Spy of Richmond

by Jocelyn Green

  A smile formed on her lips. “Why are you here, Captain Lawrence Russell? Enjoying the show?” Through the window, one could plainly see Oliver and Sophie chatting in the parlor.

  “Torturing myself with it, more like. But please, don’t tell your father.”

  She propped her fist on her hip. “Not supposed to be here, then? So you’re hiding in the shadows like a common criminal?”

  “Sophie rejected my proposal for marriage. Or did she tell you already?”

  Susan’s jaw dropped. “Recently?”

  “Quite. My wounds are still gaping wide open.”

  “Why, you’d think those two have been courting for a year the way they carry on in there. So in love—it’s revolting!”

  “You’re some sister, if I may say so.” She heard, rather than saw, the smile framing his words. And then, a weighted sigh. “I should have known it was Oliver all along. And after I wrote him a recommendation to secure his position as a clerk.” This voice was edged with steel.

  “Angry, are we?”

  “To put it mildly. If it were day, you’d see my face is afire.”

  Without thinking, she reached out, walked her fingers up his chest, his neck, and laid her hand upon his cheek, her fingers and heel of her palm brushing his neatly trimmed beard. It was warm beneath her touch, but grew hotter still by the moment. Now this was a man. And Sophie had won his affections, as well? Something leapt inside her, a wild longing for pleasure and distraction and—ah yes, Scandal, her very dear friend.

  He cleared his throat.

  Susan dropped her hand. “Oliver and my sister both hurt you, yes? Why don’t we settle the score?”

  “How do you propose to do that?”

  She snapped her fingers. “Like that.”

  Lips still burning from Sophie’s good night kiss, Harrison poured water into his washbasin and laved it over his face and neck. It failed to quench the fire she kindled within him. If she were not so disciplined and careful with her affections, he’d never survive living in the same house with her with his honor—and hers—intact. As soon as he could do it as Harrison Caldwell, and not as Oliver Shaw, he would wed her and bed her. He was thirty-one years old, for pity’s sake. It was high time he had a family. Heaven help me if this war doesn’t end soon. In the meantime, he splashed more water over his face.

  After stripping down to his drawers, he climbed on the bed, tied the mosquito netting closed around it, and tried not to think about tomorrow. The clerks were being called out again, to man the fortifications on the north side of Richmond. Which meant that tomorrow night would be sleepless and taut with tension. Would tomorrow be the day he’d face Yankee guns? Would he be shot by the cause he loved?

  Groaning, he pulled his Bible from beneath his pillow and turned to Psalm 31, marked by the blue satin ribbon he’d pulled from Sophie’s hair. “For thou art my rock and my fortress; therefore for thy name’s sake lead me, and guide me. Pull me out of the net that they have laid privily for me: for thou art my strength. Into thine hand I commit my spirit: thou hast redeemed me, O Lord God of truth. … My times are in thy hand.”

  God of truth, Harrison prayed, lead me. Guide me. He closed his Bible and laid it back on the nightstand, but kept Sophie’s ribbon in his hand. As he held its fine satin grain between his thumb and forefinger, he recalled how the Lord had brought him this far, through battles, through prison, through a suffocating tunnel—four of them, actually—and led him right back here. Surely He would fulfill His purposes for Harrison, and keep him safe to come back to Sophie once more. And Lord, keep her safe while I’m gone.

  Slumber overtook him, and he surrendered to its deep. Sophie came to him in his dreams, a vision of golden, silken tenderness, a welcome replacement for ghosts of battlefield dead that had paraded through his mind every night for years past. Where there had been horror and decay, she filled him with hope, joy, and the promise of all things new, whether he was waking or sleeping. He only prayed he did the same for her.

  In his dream, her hair spilled over her shoulders in ribbons of sunshine. She was smiling and unashamed, his wife. He took her in his arms and lavished her with kisses. She nibbled his earlobe, her breath hot and sultry on his skin, then returned to his mouth. And bit him.

