An Extraordinary Union

by Alyssa Cole

  A group of slaves playing fiddles stood in the corner of the ballroom, their arms moving in unison as they played a Virginia reel. The men and woman faced each other in two rows, now approaching, now retreating, now spinning each other, now stepping away. The dance reminded Elle of the war between the North and South, or perhaps of her relationship with Malcolm; the difference was that there was an order and expected outcome to the dance that Elle could never hope for in the other two.

  She bustled about the room, searching for sight of Dix or even Ben, but neither of the men was about. From this vantage point she could see Malcolm, all of him now, not just his broad shoulders that stood out in any crowd. He smiled and curtsied, his body moving fluidly and gracefully. Elle looked on as he took Susie’s gloved hand in his. The woman drew out the contact for a beat longer than the other dancers, who had already begun to switch partners.

  Elle felt a twinge of sadness. She’d never been a very good dancer, but she still wished that it was her kicking up her skirts with Malcolm instead. Would that ever be allowed to them? One night of dancing with abandon, without worrying who saw them?

  Elle sighed deeply, feeling more tired than she ever had. The encounter with the slavers had taken a higher toll than she’d realized, and the scant hour of sleep she’d grabbed afterward seemed only to have compounded her aching body’s protestations. She had been working since she arrived that morning, with no quarter given when she’d nodded off while scrubbing the steps. Whatever energy reserve had been driving her was now entirely depleted. To top it off, she had yet to encounter anything of much import. She’d been so sure that something would happen at the ball that night, but Dix was nowhere to be found and everyone else spoke of inconsequential matters.

  She circled the room once more, collecting empty glasses before carting them off to the kitchen, where another type of synchronized dance was going on. Slaves washing, slaves drying, slaves pouring wine and champagne, their bodies moving quickly and precisely to get the job done without bumping into one another and creating more mess to clean. The music here wasn’t the strains of the violin, but Althea leading a song that shot Elle through with a pang of homesickness.

  There is a balm in Gilead

  To make the wounded whole;

  There is a balm in Gilead

  To heal the sin-sick soul.

  Sometimes I feel discouraged,

  And think my work’s in vain,

  But then the Holy Spirit

  Revives my soul again.

  The words had been sung by untold numbers of voices who had gone to their graves without tasting freedom, expecting it only in the afterlife. The bittersweet strains brought to mind the words of Frederick Douglass: “Slaves sing most when they are most unhappy. The songs of the slave represent the sorrows of his heart.”

  That unjust bargain, happiness only after death, sickened Elle. Her people deserved freedom while they walked God’s green earth, and now they were closer to it than ever. Elle prayed she’d live to see the day, and perhaps to help usher it in.

  As she placed her glasses down and pushed up her sleeves to avoid getting them wet, she realized that someone was staring at her. Mary. The woman had been quiet and reserved for the entire day. Elle had thought Mary was still angry with her about her absence, but then she noticed that she was behaving the same to everyone. Elle had assumed she was just worried about how the ball would turn out.

  She stood wringing her hands now, and Elle went to her and laid a hand on her shoulder. Mary smiled awkwardly, and the uncertainty of it reminded Elle that Mary was so very young, and in charge of not one household, but two.

  Elle raised her eyebrows, inclined her head toward Mary. She regretted the need to feign muteness with her. The woman had treated her as a friend, without knowing her status or her talent, and yet Elle had to lie to her.

  Mary shook her head tightly, her actions contradicting her words. “I’m fine, Elle, just a little worried. I’m meeting Robert tonight, you see, and . . .” Mary closed her eyes, as if in duress, and then opened them. “Sometimes I feel like this load on my shoulders is too heavy to carry. Even when you know you doing right, you still feel like you doing wrong.”

  Elle was startled for a moment. Mary’s words echoed thoughts that had plagued her for the last few days.

  Mary looked around at the kitchens with sadness in her eyes; then her eyes lit on Elle’s wrists and that sadness turned to anger. She gripped Elle’s forearm and held up the bruised and abraded wrist between them.

