The Liberator Series Box Set: Christian Historical Civil War Novels

by Stephenia H. McGee

  “Child! What you doin’?”

  Annabelle tugged Peggy’s wrist and gestured ahead. The Confederates had lit the covered bridge on fire and were struggling to keep it going as waves of men in blue slammed into them. Gunfire erupted and peppered the air with blasts of smoke.

  On the road just in front of her, a man in blue fired a shot at the back of a man in gray only a few feet in front of him. The man’s body lurched, and blood sprang from the wound as he fell. His face in the dirt, his body still twitched as the Union man stepped over him and continued forward.

  Annabelle’s mouth went dry.

  “Let’s get back into the house!” Peggy pleaded in her ear.

  Annabelle pressed her back against the wall but could not tear her eyes away from the carnage. “No. I want to see what they are going to do. We might need to get to the horses instead.”

  She swung her gaze to the horses that pawed at the ground, one of them dancing about and tossing his head. The Union soldiers ignored the animals and hurried forward to engage the vastly outnumbered Confederates. Annabelle’s heart hammered in her chest, the pounding blood in her ears mixing with the shouts of the men and the blasts of gunfire.

  “Miss Belle!”

  Peggy’s shout awoke Annabelle from her stupor. She spun on her heel, wringing her hands. “What should we do?”

  “Get you back inside da house!”

  Peggy tugged on her, and they ducked their heads, hoping not to be noticed as they ran up the front steps. Annabelle lifted her hand to pound on the door, but it flew open before she had the chance. A gun barrel flew up only inches from her face. The scream that surely wanted to claw free remained lodged in her throat.

  “Annabelle!” Matthew barked, lowering the gun and grabbing her shoulder, wrenching her inside. “What are you thinking?”

  She swallowed hard, trying to regain her stammering voice. “What…what’s happening?”

  He pushed her behind him, slamming the door. After several seconds without sign of her being followed, Matthew turned and pressed his back against the door, ignoring her question. His gaze roamed over her frame. “Are you hurt?”

  She shook her head.

  “That was a foolish thing to do,” he spat. “Why didn’t you come back in from the kitchen, where Harry was giving you cover?”

  Her nostrils flared. “I had to escape a Union soldier in the yard!”

  The muscles in his jaw worked. “Are you sure you wouldn’t rather run off with him instead?”

  Surprise melted her indignation. “What?”

  His face hardened. “Seems like you’re pretty comfortable in a Yank’s arms.”

  He thrust himself off the door and pushed past her before she could respond. What was he talking about? Suddenly, Private Grierson’s face filled her memory. Had Matthew seen her with him? She clenched her fists. Had he been spying on her?

  She stalked after him, forgetting the terror thundering outside. Peggy grabbed her wrist, but she ripped it free. How dare he! Was he already back to making her the harlot?

  “I say we ride,” Matthew said as she stepped into the living space off the front hall.

  O’Malley nodded. “Agreed. We need to get moving before the battle heats up.”

  Sallie put her hand on O’Malley’s arm. “Get your horses. I’ll get what I can in some sacks for you. Take the back way out of town, and avoid the river. They are more interested in getting across than they will be in you.”

  “Let’s hope, anyway,” O’Malley said, catching Matthew’s eye. “Can you keep it under control?”

  Matthew glanced at Annabelle, his expression hard to read. He gave a curt nod. “Let’s go.”

  Annabelle opened her mouth to free the fire building inside, but a sudden blast rattled the walls, and she forgot her anger. If they survived this, she would deliver her ire later.

  Annabelle bolted after Sallie to the dining table, and she and Peggy dumped bread and bits of cheese into a flour sack. The men had already swooped up their packs, which had still been sitting by the front door.

  They hurried down the front steps to the lawn, where the men were waiting with the horses. Without a word, Matthew thrust both Annabelle and Peggy onto their saddles and swiftly mounted his own horse in a matter of seconds. The Union soldiers had cleared the road in front of the house and were now concentrating on extinguishing the fire and overtaking the Confederates on this side.

