A Rebel Heart

by Beth White

  “He deserves to fry.”

  “Aw now, Doc’s pretty obnoxious but that’s a little harsh.”

  Wyatt snorted. “Scully, not Doc.”

  “Maybe so, but that’s for a jury of his peers to decide, not you. Kid, you’re not God. I’m not God. None of us get to decide when or where someone else dies.”

  “You hypocrite, how many people did you kill in the war?”

  Levi said as steadily as he could, “War is different. We were fighting for the rights of people who couldn’t fight for themselves.” He sucked in a breath. “And I’d do it again.”

  Wyatt was silent for so long Levi was afraid he was leaning into disaster. Finally, “This isn’t war, is it?”

  “Feels like it, I know, but it isn’t. Let me take that sap-sucker in, and Mr. Spencer will see to it he gets tried for all his crimes.”

  Scully squealed like a pig.

  “Oh, all right.” Wyatt unlocked the door from the inside. His expression was vaguely supercilious. “Didn’t you or Miss Selah have a key?”

  “Right, I’m standing here arguing with you, key in hand.”

  “Oh. Yes, sir.” Wyatt looked over his shoulder. “Well, come and get him. He’s a little damp and scared, but none the worse for the wear.”

  Levi entered the bath house and found it, as Selah had predicted, a slimy mess, the marble pool black with age and mildew. Scully was tied to a chair, gagged with a bandanna, hands and feet bound with a strong, thin cord that Levi figured Wyatt had designed and constructed himself. The knots would have made a professional kidnapper proud. Levi cut the cords around the man’s feet with his pocketknife but left his hands tied and the bandanna in place. He really didn’t want to hear anything Scully had to say right now.

  Marching him outside into the rain, Wyatt in the rear, Levi somehow felt less than victorious. Something still felt off, unfinished.

  Kidd and Beaumont both looked relieved to see him but avoided his eyes as they helped haul Scully up into the carriage by the scruff of the neck and seat of the pants.

  Prepared to walk back to the house with Wyatt, Levi held up the carriage with a hand on one of the sorrels’ bridles. “What’s wrong?”

  The two men exchanged glances.

  “You tell him,” Beaumont said.

  Doc shrugged. “Selah was here. I might or might not have told her you’re a Pinkerton agent.”

  Levi winced. “Where did she go?”

  “I don’t know,” Doc said, “but I’d give her a wide berth for a while.”

  The rain continued the rest of the afternoon, all night, and into the next morning. Selah woke in her little bed in the office cottage, feeling bruised all over.

  Her father was to be buried today, between his beloved Penelope and their little son.

  She dragged herself out of bed to wash her face and dress, then shortly after breakfast, the undertaker came from town. When the body was laid out in the parlor, Pastor Gil arrived unannounced to sit with the three sisters as neighbors came by to pay their respects and bring food. Selah found Gil’s lanky awkwardness oddly comforting, and even Joelle allowed him to hold her hand as he prayed over them. Aurora started out sitting a little aloof, as though not sure of her welcome, but Selah beckoned her close, slipping an arm around her.

  Aurora nestled into Selah’s shoulder, whispering, “I missed you both so much!”

  “I know, darling,” Selah said. “We need you too.”

  It was true. They all needed each other. At the gravesite the three of them linked arms and watched as the casket was lowered into the ground. Gil read a section of Scripture, then prayed again, and several of the Daughtrys’ former slaves—now free employees of the hotel—shoveled dirt into the grave. Something about that generous act of service soothed some of Selah’s misery, even as Charmion’s company had helped her the day before. When Joelle started singing “Nearer, My God, to Thee,” everyone joined in, concluding the simple service, then adjourned to the house for a meal.

  Selah had never felt less like eating in her life. She hardly noticed when her sisters went ahead with ThomasAnne and Grandmama, escorted by Schuyler, Gil, and Dr. Kidd. She found herself thinking half-formed prayers that would skitter off into memories bound up in recent events and slashed by fears for the future. Whether she wanted to admit it or not, the prospect of running this business without Levi was overwhelming and frightening.

