The Quaker and the Rebel Page 21

  William is a gentleman, Smith mused. But you don’t need a gentleman, little miss. What you need is someone to introduce you to the pleasures of life. Setting down his empty glass, he moved swiftly out the front door and down the steps. When Lila turned to reenter the house from the portico, Smith intercepted her. He grabbed her wrists. “Good evening, miss. Forgive me, but I seem to have forgotten your name. We met on the road to Front Royal, or wherever you and Miss Harrison were headed that day.”

  Lila reared back, perhaps from the smell of whiskey. “It’s Lila, sir. Lila Amite.” She attempted a half curtsey, difficult with constrained wrists. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, my parents will be wondering why I’m not in yet.” She kept her voice level and calm.

  “What’s your hurry? I’m happy to see you, Lila. Aren’t you just a lit’l glad to see me too?” He heard the slur in his words.

  “Yes, sir, a pleasure to see you again. But I must return to my quarters before I cause my father undue worry.”

  Smith tamped down his irritation that a maid possessed better language skills than him at the moment. “Well, if it’s a pleasure to see me as you say, you won’t mind giving me a lit’l kiss.” He covered her lips with his before she had a chance to respond.

  Recoiling from the whiskey vapors—or perhaps his kiss—she tried to step away. But he stopped her with two strong hands that pinned her shoulders to the wall, and then kissed her again. “That wasn’t so bad, was it? If you would just relax, you might find this enjoyable.” His gaze raked over her from head to toe. “You are a beautiful woman, Lila. We should get better acquainted while you’re at Hunt Farms.”

  Without warning, she stomped down on his instep. “Ow! Why, you—” Crying out in pain, he released his grip.

  “Lila, is that you?” The door to the first-floor kitchen swung open. Joshua Amite stepped out in his long nightshirt.

  “Yes, Papa, it’s me. Mr. Smith was inquiring about food, so I explained where a late night meal can be found.” With that, Lila bolted down the steps into the kitchen and pantries without a backward glance.

  Joshua peered at the man before giving him a clipped, “Good night then, sir.” The butler bowed deeply and closed the door in his face.

  Smith was left in the dark, feeling angrier than he had in a very long time.

  Lila didn’t slow down until she was into the hallway of rooms reserved for domestic servants. Miraculously, the kitchen was empty, uncommon on an active plantation like this during the harvest festival. She struggled to compose herself before her father caught up to her. Her heart pounded so hard she feared it could be heard.

  “Why are you so out of breath, girl?” Joshua sounded both concerned and exasperated.

  She gazed into his soft brown eyes. Even standing barefoot with his gray hair wild, her father still maintained utter dignity. “I have been running, Papa. We had a race back to the house from the bonfire.” She hated lying to him, but what else could she say?

  “Lila, you are too old for footraces. You don’t see your mother picking up her skirts and galloping across the yard, do you?”

  Actually, she had seen her mother doing exactly that more than once on Bennington Island. But her father looked so weary, Lila simply shook her head. “No, Papa. Tomorrow I promise to be a perfect lady from sunup to sundown.” She leaned over to kiss his grizzled cheek.

  “See that you are. Good night, daughter. Sleep with sweet dreams.” Joshua entered the room where her mother already lay snoring and closed the door.

  Lila was alone—alone to catch her breath and collect her thoughts. And she had a lot to think about. How in the world could she avoid a friend of Mr. Hunt’s for the entire time she was here? Entering the room she shared with Mrs. Hunt’s maid, she undressed without lighting a candle and slipped on her nightdress. She stretched out on her cot and closed her eyes, but sleep wouldn’t come. A bad feeling had crawled up her spine and taken hold, no matter how she tossed or turned.

  Alexander stood for several minutes outside a bedroom window, watching Emily sleep as peacefully as a child. Her hair spilled across the pillow like a copper shawl, almost obscuring her soft features. She slept on her side with her knees bent. One hand clutched the coverlet, and the other cradled her sweet face. When he crept into her room and kissed her brow, she didn’t stir. Alexander couldn’t remember a night when he hadn’t stared at the ceiling for hours. Although he would give half his fortune to sleep so soundly, his sweet dreams ended when he became a ranger. And this morning was no exception as he crept from her room. Back on the gallery, he paced from one end to the other plotting their next mission. But it wasn’t their upcoming attack on a Union supply train that confounded him. It was the woman just beyond the French doors—the one who occupied an ever larger place in his heart. He knew full well he was a fool to let emotions control his actions.

