Stepping away, Mary B. wiped at her tears with an embroidered handkerchief, Hilly’s. “I can’t bear to lose them. What if…”
“You won’t. They can’t.” But would they?
They called Butler a beast but the slaves looked to him like a Messiah—and the ticket to the Promised Land. Might he help her? Would God use a gruff man like the general to bring about His will?
Matthew stepped from the boat and assisted Angelina and the children down onto the pier. “We’re here to see General Butler.”
They were ushered into his presence, the soldier’s faces grim. They’d been at the dock, sending Hill and Warrington Carter back across the river. Both men shaky but unharmed.
Matthew stood, his hat clutched in his hand. “I’m grateful you released Mr. Carter and his son.”
General “Beast” Butler glanced up from his campaign desk. “How might I assist?”
Matthew pulled himself up to his full six feet. “General Butler, sir, I am the son of congressman Scott of Ohio. I was conscripted in the Confederate Army seven months ago.”
The general ceased shuffling his pile of papers. “Heard about that.”
“I’d like to respectfully request that you aid us in traveling to Ohio.”
“I know your father.” Butler glared at Matthew.
He swallowed, sensing his freedom ebbing away with the James River.
Butler sneered at him. “Hear he’s hiding in Canada now.”
Getting Angelina and the children there might be a better option than Ohio, but with Butler’s caustic tone, he might end up in the stockade.
His legs trembled and he did what actors did to reduce the annoying tremors and slacked his hip, bending his other leg, attempting to fool his body into an air of nonchalance.
“Your father’s own supporters don’t know what to do about him.”
Angelina squeezed his arm. Butler still hadn’t asked them to sit.
The union commander stood. “Makes me wonder why you’d think you could bring a Southern belle and her two rebel whelps in here and ask me to send them north with you.”
“Sir, if I may?” Angie took two steps forward. “I’m a free woman, a former slave.”
The general’s eyebrows rose. “And the children?”
“My sister’s children—slaves, now freed by President Lincoln.” Pride shone in her strong features.
The man grinned. “Yes, ma’am, you are standing on United States occupied soil.”
She clutched her reticule, inside which were funds she’d received from her gowns—not needed to free the children. “We only ask that you allow us to travel with your wounded, north, to freedom.”
He rubbed his chin. “Long haul for you.”
“I can help tend to the injured and the children can give them water and run errands.”
“And you, Mister Scott—do you wish us to carry you to the closest railroad? You could wire your mother for funds.”
Angelina patted her purse. “I’ve enough, I believe, to get us there.”
“Do you indeed, Miss…”
“Soon to be Mrs. Matthew Scott.” Angelina swiveled toward him.
She’d never said that she loved him, but she didn’t have to—the look on Angelina’s glowing face said it all.
General Butler’s eyebrows raised, then lowered. “I see. Perhaps Mrs. Scott’s abolitionist viewpoints carried some weight then.”
God had put them together. In His perfect time.
Julian and Charity grasped his hands.
Butler held out a broad hand. “Wait a minute, I’ve got someone I want to send with you.”
Angelina’s long black eyelashes fluttered against her creamy skin. Soon she would be his wife. And these children his own.
The General stood. “Private Carlton, call that trumpet player down here, would you?”
The previous summer, the forlorn strains from a bugler had echoed across from Harrison’s Landing. Matthew missed the small orchestra who accompanied his theater troupe.
“Sir?” the fresh-faced Private Carlton reddened, his eyebrows raised.
“The one from Ohio who swam out to the gunboats from the Wyatt plantation last summer.”
“Yessir.” Carlton saluted, then turned sharply and exited the room.
Julian pulled free and approached the desk.
“Julian, no!” Angelina exhaled loudly.
Butler shrugged and motioned the boy forward. “You want to ask me something, son?”
“Where’s Ohio?”
Tears pricked Angelina’s eyes. Ohio was the place she should have gone to long ago. Where she could have sent for the children. Where they could have been spared these long horrid months of war. Where… A black man entered the room, hat in hand.
“You called for me, sir?” The man’s dark eyes darted to her and the children.
“Yes.” Butler stroked his jaw. “You said you wish to return home instead of serving your country.”
Angelina felt pity for the man, who now stared at his feet, clad in too-big shoes, army-issue.
Matthew squeezed her hand. “Excuse me, General Butler, but I think I know this man. Frank, is that you?”
The stooped man straightened and his eyes caught Matthews. “Mr. Scott?” A grin split his face.
“What are you doing here?” A gleam lit Matthew’s eyes and Angelina glanced between the two men.
“Could ask you the same.” Frank closed the distance between himself and Matthew and the two men shook hands.
