “you are to tell me immediately.”
She nodded, giving him a smile she hoped conveyed unconcern. Matthew didn’t look any more convinced by it than she felt, so she let it slide from her lips. “You women stretch your legs and see to any personal business quickly,” Matthew ordered. “I will inquire how much further the Smith house is from town.”
Annabelle scrambled down from the wagon, her muscles protesting more than she would have liked. From what she remembered of the one visit she’d made as a child, the Smith lands were not too far north from the town of Watkins Glen and nestled along the banks of a grand lake.
Peggy and Annabelle did as Matthew bade, and went to see to their personal needs quickly. Annabelle’s movements proved shaky and her eyes constantly probed any shadow untouched by the late afternoon light. As much as she wished it were so, Annabelle knew that what she saw had not been imagined.
Harry was following them.
“Booth left today for New York.”
John Surratt
By the time they reached the road to the Smith house, the sun had already fallen below the trees and the shadows had lengthened. The pleasant cool of the day began to dissipate, soon to be replaced by the deep chill of night. Annabelle shivered, hoping they would not be camping out of doors.
“This the right place?” Matthew asked over his shoulder.
Annabelle twisted around to see her northern kin’s home. Vague memories strained to reach the surface of her jumbled thoughts. She had only seen it once as a child, but she was fairly certain this was the massive house she remembered. “Yes,” she replied, “I believe so.”
Matthew let out a low whistle. “Looks like your Yank kin do well.”
Annabelle ignored him. The Smith house was larger than Rosswood, a great stone rectangle guarded by what Annabelle counted as six chimneys. Between their tops stood a railed rooftop lookout that was as large as the front garden at Rosswood where Momma had grown her roses.
“Lawd, look at this here place,” Peggy said low as they drew near. Annabelle glanced at her, but Peggy’s wide eyes were on the Smith house. It was impressive, certainly, but it was nothing at all like her home. They hadn’t even bothered to give it a proper name!
Where Rosswood greeted guests with large columns and wide porches, the Smith house seemed to say that guests were not welcomed to come and sit a spell. The front of the mansion had only a small balcony jutting out just over the front door, with room only for a person or two to spend hot summer nights catching the breeze. With no front porch, the tiny balcony was the only cover for the front entry, serving as little more than a place to escape the rain.
“Bet that place has a dozen rooms,” Peggy whispered. Annabelle shrugged. Perhaps. She couldn’t remember. The house stood but two stories tall, though she guessed a third floor was tucked away in the enormous roof.
The house itself was made of blocks much larger than the bricks they had produced at Rosswood. Four of their bricks could have made one of these cut stones, and where Rosswood bricks were the warm red of Mississippi clay, the Smith stones were sad gray that were already beginning to blend into the gathering dusk.
As they came to a stop in front of the house, Annabelle could see smoke drifting lazily from some of the chimneys. Warm lamplight bathed two of the four lower windows on the front of the house. Though obviously someone resided within, none exited the house or came around from the side to offer to take the horses to stable—or even to inquire about their presence this late in the day. Sensing the same oddity, Matthew looked at Annabelle with questions in his eyes she could not answer.
“Perhaps we should knock on the door,” she offered.
Matthew nodded, jumping down from the driver’s seat and tying the horses to a small tree in the lawn by the edge of the circled lane. By the time he made it to the rear of the wagon, Annabelle had already gotten down and was trying to shake some of the wrinkles out of her skirt.
“Stay here with George and make sure he behaves,” she whispered to Peggy. George huffed, having heard her anyway. He must have awakened when she got down from the wagon.
“You go on, Miss Belle. I’s got him,” Peggy said.
Matthew extended his arm to her. “They will be fine while we are only a few paces away.” Knowing he was right, she took his offered arm and together they climbed the three small steps leading to the covered area at the front door. The space was barely large enough for the two of them to stand, and Annabelle wondered again why a house so massive should have such a small porch.
Matthew reached up and knocked soundly on the door, then stepped back as far as the shallow stoop would allow. Annabelle pulled her hand from the crook of his arm and straightened her dress, still trying to smooth wrinkles she hoped it was now too dark to notice. She was certainly glad Peggy had suggested she wear the blue dress Molly had given her, rather than her tattered skirt and blouse.
They waited for several moments, but no one came to the door. Matthew looked at Annabelle in confusion. “Perhaps they did not hear,” she suggested.
Matthew huffed at the idea but stepped back up to the door, this time pounding loudly. Annabelle cringed and hoped the occupants would not take the rattling of their front door as an offense. After a few moments, however, they finally heard a lock sliding from place and the heavy wooden door opened slightly, revealing the face of a young woman near Annabelle’s age.
