The Liberator Series Box Set: Christian Historical Civil War Novels

by Stephenia H. McGee

  Harry snarled at him. “Can’t you get off me so we can talk like men?”

  Matthew glared at him for a moment, then shifted his weight and moved off of Harry’s chest. But before he could gain his feet, the smaller man bounded upright and dashed off through the trees.

  Matthew roared his anger and gave chase, following the surprisingly spry man deeper into the woods. He leapt over upturned roots and slipped between trees, and Matthew was having a hard time keeping up with his pace. Matthew lowered his head, ignoring branches that slapped him in the face and tore at his clothes, and charged on.

  He got close enough to Harry that he reached out to grab him, but his fingers had barely brushed the back of the man’s coat when Harry gave a yelp and launched himself forward with a new burst of speed. Matthew growled and pumped his legs harder, the old wound in his calf protesting his efforts. Ignoring the ache, Matthew jumped, clearing a large stump that Harry had to go around in a single bound.

  That slight advantage brought Harry within his reach and Matthew caught the man by his collar, yanking him backward and dropping him to a shaded patch of snow that had not been chased away by the sun. Harry yelped as he fell, but Matthew ignored him and once again centered his knees across the man’s chest, not letting up until Harry stopped struggling.

  Matthew was still breathing hard when he finally jerked Harry to his feet. Harry staggered, his wide eyes locked on Matthew. Matthew slammed Harry against the nearest tree, hard enough that the air left Harry’s chest in a whoosh.

  Harry gasped, struggling for a moment to regain his breath. He fixed a cold glare on Matthew. Matthew pressed his forearm into Harry’s sternum, securing his body to the tree. “Why are you here?” Matthew asked again.

  “Been following you, traitor,” Harry spat. “Been waiting weeks for you to come out of hiding.”

  Matthew’s nostrils flared. “Why?”

  Harry sneered. “Ain’t telling you nothing. You ain’t my Captain no more, traitor, and I don’t have to do what you say.”

  Matthew leaned the bulk of his weight forward, increasing the pressure at Harry’s throat. The man’s eyes widened but he said no more. Matthew slipped his free hand up to Harry’s neck, clamping his fingers on the soft spot just underneath the jaw. Panic washed over Harry’s face when Matthew began to squeeze, cutting off his ability to breathe. After a moment, he began to thrash. Matthew held him until his bulging eyes became dazed and his struggle weakened, then pulled back. “I’ll not ask you nicely again. Why are you following me?”

  Harry gasped as air flowed back into his throat, and Matthew let him cough a few times. Harry dropped his head back on the tree behind him and closed his eyes. “O’Malley made me do it! He said you was going to turn us in.”

  Matthew narrowed his gaze. “Surely by now you can see I don’t intend to do that.”

  Harry opened his eyes and glared at Matthew. “Says the man wearing a Union coat. I always knew you would turn on us.”

  Matthew snarled. “I’ll wear whatever best keeps out the cold,” he barked. “Not that I have to explain myself to you.” He shoved hard and then pushed Harry away, letting the man drop to the ground with disgust. “I left Washington to save my brother on my own, since none of you kept your word in helping me do it. I have not yet betrayed anything I swore to do. It’s O’Malley who did not keep his word.”

  All the bravado that had filled Harry seemed to dissipate as he got back to his feet. “He shouldn’t have strung you along like that, telling you he meant to help when he never planned on findin’ your brother.”

  Matthew had always suspected as much, but hearing O’Malley’s deception spoken out loud brought another snarl to his lips and his hands into tight fists. Harry backed away, holding up his hands to shield his face. Matthew spat at the ground and took a step back. “I’m not going to tell the law about what we did. Do you think I am foolish enough to condemn my own neck to a noose?”

  Harry shook his head. “O’Malley said I had to follow you anyway and report back once you found your brother.”

  This surprised Matthew, but he tried not to let it show. “Then what?”

  Harry looked terrified and took another step away, leaves and bits of snow crunching beneath his shoes. Matthew closed the distance in a single stride and caught Harry by the collar. “Then what?”

