Part 4
by Paula B and CJ
4 January 1863
Perryville, Kentucky
The Perryville Inn
0600 hours
She woke, like she always did, at the first sounds of morning. The coo of the mourning doves floated across the river. Sitting up, she gazed down at his sleeping face, knowing she shouldn’t. He looked young and carefree this deep in sleep. He wouldn’t wake until nearly noon. She, on the other hand, managed on very little sleep. Four hours were the most she ever slept of a night, preferring to take a long nap in the afternoon so she was fully alert for the evening game.
Easing out of bed, she quickly donned the lacy nightgown and robe. She would wash in her room. Opening the door, she steeled herself to not look back at him. It was now, freshly sated from his incomparable lovemaking that she was her most vulnerable. She wondered if he ever woke before she left and asked her to stay if she would have the courage to say no. Once, early in her relationship with him, when anger at the lot most women faced in life and love made her stronger, it hadn’t been hard. Now, as the years drifted by, now that she was past thirty, the pull of home was a constant companion. The need for a child allowed to grow in her belly, a pull she would have to ignore. She couldn’t raise a child like her mother had. She knew he wasn’t father material.
Sighing, she hurried down the hall to her room. Stepping inside she closed it, her back to the door. Surveying the dingy little room, arguably nicer than Clay’s but still dingy, she felt a tear course down her cheek. Brutally brushing it away, she began her morning ablutions. She would need to leave right after breakfast if she was going to meet with Chegwidden for her instructions. It was good to have something to fight for. Even if she was just a spy, she felt that her contribution was vital to the Union cause.
Dressing in demure cotton gingham, she pulled a large bonnet from her carpetbag, smoothed it out and set it on her head. Packing, just in case, she surveyed the room one last time before stepping out into the hall. So intent was she on her own thoughts as she passed Clay’s room, she didn’t hear the footstep on the stairs above.
Victor Galindez had slept fitfully the night before. He was growing tired of the routine. He had been a soldier in the King’s army. But the cruelty against the native tribes had sickened him to the point that he had deserted in Mexico City and fled north. He had always been good at cards and was surprised how easily he had fit in. The other gamblers never asked questions, and he hadn’t minded that few knew his given name. Most just called him "The Spaniard."
He usually slept late, but the strange convergence of Webb, Sarah and him in this little river town bothered him. He felt something momentous was about to happen. Grinning to himself, he shook his head. He often had premonitions; usually they turned out to be nothing. Striding down the stairs he entered the dining room of the inn. He saw Sarah sitting alone at the front window. Even dressed in simple clothes and broad hat, he recognized her. She was quite possibly the most beautiful woman he had ever known.
Taking a seat closer to the back he sat and studied her. She was reading the morning paper, studying it with more care than most men and fewer women bothered with. She was an enigma that he longed to unravel, but he knew that it was useless. He just wondered when the two people he admired most would wake up and see how much they needed each other. Or, perhaps, only his friend Webb needed the beauty. He knew how much Webb loved her. Two years ago, Galindez had gone on a drunken binge with Webb. It must have been just after one of the lovers’ trysts. Galindez grinned into his morning coffee. «Do they really think they're hiding their assignations that well?» He certainly knew where Sarah had spent the night. He even knew what the last hand meant. She had lost so she would go to his room. Webb had drunkenly explained it to him that night. Oh, not in detail. Even so deep in his whiskey that he could barely walk, Clayton Webb retained quite a bit of the manners he had been taught as a boy.
He drank his coffee and, almost absentmindedly, ate the hearty breakfast the young girl brought him. He watched in awe as Sarah ate just as heartily. Idly, he wondered where the innkeeper had got the ham, eggs and coffee. When Sarah rose, he hastily threw some money onto the table and, for reasons he would never be able to explain, carefully followed her out into the early morning.
The streets were crowded with Union soldiers and men and women trying to pretend that said soldiers had always been there. He hung back and allowed her to pull ahead of him by nearly a block. He was just crossing the alleyway, when a weight shoved into him.
"Oooph. Oh, dear. Excuse me. Oh, I am so sorry!" The blond gasped as he held her by the shoulders to keep her from falling. Books, many books, cascaded down between them and he quickly knelt to help her pick them up.