  Harrison wrenched awake, heart racing. “Sophie?” Had she gone mad? He brought his fingers to his lips, and found them warm and swollen from urgent kissing. His gut twisted in shame that the unrestrained passion might not have been a dream. He couldn’t see her face in the dark, but her hair tumbled down, tickling his face and shoulders. Just barely, he could see the white mosquito net swaying in the breeze behind her like a wraith. Her ever-present locket gleamed in the moonlight as it dangled from her neck.

  Jolting upright, he placed his hands firmly on her waist to push her from him. Shock surged through him as he realized that nothing but her cotton nightgown barred him from her corsetless curves.

  “Stop,” he whispered. “You’re not helping me.”

  Her fingers swirled through his hair. He caught her wrists, and her pulse throbbed beneath his thumbs as he resolutely pushed her away.

  “Don’t you want to—”

  “Stop!” Of course he wanted to. Whatever she was going to say, he wanted it. But, “I want to honor you more than I want that pleasure, and right now you’re making it extremely difficult! Whatever happened to not courting temptation?”

  “Changed my mind.”

  His bare chest warmed from the heat radiating from her body as she leaned in. If he touched her once more, even to move her, he feared his hands would not let her go. She was so close, so willing. And so unrestrained he was completely bewildered. Suppressing a groan, he scrambled from the soft woman in his bed, swiping the mosquito net out of his way. The floor slapped his feet as he landed, grounding him in reality.

  “Go.” His voice was leaden. “This can never, ever happen again or I’ll find some ratty boardinghouse instead.” He didn’t know if he was strong enough to resist another opportunity to satisfy his flesh. “I love you too much to let this happen. We do things God’s way, or not at all.” But she had already slipped out the door.

  When morning yawned, slow and lazy, Harrison packed for the trenches, his face still burning from the night before. We’ll sort it out when I get back. A few days away would be time enough to cool down. And to pray about how to proceed. He tossed his Bible into his knapsack, then remembered he’d fallen asleep with Sophie’s ribbon in his hand. He looked under the bed, beside it, and in his sheets, but it was nowhere to be found. She must have taken it with her when she left last night. Had he spoken so harshly that she’d withdrawn her love as well?

  “CIVILIZATION ADVANCED a century. Justice, truth, humanity were vindicated. Labor was now without manacles, honored and respected. No wonder that the walls of our houses were swaying; the heart of our city a flaming altar, as this mighty work was done. Oh, army of my country, how glorious was your welcome! The wonderful deliverance wrought out for the negro; they feel but cannot tell you, but when eternity shall unknot the records of time, you will see written for them by the Almighty their unpenned stories, then to be read before a listening universe. Bottled are their tears on His ear.”

  —ELIZABETH VAN LEW, Union agent in Richmond

  “WE KNOW IT WOULD not have befallen us without His permission who overruleth all things. We must do our duty as best we can and believe that the inscrutable Providence who permitted our present situation may be preparing us for a more useful and higher destiny, which without this lesson we might neither have retained or appreciated.”

  —MARY CUSTIS LEE, wife of Gen. Robert E. Lee, speaking of the Confederate defeat

  Kent House, Richmond, Virginia

  Tuesday, August 16, 1864

  The hair raised on Sophie’s neck as she stared at Bella’s reflection in the mirror. “What did you say?”

  Seconds ticked inside Bella’s pause as she studied the chain on the back of her neck. “The clasp on
your locket. It’s bent. Like you tried to take it off without unhooking it first. Did you?”

  Sophie wheeled around to face her. “No.”

  “You’re sure? You didn’t have a message to code last night?”

  “No! The last time was four days ago.” Was that right? She pressed her fingers to her temples, willing herself to remember. Troops are taken through the city mostly at night, along with a long train of artillery, with great secrecy in the movements. Mr. Barnes says they go to the Valley to reinforce Early. Seven regiments of infantry in the neighborhood of Deep Bottom. Work is being done to the fortifications on the north side of the city. “Yes, that’s right. It was right before the battle began.” The battle that still went on ten miles southeast of Richmond, the noise of which invaded their Franklin Street home.

  “I remember that,” said Bella. “And I’ve seen this chain every morning and night since then as I’ve been helping you in and out of your gowns. I’m telling you, it’s different this morning.” Their eyes met.

