“The new Mista Daniels?”
She nodded. Peggy didn’t turn to see her agreement, but didn’t need to.
“I reckon.” Peggy stripped down to her shift and came to join Annabelle over at the fire. Whatever appearances they kept up in front of the others were easily dismissed when they were alone and both exhausted. “Now you know I ain’t goin’ with you tomorrow, right?”
“I assumed. What will you do?”
Peggy snorted. “See if that woman’s got a decent washtub so I can get some of the horse smell washed out of these clothes.”
The corners of Annabelle’s lips lifted slightly. “That would be nice, indeed.”
Peggy stretched and yawned. “Come on, girl. To bed with you. You’ll have dark circles under them eyes if you don’t start gettin’ some proper rest.”
Annabelle agreed and slipped under the blankets, the soft mattress a haven for her aching muscles. “Goodnight, Peggy.”
The reply came as it had for as many years as Annabelle could remember. “Goodnight, sweet girl. Dream of beautiful things and a bright tomorra.”
Annabelle drifted off to sleep, wondering exactly what tomorrow might hold.
She didn’t wonder long, because the sun had barely begun to slide into the room when Peggy shook her from her slumber.
“Come on. I want to get you washed this mornin’.”
Annabelle groaned and cracked one eye to look at Peggy. “Can’t it wait?”
Peggy crossed her arms over her chest. “You wants to meet that man smellin’ like a stable?”
Annabelle gaped at her. “Am I that bad?”
“Yep. Now, get up.”
Annabelle yawned and snuggled deeper into the covers. She had just enough time to register Peggy’s snort before the blankets flew off of her.
“All right, all right. I’m up,” she grumbled.
Peggy scurried out of the room, and Annabelle contemplated sneaking a few more moments of rest. Then she sighed and rose from the bed, choosing to warm herself by the fire instead. Peggy must have been up for a while. Not only was she already dressed, but her bed was made and she’d built up the fire. What would Annabelle ever do without Peggy?
She looked out the window and grimaced. Another wet day. When they’d finally made it here yesterday, it had been by plodding through inches of thick mud that had stuck to the horses’ legs like paste. The thought of ruining her only nice dress in the muck made her wrinkle her nose.
Peggy burst through the door with a pitcher of water and poured it into the basin. “It ain’t hot, but it’s warm enough so it won’t give you a chill.”
Annabelle took the cloth Peggy offered and proceeded to get herself sufficiently scrubbed clean of horse smell before Peggy tackled her locks.
“Well, this hair needs a washin’, but that can’t be helped. Captain Daniels is pacin’ downstairs, already waiting on you. Says he needs to talk to you before the parade.”
“Parade?” Annabelle had never seen one. Excitement fluttered in her chest. When her hair was styled and her dress tied, she turned to Peggy. “How do I look?”
Unexpected tears swelled in her eyes. “Like a lovely young woman, grown too fast.”
Annabelle smiled and grasped Peggy’s hand. A sudden knock made them both jump. Peggy pulled away from Annabelle, straightened her face, and opened the door to find Matthew crowding the doorway. He glanced between them and twisted the hat in his hand.
“Annabelle, I need to speak to you.”
Peggy frowned. “Ain’t no gentlemen allowed in a lady’s room. She’ll be down in a minute.”
Annabelle smirked at Peggy’s boldness. Perhaps the news that the Union President had signed all slaves into freedom gave her some confidence. Even if Mississippi would never accept such a thing, this was, after all, Washington.
Matthew Daniels didn’t budge. He swung his gaze over to Annabelle, ignoring Peggy entirely. “I would like to speak with you privately. It is very important.”
“Humph. Of course it is.” Peggy put her hands on her hips.
Matthew finally spoke to Peggy, confusion pulling his brows together. “It concerns my brother.”
Annabelle’s breath caught. Had she come all this way only to be rejected before she met the man? She gritted her teeth. How could he cast her away before he even laid eyes on her? What would make him change his mind? A nasty thought sunk its claws into her: what if he wasn’t even here at all? Worse, what if he didn’t even know his brother planned to force him into a marriage, just as Grandfather had planned to do to her?
