Neither of them spoke to the server when he placed their plates in front of them. When the man stepped away, Lilly looked up at the ceiling and seemed to be gathering herself. It took a moment before she would look at him. “You are a kind man, Mr. Daniels, and I must admit that if I permitted myself the fantasy, I would be drawn to you. But I cannot allow this to continue.”
Worry snaked through him, choking out the tender hope. “What are you saying?”
Lilly looked at him with tired eyes, and he sensed in her a deep regret. He reached across the table to take her hand, but she pulled it back from him. “I cannot let this go on. If Frankie gets too attached to you, it will only make things harder on him.”
George placed both hands on the table and leaned forward. “Make what harder? I am not going to come into his life and then disappear. Do not let the distances between us and loyalties of a finished war make your decision.”
He reached into his pocket and plucked out the little ring, laying it on the table between them. “I hope to marry you, Lilly.” Her name slid off his tongue like silk, and he did not miss the little shiver that passed over her. Before she could conjure a protest, George hurried on. “I hope to be a father to Frankie and a loving husband to you. I want to provide for you, care for you, and someday, I hope that you will come to find affection for me as well.”
Lilly stared at the ring on the table, and tears gathered in her eyes. “Oh, George….”
The longing in her tone and the use of his name on her velvety lips sent a jolt through him. He leaned closer, but the words she said next were not the ones he had expected.
“I’m part Negro.”
The words hung on the air, and he was too stunned to speak. She kept her eyes on her untouched food, her soft words pounding a stake into his heart. “Frankie’s father was an immigrant from Spain, so his blood is even more mixed than my own. My father was a white man, a plantation man. My mother was a slave, also born of mixed blood.”
Her chest rose and fell with hard breathing as her words plucked at him. How could this be? She was supposed to be the one God sent for him! How could he have been so mistaken? A mulatto? His family would disown him. He could never….
Two tears slid down her perfect cheeks, and she stood, leaving her napkin on the table. In one step, she was standing next to him, her sweet voice clawing him to shreds. “I didn’t want to tell you, because I knew how badly it would hurt to see the way you just looked at me.” Her voice hitched. “Farewell, Mr. Daniels.”
George stared at the ring on the table as she stepped away. He didn’t turn, and he didn’t call after her. The words his heart wanted to shout died on his lips. He reached out and took the ring in his hand, feeling the small, cold metal. How could he have been so utterly wrong?
He slipped the ring in his pocket and turned to leave the forgotten meal. Regret, fear, and a host of other emotions he couldn’t even name rolled within him, making him feel like a lone soldier caught between the lines. Doubt peppered him like Minié balls, and he clutched at his chest. Hot. The room was much too hot. His ears began to ring, hearing the ghostly whine of bullets. He couldn’t stay here. George stumbled through the dining room like a man lost to his cups, then righted himself, straightened his cravat, and stalked out the front door of the hotel and into the lonely night.
“Montreal not safe; left it, therefore, last evening. Detectives everywhere. I shall not be looked for in this retired place.”
John Surratt
Annabelle watched with trepidation as Uncle Michael supervised the loading of their baggage. What would she find upon finally returning home? It had been two months since she had left Grandfather there alone. Uncle Michael didn’t know if the sickly man still lived or not, seeing as how Andrew had been too hostile to let Uncle Michael inside.
A warm breeze ruffled the fringes on her gown, the long northern winter finally having been vanquished by the fortitude of spring. Movement drew her eyes away from Uncle Michael’s agitated instructions to the coachman and to Grandmother as her elder came to stand by Annabelle’s side. “Are you certain you cannot come with me, Grandmother?”
“I am afraid I cannot, dear.”
Annabelle shifted her gaze to her grandmother’s profile, noticing the way the woman regarded Uncle Michael. It seemed the two were not fond of one another. Annabelle wondered at the history between the two sides of her family, which she sensed had more animosity than could be contributed to the war. Annabelle slipped her arm into Grandmother’s. “I know you have been away from home for weeks, Grandmother, but I shall greatly miss your company.”
