by Hugh Ashton
“I was playing the piano at her apartment one evening, and they walked in. Very rich, like you said. You could tell that from their clothes and the way they spoke. Virginia introduced me as someone from the Confederacy who was staying in Washington, and working for the British government. That sort of tickled their curiosity, and before I knew where I was, Papa Wasserstein and I were talking about the story of my life, and politics and all sorts. You know that they’re Jewish, sir?”
“Yes, I had sort of guessed that,” replied Henry.
“Well, I didn’t know that even here in the USA Jewish folks have a pretty tough time. I mean, it’s not as bad as it is in the Confederacy, but Papa Wasserstein was telling me that he wasn’t allowed to join a few clubs and that kind of thing because he was Jewish, and Virginia couldn’t go to the college he wanted for her, for the same reason. Anyway, I told him something about life down South, and he had to admit that even with all of these things, he had a better life of it in the USA than he ever would do in Dixie.”
“I’m delighted to see that you are getting on so well in this direction, Christopher. But please continue to be careful, for all our sakes. It looks as though Virginia’s going to be a real Godsend in the whole of this airship business, and I want her to continue helping us. But more importantly, Christopher, I don’t want to see you hurt if things go sour.”
Christopher looked solemn, and bit his lip.
“Don’t worry, Christopher,” Henry said. “I am sure that you have more than sufficient commonsense not to get into trouble. Now, I think we’ve done enough work for the day. How about a julep? You did a wonderful job when you introduced me to those things. And then let’s see if we can’t get you sitting at the piano at the bar for a while. I want to hear some more of your music—I’ve never heard anything quite like it before.”
Chapter 19: Cordele, Georgia, Confederate States of America
To have this Britisher staying with her under a false name was the most exciting thing to happen to her in a long time.
The CBI agents never seemed to go away. Henrietta Justin looked out of her window, and saw the latest one slouched against her front gatepost. She wondered what he was waiting for. Surely they didn’t think that she was an active enemy of the Confederacy? Although she was against the whole idea of slavery, and she failed to share the religious beliefs of most Confederate citizens, having been brought up as a Catholic, she had never voiced these opinions too openly. Even though Catholicism was not completely forbidden by the Richmond government, Catholics were not looked upon with favor by the authorities, chiefly since obedience to the Pope implied disloyalty to the Confederacy. Every so often there would be reports of a Catholic priest or members of his congregation being arrested for treason. The Jesuits had long since been outlawed in the Confederacy as a source of dangerous outside ideas.
Every fourth year in November, as directed by the pastor of the Confederate Baptist Conference church she attended for form’s sake, she voted in the Presidential election, even though she sometimes wondered to herself why she bothered voting in elections where only one candidate was standing.
She didn’t think that the simple action of giving Christopher his freedom was enough to warrant this government—what would you call it? “Spying” was the only real word you could use for it. Every time she sent either Betsy or Horace off to the stores, they complained that they were being watched, and sometimes questioned. Of course, the CBI never questioned her when she went out, but she could always feel their eyes on the back of her neck, no matter where she went.
As a result of these silent sullen men constantly outside her house, her friends no longer cared to visit her. Even the pastor, when he made his rare visits, usually managed to look embarrassed as he made his way past the guardian at the gate.
Her best friend, Emma Ragge, had suggested offering them something to drink as a way of making them more friendly towards her, but when she had gone out with a jug of iced tea to them, it had been firmly, if politely, rebuffed. However, it did seem that at least one of the agents to whom she had offered the tea behaved a little more politely after that. At least, she hadn’t spotted them spitting in her presence, and one of the older ones, a man with short grizzled hair, took the trouble to lift his hat slightly and comment on the weather whenever she went out. It was to this one that she had taken out an umbrella, noticing him hunched and shivering in the surprisingly cold rain one day.
“Why, thank you, ma’am,” he had replied, tipping his hat to her as he accepted the umbrella from her. “That’s a mighty fine thing to do, considering.”
And when his shift ended, the umbrella had been left neatly standing out by the porch. After his next watch the following day she found a small jar of honey on the porch steps with a note.
Dear Miss Justin, When I went home last night I told my wife what you’d done for me with the umbrella. She said to give this to you. It’s from my uncle’s farm up Vienna way, and our folks think it’s pretty fine. Sincerely, James McFadzean (Agent, CBI).
After that, she had started to acknowledge McFadzean’s presence with a wave and a smile, which were usually returned. On hot days he accepted the drinks that she brought out to him, and she occasionally found little gifts—a few new-laid eggs, or some slices of home-cured ham—wrapped and laid beside the porch.
It was too much to call him a friend, she thought, but at least they weren’t enemies.
Sitting in her chair, working on her needlework, it occurred to her how much she missed Christopher. He’d been much more than a servant; in some ways he’d become the son she’d never had. She was longing for a letter from him, to know how he was getting on. She had no doubt that he was surviving, but how, and in what way, she had no idea.
