by Alyssa Cole
“She sleeping?” she asked.
Elle felt Althea nod.
“Lord, what a night. It’s all in God’s hands now,” Mary said, just before the sound of a canon boomed over the river.
“They’re firing on us! Come get belowdecks, with the other women and children!” one of the men shouted. It was then that Elle realized that Althea was shivering with cold and that the two women were only there because of her.
She stirred and slowly got to her feet.
“You heard him,” she said, making no move to follow. “You two go on.”
“Li’l Bit—”
“Mary, I cannot lose anyone else tonight, please go.” One of the men tugged Mary and Althea away.
The ship was going at top speed now, charging for the blockade with their white flag raised. She wanted to see this, needed to see what Malcolm couldn’t.
There was movement on the Union warships, the men preparing for a fight as the Confederate ship drew closer.
Please let them believe us, she willed. After taking Malcolm, at least give me this!
The soldiers’ features came into view, faces pale above their Union blues. They took aim but didn’t fire.
Robert strode by her and moved to the prow of the ship, his deep voice booming.
“My name is Robert Grand, and I have commandeered this Confederate warship and its load of ammunition in the name of the Union. I and the other Negroes on this ship declare our freedom. We come not as contraband, but as soldiers: We wish to fight to preserve the Union, and to gain our Freedom. Please alert your captain and have him parlay with me, immediately.”
These Union soldiers were astounded at seeing a black man float up to them on a stolen Union ship shouting orders, but they were not immune to the command in his voice.
“We also have classified information that needs to be directed to President Lincoln, immediately,” Elle shouted in a hoarse voice. She had pulled herself to her feet and came to stand beside Robert. She still had a job to do, dammit. The Confederacy wouldn’t wait for her heartache to ease.
Robert turned to look at her, a peculiar smile on his face.
“And we need a medic, posthaste,” he shouted. “We have a wounded agent of the Union government on board.”
Elle’s head whipped in his direction.
“I know this river and I know these currents,” Robert said simply. “I knew where a body would wash up, if anywhere.... I almost mentioned it when I spoke to you, but I didn’t want to get your hopes up. Then we passed where he should have been, and I saw nothing. He wasn’t there.”
“Why are you telling me this?” she asked, fighting against the hope that surged in her chest. No, she wouldn’t allow it. She couldn’t allow for such an emotion, but Robert smiled more widely now.
“When we stole this boat, we didn’t exactly have time to untie all the moorings, and several wooden posts were ripped from the dock. They trailed behind us, but not creating much drag, so we left them. Just before we passed the final guard ship, I spotted him floating alongside the ship. I don’t know if he wrapped himself in the rope or got caught up in it by providence, but there he was. A couple of men fished him out, thinking he was about dead, but he’s made of sterner stuff than that. Seems he decided there was something worth living for, and I doubt it’s the Union.”
Elle said nothing. She truly knew what it was to be mute in that moment. All of her faculties left her but the rudimentary coordination that would allow her to put one foot in front of another. She turned and made her way belowdecks.
The man who had shot Malcolm smiled and pointed her toward a cabin, and when she stepped through the door another man was cleaning the gunshot wound in Malcolm’s shoulder. He’d been stripped and lay shivering beneath a pile of rough blankets and jackets.
“He’s awake now, after we forced some rot gut down his throat. Bullet went clean through,” the man said gruffly. “I s’pose a doctor can tell you whether he’ll live or die, but I got a feeling this fella ain’t the type to go down without a fight.”
He ripped a strip of linen shirt and pressed it to stanch the bleeding.
“You wanna hold this? I’m gonna go check in with Captain Grand,” he said, standing from his stool. Elle nodded and rushed to replace him. Her fingers shook as she held the cloth, but she pressed as hard as she could.
Malcolm’s blue-gray eyes met hers, now shockingly large in his pale, drawn face.
“I . . . I p-promised I wouldn’t leave you,” he said through chattering teeth.
Elle raised a hand to his wet hair, a million riotous feelings fighting for supremacy.
“I remember,” she said softly. “I’m glad to find that you’re quite serious about keeping your word.”
Hot tears streaked down her face then, and the ice that had encased her heart begin to thaw.
Malcolm gave a shuddering laugh and the sound nearly broke what little composure she had left. “So, if I tell you that I plan to love and honor you forever, no matter the hardship, would you finally believe me?”
Malcolm was growing blurry in her vision, because the tears wouldn’t stop falling.
“I would,” she said.
“You think the captain will marry us?” he asked blearily. “The law won’t recognize it, but Mary’s husband can sanctify our union.”
Elle wished the doctor would arrive. Her heart was full to bursting, but she wouldn’t feel any comfort until Malcolm was attended to.
“You’ve lost a lot of blood and been in freezing water for an extended period of time,” she said. “This talk can wait.”
He raised a dark brow at her, and Elle was gripped by just how pale he was.
“The cold sharpens a man’s wits,” he said. “I want us to get married and have wee bairns, and I can chase you around the kitchen as you cook.”
Elle flooded with warmth.
