TWELVE
Although Maggie would likely be listed as a traitor soon, they kindly allowed the reverend to visit once a day.
The one five-minute visit was the highlight of her day.
He brought her her things and after a thorough search, she was allowed to change back into her own clothes and keep her family bible.
She poured over the pages after the reverend had gone, finding solace in the words.
Often, some of her favorite passages had been underlined by her mother’s careful hand.
Six days later, the reverend appeared without his usual uplifting atmosphere.
“President Lincoln has been killed,” he said in a hushed tone.
“Shot by a Confederate sympathizer. There’s much talk about town…
Margaret, should they want to make an example of you, you must plead for mercy.
Henry hasn’t returned yet. William Johnson sent a message to a friend under General Stoneman in Salisbury, promising payment if the Howards are provided transportation to Albemarle.
But the command would be best coming from Henry. ”
Maggie closed her eyes and concentrated on breathing evenly.
“Reverend, I don’t think I can persuade them. Their minds have been made up… I am guilty unless proven otherwise.”
Anger swept across his face. “Nonsense! Evil cannot be condoned with another act of evil. You’re innocent. Should you pay with your life for loving a man? I won’t allow them to harm you.”
“Respectfully, sir, I believe that the government just proved that no one can stand up to them and win.”
A guard opened the cell. “Time’s up.”
The reverend’s eyebrows shot up. “It’s barely been one minute!”
“Doesn’t matter. She’s due for her trial.”
“Trial? I wasn’t informed of this.” He hadn’t finished speaking before the guards went around him and pulled Maggie out of the cell. They propelled her forward, but the reverend was right on their heels. “Margaret, I’m right behind you. You aren’t alone,” he promised.
She nearly tripped up the steps when they came to the house, but a guard caught her by the arm. When she stepped into the parlor again, there were only two out of the four men present.
The rail-thin general and the balding one sat before her. Through the door still ajar, she could hear the reverend’s voice outside, arguing with the guards to be allowed inside.
“Miss Ackerman, with the country aroused and the future hanging in the balance, this court has determined that your trial shall be brought forward. In the charge of espionage, how do you plead?”
She cast her eyes around the empty room. “Where is everyone?”
“What can you mean?”
“If this is my trial… where’s the judge, the jurors…?”
They looked at her with cold eyes. “We are the judge and jury.”
It was what she’d feared. From the last meeting, she knew that this particular general already found her guilty. There was hatred in him. Nothing she could say would sway him. Her only hope had been in the composed leader, but now he was not even in the room. She had to try something.
“I request to see the other generals, and to be given a lawyer to act on my behalf.”
“It’s too late for that. There are far more pressing matters at hand, and the last thing this country needs is word spreading of someone like you. The country needs security—a spy hiding behind her skirts is the opposite. Now, how do you plead?”
“I’ve told you not guilty! I told you everything that has happened. Why won’t you believe me? Do you really want the death of an innocent woman on your hands? Hasn’t this war quenched your thirst for blood enough?”
His jaw clenched. “If you have nothing else to add, then the conclusion of this court is that you are found guilty. You’re to be transported to Castle Thunder Prison.
There are currently no accommodations for your sex at Libby Prison.
Be thankful—you have your life. Just not your freedom.
” Business with her finished, he bent over to whisper something to the balding man as he scribbled down the conversation on paper.
The balding man blotched something out and continued.
Maggie willed herself to remain standing. The room was spinning, and she felt she was on the verge of collapse. She had prepared to defend herself, or worse, prepared to die. What she hadn’t thought of was spending the rest of her life in a small, dark, cold cell.
When the guards grabbed her upper arms to lead her out, she didn’t fight them. There was no use. It was over.
The reverend pushed against the guards outside, yelling her name. Cynthia stood silently behind him, face aghast. Only Tucker was absent.
A tumbleweed wagon awaited them on the street. She’d never seen one before, but it was just as she imagined—a jail on wheels. Fear bubbled in her throat. This was possibly the last moment she would have of the outside world.
This is all wrong.
Her fight instinct kicked in. She dug her heels into the ground, pushing back against the guards. “I am innocent,” she yelled.
The uproar was noticed in the street. People stopped and stared. They whispered, pointing at the woman being taken against her will.
