His jovial manner made her feel more at ease, and she let herself smile. “Indeed.”
The horse’s feet plodded across the ground, creating a steady rhythm. Twice the private attempted to coax her into conversation, but Annabelle found it hard to concentrate on his words. The best she could manage were brief remarks she feared were rude, but her mind was too busy figuring out how to explain her appearance to Grandfather.
“Miss Smith?”
“Hmm?”
“When I return you to your home, might I ask your father if I may come call on you sometime?”
Her full attention turned to the back of the private’s head, his dark hair partially covered by his blue cap. Surely, she’d heard him wrong. “Excuse me? What did you say?”
He turned slightly to look over his shoulder at her again. “I asked if I might call on you.”
“You cannot be serious.”
He lifted his shoulders, laughter dancing in his eyes. No, he most certainly could not be serious. He was merely toying with her. But then, the merriment left his features and he turned to face her, bringing the horse to a stop. He stared up at her with sincerity, fiddling with the reins in his hands. “Well, why not?”
Her brows gathered. Was this young man short on wits? Handsome though he may be—and at any other time a plain girl such as herself would have been flattered—she could not believe he would even consider such a thing. “Have you forgotten we are at war?”
“It will soon be over.”
Annabelle huffed. “So I have been told for the past four years.”
He cocked his head. “The Union occupies most of the South, and Lee is on the run.”
Despite the fact she wished to see this war over and had always secretly agreed with keeping the country intact, his flippant attitude that the South soon would meet its end poked at a sore place she wasn’t entirely aware she possessed. “Is that so? And why should I believe you? You are merely a private with the enemy.”
She’d expected the words to sting, but the look that flittered across his face made her feel a pang of regret. She had no reason to be cruel. Heaving a sigh, she let her shoulders drop from the defensive tension that had pulled them up. “I am sorry. That was rude of me.”
He turned and pulled the horse along, continuing their slow, plodding pace. She stared at the back of his head, trying to reconcile her tangled emotions with her beliefs. Annabelle had begun to figure out what manner of apology she should come up with when he finally spoke again.
“I know we’re on two sides of a conflict that, I believe, should have never been started. And, yes, I do know I’m nothing but a low-ranking man who has too recently joined the fray to truly understand the horrors of war that others have thus far endured.”
Something in the way he said it poked at her heart. Was this a man who had been told of his inadequacy time and again, just as she had?
“However,” he continued in his solemn tone, “I am a man who looks to the future and hopes for the best. I apologize for offending you, Miss Smith. I do hope you will forgive me.” He kept his gaze forward, not turning to look at her again.
The sincerity of his words nipped at her. How calloused she had become. She drew a long breath, the cold air pulling into her lungs and giving her another chill. “No, it is I who should apologize. You are correct. It’s only… well, after caring for so many of the wounded and losing my….” She stopped. She’d nearly forgotten herself and mentioned Father’s death. Oh, keeping these lies straight was difficult indeed!
He looked at her over his shoulder, and she offered him an apologetic smile. “Losing my brother in the battle of Corinth, I have grown more cynical than I ever thought I would be.” Though based on a lie, the truth of the underlying emotions and self-revelation settled heavy on her heart.
“I understand, miss. I was too presumptuous.”
Annabelle stared at the road ahead, drawing ever closer to a problem she had not yet figured out how to face. “Secretly, I do hope to see this war ended and the country whole again. I wish only to be left at peace with what is mine.” The words slipped out before she could regain them, and she pressed her lips into a line.
Private Grierson turned his profile to her, a small smile tugging against the corner of his mouth. She could feel the heat rising in her cheeks. When he began to laugh, she feared her face would turn the color of her mother’s finest roses.
“Do not worry, Miss Smith. I shall keep your patriotic secret to myself.”
“Patriotic, or treasonous?”
“I suppose that depends on one’s perspective.”
Indeed. What exactly was her perspective? It seemed the Confederacy had already labeled her a spy, and that was treason on its own. As they reached the edge of town, she decided that this young man had been nothing but kind to her, and despite herself, she found him quite pleasant. “Private Grierson?”
“Yes?”
“When this war is over, if you ever find yourself back here in Lorman, would you be so kind as to pay me a visit? I find I rather enjoy your company.”
“I would be honored, Miss Smith.”
Guilt tugged at her as he tied the horse to the hitching post outside the general store. She slid from the horse without waiting for his assistance and immediately regretted it as pain shot up her leg. She tried to hide her grimace as she mounted the steps to Mr. Black’s store, her ankle screaming in protest.
Fear wound through her. How to get out of this with Private Grierson at her side? Mr. Black knew her father was dead. Could she simply ask for stomach medicines and be on her way? She had to at least make it to Molly’s, therefore avoiding one more lie she would need to tell.
She pulled open the door and strode inside, Grierson on her heels.
“Miss Ross!”
She whipped her head around to see Mr. Black’s shocked expression. She faced the storeowner and tried to offer a confident smile. “Hello, Mr. Black.”
