Whippoorwill

by R. L. Bartram

  “All right then,” Doucet conceded. “We’ll send them home tomorrow. Let them rest before assigning them. We’ll soon find out how many of them are strong enough to survive in the field.”

  Booth threw the cloth onto the table. “When do we send them after Lincoln?” he asked.

  “I told you before,” Doucet growled. “That won’t happen. Not unless we lose the war.”

  ***

  As he emerged from the shack, Doucet found Ceci standing right out in the middle of the clearing, making sure she had as much open ground around her as possible. He made no attempt to approach her. “Come on.”

  “I ain’t going anywhere with you,” she shouted back.

  He studied her for a moment. “The others are waiting.”

  “Others?”

  “Come on.”

  Ceci followed him at a distance, back to the main cabin, lingering at the threshold as he traversed the room and opened the door to a small annex, allowing the rest of the Bird spies to swarm out.

  “I thought you were all dead,” Ceci cried, rushing forward.

  It was an emotional reunion, until they remembered why they were all in this state in the first place. As one, they turned, glaring at Doucet.

  He remained unperturbed. “Contrary to your imaginings. I derived no perverted pleasure from your ordeal,” he told them. “A day will come, in the field, when your life is threatened. You will not hesitate, but react on instinct, and survive, only because of what you have endured here today.”

  Without waiting for a response, he walked over to the double doors at the back of the cabin and thrust them aside. The room beyond blazed with lamplight. At its centre was a huge wooden tub, as big as a wine vat, clouds of vapour hanging over it, brimming with hot water. Beyond that, their own clothes, freshly laundered, were laid out next to a sideboard laden with plates of beef and venison, fresh bread, cheese and wine.

  “You have earned this,” he pointed into the room. “Next door are four soft beds with clean sheets. Enjoy.” He paused, taking a bundle of bank notes from his waistcoat pocket and offered them to Ceci. “That’s a good trick,” he told her. “A pocket in your underwear. The organisation will adopt it for future use.”

  “I pity the next batch of recruits coming through here,” she didn’t mind admitting.

  “No one else is coming here,” Doucet replied. “After tomorrow, the island will be abandoned, and all traces of our activities will be erased.”

  “But you said you were recruiting other women,” Oriole recalled.

  “And so we shall,” he assured her. “But we won’t train them here. Another lesson for you,” he told them. “Keep moving. Keep the enemy guessing. That’s how you stay alive.” With that, he strode out of the cabin, closing the door behind him.

  The four of them clustered around the entrance to the room, staring cautiously inside.

  “Do you think it’s another test?” Oriole wondered.

  “I’m willing to risk it,” Cardinal remarked, the aroma of roast beef teasing her nostrils.

  “Doucet said that the cell was the final test,” Ceci recalled. “I think it’s safe for us to go in.”

  The mention of the cell made Oriole shudder. “In that room,” she confided. “I’ve never been so terrified in all my life.” She broke off, her cheeks reddening. “I couldn’t control myself. It was awful.”

  “I haven’t peed my drawers since I was a little girl,” Cardinal admitted, with her usual candour. “But I sure cut loose in there.”

  Ceci touched a finger to her lips, gesturing at Bunting. “The man was supposed to be a rapist,” she reminded them of her history.

  The diminutive redhead looked up at them. “What?” she shrugged, pushing past, pulling off her dress, as she headed for the tub. “I tried to shoot the bastard, as soon as Doucet put the gun in my hand. I guess I passed straightaway.”

  ***

  “I’d forgotten what it feels like to be clean,” Cardinal sighed, as she joined the others in the tub. “Who volunteers to scrub my back?”

  Ceci began to soap her down realising that although she’d known the passionate love of a man, once she would have considered it entirely inappropriate to bathe with other women, but a lot had changed since then.

  “Do you think ol’ Doucet is out there, peeking in?” Bunting wondered. She raised her arms, flaunting her breasts at the window.

