She smoothed away a stray lock of hair that had slipped free of her tight bun. “Perhaps in the morning would be more appropriate?”
He immediately thought back to that first night when they had stayed up late and talked under the starlight while the others slept. Another pang of regret pierced him, but he inclined his head. “Of course. Though, I only wished to apologize for my rash words. I will not bother you further.”
Her lips parted, but no words left them, so he turned and walked around the small campfire to where the other men had already buried themselves beneath jackets and blankets.
Matthew reclined against his saddle and positioned his socked feet toward the fire, leaving his rifle resting in his lap. He listened as one of the two men beside him began to snore softly, then let his lids drift closed. He’d no sooner begun to doze than something touched his arm. He jerked suddenly, his hands instinctively gripping his weapon.
“Captain Daniels! It’s me.”
His grip relaxed, and he squinted at the form crouching beside him. How had he not heard her approach? He sat up straighter. “Miss Ross? Is something amiss?”
She was silent a few heartbeats too long, and he leaned nearer, trying to read her features but finding the paltry starlight inadequate. The firelight danced behind her, creating a halo around her head but leaving her face shadowed.
“You said you wished to talk,” she finally said.
He drew himself into a full sitting position and crossed his legs underneath him. Taking his cue, she settled down and arranged her skirts about her ankles.
“I did.” Matthew rubbed at the back of his neck. “I do apologize for my rash words.”
“Which ones, exactly?” she jabbed.
An owl hooted somewhere nearby, startling a few birds from their roost. He watched one flap by overhead before returning his attention to Annabelle. “All of them.”
“Thank you.” After a long pause, she said, “Why did you think I would leave with an unknown Union soldier? Have I not said I will go with you and meet your brother?”
Matthew chose his words carefully. “That day at the barn, when you first ran off…why did you do it?”
“I was afraid. I didn’t know you, or what your intentions were, and I wanted only to return home. Surely, you can understand?”
Matthew set his weapon to his side and shifted his weight so he could face her more directly. “Indeed, I can. And, can you understand that under the circumstances, I was inclined to believe you might be a spy?”
“Like you?” she said softly.
His muscles tensed, and he rolled his shoulders back in an effort to release them. “I am not a spy. I am, as I assume you are, just someone who seems to be caught up in something bigger than myself.”
“I see.”
Did she? “I was simply trying to help you when I freed you from my army’s camp, so you can see my confusion as to why you would rather run than ask for my assistance.”
She said nothing.
“Anyway, in answer to your original question, when you ran, I followed you. Which I assume you know, since you attempted to elude me by making a false trail and hiding in a log.”
She gasped. “You knew?”
“Of course.”
“So, you tracked me, then?”
“I did.”
“So, you saw me with the private who gave me a ride back into town.”
It was a statement, not a question. He answered anyway. “Yes.”
Matthew rose from his position and tossed two more limbs onto the fire, causing the embers to flare and tiny flecks of light to dance in the air. When he sat back down, he could feel Annabelle staring at him. He chose a spot slightly off from where he’d been before. As he’d hoped, she shifted to face him better, and her face was now half-turned to the fire. At least he could make out her profile in the light.
“Well, I suppose I can appreciate your suspicion.” Her words were soft, and the relief that flooded his gut almost surprised him. “However,” she continued with a little more steel in her tone, “I would have you know that I did not previously know the man. Well, not really. I had seen him earlier in passing, and he’d assisted me in mounting my horse.”
Matthew gave a small nod, urging her to continue.
“I shouldn’t need to explain myself to you.”
“You’re right.”
They sat in silence for what Matthew counted to be ten breaths before she huffed. “But just so there’s no more suspicions between us, I should clear up these misconceptions you keep flinging around.”
He kept his features even so that she wouldn’t see the self-satisfied smirk that attempted to bloom on his lips. He was trying for patience, not manipulation, but he doubted she’d see it that way.
“When the Union private happened upon me on the road, he offered to take me back to town. He sent a doctor to see to my twisted ankle, and I have not seen him since. I have no connections with anyone in the Union Army.”
Her words sounded both defensive and slightly desperate. Did she want so much for him to trust her?
“I believe you.”
“You do?” The surprise in her voice panged him.
“I do. You see, at the time, I still thought you were Miss Smith.” In fact, that had bothered him since he’d first discovered who she really was. If she was not a spy, why give a false name?
“Oh. Yes… I’m sorry about that.”
She gave no further explanation, and he didn’t ask, despite his curiosity. She’d likely done it to protect herself, even if it made no sense to him. “It is forgiven. Your reasons are your own.”
“I….” she sighed. “Thank you.”
“So, you forgive me for spewing harsh words back at Sallie’s?”
“Nearly. But, there is more I want to know.”
He stiffened. If she noticed, she didn’t let on.
“You are sure you did not know me when we first met? You can tell me if you did.”
He gave a soft chuckle. “No, I truly did not recognize you then. It wasn’t until later that I figured it out.”
“When, exactly?”
