The Quaker and the Rebel (18 page)

But that wasn’t why she yearned to see him. She remembered his bouquet of mountain laurel and day lilies. He had picked her favorite flowers and inquired about her family as though truly interested in her life in Ohio. For some inexplicable reason Emily wanted him to like her, despite their insurmountable differences. Alexander was like a shiny apple just out of reach. He was also everything her parents despised—rich, lazy, and without valor. Yet one glance from him sent shivers up her spine. Could he help that he’d been born to wealth and privilege? No more so than she could help being poor. Back and forth her mind battled until a headache was the only conclusion.

“Welcome to Front Royal,” Jack drawled as the buggy turned up a chaotic thoroughfare. Men on horseback, carriages filled to capacity, and buckboards loaded with supplies dashed in all directions.

The thoroughfare was so rutted with potholes that Emily had to set her jaw to keep from chipping her teeth. Brushing back a lock of hair, she tried to smooth the wrinkles from her skirt. “We must have hit every bump in the road. I feel as though I’ve been dragged behind the buggy inside of inside it.”

“Days don’t get much hotter than this.” Lila dabbed beads of sweat from her brow. She leaned forward between them for a better view.

“Jack, stop at that laundry house.” Emily pointed at the sign swinging in the breeze. “Lila and I need to wash up and change our dresses before looking for the hospital.” Ten minutes later, only marginally refreshed, the young women climbed back into the dusty buggy.

“We won’t have trouble finding the hospital.” Jack angled his head at a row of ambulances heading north on Main Street. They followed a steady stream of walking wounded to a makeshift building on the edge of town. Rows of white tents covered every inch of side yard, while bloodied men leaned against a picket fence, patiently awaiting their turn.

“I see Dr. Bennington and Mr. Hunt.” Lila pointed at two men unloading a wagon. Soldiers with bandaged heads and arms carried wounded toward the back door. Jack pulled the buggy alongside a row of ambulances.

Emily jumped down as soon as the wheels came to a stop. “Dr. Bennington, we’re here.”

“Praise the saints!” he cried. He transferred his patient to the arms of an orderly. “There’s been another battle. You’re not a moment too soon.” He began digging into the cartons before Jack could unload them. “I see you found everything I asked for. Thank you, Miss Harrison. Army surgeons have run out of gauze dressings, and mercury spirits are pitifully low. With the medicine we purchased in Frederick, doctors should have enough until shipments can get through the lines.” Dr. Bennington pulled items from the packing boxes like a child at Christmas.

“Don’t just stand there gawking.” Mr. Hunt said to Lila and Jack. “Grab a carton and carry these supplies inside.”

Emily helped unload as well. Thankfully, orderlies intercepted them at the door to accept the supplies. From what Emily saw and heard in the hospital yard, she had no desire to venture inside. The coppery smell of blood hung in the air, while cries through the windows made her heart ache. Wounded men lay everywhere, moaning in pain or begging for water. Without space inside the hospital, they waited their turn with the surgeon outdoors. Some men lay so quietly Emily knew they were dead. One could practically see their poor souls hovering before they left the earthly world forever. Emily hurried back to the wagon for their canteens. Jack soon found a bucket and dipper to speed up the process. For hours she and Lila went from soldier to soldier to offer cool drinks or swab a fevered forehead. Jack helped the soldiers unload the wounded, and then he ferried endless buckets from the well to Emily. At sunset, she crawled into the buggy to rest with Lila right behind her. Neither spoke, equally upset by what they had seen.

Soon thereafter, Dr. Bennington and James Hunt arrived. “We’re finished here for today, Miss Harrison.” Dr. Bennington spoke softly,
his voice barely above a whisper, yet his presence nearly startled the wits out of her.

“And the rest of the wounded—what will become of them?” Emily waved her hand over a sea of bloodied uniforms.

“Another batch of army doctors has arrived to help. Mr. Hunt and I have been relieved of our duties. Let’s have dinner at the inn before we start back to Hunt Farms.” He sounded incredibly weary as they headed to the trough to wash.

