by Angela Lee
She responded in kind, “Because we are a woman and a child! Look around you. These are a woman’s quarters, private and clean. There is a bed and a wash basin. These are luxuries the men do not share. My punishment will most likely be merciful. Not so for you. You are a man. A southern man. A political candidate at that. No matter the punishment, the stain of this would devastate your campaign. There is no reason for you to risk this.”
“Why do you risk this, Pan? Are you a secessionist?”
She sighed and shook her head, “Of course not. I am a physician. I committed my life to help others who are in need. It’s not right for those men to be held captive without ministering to their afflictions.” Pan sighed, “No, that’s not the truth. Fin, I learned about the prisoners not getting care and I figured out a way to help. So, I did. There is no heroic effort here. No amazing story of humanitarianism. Just an impulsive girl who risked everything. And lost.” She frowned, “My decisions may never make sense or be ideal. You need to stop involving yourself with me.” They sat in confused and angry silence.
Fin closed the distance between them. He grasped her by the shoulders and stared at her. He was frazzled and breathing hard, “Pan, I don’t know what all this is, what you are involved in or why. I don’t care. I am in love with you. I have felt this for you since I saw you fighting that coffee grinder. I think of you every minute of the day. I think of a future with you. Why do you insist that a life shared between us would be flawed? Why won’t you trust that I will understand? I want a life with you. Damnit, I want to marry you. I’ll walk away from this campaign if it means not losing you. I want to support you in your quest to heal the downtrodden and impoverished of the city in any way I can. I’ll carry your bag on your calls if you’ll allow it. Just allow it!”
Pan was stunned. The nausea she had felt earlier had subsided into some undefined thing that was manifesting itself as a twitching of her entire body. Even her ears seemed to be ringing. Her head was shaking back and forth though the word “No” did not surface. When she did speak it came out in a surge of anger and anguish, words racing.
“I cannot be your wife. I was wrong to accept in the first place. You’ve seen yourself that even in the most basic sense I will not suit. I forget names and faces. I violate most etiquette rules on an hourly basis. I have little tolerance for society events and gossip. I don’t dress like a society wife or act like one. I would embarrass you.”
Frustrated tears stung her eyes and cascaded down her cheeks. “If all of that were not enough, there are the bigger flaws in my character. How soon after you start carrying my medicine bag will news spread that Fionne Weathers is aiding rebels? Look around,” she threw her arms up and waved them emphatically. “I am incarcerated. Will you wait for me while I serve my prison sentence? How quickly will you lose support in your campaign from everyone who fears the repercussion of being aligned again with secession? If you walk away from politics, there’s still your business to consider. And the businesses of your family. You could be imprisoned; you could hang for treason. How soon after marrying me would the danger in this no longer make sense? How soon before you resent me for all that I will have cost you?”
“Pan, hear me,” Fin said pulling her to him. “I love you. Let me help you.”
“Please stop this. Let me go. I could never be what you need. I release you from our engagement,” she said quietly. She walked to the corner of the room and stood with her back to him.
Chapter Thirty-Three
Fin stepped out of the room and stood with his back to the door. The ringing in his ears had begun the moment that Pan had been dragged into Burns’ office and had ebbed and flowed since. It was now at an obliterating roar within his skull. She had dismissed him as she had done all those times before with her indifferent cards and reluctant words. This time she had done it with silence. She had walked to the corner of her cell and refused to turn back to him, had refused to say another damned word.
Fin rubbed his chest. Another boulder. This one was different. The impact from this one was crushing him.
Fin took the stairs down more frustrated than when he had climbed up. The stubborn woman refused to help herself. He had realized amid the office brawl that she had been removed from the room. His pause had given the soldiers enough time to restrain him. They had bound him to a chair in Burns’ office. Burns raged at Fin’s audacity to spar with federal soldiers in his office. No woman was worth incarceration, had Weathers lost his senses?