  The blood drained from Harry’s face. “He sent new word. He told me to kill you, but I swear I wasn’t going to do it! I ain’t no murderer!”

  Matthew thrust him away and Harry stumbled, but kept his feet. “O’Malley wants me dead?” O’Malley’s obsessions drove the man to madness, and Matthew knew that once David O’Malley had Matthew’s death in his mind, he would send better than Harry to see it done. What dangers would that bring to George and Annabelle?

  “Yeah,” Harry answered. “He thinks you are a thread that has to be cut. But, I say if you know how to keep your mouth shut even after Lincoln’s gone, I don’t know why he can’t leave you be.”

  Matthew startled. “He’s still planning on taking him?”

  Harry sneered. “That’s the plan from Canada, but O’Malley would see the problem permanently solved.”

  “It’s assassination now?”

  Harry cursed. “I done said too much. Look,” he said easing away. “How about you just get back on that horse and be on your way, and I’ll be on mine, and we won’t ever see each other again.”

  “And let O’Malley send another after me? I think not.” Matthew shot forward and grabbed hold of Harry before he could run. “I think you need to come with me.”

  Harry swung a fist and caught Matthew by the nose, bringing instant moisture to his eyes. Matthew blinked it away and pulled back his balled fist, landing a punch to the smaller man’s face and feeling his nose shatter. Harry went limp and fell to the ground.

  Matthew wiped the water from his eyes, watching the man on the ground. Harry didn’t move. Matthew wiped the blood that had run down his face off with his sleeve, then bent to turn Harry over.

  Harry’s bloody nose sat at a crooked angle. Better he put it back in place while the man wouldn’t feel it. He reached out and clamped the nose between his fingers, giving it a tug. It made a sucking noise, like when a baked chicken leg was popped from the thigh. Matthew surveyed his work, and then deciding it was straight enough, he wiped as much of the blood free as he could and pinched the nostrils closed, making sure Harry’s mouth was open so he could breathe.

  Harry groaned, but didn’t wake. When Matthew was satisfied he had given the man more mercy than he deserved, he hoisted Harry over his shoulder and trudged off in search of his horse. Thankfully, he found the animal nibbling at vines nearby.

  The horse sidestepped as he neared, but Matthew grabbed the dangling reins before she could prance out of his reach. Then he draped the unconscious man over the saddle and stroked the mare’s nose to calm her. Matthew took a deep breath and tugged on the reins, leading the horse out of the woods.

  He trudged out of the forest and across the lawn, his mind working through the repercussions of Harry’s tale. O’Malley would have to be stopped, but he didn’t want Annabelle catching wind of it. He glanced back at the man slung over the saddle and tried to come up with a believable story.

  “I am afraid he will yet suspect something, and then, by some blundering remark, upset the whole thing.”

  John Surratt

  The table was laden with smoked meat pies and vegetables, the steam surrounding Matthew with a delicious aroma that did little to help his appetite. He smiled to himself as George shoveled in another bite, the look of satisfaction on his face evident as he chewed vigorously. A week or so more of these hearty meals, and his brother would truly be on his way to returning to his old self.

  Matthew tugged on his collar, wondering if everyone else felt as stifling hot as he did. The crackle of wood in the hearth reminded him of the young boy who earned his wage by chopping and toting it inside. Did the boy ever go to the potato
shed out back? What about the cook? How often would she venture out that way for supplies? He tugged again, a bead of sweat running down his spine.

  “Matthew?”

  He looked up sharply, realizing he’d been too lost in thought to hear his hostess speak to him. He could feel his face redden with embarrassment. “Yes, Mrs. Smith?”

  She arched a thin brow at him. “Did you not hear my question?”

  Matthew glanced across the table at Annabelle, but her smooth expression and cool eyes would give him no assistance. “Forgive me, ma’am. I am afraid not.”

  Eudora Smith dabbed the side of her mouth with her linen napkin and placed it back on the table before speaking again. “Too lost in your thoughts, were you? Pray tell, what has you so preoccupied?”

