Ella Wood Novellas: Boxed Set

by Michelle Isenhoff

  “It sure looks that way. Lincoln’s determined to hold the Union together, and we’re determined to leave.”

  He had squeezed her reassuringly. “It can’t last long, Amy. We’ve sent the North scurrying home once already. We’ll do it again. And our commanders learned a valuable lesson after Bull Run. This time we’ll pursue them all the way to Washington and lay the matter to rest.”

  He pulled the journal from its hiding place within his pocket. “My enlistment will be over next month. But if anything should happen to me before then, you must promise you’ll send this to my sister. Keep it for me, Amy. Hold it until I can come back for it. And for you.”

  “I promise.” Her blue eyes had searched his, brimming with unshed tears. “Jack, I’m so frightened.”

  He’d been unable to resist her upturned face. Their kisses had been urgent, almost desperate, a hopeful clinging to a future that held no certainties. They had only that evening, and they made it count.

  Jack looked down at his muddy, pacing boots and smiled with the memory. If he had no other reason to survive the upcoming battles, she had provided one. He would do anything—anything—to return to Amy Franklin.

  After four weeks of marching, pausing, camping, and marching again, followed by a frigid boat ride down the James River, Jack’s brigade arrived at last on the Virginia Peninsula. They were to reinforce General Magruder’s small army against General McClellan’s much larger force. They pitched their tents on the swampy, rain-soaked fields. It was here that Captain Webb approached.

  “General Kershaw is in need of a courier to carry these documents to Richmond. I put your name in and he has agreed. You leave immediately. You’ve been granted one week. Your pass will give you authority on the railroads. Use your time well, Sergeant.”

  His urgency to obtain leave had waned as his discharge date approached, but Jack gripped the man’s hand gratefully. “Thank you, sir.”

  He raced back to his tent and threw a few possessions into his haversack. His haste drew Jeremiah’s attention. “What’s happening? Are we moving again?”

  Since leaving winter quarters, Jeremiah had been bunking with the camp followers again, but he tended Jack’s daily housekeeping and cooking.

  “I’ve been ordered to Richmond, but Webb gave me a few extra days. I intend to track down Thad once and for all.” Jack had discussed the situation with Jeremiah several times, though he had kept it from Jovie. Where Emily was concerned, Jovie had enough to worry about.

  “I’m going with you.”

  “No, Jeremiah. I’ll be returning to Charleston. It’s too dangerous.”

  “Are you going to Ella Wood? Or to the town house?”

  “Neither.”

  “Will you be visiting anyone who knows me?”

  “No.”

  “Then I’m going.”

  When nothing would dissuade him, Jack agreed under protest, though he was glad enough of his brother’s company. A few hours on horseback brought them to the railroad terminal at West Point where they were put on the next train. Richmond was only forty miles farther. Within twelve hours of receiving it, the communication was delivered. Two and a half days later, Jack and Jeremiah disembarked at the Charleston station.

  Jack recoiled at the devastation as they passed through the city on their way to Mulligan’s Tavern. Jovie had warned him, but his imagination hadn’t come close to reality. Acres and acres of the once-beautiful city had been obliterated. And with little manpower available to cart it away, the ruins remained—great heaps of blackened rubble. After his initial shock, Jack shrugged it off. He had higher priorities at the moment.

  “Jack! It’s good to see you!” Mulligan’s barkeep, Ambrose Lorrick, knew Jack on sight. He’d pulled him out of enough fights. “I thought you were up in Virginia with Johnston.”

  “I was. I’ve got a few days’ leave.”

  “Lucky you. I heard Lincoln’s keen on continuing hostilities.”

  “Lorrick, do you remember Thaddeus Black?”

  “Friend of yours, sure.” He wiped off the table with a damp rag. “He’s in here often enough. Why?”

  “When’s the last time you saw him?”

  “Day before last.”

  “I need to know where he is, and I don’t have much time. You know someone who might help me find him quickly?”

  “Thad? Not sure where he’s bunking, but he’s in with all sorts. Try McNally, there in the corner. Or that pair, Peterson and Scott. One of them should know something.”

