The Quaker and the Rebel (14 page)

Heading to the horse barns, Alexander was determined to work off his fascination with a woman so patently wrong for him. Emily was a stubborn Quaker, a holier-than-thou Yankee who thought herself superior to dissipated Southerners. And
that
would never change, no matter what he said or did.

Having slept like a baby, Emily awoke to a new day feeling refreshed. Her pique with Alexander had ebbed and then faded altogether. After all, she probably
was
narrow minded, but she absolutely refused to consider the other side of the matter of slavery.

She had missed dinner last night due to a feigned headache. Lila had been concerned and peppered Emily with questions:
Why are you so upset with Mr. Hunt? What did you two argue about?
The young maid had become her first true friend. Yet Emily couldn’t explain what they had disagreed about. She hoped they could get past the comments of yesterday. She couldn’t put Alexander to good use if their romance fizzled out due to her hot temper.

This morning, Emily dressed quickly and then hurried downstairs to arrive first in the dining room. Or so she thought.

Alexander stood sipping coffee by the tall windows. “Good morning, Miss Harrison. I picked you these myself.” He held out a massive bouquet of day lilies and mountain laurel. “They grow wild by the fencerows. Please forgive my thoughtlessness yesterday. If anyone can be narrow minded, it is I.”

“Let’s not speak of our argument again. Mrs. Bennington would probably fire me if she knew how I behaved toward you.” She accepted the bouquet with a smile. “These are beautiful, Mr. Hunt. Thank you.”
Pouring a cup of coffee, Emily remembered her grandmother’s advice:
Spread the honey on thick, and then watch the bees swarm around you.

“My lips are sealed, and you’re welcome.” He sat down with his coffee.

Setting the flowers on the sideboard to be put in water later, she took a seat on the opposite side of the table. “Your farm is beautiful. I meant to tell you that yesterday. It’s a tribute to hard work and your love for the land.”

He nodded graciously. “Tell me about your home, Miss Harrison. I’ve seen Ohio only from the banks of Bennington Island.”

“A fertile valley looks the same on both sides of a river.” She carefully avoided the essential difference between the two states. “My father farmed fifty acres outside Marietta, planted mostly in corn and hay. We owned four cows, a dozen chickens, two horses, and a pair of goats, but I never figured out why.” She grinned at the memory. “The male was the orneriest billy on earth, and our nanny never produced an ounce of milk.”

“Tell me about your mother.” He leaned back from the table.

“My mother raised a huge garden and had a small orchard. She put up the best peach preserves in the county, with blue ribbons from the fair to prove it. She took first place in the apple pie competition more times than naught.”

“What was her secret?” Alexander studied her from beneath lowered brows.

Emily glanced around as though looking for eavesdroppers. “She picked the apples a bit early and then sweetened them with honey. They would remain firm instead of mushy like those of her competition. I will expect you to keep that secret under your hat,” she whispered.

“I promise.” He solemnly drew an
X
over his heart. “Do you share your mother’s joy in the kitchen?”

“I’m afraid not. I didn’t inherit a fraction of her abilities. I once roasted a goose to charred oblivion. Downright unrecognizable, I’m afraid.”

“You’re young. There’s still time to learn. I admire your high regard for your mother. No Southern woman would ever admit to inferior domestic skills, even though most probably possess far less than you.”

“I see no reason for deception. We are what we are. Don’t you agree, Mr. Hunt?”

“Unquestionably.” He drained his cup and lifted the carafe to refill it. “Sounds like you had a happy childhood in Ohio.”

It was a statement, not a question, but Emily felt obliged to confirm. “Yes, I enjoyed my childhood. I climbed trees, skinned my knees, and rode my horse bareback through the woods. My mother and I picked blackberries in July, but I would eat more from the basket than ever landed in a pie. My father taught me to swim in the river and how to skip stones. We waved at the passing riverboats and made up stories about traveling to places like St. Louis or Memphis or New Orleans.”

“And what would you do, Emily, if you visited one of those places now?” Alexander spooned fried eggs and crisp bacon from the platter offered by Nathaniel.

She glanced at him, taking a small portion of food. Yesterday, stolen kisses, and now he used her given name without permission. “What would I do? First, I would go to a fancy shop where the dresses are already made and try on each and every one. I’m tired of looking at patterns and bolts of fabric, trying to imagine what a dress might look like. Next, I would seat myself in a fine restaurant and order every dish I’ve never heard of. Then I would walk down a street of fine homes and peek in their windows to see how they live.” Emily felt a blush crawl up her neck. She set down her fork to hide her shaking hands.

“You would look in people’s windows?”

“That’s what I do in Martinsburg whenever I take a walk.” She clamped her mouth shut, unsure why she had just bared her soul to a son of wealth and privilege.

“Why?” He sounded truly perplexed.

“I’m not spying on them. I like to see the color of their draperies, which portraits hang on the walls or what furnishings they own.” She
ate a forkful of eggs with melted cheese and tomatoes, waiting for him to laugh.

But he did not. “Rest assured, those people are no happier with their fine possessions than your family. They just have more to dust.” He watched her over the rim of his cup. “What happened to your parents, Emily?”

Although she had been enjoying the meal, she set her fork and knife on the plate. “They were killed in an accident. My father used to race his horse down the road along the river. It was the only reckless thing he ever did. One day the axle broke and his buggy lost a wheel. My parents were thrown to their deaths a few miles from home.” Her eyes filled with tears, but she refused to cry. “Because the farm had a mortgage, I had no choice but to sell it and look for employment. The Benningtons were the only family in the area that could afford paid help.” She leaned back in the damask chair. “You now know the entire dismal story of my uneventful life.” Her tone took on an unwarranted defensiveness.