  Sophie opened the locket. The cipher was still tucked inside. But that corner of the paper—had it been creased just so before? And there—a smudge of pencil lead she hadn’t noticed before. Minuscule. But there. Her heart galloped. She snapped it shut.

  “Is it altered? In any way?” Bella’s eyes penetrated Sophie’s.

  “I—I don’t know.”

  “Could Harrison have needed it?”

  Sophie frowned. “I doubt it. But—oh! He’s leaving today to man the northern fortifications!” The trenches she had named in her coded message.

  Wordlessly, she swept down the stairs and into the dining room, where Susan sipped her tea, her hair in a loose braid over her shoulder. “Have you seen Mr. Shaw?”

  “Just left.”

  “Without saying goodbye?” She looked at Bella, whose lined brow confirmed it didn’t sound like him.

  Susan shrugged. “Would have been awkward, don’t you think?”

  “Why?”

  Her sister cocked her head and smiled fiendishly. Batted her eyelashes like butterfly wings. “Both of us, and him, together?”

  Sophie studied her strange demeanor. Then her gaze caught on the cornflower blue ribbon tying Susan’s braid. The one Harrison had kept from the night of their impassioned kiss in the library. “Is that—is that mine?” Her mouth was suddenly dry.

  “Oh!” Susan flipped the end of her braid like a twitching horse tail. “Why yes, he said it was. But Oliver—I mean Mr. Shaw, pardon me ever so—said it would look better on me. Matches my eyes, you know. Does it? That’s what he said.”

  Sophie felt as though she’d been struck. Bella glowered in the periphery of her vision but did not say a word. Neither did Sophie, having lost her voice completely.

  “He also said you’re a bit prudish. Apparently you told him not to court temptation?” She clucked her tongue. “Well! Little wonder he gave me such a warm welcome. He’s a grown-up man with grown-up urges. Said he was glad to have a woman like me who knew how to take care of them. Now, now, don’t go all teary on me.” Another sip of her tea.

  No. Harrison would never betray her like this. “You’re lying.”

  “Am I? Then how do you explain my having your ribbon? It’s only natural that a previously married twenty-eight-year-old would have a few more charms for him than a twenty-four-year-old little maiden like you. Don’t concern yourself too much, now. He’ll look for you in the daylight.” She pointed to the scars on her face. “But if you want to keep him happy in the dark, I can show you what he likes.”

  St. John’s Church, Richmond, Virginia

  Sunday, August 21, 1864

  After five days of Susan’s taunts, countered by Bella’s certainty that she was lying, Sophie sat beside her father in the pew and tried to focus on the reverend’s sermon.

  Impossible. Worry churned in her gut. It wasn’t just the thought of Harrison’s possible infidelity, but the idea that someone, for some reason, had removed her locket from her neck and replaced it before she woke up. Sophie had not passed her any intelligence for more than a week, so nervous was she about stepping into a trap. But surely, the most important information she could send was nothing more than Elizabeth could have divined herself: that no supplies were being sent to General Early through Richmond anymore, which meant he must subsist or starve.

  Beyond that, the intelligence the Federals requested was becoming impossible to detect. Accompanying Preston for his interviews, Sophie had noted that the government was planting false reports to conceal the true movements of Confederate troops. Rumors swirled in the streets like chaff above the threshing floor. After struggling to sift through all the misinformation, Sophie was at a loss for truth, just at the time the Union needed it the most. Lee, Longstreet, Early, Kershaw—their names tangled in her weary mind.

  Preston stood, and Sophie realized it was time for the congregation to sing. Rising, she shared a hymnal with her father. She stole a glance at him, and his eyes smiled down at her. Oh Daddy, if you only knew … Flesh and blood, side by side, but how at odds their heartfelt loyalties. His rich voice blended with Sophie’s and bounced off the page back into her ears.

  Sovereign Ruler of the skies,

  Ever gracious, ever wise,

  All our times are in thy hand,

  All events at thy command.

