“See me … again?”
“Yes.” She gazed up at him. “I know I can trust you, so …”
“You have information for me?” He folded his arms.
“Yes, but perhaps not the kind you might think.” Carrie reached up with her right hand and removed the forage cap. “I’m not a boy, sir.”
The colonel’s eyes widened.
“And you were right. We have met before. I’m from Woodstock.”
“Woodstock …” He squinted as if searching his memory.
“I work at the Wayfarers Inn and operate the local newspaper in my father’s absence.”
Recognition flashed in his gaze. He snapped his fingers. “Miss Bell, the aspiring journalist.”
“Yes, sir.” He remembered her name! “And you’re the captain whose arm I stitched.”
“The very one.” Doffing his blue slouch hat with its golden cord and emblem of two crossed sabers, he bowed in a formal greeting. “My wound healed perfectly, although that ale you cleansed it with proved nearly fatal.”
Carrie recalled his moaning. He said it stung like a swarm of hornets. “As I told you that day, the inn’s owner, Mr. Veyschmidt, makes the ale himself with raw alcohol, black pepper, and gunpowder, just to name a few ingredients. But I learned his concoction fights off infection … and it works fine for polishing metal too.”
The colonel chuckled. It was one of the most pleasant sounds she’d heard in a long while. What’s more, she was pleased to hear that her doctoring was successful and happier still that he’d survived Gettysburg.
“I see you’re a colonel now.”
“That’s right. Colonel Peyton Collier, First Division Cavalry of the newly christened Army of the Shenandoah.”
“That’s quite a mouthful.”
He smiled. He hadn’t lost a bit of his charm.
“Last autumn I heard you fell at Gettysburg. I thought you were dead.”
“Gettysburg.” A peculiar emotion stole into his gaze—one of great sorrow, perhaps. He blinked and it vanished. “Not killed, obviously, but I was severely injured. I made a miraculous recovery and … here I am.”
“With a higher rank too.”
“I received a promotion after acting on the information I gleaned from your newspaper, Miss Bell. Another promotion was awarded me after Gettysburg. Then, after I helped to explode a mine beneath a Confederate fort last month near Petersburg, I was promoted to colonel.”
“Congratulations, although I read that the Yankees suffered enormous casualties in that battle.”
“We did, unfortunately, and the siege continues.”
“But I’m pleased to see you’re still one of the living.”
“Me too.” Another smile. “So let me guess …” He set his hat on his head and clasped his hands behind his back. “You’re out chasing a story for your newspaper?”
“That is incorrect, sir.” Carrie rather enjoyed refuting him. “As I said earlier, I’m chasing after my baby sister. She ran off with some loathsome peddler yesterday. My mission is to find her and bring her home.”
“Baby sister?” He frowned and his soot-stained brows met above the bridge of his nose. “Do you mean the blond girl with a low opinion of Union soldiers?”
“Yes, sir.” He had a very good memory. “I would have caught up to them by now if I’d made the jump off the bridge and onto the tree branch as I’d planned. But my foot slipped and I fell into the sycamore’s crux.”
Colonel Collier’s eyes lit up with amusement. “Now there’s a story for you.”
“Make fun all you want.” Carrie felt scraped and bruised from head to toe. “And while it’s nice to see you again, I need to set off for Culpeper. I’ve been told that’s the peddler’s destination.”
“You can’t safely get to Culpeper from here, Miss Bell. It’s at least a two-day trek and you have no gear. Besides, the way you’re dressed you’ll be killed or captured. The Confederates have, for the time being, pushed us northward.”
“But I have to find Sarah Jane and get back home.” Carrie’s chores were probably going undone and Mr. Veyschmidt would soon be apoplectic.
“Reaching Woodstock is an impossibility too, I’m afraid.”
“Why?” A sense of panic threatened.
“For the same reasons I just mentioned.”
“Colonel, I have to keep moving or I’ll never find my sister.”
His gaze narrowed and he rubbed his right palm over the left side of his whiskered jaw. “Your insistence concerns me, Miss Bell.”
