Summer Rose

by Caroline Hartman

  Half an hour later they heard laughter, thumping, boisterous voices, and giggles on the stairs, then doors opening and closing. A calm Becca knocked and carried in a plate of small sandwiches and another of cookies. She set the plates beside the drinks tray.

  “Your brother is here, too. I took him into the kitchen.” She nodded toward the sandwiches. “I’ll bring him up as soon as I’m sure the others are settled. No one saw him except Mr. Stone and Ned. The other man left.” She opened the door then glanced back over her shoulder. “Your brother’s a gentleman. He warned me about the gossip, too.”

  Daniel had cleaned and reloaded his revolver while Summer bathed. Now he laid it with the blackjack beside his glass of bourbon on the mantle. He knelt before her with his back to the fire, examining her thigh and dressing the wound with a tincture of iodine and her father’s ointment.

  “Watch that. Don’t let it fester. Leave it open for tonight. I’ll ask Ray to check it tomorrow.” He nodded toward the drink he’d fixed her. “Drink some. It’s medicine.”

  “You’re bossy.”

  A little of the tension left him. “This is paybacks for that god-awful tea you made me drink?” He touched her cheek. “You look lovely despite all of this and smell heavenly.”

  Her ice blue, silk peignoir fell in soft folds as she picked up the glass. “Thank you.” She sipped the dark liquid then sniffed it. “Is this a different kind of whiskey? It’s not so bad.”

  She took another tentative sip and patted his hand. “I’m less upset than you might expect. I killed a bear once. With a knife. You know it isn’t hard to kill a man when he’s trying to kill you. You told me that. Tonight was no different. I knew what he was after. His hand …” She took another quick sip. “I had no qualms about slashing him. I’d have killed him, too.”

  A soft tap sounded. Daniel said. “Come in.”

  Jack entered with Nip and Tuck. The dogs yipped and howled and made a beeline to their mistress. Summer stared at Jack as they settled, confused. Her brother, still tall and lean, now stood straight and displayed no ticks or head bobs. What happened?

  He came around the end of the sofa, shook hands with Daniel, then sat beside her. He squeezed her hand, and unexpected tears filled her eyes. The back of her throat ached. His hand jerked as if burned, and he motioned to her drink.

  “Would you mind fixing me one of those, Daniel? It has been quite a night.” He crossed an ankle over his knee. “I’m so grateful you were there to protect my sister. Keeping your revolver handy is a good idea.” He picked her hand up again and held it. This time no rush of emotion came, but his voice was hushed. “Thank heavens you’re okay. We lost his trail. I’m sorry. I have men guarding the house.”

  Daniel handed a drink to Jack and set the tray of sandwiches on a small table in front of the couch. “Protect her? I may need protection from her. She killed a bear?”

  Jack let go of her hand and settled into the sofa. “Slit the poor beast’s throat. Caught him right under his jaw.” He swept his fingers across his own throat in demonstration. “She was covered with blood. Da took off her boots and threw her, kicking and screaming, into the lake.” He shook his head, his lips curled at the memory. “Good Lord, were you angry.” He squinted at Daniel. “I take it you haven’t yet seen her temper.”

  Daniel straddled a wooden chair next to Summer, and he leaned his forearms across its back. A slow smile played across his face. “I look forward to it, as long as she isn’t angry with me.

  “Now Major, I’m curious about something. How did you manage to be Johnny-on-the-Spot tonight?” He reached over and took her hand, squeezing it once. “Oh, and by the way, I slashed that man.”

  She stiffened.

  His eyes flashed a warning.

  But Jack wasn’t stupid. “You’re wise. I planned to suggest that you did the damage.” Jack patted her knee. “No sense sharing your skill with a knife with the world, or, for that matter, letting the world know you were even attacked.”

  He turned to Daniel. “The one you shot is dead. We have the one you clobbered. He’s in Capitol Prison. The other one, the one Summer slashed got away. We know a little about him. His name is Hobbs, Carlton Hobbs. His uncle was once Lieutenant Governor of Maryland; however, his mother’s people came from South Carolina. He’s a rebel to the core. We’ve been watching him for the last six months.”

  Jack chose another sandwich from the tray and ate it in one bite. His eyes flicked toward his sister. “I can see the questions lining up in your eyes, Summer.”

