An Accidental Spy by Stephenia H. McGee

Author:Stephenia H. McGee
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Historical Christian, Clean romance, Plantation mansion, Mystery and adventure, Redemptive healing, Overcoming racism, Spies and espionage
ISBN: 9781635640489
Publisher: By The Vine Press
Published: 2020-06-22T00:00:00+00:00

Twenty

“This shall be terribly avenged by-and-by.”

John H. Surratt

Matthew swiped his hand across his brow. The mid-afternoon sun shone down on him and chased away the thoughts of a cold night spent in the hay loft. Mississippi’s fickle springs could never decide if they wanted to appear in early February or late March. The weather could send a man into a sweat one day and then bring a frost the next. He almost shed his jacket, but decided against it.

The men had let him sleep almost to the sun’s zenith, then after a quick noon meal of hardtack and jerky, he’d set off. He’d half expected O’Malley to change his mind. The fact that he hadn’t left Matthew both worried and baffled. He’d tried to keep vigilant in discovering which one of them trailed him, but the fellow must be good. Matthew hadn’t seen any of them on his heels the entire way. But one had to be there somewhere.

He stopped at the beginning of a long drive, the remnants of once plentiful fields lining either side like dead sentries. He remembered it well now. His cousin Charles had introduced Elliot Ross and Matthew’s father.

The dried-up acres stretched before him, revealing neither man nor beast. What exactly did he think he would accomplish here? Likely, he would do nothing more than prove himself a fool. Better a fool who knew the truth than a fool outmaneuvered by a tiny woman with a sharp tongue. If he found her here, he would confront her and get to the bottom of this mess she’d caused.

To the far side of the drive, Matthew noticed a section of ground dotted with mounds of rocks. Many of the older-looking ones, where the stones appeared more settled, had crudely built crosses at the head of the rock mounds. Graves? By the looks of it, there could be nearly two dozen of them. Why would so many be buried here?

As he neared the house, the answer greeted him by way of a flag tied to the upper balcony. Made from what appeared to be a bed sheet or quilt, the yellow banner had been painted with a large white H.

Hospital.

A tingle snaked down his spine. He hated hospitals. However, that would explain a few things about Miss Smith.

The house stood quiet, its porch unoccupied by healing soldiers. They’d likely moved on. Seeing no one around the yard, slave or free, he continued closer.

He remembered stepping down from their carriage on the circle drive and passing through the wrought-iron gate to a small garden area at the front of the house. It had been vibrant. Now the dead, thorny branches of a no-longer-tended rose garden surrounded a small dried-up fountain. He passed the cracked fountain and neared the front porch.

Shouts split the calm air, setting him on edge.

Matthew tensed, studying the house. Despite the date, the unusually warm day had lured the occupants into opening all the lower windows on the front of the house. Odd, really. Who would

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