Something rustled in the distance. She held her breath, despite the protest from her chest, and strained to hear. Twigs snapped, leaves crunched, and without a doubt Captain Daniels was in pursuit. Drat! How had he gained so quickly? Certainly he could not have tracked her path so easily. She’d dashed through the yard, past the house and across the road before ducking into the trees again. As cautious as he’d been of the house, she’d expected him to try to locate her retreat back the way they’d come.
She had not the time to contemplate his actions. Annabelle sprang through the woods and into a sprint in much the same manner she expected a doe might when she’d spotted the hunter. An odd sense of exhilaration warred with her fatigue, and she nearly delighted in the wind that tugged on her tumbled hair, her bonnet having been lost at some point she could not even think to remember. Perhaps if she had paused to find it and make herself more presentable before approaching the camp, she would not currently be sprinting through the woods.
Annabelle leapt over a large, exposed root, her feet landing nimbly on the soft earth, and ducked under a tangle of vines in nearly one motion.
She would escape him now. A man as large as he could not possibly contend with the agility she did not know she possessed. She was like the deer, light and quick and….
Her foot caught on something and sent both Annabelle and her thoughts of freedom crashing to the unforgiving ground below. She scrambled to her hands and knees and struggled to regain the breath that had been forced from her lungs. Pain shot up her left leg, and when she pulled herself to her feet, her ankle buckled. Annabelle clenched her teeth. How foolish! Like a deer, indeed. Now she would be found for certain.
She struggled forward, her ankle not harmed enough to refuse her weight, but certainly tender and unable to be forced into another run. What was she to do now? With little time to think as the sounds of her pursuer drew closer, Annabelle pushed through the woods to her left, careful to stomp harder into the ground as much as her pain would allow and snap small limbs. With any luck, she would make a decent trail for a man in a rush to follow.
When she’d gone as far as she dared, pressing her foot lighter each time, she carefully stepped backward into as many of her footprints as she could find until she reached the upturned root that had fouled her plans. Dropping to her knees, she pushed around the leaves as best she could in an attempt to cover her fall, and then she headed in the opposite direction, balancing on roots and stepping lightly on damp leaves or moss.
A rustling sound came from too short of a distance. If she were to find a hiding place, now would have to be the time. Up ahead, a massive tree had fallen and long been forgotten, its innards having been foraged for all manner of crawling insects. The huge and somewhat hollow trunk would serve her purpose. Annabelle shivered and tried not to think too much on the rash action she was about to take.
She dropped to the ground and peered inside the log. Perhaps she could simply crouch behind it. Maybe he wouldn’t even come this way at all….
Heavy footsteps pounded nearer, and without further time to dissuade herself, Annabelle wiggled inside the tight confines of the log. The rough, damp inner bark scraped any exposed skin it could find and caught on her hair. She pulled herself as deep into the recess as she could manage, pulling up on her skirts and hoping the toes of her shoes did not protrude past the end of her cramped refuge. But she could not draw her legs in any further nor make herself any smaller, so it would simply have to do. Who would think to duck down and look for her here anyway?
The pounding footsteps drew closer and suddenly stopped. She waited, listening. After what seemed much too long, she finally heard another twig snap a little farther away. He was following her false trail! Soon he would be gone, and she could get herself out of this deplorable sanctuary. Just as she’d begun to feel relief flutter about in her chest, his voice cut through the still air.
“Miss Smith!”
She drew a sharp intake of musty air. Had he found her?
“Miss Smith!”
She clenched her jaw. If he was hoping she would answer his call, he was mistaken.
“You must stop this foolishness. I know you could not have gone far.”
How would he know such a thing? She would not move and give herself away. How much time passed outside of her thudding heart, she could not know, but it seemed as if half the day were already lost to this standoff. Finally, she heard him move again, but it seemed as if he were moving closer, and not away.
She squeezed her eyes tight and held her breath.
Matthew clenched his fists in frustration. He did not have time for this foolishness. Conflicting desires warred in his chest. Perhaps he should just leave the girl. She was likely a spy, and that was not something he wanted to be entangled in.
He studied the ground. Someone had raked the leaves in an odd heap in a manner that bespoke of human hands. What reason would she have for stopping to dig in the ground? Up until this point, she’d been easy to follow. He’d caught a glimpse of bright fabric ducking into the woods across the road from the farmhouse, and from there she had left an easily discernable trail. Her laughable lack of stealth would have made her easy to pursue even without the line of broken branches and trampled brush. He doubted a frightened horse could have made more noise tearing through the forest than this strange girl. What was her reason for running, anyway? As one of O’Malley’s band of short-sighted conspirators, she should have been ready to meet up with the rest of them. He frowned. Something just didn’t fit.
A short distance from the leaf scraping, he noticed a footprint. He narrowed his eyes. Why was this one deeper than the others? Had she lifted some sort of weight? Regardless, the small print was unmistakably hers, and he followed it off on the tangent to the left of the relatively straight path she had thus far forged.
