The Quaker and the Rebel Read online

  “Dismal, yes, but not unusual. Death surrounds us. It pervades our lives insidiously, forcing us to make decisions and do things we normally wouldn’t. You’ve done well for yourself since your parents’ deaths. I’m sure they would be proud of you.” Downing the last of his coffee, Alexander tossed his napkin on his plate.

  “How has death pervaded your life?” she asked, taken aback by his declaration. Wasn’t this a man whose life remained unchanged while war raged all around him? “What regrettable decisions have you made?”

  “I didn’t say I regretted anything.” He stood and pushed back his chair. “Let’s go to town, shall we? Apparently, the rest of the family wasn’t hungry this morning.”

  “You forget, Mr. Hunt, that I’m a paid employee of Mrs. Bennington. I don’t share with you the liberty of spending the day as I please.” Rising from the table, she shook the creases from her skirt. “If you’ll excuse me, I’ll go check on her.”

  “As you wish.” Alexander bowed deeply as she left.

  Emily found Mrs. Bennington on the verandah outside her room. A tray with empty dishes indicated nothing was amiss with her appetite. “Good morning, ma’am. How are you feeling today?”

  “I’m feeling fine, dear, never better. I’m catching up on my correspondence to the girls.” Mrs. Bennington smiled up from her chaise. “Rebecca and I heard that you and Alexander had a spat. We thought it best if we gave you time to patch things up.” She sounded conspiratorial.

  Emily’s eyes grew round as saucers. “We didn’t exactly have a spat, Mrs. Bennington, merely a difference of opinion. I hope I haven’t overstepped my bounds by arguing with my host. You have my sincere apology, ma’am. I hope you’ll extend my regrets to Mrs. Hunt.”

  “Nonsense. No apologies are necessary. Alexander can be stubborn as a mule and far too accustomed to getting his own way. The belles of the Shenandoah Valley wouldn’t disagree with him even if he stated the earth was flat and Christopher Columbus was a madman.”

  “Do you suppose he prefers women who behave like that?” Emily asked in a timid voice.

  Mrs. Bennington pondered a moment. “I don’t know. I suspect it’s all he’s ever experienced. Men seldom give women’s opinions much thought unless forced to. That is how it is with Porter, or at least how it used to be,” she added with a wink. “You and my nephew quarrel because you’re both the same—stubborn, willful, and opinionated. But you could settle him down and give him direction.”

  Emily stared at her. “I doubt that I could give him anything but indigestion.” But just for a moment she imagined being married to him. In her dreamy vision, she was held securely in the crook of his shoulder, cherished and protected, while he whispered unceasing endearments in her ear.

  “Speaking of Porter,” said Mrs. Bennington, pulling Emily from her daydream. “I have a favor to ask of you and Alexander.” Mischief shone in her green eyes.

  “What kind of favor?” Emily tensed with a growing sense of doom.

  “Porter hasn’t been home in days. James said the work at the hospital isn’t diminishing. Battlefield casualties continue to pour in, while contagious disease spreads through the troops. He must be out of clean clothes by now.” She straightened in the chaise. “I would like you two to ride to Front Royal with clothes and the food Beatrice prepared, plus a crate of medical supplies that arrived from Alexandria. I have no idea what Porter has been eating. But knowing him, it’s probably the same thin soup and hard biscuits as the soldiers.”

  Emily’s dread solidified into a lump in her stomach. She had no desire to spend more time with Alexander than necessary. Ideas were taking hold which had no place in a Quaker woman’s mind. “Couldn’t Alex—Mr. Hunt travel alone? I feel I’ve neglected you since our arrival, Mrs. Bennington. Perhaps we could read this afternoon over tea.”

  “Nonsense. Besides, Alexander might lose his way. I doubt he leaves Hunt Farms very often. I would feel better if you accompanied him. Then you could also provide a more accurate description of hospital conditions. My brother-in-law’s reports are designed to spare me worry over Porter. Please, Emily?”

