When he didn’t answer, she leaned nearer, lowering her voice. “Have you the same dreams of war that plague Matthew?”
He nodded, thinking the lie easier than the truth.
She offered him an encouraging smile. “All is well. The war is over now, George. I will pray these dreams leave you be, as I am praying they leave Matthew.”
“I…thank you.”
As though her prayers settled the matter, she smiled and looked back out the window. George glanced back at the man beside him, but Mr. Ross had returned to his paper, ignoring the others in his company. George looked at Peggy, and found the woman staring at him. He shifted uncomfortably. How much did she know? From the look of regret on her face, he guessed a good deal more than Annabelle. George suddenly wished he could jump from the train.
George cleared his throat. “My apologies. It seems I must guard against sleeping in public.” Despite his effort to make light of the situation, Mr. Ross offered nothing more than a cursory grunt and the women placating smiles.
George turned to gaze out the window. Images from his dream peppered him like lead, and no matter how hard he tried to dislodge them, they buried deep into his heart, causing a flow of emotion he could not staunch.
“I wonder what is intended with my mother. Surely they will not hang a woman! Should they do so, I will live only to bide my time.”
John Surratt
Annabelle watched Uncle Michael snap his pocket watch closed and lean closer to George to look out the window. Annabelle’s gaze drifted from Uncle’s tight features to George’s blank stare. She forced levity into her voice. “I’m sure it won’t be much longer, Uncle. See how close the trees are here?”
Uncle Michael mumbled something under his breath and didn’t look at her. Annabelle glanced at Peggy, but the other woman only shrugged. What were they to do but wait? The train couldn’t go without the wood, and it took time for the crews to chop and load it.
Ever since they had crossed into the southern parts of Virginia, train travel had become burdensome. The Confederate lines had been destroyed in several places, making their progress slow and cumbersome. She’d heard some of the other passengers say that Sherman had even taken to diverting tracks into the trees, in order to destroy the engines as they chugged unwittingly down the tracks.
Annabelle watched out the window as the locomotive crew chopped down trees and hauled fuel to the engine supply car. Fuel stores and depots had been destroyed, and train crews were severely understaffed to the point that the remaining engineers had taken to stopping along the route to chop wood to burn in order to keep the train moving.
“Shall we be in Mississippi again soon, Uncle?” Annabelle probed, trying to draw the man from the thoughts that were making his face redden.
He glanced at her, and smoothed his furrowed brow. “Yes, but we shall have to stop north of Holly Springs and disembark. Coaches for hire have been gathering at the end of the tracks to take passengers on into town.”
George stirred and looked to Uncle Michael, a grim expression tightening the lines around his mouth. “Ah, yes. Van Dorn destroyed the tracks when they forced Grant back to Tennessee.”
Annabelle shook her head, not bothering to ask the details. They’d been on trains for much longer than she liked, and the prospect of switching to a coach to take them the rest of the way home sounded quite appealing.
It was another hour or more before the whistle blew and they started south again, and another four hours after that when the passing scenery of burned fields, half-standing homes, and towns left to ruins finally slowed to a stop. Annabelle stood and raised her arms over her head, trying to get some of the stiffness to ease from her shoulders.
Uncle Michael and George gathered the bags, and they descended the steps out onto an open patch of ground. Annabelle knotted the ties on her bonnet, though only a whisper of a breeze stirred the seeded tops of the grass underfoot. Despite what Uncle had said, Annabelle did not see any coaches waiting for them. Knowing better than to raise his ire by saying so, she waited on the grass with about ten other passengers as the engine crew began preparations for returning north.
Peggy leaned close and whispered in Annabelle’s ear. “They ain’t just gonna leave us out here in the middle of this here field, are they?”
Annabelle glanced around at the shifting passengers and shook her head. “Surely not. Why, I imagine a coach or two has already seen the engine smoke and is on the way now.”
Peggy grunted, but said no more. The sun bore down on them, causing sweat to dampen Annabelle’s face and slide down underneath her bodice into places it had no business going. She must have missed the brief Mississippi spring and plunged right into the boiling summer.