  Matthew’s pulse quickened, and he forced himself to keep any indication of his distress out of reach of her prying eyes. Mrs. Smith, however, appeared more amused than suspicious, and her gaze darted to Annabelle for only the swiftest instant, but it was enough for Matthew to catch her meaning. He refused to look at Annabelle, but he could clearly feel George’s gaze traveling his face like a swarm of ants on a discarded scrap of bread. He cocked his head, feigning confusion, and turned the subject. “I was thinking on the state of affairs of the country, ma’am. It seems I’ve been out of touch with such things for some time.”

  Mrs. Smith gave a small smirk, but allowed herself to be redirected. “Interesting, since Anka should have made the paper available to you. Did you not read it?”

  His grip tightened on his fork, but he kept his tone smooth. “I shall take it to my room once we retire. Thank you, ma’am.”

  She lowered her lids, but not before Matthew caught the humor in her gaze. He flicked his attention to Annabelle, who sat primly across from him and next to his brother, and caught her eye for only an instant before her gaze fell on her plate again. Matthew tried to stomp out the irrational jealousy that stirred in his chest at the notion that she would forever be at George’s side and not his own.

  Matthew’s attention slid from her to George and caught his brother staring across the table at the young woman seated to Matthew’s left. His irrational jealousy shifted to an even more frustrating annoyance. How dare George look upon Lilly like that when one so desirable sat right by his side, ignored?

  Matthew’s grip tightened harder on his fork, and he glanced at Lilly from the corner of his eye. She hadn’t said anything the entire meal, just as she’d kept quiet all of the other times they’d gathered around this table for an awkward meal. She seemed every bit as uncomfortable as Matthew with the unconventional line of souls sitting in a horseshoe around the table—a slave, a servant, a deserter, a wealthy widow, a displaced lady, and an escaped prisoner of war. If he hadn’t been in such a foul mood, Matthew might have thought the group amusing. As it were, it disgruntled him all the more.

  He glared at George until his brother caught his eye. The slight narrowing of his eyes, the tightness of his mouth, and the steel in his gaze proved all George needed to catch Matthew’s meaning. But, instead of showing the proper embarrassment for his wanton stare, George only lifted the side of his lips and hitched one shoulder before putting another heaping spoonful of potatoes into his mouth.

  Matthew’s simmering frustration reached to boiling, and he could feel the heat radiating in his center and sizzling up his neck. Annabelle must have noticed, because she tilted her head and studied him before her gaze darted around the table in search of what had caused his ire. Lest she discover the truth, Matthew forced his breathing to slow and offered a tight smile.

  Annabelle frowned. Then, as if remembering her distain for him, gave a small sniff and lifted her chin, pointedly turning her gaze away from him and onto her grandmother. Matthew followed her eyes and once again was confronted with the older woman’s infuriating amusement. His teeth clenched so hard he feared he was nigh on breaking them.

  Matthew placed his napkin by his plate of uneaten food, and rose from the table. All eyes turned on him. “I am afraid I am not feeling well. If you all will excuse me, I think I will retire for the evening,” he said through teeth that he could not fully force to unclench.

  He could feel their stares on his back as he strode from the room. He willed his pounding heart to slow, but nothing short of a walk out in the freezing air would douse the fire burning within him.

  Annabelle watched Matthew pull the doors closed behind him with a thud and then she jumped when he slammed the front door, the sound seeming to rattle the very walls. Feeling eyes on her, she looked at the questioning faces of the other women at the table and gave a small shrug.

  She stabbed a piece of carrot with her fork and looked at George out of the corner of her eye, sensing he was the only one not confused by his brother’s behavior. Thinking it best to find a safe topic to distract from Matthew’s display of temper, Annabelle turned her attention to Lilly and smiled.

  “Lilly, I was hoping Frankie would be able to join us tonight.”

  Lilly looked up from her plate and darted a glance at Grandmother, her face a mixture of surprise and displeasure. Had Annabelle said something to offend? The rules were all different here, and she felt as though she were trying to navigate uneven waters.

  Grandmother’s lips curled into a sly smile. “I’ve told her to let him eat here with us, but she can be awful stubborn when she sets her mind to it,” she said, her amused tone belying the nip in her words.

  Lilly pointedly ignored her and focused on Annabelle as she spoke, though her words were clearly intended for Grandmother. “And I told her it would be better that he did not disturb the guests.”

