The way he leaned toward her, the way his eyes darkened and lips parted reminded her of all the times she’d had to run from white men who’d caught her alone outside the house in one of the ancillary buildings. But unlike those men, she didn’t fear him. Nor did his intent seem evil.
She drew in a long breath. “A Union uniform?”
He twisted his gray cap in his hands. “Surely you realize I’ve insisted from the beginning that I am a private citizen—conscripted against my will into the Confederacy.”
“If that is so then why would you exchange one uniform for another?”
Chapter 4
After transferring their meager belongings yet again, Angelina found herself settled on the third floor landing of the Great House. As long as the Carter’s slave cabins and almost as wide, the termination at the top of the stairs accommodated an assortment of chaise lounges and upholstered chairs. All were pressed back against the wall. Benches clustered near the windows for needlework, or by side tables with lamps and candles for reading. Here, Angelina and the children had placed their satchels. But they had no privacy. She’d worn Lorena’s ornsaburg servant’s clothing—the black widow’s gown still damp.
Angelina descended the curving stairway, the treads giving slightly with each step, a feature built into the design.
“Hold the rail, children.” She needn’t remind Charity, who gripped the walnut rail but Julian might skip down with nary a concern.
She shot a look at her nephew as he passed her on the left then disappeared from sight as he swiftly wound down and around. Pants would make such a descent much easier. Still…the agile boy put her to shame.
At the bottom, though, Julian waited for her like a little gentleman. A smile twitched on his face and on her own. One day soon he’d be free. Educated. And earning a good living somewhere safe. Tears pricked her eyes.
Charity squeezed Angelina’s hand and Julian took the other. They slipped into the parlor, wherein Mary B.’s raised eyebrows registered her disapproval. The surgeon and lieutenant, however, paid her no notice. Angelina exhaled slowly as she and the children settled on a settee below the open window, the cries of the injured carrying on the breeze. She cringed. They were about to have a late dinner at the house with the officers, then rest for the following day’s work. But those men in the fields… What comfort would they receive? She sent up a silent prayer for them. And for herself and the children—she must get them north somehow. But the thought of traveling with the likes of Sergeant Ross made her stomach spasm.
Dr. Probst pointed to a cross-stitch sampler framed on the wall of the parlor. “Ladies, I presume you can sew?”
Louisa covered a giggle. Even Angelina knew the stitchery was from colonial days.
“Sir, do I appear so ancient?” Mary B.’s dry voice was accompanied by a slow smile, one dimple forming in her cheek. “Dr. Probst, I believe my husband’s great-grandmother embroidered that sampler when she was a child.”
Fanny set her teacup down. She glanced at Angelina. “My…cousin has a lovely hand at needlework.”
How she wished Fanny hadn’t diverted attention toward her. She pulled the children close in an attempt to hide Lorena’s dress. She’d lost so much weight since leaving Mrs. Roat that her own clothing hung loose. And she’d not yet bothered to alter them, having paying jobs to finish first plus her chores for the Carters.
The man’s red face began to lose its flush. He sniffed. “Good. I need someone to stitch the names of the deceased men into their coats.”
Angelina squeezed the children’s shoulders. She’d always sought to do God’s will in her work. Whether constructing a fancy gown or repairing a ripped seam, she’d always prayed for the owner of the garment. But these severely injured men—they were going to the Lord. Going home. Her breath caught.
“I’m taking up a list of my dead but I don’t know all the men’s names. You’ll have to ask the other injured if they know.”
Mary B. nodded at Angelina. “Their mothers will be grateful—later.”
What a horrid war. Shirley Plantation’s mistress meant the mothers would rejoice when the bodies were finally brought home. And when would that be? A shiver coursed through her.
What of Private Scott’s request to get him a union uniform? She’d prayed but God convicted her to not proceed. And even Hill Carter himself had come to her and cautioned her, “Don’t do anything to rile these Yankees, Missy, do you understand?”
Mr. Carter rarely spoke to her. Why tonight?