  Matthew led the band of horses around the west side of the house, where Annabelle had stood watching the battle with Peggy, through a gate just beyond the chicken coop, and out into an open field. Annabelle turned to look over her shoulder. Several of the Union soldiers had swum across the river and were engaging the small band of Confederates on the other side. Smoke rose into the air, black and ominous. The wet weather had not helped the men in gray. The bridge fire was nearly out, and more of the Union men were beginning to rush across.

  Annabelle mumbled what felt like a hopeless prayer for lost life, then turned and kicked her horse into a gallop. The sounds and smells of the battle faded behind her with each of the horse’s thundering strides, but she could not purge the horror of it from her heart as they raced away. As the five of them flew across the hills of the valley, the cold wind buffeted her face and tried to dry the tears streaming down Annabelle’s cheeks.

  “He is too closely surrounded by his friends. No chance before the inauguration.”

  For likely the tenth time, Matthew checked over his shoulder to look at Annabelle. This time, as each before, she met his eyes with a flat stare. He stifled a groan and turned back in the saddle.

  The horses were winded and could not be coaxed to run any farther. He was glad for it. They had pushed the poor creatures hard, putting distance between themselves and the skirmish. Matthew drew in a long breath of crisp air that smelled of damp soil. Above, the sky glimmered a pristine blue, unmarred by a single cloud. The day had warmed considerably, and Matthew was thankful for the slight reprieve from the cold.

  His horse plodded along, the hoof beats’ steady rhythm in stark contrast to Matthew’s chaotic thoughts. His attention darted from wondering about his brother’s condition to his status as either deserter or conspirator, then to the disappointment of spending another cold night out of doors when he had been anticipating the comfort of a roof and four walls. But, despite the multiple topics he attempted to set his mind to, it stubbornly returned to the woman riding behind him.

  Twice already he’d berated himself for his harsh words against her, words that had bubbled up from anger caused by his fear and fueled by jealousy he hadn’t realized still simmered. It seemed any ground they had gained in their friendship was doused by his heated accusations.

  He resisted the urge to look at her again and stiffened his shoulders. It would be best if she did not feel overly friendly toward him anyway. More than once, something had sparked in her eyes that had caused heat in his chest. To his shame, not only had he relished it, but he’d encouraged it. He had to remember she was meant to be his sister.

  O’Malley slowed his horse and fell into step with Matthew, drawing him out of his mental flogging.

  After a few paces, O’Malley spoke in that smooth tone he used when he wanted everyone to comply with his wishes. “We still have nearly a hundred miles before we get to the meeting house in Washington. Since we have lost the luxury of our last allied residence before we get there, I say we ride on as long as we can before we have to rest the horses.”

  “Very well.”

  O’Malley said nothing more, just continued to ride at his side. Matthew watched him from the corner of his eye. O’Malley rode with stiff shoulders, a rigid posture, and his hat pulled low over his rumpled brow. He hardly looked the part of a confident conspirator.

  “Are you sure this thing will work?” Matthew said just low enough for O’Malley to hear above the crunch of leaves and dried grass under the horses’ hooves.

  O’Malley cut his gaze to Matthew, and for an
instant Matthew caught a flash of worry before it was smothered by frustration. “I grow weary of your doubts, Daniels.”

  “I should think doubts are founded in such a situation as this.”

  “And yet, you have more doubts than are necessary, or even understandable. I’m starting to think you seek to shirk your duty.”

  Matthew scraped a hand over his face. “As you grow weary of my doubts, I too grow tired of your jabs to my honor. I am set on seeing this through, if only for the puny hope I might see my brother freed. Do not begrudge me for worrying that such a thing is nearly impossible to accomplish.”

  O’Malley eyed him for a moment, then took a long breath. “Have you not noticed the help we’ve received along the way?”

  A suspicious amount, indeed. “I have.”

  “And have you also not noticed the funds I have used to secure clothing, supplies, and horses?”

