Whatever the other man’s response, Annabelle did not see it. She tugged on her uncle’s arm and hurried toward the house. Once inside, she latched the door and swung around at Uncle Michael. “What are you thinking?”
His eyes widened. “You are not near upon fainting!”
She crossed her arms. “I am not.”
“Then why did you…?” His words trailed off and he pinched the bridge of his nose. “I’ve no time for your games. These men must be removed from Rosswood.”
“Forgive the deception, but it was the only way I knew to stop you from saying something foolish.”
Uncle Michael clenched his hands. “Take care how you speak, niece.”
“I’m sorry, Uncle, I mean no disrespect, but truth must be spoken. Heated words will only cause more trouble for us. They outnumber you, and if it were to come to a fight, then what? They would take you away for fighting a Fed while we are under martial law. Tell me, what would become of me then?
He pressed his lips into a thin line and said nothing.
She regarded him evenly. “You know what would happen. They would still take the house, and I would have no one here to protect me.” Except George, she thought, but wouldn’t stoke his anger by saying it.
Uncle Michael’s eyes cleared of the fury that had brightened them, and his shoulders drooped. “You are correct. How foolish of me not to think….” He shook his head. “Those Yanks, they abide by no law, just taking whatever they wish and….” He looked at Annabelle again and sighed. “Forgive me.”
Annabelle placed a hand on his arm. “There is nothing to forgive. I know animosity runs deep after this war. I no more want them here than you, but I fear this is a dangerous game where we must outmaneuver them rather than seek to threaten or overpower them.”
Uncle Michael regarded her for a moment. “You are quite a capable woman, Annabelle. The man who claims you will have a treasure, indeed.”
Annabelle smiled. “I thank you, Uncle Michael.”
He frowned back at the door, though he could not see the men beyond it. “I am begrudgingly glad Mr. Daniels refused to leave. I may need his aid.”
Annabelle inclined her head, having already thought the same.
“Wait here.” Uncle strode past Peggy and up the stairs, returning a few moments later with a pistol in hand.
He extended the cold metal object to Annabelle, and she took it from him. As it settled in the heat of her palm, her arm drooped. She’d not held such a weapon before, and it proved heavier than anticipated.
“I’ve not the time for a lesson, but there is not much that you need to know.” Uncle gestured toward the door. “It is already loaded, so all you need do is pull the hammer—” he pulled back on a bit of metal that gave a click, “—and then point it.”
Annabelle placed both hands on the stock and lifted the weapon to point it at the door. The tip of the gun wavered, and she took a deep breath to try to steady her hands. “Like this?”
“Very good. Now, if someone breaks through that door, you pull the trigger. Try to aim for his chest, if you can.”
Annabelle turned wide eyes on him. “That will kill him.”
Uncle dipped his chin. “That is the intention.”
Annabelle lowered the muzzle so it pointed to the once polished floors. “I cannot.”
Uncle stepped closer to her and rested a hand on her shoulder. “You must.”
Annabelle shook her head. “Surely such a thing will not be necessary.”
Uncle’s fingers tightened on her shoulder. “Unfortunately, my dear, it may be. You know not of the things men have done.”
The sincerity and concern in his eyes made Annabelle shiver.
“I must go find George. You and Peggy stay here in the hall. If anyone breaks through that door, he has no good intentions in mind. Shoot him, Anna, before he can reach you.”
Annabelle swallowed hard, only able to give a small dip of her chin. She would aim for his leg to disable him, but she could not kill.
Uncle squeezed her shoulder once more and strode toward the rear door. It closed behind him with a soft click, and then Peggy slid the lock into place.
She looked at Annabelle with a somber expression. “Your uncle’s right, you know. If that man forces his way in here, you pull that trigger.”
Annabelle turned back toward the door, a single tear sliding down her face. Peggy had given her a weapon once, a dagger the Confederate Army had taken from her. She’d never had cause to use it. Her throat constricted, and she hoped she would not have a reason to use the pistol, either.
Please, Lord, don’t let them come through the door, she prayed. Then she set her feet and steadied the weight of steel and death in her hands.
“Tried, convicted and sentenced, they stood this morning upon the threshold of the house of death, all covered with the great sin whose pall fell darkly on the land.”
The New York Times
Georgia
July 7, 1865
Should be in Atlanta, or what’s left of her, by nightfall,” Carter said, stretching his shoulders and handing the reins to Matthew.
Matthew smiled at the man who had not only given him a place in his buckboard, but had also provided him with a decent shirt and food enough to sate his ravenous hunger. “I shall miss your good company, Carter, but I am much pleased to be that much closer to home.”
Carter pushed back the brim of his hat and took the reins back from Matthew. “What will you do then?”
Matthew shrugged. “Start walking again, I presume.”
Carter tugged on his beard. “No promises, but I know a fellow in Atlanta. He’s making runs same as me, though his route is Atlanta to Jackson. Might be he’d be willing to take on a strong back as well.”
Matthew looked at the generous man’s profile. “I am most indebted to you, Carter. You have saved me weeks of travel, and likely the ire of my beloved.”
