The Quaker and the Rebel (7 page)

Emily often read aloud to Mrs. Bennington during the afternoon when neither felt like napping. Emily enjoyed the recitations of
Pickwick Papers
and
David Copperfield
as much as her employer. An incongruous bond formed between the two women as they discussed Charles Dickens’s bleak outlook on society. Emily offered forthright opinions with growing confidence, while Mrs. Bennington loved to impart Quaker principles into every debate. Although members of the same Christian sect, their backgrounds and experiences had created rather divergent ideas. But both women had abandoned the somber gray dresses and wide-brimmed, face-obscuring bonnets worn by Quakers—Mrs. Bennington because her husband insisted she dress like the fashionable women of her class, and Emily because, after her
brief period of mourning, she rebelled against the constant reminder of her loss.

Mrs. Bennington’s kindness finally wore down Emily’s resolve not to socialize with the family. An additional incentive to accepting the invitation to dine in the grand salon that evening was because her services as chaperone had been requested. Margaret would be attending her first adult affair, while Anne would serve as punch bowl monitor until her bedtime. Guests from Louisville were already arriving and would stay at the mansion for several days. Their neighbors in Parkersburg would float downriver on flatboats to participate in the evening festivities. Lila explained that local dinner guests would also spend the night and return home after breakfast.

“Why are they making such a to-do over an evening meal?” asked Emily as she and Lila laid out the clothes Margaret and Anne would wear. “How can people linger five or six hours over dinner? What can they find to talk about for so long?” She shook her head. “My family always ate supper and returned to whatever they still needed to do that day.”

“I suppose it’s something you get used to.” Lila set out dainty slippers for both girls. “And once you see the number of courses, you’ll understand why dinner takes so long. Just don’t eat much of any one food.” She held up Emily’s new yellow silk dress. “Will you wear this one? I can lace you into your corset while the girls are bathing.”

Emily blanched. “I don’t own such an undergarment, only plain chemises.”

Lila stared in disbelief. “Good thing you’re as skinny as a bean stalk. Stay here. I’ll be right back.” She bolted out the door before Emily could object.

She stared at the yellow gown and three daytime dresses, all gifts from Mrs. Bennington. Her employers were pleased with their daughters’ progress. Margaret’s deportment had improved, and her French was practically fluent. Little Annie no longer stampeded through the upper halls and had stopped sliding down the bannister on her belly. Emily had originally declined the offer of new frocks, but she relented
after viewing her meager wardrobe hanging on the clothesline. Due to frequent launderings, sunlight streamed through the faded fabric, rendering the material nearly transparent.

Emily fingered the gown, having never owned anything like it. It was tightly fitted from the bodice down to her hips, where billows of tiered lace cascaded to the floor. Delicate white cuffs set off the pale shade of buttercup, and lace edging accented the deep neckline.

“Hurry, Miss Harrison. Shimmy into this.” Lila flew into the bedroom and thrust a stiff apparatus at her. “Miss Margaret outgrew this one before ever wearing it. I’ll turn my back.”

Emily studied the garment to determine top from bottom and drew it up over her hips. Despite her skinny-as-a-stalk frame, she had to hold her breath to close the hooks-and-eyes.

“Turn around and I’ll lace you up. Then I must leave to help Miss Margaret. Shall I send in another maid?” asked Lila, already knowing the answer. All of the other maids were slaves.

“No, thank you.” Emily was barely able to inhale as Lila tightened the stays. “I can manage. You run along when you’re done. And don’t worry about me eating too much. That would be impossible wearing this. I’m not sure I’ll be able to even sit down.”

Once alone in the room, Emily slipped the dress over her head and struggled to reach the row of buttons in back. Then she lowered herself to the stool before her mirror and pinned her freshly washed hair into a cluster of curls atop her head. Springy tendrils slipped loose to frame her face. Her burnished cheeks glowed, inappropriately suntanned from her walks without a hat. Emily touched rouge to her lips, dabbed lemon balm on her pulse points, and sucked in a deep breath.

On her way downstairs, she caught her reflection in the mirror. She didn’t recognize the woman who gazed back.

