An Agent for Camille

by Parker J Cole

  “Rounder—”

  “I mean it, Camille.” He took two steps and towered over her. The skin over her cheekbones stretched, giving her face a strained, fierce look. Never had her eyes looked more predatory, their color glowing incandescent with flame.

  Never more glorious.

  Instead of fear, something unlike anything he’d ever experienced took hold. A protective instinct so disparate from the usual self-preservation that had been his mainstay his entire life. It raised his hand and used the tips of his fingers to drift over the contours of her features. He luxuriated in the smooth, silky perfection of her skin. Its softness seemed unreal.

  Her eyes searched his, saying nothing.

  “I can’t let anything happen to you,” he said simply.

  What did he mean by that? Rounder wasn’t quite sure. In the darkness of their shared room, the sleeping arrangements on the floor kept most of his thoughts focused on the reason why they were there. Mostly. He said nothing more about their marriage, choosing in the light of day to focus on the work.

  When darkness fell, he stayed awake a long while, listening to her soft snores and tormented by thoughts of her. Her ability to see his soul had yet to come to fruition. Oddly enough, the lack of her perception disappointed him. He wanted to know if his soul’s color added beauty to the tapestry of man, as Camille had once claimed each person did.

  Or did it stain?

  Looking at her now, it wasn’t the past that held him captive, but the possibility of the future. Once a dim, murky road it now glowed with brilliance.

  ‘Go and catch a falling star’ the words of Donne’s poem echoed in his mind. Could Camille be a star – a falling star just within his grasp?

  He didn’t know but like a terrible hope, if he ever wanted to find out, it depended on keeping her safe.

  “I won’t let anything happen to you,” he emphasized. “Please, trust me on this. I’m asking you to please investigate the other suspects. Please.”

  He held his breath as he waited for her to answer.

  “All right, Rounder. I’ll do as you ask.”

  His shoulders sagged as the breath whooshed out his aching lungs. He leaned forward and touched his forehead to her own. Her sweet-smelling breath wafted up and brushed across his face.

  “Thank you, Camille.”

  ***

  “Men are unfathomable,” Camille huffed as she entered the small, shabby kitchen of Red’s home. “I don’t understand them at all.”

  Or maybe it wasn’t all men – just her husband who made life a frustrating journey. Compared to her open, bright-eyed admirers at Arabette Grove, Rounder was a mysterious artifact laden with booby traps to prevent anyone from ever discovering who the real man was inside.

  “How fortunate for you to discover that so early in your marriage,” Red quipped, her gray eyes glittering. “Many women still haven’t figured that out, and they’ve been married for far longer than you.”

  Camille folded her arms and leaned against the wall. “I know. It’s just that—”

  “Rounder is a rather complicated man, isn’t he?” Red limped over to a small table. A bowl with a cloth draped over it sat in the center. She removed the cloth and carefully tipped out a bulbous mound of dough. “He’s always held himself apart from others.”

  Her heart fluttered. “Do you know why?”

  “He’s never confided to me, so I don’t have any advice.”

  Her hopes crushed at her hostess’s words.

  Camille hadn’t realized how much she relied on her ability of perception to help her with her interactions with other people. Even in the short time she stayed in Lantern, various souls were lit up like lanterns.

  Rounder’s color and depth of his soul remained elusive. It never mattered so much to want to see who he was on the inside.

  For the first time in her life, she longed for this spurious gift to give insight into a person she was fast coming to care for. These past few days had revealed a change in their relationship. It teetered on a knife edge. She sensed Rounder’s fear was being replaced by something much more powerful.

  His secrets and sins he referred to often kept up a barrier between them. What had he done? She wanted to know. She needed to know for her own sake. The brokenness she sensed without her ability to see a soul’s color made her want to fix it.

  But if you had no idea what was broken, how could your repair it?

  A sound drew her out her thoughts. Red had retrieved a glass jar filled with flour on a shelf and brought it back over to the table. She dusted the surface liberally with the white stuff and began to knead the dough.

