“Shoulda let them men in sooner,” Peggy said, her fingers pressing the pie crust against the edges of the tin.
Annabelle snapped her gaze to Peggy and dropped her spoon. “Peggy! Why would you say such a thing?”
Peggy cocked her head. “Cause. As soon as they made their beds inside, they done stocked my kitchen something nice.” She breathed deep. “Yes, ma’am, it sure is right nice to be able to make a real meal again!”
Only hours after George had surrendered all of their weapons—well, most of them, anyway—the Federals had taken her home. Two days later and she was still furious with George’s foolishness. She plucked the spoon from the edge of the pot and began to stir the apples again. Despite that, she begrudgingly had to admit that she agreed with Peggy on one thing. It was certainly nice to have food in the kitchen again.
And truth be told, the Feds had been nothing but gentlemen since entering the house. She and Peggy shared her room, George and Michael shared Father’s room, and the men had taken the other two rooms and the parlor, with the sergeant having his own space in the library. Most of the men would leave during the days, and other than asking her to cook the evening meals with the supplies they had provided, they had not required anything from her.
Annabelle chewed her lip and scraped the apples into the crust Peggy had ready, then wiped a hand across her face. Plopping down on the bench George had fashioned, she watched Peggy place strips of dough in a basket weave across the top of the pie.
“Why don’t you go ahead and spill out what’s festering in your heart, Miss Belle,” Peggy said, not looking up from her work.
Annabelle briefly considered using her often practiced fake smile and forced insistence that everything was fine, but it was only a lie Peggy already saw through. She pushed a pin that had begun to slip back into the twist of her hair. “I don’t want them in my house. They have brought supplies we need, yes, but I would rather eat nothing but peas and be left in peace.”
“Hmm. That all?”
Tears immediately threatened, and Annabelle had to swallow back a burning in her throat. “I fear for Matthew.”
Peggy finished the crust and opened the oven to check the coals. Satisfied with the heat, she slid the pie inside. She wiped her hands on her apron and took a seat next to Annabelle. “I know that, baby girl. And I’s gettin’ a mite worried about him myself. But I just heard them men this morning talking about the sentencing after the trial. Maybe he stayed for that.”
Annabelle’s face puckered. “They have come to a sentencing so soon?”
Peggy nodded. “Seems it’s already been carried out, according to what I done heard them soldiers say. Couple of them went to prison, but most of them they hung at the same prison that they took you to.”
Annabelle put a hand to the base of her throat, remembering how cruel the people in the prison had been to her. She shuddered. “Then it is finished.”
Peggy patted her hand. “So don’t you be worrying too much. I’m sure he’ll be comin’ along now that it’s all done.”
“But he said he would leave as soon as the trial concluded.”
Peggy shrugged. “Maybe they didn’t let him. You know how close they was keeping him.”
Annabelle nodded, though she wasn’t so sure. She had feared in Washington that Matthew had stayed away from her on purpose. And then when he’d told her to go home and that he had things he had to think through…
Tears welled again. “Peggy, what if he has chosen not to come?”
“He loves you, done put a ring on your hand afore you is even wed. Trust in that, Miss Belle.”
Annabelle wanted to, she truly did, but fear and anger still stirred in her. How could he do this to her?—Proclaim his love and promise to be by her side no matter what their future held, and then so easily dismiss that promise merely because of a single incident that wounded his pride?
Annabelle rose and plucked an ear of corn from the basket and began to shuck it. Peggy remained silent and did the same, and Annabelle festered while they cleaned half the bushel. By the time they tossed the corn into boiling water, Annabelle felt as though that same bubbling heat coursed through her veins.
Men and their foolish pride! When she saw him again…. Pain gripped her. If she saw him again. The thought constricted within her chest so tightly she ached.
Annabelle ducked away from Peggy’s motherly gaze, begging a moment of fresh air. She stumbled out into the hot afternoon, but found no relief in the breezeless day beyond the kitchen. She steadied herself and took a long draw of air thick with moisture.