“Miss Harrison, there you are. I’d like you to meet some of my guests,” boomed Dr. Bennington before she reached the landing.

“Good evening, Dr. Bennington.” Emily bobbed her head politely. “Perhaps I should check on Anne or Margaret.”

“Nonsense, they’ll be fine. We don’t stand on ceremony on my
little island. Relax a bit tonight.” He took her forearm and practically dragged her out on the portico. An elderly couple stood alone, sipping iced tea. “Miss Harrison, may I introduce Mr. and Mrs. Hull of Parkersburg. Edwina, Howard, this is Miss Emily Harrison of Marietta.”

“How do you?” she murmured, withholding her curtsey at the last moment.

“You’ll be pleased to discover they share your views on slavery,” said Dr. Bennington. “They feel the institution should be abolished and say so often and loudly at every public meeting and forum they attend.” His eyes twinkled, apparently pleased with himself. Then he bowed to the Hulls and disappeared into the throng of guests.

Reluctantly, Emily struck up a conversation with them. “I am pleased to learn there are antislavery sentiments on this side of the river too,” she said to Mr. Hull.

“An archaic system that places a few rich planters at the top of society while the rest of us struggle to earn a living!” he thundered. “How can a farmer or shopkeeper compete with free labor?” Mr. Hull made little attempt to modulate his voice. “Young people are hard pressed to find decent jobs if they weren’t born with a silver spoon in their mouth.”

Emily glanced around uncomfortably. “You speak of economic concerns, but what of the ethical reasons for the institution’s abolishment?” she asked.

Mr. Hull blinked like an owl and took a swallow of something brown in a bowl-shaped glass. Mrs. Hull tilted her head toward her. “I’m not sure how much traveling you’ve done, my dear, but few families in these western counties have been blessed with so much…abundance as our dear host and hostess.” Smiling, she nodded in the direction of Mrs. Bennington. “I assure you, slaveholding plantations are rare in this part of Virginia.”

“We’re forced to suffer to maintain old King Charles’s land grants from a hundred years ago,” interjected Mr. Hull. “Those created some very rich men among the king’s cronies. With no offense toward our friends, the Benningtons,” he added hastily.

It was Emily’s turn to blink with disbelief. “King Charles should have insisted that the Colonies contain no slavery from the start.”

Ignoring her comment, Mr. Hull downed the contents of his odd-shaped glass. “Economies aside, Miss Harrison, what about the principles of states’ rights? That’s what this rebellion is about, at least here in Wood County. Why should some Yankee in Washington tell us how to live our lives?”

Emily felt the boning of her corset cut into her ribs and breathed with relief when Joshua threw open the French doors.

“Ladies and gentlemen, dinner is served,” he announced with a deep bow.

“It was a pleasure to make your acquaintance, sir, ma’am, but I must locate my charges.” She bobbed her head and hurried away from the tiresome couple.

She spotted Margaret near the dining room door, looking winsome and lovely in her new gown. “Thank goodness I found you,” Emily whispered in Margaret’s ear. “Let’s find two seats at the far end of the table.”

“Dear me, Miss Harrison. We must sit where our name cards have been placed. And I doubt that will be together. Wish me luck at my first gala.” Margaret squeezed her hand and then glided into the room without waiting for Emily’s wishes, good or otherwise.

She entered at a less enthusiastic pace, trying not to gape at her surroundings. At least a hundred tapers illuminated the beautifully appointed Hepplewhite table. The silver gleamed and the crystal sparkled in the candlelight, reminding her once again of her modest upbringing. As Margaret predicted, the governess and charge had been separated. Margaret sat between two young men, one more simpering than the other. Emily found her name card across from Dr. Bennington and between two slightly older men. Neither was as expensively dressed as their host. During the meal, they attempted to outdo one another with stories of bravado in vain attempts to impress her. Dr. Bennington appeared amused by the attention they lavished on Emily, but she wished to be anywhere but here with these vapid Southern
aristocrats. Only when the conversation turned to the Gray Wraith did her interest pique.