  Why did he feel like a child being reprimanded? His knees involuntarily tightened, and his horse bobbed its head, trying to give its rider a faster gait. Matthew released the tension, and the poor beast relaxed, falling back into a slow walk next to O’Malley’s mount. “Yes, O’Malley, I am not dull of wits. I can see you are well-funded.”

  O’Malley jutted his chin, a small smirk playing on the corners of his mouth. “So, you are bright enough to have noticed that someone with means has given their support, but you have not yet pieced together who would have such a long arm, have you?”

  There were plenty of Southerners with hefty assets, but how should O’Malley expect him to know which…? His thoughts tumbled to a halt, and he swung his gaze to O’Malley’s lifted brows.

  “Ah. So you have figured it out, have you, then?”

  “Davis….” Matthew whispered.

  “Now, of course, I cannot confirm any suspicions you may have involving our government. However, our president has appointed two men to head the secret service, a rather well-funded operation that is safely set up in a remote location. But, surely you know that already?”

  Matthew’s gut tightened. “Canada. Of course,” he said, mostly to himself.

  Pride flooded O’Malley’s features, and Matthew immediately regretted letting his thoughts escape from his lips.

  “See, there?” O’Malley nearly cooed. “You are endowed with both height and wit. Surely you understand now that your doubts are wholly unfounded.”

  Are they? Matthew gave a curt nod. Perhaps the plan was feasible. Why, then, did he still feel so uneasy?

  “Good. Then, since that is settled, let’s speak on it no more?” O’Malley’s words slithered across more as a command than a request.

  Matthew drew his lips into a thin line and said nothing.

  “The inauguration draws near,” O’Malley said after a few beats. “We had hoped to move before now, but with the complications caused by our misplaced correspondence, we lost too much time.”

  Interest tugged at Matthew and he dropped his gaze from the hawk gliding overhead to O’Malley’s creased face. “When did you originally intend to do it?”

  O’Malley pulled the collar of his jacket closer as a cold gust of wind buffeted them. “Before he was set upon by a bunch of goons that never let him out of sight.”

  Matthew lifted his brows.

  “I suppose it is better this way,” O’Malley said as he rolled his shoulders back. “He will be firmly in his position, which makes his capture all the more potent.”

  “When do you think to haul him off?”

  “The opportunity will soon arise.”

  They were to sit around Washington and wait on an opportunity to catch Lincoln alone? How long did they intend to stalk in the shadows?

  “And what of Miss Ross?” Matthew asked as casually as he could.

  O’Malley still let out a huff. “She is to accompany us to the boarding house in Washington, where she will remain until this is safely seen through. Then you may do with her as you please.” O’Malley dipped his chin, clicked to his horse, and trotted ahead to rejoin Harry, leaving Matthew to stare at his back.

  Matthew slowed his horse further, increasing the distance between him and the other men, expecting Annabelle to catch up. He should talk to her about George, and figure out an explanation as to why they might need to stay in Washington for a time. Maybe he could get her mind off of it with some outings.

  She still had not reached him, so he smothered his pride and turned in the saddle to look at her. Annabelle and her maid rode silently about two horse lengths behind him. Just as his gaze settled on her, she nudged the reins to draw up her horse. So, her distance was intentional. Matthew tightened his calves on the saddle fenders, and the horse increased his pace and brought Matthew to the midpoint between the trouble in front of him and the trouble at his rear.

  They rode on until the sun had set, and the horses were near collapsing, when they finally decided to stop in a hollow in the shadow of a small mountain range. Matthew slipped from his horse and started over to Miss Ross to offer his customary assistance with her dismount. Rather than waiting for him, she slung her leg over the saddle with a flurry of fabric. She landed with one foot on the ground, but the other remained stuck in the stirrup. Before he could reach her, she yanked her boot free but lost her balance. She landed square on her backside.

  Peggy yelped and scrambled down from her horse, but Matthew reached Annabelle first.

