The Rebel Spy

by April London

  “Vera went home about an hour ago,” Mrs. Hart said softly to her son. “She’s exhausted, Davis. Try and convince her to take it easy tomorrow?”

  Tamsyn sucked in a breath and pulled herself to her feet. She hadn’t heard her mother come out.

  “Yes, ma’am.” Davis nodded. He put Elizabeth onto the back of the horse and climbed back into the wagon, clicking the horse into moving again. Elizabeth’s nonstop chattering faded across the yard with Davis.

  An arm slipped around Tamsyn’s waist. “Come inside. Lavinia and Elizabeth helped me bake some wonderful gingerbread cookies.” Unshed tears sparkled in her mother’s eyes. “Are they still your favorite?”

  Tamsyn smiled and kissed her mother’s cheek. “Yes, ma’am.”

  Her mother led her up the steps and into the house. The scent of fresh baked cookies guided them into the kitchen.

  “You certainly have a little chatterbox, Tam.” Lavinia grinned up from her seat in the kitchen.

  Tamsyn left her mother’s side and hugged Lavinia.

  “The more I baked, the more the girl talked. She plum wore me out!” Betsey Hart poured another cup of tea and pressed it into Tamsyn’s hands.

  A tear escaped down Tamsyn’s cheek. “Thank you, for taking such good care of her.”

  “Shush, now. You’re home now. When Davis said you were under house arrest with that Yankee general…” She shook her head. “Well, never mind.”

  “Thanks, Mama.” Tamsyn whispered and sipped the hot tea.

  “Don’t stay up too late, girls.” She slipped out of the kitchen.

  Lavinia remained silent until the door closed upstairs. Then she added another cookie to Tamsyn’s plate. “You are too skinny.”

  Tamsyn couldn’t help but laugh. “That’s only because you’re so big.” Tamsyn rubbed Lavinia’s swollen belly. The baby inside promptly kicked her hand.

  “You and Aaron.” Tamsyn smiled and shook her head. Aaron was the shyest of the Hart boys. Lavinia grinned. “I’m glad,” Tamsyn added. “You always did fit into this family.”

  Lavinia smiled and poured more tea into Tamsyn’s cup. “It’s chamomile. It will help you sleep.” Lavinia added another cookie to Tamsyn’s plate and eased back into the wooden kitchen chair. “Davis said the Yankee was sweet on you.”

  “Sweet on me. Sweet on the fiancée who’d been waiting on him for the last five years. Who knows who else,” Tamsyn mumbled. Tears stung the corners of her eyes.

  “He took you home with him?” Lavinia’s eyes widened.

  Tamsyn nodded.

  “Men are swine.” Lavinia yawned.

  “Go to bed, Viney. I’ll see you in the morning. I’m going to wait for Elizabeth.” Tamsyn grunted and pulled Lavinia up. “When are you due to deliver?”

  “Any day.” Lavinia giggled. “Aaron is so nervous he can’t sit still. He’s still out in the barn.”

  Lavinia waddled out of the kitchen and Tamsyn smiled.

  It’s good to be home.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Mid-May, 1865

  Boston

  “When did you say the Magnolia will leave for Dublin?” Lars asked.

  “Tomorrow.” James reached for Lars’s empty glass and stood.

  “Lars, I thought we agreed, no talk of business this evening?” Hester whined.

  “My apologies.” Lars smiled at his wife.

  James frowned and moved to refill both glasses with something stronger than the mint tea the women were drinking. He considered sharing the entire bottle with his brother.

  “Hester and I saw this beautiful dress at Mrs. Whitaker’s shop today.” Frances smiled and adjusted her playing cards so she could view them all. “I thought it would be perfect for the honeymoon.”

  James tipped the bottle over his glass a second time and filled it to the top.

  “Have you chosen a place to go?” Hester asked.

  Frances pouted. “James says we aren’t going on a honeymoon.”

  He ignored the narrow looks from both women and returned to the table with two refilled glasses of whiskey. He contemplated drinking them both.

  His brother read his thoughts and pulled one glass from him.

  “Frances, I’m sorry.” James sighed. “I told you, we can postpone the wedding until the fall and arrange a honeymoon then.”

