The Liberator Series Box Set: Christian Historical Civil War Novels

by Stephenia H. McGee

  He didn’t want to think it. They had to find him. Had to! He could not stand it much longer knowing the two people he loved wallowed in filth and unjust containment.

  “Looks like your head’s about to start smoking, fellow.”

  Matthew swung his gaze around to a young man who barely looked old enough to leave the days of boyhood behind. He narrowed his gaze and gave the boy a look that had sent more impressive men cowering.

  The boy merely sucked at his teeth. “Anxious to see the murderer brought in, are you?” Matthew opened his mouth to reply, but the auburn-haired young man kept talking. “Yes, sir, I sure am, too.”

  Matthew stared at him. The boy finally turned his gaze from the other soldiers and eased his horse closer and into the circle of lamplight that swayed from the post above them. The two animals touched muzzles, giving one another a good sniff. Matthew’s horse bobbed her head.

  “You think he’ll still be there?” the boy asked.

  Matthew’s muscles bunched again. “He’d better be.”

  The boy gave Matthew a look of approval. “You are right patriotic for a Reb.”

  Matthew planned to snarl, but the look of innocent sincerity on the boy’s face melted his ire into a chuckle. “Boy, that fool has caused nothing but trouble for all of us. Don’t do much for rebuilding relations between the states, that’s for certain.”

  “You’re right about that, mister. Sure enough.”

  The call came for them to move out, and instead of taking his customary place at the back of the pack, Matthew allowed his horse to fall in stride with the boy’s, and they settled into the middle of the procession.

  Last eve they’d received word that more and more had joined the search, and the hounds were scouring the countryside. Matthew wanted to pray for this to come to an end, but he didn’t feel right doing so. He still felt the weight of shame for how he’d rejected the Almighty, and how the only prayers he’d thought to fling heavenward had been for God to strike down his enemy and leave him alive. No, he would not ask anything more of a God he otherwise ignored. He believed in God, certainly, but it seemed the Almighty had better things to do than interfere in the lives of men.

  Another memory rushed to him. He’d prayed for a miracle to get George free. Then the flood had come, and that voice….

  A shiver ran down his spine. He hadn’t been able to explain it. He’d heard the voice so clearly, telling him to go before the miracle expired. He’d been too shaken to think on it again. And he hadn’t told anyone about that voice. He couldn’t, or they would think him mad.

  So, instead of praying, Matthew focused on the task at hand. The fresh scent of Virginia air drifted over them, reminding him of peaceful evenings at Westerly he’d taken for granted.

  Blast it! Could he not think on a single thing without it causing shame, guilt, or sorrow? Bullfrogs croaked as they passed, annoyed by the trudge of hooves upon the road at such a witching hour. Up ahead, Matthew could just see the tops of a cluster of buildings in the moonlight, and hoped they belonged to the farm they sought.

  The man they’d brought along, Jett, waved his hand at Detective Conger. “We are very near now. Let’s stop here and look around.”

  Conger narrowed his eyes. “Lieutenant Baker! Come with us.”

  The officer scowled, as though resentful of being under the orders of a policeman outside their military structure, but begrudgingly obliged.

  Matthew shifted in his saddle. He could feel the buzz of energy that thrummed through the men, the anticipation of bringing this to an end. He eyed Jett. Did the man seek to separate the leaders from the group and snare them in a trap?

  The two rode off together, leaving the cavalry to stew in anticipation as they shifted on their mounts in the wash of silvery moonlight. Matthew brushed away a bead of sweat that threatened to drop into his eye, though the cool of the dead of night did not warrant his perspiration.

  After what felt like an hour, but surely was only a few minutes, the men returned and Conger seemed agitated. “We may have found him. Spread out and surround the farm. Take any man who tries to run.”

  The men spurred their horses into action, and like a coming storm of wrath they galloped toward the Garrett farm. Reaching the outskirts, they dismounted, tied the horses, and began to fan out.

