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Whippoorwill

Page 29

by R. L. Bartram


  “If anything goes wrong,” she warned him. “Northern reprisals against the South will be unimaginably severe.”

  “Nothing can go wrong, as long as you do your job,” he responded brusquely. “There’s a warehouse, a few blocks from the theatre. In it are some Confederate prisoners awaiting parole,” he continued to outline the plan. “They will be allowed to escape. When you leave the theatre, remove the dress and join them. You can cover your tracks in the ensuing mayhem. Once you’re far enough across town, discard the Confederate uniform. As a Union soldier, you can make good your escape. Return to Richmond. Doucet will contact you there.”

  The more Ceci heard, the less she liked it. It sounded like a suicide mission. She had always been ready to give her life in the service of the Confederacy, but she didn’t intend to put a rope around her own neck. She’d been in the White House long enough to realise that the Union wouldn’t collapse from the loss of these men. Others would replace them. She and Lincoln would die for nothing.

  “I won’t do it,” she told him flatly. “This isn’t an act of patriotism. It’s nothing but revenge.”

  Booth’s expression hardened. “I guess Doucet was right,” he remarked disdainfully. “He said none of you were ready. Happily, I have a contingency plan. Lincoln admires my talent. He has often asked to meet me. Tonight, he will.”

  Ceci darted forward and snatched the Derringer from the table. “You’re not going anywhere,” she hissed, levelling it at him. “I won’t let you drag the Confederacy down with you.”

  He smiled in the face of her threat. “Doucet was right, after all,” he sneered. “You’re just not good enough.” He pointed at the Derringer. “You forgot your basic training. Did you check to see if there were any bullets in it?”

  Ceci glanced at the gun. Suddenly, the flat of Booth’s hand cracked against her cheek, knocking her to the floor.

  He picked up the Derringer and loaded it. “I’d kill you right now,” he aimed the gun at her, “but that would only raise the alarm. Instead, I’ll lock you in this room. By the time, they find you, I’ll be long gone.” He raised his arm, in a sweeping gesture. “Surrounded by all this incriminating evidence, they’ll probably hang you straight away.” He began to smile. “Of course, you could always try climbing out of the window, we’re only four floors up. Or, you could scream for help,” he suggested, toying with her. “Then they’d find you all the sooner. One way or the other, I guess you’re going to die. So, I’ll say goodbye,” he bowed flamboyantly. Let himself out and closed the door.

  Ceci waited until she heard the key turn in the lock and his footsteps recede down the hall. In his desire to pour scorn on her, Booth had underestimated Doucet’s methods and Ceci’s abilities. As soon as he left, she pulled a long pin from her hair and set to work on the lock. It was old and stiff. Several hours passed before it yielded to her. Once she was free, she dashed out into the street and on towards Ford’s Theatre. If she hurried, there might still be time to forestall Booth’s insane plan.

  By the time she arrived, the audience was already spilling out into the street. The same sentence was on every tongue. The President had been shot.

  “I know that woman,” someone shouted.

  Ceci froze, searching the faces of the crowd, until she found Amelia Douglas and her husband. Constance was with them, doubtless on a visit to her sister, the theatre a special treat.

  “I know her,” Constance spat venomously. All she could see was the woman who’d stolen the man she loved. “Something’s not right about her.”

  In the grip of hysteria, it was all the crowd needed. Some of them began to advance towards her. Ceci backed away, then turned on her heel and ran. She dodged down an alley, then another, until she heard the mob pass by. Keeping to the narrow thoroughfares, she worked her way back across town, until her path was blocked by a Union soldier.

  “Sorry miss, you can’t go down there,” he warned her. “Some Reb prisoners have broken out of the warehouse. They’re all over the place. It’s not safe out here. You’d best go back the way you came.”

  Even as he spoke, a group of Confederate soldiers appeared behind him. They retreated, scattering, with him in hot pursuit.