  “Let me help you.” He extended his hand but did not want to touch her without her permission.

  She glared up at him with flashing eyes above cheeks that were tinged pink—whether from embarrassment or fury, he couldn’t be certain, but the color gave her creamy skin a fetching glow. Since she didn’t tell him to leave, he reached down and placed his hands under her arms, easily lifting her and placing her on her feet. She gave a small gasp and tilted her chin to look up at him.

  Her eyes sparked like blue diamonds in the waning light, but she did not step away from him. How long would she stand here, letting his hands rest upon the curve of her waist?

  Peggy made an awful show of clearing her throat, and Annabelle’s eyes widened just before she took a large step backward and out of his hands. Matthew lowered his arms but kept his focus on her face. She dipped her chin and turned from him without a word.

  Matthew spun and returned to his horse. He loosened the girth strap and unhooked his pack, letting the weight of it drop to the ground. After he found a place to leave his pack, he unsaddled his and the women’s horses and secured them to a length of rope tied between two young trees.

  O’Malley and Harry both handed their reins to him with a nod and went off to start readying the campsite. After two weeks, they had all fallen into a routine. Since he’d grown up around horses, Matthew had simply done the job that felt most natural to him. Besides, horses were more peaceful than people.

  Running his hands down their forelegs, Matthew felt for heat in the cannon bones. Sure enough, he found it in the right fore of Peggy’s mount. Poor creatures. He hoped they wouldn’t be lame in the morning. Hardly bothering to graze, the animals tested the length of their overhead tethers and lay down to sleep. They had to be spent, indeed.

  It was getting too dark to see more than a few feet in front of him. He realized he should help the women with the fire. He scooped up a few limbs that had dropped from nearby trees and began to gather as many larger logs as he could for the frigid night ahead. Three winters he had spent huddled in army camps, and still he hated the cold. It seemed the body never quite grew accustomed to hard ground and no walls. If he were dreading it, he could only imagine how a lady would despise it. Still, she had yet to complain.

  He watched Annabelle covertly as she coaxed a small flame into a nice fire and positioned her bed roll opposite from him. In the background, Harry complained that the cornbread he had stored away had disintegrated into crumbs.

  Ignoring him, Matthew dragged his saddle over next to the fire. He knew putting it on the ground like this and using it as a makes
hift seat would curl the leather, but he couldn’t bring himself to care. The women busied themselves spreading out blankets, and Matthew wondered if Peggy had any intentions of making a meal tonight. From the looks of it, the men would have to fend for themselves.

  The irony of it struck him, and he chuckled. If Matthew had not insisted on bringing the women along, they would have been gnawing on hardtack the entire time. He stretched his legs out in front of him and massaged the wounded muscle. It seemed to be nicely healed. The scab was even starting to peel in a few places, and it didn’t ache nearly as much now.

  After Harry finally quit grumbling over the food, he made his way around the circle of subdued conspirators and offered them each two slices of hardened bread, a hunk of cheese, and a strip of dried meat. Matthew hadn’t eaten since the few bites he’d managed to get down before the chaos had started back at Sallie’s house.

  Despite his ravenous hunger, Matthew forced himself to chew his food slowly and savor what little flavor could be found. Yesterday he’d had to tighten his belt another notch. That made the third time he’d tightened it since he’d left the army. At this rate, by the time he was supposed to grab Lincoln he’d be nothing more than a walking skeleton.

  As a blanket of darkness settled on the camp, the night creatures began their lullaby, and weariness settled heavily upon him. But, he could not rest just yet. He had something he first had to address, lest it continue to gnaw upon him. He waited as the others finished their treks away from camp for private business before settling down for the night. When everyone stilled on their pallets, Matthew rose and skirted the fire.

  “Miss Ross?”

  She looked up from where she had settled on her blankets, her rumpled dress evidence of her inability to change her clothing in the presence of several men. It would be good to get her to the boarding house.

  “Yes?”

  “Might I speak with you?” he whispered.