“I mean no disrespect, if that’s what you’re thinking. But I am determined to stay on that peddler’s trail.”
A wag of his head. “I can’t allow it.”
“Can’t allow it?” This man had no authority over her!
The colonel brought himself up to his full height and assumed an imposing stance.
Carrie took a step back.
He caught her elbow. “Miss Bell, I’m placing you under arrest for impersonating a Union officer.”
The Soldiers’ Journal, Alexandria, VA
August 17, 1864
Official War Bulletins.
[second dispatch]
Mobile, August 8 — It is painfully humiliating to announce the shameful surrender of Fort Gaines, at half-past nine o’clock this morning, by Colonel Charles Anderson, of the Twenty-first Alabama Regiment.
CHAPTER 5
August 18, 1864
“Here she comes again, Miss Ruth.”
“Frances?”
“Who else?”
Setting aside the socks she’d been knitting for her beloved nephew Peyton, Ruth Collier glanced at Tabitha. The other woman stood at the bay window, gazing out to the street. Although a Negro, Tabitha was more like a sister to Ruth, rather than the house slave whom Pappy purchased at an auction many decades ago. They’d grown up together. Then, after Pappy died, nearly twenty years ago, Ruth freed Tabitha and her brother, Samuel. They both stayed on, Tabitha overseeing the housework and cooking, and Samuel tending the livestock—until Rebels took every pig, cow, horse, and chicken.
And then, horror of horrors, those despicable men hanged Samuel before burning the outbuildings, leaving only the fieldstones as reminders of that terrifying night.
Ruth still thanked God to this day that she’d possessed the wisdom and foresight to hide Tabitha in Pappy’s secret cellar below the house. Tabitha survived. Now Ruth was grateful to have her trusted friend here in Winchester, Virginia, in their golden years, especially since they were both unmarried women and abolitionists. They couldn’t help but be fast allies in this war. However, their support of the Union cause often created conflict with their Confederate neighbors, although Winchester had its loyalists too, including a population of Quakers. Still, every now and again neighbors were wont to put Tabitha “in her rightful place.”
Their next-door neighbor and old family “friend” Frances Monteague was one of those folks. She and her daughter, Lavinia, were the bane of their existence. But they needed to keep a close eye on their enemy—for their own protection, as well as for Peyton’s. Oftentimes Ruth and Tabitha passed information learned from Frances on to the Union army. General Philip Sheridan, Peyton’s commanding officer now, was most appreciative.
“You want I should let her in, Miss Ruth?”
“Oh, I suppose so.” She sighed audibly. “It is nearing teatime.”
“Of course it is. But since most of her slaves done ran off, Miss Frances wants someone serving her, especially this time o’ day. And you can bet she’ll be braggin’ on those wicked children of hers.”
“A safe bet to be sure.” Those Monteagues were wicked indeed. Ruth and Tabitha both suspected that Frances’s sons participated in murdering Samuel. Edward was away, fighting for the Confederacy, while Anthony ran the family business, Monteague Shipping. God only knew what he was doing—but it most likely concerned smuggling slaves into the Confederacy.
Even so, Ruth had vowed to look after France
s … besides, they had much to lose by refusing Frances’s visit today.
“Mm-mm. I know what you’re thinking. You’re thinking that if we turn away Miss Frances, she’ll tell that no-good son of hers that we were less than cordial, and then he and his ill-mannered Rebel troops will take over our home again.”
That’s exactly what Ruth had been thinking. “One can never guess what might happen when it comes to the Monteagues.”
“Ain’t that the truth! And if you ask me, Miss Frances is one of God’s strangest creatures.” Tabitha grumbled as she limped to the front door. Her gout was obviously acting up again. Ruth would have to insist Tabitha rest after Frances left. “But I’ll let her in anyhow.”