  Ceci tugged off the dress, just as another group of escapees ran past. She joined their number, as they scurried through the warren of shadowy back streets. It was sheer chaos. Booth’s escape plan was working perfectly. She was able to disappear in the melee, but as more and more Confederate prisoners were rounded up, their numbers in the darkened alleys began to dwindle. Finally, she left them altogether and struck out on her own.

  She’d left the mob far behind, but now she was surrounded by Union soldiers. She could hear them moving around in the shadows, calling from one passage to another, closing in on her. Left with only one direction to go, she turned a corner, to find herself facing a brick wall. It was a dead end. She was trapped.

  She was just about to tear off the Confederate uniform and reveal the federal blue, when she heard footsteps approaching behind her. She turned and looked back towards the mouth of the alley to see the ragged light of a torch dancing on the walls that hemmed her in. There was no time to change. She glanced around. In the corner was a pile of discarded packing cases. Wrenching a length of wood from one of them, she pressed her back against the wall, prepared to fight her way out.

  Seconds later, a Union officer turned the corner, torch in one hand, pistol in the other, and froze. “Put it down, son,” he spoke softly. “I don’t want to have to kill you.”

  From the shadows, Ceci could see his face illuminated by the light of the torch he was holding. She stood in the middle of Washington, the heart of federal territory, on the night the President had been shot. She was wearing a Confederate uniform, with a Union one underneath. She faced a man with a gun and all she had was a piece of wood. At best, her situation appeared dire. Nevertheless, she still managed to smile. Dropping the wood, she put up her hands. There was no doubt about it. Now she was quite sure. God certainly did have a sense of humour.

  In that moment, Ceci recalled something Hecubah had said about her guardian angel, on the night she lay wounded and feverish in the attic room, outside Chattanooga. ‘Whoever that is, he is white haired and worn out by now. Don’t ever get yourself into another fix, like this. He may not be there next time.’ She was right. He wasn’t. But he’d sent someone else, in his place.

  The officer approached cautiously, holding the torch out in front of him, its flames guttering in the slight breeze. All Trent could see, was a fresh-faced boy, half obscured in shadows. He was relieved that the lad had capitulated so easily. He would have regretted harming one so young. As he drew closer, he noticed that there was something oddly familiar about this one. The way he stood, the way he smiled, those yellow curls poking out from under his cap. He lowered the torch a little, the flames hissing in the draught. “God almighty,” the vision tore the words from his throat. Suddenly, all he could see was the wild girl. “Ceci,” he stared incredulously. “What the…”

  “Are you all right, Captain?” A squad of his men were moving down the alley in support.

  He couldn’t risk her being questioned by his men. In one swift action, he dropped the torch, balled his fist and clipped Ceci across the chin. Catching her as she collapsed, he threw her over his shoulder, just as his men turned the corner.

  “Are you all right, Captain?” his sergeant repeated, as the rest of his squad clustered around him.

  “I’m fine,” he assured them. “I’ve taken care of this one. It’s just a boy. You men spread out and find the others. They went off that way,” he misdirected them.

  They saluted and left to carry out his instructions.

  Trent had to think quickly. Without pausing to wonder what Ceci was doing here in the first place, he pushed the packing cases away from the wall and laid her down in the spa
ce between. After a couple of light slaps, she began to come around.

  “Oh, I think you broke my nose,” she groaned.

  “Damn your nose,” he snapped, “I ought to break your neck.” Impulsively, he grabbed her face in both hands and kissed her, making her yelp. “Ceci, what in the hell are you doing here wearing that uniform?” He pulled at her jacket and saw the blue beneath. “Jesus Christ,” he swore loudly. “What have you done?”

  Ceci gazed blearily up at him. “Can I have another kiss?” she asked. “That first one was a mite rushed.”

  Trent was beside himself. There were a thousand things he wanted to say, but now was not the time to say them. He couldn’t decide if he wanted to kiss her again, or kill her. “I should put my boot in your behind,” he barked. “Don’t move,” he ordered, pushing the cases in around her. “Don’t make a sound. Stay where you are until I come back.”

