“What is it?” she asked as soon as she caught the intensity of his expression.
“I’ve been found out.”
She sat down. “Tell me.”
Jovie raked his fingers through his hair. “It was Jeremiah, a runaway slave who belonged to my neighbors. I haven’t seen him in over a year.”
“You’re certain he recognized you?”
“He called my name.”
Her face reflected puzzlement. “Why would a runaway slave draw attention to himself?”
“It’s complicated.”
She waited expectantly. “You asked me here.”
He sighed. “Jeremiah belonged to the family of my best friend. When Jack and I enlisted, Jack stole Jeremiah from his father and spread the rumor that he’d sold him.”
“Why would he do that?”
“They were half-brothers. Jack planned to set him free, but Jeremiah wouldn’t go.” Jovie took a ragged breath. “Not until Jack died.”
“I’m sorry.” Her eyes pooled with sympathy, and she reached out a hand and laid it on his. It was soft and warm. He didn’t pull away.
“Jeremiah’s in uniform. He’s joined the colored troops.”
“So he could be stationed here in the city.”
“It’s possible. I don’t know.” He shifted his hand slightly so her fingers fell in his grip. “I drove away immediately and Jeremiah didn’t follow or attempt further conversation. But I turned when he called me. It was instinctive. He got a good look.”
“Do you think he’ll search you out?”
“Probably not.” He liked Jeremiah, and he was glad they’d never met in battle, but Jack was the only thing they had in common.
Jovie was far more concerned that Jeremiah might tell Emily where he was.
He pulled his hand away and rubbed it over the scruff on his chin. Jack had summoned Emily to the hospital when he knew he was dying. Jeremiah had fetched her from Baltimore and brought her back to the city afterward, but Jovie didn’t think their relationship was close. Emily had been none too happy to learn he was her half-brother. But he couldn’t be certain. He could only hope that Jeremiah kept his secret.
Because he couldn’t bear to see the nurse’s look of revulsion on Emily’s face.
Johanna’s expression grew thoughtful. “A colored man won’t be allowed in the taverns you’re frequenting. And Negro regiments don’t intermingle much with whites. You’re probably safe, but you’d be wise to lay low for a while.”
Jovie thought of something else. “The address of Mr. Fairday’s mercantile was written on the side of the wagon.”
She grimaced. “That could be a problem. You’ll have to get a new job. Grow out your hair and beard and that will probably be precaution enough in a city this size. Try to secure another delivery position, though, if you can manage it. I hate to lose that convenience.”
Jovie’s lip twisted wryly. “It hardly matters.”
She eyed him. “Why not?”
“You might as well employ that little urchin from the hotel to run your deliveries. It’s not like information sent by steamer is of any great urgency.”
“Those deliveries would be of great significance if our overland messages failed to get through.”
“And how often has that happened?”
She smiled primly. “I would not be sitting here if I’d failed.”
“You carry them?” It shouldn’t surprise him. Not really.
“Who better? Would you suspect me, Mr. Avery?”
“No. But it is extremely dangerous.”
“And therefore it should be man’s work?” Her smile stiffened. “I assure you, I don’t need your protection.”
“No, you don’t.” He leaned back in his chair. “And that wasn’t protection. It was admiration. I’m just curious why you do it.”
She set her chin on her hand. The gesture was mildly provocative. “For the thrill of it, Mr. Avery. I’m a far bigger fool than I am a patriot.”
He took up her other hand again, rubbing his thumb over her smooth skin. It was the danger that drew her, just as it drew him. They were a lot alike, the two of them, with their secrets that made them both reckless. “I wish I were half as much use to the Confederacy as you are,” he confessed.
Her gaze turned deadly earnest. “Perhaps you can be, Mr. Avery. Once you establish your new identity.” She studied him so intently, as if already visualizing him in his new role.