  “No,” Frances replied. “If it weren’t taking so long for the wedding dress we wouldn’t wait.”

  He bit back a smile. He’d thought up several small inconvenient ways to postpone the nuptials. Including his insistence that Mrs. Whitaker make the dress. While Frances nagged that the woman was incompetent and slow, James pressed a few extra coins into her hand to slow the dressmaking down.

  After all, he was the one paying for the damned dress. And he wasn’t ready to marry Frances Amory. He’d never imagined she would wait for him. No one had mentioned her when they’d returned to Boston and until she appeared in the doorway, he hadn’t given her a thought. Of course, everyone expected them to pick up where they left off.

  No one knew Tamsyn was more than his charge.

  His thoughts drifted to the pretty lady. He’d been furious when he discovered George helped her make an escape. Even paid for the damned ticket.

  He’d paced for days at the shipyard with his father. He couldn’t go after her. Business had doubled after the war and it was almost more than the Steele men could handle.

  Then Robert had slipped into the study where James stood one night. “She sent a telegraph to Suzette. She’s safe.”

  He closed his eyes and recalled the way she moved next to him, beneath him. What the hell have I done?

  The look of horror that washed over Tamsyn’s face when he’d introduced Frances haunted his nightmares.

  “James?” Frances’s voice broke through his memories.

  “What?”

  Her blue eyes lifted over the top of the cards she held. “Do you have a seven?” She punctuated each word.

  James shifted forward. “Ah, no. Sorry. No sevens.” He offered her an apologetic smile and glanced over his shoulder. Twilight faded into night. “Is the driver coming to fetch you home? It’s quite late.”

  “I told Father you would walk me home tonight.” Frances pressed her cards together. “The weather is nice and it isn’t far down the street.”

  James tossed his cards onto the table. “Let us be on our way then.”

  He waited by the front door while Frances gathered her bonnet and said her goodbyes to Hester.

  “I will be in the study when you get back.” Lars poured another glass of whiskey. Hester had been nagging him the entire day about a new dress for herself.

  James nodded and wondered just how many glasses his brother had poured for himself since supper. He offered Frances his elbow. Escorting her onto the porch, the light breeze tickled his nose with a warm scent he couldn’t identify. Vaguely familiar, he knew it must be one of the flowers in his mother’s garden.

  “Did you hear what I said about the dress for the honeymoon?” Frances asked as they started down the sidewalk.

  James scowled into the dark. All the woman talks about is clothes.

  “I asked Mrs. Whitaker to put it aside until I spoke with you.” Frances carried on, launching into a description of the frock.

  He relived the look of horror that crossed Tamsyn’s face when he’d purchased the low-necked ball gown for her in Philadelphia. His memory carried him to the night he helped her remove the dress and he smiled.

  “James, are you listening?” Frances nudged him with her arm.

  “Yes, of course.” He nodded.

  “May I tell the dressmaker to add the dress to the order?”

  “I will go and speak with Mrs. Whitaker tomorrow. If the dress is appropriate, I will.” He held back a sigh of relief when they reached Frances’ front door.

  “Thank you, James. I look forward to the day when you no longer have to return me to my father’s home.”

  He smiled an
d nodded.

  She slipped into her parent’s house. James turned to hurry back up the street.

  He tried to imagine his fiancée a warm and caring mother to children. She’d never spoken about children. He tried to imagine her a passionate woman, writhing with pleasure beneath him.

  All he could see was Tamsyn’s blonde head tossed back. Her mouth open and his name on her lips. James slowed near the townhouse. He wasn’t ready to go inside. Sleep eluded him night after night. He started for the alley that led to his mother’s garden and stopped short.

  Voices carried up the alleyway. Sultry French accented laughter mixed easily with a voice that he recognized.

  “Sit with me in the garden, Suzette.” Robert’s musical voice carried on the breeze.

  “Oui, a nice night like this, I think I will,” Suzette agreed.

  Dark shadows move across the alley toward his mother’s gardens. He entered the house through the front door. He let the door latch closed behind him. Taking a deep breath he started for the study. Lars would sit there until he showed up.