“Lawd, child. Where we put that parasol? You gonna be blistered out in this here sun.” Peggy plucked the fan from Annabelle’s fingers and started waving it fervently in Annabelle’s face, as though that would shoo away the sun.
Annabelle blinked against the sudden increase in air. “Peggy! Stop that.”
“I think I’m going to start walking to town to see what I can find,” George said, removing his hat to wipe his brow. “Your maid is correct, Miss Ross, a lady shouldn’t be subject to the afternoon’s sun.”
Uncle Michael twirled his pocket watch. “It is not your responsibility, Mr. Daniels, to look after my niece.”
They all turned to stare at him. Why would Uncle say something so rude? George bristled. “Mr. Ross, as I know you are aware, my brother has asked me to look over his intended until he is able to do so himself. So, yes, it is in fact my responsibility to look after her.”
Uncle’s face reddened, but George simply pulled his shoulders back and continued. “I say we need to stop standing around like a bunch of dolts and make our way back to town.”
Uncle Michael puffed his chest and stepped closer to George, lowering his voice. Annabelle heard him anyway. “I have not approved of your brother’s suit, let alone consented my niece’s hand. Therefore, you have no reason to be here, and are welcome to return to your own lands. Surely they require your attention.”
George’s hands clasped into fists and Annabelle hurried over to the two men, fluttering her fan. “Oh, dear, but I do believe perhaps I am growing weary of this heat.” Both men turned to regard her, the two of them the very image of competing stags prepared to clash. She batted her lashes and put a hand to her throat, pretending to sway just a bit. “Perhaps we all might begin walking toward town to meet the coaches?”
The tactic seemed to suffice, because they both leapt forward to take her elbows. Uncle Michael patted her arm. “There, now, Anna. Don’t fret yourself. Why don’t you and the maid stay here, and we will find you a bit of shade? Then I will hoof it to Holly Springs and bring you back a fine coach.”
Annabelle smiled, feeling the two men glaring at one another above her head as they began to turn her toward a cluster of trees a few of the other displaced passengers were already heading toward. “Oh, that should be good, thank you, dear Uncle.”
“Indeed. Quite generous of you,” George quipped. “Of course, the women will need protection out here in the wilds, so I will stay along with them until you return.”
Annabelle pressed her lips together to contain the chuckle she knew would annoy her uncle and focused on the grass slipping underneath her blue skirts as they walked. She couldn’t help but cheer George’s victory, if only because she had been wanting a few moments with him to discuss the strange parting he’d had with Lilly. She’d promised herself she would speak to George about it, but had not yet had the opportunity.
They reached the small stand of trees, a lone oasis in an otherwise abandoned tobacco field, and joined together underneath the shade. Uncle Michael looked up at the sun and then turned his eyes on the group of travelers. Annabelle followed his gaze and took in an elderly couple, a family with four youthful daughters, and two men who appeared to be members of the clergy.
Uncle cleared his throat and s
poke as one accustomed to authority. “I am going to locate a coach for myself and my company. Would any of you men care to join me in securing additional coaches of your own?”
The people exchanged glances, and the man with the four daughters stepped forward. “Don’t want to leave my wife and girls out here alone. No tellin’ what Yank raid parties might be about.”
The others nodded in consent, and the man’s wife reached for the youngest of their girls, a dark haired darling of about ten, and drew her close.
George stepped up next to Michael. “I will remain behind to provide protection. You have my word as a Confederate officer that no harm shall befall any here.”
Uncle shot George a disgusted look, though Annabelle couldn’t fathom why. “Very well,” Uncle said. “Shall we go, then?”
The two men who looked like either clergy or clerks by way of their spindly frames and bespectacled faces opted to join Uncle Michael and the girls’ father, leaving the elderly man and George to watch over the women and girls. Leading them like he was the head of a military scouting unit, Uncle Michael marched off in quick fashion, leaving the others to hurry along behind him.
“What’s got that man all up in a bind?” Peggy asked with a huff.