Fin had sat stoically for a quarter of an hour suffering the tirade while trying to formulate a plan. The politician spent the next hour attempting to convince the Union commander of the merits of releasing the daughter of a respected doctor; the positive response that it would provoke from the citizens, even allowing them insight to the fact that Pan was providing healthcare for the imprisoned soldiers. Burns probably suspected his relationship to Pan, but Fin omitted the engagement for fear of making things worse.
Burns refused to budge. It took another hour for Fin to beg leave to speak with her only to have her dismiss him. Fin had no idea what he would do but he knew the clock was ticking. Burns could send her off to Ship Island or, even worse, decide on a swift hanging. He hoped Pan had been right in her assumption that she would probably be granted leniency as a respectable woman.
Fin’s thoughts were hitting brick walls as he descended the three flights of stairs. He didn’t bother returning to Burns, he felt his best bet was to find his uncles. Maybe one of them would have a solution.
Within two hours, every adult male in the Villere clan had gathered in the family library. “We need Trevigne,” Alex offered.
“Don’t be daft. If he publishes this, Fionne’s campaign is dead in the water,” Uncle Bruno grunted.
Fin pounded an angry fist against the wall, “I don’t give a damn about the seat. Panacea is all that matters. We need to get her freedom. She’s done nothing wrong.”
Uncle Alexandre gave him a sharp look, “Nothing?”
“She’s a doctor, not a traitor. And certainly, no rebel. She was treating those soldiers. She’s been doing more for this city and our people than any of us. Not long-ago Alex and St. Luc were sitting in jail cells. She deserves help.”
“Agreed. But let’s keep our heads about this,” his uncle continued, “Throwing away your candidacy is not the best solution.”
Fin paced in frustration and argued, “It’s been six hours since her arrest. We have to move faster.”
The family butler stepped into the library, and headed directly for Fin. “Sir, Mademoiselle Hebe is here. She says she must speak to you.”
“This isn’t the time. Give her my apologies,” Fin responded and then resumed talking with his family. “We need to figure out who the damned bread woman is. Burns was fixated on it.”
The butler persisted, “I tried, sir. However, the lady says,” the servant was cut off mid-sentence by the lady herself.
“The lady says it’s urgent,” came Hebe’s drawl from the doorway. “Forget the baker. I know how to free your doctor.”
Chapter Thirty-Four
Hours later, Pan found herself being escorted down the stairs by a guard she did not know. She was led back into Burns’ office for what she guessed would be her first round of interrogation. What she found inside was unexpected. Five Catholic priests stood inside the room. Burns stood behind his desk, looking uncomfortable. In front of him, garbed in the telltale red cloak of ordained hierarchy was the Bishop of New Orleans territory.
The Bishop turned toward her as she entered, he nodded an acknowledgement.
“Good evening, Father,” she responded.
“I trust that this young woman has not been harmed while in your custody?” The holy man’s question was directed toward Burns though he kept his eyes trained on Pan. Understanding that he wanted her answer as well, she nodded shakily that she had not been hurt.
“Bishop, we have treated the lady as a guest,” Burns answered defensively.
“Do you often lock your house guests into their rooms?” The sound of Fin’s deep voice forced Pan’s head backward. He was walking briskly into the already crowded office. Another look at Burns revealed that the Union leader had begun to sweat and fidget. Clearly a room full of consecrated men was not usual for him.
The Bishop continued, “General, let me be candid. I did not only come to verify this young woman’s wellbeing. I came to negotiate her release.”
Burns sputtered, “That’s not possible. With all due respect, this woman was caught colluding with imprisoned rebel soldiers. We have proof that she has been carrying messages to outsiders. We will be able to prove that she has been indeed spying for the rebellion.”
The Bishop responded evenly, “I believe you are mistaken. I understand that this woman is a physician, trained by her father, who is a world-renowned surgeon. She follows the Christian dictate of caring for the sick.”
