by Dara Horn
Jacob stammered, feigning shock. “But—but—but how could you know—”
“Lottie,” she said. “Major Stoughton is in love with her, and he’s as pompous as they come. Worse than William, even. He loves to brag. He tells her everything, just to impress her. It never occurs to him that ladies also have brains.” She smiled, with wet cheeks. “Phoebe carved the compartments whenever we needed to hide the messages, and Rose put them into code.”
Jacob was silent for a while, letting his mouth hang open. He hadn’t known these details; he had certainly suspected them at first, but at some point after Jeannie revealed her leg to him, he had stopped suspecting. Now he wondered whose sham this marriage was: his, or hers? His mind raced with possibilities, and suddenly he knew he had to keep up his guard.
“But—but how could you take the risk?” he stuttered, and prayed that his shock was convincing. “Were they—was someone paying you?”
“No one was paying us at the beginning,” she said. “It started this past winter, when the Yankees took the city. William suggested it at first, and then we—we simply did it, because how could we not? With all these people in the house, and with what happened to our mother—really, anyone would have done the same thing.”
Jacob thought of William helping her escape from her father’s house to play Juliet in Richmond, escorting her to another world where she could step onto a stage and prove that she was someone else entirely. He wondered if William had been her equivalent of the three officers, if William had used the same sort of shaming to wear her down. And William had had his own dream too, just as Jacob’s commanders did: conquest.
“The Yankees even arrested me then, but I managed to convince them that it was all a misunderstanding. It’s remarkable what gentlemen will believe when they see a lady’s legs.” Jacob glanced away, his eyes on the bedspread. “Recently they started paying us,” she continued. “I tried to give the money to Papa. I told him it was from needlework I sold to the dressmaker. But he didn’t believe me. He thought I had found another acting job somewhere, with William.”
“He was right.”
“He was furious. He was convinced I was going to run off with William. That’s why he was so excited when you arrived. For a time I thought he had planned it, as if there were some grand scheme to bring you down here just to marry me.”
“Your father didn’t plan anything,” Jacob said quickly. He winced at just how close she came to knowing the truth, and suddenly wondered if, perhaps, she did really know.
“But then I didn’t care how you came here, I was just so glad that you had come,” she said. “I hadn’t known how unhappy I was, how terrible I felt with William always expecting what I would never give him, how awful it was pretending for him all the time, until I met you.”
He should have felt ashamed, he knew. Instead he was overwhelmed with joy. “Jeannie,” he panted. She rested her head on his shoulder, and he stroked her hair, just as he had seen William do it, a lifetime ago, through the front-room window. Her hair spilled onto his hands, liquid warmth flowing between his fingers. A curl wound its way around his thumb, binding him to her.
“Now we have no contact, no one,” she continued. “Papa’s too proud to admit it, but we need the money. Especially now. They aren’t going to let Papa out of jail.”
“Jeannie, of course they will,” he said, and thought of old Isaacs again. “There were dozens of witnesses in the house today. The court will set bail for him, he’ll have a trial—”
“The trial is what I’m afraid of. Papa has a lot of enemies in town. And William was a popular actor. He’s a hero around here, especially since he was wounded,” she said. “I’ve been thinking about this for the past few hours, and I keep remembering all the times Papa told people how much he hated William. A jury would be a catastrophe for Papa, and the judge won’t be better. Even bail would be dangerous for him. He would have to find somewhere to hide. I don’t think the court will hang him, but it will be a long, long time before he comes home.”
For the first time that day, Jacob’s shock softened into sadness. No one knows, Jacob remembered Philip saying, how much I’ve done for those girls. No, Jacob thought, and no one ever will.
“I—I can run the business for him,” he stammered. But that, he knew, wasn’t the point.
“The business is ruined already,” Jeannie said. “You know that. It’s just the boarding house now. And—and our own business, if one can call it that, but now that’s ruined too. We can’t do this sort of thing without contacts who trust us completely. There isn’t any way to continue it.”
