He heard the shouts before he saw the men. Dots of light bobbed like giant, disoriented fireflies, their scant glow barely enough to carve out small circles in the darkness. The inadequate light offered just enough for him to make out the figures dashing around along the river banks. Matthew crept between the timbers holding up the observation deck. When none noticed him, he eased forward and came to stand along the edge of the river without being stopped by a single guard.
Matthew looked at the figures pulling limp men from bits of broken wood. He frowned. What were they doing? He narrowed his eyes and finally decided they were floating men across the pond from the southern banks. He’d spent enough time looking at the prison from the tower to know the layout of the facilities. Matthew guessed the rains had caused them to evacuate the sick from the lower flat land on the southern side of the murky overflow pond.
He scanned the banks of the river where men huddled in groups or helped pull others to this side, where the floodwaters had not reached as high. From what he could tell, the black waters had claimed all of the low lands. But where was George? Was it possible he was here out among these at the river?
No one questioned him, so Matthew strode down to the banks as though he belonged there and started poking at the forms lying in the cold mud. He made his way down the river’s edge, squinting at faces and turning cursing men over to see their features in the paltry light.
The shivers became almost violent by the time he reached the end of the line, and his teeth started to clack together. None of these were George! He turned his face toward the misting rain, the cold in his body forgotten as searing heat throbbed in his chest.
Some miracle! Where are You now?
Nothing happened. Cursing himself for his foolishness, Matthew shook the water from his face. Why had he allowed himself to think that he would be seen? That his prayer would be heard above the clamor of so many others that were more worthy than his own? Despair clawed at him like a creature rising from the depths. Failure! He had tried and again proven himself only a disappointment in anything that mattered. Once again someone else paid the cost for his foolishness.
Matthew began to sink to his knees just as the clouds above splintered and silvery moonlight filtered through the sparkling water droplets drifting in the air. He paused.
What was that?
Farther down the bank, away from the rest of the men, a single lump of darkness separated itself from the shadows. Matthew shook his head. It was only his desperation that convinced him it could be a man. It was more likely a log, or a pile of mud or…his feet were moving toward the object even as his mind tried to tell him the effort was futile.
Matthew set his jaw and hurried over to the form. A man! A curled, huddled and half-covered in mud man, but a man all the same. He reached out and touched the sodden woolen overcoat with trembling fingers, shaking the form. Tried as he might to suppress it, hope reared. He would not give up.
The figure groaned. Matthew turned him over and squinted down at the face below. His heart hammered. It couldn’t be. No, he saw only what he desperately wanted to!
“George?” The name slipped through his trembling lips, barely heard on the cold night air and nearly lost on the foggy breath that spilled from him.
The man groaned again, and the teetering hope surged once more. His pulse pounding furiously in his ears, Matthew shook the man again. “George! George, is it you?”
The man coughed and rolled away from Matthew, then sat up. Matthew crouched in the mud, the edges of the river lapping against the leg of his trousers. He grasped the man’s shoulders and leaned close to his face.
“Matthew?” the voice croaked.
Relief and joy surged through him and he pulled his brother into a tight embrace, barely able to believe it. “I’ve found you!”
George touched Matthew’s face, confusion evident in his rapidly blinking eyes. “Why are you here?”
Matthew leapt to his feet. “I’ve come to get you out!”
He tugged George to his feet and started pulling him farther down the bank, away from the men shouting and pulling the sick from the river. George planted his feet in the mud. “No, we can’t run.”
Matthew wanted to slap him. “Have you gone mad, man? This is your chance to get out!”
George shook his head. “I signed the papers.”
“Papers?” Matthew glanced behind George. Two men seemed to be looking their way. Panic surged and he grabbed George by the collar of his heavy coat. “Are you wearing a Union jacket?”
He couldn’t be sure against the heavy cloak of night, but he thought he saw George grin. “Didn’t lose it in a bet, either. And one of those fool guards thought I was one of them when I brought up the raft….” His words dissolved into a cackle.
George was delirious. Matthew had to get him out of here. Now. A thought struck him and he started pulling George’s coat off. The shorter man growled, and tried to dance out of Matthew’s reach. “No! You won’t take it from me!”
Matthew caught the fist George swung at him. “Brother! Let me save your life!”
George stopped moving. “Matthew? Is that you?”
“Yes, and we don’t have much time.” Matthew tugged him away from the bank and to the cover of a small stand of trees just off the water’s edge. He had to hurry. The others along the bank had seen them and would be upon them any moment. He tugged George’s coat off and traded it with his own. George mumbled something, but then his head rolled back and he slumped. Matthew caught him just before he hit the ground and pulled George up against him.
The bobbing light of a lantern appeared just before the gruff voice of the man carrying it. “Who goes in there?”
“It’s me, you cur!” Matthew shouted without thinking. Would they buy his ruse?
“What?” The man lifted the covered lantern higher, but Matthew remained just out of the light’s reach.