She had skin the smooth color of copper. Her ebony hair was pulled tightly away from her face, but even the severity of her hairstyle did not detract from her seemingly effortless beauty.
The woman eyed Annabelle and Matthew suspiciously with deep brown eyes. “Yes?”
Matthew took a step forward and the woman recoiled. She began to close the door as she did, and the light streaming through the crack narrowed so much that Annabelle feared the woman was about to shut them out entirely. Annabelle placed a hand on Matthew’s arm and he stepped back, giving Annabelle room to come forward. The woman seemed to relax a bit, but did not further widen the opening, and instead stood there eying Annabelle through the crack.
“Forgive us for calling so late,”
Annabelle said, “but it has been a very long journey. I am Annabelle Ross. My mother’s family resides here, and we have come to seek lodging with kin. We have a man traveling with us who is in great need of a warm room and a place to recover from….”
A woman’s voice barked out from behind the door, stalling Annabelle’s words. “No sick are welcome here!”
Annabelle startled. “He is not sick,” she said loudly to the unseen voice. “He is merely suffering from the lingering cold caused by falling into a winter river. Well, that, and a severe lack of nourishment.”
There was a pause, and the young woman at the door glanced at whoever had spoken behind her. After a moment, she stepped back from the door. It was swung wide and the space filled with the rigid figure of an elderly woman. With a stiff spine, angled features, and a stern cast to her face, she looked the very image of the crone her father had warned Annabelle about. Annabelle swallowed hard, trying to find the moisture that seemed to have disappeared from her mouth.
However, the moment the woman’s steely gaze landed on Annabelle, her eyes widened in surprise. “Katherine!”
Annabelle had not heard her mother’s name spoken aloud in quite some time, and the sound of it even now warmed a forgotten place in her heart. She shook her head sadly. “No, I am but her daughter, Annabelle.”
The old woman stared at her long enough that Annabelle grew uncomfortable. Then she shook her head, sending gray curls bouncing. “You look ever so much like your mother when she was young.”
Annabelle dipped her chin. “I thank you.”
The woman’s lips turned up slightly. “And what brings my only grandchild this far to see me? Has your father finally loosened the reins enough to let you slip from his sight?”
Confusion pulled at her. Father had always said her grandparents chose not to have anything to do with their family, but her grandmother seemed to imply the opposite was true. But, perhaps those were observations best left unvoiced. Instead, Annabelle replied, “My father died in battle several months ago.”
Her stern features softened, if only slightly. “I am sorry to hear it, child.” She looked at Matthew, as if noticing him for the first time. “Your husband, I take it? Come to meet me?”
“No, he, um, is…” She stumbled for the right words, thankful when Matthew stepped forward and bowed to save her the embarrassment of answering.
“I am Matthew Daniels. My brother is betrothed to Miss Ross, and is the chilled man in great need of a warm bed.”
Annabelle inwardly groaned. She should have answered herself. However, Grandmother seemed to be focused on something else entirely. She pointed a long finger at Matthew. “I’ll not have sick men in my home, regardless of their spoken ties to my family. I’ll have to see him for myself to be sure he isn’t eaten with the fever.”
Matthew inclined his head. “Certainly, ma’am. He is within the wagon.”
He gestured for the lady to proceed in front of him, and she pulled her evening wrapper tightly around her thin frame before stepping out into the cold. She walked with purpose, and Matthew and Annabelle trailed her down the front walkway and over to the side of the wagon.
She was a small woman, several inches shorter than Annabelle, and she had to lift herself up on her toes to look over the side of the wagon at George.
“What is your name, boy?”
George shifted in his blankets, trying to get up. He finally managed to get himself untangled and sit upright, regarding the woman that narrowed her eyes at him. The purple tint in the sky gave deep glow to the final moments of the day, thankfully making George’s face appear a bit less pale.
“My name is George Daniels, ma’am,” he said, unfazed by her scrutiny. Annabelle figured if he’d had shoes, George probably would have tried to get out of the wagon by now. She glanced at Peggy, who was still seated primly on the other side of George and suppressed a smile. He’d probably tried that anyway and had been surprised to find Peggy’s will stronger than his own.
She glanced back at George, who looked rather sheepish as he addressed her grandmother. “Please do forgive my condition and my inability to greet you properly,” he said.
The woman sniffed and turned to speak to Annabelle instead. “Well, he seems coherent, at least, and his eyes are clear. Scrawny thing, though. You’d have fared better with the stout one.”
George looked confused, but thankfully said nothing. Annabelle fumbled for an answer, but Grandmother was already turning back to George. “I am Eudora Smith. Mr. Daniels, please tell me what ails you.” She pointed a finger at him. “And do not think about trying to deceive me, for I will know it.”