The guards tried lifting her up the steps to get into the wagon, but she kicked, making contact with one’s shin. He groaned and nearly dropped her, his fingers reactively digging into her arm to catch her.
“Get her in!” The other yelled.
The two generals hurried down the walkway. “Stop this at once,” the lean one hissed. “I told you not to make a scene.”
The guards froze. “Apologies, sir. She began to fight us as we approached the wagon.”
“Then take her around back,” he whispered fiercely. “Deal with it. She is a mere woman. We have just won a war. This should be easy.”
The guards nodded. “Yes, sir.”
Giving up on loading her, they began pulling her towards the alley on the side of the house. This was her one chance. “I am innocent!” She cried at the top of her lungs. “They are kidnapping me. Stop them—” A harsh slap across the face silenced her. Her eyes stung from the blow.
“Quiet,” one of the guards commanded.
But her outburst had gained attention. Many on the street began to yell, “What is her crime? Who is she?” More and more people began running down the street to see what was amiss.
The two generals stood grimly outside the house, watching the events transpire. Their desire for a quiet hand-off and trial was evaporating.
They nodded at the guards to carry on and watched as the crowd grew. The soldiers holding back the reverend now turned their attention to the crowd, as people began to join the reverend, pressing against them.
Together, it was a social cry for justice.
Just as the guard lifted Maggie from the ground to carry her through the alley, a man bellowed, “Move!”
It was Tucker. He pulled Cynthia to the side as people scrambled to get out of the way. A horse pushed through the guards at full speed.
“Take your hands off of her,” the rider growled. In one move, he threw himself off the saddle and launched himself at the guards.
They dropped Maggie and her bottom hit hard as her shackled hands could not catch herself.
Groaning, she lifted her head just in time to see him crash the two guards’ heads together, rendering them dazed.
Others abandoned the crowd and rushed him, grabbing whatever limb of his they could to contain him.
“I am Officer John Henry Thomas Farrow, and I have proof that this woman is innocent,” he yelled, enraged at those who contained him.
This caught the attention of the generals. “Hold,” they cried and rushed down the steps. “You are Officer Farrow?”
“In living flesh,” Henry spat.
The thin general motioned at one of the guards, “You there, quick, grab some manacles and bring him inside.” He cut his eyes over to Maggie lying on the ground. “Both of them inside,” he amended.
Maggie was hauled up and carried inside. She leaned backwards out of the arms, desperate to see him. As the guards clapped the manacles on his wrists, their eyes locked and her soul soared.
He’d come for her.
They put her down, once again, in the center of the parlor. Henry was brought inside and positioned a foot apart from her. They looked at no one but each other, missing the generals' frenzy of discussion.
Both looked frightful, having lacked sleep and true rest, combined with the exertion of the protest. A blood spot soaked his sleeve from where his wound must’ve slightly reopened. But Maggie drank in the sight of him.
“Farrow!” One general shouted. Spell broken, they turned their attention back to the generals. Evidently, they’d said his name a few times. “Where’s the evidence you claim to have?”
Henry bowed his head. “General McClellan. The evidence you seek is right outside. Sitting on horseback, in fact, if he wasn’t deprived of the animal by the riot your men caused.”
The other general snapped his fingers at a guard. “Find General Grant,” he ordered.
McClellan narrowed his eyes. He was so angry his mustache twitched. “Explain yourself,” he said to Henry.
“After Miss Ackerman was unjustly arrested, I rode to find the one person who could truly speak on her behalf. One who was there at the time of our meeting, and can testify that she was no spy, but a victim. Corporal Benjamin Wheeler, who acted as a scout, or rather ‘bummer’ as they are called by the people now, with Sherman’s Western Army. He’s agreed to testify in this case.”
“And we’re to believe a soldier you pulled off the street?”
“No, you’re to believe a credible soldier that I found with his unit, and that will swear on the Holy Bible as to the events in August of 1864.”
The bite in his words wasn’t lost on McClellan. The mob waiting outside no doubt prevented him from doing what he truly wanted—hauling Henry and Maggie both to prison. “Bring the corporal in,” McClellan ordered the guards.
“Do you think it wise to entertain this folly?” The balding general whispered loudly to him.
“Grant will be here soon. It’ll be best to have all the facts laid out.”