The Quaker and the Rebel (2 page)

Surprised by the statement, Emily drew back from the lavender-scented aristocrat. “I’m afraid the situation will be temporary, Mrs. Bennington, as I’m engaged to be married. When my fiancé returns from Washington, I shall go back home to Marietta.”

She knew her voice sounded haughty, but she couldn’t help herself. From the moment the flatboat rounded the turn and she viewed Bennington Plantation, she’d been on unfamiliar ground. A carriage had been waiting at the dock to drive her to the mansion. Then an elderly black gentleman in finer clothes than any owned by her father opened the door, bowed, and ushered her into a foyer larger than her entire house. Pink and cream marble lay beneath her feet, and a crystal chandelier overhead cast harlequin patterns on the polished steps to the second floor. The butler had to wrestle her portmanteau away as she stood gaping at her surroundings. The butler spoke perfect Queen’s English without a trace of the slang she’d expected from a slave.
He was a slave, wasn’t he?
She’d followed him to this salon, and here she was—behaving rudely to her new employer without other options for her future.

“Of course, Miss Harrison. We’ll be happy to have you for as long as possible. I only meant I hope you’ll relax and find comfort with us.” Mrs. Bennington’s smile filled her face and didn’t fade when she addressed a servant carrying in tea. “Thank you, Lila. This is Miss Harrison. She will be our new governess.”

The reed-slim black woman bobbed her head and murmured, “Pleased to meet you, miss.” Lila retreated before Emily could reply, so she addressed Mrs. Bennington instead.

“That is another matter, Mrs. Bennington. My family does not condone slavery. Although I respect your authority here, I won’t be waited on by anyone. I shall do my own laundry and prepare my own meals.” Her defiant tone clashed with the rarefied atmosphere in the room. “My family is Quaker.” Emily lifted her chin.

If her well-bred employer was shocked by the outburst, her face revealed nothing. “Of course, as you wish. We’re willing to accommodate you in any way.” Her voice sounded like a trilling flute, musical and soothing. “Let’s discuss your curriculum. I thought perhaps literature, poetry, penmanship, and French in the morning. My favorites are Lord Byron and Tennyson. Mathematics and whatever science lessons you think necessary for young ladies after luncheon. The girls rest in the late afternoon, and their dinner is served in the kitchen at six. You
may eat with them or you’re welcome to join my husband and me at seven in the dining room.” With that, Mrs. Bennington settled back against the chair with a dismissive air.

“The curriculum sounds fine, ma’am. I believe it is well within my knowledge and abilities.” Feeling foolish, Emily searched her mind for something reconciliatory to say. Drawing a blank, she began a sheep-like retreat from the room.

“Oh, Miss Harrison, we have something in common.”

Emily halted in the doorway and turned.

“I also come from Quaker stock. From Massachusetts, originally. Since my marriage, I worship in my husband’s Presbyterian church when in town, but my sister in Front Royal is still Quaker. That is how she raised her son, Alexander, although she hasn’t had much luck converting my brother-in-law. Alexander takes the Quaker precepts very seriously, and for that reason he hasn’t joined the Confederate Army.” She studied Emily as though waiting for a reaction.

Emily shuffled her feet, unsure of the expected response. “Yes, ma’am.”

“You would like Alexander, I think. He’s about your age, quiet and studious. He always has his nose in a book and loves classical literature that leaves me weary. You’ll meet him tonight if you choose to dine with us. He’s visiting for a few days.” Mrs. Bennington smiled warmly.

He sounds like a crushing bore
. “It would be my pleasure, ma’am,” she replied, hot and uncomfortable in her traveling dress. She was eager for the interview to conclude.

“I’m sure you’re tired. Joshua will show you to your room. You’ll meet the girls tomorrow after breakfast. Good afternoon.”

Emily cleared her throat and stopped fussing with the ribbons on her dress. “I will do my best with your daughters, Mrs. Bennington. I apologize if I offended you earlier. I’m very glad to have this job.” She bobbed her head and left, almost knocking the butler over as she rounded a corner in the hall.

He looked down his aquiline nose as though gauging potential madness. Apparently satisfied she posed no immediate threat, he said,
“If you will follow me, miss, I’ll take you to your room as
quickly
as possible.”

Emily’s face burned with embarrassment until she closed her bedroom door. Her battered trunk and reticule had been left at the foot of the bed. She was blissfully alone. Pulling off her scratchy bonnet and unbuttoning the top of her high-necked dress, she opened the French doors to her balcony and stepped out. She breathed deeply, both from the luxury of privacy and from the clean, tangy scent of the river. With a clear view of the water and of the far bank, Ohio and freedom were only yards away.

Doesn’t it make the slaves yearn to swim across? To be so close, yet still so far?

“No matter how nice you are, Mrs. Bennington, you are still a slaver,” muttered Emily under her breath.

In the fading light of the sunroom, Augusta Bennington pondered the young woman she had just hired. She felt compassion and a touch of pity for the strong-minded, tenderhearted idealist. Emily reminded her of another outspoken woman who had wanted to change everything wrong with society—herself. But now Augusta was complacent and weak due to infirmities and simple ennui. A fiery abolitionist living on a slaveholding plantation? This was exactly the influence she sought for her sheltered, insulated daughters. But convincing her husband of the wisdom of her decision would be another matter altogether.

“What in the world are you doing in my kitchen?”

