by Donna Dalton
Her pulse quickened at the news. A pardon. It was just what Lance needed. All he had to do was survive captivity long enough to take that oath. “Thank you for the suggestion, Mrs. Gardner. I’ll be sure to find a way to see the good senator.”
“We’re planning to hand out donated supplies to the prisoners during the senator’s visit. Why don’t you join us? You might even catch a glimpse of your brother.”
Her meager breakfast had just turned into a banquet of options. If Jack’s visit didn’t work out, she had the Women’s League to fall back on. “I just might take you up on that offer, ma’am. Thank you.”
“Good. Meet us tomorrow at one o’clock in front of the prison.”
****
The chair rungs bit into his back. His rear end had gone numb hours ago. He shifted to a more comfortable position, not that there was any to be had in the hard wooden chair. But he wasn’t about to give up. Not after waiting so long. The Provost Marshall would see him, or he’d become a permanent fixture in the commandant’s headquarters.
For once, the waiting room was quiet. The last of the numerous visitors had been ushered into the major’s office. Lieutenant Gaines, the Provost’s adjutant, sat behind a desk near the closed door, his bulbous nose buried in a mound of paperwork. Gray hair dotted his temples. Wrinkles lined his eyes and mouth. Had age loosened the man’s lips or taught him how to keep them shut? Only one way to find out.
“So tell me, Lieutenant,” he ventured. “Where were you assigned before Elmira?”
The officer scratched pen to paper before looking up. “Washington.”
“What unit?”
“Eighty-third New York.”
A militia unit with the Army of the Potomac. “You saw a lot of action then.”
“Enough.”
Definitely not loose-lipped. “Quite a change from the big city to this backwoods town.”
“I go where they send me.”
Jack pointed to the paperwork stacked on the desk corner. “I imagine there’ll be a lot more of that as additional prisoners arrive. How many do you have now?”
“’Bout eight hundred.”
That matched with what the supply clerk had told him. He’d met Sergeant Johnston outside the prison. Chatty fellow. Appeared to enjoy the sound of his own voice. Unlike this terse officer. “I heard about the train collision in Shohola. Fifty dead. You lose any more prisoners besides those?”
“A few.”
“Only good Reb is a dead one, huh.”
Gaines grunted and returned to his scribbling, lips clamped tighter than a Chesapeake clam. Jack reeled in his line. Might as well save his breath. This one wasn’t biting.
Outside the window, short shadows lined what he could see of the prison yard. Noon or shortly thereafter. Was Kitty eating another of her modest meals? He turned a deaf ear to his own grumbling belly. His hunger would have to wait. This fishing expedition was more important than food. If he didn’t return with information on Lance, Kitty would surely go off on her own to find it. He ignored the little voice in his head saying she’d probably already done just that.
The far door opened, and the lieutenant shot to his feet. Jack rose as well. He wouldn’t be denied an audience. Not this time.
The major’s visitor sauntered out of the office and into the waiting room, cupping a gold-handled walking stick in one hand, a top hat in the other. Rich duds. And from the looks of his girth, richer food.
“Supper, tomorrow night, seven o’clock,” the man said. “Don’t be late.”
Major Beale filled the office doorway. “I wouldn’t think of being late.”
“Your sister will have your hide if you are.” The visitor slapped on his top hat. “I’ll have a look at that supply building before I leave. Make sure construction is coming along as planned.”
“Very well. Good-day, Henry.”
Lieutenant Gaines gave the passing man a brief nod, “Good-day, Mr. Lawrence.”
Jack straightened with awareness. Lawrence? As in Kitty’s Spivey Point Lawrence? She’d mentioned the commandant was a relation by marriage. Could there be more than just a family connection between these two?
As the door clicked shut, the major’s gaze lit on him. The officer frowned and flicked a glance at his adjutant.
Thought you’d gotten rid of me, didn’t you? Jack crossed the short distance in four strides and stretched out his hand in greeting. “Major Beale, I presume.”
The officer nodded and took his hand.
