by Linda Howard
“We’ll get to the bed tonight,” he promised.
Noah Atwater, U.S. marshal, stood rigidly by her side, all cleaned up and slicked down, and gave her into the protection and care of her new husband. Annie was a little bemused by it. Rafe had mentioned marriage once, she had lain down to take a nap, and woke a couple of hours later to the news that the wedding would take place in only a couple of more hours. She was wearing a new blue dress, plainly made but it fit well enough. Beneath it, her body still throbbed from his lovemaking. Six weeks’ abstinence had made him . . . hungry.
His close-cropped black beard suited him. She stole admiring glances at him all during the short ceremony. She wished that her father were alive for this moment, wished that Rafe didn’t have a murder charge hanging over his head and an army of assassins looking for him, but even so she was happy. She remembered her terror when Rafe had kidnapped her from Silver Mesa, and marveled at how much the situation had changed during the few short months since then.
Then the ceremony was over, the preacher and his wife were beaming at them, Atwater was surreptitiously wiping his eyes, and Rafe was turning her face up for a warm, hard kiss. She was briefly astonished: why, she was a married woman now! How remarkably simple it had been.
When they reached Austin two weeks later, they checked into another hotel under assumed names. Rafe put Annie to bed again and immediately sought out Atwater. The two weeks since their marriage had seen her strength fade rapidly as morning sickness began to plague her. The trouble was it wasn’t limited to the mornings, with the result that she was managing to keep very little food down, and not even the ground ginger powder she’d been taking could settle her stomach.
“We’ll have to go the rest of the way by train,” he told Atwater. “She can’t make it on horseback.”
“I know. I been right worried about her myself. She’s a doctor; what does she say?”
“She says that she’s never again going to pat an expectant mother and tell her that being sick is just part of having a baby.” Annie had kept a sense of humor about it. Rafe hadn’t. She had been growing thinner by the day.
Atwater scratched his head. “You could leave her here, you know, and we could go on to New Orleans by ourselves.”
“No.” Rafe was adamant about that. “If anyone heard that I got married and investigates, she’ll be in as much danger as I am. More, because she doesn’t know how to protect herself.”
Atwater glanced down at the gun belt buckled low on Rafe’s hips. He had returned Rafe’s weapons to him on the theory that two armed men were twice as good as one. If anyone could protect Annie, it was this man.
“Okay,” he said. “We’ll go by train.”
Perhaps it had been the physical exertion of riding that had made Annie so ill, for she began to feel better the next day despite the rocking motion of the train. She had protested the new mode of travel, knowing that Rafe had elected to continue by train because of her, but as usual he’d been as unmovable as a granite wall. Atwater bought some face powder (“Damn humiliatin’ thing for a man to be buyin’. Pardon me, ma’am.”) and Rafe used it to make his beard gray. With a bit of the powder dabbed at his temples, he looked very distinguished. Annie was much taken with his appearance, for she thought that was how he would look in twenty years’ time.
She had never been to New Orleans before, but she was too tense to appreciate the varied charms of the Crescent City. They checked into another hotel, but it was too late for Rafe to go to the bank and retrieve the documents. Even train travel was tiring, so they ate dinner in the hotel and then retired to their rooms.
“Is Atwater going with you tomorrow?” she asked when they were lying in bed. She had been worrying about it all day.
“No, “I’m going alone.”
“You’ll be careful, won’t you?”
He lifted her hand and kissed it. “I’m the most careful man you’ve ever known.”
“Maybe we should make your hair completely gray tomorrow.”
“If you want.” He was willing to have his entire body powdered if it would relieve her anxiety any. He kissed her fingertips again, and felt the warm tingle that was evidently for him and him alone. No one else felt this from Annie. He figured it was from her response to him. “I’m glad we’re married.”
“Are you? I seem to be nothing but a nuisance lately.”
“You’re my wife, and you’re pregnant. You aren’t a nuisance.”