A loud voice caught Emily by surprise. She dropped the towel she had been using to fan smoke from the room. The towel landed near the stove burner and burst into flames. Emily jumped back in fright.
“I was trying to fry eggs and potatoes, but the grease got too hot.” She peered at her blackened meal stuck to the skillet.

“Land sakes.” The woman elbowed Emily out of her way. She picked up the flaming towel with the tip of a poker, flung it down on the brick floor, and doused it with a shovel of sand from a nearby bucket. Next, she wrapped another towel around the handle of the pan, pulled it from the burner and covered it with a heavy lid. Then, with her hands on her hips, she turned toward Emily. “Who are you?”

Emily cleared her throat and straightened her back. “I am Miss Emily Harrison, the new governess, ma’am. I’m very pleased to meet you, Mrs.…”

The woman’s forehead furrowed with confusion. “All right, you’re Miss Harrison, but what are you doing in my kitchen? You could have burned the place to the ground.”

Another person I’ve gotten off on the wrong foot with
. “I was preparing myself dinner.”

The woman arched an eyebrow. “Dinner is served in the dining room at seven if you’re eating with Dr. and Mrs. Bennington, and at six in the kitchen if you’re eating with the girls. I don’t know why no one told you that.” Shaking her head, she began to clean up the mess on the stove as though Emily were no longer there.

“No, ma’am. I won’t eat food prepared by slave hands. I will do for myself while I’m here. I believe that—” Her voice faltered. The cook had stopped wiping and turned to her. The expression on the woman’s face caused Emily to back up a step.

“My name is Matilde Amite. You met my husband, Joshua, this afternoon. We’re not slaves. We are free people of color. I’m paid a salary to cook here, and this is
my
kitchen. Make no mistake about that. Should you wish to peel your own potatoes or shuck your own peas, that don’t make no-never-mind to me. But you’ll do it outside, not making this kind of mess in here.”

“Oh, I thought…I mean…I am sorry, Mrs. Amite.”

“Never mind. There’s no harm done.” Matilde returned to cleaning
her stove as Emily slunk from the room. She headed toward the house but did not get far.

“Good afternoon, miss. You look as if you’re running from the scene of a crime.” A tall man appeared out of nowhere, directly in her path.

Emily gazed into pewter-gray eyes set in an angular face. He had the longest hair she’d ever seen on a man. He wore tall boots, tight breeches, and nothing else. His tautly muscled chest was bare—no shirt, no jacket. She gasped at his near nakedness, yet she couldn’t seem to avert her eyes.

“Excuse my appearance. I’m on my way back from bathing in the river. I enjoy it on a hot afternoon, don’t you?” As though that explained his effrontery, he continued. “What happened? Did I overhear correctly that you tried to burn down Matilde’s kitchen? I’ve never heard her sound so vexed.” His smile etched deep wrinkles around his eyes as though he was enjoying the situation.

“Not at all, sir. It was merely a misunderstanding.” Emily’s focus flitted between his face and the pectoral muscles of his chest. “If thou would be so kind as to cover thyself, I would be grateful.” She motioned to the lump of clothes tucked beneath his arm. “I am a betrothed woman. It’s highly improper for me to see thee in such state of undress,” she stated primly, allowing her gaze to wander again.

He was taller and thinner than her fiancé, but his sinewy limbs made him appear strong and powerful. Emily felt a pang of shame for having compared this stranger to Matthew and finding him even slightly lacking.

“Great Scot! Do you mean I’m too late? We have only met, but you’re already betrothed to another? I’m having the worst string of luck. What kind of misunderstanding with Matilde?” He obliged her by putting on his frock coat, but he neglected to button it. Tiny drops of water clung to his chest and sparkled in the reflected light.

Momentarily speechless from his sarcasm, Emily soon recovered. “I was preparing myself something to eat for supper.”

“Are you saying Matilde refused to cook for you? What could you
have done to offend her this quickly?” His tone sounded aghast, but his gray eyes twinkled with amusement as though enjoying her discomfort.

“I simply said I wanted to cook for myself and not partake of food prepared by slave labor. I am a Quaker.” Her statement resonated with pride and dignity. “We abhor the practice of keeping our fellow man in bondage.”

“I assumed you were Quaker from your thee and thy, but Matilde is not a slave. Where did you get that idea? I’m certain she set you straight on that fact.” He crossed his muscular arms over his chest as Emily watched.

“Yes, Mrs. Amite corrected my incorrect assumption. I’m pledged to speak like the Benningtons, but occasionally I lapse when nervous.” She flushed, uncertain where to cast her gaze.

“I apologize for making you nervous. I had mistaken you for the governess my aunt hired to tame my two wild cousins.” He slicked a hand through his damp hair. “You must be a newly hired cook. Perhaps trained in Paris? I’m sure the Benningtons look forward to your cuisine.” He ran his eyes over her from head to toe. “Judging by your initial performance and thin frame, they should have no fear about growing plump in middle age.”

It took Emily a moment to recognize his ridicule. But when she did, she responded with her usual lack of poise. With flaming cheeks she clenched her fists and spoke through gritted teeth. “My culinary abilities are none of thy concern, I assure thee. Good day!” Picking up her skirt, she flounced past him…or at least she tried to. Precisely at the same moment, he stepped into her path. She bumped soundly into his bare chest. Emily hissed like a feral cat and maneuvered to the left.