The Quaker and the Rebel

by Mary Ellis

  “I know who she is,” Alexander snapped, his patience wearing thin. “What I don’t understand is why you’re asking about her.”

  “Well, Miss Amite has agreed to be my wife.”

  Alexander stared at him, trying to tamp down his temper. “You’re not making a lick of sense, man. I’m happy Lila agreed to marry you, but what does this have to do with Miss Harrison?”

  “I should have told you a long time ago, sir. I’m ashamed I didn’t.” William yanked his felt hat from his head.

  Rapidly losing control, Alexander grabbed his friend by the lapels of his coat. “Out with it, all of it. What do you know about Miss Harrison that I don’t?”

  “I know what she was doing the day you went to Middleburg. It was the same thing she was doing in Berryville and a good while before that. She was helping slaves find the way to Freedom Road. And you need to know Lila has helped her ever since they came from that island in the Ohio River.”

  Alexander released his grip on William’s coat, as the puzzle pieces clicked together in his mind. “Whose slaves—my father’s?”

  “A couple were yours, but mainly they were runaways from the Carolinas and Georgia.” William looked as if he would rather crawl into a hole than admit his part in the deception. Alexander had trusted him without reservation.

  Suddenly, the barn doors swung wide, breaking the uncomfortable standoff between friends. Dr. Bennington rode inside on a lathered mount. “Oh, thank goodness, nephew. You’re alive and well. It’s been so long. Your parents didn’t know where you had gone after leaving Harriett’s house.”

  Alexander grabbed the bridle to steady Porter’s horse. “Sorry I didn’t wait until you got home, Uncle Porter, but I had to see about the ridiculous charges against Emily.”

  Dr. Bennington reached for his hand as he dismounted, his troubled expression deepening. “Then it’s true. She’s been arrested. Tell me what I can do to help.”

  “The War Department is in chaos with Petersburg under siege. I’m on my way down there now. The best thing you can do is pray.”

  SPRING 1864

  When Emily awoke at dawn in the damp clamminess of her cell, her nose started to run, her scalp itched, and she sorely needed a bath. The previous evening’s meal had consisted of cold rancid bacon that turned her stomach and a shriveled apple. When she unwittingly wrinkled her nose at the meat’s putrid smell, the matron had chastised her.

  “The fare is not to your liking, miss? Perhaps you can tell your friend Ulysses S. Grant to lift the blockade of the port so we can all get something decent to eat.” The woman set the plate down with a clatter and scowled as she left the cell.

  “Sorry, I’ve never met the gentleman.” Emily replied to the closed door. Today the matron delivered mealy corn bread and weak tea. But at least she returned a short time later with a basin of warm water, a sliver of soap, and a threadbare towel. She also brought something fresh for Emily to wear. Falling in a straight line from her shoulders to ankles, the garment looked as though it was fashioned from feed sacks. Another woman could have fit between the side seams with her, but at least the dress was clean and free of vermin. Months of confinement had whittled her far from ample figure to mere skin and bones.

  Her mood initially improved after her sponge bath until she heard the cacophony in the prison yard. Standing on a chair to reach the dirty window, she watched three men sawing and hammering industriously. In the light drizzle, they lifted beam after beam of fresh pine timbers into place. Although their project was far from complete, Emily realized they were constructing a gallows. Is it for me? Or do they have another incarcerated spy responsible for the exposure of the Confederate’s greatest asset besides the loss of many ranger lives?

  The enormity of her actions sank in with each blow of the hammer. Stepping down from the chair, Emily buried her face in her hands and cried for the first time since her arrest. She sobbed not for her dismal future, but for the way she treated people who had trusted and loved her. How Dr. and Mrs. Bennington must despise her. Armed with her Quaker ideals, she had moved to Virginia with the intent to dupe and defraud. Her motivations may have been noble, but these Southerners considered her a garden-variety thief and their enemy.

