“I’m sorry for that,” Hugh started walking up the dock. “We’ve been trying to negotiate your release for months. You were supposed to be exchanged for Belle Boyd, a Confederate spy, but she was released in August.”
“That strumpet?” Frankie inquired. She folded her arms across her chest. “It’s not what I would call an even exchange.”
“C’mon,” Hugh strode forward. “I’ll buy you both some lunch. I’m sure you’re starving for a decent meal.”
Chapter 52
Loreta
January 1863
The more Loreta thought about Winder’s challenge, the more determined she became to demonstrate her abilities as a spy. She just needed to find Tom.
The solution came in the form of a letter dropped on her doorstep. There was no return address, Loreta noted as she ripped it open and scanned for the signature. It was from Charles Dunham, the dubious journalist she’d become acquainted with in Castle Thunder. He wrote that he had returned to Washington City and urged her to come there as well. He ended the cryptic note by stating he had information on her husband’s whereabouts.
Loreta tossed the letter aside and ran to her room to begin preparations to go North. She thought about resuming the disguise of Harry Buford, but with both McClellan’s and Lee’s armies converging in the area, Loreta soon realized that she would be better off dressed as a woman.
The first hurdle would be crossing from Virginia into Union territory. After traveling to the edge of the Potomac, she found an old negro man with a boat and offered him $25 in Confederate money to take her across.
The man’s eyes widened. “This sum risky bizness, traveling ‘cross this here river. You’s got soldiers on both sides who won’t hes’tate to shoot. And you’s got cold weather and strong waves.”
“I need to get through the lines. I’ve got something for them Yanks.”
“Why, miss, you gone aid them in freein’ us colored folk?”
Momentarily taken aback, Loreta quickly recovered herself. “Yes, sir,” she lied smoothly.
“I suspect you’s be back in a few days with the whole Union army at your back for the purpose of settin’ all us slaves free.” The darkey’s blind faith in Loreta tugged at her heart, but she figured that, sometimes, lying was as necessary as fighting. “Yes, sir,” Loreta replied. She waved the bill under his nose and he grabbed it.
It took three hours to get across to the opposite shore. The negro pulled hard at the oars, but it was hard work in the bitter night air. The woolen shawl on Loreta’s shoulders was no match for the wind and she longed to take over the rowing for a bit, just to get warm. Instead, she sat like a proper lady, shivering in the hull of the boat. By the time they reached the Maryland side, Loreta was numb from the cold and her legs were stiff from the cramped position she had been sitting in.
She thanked the old man and then turned away.
“You shuh you gone be okay?” he asked.
Loreta narrowed her eyes. She’d heard about negroes attacking women, and, although the old man seemed kind, she decided to discourage any thought he might have in that regard. “You should probably get back as fast as you are able. If you don’t you might find yourself in the hands of abolitionists.”
The old man opened his mouth and then shut it.
He probably thinks abolitionists are the same as cannibals, and who wouldn’t hesitate to use him as substitute beef.
“Lawd miss, I don’t want dem to catch me fo shuh.” With that he darted off, clutching the money Loreta had paid him for his services.
Loreta made her way into Washington City and checked into Brown’s Hotel. In the morning she sent a note to Dunham at his place of business, the Daily National Republican newspaper. He paid a call on her that afternoon.
“Mrs. De Caulp,” he said, bowing toward her.
She nodded a greeting before getting right to the point. “You said you have news of my late husband.”
Dunham sat down with the back of the chair in front of him, his legs spread wide. “He’s not late.”
“Pardon?” She took a seat on the bed.
“Your husband is not dead. He defected to the Union.”
Loreta had the notion that she might fall off the bed. She put a hand on the wall to steady herself.
Dunham, studying her face, continued, “Although I’m not sure that it’s the proper thing to call him your husband, seeing as he was already married when you met him.”
Loreta had trouble catching her breath and Dunham fetched her a glass of water from the end table before sitting back down. “Do you want to hear the rest of it or have you heard enough?”
