Joshua glanced at Matthew and then back at Annabelle. “Of course, I will honor what I told you, should you still wish it.”
She inclined her head. “Thank you. I will send word to you tomorrow.”
Joshua tipped his hat and then skirted around Matthew without bothering with the pretense of unwelcomed pleasantries. Annabelle watched him stride through the garden, then retrieve his horse from the chinaberry tree and mount it before turning her gaze back on Matthew.
He reached up and took her hand, and only then did she notice it trembled. “I have much to ask forgiveness for. I was so caught up in the emotions that fought within me, that I abandoned what I hold most dear.”
The gentle way he ran his fingers across the back of her hand threatened to undo her. She forced strength into her words that spoke of an anger that was quickly slipping away. “I do not know how we shall build a marriage on such things.”
He smiled at her, and felt more of her anger melt underneath the love that radiated from his eyes. “I have found peace, my love, and the Lord has made many a change within me. I pray that you will give me a lifetime to prove my love to you, and show you that ever will I strive to never again leave your side.”
The tears she’d tried to withhold slipped down her cheeks as he vanquished her anger and fear with his words.
She threw herself into his arms and he enveloped her in his strength. “Oh, Matthew. I missed you so!”
He buried his face into her neck, whispering endearments and promises of a lifetime of love. After a time, she pulled her face away. “Is that what took you so long, the time spent discovering the peace of the Creator?”
His forehead creased. “No. Did you not receive my letter? I sent it not long after you returned to Rosswood, telling you of how I met my Savior in truth and found reprieve from the dreams that haunted me.”
Her breath caught. “I did not. I have not heard anything from you since that day outside the trial, when you told me to go home and that you had many things to ponder.”
He pulled her tighter, and a thrill at how well their bodies fit against one another pulsed through her. “Oh, my love, I am truly sorry for all that I made you endure.”
She snaked a hand around his neck and loosed the hair from its tie, running her fingers through its lengths.
Matthew grimaced. “I promise I shall have it cut short, into a better fashion, before we wed.”
A smile tugged on her lips. “It is no hurry. Actually,” she said as she slipped her fingers into the hair at his nape, “I rather prefer it this way.”
Matthew chuckled, a husky sound that warmed places deep within her. “Then if it will please you, my lady, so it shall remain.”
He placed his forehead on hers, and she knew he meant to kiss her. Still, there was one thing more she must know, to put to rest all the wayward reasons her mind had conjured in Matthew’s absence. She pulled back. “If not for that, then why have you been so long in coming to me?”
Something flashed in his eyes she did not understand. “Unfortunately, upon my train ride out from Washington, David O’Malley worked upon me the same crime I place upon him. He strangled me, and then held me prisoner in a cellar of a deserted cabin.”
Annabelle gasped. “Oh, Matthew! Forgive me. I thought…” She shook her head. Why had she thought the worst of him? Here she’d been growing in her anger, blaming him for the pain that swelled within her, and ashamedly thinking that he had dallied for pleasure’s sake or because he sought a way to brake his betrothal. Shame washed over her. Instead, he’d been trying to get to her and had been in danger. Tears welled anew.
Matthew wiped a hot tear from her cheek. “There is nothing to forgive. You had every cause to be fearful and angry.”
She placed her forehead against his. “What happened? How did you break free?”
He ran his fingers up the nape of her neck, loosing pins from their hold. “He was not himself, Annabelle. Something dark had taken hold of him, and it was only by the name of Jesus and a miracle that he came back unto himself.”
Annabelle blinked at him, not knowing what to say to such a claim. He tugged his hand until the last of her pins gave way and he was able to pull his fingers through the hair that now tumbled down past her waist. “In the end, he found peace, and died with the hope of seeing his family in heaven.”
Matthew seemed so revered by the revelation that Annabelle wondered at the depth of all that had transpired. But those were all questions for another time. The way he was looking at her mouth….