Grandmother turned her gaze to Annabelle, concern flittering across her features. “Don’t worry, I will be along as soon as I can. I want to be sure all is well with you.”
Annabelle wanted to argue that the best way to do that was simply to come along now, but then Lilly appeared on the outer walk and Grandmother pulled away. Grandmother took Lilly’s arm, guiding her over away from the others as they spoke in low tones. Curious, Annabelle moved to go to them, when someone clasped her elbow. Startled, she turned to see George staring down at her. “Come, Miss Ross. We mustn’t be late for the train.”
“Well, yes, but I haven’t finished my goodbyes.” She shielded her eyes from the sun’s glare. “And where is Peggy? We can’t leave without her.”
George’s face tightened, and he dropped her elbow. “I’ll find her,” he stated briskly, striding away. Annabelle watched him go. What had gotten him all flustered? Dismissing his mood, Annabelle hurried over to Grandmother and Lilly. Seeing her approach, the two women stopped their conversation and Lilly stepped forward, extending her hand to Annabelle. Annabelle grasped it and gave the other woman’s fingers a squeeze.
“Please come and visit me sometime, Lilly.”
A sad smile tugged on Lilly’s lips. “That would be nice, Miss Ross. I’m sure we will see one another again when you come to call on Mrs. Smith.”
Lilly’s eyes were red around the edges, and dark smudges marred the skin underneath. Annabelle glanced to Grandmother, but the other woman gave a small shake of her head. Feeling compassion for her friend, Annabelle pulled Lilly into an embrace, hoping it would give a small measure of comfort to whatever saddened her.
Lilly returned Annabelle’s squeeze and then stepped away, dropping her gaze. Sensing Lilly’s discomfort at something behind her, Annabelle turned to see George standing stiffly with Peggy at his side.
“Oh, there you are Peggy. Where have you been?”
Peggy crossed her arms, in a snit about something, and answered only with a grunt. Annabelle tilted her head. What was she missing?
“We must get going, if we are to make the train.” Uncle Michael said, breaking into the tense circle and snapping his pocket watch closed before he stuffed it back into his jacket. He looked at them all with impatient eyes, as though he could not fathom why everyone didn’t jump at his command.
George whirled around and ducked into the carriage without another word. Annabelle looked back at Lilly, understanding dawning. The two of them must have had some kind of quarrel. Poor Lilly. Anyone could see she was taken with George. What had happened to cause such a rift between them?
Annabelle brightened and offered Lilly an encouraging smile. She would speak to George on the matter. Surely whatever it was couldn’t be anything that could not be overcome. Besides, if things went well, then perhaps Lilly would be officially joined to the family! A sister. Encouraged by the thought, Annabelle gave Lilly a little wave, which the other woman barely returned.
Lilly ducked her head and scurried back inside the hotel, leaving Grandmother alone with Annabelle on the walkway. Annabelle stepped to her elder and leaned close. “A quarrel with Mr. Daniels, I presume?”
Grandmother pulled Annabelle close and patted her back. “If only it were so simple,” she mumbled. Annabelle made a move to pull away to question Grandmother’s meaning, but the woman held firm, continuing to speak in Annabelle�
�s ear. “Do not fret over it, dear. Right now you need to worry about your lands. I’ll be along in a few weeks, once I see to Lilly and get her and Frankie settled back at home.”
Without waiting for Annabelle’s reply, Grandmother pulled away and went back into the hotel. Annabelle turned to find Uncle Michael holding the carriage door and staring at Peggy, who darted her gaze around the streets of Washington as though some foul creature might pounce at any moment. Annabelle took Peggy’s elbow and guided her closer to the carriage.
“What are you doing, Anna? That slave cannot ride in the carriage.” Uncle Michael’s tone held no ire, only bewilderment, but Annabelle bristled anyway.
