Her Rebel Heart. Shannon Farrington

toward Dr. Carter and Sam.

       Dr. Carter’s countenance changed, a firm disciplinary look replacing the smiling excitement his face had just shown.

       “Four o’clock, next Friday,” he said matter-of-factly. Then he opened the door to the library. Sam watched the white-haired gentleman walk into the building. Then he slipped the scrap of paper the man had given him into his own vest pocket.

       Dr. Carter had left him with many questions. Abolitionists were a varying lot, and Sam wasn’t exactly certain what he might be getting into. He would appreciate his future father-in-law’s counsel. But given what had taken place with Julia, he wondered if Dr. Stanton would receive him. Does he know about our broken engagement? Will he side with Julia? He decided to take the chance. After all, he was concerned for their safety.

       Heeding his own advice to look after one’s family, he hurried to visit the Stantons.

       The streets of Mount Vernon were nearly deserted that afternoon. Barricades had filled the streets; but, as of today, the citywide state of “armed neutrality” had given way to at least the appearance of submission. Maryland state flags and the Palmetto flag, the symbol of South Carolina and secession, had been removed. The armed men that had been patrolling the streets for the last month were nowhere to be seen. The Federal guns pointing at Monument Square had discouraged outside activity.

       Sam was eager to be indoors as well. To his relief, Dr. Stanton greeted him warmly when he arrived. He invited Sam to join him in the study. The man had surrounded himself with his medical journals.

       “I came to see how everyone was,” Sam told him, “and to see if you were in need of any assistance.” And, if I may, get your opinion about something, he thought.

       Dr. Stanton nodded. “I thank you. My wife has spent the entire day in bed.”

       Sam’s concern rose. He decided to forgo his planned request for advice. Dr. Stanton had more pressing concerns.

       “I am sorry to hear that. Is she ill?”

       “Not really. Edward’s departure has broken Esther’s heart. She doesn’t know what to do.” He rubbed his mustache. “I suppose we all are that way. All I can seem to concentrate on are my medical books. Julia has busied herself in the kitchen. She has baked four loaves of bread today.”

       Sam caught himself smiling, though it was a sorrow filled one. Julia had always baked when she was upset or angry.

       “Is there any word from Edward?” he asked.

       “No, and I fear that there won’t be for a very long time.”

       Neither man knew what to say next. Dr. Stanton went back to his journal. Sam sat quietly and stared at the ceiling. He could hear the rattle of pots and pans coming from the kitchen. He wondered if Julia knew he was here.

       “How were your classes?” Dr. Stanton asked.

       “I had five missing from my history class alone.”

       “They left to fight?”

       “So the rumors say.”

       Dr. Stanton sighed long and slow. He tugged at his spectacles. “And those that remained?”

       “Their minds were far from the Roman Empire.”

       “I imagine so.”

       Sam heard the rustle of her petticoats even before he saw her. Julia’s approaching footsteps drew their attention to the door.

       “Father, we are in need of wood for the stove…”

       The moment she saw Sam an unnerved expression filled her blue eyes. The rest of her words escaped her. He purposefully maintained his gaze. His heart was pounding.

       Julia brushed the trace of flour from the front of her green cotton day dress and slowly regained her composure. She looked at her father.

       “Will you ask Lewis to fetch some?”

       Sam seized the opportunity. “I will see to it.”

       “Oh, thank you, son.”

      Son. Dr. Stanton had always called him that. Nothing had changed from his perspective it seemed. Julia, however, did not even acknowledge his presence. She turned her head and looked away as he passed by her.

       Sam did not let her actions discourage him. Instead of hunting down Lewis, the family stable hand, he walked to the lean-to.

       There was no wood available. He was not surprised. It was Edward’s job to see that the kindling box remained full. With all of her baking Julia had depleted the supply that her brother had last chopped. Sam picked out several logs in need of splitting. He could not ease the tensions in his city or his nation. He couldn’t protect Edward, his students or Julia. But this was something that needed to be done that he could do. He took off his frock coat and set to work.

       Julia watched him from the kitchen window. Sleeves rolled up, hair falling over his forehead, arms taut with the ax; in a matter of minutes Samuel had already split enough wood to last for the rest of the day.

      He has always been such a hard worker.

       She had known Samuel Ward since she was a child. Their families had attended the same church. When his parents had died of typhoid fever when he was but sixteen, he’d practically become a member of their family. Mother doted on him. Father took pride in his accomplishments. Edward treated him like a brother. And she…she fell in love with him. The time he’d spent away from Baltimore, continuing his studies at the teachers’ college in Philadelphia, had been almost unbearable. She’d felt that she couldn’t wait for him to come back to her, so they could begin their life together.

       He was the quiet, steady type, far different from her outspoken, impulsive nature. As different as he was though, he completed her. And, up until last night, she could not imagine life without him.

       The knot in the pit of her stomach tightened. She turned from the window and moved to the stove. She had responsibilities, none of which included watching him.

      I am right to break the engagement. I thought I knew him but clearly I did not.

       A pot of chicken soup was waiting to be heated. Julia planned to take a bowl up to her mother. She knew it would make her feel better.

       She stirred the cold mixture then moved to the counter. She punched down a mound of rising dough then kneaded it carefully. She could hear the chop, chop, chop of Samuel’s ax. She tried to ignore it. She slipped the dough into a waiting pan.

       A few minutes later, the back door opened with a creak. Julia resisted the urge to turn around. She busied herself by wiping the flour from the table. She then washed her hands. From the corner of her eye she watched him.

       Samuel carried in the wood for the kindling box. He quietly loaded the crate then moved to the stove. Julia started to object, ready to say she could light the fire herself. She turned to face him fully. Just one glimpse of his brown eyes brought a lump to her throat.

      I promised to love him, she thought. I promised him forever.

       She backed away and Samuel’s attention returned to the stove. He stuffed it with kindling and day-old copies of the local newspaper, The Baltimore Sun. He struck a match. The fire ignited and he then turned back to face her.

       The lump in her throat grew bigger. Thank you, she knew she should say, instead out came, “Why are you here?”

       Her words were sharp and accusatory but Samuel did not flinch. He simply looked at her, his eyes melting her hard stance.

       “I think you know why,” was all he said.

       She swallowed hard and watched as he closed the burner lid then went to the pump to wash his hands. Julia held her breath, her emotions drifting through anger and remorse, respect and disdain.

       Samuel dried his hands and rolled down his shirtsleeves. When he turned toward her she quickly busied herself