  Of course, she had no choice. Within the hour she changed into the oldest traveling outfit with the most unbecoming bonnet she owned. There was no reason to wear a good dress when she’d be bouncing over rough roads.

  Matilde and Beatrice had been busy all morning cooking and baking an assortment of nourishing food for the hospital. Emily and Lila carried hamper after hamper out to the buckboard, along with sacks of bandages and boxes of brown-wrapped medicine. When they arrived with their final load, they found Alexander hitching two Percherons to the wagon. Emily stared at him with interest. His breeches had been tucked inside tall boots and his jacket forgotten. Sweat had rendered his shirt nearly transparent, the damp linen outlining every muscle of his back and shoulders.

  Unfortunately, Lila witnessed her perusal. “Give me that basket before you drop it in the mud.” She hissed in Emily’s ear. “You’re about as subtle as a new bull in a March pasture.”

  Emily hid behind her new fan—another gift from Mrs. Bennington. “Miss Amite, I have no idea what you mean. I was wondering why Mr. Hunt hitched draft horses instead of regular stock.”

  But Lila’s attention wasn’t on the horses or Mr. Hunt, for that matter. William had ridden into the stable yard, reined in inches from his employer, and bent his head to speak in hushed tones. Tall, rangy, rugged William—Lila stared at him with no more restraint than Emily had showed. She’d seen Lila and William exchange surreptitious looks and shy smiles before. Emily pulled her gaze from the men long enough to turn toward the wagon. Lila selected the same precise moment to heft her basket of baked goods, cracking Emily resolutely in the head.

  “Excuse me, Miss Emily. I beg your pardon,” said Lila.

  “Excuse me, Lila. The fault was mine.”

  “No, miss, if I hadn’t—”

  “Excuse me, ladies,” interrupted Alexander. He tapped a rolled piece of paper on the palm of his hand. “I’m afraid there’s been a change of plans, Miss Harrison. You won’t be accompanying me to the field hospital after all.”

  “But Mrs. Bennington insisted that I go along.” Emily protested as though just noticing his presence.

  Alexander held up a gloved hand to silence her. “Aunt Augusta has no concept of battle lines or Union troop activities. Skirmishes around Winchester have spread to the outskirts of Front Royal. It’s not safe for you to leave the farm. I simply won’t allow it.”

  His tone brooked no further discussion. His flirtatious manner with bating witticisms and playful winks was gone. His face had paled, and tiny lines around his eyes and mouth stood in stark relief. “I’ll ask you both and the rest of the family to remain indoors. Do not ride around the farm, Emily. It wouldn’t be prudent. Please assure my aunt that Uncle Porter will receive the food and medical supplies.” Donning his jacket, he swept his hair back from his brow and bowed without his usual swagger. Then he strode to his stallion, mounted, and galloped from the yard without another word.

  William pulled the last hamper from Lila’s grip. Then he climbed aboard and drove the loaded wagon down the Hunt Farms lane, while the two women stood in the dust-roused yard, staring in silence long after they were gone.

  “What do suppose that message was about?” asked Lila. “It seems to have ruffled some of Mr. Hunt’s feathers.”

  “I don’t know, but I would give next month’s pay to find out.”

  SEVEN

  Alexander sent William to the field hospital to deliver the supplies, while he rode his stallion hard toward Millwood. While he was squandering time courting a skinny Yankee schoolteacher, his men had apparently gotten themselves into a fine mess. “Sakes alive,” he muttered, pulling the rolled note from his breast pocket. He reined in his horse sharply and read the brief words once more. “Come at once to the stand of pines. Yours are on their way north. N.” Tearing the sheet into small pieces, he scattered them to the wind before s
purring Phantom on.

  Farm fields gave way to a hardwood forest on the eastern bank of the Shenandoah River. Unnoticed by most passersby, an odd cluster of pines grew not far from the trail, providing Alexander with a safe spot to meet his men. He found Nathan Smith waiting in the cool shade and looking very nervous.

  “Captain.” Alexander addressed Smith without smiling.

