The Liberator Series Box Set: Christian Historical Civil War Novels

by Stephenia H. McGee

  Annabelle looked at her earnestly. “I would like to, truly I would, but can you really blame me?”

  The elder woman drew her lips into a line. “I only did what I thought best. I’ve already apologized for it, Annabelle.”

  Indeed, she had. Even so, didn’t Annabelle have a right to mistrust her now, when the wounds from Grandmother’s omissions, half-truths, and woven falsehoods were still fresh? Perhaps she had meant well, but that didn’t excuse her actions. People didn’t just lie to the ones they cared about, no matter their reasoning….

  Her gaze fell on Peggy, who stood there silently watching Annabelle. Her heart felt as though it dropped into her stomach. She hung her head, the unspoken truth evident.

  “You have, Grandmother, and I forgive you.” She looked back to Peggy, who offered a gentle smile.

  Grandmother didn’t seem to notice the exchange. “Good. Now, back to what I was saying. Which of these do you want to wear to the play? I think this zouave set would be lovely on you, with all this fine stitching along the jacket and skirt.” She glanced at Peggy. “Wouldn’t you agree?”

  Peggy nodded. “Yes, ma’am.”

  Grandmother held it out toward Annabelle. She gave a resigned shake of her head. “Very well. Whichever you like.”

  Grandmother tossed it on the bed. “Oh, yes, and this blouse with the lace sleeves. It shall be perfect.”

  Grandmother paused and looked at Annabelle thoughtfully. “Don’t be so petulant, dear. They did take you seriously on this abduction matter. You saw how Lincoln gave his speech. He didn’t even leave the White House!”

  Annabelle considered the claim. The speech occurred just two days after their talk with Mr. Crook. It did seem encouraging that Lincoln had spoken from the White House window.

  “Yes, I suppose that is true,” Annabelle said, absentmindedly pulling her fingers through the loose ends of her hair.

  Grandmother had finally received an actual response from Mr. Crook yesterday afternoon, just after Annabelle had seen Matthew outside of the Surratt house with O’Malley. The note had said Lincoln would not go out alone, and that they were aware someone may try to abduct the president. Grandmother had seemed convinced that was all that needed to be done. Annabelle disagreed.

  She wrinkled her nose. “Still, I feel it isn’t enough.”

  “Yes, dear, that I can plainly see,” Grandmother said, looking down her nose. “You spent hours yesterday at the hotel, waiting to catch sight of Mr. Booth.”

  After seeing Matthew with O’Malley, Annabelle had put off going to the law and returned to the hotel, hoping to learn something from Booth. She hadn’t seen him again and had begun to wonder if he had been merely visiting and not actually staying at this hotel.

  Annabelle felt her cheeks color. “How did you know…?” She cut her eyes at Peggy, but Peggy only shrugged.

  “Don’t be silly, child,” Grandmother said, returning to her perusal of Annabelle’s clothing. “I don’t need anyone to tell me something so obvious.”

  Annabelle rubbed her temples, letting the matter go. There were more pressing questions on her mind. “Why must we go to this play, Grandmother? You said something about a reason…?” It had better be something more than you think it’s a good distraction!

  Grandmother looked up from the trunk where she fished out a long lace sash. “Hmm? Oh, yes. Well, you said Mr. Booth was in on this matter, didn’t you?”

  “Yes.”

  Just then there was a knock at the door, and Peggy opened it to reveal George out in the hall. “You’ll have to wait a bit, Mista Daniels,” Peggy said. “Miss Belle ain’t ready yet.”

  “Let him in, Peggy. I’m already dressed,” she called loud enough for George to hear.

  Peggy looked over her shoulder at Annabelle’s hair hanging down around her shoulders and frowned. Annabelle waved it away. “We have important matters to discuss. Mr. Daniels is not affected by my loose hair.”

  Peggy looked to Grandmother. The older woman hesitated, then waved her hand. “Let him in.”