“Come, gentleman, join me for a cigar before dinner.” Hill Carter gestured to the hallway and the men rose and departed.
Turning toward Angelina, Mary B. angled her head. “Could you change into something less dreadful for dinner, Angie?”
Fanny sniffed. “We’d like to make ourselves presentable before dinner.”
Angelina swallowed. Charity and Julian had never eaten at a fancy table. They’d have no idea what knives to use. “What about the children?”
The previous two nights she’d eaten with the children in the Old House, a cold supper of leftovers after a long day helping with the field hospital.
Louisa blinked at her. “The children will eat at a table in the parlor.”
As soon as Louisa commented, Angelina realized her error. The Carter children had the custom of eating with their nurse in the parlor unless it was a holiday. When Angelina was a child, in the master’s house in Charleston, she’d eaten in the kitchen house. But in Richmond, Angelina enjoyed the life of a companion to Mrs. Roat, and ate at the same lovely round oak table with her in her well-lit dining room.
As she grew older, Angelina spent her days in instruction under the French seamstress who trained her. All the while, Lorena toiled in the laundry at Shirley. Was it because Lorena’s skin, a lovely light café au lait, was darker than her own—their fathers different? Mama never said what white man had fathered her, only that she’d born Lorena from love. What did it matter? Tears trickled down Angelina’s cheeks. She’d been freed and placed with Mrs. Rose’s older sister, a devout Christian. Although she’d allowed occasional visits to Shirley Plantation, Mrs. Roat didn’t encourage the contact. And as far as Angelina knew, she never referred to Angelina as anything other than “my ward and companion.”
“Follow me.” Louisa wagged a finger at Angelina. They trod the stairs up to the second story.
At the first landing a collection of overstuffed chairs, children’s toys, games, and a cradle marked the floor as one where the Carter’s grandchildren were kept with their mothers. How did the Carter babies sleep despite the groans of agony outside?
Louisa turned and continued down the long hallway. Bookcases, floor to ceiling, lined the long corridor leading to the bedrooms. She stopped before her bedroom’s ornate door.
“Still can’t believe my husband is gone from here.” The two entered the spacious room.
Louisa crossed the wide floorboards to a huge chifferobe and opened one of its mahogany doors.
“Wear this.” Louisa shoved a dark green gown at Angelina. “One of our aunts left it behind for repairs but I’d forgotten to give it to you.”
The satin jacquard was exquisite.
Angelina fingered the fine material, recalling the days spent in the shop in Richmond—dreaming of opening her own establishment one day.
“There’s a small tear on the side. Can you fix it before dinner?”
“Yes’m.” Her face reddened as Louisa’s cautioning eyes grew wide. “Thank you…Lou.”
“You’re welcome, Angie.”
Angelina swiveled toward the window. “May I hold it up to the light?”
“Certainly.” A crinkle formed in Louisa’s brow. “Angie, Mama told me you refused to go north. Why?”
Skitters of nervousness wove up her arms as Angelina held the garment near the window. There was only a small flaw. Like there had been in Mrs. Carter’s plan. Two small tears in the fabric of her life. Unlike the children, these rips could
be repaired in under a quarter hour.
Lowering the dress, Angelina turned. “God convicted me to stay.” To wait for Julian and Charity’s freedom.
“Did Hilly have anything to do with that decision?”
Angelina’s cheeks heated. “Perhaps. He prayed with me about it. As did Mary B. But I take responsibility for my decision.” Poor though it was. While she’d considered taking the children in secret and going north with Diana and Paul Flowers, the Quaker couple advised her that such a trip was too risky at present. And prayers had again confirmed God’s clear answer—wait on Me.
Nodding, apparently satisfied, Louisa bent by the bed, covered in a matelaisse cover. She reached beneath and retrieved a small cigar box. “I think I have some thread to match.”
She offered Angelina the box of needles, pins and threads.
Now, an hour later, attired in the expensive gown, her corset strings pulled too tight by Charity, Angelina wondered again at the wisdom of deceiving the northern officers into believing she was a member of the family.
