Finally she banked the fire and went into the tent. She removed her boots, took off her clothing, and slipped into a heavy nightshirt, one that had belonged to Sol. Then she wrapped herself in the heavy wool blankets and drifted off to sleep.
The last sound she heard was the owl hooting, calling mournfully from somewhere deep in the dark woods.
CHAPTER 14
BLOSSOM’S WARNING
This place looks like it’s been hit by an earthquake!”
Frankie took a moment to adjust the legs of the tripod holding the bulky camera before answering. It was high noon, and they had waited for maximum light conditions so they could record a series of trenches faced by odd-looking devices made of large saplings. The saplings were sharpened on the tips and bound together at the center with all the points radiating outward. Carefully Frankie opened the lens, counted off twenty seconds, then closed the lens. Only then did she answer.
“It’s not very pretty, is it?”
Paul shook his head, studying the miles of ditches with raw dirt piled high and wooden palisades pointing outward away from the city. He felt depressed. “Looks pretty grubby, and it’s going to get worse.”
Frankie removed the plates from the camera and moved to the What-Is-It wagon. Mounting the low step they had built on the rear, she lifted the black curtain and disappeared inside. Paul watched the cloth stir as she went through the process of developing and fixing the plates. When she emerged, he went on. Scowling at the trenches, he said, “I don’t think pictures of holes in the ground are what President Davis had in mind to inspire the Confederacy. He wants a cavalry charge with sabers flashing in the sun and guidons snapping in the breeze.”
“Well, he won’t get that!” Frankie wiped her hands carefully on a towel and came to stand beside the camera again. “To get a really good picture, we have to have the subject remain absolutely still for as long as twenty seconds. Be hard to get a charging regiment of the Black Horse Cavalry led by Jeb Stuart to be still that long, wouldn’t it?”
Paul grinned suddenly, struck by her droll observation. He had discovered that despite her rather reserved manner, she had a pixieish wit. He had even suspected her of laughing at him at times behind her solemn greenish eyes, though he could not prove it. “No, I suppose not,” he said, still grinning. “But we’re going to have to get somebody to stand still. Got to have more than piles of dirt and sharpened sticks to show.”
A cloud passed over Frankie’s face as a thought came to her. “We’ll have subjects who’ll be still enough,” she said evenly.
At first Bristol didn’t understand her, and then it came to him. “The dead? Well, it’ll have to be Federal dead. I can’t imagine the president approving pictures of dead Confederate soldiers.” He gave a characteristic shrug, then said, “Let’s pack up and head for home. I’m tired, and I know you are, too.”
“Don’t go home on my account, Mr. Bristol,” Frankie said quickly. “I feel fine.”
Bristol gave her a sour look. “Wait until you’re old like I am; then you’ll see how it is.”
“You’re not old!” Frankie spoke without thought and at once was embarrassed. To cover her confusion, she said, “I’d like to stay in Richmond for a couple of days. Would that be all right?”
“I guess so. Someone from Hartsworth comes into town pretty often. They can bring you back.”
They loaded the wagon, and as they passed through town, Paul stopped in front of the Spotswood Hotel. “Payday,” he announced, taking some cash out of his pocket. Handing it to her, he said, “This is a pretty rough place, you know. Lots of soldiers come here. You sure you’ll be all right?”
Frankie smiled as she took the money and stuck it in her pocket. “I’ll be fine. And I’ll hitch a ride back to Hartsworth with someone.” A shy smile touched her lips. “It’s been a good time, Mr. Bristol.”
Paul slapped her on the shoulder as he would have done with a youthful male companion, smiled, and said, “You’ve been a great help. Couldn’t have done it without you.” He noted that she drew away from his touch, and this made him frown slightly. But he just said, “See you at home, Frankie. Have a good time.”
She watched him drive away, then turned at once and went to the café across the street. After a quick meal of greasy pork and boiled potatoes, she left the café, asking the owner about a livery stable. Following his directions, she walked down the street for three blocks, turned right, and saw a sign that said SIMMONS LIVERY STABLE. A short, bulky man came at once to her, saying, “I’m Harvey Simmons. C’n I help you?”
