“ ’Tis another lie!” screamed Burke.
“What motive could he have?” asked the major.
I ticked it off for him, the bearing it had on the partnership as an asset, but he cut me off pretty quick. “Naturally,” he said, “any Reb in a godpappy case takes a chance with his partner, but how could a plea profit Burke?”
“It would wind the case up at once.”
“At that, it’s better for Landry than prison. And what proof do you have that that’s what Burke was up to? My God, we can’t go on suspicion alone!”
“I have proof. You were made a sucker of.”
“What proof? In heaven’s name, say!”
“Burke wrote the informer notes.”
“Oh come, come, come!”
“You don’t believe it, Major? I don’t blame you. I wouldn’t have believed it myself if I hadn’t been compelled. But you will believe it if you’ll be kind enough to get the latest note, the one that came in this morning naming Rod Purrin of the steamer Nebraska and telling how the shoes were shipped as Christmas gifts.”
His jaw dropped, and at last he turned on Burke with a venomous look. He went out and came back with the same old envelope I’d seen on Mardi Gras. He undid the tapes, took out a sheet of the same cheap paper, and laid it on the table. It showed printing that read:
FEBY 10, 1864
GENL SIR:
ROD PURN NEBRASKA MATE PUT SHOES ASHUR MORGANZA IN GOONY SECS LIKE ADOLPHE LANDRY PUT THEM UP FOR HIM HE TELL NEBRASKA CAPIN WAS XMAS GIFFS FOR REB CHILLERN GENL SIR YOU DON HAF BLEE ME ASK CAPIN GOOL HE TELL YOU ABAT IT BUT TALOR HE GOT SHOES MORE SOON GENL
LORL PATRIOT
“Fine,” I said, as everyone stepped up to read. “Now have a look at this—that I fished out of Burke’s wastebasket, seven forty-five last night.” And I put down my pasted-up scraps, which I had folded in my pocket. They read:
February 10, 1864
FEBY 10, 1864
General Sir:
GENL SIR:
Rod Purrin the Nebraska mate put the shoes ashore at
ROD PURN NEBRASKA MATE PUT SHOES ASHUR
Morganza in gunny sacks like Adolphe Landry put
MORGANZA IN GOONY SECS LIKE ADOLPHE LANDRY PUT
them up for him. He told the Nebraska captain they
THEM UP FOR HIM HE TELL NEBRASKA CAPIN WAS
were Christmas gifts for Reb children. General sir,
XMAS GIFTS FOR REB CHILDREN GENL SIR
you don’t have to believe me. Ask Captain Gould, he’ll
YOU DON HAF BLEE ME ASK CAPIN GOOL HE
tell you about it, but Taylor he got the shoes. More
TELL YOU ABAT IT BUT TALOR HE GOT SHOES MORE
soon, General.
SOON GENL
Loyal Patriot
LORL PATROT
“You win,” said the major, sitting down very heavily.
“Then,” I said, putting my exhibit back in my pocket, “if you’ll have the prisoner brought and sign an order for his release, I’ll tear up my letter to the General and forget the whole unfortunate incident.”
“... Afraid I can’t do that.”
“Why not, Major?”
“Identification of the informer puts a new light on the case, that’s true. It doesn’t change the evidence.”
“Your evidence is worthless. It proves nothing.”
“That’s up to a court to decide.”
“I’m sorry, sir. It’s up to you to decide.”
He looked startled, and I went on: “In the absence of habeas corpus, the Judge Advocate says if his evidence sustains the specification of a charge. I say your evidence doesn’t.”
“I say it does.”
“There’s also my evidence, Major.”
“... What do you mean, your evidence?”
“The bill I have in my wallet and this pasted-up note I just showed you are all I’ll need to prove collusion on your part, for a hundred-dollar bribe, with a skunk, to his profit, in the manufacture of a case against an innocent man.”
“I didn’t! I tell you I didn’t!”
“I know you didn’t. I’ll prove it just the same!”
“Keep it quiet, Bill!” said Dan.
“WHY SHOULD I KEEP IT QUIET?” I bellowed.