Worry scurried over her like a hundred ants, and she quickly grasped Peggy’s hand, pulling her past Matthew, who stumbled out of the way.
“Wait for me on the steps,” she said to Peggy, her voice low. “We will leave the door open.”
Peggy shook her head. “But, you’ll be out of sight.”
“Only for a moment.” She pleaded with her eyes.
“Fine, but only for a few minutes,” Peggy grumbled.
Annabelle left her on the stairs and stepped past a confused Matthew and back into the room, gesturing for him to join her.
“I have a confession to make,” he blurted.
Panic gripped her chest, causing her breaths to feel harder to draw. “What do you mean?”
Matthew dropped his gaze. “I haven’t been honest with you.”
Her heart galloped. “In what way?”
“My brother isn’t here.”
She knew it! He’d abandoned her already. “And why not?” The words came out more scathing than she intended, and the look of pain that flashed in Matthew’s eyes almost made her wish she could call them back.
“Because he is in prison.”
“What?”
Her screech sent Peggy scrambling back into the room, her gaze darting between Annabelle and Matthew.
Matthew straightened. “Please, if you would allow me to explain.”
“He was never going to be here, was he?” Annabelle clenched her fists at her sides, her chest heaving.
“No.” Matthew said, dropping his gaze to the floor.
Heat flared in her chest, and she could feel it travel all the way into her face.
Peggy threw up her hands. “Oh, Lawd, what we gonna do?”
The muscles in Matthew’s jaw worked as he set his earnest gaze on Annabelle. “I meant only to protect you.”
“By lying to me? What did he do to get himself thrown into prison? I need to know, since marriage to an unwilling criminal or to a cur twice my age are apparently my only options! I should know what sort of miscreant you thought to throw me upon!”
Matthew’s nostrils flared. “His only crime was to try to save his brother from certain death! He got himself captured by the enemy instead.”
Anger left her in a sudden whoosh. “Oh.” He glared at her, and she dropped her gaze. “Forgive me, I did not know.”
His breathing was long and deliberate, and it took several seconds before Annabelle dared to look up at him again. When she did, she noticed Peggy had left the room, and the man before her stood tense and erect, but not exactly angry.
She tilted her head and studied him. This would not be a man who let his anger blossom into strikes. Though she had riled him, he did not lift a finger. Indeed, he appeared to have conquered his anger and now stared back at her intensely but calmly.
She licked her lips, trying to force moisture back into her mouth. “I’m sorry. My words came from anger and fear. I did not mean them to wound.”
He gave a single nod. “Your actions are not without cause. I’m the one who has gotten myself into this mess by not being honest with you from the beginning.”
She shifted her weight. “Why did you not tell me?”
“I feared you would not come.”
Annabelle thought on that a moment. Would she have? “Why bring me here rather than take me to your family’s plantation as you first said?”
“I was not…able to make that happen, and I thought you w
ould be safer with me.”
Something in her heart stirred, but she pushed it aside. “So, let me see if I understand this correctly. You came to find me, to see if I was the same woman you met at the army camp, and discovered the predicament I was in, so you brought up my father’s arrangement in order to remove me from Rosswood?”
He rubbed the back of his neck. “In a manner of speaking, yes.”
Her chest tightened. “So, your brother is not aware of any of this, is he?”
Matthew drew a long breath and stepped closer to her, placing his hand on her shoulder and forcing her to tilt her head to look into his eyes.
“No. I am afraid he is not.”
Her lids dropped closed.
“But, I assure you,” he hurried on, “he will be most pleased with you and the arrangement.”
Annabelle swallowed hard, then stepped out of his grip. “Very well.” Matthew meant well. She tried not to let herself think on the possibility that George might never make it out of war camp. “Though I do not see how I can court a man in prison.”
Matthew’s features hardened. “He won’t be there for long.”