  He settled back and cleared his throat. “You must admit, Summer, you’re unusual. We both are. There’s no point in trying to explain our odd family to anyone who hasn’t seen the valley, heard the stories about our parents.” He nodded to Daniel. “How many girls do you know who receive a knife for their fourth birthday? How many can load a shotgun by the time they’re five?

  “If people hear about tonight, someone, somehow, will construe that you brought this attack upon yourself.” He sipped his drink and sighed. “Your dress was cut too low or too short. You didn’t conduct yourself with propriety. Who knows? Neither your husband nor I want you held up to public scrutiny. Washington may not burn its women at the stake, but this city can cut you off at the knees both socially and politically. Trust me. Your husband’s career could be ruined as well as your reputation.”

  Jack continued. “Hobbs is up to his eyeballs in blood sports: cock fighting, dog fighting, and every other vice the city offers. He doesn’t just gamble, he organizes the fights, breeds the dogs, make the fights spectacular. It’s truly sick. People pay to watch the killing of mangled animals.” Jack reached down and petted the dogs. “At the beginning of the war he operated in the District of Columbia. Recently he moved all the blood sports except the cock fighting into Virginia.”

  He ticked off the details on his fingers. “We know he’s in cahoots with several of the brothels, procuring girls. His weapon of choice is a knife, and he’s been known to undress women with one.” His eyes drilled into his sister. “Did he slit your clothing?”

  She bit her lip and nodded.

  “May I see your things?”

  She went to the closet and brought back the corset and the dress, still rolled in a ball. He shook out both articles, then looked at Daniel. “Our father was the best knifeman I’ve ever known. He trained all of us. Colin and William were good.” He pointed to his sister. “But she’s the best of the four of us.” He held up the cream-colored corset, embroidered with dainty pink roses, and now stiffening with drying blood. “I’d never attempt this. Do you have something I could stuff this into?”

  She headed out to the hall linen closet, returned with a pillowcase, and gave it to Jack.

  “Did he violate you?”

  Daniel stood abruptly; his wooden chair toppled over. “No, he did not. Do you need to know all this?”

  “Easy, Colonel.” Jack held up his hands while Daniel righted the chair and sat back down, still seething. “The thing is, we haven’t made this public knowledge, but we know of twenty-seven girls and women who have been raped since the war started. Some were murdered. All were poor women who lived in Murder Bay: whores, serving girls, scullery maids, young, homeless widows. Some weren’t yet fourteen years old. We found a sixteen-year-old girl last month in the Haymarket, gutted like a fish and buried in a manure pile. The horrors make the hair on the back of my neck stand up.” He took a sip of his drink and turned to his sister. “You know about Murder Bay, don’t you?”

  “Yes, Daniel warned me, and so did Harvey and Ray.”

  Jack said, “Murder Bay houses 450 brothels. You know what a brothel is, don’t you?”

  Her big eyes grew enormous. “Yes, Daniel explained that term, too.”

  “We estimate there are about 7500 whores housed in that area. A few brothels are quite elegant, the rest are … they range from functional shelters to tarpaper shacks to abandoned crates.”

  He took another sip of his drink.
“Hobbs’ fingers are everywhere from cockfights to providing girls for certain officers’ private parties. He moves in interesting circles.”

  Jack inched to the edge of the couch, his words came faster, and his voice cracked. “In late November, an eight-year-old girl was abducted, the daughter of a sergeant in the Home Guard. She was an exceptionally beautiful child. We suspect the same gang. Good sources reported someone bid in the thousands for her at a midnight auction held aboard a yacht anchored off Alexandria.” His eyes slid to Summer and he swallowed hard. “They bid, you understand, for …” He snapped his fingers. “She’s gone. Evaporated.”

  Summer sucked in through her teeth, but Jack’s voice stayed calm. “They’re not finished with you, Summer. Carlton Hobbs will demand revenge for tonight. We followed his blood for a block. Where did you slice him?”

  She made a slashing motion with her hand from her eye to ear then sunk the imaginary blade into her shoulder.

  Jack nodded and patted her knee. “One of our snitches heard your name on the street. That’s why I followed you. But I never imagined they’d touch a colonel’s wife.”