  And what about Alexander? The torrent of lies she told ran through her mind like a fast-moving river. She should never have let herself fall in love. Perhaps it was good she would hang for her crimes because then she would never see the hatred and revulsion in his eyes. She should have told him the truth long ago—about her abolitionist work and the fact that she loved him. Now it was too late. All the love in the world heaped onto a platter wouldn’t convince him her heart was true. Alexander would be her only regret on her way to the gallows. And she had no one to blame but herself.

  Emily had little time to pine over past mistakes. Minutes after the matron carried away the basin and wet towel soldiers arrived at her cell door. They bound her wrists with a cord and led her through the prison warehouse like a lamb ready for slaughter. A few prisoners jeered, a few whispered words of encouragement, and one elderly man bowed his head and wept. The matron wrapped a thin shawl around her shoulders as they stepped outdoors into a biting wind. A burly soldier pushed her up the steps into a carriage.

  “Where am I going?” she asked the matron timidly, peering around the shabby interior. A private joined them inside the dark conveyance. He stared out the window as though even one glance from her treacherous eyes could trap him spellbound.

  “To your trial before a military tribunal.” The woman dabbed her nose with a sodden handkerchief. “Take a gander at the lovely city of Richmond. It may be the last time you lay eyes on it.”

  Emily complied dutifully as they rolled past deplorably crowded streets and alleyways. Refugees seemed to have encamped in every doorway or bridge underpass. The sight of so many dirty, sunken faces broke Emily’s heart, even though her current situation was no less grim. Icy needles of wind blew through cracks in the carriage, causing her teeth to chatter.

  “What’s the matter, dearie? You cold?” The woman’s question held not a hint of kindness. “Had I known, I could have ordered you something warm from Par-ree, France.” She cackled with amusement as the guard shifted uncomfortably on the seat.

  Briefly considering the matron’s bulbous red nose, the cracked skin of her hands, and a dress colorless from too many launderings, Emily couldn’t summon an ounce of animosity. What she thought about instead during the bumpy ride was her home in Marietta. Why had she ever left? She could have slept on the church steps until someone took her in. She could have continued her work in Ohio, never venturing into a strange land of lilting voices and polite behavior that often belied cruel natures. But she had come south and sealed her fate.

  They stopped so abruptly in front of an imposing building that Emily slid from the seat onto the floor. In one smooth motion, the guard pulled her upright as though no heavier than a knapsack and then motioned the matron out the door first.

  “You need to use the privy ’fore we go inside?” he asked, red-faced, once the matron left the carriage.

  Emily blanched at such an impertinent question from a complete stranger. “No, thank you.”

  Holding on to the rope binding her hands, the guard stepped down to the muddy street below. With stiff legs and flagging courage, Emily followed them up steep stone steps and into a smoky corridor where people gaped at her clothes. I assure you, ladies and gentlemen, feed-sack dresses are quite the rage this season on the Continent. From fatigue and anxiety, Emily’s mind wandered from ridiculous asides to a summer day on a riverbank at Hunt Farms. It was the first time Alexander had kissed her. Nothing in life had tasted so sweet…and nothing ever would again.

  When they reached the end of the hallway, the guard and matron halted before carved double doors and knocked. Emily gaped at her almost unrecognizable reflection in a gilded mirror on the wall. Her cheekbones protruded from nearly transparent skin, her arms hung from the coarse sack like mer
e sticks, and her hair was in a tangle down her back. The waif in the reflection was a shadow of the woman who had come to Virginia, full of life and full of vinegar, as her grandmother would say. When the courtroom doors swung open, Emily’s fear and apprehension vanished. Let’s just get this over.

  She felt the weight of dozens of pairs of eyes on her back as the matron prodded her up to a rail at the front of the room, beyond which five cigar-smoking, bleak-faced men sat at a long table. Each regarded her as though she were a worm that had crawled from a half-eaten apple. “Emily Harrison, I am the judge advocate who will hear your case,” said the tallest of the men. “I will then make recommendation to the military tribunal you see on my left and right. You have been charged with treason against the Confederate States of America.”

  Emily straightened her back, but she couldn’t look at the imposing judge.

  “How do you plead?”

  She opened her mouth to speak but not a sound issued forth.

