“Soon,” she promised. “Soon you will be green again, and new life will bloom upon Rosswood.”
Annabelle touched her fingers to her lips to feel the smile that refused to give up hope. So many uncertainties remained, but for now, it was enough simply to be home.
“I am safe here at any rate, under the protection of those professing my own religion. I have sought a sanctuary, and have found it. While here there is neither fear of betrayal, nor risk of discovery.”
John Surratt
Sweat beaded on George’s brow and slid down toward his eyes. He wiped it away again and looked up at the sun. A sweltering day in late May, summer had come to Mississippi as it always did, with air thick with moisture that still seemed to want to draw the water out of a man. He grumbled to himself about having been told he should be the one to fetch the Feds, since Michael’s presence was needed at Rosswood.
George flicked his fingers to sling the sweat off, wondering how offensive his odor would be by the time he reached Lorman. The still air carried the scents of flora. So quiet here, George thought, out alone on this road with naught but the chattering of squirrels and the squawk of blue jays to interrupt the solitude.
But solitude was something George didn’t want. Solitude meant he would be left alone to his thoughts, and such a thing haunted him enough during the witching hours. He didn’t want it here in the day.
The slag on the ground crunched under his feet as he trudged along, pistol at his side. Perhaps it was better he hadn’t been the one to stay at the plantation. From the way Annabelle kept looking at him, he feared she would find a way to hook him into listening to words he didn’t want to hear. That would be even worse than the torture of his own thoughts. He kicked at a rock and sent it skittering across the road.
He’d made a muddle of his courtship to Lilly, and after the way he’d treated her, she would never forgive him. George groaned. He wouldn’t even ask it of her and force her to do the Christian thing. This ache that burned within him served to remind him that he deserved no better than the misery ahead of him.
Forgive me, Lord.
He’d ask it of the Almighty, even if he could never ask it from her. How had it come to this? How had he found himself in such a crush of pain over the shades of skin?
George thought back to the war he’d fought, and the issues of slavery, making himself truly examine it for the first time. He’d fought not necessarily to uphold the institution, but rather for the idea that the government shouldn’t have such absolute power. States had joined the Union on their own vote, and the way George saw it, they should have been able to leave the Union under that same free will.
A government that mandated everything was a government the people could no longer control, and that was something dangerous. He plucked a leaf from an oak as he passed, rubbing the softness of it between his fingers.
Oh, Lord, we were fools.
Slavery had been around since the times in the Bible, God’s own people having been captured and enslaved. To the victor of many a conquest, the defeated people were always enslaved. Guilt nagged at him. But this was different. They had not conquered a people. They had purchased people stolen from their homes by enemy tribes or snatched from unsuspecting villages. Then they had kept them like animals, denying them the basic rights that a human should have. And why? Because it was a repercussion of war? No. Simply because they could.
They lied to themselves and said the Negro people were not really people. They couldn’t think and they didn’t feel as the white man felt. Lies they told themselves to make it feel all right. Westerly had cared for their slaves, but only as one would a prized steed.
Why had he not seen? Worse, why had he never cared?
So lost in his thoughts, George didn’t even hear the horse approach until the crunch of hooves gained his side. He looked up to find a young Yank staring down at him.
Startled, George jerked to a halt, his fingers brushing the top of his pistol. The younger man regarded him from atop a gray horse, his mop of dark hair barely contained beneath his cap. He seemed entirely unconcerned that George could draw on him and fire before he ever got that rifle unsheathed from the saddle. That alone kept George from aiming at him. A man that relaxed couldn’t be much of a threat. But George would keep at the ready, all the same. Yanks could never be trusted.
The fellow touched the brim of his kepi. “Afternoon, Mister. You heading to town?”
George glanced in both directions, but saw no other Yanks. That didn’t mean they wouldn’t be hiding nearby. He shifted his weight and judged the distance between himself and the horse’s bridle, wondering if he could snatch it before the Yank could shoot him.
George stroked his chin. “Sure am.”
“Where are you coming from?”
George rested his hand heavily on the stock of the pistol, a move the Yank didn’t miss. “What’s that to you?”
The fellow shrugged. “Nothing. Just not much out in these parts.”
George tipped his chin and turned to start forward. His senses screamed at him not to turn his back on a Blue Belly, but he somehow got the feeling that simply walking away would be the best course of action. He didn’t owe anything to this man, and they were no longer at war.
The man made a clicking noise, and the horse plodded along beside him again. George glanced up to find the man riding easy in the saddle as he swiped sweat from his face.
“It’s hot down in these parts.”
George grunted.
“Are you from around here?”
“Nope.”
The Yank fell silent again, content to ride alongside George and prod him to frustration with his nonchalance. After about a half hour, George could stand it no longer. He stopped. “Who are you, and why are you following me?”
The man lifted his shoulders. “I’m not following you. Just going the same place.”
George ground his teeth. “Lot faster on horse than on foot, you know.”
“Yep. But horses aren’t much by way of conversationalists.”