Annabelle tugged the bonnet off her head. “I don’t know. Perhaps he is just worried about what will become of Rosswood,” she conjectured, pulling free her pins.
“Miss Belle! What you doin’?” Peggy snatched the bonnet from Annabelle’s hand and moved to place it back on her head.
Annabelle ducked out of her reach. “I’m hot, Peggy, and I have sweat sliding through my hair. These pins are slipping and pulling and, oh, they simply must be redone.”
Peggy clicked her tongue. “No, ma’am. We ain’t lettin’ your hair free out here.”
“Why not?”
“Too many folks about.”
Annabelle looked around at the somber people trying to cool themselves under the swell of heat. “I’m sure these women won’t mind if I take my hair down a moment and then replace my pins.”
Peggy’s eyes widened as Annabelle shook out her long locks, relishing the feel of freedom. “There’s men here, too, child,” Peggy protested, trying to place herself between Annabelle and the others.
“Come now. A grandfatherly gentleman and a man who will soon be my brother are of little concern. Besides, it’s already loose. Stop your grumbling and help me get it pinned back up.”
Peggy narrowed her eyes and wasted no time getting Annabelle’s hair properly stuffed back underneath a straw bonnet, mumbling under her breath the entire time about stubbornness and Annabelle’s lacking sense of propriety.
When Peggy deemed her presentable again, Annabelle straightened. “Now, if you will excuse me a moment, I need to speak with George.”
Peggy clutched her arm, shaking her head like a bee had gotten underneath her headscarf. “No, you don’t, either. You let that alone.”
Annabelle stopped. “Leave what alone?”
Peggy steered her away from George and to an oak at the edge of the cluster, farther away from the others. Annabelle looked at George, who stood with his back to her, staring out at the open field in front of him with his hand on a pistol she had not noticed before.
“You was gonna ask him ’bout Lilly,” Peggy stated.
“Well, yes.” Annabelle smiled. “Surely whatever they quarreled about can be overcome.”
Peggy pursed her lips in that way she did when she wanted to say something, but thought it better if she didn’t.
Annabelle crossed her arms. “What do you know that I don’t?”
“Ain’t none of our business, that’s what.”
Annabelle just stared at Peggy until the other woman grew uncomfortable. Finally, she relented, leaning close to Annabelle with a conspirator’s whisper. “Now, girl, what I’s goin’ to tell you ain’t for other ears. Don’t you go runnin’ to that man tellin’ him you know, you hear?”
Curious, Annabelle leaned closer. “Peggy,” she whispered, “you’re being outright mysterious. What’s going on?”
“Lilly ain’t all white, child,” Peggy said softly, a heavy sadness threading her voice.
“She’s not….” Annabelle tilted her head. “What are you saying, Peggy? She’s got a darker complexion than I do, but that doesn’t mean she’s not a white lady.”
Peggy rolled her eyes. “Miss Belle, there’s a lot of things you still innocent of. I’s glad for it, I really is. But I’s afraid you got to understand the ways of this here world if you’s goin’ to survive in it.”
Flustered, Annabelle threw up her hands. “You’re not making a lick of sense.”
“Lilly Rose ain’t her real name, you know that?”
“What…?” Annabelle sighed. “How do you know that?”
Instead of answering right away, Peggy plucked a ripe seed head from a nearby grass stalk and started fiddling with it. “Well, you remember when we was traveling back to Washington City with your grandma, and we stopped by at that funny little white lady’s house?”
Annabelle smiled. “Miss Wesson, yes. The lady with the flowers.”
“Uh-huh. And you remember what that woman said ’bout the slaves that came to her, and how she helped them….” Peggy let the words trail off, leaving Annabelle to piece together something.
Annabelle thought back to that day in the lady’s garden and tried to remember conversations she hadn’t been paying much mind, sick with worry over Matthew as she had been. The thought of him sent a stab of pain through her heart, but she smothered it and tried to focus on Miss Wesson. She tapped her chin. “She said something about giving them new beginnings. But what does any of that have to do with George and Lilly?”
Peggy regarded her evenly. “Lilly Rose.”