“Just give me a minute,” she said, taking another sip of water. She set it down and then sat as straight as she could on the soft bed. “You may continue.”
“Captain De Caulp’s real name is William Irving, originally from Pennsylvania. He claimed to Union officers that he was in Atlanta on business when the war started and was conscripted to serve in the Confederacy.”
“But he willingly volunteered at the beginning of the war. He served at Ball’s Bluff, long before the Conscription Act.” Loreta put a hand under her chin. “And why would he change his name?”
Dunham shook his head. “All I know is what I read in the Union report that they took after he deserted. You know they are offering to pay Confederate deserters who swear the Federal oath of allegiance. Perhaps he needed the money.”
A memory of the look on Tom’s face after she told him her inheritance had been depleted returned to Loreta. She readjusted her skirts. “Tell me more about his other wife.”
“He has a two-year-old son. My guess is that he didn’t know he had one and intended on somehow profiting from the war down South—without the burden of a wife. That accounts for the name change.” Dunham shrugged. “Maybe finally getting word that she had given birth was the impetus for him to desert and come North.”
Half-numb from shock, she felt no bitterness or sorrow, only curiosity. “But it doesn’t make any sense. What about me? Where do I fit in?”
The corners of Dunham’s mouth turned downward. “Mrs. De Caulp… if I should still be calling you that. There’s one last thing you need to know.”
She sighed, wondering if there was anything else he could say that would be more startling than what he’d already told her.
“The reason you came to be arrested in Richmond was because your… husband gave your name to General Winder as a fraud. He was probably hoping that the Confederate government would forgive his betrayal if he provided them intelligence.”
This was the last straw for Loreta. She recalled the shrewd look on Winder’s face when he’d asked about her husband. “Thank you, Mr. Dunham, for all of your information.” She rose from her chair. “It has shed much light on the fate of Captain De Caulp. But, seeing as how I’ve had a long journey, I’m quite tired.”
Dunham replaced his hat and also got up from his chair. “I was just trying to be helpful. As a journalist, I am privy to much information.”
“Yes, I can see that.” She walked over to the door and opened it. “Good day, Mr. Dunham.”
He pulled a piece of paper out of his coat pocket. “I also found William Irving’s last known address before the war started.” He opened her hand and placed it in her palm. “Just in case you were curious. It’s in Georgetown, right near our fair city of Washington.”
Loreta stared at the address long after he had left. Her head was still spinning with all the information Dunham had provided, one word taking precedence over all the questions she still had: why. Why had Tom lied to her about everything? Why had he married her if he already had a wife? Why had he claimed to be a Union man while serving two years for the Confederacy? And why had he given her name to the Confederate authorities? Loreta suspected she knew the reply to all her questions would be the same. As Dunham predicted, he probably did it all for money.
She squeezed the paper in her hand. There was only one man who could po
ssibly tell her the true story, and that was Tom De Caulp himself.
Loreta tidied herself the best she could before making her way to Georgetown, finding the address she was given with little problem. A woman answered the door.
Loreta, realizing this was her rival for her husband’s affections, studied her. She wore a plain calico dress with a tattered belt loosely tied across her wide waist.
The woman, as if sensing Loreta’s resentment, put her hand on her hip. “Can I help you?”
“I need to speak to Tom—William Irving.”
“My husband is not home,” the woman responded.
Loreta, suppressing the urge to declare that he was her husband too, asked instead if she knew of his whereabouts.
“He’s enlisted with the army.” A child began to cry from inside the house. “I’m not sure where he’s stationed at this point.” The woman’s hand tightened on the doorknob. “May I ask what this is in regard to?”
“It is no matter,” Loreta replied, her voice hoarse. She could tell that the woman’s patience was growing thin and made no inquiries as to what battalion Tom had joined. She bid the woman good-day and returned to the sidewalk in defeat. She had thought she could turn Tom’s mind to his former loyalties with both his wife and government, but it was clear that, for whatever purpose, Tom had made his decision.
