The Quaker and the Rebel (23 page)

“I’m sure she will turn up.” Emily reached for a biscuit, forcing herself to swallow a small piece.

“Do you think so? Something tells me the Hunts will never see Annabelle and little Gabriel again. We can only pray she’s in a safe place.” Mrs. Bennington drained her coffee and set down the cup with a clatter, scrutinizing Emily with her lovely green eyes.

Emily set down the biscuit and folded her hands in her lap, unable to meet the gaze of the woman who had sheltered her, trusted her, and befriended her. If Mrs. Bennington had even a shred of doubt, she didn’t any longer.

“Perhaps we have disrupted the Hunt household enough.” She set her fork on the side of her plate. “We shouldn’t overstay our welcome. Besides, I’m eager for Porter to return home, where he’ll keep regular hours. There’ll be quite a lot for him to do in Martinsburg with doctors running off to join the army.” Mrs. Bennington rose from the table and laid her small white hand on Emily’s shoulder. “Will you help me pack my things?”

“Of course.” Emily downed her coffee and struggled to her feet.

“Before you come upstairs, please inform the Amites of our plans to leave as soon as possible. I’ve already sent a message to Porter at the hospital.”

Emily looked into the woman’s unruffled face and forced a smile. “Yes, ma’am. I’ll tell Matilde and then join you in your suite.”

“Thank you.” She swept from the room, leaving a cloud of lavender behind.

I am so undeserving of this woman’s kindness and protection. Rebecca Hunt is her sister, her blood kin, while I’m only an employee.
If it were the last thing she did, Emily would find a way to make this up to her employer.

She knew Mrs. Bennington knew she was taking a thief back to Martinsburg. For that Emily was grateful, but she couldn’t wait to be gone from Hunt Farms.

“They’re out looking for Annabelle and Gabriel.”

Startled, Emily turned to find Lila right behind her. She’d been so preoccupied with packing she hadn’t heard her come in. “I know,” she said quietly. “Well, they won’t find them.”

“No, they won’t, but Mr. Hunt is in a lather.”

“He has lots of other slaves.” She focused on folding undergarments and setting them in the trunk.

“He’s in a lather because young Mr. Hunt has gone off again. ‘He’s never around when I need him,’ I heard him tell William. He searched for Annabelle all day yesterday. William said Mr. Hunt won’t hire slave-catchers since he can’t trust them.”

Emily huffed out her breath. “Perhaps you and I shouldn’t concern ourselves with the doings of this plantation so much. We’ll be leaving today. By the way, have you seen my gold locket? I can’t remember when I took it off, and I can’t find it anywhere.”

“No, I haven’t seen it.” Lila wouldn’t be put off so easily. “William knows what we did,” she whispered.

“
What?
” Emily’s voiced cracked, betraying her overwrought nerves. William was Alexander’s trusted personal employee.

“William knows what you and I and Jack did on the way to Martinsburg.” She explained as though Emily were a simpleton.

“How do you know that, Lila?”

“Because he told me.” Lila began folding the skirts and blouses Emily had strewn across the bed.

Emily had enough of Lila’s evasiveness and grabbed her by the shoulders. “Tell me what you know.”

Lila sat on the bed and crossed her arms. “William followed us when we left here. He watched us take the turnoff to Berryville.”

“Why would he do that?” Emily slumped into a chair, finding it difficult to breathe.

“Because you picked Jack over him and he doesn’t trust that rascal. And because…” Lila’s voice faltered as she lost some of her exasperating self-confidence. “William has had his eye on me since…well, forever.” Lila stared at a flower on the wallpaper, chewing her lip.

“Is that so? Is there something wrong with the man? You know, not quite right?” She tapped her temple with her index finger.

Lila shot her a mischievous look. “He probably got stung by the same bug that bit Mr. Hunt.” She waited for Emily to catch her meaning.

But Emily said nothing as she returned to the bureau drawers.

Lila followed at her heels. “Mr. Hunt told William to look after you while he was gone. That’s the other reason why he followed us. And he told me about your dining on the terrace and then taking a moonlit stroll in the garden with Mr. Hunt.”

“How could he possibly know that?” Emily demanded.

“I asked him that. William said there wasn’t much that went on he didn’t know about.” Lila pulled the stack of underpinnings from Emily’s hands. “Why didn’t you tell me about Mr. Hunt? I didn’t know you were sweet on him. I thought you hated him. You sure had me fooled.” She gave Emily a sidelong perusal.

“Apparently I fooled myself, but don’t change the subject. What about William? Will he turn us in for aiding runaways? We could land in a lot of trouble.”

“No.” Lila answered without a moment’s hesitation. “He said he felt sorry for Annabelle because she was so unhappy. But he doesn’t want to see more people disappearing. He said the Hunts are good people, and you should do your work anywhere but here.” Slamming the trunk lid, Lila put her hands on her hips.

“That won’t be a problem. We’re leaving.”

“I told him I wouldn’t help you at Hunt Farms. He said fair enough.” Then Lila began waltzing around the bedroom as though at a ball. “Beatrice said he always asks questions about me whenever he’s in the kitchen. He’s been real nice to my ma, and Beatrice saw him talking to my pa.” Lila clamped her hand over her mouth to stop rambling.

“Why, Lila Amite. If I didn’t know better, I would think you were sweet on William.” Emily feigned a Southern drawl.

“Maybe I am a little…curious. But it won’t do me a bit of good
because we’re going back to Martinsburg today. I don’t know when I’ll see him again.” She plopped down on the bed and dropped her head into her hands.

Emily plunked down beside her and settled her arm around her shoulders.
I don’t know when I’ll see Alexander again,
she thought. And somehow, she wasn’t quite so happy about leaving Hunt Farms.