As she looked at the clock on the mantelpiece, she saw that it would soon be time for a change of agent. Sure enough, within twenty minutes, McFadzean appeared. She waved to him through the window, and he waved back.
“That is mighty kind of y’all,” he remarked some time later when she brought him a tray with a jug of iced tea and a glass. “I surely do appreciate it.” He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “I have some news which maybe I’m not rightly supposed to pass on, but I think since it concerns you, you’d better know it.” He looked around him to see if anyone was nearby. “There’s a stranger in town asking after you.”
“What kind of stranger?” she asked him. “One of your agents from out of town?”
He laughed. “No, ma’am. We’d have been told if it was someone from the government. That’s our job to know that sort of thing. He gives his name out as Lewis Levoisin, and says he’s from Louisiana. One of them Cajuns. Well, he sounds like it.”
“What’s he asking about?” she asked nervously. For the life of her, she couldn’t remember any friends or acquaintances in Louisiana.
“Where y’all live, when you go out, how many people in the house, that sort of thing.”
“Do you think he’s a robber? I’ve nothing valuable to steal.”
McFadzean chuckled. “I think you’re one of the safest folks in town so far as robbers go, with us always round here. No, he doesn’t sound like a robber at all. He was asking folks the best way he could meet you without seeming to be too forward. That don’t sound like no robber to me. Tell you what,” he offered. “If you want, I can pass him your word to come here some time when I’m on duty, and you can meet him and find out what he wants. And I can be just a short distance away while y’all are talking. Just holler, and I can take care of any trouble. And if y’all don’t never want to see him again, give me the word, and me and the boys will make sure that he ain’t no bother to you never again.”
“What sort of person is he?”
“Well, I’d guess he’s the other side of thirty from you and me. Big man, but something wrong with his back, I reckon, because he’s always hunched over. Plays cards a lot down at the tavern, but not too well. Not one of them professional gamblers.”
&
nbsp; “Would you call him a gentleman?” asked Miss Justin.
McFadzean tipped his hat back on his head and scratched his forehead. “Wouldn’t rightly say he was a gentleman,” he answered after a pause. “But at the same time, he’s a long ways off being trash, if y’all know what I mean.”
“Can you let him know that I’ll meet him at home some time? Ask him to step by one afternoon. But make sure you pick a time when you’re on duty. I would feel a lot safer with you close at hand.”
-o-
And so it was that, two days later, under CBI Agent McFadzean’s watchful eye, that Lewis Levoisin made his way, walking with the aid of a cane, to Miss Justin’s front porch.
Having been warned in advance by McFadzean, Henrietta Justin had put on her second-best dress (the best was reserved for weddings and major celebrations) and had made a special batch of pecan cookies, one of which had already been sampled and appreciated by McFadzean when he brought the news of Levoisin’s impending arrival.
He was indeed probably a big man, if he could stand himself up straight, thought Miss Justin. And he really should do something about his belly, she told herself, even though pot bellies were no novelty among the men folk of Cordele. She wasn’t sure about his long gray hair, tied back in a ponytail with a piece of colored string. She guessed that went with being a Cajun, and probably the funny little chin beard as well.
“Miss Justin?” he asked as she opened the door to him. “Miss Henrietta Justin?”
She nodded in silent assent, and he held out a large hand which she took. It felt firm without being hard, not the hand of a man who had never worked with his hands, nor the hand of someone who had to work that way. The handshake felt—well, ‘comfortable’ was the best word that Miss Justin could use to describe it.
“Please come in,” she said softly, looking into his green eyes. They reminded her of someone, but she couldn’t for the life of her remember who it was.
Seated in the parlor, having poured a glass of lemonade for her visitor, she noticed McFadzean looking through the window at her. It seemed to her that he looked a little anxious, but she couldn’t be sure.
The other noticed the direction of her gaze. “Do those folks bother you?” he asked. “Fact is, I’ve been in this town a few days, and every time I’ve walked down this road, I’ve always seen one of them outside your gate.”
She said nothing, but passed the plate of cookies. He took his time selecting one, and put it on his plate before continuing. “You must be a mighty important person to have a bodyguard like this, ma’am?” he offered.
Miss Justin smiled. “Quite the opposite. They’re there to keep me from doing mischief, though goodness knows what I’m meant to have done. In fact,” her smile grew wider, “I’m not sure that a respectable man like you should be associating with someone like me.”
He smiled back. “Well, now,” he said, in his soft Louisiana accent. “I don’t rightly consider myself to be that respectable, ma’am, so I don’t think you should be worryin’ yourself about those things. In fact, I think you should be more worried about associatin’ with me.” He smiled, but it was a friendly smile, with no menace in it. “Now I want you to stay calm, please. Something is about to happen, and I don’t want you to make any noise or show any surprise.” She must have looked very apprehensive as he continued. “I’m not even goin’ to move out of my chair, or move at all. Look,” and clasped his hands together behind his head. “If I’m fixin’ to do anything dumb or carry out any foolishness, I have to take my hands from behind my head, and that’ll give you enough time to call to Mr. McFadzean out there.”
