The Quaker and the Rebel Read online

  “They say a vote will be taken soon in the Virginia legislature,” said Mr. Hunt, greatly agitated. “Many of the western counties want nothing more to do with this war or the Confederacy. If presented with no alternative, they will leave the Commonwealth of Virginia.”

  “Perhaps it’s only the ravings of a few hotheads,” said his wife in a soothing tone. “Cooler, more rational minds may prevail, and Virginia will remain intact.”

  Mrs. Bennington shook her head. “I’m not so sure, Rebecca. I remember the sentiments of our former neighbors in Parkersburg. This powder keg has been simmering for a long time.”

  “You can’t expect people to fight and die for slavery when little of it exists west of the Shenandoah Mountains.” Dr. Bennington scraped his hands down his face.

  The young governess paid little attention to their politics as she pushed food around her plate.

  “My dear, is something wrong with your dinner? Or have we upset you with our conversation?” Mrs. Hunt asked as she turned a concerned face in Emily’s direction.

  “Neither, ma’am, but I have little appetite. I’ve been nursing a headache all day. If you don’t mind, I will retire to my room.” She pushed back her chair.

  “Of course. I’ll have Lila send up a tea of white willow bark.” Mrs. Bennington patted her arm as Emily walked past her.

  Along with the tea, Lila delivered a parcel of food from the kitchen and one of her loosest frocks before she vanished back down to the kitchen. There was nothing left for Emily to do but wait. Wait and worry. And think about Alexander. Were they so different? He fed, clothed, and cared for Southern soldiers. Would he understand her need to lessen the suffering of runaway slaves?

  Finally, the house grew silent as darkness fell. The sisters were most likely doing needlework by the parlor fire, while their husbands continued their debate regarding Virginia over brandy in the study. Most of the workers, both slave and free, had completed their tasks and were enjoying dinner in the kitchen downstairs or in cabins out back. Emily dressed in dark colors and then plaited her hair into a long braid before tucking it beneath a riding hat. Creeping from the house, she had no trouble reaching the barn unseen. She tied the cloth bag of food and the extra dress to the saddle horn, along with the reins of the other mare, and mounted Miss Kitty. She avoided a sidesaddle because she would have to ride hard and fast to reach Upperville in a little over two hours. With the moon to light her way and the sounds of crickets and peepers to comfort her country ears, the ride exhilarated Emily.

  She arrived at the Thompson farm just after ten o’clock, thankful for the smoothness of the journey thus far. This was a safe house in the Underground Railroad—kind people dedicated to helping slaves find their way to freedom. But the sight of three Thoroughbreds tied to the hitching post nearly stopped Emily’s heart. The saddles bore the insignia of the U.S. cavalry. Emily hid Miss Kitty and the extra horse in the barn and knocked timidly on the kitchen door.

  “Mrs. Thompson? It’s Miss Harrison,” she whispered with a queasy stomach.

  “Come in, come in, Miss Harrison. I’m just having a cup of coffee.” The woman held the door wide. “My husband has guests in the parlor—three Federal officers.” She added with great pride. “Those are their horses tied outside.” She conveyed this information without a moment’s hesitation. After all, Emily was not only a Yankee but a conductor on the Underground Railroad. Surely, she could be trusted.

  The serenity Emily had experienced during the ride vanished. She hadn’t given the Thompsons much thought—they were simply antislavery Christians who helped runaways reach the North. The realization that they were also Union sympathizers, actively assisting the Federal Army camped nearby, hit her like a bolt of lightning. It was one thing to help a pregnant runaway escape slavery, but quite another to be in a house of informants. As she sipped coffee in Mrs. Thompson’s comfortable kitchen, she was shamed by the love and trust received from the Benningtons and Hunts. When her thoughts turned to Alexander, a deep flush crept up her neck. Just exactly who am I? But as she stared into the grounds at the bottom of her cup, no easy answer came.

  “Are you a Quaker, Miss Harrison?” asked Mrs. Thompson, refilling their cups with fresh coffee.

  “Yes, ma’am, I was—am.” Emily looked everywhere in the room but at her hostess’s face.