E
LEVEN

L
ATE
S
UMMER
1862

T
he infamous Gray Wraith and his Rebel Rangers were a perfect terror to the Yankees. They moved silently under the cover of night, struck swiftly, and usually took only what they could carry. They fed the Confederate Treasury with a steady stream of gold and greenbacks, and the cavalry with replacement horses for those killed in battle. They knew the Shenandoah Valley and the flatlands to the east like the backs of their hands. The rangers were familiar with every road, bridle path, farm trace, bridge, river ford, and observation point in a six-county radius. The men had grown up in these remote valleys, hunting and fishing in the isolated bogs and ponds. They could creep up on an enemy camp, eavesdrop on a conversation, and leave with the information without the pickets hearing more than a rustle of leaves.

The press loved their larger-than-life reputation. Northern newspapers described them as rogues operating within the limits of decent society. The rangers stretched but didn’t break wartime codes and traditions, unlike the bushwhackers of Missouri, whose barbarous acts had been described in detail across the country. Even Northerners viewed them more as romantic Robin Hoods than dangerous desperados like their Western counterparts. Women pored over their bloodless exploits as they would yellow-backed novels, with any reproach directed at the Union Army’s inability to catch them.

Southern papers portrayed them as dashing cavalrymen, living lives filled with romantic intrigue. Many a belle fell asleep dreaming of the notorious Gray Wraith carrying her away on his magnificent white steed. Local townsfolk willingly fed and sheltered the rangers, considering it their duty to the war effort in the same vein as knitting socks or rolling bandages for the hospitals.

Prior to the war, many wealthy rangers had failed to develop any self-discipline whatsoever. Because slaves did most of the work, these
honorable gentlemen grew to manhood with time and money on their hands. Their parents seldom frowned on indolence. It was accepted for these upper-class gentlemen to spend their days drinking, racing horses, chasing women, and spending money lavishly. Although most were churchgoing men, their behavior would have shocked most Northern Christians.

Gambling was widely accepted among Alexander’s peers. They bet on everything from palmetto bug races to the outcome of an election to who would be appointed the next Yankee commander. Almost every tavern provided card games and billiards in which debts of thousands of dollars were amassed in a single evening. Professional gamblers roved through Southern towns stripping more than one plantation heir of a significant part of his fortune.

Although most churches frowned on drinking, pastors often overlooked indulgence by the rich. Some plantation masters sipped something alcoholic from sunup to sundown, remaining in a mildly inebriated blur. The blue-blooded aristocracy was allowed leeway in their romantic pursuits too. Women were expected to remain virtuous until marriage but men were not. Brothels could be found in most Southern towns, unheard of in New England villages.

The rangers, many from aristocratic families, carried their undisciplined ways into their brand of cavalry. Whereas the regular Confederate Army fought battles separated by boring stretches of camp life, rangers could stalk their enemy, strike an unprotected underbelly, and still stay close to home. They enjoyed adventure and glory while avoiding the tedium of camp life. Only the Gray Wraith prevented them from disintegrating into a mob of plunderers.

Rebecca Hunt’s strong Quaker upbringing didn’t permit dissipated behavior in the Hunt household. Although she served spirits at dinner parties or balls at the insistence of James, drunkenness wasn’t tolerated. Neither was gambling, swearing, and certainly not visiting fancy houses. Alexander didn’t have much trouble growing up under her rules. Although newspaper accounts depicted the Gray Wraith as the leader of a band of rakes, nothing was further from the truth. His goal
was simple: assist the beleaguered Confederacy to the best of his abilities. He harassed the Union Army by disrupting communications and thereby dividing their strength before a battle. He aimed to appropriate every provision he could from their railroads and supply wagons without personal advancement or financial gain. But each day it grew harder to maintain discipline among his troops. With increasing frequency he noticed soldiers with fancy clothing, new expensive weaponry, and flashing rolls of bank notes around the campfire.

On this summer day, Alexander wasn’t a happy man. Lately his satisfaction from serving the Confederacy had become tangled with conflicting emotions. It didn’t help that he was in love with a Unionist. He’d finally acknowledged to himself that he’d been smitten by a Yankee schoolteacher from Ohio—one who may have stolen away to meet another man in Berryville. Why had she responded to his kisses if she loved someone else? Fool. He was a stupid fool. Alexander knew only too well that a woman could feign passion she didn’t feel. Rosalyn had professed love for him while plotting the deaths of his soldiers. Refusing to listen to Nathan’s warnings, Alexander desperately wanted to believe Emily wasn’t like Rosalyn. Yet, in his heart, he knew the truth. Why had he allowed himself to become caught in her web of deceit?

Alexander ground his teeth. Once he returned to Front Royal, he would demand to know whom she’d met that night in Berryville. He would give her a chance to explain her behavior. But one thing was certain—she must never learn his identity or what he did when he left Hunt Farms. He would never risk the safety of his rangers again.

He rode hard to meet Smith and Ellsworth at a small farm outside of Warrenton. The reunion went well, his argument with Nathan long forgotten. Because his rangers had attracted so much attention lately, Alexander dismissed his troops for this particular sortie. Armed with reports from well-paid scouts, they had reliable information on the movement of enemy troops in the Shenandoah Valley. Wearing Federal uniforms procured in their last raid, the three men slipped through Union lines and headed for the telegraph office at the railroad depot.

“Good afternoon, sir. What news have you heard?” asked the colonel, disguising his Southern accent.

“Not much, sir.” The telegraph operator barely glanced up from his keys. “Only that that confounded Wraith marauds on this side of the mountains with a cavalry of two hundred.”