Matthew made a low noise in his throat as memories of the shopkeeper that bested him sprang to mind. He couldn’t tell her he had been unmanned by a portly man in an apron. “I spoke with a shopkeeper who asked me if I knew anything about a Miss Ross. From his description, I realized she and you were the same. I remembered having once been to Rosswood, and after that, everything about my father’s plans.”
“Was this shopkeeper Mr. Black?”
Matthew nodded, then remembered she couldn’t really see him. “Yes. I believe that was his name.”
“What did you tell him?”
Was that fear in her voice? Why? “That I did not know her, and the girl the Confederate soldiers were searching for was a Miss Smith, which, technically, I suppose was true.”
“Oh. Again, it seems I owe you thanks.”
“It is nothing of consequence. I’m rather glad I decided to come find you.”
“Why did you?”
Never mind telling her of O’Malley’s suspicions of her. It would only cause her undue worry. “I wanted to see if you were indeed the same girl who came to the line in the middle of the night asking for an officer. Imagine my surprise to find that the Lady Ross was the same waif who had run from me in the woods.”
She huffed, and he couldn’t contain his chuckle. One of the others stirred, and they fell silent.
Finally, she whispered, “Well, I am glad you came. I never really thanked you for that. You didn’t have to do such a thing.”
“I’m glad I did.”
“So am I. So you know, though, the very reason I was trying to get to the camp at all was to get a message to my uncle about my grandfather’s plans to wed me to…someone I do not wish to be tethered to. I don’t think any of my previous letters actually made it to him. Taking Lieutenant Monroe’s note was only secondary, a means by which to gain entrance. Which, as
you know, turned out poorly.”
Matthew processed the information as it sped from her lips. She seemed relieved to have gotten it out. He should steer the conversation away from secret messages and the questions they might stir. Besides, something had bothered him ever since he’d overheard the odd conversation at Rosswood. He’d been unable to figure out a way to ask her about it without giving himself away.
“Your grandfather….”
“Yes?”
“He… seems to be a man without honor.”
She let out a bitter laugh. “So you saw.” She picked at her fingernails. When she looked up, he could not read the expression in her eyes. “He is also not truly my grandfather, but the father of Sarah, my father’s second wife.”
“So, he is the male relative overseeing your plantation until you are married.”
“Yes.”
“And this man he has chosen for you…?” He left the question open, hoping the strange thing she’d said about her uncle would be explained.
She let out a long breath. “Andrew. His son. Who would be my uncle, though not by blood.”
Things clicked into place. “Of course,” Matthew said under his breath.
“What?”
“It makes sense. He has to marry you to someone in his family if he wants to maintain any legal claims on the land.”
“Exactly,” she said through clenched teeth.
They sat in silence for a while, and Matthew left her to her thoughts. It was no wonder she had agreed to come with him. She was already afraid of this man, and his intentions did not seem to be good ones. As her male relative, blood or not, her grandfather should have been seeking to care for her, not to further his own gain. Anger boiled in Matthew’s stomach.
“How much older are you than your brother?” she asked, jerking him from his thoughts.
Matthew’s brow furrowed. “There is three years difference between us.”
“Hmm.”
“Why?”
“When we first met, you told me you were twenty-five.”
“I am.”
“So, if George is your younger brother…”
Where was she going with this? “Yes?”
“Then that means he would be twenty-two, correct?”
Matthew bit the inside of his lip. An answer this time would not be an evasion, but an outright lie.
“Twenty-five less three does make twenty-two.”
She stared at him in the dying firelight and he forced himself not to shift under her gaze.
“Why the sudden interest in age?”
“No reason. Just more information, that’s all.”
Why didn’t he believe her?
He jumped to his feet a little too quickly and gathered some more wood. He tossed it on the fire. “Well, it is very late. We should be getting some rest now.”
Without a word, she rose and shuffled off into the darkness. He heard her settle down on her pallet, though he could barely make out her form in the firelight. He gritted his teeth and returned to his place, propping himself up on his saddle and turning his cold feet to the fire that he doubted would survive until dawn.
In a couple more days they would be in Washington, and he would be forced to tell her the truth. What would happen then? How much would she hate him? The thought caused guilt to pour through him like hot water, though it offered no relief from the coldness seeping up from the ground below. As uncomfortable as his body was, his mind was far worse.
Stillness settled on the camp once again, the crickets the only ones making a sound. For a long time Matthew sat and listened to their song, trying to calm his thoughts. Try as he might, the only thing he could do was think about the beautiful blonde just on the other side of the camp, who might as well be miles away—a woman who, in another reality, could very well have been his wife.
“My hopes and prospects rest solely on this attempt, and should it fail, I am ruined forever.”
Surratt Boarding House
Washington
March 3rd, 1865
Three days had passed since she had gone to speak with Matthew by the firelight. She could still not stop herself from playing the conversation over and again in her mind. How many times had she tried to analyze every word and gesture?
One thing was certain: he had been avoiding her since she’d asked about George. What did that mean? Was he hiding something, or had it been a reminder to them both that she was growing too comfortable with the wrong brother?