The aching caused by the thought that he would reject her now squeezed so hard that she nearly lost her breath. No, she could not take the pain. She groped for hope, but found that her stores had been depleted. A sob rose in her throat. Only one thing remained. She could not drown in this sea of remorse, frustration, and agony over all she had lost. She could not! If she did, she may never recover. Flailing, she gripped onto the only other emotion that remained.
Straightening, she remembered how often he had lied, how he had tricked and deceived her, and finally, how he had toyed with her heart. The anger over his foolishness blossomed and she grabbed onto it, for it was the only thing that could overpower the sorrow.
Annabelle reached into the pocket of her skirt and withdrew the silver horse Matthew had given her on the turn of her twentieth year and gripped it tight, then she turned toward the house and stalked away.
“You’re a good worker, Daniels, and strong as an ox. Sure I can’t convince you to stay on?”
Matthew smiled at Jim Barlow, Carter’s partner from Jackson. “No, sir, I’m afraid not.”
The man shrugged his narrow shoulders. “Well, can’t blame me for trying,” he said around the wad of tobacco in his cheek.
Matthew hefted the last bag of flour from the cart and placed it beside the stacks of grain, cornmeal, and rice that had already been added to the storeroom. They had been delayed for longer than he would like already, but an extra day of delivering goods around the city was worth the time he would have lost trying to travel on foot.
Matthew brushed his hands on his trousers. “That’s the last of it.”
Jim spat a stream of tobacco. “Now we see what we can get loaded for my trip back.”
Matthew withheld a groan. Had he not paid for his ride with the loading and then distribution of the wagon that had taken four good horses to pull? He rubbed the back of his neck. “Well, now, I didn’t know that was part of it. I need to be on my way.”
Jim laughed. “That lady that’s waitin’ on you, huh?”
Matthew smiled. “One I have left waiting far too long.”
“Understand that.” He spat again. “Still, if you stay one more day and help me load, I’ll give you a good wage. Enough, say, to get you the rest of the way to Jefferson County?”
Knowing the day spent in labor would save him several more if he didn’t happen across anyone else headed south willing to give him a ride, Matthew gave a nod. “Very well.”
Jim slapped him on the shoulder. “Good. It’s getting dark. I’ll get us some rooms and then we’ll get back to it in the morning.” He stretched his shoulders, though it had been Matthew who had done all the work. “Get us some drink, too. I’d say you’ve earned a few cups.”
Matthew shook his head. “I thank you, but a hearty supper is all I require.”
Jim cocked his head. “Well, suit yourself.”
Matthew climbed back onto the driver’s bench and handed Jim the reins. They rode through the streets of Jackson, past the capitol building, and to a place that looked more tavern than inn. Too tired to care much, Matthew yearned only for a full stomach and a place to rest his head.
A little while later, after seeing the horses tended, Matthew trudged into the small building that looked close to falling in and spotted Jim at a card table. Content to be left on his own, he chose a seat and told the serving girl to add his supper charge onto Jim’s.
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br /> The plink of an out of tune piano grated on his senses, so he tried to focus on the men around him while he waited for his meal.
Smoke spiraled around grinning faces tempered by vacant eyes that sought to find a way to hide from life outside this squalid den of smoke and drink. Matthew tried not to breathe too deeply the smells of stale ale, cigar ash, and unwashed bodies.
How had this ever appealed? Where once he had thought a place like this full of life and revelry, now he saw that it was only an illusion. A shallow theatre where people sought to disguise their sorrows. Matthew now saw only an emptiness of the soul at the bottom of those tankards, not joy. He shook his head and offered a silent prayer of thanks that the temptation of the drink did not call to him this night.
A miracle, indeed. The rotund woman returned with his platter of chicken and okra, and after finishing off two plates worth, half of a basket of rolls, and a bowl of peach cobbler, Matthew wiped his mouth and left the napkin on the table.