Now Jacob’s heart raced. The moment had arrived. FAILURE IS TREASON, he remembered. He forced himself to think of where he would have been tonight if he hadn’t been sent to the magical time capsule that was the Levys’ house: sleeping in the mud, then rising at daybreak to move again, chased through the forest like an animal by the enemy, guessing when or whom the next bullet would hit, wondering whether he would live to see nightfall. He thought of the first corpse he had ever seen while retreating through the Virginia woods: a blue-uniformed boy, slumped against a tree, whom Jacob had mistaken for living until he noticed the flies crawling across the boy’s still-open eyes. He thought of standing before the officers, of what he had promised, of what needed to be done. We know we may depend on you for anything. With no exceptions. He unwound her curls from his fingers, and spoke.
“There is a way,” he said. “I can become your new contact.”
The words were scarcely out of his mouth when he wished he had never said them. But it was too late. Jeannie turned to face him.
“You?” she asked.
“Yes,” he said, and steeled himself. There was no going back. “I know people in the camps.” He thought of Harry Hyams. “I was bringing them rum for months. They all remember me.”
Her face lit up. She was beautiful that way, even more so than before. “Do you know General Jackson?” she asked. “He was William’s contact.” Her voice was full of hope.
Stonewall Jackson! Now Jacob was frightened. He had pictured her passing minor messages to some twenty-year-old sergeant who took the credit for himself. He had never imagined her doing anything at that high a level. How many people had died because of what she had done?
“No, but I know one of his deputies,” he lied, praying that she wouldn’t ask him to name anyone. She didn’t. Instead she listened. “I could explain the situation to him, and pass the messages along for you.”
She looked at him, and suddenly smiled. Her face glowed. “Thank you, Jacob,” she whispered.
Her torn wedding dress was gleaming in the lamplight, darkness luring him beneath her ripped skirt. He reached behind her curls to her neck and back, tracing her skin with his finger, following the line of her spine down to the buttons of her dress. She kissed him, and pulled him down with her onto the flowers her sisters had picked for them. For the rest of that night, Jacob was able to forget his first war.
JEANNIE WAS RIGHT about Philip. The judge denied him bail, and didn’t even bother to set a date for a trial. Other than his lawyer—someone who used to work for the company, whom Jacob had managed to track down—Philip was barely allowed any visitors. His family was forbidden to him completely, because women weren’t permitted to visit the jail. When Jacob at last managed to see him, more than a week after the wedding, he was astonished to find him in a tiny cell without even a bed or a stool in it, only a floor covered with straw and mouse droppings, which he was sharing with a Negro who lay sleeping in the opposite corner. The sleeping Negro surprised Jacob even more than the cell itself. He couldn’t imagine why they had been put there together. Perhaps the jail was already full; either that, or Jeannie was right about the judge.
The warden shackled Philip, removed him from the cell, and led them both into a locked room with two benches in it. On one of the benches, an old fat guard was sitting, eyes drooping. The room stank of liquor. When the warden closed the door and Phil
ip and Jacob sat down on the bench on the opposite side of the room, the guard glanced at both of them, then slumped down against the wall. In minutes he was snoring.
Philip sat beside Jacob for a moment in silence. Jacob had noticed slaves being transported in shackles around town from time to time, but he had always turned away from them. He had never before been this close to a man in chains. Philip’s hands were locked together and absurdly posed at his groin, like a man about to urinate. His knees knocked against each other from the weight of the irons on his legs. Jacob thought of him as he had seen him just two years ago, at a business meeting in his father’s office in New York, and struggled not to weep.
But Philip, while weary, didn’t seem ashamed. “Thank you for coming,” he said. “I want you to know that I thank God every hour that you are with the girls.”
Jacob didn’t know what to say. “I—I’m so sorry,” he tried.
Philip shook his head. “It’s better that I’m here,” he said. “Williams has quite a following. If the judge had let me out on bail, I would have already been lynched.”