  Daniel jumped to his feet, horrified, catching the chair before it toppled. “You used her as bait? Why in hell didn’t you at least tell me? I’d never have walked home … Christ, Jack!”

  Jack put up his hand again. “I didn’t think he’d attack. You’re right. I’m sorry. But I also knew she could take care of herself.”

  “Don’t even consider such a thing again. “Who in the hell do you work for?”

  Jack’s spine stiffened. “Washington is a cesspool. Most of the magistrates, the marshals, the police are Confederate sympathizers. And the influx of soldiers and former slaves into the city has overwhelmed them. I represent the army. My immediate commander is General Heintzelman. I work with Allan Pinkerton. And President Lincoln.”

  Daniel refilled Jack’s glass then handed it back to him. He didn’t resume his seat, but studied the fire for a long moment. Finally he turned, one hand still on the mantle. “Who funds this evil? Who paid the money? Who pockets a commission? Who owns the yacht?

  “What was her name?” he asked quietly.

  Jack head bobbed up. “Who?”

  “The little girl? The sergeant’s daughter?”

  “Elizabeth Darling. Her parents called her Liza.” He took a sip of whiskey, but his words came out raspy. “I hope she’s dead.”

  Daniel set his glass down with a thunk. The ice rattled. “If they spent that much money on her, I guarantee you she’s not dead.”

  No one spoke for a long moment. Finally, Summer asked, “They’ll sell her over and over, won’t they?”

  Jack nodded and stood, then leaned down and kissed her cheek. “Take care, little sister. Keep these beasts nearby. I posted guards.” He picked up the pillowcase with its bloody contents and shook hands with Daniel. “You still don’t have orders?”

  “No, neither does Hal.”

  “I’ll let myself out. I’ll be back in the morning.”

  CHAPTER 27

  LATE NIGHT AT THE WAR

  DEPARTMENT

  Jack crossed Pennsylvania Avenue to the War Department Building. The fog swirled eerily around the gaslights. The guard opened both doors as Jack wiped his boots on the wire mat. He then hung his coat on one of the hooks inside the door. At the far end of the cavernous area he made out President Lincoln, standing at the entrance to the cipher room where he could just see. John Hay, one of Lincoln’s secretaries, and Secretary of War, Edwin Stanton. They huddled over a table by the telegraphs. He was not surprised. None of these men slept much. Lincoln checked the telegram flimsies several times a day. Jack waved to the men.

  Lincoln raised his long arm. He flicked his wrist and motioned Jack over to the table. “Hello Jack. You’re just the man we need. Would you be so kind as to key in a message? Archie stepped out for a minute, and none of us can figure out this new contraption.”

  Jack nodded to each of the men, laid the pillowcase on the floor at his feet, and took the paper from the President’s hand. He said, “It’s another dispatch to Major General Grant in Chattanooga.”

  As Jack set about concentrating on the device, John Hay spotted the blood on the pillowcase, picked it up, and dumped the contents of the bag on another table. He lifted up the corset. “Ooh-la-la. To what gorgeous creature does this piece of apparel belong?” He noticed the knife cut and blood. “Good God, is she okay?”

  Stanton shook out the mutilated and bloody dress. All three heads turned to Jack.

  “Give me a minute to send this and I’ll explain.” He flashed a sardonic grin. “I’m not an axe murderer. Those are my sister’s things. She was attacked only a few blocks from here.”

  Lincoln took the corset from his secretary. He ran a long boney finger down the center seam that had been sliced open. “Is this the sister who lived by herself after your parents and brothers died? The one who hunts and throws a knife so well? What’s her name?”

  Jack nodded. “Summer—Summer Rose. Just a minute, Sir.” The click of the telegraph echoed eerily with the President’s footsteps as he paced about the room.

  While Jack worked the key, the President took the dress from Edwin Stanton and examined it, too, shaking his head.

  Jack keyed in the last line and signed it A. Lincoln. He turned in his swivel chair, he suddenly felt as if his bones had turned to mush. Exhausted, too weak to stand, he looked up at the three men. He started to force himself to rise, but Lincoln patted his shoulder and pulled up a chair opposite him. He folded his long frame into it. “Take your time, Jack. Summer Rose is your only living relative, isn’t she? Is she okay? What a pretty name.”

