She pulled on her shawl, held the warm bowl in both hands, and set out into the piercing wind. She found Grandfather at his usual spot at the dining table, sitting in the one chair the Federals had allowed them to keep. They’d agreed not to burn Rosswood since Annabelle had allowed them to run a hospital here, but they had still relieved the house of most of their belongings and nearly all of the furniture. After they left, she’d let the Confederates use it as a hospital as well. She still wasn’t certain they wouldn’t have made off with her things as well, had there been anything of value left.
She stepped through the door, keeping her eyes lowered, and placed the bowl in front of Grandfather. She’d taken two steps backward when the increased rasp in his voice caught her off guard. He was getting much worse, and very quickly. His rapidly declining health seemed to make his moods even worse.
“Come, dear. Stay a moment, and we shall talk.”
She kept herself from lifting an eyebrow. A term of endearment? He’d nearly given up on that pretense when he’d taken over the plantation.
“Yes, sir.”
She stepped back to the table, keeping her gaze focused on the smooth, polished wood her father had brought from Natchez. The familiar ache flared in her chest. If only he had survived, then perhaps things would not be as bleak. She would have had more time….
“I have good news for you, girl.”
Annabelle inclined her head. “Truly, Grandfather? What news?”
A smile spread slowly across his face, revealing a full set of yellowed teeth. “I have decided it is time you wed.”
Her heart pounded. Heaven help her, but she’d begun to hope that Grandfather would pass on and she would be able to run Rosswood in peace until… her thoughts tumbled to a halt and she frowned. Why would he be eager to find her a husband? It was her father’s will to give Rosswood to her upon her marriage. Until then, it was under Grandfather’s control. Why would he now be looking to give that up? He’d chomped at the bit to be plantation master since he’d first set foot on their soil.
“That is not the look of excitement I’d expect from a plain girl without options. I would think you would be quite pleased I was able to secure you a suitable match.”
Annabelle squared her shoulders. “But, Grandfather, surely now is not the time for you to have to worry with wedding preparations.”
He narrowed his eyes, and that cold stare that often made her shrink away threatened to do so now. But she could not cower. This matter was of too grave importance. She did not need to be shackled to a man. Father had promised her she would be able to marry for love.
“You think I don’t know what’s going on in that vapid little head of yours? Foolish girl, I know what you are scheming.”
She swallowed hard. “I am not sure what you are implying, Grandfather.”
“You are just waiting on me to die.”
She gasped. “Grandfather! Why would you say such a thing? Have I not taken good care of you…?” She trailed off, realizing her mistake too late.
He slammed his fist on the table, rattling his breakfast and causing her to jump. “You have taken care of me? Who came to this place and saved you from the Yanks?”
She lowered her eyes. “You did, Grandfather.”
A fit of coughing overcame him, and he leaned back in his chair, trying to catch his breath. Annabelle remained where she stood, knowing any attempt to console him would only end in another tongue-lashing. Three weeks now he’d been having these fits, and this one was by far the worst she’d seen.
When the fit finally subsided, she filled a glass from the pitcher of tepid water on the sideboard and set it in front of him without a word. When he drained it, he set the empty glass down with a thud. “Now. I know you think this place belongs to you, but I tell you it does not. Women do not own property.”
Annabelle wrung her hands. She had to speak up this time. “But Grandfather, my father left a will. Rosswood was to go to me upon his death. According to his wishes, I already am the owner,” she said softly.
“No,” he hissed. “It is under my trust until you are wed, then it goes to your husband. That is what the will states. It doesn’t belong to you.”
“Well, actually, the court said it was under Uncle Michael’s trust—”
He slammed his fist down again, and she jumped, her words dying on her tongue. “And since he is away with the army, it falls to the next living male relative. Which is me. Lands, child, you are a dense one. We have been over this!”
