The Walker in Shadows

by Barbara Michaels

  Nine

  I

  I thought you said Peter had given up aimless poltergeist action," Josef remarked, as they stood in the doorway of Mark's room contemplating the mess.

  "This was deliberate," Mark said. "It couldn't find what it was looking for, so it went storming up and down smashing things. Damn it, Mr. Friedrichs, this knocks your poltergeist theory all to hell. There wasn't a living soul in this room last night. According to the conventional theories, a poltergeist needs a human catalyst. I had the car keys, so you can't accuse Kathy of-"

  He gulped, his eyes widening, as he realized the impli-: cations, but Josef shook his head, looking at Mark with grudging respect.

  "You're too smart to incriminate yourself that way. If you had planned a stunt like this you'd have made damned good and sure you weren't found within a mile of those keys. Where did you go last night, Mark?"

  "I'll tell you, I'll tell you," Mark said. "I'm just trying to think how to explain it."

  In a stupor of distress Pat knelt down and began to pick up broken scraps. Josef took her arm and raised her to her feet.

  "We'll form a cleanup team later, Pat. Come on downstairs while Mark tries to figure out how to break his latest bad news to us."

  Muted howls and meows led them to the kitchen, where they found both animals waiting on the back porch. When Pat opened the door Jud bolted in, flung himself at her feet, and writhed delightedly. Albert still refused to come in, but indicated that he was faint with hunger, so Pat took a bowl of food out onto the porch.

  In an effort to postpone what was clearly going to be a painful revelation, Mark turned on the radio. Rock and roll blasted out.

  "Turn that off," Josef shouted.

  Mark lowered the volume. "Coffee, anyone?" he asked brightly.

  "Talk," Josef said.

  "All right, all right, I said I'd tell you, didn't I? But you have to understand the reason. I got to thinking yesterday about some of our assumptions. The discrepancies have been small, but they have been piling up, and that made me wonder if maybe we weren't on the wrong track."

  The song ended as such numbers often do, trailing off in discordant howls of woe; an announcer's bright cheery voice began to report the usual international disasters: an earthquake in Iran, a revolution in South America, the failure of the latest talks between the Arabs and the Israelis.

  "What do you mean, 'we'?" Josef demanded. "All the assumptions have been yours. You practically shoved them down our collective throats."

  "Oh, the basic idea is right," Mark said. "I'm certain of that. What I might have been slightly mistaken about is-er-well, let me put it this way-"

  "And now," said the announcer, "for local news. A shop in New Market-"

  "Shut that damned thing off," Josef snarled, reaching for the knob. As he touched it, however, the content of what was being said finally penetrated. His fingers froze on the switch, defeating Mark's belated attempt to silence the voice.

  "… a number of valuable books," the announcer continued. "The proprietor, Colonel William Blake, estimates their value at approximately fifty thousand dollars. The thief gained entrance through an upper window. The police have made casts of tire tracks in the alley behind the shop, and they hope for an early arrest."

  Three pairs of eyes focused on Mark.

  "Don't worry," he said hastily. "They aren't yours. I wasn't dumb enough to park where I would leave tracks."

  Josef rubbed his forehead.

  "Where are the books?" he asked gently.

  "In your trunk. I had to take a bunch of them. If I had just swiped the one, he'd have suspected you right away, since you even told him who you were and where you lived and all. Now, keep cool, Mr. Friedrichs. Don't get excited. It's bad for your health."

  "In my trunk," Josef repeated. "Fifty thousand… That's grand larceny, Mark. Very grand. Plus breaking and entering-"

  "I wore gloves," Mark said.

  Josef face was a bright, dangerous crimson. He folded his arms on the tabletop and lowered his head onto them. His shoulders shook.

  "Josef." Pat found her voice. "Mark, curse you-look what you've done." In considerable alarm she reached for Josef's wrist. Before she could locate his pulse he raised his head and she saw, incredulously, that he was gasping with laughter.

