He turned out the light and draped the pillow over his head. No thanks. He might rush into the face of enemy guns without flinching, but the gallows made his skin crawl. He put Johanna and her card out of his mind.
Christmas arrived, ushered in by a soft snowfall. The snow didn’t linger. Neither did a spirit of peace and goodwill. Stories of the conflicts in Knoxville and Chattanooga had made their way into the papers, along with their lopsided casualty lists. Good news for the North. Disaster for the South. There was no peace, and Jovie’s goodwill had been dashed along with the Army of Tennessee.
He thought of his family for the first time in months. What were they doing today? Had they continued the tradition of celebrating with the Preston family? Was Emily there? Was she thinking of him right now?
Memories of home sent his guilt and loneliness spiraling out of control. His parents hadn’t heard from him in five months. They were probably frantic with worry—if they hadn’t given up altogether. He thought of his mother, impetuous and overbearing but with a solid love for her family. And his father, so good-natured and happy to be run over by his wife. What about his three sisters and two brothers? Did they miss him? Did they regret his disappearance?
Did Emily?
He ate a cold sandwich that afternoon alone in his room. He had made no effort to get to know the men he boarded with and had no desire to join the festivities in the dining room, feigning happiness he did not feel and pretending he could not hear theirs. Instead, he hired a cab to drive him the few miles to the end of the peninsula overlooking the Chesapeake Bay.
Gray water reflected a sullen sky, the clouds roiling in a frigid wind rushing off the Atlantic. A beautiful place in summer, the beach was harsh and dismal now.
Why had he come?
He knew why. The happiest day of the year had brought him to his lowest point since that evening in the tavern. He’d never felt so cut off from family and friends. Never felt so hopeless. He had no purpose, no foundation. All day, he’d been entertaining the idea of simply putting an end to his miserable existence. It would be an easy matter. Those crashing waves could claim him in minutes. He shut his eyes and imagined them closing over his head, dragging him down to a cold, watery grave. There’d be no more pain. No more guilt. Just simple peace and final rest.
His eyes popped back open. He couldn’t go through with it.
After fifteen minutes, he was shivering violently. He climbed back into the cab and ordered the driver back to the city. At his door, he gave the man an extra large tip. Someone should enjoy some good cheer today.
Four days later, his route took him past the Richmond Inn.
It looked like any other hotel in the city, a bit run-down perhaps, but respectable. On a whim, he pulled the team to the edge of the road and went inside. What did he have to lose?
“May I speak with Johanna, please?” he asked the man at the front desk.
“I’m sorry, she’s not here at the moment.”
“Can you tell me when she’ll return? She gave me this.” He took the card from his pocket and handed it to the proprietor.
The man’s eyes narrowed. “Just a moment, please.”
He retreated into an office and returned several minutes later with an envelope that he promptly sent off with an errand boy. Then he approached Jovie. “She’ll meet you in two hours, in the Centre Market. You know the stall run by a man named Grantham?”
“I’ll find it.”
“Purchase a copy of the Washington Chronicle from him and find a place nearby to read it. She’ll come to you.”
Jovie nodded. “Thank you.”
The Center Market was located on the street level of the building that housed the Maryland Institute. Jovie drove a lap around it before parking the wagon, but two dozen arched entrances to the market stalls ran along its east and west faces. It took him a few minutes to find the newspaper stand and a little longer to find a bench in front of a nearby storefront. With the team in view, he opened the paper and spread it on his lap, pretending to scan the pages in a pool of weak winter sunlight while his eyes flicked over passersby. Was she here? Would she meet him?
After ten minutes, a woman approached with her nose in a book and sat on the seat beside him. “I wasn’t sure I’d see you again, Mr. Avery,” came a soft voice he remembered as Johanna’s.
He turned to look. Her red hair was completely hidden beneath a woolen muffler.
“You don’t know me, and we’re not speaking.” Her lips barely moved, as if she were murmuring the words on the page to herself.
