Enemy Lines by Vanessa Lind

Author:Vanessa Lind [Vanessa Lind]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Running Fox Books
Published: 2022-05-10T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter Twelve

April 10, 1863

Still bristling over how her meeting with Lieutenant Elliott had ended, Hattie ventured out the next day to meet Felicia Ford. The lieutenant’s handsome face and warm manner could not offset the fact that he’d purposely set up an obstacle intended to discourage her.

On her way to meet the leader of the Soldiers’ Aid Society, Hattie experienced the same dual reaction she’d gotten at the theatre, admiration from some and disgust from others. The admiration would serve her well with the Society ladies. But she still resented delaying her prison visit.

Felicia Ford lived in a stately mansion with a double porch, a second-floor balcony, and a trio of dormers protruding from the mansard roof. It was in a neighborhood of equally fine homes near St. Cloud Hill, which before the war had been an idyllic picnic area. After Rosecrans took Nashville last year, Union soldiers had felled the hill’s ancient oaks and installed fortifications to protect the city from Confederate attempts to retake it. The scarred hill was an eyesore now, the landscape yet another casualty of war.

Hattie rang the bell at the Ford house. The Negro girl who came to the door couldn’t have been more than fourteen. Barely glancing at Hattie, she let her in, then told her to wait in the foyer while she relayed her name and the purpose of her visit to Mrs. Ford.

Eyes downcast, the girl returned a moment later. “Follow me,” she mumbled. Hattie hated to think what sort of treatment she might suffer here. Because Mr. Lincoln’s January 1 proclamation had emancipated only Confederate slaves, the girl might have fared better in the South.

The Ford home was decorated in opulent style. Along a hallway edged with wide mahogany molding hung gilt-edged portraits of unsmiling men and women. One of them, Hattie assumed, must be Felicia Ford. The servant led her into the parlor. The walls were a deep shade of burgundy, and each window contained an upper pane of stained glass in ornate floral designs.

On the marble fireplace mantel were a variety of knickknacks, mostly porcelain figurines. In addition to the horsehair sofa and fainting couch, there were two chairs upholstered in gold satin and accented with blue pillows. Each chair featured a domed covering of latticework that gave the impression of a carriage top.

From one of these chairs rose a short, plump woman who looked to be in her forties. Atop her round face, her thinning hair appeared to have been dyed black. It was styled in the latest fashion, a frizzled mess of kinks attained by setting small curlers close to the scalp and sleeping on them overnight. Though she wore a walking dress, it was anything but plain, fashioned of a fine fabric printed in aqua and tangerine. Instead of a breastpin, she wore a large white muslin bow with lace-trimmed ends, giving her a rather ministerial appearance.

“You must be Mrs. Ford.” Crossing the room to where the woman stood, Hattie held out her hand. “I’m Hattie Thomas.

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