by Nan Ryan
“And have they?” Suzanna asked.
Mattie’s reply was the pursing of her lips and the twinkling of her eyes. “Now, come, I’ll introduce you around.”
“I can hardly wait,” Suzanna said.
At once she was the center of attention. As she entered the brilliantly lit ballroom there were audible gasps at her youth and proud bearing, her shimmering yellow gown with its off-the-shoulder sleeves and low-cut bodice, her lustrous mass of flaming hair framing her fair, flawless face.
With the beaming Mattie at her side, Suzanna moved among the guests, nodding, smiling and offering her hand.
* * *
“And I’ve been waiting all evening for the opportunity to dance with you, Miss LeGrande,” said a pudgy, ruddy-cheeked, heavily bearded Union officer who was a good six inches shorter than the tall, willowy Suzanna.
The gala was finally beginning to wind down as the hour of midnight fast approached. Throughout the trying evening Suzanna had talked and laughed and danced with at least a dozen officers. She was tired and sleepy and could hardly wait to get home.
But no one would have guessed as much by watching her.
“Why, Captain Rood, I’m flattered,” she said now, and favored the short, rotund captain with a dazzling smile. “I kept hoping that you would ask me.” She lowered her lashes seductively.
“You did?” he said, his small, dark eyes widening with disbelief, his mouth stretching into a foolish grin.
“Why yes,” she lied. “Shall we?”
Captain Rood swallowed convulsively, took her hand and led her onto the floor. In his arms, Suzanna fought the revulsion she felt at having his bristly beard tickle her bare throat as he turned his face toward hers. That and the way he breathed, like a steam engine puffing to pull uphill. His hands were clammy and the brass buttons on his uniform blouse were pressing against her stomach. And, not surprisingly, he was a terrible dancer, totally without grace. He stepped on her toes at every turn.
But Suzanna endured the ordeal with aplomb and listened attentively as the Yankee captain, in an attempt to impress her, spoke freely of the Union’s latest deployment of troops.
“Why, Captain, I’m afraid I’ve been a bit too sheltered. What exactly does ‘deployment’ mean? And when and where will it happen?”
His wet, fleshy lips now grazing her throat, the captain cheerfully did his part to educate her. And to set her mind at ease. “You have no need to worry, my dear, we greatly outnumber the Rebs.”
“I’m relieved to hear that, Captain,” Suzanna said. “So, if there should ever be a battle in or around Washington proper, we townspeople wouldn’t be in danger?”
Captain Rood laughed merrily. “Ah, how charmingly innocent you are, Miss LeGrande. The truth is, you couldn’t be in a safer place than right here in this heavily fortified Union city.”
Suzanna nodded and bit the inside of her bottom lip. She could well remember the first days of the war, when Ty and Matthew had optimistically predicted that “we’ll make Washington the new capital of the Confederacy.”
When at last the music mercifully ended, Suzanna gave no indication of her troubled thoughts. She was glowing, as she had been all evening, her enormous blue eyes flashing with gaiety and good health. The talkative captain was left with the impression that this beautiful young woman found him quite interesting.
That idea was solidified when a young major stepped forward to claim Suzanna for the next dance. Suzanna playfully winked at Captain Rood over her partner’s shoulder. Then she quickly turned her full attention to the man in whose arms she now found herself.
Suzanna charmed everyone.
The enchanted officers laughed at her bold comments and saucy frankness. She could be wickedly funny and highly entertaining. She found it incredibly easy to dominate these would-be warriors and convince them to confide in her.
But it was tiring, and she was glad when the evening was finally over.
“What a fantastic performance!” praised Mattie Kirkendal when the last of the guests had gone and only she and Suzanna remained. “You were absolutely superb, my dear. Thank heavens you’re on the right side of this!”
“But I learned nothing of value,” Suzanna said with a weary yawn.
“Don’t be so impatient, Suzanna,” Mattie gently scolded. “Go on along home now and get some well-deserved rest. I’m planning a wine supper for Tuesday next. May I count on you to attend?”