As he turned to go, Jim caught his eye. “Join us in the game?” he called.
Matthew shook his head. “Thank you, but I think I will find my bed. It will be an early morning.”
Jim laughed and waved him away. “Sure, sure, see you then.”
Matthew narrowed his eyes, but dismissed the comment that made him wonder when the man might rise from the effects of a drunken stupor. “A word, before I go?”
Jim gestured to the table. “After this hand.”
Matthew waited and watched Jim lose all he had wagered, and then waited further until Jim’s cursing subsided and he finally rose from his chair. Irritated, Jim scowled at Matthew. “Well, what is it you want, then?”
Matthew shifted his weight. “Could I get a bit of that pay early, so that I can send a telegram?” It felt odd, having never asked for a wage in his life, but Matthew no longer cared about such things. Bit by bit, he felt the prideful man he had been mellow into one much less concerned with his status and what it gained him.
“Sure, sure. We’ll send it out first thing tomorrow, aye? Can’t well do it tonight.”
Matthew looked past him to the card table. “Perhaps now would be best, so I don’t need to trouble you with it early on the morrow. I can get it out and be back by breakfast.”
Some of Jim’s good humor slid off his face and his dark eyes turned to slits. “You’ll get your pay when the work is done. Not before. You understand me?”
Matthew’s hands clenched at his sides. He gave a jerk of his chin, not trusting his words to remain polite.
Jim smiled and patted Matthew’s tightened shoulder. “Good, then. Off with you.”
Withholding his building anger, Matthew turned his back on the men and their laughter as they resumed their game.
Pray, Annabelle, do not give up on me. Matthew entered his room and washed the sweat from his face and neck with the water from the basin, then removed his shoes and fell onto the bed. He stared up at the ceiling, listening to the boisterous noises from below.
He pushed the sounds aside, and turned his thoughts to how her face would light up upon his return. He imagined the warmth of her arms slipping around his neck, and the sweet kisses she would place upon lips that yearned for the taste of her.
Contented, Matthew closed his eyes and began to dream of Annabelle.
“They have hung my mother. Curse them! In every way curse them! They are all hung, and the rest have been sent to the Dry Tortugas. But, my mother! Curse them! Curse them all!”
John Surratt
Rosswood Plantation
July 14, 1865
Matthew quickened his pace. Did he recognize this bend? If he was correct, then the plantation road into Rosswood would be just beyond this turn. After spending an extra two days stuck in Jackson working for Jim before he’d finally received his pay, Matthew found he’d reached the end of his patience.
Jim must have recognized it as well, because he’d been rather pale when he’d handed over Matthew’s pay when Matthew had calmly refused to release the man’s collar until he did.
Thankfully, the telegram he’d sent to Mrs. Smith New York would already be two days received. He’d thought himself only a day’s ride from Rosswood, so had chosen not to send word to Lorman. A mistake, it seemed, since not only had he labored longer for Jim than anticipated, he had also encountered numerous delays on the ride here. After the wheel spoke broke on the rickety wagon belonging to the haggard man he’d paid to bring him here, Matthew had leapt from the cart and left the man to his own mending. If he hurried, he could make it to Rosswood on foot before the final light dissipated and the fireflies took flight.
There! The bend in the road revealed the tree-lined passage into Rosswood and to his beloved’s arms. Matthew broke into a trot and churned up red dust underneath his feet. He’d finally made it! Weeks of the frustration of waiting, and soon he would be reunited with the woman he prayed never to be parted from again.
He jogged past the markers that would forever remind them that the war had not left Rosswood untouched. Matthew turned his attention from the graves and looked upon the grand columns of the house that he would soon call home.
As his eyes dropped from the columns to the expanse of the front porch, his smile faltered and his feet slowed. There by the front door stood the woman who was soon to be his bride with a soft smile upon her lips and her hand upon the Yank whose arms she had already known.
