An Extraordinary Union

by Alyssa Cole

  “I’ll see you this evening,” he said, his tone subdued. She simply nodded, unable to speak.

  She noticed something around his neck then and parted his shirt to see it. She found a loop of long black thread with a misshapen ball of lead tied at the end.

  “A reminder that you won’t be lost to me so easily,” he said. “And an inspiration to be as brave as you were.”

  Tears filled her eyes as she fingered the tiny object that had almost taken her life.

  “I never cried so much before I met you, you know,” she said, dashing the moisture from her cheeks.

  Malcolm grinned. “You sure know how to make a man feel special,” he said.

  “I never laughed so much, either,” she said, hugging him close.

  His lips grazed hers, softly, leaving her wanting more.

  “I’ll find a way to communicate with you at the house,” he said.

  After making sure that no one was about, she slid through the window, Malcolm holding her hands to steady her as she dropped to the ground.

  With one last longing glance, he shut the window and drew the curtain. She shivered in the cool morning air as she hurried toward the road that would take her to Senator Caffrey’s house. Dawn tiptoed across the sky, keeping her company on her journey.

  “Thought you might need a cloak, too,” a voice said from behind her, and she turned to find Timothy holding out a brown wool cloak. She grabbed it and fastened it about her shoulders with shaking fingers.

  “How did you know?” she asked as he fell into step beside her.

  Timothy laughed. “I ain’t in the Loyal League on account of my pretty face.”

  “I was injured during a mission and my clothing was torn,” she explained. The words seemed oddly stiff despite the fact that they were true, more or less.

  “Mm-hmm,” was all Timothy said. They walked in silence, but he kept glancing at her.

  “What?” she finally asked when ignoring him became more awkward than whatever question he might have.

  “My grandfather was an Indian, you know. Seminole tribe. If it weren’t for people following their hearts, I wouldn’t exist. So you don’t have to worry about taking guff from me.”

  Elle felt exposed. It had been one thing to conjecture about Timothy’s reaction from the haven of Malcolm’s bed, but in the light of day it made their situation much more real, and much more frightening. Someone knew about their relationship, and once people knew something existed they could destroy it.

  “Why would you tell me such a thing?” she said, letting annoyance creep into her tone.

  “You got them expressive eyes, Elle. Before you knew I was watching, they were awful sad.” He gave her a little pat on the back. “Don’t matter what other folks think, anyhow. If that was the case, how would we keep on living knowing what most white folk think of us? Just tell me where you went and what you found out. That’s the only business I’ll stick my nose into.”

  Elle wanted to grab the little man and hug him. Instead, she recounted her story from the time she’d met Ben to her escape from the slavers.

  Timothy’s eyes were wide with amazement by the time she finished.

  “Girl, you’re luckier than a rabbit with three feet!” he said, grabbing her hand and shaking it. “But if there’s something to this ironclad business, we need to be sure, and fast.”

  “We have to be prepared for anything tonight,” she said.

  They talked strategy for the rest of the walk. Her body pained her, and she didn’t try to hide it. She was supposed to have been deathly ill, after all.

  As they approached the property, Elle spotted Mary through one of the parlor windows. Mary turned and saw her, then stormed out of sight. Elle glanced at Timothy, who shrugged, and then Mary appeared in the yard. She approached at a quick clip, her mouth tight and her eyes narrowed.

  “You look like you been rode wet and hung up to dry,” she said. She plucked at Elle’s hair, and Elle winced against the pain in her scalp. “Your hair look like you slept in a briar patch, too.”

  Timothy laughed. “That sickness that’s been going around will do that to you. She well enough to work today,” he said, heading for the kitchen. “Be easy with her, though.”

  Mary rounded on Elle. Her gaze was hard, and Elle knew something was very wrong.