  In a moment, out of sheer exuberance and bravado, after months of privation, they were all doing it, until, finally, they collapsed back in the tub, afflicted by a fit of laughter.

  “I don’t think he’s that kind of a man,” Ceci suggested, in hindsight.

  “Honey, they’re all that kind of man,” Cardinal disagreed vehemently.

  “No, really,” Ceci insisted. “He’s a seasoned professional. There’s good reason behind everything he does. Although it may not be apparent at the time.”

  “When it comes to men,” Cardinal told her. “There’s always a good reason, and it usually becomes apparent, once their hand is in your drawers.”

  Gusts of laughter rose into the room. They began to splash each other, starting a boisterous free-for-all that nearly drowned Bunting.

  As the layers of ingrained dirt began to wash off, they noticed that they were all covered in huge bruises. Colourful souvenirs of their rigorous training. Ceci’s whole left side was black and blue. The relentless pace and hard living had allowed them no time to consider these superficial injuries.

  “I don’t know about the rest of you,” Oriole winced, “but mine are beginning to hurt.”

  “It’s the hot water,” Ceci realised. “It’s relaxed us. Now we’re going to suffer.”

  “I’d suffer a little less, if you didn’t poke your fingers into mine,” Cardinal complained to Bunting.

  “Well, I’m sorry. I thought it was dirt.”

  Eventually the water began to cool, forcing them out of the tub.

  “I’m starving. Let’s eat.” Cardinal wrapped a towel around herself, advancing on the sideboard.

  “Don’t eat too much,” Ceci cautioned. “You’re not used to it.”

  Her warning fell on deaf ears. The banquet was just too tempting, and they had been hungry for too long. All of them, including Ceci, despite her initial prudence, gorged themselves until their stomachs groaned.

  Exhausted by the day’s events, they moved into the dormitory and donned the plain cotton nightdresses that had been left for them.

  “It’s a pity, after all we’ve bin through together,” Bunting mused, as she climbed into bed. “That we can’t tell each other our real names, or where we come from. It means we’ll never see each other again.”

  “I know,” Oriole agreed. “But we mustn’t be tempted to break Doucet’s rule of silence. If we do, and one of us is captured and forced to talk, they’ll betray the rest, and that’ll be the end of us all.”

  Her statement caused a profound silence to descend on the room, as each one of them considered their future. At the camp, all their mistakes had been forgiven. Where they were going, there would be no second chances.

  Chapter Twenty

  When Ceci returned home, Hecubah was overjoyed. Her face lit up, when she saw her, but the smile quickly faded.

  “What happened to your hair?” she stared in dismay.

  Ceci repeated Doucet’s cover story. “It’ll grow back,” she assured her. “But I’m keeping it short for the duration of the war. It’s my protest.” It was a small lie, but she needed to give Hecubah a reason for keeping it short.

  “Suit yourself,” Hecubah shrugged. “Lord, child. You look so thin,” she continued to fuss. “Didn’t they feed you?”

  “I’m fine,” Ceci assured her. “Nothing a little home cooking won’t put right.”

 
“It’s so good to have you back.” Hecubah threw her arms around her and hugged her.

  Ceci gasped in pain.

  “What’s the matter, child?” Hecubah frowned with concern.

  “It’s nothing,” Ceci made light of it. “I fell while I was moving some beds. I hurt my back.”

  “I’m gonna get you to your room,” Hecubah remarked purposefully. “Give you a good meal and tend to your hurt. Then you can tell me all about it.”

  ***

  “God almighty,” Hecubah swore, when she saw the huge purple bruise spreading over Ceci’s side. “I’m gonna fix a poultice for that.”

  “It’s all right,” Ceci declined. “It don’t hurt that much now.”

  “Was it very bad, out there?” Hecubah enquired tentatively. “You didn’t say much in your letters.”

  “Bad enough,” Ceci told her. “If you don’t mind, I won’t talk about it.”