  “We’re Methodists. I couldn’t abide no organ music or singing in church like the Quakers, but you’re very brave to be doing this, miss, and at such a young age. You’ll get your just reward.”

  “Yes, ma’am, I’m quite certain of that, but I’m surprised there’s still such need after Mr. Lincoln’s proclamation.”

  Mrs. Thompson clucked. “It doesn’t take effect till January. Besides, do you think those Georgia slavers are going to pay much attention?”

  Emily shook off a frisson of anxiety. She couldn’t keep from glancing toward the parlor. Two Union officers paced back and forth, while a third sat with Mr. Thompson before the hearth.

  “Don’t worry about them. They’ll not trouble you any. The officers are here to discuss important matters with Mr. Thompson.”

  Emily grew more uncomfortable by the minute. She felt like a traitor. How was that possible? She was a Unionist to the core who hated the institution of slavery, despite who she’d fallen in love with. “I brought along an extra dress,” she said, rousing herself to task. Emily drew Lila’s gown from her bag.

  The hospitable Mrs. Thompson set a plate of cakes in front of her. “Take a moment to refresh yourself, my dear. You still have quite a night ahead of you. I’ll get our refugee prepared to go.” She picked up the dress and headed for the door.

  Emily breathed a sigh of relief when the woman disappeared, leaving her alone. The strains of male voices wafted from the parlor. It wouldn’t hurt to listen for a minute. After all, I am a Yankee, aren’t I? She crept silently to the doorway.

  “We won’t have to worry about him much longer.” The words of one soldier drifted through as she hid by the doorjamb.

  “Is that right? He’s been cutting up this county and others around it for the entire war. What makes you think you can catch him now?” The booming voice came from a burly man identified by his wife as her host. Mr. Thompson was middle-aged, stoop-shouldered, and balding. Emily took an immediate, illogical dislike to him.

  “It appears he made an enemy,” said a mustached officer, leaning back in his chair. “Apparently, he discharged several rangers for filling their pockets with plunder instead of turning it over to the Confederacy. The Gray Wraith is a man of strong principle,” he added sarcastically. The other two broke into peals of laughter.

  “I fail to see the humor,” said Mr. Thompson.

  “One of the men discharged turned up at General Meade’s headquarters. He’d ridden with the Wraith from the start.” The officer paused, grinning at the others. “For a small price he described the man’s hideouts and habits. This mysterious Wraith keeps to himself and has few vices, but he enjoys a once-a-month poker game at the home of Thaddeus Marshall in Middleburg. We’ve had our eye on that town for some time. Those citizens are very loyal to the Cause. They would lie to the Maker himself to save the rangers. Apparently, Mr. Marshall is the Wraith’s uncle and, from what we can gather, Marshall only has one nephew—Mr. Alexander Hunt of Hunt Farms, Front Royal.”

  “That’s not possible.” Thompson shook his head like an ornery mule. “That family is the richest in the area. Why would the son of an aristocrat like James Hunt involve himself with pillaging? You think this former ranger can be trusted?”

  Emily’s heart pounded so hard she feared it would be overheard.

  “Yes, we believe he’s telling the truth. These blue-blooded aristocrats have a barrelful of honor.” He spat the word as though something shameful. “We’ll keep the man in the stockade pending the outcome. He’ll be paid one way or the other depending on the reliability of his information. He was mad as a wet hen when they locked him up.” The other officers
stopped pacing long enough to refill their glasses at the sideboard.

  “So we have it on good authority the Gray Wraith will be in Middleburg tomorrow night.” The officer finished off his own drink. “He won’t slip away again. Once he’s captured, the raiding of our trains and wagons in the area will cease. If we can stop him from supplying the Rebel Army, we can end this war that much sooner.”

  Tomorrow. The word turned Emily’s entire world upside down. Alexander did have an uncle living in Middleburg. She’d heard him joking with his father how Uncle Thad could bluff at poker better than a riverboat charlatan. With the Yankee cavalry waiting for him, Alexander would be walking into a trap. She stood with her head on the doorjamb, unable to move for several moments. Then she shook off her paralysis and left the warm kitchen.