She rose suddenly, morphing back into the lively, animated persona he was accustomed to. He stood with her, and she stretched on tiptoe to brush a quick kiss across his cheek. “I’ll be in touch.” And then she was gone, leaving behind the scent of her perfume, the warm imprint of her lips, and anticipation for whatever scheme she might cook up next.
***
Jovie didn’t show up for work the next day. Quitting was a gamble. He had no idea if a deaf, one-legged man would be able to secure another job without the help of the Soldiers’ Home. And some part of him regretted leaving Mr. Fairday in the lurch, even if he was a Yankee. But the shop was Jovie’s most vulnerable point. If anyone did come looking for him, they’d begin with the address on the delivery wagon.
Instead, Jovie found himself a new boardinghouse, paid in advance for several weeks, and simply dropped out of sight. He wanted to alter his appearance before he began looking for work, so there’d be no way any casual observer would connect him to his past position, especially if he did end up driving another wagon.
It took six weeks to grow an adequate beard. Six interminable weeks during which the same insecurities, the same regrets, the same melancholy came back to haunt him. He missed the noisy inclusiveness of the tavern, even if his whole pretense for being there was false. He missed the routine of Mr. Fairday’s shop. But mostly, he missed Johanna. She and her careless zest for life had singlehandedly done more to keep him alive following Gettysburg than anyone except, perhaps, the doctors.
The hints she had dropped about some upcoming operation were enough to keep him planted but not enough to keep his demons away. Self-pity returned. So did his self-loathing and a deep, bitter loneliness. For months, the adrenaline that rushed through his veins when he was assuming his role was the only thing that proved he was alive. Without it, he was a dead, empty shell. Some nights he simply sat in the dark, wondering what he had to look forward to once his missions were complete, once the war was over. It terrified him that this was the best he might expect out of life.
Sometimes dreams would come in those midnight hours. Dreams and memories that proved there had once been a time when he’d recognized beauty. When the world held more colors than just blue and gray. Mostly, those bright moments only served to illuminate the contrast with his soul and he cast them away in despair. But sometimes he allowed himself an indulgence, like a dose of opiate, heedless of the abyss it spun him into when it faded.
Tonight, he was transported back to a conversation he’d shared with Emily a few months before the war broke out, while he was on a break from college. It was shortly after they’d renewed their friendship as adults. Back then, those early conversations had promised an entirely different direction from the teasing, delinquent relationship he’d had with her as a child, and he’d been very hopeful at his prospects. The world had seemed a wonderful place.
“Have you chosen a field of study?” Emily asked as she packed away her paints and brushes, having finished a backdrop for the local Christmas pageant.
“Not yet. I’m still completing base courses, but next year I can begin narrowing down my interests.”
“Certainly by now you favor some subjects over others.”
“I am drawn to the sciences.” He’d felt a little self-conscious at opening himself up to her, uncertain if she’d respond with ridicule or interest. “I like the order of natural laws, the way they never change. Astronomy, for example. The heavenly bodies are predictable and reliable. I guess I’m not fond of surprises. But I’m most interested in the field of che
mistry.”
“Chemistry?” Emily had repeated. “Mr. Lindquist insisted I take an introductory course. That was enough for me.”
He’d suddenly wanted to make her understand this thing that lit him up inside. “But think about where that knowledge touches everyday life, the things we use all around us.” He’d picked up one of her jars of paint. “Your pigment must be combined with liquid to make it applicable. Someone determined what ingredients would form the best consistency and how it could be fashioned to dry in the most durable finish.”
She’d seemed a little surprised and quite thoughtful, regarding him with interest. “I never considered that.”
He’d latched onto that new connection, letting his enthusiasm bubble up where she could see it. Share it. “Chemistry is the basis of medicine, technology, and industry. Everything we see is made up of tiny bits of matter. They combine in an infinite number of ways to form different substances. We’re learning what those elements are, what properties they contain, how they combine with other elements. There is a logic to it, as with astronomy. Men are making so many discoveries. I want to be a part of that, to use that knowledge to move the world forward.”