Gloria Rice was becoming more and more flustered. She was late getting to the schoolhouse and had been running down from her rooms over the apothecary, not looking where she was going. She hadn’t seen him. But she saw him now.
"Are you all right, senorita?" Galindez tried hard to keep his eyes from sharing at her shapely figure. She didn’t wear the fashionable bustle and hoops. She was much more sedate, almost severe, in her pale gray dress. The matching bonnet did little to cover her beauty.
"I’m fine. Thank you. But, really, I must be going. The children are already waiting for me and they can be such hellions." She immediately blushed at her choice of words and brought her fingers to her lips, causing the neatly arranged stack of books to teeter.
Quickly, Galindez steadied them. "No es ninguna materia, senorita. Your pardon. It is of no matter. I am sure you are quite right. All children are hellions." He tipped his hat. As intriguing as this beauty was, he noticed that Sarah gesturing to the livery stable owner.
Gloria Rice stood for a moment and watched his retreating back. She was new in town, having come down from St. Louis to teach at the small schoolhouse. She had nearly twenty students of all grades and they were a handful. Knowing exactly how badly they could get out of hand, she hurried down the street, pushing all thoughts of the handsome, well-dressed, dark-haired strangers aside.
Galindez hid behind a stack of barrels and waited. Shortly, a carriage left the barn and he saw Sarah at the reins. Something about the look on her face made him continue to the livery.
After saddling Cortez, Galindez rode in the same direction as Sarah. The road was crowded with soldiers and he had to stretch to see ahead of them. Galindez saw the wide-brimmed hat turn off the road and he hurried forward.
AJ Chegwidden waited at the meeting place for the brave woman who would be going across enemy lines to retrieve the information from their agent in place, John Farrow. He would have preferred to send someone else, but Miss MacKenzie was perfect. Most men would bend over backwards to help the beauty. She reminded him somewhat of Mrs. Wallace. Of course, Miss MacKenzie was a gambler and quite possibly an occasional whore, but she seemed a free spirit. He couldn’t imagine the woman ever owning slaves. He tried to reason with himself.«Mrs. Wallace probably doesn’t know any better.»
No matter. He would do what needed to be done and right now he needed to send Miss MacKenzie on her way. He watched as her wagon approached. He was taken by her beauty, but found his thoughts, even now, straying to the woman who slept so near to him at night. Pushing those thoughts from his mind, he alighted from his horse and walked to the center of the road.
Taking the horse’s bridle he nodded up toward the driver. "Good Morning, Miss MacKenzie. I hope last night was profitable for you."
She shrugged. She had no desire to remember last night. She would consider the wonderful lovemaking as she always did, on long lonely nights when her core ached for him. Now, even trying to ease her needs in the arms of men who resembled Webb was growing useless. "Good Morning, General, sir. Do you have my orders?"
Galindez alighted from Cortez and carefully walked through the knoll of pine trees, the undergrowth thick enough to shield his movements.
Listening carefully, he just made out the voices.
"I know it’s dangerous, Miss MacKenzie, but the information Mr. Farrow has is vital. Can you get into Chattanooga?"
4 January 1863
Perryville, Kentucky
The Perryville Inn
1000 hours
The man turned over in the bed. His mouth felt like cotton. His head pounded. He opened his eyes. There was some kind of film over them. He reached to rub his eyes. The paper crinkled in his hand. "What in the hell is this?" Daniel Wallace muttered. He looked at the paper, and then glanced around before taking the time to read it. «Wanted: Runaway slaves. Reward offered for the return of three runaways. Male: Lemuel. Female: Georgette. Female: Lydia. Contact Garrett Johns of Oak Springs in Oxford, Mississippi.» His eyes could barely focus as he made out the words. There were three drawings, one of each of the slaves. «I know Garrett Johns. He grows some of the finest cotton in the south.» He took another look at the drawings. «Guess I know this Lydia, too.» Wallace smirked, remembering the little vixen. «She was a feisty one. Feisty like that little bitch at my sister-in-law's yesterday.» Wallace yawned and an evil thought crossed his mind. «Could have been that feisty little bitch at Cordelia's yesterday.»