  “I took my leave day with Robert yesterday. I know you ain’t got no kin here, so when I heard you was sick, I brought some medicine to your room,” the woman said, her voice laced with accusation. “You wasn’t there. Not in the afternoon and not at night. You know who else didn’t show his face yesterday? The man that’s been staring at you like you was the last lump of sugar in this consarned town. I had to listen to Susie moaning about it over her tea this morning. Tell me true now, Li’l Bit: Tell me you didn’t give yourself to a man fighting for the South.”

  She’d been found out. Fear was neck and neck with the urge to cry because Mary had cared enough to check, and to call her out. She had wasted her precious time with her husband to try to help Elle, and now she’d be repaid with lies. Elle shook her head, opening and closing her mouth to show her frustration at being unable to speak. That part wasn’t an act: Even if she’d been able to, she couldn’t have revealed the truth about her and Malcolm. She was living a lie, and sometimes that meant disappointing people who cared for you.

  Mary gave a frustrated sigh and smoothed Elle’s frizzy hair down, gently this time.

  “I hope you telling me the truth,” she said. “I know the things they’ll say to get under your skirts, if they even bother with seduction.”

  Elle just gave her a perplexed look and hoped that was enough.

  Mary seemed to accept it.

  “I was just worried, is all,” she said, adjusting the ragged lace trim on Elle’s sleeve. “You remind me of my daughter sometimes. She had eyes just like yours . . . Caffrey sold her down South to pay off a debt. Every time I look at you, I wonder if she gonna grow up to be as pretty as you. And I hope she won’t.”

  Elle’s stomach churned at the woman’s words. She’d led a charmed life compared to most of the slaves here. Even during her time as a slave she’d been too young to understand what was going on and her master too old to do her much harm. The people here knew nothing of a benevolent master who would set them free instead of selling them for more coin. They knew struggle and pain.

  The Union had to persevere.

  Elle pulled Mary into an embrace, wishing she could take away some of her pain. Her friend was all wiry muscle from a lifetime of working without cease.

  “Thanks, Li’l Bit,” she said, and Elle now wondered if the moniker was something else that had been passed on from Mary’s daughter. “I just can’t wait for the day the Yanks come riding through here and rain vengeance down on these folks’ heads.”

  She gazed at the house, where people bustled about preparing for the ball.

  Elle simply nodded.

  Me too, she thought grimly. Elle looked past the house, toward the rising sun, and felt that twinge of instinct that meant something important was just around the corner. Maybe Mary would get her wish sooner than she imagined.

  CHAPTER 19

  After Elle had gone, Malcolm called for another basin of hot water. He washed up in silence, his thoughts alternating between Elle, bloody in the road and then warm and alive in his arms, and the challenge they would face that night. Part of him wanted to stow her away safely to keep her from harm, but he knew that she would never agree to it. Besides, he needed her. He’d always preferred working alone, but the woman was a damned good detective, and the night ahead showed all signs of being challenging if they were right.

  He updated the notes in his ledger after shaving, not wanting to forget anything of import that had occurred on their journey. A knock at the door as he buttoned his shirt startled him, but it was the slave woman who had been up late the night before; she held out his cleaned jacket for him to inspect.

  “You must have b
een up late scrubbing this,” he said, and she looked at him with a hint of fear in her eyes, as if he were trying to trick her into revealing something incriminating. “It must have taken ages to get all the stains out, and now you’re up early working.”

  “Well . . . yes,” she said, her brow furrowed in confusion. “I always get up early. I got to get my work done.”

  He slipped into the ironed and starched jacket, guilt wrapping round him as snugly as the stiff fabric. He pulled out a coin, pressing it into the woman’s hand. That act felt somehow wrong, too, but he didn’t know what else to do.

  “No, I couldn’t—” she began, but he waved her off as she tried to return it.

  “I insist,” he said. He dearly hoped that he was close to giving her what she needed more than a bit of coin: freedom. The politicians could deny it all they wanted, but this had become a battle not just to preserve the Union, but to decide whether slaves would be freed or not. He’d thought that’s what he’d been fighting for all along, but if he were truthful, he hadn’t seen slaves as more than the lot they’d been given in life. He’d thought of their general freedom, but not their individual wants and needs. Not about what sustained them from day to day, or made them smile, on a basic human level. He’d considered himself to be so evolved, and then Elle had arrived. Elle who wouldn’t praise him for simply doing what was right.