  Grandmother snorted, but Lilly ignored her. Annabelle drew her lip between her teeth. Perhaps she had not chosen a safe topic after all. Grandmother seemed not to have noticed.

  “That boy should be able to eat with his mother,” Grandmother said, pointing a finger at Lilly. “It’s not good for him to be raised by others, you know.”

  Annabelle noticed George stiffen at her side and glanced at his profile. His gaze openly locked onto Lilly’s usually serene face, now alight with unconcealed emotion. She couldn’t be sure, since Lilly’s golden skin did not betray a blush as easily as Annabelle’s, but it seemed Lilly was flushed with annoyance. George laid down his fork, his interest in Lilly’s words obvious. Did he not know she had a son? What difference would that make to him, anyway?

  Lilly flicked her gaze at George before returning it to Annabelle, and she thought she caught the slightest flash of fear before Lilly smothered it under her mask of indifference. “As I have said on many occasions, I would be happy to take my meals in the kitchen, as a servant should. Then this would not be an issue.”

  Grandmother’s amusement disintegrated, replaced by annoyance. The lines around her mouth tightened, and Annabelle looked upon her closer. She’d been mistaken. Hurt washed over Grandmother’s hazel eyes, not anger. She tucked the revelation away and glanced back at Lilly, sorry she had ever opened her mouth.

  “And as I have said,” Grandmother emphasized, “you are more family than hireling, and I wish you would count both you and Frankie as deserving a place at my table, whether we are joined by guests or not.”

  Lilly’s features fell, and she shifted in her seat. Annabelle’s heart went out to her. She knew something of the fragile balance of not quite understanding one’s place.

  “I would like to meet Frankie,” George interrupted, his gaze heavy upon Lilly.

  Lilly looked up at him sharply, her mask of serenity now entirely lost. “Why?” she snapped. Then, as if remembering herself, eased the frown from her face with obvious concentration. She drew a long, steadying breath, and then spoke to George as though he were the child. “He is not ready for the table when the adults are trying to speak. He has too much energy to remain quiet and still.”

  George leaned back in his chair and laughed, a rich and hearty sound that seemed too robust for the emaciated man at her side. Lilly blanche
d, the warm color of her face fading to almost the shade of Annabelle’s own.

  George slapped his knee. “A boy is supposed to be full of energy! Only little girls will sit prim and proper at a table, all done up in fancy clothes. A boy is supposed to be struggling with itching collars and forced stillness!” He chuckled. “You should have seen us four boys at the table as little ones.”

  Lilly looked stunned, but Grandmother barked a laugh to rival George’s. “See now, that boy needs a man in his life to say such things. You put too many expectations onto a boy of two.”

  Annabelle pressed her fingers into the wadded napkin in her lap, her meal forgotten. Something was exchanged in the look that passed between Lilly and George, but she could not quite place its nature. She looked to Grandmother, who also seemed to notice the exchange, though her features spoke of understanding, and then alarm. The look washed away so quickly, however, that Annabelle thought she may have imagined it.

  Grandmother clapped her hands suddenly, making everyone jump. “Let’s have our dessert. Lilly, why don’t you go to the kitchen and fetch our pie, and then let the little one come and eat it with us.”

  Lilly rose from her place and slipped out of the room without argument, her former fire forgotten. Annabelle looked to Peggy, who, as usual, had tried to blend in with the walls and act as if she were not present, even when seated with everyone else at the table. She now sat alone on her side of the table, since both Matthew and Lilly had gone. Annabelle doubted that was the reason for Peggy’s discomfort and parted her lips to speak on the weather or some other mundane topic that could not possibly add to the awkwardness already thick in the room.

  Peggy gave an almost imperceptible shake of her head, and Annabelle drew her lips into a thin line. Fine. She would simply sit here and keep her mouth shut and try not to do any more damage. Without being asked, Peggy rose and picked up her plate, going around to George to remove the scraped-clean china from in front of him as well. She took Annabelle’s hardly touched meat pie and stacked her plate on top of the others. She reached for Grandmother’s setting, then hesitated.