The Quaker and the Rebel Page 12

  If ever he wished he had stayed home and minded his own business, this was the time.

  EIGHT

  Alexander wasn’t in the best of moods. First, he’d been forced to discharge nine men from service because they had acted irresponsibly and without orders. Then he’d observed Emily leaving an abandoned barn in the middle of the night. What in the world could that mean? Did she have a lover? Had his aunt forbidden her to see some unsavory suitor and so she stole away to meet him while the Benningtons slept? If so, then why had she accepted his kisses at their picnic and flirted during breakfast if her heart belonged to another?

  And what did it matter anyway? He had a bevy of women eager to please him. At least half a dozen would accept his hand in marriage if he asked. But he had no wish to ask, not since this scrappy Yankee had gotten under his skin. He could close his eyes and see the golden glints in her hair, smell its clean piney scent, and almost feel the silky strands between his fingers. He adored her throaty laugh, straight from the belly, and loved how she looked at Aunt Augusta with compassion and tenderness. The way she might gaze upon me someday.

  Feeling the stirrings of desire, he shook his head to squash the daydream. He had no business hoping for a relationship with her. She was his aunt’s governess—a woman who rode horses with her petticoats showing. Whatever reason took her to that barn last night, she hadn’t been honest with him. He had trusted a sweet face and gentle touch before and had been tricked. Now he would live with the knowledge that men died because of him for the rest of his life. He wasn’t about to make that mistake again.

  And who had time for courting? The Confederate victory at Winchester hadn’t been the end of hostilities they had hoped for. The trounced Union forces hadn’t gone home, leaving them in peace. They pulled back to lick their wounds and wait for new recruits to fill their ranks. And new recruits would surely come, while the bottomless well of Yankee provisions never ran dry. Richmond, on the other hand, couldn’t adequately supply Stonewall Jackson’s Army of the Shenandoah Valley or Lee’s Army of Northern Virginia. Soldiers needed nourishing food, warm clothes, and good boots as well as ammunition and horses to replace those killed in battle. The Southern well hit bottom long ago.

  The colonel and his second-in-command led a handpicked company of fifty men on a three-day raid of Union storehouses. Ellsworth tapped into telegraph offices to falsely report rangers attacking outposts first in Alexandria and then heading up into Pennsylvania. Next he reported the Gray Wraith wreaking havoc west of the Shenandoah Mountains. He placed them everywhere except where they planned to be. The rangers liberated hundreds of horses, a vast quantity of provisions, and thousands of Union greenbacks for the Confederate Treasury. They netted so much that Jeb Stuart’s cavalry had to assist with distributing the spoils. But the colonel saw no end to the war in sight—no imminent day when hostilities would cease. He could only do his duty to the Confederate Cause, relieved to have done so thus far without killing anyone. He hadn’t broken the Sixth Commandment, but he’d broken plenty of others instead.

  Bone tired but proud of his men’s accomplishments, Alexander headed toward the beloved fields of Hunt Farms. He was eager to taste Beatrice’s cooking again, to soak in his copper tub until his skin was wrinkled like a prune, and sleep beneath the soft quilt in his own bed. Most of all, he anticipated a reunion with his aunt’s governess. Try as he might, he couldn’t get her out of his head. Emily’s face was the last thing he saw when he fell asleep at night and her scent of lemon verbena seemed to hang in the air when he awoke each morning. She was dishonest at the very least, and Alexander knew what came from trusting a deceitful woman. Maybe she would have an explanation for her behavior in Berryville and maybe she wouldn’t. But he couldn’t stay away from her if his life depended on it.

  Grinning with happiness, Emily stretched like a cat in her luxurious room at the Bennington mansion. I hope you’re proud of me, Mama. For the first time in a long while she had accomplished something. After they arrived in Martinsburg, they sent the maids to town on errands and hid Annabelle and Gabriel in the attic to rest for a few hours. Then during the night while Jack and the maids slept, Emily and Lila moved Annabelle to a secret landing on the Potomac River, known only to those on the Underground Railroad route. Long before dawn, Annabelle clumsily embraced Emily and Lila, and then she boarded a flatboat headed upriver to freedom. She carried cloth bags of food, spare clothes, and diapers; a canteen of water; and their heartfelt prayers. Emily and Lila stood on the riverbank until the boat disappeared into swirls of fog and mist. A slave and her son would soon be safely in Pennsylvania, sheltered by a Chambersburg couple, fellow Quakers like her parents. The young mother’s tears were all the thanks Emily and Lila needed.