“I’ll be here.”
Eleven
Suzanna had declared a strong alliance with the Union, and no one doubted her sincerity. A small number of friends and acquaintances she’d known prior to the war had stayed on in Washington because their loyalties lay solidly with the North. They took it for granted that the same was true of her. There was no reason for them to suspect otherwise.
Suzanna easily insinuated herself into the social crowd of Washington. After attending only a couple of Mattie Kirkendal’s soirees, she was added to the guest lists of other noted Washington hostesses. They jealously vied for her, insisting that she attend their gatherings. All agreed that Suzanna LeGrande was an asset with her beauty, charm and wit. Her mere presence ensured a lively party, with the gentlemen officers being entertained and thoroughly enjoying themselves.
Suzanna played her part well. But it was not easy. Many times it was extremely difficult to act as though she were delighted with news of the war’s progress. Such as on the hot, hot summer evening of July 4,1862.
Suzanna was at a crowded soiree when a beaming Union officer strode into the great hall, leaped up onto the orchestra platform and raised his hands for silence.
Then he eagerly shared this message. “Good news, my friends! The Confederate general Robert E. Lee has suffered a terrible defeat at Malvern Hill!”
Suzanna was heartsick on hearing of Colonel Lee’s defeat at the hands of the Union’s Major General George McClellan. But she concealed her anguish. All around her whistles and shouts rang out from the joyous crowd, and many of the guests happily embraced. When the orchestra again struck a chord, the smiling Yankee captain who’d delivered the message stepped down off the platform and came straight toward Suzanna.
She found herself swept up into his arms as he stated with a pleased grin, “McClellan’s a military genius, no doubt about it.”
“Indeed,” she managed to reply, smiling up at him. “Did General McClellan thoroughly trounce Lee then?”
“Handed traitor Lee a crushing defeat! The Johnny Rebs suffered more than five thousand casualties without gaining a single inch of ground!”
“Ah, that is wonderful! A stunning victory for us,” she stated, hoping she sounded genuinely joyful.
“Yes, yes it was, miss.”
“After the victory, did…?”
“McClellan wisely retreated to the James River. He’s encamped at Harrison’s Landing.”
“Oh? Is it safe for his men there?”
“Couldn’t be safer. They’re under the protection of the big guns on all those navy warships anchored there.”
“Thank goodness.”
* * *
Throughout the summer and fall of 1862 and on into the New Year, Suzanna attended a neverending round of receptions and parties and balls, where she met and charmed her share of Union officers and sympathizers. She flirted and teased and promised more than she ever aimed to deliver. And she gleaned as much information as possible from the captivated officers.
Suzanna pretended nonchalance and lack of interest when the conversation was of the war. But she hung on every word spoken regarding the conflict’s progress, troop movements and coming battles. She memorized each place name, each mention of a direction or objective. She carefully committed to memory the names of men she’d not yet met, but whose daring deeds peppered the conversations of the officers with whom she danced. Such names as the well-regarded Captain Dan Stuart. Brigadier General Samson Weeks. Major General Skillman Bond.
And Rear Admiral Mitchell B. Longley.
The admiral’s name kept coming up in conversation, the officers eagerly exchanging stories of Longley’s heroic exploits. Suzanna learned that Rear Admiral Mitchell Longley was highly respected for his brilliance and his bravery. It was said that he was fearless and cunning and as cold as ice. Confident to the point of arrogance, having no need of acclaim or accolades. A laconic loner who disdained social gatherings.
Suzanna was just as glad the lauded admiral didn’t bother coming to the galas when he was in the Washington area. Such a man couldn’t be counted on to share tidbits of valuable information; therefore, she had no desire to meet him. She was interested only in those officers who became amazingly loose-lipped after a few glasses of champagne.
