He ran a comb through his damp hair. A few limp strands of straw-colored locks flopped back down across his forehead. He needed some cedar oil to keep them back, but what did it matter? Still lanky from his stint in Elmira, he’d not had adequate time to regain his health before being thrown in prison once again. Now he looked like a walking scarecrow. Last night’s hearty meal and Mrs. Smith’s never-ending thrust of foodstuffs in his direction today had eased the pains in his stomach, but had not yet yielded meat upon his bones.
Thank God for Mrs. Smith sending the stable hand to fetch his loyalty papers. He’d feared his sanity may have very well been lost if he’d stayed at the Old Capitol much longer. Hour by hour he could feel his mind slipping away, eroding under a volley of memories he could not shake. He strode to the bed and dropped to his knees.
Lord, I need someone. I know Your love is complete for me, but, please, Father. I need someone to share my life with, to be there to hold and love. Someone to temper these pains.
Immediately Lilly’s sweet face filled his vision. Her eyes held equal amounts of spark and kindness, and he desperately wanted for her to be his anchor. But he had vowed that he would take things to the Father first. He could not stand to make a wrong decision that might thrust him into further heartache. He forced her vision aside.
Lord, you know what that lady does to my heart. She calls to me in a way no other ever has. But I will not move unless you say it is right.
George sat quietly, letting his heart praise his maker for His goodness. Then gently, like an unmoored ship drifting on the current, Lilly’s face returned to him again, along with a warm feeling of peace that drifted over him.
I have already sent her, my son.
George’s eyes flew wide. He’d experienced the presence of the Almighty on occasion, but never had he been so filled with the voice that was at once both exceedingly tender and enormously powerful. He rocked back on his heels.
Father, is that you?
Peace swirled around him again until he thought he might float away on its tide. Feeling he knew his answer, George spent a few more moments giving praise to the Father for answering his plea in such a way that sent a thrill through him. Finally, he rose and pulled on a clean coat, his heart lurching inside him.
Now, to make God’s will known to the lady.
Lilly Rose shook out another of Mrs. Smith’s gowns and spread it across the bed. All these wrinkles! Mercy, she’d have a time getting them out!
“Smooth your brow, Lilly, or you’ll find yourself with permanent furrows.” Mrs. Smith didn’t even look up from the paper she had splayed in her lap.
How had she known Lilly’s frown without looking? She swung her gaze to her employer’s granddaughter, a young woman whose mixture of sweetness and spunk Lilly admired. The lady’s sparking blue eyes met her gaze.
Miss Ross scrunched her pert little nose. “At least I’m not the only one scolded about wrinkles.”
Lilly couldn’t help but smile, or like the young lady. Perhaps they could even be friends. Lilly pushed the thought away. There she went forgetting her station again. It became harder and harder to remember she was nothing more than a poor working class woman, though, when she swished about in silk gowns.
“Yes’um,” she mumbled in mock petulance.
“Yes ma’am,” Mrs. Smith corrected, waving her dainty hand.
Miss Ross giggled, and Lilly joined her. Then, remembering herself, she sobered and plucked another black gown out of the trunk. Why Mrs. Smith owned so many when she seldom left her home still baffled Lilly, though Lilly would never give voice to the thought.
“We will be going shopping today,” Mrs. Smith announced, folding the paper and smacking it against the table as though to dare anyone to argue.
Surprisingly, Miss Ross did just that. “You can’t be serious. We’ve enough gowns already.”
Mrs. Smith rose from her seat and looked through what all Lilly had brought. “Perhaps. But I am tired of sitting in this room. Besides, you will need just the right dress for the trial. Modest, certainly, and delicate. Something that shows your innocence and sincerity.”
Miss Ross balked. “But my words will show my honesty and sincerity, Grandmother, not a gown.”
Lilly cocked her head. “What trial?”
The other two women swung around to face her. “Why, the trial they will hold for the assassins, of course,” Mrs. Smith answered as though Lilly were a dullard.