“I want to rent a horse for two days.”
“Well, I ain’t got a gentle horse, miss,” Simmons said, shaking his head. He had a pair of quick, dark eyes and was taking her in carefully. A born gossip, Frankie thought. He’ll remember me, so I’d better be careful.
“Oh, I can ride a spirited horse.”
“Can you, now? Well, in that case I can accommodate you.” He scratched his cheek, which sported a three-day growth of iron-gray stubble. “Don’t mean to be nosy, but is they anybody in town who can vouch for you? Can’t let a stranger ride out with a valuable animal. No offense, miss.”
“None taken. I’m Frankie Aimes, Mr. Paul Bristol’s assistant.”
The words changed the man at once. “Sho’ now, miss, that’s good enough. Come along and I’ll put a saddle on for you.” As Simmons saddled the horse—a roan mare with long legs and a nervous disposition—he talked constantly, trying to find out as much about his customer as he possibly could.
Frankie said only enough to satisfy a fraction of Simmons’s avid curiosity. Then when the mare was ready, she stepped into the saddle and rode out, keeping a tight rein on the prancing horse.
“So…that’s the female ever’body’s been buzzin’ about!” Simmons said aloud. “Blast my eyes, but she’s a daisy! Wearin’ pants and riding astride like a man!” His beady little eyes grew sharp, and he nodded with a knowing expression. “Runnin’ around all over the country alone with a man! Well, she ain’t no better’n she should be, I’d say!” He was the type of man who always told what he knew, and when he knew nothing, he invented his own facts. He left the station, spotted two men leaning against the wall of a dry goods store, and called out, “Hey, Ed! You and Jim, let’s go have one. I gotta tell you ’bout my new customer.…”
Frankie was aware that Simmons would give good coverage of her visit, but there was nothing she could do about it. Rather than worry, she concentrated on enjoying the mare. Once it was settled between them who was going to decide on the pace and the route, they got along very well.
It was a sparkling day, with winter pushed back by the warm winds of spring. The sky was a blue parchment, with puffs of cotton clouds, and the birds were back, their tiny chorus of song filling the air.
As she rode, Frankie realized that she was tired, more so than she’d wanted to admit to Bristol. But the fresh, crisp air drove the lethargy away as she rode at a steady trot that ate up the miles. Two hours later she arrived in Lake City, the small town she and Tyler had settled on as a rendezvous point. It was composed of one street, which ran parallel to the bank of a fine little lake that shimmered in the late afternoon sunlight. A few people were strolling along the walks in front of the shops and stores, but nobody paid more than casual attention to Frankie.
She was afraid that Tyler might be out scouting, then spotted the familiar wagon in front of what seemed to be a combination hotel and café. She noticed a sign on the side of the wagon that read MILLER’S ROLLING MERCANTILE. BARGAINS IN SOFT AND HARD GOODS! JAMES MILLER, OWNER. She dismounted stiffly, tied the mare firmly to the hitching post, then stepped up on the walk and glanced at the sign over the door: ELITE HOTEL. Stepping inside, she saw a desk, behind which were room keys hung on hooks mounted on the wall. To her left a door opened into the restaurant, and, moving inside, she caught the attention of a thin man wearing a white apron. He came toward her, eyeing her clothing suspiciously before saying, “Wh
at can I do for you?”
“I need a room and something to eat,” Frankie said.
The man seemed undecided, and Frankie had no idea of how to ask any differently. She was pretty sure he was trying to figure out exactly what sort of girl she was—and having little success. People want to put folks in boxes, she thought. They figure if I’m a good woman, I wouldn’t be wearing pants. That’s what he’s worrying about.
Then the man shrugged. “Be three dollars for the room,” he said. “Supper’s in an hour.”
He walked to the desk, turned a book around, and read her writing as she signed it. He plucked a key off the hook, saying, “Number 112, right up those stairs.”
