An Extraordinary Union

by Alyssa Cole

  Malcolm was pulled to his feet. He couldn’t feel fear or regret or anger. His mind was completely devoted to working a way out of this situation. As he was pushed through the door, his eyes met Elle’s. She was standing pressed back against the wall, taking in the scene.

  Her expression was blank, but her dark eyes burned hot.

  My Ellen, he thought. Would she believe Susie, after what she had seen earlier? Would she think him the worst of men? He ripped his gaze away from hers, lest his imprisoners make anything of it. But before he turned, he saw her pantomime clasping at a necklace. Her bullet bounced against his chest beneath his shirt as he walked, reminding him of his words.

  You will not be lost to me so easily.

  CHAPTER 22

  Elle’s heart beat out of her chest as she watched Malcolm be hustled past her.

  His face was scraped and puffy, and a trickle of blood dripped from a gash over his eyebrow. She thought of how he’d tended her wounds the night before. No one would tend to him now. And if she didn’t figure out a way to get him out of this, then there would be nothing to tend to. She’d heard Susie’s claims echo through the hall. The punishment for rape could vary, but the punishment for treason was death.

  Her body went nerveless at the thought of Malcolm swinging from a rope, all the life and joy and love gone from him.

  Susie walked by then, a deviously contented look on her face. She glanced up at Elle from under wet lashes and smiled, chilling her to the bone. What had happened in that office?

  The worst part of this predicament was knowing that Malcolm’s involvement with Susie had ultimately been unnecessary. Elle had sat in on a meeting that had not only confirmed her suspicions about the resurrection of the scuttled Union ironclad, but had also given her important information on the ship’s date of deployment and specifications. All of this information was stored in her mind and needed to be transmitted to the Union immediately. This was too important for a missive alone: Elle wanted to deliver the message herself, and she wanted Malcolm by her side when she did.

  As soon as the group of Susie’s rescuers had passed, patting each other on the back for a job well done, Elle was off like a shot. She darted down the back stairs, pushing past bewildered slaves as they tried to figure out why the ball had been called to a sudden halt, throwing their well-organized work into disorder.

  She searched the kitchens for Timothy, finding him in a back room with a bag of apples slung over his shoulder.

  “Timothy,” she whispered urgently. “Malcolm has been captured. He needs to be rescued. Can we contact MacTavish, perhaps see if he has any contacts who can help? I was right about the ironclads. I desperately need to get to Washington, and I won’t leave without him.”

  Timothy dropped the sack of grain and turned to her, a somber look on his face.

  “MacTavish was arrested for public intoxication earlier today,” he said, running a hand over his close-cropped hair. “He was wallpapered, hollering in the street like a lunatic, and they locked him up. He won’t be out for a day or two.”

  “No,” Elle said, her mind racing. “What are we to do?”

  “You have to leave McCall behind, Elle,” Timothy said. “Even if MacTavish was free, do you think we’d risk exposing him and the other abolitionists to free McCall? I’m sorry, but this is a war we’re fighting. I’ll do what I can once you’ve gone, but we can’t risk everything over one man.”

  She thought of Malcolm seated on his horse, sure to be shot before he could draw his weapon but determined not to desert her nonetheless. Elle had spent her entire life doing for others, pushing aside her feelings as she used her talent to uplift her race, and now her country. But she would not forfeit this.

  “I won’t leave him,” she said bluntly.

  “Elle, you’re risking everything that the Loyal League stands for to save a man that you barely know,” Timothy said, confusion twisting his brow. “What gives you the right?”

  “My soul gives me the right,” she said softly, not wanting to disappoint him any more than she had but unable to do as he wished. “My heart does, Timothy. And if you think that I can’t save my man and get word to Washington both, then you have sorely underestimated me.”

  Mary walked into the back room then. She stepped protectively toward Elle, as if sensing the tension between them.

  “What’s going on in here? Li’l Bit, can you come with me?” she asked, eyeing Timothy warily. “I gotta tell you something.”

