The Quaker and the Rebel Read online

  “If you’re checking to see if I will again attempt to cook for myself, the answer is no. But I don’t see why they don’t all eat together. My family did. Every family I’ve ever known eats together at mealtime.”

  Lila thought before replying. “Miss Margaret is fourteen. Soon she’ll be asked to join her parents at the dinner table on a regular basis, but Miss Anne is only eleven. She’s much too young to be expected to comport herself that long. She dines with the family only on Sundays and on special occasions.”

  Emily’s inaugural dinner later that evening explained much as to why an eleven-year-old wouldn’t be welcome. No one could expect someone that young to sit still for a three-hour meal. Having decided to eat in the kitchen with the girls, she had changed her mind after discovering the heavy vellum card that had been slipped beneath her door while she was out with the maid.

  In a spidery script, Mrs. Bennington had written: “Please join us for dinner. Dr. Bennington is looking forward to making your acquaintance.”

  How could she refuse such a summons from her employer?

  TWO

  Donning her best Sunday dress—peach muslin with a lace collar and cuffs—Emily made an appearance downstairs promptly at seven o’clock, but not a soul was there. Stepping into the lovely dining room, her eyes drifted up to the high ceiling. Hand-carved plaster rosettes encircled a magnificent crystal chandelier that held at least three dozen candles. Another thirty tapers burned in silver candelabras along the windowsills, throwing dancing light and shadows across the room. The red pine floor had been polished to a high gloss with a thick Aubusson carpet beneath the Hepplewhite table. Emily gingerly picked up a piece of Haviland bone china from a place setting. A band of gold trimmed each piece. Emily gasped, having seen such opulence only in catalogs at Miss Turner’s school.

  “That is a dinner plate, Miss Harrison.” Someone spoke near the windows.

  Recognizing the taunting voice, Emily lurched in her shoes. “I know what it is. I was merely admiring the pattern.” She kept her words soft and controlled. She had no intention of letting him under her skin again.

  “I believe the pattern is called ‘Maiden Bride’ or ‘Long-Suffering Maiden,’ something like that.” Alexander came up swiftly and loomed over her shoulder. He plucked the dinner plate from her fingers to examine more closely

  His breath on her neck sent tingles up her spine, but flanked by a high-back chair on both sides, Emily was enclosed. “Do you enjoy trapping people on walkways and in between heavy furniture, Mr. Hunt?”

  “Ah, you remembered my name from yesterday, Miss Harrison. It does a man’s heart good to realize he’s not…forgettable.” He bent close as he replaced the plate, breathing in her fragrance in a none-too-subtle manner.

  “That pattern is called ‘Versailles,’ Alexander.” Mrs. Bennington spoke from the doorway. “I had no idea you took interest in place settings of china.” Angling her nephew a wry glance as she entered, she leaned on a cane and the arm of a distinguished-looking gentleman. Her wheeled chair was nowhere in sight. Joshua followed vigilantly behind the pair.

  “Good evening, Aunt Augusta.” He bowed deeply. “You look lovely this evening, as always.”

  Mrs. Bennington turned her attention to Emily. “Forgive our tardiness, Miss Harrison,” she said with a gracious smile. “I’m glad you decided to join us for dinner.” She was dressed impeccably in emerald satin with a heavy jeweled pendant that glittered in the candlelight.

  “Thank you for the invitation, ma’am.” Emily bobbed her head politely.

  Once seated, Mrs. Bennington made introductions. “Miss Harrison, this is my husband, Dr. Porter Bennington. Dear, this is Miss Emily Harrison, formerly of Ohio.”

  Emily pulled her contemplation of the mysterious nephew to gaze into the watery blue eyes of her employer, her adversary—a slaver. She had to admit he didn’t look evil. Don’t let appearances deceive you. She could hear her mother’s words ringing in her ears even as she extended her fingers to the genteel man. “How do you do, sir,” she murmured.

