Free The Quaker and the Rebel by Mary Ellis

frequent naps, so Emily’s tasks weren’t very strenuous. She would breakfast with Mrs. Bennington after her husband left to attend to his medical practice, and they usually shared lunch in the beautiful back garden. Emily’s sole duty was to read to Mrs. Bennington in the afternoon. She poured endless cups of Darjeeling tea and read aloud for long stretches of time. But this was no chore because she loved to hear the words of Sir Walter Scott brought to life.
    Often Mrs. Bennington’s rheumatism kept her in bed for days. She insisted on using Matilde, Lila, and a hired Irish girl for help, refusing to allow Emily to wait on her. On these mornings, Emily worked for Dr. Bennington in his office. During the afternoon, he suggested she take rides around town to familiarize herself, preferably accompanied by Lila. But often Emily went alone if Lila had other errands. Her jaunts into the countryside proved useful. Using her father’s maps brought from Ohio, she marked every safe house owned by Friends or other places to hide runaways. Slowly, carefully, Emily found each one and introduced herself to the owners.
    Dr. Bennington continued to be an enigma to her. Southern down to his penchant for bourbon and corn bread, he had freed his slaves and extended his medical expertise to both Union and Confederate casualties, treating both with equal kindness. Both armies alternately either surrounded or occupied the town of Martinsburg, but neither prevented the shipment of medicine to Dr. Bennington’s office. He ordered supplies from New York, Boston, and even abroad, never sure what would get through the blockade. Growing grayer by the day, with deep lines around his mouth and eyes, he returned home a tired man. Yet he still made time to share a late supper with his wife or sit by her bedside until she drifted to sleep.
    Emily yearned for someone to love her like that, but with her sharp tongue and quick temper, she thought it unlikely. For the first time since leaving home, she felt lonely. She missed her parents and Matthew. He was becoming an ever more distant memory, fading like a fuzzy daguerreotype. Some days she had to open her locket to recall his features. But even as she did, the haughty profile of Mrs. Bennington’s nephew would invade her thoughts. How could she be attracted to someone so soon after her loss? What was so special about this man that he could steal away her precious memories?

    “Emily? Are you all right, my dear?” The concerned voice of Mrs. Bennington broke through her reverie. Emily’s head snapped up at the breakfast table.
    “Yes, ma’am, I’m fine. Just a little tired.” She managed a weak smile and took another gulp of coffee. Just a little tired was an understatement of theatrical proportions. Emily had never been so sore in her life—every muscle ached. Even muscles in places she didn’t know contained muscles. Her trip to Berryville yesterday had cost her dearly. Right now she would be happy never to get on Miss Kitty again.
    “I daresay you should be tired. Matilde said it was nearly dark when you returned from your ride and that you could barely hold your head up during supper.”
    “Matilde does love to exaggerate.” She refilled her cup from the coffee carafe.
    “That she does,” Mrs. Bennington agreed, dropping the matter. “So today we will both rest because tomorrow we will be traveling. We’ve been invited to a grand ball and afterward will stay for a week to visit.”
    “A trip?” asked Emily, flabbergasted. “But we just settled in a few months ago and you have not been feeling well. What about Dr. Bennington’s practice? He can’t up and leave his work, can he?” Were these pampered Southerners so jaded they would abandon the sick and wounded for a ball during wartime?
    “You are sweet to worry so about others, but I feel stronger today. Even if I must remain in my chair, I’d love a change of scenery. And Porter’s work is the precise reason we’re making