  Mary was escaping. The thought had been knocked from her head with all the business that had occurred above floors. She hated to reveal herself as a liar, and to place Mary in danger with this knowledge, but the woman was her last hope. Elle closed her eyes and then faced the friend she hoped would help her.

  “I have to tell you something, too, Mary,” she said clearly.

  Mary’s eyes widened, and her cheeks flushed. She took a step toward and then away from Elle, the confusion on her face like a punch in the belly.

  “Elle, what are you doing?” Timothy hissed.

  “Timothy, you’re the one who told me to trust my instincts. Too late to renege on that now.”

  “You been playing a game with me this whole time?” Mary asked. The tightness from that morning had returned to her face.

  “No. I’m sorry I lied, but the truth is I’m here collecting information for the Union government. I couldn’t tell anyone that, even if I cared about them. Especially if I cared about them,” Elle said.

  “Why are you telling me now?” Mary asked hotly. She seemed torn between anger and excitement.

  “Because I need your help. One of my partners has been captured.” She glanced at Timothy. “If I don’t save him, I think he’ll hang. I have valuable information that needs to get to the Capital, and quickly. I think you’re leaving tonight, and I want to leave with you.”

  Mary sighed.

  “We all got our secrets, huh?” she asked, the anger leaving her voice. “Robert has a plan. I told you he know these rivers like the back of his hand. His latest job has been working a Confederates warship. They rely on him to do everything. He knows the ship better than the captain.”

  Elle nodded, anticipation building in her chest. If this was heading in the direction she thought it was heading, then the night was about to get even more interesting.

  “Robert know all the signals to get the boat past the sentries and out to open sea,” she continued in a hushed voice. “He got a small crew. Later tonight they’re gonna steal the ship and deliver it to the Union Navy. They’re gonna make stops along the river to pick up the crewman’s families. I’m the last stop. He’s picking me up down by Hangman’s Point. Hopefully, the boys manning the blockade won’t think our white flag is a trick to get their guard down.”

  The plan was audacious, ballsy, and so unprecedented that it just might work. And it was the only option Elle had.

  “Hats off to your Robert. May I come with you?” she asked. She had known it was very likely that she would have to flee that night, although she had thought she would be doing so by land. Stealing a boat, while extreme, also simplified her plans in some ways. “I’ll do anything I can to help, and I have some experience with escaping myself.”

  She parted her hair to show her freshly stitched wound, ignoring Mary’s gasp.

  “There are two dead slavers who learned last night that I won’t be taken easily,” she said.

  “Lord help me,” Mary said, placing a hand over her chest. “And here I thought you was this innocent little thing who needed my help.”

  Elle smiled. “Innocent isn’t the descriptor I’d use, but I do need your help.”

  Mary fixed her with a stare. “Is this mess with your partner the same mess with that Rebel fella trying to molest our Susie?”

  Elle took a deep breath. “He didn’t try to molest her.”

  “How do you know?” Mary asked, all business. “Were you in the room with them? This week I’ve seen that man sniffing after
you something fierce and then courting Miss Susie like she was a hothouse rose in the winter. Not to mention the obvious.”

  He’s white. Elle waited for the words.

  “He’s a Rebel,” Mary said with plain disgust. Elle almost laughed.

  “And I’m mute,” Elle countered. She could see that Mary was still undecided.

  “It’s very important for Robert, once he steals the ship, to get it into Union hands, right?”

  Mary rolled her eyes at the question with an obvious answer. “Yes.”

  “Do you think if he got to the Hangman’s Point and you weren’t there he would just keep going?”

  “He’s my husband,” Mary said. “Of course he wouldn’t.”

  “And do you think if this had happened a week after you met that he would have left you?” Elle asked. Mary opened her mouth to counter and then shut it. Elle pressed her advantage. “You told me once that you just looked at Robert and you knew. You don’t have to help me, or to understand, but I’d ask that you afford me the same respect you’d ask for yourself.”

  Mary laughed and shook her head.