He took her meaning immediately. Flipping a page, he straightened his paper and raised it to eye level. “Why all the subterfuge, Miss Johanna?”
“I think you know. The work you’re considering involves a great deal of risk. You need to understand that up front and decide if you’re willing to undertake it. If you’re squeamish in any regard, take your paper and go home right now.”
He paused for half a minute, letting the confirmation of his suspicions sink in, surprised at the flip-flop of excitement within his belly. Johanna was providing him with the opportunity to take his bleak and worthless life and do something of purpose.
“Can you assure me this will benefit the Confederacy?”
“The continuation and triumph of the Confederacy is the reason we do what we do.”
“Then I want in.”
“Very well. Fold your paper, set it down, and pretend to stretch.”
As he did so, she put her book to her lap and gave him a casual glance, as any stranger on the street might. Seemingly uninterested, she then brought it to her face again. “I’ve slipped an envelope in your newspaper,” she murmured. “You are to deliver it to a man named Wilkerson at 56 Fort Street tonight between ten o’clock and midnight.”
“Wilkerson. 56 Fort Street. Ten to twelve. Got it.”
“Men and women have risked their lives to obtain that information, Mr. Avery. Guard it well.” She rose then and wandered down the street, her nose still glued to her book.
Jovie waited five minutes before carefully rolling the newspaper, tucking it securely in the waistband of his trousers, and swinging back to the wagon to continue his route. Mr. Fairday didn’t seem to notice his slight tardiness that evening.
He ate a decent supper in the boardinghouse after work, but his nerves didn’t let it settle. When he returned to his bedroom, he studied the envelope sealed with a bit of red wax, and imagined what it might contain. Troop movements? Secret documents? Whatever it was, it would certainly land him in hot water if anyone discovered it in his possession.
He set off promptly at nine thirty to give himself plenty of time to find the address, which he repeated to himself as he swung down the sidewalk. He was familiar with the street from his route. It was in a neighborhood on the South Baltimore Peninsula, about halfway to Fort McHenry, a good fifteen blocks from his front door. It would be a test of endurance on crutches.
An hour later, the address brought him to an upscale dining room crawling with Federal uniforms, and not just enlisted men. These were commissioned officers, most likely from the fort down the road. Jovie’s scalp prickled. What was Johanna doing, sending him here with incriminating information in his pocket?
He stood in the doorway for a full minute, surveying the interior of the room, until the host approached, scanning him disapprovingly. “May I help you?”
He shook his head, touched his lips, and pulled his hand away, a gesture to indicate that he could not speak. Then he mimicked writing.
Still frowning heavily, the host provided him with a piece of paper. Jovie scrawled the name Wilkerson with a question mark.
The man’s face lifted slightly with understanding. “Mr. Wilkerson? Sure, he’s here.” He pointed out an older man in a suit and necktie pouring drinks behind the bar.
Jovie took a seat at the counter and covertly slipped the envelope onto the bar when Wilkerson approached.
Wilkerson wasn’t at all discreet. “F
or me? Thank you, sir.” He opened the envelope right there, drawing the curious gaze of half a dozen soldiers, and held up two small slips of paper. “Ah, the tickets my sister promised me for Friday night’s opera.”
“The new one by Verdi?” asked a major seated nearby.
“Yes, sir.”
“I saw it last week. It’s excellent.”
The man turned back to Jovie. “How much do I owe my sister?”
Jovie stared at him, completely dumbfounded. What could he say? Then long habit kicked in and he remembered he couldn’t say anything at all. He was deaf.
“Do you know how much money I owe her for these?” Wilkerson prompted.
Jovie brought two fingers to his ear and shook his head.
“Ah, you can’t hear. Well, I’ll just jot her a note that you can bring back to her. Wait just a moment.” He scrawled something on a scrap of paper and slipped it into the same envelope. Grabbing a candle from off the counter, he poured the wax off the top and sealed it with a thumbprint. “There you go. See that she gets it.”