“Absolutely not, sir.” She stepped down from the buggy to follow him. “I’m not fit to dine in town. My only wish is to return to Hunt Farms and take a bath.”

Dr. Bennington seemed temporarily speechless as water dripped from his hair onto his shirt. Mr. Hunt was first to react by bursting into laughter. “You don’t say,” he said. Grinning from ear to ear, Mr. Hunt assessed Emily’s appearance. “You look no worse than anyone else. This is wartime, Miss Harrison.”

“Even so, sir, I am out of fresh clothes.” Emily stared from one to the other, perplexed as to their amusement.

“As you wish, Miss Harrison. You may return to Hunt Farms,” said Dr. Bennington. “Tell my wife and Mrs. Hunt we will follow shortly. Go straight to your
bathtub
,” he added, laughing as though helpless to contain himself.

Emily could hear the men’s snickers all the way back to the buggy. “I fear the strain and fatigue has made them hysterical,” she murmured to her friend.

“That’s not why they are laughing.” Lila jumped up next to Jack in front, allowing Emily the back bench.

“Then what, pray tell, was so funny?” Emily waited to inquire until they were well away from the hospital grounds.

“A lady
never
refers to taking a bath in the presence of a gentleman who isn’t her husband.” Lila arched an eye brow and spoke as though addressing a child.

“Oh, tarnation,” replied Emily.

“And a lady would never admit her appearance wasn’t fit to dine in society,” said Lila.

“Is that so?” Emily’s voice lifted an octave.

“Yes, that’s so. Even if it’s true, a lady wouldn’t draw attention to the fact.”

“That’s just plain silly. I’m hot and tired and don’t care about society’s rules right now.”

“And a lady never says
tarnation
,” Lila added under her breath.

“Are you finished now, Miss Amite?”

“Yes, Miss Harrison. I believe I am.” Lila folded her arms across her chest and stared straight ahead.

Emily noticed tiny crinkles forming around Lila’s eyes as she bit her lip with determination. “Well, tarnation, Miss Amite. I din’t know nothing ’bout that, since I’m just a backwoods Yankee from the North.”

“Yes, miss, that much is apparent.” Both women then laughed until their sides ached and tears streamed from their eyes. After their horrific day, it felt good. And it felt even better to be headed back to Hunt Farms…for reasons that had nothing to do with bathtubs.

“Come in.” A knock at the door roused Emily to her senses. She had nearly fallen asleep, lulled by hot steamy water and a warm fire in the hearth. It was still too warm for evening fires, but the maid insisted when Emily decided to bathe in her room.

“Are you still in that tub?” Lila came in carrying a long-stemmed glass.

“Yes, and I’m never coming out.” Emily shut her eyes against the intrusion.

“This might change your mind.” Lila set the drink down on a stool next to the tub. It held only an inch of pale yellow liquid.

“What’s that?” she asked, intrigued by the bubbles. “You know Quakers don’t imbibe in spirits.”

“It’s champagne, not spirits. The French drink it like water. Aren’t you even a little curious?” Lila set a stack of towels next to the stool and began sorting through dresses in the wardrobe.

“Champagne is just a fancy type of wine.” Emily stared as tiny bubbles rose to the surface and burst. She’d never seen the beverage, only read about it in books. After another moment, she picked up the glass and downed the contents in one swallow. A very unladylike burp followed the gulp.

“Goodness, Miss Emily. You’re not supposed to swig the stuff like buttermilk.” Lila dropped the dress she’d been inspecting on the bed. “You sip it a tiny bit at a time, especially as this is very good champagne.” She demonstrated with the empty flute.

“How would you know that, Lila?” Emily slouched deeper into the bubble bath. “Is that where the rest of it went—you
sipped
on your way upstairs?”