  “Now I know why you had to be mute. Smart-mouthed little sassy sue, you is,” Mary said. “I’m leaving soon, with Althea and Ben. You’re welcome to come, and your man if you can free him in time.”

  Elle looked at Timothy.

  “I still got work to do here,” he said. There was no judgment or sadness in his tone; that was just the way it was.

  Elle gave him a long, hard hug. He smelled of a mélange of food and spices, and a hard day’s sweat, and the scent made her tear up.

  “Be careful,” she said.

  He placed a hand to her head, over where she had revealed her stitches earlier.

  “I know that you got good luck, but I hope you got good sense, too. Be safe, and make sure that man treat you right after you going to all this trouble for him. No more making cow eyes at other females just because he a detective. If I fed my wife that codswallop—”

  She gave Timothy a good-natured jab and hugged him once more. “I’ll write down everything I heard . . . just in case.”

  “And I’ll send it along once that old drunkard MacTavish is out of jail. But make sure that I’m sending it along for no reason.”

  She nodded firmly.

  “Malcolm is being held in the cellar,” she said.

  “How you gonna get him out?” Mary asked.

  “Damned if I know now, but I will before the clock strikes midnight,” Elle said. “I think right now is a good time for a game of dress-up.”

  Mary gave her a sharp look, not in the mood for non sequiturs.

  “Tonight, my fair friend, you shall become a lady,” Elle said.

  As Elle and Mary tried to move through the kitchen unobserved, one of the slave women stopped them.

  “Mary, what we supposed to do ’bout all these people leaving at once? Everything’s getting confused, coats are lost, carriages are backed up.”

  In the midst of chaos, there is also opportunity.

  Irritation sparked in Elle: Every second they delayed they were losing the cover this confusion would provide. But the spark was quickly smothered by shame as she took in the woman’s weary face, drawn from years of servitude. If all went right, when this woman woke up the next day, Mary, Elle, and Althea would be gone, and she would still be among the enslaved, forced to deal with the loss of Mary’s leadership and the fallout from the Caffreys.

  Mary pleaded illness as slaves began crowding around seeking direction. It was something she had never done before, and she was then besieged by offers of home remedies and names of root women who could charm her well.

  When they could finally get away from the kitchen, they snuck up the back stairs to Susie’s closet.

  “You’re about the same size,” Elle whispered as she pulled out a muted brown dress and the matching hat, which had a veil on the front that would partially obscure Mary’s face.

  “Why do we need that?” Mary asked as Elle thrust the pile of clothing into her hands.

  “Because you’re the closest thing to a white lady we’ve got, once you’re dressed up in this finery. We’re leaving by coach, with the other partygoers. No one will notice us in the traffic.”

  That’s what Elle hoped, but she didn’t need to share any doubts just then.

  “You don’t think we’re courting enough danger tonight?” Mary demanded in hushed tones. “We was just gonna creep through the forests.”

  “The forests are full of drunken soldiers looking for trouble and slavers looking for money. The safest way is by the road, with Ben driving us.”

  They snuck out behind the house, near the stables but out of sight, where they waited for Althea. Elle had stolen a pot of ink, paper, and quill as they left, and she now sat on a fallen log and assiduously wrote down the most important details that would have to get to Pinkerton and Lincoln if she didn’t.

  Althea ran up to them, tears tracking down her rounded cheeks.

  “Where’s Ben?” Mary asked as she began removing her dress. Althea would help her dress, providing the same service Mary had provided to the women of the household for all these years. Althea began to help Mary automatically, although her hands were shaking and she sniffled.

  “He . . . he changed his mind at the last minute. He said Master Dix needed him, and it would be wrong of him to leave.”

  Elle wanted to scream at this fresh evidence of how complex and insidious the institution of slavery was, but their personal situation had just grown much more complicated.

  “Who will drive the coach?” Mary asked, turning to Elle. She seemed to enjoy relinquishing her role as commander of the house slaves, finally able to let someone else make the tough decisions.