  “I’m not gonna ask what happened because I know you ain’t gonna tell me,” she said, suddenly fierce. “All I’m gonna ask is that you come talk to me before you leave tonight, ya hear?” Elle nodded, although she didn’t know where she would be by the end of this night if Dix ever actually showed up.

  As if sensing her reticence, Mary gripped her by both hands. “I’m serious now, Elle,” she said, her voice low and urgent. “Do not leave this house without seeing me first.”

  Something in Mary’s behavior set off an alarm bell. Mary had said she was meeting Robert again. Hadn’t she just seen him the night before? They usually went weeks between visits....

  Mary’s fidgeting and nervousness, even her earlier anger, all began to fall into place. She’d seen the same restlessness in the runaways her family had given shelter to en route to Canada.

  Mary was planning to escape. Her words from days before came back to Elle, that she and her husband, Robert, could help Elle if Malcolm had been harassing her.

  Elle was scared now, too, for her friend. Being captured by slavers was bad enough. But being captured while escaping was something else entirely. Slaves had been running off and turning themselves over to Union forces since Butler had instituted the contraband camp at Fort Monroe. Those who tried to escape and failed were made into examples, even more so than before. The lash would become an intimate friend, if not the noose.

  She hugged Mary and nodded as strongly as she could before the woman whirled away, resuming her role as caretaker of the house.

  “Get those bottles opened!” she shouted at two women who stood chatting. “Y’all don’t want Mistress coming in here riding our backs like the devil, do you?”

  Elle left the kitchen, looking back over her shoulder at her friend. Elle knew about escape, had years and years of runaways’ stories and narratives she had read collected in her mind. She could help Mary, forge her a pass that could get her past any nosy soldiers if they were stopped in the road. If she could help her friend, it would be at least one thing accomplished that night.

  Trying to look as meek and unassuming as possible, Elle moved through the crowded hallway and crept up the servants’ stairs. The second floor was supposed to be empty, but there was always someone who snuck away for a dalliance, or simply to get away from the heat and crowds.

  She padded down the carpeted hallway, listening at the entryway of the senator’s office for a moment without entering. A fire crackled in the fireplace, but no one was about.

  The room was another example of sumptuous luxury, with its high-backed couches and grand mahogany desk. Rich draperies covered the windows, and the carpets on the floor were even nicer than those in the hallway. Such finery, paid for at the small cost of human lives and dignity.

  Her anger rose in her again, but she brushed it aside.

  She crept over to the desk and began scanning the visible documents on its surface. It was mostly littered with invoices for the ball, showing where the senator’s priorities were at the moment. Elle rifled through the papers, seeing if anything jumped out at her. There was nothing about ironclads, nothing that seemed important enough to create the buzz that had been built around the ball. She would write out a pass for Mary and then get back downstairs.

  She heard footsteps before she could even reach for the quill, and rushed toward the fireplace, grabbing the poker. Maintaining it for the senator was part of her duties, so she hoped it wouldn’t arouse suspicion.

&nbs
p; The door opened quietly and Malcolm slipped inside.

  “What are you doing in here?” he hissed under his breath. She was about to answer, “My job,” but then a giggle sounded from behind him.

  “Who are you talking to, Malcolm?” Susie asked, her voice pitched low. She slid her arm through his as she stepped through the door, giving Elle a venomous smile when she spotted her. “Why am I not surprised to find you here? You’re always trying to ruin my fun. Get out. Now.”

  Elle glanced at Malcolm, whose expression was blank.

  “I said now, darkie,” Susie snapped. Before giving Elle a second to clear out, she pulled Malcolm’s face down to hers and kissed him.

  Seeing Susie’s tongue slide into his mouth, her hands cup his face, made Elle ill.