  “Thanks. Hey, can I get a couple of ham sandwiches? I just got in off the train.”

  Lorrick grunted and moseyed back to the kitchen. Jack pushed off the counter and joined the pair of men the barkeep had indicated. The one named Scott looked familiar, but he’d never seen the other one before. “One of you Peterson?”

  The larger of the men looked up from the checkerboard between them. “Who’s asking?”

  Jack sat down. He had no intention of locating Thad; he wanted only to probe for information. “Someone who trusts Lorrick, and Lorrick sent me to you. Either of you know a man by the name of Thaddeus Black?”

  Peterson grunted again. In the affirmative, Jack assumed.

  Jack slid three days’ wages on the table. “What can you tell me about him?”

  The man pocketed the money. “He’s smart. Here in town finishing his fourth year at the College of Charleston. Son of a Savannah cotton broker—or so he says.”

  Jack noted the glance Peterson exchanged with Scott. “You don’t believe him?”

  Peterson shrugged. “He’s more eager to pick up easy money than any rich boy I’ve ever seen. He’s real quick on the draw. Got a thousand ready replies in that head of his.”

  “Does he have a wife? Kids? Any ties to family?”

  “None that I know of.”

  “Would he be reliable and discreet if I employed him for a rather…delicate bit of business?”

  “I’d say he’s a good gamble.”

  “You know where I could find him?”

  “He’ll be here tomorrow, sure as rain.”

  Jack stood up from the table just as Lorrick emerged from the kitchen with his food. “Thank you, gentlemen. You’ve been most helpful.”

  Jack paid Lorrick for the sandwiches and carried them outside where Jeremiah waited in the shadows of an alley across the street. “You learn anything?” Jeremiah asked.

  “Enough to make me wish I knew more. There’s another fellow I want to talk to, but I’d rather not make too much of a stir in one night. Let’s catch him when he leaves.”

  They settled down for a long wait, but the man named McNally exited the tavern within twenty minutes. Jack jumped up. “I’ll meet you back here.”

  He followed McNally for a block, sizing him up. The man was tall and spindly, perhaps thirty years of age, and walked with a sprightly gait. He seemed a different sort altogether from the two toughs in the tavern. He’d require a different tactic.

  Jack caught up to him. “Excuse me.”

  The man startled, then gave Jack a self-deprecating laugh. “Sorry, soldier. I didn’t hear you coming.”

  “I apologize if I startled you, but Mr. Lorrick told me you know Thaddeus Black.”

  The man beamed. “Of course I know him. Brilliant actor, Thad.”

  “Ah, yes, of course.” The comment caught Jack off guard before he remembered that Thad had taken a small part in a production of Hamlet the year before. “I was just wondering if you could tell me where to find him. I’ve got a few days’ leave and I’d like to look up some of my old schoolmates while I’m here.”

  “Sure. Thad’s living on Wentworth in a boardinghouse run by a Mrs. Bentley.”

  The same boardinghouse Jack and Jovie had lived in with him. “Thank you. I appreciate the information.”

  “No trouble at all.”

  Jack matched a few more paces before getting to his real questions. “You mentioned Thad’s acting. I happened to catch his performanc
e in Hamlet last year. I thought he performed quite respectably.”

  “Oh, that.” The man waved away the comment. “That was a piddling little part I talked him into because we were so short-handed. He’s had far greater performances.”

  “I’m afraid it’s the only role I’ve seen him in.”

  “Then you have missed a marvelous talent. He and I were in Marlowe’s Faustus together a few years back. A remarkable performance indeed.”

  “Here in Charleston?”

  “In the Savannah Theater, before he left the troupe.”

  “Of course.” Jack eyed the man. “Did you work together long?”

  “We performed together only once.” He sighed dramatically. “Eventually, I followed him to Charleston, but aside from that bit part in Hamlet, I’ve had no luck recruiting him back to the stage. It’s a pity he gave it up. He could have been another Booth.”

  The man stopped at the next corner. “It’s been a pleasure speaking with you, my soldier friend, but this is my turnoff.”