Ruth arranged the skirt of her favorite brown and ivory lace day gown, noting the worn and faded spots in the fabric. She glanced around the bare parlor. Judging from its meager furnishings, one would never guess that the Colliers were one of Winchester’s more prominent families. At least they were before this poor town became the armpit of the lower Shenandoah Valley. But Winchester would arise from the ashes—
And so would the Collier family. Of course it would help if Peyton married so he could inherit his trust that sat in a bank in Washington. The young lady would have to be just the right one—a believer in Christ, a loyalist and abolitionist, mannerly, and well-read. Other than those qualifications, Ruth wasn’t particular. What mattered most was that Peyton’s future wife loved him for more than his inheritance.
But for now Ruth and Tabitha lived like paupers in a house that had seen better days. Frances, a Confederate supporter, enjoyed reminding them of the fact.
Ruth shook off her gloomy thoughts as her neighbor entered the room. As usual, Frances walked with her chin held high, looking as proud as a peacock.
“A good afternoon to you, Ruth.”
“Frances.” Ruth inclined her head. “Do come in and make yourself at home. Tabitha is about to serve tea.”
“Thank you.”
She seated herself in one of the three armchairs whose upholstery required attention. But at least Ruth had rescued them from the Rebels who had burned some of her other furniture—items that had not been hidden away in the secret cellar.
Tabitha lifted the mahogany tilt-top occasional table and carried it across the room, placing it in front of the settee.
“Another torrid day in Winchester.” Frances’s gloved hands opened her fan, and she waved it in front of her slender neck and long face.
“Mm, yes, hot and sticky.”
“It grows worse every year, I believe.”
“No, we just grow older.” Ruth smiled.
A little frown worked its way across Frances’s wrinkled brow. “Speak for yourself.”
“I always do.”
With a huff, the other woman collapsed her fan and held it in her lap. “I apologize for not sending a calling card earlier.” Her thin lips curled at the edges in an attempt at a smile. “But what’s a casual visit between two old friends?”
“You’re always welcome to call, Frances.” After all, they’d once been the dearest of friends … that is, until Frances stole Harmon Monteague, the love of Ruth’s life.
Tabitha entered the parlor with the silver tea service and poured out. She politely served their guest first.
Ruth collected a teacup and saucer for herself. She glanced into the dark face of her friend. “You’re welcome to join us for tea, Tabitha.”
“I’d rather get burned at the stake,” she muttered.
“Be careful what you wish for.” Frances arched a brow.
Ruth’s heart beat faster. No. Not Tabitha! She glanced at her faithful friend and found the expression on her narrow face to be as confident as always.
“I’ll be back with the biscuits.”
Tabitha left the room, stepping gingerly on her left foot. Although a free woman of color, Tabitha chose to stay with Ruth as a companion, housekeeper, and cook. Tabitha especially enjoyed bossing the other servants—that is, when Ruth could afford to hire them. Unfortunately, the last of her dwindling funds sat in a bank in Washington along with Peyton’s inheritance. The money was untouchable for now. If Ruth dared make one last transfer, the Confederates would confiscate her money.
She clenched her jaw. Such hypocrites! The Rebel army preferred using Federal currency because theirs was useless. General Ramseur had been quoted as saying that he and his staff could get almost everything they needed for their dining pleasure with Yankee money. But Ruth had no intention of contributing to the secessionists’ cause.
“Why do you put up with that insolent slave when you could buy another who would serve you in all humility? Or you could hire a lady’s maid and housekeeper from England. Anthony could make the transaction for you. He’ll be traveling to London soon, and I’ve told him to bring back hired help for me.”
“How exciting for Anthony,” Ruth said, referring to Frances’s eldest son. She felt a bit sorry for the future hired help. “Thank you. But I’m happy with the way things are. As you’re aware, I consider Tabitha a part of my family.”
“You’d do better to get over that notion. She’s a Negro slave.”
“She’s a freed woman of color.” Ruth sipped the weak tea from the chipped blue and white cup. “You and I have debated this issue for years. You know where I stand.”
“No wonder your neighbors and the whole Army of the Valley despises the Collier family.”
Such nonsense, but Ruth didn’t argue. Instead she imagined what her neighbor might think if she discovered Ruth occasionally passed information to spies and officers of the Union army. Frances would likely lead the way to Ruth’s hanging, but freedom for the slaves was a cause worth dying for.