Lord forgive her. How could she be so selfish? She was so concerned about using this man for security that she was angry he was unable to provide it. The poor man was in a war prison! He could die there or….
Wait. What had he said? She snapped her gaze from the rug to his face. “And why is that?”
He shrugged, clearly uncomfortable. “Prisoner exchange.”
Annabelle crossed her arms. “Even I know they no longer exchange Confederate prisoners.”
Matthew pulled his hat onto his head. “Don’t worry. We have certain…leverage.”
With that, he stalked out the door and left Annabelle staring behind him.
“The city is full, and the office-seekers are buzzing around him like so many bees. Can’t yet be done.”
President Lincoln’s second inauguration
Washington
March 4th, 1865
An hour later, Matthew gripped Annabelle’s elbow and led her down the boarding house steps, his other hand holding the umbrella over their heads. Breakfast had been rather tense, but she’d taken it fairly well, all things considered. He’d expected a slap across the face, or at the very least, for her to storm out and leave him in the wake of her wrath. Instead, she seemed to be a forgiving woman, one with enough patience to cover them both.
He tightened his grip on her arm and told himself it was only to be sure she didn’t slip. She looked up at him with those big, blue eyes and a smile sprang onto his lips before he could catch it.
She pulled her lower lip through her teeth. “So… Peggy said there was a parade?”
His grin widened. “Have you ever seen one?”
“No. What do you suppose a parade for President Lincoln will have?”
He shrugged as they turned onto the crowded sidewalk. “I guess we’ll see. Come on, let’s catch the others.”
They hurried down the sidewalk after O’Malley, though their progress was slowed by the press of too many bodies heading in the same direction. Matthew glanced down at Annabelle, who appeared to be very uncomfortable with the people jostling her.
Taking her hand firmly in his own, he drew her behind him and used his body to open the crowd. He gained a few annoyed looks, but mostly the people appeared to be in high spirits, and their looks of anticipation and jubilance proved contagious.
After what felt like an endless trek through the mud, they reached Pennsylvania Avenue and found a place at the edge of the road next to Harry and O’Malley. The Capitol stood not too far in front of them. A good place, Matthew thought. They would be able to catch the parade and still see the president without having to change location.
He looked down at Annabelle, who held her blue skirts nearly high enough to be scandalous. She offered him an excited smile before slipping her hand free from his grasp and rising on her toes to look down the road. She looked stunning in a proper gown. He would have to be sure she wasn’t reduced into rags again.
“We will be able to see him from here!” O’Malley said, rare excitement peppering his words and commanding Matthew’s attention.
“Lincoln? Of course we will,” Matthew said, chuckling. “He’s going to be there on that decorated platform, just under the new dome.”
O’Malley face soured. “Not him,” he hissed. “Booth.”
“What?”
O’Malley tugged on Matthew’s lapel, urging him to lean in closer. “The one I told you was close to the lanky fiend! The western woodcutter loves the theatre. Fool has even invited Booth right into the White House. Today, he’s going to be up there.”
He nodded to the platform, and Matthew followed his gaze to the rows of reserved spaces just beneath it. He frowned. How did they expect to snatch the man in the middle of such a crowd? And, if this Booth were to do it, how was O’Malley to help him from here?
Matthew simply nodded and voiced none of his thoughts. A trumpet blared, and he turned his attention down the road, where a band began to play a loud and merry tune. The crowd erupted with cheers, men waving their hats and women fluttering handkerchiefs.
Annabelle remained still, her hands secured to her dress to hold it above the muck, but her eyes lit up at the sound. She cast Matthew a quick glance and smiled, her childlike glee sending a pang into his heart. How could he have deceived her so? Unlike the other women he’d known, this one seemed as genuine as she was kind. Well, except for that whole Miss Smith thing.
The band marched down the street, its drummers banging furiously and banners waving gleefully despite the dreary cloud cover. At least it had stopped raining. Only a fine mist hung in the air, as if even it was reluctant to miss such a moment. Matthew snapped the umbrella closed and lowered it to his side.
