“In the theatre?”
George nodded, but then remembered they couldn’t see him well in this gloom. “Yes. I was at the play. Saw Booth jump down onto the stage and run out the back. I tried to catch him, but he took off on a horse before I could.”
One of the men let out a low whistle. “Yeah, that explains it then. They’ve brought in everyone who might have anything to do with it or know anything at all. And they ain’t letting anyone go until Booth is caught.”
George groaned. “What if they never catch him?”
The one on the right pushed his face through the bars. “They’ll get him. Every soul in the nation is looking for that Rebel scum.”
“Rebel?” George snorted. “I thought he was a Yank.”
Both men grew quiet. Finally, when one of them spoke, there was steel in his voice that hadn’t been there before. “You fight in the war?”
Something told George to be cautious in his answer, but his ability to care much about anything seemed to be malfunctioning at the moment. “I did. Mississippi infantry.”
“Dirty rotten…” one of them began cursing.
George just kept talking as if the other were not even there. “I fought in a dozen battles, at least, and I don’t know how many skirmishes, then I was sent to prison in Elmira for the crime of defending my home against soldiers who would as soon murder my family in their beds and burn my lands than simply leave us alone.”
“You ignorant traitors and all your talk of rights,” one of the men said with a growl.
George ignored him. “Then, after it all, after losing two of my brothers and my father in a hopeless endeavor, I betrayed all of it and signed oath papers to the North. Now, I am a traitor to my own country…” He pressed his face against the bars, baring his teeth. “And a loyalist to yours. One who, I might add, tried to warn you Yanks about a plot to take your precious Lincoln and who desperately tried to stop that from happening. Even after, when I could have simply gone home and left you fools to your folly, I stayed and came to the law, trying to do everything in my power to see that Booth was caught and brought to justice.” He snarled. “Fat lot of good it did me.”
The other two men stared at him for a long time until finally George sighed and dropped his head back against the wall. He closed his eyes and tried to picture Lilly’s face, hoping the way her rosy lips curved would chase away the demons that threatened to claw at him.
“So what did you know, then?” one of them asked, so softly that George almost didn’t hear him.
“Don’t talk to the Rebel, Sam.” The other spat out the word as if it were rotten meat.
Sam grunted. “Rebel, Yank, does it really matter? War’s over anyway. And he signed papers. Said he was loyal now.”
“He was in the army that killed Jimmy!”
“Yeah,” Sam said. “And we were with the army that killed his kin. Don’t see how that makes much matter now, seeing as how we are all in this prison together. Union prison, I might add.”
“While they search for a Reb!”
George watched them closely, as best he could in the shadows, anyway, and realized they were younger than he’d first assumed.
“You said you worked in a stable? Why would that get you here?” George asked, breaking into their argument.
Somewhere down the line, someone whistled a haunting tune. George shifted so that he could see better. They were all the way at the very end of this row. He wondered if there were many other people nearby.
The two boys stopped bickering. “When we came back home, we started back to work at the stables. We’d gone out to help the cavalry, seeing as how horses are what we’ve known all our lives.”
“And they said we were too young to fight,” the other interjected.
“Yeah, like Bob said. Anyway, when Lee surrendered, they started sending us back home. We were working at the stables, and apparently Mr. Pumphrey had words with Booth over one of his horses. Man wanted to buy one, and Mr. Pumphrey didn’t agree on the price.”
George’s brows knitted. “I don’t understand. What does any of that have to do with why you two boys are locked in here?”
Sam chuckled. “You ain’t the only one, mister. But they think maybe Mr. Pumphrey is lying about when he saw Booth or something, because they kept asking us all these questions about where Mr. Pumphrey was, who he talked to, things like that. I don’t think he was lying, and I sure don’t think anything we had to say was worth much, but we’re in here, just the same.”