  I thought I was made of sterner stuff than this, she chided herself as she dropped the poker and hurried from the room. But the last sound she heard as the door closed behind her was a feminine sound of pleasure and a low, masculine laugh. She thought of how content Malcolm had looked during the dance, how he had regarded Susie as if she were the only woman in the room. Hadn’t he made Elle feel the same way?

  She tried to shake the negative thoughts out of her mind, but she kept hearing Susie’s moan and Malcolm’s laugh. She walked down the hall on unsteady legs, angry with herself but trying to master the emotions that surged through her, threatening to pull her under.

  Both she and Malcolm had jobs to do. He was doing his, and if it meant him making love to another woman, she would just have to deal with that later. She tried to push her feelings aside, to tamp them down as she usually did, but it seemed that there was no room. The part of her mind where she routinely shoved her sadness, her loneliness, and her anger had reached its maximum capacity. One final thought compounded her misery: The only person she wanted comfort from was with another woman.

  She sank to her knees and felt the bitter tears come. The night was almost over, she’d no new information to help the Cause, she hadn’t forged Mary’s pass, and here she was crying in plain sight like a brainless twit. She was supposed to be stronger than this, smarter, but now she’d failed everyone, including herself.

  “What have we here?” a familiar voice said above her. She looked up through her tear-distorted gaze to see Mr. Dix bending down with his hand outstretched. She took it and he pulled her up.

  “That’s the simple girl,” Senator Caffrey said. Elle wanted to remind him that he didn’t find her so simple that he couldn’t leer at her, but she didn’t. “I reckon all the goings-on of the ball have overtaxed her. She seems to be prone to crying fits like this. Don’t pay her any mind.”

  “I have fits from time to time, though mine are a bit different,” Dix said, his voice as kind as it had been when he allowed her to ride on his coach. “Come with us, girl.”

  “We have business to attend to,” Senator Caffrey said, clearly annoyed at his compatriot’s indulgence.

  “We do,” Mr. Dix said, unconcerned. “I’m not asking her to contribute her insights. We’ll just give her a shot of brandy to calm her nerves. It’s the decent thing to do.”

  Caffrey wasn’t happy about it but didn’t seem to want to argue. He slid a disdainful glare her way before entering the library.

  Elle followed close behind them. She was ashamed of her brief breakdown, but it had worked in her favor. She’d been invited into a meeting with a Confederate senator and his naval engineer, and she wasn’t leaving until she had gathered as much information as she could. She couldn’t know if Malcolm was doing her a dishonor or not right then; she could only control what she herself did with the opportunity presented to her.

  When Dix and Caffrey settled into chairs in front of the fire, she realized that they still expected her to wait on them. She poured their drinks from a half-empty decanter on a nearby sideboard and handed them off after taking a small sip under Mr. Dix’s watchful eye. Then she receded into a corner as they forgot she was there and began their meeting.

  “Mallory is amenable to my time table,” Mr. Dix said. “The new ironclad won’t be complete for some time, but it will be sail-able within three months.”

  “Will it be able to attack?” Senator Caffrey asked.

  “Oh yes,” Mr. Dix said, his voice still nervous and soft. “It will be able to break this blockade wide open. After that, every advantage the North currently holds will be lost to them.”

  “Excellent. President Davis is going to be very happy to hear this,” Caffrey said. “Now give me the specifications.”

  In her dark corner, Elle suppressed a fierce smile. She’d been right. On this night, she was going to help save the Union.

  CHAPTER 21

  Malcolm produced a vicious laugh at his situation as the door to the room shut. The one woman he cared about most in this world looking on as he kissed the woman who made her life hell on a daily basis. Who, for all intents and purposes, owned her. He pulled away from the kiss, hoping that Susie was satisfied. Despite his dislike for her, he felt vile pretending to enjoy dancing with and, now, kissing her. What greater blow could come to a person than realizing they had been used in such a way?

  Perhaps seeing the man who claimed to care for her with his lips pressed to another woman’s?