  “Miss Harrison.” Dr. Bennington nodded and clasped her hand. “It is a pleasure to meet you.” With graying dark hair and a deeply lined forehead, his face was too haggard and weathered to be handsome. Yet his eyes sparkled with compassion, especially as he listened to his wife recount Emily’s list of attributes as governess. When she had concluded, he grinned. “Our unschooled daughters have fallen into the right hands. You’ll have your work cut out for you to prepare them to be received into polite society. I’m afraid our isolated little island has beguiled us, and our girls will be at a disadvantage in the world.” From the tureen presented on his left, he ladled a hearty portion of soup into his bowl. “I join my wife in welcoming you and wish to extend anything that might make your stay more pleasant.”

  “Thank you, sir,” Emily said. It would be so much easier to hate him if he wasn’t so blasted nice.

  Dr. Bennington glanced at his nephew. “Good evening, Alexander. I trust you have introduced yourself to our new governess.”

  “Good evening, sir. Yes, I made proper introductions on the path to the summer kitchen yesterday.”

  When Emily remembered Alexander’s bare chest, dappled with water droplets down to the waistband of his trousers, she felt a hot rush of color creep up her neck. Proper indeed. Emily sensed his gaze as she ladled creamy soup into her bowl. Glancing up, she found her intuition correct. “It’s a pleasure to see you again, Mr. Hunt.”

  “I assure you that the pleasure is mine. My aunt and uncle are fortunate to have someone to squelch any calamites that arise.”

  Blushing to her hairline, she concentrated on getting soup to her mouth without spilling it on her gown.

  “What calamities are you talking about, Alexander?” asked his aunt.

  “Didn’t you hear? Miss Harrison handily doused a kitchen fire yesterday, thereby saving Matilde’s domain from certain ruin.”

  The soup in Emily’s spoon sloshed over the edge onto her dress. “The cook and I handled the situation together.”

  “Truly, I’m sure she’s made her first friend on the island in Matilde.” He beamed at her and then focused his attention on her soup stain.

  Emily sank lower in her chair.

  “Is that right?” asked Dr. Bennington. “Our cook has been with us a long time. I must say, first impressions go a long way with Matilde. Well done, Miss Harrison.”

  “And your new governess is also a chef, Uncle. I believe she was exchanging recipes with Matilde when the blaze broke out.”

  “When the blaze broke out?” Mrs. Bennington sounded distressed.

  “You are exaggerating the story out of proportion, Mr. Hunt. You’re making it sound like an out-of-control inferno.” Emily set down her spoon. “And I don’t wish to give Dr. and Mrs. Bennington false expectations.”

  “Nonsense. I’m sure you’re being modest about your attributes and abilities.”

  The Benningtons looked perplexedly at each other and then at Alexander. His aunt’s face registered suspicion as she narrowed her eyes at him.

  “My wife tells me you are betrothed?” asked the doctor, changing the subject.

  “Yes, to Matthew Norton of Marietta. He’s proudly serving with the Ohio volunteer infantry.” Emily straightened her back. “In the Federal Army,” she added unnecessarily.

  A muscle twitched in Alexander’s neck. He opened his mouth to speak, but his uncle’s reply was quicker.

  “Most of us here in Wood County weren’t pleased when Virginia seceded from the Union, myself included. There is little reason to preserve the antiquated institution of slavery, especially in these western counties.” Dr. Bennington studied his new employee.

  But you do preserve it. You continue to own human beings. Emily’s unspoken words hung in the air like a fog.

  Clearing his throat, Joshua lifted a lid to reveal an elaborately dressed pheasant on the sideboard. A cornucopia of fruits and vegetables surrounded the roast
bird. “A marvelous presentation, Joshua, thank you. You may carve now.” Mrs. Bennington’s compliment curtailed the uncomfortable moment.

  Emily let the matter drop and gave her full attention to the salad course. It wouldn’t do to get fired on her second day of employment.

  “I picked up a copy of the Richmond Ledger in town today,” said Alexander, addressing his uncle. “The Gray Wraith has struck again. He made off with a hundred prime cavalry horses with their saddles and tack, besides fifty wagons of food, blankets, and medicine on their way to the Union Army encamped at Warrenton. Begging your pardon, Miss Harrison.” He bobbed his head in Emily’s direction. “The paper says they masqueraded as a Federal detachment, rode in, and ransacked the caravan without a single shot being fired. The supplies are now in the hands of Thomas Jackson’s men in the Shenandoah,” he concluded with great enthusiasm. “Begging your pardon again, Miss Harrison.”