  But Emily wasted no time patting herself on the back. She jumped out of bed and dressed quickly, allowing Lila another hour of sleep. Downstairs in Dr. Bennington’s tidy office, she gathered and packed up the medical supplies from his list. As she worked, thoughts of betrayal crept to mind to ruin her good mood. Her employers and hosts would consider her actions stealing—the theft of property. But what right did they have to own slaves? She hadn’t stolen their money or a horse. Annabelle and Gabriel were human beings. She’d been taught that no Christian would keep another in bondage. Yet the Hunts and Benningtons also considered themselves devout Christians, the same as her. And the Benningtons trusted her, treating her more like a family member than an employee. This odd incongruity niggled in the back of her mind as they loaded the buggy and left Martinsburg, heading toward Front Royal.

  As Jack snapped the horses into a brisk gait, Lila stretched out on the backseat. Emily studied the map, directing their route on back roads. She was eager to deliver the medical supplies to the hospital and then return to Hunt Farms. At least Dr. Bennington’s humanitarian efforts saved lives on both sides. She wondered if Alexander had noticed that the young woman and her baby were missing. How much contact did he have with his people? Or would he only concern himself with the financial loss they represented?

  But that wasn’t why she yearned to see him. She remembered his bouquet of mountain laurel and day lilies. He had picked her favorite flowers and inquired about her family as though truly interested in her life in Ohio. For some inexplicable reason Emily wanted him to like her, despite their insurmountable differences. Alexander was like a shiny apple just out of reach. He was also everything her parents despised—rich, lazy, and without valor. Yet one glance from him sent shivers up her spine. Could he help that he’d been born to wealth and privilege? No more so than she could help being poor. Back and forth her mind battled until a headache was the only conclusion.

  “Welcome to Front Royal,” Jack drawled as the buggy turned up a chaotic thoroughfare. Men on horseback, carriages filled to capacity, and buckboards loaded with supplies dashed in all directions.

  The thoroughfare was so rutted with potholes that Emily had to set her jaw to keep from chipping her teeth. Brushing back a lock of hair, she tried to smooth the wrinkles from her skirt. “We must have hit every bump in the road. I feel as though I’ve been dragged behind the buggy inside of inside it.”

  “Days don’t get much hotter than this.” Lila dabbed beads of sweat from her brow. She leaned forward between them for a better view.

  “Jack, stop at that laundry house.” Emily pointed at the sign swinging in the breeze. “Lila and I need to wash up and change our dresses before looking for the hospital.” Ten minutes later, only marginally refreshed, the young women climbed back into the dusty buggy.

  “We won’t have trouble finding the hospital.” Jack angled his head at a row of ambulances heading north on Main Street. They followed a steady stream of walking wounded to a makeshift building on the edge of town. Rows of white tents covered every inch of side yard, while bloodied men leaned against a picket fence, patiently awaiting their turn.

  “I see Dr. Bennington and Mr. Hunt.” Lila pointed at two men unloading a wagon. Soldiers with bandaged h
eads and arms carried wounded toward the back door. Jack pulled the buggy alongside a row of ambulances.

  Emily jumped down as soon as the wheels came to a stop. “Dr. Bennington, we’re here.”

  “Praise the saints!” he cried. He transferred his patient to the arms of an orderly. “There’s been another battle. You’re not a moment too soon.” He began digging into the cartons before Jack could unload them. “I see you found everything I asked for. Thank you, Miss Harrison. Army surgeons have run out of gauze dressings, and mercury spirits are pitifully low. With the medicine we purchased in Frederick, doctors should have enough until shipments can get through the lines.” Dr. Bennington pulled items from the packing boxes like a child at Christmas.

  “Don’t just stand there gawking.” Mr. Hunt said to Lila and Jack. “Grab a carton and carry these supplies inside.”