  George strode into the room, but kept his eyes away from Annabelle. Peggy hurried over to her dressing chair and began ripping the comb through Annabelle’s tangles hard enough that Annabelle had to bite her lip to keep from crying out.

  George cleared his throat. “Mrs. Smith, you wished to speak to me?”

  “Yes, indeed. I believe it is time you took a part in this matter.”

  Annabelle watched George out of the corner of her eye as best she could around Peggy’s body. He lifted his brows. “How so?”

  Grandmother looked at Annabelle and smiled. “My granddaughter says that Mr. Booth and Mr. O’Malley are at the center of this abduction scheme.”

  “They are,” Annabelle said as Peggy’s nimble fingers finished wrapping a braid around her head and began pinning up her curls.

  George still wouldn’t look at her, keeping his gaze on Grandmother. “So she has.”

  Grandmother’s eyes began to twinkle. “So I say we turn the tide on them.” She put a finger in George’s chest. “Your brother has been sucked into their schemes again, if he was ever truly out of them.”

  George stiffened. “What are you saying?”

  Peggy had no sooner placed the final pin than Annabelle was on her feet. “Now, Grandmother we agreed not to tell….”

  George whirled around and glared at her, and suddenly he looked more like Matthew than ever. “You will not keep secrets from me about my own brother, Miss Ross.”

  Annabelle regarded him for a moment, then nodded. “You are right, of course. We should not have tried to keep it from you, as it was not our place.”

  The muscles in George’s jaw tightened so that Annabelle wondered if he would be able to push any words out. As it were, he remained stoic, a statue of indignation.

  Grandmother stepped in between them, placing a hand on George’s chest. “Easy there, young man. I know you are riled, but we didn’t want to get your blood up if we didn’t know for certain.”

  “Know what for certain?” George asked through his clenched teeth, looking over Grandmother’s head at Annabelle.

  “We saw Matthew with David O’Malley, and they seemed to be in cahoots,” Annabelle blurted.

  George’s nostrils flared. “What makes you think so?”

  “Peggy and I saw them laughing and talking. I don’t think it was because Matthew had convinced O’Malley to change his mind,” Annabelle said, her voice strained.

  “You should not assume what you do not know,” he barked, looking hard at Annabelle. “Have a little faith in him, Miss Ross. Perhaps he did that very thing.”

  Annabelle’s heart constricted, but she could not bring herself to tell George he was wrong. He couldn’t know that O’Malley would not be so easily swayed from his goal.

  Grandmother stepped away from George. “Will everyone please stop bickering for a moment? I’ve been trying all morning to get someone to hear my plan!”

  All eyes turned to Grandmother, wide with surprise. “Now,” she said, clasping her hands at her waist. “I have purchased the three of us,”—she cast Peggy an apologetic look—“tickets to tonight’s play at Ford’s Theatre. My sources implied that the presidential couple might be in attendance as well.”

  Sources? Mr. Crook, no doubt. Annabelle’s eyes widened, understanding dawning. “And if Lincoln is at Fords, then likely so will be Matthew and O’Malley.”

  She stood and began to pace the floor. “It is brilliant, Grandmother. Booth wouldn’t pass up an opportunity like this. He will know the theatre well and will be able to get O’Malley secret access. They could be making their abduction tonight!”

  Grandmother nodded. “As I suspected. Mr. Crook will be on duty tonight. I have given him your description of Mr. O’Malley. If the man even comes near the president, Mr. Crook has promised to arrest him immediately on the charges.”

  “And my brother?” George asked, voicing Annabelle’s own concerns.

  Gran
dmother looked at him thoughtfully for what seemed a long time. “Then let us pray it is as you say, and he has nothing to do with these plans.” She stared hard at him. “And if he is, then it will be up to you to see that he is the one stolen away.”

  “For four years have I waited, hoped and prayed for the dark clouds to break and for a restoration of our former sunshine. To wait longer is a crime. My prayers have proved as idle as my hopes.”