  For once, Ceci did as she was told. In the distance, she could hear voices, people running, the occasional gunshot, but she made no attempt to move until Trent returned.

  He pulled the packing cases aside and knelt in front of her. “Get rid of those uniforms.” He pulled a dress from the sack he was carrying.

  Ceci was still groggy from his blow. “Did that come off some woman’s washing line?” she asked.

  “Never mind,” he dismissed her question. “Get out of those uniforms and put it on.” Seeing that Ceci was slow to respond, he began to undress her himself.

  “This is just like old times,” she giggled. “I’ve missed you so much.”

  “Stop it,” Trent would have none of it. “Do you have any idea of the danger you’re in?

  “Not now I’m with you,” she answered truthfully.

  Trent sighed heavily. Yanking her to her feet, he pulled the dress over her head and fastened it up.

  “It’s too big and I don’t like the colour,” Ceci complained mildly.

  “Be quiet.” Trent pushed the packing cases back against the wall, concealing the uniforms. Then he linked arms with her and began to walk. They left the maze of alleys and emerged onto the street. “Don’t say anything,” he cautioned her. “That soldier approaching is my commanding officer, Colonel Shaw.”

  Trent let Ceci go and snapped to attention, as Colonel Shaw came up to them.

  “Well done, Captain Sinclaire,” he returned the salute. “Your men have recaptured all the escaped prisoners.” He looked at Ceci. “Who is this?”

  “My wife, sir,” Trent replied. “She arrived this evening from Boston. Even though I forbade her to follow me.”

  “It’s a poor thing when a man can’t make his wife obey him,” Shaw commented. “She appears to be injured,” he observed.

  “That was me, sir,” Trent had no need to lie. “I felt it necessary to chastise her.”

  “Nevertheless, the streets tonight are no place for a woman,” Shaw advised. “I suggest you find her a room and report to me in the morning.”

  Trent took Ceci to the first hotel he could find, paid for a room, marched her upstairs and shoved her inside.

  “What possessed you to come here?” he rounded on her. “What were you doing wearing those uniforms?”

  “My daddy, Celeste and her baby were killed when New Orleans fell,” she snapped back. “I wasn’t going to let that pass.”

  “Oh, I see,” his temper abated for a moment. “I’m so sorry to hear that. They were fine people. I’d have come back, if I’d known.”

  “I know you would,” she agreed soberly.

  “Even so, what did you think you could achieve by joining this God forsaken war?”

  Ceci raised her bruised chin. “I wanted to liberate my country from federal oppression.”

  “Your country?” Trent wasn’t sure he understood.

  “The Confederate States of America,” she replied haughtily.

  Trent clutched at his brow. “God in heaven, Ceci,” he sighed. “When your letters stopped coming, the only thing that kept me sane through this whole bloody mess, was the thought that you were safe at home. I begged you to stay there. I begged you.”

  “You promised me you wouldn’t take any unnecessary risks,” she retorted hotly. “But there you were at Gettysburg, riding right out in front of your men. Why, if it hadn’t been for me, you’d have been trampled to death.”

  Trent’s jaw sagged. “So it was you,” he stared in astonishment. “Jesus Christ, Ceci,” he dragged both hands through his hair, in frustration. “What in the hell were you doing at Gettysburg?”

  “Saving your life,” Ceci faced him, stiff with indignation, clenching and unclenching her fists.

  Trent was angry about one thing. Ceci was angry about another. In the end, it was all the same thing and there, right in the middle, was Ol’ Magic, whipping up a storm. It could only end one way.

  Chapter Thirty Two

  This was the moment Ceci had dreamed about, every day, for the past four years. She was back in Trent’s arms again. She hadn’t felt this safe, or been this content, since she’d left home. She recalled the first time they’d made love, in the garden at the plantation. Then, she’ d thought that she would never experience anything as profoundly beautiful again. Now she had. She’d exorcised all her demons and laid the dead to rest. If only she were back in Louisiana, it would be perfect.