The weighted prints continued for a short distance and then stopped suddenly. Matthew turned and studied the steps behind him until he found one that confirmed his suspicion. She’d messed up on this one and placed her heel too wide, leaving a print that gave away her backtracking.
Intrigued, he squatted down and admired her attempt to deceive him. Why go to such lengths? He stepped carefully around the prints and returned to the raked leaves. In a moment, he spotted what his eyes had been trained by years of tracking game to find. A depression on the ground indicated where she had likely slipped off a fallen branch and left him a clue he was certain she did not expect him to find. He stepped over to it, then looked ahead in a straight line from the indention.
Not six paces away, a rotted log lay on the ground. At the end of it, a slip of pink fabric fluttered in the breeze. He stroked his chin, then shook his head.
“Miss Smith!”
She did not respond. Did she not know she’d been found? A smirk tugged at his lips. Perhaps not.
“Miss Smith!”
No response. He crossed his arms and watched the log. “You must stop this foolishness. I know you could not have gone far.”
He took three steps closer, but still she refused to abandon her ruse. Matthew frowned, his amusement melting away. What manner of deception was this woman weaving? He thought a moment, then turned and stomped away. She was not the only one who could engage in such games. If O’Malley had a traitor in his midst, then they very well could all be in danger. This girl knew his name and rank, and she could easily spin a tale that he had kidnapped her and deserted his unit.
He noisily retreated down the false path she had created and then, despite his protesting calf muscle, shimmied up a large oak and settled down to wait.
“We are to perish, and none will help us! The Cause is deserted by God and man.”
Annabelle waited for as long as she could stand the thought of remaining in the log. Convinced he had followed her false trail, she finally slipped free of the dank bark and slowly rose to her feet. She brushed at her skirt and flipped her loose hair over her head, shaking it to dispose of any unwelcome creatures that mig
ht have found it inviting.
If only she hadn’t lost all of her pins. It would be bad enough to go into town with a tattered dress and a missing bonnet, but loose hair hanging down her back was unacceptable. She pulled her fingers through the tangled mess and quickly bound the length into a plait. Now, if only she had something with which to secure it. Her gaze fell on the ragged hem of her skirt, and with a sigh she reached down and tugged a portion of her petticoat free with a heart-sinking rip. She twisted the strip of fabric around the end of the braid and knotted it, then tugged free another piece a little longer than the first. Winding the braid into a tight bun at the nape of her neck, she was able to secure it with the fabric tied into a bow.
She shook out as much dirt as she could from her skirt, hoping that she looked presentable enough that her story of a runaway horse would be believed. It seemed a decent excuse for her missing bonnet and dirty dress, though she briefly wondered at how quickly such lies now came to her. When had she become desperate enough to begin fabricating tales before she even needed them?
Likely around the time she had been thrown into a hidden tent with her feet bound. Annabelle pressed her lips into a thin line. If she were going to get herself out of this situation, she would have to rely on quick wits and pray forgiveness for her deceptions later. She had very little time left until she would have to return and face Grandfather. If he knew she had been out all night with a man… she shivered and pushed the thought away.
Ignoring the pain that shot up her leg every time she took a step on her sore ankle, Annabelle turned and headed in the direction of the road. She would not run through the woods any longer. Deciding her best option would be to find someone traveling into town who might be willing to assist a lone woman who’d fallen from her horse, she drew a calming breath and pushed forward until she eventually saw a break in the trees.
Heaving a sigh of relief, Annabelle paused at the edge of the road but saw no one in either direction. She’d just have to walk. At least it was easier than the forest.
Annabelle trudged down the road, hugging her paletot against her until the sun had risen high enough in the sky to chase away some of the chill. With each step her thoughts grew ever more resolute. This errand was foolish and had only gotten her into a mound of trouble. When she’d had an escort, a wagon, and a horse, the idea had seemed less ridiculous. But, now….
Even if she had gotten the army runner to deliver a message to Uncle Michael, did she really expect him to abandon his unit and ride to Rosswood to confront Grandfather? Resolution stirred in her. She could not allow herself to be forced into this.
Annabelle straightened her spine and felt her determination grow with each passing step. She would no longer let Grandfather intimidate her. Each day he was less the fearsome presence he had once been and increasingly became nothing more than a frail old man with a sharp tongue. No, it was Andrew she truly needed to worry about. What lengths might he pursue to secure Rosswood?
Annabelle was so lost in her thoughts that she did not hear the hoof beats approaching until they were nearly upon her.
Matthew had followed her since she’d finally crawled out of the fallen log, slinking through the shadows on silent feet that still did not possess shoes. Curse O’Malley for making him leave them behind! He had not dashed across the ground with uncovered soles since he was a young boy.
Despite the discomfort of the hard, wet ground and toes that had begun to ache from the chill, he’d trailed her all the way to the road. She’d paused at the edge of the road, drawing her wrap around her, looking very small and somewhat helpless. For several moments, he’d stood there and allowed himself the luxury of admiring her—up until he’d shifted his weight, and a twig snapped underfoot, cutting the silence like a blasting cannon.