  “I don’t recall if I’ve said this but thank you for allowing us to stay with you, Red.”

  “It’s no trouble at all. My days are often filled with Perky and Cyril’s antics. Being the base of operations for a Pinkerton investigation is rather nice. Do you mind if I ask how your investigation is going?”

  Rounder had told her to keep the details of the assignment to herself. One never knew if a loose tongue could lead to discovery. But she trusted Red and didn’t mind saying, “It’s going all right. We’ve narrowed down the list to a few people.”

  Red’s eyebrows arched as she paused in her breadmaking. “Can you mention their names?”

  Camille shook head. “I can’t, I’m afraid.”

  The other woman shrugged and continued kneading. “I understand. Did you know that Perky and Cyril thought they were suspects on your list?”

  Camille’s brow furrowed. “How could they? They’re the ones who came to the Pinkertons, well, Rounder about this.”

  Red grinned. “That’s Perky and Cyril for you.”

  “Do you mind if I ask how you all know each other?”

  “You mean, Perky, Cyril, and Rounder?”

  She nodded.

  “Rounder happened to come along when a traveling salesman offered to allow Perky to buy his entire stock of resurrection fluid in order to help his undertaker business to flourish.”

  Camille let out a startled laugh. “Red, are Perky and Cyril really so…so…”

  “Gullible?”

  She was going to say dim-witted but gullible seemed a nicer way to put it. “Yes.”

  “They’re simple men. They have a kind of innocence and naivete that’s sorely lacking in this world.” A sad expression lingered on her face. “They see people as people no matter what they look like. If that makes sense. There’s not enough of that.”

  Red’s soul was surprising a yellowish hue, pliable like the ivy vines that crawled along the walls of the house at Arabette Grove. Red wore her sadness in very much the same way.

  “You seem to be intimately acquainted with it.”

  Red’s eyes lifted to stare out in front of her. “I was in love with a man. A king among men but in order to save his life, I nearly sacrificed my own, but I don’t regret it.”

  Camille frowned. “Red?”

  Something hardened in the other’s woman’s face. “I’m an abolitionist, Camille.”

  She blinked. It was the last thing she expected to hear. “Are you?”

  Red nodded. “I worked one of the stations of the Underground Railroad. Among the conductors, each station, or hideaway, works in complete secrecy. Each station holds freight, or runaways, for no more than a one or two day. Expediency is key.

  “One night, a man came into my station, bloodied, bruised and injured. He’d been beaten by the master of his plantation within inches of his life. And yet, he’d escaped. His blood drenched my sheets for two days. I worked day and night to heal him. Feverish and delirious, I prayed hard that God would spare this man’s life. No man deserved to die when he had suffered the kind of injuries he had.”

  Something skittered across her mind as Camille listened to Red’s story. There was something about it that was very familiar. Almost as if she had heard this story before…but had she?

  “When he opened his eyes four days later, he stared at me with such ha
tred. He could have easily taken his large hand and broken my neck. But I was thankful that God heard my prayers and spared that man’s life. I don’t know how we remained secluded and unnoticed for as long as we while he healed. In his weakened condition, he could barely move, and I wasn’t going to abandon him.”

  Her voice grew soft. “After a while, I couldn’t abandon him.”

  The blood drained from Camille’s body as she realized she’d heard this story before. With renewed vigor, she studied the woman before her. The limp in her leg, the red hair and those gray eyes.

  “His injuries kept him bedridden but as he began to get better, I taught him how to read and write. I gave him elocution lessons so he could speak the language of his former oppressors well.” A shuddering sigh wracked her body. “I grew to love him, but this world would never let us be more. The country’s anti-miscenegration laws are far stricter on white women than white men.”

  Red’s eyes tightened at the corners and her lips pinched as she slapped bread dough against the table. The yellowish tint of her soul dimmed as her emotions darkened.