  "He'll have to go away to school," he wheezed. "To Hawaii, or Tibet -someplace where there is only one flight a month out…"

  Relieved and unregenerate, Mark grinned at him.

  "You're a good sport," he said approvingly. "I was afraid you might be mad."

  "Mad?" Josef's alarming color faded, and his mouth closed like a trap. "Mad? What would your father have done to you, Mark, if he caught you in a trick like this?"

  "Uh." Mark sobered. "I hate to think," he admitted.

  "Think. Because whatever it is, that's what is going to happen to you. I'll ponder the subject. Your dad sounds like a man of considerable ingenuity, but I'll try to come up with something.

  "In the meantime, we must deal with the situation as it stands. Just tell me one thing. Was it worth it?"

  "Yes," Mark said. He got to his feet. "You'll see. I'll show you."

  He slunk out of the room. Kathy, her eyes blazing, turned on her father like a miniature Fury.

  "He did it for me, Dad. How dare you yell at him!"

  Her father's face softened. "All right, honey. I do understand, but-"

  "He has to be punished, Kathy," Pat said. "Good intentions don't count."

  "What would your husband have done?" Josef asked.

  "Made him pay for the books, I suppose. But, Josef- fifty thousand-"

  "That's the Colonel's estimate. We'll find out the true market value." Josef grinned. "That will be a suitable job for the young swindler: getting the prices without leaving evidence of his interest in those particular books. I'll lend him the money, and he can figure out how to reimburse the Colonel anonymously. If he gets a job right now, after school, and works straight through the summer, he'll be able to pay me back. Plus eight percent interest on the loan, of course."

  The idea obviously appealed to him. He was about to develop it further when Mark returned carrying the letters of Mary Jane Turnbull. The book bristled with little slips of paper, evidence that Mark had spent the remainder of the night, after the raid on the bookstore, in perusing his prize.

  "The cloth is too rough to take fingerprints," he announced cheerfully, making sure the table was clean and dry before he put the book down. "I turned the pages with my fingertips, and-"

  "You are unnecessarily obsessed with fingerprints," Josef said. "There is only one chance in a million that our overworked county police would… Wait a minute. Are your prints on record?"

  "Certainly not," Mark said indignantly.

  "It wouldn't surprise me," Josef said. "All right, Mark, what revelations have you come upon?"

  "I want you to hear it straight from the horse's mouth," Mark said. "See if you get the same impression I did. I'll read it aloud."

  "That will take all day," Pat objected, looking at the thick volume.

  "No, it won't. I've already marked the relevant passages." Without further ado Mark opened the book.

  "Background first," he began. "These letters were written by Mary Jane to her friend, who lived in Richmond. Cordelia kept them. Ten years after the war was over she had them published, 'as a memorial to a martyr to that Holy Cause for which so many died.' " Josef started to speak; Mark raised an admonitory finger. "Wait. We'll discuss our conclusions later. I want you to hear this first.

  "The ladies had been corresponding for some time before hostilities broke out. I won't waste time with the earlier letters; the first one of interest to us has the date of April twentieth, 1861.

  "Surely this is the most momentous era of human history. Events follow one another so rapidly that a weak female pen can scarcely do them justice; yet, my dear Cordelia, I find relief in writing to you, since I can express my true feelings here only within these
four walls. We are surrounded by enemies, the most hateful of them only a few feet from our door. The new wall keeps them from our sight, but we cannot forget their horrid presence.

  "The news of Fort Sumter made us thrill with pride. The apelike monster who was inaugurated in March (would that the gallant citizens of Baltimore had succeeded in destroying him; but he stole through the city by night, like the coward he is!) then called for volunteers. On his head lies the onus of beginning the destruction! Virginia has joined the glorious roll of freedom, and to Virginia my noble father has gone, to lend his arm to the Cause.

  "We are left a household of women, for my dear brother was sent away to school in Lynchburg after the incident I wrote you of. Thank God I was able to save him from its fatal consequences. His heart is too susceptible to the machinations of vile persons. It will turn now to the Cause; and if, which God forbid, he should perish, that fate would be preferable to the one his trusting heart might have been duped into seeking."