But as long as Sergeant Ross believed so, she’d be content.
Matthew wasn’t proud of his behavior, but he’d hidden in the widow’s quarters at Angelina’s request. Although he’d tried to convince himself it was to protect her, he’d also grown concerned as more and more wounded soldiers, union soldiers, had been loaded onto the boats departing up the James River. What was going on? He’d received a private message from Hill Carter, delivered by Angelina, to meet with him as soon as the sun rose the following morning.
Inside the Great House, he tapped lightly on Hill Carter’s office door, just to the left as one entered the first floor.
“Come in.” Mr. Carter’s distinctive voice boomed through the office door.
Matthew entered and removed his hat.
“Have a seat, Mr. Scott—but first close the door.”
Mister Scott. Not private Scott. Matthew’s hands began to tremble.
“Do you enjoy the newspapers where you’re from, Mr. Scott? In Ohio, I believe.”
Matthew slid into the offered Windsor chair. “Yes, sir, I do.”
The older man rubbed his chin, his green eyes sad. “Ever read the Richmond paper since you’ve been south?”
“No, sir.” Where was he going with this conversation?
“Do you know I’ve had 17 children…” He paused as though recollecting something. “with my beautiful wife?”
No, sir.” This sounded like the beginning of one of his father’s lectures. Matthew had no siblings. No cousins. No aunts or uncles. He was alone in the world, save for his parents. But with Angelina, he’d begun to hope for a future. The beautiful Southern widow had given him hope. Dare he think it possible? Perhaps this was the topic on which the man wished to commence.
“We lost half our children.” Moisture glistened in the man’s eyes.
“I’m sorry sir. I pray one day, I too, will know the privilege of having a family.”
“Pray you never experience the losses I have had.”
“Yes sir, but I also hope to have a long marriage such as you’ve been blessed with.” Why today had his tongue become unhinged? Because if he didn’t say something to Angelina’s uncle, he might never know if another marriage was in her future. And when? Was he already considering a Southern gentleman for her?
He fixed his eyes on Matthew as though looking through him and seeing someone else sitting there.
“My sons are all gone except Warrington. Thank God his services have been helpful here, to your northern comrades.”
He believes me. He knows. Matthew rubbed the crick forming in his neck. “Dr. Carter has been most proficient.”
“Mr. Scott, there is a notice in the Richmond paper.” Hill Carter pulled a newspaper out from beneath a stack of ledgers.
He tapped at what appeared to be classified ads. “Your mother’s name would be…”
Green eyes gazed at him, expectantly.
“Constance Merriweather Scott.”
“Wife of Congressman Theodore Scott.”
The dizziness, which had subsided, resumed and Matthew gripped the chair arms. “Yes.”
Carter’s surprisingly sympathetic eyes met his. “Your mother placed an ad in the Richmond Gazette. Perhaps hoping with the peninsula campaign finished that you or someone knowing of your location, might read this notice.”
His heart squeezed. Carter pushed the paper toward him but Matthew’s blurred vision made it hard to read. At least though, now it could be shown to the commanders of the Union troops, who’d been loading up wounded and shipping out upriver all day. He could go home. Or could he? The Union presence in southern Ohio had allowed the Confederates to take him, unimpeded.
“My children have both parents at home, awaiting their return.” Hill Carter’s voice grew sentimental.
Matthew nodded, which only made his head hurt more. He focused his eyes on the newsprint. Constance Merriweather Scott, wife of Congressman Theodore Scott of Ohio, seeks whereabouts of son, Matthew T. Scott, conscripted into the Confederate…
“I understand your father may not be able to return home until these hostilities have ceased.”
Continuing to read, Matthew encountered the phrase “Grandfather has been notified.” He re-read the paragraph. His grandfather, a wealthy New York banker, would exert whatever pressure he could to have Matthew returned.
“I attended the College of William and Mary with your grandfather, if he’s Lafayette Merriweather.”
