“Well, we’ll see about that.”
The rain had stopped but still Trudy shivered. The other two able-bodied men in the group were carrying pitchforks. As for the ones hobbling on crutches, no one knew what they concealed in their clothing.
And here I sit helpless beside Emily. If David were here, he could help protect her. What real use am I? If something happens to her, to her husband, what about poor little baby Andrew?
Emily had sacrificed time with her precious seven-month-old son to come to Virginia. Andrew was home in Baltimore with Emily’s parents.
Determined to do her best by the baby and his mother, Trudy stole a glance to her right, then her left. The road on which they were presently parked was sunken, with high banks on both sides. Even the most skilled teamster would find escape impossible. She looked again at Dr. Mackay. Trudy knew he would do his best to defend them both, but he was severely outnumbered.
It was then that a pair of riders crested the knoll. One was dressed in the black garb of a parson. At sight of the other, Trudy’s heart skipped a beat. She would have recognized those broad shoulders anywhere. Peter Carpenter was riding toward them.
Oh Lord. Thank you!
“Gentlemen,” Peter called in his typical commanding voice as he approached. “It was determined that you should come to the church this afternoon to receive assistance.”
“We don’t want to wait,” the tall leader retorted.
“I realize that, Mr. Zimmer, Mr. O’Neil, Mr. Jones,” he said, addressing the two with the pitchforks, as well, “but it’s only fair to the other folks in the area to wait. Come to the church at one and we will see to your needs.”
Trudy felt her anxiety slipping away. They will listen to him, she thought.
The parson had caught up to him. The poor man looked as weathered and threadbare as his parishioners. While he continued the conversation with the disgruntled men, Mr. Carpenter urged his horse toward Dr. Mackay’s wagon.
“Where’s the other buckboard?” he asked.
“Part of our shipment was mislaid,” Dr. Mackay said.
“Stolen?” Mr. Carpenter clarified.
“It looks that way.” Dr. Mackay then explained how the Federal escorts had never arrived. “I thought it more foolish to remain idle at the station, so we started for our destination.”
Mr. Carpenter grumbled in agreement. Then he noticed her. His left eyebrow arched. “What are you doing here?”
She was used to his curt tone and unpolished manners. But this is not surprise speaking, she thought. It was obvious disapproval. It wasn’t as though she had expected open arms, but still...did he think she had followed him here purposefully, relentlessly intent on claiming him as a husband? That certainly wasn’t the case now.
But will he believe that? “David couldn’t come,” she said with all the steadiness of voice she could muster.
“So I see.”
She started to tell him why but he clearly didn’t care to hear it now. “I’ve already plenty of responsibility, Miss Martin,” he said. “I’ve no need for more.” And at that he whipped his horse back in the direction of the men.
* * *
Irritated couldn’t even begin to describe what Peter was feeling in that moment. Furious perhaps was more like it. No doubt Miss Martin had some plausible excuse for deliberately inserting herself into these events, but he didn’t have time for it now, not when a pack of unruly, hungry men were pressing their grievances.
Reverend James Webb, the underfed and overwhelmed parson of these parts, was still trying to assuage the fears of those gathered. “I assure you, Jack, Tom, Arthur, there will be food for all, if you’ll only let these people get it organized.”
“How d’ we know if you’ll still have food by one o’clock?” Jack Zimmer yelled.
“How do we know ya won’t give it to someone else?” Tom O’Neil added.
As the men continued to pepper the parson with questions, Peter stealthily felt for the derringer tucked discreetly inside his frock coat pocket. Yes, this was a mission of mercy but he was not about to be at the mercy of a riotous mob. He’d seen what desperate men could do before. Back in 1861, an unruly pack in Baltimore had rioted and brought about the opening bloodshed of four years of war.
And for what good? Peter thought. The result was that a generation of America’s brightest and best were dead and the country was reunified in name only. Southerners hated Northerners and vice versa, and the freedmen who’d once been controlled by slave masters were now victims of an ineffective Federal bureaucracy. The promise of a more perfect union for all had yet to be fulfilled and Peter took that offense personally. He’d had two brothers give their lives in the hope of a better tomorrow and he was determined not to let their sacrifices be in vain.
Sadly he wasn’t surprised by Dr. Mackay’s report that the Federal escorts had deserted the wagon convoy, nor that a shipment of supplies had been stolen. Who’d taken it...well, of that he couldn’t be sure. He’d met more than one US soldier who’d rather see Southerners starve, and just as many Southerners who would steal or kill to prevent that from happening.
Clutching the derringer, he cast a quick glance at Miss Martin. And she has no idea what she has stepped into. This is no place for a lady. Mrs. Mackay has a husband to look after her. Peter knew that because Miss Martin was his employee, her welfare would now fall to him. And that’s the last thing I need. He already had a woman for whom he needed to claim responsibility—as soon as he could find her. Caroline. Caroline Carpenter. His brother’s widow.
His thoughts quickly returned to the Baltimore belle before him. Foolish woman, he thought. I never should have hired her. He told himself he should have known from the beginning that her naive boldness would be trouble. He remembered vividly the day she had stepped into his office. “My sister tells me you are in need of workers for your newspaper,” she had said. “I’m here to apply.”
He’d stared at her for a moment, half in shock, half in admiration over her straightforward approach. Most women seemed somewhat intimidated by him. Even now her sister Elizabeth still had a tendency to call him “sir.”
“What can you do?” he’d asked.
Miss Martin had confessed that, unlike her sister, she had no artistic talents, but that she had a good grasp of grammar and had won numerous spelling medals in school. “I thought you might be in need of a proofreader.”
In actuality, he had been, and he had offered her a position on a trial basis. She had excelled in her tasks, and soon Peter had offered her the position permanently. Truth be told, she had been a great help to him. Up until the point she pegged me for a husband. I thought I had put a stop to that. Evidently she did not take the hint.
In that instant Jack Zimmer rightfully reclaimed his attention. His voice was growing more emphatic with each word he spoke. “Look, preacher, we aren’t leaving here till you give us some food.”
Jones and O’Neil were armed with pitchforks. The others were lame, but taken collectively, they could still be a considerable force. Peter assessed his own strength. If he stayed on his horse he’d have the upper hand, but Zimmer knows my weakness. If he forces me to the ground I’ll be useless. He glanced at Reverend Webb. Preacher won’t fight. He’s a man of peace. And Dr. MacKay is closest to the women...
The derringer was his only safeguard. Although he despised the thought of firing it, he would do so if it came to that. Miss Martin had left him little other choice. Hopefully just showing it would be enough.
“We can give