  Emily helped unload as well. Thankfully, orderlies intercepted them at the door to accept the supplies. From what Emily saw and heard in the hospital yard, she had no desire to venture inside. The coppery smell of blood hung in the air, while cries through the windows made her heart ache. Wounded men lay everywhere, moaning in pain or begging for water. Without space inside the hospital, they waited their turn with the surgeon outdoors. Some men lay so quietly Emily knew they were dead. One could practically see their poor souls hovering before they left the earthly world forever. Emily hurried back to the wagon for their canteens. Jack soon found a bucket and dipper to speed up the process. For hours she and Lila went from soldier to soldier to offer cool drinks or swab a fevered forehead. Jack helped the soldiers unload the wounded, and then he ferried endless buckets from the well to Emily. At sunset, she crawled into the buggy to rest with Lila right behind her. Neither spoke, equally upset by what they had seen.

  Soon thereafter, Dr. Bennington and James Hunt arrived. “We’re finished here for today, Miss Harrison.” Dr. Bennington spoke softly, his voice barely above a whisper, yet his presence nearly startled the wits out of her.

  “And the rest of the wounded—what will become of them?” Emily waved her hand over a sea of bloodied uniforms.

  “Another batch of army doctors has arrived to help. Mr. Hunt and I have been relieved of our duties. Let’s have dinner at the inn before we start back to Hunt Farms.” He sounded incredibly weary as they headed to the trough to wash.

  “Absolutely not, sir.” She stepped down from the buggy to follow him. “I’m not fit to dine in town. My only wish is to return to Hunt Farms and take a bath.”

  Dr. Bennington seemed temporarily speechless as water dripped from his hair onto his shirt. Mr. Hunt was first to react by bursting into laughter. “You don’t say,” he said. Grinning from ear to ear, Mr. Hunt assessed Emily’s appearance. “You look no worse than anyone else. This is wartime, Miss Harrison.”

  “Even so, sir, I am out of fresh clothes.” Emily stared from one to the other, perplexed as to their amusement.

  “As you wish, Miss Harrison. You may return to Hunt Farms,” said Dr. Bennington. “Tell my wife and Mrs. Hunt we will follow shortly. Go straight to your bathtub,” he added, laughing as though helpless to contain himself.

  Emily could hear the men’s snickers all the way back to the buggy. “I fear the strain and fatigue has made them hysterical,” she murmured to her friend.

  “That’s not why they are laughing.” Lila jumped up next to Jack in front, allowing Emily the back bench.

  “Then what, pray tell, was so funny?” Emily waited to inquire until they were well away from the hospital grounds.

  “A lady never refers to taking a bath in the presence of a gentleman who isn’t her husband.” Lila arched an eye brow and spoke as though addressing a child.

  “Oh, tarnation,” replied Emily.

  “And a lady would never admit her appearance wasn’t fit to dine in society,” said Lila.

  “Is that so?” Emily’s voice lifted an octave.

  “Yes, that’s so. Even if it’s true, a lady wouldn’t draw attention to the fact.”

  “That’s just plain silly. I’m hot and tired and don’t care about society’s rules right now.”

  “And a lady never says tarnation,” Lila added under her breath.

  “Are you finished now, Miss Amite?”

  “Yes, Miss Harrison. I believe I am.” Lila folded her arms across her chest and stared straight ahead.

  Emily noticed tiny crinkles forming around Lila’s eyes as she bit her lip with determination. “Well, tarnation, Miss Amite. I din’t know nothing ’bout that, since I’m just a backwoods Yankee from the North.”

  “Yes, miss, that much is apparent.” Both women then laughed until their sides ached and tears streamed from their eyes. After their horrific day, it felt good. And it felt even better to be headed back to Hunt Farms…for reasons that had nothing to do with bathtubs.

  “Come in.” A knock at the door roused Emily to her senses. She had nearly fallen asleep, lulled by hot steamy water and a warm fire in the hearth. It was still too warm for evening fires, but the maid insisted when Emily decided to bathe in her room.

  “Are you still in that tub?” Lila came in carrying a long-stemmed glass.