“Even if we could dismiss sneaking into the prison quarters for medical purposes. Father, she has a notebook full of contacts. We believe she delivers messages from the prisoners. I could not discount that. That alone is treason.”
“The notebook of contacts is proof of treason,” the Bishop reiterated.
“I believe so,” the general said with confidence.
The Bishop bowed his head a moment in thought. Burns seemed to relax and threw his shoulders back with confidence. The Bishop looked at the priest to his left and then back at Burns before speaking, “Then you will have to arrest me as well. I, too, have knowledge of the notebook and its contents.” Pan gasped involuntarily. The other priests were silent but looked alarmed. Burns and the soldier that had escorted her both appeared even more tense than they had before.
“I’m not sure I understand,” Burns said.
“Miss Fontenot shares the contents of the notebook with the church. I am party to her actions, or as you have deemed them, her crimes” he looked pointedly at the general, “If she is your captive, then I should be held responsible as well.” The room was silent for a moment as the holy man allowed everyone to process the information.
“I cannot have the Bishop of New Orleans arrested.” Burns sat down, shaking his head. His face had drained of all color.
The Bishop pressed his point. “This young woman is not the only one involved in this matter. I am admitting to my participation. If her actions are treasonous then so, too, are mine. You cannot ignore an admission of treason.”
“You are admitting to committing treason against the Union?”
“I am admitting to knowledge of Dr. Fontenot’s activities, including her notebook and its entries.”
“And the purpose of that notebook? Those entries?” the general’s confidence had disappeared, replaced with incredulity.
“Dr. Fontenot brings the list to the church so that we may all pray for the families of the prisoners. Their burden is great; their grief should not be forgotten.”
Burns scoffed, “The Bishop of New Orleans is confirming that this book,” he waved the leather-bound notebook, “is used for the purposes of prayer?” The flabbergasted general turned his attention to Pan and demanded, “Do you deny this, Miss Fontenot? Is this true?”
“I have already explained the purpose of the book,” Pan responded evenly.
“Yet you mentioned nothing about bringing it to the church.”
“As I said before, I will only admit to my actions, I’ll not implicate others, General. But so that we are clear. I have not committed treason. I have no wish to go against my government. I have no loyalist sympathies.”
At this point, the Bishop turned back to the priest on his left, “Antonio, I’ll need you to send word to Washington immediately informing the Cardinal of my incarceration. He will decide whether to involve Rome. Also, a public notice must be made that you will be acting Bishop of New Orleans in my stead until decisions are made by the church. Best to do that through the Times. Trevigne is a parishioner. Go to him directly.”
The other priest nodded his obedience, concern written all over his face. He turned to the exit the room.
Fin offered, “Father, I can assist with the press release. I will be making a public statement recusing myself from the election in protest of your arrest and that of my fiancé,” Fin said emphasizing the last word with a sly smile at Pan.
“Protest. Fiancé? Wait!” cried a desperate Burns. “Most of this city is Catholic. If it is published that I have arrested the head of the church, there is likely to be a riot!”
“I would hope that our parishioners would choose peace over violence,” the Bishop said without inflection. The priest, Antonio had paused his exit from the room.
Fin goaded, “But you are right, General Burns, it is indeed a possibility. Rioting may break out. The rebels may be given a new cause. Imagine the headlines.”
“The Union arrests those who pray,” Pan taunted under her breath.
Fin added fuel to the fire, “I had heard that the Times plans to run an investigative piece about all the confiscated cotton being illegally auctioned. That much bad publicity in one publication is likely to draw a lot of attention. If the city riots after the Bishop’s arrest, the Union administration would probably have to take a closer look at what’s been happening down here in New Orleans,” Fin drawled.
“What illegal auctions? If you’re trying to blackmail me, Weathers, so help me!” the general was standing, hunched over his desk, breathing hard and sweating profusely.