  Gravel crunched beneath Matthew’s boots as he stepped through a small gate and came upon a clearing with a modest house, a large barn, and a few other out buildings. The hairs on the back of his neck rose as he surveyed the area, crickets seeming to increase in their song as though to warn away any who sought shelter here. Remembering O’Malley and the barn he’d instructed Matthew to wait within, Matthew turned in that direction. If the pattern held true, the men would have given the owners a signal and then remained in the barn.

  Conger glanced in Matthew’s direction, the light of the full moon making his stern features clear. Matthew gave him a knowing look and gestured toward the barn.

  The man gave a grunt, motioned for Lieutenant Baker to go to the door of the house, and then nodded Matthew on toward the barn. Matthew positioned himself so that he could keep an eye on the house, just to be certain. He could not allow for the miscreant to get away again.

  Lieutenant Baker pounded on the door, and after a moment an older fellow with a head of gray hair opened the door, his hair disheveled and his hastily thrown on robe evidence he’d been roused from his bed.

  “Are you Garrett?”

  The man’s Adam’s apple dropped at the lieutenant’s booming voice, loud enough that Matthew could hear him clearly, even from this distance. Conger strode up to the house, though he did not mount the porch steps.

  Wind tugged at Matthew’s hair and loosened a strand that scurried across his nose. The old man gave a small nod.

  Conger stepped closer. “Where are the two men who stopped here at your house?”

  Garrett shifted his weight and glanced off to the side. “They have gone.”

  “Gone where?”

  Garret tugged at his collar. “Gone to the woods.”

  Conger, growing increasingly more agitated, pointed a finger at Garret. “Well, sir, whereabouts in the woods have they gone?”

  Garret’s eyes widened and his nervous gaze darted around the stony faces of the men gathered in his yard. Then he threw up his hands. “They came here without my consent. I swear it! I had nothing to do with those fellows. I did not want them to stay! I….”

  Conger held up his hand to interrupt the man. “I do not want any long story out of you! I just want to know where these men have gone.”

  Matthew glanced back toward the barn, his suspicions growing.

  “I tell you, I did not want them here.” The old man began stumbling over his words, his voice becoming a higher pitch and more garbled with each plea of innocence.

  Conger growled. “Bring in a lariat rope, and I will put that man up to the top of one of those locust trees.”

  The man stopped his babbling and stared at Conger with wide eyes, but drew his lips into a thin line. Matthew shifted his weight, having no doubt that the Yanks would do just that. Leave it to the Blue Devils to string up an elder.

  A younger man suddenly darted out from behind the elderly man, and the lieutenant and several others of the cavalry drew pistols and pointed them at the lanky fellow.

  The young man glanced down at the older, then lifted his palms up. “Please, don’t hurt the old man. He’s scared. I’ll tell you where the men are!”

  The Yanks lowered their weapons, but did not put them away. Matthew, not having been given a weapon, simply watched the young man, whose gaze darted to the barn, confirming Matthew’s suspicions before the youth even opened his mouth.

  “They’re in the barn.”

  Matthew turned on his heel and strode for the structure as the rest of the Blue Bellies scurried into position. He took a place near the door. The old barn had wide plank sides, weathered until they no longer touched at the seams. The cracks
left in between were wide enough for any mouse to dart in and out.

  A shadow too large to be a rodent scurried across one of the cracks. Matthew narrowed his eyes and took a step closer, but hurried footsteps behind him made his head swivel to the rear.

  Another young man, similar in form and appearance to the one who had told them the wanted men were in the barn, scuttled around a large oak and bounded up to them. Conger swung around and glared at the newcomer, who looked as though he might very well shake out of his boots.

  Conger pointed at the lad. “You! Go in there and take the arms from those men.”

  The boy shook his head, the fear in his eyes making them large pools. “Oh, no, sir. I don’t want to go in there.”

  Baker stepped past Matthew and clamped a hand on the boy’s shoulder. “They know you. You can go in.” Without waiting for the Garret boy’s reply, Baker raised his voice and shouted at the barn. “We are going to send in this man, whose premises you’re on, to get your arms. You must come out and give yourselves up!”