Wallace decided to check it out. He stood slowly and found himself already dressed, right down to his boots. «Must have been pretty tired. Oh, well, I can be on the road faster this way.» He folded the flyer, then staggered down the stairs at the back of the building, then to the stable. He dipped his hands in the trough of water and splashed it on his face, shaking it from his hair. He pulled his saddle from the post and dropped it on his horse's back. «Come on, Apollo. Time to earn your feed.» Wallace climbed on the animal. It was one of the few things he owned, one of his daddy's thoroughbreds. A stallion, named for one of the Greek gods. His father had loved those horses, and left them to his brother with the proviso that as long as the family had horses, Daniel Wallace should own one. Braxton had loved those animals, too, but reluctantly gave one up to his brother whenever he was in need of a horse. When Daniel ended up broke, he usually sold his horse, then arrived at the farm to ask for a new one. Even his sister-in-law Cordelia acceded to his parent's wishes and kept him supplied with a horse.
«Sure won't let me mess with the slave girls anymore.» Daniel sighed. He'd never had the luck with women that his brother had. «Braxton and Cordelia freed that by-blow of Daddy's. Braxton even recognized him as a half-brother and gave him some land. If anybody knew, I'd be a laughingstock.»
Wallace rode quietly, even his silent musings ringing loudly in his head. He made his way along the road to the home where he had grown up. Bitterness rose in his throat as he saw the signs of the Union soldiers on the property. «Damn Yankees are everywhere.» He guided his horse off the road and began to follow a smaller trail, one that would allow him to approach the house without passing anyone on the road. His father had used it to ride the fences in order to check the pristine white fence rows for any damage. He noticed that they were still well maintained. He pulled out the flyer and unfolded it. «Lydia is her name. That was the girl I saw here yesterday. I wonder if my dear sister-in-law knows she's housing runaway slaves?»
His attention focused on the flyer distracted Wallace. He was surprised to hear Cordelia's voice. "Checking the fence rows for me, Daniel?" she asked.
A startled Wallace jumped. "Coming to talk to you, sister." Wallace noted that she was working on a length of fence on either side of a rotted fence post. The post lay on the ground and the rails had been stripped. «Must have sent someone back to bring a new post out. Looks like the old rails can still be used, though.» He climbed off his horse to stand beside her.
"What is it you wish to talk about, Daniel?" Cordelia asked. «I can never bring myself to call him 'brother.'»
Holding up the flyer, Wallace sneered, "Runaway slaves. The ones you have here on this property."
Cordelia glanced at the paper Wallace held out. «My god, what will I do?» She swallowed and forced out the words, "Whatever are you talking about?"
"Those three new slaves you brought down from Louisville earlier this week. They are runaways. I know their owner; he's a friend of mine in Mississippi. That Lydia, she is a tasty little morsel. Too bad no one here can appreciate her many talents," Wallace grinned evilly.
"You must be mistaken," Cordelia lied. "I bought those slaves from a man who was headed west after his wife died. He didn't want to be troubled with having to look after them."
Listening to her words, Wallace suddenly understood. "You're harboring them. Them and probably others who escape. No wonder you 'buy' so many slaves and then sell them off in January and February. You're helping the runaways." Wallace leered at her. "Well, you'll be needing to make a little arrangement with me. Unless you want me let Sheriff Lindsey in on your little operation here. Those slaves from Mississippi aren't illegal, but any you have from Kentucky are. Here's what I want." He reached for her, pawing her breasts. "I want to start with you. Then I'll work my way through the slave women, starting with Bobbi, then Lydia."
Cordelia backed away. Her voice rose in anger. "Daniel Wallace, how dare you speak to me in such a way. I'll have none of this. Not on my property."
The crisp winter air carried the sound and there were no leaves to muffle her words. Returning with the new fence post, Sturgis heard Cordelia's response as well as the threat from Wallace. Wallace advanced once more. Sturgis smiled when Cordelia slapped Wallace.
But Wallace refused to be rebuffed. He lunged for Cordelia, pinning her against the fence. Sturgis ran forward and grabbed Wallace by the shoulders, pulling him off Cordelia. "Yore daddy raped my momma, but no one called it that. I'll not let you rape Miss Cori. Not her, nor Bobbi, nor Lydia," Sturgis hissed. Wallace struck out in a frenzy, freeing himself from Sturgis' hold. Then he reached for his gun. Sturgis saw the movement, and his hands closed over the weapon, wrenching it from Wallace's hands as the shot rang out. The sound carried for miles, Sturgis knew. He glanced at Cordelia, who stared open-mouthed at Wallace, dead already from the shot to the chest.