  Moments later, she located Mrs. Thompson and introduced herself to the frightened, pregnant slave anxious to be out of Virginia. Wearing Lila’s dress, the woman climbed onto the horse. Emily mounted Miss Kitty and then accepted a bag of provisions from Mrs. Thompson. If anyone told her a month ago she would feel anger toward a fellow member of the Underground Railroad, she never would have believed it. But Emily had no time to mull over her change in attitude. She had to deliver this woman safely into the hands of the next conductor and get herself back to Front Royal.

  And pray that she wouldn’t be too late to warn Alexander.

  Like most towns in the original thirteen colonies, Middleburg had been laid out in a symmetrical grid pattern with blocks relatively the same size.

  The opulent home of Thaddeus Marshall occupied almost all of one block, with a small hotel on one corner and the Episcopal Church facing the street to the rear. Arriving guests descended from their carriages at the ornately wrought gate and then strolled through formal gardens to the Marshalls’ front door. The stone path wound through manicured boxwood, bowers of clematis and ivy, along with peach and pear trees. Their garden and small orchard created a veritable Eden within the city. The mansion, built on the back property line, resembled an Irish manor house with double chimneys at both ends and tall, symmetrical windows. Circling up three stories, a carved walnut staircase dominated the impressive foyer. The Marshalls used the main floor for their lavish balls and receptions, preferring not to climb to the third floor. To the right of the parlor were the dining room and Mr. Marshall’s study.

  Alexander and his rangers arrived at the Marshall home for their beloved poker game. Alexander usually accepted his aunt and uncle’s hospitality and stayed overnight. Guest bedrooms and quarters for household staff could be found on the third floor. It was not unusual for his officers to share rooms in the house after their card games, while another dozen soldiers bunked in the stable loft or other outbuildings. On warm summer nights some men spread their bedrolls under fruit trees or in the grape arbor, where they could inhale a sweet fragrance as they drifted to sleep.

  Such was the case on this warm night in late fall. The poker games—penny ante in the parlor and higher stakes in the library—broke up around midnight. Alexander, Nathan, and several other officers feasted on cold fried chicken and sweet corn with Mr. and Mrs. Marshall in the kitchen. With sandwiches in hand, the other rangers sang on their way to their bedrolls in the garden. Alexander felt uncommonly content with the world on this November night. After a flush of hearts in the final hand, his wallet was richer by ten dollars. His men were ready to ride to Culpeper at dawn to relieve a supply train of horse feed. And he had just finished a delicious meal with his aunt and uncle, who never missed an opportunity to badger him about his bachelor status.

  “If you wait any longer, nephew, the only women left who will have you will be my age.” His aunt shook her finger in warning.

  “If she’s half as lovely as you, I will be a happy bridegroom.” His usual reply brought a blush to his aunt’s cheeks.

  “You go on upstairs now. You’re talking nonsense.” Mrs. Marshall wrapped up the last piece of pecan pie and tucked it into his saddlebag.

  Watching her, Alexander felt an odd surge of emotion. Everything in this woman’s life had changed drastically, yet she still worried whether he would marry a nice girl.

  Emily Harrison was a nice girl, despite the fact she’d been born north of the Mason–Dixon line. Her words at breakfast yesterday morning kept running through his mind, providing another measure of contentment. She had actually defended him—defended the Wraith, at any rate. “His aim is only to feed and clothe the hungry Army of the Shenandoah and supply medicine to the field hospitals.” “When he commandeered a train from Washington, the ladies aboard stated he behaved like a true gentleman.” A true gentleman. He smiled at Emily’s conclusion. Would she be so eager to save the Wraith from the hangman’s noose if she knew his true identity?

  Alexander kissed his aunt’s papery cheek, shook his uncle’s hand, and then climbed the stairs to the third floor. After stretching out on his narrow bed, he listened to the men’s banter through the open window. Soon the garden below and hallway of guestrooms quieted as men fell into deep, long-overdue sleep. But he couldn’t shake thoughts of Emily from his mind.

  You have given your heart to the enemy, Miss Harrison.

  But then again, so have I.