  He knew that this was his work, and Elle knew that this was his work, but he would have been tempted to partake in some kind of devilry if he’d witnessed the same. It was in that moment that he knew for certain that he was truly a patriot; if his love for his country had measured an iota less, he would have left Susie and chased down the woman he truly wanted. Instead, he smiled.

  “So, darling Susie, I do believe you said you were going to show me what everyone at the ball is so worked up about,” he said, stepping away from her. He resisted the urge to wipe his lips, at least while she was watching.

  “Is that truly why you came up here with me?” she asked. “I thought you wanted to kiss and make up after our little spat this morning.”

  She’d placed one of her feet up on a small velvet footstool with gold gilt legs. She ran her hands up her stockings, displaying the enticing legs encased within them.

  That was the moment Malcolm knew he’d been bamboozled. He knew she’d expected his favor in return for showing him something confidential, but he hadn’t expected her to lie about the files even being there. He’d become desperate when midnight neared and there had been no sign of Dix, and he’d hoped he could get the information and then evade Susie’s advances. He and Elle were depending on finding the information about the ironclad that night, and if they didn’t, he had no idea how they would proceed. Elle believed the Union was in danger, and he believed in her.

  Susie stopped her slow, seductive journey up under her skirts.

  “Now, what kind of man finds himself alone in a room with a willing and able woman and doesn’t find himself up to the task?” she drawled.

  One who’s in love with someone else, he thought.

  “Perhaps I’ve had a bit too much brandy,” he said, ready to leave off of this route. Susie had seemed a promising vein of information, but she’d wasted his time instead. He would have to corner the senator himself. Every time he’d tried, Susie had pulled him away for another dance or a tiresome story.

  “When you showed renewed interest this evening, I thought my words had shaken some common sense into you,” she said. “I’m a Confederate senator’s daughter, and what I want I shall have. Half the South is starving and I’ve yet to go without. If you think you’re a finer commodity than a flank of beef, you are mistaken.” She stared at him, a cruel smirk fixed to her mouth. Malcolm had known Susie was spoiled, but this was obscene.

  “You cannot force a man to lie with you, Miss Caffrey,” Malcolm said.

  She tilted her head. “And why not? Men do it to my sex as a matter of course. If our situations were reversed, you would call me a coquette and take what you wanted.”

  Malcolm sneered. “Men generally have superior physical strength that all
ows for such transgressions. Regardless, I would do no such thing.”

  “Superior. Physical. Strength.” She drawled each word through lips curled in disdain. “Will you not change your mind?”

  “I’m afraid not, Miss Caffrey.”

  “Pity.” With that, she opened her mouth and released a heartrending scream, one of complete and paralyzing fear. She began to sob loudly, smiling at Malcolm through her tears. His blood ran cold, even though he knew she was crying wolf. Anyone else would think she was being murdered.

  “Sorry, Mr. McCall. This will have to go into tomorrow’s papers and be reported to the Vigilance Committee. I’m sure your superior physical strength will see you through, though.”

  There was a pounding of feet on carpeted wood in the hallway; then the door flew open and the room crowded with men who pulled his arms behind him and threw him to the floor.

  “Oh, he said he was going to do the most terrible things to me,” Susie sobbed as her father pulled her to his side and glared down at Malcolm. “He said he’s for the Yanks, and he was going to help them pillage the South, starting with me!”

  It was ridiculous tripe, but all the men in the room puffed their chests with instinctive protectiveness of their weeping damsel.

  “Senator Caffrey, you know I wouldn’t disrespect your daughter in such a way,” he said. This was the second time he’d been accused of such intentions in this household, and both times he’d simply sought information.

  A shined boot gave him a vicious kick to the ribs and Malcolm grunted. He curled into a ball and tucked his head into his arms to protect himself from the punishing blows.

  “If you respect her so much, what were you doing alone with her in my office, son?” The senator’s voice was all tightly controlled anger, his drawl abbreviated, his consonants overenunci-ated. “Take him to the cellar.”