  “An unscrupulous white man can force himself on a Negro woman, make her with child, and then sell her children. Certain authorities would see nothing wrong with that heinous act. My heart bleeds at the preponderance of such atrocities. Should a white woman dare to love a Negro man, to hold his head against her heart, and crave his love with every fiber of her being…”

  She blew out an angry breath. “For some reason, that would be wrong.”

  “Mrs. Addison!”

  Perky’s voice broke the strange melancholy that had settled in the kitchen, but Camille was glad for it. She stared at Red, shaken by the identity of the woman before her.

  What was she going to tell her sister?

  “What is it?” she said around the bulge in her throat.

  Perky came into the kitchen, covered in wood shavings from his work. “Ya gotta come quick, Doc Honor needs to see ya.”

  “Rounder isn’t here. He’s at the saloon.”

  “We know that, but the doc says she needs to speak with one of you right away.”

  Camille grabbed her wrap and went over to where Red stood at the table. Hugging her, she asked, “Do you know what happened to—?”

  “I pray he is alive,” Red whispered. “Every night I pray he is loved and that he remembers me.” Her gray eyes moistened with tears, she patted Camille’s arm in a comforting way. “Go. Don’t let my sentimentality cause you grief.”

  Camille release her. “All right.”

  She raced from the kitchen and headed to the room she shared with Rounder, putting aside what she’d learned about Red. Time enough to deal with that later.

  Opening the drawer of the nightstand, she retrieved a small note pad of paper. She’d seen Rounder make notes and wanted to do the same in order to relay the proper information.

  Dashing out the door with a quick wave to Red, she allowed Perky to assist her in the wagon. Soon, they were on their way. It seemed moments later, although it was more like a half hour, that she pushed open the door to Honor’s office in the center of town.

  “Doctor?” Camille inquired as she entered the small room at the back of the office.

  The other woman stood up and motioned for Camille to sit. “Thank you for coming, Mrs. Addison. I wasn’t sure if this would be important to your investigation, but I just came from visiting one of our fair citizens and needed to let you know.”

  “Is it Mrs. Ashmore?”

  “No, not yet. It’s something else.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I know Mr. Addison has kept the mayor abreast of the investigation but as I was coming back from my visit, I noticed he’d gone into the saloon so I knew he was working on gathering information about the ruffians and their purpose here.”

  “What is it you wanted to see me about, doctor?”

  “I’ve just come from the boarding house where Mr. Carl Fremont is currently residing.”

  Camille’s head wrinkled. “Carl Fremont? The lawyer?”

  “That’s the one. He’s well-to-do based on the cut of his clothes.”

  “Yes, I’ve met Mr. Fremont before.”

  “I’ve seen him go over to the saloon every so often. He plays an occasional game of poker with those ruffians, so a couple of the saloon girls tell me.”

  “What of it?” She gave a mental inventory of the list of suspects she had yet to interrogate and Carl Fremont was one of them.

  “I’ll come straight to the point. He’s not what he says he is.”

  Her ears perked up like a dog’s. “How do you know?”

  “I was called over to the boarding house where he is staying because one of the proprietress’s guests was sick. I thought for sure it was another case of the fever but instead, thankfully, it was just indigestion. Carl was sitting in the parlor room as I was getting ready to leave, with a stack of what I supposed were law books next to him on the floor.”

  “There’s nothing unusual about that, is there?”

  Honor shook her head. “You don’t understand. I went over to him and asked, rather casually, ‘Are you studying for a court case, Mr. Fremont?’ Just making conversation, mind you. I happened to glance down and saw the title of the book on top of the stack.”

  The woman leaned forward. “It was a medical text.”

  Camille was certain there was something important that Honor was trying to impart to her, but like the vision of Rounder’s soul, it eluded her grasp. “Medical? What does that have to do with anything?”