Grandfather fell quiet. There would be no point arguing about this again. Father had said he couldn’t leave it to her for fear the courts wouldn’t allow it. But his intention had been clear. The plantation was hers. She could choose a husband, and they would run Rosswood together. That had even been the plan before the war. When Annabelle wed, she would be given Rosswood, and Father would take up residence in the town home in Natchez. He had even lined up a couple of young men he’d thought would be both favorable to her and be suited to help her run the plantation. But now he was gone, and she was left to the whims of any male relative who could cast his authority over her.
The nervous flutter in Annabelle’s heart continued to grow until it blossomed into a seething anger. She finally risked a glance up at him—the one she called Grandfather, though they shared no blood.
He sat there studying her, stroking his thinning beard. “I left my home and came here so this place wouldn’t be taken. I have held this land for you, made sure you were not soiled and your home burned. And still, all I get from you is a look of contempt?”
Annabelle distrusted the compassion lacing his words, despite how much she yearned for his favor. “I do thank you for that, Grandfather.”
He nodded. “If I had not been here, you would have lost this land to the Yanks and likely your virtue as well. What would have become of you then?”
“I do not know.”
“This is why women are unfit for anything other than child-rearing. That is where you belong. Trust me, my dear. It is what makes a woman fulfilled. A lady is not meant to deal with the business of plantations.” His words were gentler than any she had heard from him in nearly a year. Still, they made her bristle.
“If there is any business left to handle,” Annabelle said under her breath, despite her determination not to antagonize him further. He heard her anyway. His eyes might be failing, but his hearing was still sharp. When would she remember to hold her tongue?
The muscles in his jaw worked, but he plastered a honeyed smile back on his face. “You will need a suitable man to rebuild this plantation and restore it to what your father intended, and I fear I will not be able to do that for you much longer. You would want your father’s legacy to remain strong, now, wouldn’t you?”
She purposely kept her features smooth. “Yes, Grandfather.”
“Of course you would. Therefore, I have decided you will marry my son upon his return.”
Annabelle blinked repeatedly. Surely, she had misheard him. “You… want me to marry my uncle?” Who is nearly twice my age and is as handsome as an old goat? She mentally added.
Grandfather frowned. “Do not sound so disgusted. He is smart as a whip and will do well with his own plantation. Besides, he is only your uncle by marriage. It is not as if you share blood. Yes, you see, this is the best choice. I will not have to fear leaving you on your own, should I not recover from this lung sickness.”
Annabelle stared at him, her mouth too dry to speak. Andrew. Her stepmother’s brother, whom she had met only once and immediately disliked. Grandfather intended to marry her off to his son in order to secure the cur a sizable plantation. Annabelle’s father’s second wife had come from a poor family, though Father hadn’t cared when he’d married her. Sarah’s father, however, had always had gold in his eyes. She chided herself. Why hadn’t she seen this coming? Of course this would be why Andrew was on his way. Grandfather had been trying for it since Father had passed six months ago.
&nbs
p; She bristled. “You do not need to worry about me, Grandfather. I shall marry for love, just as my mother did. I will find a good man to help me care for my Father’s land, as were his intentions. There is no need for you to secure a marriage for me.”
His hand found her cheek before she could react. The smack sent her head sideways and she instinctively reached up to cover the throbbing. She stared at him with wide eyes. How had he moved so fast?
Grandfather sank back down in his chair. “Now, why did you have to go and make me do that? You know I do not like striking you.”
Annabelle could only stare at him. It had been months since the last time. She knew better than to provoke him.
“Why must you be so disrespectful? After all I have done for you.” He shook his head. Another fit of coughing took hold, and Annabelle could not look on him with pity, nor did she fetch him another glass of water.
He wiped the moisture from his eyes and leveled his stare on her, the defiance not unnoticed. “Do not be a fool, child. You will marry Andrew when he arrives later this week.”
Annabelle gasped. “This week? How is that possible? Shouldn’t he be with the army?”