  SIXTEEN

  Emily enjoyed no dreams the night she returned from the Thompsons’, pleasant or otherwise. The ride from the river ford where the young woman crossed into Maryland had been tortuous. Without a moon to light her way, she had gotten lost twice and hadn’t arrived back at Hunt Farms until late morning. She left the two horses in the brooding shed as instructed and walked the distance to the house sore and famished.

  “There you are! I thought you would never get back.” Lila popped up from the hedges into Emily’s path with her usual zeal. “I had to tell so many lies as to why you weren’t at breakfast. I don’t like bearing false witness.”

  “I’m sorry, Lila. I made a wrong turn and ended up in Bluemont. Let me rest for a few hours. I’m too exhausted to talk.” Stepping around her friend, she entered the warm kitchen.

  “No, first you need to eat.” Lila pulled a linen napkin from a plate of sandwiches on the table.

  “I’ll take one up to my room, but don’t let me sleep more than a couple of hours.” A yawn muffled her words. Emily headed up the back stairs eating her sandwich with eyelids that refused to stay open. Inside her room, she stripped off her sweaty dress and dropped it on the floor. Slipping between her silk sheets, she fell instantly to sleep. When she awoke, it took her several moments to regain her bearings. Someone had drawn the curtains and set out a fresh basin of water and stack of towels.

  Jumping out of bed, Emily splashed water on her skin until her senses returned. Then she scrubbed every bit of road dust from her face and arms.

  Without knocking, Lila marched into the room with another ewer. “I was just about to shake you.” Peering at the dirty water, Lila threw it out the window and refilled the basin from her pitcher.

  “Why didn’t you check if someone stood below on the lawn?” Emily lowered her face into the cool water.

  “No one is about this time of day.” Lila leaned one hip against the bedpost. “When will you tell me what happened?”

  “What I will tell you is how wonderful this feels.” Emily pressed a soft towel to her face. Then she recounted an abbreviated version of Mrs. Thompson and the pregnant runaway, including the plot to capture the Wraith in a trap. “Now I must find Alexander. Time is of the essence.”

  Lila dug her hands into her apron pockets. “Mr. Hunt isn’t here. I saw him ride out a few hours ago.”

  It took Emily a moment to absorb the news. Then her knees buckled and she collapsed on the polished bedroom floor. Without hesitation, Lila hauled her to her feet. “Oh, Lila, how long did you let me sleep?” Emily finished drying off and tossed the towel toward the hamper. “If I don’t stop him, Alexander will walk right into a trap.”

  “That William—he never breathed a word about this. He always helps
Mr. Hunt cover his tracks.” Lila yanked a fresh dress from the wardrobe.

  Emily shimmied into clean clothes without bothering with a corset. “I must find Mr. Marshall’s home in Middleburg to warn him.”

  Lila fumed as she pacing the floor. “William knows the way. He’s gone there many times with Mr. Hunt—”

  “I must see William at once!” Emily pulled on her boots and sprinted toward the balcony door.

  “What should I tell Mrs. Bennington?” asked Lila, following close behind on Emily’s heels.

  “Make up any tale you wish after I’m gone. You should be getting good at it by now.”

  Although William tried everything in his power to dissuade her, Emily refused to listen. The two of them rode hard to Middleburg, arriving a little after midnight. As they stood on the street behind the Marshall mansion, holding the reins of their lathered horses, they considered their next move. The stillness of the neighborhood offered hope she wasn’t too late. “Thank you, William, for accompanying me. I never would have found Mr. Marshall’s home on my own.”

  “Mr. Alexander ain’t gonna be happy about you coming.”

  “You let me worry about Mr. Alexander. He and his men are in danger. The Union cavalry knows about this house.”

  “I’ll go speak to him while you wait here. We don’t know what we’ll find beyond that gate.”

  “No, I will do this. Alexander will ask how I came by this information. I must tell him the truth. I must tell him everything.”

  “Yes, miss, I’d say it’s time.” Worry creased William’s brow. “You gonna tell him what you were doing in Upperville?”

  Emily’s head snapped around. “What do you know about Upperville?”

  “I know what you were doing there. Lila told me all about the Underground Railroad.”