She dropped her gaze to the patterned carpet underfoot, still not used to the finery she always found herself in, even after nearly three years. Some mornings, she still awoke before dawn to head to her work in the factory. She rubbed her fingers as though they still ached from the stitching she’d done from before the day began until after the sun had bedded at night.
Suddenly, one of her hands disappeared inside a creamy white one. Lilly startled. Odd, how a wealthy white lady had such rough hands. These were not the hands of the delicate dolls that never lifted a finger. They felt like the fingers of one accustomed to hard work. Lilly looked up into kind eyes that reminded her of a smooth lake.
Miss Ross gave her hand a squeeze and then released it. “I wondered the same. How do you know they will be holding trial, Grandmother?”
The older woman scoffed. “It seems rather obvious, I would think. It is just a matter of how many of Booth’s plotters they will sit beside him.”
Miss Ross’s face paled to a milky white. “Oh, dear.”
Mrs. Smith patted her granddaughter’s arm. “Don’t worry, child. I’m sure your Mr. Daniels will not be among them. His work in the search is evidence enough of it.”
Miss Ross offered a weak smile, though Lilly could tell the lady only did so to appease her elder. The poor woman feared for her man. Lilly pressed her hands against her stomach, as though remembering the infant she’d carried inside as the thoughts of her late husband surfaced. She needed to get home to her sweet boy.
She dropped her hand and addressed her employer. “When will I be returnin’ home, Mrs. Smith?”
“Whenever you are ready, I suppose.”
Relieved, Lilly smiled. “Thank you, ma’am. I’d like to go today.”
“Hum? Oh, no, it will have to be in the morning, at the earliest. We are shopping today, remember?”
Lilly let out a long breath, swinging her gaze to Miss Ross, who returned her look with matching annoyance and resignation. There would be no sense in arguing.
A knock sounded on the door, and Lilly hurried across the room to answer it. She pulled it open to find the elder Mr. Daniels on the other side. As soon as his gaze landed on hers, his eyes lit up, turning them from a warm honey to a bright amber. A smile played about his mouth that sent a swarm of butterflies dancing in her stomach.
Remembering the strange way he had looked upon her in the prison, those fetching eyes so full of adoration, she dropped her gaze. Mercy, what was wrong with her? This here was a plantation man. The worst kind! So why, then, did his smile melt her and his touch make her legs as wiggly as blackberry jelly?
She turned away from him before he could see anything he shouldn’t in her eyes. “Mista Daniels is here to see y’all.”
Surprise tumbled through her. She’d suppressed that talk for years, carefully molding her speech the way Mrs. Smith had directed. Why did it bubble from her lips now?
Mr. Daniels cleared his throat. “Actually…I’ve come to speak to you, Miss Rose, if you will allow it.”
Her eyes darted back up to his. Yes, like warm honey with flecks of gold. His intense gaze studied her as if searching for something. She blinked. “Me? What for?”
“Go on, dear. The lobby is a perfectly acceptable place for entertaining the gentleman.”
Lilly swung around and looked at her employer with astonishment. How could she imply such an improper thing right in front of the man? Heat crawled up her neck, but Mrs. Smith only flicked a knowing smirk at the man standing behind her.
Drawing her
lips into a line, Lilly turned back to Mr. Daniels, schooling her features back into the sophisticated look she’d worked to perfection. “What, exactly, do you wish to see me about, sir?”
The confounding man dropped his gaze to the floor, shifting in his stance as though he were a nervous suitor. Panic seized her gut, while at the same time her traitorous heart gave a mighty leap. What foolishness!
“I had hoped we could discuss it downstairs, though first I will need to have a word with Mrs. Smith.”
Lilly’s heart began pounding so fiercely they must all have been able to hear it. Numbly, she opened the door and allowed him to step inside. Before she could think to do anything else, Miss Ross grabbed her arm and swept her into the hallway, pulling the door closed behind them.
Miss Ross clapped her hands, and the unexpected sound made Lilly jump.
“Oh, I knew there was something in his eyes when he looked your way. I just knew it.” Miss Ross giggled. “Why didn’t I see it before?”