When he closed the door quick, the way he did that other time, I felt things going my way, so when he put his arms around me and started wrestling me into my chair, I let him. And I listened intently as he said: “Bill, after all, there’s such a thing as showing some judgment. Your man’s not out, he’s in. And so long as he’s in, wild talk from you can’t help but hurt him. Now, are you going to be sensible, or aren’t you?”
“I am, it’s just what I want.”
“All right—then let’s start over.”
“Fine, we can all relax.”
I went over, patted her on the cheek. I kept on around, and patted Dan on the cheek. I patted Olsen on the cheek. I stood in front of the major, and when I saw that he would take it, patted him on the cheek. I went over to Burke and slapped him sharply on the cheek. Then I came back to my place and sat down. “So,” I said, “in a calm and reasonable way, let’s have a look at this thing. I’d call it a simple dilemma—with one horn and what we might call a handle. The handle is that the major, now that he knows the truth, can admit in a manly way that we all make mistakes and dismiss this case at once. The horn is that if he doesn’t dismiss the case, I have to submit this letter—we mustn’t forget that. The letter, once submitted, lets Olsen in, and also leaves him free to publish what’s been said here. And that brings in the Gooch Committee—we mustn’t forget them. And they bring in a Court of Inquiry—we mustn’t forget it. That’s as far as I’ll take it now, but we all have to realize, now that we’re being sensible, the backwash will be unpleasant. Mind, I don’t think the major was crooked—he was too self-righteous for that. To me, he’s an honest man, fair to middling dumb, who got himself sucked in, then couldn’t take himself out. Unfortunately, we have to go by the evidence, and my evidence—”
“Are you threatening me?” said the major.
“Threatening you?” I yelled. “Goddam it, am I talking English or am I talking Choctaw? You get Mr. Landry up here, you dismiss this case right now, or you stupid son of a bitch I’M SENDING YOU TO PRISON!”
“Bill, stop it!” yelled Dan.
“Try stopping me!” I yelled back.
“Then all right,” whined the major. “I’ll have the case reviewed. You come back tomorrow, and—”
“I give you five minutes! Get Mr. Landry, or—”
“But I can’t—”
“GET HIM!” barked Dan.
The major knifed out into the hall, and then things began happening so fast they’re all mixed up in my memory. First she came running over, and in front of Dan, in front of Burke, in front of Olsen, and in front of the orderly, began kissing my hand. Then Mr. Landry was there, a leather valise in his hand, and she flew to his arms, kissing him and whispering to him in French. Then the major came back with papers for me to sign, and I told her take her father down and wait for me in the cab. They did, but not before Burke got in it, snarling at them in French, and she snarled back, but Mr. Landry answered quite mildly. Then Olsen left, very solemn, bowing to me and saying: “Your faithful cat’s-paw salutes you.” Then it was Burke, me, the major, and Dan, but when Burke tried to go Dan stepped over to block him, and told the major: “You’re holding this man, I think. You’d better—if you know what’s good for you.” Then the major was taking Burke down to the detention room, the orderly going too.
Then it was Dan and me. I held out my hand to thank him for everything, but he didn’t seem to see it. “Bill,” he said, “I won’t forget this day. I bring you in, I extend you courtesies out of personal regard—and then you play me tricks.”
“... I had a client to think of.”
“Oh, he counts more than a friend?”
“Dan, you make me feel bad.”
I supposed he was lining it up to take a crack at Mignon, and on purpose held my tongue so as not to give him the chance. He waited, and then when I said nothing went on: “You’re now in Red River cotton, which messes up everything that it touches—and everyone.”
“Oh no,” I said, “I’m not.”
“You think you’re not but you are.”
Chapter 10
MR. LANDRY GOT OUT OF THE CAB in my honor and bowed me in, taking a seat on the other side of her, so she was in the middle. Their flat was on Royal Street, which is St. Charles extended, on the other side of Canal, so I told the driver take them there, “but stop first at the St. Charles Hotel, which is where I get out.” It seemed to me, considering the stakes of the game, that she could have spoken up: “And me—I get out there too.” But what she said was: “And before you get to the hotel, you stop at Lavadeau’s—I get out there.” And then to her father she added: “I have to go to work.” He patted her hand, then told me, speaking across her: “Mr. Cresap, I haven’t thanked nearly enough for what you did—and I still have no faintest idea how you did it. Mignon has tried to tell me, but law is not her forte.”
