The Quaker and the Rebel (12 page)

“I hope the casualties will soon taper off.”

Dr. Bennington continued to confound Emily. People had been simpler in the Ohio River Valley—they were either good or not.

Sipping her tea, Mrs. Bennington studied her companion. “Let’s change the subject. My nephew would like to take you for a ride on this absolutely beautiful morning. I think it’s a wonderful idea. That would give me time to catch up on gossip with my sister.” She reached for Mrs. Hunt’s hand.

“I’ll have to see if I have the time.” Emily couldn’t look at Alexander, who had remained uncharacteristically quiet during the meal. Clutching her cup with both hands, she stared into her coffee as though life’s mysteries were about to be revealed in its depths.

“Did you two run into each other at the ball last night, my dear?”

“We certainly did, Aunt Augusta,” Alexander said before Emily
could reply. “Miss Harrison graced me with not one but three dances, although her dance card was practically full when I found her hiding in the hibiscus.”

Emily’s head snapped up. What blatant lies. “I was observing, not hiding—merely curious because Quakers don’t attend balls.” When no one spoke, she amended her thoughtless comment. “Begging your pardon, I meant Ohio Quakers don’t dance.”

“No offense taken,” murmured Mrs. Hunt, fixing her gaze on her son.

Alexander beamed a most ingratiating smile. “I appreciate that you lowered your standards for my sake, Miss Harrison. What good are rules if they can’t be broken?”

The two sisters exchanged a glance.

“Alexander used to be a practicing Quaker before he fell in with the wrong crowd during his college years.” His mother’s gray eyes twinkled with mischief. “Front Royal has a small Society of Friends if you would like to attend meetings, Miss Harrison. Perhaps you can convince my son to join you.”

Alexander leaned back in his chair. “I’ll give that some thought, Mother, right after the war is over.” He fixed Emily with his steely eyes.

“Alexander takes the convictions of pacifism very seriously,” said Mrs. Bennington. “That’s why he refrained from joining the Confederacy.”

Pacifism or fear of the enemy’s bullets?
Taking deep breaths to regain control of her temper, Emily concentrated on crumbling a biscuit on her plate.

“Aren’t you feeling well, my dear?” asked Mrs. Bennington. “You have barely said half a dozen words and eaten little more than biscuit crumbs.”

“I feel fine, ma’am. A little tired perhaps.” Remembering her manners, she shook away her personal opinions. “Thank you, Mrs. Hunt, for your gracious invitation to the ball last evening. And thank you, Mr. Hunt, for rescuing me from the potted plant. I enjoyed our dance.”

“Rest assured that the pleasure was mine.” Dabbing his chin with
his napkin, he straightened in his chair. “What do you say to that ride after breakfast, Miss Harrison? But I must insist you wear suitable riding attire. We’re not the wild frontier here in Warren County. We don’t permit ladies to mount their own horses and trot off with petticoats flying and lace bloomers showing the way they do in dime novels.”

Mrs. Hunt stopped eating and stared at her son as though he’d gone mad. “Alexander,
what
has gotten into you? Why would you say such a thing or, for that matter, read such trash when we have a library filled with classics? To my knowledge you haven’t bent the binding of a good book in quite some time.” She didn’t sound pleased with his topic of breakfast conversation. “And I have several riding habits Miss Harrison can use if she forgot to pack hers. That is,
if
she chooses to ride with a boorish man like you.” Smiling at Emily, Mrs. Hunt rose from the table, her breakfast complete, but she offered her son a look of tacit disapproval.

“I believe I will ride this morning. It will give me an opportunity to exercise Miss Kitty. And thank you again for your generous gift, Mrs. Bennington.” Emily spoke with her most gracious tone of voice. She’d overheard enough witless belles last night to know how society ladies talked. “I’ll see you this afternoon, ma’am. Mrs. Hunt, thank you for the delicious breakfast and for the loan of riding clothes. I will go change.” She rose with as much dignity as she could muster and strolled from the room.

Unfortunately, the sound of Alexander’s laughter followed her halfway up the stairs.

Emily changed into a rather snug riding habit, high leather boots, a deep green felt hat, and kid gloves. Before leaving her room, she plucked out the ridiculous feather sticking up from the hatband and left it on the dressing table, along with the riding crop. Having never cropped a horse in her life, she wasn’t about to start now. Outside on the front steps, she spotted two men lounging in the shade of a
live oak, each holding the reins of a saddled horse. She strode toward them feeling jaunty in her borrowed clothes, never having owned anything of this quality in her life. The boots alone would cost a month’s wages.

“I was beginning to think you changed your mind, Miss Harrison.” Alexander pushed away from the tree as she approached and bowed low. “I must say you look delightful in my mother’s clothes.”

Her cheeks flushed pink. “Must you be so irritating on a day as lovely as this?” Scratching Miss Kitty’s nose, she turned toward the tall, muscular black man holding her reins. “I am Miss Emily Harrison. How do you do?”

“Very well, thank you, ma’am.” He swept his hat from his head and bowed.

“Excuse my manners,” said Alexander. “Miss Harrison, this is William Tyler, my right-hand man and trusted friend. William, this is Aunt Augusta’s companion. Miss Harrison hails from Ohio but now resides in Virginia, making Martinsburg that much fairer a city.”

“Ma’am.” William nodded before replacing his cap.

“Are you a slave, Mr. Tyler?” Emily asked without preamble.

Momentarily flummoxed, William hesitated before answering. “No, ma’am, I’m a free man of color employed by Mr. Hunt. But come to think of it, it’s been so long since my last increase in wages that perhaps I should check my papers to make sure I read the fine print.” The two men exploded into laughter.