  But Emily was no Rosalyn. Raised by Quaker parents, she might not have grown up cultured and refined, but she had learned honor and trust. Does she love me or am I only deceiving myself? When he made his earnest declaration in the garden, she had uttered nothing in return. He would have given anything to hear those three words from her. She appeared surprised by his confession but then returned his kiss with an ardor to match his own. Wasn’t that what women excelled at—playacting? Didn’t they charm their way to wardrobes filled with new gowns, larger mansions, and excursions abroad? Beautiful women quickly learned that the path to a man’s heart was not through his stomach.

  Pausing at the balustrade, he gazed over moonlit wheat fields recently harvested. The tasseled heads of a few missed sheaves waved in the warm evening breeze. A lump rose in Alexander’s throat. There was nothing more beautiful than land in the fertile Shenandoah Valley. He loved the woodlots filled with game and songbirds, the pastures covered in wild flowers in the spring, and the majestic Blue Ridge Mountains to the west. This plantation, purchased by his grandfather with inherited wealth, grew dearer to him each day. The Hunt family fortunes had dwindled over the years because running a business for profit had never interested his father. Now the war would surely take what little James Hunt had left. The Glorious Cause certainly demanded all of Alexander’s time and most of his money. Duty had become his sole motivation in life, demanding every waking moment…until he met Emily.

  Now he was in love with a woman hiding something, a woman whose affections ran from cold to hot and then back again, a woman who disagreed with everything he said and was annoyed with everything he did. Emily Harrison wasn’t someone who could be trusted, and yet watching her sleep had stirred something primeval inside him. The lure of her vulnerability was overpowering. He was helplessly smitten, and that realization afforded him many more sleepless nights to come.

  But at the moment, Emily Harrison wasn’t the Gray Wraith’s chief problem.

  Several miles away, five civilian homes went up in flames as their occupants watched helplessly outside. Although unclear where the order had originated, a Union cavalry regiment burned the farms of families suspected of harboring or aiding the Gray Wraith and his Rebel Rangers.

  Although General Philip Sheridan didn’t approve of burning homes, he had instituted a plan to destroy crops and livestock that sustained the rangers in the Shenandoah and fed the Rebel Army in general. Sheridan had also ordered the arrest of any able-bodied males less than fifty years old suspected of being guerrillas. He had sent a unit of cavalry to the Berryville area, where they filled twenty wagons with civilians and incarcerated them in Charles Town. And he organized a company of his best soldiers to hunt down the Gray Wraith. Sheridan’s men had developed friendships with citizens loyal to the Union. They relied on children and slaves to provide directions and serve as guides. Union soldiers dressed in Confederate uniforms had tried to infiltrate the area and gather intelligence. But even when they apprehended a ranger, they couldn’t discover the whereabouts of the Gray Wraith. No matter what they threatened, no one would reveal the identity of their revered hero.

 
; Over the summer, as Union counterspy activity increased, the Gray Wraith had changed how he conducted business. He never revealed his plans until immediately before the foray. He and his men slept outdoors under the stars so not to jeopardize the homes of his supporters. Despite their tremendous effort, the Union cavalry failed to snare its prey. That is, until Charles Mimms walked into General George Meade’s headquarters and announced, “I know where you can find the Wraith.”

  Charles Mimms had been born in Virginia and lived his whole life in the small town of Aldie. Recruited by the rich planters’ sons who had been his childhood friends, Mimms had been proud to ride with the rangers. But greed for the spoils of war eventually replaced pride as his motivation. He saw no need to turn over everything they confiscated to the Confederate Army, not when he’d risked his life to get it. At first, Mimms held back small items or an extra saddle or weapon to sell to Confederate sutlers. Then U.S. mailbags became a sought-after prize because they often contained Federal greenbacks. His love of the Confederacy paled beside his lust for money. With each new foray, Mimms rode with the troops solely for the bounty.