“They have agreed to allow him a short leave while his regiment is near enough to Rosswood so that he might have the opportunity to secure his family line.”
Annabelle swallowed down the bile rising in her throat. “What regiment is that, Grandfather?”
“Why do you wish to know?” He frowned, suspicion lighting his eyes.
“A wife is to pray over her husband’s safety, is she not? I would pray for his regiment.”
He paused so long she thought he might not answer. Finally, he drummed his fingers on the table and then pointed at her. “His is in company K. That is all you need know.”
She nodded. “And my other uncle? Perhaps I should add him to my prayers as well.” Her heart hammered. She must keep her face passive so he could not know what she intended.
Grandfather smirked, her attempt at beguile proven futile. “Michael’s been joined up with the Northern Virginian. He’ll be of no use to you.”
She pressed her lips together. At least he’d given her something. Not that it really mattered. She’d sent two letters to Uncle Michael after father’s death, and neither had been answered. What good would sending a third do? Even if he got it, by the time he did, Andrew would already be here.
“You will marry Andrew, and Lord willing, he will secure a babe within you by week’s end,” Grandfather said, breaking into her thoughts again. He smiled. “And I will be able to die knowing I have secured the future of this plantation. Now be gone with you.” He waved his hand at her and looked down at his bowl.
Annabelle dashed from the room and found her way back out to the kitchen despite the tears blurring her vision. She burst through the door with a heaving chest, causing Peggy to yelp and drop her spoon.
“Miss Belle! What done happened?” She rushed over and wrapped Annabelle in a hug, squeezing her tight. Annabelle dissolved into tears while Peggy stroked her back, the familiar comfort bringing her only a small measure of peace. When Momma had died, Peggy had become the mother she’d needed. Father had thought a new wife would give Annabelle a proper raising, and though Sarah had tried to be her friend and was a good woman, all these years it had always been Peggy she’d clung to. The relationship was yet another thing Grandfather hated about her.
“Oh, Peggy. What am I going to do?” She sank down onto a scarred ladder-back chair and put her head in her hands.
Peggy patted her shoulder. “You’s gonna have to tell me what’s done got you in a fluster. Your grandfather done chided you ’bout the food again? I’s gonna march right in there myself and tell him he ain’t gettin’ no honey and biscuits ’cause I ain’t got none! He should be glad he gets somethin’ in that greedy belly at all.”
Annabelle looked up at her with disbelief. Peggy huffed. “I will. You just watch me….” Her eyes widened. “Did he hit you?”
Annabelle said nothing.
Peggy spun on her heel and headed to the door.
“He’s going to make me marry my uncle,” Annabelle said, choking on the last word and freezing Peggy in her tracks. She turned slowly and regarded Annabelle incredulously.
“That there is incest, and ain’t somethin’ to ask of no Christian.”
“He is my uncle only by marriage, not blood.”
Peggy crouched down beside her where Annabelle had collapsed in the chair. “Oh, baby girl. I’s so sorry. I don’t know what we gonna do, but don’t you worry, we’s gonna think of somethin’.”
Annabelle put a hand to her heart and nodded. She would find a way. Whatever it took, she would not be used as a pawn in Grandfather’s greed.
“The North by superior strength may subdue for a time, but they will never conquer the descendants of the Cavaliers.”
The ground underneath him swayed and jostled, and Matthew wondered if he’d spent too long at a card table letting a serving girl talk him into too much whisky. He groaned and tried to turn on his side, the throbbing in his head threatening to relieve his stomach of its contents. When would he ever learn to…? But no, he was at war, and had not spent yesterday in a tavern but at battle.
His eyes flew open, and he found himself piled in the back of a wagon with a half-dozen other bleeding and moaning soldiers. The events of the skirmish formed in his memory, and he bolted upright, pushing an unconscious man off his arm. His fingers wedged through the press of bodies and found the pain radiating through his calf. Someone had cleaned and wrapped it, and from what he could tell, it didn’t look to be seeping. There was hope enough in that.