  Lars stood staring out the window onto the street. A full drink in one hand and a lit cigar in the other. “Robert needs to just bed the lass,” Lars offered. “Get her out of his system.”

  James filled his own glass. “I thought he already had.”

  Lars shrugged. “Robert keeps it to himself if he has.” Lars tossed a concerned glance at his brother. “Mother is worried about you.”

  James grunted.

  “She said you aren’t sleeping.”

  “Lars.” Hester’s voice carried from the top of the stairs.

  “I will be up as soon as I finish the cigar,” Lars called back. He tilted his glass back. “Are you nervous about your nuptials?”

  James groaned and dropped into the straight-backed chair in front of the cold fireplace.

  “You’re not happy.” Lars eyed the empty glass in contemplation. “Everyone knows it. Well, everyone but Frances.”

  James eyed his brother, who seemed to still be steady on his feet, despite the whiskey.

  “Lars, do you and Hester…”

  Lars lifted a hard stare from the empty glass. “Out with it,” Lars ordered.

  “Do you share a bed at night?” James tripped over the words to get them out. He kept his eyes on the ashes.

  Lars chuckled. He placed the glass next to the whiskey bottle. He moved to the chair in the darkest corner of the room and sat down.

  “Hester says it isn’t proper to share a bed unless we’re looking for more children.” Lars cleared his throat. “And Hester isn’t inclined to have more children.”

  “How do you…” James closed his eyes and shook his head. At least the war kept his mind from his abstinence.

  Lars sighed. “I have a companion in Boston proper. Not far from the docks.” Lars kept his voice pitched low. “She’s a sweet gal. Understands these things. I can make some inquiries if you need a similar arrangement later on.”

  “Lars!” Hester’s sharp tone drifted to the parlor and both men cringed.

  Lars sighed. He stubbed his cigar out in the ashtray next to him. “James, I know, if I had a woman who looked at me the way that little rebel looked at you…” Lars stood slowly. “I’ll be damned if I’d let her hop on the first train out of my life.”

  “Lars!” The sharp thump of a foot stomped on the top stair.

  Lars walked closer to James and leaned down. The whiskey heavy on his breath. “I sure as hell wouldn’t be marrying—”

  “Lars!”

  Lars turned to leave the room, mumbling obscenities directed at his impatient wife. “And James,” Lars stopped. “Hester and Frances are a lot alike.”

  James leaned back into the chair. Alone in the study, every muscle in his body screamed in anger. He growled and threw the empty glass into the cold fireplace. It shattered against the stone. No one called to see that everything was all right.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Beginning of June 1865

  Outside of Johnson City, Tennessee

  Vera hurried back into the room, smoothing her still-short hair. “Davis took Elizabeth.”

  Tamsyn smiled. Elizabeth couldn’t be pried away from her mother by anyone but her uncle. “Vera, you’re beautiful. Stop fretting about your hair.”

  “I wished it weren’t so short.” Vera tugged on the ends where it had begun to curl around her chin.

  The scent of cooking pork wafted into the room. They’d spent half the night roasting the pig. Davis and Vera’s wedding brought family and friends from as far away as Georgia.

  A wave of nausea rolled across Tamsyn unexpectedly. She dropped the pins and ran for the basin in the corner. She gagged just as her hands wrapped around the porcelain.

  Dammit. No.

  She closed her eyes and wretched. Sweat bedded across her forehead.

  “Tamsyn, are you ill?” Vera touched her shoulder with strong, steady hands. “Did you eat rotten meat?”

  The question brought a fresh onslaught of gagging. Clutching the basin she pulled in deep breaths and waited for the nausea to pass.

  “Tamsyn?”

  “I seem to be more nervous than you are.” Tamsyn forced and laugh and reached for a small towel.

  “You don’t look well at all.” Vera pressed her hand against Tamsyn’s forehead. “You aren’t feverish.”

  “Vera, would you run downstairs and fetch Tamsyn a glass of water?” Betsy asked.

  A look passed between her mother and Lavinia, who sat rocking little Aaron in the corner.

  Vera nodded and hurried from the room.

  “How far gone are you?” Betsy took Tamsyn by the hand and pulled her onto the edge of the bed.