Suzanna invariably sipped her own wine very slowly, but she often laughed and behaved as if she were tipsy. Those gentlemen she charmed would never have believed that, unfailingly, Suzanna was as sober as a judge. Or that on those occasions when she excused herself to freshen up, she immediately went in search of a private spot to write down anything of interest that had been carelessly disclosed. She was extremely careful and if she could find no privacy, she silently repeated the tidbit to herself, over and over, memorizing what she had heard.
When she did reduce an item to writing, she used a code concocted by one of the trusted couriers she and Mattie used to slip through enemy lines to deliver messages to the Southern commanders.
Suzanna had quickly learned what she was to be on the alert for. Always get the name of the military unit and commander. Find out, if possible, where the officer and men expected to be sent. The place from which they had arrived. Which scouts they had and the scouts’ whereabouts. And to never be caught with a message that would give her away and endanger the troops.
She’d had a couple of close calls. Once, she was holding a hastily scribbled note in her hand when an officer came up from behind, surprising her. She had managed to shove the damning scrap of paper into her bodice before turning to smile at the man. On another occasion, when she’d volunteered to carry a missive through the Union lines herself, since a courier was unavailable, she had carefully concealed the paper in her hair, intricately dressed atop her head, with large curls circling her crown. Stopped by an armed picket on the outskirts of the city, she was forced to hand over her cape and reticule and bonnet, all of which were thoroughly searched, then handed back.
The missive had remained safely hidden in her hair.
Suzanna was proud of her modest accomplishments. She felt she was doing something constructive, contributing in some small way. She had received the gratitude of more than one Southern commander who had acted on gathered intelligence to save precious lives. Success spurred her on. She had become adept at drawing out the Union officers. More than one was guilty of disclosing information that should never have been shared with her. And she had managed to give nothing in return other than a few harmless kisses, which had been decidedly distasteful, but had had no lingering adverse effects.
Anyone who saw her at one of the glittering gatherings would have sworn Suzanna had not a care in the world.
Nothing could have been further from the truth.
Twelve
Suzanna spent most evenings in a seemingly carefree pursuit of pleasure, but her days were spent worrying and wondering how much longer she could maintain Whitehall. In the early weeks of the war, Colonel Robert E. Lee’s Arlington plantation, just down the river from Whitehall, had fallen into Union hands. Occupying forces now lived in his stately home, Arlington House. Suzanna went to bed each night fearing that blue-coated devils would come swarming into Whitehall.
Her own apparent alliance with the Union had thus far saved Whitehall. Still, there was the ever-present danger that she would be unmasked for the Confederate sympathizer she was. Should that occur, she had no doubt the Yankees would immediately seize the estate.
Even if that never happened, she worried that she would soon lose the mansion. The lengthy war had been financially devastating. The sizable LeGrande fortune had been lost. The tobacco fields of northern Virginia had long since been trampled down by thousands of marching feet. Months ago a letter had come bringing the distressing news that the once-profitable coastal cotton plantation in South Carolina had been taken over and occupied by the Yankees. There were no longer any indigo crops in Georgia. No huge amounts of capital rested safely in banks generating interest. No cash poured into the coffers to offset expenses for necessities. There was, although Suzanna never hinted as much to her ailing mother, next to nothing left.
Nothing, save her beloved Whitehall.
Suzanna prayed that the war would soon end. She prayed that the Yankees wouldn’t learn the truth and occupy the mansion. She prayed as well that she could somehow, some way, manage to hold on to the big white house on the river, the only home she had ever known. She lost sleep worrying how she could pay the exorbitant taxes owed on the estate, an astronomical sum that was mounting daily.
The imposing mansion where the LeGrande family had once hosted barbecues and balls now had most of its rooms closed off because she couldn’t afford to heat them. Suzanna unfailingly kept the fire in her sickly mother’s bedroom burning brightly, but the rest of the house was often chilled and drafty. There were times when the shivering Suzanna wondered if she’d ever be really warm again.
A terrible year in every way, both for her and for the Confederacy, 1863 finally drew to a close. But 1864 proved to be just as cold—and in more ways than one. Days into the New Year, Suzanna was forced to do something that was far more difficult than simpering and flirting with the hated Yankee soldiers.