Butler chuckled. “Well, then, I guess it shall be no chore for Frank to accompany you home.”
Julian peered up at the General. “Does that mean Aunt Angie has to pay for him?”
Rubbing his chin, the man nodded. “Afraid so, little man.”
“Humph!” Julian crossed his arms, looking so much like an imitation of the General that she had to laugh.
Charity touched Frank’s arm. “Can you tell us about Ohio?”
“Were you a slave there, mister?” Julian’s lower lip worked in a pout.
“No, I was not—my family was always free—from the time we arrived in what is now New York, but back then it was called New Netherlands. That was a long time ago, though.”
“Then, why…”
Angelina cut Julian off despite her own interest. “That’s enough now, we’ll have our whole trip for you to pepper him with questions.”
Frank smiled. “Yes, ma’am, you got that right. It’s a long haul up there.”
Butler settled back into his chair. “Mrs. Carter or Mrs. Scott, or whatever her name is…”
“Miss Rose,” she supplied.
Matthew squeezed her hand. “Until we find a church or a courthouse where we can marry.”
Angelina pressed her hand into her pocket and felt the circle of gold, safely stitched into its own tiny fabric square inside. Mrs. Roat had gifted her with a wedding ring that could no longer slide over her arthritic fingers. Matthew would have something to place on her finger—
Soon.
The General cleared his throat. “In any event, Miss Rose here will cover your expenses on your trip to Ohio, Frank.”
His large eyes met hers and he smiled. “Thank you, Ma’am.”
Matthew laughed. “He’ll pay you back once he’s back to work with the theater.”
“You have a black man in your orchestra?” Her niece’s light eyes widened as she stared up at Matthew, her soon-to-be husband.
“Not exactly an orchestra—more like a small band. And yes, my mother insisted. My mother, the Abolitionist, married to a man she hoped would take her far from her father’s harsh ways. Instead she’d ended up with a Copperhead congressman trying to pass for white who kowtowed to her father.” His Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed. “And I pray I still have a theatrical company when I return.”
She hoped so, too. Elsewise, how would they live? God would provide. “If you don’t, you’ll at least have a seamstress.”
Matthew bent a
nd brushed his warm lips gently against her cheek. She blushed and pressed a hand to her face.
Frank laughed. “And a trumpeter.”
“We can act, can’t we, Julian?” Charity’s chin shot up.
A sergeant entered the room. “We have transport ready, sir.”
Charity held her arms up and although Angelina shook her head at the child, she too, hadn’t expected so much walking. But the soldiers who accompanied them to the train station didn’t have extra mounts nor much wagon space for her and the children, much less the men. So they’d walked some, together.
“We’ll be to the station, soon.” One that could connect to railroad lines still operational or to where they could obtain alternate transportation.
Her niece turned to Matthew. “Can you carry me, Uncle Matt?”
“He ain’t our uncle.” Julian pouted.
Oh no, was rebellion already rearing its head in the child? Angelina cringed.
But the boy peered up at Matthew with adoration. “He’s gonna be our Pa, aren’t you?”
Charity looked down from where she now perched on Matthew’s shoulder. “Sure he is, aren’t you?” She patted his cheek.
Matthew brushed a kiss against the child’s forehead and she giggled.
Frank laughed. “I can hardly wait to wrap my arms around my children again.”
What had happened to the man? “How did you end up in Virginia, Mr. Mullen?”
He blew slowly out of his mouth and she could imagine him warming up to play his trumpet. She’d make him a fine broadcloth suit and tailor it to fit him—not like the ill-fitting clothing he now wore.
“Oh, I was just minding my own business, Miss Rose. Was practicing for the music for Our American Cousin, Miss Keene’s show. I was called outside by Mr. Booth, the new fellow, and the next thing I knew someone hit me over the back of my head.” Frank rubbed absently at the back of his short kinky hair.
Julian’s eyes grew wide. “Who hit you?”
Matthew’s eyes narrowed. “Booth went out ahead of me right before I left.”
“He wasn’t there when I woke up—just two men who claimed to be bounty hunters and said I belonged to some man in Virginia. Didn’t care that I was a freed man. Laughed. Said they’d be paid regardless.”
“All the way into south Ohio?” Angelina’s voice came out a croak.
“Yes, ma’am, that was almost three long years ago, now.”
You waited. “Frank, we did our last performance that night—July 1860.” Matthew squeezed her hand so hard that she pulled free.
Ahead, she caught sight of the station.
You obeyed.
Angelina ran her hands up and down her arms to quell the prickles that danced over them. “I was contracted to sew the clothing for the production.”
Frank paused, as did Matthew and the children.
Up ahead, the grating of metal against metal announced a train slowing.