Jovie fumed as he left the building. What kind of joke was this? He’d walked fifteen blocks on crutches to deliver tickets to some clod, and now he had to walk all fifteen blocks back, not to mention his fluctuating anxiety levels all day long. He was going to have words with Johanna the next time he saw her.
Now that the threat of discovery had died down, however, he realized the episode had distracted him from his usual dull routine. The paper he carried had captured his imagination, and he’d anticipated the delivery all day. His heart had pounded, his senses had heightened, his stomach had leaped with expectancy. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d been so engaged. The day had actually been…fun.
Still, it didn’t let Johanna off the hook.
He didn’t get a chance to drop off the letter to the Richmond Inn until late the next afternoon, but the same concierge was on duty. Jovie handed him the envelope from Wilkerson. “You’ll see that Johanna gets this?”
“Very well, sir,” he said and reached behind the counter. “And she left this for you.”
Jovie waited until he had driven well away from the hotel before opening the note. It said simply 7:00 Madam Milford’s Tea Room.
The tea room was located much closer to his boardinghouse, only three streets away, and demanded fancier apparel than he owned. Rather than purchasing new, he donned the shell jacket to the Federal uniform that had survived his hospital stay and chose his cleanest pair of trousers to replace the ones he had shredded on the battlefield. Such garb prompted respectful consideration everywhere. It should pass muster for a tea shop.
On their arrival, Johanna requested seating on the back patio. Most likely, their table was in high demand at the height of summer. In the waning days of December, however, it was cold, and the only light filtered out through the windowpanes. No one else was seated outside.
Jovie laid into her the moment the proprietress closed the door. “What do you mean by sending me into a pit of Yankees with a pair of opera tickets?”
She ignored him, smiling approvingly at his attire. “That uniform was an excellent choice. Who’d ever hold you in suspicion wearing that?”
“It’s not like anyone’s going to overhear us,” he drawled. “It’s freezing out here.”
“Exactly. And you’re grumbling…why?”
He handed her both of his crutches. “I want to see you try navigating three miles with these.”
“I apologize, Mr. Avery,” she said, leaning them against the table and not looking sorry at all. “I’m sure it was a challenge, but I had to be certain what kind of condition you’re in.”
“Will I be running sprints? Going on long marches?” He didn’t try to soften his irritation.
“Nothing like that. I just don’t want you keeling over in the middle of an assignment and jeopardizing an operation. And, well, you did just have a major procedure done on that leg.”
“My health isn’t the issue here. Your honesty is.”
She actually rolled her eyes. “Mr. Avery, the very nature of our work is clandestine. The only truth that matters is the information that reaches Richmond.”
“I need to be able to trust you.”
Johanna’s eyes and her voice grew sharp. “Trust is not the same as truth. You and I may very well become responsible for each other’s lives. I have two years’ experience proving my survival instincts. This assignment was given so I could gauge yours.”
It was a test, of course. She couldn’t very well take any unproven idiot off the street and risk her neck on him. It still rankled, and his armpits were still sore, but he admitted a grudging respect for her shrewdness. “So, how’d I do?”
“Very well. Wilkerson said you were cool under pressure and didn’t break your cover, even when he pressed you. I promise most of your assignments will be less stressful. Simple exchanges or deliveries. Wilkerson’s got the officer’s club staked out, but if you start frequenting some of the taverns where the enlisted men hang out, you might learn something useful.”
Her words filled Jovie with pride. With worth. It was a feeling he hadn’t experienced in a long, long time. His shoulders drew upward of their own accord. “Thank you.”
Her eyes sparkled as she held out her hand. “Congratulations, Mr. Avery. You have landed yourself the most dangerous, most poorly paid position in Baltimore.”