Jacob started to laugh, then stopped when he noticed Philip’s face. Until he saw Philip looking down at his knees, Jacob had thought he meant it as a joke. When Philip spoke again, his voice was low and bare. “Jacob, this place is a wilderness,” he said slowly. “I don’t mean the jail. I mean the entire South.”
Philip turned to face Jacob, and squinted. He wasn’t wearing his pince-nez; Jacob wondered if it had been confiscated, if Philip were not only imprisoned but blinded as well. “It’s like the book of Judges: ‘There was no king in Israel, and everyone did as he pleased,’” Philip quoted, in his slight drawl. He tried to gesture with one hand, but the irons were too heavy for him, and his hands sank back into his lap. “It was like that before, but since the secession it’s been made institutional. Savagery is a way of life. Tell me, Jacob, has any civilized person in New York ever settled a score with a duel?”
“Alexander Hamilton,” Jacob said, after a moment. “Fifty years ago. Across the river, on the Jersey side.” He forced a grin. “The more common custom in New York is to bankrupt someone first, then slander him in the newspapers, and then allow him time to despair until he kills himself.”
Philip tried to laugh, a tired, burdened laugh, before giving up. He let out a little groan.
“You should know that when my wife and I first married, I wanted to move north,” Philip said. He moved his knees apart, then let them fall back together again. “To Philadelphia, I was hoping. My brother lives in Philadelphia. But my wife refused.” Jacob smelled sweat and filth on Philip’s clothes, and tried not to breathe in. “Her family had been here since the Revolution. She said she couldn’t abandon their graves. I told her how many graves my parents left behind in Prussia, but she insisted that this was different, that this was hers.” He twisted a wrist inside the shackles. “She was a wonderful person, but she was wrong. She died because of where we lived.” He glanced at Jacob. “I’m sure you heard the story from the girls.”
Jacob nodded, and looked down at his lap. The last thing he wanted was to hear it again. “The girls have always blamed the slave, of course,” Philip said. “Of course the slave did it, and of course that’s what the girls saw, and I know they were too young to think of it any other way. They still are. But I know better. And I blame myself.”
Jacob tried to make his voice firm. “Mr. Levy, that’s absurd,” he said.
“No, it isn’t. It’s true. I’ve been thinking about this for eight long years.” Philip turned to him. “You saw my cellmate,” he said.
“The Negro?” Jacob asked. He couldn’t imagine what Philip wanted to talk about. Just being reminded of the cell made him uneasy.
“His name is Caleb,” Philip said. “He’s very well-educated. You would be shocked to hear him speak—he sounds like he could be a man working in our office. Apparently his master’s son is an abolitionist, and has been helping him for years. He’s here now because his master was ruined. He has to stay here until someone buys him, so his master can pay back the debt.” His voice dropped to a whisper. “No one has guessed it, but he’s working for the North.” The guard on the bench across from them let out a loud snore.
Jacob was astounded—not merely by the information, but by the fact that Philip had shared it with him, and had assumed him to be sympathetic. What else did Philip know? He heard the guard shift on the bench, his snores growing louder. The smell of stale liquor seeped across the room.
“I challenge you to show me a Prussian prison where the guards are asleep,” Philip said. To Jacob’s relief, he was smiling. “Now tell me how the girls are. And don’t lie to me.”
Philip tried to lift his hand to rest it on Jacob’s, but the shackles made his movements ridiculous. Jacob flinched, and looked away.
“Everyone is managing well, under the circumstances,” Jacob told him. “Even Rose isn’t crying anymore. Please don’t worry. I—I can’t tell you how grateful I am to you for what you did for me, and for Eugenia.”
Philip looked down at his shackles. “I know what Eugenia has been doing,” he said softly.
For a moment Jacob wondered what he meant, and hesitated. But soon the pause became too long. “She hasn’t been in any plays, if that’s what you mean,” he said quickly. “She told me you thought she had been working again in the theater somehow.”
Philip looked at him, leaning toward him so that his unaided eyes focused on Jacob’s. “I’m not nearly the old fool you all imagine me to be,” Philip said. “Do you think I don’t know what happens in my own house?”