George didn’t have time to contemplate the oddity because a barrage of shouts galloped down the hall and pilfered their attention. George lurched to his feet, pressing the side of his face to the cold bars and tried to see down the hall. The sound seemed to be coming from some distant part of the prison.
“They’ve been doing that on and off for the last two days,” Sam said.
Bob whistled. “Yeah, they must have someone pretty bad over there, way they keep carrying on about it.”
“Why is the traitor going free?”
One of the shouts separated itself from the herd and sailed over the others. George looked back at the two Yankee boys and from this angle could now see that there were a couple of women in the cell next to the boys, their worried eyes darting around in the gloom.
The sight of them chilled his blood. The Yanks had sunk to imprisoning women now? Fire stoked in his gut as the calls around the bend brought more faces from the shadows and into his view. Most on this hall were men, but George counted at least four feminine silhouettes before he could no longer distinguish anything in the murky light.
“What’s happening?” A male voice called out from a few cells down.
George clenched the bars, the bite of the cold metal stark against his sweaty palms.
“Seems like they have a Rebel woman down there no one wanted to be around,” came a reply.
There were a bunch of grunts of agreement, but none called out in the manner those from the other side did. George scratched his head. How many on his wing had heard his conversation with the boys? Would they start jeering him, too?
“Looks like some people came and got her out!” a voice shouted from the middle of the hall. From what George could tell, the people were relaying the information down the line.
“Maybe she was one of them! The traitors who murdered the president,” another voice offered, this one probably only a cell or two removed from George.
“That was just Booth,” Sam said with a snort. “Everyone knows that.”
“Then why are they holding so many people?” another man bellowed. His question silenced the others.
They stood there listening for several moments as bits of the jeers and clamor reached their ears. Finally, the sounds faded and the despondent silence settled on them again.
“Whoever she was, the people on the east side sure didn’t seem to like her,” Bob said.
“Sure enough,” Sam agreed. “Must have been pretty bad.”
They are holding women. The single thought bounded around in George’s head as he stumbled back to his cot, ignoring the boys across the hall as they came up with wilder and wilder tales about who the woman was and what she might have done.
If the Yanks were holding women, then Annabelle Ross was in danger. He swallowed the lump gathering in his throat. Matthew would never forgive him if they threw Annabelle in this place. George had insisted they come to the law—insisted they not waste a moment in sharing what they knew.
When he’d found Matthew with Annabelle in his arms, he’d patted his brother on the shoulder, glad his brother had finally been truthful with his emotions. They would be able to sort out the details of it later. George had tugged on them both, bringing them back out into the damp air and into a night crackling with as much energy as any battle. He had been the one to convince them to go to the police.
It had been the right thing to do. Hadn’t it? Now, he wasn’t so sure. He never dreamed he would be putting the lady at ris
k of imprisonment. Those Blue Bellies and their blind drive toward their goal had cost this country too much already. Now they would throw women in jail just because they might have information on a missing man? Barbaric!
George rubbed at his throbbing temples. If they had locked her in here, Matthew would go mad. He’d never seen his brother look at another woman the way he regarded Miss Ross, and if George didn’t know his brother’s fierce protectiveness, then he didn’t know his own name.
Finally the two boys across from him fell silent, leaving the only noise a haunting tune one of the prisoners whistled down the line. George rolled over on his back and stared at the ceiling, praying that Annabelle and Matthew were not trapped in Hades dungeon with him.
“But the assassin—Savior—is being pursued. If he takes the road planned out, he will certainly escape.”
John Surratt
Annabelle walked into the National Hotel with her head ducked, afraid that at any moment someone would snatch her out of Grandmother’s grasp and haul her back to prison. She shuddered, and Grandmother pulled Annabelle tighter against her widow’s blacks. Peggy trailed along behind them, and Annabelle could practically feel the tension rolling off her.
Grandmother must have felt the same, because she bustled through the lobby faster than Annabelle had ever seen the lady move. It seemed as though they had traveled miles before finally making it up the massive main staircase, down the carpeted hall, and into Annabelle’s room. The door fell closed with a click before she felt as though she could draw a full breath.