  “How do you plead to this capital offense?” He thundered loud enough to be heard on the street.

  “Not guilty,” she said, after moistening her lips with her tongue.

  “Very well, be seated.” The judge pointed at a small table complete with an armed soldier. “We shall begin with signed testimony sent to the tribunal.”

  On her way to the table, she glanced around at her accusers, but instead found the weary faces of Dr. and Mrs. Bennington. Augusta’s eyes were round as saucers, while Porter looked as if he hadn’t slept in days. Mr. and Mrs. Hunt sat behind them in the second row. Mrs. Hunt lifted one gloved hand in a wave as though she’d spotted Emily across the room at a ball.

  Instead of on my way to the gallows. Emily returned her smile. Then her focus fell on Alexander. He was studying a sheaf of documents in his lap, expressionless. Dressed in an expensive frock coat, starched shirt, and fashionable cravat, he looked every bit the son of a wealthy planter, not the legendary Gray Wraith. The sharp rap of a gavel jarred her attention back to the bench.

  “Miss Harrison, serious charges have been brought against you, but apparently you are not without friends in the Confederacy.” Dressed in a general’s uniform, the judge advocate glared down his nose at her.

  Her stomach took another tumble and her knees weakened, but she didn’t dare sit down. She supported her weight with one hand on the table.

  “Dr. Porter Bennington has submitted a signed deposition, testifying on your behalf. His wife, Mrs. Augusta Bennington, also submitted a second affidavit. You seem to have made quite an impact during your employment. I hope these good people don’t regret extending Christian mercy to someone so cunning and devious.” There was no mistaking the judge’s opinion of her. “Colonel Alexander Hunt has also provided sworn testimony regarding your activities in Virginia, young lady. The colonel testified you were a conductor on the so-called Underground Railroad while in Ohio and continued your work here.” His lips pulled into a tight frown. “He swears under oath you limited your crimes to leading slave women and children across the Potomac River, mandated by your religious upbringing and your Quaker heritage.”

  Emily gasped, not daring to turn around to look at him. How did he know? Had Lila betrayed her, or was she simply not as clever as she thought? And what did it matter now?

  “Colonel Hunt has refuted Captain Nathan Smith’s allegations, insisting that you committed no treasonous acts of espionage. He added he would stake his life on that fact.” Pausing, the judge glanced left and right to the tribunal. They murmured amongst themselves with great agitation.

  “I am not a spy, your honor, nor have I ever been one.” Emily spoke with every bit of courage she could muster.

  “I must stress that we do not treat the matter of aiding and abetting runaway slaves lightly here.” Every man on the tribunal looked at her with ill-concealed disdain. “No matter what your personal opinions, religious or otherwise, slaves are considered property in this state and your actions amounted to thievery, plain and simple. It is no different than if someone came to your father’s farm and stole his team of horses or a wagon.”

  Emily felt her spine stiffen. “Sir, one cannot compare a human being to a wagon or—”

  The judge interrupted, giving her no opportunity for a platform. “However, Miss Harrison, in light of the fact Colonel Hunt tracked down and paid several owners for their loss and pledges to seek out the rest, we won’t recommend prosecution by Virginia courts for abetting fugitive slaves. This is a military tribunal. Our concerns are crimes against the Confederacy.”

  Emily lifted her chin to meet the judge’s gaze. “You are not going to hang me?”

  “Not today, Miss Harrison, but I’m also not inclined to release you, either. This will serve as an example for others who might contemplate using our homes for the purpose of thievery.”

  At that Dr. Bennington rose. “Sir, if I may address the tribunal. It was I who brought Miss Harrison from Marietta, knowing her people were Quaker abolitionists. I am the one who sent her on errands for medical supplies and took no exception as to how long those errands took. It wasn’t difficult to deduce what Miss Harrison was up to. As a former Quaker, my wife asked me to turn a blind eye. I take full responsibility for her behavior in Virginia. If you release Miss Harrison to my care, I will see she causes no further harm.”

