“What?” David cried. The Governor’s house was on North Charles Street, only five miles from the city. The other places were all north of the city, as well. “It was almost certain they would hit us from the west.”
“I suppose that is what they wanted us to think,” Peter said, his face grave. “A source just informed me that rebs have been spotted at a tavern in Towsontown. A federal patrol is on its way up the York Road as we speak to meet them.”
The hair on the back of David’s neck stood up. “The York Road? That will lead them right through—”
“Govanstown.”
Heart racing, David snatched his coat. In attempting to protect Elizabeth and her family, he had put them directly in harm’s way. “We have to get to them!”
Peter had already started for the door. “I’ve secured two horses. They are saddled and ready to go.”
David wondered how the man had managed that when all the horses had been impressed into military service, but he did not take time to ask. They hurried for the street. In the alley, Keedy was holding a pair of mares. They weren’t much to look at, but that just might be a blessing. If we meet up with any Union troops, perhaps they won’t want them.
There was even more to worry about than the potential confiscation of their horses. David and Peter would be riding toward rebel activity, and although they were both carrying press cards, they could still be accused of spying.
Peter seemed more concerned about meeting the rebel army. Taking a pistol from one of the saddlebags, he handed it to David. “I assume you know how to use one of these.”
“I do.” As much as he detested the thought of doing so, he secured the weapon in his waistband. He had to get to Elizabeth. He didn’t know what he would say to her when he saw her, but he would figure that out later. Right now the safety of her and her family was all that mattered.
He helped Peter into the saddle. “Will you be able to ride the distance?” David asked.
“Ride? Yes. Walk? No. Let’s do our best to keep our horses. Shall we?”
David nodded and mounted his horse. Already the sun was rising.
“You are a praying man, aren’t you?” Peter asked.
“I am.”
“Good, because I believe we are going to need divine intervention to make it to our destination.”
Chapter Fifteen
Elizabeth felt she had barely closed her eyes when she heard the sound of her mother’s pleading voice. “Girls! Girls! Wake up! The army has come.”
“Which army?” she asked, still in a state of sleep.
“Both of them.”
That jolted her awake. Trudy rose, as well, and blankets were quickly tossed aside.
“Hurry now,” their mother urged. “We must get to safety.”
Elizabeth snatched her morning robe and fled downstairs with her family. She could hear the sound of shouts and approaching hoofbeats. It seemed a cavalry battle was about to commence in the Carpenters’ front yard. Fears raced through her mind. What was to become of her and her family? Would she ever see David again?
Mr. and Mrs. Carpenter were already in the kitchen. He urged the women toward the larder. “This way, ladies! Quickly!”
They hurried toward the narrow closet packed with jams and cheeses. On the floor was a small opening leading to the root cellar. The sound of gunfire sent them below with great haste. Mr. Carpenter shut the door behind him.
Panic ripped the breath from her lungs. Beside her, barefoot on the damp, dirt floor, Trudy shivered. Their mother gathered them close, and the three huddled together for warmth and security. The thunderous hoofbeats were getting closer.
Mrs. Carpenter lit a lamp while her husband took to nailing planks across the small window at his head. He covered it completely, but not before Elizabeth caught sight of a federal cavalry officer reining back his mount and shouting for his men to turn and engage. Shots met with the clanging of sabers. Terror ran through her.
Oh, Lord, please, don’t let George be out there...
She could not bring herself to pray for Union victory, but she did not wish for Confederate glory, either. If the Southern men were spared, they would surely ride on to Baltimore, trampling the defense barricades and shooting those who manned them.
Elizabeth’s heart was ripping in two. Oh, Lord, please...please, save him...
Finished with his task, Mr. Carpenter now moved to comfort his wife. Suddenly there was the sound of shattering glass. Everyone realized the house was taking fire. Elizabeth continued to pray for her family, for David. She prayed for those soldiers outside, as well, although she could not help but wonder how many of them would litter the ground when the fight was over.
How long they huddled together in the cellar, Elizabeth could not have said, but at some point the snorting horses, piercing commands and smell of black powder faded. A silence, even more eerie than the cry of battle, fell like a shroud.
“Is it over?” Trudy asked hopefully. “Have they all gone?”
Mr. Carpenter rose slowly, and crept toward the covered window. He removed one of the boards and peeked through the slats. “I don’t see anyone,” he said.
“Are there any wounded?” Elizabeth asked.
“Not that I can see from here.”
She breathed a shallow sigh. At least that was something.
“Is it safe, then?” Mrs. Carpenter asked her husband. “May we leave the cellar?”
He shook his head. “I think we should wait a little longer, make certain they are all gone for good.”
The wait was agonizing. Just when Mr. Carpenter announced he thought they could leave the cellar, a door slammed open on the floor above. The women all jumped with fright. Eyes wide, Mr. Carpenter laid a finger to his lips, encouraging silence.