“How do you know his name?” asked Miss Justin, astonished.
“It’s my business to know these things, what?” replied her visitor in an upper-class British accent that brought back memories. “Now please sit still, there’s a good girl—” without moving a muscle himself.
“You’re the one who rescued Christopher and—”
“—the one who seems to have been responsible for your nephew’s death. That’s one of the things that I came to you to apologize for. I really am sorry, Miss Justin. That was never my intention, believe me.”
“Quite frankly, he was no great loss to the world. Of course he was kin, and when kin die, a part of you goes with them, but I never really liked him, I’m afraid. Not a nice thing to say, I suppose, but there you are.”
“Thank you, Miss Justin. You make me feel a little better. Am I the reason for your guard outside the gate?” She nodded. “Then that’s another thing that I have to apologize for. But I hope I can give you some good news which may help to make up for it.”
“Oh?”
“It’s about Christopher Pole. He got to Richmond all safe and sound and met my uncle, and if you can believe it, he’s in London, working for the British government in a very important position. A friend working in the same department as Christopher told me about this.”
“Oh, that’s wonderful news.” Miss Justin clapped her hands.
“Please don’t get too excited. McFadzean will wonder what’s going on.”
“I’ll tell him you’re a long-lost cousin of my sister-in-law who died some years back—the sister-in-law died, I mean, not the cousin. And that means if you’re kin to me, you must stay here. No, no,” as he started to protest. “You must. Or do you have to go away from Cordele?”
“No, it would be wonderful to sleep in clean sheets—you’ve no idea what the Grand Hotel’s like. Thank you very much for the offer.”
“Oh, I can guess about the hotel. I went to school with Harriet Greenlaw, and I knew what sort of a housekeeper she’d make from the time she was nine years old,” she chuckled. Becoming serious, “But why the cane? And last time I saw you, you were much taller.”
“Last time anyone saw me in this town I stood up straight and I was much taller and didn’t have this,” patting his small pot belly. “Also, last time I was in town, my hair was black and wasn’t so long, remember, and I was in uniform with no beard. I’m taking the risk that no-one will recognize me.”
“You must remember to always talk in that Louisiana accent,” she reminded him. “Though you probably don’t need me to tell you that. Forgive me, I don’t rightly know what they speak like round those parts.”
“Nor do most folks,” he replied, moving back to the voice he’d used when he first came in. “That’s why Lewis Levoisin comes from Delcambre in Vermilion Parish. Mind you, there was some bad blood between your brother’s wife and him, which is why he didn’t come to see you straight off. But he’s very glad to find that you don’t bear any grudges.”
“I’d better tell McFadzean about your moving in for a few days. He’s not too bad—not as bad as some of them and I’d as soon let him know as any of the others.” She told him about the first visit she’d had from the CBI agents, and showed him the broken photograph of her parents, which she had deliberately had left unfixed.
“If you weren’t a lady, I’d say some very bad words which I’d use to those agents,” he replied quietly, in a cold voice. “I’d say them twice—once before beating them to a pulp, and once afterwards. But don’t worry, I’m not about to start any trouble.”
“You’d best come with me and meet McFadzean. He seems to know about you already, though.”
“Oh, he and I have met up already in the tavern. But you’d better introduce me as your kin, I suppose.”
They rose and went out of the porch together.
“Mr. McFadzean, I’d like you to meet Lewis Levoisin, my late sister-in-law’s cousin from Louisiana.”
“New Orleans?” asked McFadzean.
“Vermilion Parish, just a little ways out of the fair city of New Orleans,” replied “Lewis”, offering a hand, which was shaken enthusiastically.
“Well, why didn’t y’all say you was related to Miss Justin straight off, instead of hanging round, making yourself into a mystery? Being kin to her makes you a neighbor already.”
“L
ewis” shuffled his feet and looked down at the ground. “Well, there was some trouble a time back between me and Miss Henrietta’s brother’s wife, and I wasn’t rightly sure how she’d take to me being here. But,” looking up, “that all seems to be over and done with.”
“Yes, indeed,” smiled Miss Justin. “I’ve asked Lewis to stay with me for a few weeks, instead of at the hotel. He’s just going to get his bags from there.”
McFadzean chuckled. “Reckon you’ll be glad to get away from old Ma Greenlaw’s cooking?”
“I’m not going to say anything against any citizen of this fine town,” replied “Lewis.”
“Wise man,” replied McFadzean. “Best not to make more enemies than you can afford. Well, Miss Justin, I don’t see any problem with your family staying with you. And Mr. Levoisin, mighty glad to have you as a neighbor. We seem to be seeing a lot of outsiders in Cordele these days, what with these Germans and the Army and all.”
“I’ll be fetching my things, then. I should be back in about thirty minutes. Many thanks for the welcome, Mr. McFadzean.”