  “Excellent news,” said Dr. Bennington. “Those horses couldn’t be more essential with skirmishes increasing and recruits arriving to the camps daily. But I doubt Mr. Lincoln’s prime stock can compare with your horses, Alexander, or with mine.”

  Alexander turned to Emily for a reaction, but she was concentrating on a biscuit. She spread butter into each nook and cranny with deliberation. With a shrug of his shoulders, he proceeded to devour an entire pheasant leg. “Joshua, please give my compliments to Matilde. This roast bird is superb.”

  Joshua’s smile revealed a gold tooth. “Thank you, Mr. Hunt.” He bowed slightly and withdrew from the room.

  “Would you like to try your hand at cooking, Miss Harrison, during your free time?” Alexander handed her a bowl of candied yams. “I’m sure my aunt and uncle will let you experiment on Matilde’s day off. They should send in Margaret and Annie as your assistants to develop their domestic talents.” His gaze remained on Emily as he took a long drink of wine.

  Emily knew he was taunting her, but she could say nothing without offending her employers. So she imagined upturning the bowl of yams over his head, along with the platter of sautéed spinach. The image of sugary juice running down his chin and wilted greens decorating his pristine white shirt brought a smile to her lips. She sipped from her water glass. “I look forward to it, Mr. Hunt, but I’ll save the occasion for your next visit that you might enjoy the fruits of my labor.”

  Alexander raised his glass in a mock toast. “Shall I pour you some wine?”

  “Thank you, no. I’m Quaker and don’t partake in spirits. I’m surprised you do. Your aunt mentioned you were a Friend.”

  “I have fallen away, I’m afraid. Too many thees, thys, and thous for my tastes.” He nodded deferentially to his aunt.

  “Tell me more about this Gray Wraith, Dr. Bennington,” said Emily, eager to change the subject. “The Ohio newspapers don’t print stories about him.”

  “Oh, he’s very mysterious, my dear.” Mrs. Bennington provided the explanation. “He’s believed to be a partisan ranger, but no one knows his true identity. His men refer to him only as Colonel. He rides a white stallion in the dead of night with his scarlet-lined cape flying behind him. Very dashing, don’t you think? According to the accounts, he carries only a saber, refusing to possess a firearm.” Mrs. Bennington’s eyes sparkled in the glow of the candlelight.

  “My wife has grown more besotted with the Wraith’s intrigue than even Margaret. I pray he never rides to Bennington Plantation. I fear I’ll lose the love of my life if she sets eyes on him.”

  Mrs. Bennington blushed demurely. “Oh, Porter, how you do go on.”

  Emily looked from one to the other but refused to glance at Alexander. Who is this Gray Wraith wreaking havoc on the Union forces? How dare he steal food and medicine from the very troops Matthew serves with? The veins at her temples began to throb as her hands turned clammy. She didn’t view the matter quite as blithely as the other three. No doubt this was the first of many differences of opinion she would have with Dr. Bennington. Fortunately, Mr. Hunt would soon return to his home. She wouldn’t have to deal with his cocky attitude or his forward behavior. The man had the exasperating ability to reduce her to a nervous, skittish doe, with her stomach flip-flopping each time their gazes met.

  Finally, the endless dinner drew to a close and she bade them all a good night. But neither Dr. Bennington’s complacent view of slavery, nor the exploits of this Gray Wraith, nor even Mr. Hunt’s effect on her composure was Emily’s chief concern as she climbed the staircase to her room. Someone had slipped a letter under her door from the evening mail packet. Carrying the letter onto her balcony, she could barely make out the address on the dirty, tattered envelope: Miss Emily Harrison, c/o Bennington Plantation, Parkersburg, Virginia. In the fading light, she read two sentences that would change her life forever:

  Dear Miss Harrison, I regret to inform you that Pvt. Matthew Norton of the OVI has fallen in battle in Virginia at the Battle of Bull Run. He died a hero’s death, covering himself in glory on the battlefield and into eternity.

  She read the words over and over as her hopes and dreams crumbled to dust. A single tear fell on the parchment sheet before it fluttered to the portico flagstones below. Emily gazed over the lawns, gardens, and fields of the plantation that was not much of a plantation at all. In the distance, she saw men and women marching back from the fields in the last rays of sunlight. The sight of slaves salved her wounded spirit, galvanizing her resolve.