Frances continued. “I will never understand why you don’t move north like the other Yankee supporters.”
“This is my home. My grandfather built it in 1781 and I’ll not abandon it.”
Frances waved a gloved hand in the air. She had, of course, heard the origins of Piccadilly Place many times before. “You’re a stubborn woman, Ruth Collier. You could be living in the lap of luxury.”
Luxury. That’s all Frances cared about—and the reason she stole Harm away, knowing full well that Ruth loved him. The Monteague fortune was all too tempting.
A pity that Frances and Lavinia squandered half of it and invested the other half in the Confederacy.
“In time, Piccadilly Place will return to its former acclaim and so will the Colliers. Watch and see. Winchester has changed its flag from Confederate to Federal and back again more than seventy times over the course of the last three years.” Ruth took another sip of tea. “It won’t be long before the United States flag flies here again.”
“Fiddlesticks. That new commander, General Sheridan, is timid. That’s, of course, according to Edward.” Frances’s voice sang with a note of pride at the mention of her younger son. “He told me that the new Union commander merely engages in a few skirmishes here and there, but never an attack. Sheridan is no match for General Jubal Early and General Robert E. Lee, and he knows it.”
“War is coming to Winchester again, Frances. General Early’s army will be defeated.” Ruth could feel it coming in the thick air she breathed.
“I hope not.” Frances set aside her cup and saucer. “But as long as we’re speaking of Yankees, have you heard from that no-good nephew of yours?”
“Peyton? Certainly not. I’m sure he’s far too busy with the Union cavalry to correspond with his spinster auntie.” Ruth grinned at her own sarcasm.
“Well, that’s gratitude for you.” Frances’s brows pinched together. “After all you did for that boy, taking him in when your brother and his wife died, and then seeing his way into West Point, not to mention enduring his rebellious ways for years.”
“I’m aware of my family’s history, Frances dear.” Every nerve in Ruth’s body tensed, although what her neighbor stated was true. Still, Ruth had always seen a redemptive quality in Peyton.
“And then you nursed that scoundrel back to health last year,” Frances continued, “after he was so dreadfully wounded at Gettysburg.” She released a dramatic sigh. “I honestly believed you’d wind up with an invalid on your hands.”
“It was a miracle, indeed. Although I would have happily cared for my nephew if God hadn’t seen fit to heal him. But thankfully he recovered in our Washington townhouse.” Ruth arched a brow.
Frances drew back slightly. “I truly don’t know why you don’t move to the Union capitol. It would be more convenient for you there.” She clucked her tongue. “Besides, Lavinia has attended several parties in Washington and says it is quite lovely for a northern city. In fact, she was there while Peyton recovered, and she would have visited him, honest, Ruth. However, she’s like I am when it comes to nursing. We can’t abide sickness, blood, or broken bones.”
“Yes, I’m aware.”
Harmon came to mind and Ruth shuddered. How the man had suffered so in his last days. When Frances couldn’t bear the sight of him withering away, Ruth acted as his nurse. Together they recalled fine days—days when Harmon Monteague was a strapping young man.
Days when Ruth loved him so …
“Frances, do you remember how dashing Harm looked on that Sunday afternoon at the church picnic?”
“Which one?”
“If my arithmetic is correct, it was the picnic thirty-seven years ago.”
“Good heavens! How should I remember that long ago?” Frances’s eyes glazed over. “But my husband always looked dashing.”
“Indeed.”
Despite her neighbor’s poor memory, Ruth would never forget that particular church picnic. That was the day she’d fallen in love with Harmon Monteague. Frances knew it, and knew Harm was wealthy. Before Ruth could turn around, Frances and Harm were engaged. They married within a few short weeks, and Frances never failed to remind Ruth of the triumph. Then, adding insult to injury, shortly after their wedding Frances and Harm moved into the Monteague family home next door.
“Thank God you were there to help me care for Harm in his final days.” Sincerity pooled in Frances’s rheumy, dark eyes. “What would I have done without you?”
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