She had no choice.
* * *
Snow flurries swirling about her head, Suzanna stood on the wide veranda of Whitehall on a frigid January morning, saying goodbye to the stooped, white-haired old butler-driver, Durwood, and the proud, statuesque maid, Buelah. The only servants left at Whitehall were being sent away.
Tears swimming in his dark eyes, Durwood said, “How will you and Miz Emile get along without us to take care of you?”
Suzanna smiled at him and pulled the lapels of his too-large greatcoat together over the old man’s narrow chest. The finely tailored coat had belonged to her brother. Durwood hadn’t wanted to take it, but she had insisted that “Matt would have wanted you to have it.”
“It won’t be easy for us without you,” Suzanna said now, “but we will manage, and you two will be better off.”
“But this is our home, Miz Suzanna,” he argued. “We belong here, takin’ care of you and Miz Emile.”
As if he hadn’t spoken, Suzanna repeated what she had explained to them a dozen times in the past week. “Now our second cousins, the Thetfords, have a fine home in Baltimore and they’ve assured me that you’ll both be warmly welcomed into their household.” She smiled and added, “I’m certain their house is warm and that the food is always plentiful.”
“Don’t eat much,” the old servant muttered, pleading his case.
Suzanna choked back tears. “It’s only a visit, I promise.”
Her bearing as proud as ever, handsome face sullen, Buelah said, “I never liked Maryland!”
Suzanna laughed despite the gravity of the situation. “Why, Buelah, you’ve never even been there, so how do you know?”
“I know all right! Besides, our place is right here, with you and your momma. She in bad health, she need us.”
“She’ll feel better once spring comes,” Suzanna said, not actually believing it. “Now, you’re going to miss your train if you don’t hurry. It’s a long walk to the depot.” Suzanna hated the fact that the pair had to walk to the station in the cold, but there was no choice. The fine carriage and matching bays had been sold months ago, and there was no money to hire a hansom cab. She barely had enough to pay for their train tickets.
“You two take care of yourselves,” Suzanna said.
“Sure gonna miss you and Miz Emile,” said Durwood.
Shaking a fing
er in Suzanna’s face, Buelah warned, “I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again, I know what you’re up to. You don’t fool me. No sir. And you are gonna get yourself in serious trouble trifling with those Yankee soldiers you dance with at all those parties you been goin’ to.” She reached out, put her hands over Durwood’s ears and told Suzanna, “You’re gonna meet one of those Yankee officers who ’spects a bit more than a few flirtatious smiles. Mark my words!”
Suzanna felt a chill of apprehension skip up her spine at Buelah’s prediction, but she smiled confidently and said, “I can take care of myself.”
Buelah huffed and shook her head.
“Please don’t worry,” Suzanna said, then affectionately hugged both loyal servants and sent them on their way.
Buelah, still scowling, took Durwood’s elbow and propelled him down the steps. Suzanna stayed on the veranda and watched as the tall, imposing Buelah, firmly gripping Durwood’s thin arm, gingerly guided the slow-moving old man along the front walk. She watched as the pair made their way onto the circular driveway and finally out to the tree-lined boulevard beyond.
There they paused for a moment, and Suzanna felt her heart squeeze in her chest. But they never looked back. They turned and headed down the street.
Soon they disappeared in the worsening snowstorm, and Suzanna went back inside.
Thirteen
Spring finally came in that harshly cold year of 1864, but it was too late for Suzanna’s ailing mother. Still grieving over the death of her adored son, Emile now had to be informed of yet another terrible truth.
As gently as possible, Suzanna explained to her sheltered mother that they had lost the LeGrande fortune, including the family mansion. Come the end of May, they would be forced to move out of Whitehall.
It was too much for Emile LeGrande.
She couldn’t bear the thought of leaving her home. Tearfully, but resolutely, she told her daughter that she would not go. Never! They couldn’t make her! This was her home and she would not vacate the premises.