Lilly looked at Miss Ross as if she’d lost all her senses.
Miss Ross paced the small space between the doors lining the hall. “I thought perhaps the look was because he remembered his own wife and child, but now I see that perhaps I was mistaken.” She paused and looked up at Lilly.
Lilly opened her mouth to speak, but it felt like someone had stuffed it with cotton. She swallowed and tried again. “What in tarnation are you talkin’ about?”
Miss Ross cocked her head, her face palling. “Oh, I didn’t think! I shouldn’t have told you, as it was not my place to do so.” She pinched a pink lip between her teeth. “Please don’t let on that I told you, but George lost his wife in childbirth before the war.”
Sympathy washed over Lilly. She could not imagine the pain of losing both her marriage partner and her child. True, her affections for Bernardo had never been immense, but she’d still been drowned in sorrow with the loss of her husband. And at least she had little Frankie to remember his smile by. Poor Mr. Daniels had lost everything. She dipped her chin. “I won’t say anything, Miss.”
“Please, do call me Annabelle.”
A rustle of fabric made both women turn before Lilly could reply. Peggy bounded down the hall with the energy of a much younger woman. “There you is, Miss Belle. The carriage is waitin’.”
Annabelle lifted her thin brows. “What carriage?”
“The one your grandma done told me to fetch for shoppin’.”
Annabelle sighed and glanced at Lilly. Then she brightened. “Well, tell him to come back in about an hour. We will be a bit delayed.”
Peggy looked at Lilly with a curious expression. “Is everythin’ all right?”
Just then Mr. Daniels stepped out of the room, looking brighter than she’d seen him since they’d left the prison.
He offered her his arm. “Shall we go to the lobby, Miss Rose?”
Lilly’s gaze slid over the two women in front of her. Peggy wore a mask of confusion that burst into a look of surprise, and Annabelle’s gazed at her with a gentle satisfaction. Her blue eyes left Lilly’s face and landed on Mr. Daniels, and Lilly’s heart jerked.
Mercy, hadn’t this man courted Annabelle in New York? What must she think about him offering his arm to a mulatto? But instead of the piercing anger she expected, there seemed to be a look of understanding pass between them, and Annabelle’s pink lips turned up.
Everyone looked at Lilly, and she pressed a hand to her heart, hoping to calm it. Her gaze darted to Mr. Daniels, who still stood with his arm extended to her. Despite her better judgment, Lilly tucked her fingers into the crook of his arm and allowed herself to be led away.
A thrill ran through him at having such a rare beauty on his arm. Her golden, sun-kissed skin and dark hair were exotic.
Lord, Your match for me certainly comes with a fetching face!
He nearly chuckled, but caught himself before he had to explain it to the lady. She already must think him mad, and the hesitation in her step proved that he would need to proceed with caution. He did not mind taking his time, though. God had already shown him his anchor, and he would not ruin it by being impatient.
They descended the staircase and found a settee, two chairs, and a small table just off from the receiving desk. George chose this location in part because no one else currently occupied the space, and partly because he assumed the proximity to the main desk might ease the lady’s nerves.
He’d chosen wisely. Lilly’s shoulder’s relaxed a bit as she took a seat in one of the single chairs and arranged her skirts about her feet. The shimmering blue fabric with bits of lace reminded him of what it had been like courting fine ladies when he was a youth. Now, at twenty-eight, he had almost forgotten what the flutter of excitement had been like.
He cleared his throat. “Um, Miss Rose…” he began as he sat on the end of the settee closest to her.
She tilted her head, drawing his gaze to the curve of her smooth jaw and the lines of her neck. “Why are you calling me that?”
His gaze snapped back to her chestnut eyes. “I don’t understand. Is that not your family name?”
She blinked at him. “No. I don’t have one.”
Confusion swirled within him. “You don’t have a family name?”
She shook her head, and a stray lock dropped from her modest bun. His fingers itched to reach out and test its softness, so he clenched his hand into a fist instead.