“Jackson Porter, sir.” He gave the major a firm shake, letting him know he wasn’t some limp-wristed Nancy. “Journalist for The New York Herald. As I told your adjutant, I’m here to do an article on your prison.”
“Sorry for the delay, Mr. Porter. It’s been a hectic morning. We’re in the midst of planning for Senator Morgan’s visit.”
Previous Governor of New York and now United States Senator, Edwin Morgan was a force to be reckoned with. No wonder Beale was in a lather. “Then I won’t keep you, Major. If you’ll just assign someone to escort me around the prison—”
“That won’t be possible,” the major blurted. “Not only are we extremely busy, but I have strict regulations regarding civilian visitations.”
“Surely you have allowances for newspapermen?”
“Only for the select few accompanying Senator Morgan tomorrow.”
“I see.” Jack slid a hand into his pocket as if reaching for his wallet. “Any possibility you could add me to that list of journalists?”
The major’s gaze narrowed. “I’d have to check with the Senator’s people first. But I don’t expect there’d be a problem.”
“I would surely appreciate any effort on my behalf.” He gestured to the office door. “In the interim, perhaps we could have a little chat?”
“I imagine I could spare a few minutes. In the interest of the news.”
And in the interest of padding your wallet. If Beale wasn’t averse to a little money greasing his palm, what other underhanded activities could he be involved in?
Lieutenant Gaines cleared his throat. “Excuse me, Major, sir. With your permission, I’d like to head to mess for a bite to eat.”
“Very well. Permission granted.” Beale turned back to his office. “This way, Mr. Porter.”
Jack took the chair across from the major’s desk and slid a notepad and pencil from his pocket. Cardinal rule of journalism—Interview first, money later. “I understand many of your prisoners came from Point Lookout.”
“They did.”
“And most were officers,” he added, watching the Provost for a reaction.
Beale’s expression remained stoic. “Most, but not all. Some officers weren’t healthy enough to travel. Others were sent to fill the quota.”
Jack flipped through the notebook as though reviewing his notes. Damn. No holes in that defense. Let’s try a flanking maneuver. “I was allowed to tour the Point Lookout facility which holds over ten thousand prisoners. You only have eight hundred. Why restrict visitations?”
Beale leaned back in his chair, arms folded over his chest in a classic I’m-in-control exhibition. “This is a newly formed prison, Mr. Porter. Construction is still on-going and could be dangerous to civilians.”
“Dangerous if you go where you’re not supposed to.” He let that sink in, then added, “It’d be helpful to my article if I could talk with some of the prisoners, get a few quotes. Like the group that just arrived from Point Lookout. I could have them compare the two facilities.”
“Why don’t you just make those up? That’s what you newspapermen do anyhow, isn’t it?”
Only the corrupt expected corruption in others. “Now, Major, that’d be dishonest.”
“Sorry, Porter. But I just can’t allow you direct contact with the prisoners.”
“What about the civilian who just left?”
“Mr. Lawrence? He’s a government contractor paid to supply food, clothing, and housing for the prisoners. It’s his job to
inspect the facility.”
A government contractor. He had to be the same Lawrence suspected of shady dealings at Fort Delaware and Camp Douglas. Was the major also part of Lawrence’s corruption? “I overheard him speak of a dinner party. Are the two of you personal acquaintances as well?”
Beale stiffened ever so slightly. “We are.”
Ah, not comfortable with this line of questioning, are you? He smiled and set the hook. “Care to elaborate, sir?”
A loud boom rattled the window.
Startled, the Provost leapt to his feet and darted for the doorway. “Stay here,” he shot over his shoulder.
Jack trailed after him. “I’d like to go with you. See what happened.”
“No. You stay out here in the waiting area. Lieutenant Gaines will be back shortly.” Beale shoved open the door and was gone before Jack could open his mouth to reply.
Stay in the reception area. Not damned likely. One, two, three...
Jack wheeled around and returned to Beale’s office. No sense looking this gift horse in the mouth. He cocked an ear to the door. Only the faint thump of distant hammering broke the quiet. Good. For now, he was in the clear.