Loreta walked back to her hotel room feeling as though she were at a crossroads. Her first husband had died and her second had placed both herself and the cause she loved in peril. Her past arrests had made continuing life as a soldier even more of a difficult feat than before, and she had no money to support any more adventures, not to mention that the Confederate secret service thought she was a traitor, thanks to Tom. She paused at a bridge overlooking the river. It could be so easy to end it all. She placed a cautious boot on the banister, wondering if she could really go through with flinging herself into the cold waters of the Potomac below.
Just then she overheard a man’s voice raised in protest. “Give it back!”
Loreta looked up to see a white man pulling a carpetbag away from a Negro.
“Suh, it’s my’s. I’s won it fer and skwer,” the darkey replied.
The white man clenched his fists. “We both know you ain’t won nothin’ yet.”
His opponent, clearly deciding that whatever was in the carpetbag wasn’t worth the fight, let it go. “Maybe not yet, but someday.”
Loreta drew in a breath as she recognized the darkey as Harry’s former slave, Bob. He had gained weight and his clothing looked new.
“Someday we’ll all be in hell!” the man shouted as he made off with his prize.
Loreta silently watched as Bob sauntered down the street in the opposite direction of his opponent. He started to whistle before he was out of earshot, seemingly undaunted by the loss of whatever was in the carpetbag. Loreta marveled that she had never seen Bob, or any Negro down South for that matter, exhibit such confidence with his place in his world.
Loreta returned her foot back to the ground, realizing that Bob had abandoned her just like Tom. Just so he could go North.
Let them all go North, she thought as she resumed walking. Let the Union figure out what to do with their good-for-nothing spoils of war. If Tom wanted to raise his son in a world full of freed black men, so be it. But she would never stoop so low herself, nor would any of the men she knew back home.
Chapter 53
Mary Jane
January 1863
The Emancipation Proclamation officially took effect at the beginning of the New Year, but most Virginians paid it no heed. Its main impact in Richmond was that slaves fled North in greater numbers than ever. The amount of staff at the Confederate White House continued to dwindle. Mary Jane was not surprised when Mr. Garvin told her he planned on leaving as they walked back to the house from McNiven’s truck one day.
“It’s gotten too dangerous here,” he asserted. “I think Mr. Davis suspects there’s information leaking from this house. You should consider going North too.”
“I can’t. Not yet,” Mary Jane replied.
Mr. Garvin conceded with a nod of his head. “I was hoping you would say that. The Richmond Underground will need your eyes and ears more than ever.”
“I am aware. Miss Lizzie thinks there are great plots underfoot to rescue the Confederacy from their inevitable defeat.”
He nodded. “I will still do what I can from the Union side.”
“Mr. Garvin.” Mary Jane took a deep breath. “I’ve been wanting to ask you about my father.”
Mr. Garvin patted her arm. “Sometimes things are better left unsaid.”
Mary Jane’s voice firmed. “You know who he was, then.”
He looked off to the horizon. “There were rumors at the time. And I’ve heard some things since then that convinced me that they might be true.”
“Who, then?”
He shook his head. “I don’t think—”
“Mr. Garvin, please. I would like to know.”
He rubbed at his chin. “Not now. Tonight. Meet me on the porch of the outbuilding after you are dismissed.”
“Yes sir.” Mary Jane crossed her fingers briefly, hoping that nothing would occur to make Mr. Garvin change his mind.
True to his word, Mr. Garvin was seated in his customary spot when Mary Jane returned from the mansion. He patted the seat beside him and began by saying, “You and your mother came from the Richards’ when you were just a baby. Mr. Richards was old Mrs. Van Lew’s brother.”
“I know.” Mary Jane had always been under the assumption that her father was Mr. Richards himself or possibly his son.