Carter chuckled. “Think nothing of it, boy. You earned your keep, far as I’m concerned. I didn’t have to lift a single sack. Wish I could take you on the return trip.”
“Then you would risk my lady’s wrath as well.” Matthew laughed.
As Carter had predicted, they reached the outskirts of what had been Atlanta just as the sky began to turn from pristine sapphire to deep violet.
“Eight months, and the ash still stirs in the air.” Carter shook his head. “He was insane, you know. He left his post in Kentucky in ’61 because of emotional tumult.”
Matthew shifted in his seat and looked out of the corner of his eye at the man who he’d not inquired into his wartime loyalties. “Sherman?” he asked, though he already knew the answer.
Carter nodded grimly. “What he did when he left here…what he allowed his men to do.” He glanced at Matthew. “What side did you serve, boy?”
Matthew turned to look at him, inclined toward the truth. “Both.”
Carter frowned.
“I served for Mississippi, to protect our homes and families from invasion. Then, after the war ended, I was…persuaded to lend aid to the efforts to capture the assassin, and was thus turned from a Confederate Captain to a Union Private.”
Carter considered him a moment. “Interesting tale you got there, if you would be inclined to tell it.”
A tale, indeed, though not one Matthew wished to dig up.
“They hung them all,” Carter pointed out. “Even the woman. Can you imagine such a thing? What have we come to?”
Matthew had heard of the swiftly carried out sentence of the tried, but didn’t want to think on it. He turned the subject. “Did you serve, Carter?”
The man barked a laugh. “Not hardly. I’m too old for such things. Used to have a nice shipping company, though. Did pretty well until this war up and ruined all I had worked my entire life to build. Now I’m starting over, so I don’t leave my girls destitute when they put me in the ground.”
Matthew nodded, though Carter had not truly answered his question.
/> “But to answer what you really want to know,” Carter said, as though he sensed Matthew’s thoughts, “I pledged loyalty to neither side. Didn’t agree with the South on slavery, and didn’t agree with the North on forcing states to stay in the Union.” He puffed out his cheeks and let a long breath stir his mustache. “Living in Virginia, declaring for neither side turned out to be a good way to be hated by both.”
Not knowing what to say, Matthew could only offer a nod. Serving on both had earned him much of the same loathing.
The buckboard rolled past homes with nothing left but charred chimneys and a few crumbling bricks and into a town with despair so thick upon the air that Matthew thought he might choke upon it.
“Sad, it is. What war makes of men,” Carter said, as they passed a man in a ragged Confederate uniform slumped alongside a crumbling wall. He regarded them with vacant eyes as they passed.
Matthew remained silent, watching little children as they poked dirty faces out of ruined buildings to assess the load of sacks in the wagon.
“My friend has a block house on the other side of town that mostly survived the fire. We’ll stay with him for the night and see if he will take you with him to Jackson.”
“Again, I thank you,” Matthew said, his heart feeling weighted with a cannon ball. He would be glad to be free of this place as soon as possible.
George watched the men setting tents in the front grasslands beyond the garden wall and felt a new wave of appreciation for his brother’s intended. Strange, how Matthew had once thought the woman a match for George. The men below stilled as the Lady of Rosswood came into their view, and George wondered what those Blue Bellies thought of the woman whom George had come to think of as a tiny, golden-haired dragon—nice to look upon, dangerous to provoke.
He watched her confidently stride through the garden with her shoulders back and knew that Annabelle had always been Matthew’s perfect compliment. Matthew needed one not easily tamed yet with a gentle soul. God in His wisdom knew that no other would both challenge and temper Matthew as this one could. And Lord help him, he’d be certain his brother would return to find his intended had been well protected. Thus, he’d risk taking aim at the Feds.
Thankful he had not allowed his own desires to make him depart early and leave her to the Blue Bellies, George readied his rifle and poked it through the balcony railing. Lying on his stomach, he hoped they would not be able to see him. Aye, he would be able to pick a few of them off, should they forget their manners, but in the end it would mean his life. If they even so much as caught a glimpse of his barrel, he’d be shot without question for the threat.
Below, Annabelle reached the men and spoke with the sergeant, who frowned down at her, looking displeased with whatever she had to tell him. The Yank Grierson, who seemed to have an inappropriately soft spot for Annabelle, had been away, and Annabelle said she would refuse entrance to any man until he arrived.
George grinned. She’d insisted she be the one to talk to the Yanks. Suited him fine, since that gave George and Michael the opportunity to set vantage points. Should any of those men give them adequate reason, they would find themselves buried in Annabelle’s graveyard.
She finished her say and turned back toward the house. George took aim at the man who watched her walk away, but he merely puckered his face and then turned aside. George kept his weapon upon the man until he heard the front door close, then he relaxed and scooted back away from the rail.
He propped the weapon against the wall by the house and then turned to watch the squatters below. George reached into his pocket and fingered the slip of paper he’d withheld from Annabelle.
The day before the Yanks had arrived, he’d gone to Lorman to send word to Washington. The telegram had cost him more than he could spare, but as he’d not heard from Matthew, and given his brother’s strange behavior prior to George’s departure, worry had pushed him to seek reassurance.