The footsteps were fast, frantic. Was it a deserter? A looter? Someone even worse?
To Elizabeth’s horror, a second set of footsteps sounded above her. These were heavier, uneven, and they were coming straight toward the larder.
A voice then called, “Mother? Father?”
Mrs. Carpenter brightened immediately. “Peter! Oh, Peter, down here!”
Light spilled through the entryway as the door opened. Heart in her throat, Elizabeth watched her editor, flushed and leaning heavily on his cane, navigate the narrow stairs. Relief washed over her like a wave. David was right behind him.
* * *
They were huddled like chicks on the hard, dirt floor. They were shaken and shivering, but they were blessedly unharmed.
O Lord, thank You. Thank You.
Peter’s mother quickly hugged her son. The Martin women rose, as well. Trudy flew to David, immediately embracing him with sisterly affection. Mrs. Martin stepped forward to embrace him, also. Elizabeth, however, held back. He scolded himself for thinking her response might somehow be different.
“I am so pleased to see you are well,” Trudy said.
“I am pleased to find you are, too.”
He could feel Elizabeth’s eyes upon him, studying him, making certain he was not injured in any way. David allowed himself a glance in her direction. She, like the rest of the women, was barefooted and dressed in her morning robe. Her red hair hung long and loose about her shoulders. As beautiful as she was, he forced himself to look away. He could feel the tension between them. The last thing he wanted was for her to think he was staring at her.
“Tell us,” her mother said, “what has become of the city? Have there been many battles?”
“Not within the city,” he said, but he told them what he and Peter had learned about the railroads and the governor’s residence.
Mrs. Martin gasped. “Why would they burn Governor Bradford’s home?”
“It was most likely done in retaliation,” David said. “The home of t
he governor of Virginia was burned recently.”
“Did you meet up with any soldiers?” Trudy asked.
“We stayed away from the main roads, only meeting one patrol on the edge of town.”
“Federal or Confederate?” Peter’s father asked.
“They were in blue.” David was grateful the troops had not been wearing gray, but for several moments he’d thought he and his editor were in just as much trouble. Peter explained what had happened.
“They stopped us and demanded our horses. When we told them why we needed them and where we were headed, they then accused us of being spies.”
“Oh, no!” both Mrs. Carpenter and Mrs. Martin cried.
“But as Providence so willed,” Peter said, “one of the officers was none other than Robert Williams.”
“Your old schoolmate?” his father asked.
“Indeed. He recognized me. Thanks to that and this fellow’s Boston accent, the officer in charge believed our story.”
“And so they let you go?” Trudy said, wide-eyed.
“Not only that—” Peter smiled at her “—he let us keep our horses.”
Elizabeth finally spoke. “What has happened to the Confederate cavalry?”
“According to my schoolmate, they’ve turned back.”
“For the Potomac?”
“It looks that way.”
David again dared glance in her direction. She refused to meet his gaze.
“Let’s get you all upstairs,” Peter said. “You can get dressed and settled. Then afterward, I’d like to know exactly what went on here.”
Upon leaving the cellar, the ladies each went off to don appropriate clothing for the day. The elder Mr. Carpenter told his son and David what details he could of the battle.
“It was cavalry, and from best I could see before I boarded the window, not that many on either side. It may have been only a skirmish, but the clamor still shook the house.”
“The front parlor window and one in your study have been broken,” David said.
“I am not surprised.” Mr. Carpenter wished to see the damage for himself. They first went to the study.
Shards of glass littered the desk. Elizabeth’s unfinished sketches lay beneath them. When David first saw them, he feared Elizabeth herself had been sitting here when it had happened. He knew now, thankfully, that had not been the case.
After funneling the glass into a nearby wastebasket, he gave the sketches to Peter. He wanted to deliver them to Elizabeth personally but knew that would be unwise.
Peter’s father was leaning out the open window, surveying the damage to his property. “The vegetable garden has been trampled,” he said. “The back fence is down, and we’ll need to check the well.”
David hoped it would be filled with nothing but water. Soldiers had been known to toss the bodies of their enemies down innocent civilians’ wells.
“It appears, though, we are very fortunate.” The older man turned to his son. “Did you notice any damage to our neighbors’ homes?”
“From what we saw riding in, it is about the same as it is here.”
Peter’s father drew in a breath. “It could have been so much worse. I’m so thankful none of us were hurt. I don’t know what I’d do if your mother...”
He left the rest unsaid, but David understood completely. If something had happened to Elizabeth, to her mother or sister, he would never forgive himself.
Soft footfalls and the rustle of petticoats turned his attention to the door. Now wearing a simple cotton work dress, Elizabeth stepped hesitantly into the room. Her focus was directed solely toward Peter.
“I left my sketches here,” she said.
He handed them over. “I’d like for you to complete these as soon as possible,” he said, “and anything else you have seen today.”
“I...didn’t see much.”