  “Oh, there’s someone here to see you,” the slave woman said as she tucked the coin away. “A lady.”

  Malcolm had a buoyant moment in which he imagined Elle had returned. They would fall back into bed, whiling away the afternoon until it was time to attend the ball. But then he remembered that Elle wouldn’t be referred to as a lady, and she wouldn’t be attending the ball so much as preparing it.

  Who else would visit me here?

  His question was immediately answered by the sound of heeled steps and the swoosh of crinoline. Silky blue fabric stretched over a hoop skirt rounded the corner of the hall, followed by the point of a matching parasol, and finally, the entire form of Susie Caffrey.

  “Well, look who the cat dragged in,” she drawled, as if surprised.

  “Actually, this is my hotel, so I believe you dragged yourself,” he said. That she’d had the audacity to show up at his quarters astounded him. What if she’d arrived earlier and discovered Elle? But his irritation at her presence wasn’t part of the role he was playing, and he quickly adjusted his tone. “Although I don’t think a little pussy cat has ever had prettier quarry.”

  Her mouth had been teetering on a frown, but the edges pulled up into a seductive smile as she brushed passed the slave, not even acknowledging her presence. The woman made a hasty departure.

  “I was sorely disappointed that you didn’t come visit me yesterday,” she pouted, nosily peeking past him into the room before continuing. “Daddy was busy drawing up plans in his office all day, and I was so hoping we would have gotten to spend some alone time together. No one else came by the parlor all day, not even Rufus. Just imagine what we could have gotten up to.”

  She ran the tip of her parasol up the inseam of his pants and he jumped, the sensation entirely unappealing. He looked down into her cold hazel eyes, at her thin lips pulled into a smile meant to seduce, and he felt something stir for her at last: pity. She was like a chasm of need, no amount of attention ever enough to fill whatever it was that was missing within. It didn’t make up for her appalling behavior, but if he could spare the man who had tried to kill his love, he could sympathize with Susie.

  “I’m sorry I missed what sounds like the perfect opportunity to get to know you better, but business drew me away from town for the day,” he said, not acknowledging her blatant assault of his person with her parasol. “I’ll try to rectify that this evening, if you’ll allow it.”

  “Or you can rectify it now,” she said, stepping forward, as if she meant to back him into his room. Malcolm held firmly in the doorway, shifting to block her passage.

  “Unfortunately, these are trying times for the South, and I must attend to some urgent matters before this evening. Any rectifications will have to wait until then.”

  She placed her hand on his chest, and he couldn’t help but compare the warmth in Elle’s touch with the cold calculation in Susie’s. He didn’t mind aggressiveness—hell, when Elle had taken him in hand in the field, he’d popped his cork so fast that he’d wondered if her touch had even been necessary. But Susie was no Elle.

  “Can’t I just come in for a moment?” she pushed, with both her hand and her tone, unable to believe that he wasn’t bending to her will.

  “I was just leaving,” he said. “I’ll walk you to your coach.”

  He grabbed his hat and tugged the door closed behind him. He took her arm in his and could feel her indignation in her stiff gait. As he handed her inside of the coach, she crossed her arms and fixed him with a watery gaze.

  Good Lord, he thought. The man who eventually settled with this chit would be in for a treat.

  “I must admit, I’m quite displeased with how this morning has unfolded,” she said.

  Malcolm nodded. On that they could agree. In an ideal world, he would still be in bed with Elle. “I concur. And I bid you adieu, until tonight.”

  “Malcolm?” Her voice rang out after him when he’d taken a few steps down the dusty sidewalk.

  “You’ll find that I don’t appreciate being treated so unkindly,” she said, her eyes overbright and her hands gripping her parasol tightly. He’d underestimated the woman’s tenacity.