  “At least I know what to do,” she whispered in the humid, enveloping darkness. “My duty to God and my country is clear.”

  From their well-hidden position in the foliage, twenty men gazed down on the sleeping town, watching with satisfaction as blue-clad soldiers mounted and rode out in formation. None spoke, but they held their reins tightly in hand lest their horses draw undue attention. As the last of their adversaries disappeared into a cloud of dust, the men turned toward their leader.

  Sitting tall in the saddle, the colonel didn’t move a muscle until the last Yank disappeared into the haze and stillness returned to the hamlet. Then his lips formed a smile as he glanced left and right at his men. “Well, boys, it looks like Ellsworth worked his magic again.” Laughter broke the silence as their plan came together. But their leader didn’t wait for compliments or backslapping. Spurring his horse, he galloped toward the train station below with a singular purpose and his second-in-command close behind.

  “Dawson, ride up the track to the signal flags,” ordered the colonel. “Post the red to make sure the train slows well in advance. Jamison, you and Hobart throw the switch to turn the train into the siding. The rest of you men position yourselves among those trees. Any Yanks traveling with the train will either be in the first car or in the last, so that’s where you enter. Be quick, be decisive. Surround and create havoc. Shoot only if you must, but to wound not to kill. Boggs, Turner, follow me.”

  The men reacted with speed and proficiency. These were no green recruits, no nervous, trigger-happy youngsters eager to throw themselves into battle without thought or care. These seasoned professionals were the elite of trained cavalry, men who had been born to the saddle and who handled weapons with the same precision as their mounts. Yet regular Confederate cavalry they were not.

  The colonel ordered his second-in-command to enter the passenger compartment while he directed maneuvers from outside the train. If his unwelcome notoriety grew any larger, the Yankees would move him up their list of priorities. And that would only hamper their cause.

  “Good morning, ladies and gentlemen. I am Captain Nathan Smith of the Army of Northern Virginia. This train will be delayed for a brief interval. Please sit quietly, and you’ll still be alive when the train pulls into the station.” Although the dapper young officer tipped his hat upon entering and smiled during his introduction, his two Colt revolvers left no doubt regarding his intentions. Rangers at the other end of the car leveled their Enfield rifles with the same silent threat.

  Well-dressed businessmen, traveling from Washington
and points east, looked with contempt upon the intrusion, yet no one twitched a whisker. Their wives and daughters weren’t quite as composed. Several sobbed into lace handkerchiefs, and more than one began to pray.

  “What do you want with us, sir?” asked a white-haired matron with plenty of courage as the captain made his way down the aisle. She pulled her heavy reticule from the floor to her lap. “Will you take our cash and jewelry?”

  “No, madam, I assure you.” Captain Smith swept off his hat and bowed. “We’re only interested in the provisions on their way to Yankee camps.” His smile revealed perfectly straight teeth. “You are in the sovereign state of Virginia, part of the Confederate States of America. You are not home any longer. But I assure you, the colonel has no desire for civilian property.” He pointed to the window with a flourish of his hand. A tall man, clothed in a black cloak with a plumed hat pulled low, sat astride a majestic white horse. Fog swirled around horse and rider, increasing the aura of intrigue.

  Leaning toward the glass, the elderly woman gasped. “Is that the Gray Wraith? He doesn’t appear mortal. I read about him in the papers.”

  “I assure you, madam, he is flesh and blood.” Captain Smith replaced his hat and strode from the car, leaving his men to guard against would-be heroes.

  The rangers quickly overpowered a dozen Union soldiers, stripping them of their weapons and leaving them tied up in an empty train car. Along the tracks, the colonel directed the train’s unloading with well-honed efficiency. True to the captain’s word, the passengers were soon on their way. In less than thirty minutes, the rangers unloaded food, medicine, guns, and ammunition into wagons hidden in the woods. In the last two boxcars they found fifty fine horses with saddles and tack stacked along the wall, plus the unexpected bounty of a Union payroll. After tethering the horses into groups of five, they galloped off before the sun rose high enough to burn off the mist.