  Mark stopped reading. "Nice lady, isn't she?"

  "I don't know which is worse, her literary style or her vindictiveness," Pat said.

  "The style is typical of the time," Mark said tolerantly. "They all wrote that way. The important thing is her reference to an incident that caused Peter to be sent away. It isn't mentioned in the earlier letters, so either some letters were lost, or Cordelia edited them for publication. But it's obvious, isn't it, what the incident was?"

  Josef cleared his throat. "I will admit that Mary Jane's catty remarks can be interpreted as referring to a romantic attachment on Peter's part, an attachment of which she did not approve-"

  "That's putting it mildly," Mark interrupted. "She says she would rather see him dead than engaged to… All right, Mr. Friedrichs, I won't say it; she doesn't mention the girl's name, I admit that.

  "Okay. We roll merrily on, to First Bull Run, in 1861.

  That was the first big battle of the war. Bull Run, or Manassas, is only about twenty miles from Washington, and a lot of the dumber congressmen and senators went out to watch the fighting. They ran like rabbits when the Union lines broke.

  "In August of 1862 the same damned thing happened, at the same place. Second Bull Run. This time Lee decided to follow up the victory and invade the North. He crossed the Potomac at Leesburg, and here's Mary Jane's comment:

  "Lee is in Maryland! Words, weak words-how can they express our exultation! First in the hearts of all loyal to the Cause must be the triumph of our arms, but, Cordelia, allow me to confess that my heart burns with equal fervor to behold again my honored parent and beloved brother. Yes, they were here-only briefly, for duty drove them. They succeeded in their aim of finding horses for the Confederacy. No less than fourteen mounts came from the pastures of Mr. Habitan, at Fern's Folly-a crony of those whose name I have sworn never to mention. How I laughed as Peter described, with his inimitable humor, the rage of the white-haired old man, who rained stuttering curses on those who removed his horses. War has made a man of my darling brother. Bronzed and slender, his hair bleached to whiteness, his eyes a fiery blue, he must turn many a maiden's heart. A loyal Southern maiden, one must hope…"

  "Dear me," Pat said. "She couldn't drop the subject, could she? I wonder if Peter tried to see Susan while he was at home."

  "He'd try, if only out of spite." Josef looked disapproving. "Charming young man, wasn't he? I particularly like his inimitable humor about robbing a helpless old man."

  "He was eighteen that year," Mark said.

  "Is that an excuse or an explanation?" Josef inquired.

  "Go on," Pat said quickly.

  "Well, they fought after that at Harpers Ferry and at South Mountain, near Hagerstown. A lot of it was right around here, you know. Union troops, pursuing Lee, passed through Poolesville. The maneuvering of the armies ended on September seventeenth, in the bloodiest one-day battle of the war-Antietam, or Sharpsburg, as the Confederates called it. The whole countryside became a huge hospital, as far south as Frederick, with wounded soldiers in barns, private homes, and churches."

  "I remember reading that the mortality rate among the wounded was incredibly high," Pat said, with a shiver. "Of course they had no idea of antisepsis then."

  "A few days after the battle, Lincoln issued the Emancipation Proclamation," Mark said. "He had been waiting for a victory, so it wouldn't look as if he did it out of desperation. But Antietam wasn't a victory for either side. At best it was a bloody draw. Of course, to Mary Jane it was a Confederate triumph.

  "We ache for those sisters, wives and mothers who have lost all, but believe me, Cordelia, they will return, the weary but indomitable men in gray! And our men are safe. We received a letter yesterday from Papa, through the usual channel. Peter was wounded slightly in the left arm, but we are assured it was trivial. No doubt a black silk sling adds to his romantic looks, but I wish I could be near him to nurse him.

  "Cousin Alex was with us last week. He is recovering from his illness and we hope to have news of his safe recovery soon. He was here when the news of the infamous Proclamation arrived, and we had a good laugh over the irony of it; for only blacks in what Lincoln is pleased to call "the rebellious states" will be freed on January next. There were many sulky looks when I explained this to our people. No doubt others of them will run away, but we shall do very well without them.