True, they had ridden hard and collapsed onto their makeshift beds each night, but not once had he tried to talk to her beyond polite and mundane words. She shouldn’t miss the deeper conversations and shared feelings, should she? But, she felt she had managed to gain and lose a friend all too quickly. Were they not past meaningless pleasantries and strictly necessary words?
Something pinched her arm, and she gasped, swinging her gaze up to Peggy, who stood next to her as if she had a rod jammed into her spine. Peggy caught her eye and gave a tiny shake of her head.
Oh, heavens. She’d been lost in her thoughts again. And she was supposed to be paying attention!
Annabelle swung her focus back to the group assembled in the room. She’d never been in such a place before, a narrow house that was connected to another on one side and separated from yet another building on the other by only a small strip of land. The entire house looked as if it had been wedged into place like a book onto a shelf already crammed full.
Yet, in a town packed to the brim with people, the inside of the boarding house was surprisingly empty. It seemed they would be the only guests tonight. Annabelle couldn’t help but find that strange. Her gaze traveled over David O’Malley and Harry, then came to rest on Matthew, who shifted his weight from one foot to the other, his frame seeming larger than usual. He wouldn’t look at her, so she studied the matronly woman who owned this slender dwelling instead.
She wore a fine dress with a large bow and cameo about her neck, her white undersleeves crisp. She had the manner of one who was accustomed to being in charge. For that, Annabelle had to admire her.
Suddenly, the woman’s gaze snapped to meet Annabelle’s. Annabelle wasn’t sure if what she saw framed between the woman’s dangling earrings was dismissal or suspicion—maybe it was a mixture of both. Too bad she didn’t know what they all had been talking about. That would probably make things easier to decipher.
“Come, miss,” the woman said, gesturing for Annabelle to leave the cushioned seat that, after a long day astride a horse, felt like the greatest luxury the world could offer. “I will show you to your room. It is quite late, and surely you do not need to be down here amongst the ramblings of menfolk.”
Like her? Annabelle forced a submissive smile and pushed her weight up onto sore legs. Without a word, Peggy fell into step behind her as she followed Mrs. Surratt up the staircase and to the top floor.
Annabelle gathered her skirts to keep them from brushing the wall. At the landing, a single door seemed to be the only thing on the third floor. Mrs. Surratt held it open, and Annabelle and Peggy passed through. It was built into the roof, and the low slope of the ceiling made it so that one couldn’t stand properly at the edges of the room.
“It seems Captain Daniels insists you accompany him tomorrow to the inauguration. I trust you have something more proper to wear?”
Annabelle wondered at the woman’s clipped words. What cause would she have to be irked? Perhaps Annabelle was just tired. She really needed to stop being suspicious of everyone.
She glanced over at Peggy, who held up her father’s carpetbag. “Yes, I brought a nice gown I did not want to ruin traveling.” Not that she needed to defend herself to this woman.
Mrs. Surratt turned to Peggy, as if noticing her for the first time. “Ah. You will need a place for this slave, of course.”
Annabelle waved a hand. “Oh, there is no need. She can just stay in here with me.”
The woman’s face reddened, and Annabelle swallowed har
d. Was this not the North? Annabelle straightened herself to her full height and kept her gaze on the woman steady.
Finally, Mrs. Surratt sighed and closed the door without another word. As soon as the door clicked, Annabelle’s shoulders drooped. She slumped down on the bed which was, like everything else here, unusually narrow. Peggy began her clicking noise that indicated something had annoyed her.
“I don’t like this one bit. We’s ain’t seen this man yet you’s supposed to be courtin’, and I don’t like the looks of what’s goin’ on here. Something’s up with this whole thing.”
Of course, Peggy wasn’t upset by Mrs. Surratt’s behavior. She’d come to expect such treatment long ago. Annabelle pushed down her feelings and thought on what Peggy said as she pulled the pins from her hair and let it cascade down her back. “I know. I am suspicious as well,” she said quietly, in case there were listening ears on the other side of the door.
As if reading her thoughts, Peggy eyed the door and then sidled closer to Annabelle’s side. “They’s plannin’ somethin’. I just know it.”
Annabelle rose and turned her back to Peggy, who immediately began undoing her laces. Oh, how nice it would be to sleep tonight without being fully clothed! “I agree. But, I don’t know what it could be. I think they run a spy ring, but I don’t see what we can do about it. It’s probably best if we stay out of it.”
Peggy pulled the blouse over Annabelle’s head, and Annabelle stepped out of her petticoat and skirt. Stripping down to just her chemise and pantaloons, she padded over to the fire glowing merrily in the hearth. This small room at the top of the house felt warmer than those below, and Annabelle reveled in the comfort of being indoors in front of a fireplace. She turned her back to the flames and enjoyed the heat on her skin while Peggy readied Annabelle’s bed and then her own on the other side of the room.
“Peggy?”
“Yes?” She laid Annabelle’s skirt over the back of a chair, though Annabelle had to wonder if it were more from habit than anything else. She didn’t think wadding it up and tossing it in the corner could produce any more wrinkles.
“Do you think I will meet him tomorrow?”
The Liberator Series Box Set: Christian Historical Civil War Novels Page 22