  “Oh, no,” she draped her arms around Trent’s neck as he tried to leave the bed. “Stay with me.”

  “I can’t,” he disentangled himself from her embrace. “I have to report to headquarters.”

  “Wouldn’t you rather stay here, with me?” she asked drowsily.

  “Of course,” he assured her, “but I’m still an officer in the Union army. I must report for duty. Promise me you’ll stay in the room,” he asked, as he began to dress. “Don’t go wandering around.”

  “Where am I going to go?” Ceci pouted. “I left everything I had at the White House. All I own is that threadbare old dress you found for me. I don’t even have any underwear.” She curled up in the bed, eyeing him coquettishly. “But I guess that’s the way you like me.”

  “Please, Ceci,” he insisted. “I’m serious. It’s too dangerous for you out there. Stay in the room. If you want anything to eat, have it sent up. I’ll see what I can find for you before I get back.”

  Trent returned in the evening, carrying a large paper parcel which he gave to Ceci. “I had to guess the size,” he told her.

  Ceci opened it to discover the badly needed underwear.

  “I felt pretty foolish having to buy those,” he didn’t mind admitting.

  “Why?” Ceci asked innocently, examining his purchases. “Did the store clerk think they were for you?”

  Trent was in no mood for flippant remarks. He sat down on the bed beside her, wresting the garment she was preoccupied with from her hand. “There’s a hue and cry going on out there,” he informed her gravely. “They’re still looking for Booth and his co-conspirators. They’ll stop at nothing to find them. Now they think he had another accomplice. They found a dress in his room. They’re saying it’s a woman. A Confederate spy. A maid from the White House, no less.” He grasped her by her shoulders and looked into her eyes. “Please tell me you had nothing to do with the assassination of the President of the United States.”

  “No, I didn’t,” Ceci made a stringent denial. “It was Booth. I tried to prevent it.”

  Trent was clearly relieved. “Thank God,” he sighed. “Anyway, all hell’s breaking loose out there. They’ve been searching buildings all day.”

  “No one’s come this way,” Ceci shrugged.

  “That’s because I told them you’re my wife,” Trent reminded her.

  “Well, after what we’ve been doing,” she remarked indignantly. “I should say I am. In all but name, anyway.”

 
***

  The death of Abraham Lincoln sent the whole of the North into a state of mourning. Booth was eventually traced to a farm in rural northern Virginia, where he was hiding in a barn. The barn was set on fire by his pursuers and as he tried to escape he was shot dead. The hunt for the rest of the conspirators continued. Anyone, who’d ever known Booth, fell under suspicion. Trent insisted Ceci stayed in the hotel room. Fearing for her life, he brought everything she needed into her. Despite the danger, Ceci soon began to chaff on her confinement.

  “I’ve been cooped up in this room for three weeks,” she complained, the instant he came in, pacing restlessly up and down. “It wouldn’t be so bad if you’d stay with me.”

  Trent was used to her impatience by now. “You know very well, I have my duties to attend to,” he reminded her. “Besides, we can’t make love all day and all night.”

  Ceci stopped pacing and thrust her hands onto her hips. “Why not?” she demanded. “Don’t you love me no more?”

  Trent was aware that the claustrophobic conditions left her prone to making irrational remarks. At least, that’s what he told himself. It wasn’t as if she needed much of an excuse. “Good Lord, Ceci,” he sighed. “I’m only human. I can’t make up for four years in three weeks.”

  “Got to admit, you had a good try at it though,” she smirked.

  Trent sighed again. “Ceci, you’re incorrigible.”

  “That’s what people keep telling me,” she began to pace again.

  Trent had foreseen that this situation might occur and had taken steps to alleviate it. He let her pace a moment longer. “I’ve an old friend waiting to see you,” he told her.

  Ceci stopped pacing and cast him a puzzled frown.

 

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