  He walked back to her slowly, feigning confusion. “I don’t believe I’ve treated you unkindly at all,” he said. “I don’t understand your implication.”

  “Well, I only mean to say that I’d be terribly disappointed if you were to abandon me again tonight. It’s ungentlemanly to show false attentions to a woman, something a true Southern man would never do. We discuss such matters at meetings of the Vigilance Committee all the time.” She batted her eyes at him as if this was a game of seduction, and Malcolm realized that for her it was.

  He put on a saccharine smile and tried to reign in his temper. His lack of sleep and general agitation didn’t help with either action.

  “Miss Caffrey, I know you’re eager to learn more about me, so I’ll share a little tidbit with you right now: I don’t take kindly to manipulation.”

  With that he turned and headed toward MacTavish’s store, leaving her staring after him. He tried not to think of how he should have reacted more gently, but it didn’t matter. Showing fear or acknowledging her threat with denials would not have aided him against someone like her. As he’d stepped away from the coach, he hadn’t seen anger on her features, but desire. The minx probably considered their conversation foreplay.

  When he arrived at the grocer’s, Malcolm immediately recognized that MacTavish had either began imbibing very early in the day or was still on a tear from the night before.

  “Oh, hello, Sir Reb,” the wild-haired man called out as Malcolm entered the store. “What can I get you? We just received a shipment of very fine garters if you have a lady you’d like to impress.”

  “My lady wouldn’t be impressed by garters,” he said curtly, then reconsidered. Elle’s fine legs in garters and silk stockings would be things of wonder. Perhaps he shouldn’t be too hasty in his decision.

  “Pity that. Perhaps you need this premium vellum paper. Perfect for sending and receiving correspondence of all sort.” There was a glimmer of sharpness in the man’s rheumy eyes, despite his demeanor.

  “I’ll take the paper,” he said.

  “Excellent choice. Here y’are,” MacTavish said on a hiccup. He shook Malcolm’s hand heartily. “Always good to see a Scots brother taking up the Cause. We won’t let them trod over us this time!”

  A woman doing her morning shopping eyed them suspiciously.

  “Down with Union! Death to Lincoln!” MacTavish cried, his wink hidden to all but Malcolm.

  Malcolm left the store quic
kly, hoping that Elle had been right to trust MacTavish. He opened the scroll of papers, finding one inscribed with coded text. Roughly translated, it acknowledged the possibility of the South’s having an ironclad, but was dubious that it was already near completion. They had reliable information from another source that it would take several more months for such a project to be completed, and the war would likely be over by that point anyway. In addition, without an actual location or information about the outfitting of the vessel, this information could not be acted on. It stated that the Union ship was being built as planned, and that he should return to the Capitol with all haste.

  He crumpled the letter in his hand. His assessments were rarely second-guessed. For a brief moment, he wondered if they were only doubtful because the suggestion had come from Elle’s hand and not his. Had Pinkerton even been shown the missive, or had it been deemed not worth the man’s time?

  Whatever the reason for the tepid response, he and Elle would need to furnish evidence. As much as he hoped they were wrong, he knew that there was something to the situation with Dix. He walked over to the Lancelot Inn to see if he could engineer a run-in with the frumpy engineer, but the man wasn’t about. It was possible he still hadn’t returned.

  Malcolm sighed in frustration. His morning had been less than fruitful, and he hoped it wasn’t any indication of how the night would turn out.

  CHAPTER 20

  The ball was in full swing. Dinner had been served, drinks had been poured, the dancing had begun, and still Elle had garnered no new information.

  She’d heard officers making fun of the country boys who didn’t know their right foot from their left and wouldn’t know discipline if they tripped over it. She’d heard masters complaining about slaves that slipped away in the dark of night to join the contraband camps of the Union army. Word was going around that they would officially sanction Negroes wearing Union blue one day soon—the Confederate officers jeered, but in the way a man makes jest of the monster under the bed and then spends half the night unable to sleep.