“Dismal, yes, but not unusual. Death surrounds us. It pervades our lives insidiously, forcing us to make decisions and do things we normally wouldn’t. You’ve done well for yourself since your parents’ deaths. I’m sure they would be proud of you.” Downing the last of his coffee, Alexander tossed his napkin on his plate.

“How has death pervaded your life?” she asked, taken aback by his declaration. Wasn’t this a man whose life remained unchanged while war raged all around him? “What regrettable decisions have you made?”

“I didn’t say I regretted anything.” He stood and pushed back his chair. “Let’s go to town, shall we? Apparently, the rest of the family wasn’t hungry this morning.”

“You forget, Mr. Hunt, that I’m a paid employee of Mrs. Bennington. I don’t share with you the liberty of spending the day as I please.” Rising from the table, she shook the creases from her skirt. “If you’ll excuse me, I’ll go check on her.”

“As you wish.” Alexander bowed deeply as she left.

Emily found Mrs. Bennington on the verandah outside her room. A tray with empty dishes indicated nothing was amiss with her appetite. “Good morning, ma’am. How are you feeling today?”

“I’m feeling fine, dear, never better. I’m catching up on my correspondence to the girls.” Mrs. Bennington smiled up from her chaise. “Rebecca and I heard that you and Alexander had a spat. We thought it best if we gave you time to patch things up.” She sounded conspiratorial.

Emily’s eyes grew round as saucers. “We didn’t exactly have a spat, Mrs. Bennington, merely a difference of opinion. I hope I haven’t overstepped my bounds by arguing with my host. You have my sincere apology, ma’am. I hope you’ll extend my regrets to Mrs. Hunt.”

“Nonsense. No apologies are necessary. Alexander can be stubborn as a mule and far too accustomed to getting his own way. The belles of the Shenandoah Valley wouldn’t disagree with him even if he stated the earth was flat and Christopher Columbus was a madman.”

“Do you suppose he prefers women who behave like that?” Emily asked in a timid voice.

Mrs. Bennington pondered a moment. “I don’t know. I suspect it’s all he’s ever experienced. Men seldom give women’s opinions much thought unless forced to. That is how it is with Porter, or at least how it used to be,” she added with a wink. “You and my nephew quarrel because you’re both the same—stubborn, willful, and opinionated. But you could settle him down and give him direction.”

Emily stared at her. “I doubt that I could give him anything but indigestion.” But just for a moment she imagined being married to him. In her dreamy vision, she was held securely in the crook of his shoulder, cherished and protected, while he whispered unceasing endearments in her ear.

“Speaking of Porter,” said Mrs. Bennington, pulling Emily from her daydream. “I have a favor to ask of you and Alexander.” Mischief shone in her green eyes.

“What kind of favor?” Emily tensed with a growing sense of doom.

“Porter hasn’t been home in days. James said the work at the hospital
isn’t diminishing. Battlefield casualties continue to pour in, while contagious disease spreads through the troops. He must be out of clean clothes by now.” She straightened in the chaise. “I would like you two to ride to Front Royal with clothes and the food Beatrice prepared, plus a crate of medical supplies that arrived from Alexandria. I have no idea what Porter has been eating. But knowing him, it’s probably the same thin soup and hard biscuits as the soldiers.”

Emily’s dread solidified into a lump in her stomach. She had no desire to spend more time with Alexander than necessary. Ideas were taking hold which had no place in a Quaker woman’s mind. “Couldn’t Alex—Mr. Hunt travel alone? I feel I’ve neglected you since our arrival, Mrs. Bennington. Perhaps we could read this afternoon over tea.”

“Nonsense. Besides, Alexander might lose his way. I doubt he leaves Hunt Farms very often. I would feel better if you accompanied him. Then you could also provide a more accurate description of hospital conditions. My brother-in-law’s reports are designed to spare me worry over Porter. Please, Emily?”

Of course, she had no choice. Within the hour she changed into the oldest traveling outfit with the most unbecoming bonnet she owned. There was no reason to wear a good dress when she’d be bouncing over rough roads.

Matilde and Beatrice had been busy all morning cooking and baking an assortment of nourishing food for the hospital. Emily and Lila carried hamper after hamper out to the buckboard, along with sacks of bandages and boxes of brown-wrapped medicine. When they arrived with their final load, they found Alexander hitching two Percherons to the wagon. Emily stared at him with interest. His breeches had been tucked inside tall boots and his jacket forgotten. Sweat had rendered his shirt nearly transparent, the damp linen outlining every muscle of his back and shoulders.

Unfortunately, Lila witnessed her perusal. “Give me that basket before you drop it in the mud.” She hissed in Emily’s ear. “You’re about as subtle as a new bull in a March pasture.”

Emily hid behind her new fan—another gift from Mrs. Bennington.
“Miss Amite, I have no idea what you mean. I was wondering why Mr. Hunt hitched draft horses instead of regular stock.”

But Lila’s attention wasn’t on the horses or Mr. Hunt, for that matter. William had ridden into the stable yard, reined in inches from his employer, and bent his head to speak in hushed tones. Tall, rangy, rugged William—Lila stared at him with no more restraint than Emily had showed. She’d seen Lila and William exchange surreptitious looks and shy smiles before. Emily pulled her gaze from the men long enough to turn toward the wagon. Lila selected the same precise moment to heft her basket of baked goods, cracking Emily resolutely in the head.

“Excuse me, Miss Emily. I beg your pardon,” said Lila.

“Excuse me, Lila. The fault was mine.”

“No, miss, if I hadn’t—”

“Excuse
me,
ladies,” interrupted Alexander. He tapped a rolled piece of paper on the palm of his hand. “I’m afraid there’s been a change of plans, Miss Harrison. You won’t be accompanying me to the field hospital after all.”