The bishop lifted his hand as if to quiet the man and the whole room. “General, I know nothing of these matters. I do know that both Dr. Fontenot and Mr. Weathers are faithful members of my parish, and active in this community. As are their families. I would ask you to consider, perhaps as a courtesy to me, leniency in this matter.”
Burns scowled but lowered his voice, “Dr. Fontenot, if I am to release you, I need your assurance that these matters will not be discussed. I also need your promise to obey the boundary and curfew rules, specifically that you do not trespass onto federal property without permission.”
“You have my word that I will not discuss anything that has happened,” Pan said solemnly. “I would like to ask your permission to enter this federal building to treat the prisoners held here.”
“What!” Burns sputtered. “Did you not just hear? Obey the boundaries. No trespassing.”
Pan offered her stern schoolteacher look and said, “I heard. You said no trespassing without permission. May I have your permission?”
The man’s face reddened, “We are at war, Miss, excuse me, Dr. Fontenot. Those prisoners rebelled against their country.”
“The men you have incarcerated here were infantry, men too poor to buy higher ranks or a way out of your prison. Those were not the men that owned slaves or made the laws regarding slavery or the treatment of slaves. They followed the directions of their leaders. I am not suggesting their release, only their humane treatment. I would like your permission to provide medical treatment and arrange more adequate provisions.” Pan spoke clearly, never taking her eyes from the man in front of her. Fin stepped to her side and held her hand, giving her a few encouraging squeezes.
Burns seethed, “It would be irresponsible of me to send a lone woman in to care for inmates.”
“Then send me in with guard or allow me to bring additional staff and doctors. These men will again be citizens, they are less likely to resent their government if they are treated fairly. Please,” Pan countered.
The general looked at Fin, “Seems you are not the only politician in the room. Alright, madam. One day a week. You may bring two to three other medical staff with you, if they are approved by my office in advance. You will still be escorted by soldiers during the entirety of your visit. Supplies and food are solely your responsibility. You have my permission.”
Pan looked at Fin with a bright smile but said to the General, “I would like to ask one other condition.”
“Why wouldn’t you?” Burns
scoffed; lifting his hands in a wry gesture.
Ignoring Burns, Pan plowed ahead, “I would ask that you allow the clergy to hear confession and bring communion to the prisoners. I can arrange it with your permission.”
The man grunted in amusement, “Weathers, you’d better keep your ducks in a row. This fiancé of yours may be a better politician than you. Alright, doctor. Make the arrangements. The men may receive one supervised clerical visit per month. I assume that is last of your requests?”
As they stepped outside of the Customs House. Pan had lifted her face to the fading sun, understanding more than ever the plight of the men she risked so much to treat.
“Dr. Fontenot is it not customary for a bride to be confined to her home three days prior to her wedding?” the Bishop asked. The priest’s question brought her out of her reverie. Like the Anglo tradition, a bride did not see her intended groom during that time before the wedding.
Fin tsked, “Father, you are right. Brides are expected to stay in their rooms for three days before the wedding.” He grinned knowing there was absolutely no way she could proceed with backing out of the wedding now.
“It seems I have gone against tradition,” Pan said dryly.
“My dear, I suspect you do that often,” the bishop chuckled. “I will see you both tomorrow morning. I plan to perform your ceremony myself.” He waited until Pan nodded her assent. He blessed each of them before stepping into his awaiting carriage.
Fin took Pan’s hand and raised it to his lips, “You’ve told the holiest man in New Orleans that you agree to be my unconventional bride.”
She let out an exasperated sigh, “What kind of damsel in distress would I be if I did not marry my hero? Tom?” Tom jumped from his perch at the rear of Fin’s carriage and ran up to her.
The boy hugged her quickly and placed a sweet roll in her hand, “Saved this for you from breakfast, Dr. Pan.”
Pan was so touched by the sweet gesture and so exhausted from the night’s activities that tears burst from her eyes. She grabbed the little boy and squeezed him tightly, “I am so glad you are safe.”