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  George turned to stare at the flames, tearing his gaze away from the mixture of guilt and determination in his brother’s eyes. “Do not blame yourself for me being taken, Matthew. It was my choice alone. The Yanks were too thick, and we would not have escaped. Better that one of us remained than our name die out with our spilled blood upon the soil.”

  They were silent a few moments and George processed the things Matthew had said, suddenly realizing something important. “But the plan surely failed,” he mused. “Otherwise the war would have shifted, and I would have heard the news. I don’t think even a Confederate prison would be secluded from something as monumental as a presidential abduction.”

  “It did fail. But only because of Annabelle,” Matthew said, barking a laugh.

  “What?” George stared at Matthew in surprise.

  “Oh, indeed. The entire thing was unraveled by one tiny woman. She found a way to warn Lincoln’s driver, and the carriage that appeared on the route we guarded turned out to be empty.”

  George let out a low whistle. He would not look upon the Ross woman the same again.

  “That, brother, is why we are all here and I did not come looking for you alone. I knew if O’Malley found out what she’d done, she would be in grave danger. He’s…not as stable as I once thought. I decided I had to get her to safety. Even before I could come for you.” The guilt in his voice once again pulled at George, and he patted his brother’s arm in a futile attempt at comfort.

  “That is why we left Washington,” Matthew continued. “I was going to deliver her here, to her only living kin other than her blood uncle she can’t find. But, before we had even made it from the edges of the city, she said she had gone to the war offices in Washington and discovered you were being held at Elmira.” Matthew’s tone turned near wistful, and the tenderness lacing his voice as he spoke of Miss Ross was not lost on George.

  “My, brother, you do have a tale, indeed. So here we stand—a deserter and an escaped prisoner—at the mercy of a sly young woman and her family of Yanks.”

  The chuckle he expected from Matthew didn’t come. Instead, his brother shoved his hands into his pockets and turned to stare into the flames. “This family of Yanks could soon enough be tied to our own.”

  So Matthew did care for the Ross girl! He had guessed as much, though his brother usually only chased kisses and good times. The fact that he hinted at marriage was a good thing, indeed. He reached out and punched Matthews shoulder, giving him a wink. “Does it now?”

  Matthew kept his eyes on the flames, ignoring the comment. “Do you remember how Elliot Ross had declared that Rosswood would go to his daughter and her husband upon Miss Ross’s wedding?”

  George nodded. “Ah, yes.” He remembered something of the matter. It had been just prior to the war, and Father was looking to position himself to take over the Ross lands and the wealth of bricks they produced.

  “I told Annabelle that you would marry her and save her plantation from being stolen from her,” Matthew blurted.

  George could only stare at him for several moments before his tongue found its ability to form words again. “I beg your pardon?”

  Matthew stiffened his spine. “It was done in the heat of the moment, when I was trying to find a way to get her away from that sniveling excuse for a man who was her only available male relative.”

  “So you promised me?” George frowned. “Wait.” He clicked his tongue, remembering the situation with clarity. Matthew paled, and George stuck a finger in is wide chest. “You were the one who was supposed to marry that girl and take over the brick-making!”

  Matthew rubbed the place where George had poked him, looking sheepish and not angry, as George had expected. “You will be master of Westerly when the war is over, and you will need a wife.”

  A pang shot through George’s heart, and his hand unconsciously lifted to rub at it. Charlotte had been a good woman, and her gentle spirit and kind touch would have made her the perfect lady for a plantation. His father had arranged the match, and while the fondness that flowered between them was not like the burning passion he’d once hoped to find, it was a warm comfort that was pleasant to them both. Charlotte grew with child only a few months after their wedding, but the babe came too early. He’d been away on business when it happened. The doctor said it was complications with the babe that cost both his son and his wife their lives, though none ever told him any details.

  Not that it mattered. His family had been stolen from him in little less than a year, and the ache it left in return had never fully left him, not even six years later. He pulled himself from his thoughts and found Matthew watching him intently. “And what did Miss Ross have to say on the matter?”