“Ma’am?” Frank perused her face hard. “You look every bit a white lady but if you had been there and those criminals got wind that you were in fact a freed woman…”
The words hung in the air. They would have taken her with them. Who knows what they would have done. She shuddered, unable to control the tremors coursing through her body.
Matthew lowered Charity to the ground and pulled Angelina into his strong embrace. She leaned into his chest, burying her face and inhaling the soothing scent of bayberry soap and his own masculine scent. He pulled away, his hazel eyes darkening as he leaned in to kiss her. She didn’t hesitate, but tipped her head back to accept his firm warm lips on her own, her heart hammering in her ears above the din of the station. Satisfaction flowed through her. He deepened the kiss and pulled her so close to him that she felt his ribcage expand when he released her, sighing. This would be her husband, her protector. But God had kept her safe, too—by warning her. By putting people around her to caution her. By speaking to her through His Word.
You are truly free.
She didn’t care how loud, smoky, smelly, or crowded her first train ride would be. It would be right on schedule—at God’s appointed time.
THE END
Editorial Notes
The Shirley Plantation facts for this story were obtained by reading the marvelous book by historian Julian Charity, “Courage at Home and Abroad: The Military History of Shirley Plantation.” This book was published in 2012 and is available for purchase from the Museum Store at Shirley. Julian was also interviewed and supplied information not fully documented in the book. The facts and tidbits of Shirley’s history during 1862-1863 that I received from Julian were invaluable and I pray they enhance the reader’s enjoyment of the story.
1) On a sad note, many of the deceased soldiers’ remains were not returned home until after the war. One method of marking the bodies was to stitch the names of the dead inside their coats. The practice of identification varied from place to place. But with my character being a seamstress, I had her embroider with something she believed would last and would contrast inside the dark lining of the jackets. I also sew and have some lovely gold metallic thread that has held up for years. Hence, I had Angelina use gold for her stitchery.
2) This is historical fiction and a romance and so some creative license was used for plot purposes. For instance, the real-life Hilly Carter did not die in the time frame portrayed, but later. He was brought home to Shirley by one of his brothers, across Union lines. Matthew and Angelina are fictional characters. They did not assist in freeing Hill Carter who was, with his physician son, held by General Benjamin Butler at a later date than in this story. Mr. and Dr. Carter were eventually returned to their home.
3) I was inspired to write this story by the wonderful tour guides at the plantation, Lee Hayes in particular. She and Julian brought to life the story of the Shirley women coming out to find Union soldiers encamped in their field. The Carter women served them in Christian charity and were subsequently afforded protection by General McClellan.
4) The Civil War Yahoo group provided me with the information about advertisements placed in newspapers whereby family members could send messages. This practice ceased, however, later in the war when it was suspected that secret coded messages were being passed in the classifieds.
5) Another great source of information about Shirley Plantation is Shirley Plantation: Home to a Family and a Business for 11 Generations (2010) by Elinor Warren.
6) Clement Vallandigham was a real life Ohio congressman who was arrested and tried by the Union army and later turned over to the Confederate army. Some facts are stranger than fiction! Matthew’s congressman father is fictitious and is “friends” with Congressman Vallandigham, a fellow Copperhead.
7) J.W. Booth might be construed as John Wilkes Booth in our story but I don’t spell that out for the reader. It was fun to imply that my fictional thespian Booth was responsible for some of the evil that happened in the story.
8) On the night the real life John Wilkes Booth was in the theater in DC, the show playing there was “Our American Cousin.” I didn’t know until after I’d chosen that as Matthew’s play that it was the actual drama showing the night Lincoln was killed.
Thank you for reading Return to Shirley Plantation: A Civil War Romance! If you enjoyed it, would you please consider posting a review?
You can connect with me online on Facebook, Pinterest, goodreads, LinkedIn, and Twitter! I also have two group blogs – Overcoming With God and Colonial Quills. My author website is www.CarrieFancettPagels.com.
Other books/stories by Carrie Fancett Pagels:
“Snowed In” published in A Cup of Christmas Cheer (Guidepost Books, October, 2013).
The Christy Lumber Camp Series: The Fruitcake Challenge (September, 2014) a Selah Award finalist, The Lumberjacks’ Ball (April, 2015) and Lilacs for Juliana (August, 2015). ALL three books were long list finalists for Family Fictions’ novel of the year.
The Substitute Bride (October, 2015), a novella set in Shepherd
Michigan and part of the O’ Little Town of Christmas collection.
The Steeplechase (Forget-Me-Not Romances, February, 2015).
Saving the Marquise’s Granddaughter (White Rose/Pelican, June 2016)
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