Frankie picked up her small bag and, as she mounted the stairs, felt his eyes follow her. It gave her a queer feeling. She was accustomed to men staring at her—and women, too, for that matter—but this was different. She had a quick vision of herself in a courtroom of officers, with the man saying as he testified, “Why, yes, I know her. Name’s Frankie Aimes. Stayed in my place one night. I thought she looked suspicious, but didn’t have no idea she was a spy.”
Frankie walked down the hall, opened the door to her room, then stepped in and threw her bag on the bed. Locking the door decisively, she took off her clothes and washed as well as she could using the basin on the washstand. Then she dressed in clean trousers and a white cotton shirt and combed her hair out. As she worked on it, she sat at the window and watched the street below. There was no sign of Tyler, so she decided that he was in his room in this very hotel.
She put the brush away, then lay down on the bed to rest before supper. But she misjudged her fatigue and awoke with a start in a dark room. Quickly she came off the bed, lit a lamp, and pulled the small pocket watch out. “Seven thirty!” she exclaimed and hurried out, locking the room carefully as she left. Descending the stairs, she had to step aside to let two rough-looking men pass. They gave her bold looks, and one said, “Why, hello, sweetheart!” She paid them no heed, ignoring the crude remarks and laughter that followed her as she came to the first floor and entered the café.
She saw Tyler at once, sitting at a table with another man, but never looked in his direction. When she took a table, a young woman came to say, “We got beef and chicken, potatoes, and apple pie.”
“I’ll have the chicken and potatoes.” Frankie sat with her back to Tyler and his companion, but she could hear them talking. There were only four other customers in the café, and slowly the tension left her. Tyler was telling his companion how he’d been doing well in the country. “People are short of everything since the blockade,” Frankie heard him say. When the man he sat with asked if he ever had any trouble bringing his merchandise through the Union lines, he laughed, saying, “Oh, I have to pay a little tax on my stores, but then I make it back twice over.”
Frankie rose and returned to her room, knowing that Tyler had seen her. Thirty minutes later, she heard a faint tapping at her door.
“Frankie, it’s good to see you!” Tyler exclaimed when she let him in. His eyes gleamed with excitement. He was wearing a plaid, rather outlandish suit, and she noticed that he was using his cane less than before. “Any trouble getting away?” he asked at once.
“No. I have to be back tomorrow, though.” Frankie found that she was very glad to see him and said, “Sit down and tell me everything.” She perched on the bed while Tyler sat in the single chair. He told her how simple it had been to get through on the road leading to Virginia. “I got stopped by Union and Rebel soldiers, but they weren’t hard to satisfy. I made them presents of tobacco, and they waved me right on. I guess they figure a peddler doesn’t have any country.” He brushed his hair back from his forehead in a familiar gesture, then said, “Now you talk. How did Paul take having a girl come to ask for a job?”
Frankie recounted her meeting with Bristol, ending with, “He didn’t want me, Tyler, but the letter from your father changed his mind. Does it bother you, deceiving your father about me?”
“Well…yes, to be honest, it does. But Dad would understand. I’d like to tell him, but we can’t let anybody in on this.”
“I—I feel mean about it.” Frankie bit her lower lip, and when she lifted her eyes to meet his, he saw that she was troubled. “They all trust me…all the Bristols. And I’m nothing but a spy.”
“Aw, don’t think about it like that,” Tyler said quickly. “We’re soldiers, even though we don’t wear uniforms. When I carried a rifle, I did it because I wanted to see the Union preserved. What I’m doing now is for the same reason.”
Frankie was tempted to tell him how Pinkerton had forced her to agree to serve, for she was certain that Tyler knew nothing about it. But that was over now, so she said only, “I suppose you’re right, but it hurts to think I’m betraying people who’ve been so good to me.”
Tyler saw that there was nothing he could do to change her feelings, but he was not at all certain he wanted to. There was something touching about her as she sat there, a kind of grief pulling the gladness from her eyes. He chose to take her thoughts away from that aspect of their service by saying, “Well, what have you got for Pinkerton?”
“Jackson has gone to the Valley, which everyone knows,” Frankie said. “But Paul and I have been taking pictures of the area around Richmond, and I think the officers need to know how hard it will be to get inside. The whole army is digging trenches.…”
They talked together for an hour, and finally Tyler said, “You’re right, Frankie. I’ll get word back to Pinkerton at once. But I don’t think I need to put anything in writing.”