“You’ll be happy to learn, Miss Harrison, being a Unionist, that the Gray Wraith never harms a hair on a Yankee head,” said the older of the two men. “Why, he doesn’t even carry a firearm.” He nodded his head, revealing a shiny, bald patch of scalp.

“He does carry a saber, but I understand he uses it solely to sever the purse strings of rich businessmen,” the younger of the pair added to the great entertainment of all. “More wine, Miss Harrison?”

“No, thank you. I don’t imbibe. And I fail to comprehend how being a thief is a noble occupation, gentlemen.” Emily kept her voice low with great effort.

“Ah, the difference is that our mysterious Wraith steals food only to feed a hungry army, medicine for the wounded in field hospitals, and clothing to keep our boys in the Shenandoah warm.”

“I understand he also steals money from the Federal Army payrolls.” Emily’s voice rose in agitation despite her desire not to embarrass the Benningtons at their dinner party.

But her table companions didn’t seem to take exception. “True enough, Miss Harrison, but your Federal Treasury contains much placed there by Southern planters. You can’t really blame the man for wishing to
redistribute
the funds more equitably,” the man concluded. Everyone within earshot nodded their well-coifed heads in agreement. Several began relaying stories they had heard of the Wraith’s exploits. Everyone but Emily, that is. Red-faced and cross, she sipped her grape juice in an effort to curb her tongue. Even though she refused the constant offer of spirits, she found herself growing light headed before the main course was finally served. Then, thankfully, the political conversation changed over to polite compliments regarding the fare.

Emily picked at the undercooked rib of beef—meat so rare it was still bloody—and enjoyed only the side dishes. The spiced apples and baked squash reminded her of home. Inside, she seethed over the blithe remarks about a cavalier thief. How dare they turn his sinful behavior into a crusadelike cause? Women who idolized the Wraith were
pure fools.
If I knew the man’s identity, I would expose him to the authorities,
she mused. He wouldn’t look so noble swinging at the end of a noose like a common thief. Reaching for her flute, she swallowed a hearty mouthful before realizing someone had refilled her empty glass with red wine. The wine roiled bitterly in her stomach, yet she dared not excuse herself from the table.
Drinking spirits…thank goodness my mother isn’t here to see this.

“I can’t blame you one bit, Porter. Selling Bennington Plantation to an Ohio horse breeder is probably the wisest thing you can do at this point. Since Virginia seceded, conditions have worsened in this area for the planter. Why, there’s even talk among the rabble that these western counties should break from Virginia. Could you imagine such an idea? Nothing will come of it, of course, but men of our class will be more welcome in the East than here. Although I must say, the town of Parkersburg will be sorry to see your medical practice go.” The elderly man’s booming voice cut through Emily’s reverie. Her head snapped around in attention.

“Yes, the Ohioan offered a fair price. I haven’t been able to turn a profit since inheriting the plantation from my father, so I thought I should sell.” Dr. Bennington leaned back in his chair. “I am a physician and not much of a gentlemen farmer.”

“That’s due to your generous nature, Porter. You don’t press anyone to pay for your services. I heard you let your people keep the profits from their businesses,” drawled an overly made-up woman. “You are too kind for your own good.” She dragged out each word for emphasis without taking her eyes off Mrs. Bennington seated at the other end of the table.

“Porter is indeed a charitable man.” His wife beamed a smile at him. “I wouldn’t have him any other way.”

He lifted his glass in salute. “Thank you, my dear. My hope is that we will be surrounded by as many caring friends in Martinsburg as we are here.” He drained his glass and held it out for Joshua to refill.

When everyone raised their glass to toast, so did Emily, forgetting her flute no longer contained juice. The wine began jangling her
thoughts as she tried to absorb Dr. Bennington’s words. “Martinsburg?” she asked in a tiny voice. “You’re moving your family to Martinsburg?”

Every head turned in her direction. “Yes, Miss Harrison, right after the Christmas holidays.” He smiled patiently at her. “I have sold Bennington Plantation and will move my practice there.”

“You’re moving east because things have become uncomfortable for slavers here?”