Laughing, Lila reached into the tub to splash her. “No, I didn’t. There wasn’t enough or I might have. I learned about vintage wines from my father, who was trained by Dr. Bennington. This particular brand would be served only to treasured guests, not some neighbor stopping by to chew the fat.”

“Vintage is wasted on me since I wouldn’t know the difference.” But Emily savored the last drops remaining on her tongue.

“Mr. Hunt said if you want more, you must come downstairs.”

“Mr. James Hunt?” asked Emily. She remembered her embarrassing comments outside the hospital.

Lila pulled a vellum envelope from her pocket. “No, Mr. Alexander. And you knew very well which Mr. Hunt I meant.”

“Is that for me?” Emily reached for the letter.

“Now, that’s two Yankee questions so far.” She held the envelope just beyond Emily’s reach.

“
Yankee
questions? How dare you, you little imp.” Emily sent a wave of water over the side of the polished copper tub. Suds formed small pools on the polished floor. “Now look what you made me do.”

Lila jumped back in the nick of time. “I’ll leave the note here to
hurry you along.” She set the envelope on the mantle. “Read it at your convenience and call me when you’re ready for me to tighten your laces.” She left the room in a fit of giggles.

“Wait until I get my Yankee hands on your scrawny neck!” Emily called after her. A moment later she stepped from her bath and wrapped herself in a thick towel. It took only three strides to reach the envelope and less than two seconds to extract the note.

Dearest Emily:

Please join me for a late dinner on the terrace. I have missed your sunny disposition these past few days and wish to make up for my inopportune absence.

There is also something I need to ask.

A.H.

Emily reread his fine slanted script three times. With each reading her heartbeat quickened. She flew behind the painted screen to don her corset and chemise as her mind reeled with what to wear, what to say, and how to act. Lila had laid out a gown Emily had never worn—a gift from Mrs. Hunt. “
Très chic
,” Mrs. Hunt had declared when she’d drawn the gown from the box. Emily doubted she had enough
élan
to carry off a piece of couture. The pale yellow dress with white lace overlay revealed her shoulders. After wrestling with her corset, she called for help.

Lila materialized like a specter. “I wondered when you’d give up trying to lace yourself up.”

“All this trouble for supper on the terrace,” she muttered. “I could just as easily eat a sandwich in my room.” Nevertheless, within a half hour Emily was gowned, powdered, and perfumed.

Lila gathered her damp hair into a cluster atop her head, wove a yellow ribbon through the curls, and drew out several tendrils to frame her face. “Look at that. I’m getting pretty good with your thick hair.” Lila took a jar of henna clay from the vanity drawer.

“Stop. Cosmetics would make my mother turn over in her grave.” Emily spoke in a whisper, even though they were alone in the room.

“Or she would say you’re too pale for your own good.” Lila dipped her finger into the jar and touched Emily’s cheeks lightly, and then she dabbed lemon verbena at her throat and wrists. “Done. Now go before the man comes to his senses.” Lila pulled Emily off the stool.

“Comes to his senses?” Emily grabbed her empty glass and stuck her tongue out at Lila on her way to the door.

“Very ladylike. Be sure to do that tonight.” Lila winked impishly.

Busily plotting revenge on her friend, Emily didn’t consider what awaited her on the terrace. But once she stepped outside, she realized Lila had purposefully distracted her. Otherwise she might have bolted like a doe caught in crosshairs all the way back to the banks of the Ohio River.

Bathed in moonlight, the terrace looked like something from a childhood dream. The china, silver, and crystal goblets sparkled like diamonds on a small wrought-iron table. A vase of white lilies of the valley sat on the table, while a bottle of champagne and a single flute waited on the flagstones. These things caught Emily’s attention one by one. Like a child unable to take in the full splendor of a Christmas tree, she focused on one thing at a time. She took a step onto the terrace and sensed someone’s gaze on her. Turning, Emily spotted Alexander lounging against the balustrade with his legs crossed at the ankles. Her breath caught in her throat, and a tight knot formed in her stomach.