  Tamsyn buried her head into her hands. The sudden sobbed wretched through her body. Betsy wrapped her arms around Tamsyn’s shoulders and rocked gently. “Shh, sweet girl, everything is going to be all right.”

  Vera appeared in the doorway with the tin cup of water and stopped. Her eyes wide.

  “What is wrong?” Vera asked. “Should I fetch Davis?”

  Lavinia laughed from the corner. “Vera, there is nothing Davis can do.” Lavinia smiled down at the baby in her arms. “Seems little Aaron, here, is going to have a cousin.”

  Vera’s mouth formed a silent circle.

  “Does he know?” Betsy asked.

  “No.” Tamsyn dried her tears with the back of her hand. “I only sent the one message, to Suzette, to let her know I’d arrived safely.”

  “So you aren’t so far gone?” Lavinia asked.

  “No.” Tamsyn accepted the water from Vera. “I wasn’t even certain until the nausea started.”

  She sipped with care. Nothing had stayed on her stomach for nearly a week. She’d avoided mirrors as the dark circles appeared.

  “Vera, I’m so sorry.” Tamsyn forced a smile. “We’re going to be late.”

  Vera blushed. “Davis is patient. He’ll wait.”

  “Has the preacher arrived yet?” Lavinia stood.

  “I’m not sure.” Vera smoothed the cream colored Sunday dress she would wed in.

  “Come along, Viney.” Betsy reached for little Aaron. “Let’s go see if we can catch the preacher before Davis offers him some of that fresh batch of ’shine.”

  Lavinia giggled. “Nothing gets past you, does it Betsy?” Lavinia handed the happy baby to his grandmother.

  “Trying to sneak a jug in wrapped in the baby’s blanket. Lavinia, surely you can teach Aaron to be a little more creative.” Betsy’s laughter filled the room.

  Tamsyn smiled.

  Happiness ruled here.

  The two women left the room talking excitedly. Vera’s eyes shimmered as she stared at herself in the looking glass. “I never thought to do this again.”

  Tamsyn smiled, her hand rubbed her stomach. “You are beautiful, Vera. Davis is a lucky man.”

  “I wish my hair would have grown out more.” Vera smoothed her hand down her sand colored chin length
hair. “It had curls when it was longer. I look forward to them again.”

  She turned to Tamsyn again. “Will you walk with me?”

  “Of course.” Tamsyn hurried to adjust her own dress.

  The two women started for the door. Tamsyn stopped and reached to hug Vera.

  “I’m glad to have you in the family, Private Knowles.”

  She offered Vera a wink.

  Chapter Twenty

  Mid-June

  Boston

  James leaned against the door. His parents hurried into the parlor.

  “Come along, dear.” Charles urged his wife. “Our son would like a word.”

  “Hester, take the boys upstairs,” Mary called to her daughter-in-law before following her husband into the parlor.

  Once his parents were seated, James checked to see Hester was in fact taking the boys upstairs. He hurried to close the door. He needed no eavesdropping for his conversation.

  Lars had warned him Hester found it to be a humorous pastime.

  “Cigar?” James offered the fresh box to his Father.

  “James, what’s on your mind, son?” Mary’s nose wrinkled when her husband accepted one of the cigars.

  James set the box on the table.

  “I can’t marry Frances.”

  “Thank God,” Charles mumbled. He rubbed his balding head. “One harpy in the family is enough.”

  “Charles!”

  “Oh, Molly, you’ve said it yourself.” Charles waved his hand in the air. He reached for a match to light the cigar. “Hester is a nag and poor Lawrence is miserable.”

  A weight lifted and James let out a breath.

  “Son, are you asking permission to call off the wedding?” Charles took a deep drag of the cigar. “You don’t need our permission.”

  “This is your life, James.” Mary waved the smoke her husband blew in her direction away, tossing him a dangerous look.

  He grinned at her.

  “James, your father and I will support whatever decision you make.”

  “I just have no desire to bring scandal to the family, and the Amorys will see that is what happens. Frances will see to it.” James sighed.

  Charles Steele’s hearty laughter filled the room. Standing, he walked to where his wife sat and kissed her on the temple. “Molly, dear, why don’t you run along to the gardens. I will be there directly.”