  “Selah, I need to talk to you.”

  She jumped at the sound of Levi’s voice—as if he could read her thoughts—and found him right beside her, keeping pace with her slow steps. “Levi, I don’t feel much like—”

  “I know you don’t, but I’m leaving this afternoon.” He took a breath, as though he wanted to add something else, then shook his head and looked at her.

  She blinked. “Today?” On second thought, why would that be surprising? His case was solved.

  “Yes. I’m going back to Chicago. Pinkerton has asked me to come back to debrief. But I couldn’t leave without t-trying to—trying to—” He pinched his lips together, frustration evident in the hazel eyes. “I wanted to say I’m sorry.”

  “You’re—sorry?” She laughed. “You found the criminals. We’re all safe now. Everything could have been much worse. Thank you for that, by the way.” She looked at his arm, bound up in a sling to keep the weight off his shoulder.

  His lips parted as he stared at her for a moment. “You’re not angry?”

  She returned his gaze, searching for something, anything that would indicate his real feelings. If he had real feelings.

  Meanwhile, she tried to figure out how she felt. “I’m not angry,” she said truthfully. Angry didn’t cover it. Hurt, burnt, scalded was more like it. “I wish you’d told me the truth from the beginning, but I suppose I understand why you didn’t.”

  “I couldn’t,” he said, looking somewhat at a loss.

  Good. He deserved to be as at sea as she was.

  She turned and walked toward the house again.

  “Wait! Selah!” He caught her in one step, took her arm, and turned her to face him.

  She stepped back. “What?”

  His hands clenched, those clever, artistic musician’s hands that had cupped her face so tenderly. “Don’t let us part this way. If I could undo all this I would, but—no, that’s not what I mean! I j-just wish I could m-make you trust me again, m-make you—”

  “Well, that’s the thing, Levi. No matter how good you are at manipulating people, you can’t make people feel the way you want them to feel. Don’t worry about me. I’m a big girl, way past the days of mooning over lost affections. I’ll be really busy in the coming days, getting ready for Schuyler’s ridiculous party. I’ll write when I get a chance and let you know how things are going. I wouldn’t have had the courage to go into the hotel deal without your intervention.”

  This time when she walked away, Levi let her go.

  His palpable frustration provided a tiny bit of satisfaction. She hoped his regrets would keep him awake at night for quite some time to come. And if that was selfish, she’d ask for forgiveness at some later date.

  Thirty-One

  April 1, 1870

  Levi sat in Pinkerton’s anteroom, eyes closed, head back against the wall. After a sleepless two-day trip from Mississippi, his train had chugged into Chicago this morning, and he was looking forward to getting the debriefing behind him so that he could spend a few days at home in Jacksonville before his next assignment.

  A man did not quit a job when it got hard or boring or frustrating. But leaving Selah Daughtry had broken Levi in a way that getting shot at, having to sleep atop a steamship’s piano because of lack of space, and going hungry for days had never come close to.

  He still couldn’t get the image of her bruised expression out of his head. Of course she grieved her father’s brutal death. But it was more than that. He, Levi Matthew Riggins, had torn a corner off her faith—surely he didn’t have the power to destroy it completely—t
hat only a miracle of God would rebuild.

  She had changed him too. He’d never again hear a Southern accent without turning to see if it was someone he knew. He was through making judgments about people’s intentions. And he constantly caught himself thinking, I’m going to tell Selah that next time I see her—and then remembering that there wouldn’t be a next time. He had come as close to begging for forgiveness as a man ought to do, and she had slammed the door and nailed it shut. She’d told him he wasn’t going to manipulate her feelings.

  But as she’d pointed out, manipulation was part of his job. That wasn’t going to change.

  Pinkerton’s office door jerked open, and the famous detective stuck his head out. “Riggins, come in! Sorry to make you wait.”

  Levi walked over to shake hands, then sat down in one of the extra chairs.