“But you did see some of it, and you heard the rest.”
She nodded quietly, but David could tell she was not all that enthusiastic about the assignment. He hoped that was only the result of fatigue and shock, not that she was reconsidering her position at the Free American.
Lord, please, don’t let my foolish behavior keep her from what she loves doing.
Without further word, she left the room. David longed to go after her but knew that would only make things worse. Clearly she did not wish to speak with him. And if she doesn’t, how can we possibly continue working together?
Peter was thinking of the next edition and the condition of his neighbors. “Let’s visit the other houses,” he said to David. “We can make certain the families are all right and hear what they have to say. The telegraph office appeared to still be operating when we rode into town. If that is indeed the case, we can wire our reports back to Collins. Then, if you don’t mind, I could use your help around here.”
“I don’t mind.”
David was glad Peter hadn’t told him to hand deliver the reports. The rebel army may be in retreat, but he wasn’t going anywhere until he was certain they had crossed the Potomac and Elizabeth’s family was once again settled in their own home.
Then, after that, she can be rid of me.
* * *
Elizabeth’s mother, sister and Mrs. Carpenter were out trying to salvage what they could from the trampled vegetable garden. Peter, his father and David had gone to assist the other nearby families, while Elizabeth tried to complete her work.
As difficult as the task had been the previous evening, it was even harder today. Her mind was far too distracted, her heart much too heavy. She knew she had no hope of completing the sketches until she talked to David, and she dreaded doing so. The look on his face when he’d found her in the cellar was one of relief and unmistakable love.
Her first thought had been to run to him, to throw herself into his arms. She’d refused, however, to allow herself that privilege. He was safe, this time, but that was no guarantee he would be in the future.
What am I going to say to him? If things had happened under different circumstances...? If only there was no war...?
She could not give him her heart. She knew all too well how painful it was to have it broken.
Leaving the desk, Elizabeth went to the window and sighed. If she looked beyond the broken glass and trodden garden, she could see a different world.
Summer sunshine painted the grass in a shade of warm gold. Birds were once again chirping.
David was making his way across the yard, carrying a coil of rope, headed for the well. Elizabeth watched as he took off his coat, secured the rope to the well and climbed over the edge.
“Mr. Carpenter was going to see to that, but David insisted he be the one to do so.”
Elizabeth quickly turned. Her mother was standing behind her. She had not even heard her approach.
“I am not surprised,” Elizabeth said. “David is a thoughtful man.”
“Indeed he is, and he loves you very much.”
Surprise and a host of other emotions rushed through her veins. “Trudy told you?”
Her mother smiled gently. “She didn’t have to. You don’t think I know when my daughter is struggling with matters of the heart? I have known about this for quite some time.”
Elizabeth sighed once more. “Oh, Mother, I don’t know what to do.”
Jane kissed her forehead. “Trust your heart, Beth. Better still, trust the Lord with it. He made it. He knows how to take care of it.”
With that, she quietly walked away, leaving Elizabeth to ponder her words. Turning back to the window, she watched David emerge from the well. If Elizabeth was to do what her heart was telling her now, she would walk out there and tell him she loved him. She would bravely face whatever horrors this war continued to bring.
She watched as he rested
for a moment against the stones, fanning himself with his hat. He was hot. He was tired. Undoubtedly he had been up all night working, and yet once again he had come to make certain she was cared for and protected.
The least I can do is take him some water, she thought.
Going to the kitchen, she filled a glass from a bucket Mr. Carpenter had drawn before the skirmish. David was making his way to the door as she stepped outside.
“You looked thirsty,” was all she could think to say as she held out the water.
“I am. Thank you.”
His fingers brushed hers as she handed him the glass. His very nearness had once made her ache for Jeremiah. Now her breath caught in her throat for a far different reason. Elizabeth did her best to speak.
“Has the well been poisoned?” she asked.
“No. It’s fine.”
He took a swallow. The awkwardness between them was very apparent. Elizabeth hated the fact that it existed at all.
“Were you able to finish your sketches?” he then asked.
“I...uh, no. Not yet.”
There was a long pause. The tension was getting thicker by the moment.
“Elizabeth, I’m going to speak to Peter.”
“About what?”
“About leaving the Free American.”
Her heart slammed into her ribs. “Leaving? You can’t do that! Your work is so important.”
“Your work is important, and I do not wish to hinder it any longer. I don’t want to cause you any more discomfort by my presence.”
My discomfort? It could be no worse than what I caused you when I was engaged to Jeremiah!
Regret coursed through her. She could not, would not, let him sacrifice his position for her. “No, David. You are needed so. The slave issue has yet to be fully resolved, and after all of this, when the convention reconvenes, goodness knows what provisions the Unconditionals will try to make. You have a job to do.”
“So do you,” he said. “As much as I wish to go back to the way things were between us, I know we can’t. I can’t take back what I said.”
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