George gaped at him, the easy humor in the fellow’s face unraveling his ire. He chortled. “Well, looks like that gray and I have that in common, then.”
The man patted the horse’s neck. “Nah. All I get out of him is a few snorts.”
George snorted in mock irony to the statement and started walking again.
After about another half mile, the curious fellow spoke again. “I’m Joshua.”
George rubbed the back of his neck. “George. How much farther to this town? Too much farther and I’m going to have to relieve you of that beast.”
Joshua chuckled and pressed a leg into the horse, causing it to prance and then cross its legs in a sideways manner until came to the other side of the road. “Not far. Another mile, I think.”
“What are you doing out here? Shouldn’t you be with a unit?”
“I’m on personal time.”
Alarm clicked in George. Something about this was off. “Personal time? In war?”
“War’s over.”
George sucked his teeth. “Your occupation force, aren’t you?”
“In a manner of speaking. We are just maintaining a presence. For peace reasons, you know.”
“So, Mr. Joshua….” George left his sentence hanging.
He straightened his spine. “Lieutenant.”
“Lieutenant….”
He sighed. “Lieutenant Joshua Grierson.”
George stumbled to a halt. “Grierson?”
The man nodded.
George’s nostrils flared. “Any relation to cavalry General Benjamin Grierson?”
“My uncle.”
George gripped the pistol again. “The raider.”
Grierson swung his horse around, cutting George off and bringing them to a standstill in the road. “The music teacher. Then Army man. A man who gave supplies to poor Southerners the rich seemed to have forgotten all about in this war.”
George’s mouth f
ell open. “Supplies stolen from our army!”
“Better the civilians eat than the enemy.”
George clenched his fists and spat. “Grierson and his raiding parties destroyed wagons and machinery, leaving many of us to scrape up game from the woods to survive.”
The man regarded him evenly, but said nothing.
“You talk about handing out supplies. But what about stripping Southern civilians of their goods? I heard what he did on his swath through Mississippi. The people of Bankston were defenseless, and Grierson let his men pillage them.”
“They must have needed supplies.”
George growled and lurched toward the horse, startling the creature and causing it to rear. Grierson made a grand effort of maintaining his saddle, but the more George screamed and thrust at the horse, the more the animal thrashed.
In a breath, the Yank was on the ground, and George lunged for him. He crashed into the enemy’s chest, pinning the man down with his knees. “It was Grierson that sent me to Elmira!”
The man, not more than a youth, really, stared up at him with big eyes. “But not I.”
George snarled and lifted his fist to strike.
“Am I to pay for another’s deeds because I share his name?”
The words, spoken so calmly they stilled George’s hand, seeped into him.
“War is ugly, and both sides did things that civilized gentlemen would never do. Yet, in desperation to win, we do what we must.”
George sat back, keeping his weight on the man who didn’t struggle beneath him. “I could take my revenge out on you, give your uncle a taste of my pain.”
Grierson nodded. “Aye, you could. You could add to his losses by attacking his favored nephew, but somehow I doubt that would cure what ails you.”
George stood and eyed the boy warily. Grierson drew a deep breath and took his time coming back to his feet, then dusted his jacket and straightened his lapel. George watched him, waiting for an attack that didn’t come.
“Much obliged to you for not knocking on my nose, Mr….”
George narrowed his eyes. “George Daniels.”
“Mr. Daniels. But if it’s all the same to you, I think I’ll go on to town without the benefit of company.”
George glared at him as he took a step back, tipped his hat, and then grabbed the reigns of the horse that still stood nearby. He swung up into the saddle. “Do you happen to know a Miss Smith? She has a home somewhere around here.”
George cocked his head. “No. Why do you ask?”
Grierson palmed the reins. “Just trying to make good on a promise, that’s all.” He tucked his chin. “Good day to you, then.” He squeezed his legs and the horse broke into a canter, leaving George in a swirl of dust.
He grunted. Never in his days had George encountered such an odd fellow. He restarted his trudge toward Lorman, rubbing at the fist he had nearly unleashed on a friendly young man who had done nothing more than try to engage him in conversation.
What has become of me?
George finally made his way into town, spotting what would be the best starting place for his mission. He thudded up the steps to the building marked “Black’s General Store” and stepped inside.
One look at the portly man behind the counter and he broke into a grin. So this was the fellow who had bested his brother? This rotund fellow with thinning hair and an apron? When Matthew had recounted the tale, he’d not said much on the nature of the shopkeeper who had felled him. George would have never guessed it to be this fellow. Perhaps he was mistaken.
George stepped up to the counter. “Mr. Black?”
The fellow looked up from a stack of papers he’d been squinting over. “I am.”
George chuckled. “Imagine that.”
“What?”
George shook his head. “Never mind. I don’t suppose you know who might handle a legal dispute over land these days, would you?”
The shopkeeper straightened his papers and placed them on the counter. “Far as I know, those things are handled by courts.”
George leaned an arm on the polished counter. “Since I’ve returned to Mississippi, seems to me that Yanks are judge and jury now, giving little thought to what courts say.”