Annabelle offered Joshua a tempered smile, hoping that he would soon find an end to his words and be on his way. But she was once again indebted to him, for he had sent the soldiers away, despite their claims that all homes were to be opened to them. Indeed, if it had not been for Joshua Grierson, she feared poor George would have lost all of his senses and Uncle would have exploded from the pressures building inside of him.
“I received word from Washington stating that this land belongs to you, by way of thanks for the services rendered to the Union, no matter what you decide on…other matters.”
Annabelle’s attention snapped back to his face at the words. Hers! Granted not to any man, but hers alone? She could scarcely believe it.
She placed a hand at her heart. “Oh, Joshua! That is most wonderful news!”
“I am glad to be of service again, Annabelle,” Joshua said with a grin. His eyes bored into hers. “I will be near for as long as you have need of me.”
She shifted. “Were you not to go to another post?”
He thrust his hands into his pockets and looked down at his boots. “I requested it wait until I was certain things were settled for you here.”
Annabelle stepped closer and placed a hand upon his arm, trying to choose gentle words. “I am most grateful for all you have done. You have been a good friend, Joshua.”
His features saddened, as though knowing what the rest of her words would hold.
“But you do know that will be all that will ever exist between us, don’t you? We’ve already spoke on it once before.”
His eyes twinkled when he looked back up at her. “But we are not yet certain that your situation will change…” His words trailed off and he turned to look toward the garden.
Annabelle followed his gaze and her heart nearly came to a halt. There at the worked iron gate stood the man she’d waited on—the one who had taken weeks in coming. The world seemed to come to a halt as Matthew came no closer, his stiff shoulders and sharp eyes upon Joshua.
Annabelle dropped her hand off Joshua’s arm and crossed to the stairs, placing her hand upon the column to support knees that threatened to give way. Matthew shifted his gaze and stared at her as she stared back at him. Weeks of beard grew upon his cheeks. She frowned. Below his tightened jaw, the skin seemed yellowed, as though from a fading bruise.
Then the vein in his neck bulged, warning Annabelle of the anger that simmered just below the surface. Understanding dawned, and she feared the jealousy that had caused him to lash out her uncle would be unleashed upon Joshua.
However, Matthe
w breathed deep, released the tension in his face and then opened the gate and followed the brick path through the small garden and to the bottom of the stairs where Annabelle stood at the top. He looked up at her with hope and longing, tearing at her armored heart.
Her pulse pounded in her ears. She longed to fling herself into his arms, but the anger she had allowed to take a bit more of her each day of his absence glued her feet to the floor.
“Where have you been?” Her words leapt out with the fierceness of a viper, and she regretted the pained expression they caused upon his face.
“I wanted to come to you. I left the day after the trial ended, as soon as the council went to discussions.”
Annabelle wrapped her arms around herself. “That was weeks ago! The trains are poor, but not so much as that. Why did you dally?”
“It was because—”
She took two steps closer to him and cut off his words. “Because you had things to think about, Matthew? Because you think you are the only one who has suffered great wounds and that they would be better licked in solitude? So easily forgotten were your words of commitment. One stab at your pride and you withdraw.” She flung a hand back toward Joshua, who still stood upon her porch. “Even now you stand there with accusation in your eyes, thinking things of me that I have never given you cause to believe.”
Regret flashed in his eyes and he lowered his head. “I do not think such things of you. I admit it is hard for me to see you look upon any man with affection, but I believe your heart belongs to me.”
At her silence, he snatched his head up.
“Does it still belong to me, Annabelle? Or have I ruined what is most precious to me?”
Joshua cleared his throat and Matthew turned darkened eyes upon him. Annabelle’s words lodged in her throat.
“Perhaps,” Joshua said with discomfort, “I should leave you two in privacy.” He nodded toward Matthew. “Your betrothed, I assume?”
“He is,” she said over her shoulder.
The Liberator Series Box Set: Christian Historical Civil War Novels Page 89