"Give me the gun, Sturgis. Give it to me now and go. Burn your clothes. You know as well as I that no jury in this town will allow a black man to kill a white man, even if it was an accident. I'll be fine, I'll take care of this," Cordelia ordered Sturgis. "Now go."
Sturgis hesitated.
Cordelia's voice was low, "Think about Bobbi and the escaped slaves. Take that flyer, burn it with your clothes and go. I'll deal with it." Reluctantly, Sturgis handed her the gun and loped into the woods.
4 January 1863
Perryville, Kentucky
The Perryville Inn
1000 hours
Clayton Webb glared into the mirror at the slightly reddened eyes. "Why are you surprised? She’s never here when you wake up." He glared sourly at his reflection. He knew what he needed. He dressed in riding breeches and a soft cotton shirt. He gulped down his breakfast and practically pushed his way through the crowded streets to the livery stable. So anxious to get away from the crowds, he saddled Midnight himself. Once he reached the outskirts of town he found a less traveled route around the back of the larger plantations and let the horse set its own pace.
He rode for several miles letting the wind clear his thoughts of everything. He strove to prepare himself to seeing her tonight and tomorrow and for as long as she would stay. Never once in all the years they had been playing their game had he run away and he wasn’t going to start now. But, a growing dissatisfaction was beginning to eat away at him. Finally, Midnight slowed as they entered a heavily forested area. He recognized where he was – the Wallace horse farm. Daniel Wallace’s sister-in-law inherited the place «She was so young. How has she managed without Braxton?». Off in the distance he heard angry voices and a startled gasp. Urging Midnight closer, he had just cleared a thicket when he saw Cordelia Wallace struggling with Daniel. He started to shout out when a tall black pulled Daniel away from Cordelia then raised a gun and fired, sending Wallace ass over end. «Good! Bastard had it coming.» Briefly, he wondered if he should stop, but instead, decided to wait and give a statement later, if it ever became known. «If she’s smart, she and the buck will bury the bastard and forget they ever saw him.»
He turned Midnight back toward town. He’d put his thoughts and emotions in order and decided to treat himself to a leisurely lunch and perhaps a stroll along the river later. The sun was directly overhead and the early morning crowds on the main road had thinned to the point that Midnight could canter a bit. He was feeling almost human as he rode into town - until he spotted Sarah hurrying out of the hotel, a small bag in her hand.
4 January 1863
Perryville, Kentucky
The Wallace horse farm
1130 hours
Wallace's body lay on the ground, the blood beginning to congeal in the cold air. Cordelia swallowed and looked at the gun in her hands. It was spattered with blood, but her dress and cloak were remarkably clean. She heard the drumbeat of horse's hooves and knew someone would be there soon. She waited, thinking about what she would say. The sound stopped behind her. Cordelia turned and looked into the cold stare of General AJ Chegwidden.
"What happened?" AJ asked coolly.
Cordelia stood still without speaking. She returned AJ's gaze unflinchingly.
AJ repeated, "What happened here?" He eyed Wallace's body. "Who was he?" AJ asked.
"He was my brother-in-law, Daniel Wallace," Cordelia said, then refused to speak again.
Five soldiers under Chegwidden's command joined them, drawn by the noise of the shot. AJ singled one of them out, "Corporal Roberts, alert Sheriff Lindsey. Take this horse, here. It must have belonged to Wallace."
Mikey Roberts stared at his CO. «Sheriff Lindsey? Does General Chegwidden truly mean to have him arrest Miss Cori?» He glanced at Cordelia. She nodded almost imperceptibly. He turned back to Chegwidden. "Yes, sir," said the young soldier. «But I'll have to stop by my brother's house first. He'll know what to do to help Miss Cori.»
4 January 1863
Perryville, Kentucky
The train station
1230 hours
Victor Galindez was concerned for his friend. Sarah hadn’t said a word to the Union general other than, "I’ll take the train this afternoon. I’ll meet with Mr. Farrow at the granary and return. It will take a few days, but don’t worry, General, I won’t let you down."
He waited behind some bales of cotton ready for the afternoon freight. A good thirty minutes before the train was due to arrive, he watched as Sarah strode to the ticket window and in the pronounced southern drawl she affected when she wanted men to do what she needed them to do, purred, "One round trip to Chattanooga, please."
