by Nevada Barr
The gunman in the water was turning. Anna fought to unsnap the keeper on her holster. Rain and salt water had swelled the leather. The automatic rifle was coming up. She threw herself back, felt the water close over her, her feet rising off the bottom. Her SIG sauer broke free. Without waiting to surface she fired two shots, hoping she wouldn't blow off her own foot. Underwater, unable to see or breathe, her belt pulling her down, her legs rising buoyantly, she felt thrust back into the insane grip of the acid trip. In seconds she found the bottom, pushed off and rose out of the waves, still firing, Venus on a shell casing, she thought idiotically.
The man in the water was screaming, bent over. He yelled: "Don't shoot! Don't shoot!" not at Anna but at the man on the beach who'd gone into panic mode, spraying bullets perilously near the wounded man.
Anna neither dodged nor dove. Feet planted against the waves slamming at her back, she took careful aim at the gunman on the shore. Before she could squeeze off a round she heard the crack of gunfire. It was as if she'd been hit between the shoulder blades with a baseball bat.
Helplessly she watched as her service weapon flew out of her hands, watched it disappear beneath the sea taking its own sweet time obeying gravity's laws. She was following it, pitching forward. The man on the shore quit firing. The gunman in the ocean stopped screaming. Weather roared ever so discreetly and there was a moment of utmost peace in the world. Water engulfed her. Again the baseball bat smashed into her. Hands filled with sand; the bottom.
Anna's life retreated into the confines of her skull. The light of her mind was shrinking to a pinpoint. She was blacking out. Pass out and you die. The tiniest part of her welcomed that darkness. It seemed comforting somehow. That which has kept the human race procreating for two million years overrode it.
She concentrated on that pinpoint, willed it to grow brighter.
The light dimmed. Heavy with gear, Anna was sinking. In a last effort she tried to remember where her legs were, tried to get them beneath her, but up and down had become meaningless. With a suddenness that increased the disorientation, she felt herself being pulled. God or the devil seemed in an inordinate hurry to claim her soul.
24
It has been three days and I have begun to despair. Regardless of why Tilly was taken or left, three days on the open sea in that small boat and they would be dead of thirst unless they'd thought to bring water. Joseph has forbidden me to run out on the quay and question sailors. "Unseemly," he calls it, but I feel somehow that he is afraid for me and so I obey. What else can I do? If I continued in the face of his orders he'd simply have me confined to quarters.
Since Tilly disappeared, Joseph's metamorphosis has become complete. What he has changed into I cannot say. The fire that has always been such a part of him has gone out. Where he once raged he is now querulous. The energy that permeated him, flowed from him to ignite men's passions (and, once, mine) has failed. He sits for long periods of time doing nothing. Sometimes it's hard to rouse him.
I spend my days on the third tier of the fort. Construction on that level has stopped. The engineer says this patch of sand cannot bear any more weight. Should they continue piling brick and cannon on it the fort will sink into the sea.
I wish it would.
Sergeant Sinapp, apparently on Joseph's orders, continues to forbid me seeing Sam Arnold or Dr. Mudd. I don't even know where they've been moved, though I suspect they are separated and one is probably condemned to wait out his time in the dungeon.
Joseph promises me that each boat that docks is questioned. None have seen a small sailing skiff either afloat or wrecked.
My thoughts keep turning on Dr. Samuel Mudd and the "proof" of his innocence that Tilly--in genuine innocence--boasted of in front of the soldiers. Whether Tilly could have proved anything is no matter--except, of course, to Dr. Mudd and possibly the other conspirators. Mudd seems to have held himself aloof from them. I believe he finally severed connections entirely when he fought with Mr. Arnold the day before Tilly disappeared. What matters perhaps is only that someone believed her.
I pray to all of the saints who owe Molly a small fortune in candles that if Tilly and Joel left not of their own will but were taken, they were taken by southern sympathizers, men who believe the conspirators should be released. If this is so, Tilly will be guarded, taken care of, treated--one could hope and expect--as a heroine of the confederacy.