He crossed to the desk and rifled through the paperwork stacked on the desktop. Command directives and daily reports. Nothing out of the ordinary. He pulled open the top drawer. It too was filled with harmless official documents. As was the next drawer, and the next. Perhaps Beale was smarter than he thought.
The distant hammering knocked loose a memory. He smiled. Some interviews were more useful than others.
Working quickly, he removed the papers from the bottom drawer and tapped on the underside. Hollow. A hidden cavity. He widened his smile. Thank you, Alan Pinkerton.
Using the major’s letter opener, he pried up the false bottom. Several documents lay nested in the hollow. A quick scan revealed supply requisitions from two weeks ago. It was incriminating enough that the major had seen fit to secret the papers away. More importantly was the amount of goods listed. It was triple what the supply clerk said he’d received.
He peeled a ten-spot out of his wallet and tossed it onto the desk. A little lard to smooth the way for tomorrow. He folded the documents and tucked them under his shirt. And some honey to sweeten the pot of revenge.
He had the leverage he needed to free Kitty’s brother.
Now he just had to make sure the boy was still alive.
Chapter Sixteen
“Well, well. Will wonders never cease.”
Louisa ignored the dig and turned away from the window. She was too anxious about his findings to get plucked by his verbal jabs. “You’re back.”
He closed the door behind him and strode to the bureau, his bland expression giving little hint as to how his day went. “And you’re here. I fully expected to find you gone.”
“The notion crossed my mind a time or two. Especially after finding your note.” She wagged a finger at him. “You sure got some gall, Jack Porter.”
“I apologize for not talking with you first. But I thought it best if I went alone. Get a feel for the lay of the land, so to speak.”
His sincere apology soothed her temper. Some, but not all. “I could’ve gone with you. Probably should have. You don’t know the Lawrences like I do.”
“Everything turned out just fine. You’ll find your wait was more than worthwhile.” He shrugged out of his jacket, then unraveled his necktie and yanked it free. “Whew, hot as Hades out there. What did you do with your day? You ate, I hope.”
Her mouth went dry at the sight of him undressing. For a moment, she forgot what he’d asked. “Um...I did. And learned something that might be useful.”
“What’s that?” He unfastened the top few buttons of his shirt and loosened the collar, baring his neck and a pie-slice portion of his chest.
Warmth that had nothing to do with the summer heat bubbled through her. She reached for the fan she’d fashioned from a discarded leaflet she’d found and gave her face several sweeping whiffs. Not that it’d do any good. Her whole body burned, inside and out.
“A Senator Morgan is visiting the prison tomorrow,” she said. “Lady at the eatery told me he’ll give pardons to prisoners who swear loyalty to the Union. I’m sure Lance’d be more than willing to take such an oath. We just need to get him away from the Lawrences.”
“That might be easier than you think.”
She stilled her fanning. “What? How?”
He unbuttoned the rest of his shirt and pulled out a folded wad of papers. “An explosion in one of the cookhouses provided me an opportunity to search the Provost’s office. I found these secreted in his desk.”
Sleek muscles peeked through the open folds of his shirt, just like the teasing images from her dreams. She swallowed and resumed her whisking. “You stole from him? That was awful risky, Jack.”
“It was a chance I had to take.” His expression softened. “For all of us.”
He’d done it for her. And Lance. Was it any wonder she’d fallen for him, body and soul? “What’s in those papers that you’d risk getting caught?”
“Evidence proving the major and Henry Lawrence are embezzling.”
“Embezzling?” She snapped her fan shut. “What good will their fondness for drink do us?”
He scrubbed a hand over his mouth as if smothering something. “Er...embezzling means they breached someone’s trust and took money for their own use. Appears they’re skimming from prison funds.”
Her cheeks burned at her blunder, but he didn’t seem inclined to push. A welcome change from weeks ago when he would’ve jumped at the opportunity to goad her.