Matthew pressed his lips to hers, and all Annabelle’s questions drifted away. Matthew was home, and she was in his arms. The concerns of life melted beneath the heat rising in her chest. She sighed against his lips, and with a little groan he deepened the kiss.
Annabelle felt something stir within her, and when he finally pulled away, they were both breathing heavily. Matthew rested his head upon hers. “I think the wedding needs to come soon.” The huskiness in his voice reminded her that she still needed to press Peggy about what all transpired on a bride’s wedding night. She gave a nervous laugh. “Well, we need only….”
Her words were enveloped by a resounding whoop, and then George was nearly upon them. She stepped away from Matthew, pleased by the longing that lingered in his eyes.
Reluctantly, he turned to embrace his brother, and Annabelle smiled at the affection between them as the brothers were once again reunited.
“Anna!”
She turned to find Uncle Michael bustling out of the house, and just then remembered that Matthew had loosed her hair from its confines.
Uncle gripped her arm, his seething voice slithering into her ear. “What is the meaning of this? I will not allow you to make yourself a harlot.”
Her mouth fell open, but before she could respond, Peggy appeared as though from thin air. “Don’t you go saying that to my girl! She ain’t no harlot.”
Uncle’s eyes widened so far that they seemed to bulge. Beside her, Matthew stiffened, but George laid a hand on his arm and shook his head. Matthew glanced to Annabelle, but then humor twinkled in his eyes and he looked back to Peggy.
Peggy pointed a finger at Uncle Michael, who had not yet recovered from his shock. “She is set to marry that fellow.”
Uncle Michael’s face reddened. “I have not given permission for her to wed that drunkard.”
Matthew made a low sound in his throat, but once again his brother’s pressure on his arm stayed him.
Peggy merely cocked her head. “She don’t need your permission.”
Uncle balked and began to sputter. “You…you forget your place!”
Peggy put her hands on her hips. “Nope. I know my place. Do you know yours?”
Uncle Michael reddened further, though Annabelle had not thought it possible. She placed her hand on Uncle’s arm. “Uncle Michael, though I appreciate all you have done for me and I know your concern is only out of your care, I have made my choice. Matthew is a good man, and he will be a good husband for me.”
Uncle cast a derisive look at Matthew. “Look at him. Not only a drunkard, but hardly a gentleman.”
The muscle in Matthew’s jaw ticked, and he pulled out of George’s grasp. Annabelle’s breath caught. Would he display a temper that would only further antagonize Uncle?
Matthew, dressed in a course shirt without vest or cravat, did, indeed, look more a laborer than a gentleman. Though when he straightened himself and regarded her uncle with the calm assurance of one used to being in command of others, his attire couldn’t have seemed more out of place. “Mr. Ross, my current appearance aside, and with my apologies for the unfortunate circumstances that caused my delay in coming, I assure you that your assessment of me is incorrect.”
Uncle narrowed his eyes. “Is it? I remember tales of you before the war. My niece is not the first to have garnered your attentions. How long before you tire of her as well?”
Matthew shook his head. “I shall never tire of her. I will m
ake her my wife and spend every day of my life in devotion to her and her alone.”
“And what of your fondness for the drink?”
“After much prayer, and the Lord’s work in me, that will no longer be an issue. I ask your forgiveness for my unacceptable behavior on that eve in Washington.” Matthew stepped over to Annabelle and took her hand. “Just as I am no longer the wayward youth I was before the war, neither am I the heavily burdened man I was in the days following it.”
Annabelle smiled up at him, and he looked down on her with eyes that brimmed with sincerity.
Uncle shifted in his stance. “You believe this to be true, then, Anna?”
She eased closer into Matthew’s side. “I truly believe so. It would seem Father did well all those years ago when he had chosen Matthew as a suitor for me. My heart will never belong to another.”
Uncle Michael looked around at those gathered against him and pinched the bridge of his nose. “I shall not be able to stop you, will I?”
Peggy harrumphed, but Uncle ignored her.
Annabelle beamed up at Matthew. “No, Uncle. You shall not.”