  Jack regarded the man curiously. “Mr. McNally, why didn’t you return to Savannah after the Charleston Theater burned?”

  “Oh, I take the train down regularly.” He shrugged good-naturedly. “But alas, I have found a lady friend who refuses to move. What we will do for love, no?” He doffed his hat and set off jauntily down the side street.

  ***

  Jack poked around Charleston one more day but came up with no further leads. Shortly after noon, he and Jeremiah were on a train to Savannah. Jack watched the familiar countryside roll past, recalling the days of his childhood. “Jeremiah, when did you find out we were brothers?”

  “I’ve always known. Mama told me when I was too little to even understand the significance of what she said.”

  “Before black was black and white was white,” Jack commented. They’d been idyllic, those early days. “Zeke told me when I was eleven, a few months after I’d discovered his operation. It was a day I’d been questioning my involvement, trying to make sense of everything and working through what was right and what was wrong.”

  Jack could still remember the conversation. “Would it be right fo’ you to be a slave, Mister Jack?” Zeke had asked.

  “Of course not. My father owns this plantation,” Jack had answered.

  “Would it be right fo’ Miss Emily to be a slave?”

  “Zeke, your questions are ridiculous.”

  “Would it be right fo’ any of yo’ father’s children to be slaves?”

  “No.”

  “What if he be half black an’ half white?”

  Jack scoffed. “There is no such person.”

  “You know Jeremiah?” Zeke asked, studying him keenly.

  “Of course I know Jeremiah. He works in the house. I see him every day.”

  “He as fully de son of yo’ father as you.”

  It had been a revelation to Jack. One that helped open his mind to the error of distinction by color. His curiosity about his half-brother eventually turned to friendship.

  Jack grinned at Jeremiah. “Do you remember when you helped me hang every picture in the house upside down? Or that time we snuck into the kitchen and planted half a bottle of gin in the cookstove?”

  “I never heard anyone scream like Josephine did when it exploded.” Jeremiah chuckled. “You were a terrible influence on me. I could have gotten in a lot of trouble.”

  “I did get in trouble. But who would have suspected you? You were the picture of propriety. Father started grooming you for Zeke’s position years before.” It was a reminder of the vast difference between their upbringings. “I’m sorry you still have to wait on me, Jeremiah.”

  Jeremiah shrugged. “You have your disguise and I have mine. Besides, I’ve made a fair bit of money off your messmates this year.”

  Jack smiled. He’d miss Jeremiah when he went north. “I promise you, it won’t be this way forever. When I own Ella Wood, you’ll be free to come back. If you want to.”

  They were standing before the Savannah Theater by early evening. Jack pushed inside the main doors while Jeremiah waited outside.

  A well-dressed man sitting behind a low counter looked up at his approach. The theater manager, perhaps. “Good evening, sir. I’m afraid you’re a little early. The show doesn’t start for another hour and a half.” He gestured to a full-color poster advertising Shakespeare’s Macbeth.

  Jack’s breath caught as he was blindsided by thoughts of Amy. How he wished she were here with him now. He’d give up half his inheritance if he could only take her to the show that evening.

  Jack recovered and gave the man a disengaging smile. “My name is Jack Winters, and I’m here on behalf of the war administration. We’ve taken an interest in a particular actor for certain…clandestine operations,” he said significantly. “I’m sure you can understand the importance of inquiring into his background as well as the delicate nature of this conversation.”

  “Yes, of course,” the manager said, his eyes gleaming with curiosity. “Who is it you’re investigating?”

  “A young man by the name of Thaddeus Black. We have reason to believe he spent an extended amount of time with a troupe of actors associated with this theater.”

  Jack waited, on edge, as the manager pursed his lips. His story sounded so ridiculously contrived. Would the manager swallow it?

  “I’m afraid I don’t know anyone by that name. There is a possibility it’s a stage name, however. Many actors claim them. Perhaps you could describe him.”

  “He’s approximately twenty-one or twenty-two years of age. Sandy brown hair, blue eyes, perhaps six feet tall, with a dimple in one cheek. He is known to have lived in Charleston.”