  That is, until he was dismissed one shameful evening outside of Winchester.

  With eight others lined up like naughty schoolboys, the arrogant colonel had humiliated those who had participated in the ill-fated raid on a Union warehouse. Of course, a rich planter’s son could afford to hand over everything to the Glorious Cause. He’d never gone to bed hungry or grown up in a tenant shack with a father who drank all the time. His mother hadn’t taken in dressmaking to put food on the table.

  It was so easy for a wealthy man to be noble.

  At least the colonel had sprung them from the train bound for a Yankee prison. But to dismiss them without a second chance? That wasn’t something Charles Mimms could ever forget. After getting tossed out of the rangers, he had no desire to join the regular infantry or cavalry. Their six-dollars-a-month pay was laughable. Besides, he’d had enough of taking orders to last a lifetime, and now he possessed only one goal: to cut the invincible Gray Wraith down to size.

  Mimms had found a more than receptive audience with a commander of the Union forces.

  The morning after the ball, Emily awoke to the sound of knocking. Sitting up, she stretched lazily until the sound of her name cut though her sleepy fog.

  “Emily.” A male voice repeated in a hushed tone.

  Then she jumped out of bed and pulled on a robe over her nightgown. “Alexander?” she asked, tightening the belt around her waist. She opened the door an inch as though afraid of what lurked on the other side.

  “Good morning, my little Yankee. I trust you slept well.” He leaned against the door frame, already dressed in tight breeches, tall boots, a pressed linen shirt, and a fitted waistcoat. Only his cravat remained loose around his throat.

  Emily opened the door wide and glanced down the hallway in both directions. “Here, let me help you.” She reached for his cravat, but unfortunately created a knot that wouldn’t release no matter how she yanked or twisted.

  “Never mind. Go back to sleep, my love. I’m in a hurry. I’ll have William tie it on the way to the barn.” He kissed her forehead tenderly. “I hope to return by nightfall. Try not to forget me while I’m gone.” Then he turned and vanished down the stairs.

  “Wait,” she whispered. “I have something to tell you.” She took two steps into the hallway but was too late. The man was already gone.

  Emily turned and went back into her room, closed the door, and sat down on the edge of the bed. Emptiness filled her, a void she’d never experienced before. Where was the self-assured woman who had danced with the workers while the guests attended a lavish ball in the house? Where was the woman who had chased after her hosts’ son, and then danced with him and kissed him in the early morning hours? That woman had vanished with the dawn, and she didn’t care for the weakling left behind one bit.

  My little Yankee, indeed.

  Emily tiptoed to the window, hoping not to see anyone for a long time. But luck was not on her side.

  Lila sat on the balcony, reading the paper at the small table. “Thank goodness. I thought you would never wake up.” Her voice contained a note of pique. “Come have some coffee.” Lila filled two cups with a stern expression.

  “Thank you,” said Emily, sipping the strong brew.

  “Well?” demanded Lila.

  “Well, what? I thanked you for the coffee.”

  “You know very well what. What happened after you left the bonfire?”

  “Lila, you are too young to act like my mother. But maybe I’ll oblige you just this once.” Emily refilled her cup from the carafe on the table. “I caught up with Mr. Hunt in the garden, apologized for my behavior, and then we danced in the moonlight.” Emily tried not to smile.

  “Just the two of you dancing outside?” Lila’s eyes widened. “What if Mrs. Bennington would have seen you?”

  “Maybe nothing or maybe I would have been fired.” Emily answered with little concern.

  “But why? I thought you didn’t even like him.” Lila squinted at her as though some strange creature.

  “I don’t, but I seem to have fallen in love with him.” She grinned over the rim of the coffee cup.

  Her friend rolled her eyes in disbelief. “You sure changed your mind in a hurry. I’m taking your gown to the laundry before the grass stains set. I know you must have fallen down once or twice.” Lila scrambled to her feet. “And you’d better bathe and get down to the terrace. Mrs. Bennington has already asked about you this morning. That tub of water is cold because you slept in so late.” Lila left the room shaking her head.