Matthew’s brows puckered and he tore his gaze away from Annabelle and landed it back on Uncle Michael. “Though I do wish to have your blessing, sir. Family is of utmost importance, and Annabelle and I would want for you to visit often from Natchez.”
Something lit in Uncle’s eyes that Annabelle could not tell if it came from respect, gratitude, or relief. Regardless, Uncle finally smiled and then clapped Matthew on the shoulder. “You seem to have developed into a man of character, and so I will give my blessing upon this union—”
“Oh, Uncle Michael, Thank you!” Annabelle interrupted.
He ignored her and continued. “But if I ever suspect you do not treat my niece with the utmost devotion, or if you allow my family’s lands to fall to squalor….”
“You have my word, Mr. Ross. I will love Annabelle well and throw all of my strength into restoring her home for her.”
Annabelle glanced around at the people she loved and joy bubbled within her.
Matthew slipped his arm around her waist. “I have already sent word to your grandmother to come with the utmost haste, and to my mother at Westerly. As soon as they arrive, I shall make you my bride.”
She pushed up on her toes and pressed her lips to his, ignoring the gasps and grumbles of those around her. All that mattered was this wonderful man, whom she loved more with each day that dawned.
“All has been prepared for me to go to Europe, and I shall therefore bid a long farewell to that country for which I have risked so much—and in vain. I do not wish to die yet—I desire to live if only to make some parties suffer for having murdered my mother.”
John Surratt
Rosswood Plantation
July 30, 1865
George paced the perimeter of his room yet again, but upon coming to the window once more, he found that the carriage had still not arrived. He wiped the sweat from his palms. Over and again he’d played out what he would say, and over and again he’d sought a better way.
He turned from the window. Better to find his knees than to keep up this infernal, useless pacing. But though George tried to pray, he found that his thoughts would not stay on a single trajectory. Try as he might to form his anxiety into eloquent words worthy of the Almighty’s ear, they crumbled into sputtering pleas for the impossible. Once he stopped trying to be formal, however, he found that the simple outpouring of his heart proved the most productive. Finally, his jumbled thoughts slowed and the anxious words on his lips subsided.
The crunch of wheels drew his head up, and George finished his “amen” as he scrambled back to the window. There! Just beyond the garden wall, at the end of the brick walk, a fine black carriage waited.
George gripped the window seal and stared down below as the driver opened the door and helped Mrs. Smith down the step. She fluttered about, waving her hands and no doubt giving orders George couldn’t quite make out from above.
He caught the movement of people emerging from the house, and in a flash of yellow fabric knew Annabelle embraced her grandmother. Still, George’s eyes did not leave the carriage. What if she had not come?
For two weeks he had remained at Rosswood anticipating that she would come south with Mrs. Smith. Matthew, having known George’s mind, had sent word to New York ere he even made it to Rosswood requesting Mrs. Smith come at once, and that she be sure to bring Lilly along.
Movement stirred at the carriage door, and his pulse quickened. A man poked his head from the carriage and stepped down, shielding his eyes from the sun and looking up at the house. George frowned. The man removed a bowler hat and ran his hand through sandy hair, then replaced the cap and turned back toward the carriage and extended his hand.
A delicate set of fingers slipped into the man’s waiting hand, followed by the emerging of the radiant beauty George had so ached to see. She stepped out in a blue and green gown and gave a polite nod to the man as she removed her hand from his. George slumped against the window frame.
She had come. Had it been of her own will, or by insistence of her employer? George glanced back at Mrs. Smith, who chattered at Matthew. George smiled, despite the tightness in his chest. Never had he seen his brother so happy as he had been these past two weeks.
He looked back at Lilly. Would he ever have what his brother had found? Lilly turned back to the carriage as a little boy scrambled down, his cherub face alight with excitement. Unable to stay away any longer, George hurried from his room and down the stairs to the front hall.