  John Wilkes Booth

  Washington

  April 14, 1865

  10:15 AM

  George stepped into the shadow of an alleyway and pulled his hat low on his eyes. Despite the women’s protests, he didn’t think anyone in Washington would notice him. He doubted anyone even looked for him. Even if they didn’t think George had died in the river flood, the war was over. Who would haul him back to Elmira now?

  He shifted his weight, his legs getting tired from standing in the same place for the last hour. He stared at the Surratt boarding house, hoping that the words he’d said to Annabelle were true. Surely Matthew must have a plan. But why the secrets? Why had Matthew not come and told him before he had left for Washington? George tried to push his doubts aside, but still they remained.

  He’d just decided to go up to the house and pretend he was inquiring about a room, when the front door opened and a short man with a sharp suit and a black hat pulled low stepped outside. George narrowed his eyes, wondering if this was O’Malley. Perhaps he should have chosen a closer place to stand watch. He would recognize the soldier from his old unit, but his eyes could not make out much more detail than stature and hair color from here.

  The man paused on the steps and another gentleman followed behind him, this one dressed even finer than the first. George stepped out into the sunlight and walked casually down the street. The men paused at the bottom of the stairs, apparently having a heated discussion. George watched them out of his peripheral vision as he drew closer to where they stood.

  The shorter man was indeed O’Malley, and the taller none other than the actor, John Wilkes Booth. He was still too far away to catch the words of their conversation, but O’Malley had begun waving his hands about.

  Suddenly, Booth flung up both of his arms and began to stalk off, O’Malley on his heels. George quickened his pace, keeping up with them as best he could while staying far enough back so as not to be noticed.

  He probably shouldn’t have bothered. Neither man seemed the least concerned about anyone following them and continued to talk as George drew ever nearer. Too many people joined them on the street for George to pick out their words from the other voices around him, but his suspicions told him that Miss Ross seemed to be correct about them working on this plot together. As they neared Ford’s Theatre, those suspicions were confirmed.

  The two men strode inside the building. George hesitated, knowing that he would be discovered if he followed them inside. Instead, he approached a young boy standing just away from the theatre, waving pages in his hand as the passing crowd ignored him.

  “Say, boy, what have you got there,” George asked, keeping himself turned so he could still see the door to the theatre house.

  My American Cousin is playing tonight, sir. Still have tickets available, if you’re interested,” the boy said excitedly.

  “Yes, yes,” George replied. “My companion mentioned she already had tickets for tonight’s show.”

  The boy’s face fell at little. “Right good, then, sir.” He turned his attention back to the crowd, calling out the play’s name and trying to get patrons to come get their tickets.

  “But I don’t know anything about the play,” George said, catching the boy’s eye again.

  The little fellow, who couldn’t be more than eight or nine years aged, gave him a friendly smile. “It’s a good one, right funny, you know.”

  “Ah, that is good. Comedy seems a good thing these days.”

  “Right, mister. You’ll like it, you’ll see.” He turned his attention back to the passing people again and George let him be. He wouldn’t be able to keep up the excuse much longer, anyway. He stepped over to the corner of the theatre, trying to keep to the shadows and not look too much out of place.

  Presently, the two men exited from the building and George kept his head down and his features shrouded under the cover of his hat. Booth tucked a stack of papers into the inner pocket of his jacket, and the two passed by without even a glance at George. He let them go three steps before following.

  “This is it!” O’Malley said, his excited voice carrying back to George.

  Booth turned his head slightly to regard his companion, but said nothing. The two men quickened their stride and George had to hurry to keep pace. O’Malley spoke again, but his words were low.

  George followed the two all the way back to the Surratt house. They turned to go up the stairs, and George kept walking as though he were merely passing by on his way to other business. As he neared, he heard O’Malley speak again.

  “I can get the giant to aid us, you know. He’s seen the error of his ways.”

  George stopped in his tracks. Matthew.

  People continued around him, some casting him curious or annoyed glances. He ignored them all, turning back to watch the two men as they got to the top of the stairs. Whatever Booth said in reply, George couldn’t hear.

  The two men entered the house and closed the door, shutting off any hope George had of hearing their conversation. He clenched his teeth, not wanting to believe Annabelle may have been right.