***
Johanna’s words proved prophetic. Over the next few months, Jovie made half a dozen deliveries. Twice, Johanna arrived at the mercantile before he left for his route and discreetly passed him a package while Mr. Fairday filled her order. Once, she set up meetings through the young courier he recognized from his first visit to the Richmond Inn. Another time she flagged him down for directions on the street and conveniently left a newspaper at his feet as he mimed his inability to understand her. And twice Jovie noticed an unusual crate among his cargo and never did learn who placed it there. Each item was delivered to a tavern frequented by two particular sea captains who made regular rendezvous with blockade runners.
At first, the cloak-and-dagger approach set his heart to pumping. He anticipated the unexpected assignments with relish, but after a few uneventful deliveries, the thrill began to wear off. There was virtually no element of danger. Then it occurred to him how slow and unreliable steamer transport was to Southern ports, and he began to suspect his packets consisted of duplicate information or items of little consequence. So he began to concentrate his efforts on gleaning information, donning the remnants of his uniform and making the long hike down the peninsula several times a week to spend his evenings in the various taverns along the waterfront.
It was tedious work, sitting for hours pretending to be absorbed in his own thoughts. The bartenders and serving maids soon figured out he was deaf, and word spread. The other soldiers mostly ignored him, but after a few weeks, he ran across one of the men who had convalesced with him in the Soldiers’ Home. Introductions followed, along with an explanation of Jovie’s circumstances. Few of the men made true attempts at conversation, but in the weeks that followed, Jovie became a familiar sight. Many of the regulars offered Jovie greetings, handshakes, and hearty claps on the back. The men were unguarded, accepting of his presence, and unaware that at the end of the night he wrote down everything they said.
Sometimes the proximity to so many Union soldiers made him wonder about the man who had shot him. Where was he? Dead, most likely. Or shivering in a tent somewhere. Why had he decided to fight? Did he ever think about the men he’d killed? Did he realize he had condemned Jovie to something worse than death?
Was he here in the tavern?
The thought warded off any dash of conscience.
The information he gleaned consisted mostly of changes in command and hearsay, much of it already known to Johanna when he passed it along. But she rewarded him with smiles, praise, and encouragement. Those infrequent meetings where he could be himself, even if only for fifteen minutes, q
uickly became his favorite part of the arrangement. He had to admit, her wild mane of hair and her devil-may-care attitude toward life were also strong draws.
As the months passed, Jovie grew comfortable in his new role. He sometimes wished for more of the heart-pounding expectancy he remembered from his first assignment, but every time he donned the uniform, it came with a mild fluttering of anticipation. And there was satisfaction in knowing that he was doing something, however small, to benefit home. To strengthen the South. It did not alleviate the alienation of displacement, but it did lessen the sense of despair that had gripped him so solidly after the amputation.
Perhaps it made him too complacent.
Another dusting of snow fell in early March. Just enough to feather the buildings and coat the road. The next stop on his route would take him through downtown, which always turned his thoughts toward Emily. Preoccupied with his work, he hadn’t ridden past the Maryland Institute in several weeks, and he wondered again if she had returned to school. It wouldn’t hurt to alter his route slightly and drive by.
He was just passing the President Street train station when his name cut across the clatter of the street. “Jovie Cutler!”
Jovie’s head whipped about and there, standing among a group of blue-clad Negro soldiers, was Jeremiah, the former Preston slave and half-sibling to Jack and Emily. Jovie hadn’t seen him since Jack died. He gaped at him now, unprepared to discover a familiar presence in such an unlikely setting.
Jovie tore his eyes away and flicked the reins over the team’s back. He didn’t acknowledge Jeremiah in any way. He pretended not to know him, but the damage had been done. He had turned at the sound of his name, and Jeremiah had gotten a good look.
Jovie’s cover was blown.
4
Jovie sent immediately for Johanna and was waiting on Madam Milford’s back patio with two cups of tea when she arrived. The temperature was still cold, but daylight hadn’t completely faded.
Ella Wood Novellas: Boxed Set Page 19