  The boy gulped and nodded, then slowly marched to the door, his footsteps falling heavy on the ground. He eased open the door and slipped inside. Conger waved his hand, and the cavalry men all came in closer, tightening their noose on the barn.

  After a moment or two, the boy scurried back outside. He cleared his throat. “The man cursed me and said I have betrayed him. He threatened to shoot me!”

  Conger, looking none too convinced, widened his stance. “How do you know he was going to shoot you?”

  The boy threw up his hands. “He reached down to the hay behind him to get his revolver, so I came back out!”

  Clenching his jaw, Conger nodded to Lieutenant Baker. The gleam in the man’s eye spoke to the glee Yanks found in their raids. How many times had Matthew seen that same look on the faces of the devils bent on robbing the South of all it possessed?

  “Come out here and deliver yourselves up!” Baker shouted. “If you do not, in five minutes we will set this barn ablaze.”

  The young Garret boy they’d sent inside paled, and Matthew’s jaw tightened. The Yank solution for everything. Burn it to the ground.

  A voice rang out from inside, thick with desperation yet still laced with arrogance. Matthew recognized the slick tongue of John Booth instantly. “Who are you and what do you want?”

  Baker’s eyes blazed. “We want you. We know who you are, so give up your arms and come out.”

  There was only a slight hesitation. “Let us have a little time to consider it.”

  Matthew snorted. More like time to figure out a way either to escape or bring down as many of their numbers as he could.

  Baker, however, foolishly agreed. “Very well. Five minutes.”

  They stood there in silence, all eyes fixated on the barn for the slightest tell that the man would make a move, but all remained quiet. Frogs and crickets sang, their lives unaffected by the tension welling up in the men. Some of the fellows poked the toe of their knee-high boots into the moist earth. Others fingered their weapons, itching to release pistols and swords from their confines.

  Finally, after nearly a quarter hour of the men heaping further tension on top of their already fraying nerves, Booth called out again, “Who are you, and what do you want?”

  Conger growled and pointed a finger at Baker. “Do not by any remark allow him to know who we are. If he thinks we are Rebels….” His gaze darted over to crawl across Matthew. “Or thinks we are his friends, we will take advantage of it.”

  Matthew glared at him, not bothering to hide his disgust. He wanted the man brought out as much as any of the rest of them, but the Yanks’ unfathomable lack of honor soured his gut.

  Conger hurried to add, “We will not lie to him about it, but we need not answer any questions that have any reference to that subject.” He turned his back to Matthew, but Matthew could still hear the man’s words. “We simply insist on his coming out, if he will.”

  Matthew’s shoulders relaxed. At least give the fiend the opportunity to step out honorably, now that he knew he was beaten. Matthew doubted that would be the case, but it would not hang around their necks if Booth were foolish enough to squander the chance at dignity.

  Baker dipped his chin and shouted back at the barn. “It don’t make any difference who we are. We know who you are, and we want to take you prisoner.”

  Conger groaned, and Baker cast him a curious glance. Matthew tilted his chin toward the sky. Fool.

  “This is a hard case.” The voice drifted from the barn, just as smooth and utterly convinced of his own merit as the fervent voice Matthew remembered from that day they had tried to overrun Lincoln’s carriage. He cringed. How had he been so blinded?

  “Maybe I am to be taken by my friends?” Booth asked.

  Conger and Baker exchanged a look, and Matthew wondered if Booth had heard their earlier exchange.

  After a moment, Booth spoke again, sending a chill down Matthew’s spine and all the way down to his toes. “Captain! I know you to be a brave man, and I know you are honorable.”

  Conger and Baker both turned their gazes on Matthew, who stood frozen. So, Booth had recognized him among the Yankee throng. Did he think Matthew had come here under disguise to aid him?

  “I am a cripple. I have but one leg. If you will withdraw your men in line one hundred yards from the door, I will come out and fight you.”

  Matthew opened his mouth, but Conger silenced him with a glare. Lieutenant Baker lurched forward before either of them had a chance to respond to the foolish notion. “We did not come here to fight you! We have simply come to make you our prisoner.”