Mr. Garvin was lost in his recollection and didn’t seem to hear Mary Jane. “While many assumed that your mammy had been sent away because Mrs. Richards didn’t want her husband’s mistress around, I had heard a different story.” He paused before continuing, “Old Man Van Lew often paid a visit to his brother-in-law’s plantation to hunt and fish.”
The blood running through Mary Jane’s blood seemed to freeze. “No.”
He put his hand on top of Mary Jane’s. “It makes sense. Miss Lizzie had always given you special treatment, having you baptized and then married in her church. I think that both Mrs. Van Lew and her daughter wanted to raise you under their own roof.”
Mary Jane pulled her hand away. “You are saying that Miss Lizzie is my sister?”
Mr. Garvin took a deep breath. Unable to meet Mary Jane’s eyes, he stared off into the distance. His normally cultured voice seemed to lose its polish when he spoke again. “I’m not sayin’ I know dis to be fact. They’s always ben just wha’ I say—rumors. I’m just sayin’ it’s an explanation.” He finally looked at her. “I’m sorry if this upsets you.”
“He… my father, didn’t want me to be free.”
“No,” Mr. Garvin agreed. “He wouldn’t let any of us be free. But Miss Lizzie did. You have to remember that. She wanted the best for you. Always wanted that.”
“Look at me, Mr. Garvin.” Mary Jane waited until his gaze finally settled on her. “I’m still doing her bidding, risking my life at this house. I’ve always been a pawn in her game.”
“Miss Lizzie’s game is freedom, girl.” Mr. Garvin’s voice dropped to a low growl. “That’s the ultimate game, and don’t you forget it. What I tole you tonight don’t change anythin’ about whatcha doin’ here.”
Mary Jane’s chest rose in protest, but quickly sank again. Mr. Garvin’s words had only confirmed what she herself had suspected for years. It wasn’t his fault she was who she was, not anyone’s fault but Mr. Van Lew’s. “Thank you.”
He stood. “I should go pack. I’ve got a long journey ahead of me.” One side of his lip curled upward. “And something tells me you do as well. Someday.”
Chapter 54
Hattie
March 1863
Hattie soon settled into Hugh’s Georgetown townhouse. It was refreshing to be able to be herself, as Mrs. Lawton, instead of living
under the guise of a lie. She no longer had to test every word in her head before she spoke to make sure she did not give anything away. When she walked down the street, she did not have to take stock of every person she passed, wondering if they had any ulterior motives. Although she did it often anyway—it was hard to turn off the detective part of her brain.
Hugh still made frequent trips through the lines, and Hattie worried for him every time.
He had been gone for a few days on a mission when Hattie received a telegram from Secretary of War Stanton, requesting that she come to the War Office. Hattie did so immediately, her heart hammering, thinking it could only mean that something had happened to her new husband.
“Ah, Mrs. Lawton,” Stanton said when she entered his office. “I asked you here today in regard to this.” He handed Hattie a telegram, which she accepted with shaking hands. He looked at her over the top of his wire-framed glasses. “Tell me what you think I should do.”
Hattie sank into a chair, overcome with relief. The telegram was from Pryce Lewis, still in Castle Thunder. He was asking for $100 in gold coins in order to retain a lawyer.
“The lawyer’s name is Humphrey Marshall from Kentucky.” Stanton pulled at the long beard that obscured his chin. “He signed on to be a Confederate General, but had to resign his commission because they couldn’t find a horse to hold his weight!” He laughed, a sound that seemed incongruous with his solemn features. “Lewis thinks that Marshall could get both him and Scully out, but I’m inclined not to pay the money since I believe they are the ones truly responsible for Webster’s death.”
Hattie handed him back the telegram. “I don’t believe that Pryce Lewis ever used evidence against Timothy. He says Scully did, though.”
Stanton nodded. “I’ll send this on to Pinkerton. Maybe he’ll put up the money.” He tucked the paper into a pile and then folded his hands in front of him. “Also, Mrs. Lawton, I wanted to know if you ever thought of resuming your former work.”
The Women Spies Series 1-3 Page 57