“I’ve been scared to even think about the baby,” she confessed. “So much depends on what happens the next few days. What if something happens to you? What if the papers are gone?”
“I’ll be all right. They haven’t caught me in four years, they aren’t going to catch me now. And if the papers are gone . . . well, I don’t know what we’ll do about Atwater, and I don’t know what we can do even if the papers are there. Atwater might balk at blackmail.”
“I won’t,” she said, and Rafe heard the determination in her voice.
He left his gun belt at the hotel, though he did carry his spare tucked into his belt at the small of his back. Atwater had come up with a coat of more eastern cut for him to wear, as well as another hat. Annie powdered his hair and beard. Deciding he was as disguised as it was possible for him to be, he walked the seven blocks to the bank where he had left the documents. It wasn’t likely that anyone would notice him, but he carefully watched everyone around him. No one seemed to be displaying any interest in the tall, gray-haired man who moved with pantherish grace.
He knew that it wasn’t likely Vanderbilt’s men had any inkling of where he’d left the papers; if it had been suspected the documents were in New Orleans, Vanderbilt would have had an army searching the city, including the bank vaults, which weren’t proof against influence. And if the documents had been found, the hunt for Rafe wouldn’t have been so intense. After all, without the documents to back him up, he had no proof of anything, and who was likely to take his word? Vanderbilt certainly didn’t seem to be worrying about Mr. Davis confessing. The ex-Confederate president’s word wouldn’t carry any weight outside the South, where it might cause a lynching; no, Vanderbilt had nothing to worry about from Mr. Davis.
The easy way out would be to arrange for the documents to be given to Vanderbilt in exchange for the murder charges being dropped, but Rafe didn’t like that idea. He didn’t want Vanderbilt to walk away unscathed. He wanted the man to pay. He wanted Jefferson Davis to pay. The only thing that bothered him about making certain Mr. Davis suffered for his betrayal was that, all over the South, hundreds of thousands of people had survived because, despite defeat, they had kept their pride intact. He knew his fellow Southerners, knew that fiercely independent pride, and knew also that news of Mr. Davis’s betrayal would shatter the pride that was both regional and personal. It wasn’t just Mr. Davis who would suffer, it was every man who had fought in the war, every family who had lost a loved one. The folks in the North would have a revenge, for Vanderbilt would be tried for treason and probably shot, but for the Southerners there would be nothing.
When he reached the bank he took out the key to the vault and turned it in his hand. He had kept that key with him for four years, inside his boot. He hoped he would never have to see it again.
He had the key, and he had the name on the bank-vault records. There wasn’t any trouble in retrieving the package. He didn’t unwrap the oilskin there in the bank, just tucked it under his coat and walked back to the hotel.
He knocked on Atwater’s door when he passed it. It opened immediately, and Atwater entered their room with him. Annie was standing rigidly at the foot of the bed, her face white. She relaxed visibly when she saw him, and flew into his arms.
“Any trouble?” Atwater asked.
“Nothing.” Rafe took the package from beneath his coat and gave it to the marshal.
Atwater sat down on the bed and carefully unwrapped the oilskin. The sheaf of papers inside was several inches thick, and it took some time to go
through them. Rafe waited quietly, just holding Annie. Most of the documents Atwater discarded to the side, but several of them he kept to look over again. When he was finished, he looked at Rafe and let out a long whistle. “Son, I don’t know why the bounty on your head isn’t ten times what it is. You must be the most wanted man on the face of the earth. You can wreck an empire with this.”
Rafe looked cynical. “If the bounty had been much higher, it might have made too many people curious. Someone might have asked questions, the same questions you asked about who Tench was that he was so important.”
“And the answer would be that he wasn’t, that he was just a nice young feller. Well, it sure made me curious.” Atwater looked at the documents again. “That son of a bitch betrayed his country, and caused thousands of people on both sides to be killed. Hanging would be too good for him.” For once, he didn’t beg Annie’s pardon for cursing.
“What do we do now?” Annie asked.