He frowned, his gaze traveling over her disheveled state and then coming to rest on the soldier behind her. His eyes lit with fury, and Annabelle hastened to explain before he could come to any conclusions on his own. “This young man was kind enough to assist me when I got thrown from my horse. If it weren’t for him, I’m afraid I would have had to walk all the way here, and I do believe I have injured my ankle.”
Mr. Black didn’t look convinced. He came closer, wiping his hands on his apron. “Does your grandfather know you are here?”
She drew a quick breath. “Um, well, he knows I came to town and was going to spend a few days with Molly.”
Mr. Black’s frown deepened, though Annabelle would not have thought it possible. “You sure don’t look like you’ve been with the dressmaker.”
Annabelle straightened herself. Why should she need to explain her whereabouts to the shopkeeper? “I am in need of a new dress, as you can surely tell. Even more so, I am afraid, since the fall has made this one nearly useless. Now, if you will excuse me….”
Private Grierson spoke up from behind her. “Didn’t you need some medicine for your father’s stomach, miss…?” His voice trailed off.
Annabelle cringed. Just as Momma had always said. If ever we spin tales of falsehood, they will soon unravel around us, leaving nothing but a heap of tangled mess. “Well, you see…I….”
The front door burst open, slamming against the wall as three Confederate soldiers strode in. As soon as Mr. Black and Private Grierson turned, Annabelle slipped behind a row of shelves and hurried toward the back of the store, where she prayed there would be a rear entrance Mr. Black used for receiving supplies. Escape was soon becoming her first response.
“We are looking for a pair of spies.” The voice carried through the store, clear even as she continued to retreat farther away. “Have you seen a deserter and his female companion? The man is exceptionally tall, with hair so pale it is nearly white.”
Annabelle’s heart tripped over itself, and she hobbled faster. There would be no s
afety for her here. How would she ever return home now? She had to figure out a way to smooth things over. If he heard she were accused of being a spy, Grandfather would turn her over and take claim of Rosswood. And then even if she survived to return home, there would be nothing to return to.
Think! How could she undo this mess?
Despite her command, her mind could focus on nothing more than getting away and trying to ignore the throbbing in her ankle. On the rear wall she found a door and pulled it open, revealing a sparse storage room. Blessedly, there was a door on the far wall.
She dashed out the door and down a short flight of stairs, the bright sunshine causing her to blink against the light. As she rounded the corner of the building, she ran full into something solid, and strong hands suddenly grasped her shoulders.
She nearly screamed, but the sound cut off in her throat as soon as she looked into the concerned face of Private Grierson.
“Come on,” he whispered.
Having little time to do much more than give a slight nod, she followed him through a back alley and past several buildings until her ankle began to give way, and she started to stumble. “Please. I am afraid I can go no farther.”
Private Grierson looked down at her. “It is only a little way now. Should I carry you?”
She shrank back. Why had she been so quick to trust him? “Where are you taking me?”
He looked at her, uncertainty playing across his eyes. Then, as if deciding, he gave a curt nod. “To an inn. Then I am getting you a doctor.”
“Why?”
“Because you are injured.”
“But….”
He held up a hand. “I am aware you are in some sort of trouble. And, I have no doubt you were not going to get medicine for your father. But, regardless of what your intentions are, I am going to offer you my protection and give you assistance.”
She opened her mouth to thank him, but he did not give her the chance. “At least until you have the opportunity to explain yourself.”
Annabelle gave a small nod. He would deserve the truth. Perhaps the Union Army might even assist her, once they understood her story. At this point she feared she would not be able to find aid within the Confederate ranks.
Without further discussion, he swept her up into his arms, and she let herself be carried away.
“Every failure which may attend our operations now will add all the more to the final day of reckoning, when the Western wood-chopper will have to pay for all his shortcomings.”
As Matthew watched from the trees, the audacious Yankee boy placed Miss Smith on his horse and wasted no time in pulling her close. Though Matthew tried to dismiss the irrational irritation that flared in his chest, it would not be denied. Thankfully, Miss Smith appeared to have enough decency to request the boy dismount.
Perhaps she actually had been truthful about not being a camp follower. Such a woman would not have turned such a deep shade of pink. Her actions spoke of a young woman who was untried in the ways of men.
Matthew found that to be a comforting thought. So, despite the call of logic to return to his meeting place, he convinced himself he was responsible for Miss Smith’s well-being and that O’Malley deserved a little more information on the girl’s intentions. He would simply see that she made it to town safely and was not taken advantage of by the Yank. He kept to the woods, far enough behind so as not to be noticed, until they reached town and came to a stop in front of the general store, where Miss Smith quickly dashed inside.
There. It was done. He could return now with a clean conscience that he’d done all he could. He couldn’t very well follow her into the store, since he had no idea who might have been looking for him. He turned to leave just as three soldiers stepped onto the general store’s porch.
Matthew dipped his chin, hiding his face as best as he could under the small brim of his hat. He recognized these as men from his own unit. If they had come in to town, likely he was the cause.