Annabelle tightened her grip on Peggy’s arm. “Peggy is a freedwoman, Uncle.”
His brows knit. “On whose authority?”
Annabelle tried to keep the frustration from her voice. “On mine, first. I set her free as soon as I learned of my father’s passing. Then, secondly, in case you have forgotten, the South has lost this war, and the Union government has abolished slavery.”
Uncle grunted. “They will not take what is ours, neither by their army nor their politics.”
Annabelle bit back her retort at the preposterous statement.
His Adam’s apple bobbed and his eyes darted away. “To say so would be to say that all we suffered was for naught.”
Compassion tugged at her. What had her uncle endured? She knew how the war had weighed on the Daniels’ brothers. So stoic men were, and adept at burying emotions. There would be no judging just how many wounds would linger long after the flesh had healed.
Annabelle offered Uncle a gentle smile and guided Peggy to the carriage. “It matters not, dear Uncle. What matters now is the rebuilding of peace and a new future in this changed land. We must all learn to move with this current, lest it overtake us.”
Uncle Michael’s features softened slightly, but his posture remained stiff. Hoping he would not further protest, she nodded toward Peggy. “And so, she will ride with me.”
Uncle said nothing further as the women settled on their side of the carriage, nor anything when Annabelle took Peggy onto their traveling car on the train. As the four took their seats and the steam engine gave off its shrill whistle, Annabelle stared out the window and watched Washington pass by, her heart aching as she left Matthew behind.
George swallowed bile that rose in his throat. His stomach had been in turmoil since last eve, as though it thought to mimic the unrest in his heart. He’d lain awake all night, picturing Lilly’s face. He felt ripped in two different directions. He still saw her as his light, and the joy at the thought of their life together waged a bloody war with all he’d ever known. No respectable Southern gentleman could marry a woman of color! He nearly groaned, shifting in his seat and looking at Michael Ross from the corner of his eye.
The man’s hardened features looked as tight as George’s own, and he wondered what the man thought of his niece’s predicament. Matthew had not been in their room when George finally returned last night, nor had he been here this morning to bid is betrothed goodbye. Had it not been for his brother’s scrawled note thanking George for accompanying Annabelle while Matthew stayed for the trial, George would have remained behind to seek his brother out. He’d not known Matthew to stay out all night since before the war, and the idea of it troubled him. Something seemed amiss.
A pang of guilt nipped at him. He’d noticed something out of place with Matthew, but in his selfishness he’d been too preoccupied with his doomed courtship to pay it much mind. Now he feared that something more pushed his brother toward a precipice. He must see this matter with the Ross lands handled quickly.
The train chugged farther south, back toward homelands that would never again be the same. George’s thoughts shifted to Westerly. He’d sent Mother a long letter, letting her know all that had transpired and telling her that he would be returning soon. He prayed all would be well when he finally made it back home. Home to run Westerly alone, with no gentle anchor at his side to keep him steady.
Fool! You should have seen it!
George gripped the edges of his seat. Soon, however, the rhythmic cadence of the train lulled him into an overdue sleep. As though outside of himself, George watched the train fade away. A blink, and then he found himself standing in his personal bedchamber at Westerly, surrounded by things he had not seen since his last furlough three years ago.
Curiously aware that he must be asleep, yet feeling as awake and alert as ever, George walked around the room, fingering the blue quilt his mother had made by her own hand and stepping over to the window to look down on the grounds below.
The yard sprouted with an abundance of budding flora, and out on the hill he could see a mare with a new colt at her side bent to graze on tender grass sprouts. George turned from the window, meaning to go out of the room and seek out his mother. He passed by his bureau and his eyes caught on the mirror that hung over the marbled top. What he saw there sent him stumbling to a halt.
What in heaven’s name…?
George looked at the face before him with wide eyes, reaching up to touch the jaw that hung open. The reflection did the same, the stranger there imitating his every move.