Emily failed to see the humor, but she refused to be baited into displaying any fits of temper. “I can mount without assistance, thank you.” She lifted her boot heel into the stirrup and swung up effortlessly into the sidesaddle.

Alexander moved behind her, perhaps in case she fell on her backside. Then he mounted his huge, spirited stallion in one fluid motion and turned the animal around with the barest of nudges. “I keep telling you, William. Once you stop landing me in the doghouse with my mother regarding my absences, then we’ll talk salary increases. Shall we be off, Miss Harrison?”

“I’m as ready as I ever will be.” As they cantered down the oak-lined drive, she couldn’t help noticing Alexander was an imposing presence in the saddle. His well-cut jacket and starched linen shirt were rather conservative compared with his dandified outfit of last night.

“Are you admiring my riding attire, Miss Harrison?” he asked, noticing her perusal.

“I am, Mr. Hunt. You look quite at home in the saddle. And in regards to clothing, a country girl like me prefers these less formal occasions.” She aimed a gloved finger at his stirrup. “Your boots certainly have received far more wear than I would expect from a gentleman farmer.”

“You are right. They are worn down to the soles. In wartime few leather goods are available in stores, and I would certainly never deprive a Southern cavalryman of footwear. Besides, I’m not half the gentleman you imagine me to be, Miss Harrison.” When the Hunt Farms tree-lined lane met the county pike, he spurred his horse and sprinted off at full gallop, not looking back once. Alexander and his stallion soon disappeared from sight around the bend.

Of all the rudeness!
But Emily wasted no breath on recriminations without an audience. She pressed her heel against Miss Kitty’s flank, and the mare bounded down the dirt road. In the sidesaddle, Emily couldn’t grip with her thighs as her father had taught her so many summers ago. She bent low in the saddle, gripping the reins and clinging tightly to the animal’s silky neck. Heat radiated from the beast’s skin as they galloped across an open field in pursuit of the stallion. Scattered, craggy apple trees indicated this had once been an orchard, though it was now well beyond its productive days. Despite the fact she was hanging on for dear life, Emily made no attempt to slow her horse. It felt wonderful to have the wind in her face and her hair streaming behind her. Mrs. Hunt’s chic fedora bounced against her back, with only knotted ribbons preventing it from becoming lost forever. Emily held her breath as Miss Kitty leaped fallen logs and shallow streams. Her stomach rose once or twice into her throat, but after a while she abandoned herself to the delicious taste of freedom.

Breathless and flushed, Emily and Miss Kitty eventually caught up to the two males as they slowed their pace to a walk.

“Well done, Miss Harrison. Phantom tried his best to lose you, but apparently we have met our match.” Alexander slipped from his mount and grasped Miss Kitty’s bridle as she pranced restlessly under a shady cedar.

“Miss Kitty has a smooth gait and is very responsive to even an unfamiliar rider. But why did you extend an invitation if you didn’t wish to ride with me?” She patted the horse’s neck and flashed a wounded expression.

“Come now, my little Yankee, I was joking. Of course, I wanted to ride with you.” He offered his hand to her.

Emily ignored it and slipped effortlessly to the ground. “Once again I don’t find your humor amusing.” Spotting a small stream under a stand of pines, she headed in that direction.

Alexander tied their mounts to a low branch and quickly caught up to her. “Had you no rascally brothers to tease you while growing up?” He grasped the elbow of her jacket. “Please don’t be cross with me. If you pout, I won’t share the picnic Beatrice packed.” He danced around like a schoolboy trying to win favor with a treat.

Emily settled herself demurely on a fallen log in the shade. “I’m not hungry, Mr. Hunt.” She dabbed a tiny bead of sweat from her lip. “So you needn’t perplex yourself with whether or not to share your lunch.” Her voice was melodic and refined, although on the inside she wished she could wipe the smug look from his face. “And I assure you, I’m
not
your little Yankee or anyone else’s.”

Alexander plopped down on the riverbank and stretched his long legs over the edge. “Forgive me, Miss Harrison. My mother was correct at breakfast—I’m a complete boor, unfit to spend an afternoon with gentle souls. My grandmother once described me as ‘a mule in horse harness.’ ”

“Sounds like your granny was an astute judge of character.”

His shout of laughter sent a flock of birds on to a quieter location. “She was at that. I still miss her.” He glanced at her over his shoulder. “If
you give me another chance, I will try to change.” Rising to his feet, he sauntered toward her with exasperating confidence, plucking a buttercup along the way. “What do you say?” He offered it as a peace token.

Emily gazed at the flower and then the man. “I’ll give you the rest of the afternoon.” Close as they were now, she found him more handsome than ever. True, his nose was too prominent and his chin a bit severe, yet his eyes were mesmerizing and his smile lit up his face. Of course, people with abundant wealth had that much more to smile about. She accepted the flower and sniffed it. “I don’t know why people smell wildflowers. They almost never have much scent.” Emily tossed the buttercup into the tall grass.

“It’s a natural reaction.” He lowered himself to her log. “We anticipate a sweet fragrance despite our previous disappointments.”

Suddenly, it seemed to grow cloyingly warm under the shady cedars and pines. “Tell me how your skin became so suntanned,” she asked, desperate for benign conversation. “I wouldn’t think you had that many outdoor chores at Hunt Farms.”

He moved closer on the log. “You’d be surprised how much work I do on a given day.” Suddenly, he took hold of her chin.

“What do you have in mind, Mr. Hunt?” she asked as her breath caught in her throat.

“Only this.” Alexander leaned over and kissed her. Without asking her leave, he tilted his head and simply kissed her.

Shivers shot up her spine. Her legs went numb, her palms grew clammy, and her stomach turned a somersault—all a reaction from one little kiss. She might have toppled from the log if he wasn’t holding her face steady.

“What are you doing?” she squeaked.