He gave a curt nod. “I was a Confederate soldier, taken prisoner by the Union Army back in early February.” Eudora stiffened and Annabelle inwardly groaned. Why couldn’t he have left that part out? “Prison conditions were poor, and I lost a lot of weight during my time there, but have not found any sickness.”
“And how did you end up here?” Grandmother asked.
George looked at Matthew before answering. “A great storm came, and the river flooded. There were too many prisoners for everyone to be inside the walls, and I was one of the groups camped along the river banks on the north side of the pond.”
Eudora gave an unladylike snort at that. “Elmira. They filled that disgusting place beyond its capacity,” she said, turning up her nose.
Annabelle felt a spark of hope at the comment, but George kept talking. “During that flood, I helped move the pox patients from the flatlands across the water. I was able to save some, but I’m afraid I became chilled too deeply from the cold.” He dropped his chin as though he were sorely ashamed. “I only meant to rest upon the banks for a few moments, but my brother found me there sometime later, too cold to think properly. I would have died if he had not saved me.”
Eudora processed this. “So you have touched men with the pox.” It was a statement, not a question.
George answered anyway. “Yes, I did. In order that they may not drown.” He said it as if daring her to shun him for it. Annabelle guessed she likely would. She had made her fear of sickness evident, and little was worse than the pox. It could wipe out whole families. She’d even heard that it had taken entire towns. Exaggerations, likely, but frightful nonetheless.
Instead of asking more about the pox, Eudora focused on the other thing that would surely condemn them. “And so you are an escaped prisoner, looking to hide behind my walls and label me a traitor.”
Matthew stiffened at Annabelle’s side, but thankfully kept his comments to himself. Annabelle stared at her grandmother’s profile. She’d never met a woman quite so blunt. Grandmother seemed far removed from Annabelle’s soft spoken mother.
“Well, no, not entirely,” George answered, bringing Annabelle’s attention back to the conversation and away from her contemplations about the vastly different personalities within her family.
“You only half-escaped, then?” Eudora mocked.
George remained passive. “It is true I left without permission, though I was in no condition to ask it. However, on the day prior, I’d already met with Union officials and signed an oath of allegiance to the North. My papers were in processing, and they would have soon released me.”
Eudora’s stiff shoulders relaxed slightly at this, but her words were still clipped when she turned and fired them at Annabelle. “So you have stolen this man from prison prior to his proper release—a man who has touched the pox, no less—and have brought him, another man, and apparently your slave, here to me to beg resources?”
Annabelle refused to cringe at the words. It seemed her father had been right, though. The Smiths were a harsh, unfeeling people with little care for others. She straightened herself. “Yes, Grandmother. That is the truth of it.”
The older woman stared at her for a moment, and then smirked. “Well, you are an honest lot, even if you are fools. That counts for something. Come, bring yourselves inside. I tire of standing here jawing in the
cold.”
The breath left her in a rush. “Thank you, Grandmother.”
Grandmother looked at Matthew. “The stable is behind the house. You can stall your horses there.”
“Thank you, ma’am.”
The woman simply nodded and turned on her heels, leaving them to gather their things and Matthew to heft a protesting George into his arms.
“You will put me down this instant, little brother, or you will see my fist!”
Matthew chuckled. “Even when you were at full strength, you never could land a blow to drop me! It would be as a woman’s kiss now.”
George growled. “You have already unmanned me enough by leaving me wrapped in blankets like a suckling babe!”
Matthew sobered and placed George on his feet. “Without a dry overcoat, and only one boot, we thought it better to keep you beneath any warmth we could give.”
“And my trousers?” George said in a harsh whisper.
Matthew shrugged. “Mine wouldn’t stay about your waist, so I left them off. Didn’t figure you would need them until you awoke.”
Even in the quickly receding light, Annabelle could tell George’s face reddened. She glanced at Peggy. Peggy lifted her brows, and the two of them hefted the traveling bags and started for the door while the men argued.
Behind her, George groaned. “Fine. I will accept that. But I will not accept being toted like a babe into the house when my own legs will carry me.”
Nothing more was said, and a few seconds later Annabelle could hear their footsteps behind her. At the front stoop, the young woman who had first opened the door now held it wide, allowing Annabelle and Peggy entrance. She kept her eyes on the floor as they passed. Annabelle placed Father’s bag on the floor and waited as Peggy deposited her load just inside the wide entryway. Overhead, a chandelier dangling with crystals caught the light and sent sparkling dots dancing all over the walls. Annabelle had seen this trick of light with her mother’s diamond, but had never seen it happen on such a large scale before.
The Liberator Series Box Set: Christian Historical Civil War Novels Page 39