“Nor mine,” I said. “A reporter was the key.”
“Ah! I begin to understand.”
“But I’ll be only too glad to explain. Why don’t you and Mrs. Fournet have dinner with me tonight, and I’ll give you the fine points?”
“Daughter?”
“Why—I’d like to. Yes.”
“Mr. Cresap, we’ll both be honored.”
“Then I’ll expect you around seven.”
We rode along, the sun out for a change, and I remarked on how nice it was to think of something besides shoes, which caused her suddenly to ask him: “Why did you buy those shoes? Didn’t you know they had to make trouble?”
“Daughter, they were cheap,” he told her.
“And that was the only reason?”
“At twenty-five cents a pair, a storekeeper couldn’t resist. They were Army rejects, mismated on size. But by taking a gross assorted, I was able to match them up, with only seven pair left over. At thirty-six dollars, plus burlap bags to ship in, plus freight, who wouldn’t have helped out those boys?”
“Why couldn’t you have told the Army that?”
“They didn’t ask me.”
“The idea, their saying Taylor got them!”
“So happens he did, some of them.”
“... Taylor got some? How?”
“They walked into his camp. Not all of those boys were paroled, and some of them, with shoes on, decided they wanted to fight. So they joined Taylor. I was scared to death, I can tell you, that one of them might get captured by some Union picket up there. My shoes on his feet could have hung me.”
“My, I’m glad I didn’t know it!”
“All’s well that ends well,” I said.
“Yes,” he said, sounding rather strange. “Yes.”
That brought us to Lavadeau’s, and I hopped out to hand her down. She kissed him, then peeped down the back of his collar. “Your neck,” she told him, “looks like an old crow’s wing, and what causes that is dirt! You bathe when you get home! You hear me? You get in the tub and bathe!”
“Daughter, I’ve been confined.”
“I said, you take a brush and scrub!”
“I will, but don’t make personal remarks!”
I took her across the street, raised my hat, and went back for the rest of the block-and-a-half ride with him. He said: “Mr. Cresap, my daughter admires you extravagantly.”
“I equally admire her.”
“She’s a fine, upstanding girl.”
It was all pretty flat, not at all what I’d pictured in the way of a wild celebration of the triumph I’d hoped for and got. Still, he was her father, and I took things as they came. When the cab stopped, I shook hands, said I looked forward to seeing him that night, and stood waving as he rolled on toward Royal. Then I crossed the street and started into the hotel. I had my hand on the door when I heard running feet; looking, I saw her racing toward me and waving. I ran to her and caught her in my arms, as she stood on the banquette panting. She said: “I couldn’t have him—know I was coming here—spending the day with you—can we go somewhere and sit?”
I took her into the ladies’ parlor, and we sat till she’d caught her breath. Then I took her up to the suite, and when I’d put her things away, she sank down on the sofa and said: “I ran so hard, trying to catch you before you went in, I’ve got a stitch in my side.”
“Want me to rub it?”
“Just hold your hand there, please.”
I pretended her dress was in the way, and reached my hand up under it, expecting her to resist. But she reached her hand under too, and undid the knot of the tape, to loosen her pantalette waist so my hand could slip inside. It touched soft, warm skin and soft, warm fuzz. As I pressed the stitch, she relaxed in my other arm, and pretty soon whispered: “You were so wonderful, Willie! Just like a bull! Same as a rampaging bull!”
“I’m sorry about the cussing.”
“I’m not! Oh, don’t worry, I know all the words—and I loved it when you told him ‘you stupid son of a bitch!’ It was just thrilling to hear! Willie, I never knew a bull could mean something to me, but now I do! He can be the most beautiful thing there is! The most beautiful—” She broke off and started to cry.
“What’s the matter?” I asked.
“Nothing! I’m just happy, that’s all!”
For quite a while she sobbed, snuggled close, and kissed, so I inhaled her, the Russian Leather, her spit, and her tears, all in one fragrant cloud. Then I asked: “Stitch any better?”
“All gone! You made it well!”
I started to move my hand, but she grabbed it and held it to her. I picked her up and carried her to the bedroom.