The reply had come down the wire swiftly, from the office of Mr. Fitch, the lawman Matthew had worked with. He’d said that Matthew had left Washington on June 29, and the man knew nothing more.
Having experienced the deplorable conditions of the railways, George knew that travel could be delayed, but Matthew still should have arrived by now.
What had kept him so long? Each day that passed seemed to weigh more on Annabelle, and the worry that haunted her eyes pained George. Whatever had happened between her and Matthew before they had left Washington, it had caused her to fear Matthew would not return.
George had dismissed the notion at first, knowing that Matthew cared greatly for Annabelle. He rubbed the muscles on the back of his neck and watched the intruders. Had Matthew changed his mind? Before the war he had been known to dally with many a young lady. He’d never seemed to keep interest in one for very long. Now that the adventurous part of their relationship had come to an end, did Matthew fear the responsibility of marriage and the daunting task of rebuilding a life in the South?
Already there were tales of people fleeing the Union occupation in droves. Some went west, some to Mexico territory, and some, he’d heard, were even going as far as to try to make new Southern utopian colonies in South America.
George swiped a bit of hair from his face that had fallen into his eyes, obscuring the Blues below. He could see the appeal of starting life anew somewhere where they would not be held under the Union’s thumb. At the sound of rustling fabric, he turned to glance back at the house.
Annabelle stepped through the open door and onto the balcony, coming to join him at the rail.
She jutted her chin at the men. “They will not stay there much longer.”
George lifted his brows in surprise. “So you have managed to convince them to leave Rosswood?”
She swung a startled gaze back at him. “What? No. I mean that they will not stay in those tents much longer. Soon they will force their way into the house, and I will be unable to stop them.”
The despair in her voice raked across him and he stiffened. “I will not allow them to do that, Annabelle. The first man who tries to force his way into your house will gain my lead in his gut.”
Her features tightened and she hesitated only a moment before giving a small shake of her head. “I wish for there to be no more death at Rosswood.”
George gripped the railing. “Yet neither can you let them take advantage of you. I will not allow it.”
She wrapped her arms around her waist and continued to stare at the men below. “Joshua will be here soon. He will set it right.”
George’s jaw tightened at the familiar use of Grierson’s name. Worse than that, she looked to a Yank for deliverance! Not him, not her uncle, and not even the one to whom she should be longing to come to her side.
“What of Matthew?” George snapped.
Still she stared ahead, a distant look in her eyes. “If ever he comes, what more could he do? Already there is naught that you and Uncle can do about it. Our only hope is Joshua.”
George spun away and scooped up his rifle, swinging it toward the men below. “I can send them all below the earth, that’s what I can do.”
Fear replaced the vacancy in her eyes. “George, no!” Annabelle gripped his arm, tilting his rifle away from the leader of the band below.
The commotion drew the men’s attention, and they looked above. Noticing the glint of the weapon, the head Yank grabbed for his pistol, took aim, and fired.
The crack of gunfire sounded a half-second before a chunk of the column next to George exploded. He dropped to the floor, pulling Annabelle down with him in a heap.
“Those are the scoundrels you would protect?” George said, his words coming out in a near growl.
Annabelle scrambled away, struggling against all the fabric and petticoats that entangled her legs. She put her back against the house and stared at him with eyes that flashed more with anger than with fear. “We are no longer at war! What you propose is nothing more than murder!”
Her words hit hi
m like a bucket of cold water. He jumped to his feet and raised his hands, stepping over to the railing in submission. Fool! He’d lost his wits and endangered them all.
The Yanks below had gathered and all knelt behind the cover of the brick garden wall. The one who had fired propped his elbows upon the wall and kept his pistol trained on George, but surprisingly, didn’t kill him.
George kept his hands raised and shouted to those below. “A misunderstanding, gentleman! We mean no harm!”
The Blue Belly looked to his men, then after a moment stood from behind the cover. “You will surrender all weapons immediately!”
George’s shoulders stiffened. He’d caused a predicament, indeed. He groped for an excuse. “I need the rifle to hunt.”
“Gather them all and deposit them on the front porch.” When George hesitated, he shouted, “Now! Aim that weapon again, Reb and it’ll be the end of you.” The man kept his pistol trained on George, and George had no doubt the sergeant meant the words.
George clenched his teeth and turned away, finding that Annabelle had gained her feet and now stood in the doorway, studying him. She closed her eyes and drew a long breath.
When she opened them, her frustration manifested in a glimmer of tears. “That was a reckless thing to do!”
George ran a hand through his hair, unable to deny it. What had come over him? “Forgive me,” he said through clenched teeth. “Though I must admit, it infuriates and pains me deeply to know you look to a Yank with a longing that should be reserved only for my brother.”
Her mouth gaped open, but he merely pushed past her, going to collect the weapons so that he might both add further coals to the anger of Michael Ross and feed the wolves salivating at their door.
“The conspirators have gone to their long home, the swift hand of justice has smitten them, and they stand before the judgment seat.”
The New York Times
Annabelle leaned over the pot and drew in another whiff of the apples simmering inside their bath of honey and cinnamon.
The Liberator Series Box Set: Christian Historical Civil War Novels Page 88