  “I understand,” Hecubah accepted her decision without complaint. “I bin so worried whilst you was away,” she confessed. “But now you’re safe home again.”

  “It’s good to be back,” Ceci agreed, but in truth, she felt no joy in her homecoming because she knew she wasn’t here to stay. This was merely a pause, before she continued the journey she had committed herself to. Where it would take her, she didn’t know. There was only one thing she was certain of. In the near future, she was going to break Hecubah’s heart.

  ***

  Thanksgiving came and went, although there seemed little to be thankful for. Christmas was a quiet subdued affair, haunted by the ghosts of lost loved ones. She and Hecubah together, could find no cheer in it.

  As the new year dawned, Ceci took the engagement ring from her jewellery box, where she’d left it for safe keeping before going to the island, and slipped it on again. It was 1863, and still the war continued, with no clear end in sight. No more letters from Trent had reached her, and she saw little point in writing to him. She looked at his picture, twisting the ring around her finger, and sighed. The dark creature within her heard her sighs and began to whisper. By now, she could have been a wife, a mother, with a loving husband at her side, but all of that had been denied her. Lincoln, and the accursed Union, had robbed her of it. A whole new year stood before her. It could have meant so much, but now, there was nothing to look forward to. She took off the ring and put it away. She hoped, with all her heart, that it would not be too long before she put it on again. That is, if she ever did.

  ***

  “That damn bird was out in the garden again, last night,” Hecubah complained, as they finished breakfast. “Calling all hours of the night. I’ve a mind to take a gun and shoot it.”

  “What bird?” Ceci asked.

  “You mean, you ain’t heard it?” she stared in surprise. “Blamed whippoorwill turned up, just after you come back. Gone and made its home out there.”

  “It ain’t doing any harm,” Ceci smiled to herself. “Leave it be.”

  “I don’t like it,” Hecubah admitted. “The way it arrived when you come home. It’s an omen. Has to be.”

  “Don’t start that,” Ceci objected. “You’ll have us both jumping at our own shadows.”

  “I guess so,” she agreed. “It ain’t as if you’re not skittish enough already.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?” Ceci demanded.

  “You bin kinda restless, since you got back,” Hecubah told her. “It’s like you is waiting for something, or someone.”

  Ceci hadn’t realised she’d been so obvious.

  “You flinch every time there’s a knock at the door,” Hecubah continued. “Is you expecting someone to call?”

  “Of course, not,” Ceci dismissed her concerns. “It’s just nerves, is all.”

  “Ah huh,” Hecubah nodded, “you know, child, there’s nothing you can’t tell me. There ain’t nothing we can’t fix. All you gotta do is confide in me.”

  “All I want to tell you is that I love you,” Ceci replied earnestly. “I always will. You know that, don’t you?”

  “Of course, honey,” Hecubah shot her a quizzical glance. “Remember, I told you once. No matter what happens, I’ll always be your Hecubah.”

  ***

  Ceci never heard the knock at the door, she’d anticipated for so long. It wasn’t until a maid came into the day room holding a silver tray with Doucet’s calling card on it that she knew the time had come.

  She sent the maid away and went and fetched Doucet herself, locking the door behind them.

  “I’m glad to see you looking so well,” he greeted her pleasantly.

  “No thanks to you,” she responded coldly.

  “Everything I did was necessary,” he defended his actions. “As you’ll soon find out.” He placed a large, thick envelope on the desk between them. “The position of housemaid awaits you in the home of Mr Josiah Douglas of Washington.”

  “I endured three months of misery just to become a housemaid?” Ceci scoffed.

  “Don’t underestimate this assignment,” he warned her. “You’ll be right in the heart of enemy territory. If they discover what you’re doing, they will execute you.”

  “What’s the plan?” Ceci asked soberly.