The rest of the day was wild, if that’s what I wanted, but it was other things too—sad, intimate, holy, and just plain silly. We lay close for a while and whispered, and then she started exploring—every part of me, including especially my scar. She wanted to know how I got it, something a soldier likes to forget, but I told her: my dive for the rear when the Rebs burst out of the woods, my stumble, the Reb’s lunge with his saber, the pistol-shot in my ear as one of my men got him. She listened, kissed it, then snuggled to me, patting it. Then she jumped up, slipped bare feet in her shoes, and paraded in front of the pier glass. “You think,” she said, “that it’s you I came here for—that’s a mistake. It’s this full-length mirror, so I can see if I’m getting pot-gutted. Well?”
“No,” I said, “you’re not.”
“You better say so.”
“I can only speak the truth.”
“Ever notice how a girl without inny clothes is nothing but a thing? Just a bunch of dabs, dewlaps, and dimples shaking up and down? But lift her heels with shoes and then you got a nymph—a regular stone nymph in a garden, pouring water out of a cup.”
“I never saw a girl without any clothes.”
“You’ve been missing something.”
What I’d been missing was so beautiful I had to look, even though I felt I shouldn’t. And it wasn’t all full, round curves, but partly the way she moved. That, she said, came “from the way they beat it into me, at the convent in Grand Coteau—they make you walk like a lady, whether you want to or not, and won’t have you walking like a camel.” I asked if she was Catholic, and she said no, “but the sisters will take you in, whatever you are, if you’re worth taking, and they seemed to think I was. I’m Episcopalian.” She was pleased that I was Episcopalian too, and asked where I went to school. I told her St. John’s College, and that started her on her childhood in Alexandria—especially Hilda Schmidt, the girl who’d lived next door to her, and how they had played, chasing each other around, “before she died of the fever, up and down the cistrens, over the roof, and down through the skylights.” It seemed that her father’s s
tore was a double one, half of which, with the flat above it, he used himself, and half he rented to Mr. Schmidt, who had a sugar-mill supply place. Alexandria seemed to enchant her, and suddenly she asked: “Where you taking us?”
“Tonight? You know the places. Say.”
“How about Galpin’s, then?”
“Galpin’s is fine.”
“It’s just a few steps from us, Willie, and after we’ve finished dinner we can all three go to the flat and I’ll show you some pictures I have. Of Alexandria. Then you can see what it’s like.”
“I’d love it.”
“Incidentally: I’ve been working today.”
“At Lavadeau’s, you mean you’re telling your father?”
“That’s it—I’m all tuckered out, but will go home to dress and we’ll come to you. And, incidentally, if I’d known what was scheduled today, at headquarters and all, I’d have put something on. Better than what I’m wearing. At least I have a few things left from before the war.”
“I haven’t complained, have I?”
“No, but I have my pride.”
She stared as I talked about her dress, giving the fine points on why I loved it. Then she kicked off her shoes and came close to hear more about it. I don’t think she really believed all I said about its lines, and the way it swung so soft from the swell of her bottom, but how much I’d thought about it seemed to touch her. Around five she gave me one last kiss, then got up to dress.
“I hope they hang that Burke.”
We’d had quite a dinner, with cocktails, a soup called crayfish bisque, some kind of chicken with white wine, and ice cream with brandied cherries—and as we ate we talked. I told Mr. Landry of the way I’d smashed up Jenkins by making use of Olsen, and he made acute observations, comprehending at once the tactics I’d had to employ. She filled in with details on the way I “whipped—that was the thing, he whipped!” I mentioned in passing the twenty-five thousand dollars I must find, but didn’t get much reaction. He named a banker he’d take me to, but didn’t really show much interest, and I saw the reason was that—to him as well as to her—a channel out to the Gulf cut by the river itself didn’t mean a great deal. Alexandria was what they lived for, so Alexandria was what we looked at as soon as dinner was over. We walked a block to their flat, which was on the second floor of a house between two saloons, a toasty-warm little place from heat coming up through a register, because, she explained, “the landlord’s wife has palsy, and he must keep the fire up for her.” It had walnut-and-horsehair furnishing, a potted rubber tree, and framed mottoes on the walls. While he was lighting candles she was getting her album out, and then we sat with it in front of us on the table, she turning the pages.
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