  Pinkerton plopped down in his desk chair with his usual energy, folding his hands across his stomach. “Welcome back to civilization,” he said with a grin. “Congratulations on your work on the Mississippi Central case. I like a man who can think on his feet, improvise when necessary.”

  “Thank you, sir.”

  “I don’t hand out false commendations. You’ve earned a significant bonus with this one. Now give me your written report and let’s go over it.”

  “Yes, sir.” Levi handed over the document he’d written on the way home.

  Pinkerton looked it over and asked for a few clarifications, then laid the report down and leaned forward, elbows on the desk. “All right, Riggins, that concludes your responsibilities with that case. As I said, I’m very impressed. In fact, your last couple of cases have been closed with remarkable efficiency. I’m ready to try you in a supervisory role—perhaps in our Southern division, since you got along so well there—if you’re willing to consider moving.”

  Levi stared at Pinkerton blankly. “Supervisory? You mean sitting in an office? I don’t know, sir—I like going undercover, mingling with people, interviewing, digging things up.”

  “Of course, and you’re good at it. But I’d also like to see if you can use your head for planning and directing the top level of an investigation—sending agents out with leads, collecting and synthesizing information, keeping reports, and coordinating with this office in Chicago. I’ve been thinking for a while about opening up an office in New Orleans. You’re young, but taking your wartime service with Grierson into account, you’re also one of my most experienced agents.”

  Levi knew he should jump at this offer. It was a breathtaking opportunity, a chance to move up in a respected company, that undoubtedly would come with a significant pay raise—though salary hadn’t been mentioned yet. Still, he hesitated.

  “Could I think about it for a day or two, sir? I’d like to discuss the idea with my father.”

  Clearly not pleased, Pinkerton removed his spectacles and squinted at Levi. “I suppose so. But don’t take too long. I want to get this settled by the end of this week, and if you turn it down, I’ll need to interview other agents.”

  “Yes, sir. I’ll telegraph within the next day or two.” Levi rose, shook hands again, and left the office feeling like every kind of fool.

  He’d planned to check into a hotel and get a good night’s sleep before taking the next train down to Jacksonville. But blindsided by Pinkerton’s offer, as tired as he was, he doubted he’d be able to rest. So instead he ate lunch at Henrici’s, telegraphed his family that he’d be home tonight, and purchased a ticket to Jacksonville.

  By suppertime, he was walking in his parents’ door, being enveloped in warm and excited hugs, his injury exclaimed over, urged to sit down and rest. Later, with his belly full of Swiss steak with onion sauce, mashed potatoes, and green beans, along with his mother’s rye rolls, Levi sat back and surveyed his family with sleepy satisfaction.

  “You look like a drunken sultan about to roll off your palanquin,” his sister Anwen said, translating her remark into sign language for Ceri. “You’d better go to bed and talk to us in the morning.”

  When everyone laughed, Levi said, “I will, but first I want to tell you all about an offer Pinkerton has made me, just today. He wants to promote me to field supervisor and send me to New Orleans.”

  His mother gaped. “You mean to live? Permanently?”

  Levi nodded. “But I’m not sure I’m ready to leave Illinois.” He looked around at them all—his father smoking a pipe, reminding him of Mose Lawrence; his mother, comfortably bouncing Anwen’s eighteen-month-old Hugh on her lap, Ceri and Anwen giving one another anxious glances. How he’d missed them during the last two months. To consider parting again, especially with this new soreness in his spirit, seemed more than he could bear.

  Ceri, always sensitive to his expressions, got up and put her arms around his shoulders from behind. She laid her cheek against his.

  “Thank you, Ree,” he said, comforted.

  Ceri kissed his cheek and then calmly began to clear the plates.

  But Anwen had never been one to let Levi go unchallenged. “What kind of crazy person considers turning down such a wonderful opportunity? Those Mississippi hillbillies have softened your brain!”

  “Anwen!” admonished Mother.

  “I’ve actually gotten pretty fond of those Mississippi folk.” He glanced at his father. “Enough that I almost thought about not coming home at all.”

  Pa took the pipe out of his mouth. “You don’t say.”