Emily had fixed on his words with admiration. Then she’d smiled, poking gentle fun at him. “When you put it that way, chemistry sounds downright noble.”
He’d laughed. “That’s me. A knight in shining lab coat.”
Now Jovie’s mouth twisted bitterly. Life’s possibilities had once seemed boundless. But those days were altered forever. Hope and innocence had fled, and he was left with the cheap thrill of desperation. It hardly seemed a fair trade. But if he didn’t want to succumb to a cold wave or join Jack in some dark hole in the earth, adrenaline had to be enough.
After two weeks of applying, Jovie secured a job with a dray company on the back side of a train yard and once more sank into a routine of work. It was far better than sitting alone in his room. Spring had freshened the air and greened the city’s few trees. Flowers sprang up in window boxes and front walkways. April gave the impression that the world might change with the lifting of winter and become a better place. Jovie knew otherwise.
Spring was when armies went to war.
Jovie wondered briefly how many of his friends in the 2nd still lived. How many wrestled with disfigurement? Disease? Disability? How many lives had the war shattered? He cursed Lincoln and derived a wicked pleasure from his role in thwarting his plans. It wouldn’t be long till his next assignment.
A week later, Johanna sent word to meet him. It was the first time he’d seen her since the tea room, and his heart jolted at the sight of her. Her hair was tamed in a loose braid. Her blue dress set off her eyes, but this time they didn’t sparkle with humor. They glinted with determination. “It’s time,” she announced. “I need you.”
He sat down, distracted only for a minute by the thrill her words sparked. “What’s the plan?”
She leaned forward intently. “There’s going to be a dinner party that will take place in the home of Washington businessman Ezra Wilcox, a frequent outfitter of the Union infantry. I wrangled an invitation for myself and my husband—you. The event should include some of the middle echelon of Washington military officers.”
“I’m an officer now?” He smirked.
“You’re going as a Union captain. I’ve spent most of the last three months in Washington infiltrating the officers’ wives’ club, and they’re dying to meet you, a true hero wounded in battle.” She rolled her eyes. “It’s far more taxing than simply pursuing the officers themselves, but more respectable. And it includes invitations to their homes which, if I can slip away, might contain some very valuable information.”
Jovie’s eyes widened. He hadn’t imagined anything quite so visible. “I don’t have a captain’s uniform.”
“I have one.” She set a bulging valise on the table between them. Jovie peered inside. The bag contained the complete dress uniform of a Union captain, with coat, trousers, cap, and boots, all worn but perfectly serviceable. It was definitely in better shape than his own stolen remnants. “Where did you get this?”
Her smile held a hint of amusement. “The good officers of Baltimore really should be more careful who they leave the tavern with.”
Jovie didn’t want further details. “What do I have to do?”
“Just play the part you’ve been playing all year. I told them you’re deaf, so you won’t be expected to contribute to the conversation in any way. But keep your ears open if I leave the room, and cause a distraction if I arouse any suspicion.”
Jovie swallowed hard. He’d been craving excitement. “When?”
“Day after tomorrow. We’ll take the train into town that morning.”
***
Jovie didn’t think Johanna could look more beautiful, but when she came out of her Washington hotel room with her auburn curls pinned up and wearing a jade-green evening gown, he couldn’t hold back a low whistle. “You look stunning, Mrs. Avery.”
She smirked and reached up to pat his cheek. “Thank you, darling. You don’t look so shabby yourself.”
He had trimmed his beard and tamed his hair with pomade. Despite the crutches, he thought he made a dashing figure in the captain’s uniform, even if it was the wrong color.
“Help me on with my cape?” she asked.
He obliged willingly, noting that the smooth, pale skin of her shoulders was dotted ever so lightly with freckles.
It was only a few blocks to Mr. Wilcox’s house, so they skipped the formality of a coach. Johanna caught the eye of every man on the street. Jovie wished he could know the pleasure of offering her his elbow, but he had to be content to swing along beside her.