Behind the band came troops of Colored soldiers in grand regalia, their faces shining with triumph. The people waved to them just the same, and Matthew wondered if he were witnessing something monumental. His eyes darted across the other side of the road, noticing the oddity for the first time.
Dark-skinned people brushed shoulders with white men and women, and no one seemed to notice it. Not a one seemed to care. No separation, no distinction. Something haunting washed over Matthew, and he felt as if he were standing in the very center of a turning point in history. He pushed the ridiculous thought aside. They might do things like that in the North, but the South would never see the races shoulder-to-shoulder. Would it?
O’Malley growled. Matthew shook himself and looked to the man who had so drastically altered his own personal course of history. “Look at them! Acting like they are citizens.” He spat. “How dare they think they are better than us?”
Matthew grunted. Better? He studied the faces flowing past, actually taking the time to study those who were different from him for the first time since he was a boy. No, these were not the faces of gloaters. These looked to be the faces of joy. Triumph, yes, there was that, but more like the kind that came after a long, hard battle—one that came with scars, and one all the sweeter for them.
What was he thinking? He sounded like a Yank! How would Westerly survive if the war was lost and Lincoln’s thirteenth amendment ratified? Their business and all his father and grandfather had built would be lost. His gaze jumped down to Annabelle again, who had dropped her skirts and was waving her handkerchief as joyously as any Northerner in the crowd.
How would he provide a life for her? He jerked his thoughts to a halt. That was for George to consider.
A carriage rolled down the street, and the cheers swelled to a near-deafening volume. O’Malley gripped his arm, lifting himself onto his toes to speak in Matthew’s ear.
“He’s not really in there, you know.”
Matthew frowned. “What?”
“Only his wife. He’s already inside. Been there all morning signing papers.”
How would O’Malley know that? He cut his eyes to the platform at the
Capitol. Maybe this Booth truly did have access to Lincoln. No sooner had he thought it than O’Malley pointed. “There!”
Matthew followed the length of O’Malley’s arm but could not identify the man he indicated from the crowd of people flowing onto the reserved platform.
“Yes, yes,” O’Malley mumbled, mostly to himself. “Of course. He came with Lucy. That’s how he did it.”
Matthew was about to ask him exactly what he meant by that, but just then the crowd erupted, and he realized he’d been so lost in thought he’d missed the end of the parade.
A roar of applause shook the air and spread through the people pressed in close for as far as Matthew could see. As they stood there, people flowed onto the street in the wake of the parade and pressed forward as close to the Capitol as they could get. Only his height allowed Matthew to see over the swarm of cheering Yanks. If he had to guess, he would say over thirty thousand had come to witness the second inaugural address. Finally, the applause died away on the outer fringe of the throng, like how Matthew imagined a sweeping ocean wave might eventually crash and then dissipate.
He turned his gaze forward just as Abraham Lincoln himself stepped up to the podium. Overhead, the cloud cover suddenly broke, and a stream of bright sunlight bathed the president in a splendid glow. People mumbled to one another, and a few pointed to the sky.
The president’s clear voice rang out across the restless crowd, and in that surreal moment, Annabelle Ross gripped his hand, and he felt like he was hers and she was his.
“Fellow countrymen!”
The onlookers stilled, and what seemed like awe washed across them. Matthew focused on Lincoln. What manner of man could command such a presence? Was this strange feeling pulsing through the mob an unnatural mixture of hope and resignation? Why should he feel it as well?
The most controversial man ever to lead the states, Lincoln had brought this war upon them. Matthew held on to Annabelle and ignored O’Malley’s murmurings under his breath. He knew what everyone said. He knew how O’Malley and his band railed against the Union President. But, what did he really think of this tall, melancholy figure whom he was supposed to see kidnapped and hauled away? He didn’t seem to be the evil warmonger Matthew had pictured. Something about that unsettled him deeply.
The Liberator Series Box Set: Christian Historical Civil War Novels Page 23