  “Yes, and I’m never coming out.” Emily shut her eyes against the intrusion.

  “This might change your mind.” Lila set the drink down on a stool next to the tub. It held only an inch of pale yellow liquid.

  “What’s that?” she asked, intrigued by the bubbles. “You know Quakers don’t imbibe in spirits.”

  “It’s champagne, not spirits. The French drink it like water. Aren’t you even a little curious?” Lila set a stack of towels next to the stool and began sorting through dresses in the wardrobe.

  “Champagne is just a fancy type of wine.” Emily stared as tiny bubbles rose to the surface and burst. She’d never seen the beverage, only read about it in books. After another moment, she picked up the glass and downed the contents in one swallow. A very unladylike burp followed the gulp.

  “Goodness, Miss Emily. You’re not supposed to swig the stuff like buttermilk.” Lila dropped the dress she’d been inspecting on the bed. “You sip it a tiny bit at a time, especially as this is very good champagne.” She demonstrated with the empty flute.

  “How would you know that, Lila?” Emily slouched deeper into the bubble bath. “Is that where the rest of it went—you sipped on your way upstairs?”

  Laughing, Lila reached into the tub to splash her. “No, I didn’t. There wasn’t enough or I might have. I learned about vintage wines from my father, who was trained by Dr. Bennington. This particular brand would be served only to treasured guests, not some neighbor stopping by to chew the fat.”

  “Vintage is wasted on me since I wouldn’t know the difference.” But Emily savored the last drops remaining on her tongue.

  “Mr. Hunt said if you want more, you must come downstairs.”

  “Mr. James Hunt?” asked Emily. She remembered her embarrassing comments outside the hospital.

  Lila pulled a vellum envelope from her pocket. “No, Mr. Alexander. And you knew very well which Mr. Hunt I meant.”

  “Is that for me?” Emily reached for the letter.

  “Now, that’s two Yankee questions so far.” She held the envelope just beyond Emily’s reach.

  “Yankee questions? How dare you, you little imp.” Emily sent a wave of water over the side of the polished copper tub. Suds formed small pools on the polished floor. “Now look what you made me do.”

  Lila jumped back in the nick of time. “I’ll leave the note here to hurry you along.” She set the envelope on the mantle. “Read it at your convenience and call me when you’re ready for me to tighten your laces.” She left the room in a fit of giggles.

  “Wait until I get my Yankee hands on your scrawny neck!” Emily called after her. A moment later she stepped from her bath and wrapped herself in a thick towel. It took only three strides to reach the envelope and less than two seconds to extract the note.

  D
earest Emily:

  Please join me for a late dinner on the terrace. I have missed your sunny disposition these past few days and wish to make up for my inopportune absence.

  There is also something I need to ask.

  A.H.

  Emily reread his fine slanted script three times. With each reading her heartbeat quickened. She flew behind the painted screen to don her corset and chemise as her mind reeled with what to wear, what to say, and how to act. Lila had laid out a gown Emily had never worn—a gift from Mrs. Hunt. “Très chic,” Mrs. Hunt had declared when she’d drawn the gown from the box. Emily doubted she had enough élan to carry off a piece of couture. The pale yellow dress with white lace overlay revealed her shoulders. After wrestling with her corset, she called for help.

  Lila materialized like a specter. “I wondered when you’d give up trying to lace yourself up.”

  “All this trouble for supper on the terrace,” she muttered. “I could just as easily eat a sandwich in my room.” Nevertheless, within a half hour Emily was gowned, powdered, and perfumed.

  Lila gathered her damp hair into a cluster atop her head, wove a yellow ribbon through the curls, and drew out several tendrils to frame her face. “Look at that. I’m getting pretty good with your thick hair.” Lila took a jar of henna clay from the vanity drawer.

  “Stop. Cosmetics would make my mother turn over in her grave.” Emily spoke in a whisper, even though they were alone in the room.

  “Or she would say you’re too pale for your own good.” Lila dipped her finger into the jar and touched Emily’s cheeks lightly, and then she dabbed lemon verbena at her throat and wrists. “Done. Now go before the man comes to his senses.” Lila pulled Emily off the stool.