  Brother, if you have gotten yourself into another foolish scheme, so help me, I am going to take it out on your hide.

  George shoved his hands into his pockets and made his way back to the National Hotel, already dreading what he would have to tell the others.

  Surratt Boarding House

  April 14, 1865

  11:30 AM

  David O’Malley’s blood coursed through his veins with renewed vigor. Finally! The end has come! Four years of war and destruction, and now the tyrant would see his end. He rubbed his hands with glee. Oh, how he had waited for this. He paced around the parlor again, his energy too high to sit in any of the womanly chairs.

  Booth should be back any moment now to further discuss their plan. The man had begged to return to his room at the National Hotel for a few moments after they’d made their discovery at the theatre, and then he would come back here again to make arrangements for the coming night.

  David had been right to insist on going to the theatre with Booth to pick up his mail earlier this morning. Fate had once again been on his side, and he had been in the entry when Booth had arrived. He acted as though he had come to speak to Mrs. Surratt, but of course David had known that had not been the case. She was doing well enough, running the middle for him, but it was time she stepped out of the way and let the men handle such important matters. She seemed reluctant to do so, however, and Booth was too caught up in his role as a gentleman to let on that she was no longer needed.

  Booth might not have been ready for them to be seen together, but soon O’Malley’s superior logic had won out, and Booth had agreed that he needed to spend a few moments with O’Malley to hear him out. He’d laid out new routes, and Booth needed to see his work.

  David glanced at the clock on the mantle as the ticking hands seemed to trudge through molasses with each click of the gears. He turned and went to look out the window instead. Any moment now, things would begin and his place in history would be secured. His family would be avenged.

  His heart clenched. Benjamin would have been three this fall, if he had not died with Liza in the tyrant’s reign of destruction and fire. Where he had once pushed those images aside, David now let them fester. They would stay ever in his mind, to remind himself that the man who’d brought such pain into David’s life deserved no less than the torment he had commanded upon others.

  Just then, O’Malley spotted Booth coming up the front stairs to the boarding house. Not bothering to wait o
n the busybody, David hurried to the door and flung it open before Booth had a chance to knock.

  “Ah, here you are my good friend, come, come,” he said, gesturing for Booth to enter. The other man gave a small frown, but otherwise said nothing. “Let’s go on to the parlor so we can discuss what needs to be done.”

  “Where is Mrs. Surratt?” Booth asked hesitantly, glancing around the entry as he followed David to the parlor.

  A pang of annoyance scratched at his veneer, but David kept it from showing. He waved his hand. “I do not know.”

  “Perhaps I shall just go and look for her,” Booth said, turning back the way he had come.

  David grew tired of this ruse. He stepped between Booth and the door. “We haven’t the time for these games. I know you have used her to keep our contacts a secret, and you were wise to do so, but the end is now upon us, and such precautions are no longer necessary.”

  Booth looked surprised for only an instant, then his features turned amused. “And her son, John? Has he been about?”

  David was baffled. What did that matter? Booth was here to meet with him. “He left a letter for me, but I have not spoken to him.” Then, remembering something in the letter he added, “He says you went to New York.” David eyed him suspiciously.

  “I did.”

  He waited for Booth to continue, but when he did not, David was forced to swallow the indignity of prodding him for more. “And? What were you doing there?”

  Booth scoffed. “What business is that of yours?”

  David’s hands clenched at his sides, and he forced his fingers to flex open. He applied his acting skills and let out a laugh, unsure if Booth was toying with him or he was simply that dimwitted. He slapped Booth on the shoulder. “Anything to do with our goals is my business, of course.”

  Booth lifted his brows. “Is that so? And, may I ask, why did you have people in New York? Were you spying on me?” The bite in his tone snaked out and hooked its fangs in David’s mask of humor, nearly pulling it free.

  He struggled to keep his tone light. “Quite the opposite, actually. I sent Harry to keep an eye on Daniels, to be sure that he got his brother back and then returned safely.”