  “First, I have to get this to Timothy, then I have to get Malcolm,” she said, although she had no idea where he was or how she would free him. She just knew that she would. Maybe Timothy would help her, Timothy who was only slightly taller than her....

  “But that doesn’t answer who’s going to drive,” Mary snapped.

  Althea stopped working and stared. “You can talk?”

  Elle carefully folded her letter and turned to face Althea.

  “I can,” she said, then turned to Mary. “And I will.” They both looked over at her with wide eyes. “We have to figure out a meeting spot. And if you smell smoke once you’re there, don’t run off.”

  CHAPTER 23

  There were only two truths for Malcolm McCall: that the Union must be preserved and that he would love Ellen Burns forever. He was sure she would have chided him for waiting until he had only hours to live to say such a thing, but she would have done it with a pleased smile. He hoped he’d have the chance to tell her, but the fact that he was manacled in Senator Caffrey’s cellar didn’t bode well for that outcome.

  The handcuffs that bound Malcolm’s wrists in front of him were much too small, and the chain that traveled from the cuffs to the floor was much too short.

  “The former owner used these on his women,” the senator had said as he watched one of the soldiers who had hustled Malcolm to the cellar turn the key. “I thought they’d come in handy one day, but I certainly didn’t have you in mind.”

  Malcolm had struggled with the cuffs for the last half hour, and now sat panting with exertion in the darkness, wrists burning and chain still secured tightly to the ground. His hands were insensate, like two dead fish at the end of his arms.

  Malcolm sighed, wincing from the pain in his side where one of the lummoxes had kicked him in the ribs. He prodded it gently with his fingers: not broken, but maybe fractured.

  He’d lived a good life, had helped the Union to the best of his abilities, and would die in service to his country, although the story behind his downfall was much less exciting than he’d hoped it would be. He’d been blinded by his own preconceptions of a helpless Southern belle.

  He’d initially been buoyed by the look of determination on Elle’s face as he pass
ed her in the hall, but now he knew how selfish that had been. He hoped she’d fled in the confusion after his arrest and not looked back. But then he remembered the vicious beauty of her face as she sweetly said, “Maybe we should ambush them.” He doubted she’d give him up without a fight, even if only for the Union.

  Elle.

  He tugged at his cuffs again, the pain flashing hot at his wrists and then diffusing to dull pins and needles when it reached his hands.

  He wondered what she had found, and if she’d been right about the ironclad. Dix had been there in those last blurred moments as he was hustled from Senator Caffrey’s office, and Elle had been close to the man’s side.

  The door to the cellar creaked open, the dim lighting of the hallway spilling down the cellar steps. His heart sped up with anticipation. Was it her? Where would they go after they made their escape? Would MacTavish have a safe route for them to get to Washington?

  Then a burly silhouette stepped into the doorway, and Malcolm steeled himself. This was not his Elle, but that damned annoying Rufus.

  “You know, I’ve been telling Susie for years that she was attracted to bad apples like flies to shit,” Rufus said as he descended the steps with a lantern, his barrel chest puffed out even more than Malcolm thought possible.

  Maybe he’ll pop if I poke him hard enough, Malcolm thought wryly as Rufus set the lantern down. He suspected Rufus was thinking the same thing about him.

  “Quite romantic,” Malcolm answered. “I’m sure she’ll go flying into your arms now that I’m out of the way.”

  Rufus rolled his thick neck, the lantern light dancing in his blue eyes, making them seem molten like the fires of hell. Malcolm had been in many scrapes in his time as a spy, had been arrested before, but hunched over in this dark cellar unable to even stand up straight, he felt a new sense of vulnerability. This man wanted to hurt him and there was nothing he could do but take it. Perhaps the sick acceptance that settled upon him was what Elle had felt during their first encounter.

  “I have to admit, McCall, I never took you for a man who would force himself on a woman,” Rufus said. “I knew you was an uppity bastard, and a lily-livered, treasonous son of a bitch, but now I have even more reason to dislike you.”