“You must be delirious. Who says I’m going to be the one doing the cooking?” she asked archly. Just then a man decked out in Union blues stuck his head into the door, his eyes widening at the scene before him.
“I’m the doctor. I can take over from here, girl,” he said stiffly as he entered. He looked at her trousers and wild hair with a grimace.
“Wife,” Malcolm interjected. “She’s my wife, and she’ll stay.”
The words filled her with a warmth that was more than gratitude for the sound of Malcolm’s voice.
The doctor looked even more baffled, but Elle moved out of his way and he began his examination without further discussion. She held Malcolm’s hand as he was patched up, wincing for him when the doctor prodded his ribs and cleaned his contusions.
“Well, you’ve taken quite a beating, but you’ll live,” he said as he stood and collected his bag.
The doctor’s words, flippant as they were, etched into her mind, her newest and most cherished memory. Elle looked down into Malcolm’s eyes. They were bloodshot from the last of many deaths he had escaped that night, but to her they were beautiful.
“Malcolm, if you want me to marry you, I must insist that you leave off being abducted by hooligans, shot, and half-drowned.”
“I’m not so good at fractions, but I’m fairly certain I was three-quarters drowned at the very least, Miss Elle.” He lifted his head to kiss her hand, which rested on his chest. “I’ll try to keep things simple, but you know very well I have a taste for the dramatic.”
“I suppose there is a price to be paid for all good things,” she said.
The clomping of boots echoed in the tight hallway of the ship, funneling into the room just before Robert and two other men entered.
“And here are the Union operatives of whom I spoke,” he said, gesturing to the two like it wasn’t bizarre at all for Elle to be nearly sitting on Malcolm. “I’m sure that the information they have is sensitive, so I’ll leave you to it.”
Two youngish-looking Union officers stepped into the small room as Robert turned to walk back out.
“Wait!” Ma
lcolm forced himself up to his elbows. “Captain, can you do us the honor of marrying us before you go?”
Elle’s heart beat wildly in her chest and she dropped his hand. “You mean for us to be married now?” she asked. “You’re not even wearing pants for God’s sake.”
“Well, yes,” he said, and gave her that impish grin of his. “I’m hoping that I’m never this low again, so I’d best make use of the pity you’re feeling for me right now before you go back to merely tolerating me.”
Elle rolled her eyes.
Robert regarded the two of them with a surprisingly gregarious smile. “I’m not quite sure I’m vested with powers that will be recognized anywhere outside of this ship, but if these men are willing to wait . . .”
The two Union men nodded, their expressions stuck halfway between amusement and confusion.
Robert drew himself up and was back to his commanding role of captain. He looked at both of them very seriously and for such a long time that Elle nearly quailed. “You all are married.”
Malcolm looked at Elle, then back at Robert. “Is that it?”
“Yes. It doesn’t feel any different, does it? That comes with time,” he said. “Oh! I did forget something. Kiss the bride.”
With that proclamation, Malcolm reached for Elle with shaking hands. She met him halfway and leaned in for his kiss. It was weak, and he smelled of river and whiskey, but it was the best kiss Elle had ever received.
“I wish I could offer you something better,” he said, and Elle gave him a gentle nudge.
“If there’s something better in this world than an aggravating, too charming for his own good Scottish detective, I have not come across it in all my studies,” she said, and was happy to see a bit of color rise to his pale cheeks.
The embarrassed cough of one of the Union men reminded them that they weren’t alone. Elle looked up at them, then stood from the bed and shook each man’s hand before he could recover from the strange scene.
Robert slipped out to handle the turnover of the ship, and the men sat down on stools, eyes locked on Elle.
“Let me tell you a little story about a big boat,” she began . . .
EPILOGUE
April 1862
“And that’s how he convinced every woman in my knitting circle to give him a sweet and ended up sick as a dog. Little did I know that his scheming ways would be of use to our country someday.”
Malcolm’s mother sat across from Elle in the warm, cozy parlor of her sprawling Kentucky home. A fire crackled in the hearth and for the first time since she’d arrived, Elle felt completely comfortable.
Mrs. McCall hadn’t hidden her surprise when Malcolm showed up at the front door, wounded and wan and presenting a black woman as her new daughter-in-law. There had been several awkward encounters, despite the woman’s unusual open-mindedness. Things weren’t perfect, but the fact that his mother was trying meant the world to Elle. The tough woman with faded red hair seemed to genuinely like her, after an initial reticence, and Elle was glad that she could say the same.
His sister, Donella, with green eyes, a shock of blond hair, and features that didn’t match anyone else’s in the family daguerreotype was a bit more aloof, but Elle sensed that she would come around eventually. She told herself she didn’t care if the young woman ever did, but that was a lie. Realist that she was, she still hoped that Malcolm’s siblings would one day treat her as one of their own. Ewan was out on Union business but was supposed to be returning from the front within the next few days.
“Elle is quite familiar with my begging for sweets, Mum,” Malcolm said as he walked into the room. His playful tone warmed her soul. Several weeks had passed since his injury, and although his arm was still weak, he was regaining his weight and recovering from his fever. A terrible sickness had gripped him after his time spent in the freezing James, but he’d pulled through, proving once again that he meant to stay by her side for good.