George stared at the looking glass in disbelief. It must be some trick of the mind! He stepped closer, and the figure in the mirror did the same. He forced a nervous chuckle. Whoever stood trapped beyond the glass wasn’t him. No, how foolish. The other simply copied George’s movements.
Just a dream, George. Just a dream.
The thought did little to reduce his pounding heartbeat.
Slowly, George removed his eyes from the startled face in the mirror and looked down at his hands. Panic surged anew. It couldn’t be!
These were not his hands! Where he had thought to regain reality, here was only further evidence of what his reflection foretold. He studied the hands before him…hands the warm color of mahogany.
His eyes darted back to his reflection. His face, yet not his own. His nose was a bit wider, his eyes a deep, rich brown. George stumbled away from the looking glass, slick sweat making his skin shine. He dropped to his knees and put his hands against the sides of his head.
“Lord! What has happened to me?”
I Am here, my son.
The voice flowed over him, caressing the worry away and settling on his spirit. George lowered his hands and looked around. “I am still me, Lord, yet not. What has happened?”
He could feel a sense of amusement fill the room.
The same, yet not the same. Why is that?
“You can see me, Lord. You know.”
Indeed I do. Do you?
“My skin, Lord. It is not me!”
Is it not? the Voice said from somewhere deep inside. Look again.
George lurched to his feet and hurried to the mirror. The dark tones of his face faded right before him, past his usual coloring and not stopping until his skin was as pale as milk. The dark, coarse hair on his head faded and lengthened. For a moment, his natural light brown locks appeared and then transformed into a bright fiery red. Stunned, George could only stare as his eyes turned from deep chestnut to stark emerald, staring back at him from a face that once again was somehow his own, yet completely strange. George cried out, leaping away from the mirror.
“This is not me, either, Father! Have you forgotten me?”
Peace swirled around him. Be calm, my child. I know every hair on your head.
George risked a peek back at the shiny surface of the glass, regarding the stranger. How could the Lord know every hair on his head, when this was clearly not the same features? Though he dared not voice the doubt, an answer came anyway.
I know every detail of the ones I create. I make all people in the way I want them. Who are you to say which form I give you is best?
George shrank from the voice, strong and corrective, yet at the same time loving and kind. Still, he could not pull his eyes away from the reflection as his features shifted again
and returned to the familiar ones he had always known. George looked down at his hands, relieved to see them the proper color, and then felt a sudden wash of shame.
“I was still me, on the inside, wasn’t I?”
It is beyond what you can understand, but know that you are more than just the body I form in the secret places.
George’s image faded from the mirror, replaced by the pained eyes and sorrowful features of Lilly Rose. George turned to look over his shoulder, but she did not stand in the room with him. The mirror showed only her portrait, as though she were frozen on the other side.
George hung his head.
My daughter, the voice said, so filled with love that George’s heart constricted. So precious to Me.
That voice, laced with disappointment, dug deep into George. All the arguments he wanted to claim…the ways of society, the hardships they would endure… all died before they could form. Who was he to say any of those things to the Almighty?
“I’m…sorry.” What else could he say? He looked back at the woman in front of him, so beautiful with those eyes that spoke of a depth of soul he longed to explore. He’d always found her golden tones so appealing. Why would knowing her mixed parentage change that now? He reached out and touched the mirror, and her image disappeared, leaving him looking only at his own haunted eyes.
George dropped to his knees, feeling the loss of her so heavily that he ached. “What shall I do?”
No voice answered him. Desperately, George looked around, but the room no longer felt like home. Though in all appearances the same, it seemed nothing but cold and empty. Lonely. “Help me.”
His head swam, and he squeezed his eyes against the wave of anguish that washed over him, drowning in him self-made sorrow and….
George jerked awake, bolting up in his seat.
“Mr. Daniels!” Mr. Ross yelped, pulling away from him and eying George sternly. “Gather yourself, man!”
Annabelle blinked at him. “Are you well?”
The Liberator Series Box Set: Christian Historical Civil War Novels Page 78