The man untied his apron and placed it on the counter and regarded him a moment. Then he gestured toward the rear of the building. “I got a crate in the back I’m having trouble with. Think you can help me with it?”
The man moved around the counter and started toward the back without waiting for George’s answer. Reminding himself not to be taken in by this fellow’s harmless appearance, George followed him.
In the rear, they stepped into a sparse stock room, and the shopkeeper pointed to a crate on the floor. “Need two to get this one up.”
George eyed the man as he bent over to lift one end, then gave a shrug and bent to put his fingers under the other. They hefted the box, which felt filled with bricks, and lugged it into the front room, where they deposited it behind the counter.
“Thanks, friend,” Black said, rubbing the muscles in his lower back as he straightened.
George wiped his hands on his trousers. “Sure.”
The shopkeeper tied his apron back on. “Don’t recognize you.”
No resemblance to my brother, then? George thought, but merely smiled, unable to help his amusement at Matthew’s expense. “Never been here, but I think you’d recognize my brother. Big fellow you knocked in the head.”
The portly man’s eyes widened and he took a step back. “Oh!” He scrubbed a hand down his face. “Look fellow, I don’t want trouble.”
George chuckled. “I still can’t believe you dropped Matthew. Wait until he hears that I came in here, only to find you were the one to best him.”
The man looked sheepish, and put his hands in his pockets. “I was only trying to help Miss Ross.”
George sobered. “I know. And my family is grateful to you for it. In fact, that is why I am here. There is some trouble over the ownership of her lands.”
His eyebrows rose. “You know about that?”
“Aye. My brother is her intended.”
Mr. Black gawked. “He said he didn’t know her!”
“Not at the time.”
“But…”
George held up a hand. “Forgive me, but it is a long story. Suffice it to say that Miss Ross is safely returned home, with her blood uncle, Michael Ross, only to find that her property has been granted to another by some Yanks.”
Mr. Black’s features slackened with what appeared to be relief. “She found him, then. When we didn’t hear from her again, I thought….” he shook his head. “Well, it doesn’t matter. Everyone here thought she wasn’t coming back. What I heard tell is that the seconds wife’s family has laid claim, and as the Feds aren’t redistributing land, they let it stand.”
“Ross has legal papers that say otherwise, and we are capable of tossing the usurper out, but….”
“You don’t want the Feds coming down on you,” Mr. Black supplied.
“Indeed. We’d rather do this peaceful, if that’s possible.”
Mr. Black glanced around his sparse store, a look of resignation on his face. “It’s what we’re all doing these days.” He rubbed the back of his thick neck. “Best one to talk to is going to be Lieutenant Grierson. He’s been put in charge of keeping things civil around here, and though its nigh on traitorous to say so, he’s a decent fellow that seems to be trying to do right by folks.”
George’s jaw dropped. “Grierson?”
“Aye.”
Of all the luck. George groaned and turned toward the door.
“He’s taken up over at the old barber’s shop,” Mr. Black said, “across from the dressmaker’s. It’s to your left and over two streets. You should be able to find him there, if he’s not out wandering around again.”
George reached for the door and looked back over his shoulder. “Much obliged.”
He stepped back out into the afternoon
sun. Good thing he hadn’t pounded that fellow’s face. He started in the direction the shopkeeper had given him. This would be an even more difficult discussion than he’d anticipated. Not only did he have to try to beg Yanks for Annabelle’s land back, he had to beg it from a man who had every reason to make him pay for his temper.
Why do I get the feeling You are trying to teach me something?
George set his jaw, shoved his hands into his pockets, and hoped his stomach was big enough for all the humble pie he was about to have to swallow.
“The trial drags on its weary way, and they are trying to take evidence condemning me as well as the rest—for I feel convinced they are all doomed.”
John Surratt
Annabelle ran the comb through her hair, letting the warm air from the window send teasing strands about her face. The bare floors felt odd beneath her toes, but at least they were the floors she’d known all her life. Perhaps once they were able to get new crops planted and restart the brick making, she could afford to begin replacing what had been stolen. After the wedding, of course.
If there is one.
Annabelle frowned at the disturbing thought and promptly ordered it away. Uncle would come around. Once he got to know Matthew, he would see that their first meeting did not portray her betrothed accurately. She twisted the ring on her finger. He would be here soon. She could wait. The determined thought did little to ease the pang of impatience that often sank its fangs into her.
Annabelle eyed the crinoline cage Peggy had dug up from Lord only knew where and set it on a stand in her room. Struck by the absurdity of the fashion for the first time, Annabelle giggled. If she had tried to ride a horse with that bird cage strapped around her waist…. She shook her head.
Petticoats had served her well thus far, and she’d no need of that wide contraption now—though it would be a mite cooler, if more difficult to maneuver in.
There was a tap at the door, and then Peggy bustled in, her arms full of garments. “Got everything clean for you, Miss Belle. I’s right pleased your grandma done bought you all these things, else I woulda had me a time trying to make a lady out of you today.”
The Liberator Series Box Set: Christian Historical Civil War Novels Page 82