"Miss, you sure about that?" The ticket agent gasped. "Them Yankees is checkin’ everybody’s papers and they might not let you through. And iffin’ they do, the boys at the other end might not recognize a lady like yourself and may harass you. These be bad times, ma’am."
"Why, thank you, sir. But my grammy is on death’s door and I have to see her before she dies." Sarah sighed heavily and then smiled sadly when the agent gave her the ticket.
Galindez argued with himself for a minute or two but in the end, he too asked for a ticket to Chattanooga. The agent barely spared him a glance.
Webb sat atop Midnight in the middle of the street. Sarah hadn’t noticed him as she ran across the street to the train depot. Evidently, she hadn’t noticed Galindez spying on her either. Curiosity, lust, and jealously all raged within him. «What the hell? She just arrived? Why is Galindez following her? Does she know he’s there? It doesn’t look like it but…» Hard evil thoughts consumed his more rational side. Calling a boy over, he dismounted and handed him the reins. "Here’s a penny. Take my horse to the stable. Tell Mr. Skinner I’ll return for him later."
The boy just nodded and led the horse down the road. He had no idea where Sarah was headed but she looked like she was ready to board the southbound train. Taking a chance he demanded of the ticket agent. "One to Chattanooga."
"Yes, sir," the ticket agent snapped smartly. "It will be here in ten minutes."
Webb would have liked to change out of his riding clothes, but he couldn’t take the chance. Besides, he might be able to blend in better and avoid her spotting him. She seldom, if ever saw him in anything but his gambling garb, or nothing. In all the years they had known each other, they had always been extremely formal – unless they were in bed.
He waited until she and Galindez boarded. He noticed with growing worry that Galindez hung back until Sarah boarded. Then the Spaniard boarded the next car. Even though the cars appeared to be sparsely populated, there were still three passenger cars. Several soldiers boarded the car that Sarah was riding. Carefully, hugging the side of the train, Webb ran to the first car, directly behind the baggage car. Boarding it, he found it occupied by three men, all sitting together playing cards.
"Well, gentlemen, mind if I sit in?" Webb waited.
The man sitting on the bench facing the rear of the train scooted over. "Sure, friend. Just a friendly game, though."
Webb sat next to the man, pushing his hat up his forehead. "I’m a friendly man, friend. Name’s Webb."
"I’m Jake, this here is Ben, and that’s Billy. Ante up." They played on a board balanced on their knees.
Part 5
by Paula B and CJ
4 January 1863
Perryville, Kentucky
The Roberts' household
1130 hours
"Do you think Miss Cori and I have finished enough quilts for our friends? I know she has been so busy with the sick and wounded. Bobbi and some of the others have been working on the quilts, too. Miss Cori always checks them to make sure we have the knot patterns right. How many ... bundles of wood do we need to carry out?" Harriet Roberts asked her husband, who sat at his desk preparing his sermon.
Reverend Bud Roberts looked up from his Bible and thought for a moment. "It must be enough. We will make it work. I know we have three new bundles. Add that to the twelve who have been here most of the winter and the seven we expect to arrive from Louisville before the full moon, and we're talking about twenty-two bundles of wood. And you never know who will see the faithful groomsman and come seeking a safehouse."
"I think Miss Cori should stop lighting that lantern while the soldiers are here. It's too dangerous. What if the people ignored the flowerpots turned upside down on her porch and walked right up to the door instead of going to the cabins behind the house? Sturgis worries about that, too. But none of us can talk Miss Cori out of anything," Harriet shook her head just thinking about the stubbornness of their stationmaster.
"She has done this for longer than we have. She knows the risks involved. We must trust her. The good news is that the weather is so cold we can move quickly. She has them all on alert. I notice the quilt she has aired on her balcony for the last week is the 'Monkey Wrench.' Gather your tools for journey. She's telling them to be ready on short notice. They all trust her, they will be ready." Bud closed his Bible and stood, then pushed his chair up to his desk.
"It seems so strange, to hide by pretending to be slaves. But Miss Cori is right; no one comes looking for them there. To all appearances, she supports slavery, but all the while, she is helping them to escape," Harriet murmured. "Still, this flyer is troublesome. Suppose someone remembers seeing these three?"