  “When I reminded her that her father had arranged for her to court a Daniels brother and decide for herself if it would be a match, she agreed.”

  “But not to marriage?”

  Matthew rubbed the back of his neck. “Well, we have been speaking of it as a betrothal and she has not objected to the term.”

  “My little brother betrothed me without my input? Audacious, Matthew, even for you.”

  The muscles in his jaw tightened again, and when Matthew spoke it was through clenched teeth. “It was the most logical move I could see at the time. Of course, if you object, it can easily be dissolved.”

  George thought about the young woman’s predicament, which must be even more dire than it appeared if she had been willing to go to such lengths. “I will consider it, though I would like to discuss this with the young lady before anything proceeds further.”

  Matthew nodded, as if he expected such a response. “I wonder, though, brother,” George continued, “why not pledge yourself? She is nearer your age, and you are the one Father planned to match.”

  Matthew turned away from him, stepping over to the door. “I have nothing to offer her,” he said as he grasped the doorknob. He pulled the door open to leave, but was stopped short.

  “Oh!” exclaimed a feminine voice from the other side.

  George moved to look around his brother and saw Lilly in the hall, her hand still raised to knock. She glanced between the two of them and then her features smoothed as she dropped her hand. “Mrs. Smith has asked for you come down stairs with me.” She turned away without waiting for their reply and glided off.

  Matthew looked to George, signaling that their conversation was over. George gave a slight nod and followed his brother out into the hall, content to let the matter rest until his weary mind had time to sift through all the information he’d been doused with. They followed Lilly down the stairs and turned left at the entryway, passing through a lavishly furnished parlor and into a dining room. Lilly pulled the pocket doors closed behind them, sealing in the warmth within the occupied space.

  The scent of food washed over him as soon as George stepped into the room. His shriveled stomach let out a robust growl in response.

  “Come, have a seat and fill that belly before it eats you instead.”

  George looked up to see Eudora Smith seated at the head of the polished table, primly dressed in a black velvet dinner gown. He dipped his chin to her. “We cannot thank you enough for your hospitality, ma’am.”

  She lifted her hand and waved his words away, gesturing that he take a seat. George looked to the others already seated on both sides of Mrs. Smith, surprised to see the very uncomfortable-looking colored woman sitting across from her mistress at the table.

  George shrugged to himself, in no mood to worry with radical abolitionist whims. He chose the seat next to Miss Ross, who smiled at him warmly. “It is nice to see you up and moving about, Mr. Daniels. You look much improved,” she said as George slid onto his chair.

  “Ha!”

  Every eye turned to look at Mrs. Smith, and George could see a flush of pink coloring Miss Ross’s cheeks from the corner of his eye.

  “Forgive my candor, Mr. Daniels,” Mrs. Smith said, “but you look like a wretch.”

  Despite
himself, George grinned. “Indeed, I do, ma’am. I beg your forgiveness for it.”

  Ignoring him, she looked to Lilly, who had sat down at the table between the slave woman and his brother, directly across from George. “Lilly Rose, where did you put my husband’s things?”

  “They are still packed in the trunk in his room, Mrs. Smith.”

  “Very good. In the morning, please take them to Mr. Daniels.”

  She dipped her chin. “As you wish.”

  Mrs. Smith turned back to George, who was trying to wait patiently for the exchange to end, but the grumbling in his stomach gave evidence that he was far more interested in completing the meal than finding clothing. She clicked her tongue. “And shoes. It’s a right shame to have a man at the table with naught on his feet but a pair of holey socks.”

  George could only nod. There was nothing more she could say that would make his embarrassment grow any further.

  “Lilly will see to that as well,” Mrs. Smith stated. The younger woman made no argument. “Now,” she said, gesturing to the plates of food covering the table. “This is far from a proper dinner, but the help has all gone home for the night. We warmed what we had left. Just serve yourselves.”