Because Joel was taken (or escaped) at the same time, I allow myself hope. Why take Private Lane as well unless one's sympathies were with the south? The hope is small. Too many questions assail it. Why not take Mudd/Arnold? Why take Tilly and not merely the documents--if documents exist? Perhaps because they remain buried in the magazine and Tilly will be needed to testify to their existence?
Was Tilly taken from the fort for her own safety?
I'm sorry, Peg. It is as if I had a skull full of stinging hornets. I can neither eat nor sleep from the pain and the buzzing of questions.
More has happened here than Tilly and Joel's disappearance, though my worry over them was such I didn't notice for the first days. I've told you of Joseph but not of Sinapp. It's as if he has stepped into the captaincy and allows Joseph only the title while he wields the power. It's not just I who have noticed this. There's been grumbling among the men who have been put to extra tasks: cleaning the parade ground, bricking up the ruined cisterns and clearing out the powder magazine. Once I went to the magazine in hopes of having a chance to look for the mysterious documents, but he ordered me away as if I were his laundress and not the captain's wife. I said nothing to Joseph. There would be no point as he continues to ghost about as if his soul was taken along with the children.
I cannot but feel this topsy-turvy situation is in some way connected with Tilly's disappearance. Since I have been banned from the powder magazine and forbidden to speak with Arnold or Mudd, I turned my attention to what I might discover in my own house. Again I searched Tilly's room, looking this time for less obvious things. On her windowsill I found a broken bit of brick. There is certainly no shortage of this commodity on the island, but it has none of the charm of the pretty stones and shells she was in the habit of carrying up to her room. The only reason I can think that she might have such a bit of masonry is that it was thrown through her window, no doubt with the note wrapped around it that enticed her to put on her soiled dress of the day before and sneak out of quarters. The only message that could have induced her to do such a thing would have been from Joel or Dr. Mudd. As the latter is the only one remaining, I am ever more determined to speak with him.
Joseph keeps his desk locked. This is not new. I believe he locks it not because the correspondence of a prison warden--and that is what he has become though it shames me to say it in so many words--pertains to matters of such delicacy it must be secured, but because, having been left out of the war, he needs to pretend to himself, and, perhaps, to me, that his work is of national importance.
A month ago I would not have dared it--indeed it would have been unthinkable--but I put a letter opener under the top and pried until the lock popped free of its latch. Joseph will see it is broken and will no doubt know that it was I who broke it. In this strange mood that's taken him, I don't think he will say anything. Among his letters I found one that was of interest though of no relevance to my present worries. Joseph has put in for a transfer to a small post in the west, in the Nevada territory. With the war over and the army letting men go, closing forts or leaving them with a skeleton garrison to man them, this is not a good time for a move. Should Joseph get this transfer, he will keep his captaincy but the pay will be that of a second lieutenant.
Joseph is running from something. From Sinapp, I think, though I cannot guess why. I believe Sinapp has found a weapon with which to threaten Joseph.
Reading the transfer papers, the in-all-but-name demotion, the remoteness of the post, the small number of soldiers stationed there, I knew that, should Joseph flee to this place that--surely not forsaken by God,
but forsaken by water, green plant life and human beings not well-armed--I will not go with him.
This is not the first time I've ever thought of leaving Joseph, but it is the first time I knew I would really do it; knew it would be forever. How long I sat at my husband's desk, more stunned by than thinking about the ramifications of this, I do not know. I'd not gotten through all the letters when I heard Joseph downstairs.
More accurately, I heard Luanne speaking to "Master Coleman"--she's not yet accustomed herself to "mister." Joseph customarily enters like a stallion chased by the wind, much clatter and fuss. Now he creeps about like the cats he so detests.