  "One result of the Proclamation is that our neighbors have now condescended to join the fray. The old devil has taken a post with the government in Washington, and the young one has enlisted. The absence of the men will make our work easier, but I could wish that one other member of that household had been removed from it."

  "Guess who," Kathy said.

  "Now," said Mark. "We skip almost a year. The following June, 1863, Lee again crossed the Potomac into Maryland.

  "He had to win this time. The North had lost a lot of battles, but they were winning the war. The blockade, Grant pressing in the west, no help from Europe -the South needed a big victory, deep in enemy territory. Well, they had the big one. Gettysburg.

  "They fought for three days-the first, second, and third of July. For two weeks before that Lee's men were all over Maryland, burning bridges, capturing horses, generally raising Cain. On June twenty-ninth Stuart's cavalry captured some Union supply wagons in Rockville. Stuart was a dashing, brilliant commander, but that time he was in the wrong place at the wrong time. If he hadn't been fooling around in Maryland he might have arrived at Gettysburg in time… It was awfully close, you know? So damned close…

  "Don't digress," Josef said.

  "What? Oh. Well, guess who was among the gallant horsethieves in Maryland? Right. The Turnbulls came home for a visit, and Mary Jane got off her pedestal for once.

  "They have suffered so much. I have never seen Father eat with such voracity, almost forgetting his table manners. He is horribly thin. Peter says he insists on sharing everything with his men; and there has been little to share. He is too old for war. God help us, cannot we let the old men rest?

  "But when I look at my brother, my spirits revive, and I know we must conquer. He too is thin, but deprivation and battle have only hardened him. He is so handsome! He wore a buttonhole of roses, the gift of some admiring girl along their route. If I could only be sure he has abandoned that other attachment! When I quizzed him about it we came close to quarreling…

  "They stayed only to eat, and to embrace us; Union troops are all over the area. Now they are on their way north, to carry the war into the enemy's camp.

  "Mrs. Turnbull forced herself to vivacity while they were with us, but I saw that her appearance shocked my father. As soon as they left she collapsed again. I fear she is not long for this world."

  "Is that how she speaks of her stepmother, after twenty years?" Pat demanded. "And what's that about her illness?"

  "Mary Jane mentioned it before, rather casually," Mark said. "Obviously she didn't much care what happened to poor old Lavinia." He looked up from the book. "And that, friends, is M
ary Jane's last letter."

  "What? But that was only 1863. The war went on for two more years. Did she die, or something?"

  "Something, " Mark said. "This is what her friend Cordelia wrote at the end of the book:

  "This was not my dear friend's last letter; but it was the last I could spare for the eyes of posterity. Sudden, devastating tragedy struck thereafter: an entire family wiped out, almost at a single stroke. Major Turnbull died at Gettysburg, his blood staining the bullet-riddled flag he had snatched up when the standard-bearer fell. The news of his death stopped the heart of his affectionate wife. Mary's beloved young brother was also a casualty of the great battle, though no news ever came to his grieving sister of where or how he fell. Bereaved of all she had loved, my poor friend lost her family home and lived out her days in penury and illness, in a retreat in Poolesville. I received the news of her death last year, and determined to publish these letters, as a tribute to a heroine of the Confederacy."

  "She goes on and on," Mark added. "But that's about it. Well? What do you think?"

  "I see one obvious discrepancy," Josef said. "The pamphlet stated that the Turnbull men were killed in a local skirmish. According to this source, it was at Gettysburg."

  "Mary Jane's letter proves that they were still alive in late June of 1863," Mark said. "Of course that was before Gettysburg, just before… There's another discrepancy. We've been assuming the Turnbulls were with White's Raiders. Officially, the Raiders were Company B of the Twenty-fifth Virginia Battalion-and it wasn't formed till the summer of 1862. They must have been with some other unit. At least the old man was; he joined up in 1861."