Everything stood exactly as she had left it that night they had gone to the play. Her combs were still sitting on the vanity from where Peggy had pinned her hair in the coiffure with the braids wrapped around her head. Braids that had long since fallen and had been worked through with trembling fingers.
Oh, her pins. What had happened to the pins? Annabelle reached up and prodded the messy bun tied at the back of her head. “Only loose women go about with their hair free,” Father had said. No. She didn’t want that.
Peggy reached up and grabbed Annabelle’s wrists, gently tugging her hands down from her hair. “There, there, Miss Belle. Don’t you be worryin’. I’ll get that hair fixed up for you real nice once we get you bathed and into a clean gown.”
Annabelle looked down at the blood stains on her white sleeve. “Oh, dear. I think this one is ruined.”
Grandmother placed a hand on Annabelle’s shoulder and gave it a squeeze. “I’m so terribly sorry, dear. I got you out of there as fast as I could.”
Annabelle looked at the moist eyes of her elder and offered a wobbly smile. “I am deeply thankful, Grandmother. I do not know how much longer I could have taken it. To think poor George endured….” Her eyes widened in horror as guilt flooded her heart. “Grandmother! Where are Matthew and George?”
Grandmother fiddled with the black fringe on the sleeve of her dress. “I was not able to get George free. There is still that matter of his oath papers, you see.”
Annabelle blinked. “What does that have to do with Lincoln’s assassination?”
She dropped the fringe and turned frustrated eyes on Annabelle. “Apparently, quite a lot. There is talk of holding him for war crimes, since he escaped prison.”
“But he…he…” She stomped her foot. “Insufferable Yankees!”
Her outburst startled both of the other women, making Peggy yelp and drop the clean stockings she had been fishing out of Annabelle’s trunk and Grandmother take a step back.
“Annabelle!”
Grandmother’s shocked tone drew Annabelle back to her senses, and she placed a trembling hand on her heart. “Forgive me. I did not mean to shout.”
Grandmother stared at Annabelle a moment, curiosity flitting across her wrinkled features before compassion settled in its place. “Come, let’s get you cleaned up, then we can discuss my plans for seeing George freed.”
Annabelle dipped her chin and allowed Grandmother to slip the embroidered jacket from her shoulders. “And Matthew?”
“Well, it would seem the good Captain is currently assisting the Federal Army in apprehending Mr. Booth.”
Annabelle let Grandmother’s words settle on her like the heat of a Mississippi July. “He’s doing what, now?” Try as she might, she couldn’t reconcile Matthew donning Yankee Blues. “Surely you must be mistaken.”
“Nope,” Peggy chimed in, laying a fresh cream gown and two lavender petticoats across the bed. “That’s exactly what he be doin’.”
Annabelle stepped out of her skirt. Matthew with the Union Army? What on earth would have caused him to do that? “I’m afraid I don’t understand.”
Peggy slipped past her and cracked open the door. “I’s goin’ down to the kitchen to fetch you a bucket of hot water so we can get you cleaned up.”
“Thank you,” Annabelle murmured as Peggy slipped through the door, leaving Annabelle standing in her chemise and pantaloons alone with Grandmother.
Grandmother tisked, turning to go make sure Peggy had gotten out all of the necessary garments. “It’s a good thing I already sent for Lilly. Gracious, we would never be able to make it on so few remaining clothes.”
“Lilly’s coming?”
“Of course, dear. Who else would bring the rest of my things?”
Annabelle’s brow began to furrow, but Grandmother dropped the gown with a sigh and returned to take Annabelle’s hand. “We can’t leave. That is part of the deal I was able to make with William. They finally agreed to let you out of that awful prison, on account of my personal relations with city officials and my husband’s good reputation, but neither of us can leave the city under any circumstances unless the Washington police say so.”