  “Our friend Douglas is a minor official at the White House,” Doucet explained. “One of several secretaries assisting President Lincoln, which gives him access to a lot of confidential information. He has three qualities we find attractive. He has an over inflated opinion of his own importance, a very loose tongue, and he loves to entertain, especially military men and politicians. You will travel to Alexandria, Virginia, cross the Potomac into Washington via the Long Bridge, near Fort Jackson, and take up the position.”

  “You make it all sound so simple,” Ceci remarked.

  “Oh, it is,” he assured her. “Just so long as you use your head and keep your nerve. Your alias is Mariah Johnson of Akron, Ohio. Your identity has already been established. You’re expected. No one will question your arrival.”

  There was no doubting Doucet’s ability, or the far-reaching influence of his organisation. “Who’s my contact in Washington?” she asked.

  “You remembered your training, that’s good,” he approved. “It’s Mrs Enola Sykes, a southern sympathiser. She runs the General Store on the corner of Maple Street. You will identify yourself to her by asking for Indian Gold Thread. Thereafter you will pass all the information you gather onto her in the form of coded grocery lists. If any of our other agents are ordered to contact you, they will use the phrase, ‘Shake the Pillars of Heaven’, in conversation. When you hear this, wait until it’s safe to meet with them, and then give your call sign. They will find you.”

  “When do I leave?” she asked.

  “In three days’ time,” Doucet tapped the envelope. “Everything you need, is in here. Details of the route, train tickets, travel passes and expenses, in gold, and both Confederate and Federal dollars.”

  Ceci leaned back in her chair, gazing around the room. “How long am I likely to be there?” she wondered.

  “For as long as is necessary,” Doucet replied, noticing her expression. “I did warn you, that you might not see your home for some time. In case you’re having some second thoughts on this, let me assure you that what you do in Washington could turn the tide of the war in our favour, possibly even end it.” He paused, adding with emphasis. “Your father would be proud.”

  Doucet was ruthless, with years of experience in manipulating others. Ceci was vulnerable. His words stirred her dark creature. It howled from the depths of the void within her, cancelling any misgivings she might have had.

  “I have every intention of seeing this through,” she assured him resolutely. “I will not allow the death of my family to go unavenged.”

  “I’m glad to hear it,” he seemed s
atisfied with her answer. “Then it only remains for me to wish you good luck and God-speed.”

  ***

  That evening, Ceci went to her room and began to pack a bag. She couldn’t afford to be hampered by a large trunk, which limited what she could take. Some dresses, linen, spare shoes. She could replace what she’d left behind when she got to Washington. Doucet had given her ample funds for that, and if she needed more, Enola Sykes would provide it. As she stood there, pondering what to take and what to leave, the door burst open and Hecubah stormed in.

  “You lied to me,” she shouted. “You bin lying all along. What you got yourself into?”

  “I don’t know what you mean?” Ceci prevaricated.

  “Doucet was here,” Hecubah fumed. “And not for the first time. How’d you meet him?”

  “I made his acquaintance on the night of my ball,” Ceci answered calmly. “Then he turned up a few months ago, to offer his condolences for the loss of my family.”

  “Ah huh,” Hecubah interrupted angrily. “I bet that ain’t all he offered. What’s he persuaded you to do?”

  “Nothing, I wouldn’t have done by myself, had I been able,” Ceci remarked defiantly.

  Hecubah couldn’t believe what she was hearing. “Do you have any idea of what kind of a man he is?”

  “He’s a patriot,” Ceci replied with conviction.

  “A fanatic, more like,” Hecubah raged. “I heard your daddy speak of him. He didn’t trust him, and neither should you.”

  “He’ll help me avenge the death of my family,” Ceci responded recklessly.

  “He don’t care about your family,” Hecubah sneered. “He can’t help you. All he can do is drag you down to hell.”

  “My mind’s made up,” Ceci told her stubbornly.

  “Putting your life in danger ain’t gonna bring no one back,” Hecubah attempted to reason with her. “Don’t do this, honey. You got so much to live for.”