  They passed around bowls of boiled potatoes and cabbage and then a plate stacked high with sliced ham. George was salivating before the polished silver fork even touched his lips. He chewed rigorously, trying his best to maintain some of his manners but letting too many slip as he devoured the meat. The flavors of the salted pork felt like they exploded on his tongue, flooding his mouth with pleasure.

  “My late husband was quite fat, so his clothes will hang off of you, but you can cinch them up until we can get you something better.”

  George looked up to see Mrs. Smith watching him. He nodded his consent and shoveled potatoes in his mouth, their delicate flesh bursting easily between his teeth. How nice to actually have something to chew! He felt another pang of guilt knowing his friends would be drinking boiled bean water while he feasted like a king. He pushed the feeling away. Him starving would do them no good.

  “I am sorry to learn of Grandfather’s passing,” Miss Ross said at his side, thankfully turning the attention away from George. George looked up at Matthew, but his brother kept his eyes on his plate, chewing thoughtfully.

  “Thank you, dear. But it has been two years, now.”

  “I didn’t know,” Miss Ross said, shifting in her seat.

  “How could you? It is not as if we have spoken since you were, what, six years old?” The bite in her tone made even George wince, and he felt sorry for the young woman at his side. But to his surprise, her tone was resolute and even.

  “I think that sounds correct, Grandmother.”

  The old woman sighed and sat back in her seat. George noticed she hadn’t made herself a plate as he stabbed the last piece of boiled cabbage on his own. Her keen eyes missed nothing and she pointed a long fingernail at him as soon as he placed the cabbage in his mouth. “Help yourself to another plate, boy. It’ll take more than that to put some meat back on you.”

  George complied and gathered another helping. They finished the meal awkwardly, with Mrs. Smith breaking the silence only when she thought of a command to give Lilly or a question to pin on Miss Ross. For the most part, George could only focus on the food, but he got enough of the conversation to know that Miss Ross was not one easily cowed by a prickled tongue. A good quality, George thought, smiling to himself.

  As soon as George sat back in his chair, his shriveled stomach stuffed until it felt nigh on bursting, Mrs. Smith clapped her hands. “Off to bed with you all. I have not had this much excitement in some time, and it is well past when I usually retire.”

  They all hurried from their seats, each expressing thanks for her hospitality. She brushed away every compliment on the food and ushered them out.

  “Lilly,” Mrs. Smith said, turning back after she had hurried the men through the door. “You can do that in the morning.”

  “No, ma’am. I’d rather I did it now,” the soft voice said.

  The other two women offered their assistance and Mrs. Smith pulled the doors closed on the sounds of them clearing the table. Then she gestured for the men to follow her above stairs. They did as they were bidden, trailing the woman who moved with the ease of one half her age.

  “Good night, gentlemen,” Mrs. Smith said as she topped the staircase, pausing to lift a lamp to light the opposite end of the hall. The one Lilly had left hanging up on the other side was still glowing warmly, beckoning George to come and find the soft comfort of his bed.

  “Good night, ma’am,” the brothers said in unison.

  Matthew walked George to his room and stoked his fire, though the room was pleasantly warm enough already. “Go to your bed, Matthew,” George said as he patted his brother’s shoulder. “The fire is fine.”

  Matthew eyed him, but then nodded. “I only want to be sure you do not catch your death of chill. It would be quite a waste, after all I’ve been through to get you back.”

  George chuckled. “I will be fine, brother. A thick quilt and a fire in the hearth are more warmth than I’ve known all winter.”

  Matthew wiped his hands on his breeches, stalling as if he were hesitant to go.

  “I will still be here in the morning,” George said. “Go, find your rest. Heaven knows I need mine.”

  That stirred Matthew to action, and he pulled George into a tight embrace. “I will see you in the morning, then.”