“When will the attack come, Tyler?”
“I don’t know. Father told me the president and General McClellan don’t agree. Dad is on General Scott’s staff—and though everyone knows Scott is out and McClellan is in, everything still goes through the old man. Dad says that the president wants to attack by land, right down the Valley. But McClellan wants to move the army by water.”
“Who will decide?”
“Oh, Lincoln will have to give way to Little Mac.” Tyler shrugged. “Can’t have the president making military decisions like that, can you? No general worth his stuff would stand for it.”
“I don’t know about that,” Frankie mused. “I think Mr. Lincoln would do whatever he thought he had to do to win this war.”
“He’s still new at his job. Let’s hope Little Mac lives up to his boast to win the war quickly. If he does, the war will be over in a few weeks and we can all go home.” He leaned forward to study Frankie, asking curiously, “What will you do then, Frankie…when the war is over?”
“Oh, I don’t know. Sell books, I guess.”
“Why, you can’t do that the rest of your life! You’ll get married someday.”
His statement somehow fractured the warm intimacy of the moment. Frankie at once got to her feet, saying, “I’m played out, Tyler. Where will we meet when I have something else to pass on?”
Tyler rose, leaning on his cane. “Can’t we talk a little longer?” he asked, disappointed. “It may be quite awhile before we get another chance.”
Frankie wouldn’t meet his eyes. “Not tonight. I’m too tired.”
Tyler knew he had to leave, so they agreed on methods of contact. “Send a letter to John Smith here in Lake City, General Delivery,” he said. “Mention that you’ve seen an old friend of mine, and name the time and place. I’ll be there whenever you say. You know, like ‘I saw Olan Richards at the Crescent Hotel last Thursday at noon.’ I’ll be there the next Thursday at twelve o’clock.”
“All right.”
For a moment he hesitated, then said, “Last time we parted, you got pretty mad at me.” When Frankie only nodded, he continued, “You know, it seems to me that a young woman would be more likely to get mad if a young fellow doesn’t try to get a kiss.”
Frankie shook her head abruptly. “I—I don’t want to think of you like that, Tyler. You’re my friend. That’s what I want…for us to be good frien
ds and nothing more.” She saw an argument coming and stepped to the door. Opening it, she looked outside and said, “Quick, now, you’d better go before someone sees you!”
Tyler gave up and stepped outside. “Be careful, Frankie,” he whispered. “If you get found out, try to get away and meet me here. I’ll get you back to the Union lines.”
“All right—you be careful, too, Tyler.”
The door closed, and Frankie leaned against it. Why did he have to bring up that kiss? she thought resentfully. I just want a friend, that’s all. I don’t need anything else from Tyler…or from anyone. For a fleeting moment, she saw the image of Paul Bristol’s face…but pushed it away fiercely.
Still, she knew the matter with Tyler was not settled, and the thought of future confrontations disturbed her. She went to bed at once but tossed for some time before she went to sleep. The next morning she rose at dawn and was on the road back to Richmond as the sun fired the tops of the trees.
“You left your young woman in Richmond, Paul?” Luci DeSpain had come to Hartsworth for the purpose of bringing Clay Rocklin’s daughter for a visit. At least, that was her stated purpose. The two women had arrived a few hours before Paul Bristol drove in, and he and Luci had come to sit in the parlor after supper.
“She’s not my young woman, Luci,” Paul said with just a trifle more force than was required.
Luci knew she was looking well. She’d chosen her dress carefully, aware that the beautiful green silk with white lace at the bodice gave her a delicate air. Her jade earrings caught the light as her head moved, and her lips were lightly rouged. “Well, I certainly hope not!” she said, smiling playfully. “But you needn’t get so defensive. It was just a figure of speech.”
Paul drank the last of the wine from his glass, then shrugged. “I’d guess that there have been worse figures of speech about the crazy Paul Bristol and his female helper.”
Appomattox Saga Omnibus 2: Three Books In One (Appomatox Saga) Page 17