Bud shook his head. "Quiet, Harriet. You never know who is listening."
The front door opened. "Lucky for you, big brother, it's just me," Mikey Roberts laughed as his brother and sister-in-law regained their composure. "Besides, Miss Cori has more immediate trouble. It appears she's shot Daniel Wallace."
"Shot Daniel Wallace?!" both Harriet and Bud repeated in unison.
"It cannot be!" Bud exclaimed.
"How can they be sure it was her? Knowing Daniel Wallace, there are a multitude of people who'd want to kill him." Harriet glanced at Bud. "I've wanted to do so myself a few times."
"Harriet," Bud was shocked.
Harriet frowned. "He is... was a horrible man. How do we know that Miss Cori did it?"
"She was there beside the body with the gun. She didn't even try to deny it," Mikey explained. "General Chegwidden sent me to bring Sheriff Lindsey back. I should go. I just wanted to warn you. I should be on my way."
"Come back some night for dinner, Mikey," Harriet said. "I know we won't have the luxury of you being stationed so near us for much longer."
"I'd be crazy to pass up one of your dinners. Miss Cori feeds us well, but I'm partial to your cookin'," Mikey waved as he slipped out the door, leaped onto the horse and took off at full speed toward the sheriff's office.
Mikey arrived at the jail and was brought up short by a loud bellow. Fortunately, it wasn't directed at him. His eyes grew wide as he watched Sydney Walden berate Sheriff Lindsey.
"I tell you, my son would not do that. He had the misfortune of being present when those ruffians began their fight and someone struck him. My little Danny hasn't a violent bone in his body. Why would he attack someone he doesn't even know?" the Walden woman screamed.
Sheriff Lindsey stammered, "Ma'am, I'm sure if you'd listen to what happened --"
Sydney cut him off, "I don't need to listen to any more. I know it's lies, all lies. Get my boy out of that cell. Now, Sheriff Lindsey! Now!"
"Well, now, ma'am, I can't rightly do that. There are legal proceedings and bail has to be set. You'll want to talk to Mr. Rabb here. Perhaps he can explain things. He was there."
"Rabb?" Sydney cast a scornful glance at the man to her right. "Rabb knows less than you do about what happened. Even if he was there, he's blind as a bat. How would he know anything? Get my boy out of that cell now."
Harmon Rabb sighed. "Mrs. Walden, your son was losing at poker. He accused another one of the players of cheating. He started the fight."
"Just how do you know he started the fight? You didn't see a damn thing. That gambler could have paid someone to tell you what happened. Your witness could be lying and you wouldn't know the difference," Sydney sneered.
"Ma'am, I was there. I heard Danny call the other man a cheater. I heard Danny threaten to kill the gambler. I heard a chair broken over someone's head. Before you ask how I know that, I heard the hands grip the chair and I heard the crash at eye-level. Since the gambler has a concussion and is under doctor's care, and your son is uninjured, it tends to discredit your version of things. When the deputy arrived, Danny was still slamming the remnants of the chair over the man's unconscious body. There isn't much to question. Your son initiated the assault. Since Danny was drinking at the time, he will be charged with drunk and disorderly behavior and assault. Luckily for Danny, his weapon of choice was a chair, or the charge could be murder," Rabb delivered the information steadily.
Taken aback, Sydney fell silent. «Very well, for now. But I will find a way to wrench my son from your hands before this is over.»
Mikey took advantage of the silence. "Sheriff Lindsey, General Chegwidden sent me for you. There's been a shooting. Will you came back with me to the Wallace place? I'll show you where it happened."
"I'm with you. Rabb, you coming?" Lindsey asked. Rabb nodded, gripping his cane to guide him outside to his horse. The three men clambered onto their animals and Rabb gave his mount the lead, allowing him to follow the other horses. Rabb kept his head low, near the horse, in order to avoid any low-hanging branches.
None of the men noticed Tess Coulter waiting outside the jail. «A shooting at the Wallace place. Wonder who it might be? Could be a story in it.» She jotted a few notes down. It hadn't been easy for her to convince her father to let her write for his newspaper. He mostly let her handle obituaries and general public information like who'd been arrested and on what charges. «But if I could get a real story, something exciting, he might take me seriously.» She headed for the stables behind her father's home. She was going to Cordelia Wallace's place. She was determined to get her story.