Halfway there, his body caught up to the fact that they were embarking on a new and entirely unpredictable mission. His heart began to pound, and a familiar twinge of danger fluttered in his stomach, telling him that he was still alive. Still feeling.
Johanna sensed it, too, the wild rush of the hunt. He could see it in the heightened color of her cheeks and the glint in her eye. As they reached the door, she flashed him an eager smile. “Ready?”
He winked, already into his silent role, and gestured her forward.
Mr. and Mrs. Wilcox met them at the door. They were middle-aged, a bit pompous, and wearing the evidence of too many extravagant meals around their middles. Mrs. Wilcox gushed when she took Johanna’s hand. “Ah, my dear Mrs. Avery, I am so glad you could join us. I’ve told Mr. Wilcox so much about you. And this must be your husband.”
“It is. George, this is Mr. and Mrs. Wilcox, our hosts.”
Jovie acknowledged his understanding with an incline of his head.
Mrs. Wilcox’s smile became overly bright. “That’s so nice how he understands you, my dear.”
“Oh, George can follow simple dialogue with the assistance of hand gestures. I admit we’ve gone through reams of paper since his injury, however. I’m afraid he won’t be able to contribute much to the conversation this evening.”
“That’s perfectly understandable, my dear,” Mrs. Wilcox said with another smile and a touch of Jovie’s forearm. “We’re proud to have a true war hero among us.” In a softer aside, as if Jovie might overhear, she added, “It’s so good of you to keep him, my dear.”
Jovie bristled inwardly, struggling to maintain his placid expression. Keep him? Like a pet dog? Was that how much value a one-legged man held in her eyes? He would take particular delight in every scrap of information they could glean here.
Introductions were made to the other dinner guests. As the meal was served, Jovie was glad he needn’t participate in the conversation. He simply listened as Johanna spun stories for the women about their courtship and engagement, their wedding and cruel separation when Jovie went off to war, the frightening news of his injury, his long convalescence, and their recent arrival in the city. He marveled at her poise. He knew how much she disdained the officers’ wives, yet she had them hanging on every word and casting
adoring glances Jovie’s way. There were times her comments grew so obviously ridiculous that it was all he could do not to laugh out loud. He tuned them out and fixed his attention on the exchange taking place between the gentlemen. But little of interest made its way into their conversation until the meal ended and the men retired to the drawing room and the women to the parlor.
“Where on earth did you find that redhead, Wilcox?” asked one of the guests, a paunchy naval officer who looked like he spent more time in an office than he did on the deck of a ship.
“Mrs. Avery? My wife befriended her a few months ago. She’s new to the city. Edna’s been begging for a chance to invite her to dinner.”
“After a debut like that, I’ll wager she’ll be in demand.”
Jovie hadn’t considered that his one-time role might become an ongoing career.
“She comes with baggage, of course.” Wilcox gave a subtle flick of his head in Jovie’s direction, which Jovie pretended not to notice.
“Yes, poor kid.”
“Poor kid, nothing. I’d give up my left leg for a woman like that.”
There was a round of laughter, then the conversation settled into the predictable patterns. War. War. More war. Jovie turned down a cigar but accepted a glass of port. Setting it on a low table, he rose to browse through the books on Mr. Wilcox’s shelves. He picked one out and turned to his host questioningly. Mr. Wilcox nodded his approval, and Jovie sank back into his seat, mentally collecting a long list of names and figures the men mentioned as he paged absently through the book. There was a good deal of moderately useful information mentioned, but nothing of tremendous significance. He wondered if Johanna was having better luck.
Moments later, he caught sight of her through the glass panels in the door. She jumped back out of sight, and Jovie glanced around to see if anyone else had noticed her. Apparently no one had. They were still debating the latest amendment to the Enrollment Act and deciding what effect it might have on the summer campaigns.
Ella Wood Novellas: Boxed Set Page 20