Matthew swallowed. “Yes, sir, he is.”
Hill Carter made a small sound in the back of his throat. “Copperhead newspaper owned by him up there.”
Exactly—which was why Father had been swayed in that direction.
The door opened and Julian ran in. “Master, Confederate army is marching in—and Mr. Hilly is home!”
A cannonball seemed to have sunk into Matthew’s gut.
“What?” Hill Carter rose. “My son is here?”
Julian ran back out.
Oh Lord, what now? And why had Julian called Mr. Carter Master?
The Carter women knew his declaration that he was not a Confederate soldier. And now Hill Carter had proof of his identity. What would he do with that information?
From the third floor window, Angelina spied a field of gray and butternut surging forward onto Shirley Plantation’s fields.
“That’s Mr. Hilly!” Julian loved the minister and had run down the stairs before Angelina could stop him.
A shiver went through her. God had provided. If she’d offered Matthew Scott the union uniform he’d requested then right now… He could be one of the Union wounded left behind, lying in Shirley’s Fields. But even so, with the spells he still experienced, would he be taken to the Confederate hospital in Richmond? Had he listened to her advice and hidden himself in the Old House? Or had he gone?
Angelina descended the staircase, the thought of Matthew Scott’s possible departure bringing her mood down, down, down as she marched, careful to avoid looking through the spiral center, which made her dizzy. Straightening her skirt she saw that Julian had left the door open to the office. With the Confederates now on the land, how should she address Mr. Carter?
She stood in the doorway and clasped her hands. “My instructions, sir?”
He waved a dismissive hand. “As before, Missy. Continue on. These are soldiers and you’re…”
Mr. Scott rose and bowed toward her. Her heart lurched in her chest. He’d listened to her and was yet here. The open appreciation in his dark eyes caused her to flush. But the way he twisted his hat, she wondered what Mr. Carter had been discussing with him. Likely what he would do now that the Confederates arrived.
“Missy, take Mr. Scott, here, down to the Old House and get him settled in his room on the second floor.”
Angelina glanced between Hill Carter and Matthew Scott. “Sir?”
“He can keep watch over you and the children there, also.”
Sergeant Ro
ss was surely gone.
She needed to make her way north, somehow, and get herself and the children to freedom. And with this influx of soldiers, her fortunes now seemed reversed. Still, she couldn’t help the relief she felt over Matthew Scott remaining behind. What was she to do about her growing attachment to him?
“Missy, get him some of Hilly’s old suits to wear.”
“Sir?”
“Mister Scott is the son of one of my old college friends. He was conscripted into the army and is not a soldier. And with these spells he has, we don’t want the soldiers getting any ideas that he might be going with them.”
Her mouth hung open.
“Do you understand me, Missy?”
She licked her dry lips. “Yes sir.”
But she didn’t understand anything. And glancing at Mister Scott, he, too, appeared slightly perplexed.
Chapter 5
Matthew shuddered as Confederate soldiers marched forward up the Queen Anne forecourt toward them. Angelina leaned in toward him, a muscle in her cheek jumping.
The lieutenant strode toward the house, his sword slapping against his thigh. “Uncle Hill.”
Several men trailed behind him. After rapidly ascending the porch steps, the officer briefly embraced Mr. Carter while the others remained at a respectful distance.
“Hard march for you, boy? You need a little fortification? A cigar?”
Carter’s nephew grinned.
Matthew’s heart hammered in his chest. Mr. Carter hadn’t betrayed him. But he knew that in reality, Matthew was a private citizen, not a soldier.
“Come on up to the portico—bring your men, too.”
“Need a bath and my trousers mended, Uncle. Can you get Angelina to help me?”
Why should she help him? The beautiful widow’s posture stiffened beside him.
Hill Carter waved Matthew on. “The grandson of one of my old friends is visiting with us.”
The officer’s sandy eyebrows rose.
“He’s staying in the Old House. You’re welcome to quarters up on the third floor here, if you’d like.”
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