  George patted his wide back and then Matthew stepped out of the room, leaving George alone with the dancing shadows. He removed his shirt, but not his trousers, and slipped under the soft blankets. He’d barely had time to relish the lushness of the mattress when his heavy lids drooped and he fell into a dreamless sleep.

  “All seems likely to go on well.”

  John Surratt

  The next morning Matthew was dressed and waiting in the hallway as soon as the first strokes of daylight began to paint the sky. He looked about in confusion, wondering at the narrow hall of the upper floor. On the evening past, he had not bothered to take note of it, but with nothing to do until the others emerged from their rooms, he took a moment to study the first Yank house he’d ever entered.

  The grand homes in the South always offered wide upper halls lined with furniture where the family would gather, and on blistering days they would open the doors at each end to catch the breeze tunneling through. When guests would stay the night, it would offer them a place to wait if they were not quite ready to descend to the formal areas for breakfast. Here the halls were narrow, and save a few delicate tables topped with vases that he assumed would be overflowing with blooms come spring, there wasn’t a stick of furniture to be found.

  Matthew stood at the top of the stairs, uncertain. It wouldn’t have been strange for him to take a seat in the hall and wait upon the women in his traveling company to emerge from their rooms, had such a place been available to him. But it seemed the Yanks preferred to use the space for the large bedrooms instead, each of which he determined likely had a sitting area of its own, as did his room.

  Finally, he decided it would be more proper if he waited down below, so he let his hand glide down the polished banister until he stepped down on to the sparkling clean marble floors in the entry way. He’d not seen any servants when they arrived, but surely there must be some, because he doubted Mrs. Smith scrubbed these floors herself.

  As if to confirm his suspicions, a colored woman bustled out of the parlor to his right and came to an abrupt stop when her eyes landed on Matthew.

  “Oh!” she exclaimed. Her hands were drawn behind her, tying a white apron around her ample middle. “I wasn’t expectin’ the company up so soon.”

  “Sue, what are you….?” Lilly’s voice trailed off as soon as she rounded the corner and saw Matthew. “Oh. Good morning, sir,” she said, inclining her head. He could see why George might admire her. She was a pretty enough woman with a warm glow
to her skin tone that was a shade he had never seen before. Not the striking beauty that Annabelle was, of course, but lovely in her own way.

  “Good morning,” Matthew replied.

  “We thought you all would be tired from your travels and would not rise before the dawn,” she said, her brown eyes speaking the displeasure her tone would not. Before he could offer an apology, she turned her attention to the older woman at her side. “Sue, would you please see if the kettle is ready?”

  The other woman nodded and scurried off. Matthew watched Lilly closely. Her role seemed somewhat muddy to him. She did not look to be family, but she was dressed in an expensive, well-made gown and gave orders to the help. But then, she also took orders from Mrs. Smith and had cleaned up after their meal last night. She must hold the position as head of the household, delegating duties so Mrs. Smith need not be bothered, he decided.

  “Do you prefer coffee or tea, Mr. Daniels?” Lilly asked, her flat stare indicating she did not appreciate his study of her, though he’d not meant it to be disrespectful.

  Matthew dropped his gaze to the cut stones on the floor. “Coffee.”

  “Very well. Would you prefer to wait in the parlor or the study?” Her tone was clipped.

  Remembering the parlor they passed through last night with its narrow furniture and large piano, he thought to try the other. “Study, please.”

  “This way.” She stepped around him and led him to the room across the entry from them. They entered a large room on the front corner of the house, with windows even taller than Matthew on both exterior walls.

  Lilly stepped up to each of the windows and tugged heavy curtains aside, securing them back with braided ropes finished with tasseled ends. She did this with all four of the windows until the room brightened with the warm glow of the new day. Matthew noticed the wall separating them from the entry way was lined from the marble floor to the coffered ceiling with bookshelves, and was glad he’d chosen this room instead of the parlor. Perhaps attempting to read while he waited would distract his thoughts and keep him from mulling over the conversations he feared having.