Annabelle huffed, exasperated. “What does Miss Wesson have to do with Lilly Rose….” Her words ground to a halt as the realization hit her. She glanced back at George’s stiff shoulders. “Lilly Rose. Like the flowers. A name given to her by Miss Wesson, once she arrived with slaves.”
Peggy nodded, her mouth a tight line.
Annabelle fanned herself. “It can’t be! Lilly isn’t a colored woman, Peggy.”
“Not all, child, but enough. Your grandma done told me Lilly was sent to the orphanage when one of the master’s slaves done birthed a child far too white.”
Annabelle placed a hand to her heart. “But that would mean….” she shook her head, dislodging the thought.
Peggy grabbed her hand. “It mean that the master had mulatto slaves, and when he fathered a child with one of them, the babe came out showing his sins.”
Annabelle turned her face away. “How terrible for Lilly.”
“Now it ain’t my place to say, but before you go off waggin’ your tongue to that Mr. Daniels, it’s best you know that Lilly’s momma was a slave and she came up with her from Louisiana.”
Annabelle bit her lip, trying to process the information. “So that’s it then, Lilly told him the truth?”
A sadness filled Peggy’s eyes. It was all the answer Annabelle needed. “But, Peggy, you saw the way he looked at Lilly, and he knew she was not a lady of stature. My gracious, anyone could see he was smitten with her. Why should her parentage make any difference to him now?”
“Child, I wish all white folks thought like you do, but truth of it is that knowing she has Negro blood in her done make that man leave all his intentions behind.”
Annabelle looked at George, understanding now the anguish that had poured off of him these last days of travel. Had he wanted to go after Lilly, but had been obligated to stay with Annabelle instead? She looked back at Peggy. “Oh! What if he wanted to go to her, but Matthew insisted he come with me?” She took a step toward him. “I have to tell him that he doesn’t need to go with me.”
Peggy grabbed her arm. “No, ma’am. You ain’t doin’ that.”
Annabelle shrugged her off. “Why not? I won’t say anything about what you told me.”
“Miss Belle, that man got a right lot of thinkin’ to do. And if he change his mind….” Peggy shook her head as though that were as likely as one of her fried chickens sprouting feathers again and flying out of the pan. “Well, if he were, then he knows where she be. Ain’t for you to go stickin’ your nose in.”
Annabelle chewed her lip and watched George, wondering about the heart inside the man.
“Hushed be the camps to-day / And soldiers let us drape our war-worn weapons. / And each with musing soul retire to celebrate / Our commander’s death. As they invault the coffin there / Sing – as they close the doors of earth upon him – one verse / For the heavy heart of soldiers.”
Walt Whitman, Hush’d be the Camps To-day, first and last stanzas
Washington
May 16, 1865
Matthew watched the boys in blue as they downed cup after cup of red eye. He tried to ignore the need in his gut.
Just a little to numb the pain. Just a little to make sure of a full night’s sleep.
The din of the tavern filled with laughter that danced on smoke tendrils and slithered across Matthew’s ears. Another day of military trials, another stiff day of endless questioning as the solicitors fluffed and postured themselves against one another.
From his spot here in the far corner, he could see many of them, the folks whose lives had been upended for the simple fact that they had been near the assassination when it had happened. How many had he watched give their tales?
Yes, sir, I was standing in the street that night….
No, sir, I didn’t see anything….
I was in the theatre, I saw him jump onto the stage….
I met John Booth once, about five years ago….
Around and around they went until Matthew wanted to start stripping the hair from his scalp. His fingers slipped into his traitor’s coat and caressed the smooth metal of the flask.
No. He mustn’t. Not after the last time.
Matthew snatched his fingers from the flask, shame rolling through him again. Curse this weakness! Before the war he’d enjoyed the drink, though never to overindulgence. Then during the war he’d not touched a drop, even when others had relished the few times they were allowed a ration or two of rum. Why did he need it so now? Why had his head begun to fill with so many horrid visions that he feared he’d slip into madness?
The Liberator Series Box Set: Christian Historical Civil War Novels Page 79