George stepped outside into the heat of another July day, but the fire within him had nothing at all to do with the sweltering weather. He came down the steps and through the garden, watching Lilly while she had yet to notice him. She wore her hair swept back from her face, pinned in an elaborate style that left a spiral of ebony hanging down the curve of her neck.
Suddenly an excited squeal pierced the chatter of the adults and George looked down to see little Frankie running for him with outstretched hands. George dropped to one knee, and Frankie leapt into his arms.
“Orge!”
George laughed at the way the boy said his name and hefted the little one up.
“Toss!”
Unable to resist the sweet moment, George gripped the boy beneath the arms and threw him in the air. Frankie laughed and George tossed him a second time, catching the boy and then situating him against his side.
“Why, Frankie, I believe you’ve grown since last I saw you! You’re as big as a horse.”
The little boy grinned, but then his face puckered. “Long time, Orge. Where you go?”
George looked up to see everyone had turned to watch them. His gaze slid over the others and landed on Lilly. Her hand was pressed to her throat, and the tension on her face sent a pang through him.
Frankie patted his cheek with chubby hands. “Like Orge.”
George smiled and returned his gaze to the boy. “I like you as well, Frankie. I’ve missed you.”
Frankie’s cheeks dimpled and his dark curls stirred in the breeze. “Like Momma, too, Orge?”
George glanced up at Lilly and saw her eyes widen. He held her gaze. “Yes, Frankie. I like your mother a great deal.”
He placed the boy back on his feet and watched him scurry off to pluck one of Annabelle’s struggling roses and present it to Lilly. She turned away from George and focused on the boy, and the quiet that had hung over the group as they watched George and Lilly’s exchange transformed into awkwardness.
George tore his eyes away from Lilly to find Mrs. Smith watching him intently, the lines about her mouth tight. He dipped his chin to her, but she did not return the acknowledgment.
Matthew spoke up, cutting through the tension. “George! Come and meet Mr. Jenkins. He shall be the one to speak the ceremony for us.”
George had forgotten all about the man who had come with Lilly and Mrs. Smith. He stepped forward to shake the
man’s hand. “A pleasure, preacher. My brother is most eager to be wed.”
Annabelle giggled, and Matthew smiled at her. George was pleased it seemed these past two weeks had made laughter come more easily to them both.
“Pleased to meet you, sir,” the preacher said, giving George’s hand a firm pump. “Yes, I find most grooms to be of the eager sort.” A grin played about under the man’s moustache, and George found him an easy fellow to like.
“Did you come all the way from New York?”
Jenkins shook his head. “No, I came from Natchez. My father and Mr. Smith were good friends, and when Mrs. Smith requested I come, I made plans to meet her in Lorman and ride out with her.
Matthew clapped the man on the shoulder and he stumbled slightly. Matthew gripped him to keep the spindly man from falling forward. “We are most grateful, Mr. Jenkins. I’m afraid Rosswood has little left to offer by way of comforts, but you are welcome to stay for as long as you like.”
After a few more moments of necessary pleasantries and enduring the disgruntled stares of Annabelle’s grandmother, he and Matthew began to carry the trunks and baggage upstairs. Upon the third trip, George began to wonder if Mrs. Smith planned on moving into Rosswood with the amount of luggage she had brought with her. By the time he and Matthew had hefted the final trunk to the upper hall, George heard Michael’s voice down below.
George and his brother reached the bottom of the stairs to find a very stiff looking Mrs. Smith addressing an even more uncomfortable looking Mr. Ross.
Michael Ross glanced at Annabelle, who looked up at him imploringly. His eyes narrowed, but a polite smile tempered his expression. “Welcome to Rosswood, Mrs. Smith. I trust you will find your stay tolerable, as I fear we cannot offer anything up to your standards.”
Mrs. Smith regarded him evenly. “Come, Michael. Let us find common ground on our affections for Annabelle and not continue to add to animosities better left in the past.”
Michael blanched and then inclined his head. “Indeed. My niece speaks most highly of you. Let us begin anew.”
The Liberator Series Box Set: Christian Historical Civil War Novels Page 90