  The judge banged his gavel on the desk, trying to restore order to a rambunctious gallery. “I’m sorry, Dr. Bennington, but I intend to keep Miss Harrison at Castle Thunder for an indefinite period until additional evidence can be collected. I am not convinced she had no involvement during the Middleburg ambush. Besides exposing and thwarting the work of the Gray Wraith, many good soldiers lost their lives.” He nodded deferentially at the colonel, causing another stir.

  When the courtroom grew silent, Alexander rose to his feet. “Sir, if I may address the tribunal.”

  Every pair of eyes turned in his direction. More than one female gawked at the larger-than-life man whose exploits had been well chronicled in the newspapers. Now they had a handsome face to put with the lore. Several young ladies fluttered their fans, trying to attract his attention.

  The judge nodded. “In appreciation for your service, Colonel Hunt, I will allow it. But I won’t allow these proceedings to turn into a public circus.”

  Alexander bowed deeply. “Thank you, sir. Although I appreciate his offer, it’s not necessary for Dr. Bennington to vouch for the future behavior of Miss Harrison.” He nodded in his uncle’s direction.

  “I take full responsibility for her actions—past, present, and future. I am bound to duty by Christian sacrament.” He aimed a withering glare at Emily for the first time that afternoon. “After all,” he continued, “she is my wife.”

  TWENTY

  SPRING 1865

  Hunt Farms, Front Royal, Virginia

  Stop wiggling, Lila. I must weave these flowers through your hair before the stems wilt.” Emily thumped her friend on the shoulder.

  “I can’t seem to sit still.”

  “What are you fretting about? Are you afraid William will discover your uncooperativeness or how disagreeable you are in the morning, and refuse to marry you?”

  “No, he already knows and is willing to marry me anyway.”

  “A brave man, that William, marching off to his fate with a stout heart.” Emily inserted one last flower as a knock drew their attention. “Stay where you are.” Emily pressed Lila back into the chair before answering the door.

  “Matilde sent this up for Lila, miss.” The laundress held out a dress as she offered a curtsey.

  “Thank you.” Accepting the dress, Emily held it up to admire. She turned to her friend. “You will make a lovely bride, Lila.”

  “As will you, Emily.”

  “As will I? Pigs will fly before I find a man stupid enough to marry me.”

  “Stranger things than that have already happened. Now you go take your bath while I put this on. I’ve already filled the tub.” Lila hugged her
shyly and disappeared behind the screen with the dress.

  Emily felt a blush climb all the way to her hairline as she headed into the bathing chamber. She’d never had a truer friend, nor been filled with as much joy as today. The last six months since her release from Castle Thunder had felt like a fairy tale. After she’d resigned herself to remaining incarcerated until the end of the war, Dr. Bennington arrived one dreary October morning to bring her home. He’d continued to champion her case as though she were a member of his family. Emily would be forever grateful to him and to Mrs. Bennington.

  But it was Alexander who produced Charles Mimms, a disgruntled former ranger, along with receipts and signed statements from those who had lost slaves due to her handiwork. She would never know why Mimms testified he had been the one in collusion with the Union Army. The colonel’s powers of persuasion must have been as uncanny as his ability to evade the Yankees all those years.

  According to Mrs. Bennington, Emily had fainted upon Alexander’s announcement that she was his wife. That had been a blessing. Otherwise she might have undermined his plan to save her from the gallows. Once again she had underestimated the persuasive power of the Gray Wraith. The military tribunal had been shocked by his admission, yet no one would question the word of the South’s most celebrated hero. Why would anyone claim to be her husband unless it were true? According to Mrs. Bennington, the judge had stared at Emily as she lay prostrate on the floor and replied, “In that case you have my sympathy for your misfortune, sir.”

  Alexander had bowed deeply and had replied, “We all have our crosses to bear. I pledge she will cause no further trouble.”

  But the judge had still refused to release Emily into Alexander’s custody, despite his testimony and signed affidavits. Emily was carried from the courtroom unconscious as the gallery erupted with shouting. She regained her senses in the carriage next to the unpleasant-faced matron.