  A frustrated reply shot from between the wooden slats. “If you’ll take your men fifty yards from the door, I’ll come out and fight you. Give me a chance for my life!”

  Conger snarled. “We will not withdraw, nor fight. Come out and surrender and be done with it!”

  A singularly theatrical voice rang out over them. “Well, my brave boys, prepare a stretcher for me!”

  Conger’s forehead furrowed and he stomped away from the barn to motion for the young Garret boy. “Gather up some brush and pile it around the barn. Pine boughs, if you got them.”

  The boy hurried away, the terror in his expression sending a wave of pity through Matthew’s gut. He did as the Yanks bade, gathering limbs and placing them around his family’s property in preparation for the burning the Yanks so loved. After the boy had placed limbs nearly all the way around the structure, he came running back up to Conger, who stood only a few paces off to Matthew’s left.

  “That man inside says that if I put any more brush in there he will put a ball through me.” He blinked up at Conger, who finally seemed to sprout a bit of compassion for the boy.

  The tight lines around Conger’s mouth softened. “Very well. You need not go there again.”

  Conger motioned to Baker, and the two men stood hunched low together, their conversation too hushed to reach Matthew’s ears, though he tried his best to separate the men’s words from the buzz of insects.

  “There’s a man in here who wants to come out!” Booth called.

  Looking satisfied with himself, though Matthew couldn’t fathom why, Baker’s lips curled into a slow grin. “Very well. Let him throw his arms out, and come outside.”

  Voices bounced around in the barn, as a discussion passed between at least two men inside. Matthew’s shoulders felt as though they might soon touch his ears, so tight they were with frustration.

  “You coward!” Matthew heard Booth shout, “Will you leave me now? Go, go! I would not have you stay with me.”

  There came a fervent reply, though Matthew could not make it out. He took another step closer to the barn, and Conger pinned him with a glare. He halted.

  After a few more moments, a face pressed to the door. “Let me out!”

  Baker strode to the door, pausing only a pace or two away. Matthew, along with most of the other men, drew closer to the barn.

 
“Hand over your arms,” Baker said.

  A shaved chin, followed by worried eyes topped with a mop of dark hair appeared through the crack of the door. “I have none.”

  Baker shook his head. “You carried a carbine, and you must hand it out.”

  Booth’s voice snaked around the man at the door. “The arms are mine, and I have got them.”

  Baker fingered the pistol at his side. “This man carried a carbine, and he must hand it out.”

  Sounding perturbed, Booth retorted, “Upon the word and honor of a gentleman, he has no arms! The arms are mine, and I have got them.”

  Honor of gentlemen? Who stood here but a misguided assassin, a score of government-sanctioned murderers, and a failed deserter who had somehow managed to be part of the deadly scheme? The irony made Matthew shake his head.

  He grew tired of this game Booth and the Yanks played. If not for strict orders to remain firmly under their command or risk losing his deal to see Annabelle and George freed, Matthew would march right in there and haul Booth out himself.

  Conger, apparently sharing Matthew’s thoughts, clamped a hand on Baker’s elbow. “Never mind the arms,” he said in a harsh whisper that still carried to Matthew’s itching ears, “If we can get one of the men out, then let’s do it and wait no longer.”

  The man inside thrust both hands through the door and revealed his palms. Baker lurched from Conger’s side and clamped the man’s wrists in an iron grasp. He tugged the man from the barn, and sent him stumbling toward the rear, where the soldiers waited with eager hands to subdue him.

  Conger, seeming to have lost all patience with the situation, strode to the edge of the barn and picked up a bit of straw, twisting it in his fingers. Before anyone could think to say otherwise, he lit the tube of straw on fire and thrust it back through the barn and onto a stack of hay that poked through the cracks.

  At once the tender began to glow, and smoke drifted toward them. It caught rapidly, filling the barn with thick smoke. Visions of the fiery blasts of cannons assaulted Matthew. He pushed the heels of his hands into his temples.