  Jack nodded. President Lincoln was the closest thing he’d had to a father since Antietam. His kindness, now, threatened to overwhelm Jack. He felt close to tears, but would rather die a thousand deaths than cry in front of these men. He took a deep breath and told them about the attack on Summer.

  “She’s married now to Colonel Charteris, one of Buford’s cavalry officers. They live over on 18th Street. He killed one of them, wounded the other one, a third is still at large.”

  Lincoln nodded. So did Stanton. Lincoln said, “He and his friend, St. Clair, I believe, stopped Mother’s carriage at the start of the war. They came to dinner. Big fellow. Remember him Edwin? They were great conversationalists. Well spoken. Mother liked both of them.”

  Stanton scowled. “St. Clair and Charteris. Conversationalists? They should be. Their fathers are Philadelphia lawyers. I’ve fought court battles with them—too many times to count.”

  John Hay, who made no bones about his frequent visits to the brothels nodded. “Hal St. Clair, I know him, ran-in to him at Maggie Hall’s. He’s quite the poker player. The ladies like him.”

  Jack felt better now. “I planned to ask you, Sir, if I could use—borrow them, so to speak, on that matter we’re working on, with the girl. Since his wife was attacked Colonel Charteris is very motivated to apprehend these rapists and with General Buford’s death they’re at loose ends.”

  One corner of Mr. Lincoln’s mouth curled up and an eyebrow arched. “You want to borrow a couple of cavalry colonels?”

  In the background, the Secretary of War’s eyes bulged.

  Jack nodded to both men. A smile crossed his lips. “I’ll give them back in the spring.”

  Lincoln chuckled. “Please don’t let General Pleasanton hear you use the term ‘borrowing’. He’s very possessive of his colonels.”

  John Hay picked up the corset. “We should invite them to dinner again. I’m sure Mrs. Charteris is a fascinating conversationalist, too.”

  Lincoln eyed the corset, his forefinger gingerly touched the embroidered roses. “I’m sure we’d all give her our rapt attention.”

  At the 18th Street House, Daniel took the dogs downstairs when he went to check the doors and windows. He spoke with the guards and allowed the dogs the run of the house. He brought up a bucketful of coal whe
n he returned to their room. Once upstairs, he changed into his black silk robe and banked the fire for a slow burn. He slid his revolver under the sofa and lay down with his head in his wife’s lap. She ran her fingers through his hair and massaged his forehead and temples.

  “That feels wonderful. I should be massaging your forehead, though.”

  “Shush. Just enjoy it.”

  He closed his eyes and let his body, coiled as tight as a clock spring, relax under her touch. The warmth of the fire lulled him into a half sleep, then dropped him into a nightmare. In his mind’s eye, her bloody corset fell open, except instead of the corset it was her chest, slashed open like the carcass of a lamb. His heart slammed against his ribs and he jerked awake.

  He rolled onto one side, facing the fire, and stared at the orange-red coals. Fear, raw and ugly, sent cold sweat to his skin. He slipped one arm beneath her knees and closed his eyes, resting his lips on the ice blue silk draped over her legs, trying to banish the flashing images.

  Blood didn’t frighten him. That she came inches from being raped and killed choked him.

  Sex was never far from Daniel’s mind, though he rarely thought about it. Desire, lust, sat behind a valve of some sort; he could turn it on or off, but it was always there. He understood the driving force. He understood, too, its power, how sex fueled invention, competition, and ambition. Everything from a nail to a howitzer spoke of sex. However, Hal and he, even as wild and thoughtless as they had been, were always in control. What kind of man needs sex so badly they could hurt a child? What possesses a man to throw a woman down in the snow, then rape and kill her? Hide her body in a manure pile?

  He’d never considered these questions before. He’d unconsciously known the power of sex. Like the tide, or sap running in the trees, it simply was, and nobody stopped it. He lay with his head in her lap, and the irony that his body ached for her didn’t escape him.

  He roughly pulled her down beside him and kissed her, then rolled to the floor, cushioning and crushing her at the same time. He kissed her with the consuming need that had built all evening. The thought of losing her filled him with fear, and desire shot through him like a roaring stream. Her body arched, fitted against him, tried to keep pace with his passion but failed.