  “Thank you for drawing my bath.” Emily followed her through the bedroom and climbed into the tub as soon as Lila left the room. Cool water might help her think, providing she remained until her skin was wrinkled and her lips had turned blue. How could she explain her odd behavior to Lila when she didn’t understand it herself? By the time she dried off, the only thing she was certain of was she loved Alexander Hunt despite every impulse cautioning against it. He had pledged his love to her. He had spoken the words women yearned to hear.

  So why is it so hard to believe he could love a woman like me? And would he still love me if he found out the truth?

  The remainder of the day dragged interminably. First, she had to endure luncheon on the terrace with guests who had stayed overnight. At least Mrs. Bennington sat beside her, but she kept stealing curious glances at her.

  “Ma’am, is there butter on my nose or something else amiss?” asked Emily in Mrs. Bennington’s ear. “I do wish to make a better impression than yesterday on the lawn.”

  Her employer laughed. “Your nose is fine, dear. And don’t worry about the impression you made. You seem to have garnered more jealousy than one woman can handle for a harvest ball.” She whispered conspiratorially while smiling like a cat.

  Emily froze. “I don’t understand what you mean.”

  Mrs. Bennington bobbed her head toward the other end.

  Emily gazed down the table and spotted Samantha Daniels frowning. The two young ladies sitting with her were glaring as though their shoes fit too tight. Emily opened her fan to hide behind. Finally, the silly thing served a purpose. “I don’t remember those women, Mrs. Bennington. I don’t believe I did anything to offend them.”

  “Of course you didn’t. Don’t give them another thought.” Mrs. Bennington patted her hand and then cut into her fish fillet. “Eat your lunch, Emily. You’ll need to keep up your strength for the rest of the day.” She nodded at the women at the far end.

  Mrs. Bennington’s advice proved wise, indeed. There were walks in the gardens—vegetable, floral, and herbal—followed by carriage rides around the property and then tea in the shade of live oaks. The guests were apparently in no hurry to go home. Finally, when Mrs. Bennington retreated to her room for a nap, Emily went to hers to hide. She’d endured the entire day without seeing Alexander.

  Dinner was equ
ally exasperating. Why did these people take three hours to eat their food? If this was the life of the well-heeled aristocracy, she had no desire to gain entrée. Seated next to an elderly gentleman with poor hearing, she attempted to carry on a lively conversation. She finally gave up trying to make herself understood and smiled sweetly at everything he said. On her right sat a young man of about seventeen who attempted to impress her with tales of horsemanship.

  Alexander arrived with his father after the first course had been served and sat at the far end with several visiting horse breeders. Other than receiving a warm smile cast in her direction, she had no contact with him. Afterward, the men headed to the library for cigars and brandy, while the ladies retired to the parlor for dessert. Emily could neither eat another morsel of food, nor spend another minute in the company of these women. Excusing herself, she nearly ran to her room.

  Pacing the floor, she tried to invent an excuse to interrupt Alexander with his business associates. Unfortunately, nothing rational occurred to her. Instead, things she should have said out in the garden flowed through her mind like a river. She had so many chances for honesty and had taken none. Exhausted, she slipped into bed with his tender confession ringing in her ears. I love you, Emily. When she eventually drifted to sleep, her dreams offered no respite. She envisioned Alexander striding down a misty path with her in futile pursuit. Of course, even in the dream she was unable to speak her mind because the phantom remained just out of reach. Waking with a start, she threw off the quilt and returned to the balcony for another promenade. At this rate her slipper soles would wear paper thin by Christmas.

  From the balcony Emily spotted Alexander marching toward the barn, weaving in and out of the mist. Was he real or merely another phantom? Raindrops on her nose and cheeks brought her fully awake. This was no dream. The man she desperately needed to talk to was blissfully alone. Wasting no time, she scampered down the gallery stairs, heedless that only a shawl protected her from the downpour. Rain quickly soaked her nightdress and matted her hair into tangles down her back, but she sloshed on through puddles that chilled her bare legs and ruined the hem of her nightgown. Like in her dream, her legs felt heavy, as though she moved underwater. Never had the distance to the barn seemed so far.