Joseph mightn't say anything about my trespass, but once he found the broken lock, anything of interest would be removed. I put the unread letters in my pocket and returned to my bedroom window and my sewing before he reached the top of the stairs. I've become a sneak and a spy. I've planned to abandon my marriage and taken up thieving. If Tilly were here we would laugh at my fall from grace. As it is no one seems to laugh now. Least of all me.
For what remained of the afternoon Joseph sat at his desk in the hall. He must have known I was in our room, but he neither came in nor spoke to me. So still was he several times I went to the door and checked to see if he'd gone. He was just sitting there. If he was working I couldn't tell at what. I pretended to sew until it grew too dark to see, then lit the lamps and pretended to read, waiting till it was late enough I could go to bed and pretend to sleep.
Recent events and the unease in our rooms have infected even Luanne. Just before eight she tiptoed up to see if we wanted a cold supper since I had made no plans with her earlier. With the burden of pretense I'd already taken on, I couldn't bear to pretend to eat, and I sent her away. It occurred to me to ask her to bring something up to Joseph, but at that moment I cared so little for him even this small kindness--or, rather, duty--was beyond me.
After nine I deemed it late enough to go to bed and took the lamp to Tilly's room. Joseph was no longer at his desk. I've taken to sleeping in Tilly's room these last nights. Joseph says nothing and it comforts me to be among her things. I suppose I hope she'll come climbing back through the window one night, flushed and laughing from her adventure.
I didn't undress or lie down but sat in the dark by the window, watching the parade ground empty and go dark. Around midnight I heard Joseph come in and go to our room. Again he never sought me out and I didn't go to him. The longer I sat there the more I knew I couldn't go on doing nothing. Finally I gave up trying. Downstairs I took britches and a shirt belonging to Joseph from Luanne's laundry bag and, back in Tilly's room, put them on.
Melodramatic and absurd as I felt disguising myself, it was necessary. In our tiny world, populated almost exclusively by men, if I were to go outdoors in the middle of the night except to visit the privy I would be noticed. I would not have passed muster for a man if anyone were to study me. I cannot say what it was. As you know I am not made as womanly as you are, and my face has been coarsened by wind and weather over the years, but it was abundantly clear I was a sheep in wolf's clothing. Two thoughts bolstered my courage. One was that in the hive of men, no one would notice one more, however peculiar, and in the middle of the night, I might well never even be seen. The other thought was, should I be found out and returned to Joseph either in person or by report, the sheer effrontery and outlandishness of my crime might shake him into a semblance of his former self.
My years here were not wasted. I've seen the watches change nearly a thousand times, heard the hours called. I know where the soldiers sleep and hide, gamble and drink. Having sneaked successfully out of the officers' quarters, I crossed to the unfinished casemates behind the half-built enlisted men's quarters. No one is housed there, prisoner or soldier. There is also no hope of light at night, the new barracks having now grown high enough to block out what the stars provide.
Feeling my way by inches, I came around the parade ground to the sally port and guardroom. I didn't like to risk passing this one place where I could be assured men were on duty and, in all probability, awake--though the country is no longer at war, sleeping on guard duty is still punishable by death. I have noticed officers stomping and whistling when they approach a sentry station at an unexpected hour simply to avoid the possibility of finding the man asleep.
My only other alternative had been to follow the southern side of the parade ground and so avoid the guardhouse altogether. But that is where a bulk of the men and prisoners are housed.
Feeling patently absurd and frightened nearly half to death, I chose to cross the parade ground beneath the hanging trees. Since Sergeant Sinapp's "coming to power" those trees have not stood fallow but are always full of their dreadful harvest. The men tied, their wrists bound behind their backs and ropes thrown over the branches, would be too stupefied by a day without sufficient water and more than sufficient suffering to pay much attention to me and, should they call out, their cries would go unanswered by the guards.
Seven men dangled in the night branches. Joseph is a proponent of corporal punishment--it's necessary to retain order with men--but always ends the punishment at sunset. Twelve hours a day is not adequate for the cruelties Sinapp feels compelled to commit.