Annabelle wrapped her arms around herself and plopped onto her dressing chair. “So we are to stay at the hotel, George remains in prison, and Matthew is aiding the search?”
“That sums it up, dear, yes.”
Oh, poor George. As cruel as they had been to her, she could only imagine what they must be doing to George. She pinched the bridge of her nose. “We have to get George out of there.”
“Yes, I know. But, unfortunately, until his papers arrive from Elmira, there is little we can do.”
Annabelle groaned. “I doubt that major will be in any hurry to deliver them.” She remembered the way his face had reddened and the tight grip he’d had on her elbow when he’d all but tossed her out. No doubt by now he’d discovered she’d been lying about her relation to George. Her heart hammered. What if her lie had somehow caused them to deny George’s allegiance papers?
Oh, Lord. Forgive me. Help me to keep my words true. And, please, don’t let my foolishness bring George harm.
“Then it’s a good thing I already sent Gunter to collect them and bring them with him when he escorts Lilly to Washington.” Grandmother grinned.
Relief flooded Annabelle like a wave. “Oh, Grandmother! You’re simply brilliant.”
“Yes, dear. I know.”
The twinkle of humor in her grandmother’s eyes made Annabelle chuckle, something that felt extremely good, given her last few days in the Old Capitol Prison. “I’m still having a difficult time understanding how Matthew ended up with the Union Army. He’s not exactly…warm-hearted toward the Union.”
Grandmother quirked a single eyebrow in that funny way she had. “Seems to me like you might be harboring some of those same sentiments.”
Heat crept up Annabelle’s neck. “You wouldn’t believe what they called me in there. I’ve never seen such looks of pure hatred.”
Indignation sapped the humor from Grandmother’s eyes. “I heard plenty.”
Annabelle rubbed at the stiff muscles in her neck. “I know they are hurting, and they needed someone to blame for them being stuck in prison, but, gracious, I didn’t think it would be me.”
Grandmother patted her shoulder. “I am shocked they are holding so many. How many people do they really think are involved?”
Annabel
le remembered Matthew telling her O’Malley had said that group had fingers in everything. She shuddered. “I really don’t know. Maybe it is the smart thing to do, to keep anyone from getting away that might be secretly aiding him. Even if I do think they may have taken the idea too far.”
“Too far, indeed.” Grandmother huffed.
There was a small tap at the door, and Grandmother crossed the room to open it for Peggy. The woman swept in with a swish of pale green silk, her freedwoman’s clothes still unfamiliar to Annabelle. Peggy lifted up a bucket with a smile. “Good news. I done told some of the girls in the kitchen about you, and they’s bringing up more water for a real bath.”
Annabelle had to smile at Peggy’s enthusiasm. The dear woman thought that all of Annabelle’s problems could be solved with warm water and scented soap. Her smile faltered when she thought back to the girl she had been before the war. So petty, so absorbed in her own comforts and whims to notice the truth of plantation life.
Things had seemed so simple to her then. The slaves were never anything they talked about. They were just always there, tending, cleaning, and caring for things. And Peggy. Peggy had always loved her as any mother would, even though her father had owned Peggy as if she was simply property.
The day Annabelle had received word of his death, she’d officially freed Peggy and the two remaining stable hands whom Grandfather had threatened to the point they no longer dared escape. He’d been furious with her when he’d come home to see that she’d signed their freedom papers and let them go.
“You all right, child?”
Peggy’s words plucked Annabelle from her contemplation and drew her back to the present. “Why did you stay, Peggy?”
Peggy tilted her head. “What you talkin’ about?”
“When the rest of your people ran off, or when I signed your papers. Everyone else went. You didn’t. Why?”
Peggy dropped to a squat in front of Annabelle and grabbed her hands. “I weren’t goin’ to leave my girl.”
She said it so firmly, with such conviction, that it brought tears to Annabelle’s eyes. “Thank you.”
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