Atwater scratched his head. “I don’t rightly know. I’m a lawman, not a politician, and I got a feeling it’s gonna take a politician to handle this, damn their slippery souls. Pardon me, ma’am. I don’t know the people who have enough power to handle this. For all we know, some of the sons of bitches in Washington, pardon me, ma’am, could have been getting some of the money Vanderbilt made in extra profits. If these papers are used before the murder charges are dropped, then Vanderbilt sure ain’t going to use his influence to get them dropped. He’d probably enjoy seein’ you hang alongside him. The charges have to be dropped first.”
“Wouldn’t the existence of these papers make a difference in whether or not Rafe is found guilty?” Annie asked desperately. “You believed us; why wouldn’t a jury?”
“I can’t say as to that. From what I heard, the case against him is pretty much black and white. He was seen leaving Tilghman’s room. Tilghman was then found dead. Some folks might think he murdered Tilghman so he could have those papers and the money all to himself, maybe even to try blackmail. A smart lawyer can turn things around so a man don’t even know hisself.”
She hadn’t thought of that. No, letting Rafe go to trial was too much of a risk.
Atwater was still thinking. “I don’t know any politicians,” he repeated. “Never wanted to.”
Annie picked up some of the papers and began reading. It made her nervous to realize that she was holding history in her hands. She scanned through them and a picture formed in her mind of the man who had written them. Jefferson Davis had been portrayed in the northern papers as a despicable person, but the facts of his life prior to the outbreak of war said differently. He was a graduate of West Point and the son-in-law of Zachary Taylor. He had been a United States senator, and secretary of war under President Pierce. He had been said to possess the finest intellect and most sterling integrity of his age, despite these documents that said otherwise.
“Where is Mr. Davis now?” she asked, without knowing that the question had been forming. It just came out.
Rafe looked blank. The last he’d heard, the ex-Confederate president had been released from prison and had gone to Europe.
Atwater pursed his lips. “Let me see. Seems like I heard tell he’s settled in Memphis, with an insurance company or something.”
Annie looked back at Rafe. “You know Mr. Davis,” she said. “He’s a politician.”
“For the losing side,” he pointed out ironically.
“Before the war, he was a senator, and on the cabinet. He knows people.”
“Why should he help? If anything, he’d turn me in so these papers could be kept private.”
“Not,” she said carefully, “if he has any integrity.”
Rafe was enraged. “Are you asking me to trust in the integrity of the man who sold out his country, who caused thousands of people to die needlessly, including my father and brother?”
“Strictly speaking, he didn’t do that,” Annie argued. “He didn’t betray his country, not if you consider his country to be the Confederacy. He took funds to keep fighting the war so the Confederacy could be preserved.”
“And if you’ll read those papers again you’ll see, in his own handwriting, that he knew it was a useless effort!”
“But he was honor bound to make the effort anyway. That was his job, until the Confederate government dissolved itself and the states rejoined the Union.”
“Are you defending him?” Rafe asked, his voice dangerously soft.
“No. I’m saying he’s our only chance, the only politician you know who has a vested interest in these papers.”
“She has a point,” Atwater said. “We could take a steamboat ride up the river to Memphis. Never been on a steamboat before. I heard tell it’s a nice way to travel.”
Rafe strode to the window and stood looking out at the busy New Orleans street. In four years he’d never been able to get over his anger at and sense of betrayal by President Davis. Maybe that had warped his thinking, maybe not. Going to the man wasn’t an option he would ever have considered. But Annie thought it was a viable one, and so did Atwater. Atwater was a shrewd bastard, but the argument that carried the most weight with him was Annie’s.
She was his wife and carried his child. That alone made her special, but she wasn’t like other people. He hadn’t seen a shred of malice in her, not even when he could reasonably have expected it. She had seen ugliness in her life and in her profession, but it hadn’t touched the pure inner core of her. Maybe she saw things more clearly than he did right now. Because he trusted her, because he loved her, he sighed and turned from the window. “We go to Memphis,” he said.