As I passed, several men roused themselves to call out for water, but I kept my face turned away and only walked faster. Fear kept me from feeling the guilt that assails me now for refusing this small service. At the time I was so terrified their pathetic croaks did little more than make me hurry on.
It's odd that I was so much more afraid than I had been the night Tilly and I went out before our theatrical evening to see who screamed so achingly. Partly it was that I was alone this time--I have been horribly alone since Tilly disappeared. Partly I think it was that Fort Jefferson no longer feels safe. With Joseph's protection removed and Sergeant Sinapp having his way in everything, I believe I could come to harm. Mostly, though, it was fear of the humiliation I would suffer were I discovered out adventuring at night in my husband's soiled clothing. One might think it would be a little thing, but it was not.
Safely (if cravenly) past the sally port I slipped back into the darkness beneath the casemates and made my way toward the southeastern bastion and the dungeon. In the absolute darkness behind these thick walls I had to make my way by touch. With light to see by the trip is short. Without it, I believed I might go on forever, feeling the ends of my fingers growing raw from trailing over rough walls.
So much time seemed to pass I thought I'd surely missed the dungeon. When I finally came into the vaulted area where it is located, I knew it by the change in the sounds my feet made shuffling across the brick. What had been close, furtive noises became amplified and scared me before I realized I was still the only one making them. And there was the smell of fresh mortar and brick dust where the men had been sealing up the entrance to the cisterns beneath this section of the battlements.
There is a small barred window in the dungeon's door--the kind in the ink drawings that used to give us delicious shudders when we were children, the kind through which the hero sees the ogre. By standing on tiptoe I could get my mouth to the opening. At first I could make no sound. Fear and silence and a day where I spoke to no one but those few words to Luanne robbed me of my voice. When I finally managed to whisper Dr. Mudd's name it sounded like a shout in my sensitized ears and frightened me into a few more moments of speechlessness. After that, not knowing what to expect, I kept repeating his name.
No response came for the longest time and I began to fear this whole masquerade had been for nothing, that Dr. Mudd had been moved again and the dungeon stood empty. I suppose I would have given up and gone away, but I had no other plan so I stayed whispering and calling far longer than a sane woman might have.
My persistence was rewarded. From inside the cell a light was struck, just a flint then a candle, to my wide eyes it was a conflagration. For a minute lights swam and starred. The candle was held up and I saw I had indeed found Dr. Mudd.
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Despite his straightened circumstances--if being reduced from a cell with little light to one with no light and a bed of wooden planks to a stone floor can be dignified with the term "circumstances"--the doctor slept in nightshirt and cap. With his one blanket thrown around his shoulders for modesty he managed, but for the cap, to look almost dignified.
I introduced myself. The look of disapproval that screwed up his lips--or so I imagined, all I saw of it was the twitching of his overlong mustache--made me glad he couldn't see the rest of me. Once he'd grasped I was a woman in flesh and not a dream or ghost, he asked me to look away. When I looked back he was dressed even to his coat and shoes.
Having nothing to lose, as there are few at the fort more powerless and ignorant than I, and nothing to fear from him as a bolted door stood between us, I told him I'd found the notes he'd sent summoning Tilly.
"You sent her a note the night she disappeared, Dr. Mudd. It was wrapped around a bit of broken brick and thrown through her open window. She has been gone for more than three days. You must tell me why you asked her to your cell in the night and where you have sent her."
He turned from me like a man gazing out of a window but he had only brick and more brick to look at. I was close to a screaming fit. I could see myself shaking the bars, shrieking like a madwoman, as guards with torches pounded down the passages to find me. Had I been able to unlock the prison door I believe I would have, just to feel my fists strike Dr. Mudd's face.
Fortunately he turned back before I lost my wits. "Where is she?" I demanded.
"I don't know."
"You sent her the notes," I said.
"Some of them, yes. Not the last one."