Matthew ground his teeth. Once, his uniform had been a source of pride. Now, it hung on him like the banner of a deserter, flagging him as a coward who had abandoned his men and turned his back on his country. He slipped behind the general store, dropping to his knees and kneeling behind a heap of discarded crates that still carried the smell of some sort of food. Even the scent of refuse reminded him he had not eaten since before he had delivered Miss Smith to Lieutenant Colonel Hood. As if to offer further evidence of his hunger, his stomach let out a low grumble.
At the center of the building’s large brick wall stood a rear door he could slip into. Through that door, Matthew could easily find out if the soldiers said anything about him, David O’Malley, or the escape of a female prisoner. He needed more information, and though it was a risk, this might be his only opportunity to find out just how much trouble he was really in.
Before he could move, the door flew open and slammed against the brick wall. Miss Smith fled out the back of the general store, tattered skirts flapping around her legs. Matthew turned his eyes to the heavens and questioned his own sanity. He couldn’t allow her to be captured again, could he? But before he could call out and offer his aid, she was once again in the arms of the young Yank. Matthew clenched his fists. The boy took her hand, and they slipped away.
He let out a low rumble, something his brother George had likened to the deep growl one of the hounds made when another tried to steal its bone.
Gone again! Foolish girl. Did she not know she could very well get them killed? Her rendezvous with the Yank only strengthened her position as a spy. Harlot she might not be, but he now had no doubt she was consorting with the enemy.
A movement to his rear drew Matthew’s attention out of his rapidly heating thoughts, but as he started to swing around, something slammed into his skull. Pain ripped through the back of his head and pulsed through his eyeballs, darkening his vision. Dizziness swarmed around him, and he slumped to the ground.
“I’m sorry, friend,” said the voice above him.
He could barely make out the fuzzy form of a man standing over him, saying words that became jumbled as they reached his ears.
Then everything went black.
Annabelle swayed in Private Grierson’s arms, her exhaustion battling with her fear. The comfort of being off her feet almost made her forget the circumstances that had landed her here. Almost, but not quite.
The air had warmed considerably, and Annabelle wondered if the winter had begun to break. An early spring would be a miracle she could use right about now. Private Grierson carried her up to the front steps of the inn as if they were simply two travelers weary from their journey.
Or a groom bringing his bride away on their post-wedding jaunt. The second thought jarred Annabelle back to her senses, and she squirmed in his arms.
“Oh, no,” she said. “I am very sorry, but I do not think this is wise.”
Private Grierson set her on her feet and lifted his brows, but she stopped him before he could speak. “Please, I know there is much to explain, and I know you have no reason to believe me, but my father is dead. I live with my grandfather, and I ran away because he wishes to marry me off to a man I despise. On the way to try to get a message out to my uncle—my father’s brother, and only remaining male relative—to aid me, I somehow became caught up in some strange plot involving a message I was given to deliver. I have since been accused of being a harlot and a spy, and was recently kidnapped. When you found me, it was just after I had escaped the man who took me from the Confederate camp that was holding me.” Her words tumbled out of her mouth in a cascade, and with each word she could see his confusion growing, but she didn’t have the time for a better explanation.
Annabelle stared up at him, her heart fluttering in her chest. Should she have disclosed so much? The muscles in his jaw worked, and emotions scurried across his face, but finally Private Grierson gave a curt nod. “Thank you for your honesty. Still, I must insist you take a room at the inn. You will require a doctor. Come with
me. I have a plan.”
Why would he risk himself to help her? She could think of no reason, and yet she also realized her best option was to trust him. Relief flooded her. It seemed the Union would be her best hope now. “Thank you,” she said, reaching out to touch his arm.
He leaned forward, speaking quietly. “Now, keep your head down, and don’t say anything. Let me do the talking.”
She followed him into the inn, limping on her sore leg. After a few hushed words, the private handed the man behind the desk a handful of bills, and soon she was being carried up a flight of stairs and to a room at the end of the upper hall. Private Grierson set her down on the small bed, which groaned slightly under her weight.
“Well,” he said, “It’s not the best place, but it will have to do. I will fetch the doctor for you.”
“Private Grierson?” she asked as he began to turn away.
“Please, call me Joshua.”
Given names? Well, she owed him that much, at least. “Joshua. I hope you will forgive such forthrightness, but I have spent quite a lot of time with soldiers. To my knowledge, privates do not usually have such freedom of movement. Yet, you seem to go and do as you please, on your own schedule. I find it…strange.”
He studied her a moment. “My circumstances are rather different. Perhaps I will explain it to you once I return with the doctor.”
She could do nothing else but nod, and he turned on his heel and left her alone to survey her surroundings. The small room contained only the bed on which she sat, a single wooden chair without a cushion, and a worn rug on the floor. The wood slat walls had no adornment, and no curtain hung on the single window opposite her bed.
As she sat quietly, fatigue swept over her, reminding her of the limits to which she’d pushed herself. Perhaps she could lie back for a few moments and allow her tired muscles a little rest. Her lids soon grew heavy, and before she could stop herself, she drifted off to sleep.
A knock at the door roused her, and she bolted upright. How long had she slept? She could not be sure, but sunlight still flooded the room, indicating that much of the day still remained.
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