Jacob froze in his seat.
“Jacob, I am relying on you to make her stop. She’ll find a way, even without that bastard Williams. This isn’t a game. Part of the reason I let you marry her was because I needed someone to stop her. I couldn’t do it myself.” Jacob listened, astonished. “You must convince her to stop, before anything worse happens. Believe me, the wedding was nothing compared to what might be coming next. She’ll get you both killed.”
Jacob felt himself turning pale. “I—I don’t know that I can do anything about it,” he stammered.
“You have to, Jacob. It isn’t a choice. You have to turn her around. Or else you’ll both be dead.”
A key turned in the lock, and the sleeping guard suddenly opened his eyes and straightened in his seat, his hand on the pistol at his hip as the warden came in.
“Come back,” Philip said to Jacob as the warden escorted him back to his cell.
“I shall,” Jacob promised, and wondered if he ever could.
4.
THREE WEEKS AFTER THE WEDDING—THREE WEEKS OF JACOB AND the Levy girls making every petition they could think of to hasten Philip’s release, and three weeks of failing—Major Stoughton returned from behind the lines, his carriage bells ringing outside the Levy house one evening in the deadening summer heat. Lottie went with him eagerly, climbing into his carriage for an evening tour of the town. Philip would never have let her ride in the carriage with him, Jacob was sure, but no one remained to say no. Jacob was the man of the house now. Rose and Phoebe went up to their bedroom while he and Jeannie waited in the front room for Lottie to return. When she did, instead of the two sisters running upstairs, they remained in the front room with Jacob.
“What did you hear?” Jeannie asked.
Lottie eyed Jacob cautiously. She and Jeannie looked very much alike, Jacob had long noticed, but Lottie rarely smiled. When she did, there was something of Judah Benjamin’s perpetual smile in her expression: aloof, defiant, calmly and maddeningly aware of the limitations of others. She gave the impression that she already knew what everyone else was thinking before they themselves did, and that she already disdained it. During his time with the Levys, Jacob had often thought of Lottie as an alternate version of Jeannie—the version that sat in the audience, coolly observing everything around her, while the real Jeannie performed onstage on her behalf. Lottie hesitated before s
he spoke. The cabal was different now, and Jacob sensed that she didn’t accept it.
“He told me something quite significant this time,” she finally said. “The Yankee retreat in June was just a ruse. The Federal navy is going to massively increase its forces at Norfolk, and then they expect to send fifty thousand troops back toward Richmond. Under McClellan again, but this time he’s really going to move. They’re going to cut all the rail lines and burn everything in their way.”
This was astonishing to Jacob, but Jeannie remained surprisingly composed. “When?” she asked.
“Two weeks,” Lottie answered. “We have to get the message out immediately.”
Jeannie took Jacob’s hand. “Jacob can do it.”
Jacob had dreaded this moment, but now he almost enjoyed it. He squeezed Jeannie’s hand in his.
Lottie nodded, then looked away. Something seemed odd about her, though perhaps it was just that Jacob was seeing her honestly for the first time. When she looked back at him, he saw that she was close to tears. “Jacob, I don’t know how much longer I can continue with Major Stoughton,” she said.
“But Lottie, you’ve been marvelous,” he murmured, unsure of what she meant. Was she testing him?
“He’s right. You always have been,” Jeannie added. “Why, Lottie? He doesn’t suspect, does he?”
Lottie looked down at her lap. “No, but—oh, I can barely say it. He—he put his hand up under my dress.”
Jacob was both amazed and ashamed to hear this; surely this sort of detail ought to have been for her sisters’ ears alone. Or did she expect him to defend her somehow, now that her father couldn’t? Jacob’s opinion of Lottie had been painfully low: he wouldn’t even have thought that something like this would trouble a girl who had been duping men for months and even seemed to relish it. Both Jeannie and Lottie looked at him, waiting for him to respond. Draw noses onward, he thought.