Matthew pulled George’s limp form forward, careful to keep his chin ducked and most of his face to the shadows. “Found this one trying to crawl out here to the trees. I got him, though.”
The man leveled a rifle Matthew hadn’t noticed him carrying and scowled. Matthew forced himself to remain still and prayed they couldn’t see him well enough to know he wasn’t a guard. Finally the man shrugged and lowered his weapon. “Fine. Bring him out here with the others. I’m ready to be out of this mess.”
Matthew shoulders slumped and he had to reposition his grip on his stumbling brother, whose head had dropped back against his arm. He got George situated and started walking toward the Union guard. As he’d hoped, the Yank turned his back and led the way out of the line of trees. Matthew followed, slowly pulling George along until the distance between them and the Yank grew and the darkness nearly obscured the man’s form.
Then Matthew turned, hefted George across his shoulders, and ran as fast as he could in the opposite direction.
“They could be ready at a minute’s notice.”
John Surratt
Surratt Boarding House
Washington
March 16, 1865
David O’Malley brushed the curtains back from his second floor window and watched Washington awake from its slumber. He tugged on his jacket as the filthy Yanks below began their day oblivious to just how close they had come to losing the war.
Nine days. It had been nine days since they had failed, and with each passing day David grew ever more frustrated. Booth had gone back to his normal life as though nothing had ever transpired. John Surratt had assured him that they were still working, and that news from Canada was soon forthcoming. They would be making a new plan any time now.
David laced up his boots and checked his reflection in the mirror on the bureau. He rubbed at the stubble on his chin, then decided he could go another day without a shave. Tucking his hat under his arm, he made his way through the narrow boarding house and toward the front door. As he passed by the parlor, Mrs. Surratt hurried out after him.
“Mr. O’Malley, will you not be joining us for breakfast?”
David pulled on his hat and turned to the stately woman. Her fine black gown fit her form nicely. For a woman of her age, she kept her appearance neat and he could tell that in her younger years she probably had been something to look at. Though not as lovely as Liza, of course. No woman had ever lived—or ever would—who would be as beautiful as his wife had been. An unbidden image of her charred face sprang into his mind and his teeth clenched.
“No, ma’am,” he said through his tight jaw.
She frowned. “You have not joined us for four days now.”
Not since she had started taking other people into the boarding house and seemed to have forgotten they were trying to complete a mission. Why did she expect him to sit with Yankee fools and act as if nothing had ever happened? “And I shall not today or any other day.”
He reached for the knob and left her frowning after him. He traipsed down the short flight of stairs and onto the street, not bothering to nod at anyone who passed. He forced himself to remember his role.
He should try to be more accommodating to her. She was allowing him to stay without fee while they awaited news from Canada. He bit down hard on his lip and felt the familiar sting and taste of blood, awakening his senses and reminding him that he was more than what he had shown the boarding woman. Why was he allowing his acting skills to slip? It would profit him nothing. He’d long since learned that women, especially ones on in years, were so easily charmed and maneuvered. He mustn’t let the failures of the group affect how skillfully he dragged them forward. And forward they would go. He would see to that.
David could not allow his annoyance to undo all the work he had put into this plan. He’d spent far too long positioning himself with the key players to let it be ruined now. Booth had said they must watch and wait. But it had now been long enough so that they could rest easy. The lawmen were not after them. Nearly every end was tied up.
He stepped into the American Telegraph Company office and waited for an elderly woman ahead of him in line to finish her business before taking his turn at the window. “I am checking to see if a telegram has arrived for me.”
“Name, please,” the portly man on the other side of the counter asked without looking up.
David forced his voice to be pleasant. “O’Malley.” Every morning he came here at the same hour and every morning this dullard asked the same question.
The man looked up and leveled muddy brown eyes on him. “Oh, yes. Let me see….” he shuffled around things on the counter, finally plucking up a paper from the stack. “Ah. Here it is.”
O’Malley plucked the paper from the man’s pudgy fingers and scanned the words.
D-
Have been following the lost sheep. He still has not wandered into the fox den. Don’t think he is going to cause trouble. Waiting on further instructions.
-H
David shoved the paper into his pocket and fished out a coin, pushing it across the counter to the other man. He picked it up, squinted at it and then tucked it away in his jacket. “Ready to send a response?”
No, he merely wanted to give away good coin for nothing. David plastered a smile on his face. “Yes, sir. I would like to send a response.”
The portly man nodded and picked up his pen and a slip of paper. “This is returning to Elmira, correct?” he said as he dipped the pen into the ink.
David withheld a groan. “Yes, of course. That is where it came from.”
The man seemed annoyed, but said no more.
“Please send this response. H – Continue to track our lost sheep. His location is not coincidence. Once he finds the others of his flock, he may begin to bleat. No news here. Report back if the mutton is in the butcher’s shop. –D”
The man scribbled out the words and David waited as he tapped out a series of long and short clicks on his telegraph machine. When he finished, he nodded at David. “The message has been sent down the wire. You can check back tomorrow to see if there is a response.”