“Ach, I don’t want to know about your conjugal relations, Malcolm McCall,” his mother said in her lilting accent, feigning shock, and Elle felt her cheeks burn. Malcolm hadn’t been kidding when he said his father had liked a smart-mouthed woman.
“I meant her pecan pie, Mother. And that’s Malcolm Burns, if ye don’t mind,” he teased, his own brogue much more apparent when he was in his mother’s presence. The name McCall was useless after Rufus’s revelation that he was a known quantity, so he had decided to take Elle’s name as his professional moniker.
“Your father must be rolling in his grave. If he’s not, he should be, leaving me with a son who shirks his own surname.”
Elle sat silently, saving her sharp remarks for another time. For the moment, she was enjoying quietly watching the dynamics of her new family. After Malcolm had healed completely, they would be traveling North to meet her folks, who were also less than pleased at her choice of husband. They were excited to meet the man who had captured their daughter’s heart and helped ensure Daniel’s freedom, nonetheless.
And Daniel was free. LaValle had written her to let her know he’d been turned over to the care of the Loyal League after being rescued. Daniel hadn’t responded to any of her letters himself. It hurt, but she imagined that he was much changed after whatever he’d experienced. She hoped that one day they could be bosom friends once again. She hoped the same for the North and South, and if it was possible after the bloody war that still held the nation in thrall, it should be possible for them, too.
After visiting her parents, they would be returning to action, and they had been granted permission to work as a team.
As she watched Malcolm and his mother trade quips, hands moving expressively and eyes filled with love, Elle quietly thanked whatever higher being had bestowed her talent upon her. Growing up, it had isolated her, singling her out as someone to gawk at instead of someone to nurture. She’d had keepers instead of teachers, allies instead of friends. But in the end, her talent had led her to Malcolm, and together they had helped prevent the downfall of the Union.
While making their way to Malcolm’s mother, they’d briefly stopped at the Capital to debrief Mr. Allan Pinkerton. He hadn’t been given their previous missive, having been busy setting up the first secure telegraph office in the White House. After listening to their news, he immediately relayed the information to President Lincoln and set his network of detectives into action.
As Malcolm had convalesced, the South launched their ironclad, bearing down on the Union blockade and sending dozens of unfortunate men to a watery grave. But the Union had sped up the timetable on their new ironclad, and it steamed out from the Brooklyn Navy Yard to face down its Southern counterpart. Both ships were unfinished and unwieldy, but when news of the battle finally reached Malcolm and Elle it was good: The Southern ironclad was now resting at the bottom of the sea and the blockade held strong.
The front door to the house burst open suddenly and Donella stumbled in, red-faced and out of breath.
“Don, how many times have I told you not to go outside in those breeches?” Mrs. McCall chided. “This girl is going to be the death of me—”
“What’s wrong, Donella?” Elle asked, reading the distress on the young woman’s face. She rose from her comfortable seat. “What’s happened?”
“It’s Ewan,” she said, holding out the smudged letter in her hand. Elle went to take it from her and was surprised when the girl threw her arms around as if she couldn’t take another step without support.
“My dearest McCalls . . .” Elle read aloud, then wished she hadn’t begun.
“I know I promised to visit shortly to meet Malcolm’s wife and to make sure Donella hasn’t stolen all of my clothing, but I fear my furlough has been indefinitely delayed. I’ve had the misfortune of being captured by secessionist heathens, and I’m currently being held in one of their prisons. While not the most luxurious accommodations one could hope for, it’s not so bad, although their library leaves much to be desired. Please don’t worry after me. I’ve got
food to eat and I’m not ill. You know me—I’ll find a way to be of use here. I expect to be reunited with you all quite soon. In the meantime, keep me in your thoughts but know that I am well.
Your Obedient Servant, Ewan”
“No!” Mrs. McCall cried out angrily, tears falling from her eyes. “No, not Ewan. I told him not to enlist, I told him he wasn’t cut out for war, but he’s just as stubborn as the lot of you!”
Donella released Elle and threw herself into her mother’s lap.
“Malcolm?” She was worried for everyone, but especially him. His pain was her pain, and it was etched into every aspect of his face as he approached her and hugged her close.
“He says not to worry,” Malcolm said thickly, stroking her hair absently. “When he was about twelve he fell from a tree while playing with a group of boys outside. He behaved a little oddly after, but convinced all of us that he was fine. It wasn’t until two days later that we realized he had broken his arm.”
“How?” Elle asked, pulling back to look up at Malcolm’s face. “Wasn’t he in pain?”
“He was in terrible pain,” Malcolm replied. “But he never wanted to give us cause to worry. Not even then, when he needed help the most.”
Elle’s stomach dropped.
“We’ll go to him,” she said. “We’ll find a way to free him.”
“You’ll notice he didn’t say where he was being held,” Malcolm said. “That was not an accident. Dammit, Ewan!”
Malcolm held her close and Elle did the only thing she could—she held him right back. The room that had just seemed warm and inviting was now somber, the only sounds the spitting fire and the muffled sobs of the McCall women.