Miss Smith had whipped around, a stray strand of blonde hair dancing across her face, her blue eyes narrowed in his direction. Matthew had been certain she’d see him crouching behind a pine barely large enough to conceal his frame, but after staring in his direction for a few moments, she’d hurried on toward the road, limping slightly.
When had she been injured? She’d certainly been moving slower than the mad dash she’d made prior to her ruse, but he’d not noticed the limp. Regardless, it would have been better if he had abandoned his curiosity about the girl and returned right then to the barn to wait on O’Malley. If she were a traitor to his group, O’Malley could deal with it himself. Matthew had nearly done it, too. But then, the Yank showed up.
Matthew bristled as he watched the young man approach. What was this youth doing riding about by himself? A private could not have any sort of business that allowed him to go about in enemy territory on his own.
Matthew clenched his teeth. If he needed to know whether the girl was in danger or if she truly was a Union spy, then this would surely tell him the truth. He slipped from behind the pine and crept closer.
Startled, Annabelle spun around to find a Union soldier not twenty paces behind her. She stopped and shielded her eyes from the sun and waited for him to approach.
“Well, hello again, miss.”
She blinked against the bright light and squinted up at him. It was the young man she’d seen in Black’s store who’d helped her up onto Homer’s back. Poor old Homer. What had happened to the old gelding that had been with her since childhood? Guilt panged her, but she hadn’t the time for it as the young man pulled to a stop beside her.
She smiled up at the young soldier, genuinely relieved to see a friendly face. “Hello again, sir. It appears I once again find myself in need of your assistance.”
He swung easily down from his gray horse and came to stand in front of her. “Well, now, I am afraid I cannot help you, miss.”
Annabelle blinked at him in confusion, too tired to do more than stare.
“You see, miss,” he said, stuffing his hands into his pockets, “I make it a policy only to aid young women who are polite enough to give me their name.”
Annabelle pulled her wrap tighter as a cold burst of wind ruffled her hair. “Indeed. You must forgive my lack of manners.” She inclined her head. “I am Anna Smith.”
Not even the slightest hesitation at giving her false name this time.
He frowned. “And what are you doing alone on the road, Miss Smith?”
She dropped her eyes. Would he believe her story? “My horse spooked and threw me.”
He was quiet a moment. “Ah. So then it would seem that riding without a saddle may not have been the best idea?”
Annabelle cut her gaze to his face, a sharp retort forming on her tongue. But the glimmer in his deep brown eyes shooed it away. Despite herself, she let out a small laugh. “How observant of you, Mr…..”
“Private Joshua Grierson.”
Grierson. Why did she recognize that name? Something tugged at her memory, but she let it flitter away like a lazy butterfly. She inclined her head. “It is a pleasure to officially meet you, Private Grierson.”
He bent forward slightly at the waist. “The pleasure is mine.” He straightened and ran his hands down the front of his crisp uniform. “Well, now that that’s settled, Miss Smith, shall I ride out and locate your mount?”
She shook her head. “Oh, no, I am sure he will return home on his own.” That part was true enough. If he had gotten away from the camp, Homer likely would have found his way home by now. That meant Grandfather probably knew she was missing, and Peggy was likely sick with worry. What a predicament. “Perhaps you can just give me a ride back to town instead?”
“Perhaps. Why are you traveling without an escort?”
Annabelle pushed down her frustration. A legitimate, if inconvenient, question. “It is only me and my father now, and he’s… not feeling well. I left him at home and was going to return to Mr. Black’s to see if he might have something to soothe Father’s stomach.”
The young man nodded, seeming to accept the lie that felt sour in Annabelle’s mouth.
“Very well. I am retu
rning to town now. I will take you to the store and then escort you home. A young woman should not be out alone, especially when we are at war.”
“I thank you.” No sense pointing out that technically, he was her enemy, and therefore not considered a proper escort.
He offered his laced fingers to boost her into the saddle, keeping his eyes down as she arranged her skirts. As soon as she was settled, he swung up behind her. Private Grierson wrapped his arms around her to secure the reins, and heat rose in her face. Though she was turned to the side so that her legs were properly covered, she was practically sitting in the young man’s lap!
Annabelle stiffened and tried to create as much distance between his chest and her back as she could, but as soon as the horse took a step forward, she found the task impossible. The saddle was simply too small to keep her distance. She squirmed. “Perhaps this is not a good idea. I think it shall be better if I walk.”
She looked at him out of the corner of her eye, afraid if she turned her face, her nose would brush his. He chuckled, and she couldn’t help feeling he was enjoying her embarrassment.
“Perhaps you are right,” he said. He placed the reins in one hand and swung down from the saddle. “Though I would not require you to walk. That would be rather impolite, don’t you think? You hold onto the pommel, and I will lead him into town.”
Relief surged, and she gave him a grateful nod. She had feared her ankle would not stand the long walk into town. “Thank you. I simply feel it would be improper to ride in such a manner with a stranger.”
He grinned and began to lead the horse, looking back over his shoulder. “Well now, we are not truly strangers. Already we have met twice. I should think that would make us acquaintances, at least.”
The Liberator Series Box Set: Christian Historical Civil War Novels Page 11