She moved to the bureau and busied herself with pouring lemonade to hide her embarrassment. “I had the desk clerk send this up here. Thought you might like something refreshing after such a long, hot day.”
He tossed the papers onto the bureau and took the glass from her, his fingers grazing hers in the exchange. “That was thoughtful. Thank you.”
She watched as he lifted the glass to his lips. The nick on his neck had healed. Had the ache in his heart? She’d rather die than hurt him again. “So, how will we use this embezzling evidence to free Lance?”
He set his empty glass on the bureau. “Ahhh. That hit the spot. As you said, Senator Morgan will be visiting the prison tomorrow. With a little friendly persuasion of the monetary kind, I convinced Major Beale to add me to the list of journalists touring with the Congressman.”
“Hmmph. No surprise there. The Lawrences are greedy as pigs at the slop trough.” Papa’s pitiful wages were proof of that.
“And it’ll be their downfall. The senator’s a bulldog when it comes to investigating government corruption. I’ll find an opportunity to approach him with what I’ve found. The Lawrences won’t know what hit them.”
“What if Morgan’s in on their scheme?”
“I sincerely doubt it. But in the off chance he is, there’ll be other newspapermen present. He won’t risk doing anything stupid.”
Man thought of everything. She traced a finger over the stolen papers, still warm from being tucked next to Jack’s body. Lance said words were powerful weapons. She always believed it took more than that.
“I s’pose you’ll want me to stay here while you meet with the senator.”
“It’d be helpful if you did. That way, I can concentrate on Lance and not have to worry about your safety.”
Understandable, but still darned frustrating. She wanted to be the one to free Lance—to take down the Lawrences. But if staying behind brought her brother back safe and sound, she’d bow to Jack’s sensible judgment. After all, he had asked for her cooperation this time instead of demanding it. “Fine. I’ll wait here.”
“Good. I know waiting is hard on you. But before you know it, this’ll be all over, and you and Lance will be reunited.”
“And Jeb and Belle, too. It’s hard to believe we might actually all be together once again...” A cloud darkened her enthusiasm. “Provided
Lance is still alive.”
“Oh, he’s alive.”
Blood rushed from her head. She had to brace herself against the bureau to keep from swaying. Deep inside, in that dark place she tried to ignore, she expected to find Lance dead and buried. Even now, she mistrusted what her ears had heard.
“H-how do you know? Did you see him?”
“I did, but only from a distance.”
“How did he look? Is he well?” The words rushed out on a frantic breath. “Lord, Jack why didn’t you tell me straight off?”
“Whoa, sweetheart, slow down. One question at a time.” He grasped her arm. “Let’s sit on the window bench. You look like you’re about to collapse.”
He guided her across the room, then sank beside her on the padded bench. His hand remained cupped on her elbow, strong and reassuring, but not enough to curb the riot wallowing inside her.
“Tell me, Jack. Tell me everything.”
“I will. I promise. First, take a deep breath and settle yourself.” He nodded as she did so. “That’s a good girl.”
Good girl, her sore backside. She clutched his arm, fingernails digging into his sleeve as if to pry the words from him. “Please, Jack. The wait is near killing me.”
“Fine. Guess you’re as settled as you’re going to get. I was able to convince the Provost’s adjutant to let me speak with the recent arrivals from Point Lookout. Lance was among them.”
“Praise be. How was he?”
“He looked fine from what I could tell. A little thin and dirty, but otherwise healthy.”
Dirt and thinness she could handle. “I wish I could’ve seen him. Did you speak with him?”
“There wasn’t time. Besides, he’ll be safer if he’s unaware of who I am and what we’re up to.”
Fear slithered back into her belly. “In case the guards get suspicious. How is it the major hasn’t done anything to him yet? As commandant, he certainly has the power and the opportunity.”
“Probably hasn’t had time. Your brother was on the train that wrecked in Pennsylvania. He only arrived a week ahead of us.”
“I knew it. I knew he was on that train.” She slumped over. It was too much. The ups, the downs. The constant, gut-eating worry. It was just too much to bear.