  Ceri set down the plates and clapped her hands. “Levi’s got a girl,” she signed.

  He’d forgotten how good she was at lip-reading. “If I did,” he said, “she would be with me. Unfortunately this girl won’t have me.”

  “What’s wrong with her?” Anwen said in high dudgeon. “Is she blind?”

  “On the contrary, Selah is about as clear-eyed as they come. She has seen me in every possible negative light and is entirely justified in her skepticism.” Delirious from lack of sleep, Levi blinked owlishly for a moment, then abruptly got to his feet. “I’m going to bed. I’ll see you all in the morning.”

  He was asleep before his head hit the pillow.

  The next morning, he woke to full sunshine glaring through his mother’s filmy curtains that blew in the open window. Birds sang as if a new day were a glorious event to celebrate with the orchestra of nature—which in normal circumstances would be the case.

  This day brought a heavy sense that he was headed straight into a dust storm, one that would blind and suffocate him, ultimately killing any vestige of joy. Dragging himself out of bed, he washed his face, shaved, and dressed for the day. After letting his mother fill him with pancakes and enough scrambled eggs and bacon to have fed his entire cavalry unit, he spent the morning taking care of a multitude of little projects she’d been putting off since the last time he was home.

  Then he walked down to his father’s store and helped stock the produce that a farm wagon had just delivered. Talking with his father and the clerks who had taken his place when Levi went off to West Point—the standing joke being that it had taken two men to replace him—he tried not to think about the decision he was supposed to be considering.

  Then during his father’s afternoon pipe and chess break, Pa mentioned it, sending the whole question crashing round his brain again.

  Levi studied one of his knights, aware that he was about to lose this game to a master—and would have even if he hadn’t had his “head full of rocks,” as Pa liked to say. His father was good at patiently working the long game.

  And Levi needed his wisdom right now. “Pa, I’ve fallen in love with Selah Daughtry. No, let me put that more truthfully. I might have fallen at first—thought she was beautiful and brave and bright and funny—just the first impression you get when you meet someone. Then I saw her fight through hard things, remain graceful and tender, admit her faults and ask forgiveness. I saw her love her family and outsiders in practical ways, stand her ground against a bully grandmother, do her best to redeem the unredeemable. Pa, she’s not perf
ect, but I’ve grown to love her. I want to spend my life getting to know her, because I think she’ll make me a better man.”

  Pa just looked at him. Then removed Levi’s bishop. With a little grin he said, “I would be all for that. Why don’t you go and get her?”

  “She sent me away! Besides, she would never leave Daughtry House—she has enormous responsibilities to a lot of people. I could never ask her to—”

  “Son, when you saw your country falling apart around you, did you back off and let someone else deal with it? When Pinkerton gives you an assignment that seems more than you can handle, do you give up? Courage comes in a lot of different stripes, and being a man is fighting for what you want—whether that’s in war or your livelihood or matters of the heart.” Pa touched Levi’s chest with the stem of his pipe. “Did you ever consider that your lady might be a little bit afraid of you too? Maybe she’s wishing you would come back and knock down a few walls for her.” Pa shrugged. “You won’t know unless you try. Checkmate.”

  April 8, 1870

  Daughtry House

  At seven o’clock, an hour before guests were expected to arrive for the grand ball celebrating the opening of Daughtry House, Selah walked over from her bedroom in the manager’s cottage. It was a fine, clear spring evening following a day spent flitting from room to room, checking and double-checking the placement of every item of furniture, every fall of drapery, the removal of the smallest speck of dust that might mar richly polished tables and gleaming fixtures and ornaments.

  After serious thought, she had concluded that all family and staff should live off-site, leaving the five bedrooms, dining room, parlor, and library in the main house available for paying guests. Joelle and ThomasAnne shared the second bedroom in Selah’s cottage, while Wyatt took over the renovated overseer’s cabin. For the time being, Grandmama and Aurora stayed in the main house. Selah assumed they would return to Memphis after the opening party; she’d avoided discussing the subject because she had neither the time nor energy to argue with her grandmother.