  “Perhaps nothing, Mrs. Addison,” Honor acknowledged with a downward dip of her head. “But why would a law student have a medical text? Not just one but when I saw that all his books were medical texts, I knew something was wrong. Or if not wrong, suspicious. Why would a man lie about being a lawyer if, indeed, he’s in the medical profession?”

  Camille bit at her lower lip. It was a very good question. There was no reason to lie about one’s qualifications…unless you wanted to hide your identity.

  Or you were trying to do something you wanted no one to know about.

  Camille mulled over the information she’d mentally catalogued. The fever had taken the lives of seven people, almost eight though Mrs. Ashmore hadn’t passed away yet. Within a few hours of burial, their graves were disturbed, and the bodies stolen.

  “Stolen goods,” she said slowly as she attempted to put the pieces together in her head. “are often sold for money.”

  “Exactly,” Honor said.

  “So who would benefit from the sale of a stolen body?” She got up and paced the confines of the small office. Her eyes fixed on the shelf of books in the corner. Wandering over to it, she perused the titles, letting her fingers flow over the bindings. Diseases, drugs and medicines, surgical procedures.

  What was this?

  Camille’s eyes narrowed on one book title. “An Illustrated Guide to the Anatomy of the Human Form.” She retrieved the book and opened it, staring at pages of detailed, rather grisly images of the body’s inner workings. Her hand paused in the turning of a page. A snatched memory of her sister Brielle relating a conversation from her fellow members of the Benjamin Banneker Society at Arabette Grove crossed her mind.

  “Dissection of human flesh is important to increase our medical knowledge of the human form,” she remembered Brielle saying. “Although I would never be interested in the field of biology, I don’t make light of our need to know more. However, this queer practice of disturbing the rest of the dead and stealing their bodies for medical and scientific gain is horrible.”

  “I can’t believe it.” Camille whirled around stared at Honor. “If what you’re saying is true, then Mr. Fremont is a resurrectionist.”

  The woman’s mouth turned down at the corners. “I’m not sure why I didn’t think of it before, but it’s the only sensible conclusion.”

  “The fever took precedence, Honor. You can’t be faulted for focusing on saving as
many lives as you possibly could.”

  Honor sighed. “You’re probably right.”

  Camille almost spat. “How despicable.”

  The doctor gave her a sideways glance, but she didn’t readily agree. Camille blinked. “Don’t you think stealing bodies is immoral?”

  “Of course, I do. However, without detailed understanding of the human body, how can we practice good medicine? The Bible says we are fearfully and wonderfully made. If we didn’t have the insight into our own inner workings, how could we heal our sick? Ease the pain of the afflicted?”

  “Not at the expense of a family’s right to bury and honor their dead.”

  “Perhaps,” Honor acquiesced with a nod.

  Camille was eager to share this development with Rounder. Maybe her gift had nothing to do with solving this case, but there was a certain satisfaction in seeing the different parts fit together to reveal the picture.

  Her sense of elation faded as she thought about the recent deaths. “Something tells me that’s only part of the answer,” she said.

  “What do you mean?”

  Camille tapped her chin. “I don’t know.” Rounder had told her that sometimes one’s instincts could be the saving grace between solving a case or not. Though it seemed plausible the stolen bodies were the work of a resurrectionist, there may be more than that involved.

  “I need to talk Rounder, now.”

  Camille knew she had to confer with him. “He’s in the saloon now, with those ruffians. But I think this will change things.”

  If he was in saloon, her entry into that place may bring suspicions upon him. But he had to know.

  She stood in indecision and then an idea came to mind. “Is the sheriff near?”

  “You need to see me, Mrs. Addison?”

  Her head jerked up to see the entrance of the sheriff. “I do. I need to get some information to Rounder but he’s currently in the saloon and I can’t go in there.”

  “Well, you can get in there,” Patience drawled slowly. “Just not dressed like that.”

  Camille’s gaze darted between both women as understanding dawned.

  Rounder wasn’t going to like this. Not one bit.