  The man’s eyes lit up with recognition. “Ah, I believe you’re speaking of Jonathan Stanley.”

  “I would appreciate any information you can provide.” Jack maintained a pleasant interest when what he really wanted was an hour with Thad—just the two of them and their fists. He wondered if Thad had ever spoken a word of truth to him during the whole of their friendship.

  “I’m afraid I didn’t know Jonathan well. But there is a woman, our Lady Macbeth, who was friends with his mother and knew him when he was growing up. I’m sure she could help you.”

  “Would it be possible for me to speak with her before the show?” Jack asked. “I am limited on time.”

  “I think that could be arranged. Let me ask her.”

  Jack let out a deep breath to calm his emotions as the man left the room. His deception had worked. Even if the woman refused to speak with him, he had learned enough.

  The man returned momentarily. “Ms. Siddons has agreed to meet you in her dressing room when she’s out of makeup, another ten minutes or so.”

  “I appreciate this very much. I’m going to slip outside and let my driver know.”

  Outside, the wind blew in fits and starts, tossing raindrops against the side of the building like pebbles. He found Jeremiah taking shelter beneath a rickety wooden stairway on the side of the theater. Here Jack was free to vent some of his anger. “I’m going to kill him,” he ground out through clenched teeth. “When I see Thad again, I’m going to make him wish I’d never laid eyes on him.”

  “You found someone who knew him?”

  “I’m going backstage to speak with someone who did. He isn’t who I thought he was, Jeremiah. Not his name, not his story. He’s played me false from the beginning and I aim to find out why.”

  Jack spent most of his ten minutes pacing from one end of the stairway to the other, muttering under his breath and working off his anger so it wouldn’t show on his face. Jeremiah let him be. Finally, Jack took another steadying breath and composed himself. “This will probably take longer than I thought.”

  “Do what you have to do.”

  Back in the lobby, the manager led Jack through the auditorium and behind the stage to a warren of red-carpeted hallways. Climbing a stairway, he stopped and knocked on a door. “Ms. Siddons, Mr. Win
ters is here to see you.”

  “Come in.”

  He opened the door, and Jack came face-to-face with a beautiful woman wearing only a corset and bloomers beneath a gauzy dressing gown. She smiled at him alluringly and gestured to a table holding a decanter of brandy. “Have seat, Mr. Winters.”

  The manager bowed himself out of the room with a smarmy smile. “I’ll leave you two to your conversation.”

  Jack waited for her to sit before taking the seat she offered. “Thank you for meeting with me, ma’am. I appreciate it.”

  “It’s always a pleasure to meet one of our soldiers.” Her voice was melodic and slightly husky. On closer examination, Jack could see she was close to his mother’s age beneath all the stage makeup, although she retained an elegant figure. “Would you like a drink?”

  “No, thank you.”

  “You won’t mind if I have one, I hope. Even after all these years, I still get a little flutter before going onstage.” She poured herself a snifter of the dark liquid and took a sip. “How can I help you, Mr. Winters?”

  He repeated the request he had made of the theater manager.

  “Ah, Jonathan. Little Jonny we used to call him. A delightful child.” She smiled affectionately. “His parents were members of the theater troupe. His father died quite tragically before he was born, but his mother raised him among the troupe. We were a very tight-knit group—like family, really—and he was everyone’s favorite. We moved around a lot, but Jonny had a good upbringing, and he was a natural actor.”

  Her face clouded. “When Jonny was ten or eleven, however, a man by the name of Josiah Wilkes joined our troupe and took an interest in the boy. He was an unscrupulous sort, and Jonny’s mother grew concerned about the amount of time they were spending together. Under Wilkes’s tutelage, Jonny became something of a rogue.” She smiled. “A charming rogue, but a rogue, nonetheless. He learned to use his talents to get exactly what he wanted out of people.

  “Jonny’s mother died when he turned fourteen. After another year, Mr. Wilkes left the troupe and Jonny went with him. I haven’t heard word of either of them since.”