  Sophie believed it. So did her father. So did Harrison, and Mrs. Blair, and thousands now gathered to worship and beseech the Almighty in churches and in army camps across Virginia. Though Southern soil received its sons, and Southern homes grew lonely, still the faithful came to pray. Sophie blinked back tears as she considered that in this at least, God-fearing souls of Union and Confederate sympathies agreed: All our times are in thy hand, all events at thy command.

  Harrison Caldwell reached the rear door of St. John’s Church just as the service ended. God of truth, be near. Five days and nights manning the fortifications had felt like an eternity of tedium. He could not stop thinking about Sophie and her serious lapse of judgment. It had occurred to him under a star-studded sky that if she’d thrown discretion aside in their courtship, she may not be exercising caution in her espionage, either. He’d already caught one accusation. In time, if she didn’t control herself, there would be more.

  Then he saw her, emerging into the sunshine in a pale pink gown sprigged with roses. Harrison doffed his hat and waited for her and Preston to draw near. The satin bow beneath her chin fluttered in summer’s steamy breath, while the wide brim of her straw hat waved languidly. With white-gloved hands she clutched her Bible, and Harrison wondered how this woman could possibly be the same one from the memories seared in his mind.

  “Mr. Shaw!” Preston shook Harrison’s hand and welcomed him back. Sophie’s wide gaze rippled over him before her brim hid her face once more. “You two have some catching up to do. I’ll meet you at home.”

  Harrison fell into step next to Sophie, whose pace seemed brisker than usual. He cleared his throat, unsure of how to breach the chasm so clearly still between them.

  Then, “I see you are well.”

  “Disappointed?” He smiled, but suspected he might be right.

  “I don’t know what to feel, or think, or say.”

  Ah, so there it was. The heart of the matter, already. “I’m sorry if I hurt you,” he tried. “The night before I left. And by not coming to say goodbye.”

  She lifted her face then, green eyes sharp in their censure. “Why didn’t you?”

  Harrison rubbed the back of his neck as they strolled through a lacework of light and shadow. The answer should have been obvious. “Don’t you already know?”

  “Ashamed of your behavior?”

  He frowned. “No. Surprised, bewildered, disoriented, but not ashamed. I followed my own convictions. I stand by that.”

  A shrill cry burst from Sophie’s lips. “Convictions! I can think of another name for it!”

  “Such as?”

  “I’m too much of a lady
to say it, let alone act on it.” With shaking hand, she stuffed a strand of hair back behind her ear. “You agreed, Oliver,” she whispered fiercely, gaze darting left and right.

  “Agreed to what? I thought I made myself quite clear. It was you who behaved like Potiphar’s wife!”

  “Me!”

  “Yes, you!”

  Sophie’s face flamed crimson. “I haven’t the slightest what you mean!”

  Confusion rooted Harrison to the ground while she stalked on ahead of him. Recovering, he rejoined her. He grabbed for her hand and caught her wrist instead. “Sophie—” He froze. Closed his eyes. For pressing against his thumb, hidden by the edge of her glove, was a distinct cord of scar tissue. He would have noticed it, even in the dark.

  But he hadn’t.

  Relief flooded through him as he locked eyes with his beloved. It wasn’t Sophie who had come to him in the night like a tramp after all. But, “She wore your locket. I thought it was you.” He kissed the scar on her wrist and enfolded her hand in his. Her eyes flared as he guided her off the main road onto a lesser traveled side street.

  “Susan,” she whispered. “Bella said the clasp of my locket was bent. She must have taken it from me in my sleep.” Suddenly, she reached up and touched his face. “I should have known. Bella told me she was lying, and I believed her, but then you spoke as though something actually did happen between the two of you.” Her expression fell. “Oh my. Did you kiss her? Don’t lie to me.”

  “I don’t know.”

  Her eyebrows plunged. “Try.”

  “I was kissing you in my dream—I may have kissed her, truly, but I vow I thought I was kissing you. It was dark. She only whispered. I couldn’t see her face, only felt her hair on my skin, and your locket.”

  Sophie looked away, cheeks blooming all over again.

  “Why would she do that?”

  “Because she is Susan.” Sophie’s tone was suddenly hard. “And she loves to hurt people more than anything else in this world.”