  “Colonel.” Smith snapped a salute to his superior before proceeding with his explanation. “I had no knowledge of this, sir. You have my word. Dawson and a few others got it into their heads to do a little ranging on their own.”

  “Go on,” Alexander gritted between clenched teeth. His anger and frustration spiraled as the story unfolded.

  “They decided to bust into some storehouses in Winchester last night. For some fool reason they didn’t think the Yanks would be watching too closely. They overpowered a few guards and filled their saddlebags with chewing tobacco, whiskey, coffee—whatever they could get their hands on.”

  A vein pulsed in Alexander’s neck, and his hands involuntarily tightened on the reins. Smith paused, as though uncertain if he should continue.

  “Go on, Captain. Give me the full story.”

  “Then the men decided to fill a wagon to haul away. I believe, sir, they planned to sell the supplies to our own sutlers.”

  Pure rage coursed through his veins, but Alexander said nothing.

  “By the time they found a wagon and loaded it, an entire Union regiment had surrounded the storehouse. Our men were so busy with their bounty that they never saw the Yanks until time to move out. They rode right into a perfect ambush—”

  Alexander held up his hand. “I’ve heard enough. Just give me the numbers.”

  “Three dead, sir, two wounded, along with seven captured.”

  “Twelve men rode out on their own without my orders?” asked Alexander, stunned.

  “Yes, sir, but we might be able to get them back. A short while ago, Ellsworth tapped into the telegraph line at White Post. He heard that our men will be on the Winchester and Potomac train bound for Harper’s Ferry this afternoon. From there, they’ll be transferred to a Yankee prison.”

  “Isn’t that exactly what they deserve, Captain?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Those dozen men behaved like common outlaws, not like soldiers fighting for the Cause.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Am I expected to jeopardize the rest of my men—men who follow orders—to free nine who pursued their own interests and not those of the Confederacy?”

  “Yes, sir. I mean, no, sir.” Smith stammered.

  An uncomfortable silence filled the glen.

  “Have you sent word to the rangers?”

  “Yes, sir, I have.” The two men locked gazes for a long moment. “They appear to be arriving as we speak.” They could hear the sound of horses splashing through shallow water.

  “Very well,” he said, returning the salute of his second-in-command. He spurred Phantom toward the river. No further discussion was necessary. The colonel had no choice but to free the captured men.

  By three thirty, a solitary man in shabby clothes rode into the sleepy train station at Charles Town. He slid from his swayback nag, sat down on the rails, and pulled off a boot to rub his toes through holes in his sock. When the station dispatcher walked outside to inquire of news, he assumed the man was a farmer waiting for the afternoon train.

  “Haven’t you heard?” asked the farmer, squinting into the sunshine.

  “Heard ’bout what, son?”

  “They captured the Gray Wraith outside Upperville.”

  “You don’t say!” exclaimed the dispatcher. “I have a sister living in Upperville. Why, that man ought to have been hung long ago. I hope the scoundrel gets his just desserts now.” He practically danced across the platform.

  “Oh, I’m sure he will.” Nodding agreement, the farmer carefully replaced his boot, as though he had all the time in the world.

  Soon the telegraph operator wandered outside to see why the dispatcher was prancing around like a fool.

  The colonel rose from the tracks, stretched to his impressive height, and shrugged off the tattered coat. At that moment, Nathan Smith stepped around the corner of the station with his Colt revolver leveled at the two Winchester and Potomac employees. Thirty of the colonel’s best men surrounded and seized the station without a single shot being fired. The rest was child’s play. With the telegraph operator tied up and the dispatcher making his usual, but forced, appearance on the platform, the unsuspecting train pulled into Charles Town like a fish on a hook. Rangers blocked the tracks with logs to prevent the train from exiting the station in reverse. Other men climbed aboard and quickly subdued the engineer and conductor. The green Union recruits guarding the captured rangers made a wise decision to surrender. The colonel liberated the nine soldiers who had acted on their own, along with six thousand dollars of cash from the express agent.

  “Take nothing from the civilians,” Alexander said to his men as he moved through the train car. “Ladies and gentlemen, as soon as we recover those who belong to us, you’ll be on your way to Harper’s Ferry. Have no fear.”