Matthew twisted and sent hail to the buckboard driver. “Hey, Private!”
The gangly youth turned to look at him with a grin. “Mornin’, Cap.”
“Stop and let me off.”
The private turned his focus ahead and spoke over his shoulder. “Can’t do that. I’ve been ordered to haul the wounded to our next camp.”
“We’re moving again?”
The boy nodded. “We lost a lot of numbers back there. I was told there’s another company camped in Jefferson County that’s better off than we are. We’re going to join up with them. Word is they’ve got a doctor, too.”
Matthew sighed and shifted, receiving a glare from the man who had to pull his foot free from Matthew’s weight. “It’s far too crowded in here. I need to get out.”
The boy shook his head. “Sorry, sir. I have orders to get us there as quick as possible, and we don’t got time to wait on lame men hobbling.”
Matthew clenched his teeth and regarded the men marching behind them. He hated riding in a wagon while they trudged along on sore feet. Many had bandaged arms, heads, and other various parts that one didn’t require to walk. He swept his gaze over their haggard faces and wondered if he would ever again be the same man who’d joined this foolish campaign with such gusto. War had not brought glory. It had only brought misery.
His attention landed on David O’Malley, who met him with a steady stare and then gave a slow nod. Matthew owed the man a debt of gratitude for pulling him to safety. Otherwise, he would probably be waking up a Yankee prisoner, if he woke up at all. David lifted his eyebrows, the unspoken question passing between them. The muscles in Matthew’s jaw worked. He gave another nod. He had not forgotten. Whatever O’Malley had planned, if it would get George back, Matthew would do what he must.
They traveled along uneven roads for the remainder of the day, the wagon jolting wounds and causing men to groan. He hated sitting among the injured, too pathetic to walk on his own two legs. When they finally came to a halt, Matthew was in such a sour mood that one look at his face sent everyone who thought to address him turning a different direction. They endured the tedious task of roll call and then continued to the medical tent where the rancid scent of old blood and unwashed bodies greeted them.
Matthew resisted the urge to push past a man with a broken leg, knowing h
is foul mood and impatience were not this poor fellow’s fault. When the men at the rear of the wagon finally unloaded, Matthew nearly lurched free of his wheeled confine. When his feet hit the ground, pain shot through his calf, but he ignored it and began shuffling off in the direction opposite the medical tent.
“Captain Daniels!”
Matthew drew a long breath and let it out slowly through his nose. Private Jones, the boy who’d driven him like an invalid all day, jogged around to stand in front of him. “Pardon, sir, but all the wounded are to report to the surgeon.”
Matthew glared down at him. “I do not require medical attention.”
The youth didn’t waver. “Sorry, sir. Them’s the orders.”
Matthew ground his teeth and turned on his good heel, trying his best to walk without a limp, though his traitorous leg disobeyed his every intention. He walked through the flap of the medical tent and waited his turn.
When the surgeon finally made it to him, he lifted Matthew’s leg without greeting and inspected the wound. “Looks like it made a clean shot, no shrapnel or pellets that I can see. Should heal up nicely,” the doctor said, pushing his spectacles up on his nose. “Stay off it as much as you can, and as long as the gangrene doesn’t set in, you should be fine.”
He rose from his squatted position and turned to another patient before Matthew could respond. Where would he go now? He looked around, but everyone seemed much too busy to take notice of him. He slipped out the front of the tent and nearly ran directly into Lieutenant Colonel Hood.
Hood looked up at him with surprise. “Where are you going, Captain? Aren’t you listed among the wounded?”
“Yes, sir, but the doc said to just take it light on the leg for a while. It was a clean shot and shouldn’t give me much trouble.”
“Very good. We are in need of men on perimeter patrol. Good place for a man who needs to sit still for a while but can still be useful. Report to the rear of the encampment.”
The Liberator Series Box Set: Christian Historical Civil War Novels Page 3