She looked sorrowful, and George could not bear to pry. She would tell him in time. Instead, he offered an encouraging smile he hoped she would see if she ever turned those beautiful, almond-shaped eyes back up to him. She simply lifted her shoulders. “Everyone just calls me Lilly.”
A tingle slid through George at the implied familiarity of using given names. What had overcome him? Never had a young woman affected him this way. He ran his tongue over his dry lips. But he would not, not until she understood he spoke her given name with intimacy and not because he saw her as merely a working class woman.
Still, the temptation… “You could call me George.”
Her eyes flashed back up to him. “Oh, no, sir. I can’t do that.”
Disappointment scurried over him like a scalded rat. “Why not?”
“It ain’t proper.” Her eyes widened and she put her fingers to her lips as though she’d said something wrong. Curious. Tamping down his discouragement, George folded his hands in his lap. “Miss Rose, I have spoken to Mrs. Smith, as I did not know who else might speak for you.”
Her eyes flashed. “What do you mean, speak for me? I speak for myself.”
George pressed his lips together. This was not going well at all. He pulled in a long breath to steady his nerves. He must remember that Lilly would not be accustomed to the ways of the elite. No matter. He would help her to become a proper lady for Westerly.
She stared at him with narrowed eyes, and he realized he took too long in answering. “Forgive me. Though, of course, that is why we are here, so that I might speak to you as well.”
Her features softened, and George took that as permission to continue. “I would like to ask if you would accept my suit.” His heart thudded like a thoroughbred, and he found himself holding his breath. How this woman had affected him!
He stared into her eyes, trying to judge her reaction. What he saw there made his pulse quicken further. Hope, excitement—and dare he believe it—attraction, darted across those warm depths before she lowered her lids, splaying dark lashes across her smooth skin.
Anticipation swirled within him as he waited. Finally, she turned her eyes upon him again, but the determined glint he found there shot holes in all his hopes.
“I can’t do that. I’m sorry.”
But…she was supposed to be the one. “Why?” Hating himself for playing the begging fool, George nonetheless had to know the answer.
“You really don’t know, do you?” she asked softly, the disappointment in her tone sending shards through him. Uncertainty gathered crinkles at the corner
s of her eyes, then resignation turned golden chestnut to a dull brown. “You are a plantation owner, sir. One who had, or has, slaves. I could never hold affections for such a man.”
Without waiting for his reply, she jumped to her feet and dashed away, leaving George with a devastating feeling that threatened to reduce all his hopes to ash.
“God try and forgive me and bless my mother. I do not repent the blow I struck. I may before God but not to man. Tonight I try to escape the bloodhounds once more. Who can read his fate? God’s will be done.”
John Wilkes Booth
April 26, 1865
1:00 AM
Matthew’s nerves were nearly as taut as his muscles. He itched to pull the flask from his jacket, equally loathing himself for becoming dependent on it and desperately wanting its numbing comforts. He told himself he would quit once this mess came to an end.
The horse pranced underneath the saddle Matthew tried again to tighten. The animal likely sensed Matthew’s own distress. He forced his shoulders to lower, released the girth, and paused to stroke the animal’s thick neck. The mare had shed her winter coat, and the slick white hair underneath felt good under his fingers. He gave her a good scratch along the mane, and after a moment, she relaxed and turned her head into his fingers. Matthew gave her a good pat, then returned to saddling. He couldn’t blame her for detesting being saddled again so soon, but they had little time to waste on sleep. Better to try to catch Booth when he would least expect it.
The mare stood for Matthew this time, and he pulled the girth tight and cinched it. He swung up into the saddle and waited for the Yanks to ready themselves. Tension seethed in the air around them, reminding Matthew of the energy before a battle. He scanned the faces of the group. Had he ever fired on any of these men? Shot down those in their ranks?
Matthew scrubbed a hand over his face. How he longed to see Annabelle. Pull her close against him and breathe in that sweet smell of lavender and femininity that surrounded her. Too soon had he gained and lost her. Would these fools hurry up? They were wasting time! If the man were gone this time….
The Liberator Series Box Set: Christian Historical Civil War Novels Page 71