  Ladies eager to escape the battle raging around Winchester comprised most of the passengers. Judging by their lapel buttons, some were loyal to the Union, and some were loyal to the Confederacy. “Would you like to search my bag?” asked a woman in black. She held open her cloth satchel.

  Alexander paused to scan her young face—a widow at such a tender age. “No, ma’am. I have no desire to peek into ladies’ purses or examine their trunks. A Southern gentleman would never do such a thing. And you have certainly sacrificed enough.” He tipped his hat and then jumped down to the platform. A journalist sitting nearby jotted notes in his spiral notebook, and thus the Gray Wraith’s notoriety continued to grow.

  But notoriety was the last thing on the colonel’s mind. Once safely rendezvoused for the evening, he called his troops to formation before allowing fires to be built or supper prepared. With little regard for regular drills and army procedures, forming ranks was something he seldom did. But that was part of the reason he faced this situation now.

  “Captain Smith,” he ordered. “Call the names of those involved in the unauthorized raid. Men, if your name is called, step forward and offer justification for your actions.” A sour taste crept up Alexander’s throat into his mouth, but he swallowed it down.

  A few of the nine rangers offered weak excuses for their participation. Others stared at the ground, perhaps ashamed of their behavior. And one silently glared at the colonel with unmistakable, ill-concealed hatred.

  “You men have disgraced the honor of a soldier,” said Alexander. It was so quiet one could hear birds drifting to sleep in overhead nests. “It’s not my intention, nor will it ever be, for this regiment to profit by our efforts to procure goods for the Confederate cause.” He enunciated each word slowly and deliberately as his anger built. “Any man who doesn’t agree is free to leave and join the regular cavalry or the infantry—or become a renegade outlaw if he so wishes. But I will not tolerate acts of thievery for personal benefit.”

  He stepped forward until he was inches from the men lined up before him. “I liberated you from your fate in a Yankee prison camp out of recognition for past service, but you men are dismissed. Take your personal weapons, your mounts, and whatever bounty is still in your possession and get out of my sight.”

  Not one man chose to stay and argue, to plead his case or beg for reconsideration. Perhaps because the colonel’s expression indicated he might disregard his resolve to do no bodily harm to others.

  That night, Alexander had no appetite for supper after the men had left. He knew the majority of his men were good soldiers—their commitment to the South was no less than his own. He also knew they were itching to go out on another raid. Certainly Lee’s Army of Northern Virginia could use additional supplies. With his scouts already gathering intelligence, tomorrow he wou
ld lead them on a foray. But tonight his soul was troubled. Twelve men had disobeyed orders. A fine line separated a band of thieves and partisan rangers. He could think about little else as he rode the countryside selecting their next target with his second-in-command. Nathan Smith knew him better than any other man. The success of their effort to aid the Confederacy depended upon the Union Army not focusing too much attention on them. And that surely would change if a mission turned into a bloodbath.

  They rode long and hard around a moonlit Clarke County to choose their next fatted calf. The ride did wonders for the colonel—Alexander was starting to feel like himself again. But Smith grew weary. “Unless you’re planning to sleep in the saddle, I suggest we find somewhere to bed down. I’m bushed.” He scrubbed his face with his hands.

  “You’re right, but we’re too far from camp to return before dawn.” After consulting his map, Alexander stretched up in the stirrups. “We’re just outside of Berryville. I recently came upon an abandoned barn during one of my rides. We’ll rest the horses and sleep there. That will also allow the men a chance for revelry without their commanders.”

  They found the narrow path leading to the old barn without too much difficulty. Before they reached the barnyard, Smith raised a gloved hand and pulled his horse to a stop. “Whoa. There’s someone down there, Colonel.”

  Alexander guided Phantom to the edge of the woods on a tight rein so as to make no unnecessary noise. They stared at thin streams of yellow light between the weathered slats of the barn. A single horse had been tied to the hitching post. “It can’t be!” he hissed.