David dipped his chin and stepped back into the cold northern wind. He’d sent Harry to track Matthew Daniels the day the traitor had thought he’d given David the slip. Harry had orders not to kill him until he reported where Daniels had run off too with the girl. As he suspected, it wasn’t to the South.
The traitors had gone farther north, giving themselves up for the Yankee spies they were. He didn’t know when the wench had turned Daniels, but the pup had followed at her heels. Two days ago he’d finally received word from Harry that they had stopped in Elmira, New York. Since there was a prison there, David assumed Daniels was still after his brother.
But then what? He stepped around a patch of melting snow and made his way farther down the street and toward the National Hotel. As the days passed and Daniels still didn’t try to unveil his little group, David had begun to wonder just what the man was about. Perhaps he’d been honest. He wanted his brother and nothing more.
Ah, well. A shame. Holding the brother out as bait was the only way he’d gotten Daniels to trail along. They didn’t need him now. He’d proven that he wasn’t nearly the man David had hoped. He’d tucked tail and run as soon as they’d met their first bit of adversity. Now Daniels was just a lost sheep they would have to put down. He’d wait a day or so more to see if Daniels succeeded in getting his brother, then he would give the order for Harry to dispose of all of them. He should have done it by now, but his curiosity got the better of him. He’d made a bet with himself that Daniels’s desperation would drive him to find his brother at any cost, and he was near enough to seeing himself proved right that he let reason slip just long enough to enjoy the satisfaction. Besides, might as well get both Daniels brothers together. A shame, really, since George had nothing to do with any of it, but it simply couldn’t be helped.
David opened the door to the National Hotel and listened to his leather shoes click across the polished floor as he crossed the grand entry and ambled up to the ornate receiving desk.
“I’d like to call upon Mr. Booth, please.”
The man behind the counter regarded him with distaste. “Mr. Booth is not seeing anyone today. He has left instructions not to be disturbed while he studies his lines.”
“Will you let him know Mr. O’Malley called upon him?”
The man’s lip curled slightly. “Of course, sir. I will let him know you have come by, again.”
David tugged on his collar and pinned the pretentious little man with a cool glare. “See that you do. It would seem he is not receiving my messages.”
The clerk sneered. “Oh, he is receiving them, sir. But rarely does he respond to the attentions of admirers. Have a good day.”
O’Malley could feel the heat climbing up his neck and creeping onto his face. An admirer! Of all the foolish…. He straightened his jacket and kept his face passive. “Good day.” He would not waste his breath explaining to this uppity worm that he was not some sniveling admirer of a mid-rate actor. How could he be, since he himself could have been a bigger name than Booth?
He sighed and made his way back out of the hotel. He had given up a great many things for the Cause. Playing this part of the silent conductor was just another feat he would master. What did it matter if they did not know his true worth? He sought results, not fame. Not like Booth. His heart was true to the South. True to the Cause. He was better than those weasels seeking naught more than their own glory. Oh, but soon enough his name would make the headlines of every paper South and North. He would accept the accolades, of course, but justice rather than glory drove him.
He only had to bide his time just a bit longer. Let Booth hide and practice his lines for that ridiculous American Cousin. He could not ignore David forever. He would either convince Booth to get him in the White House or he would find someone else who could. He wouldn’t tolerate Booth’s yellow belly behavior for much longer.
“Booth had a long conversation with Mother today, at the end of which he said
that ‘if anything were to be done, it should not be delayed, otherwise it would be too late.’“
John Surratt
Elmira Inn
Elmira, New York
March 16, 1865
The door flew open, banging against the wall and bringing Annabelle bolting upright from underneath the covers. The fire in the hearth of their small room at the Elmira Inn cast enough light to reveal a hulking bear crowding the doorway. A shriek lodged in her throat and she scrambled back away from the edge of the bed, her heart pounding furiously and all remainders of sleep leaping from her.
The thing filled the entire doorframe, its unnaturally wide shoulders causing the creature to turn to the side to enter, its massive paws thumping hard against the plank floor as though its own enormous bulk were too much weight to carry. The scream she could not loose found its way out of Peggy’s mouth instead, and in an instant the shadows parted to find her old friend brandishing a fire poker and waving it at the bear.
“Hush, woman! Before you wake the entire building and see us arrested!” the bear growled.
Annabelle clutched at the throat of her nightdress, her terror taking a moment to recede far enough for the familiar voice to find its place in her scattered thoughts and bring her mind back into focus.
Matthew stumbled into the room with the body of another man slung over his shoulders. Water fell from them in steady drops, a cascade of unnatural rain all over the worn rug spread across the floor. Peggy found her wits before Annabelle did and dropped the fire poker, rushing to Matthew’s side as he jutted his shoulder and brought the limp man sliding down his side. Peggy helped steady him as Matthew repositioned his arms under the other man’s weight before tugging him toward the fireplace. “Peggy, the door,” Matthew ordered.
The Liberator Series Box Set: Christian Historical Civil War Novels Page 36