“We’ll have to be careful,” Atwater said. “Ain’t no sign that Davis is in on this with Vanderbilt, but he won’t want these papers made public either.”
Rafe sighed, but remembered Davis’s reputation. Except for this one instance, his integrity had been unblemished. And given the way he had been treated after the war, Mr. Davis couldn’t be very sympathetic toward the North. It didn’t make any difference anyway.
“We don’t have a choice. We have to trust him.”
CHAPTER
19
It wasn’t difficult to find Mr. Davis’s house in Memphis, for the ex-Confederate president was a famous personage. He was indeed working with an insurance company, a job provided for him by supporters so the proud man wouldn’t be reduced to accepting charity, but quite a comedown for a man who had, for four years, headed a nation.
Rafe and Annie remained secluded in yet another hotel room while Atwater contacted Mr. Davis at his place of business, which seemed the simplest way. Rafe was glad to have Annie all to himself for a while, for even though they had had their own stateroom on the steamboat, Atwater had always been nearby. He wanted to make love to his wife in the daylight, so he could clearly see the subtle changes wrought by pregnancy. As yet her belly was still flat, though it felt taut and her breasts were heavier, the nipples darker. He was entranced, and for a time forgot about Atwater and Mr. Davis, about everything but the magic they had together.
When Atwater returned he was in a disgusted mood. “Refused to even talk to you,” he said. “Now, I didn’t come right out and say what we had, because there were some folks in the office who could’ve overheard. But Mr. Davis said he was trying to recover from the war, not relive it, and he didn’t think anything could be gained from discussing it yet again. That’s his words, not mine. I don’t talk like that.”
“He’ll have to change his mind,” Rafe said. His eyes said that he didn’t care about Mr. Davis’s sensitivity.
Atwater sighed. “He’s worn out, true enough. He don’t look all that healthy.”
“I won’t either, at the end of a rope.” Then he wished he hadn’t said it, because Annie flinched. He patted her knee in apology.
“Well, I’ll go back tomorrow,” Atwater said. “Maybe I can catch him when there ain’t a whole gaggle of folks with one ear cocked toward his office.”
The next day Atwater ca
rried a note with him. The note informed Mr. Davis that the people who wished to see him had some of his old papers with them, papers that had been lost during the flight to Texas, right before he was captured.
Mr. Davis read the note and his fine, intelligent eyes went unfocused as he looked back in time to those frantic days six years ago. He carefully folded the note and returned it to Atwater. “Kindly inform these people that I would be pleased to meet with them at my home for dinner tonight, at eight o’clock. You are included in the invitation, sir.”
Atwater nodded, satisfied. “I’ll do that,” he said.
Annie was so nervous she could barely fasten the blue dress she had worn to be married, and Rafe brushed her hands aside to finish the job himself. “The dress is getting snug,” she said, indicating her waist and bosom. In another month she wouldn’t be able to get into it at all.
“Then we’ll get you some new dresses,” he said, leaning down to kiss her neck. “Or you can just wear my shirts. I’d like that.”
She hugged him in sudden panic, as if she could keep him safe within the shelter of her arms. “Why haven’t we had any trouble?” she asked. “It worries me.”
“Maybe no one expected us to come east—and remember that we traveled through Apache territory. Not only that, they were looking for one man, not two men and a woman.”
“Atwater’s been a blessing.”
“Yeah,” he said. “Though I didn’t think so when I was sitting in the dirt with my hands tied behind me and that shotgun pointed at my belly.” He released her and stepped back. He wasn’t nervous, but he was as tense as coiled wire. He didn’t look forward to seeing Mr. Davis. It was a meeting he could gladly have foregone the rest of his life.
Mr. Davis’s house was modest, as were his means. He was still sought out by all the people of influence, social and otherwise, and the modest house saw a steady stream of visitors, but that night his only company was a U.S. marshal, a tall man, and a rather slight woman.
