The Rebel Wife (25 page)

You stay...here...and rest
.
Be back soon. J.

Stay here and rest. Infuriating man. Treating her like some silly goose of a girl who needed to be looked after. She balled up the note and tossed it onto the bureau. Let him think he was the cock of the henhouse. He wouldn’t find this hen waiting for him when he returned.

She shook the dust from her new dress. Widow’s weeds, Jack had called it. Sanity settled over her. Running off half-cocked to the prison might put Lance in danger and make the mourning outfit not just for charade. Her recklessness had hurt too many people. Time now to practice a little restraint, no matter how much it galled.

She dressed and made her way to the lobby where she learned from the desk clerk of a suitable eatery across from the train station. Might as well get something to eat, even if all she could afford was a biscuit and tea. Besides, the outing would make the wait go by faster.

The walkway was surprisingly deserted for so late in the day. Only a few people braved the mounting heat. A shopkeeper sweeping dirt from his stoop gave her a nod. Another store owner was busy adjusting the colorful awning perched over his door. A pair of youngsters rushed past, each toting an armful of newspapers. It was a quiet, peaceful morning and just what she needed to keep her mind off Jack and Lance.

Sunlight glistened on an assortment of china dishes arranged in a display window. Plates, bowls, cups and a large tureen, all edged in feathery blue trim. So elegant and pretty. And most likely horribly expensive. It had cost her two weeks wages to replace a similar dish she’d dropped and broken in the Lawrence dining room. Wedgewood, they’d called it. Fine bone china. Might as well’ve been made of gold. She gave the dishes one last look and moved on. Such luxuries were well beyond her means.

The Silver Spoon
loomed ahead. She entered and found the eatery filled to the brim with lively, chattering women. So much for peace and quiet. Once seated, she found her attention drawn to the conversations flowing around her.

“Blueberries, Gertrude. Use blueberries in your muffins. I’ll bet those Southern boys have never tasted anything as fine as our sweet Northern berries.”

“I just don’t understand why we must provide for them. Seems to me there are more worthy folk in need of aid than heathen, slave-owning Rebels.”

“Now, Jennie,” another woman said. “Whether we agree or disagree with their views, it’s our Christian duty to see those prisoners are treated with kindness.”

“They don’t deserve our kindness.”

“Only God can make such a judgment.”

Louisa nodded.
Amen, lady.
It was a shame more Yankees didn’t have such charitable attitudes. Maybe they could’ve avoided war altogether.

“Imagine your Henry confined in some Confederate prison,” the wiser woman went on. “Wouldn’t you want someone to help ease his suffering?”

“Hmmph. If they can mistreat slaves, how do you expect them to be kind to an enemy soldier?”

The woman’s words struck a sore spot. Louisa angled around in her chair. “Excuse me for meddling, but you’re wrong, ma’am. There are decent Southern folks who do their best to look after your men.”

Hazel-colored eyes looked down a pointed nose. “And you are..?”

“Louisa Carleton. Of Virginia. I know for a fact many Richmonders took food and supplies to the soldiers being held at Libby prison.”

“You were one of them?”

“My family didn’t have the means to donate, but we helped where we could.” She held her head high, proud of their charity, no matter how modest.

Taut lips slackened. “Well, that’s certainly heartening to hear.”

A round-faced woman with a wide, friendly smile patted the empty chair beside her. “Won’t you join us, Miss Carleton?”

Louisa shook her head. “I wouldn’t want to intrude on your gathering.”

“We insist. Please, come tell us about your hometown. Richmond, did you say?”

She shrugged. Why not? What could it hurt? Besides, talking with these ladies would be a sight better than being alone with her thoughts. She took the offered seat, greeting each of the ladies as they introduced themselves. They were members of the Elmira Women’s League and were holding their weekly business meeting.

“What brings you to Elmira?” asked Mrs. Gardner, the sweet-natured lady who’d invited her to join them.

“My brother. He’s one of the prisoners sent here from Point Lookout.”

“You came all the way from Virginia to see your brother? How courageous of you.”

Courageous or mighty stupid. There was a fine line between the two, and she was beginning to wonder which half she’d crossed into. “It really wasn’t a question of coming or not. I had to. My brother’s not a strong man. He could easily fall prey to disease or infection.”
Or worse—a madman’s bullet
.

Mrs. Gardner motioned for the waiter to pour more tea. “Unfortunately, being captured is one of the consequences of soldiering.”

“That’s just it. He’s not the soldierly type. Never was. I’m afraid he joined for all the wrong reasons.”

“Many a young man got caught up in the excitement and later regretted his decision.” Mrs. Gardner ladled cream into her cup, the spoon tinkling against the porcelain as she stirred. “Perhaps you should have a word with Senator Morgan.”

“Morgan? Can’t say I know the man.”

“He’s our New York congressman. He’ll be in town tomorrow to tour the prison facility. I heard he’ll give pardons to prisoners if they swear loyalty to the Union.”

Her pulse quickened at the news. A pardon. It was just what Lance needed. All he had to do was survive captivity long enough to take that oath. “Thank you for the suggestion, Mrs. Gardner. I’ll be sure to find a way to see the good senator.”

“We’re planning to hand out donated supplies to the prisoners during the senator’s visit. Why don’t you join us? You might even catch a glimpse of your brother.”

Her meager breakfast had just turned into a banquet of options. If Jack’s visit didn’t work out, she had the Women’s League to fall back on. “I just might take you up on that offer, ma’am. Thank you.”

“Good. Meet us tomorrow at one o’clock in front of the prison.”

****

The chair rungs bit into his back. His rear end had gone numb hours ago. He shifted to a more comfortable position, not that there was any to be had in the hard wooden chair. But he wasn’t about to give up. Not after waiting so long. The Provost Marshall would see him, or he’d become a permanent fixture in the commandant’s headquarters.

For once, the waiting room was quiet. The last of the numerous visitors had been ushered into the major’s office. Lieutenant Gaines, the Provost’s adjutant, sat behind a desk near the closed door, his bulbous nose buried in a mound of paperwork. Gray hair dotted his temples. Wrinkles lined his eyes and mouth. Had age loosened the man’s lips or taught him how to keep them shut? Only one way to find out.

“So tell me, Lieutenant,” he ventured. “Where were you assigned before Elmira?”

The officer scratched pen to paper before looking up. “Washington.”

“What unit?”

“Eighty-third New York.”

A militia unit with the Army of the Potomac. “You saw a lot of action then.”

“Enough.”

Definitely not loose-lipped
. “Quite a change from the big city to this backwoods town.”

“I go where they send me.”

Jack pointed to the paperwork stacked on the desk corner. “I imagine there’ll be a lot more of that as additional prisoners arrive. How many do you have now?”

“’Bout eight hundred.”

That matched with what the supply clerk had told him. He’d met Sergeant Johnston outside the prison. Chatty fellow. Appeared to enjoy the sound of his own voice. Unlike this terse officer. “I heard about the train collision in Shohola. Fifty dead. You lose any more prisoners besides those?”

“A few.”

“Only good Reb is a dead one, huh.”

Gaines grunted and returned to his scribbling, lips clamped tighter than a Chesapeake clam. Jack reeled in his line. Might as well save his breath. This one wasn’t biting.

Outside the window, short shadows lined what he could see of the prison yard. Noon or shortly thereafter. Was Kitty eating another of her modest meals? He turned a deaf ear to his own grumbling belly. His hunger would have to wait. This fishing expedition was more important than food. If he didn’t return with information on Lance, Kitty would surely go off on her own to find it. He ignored the little voice in his head saying she’d probably already done just that.

The far door opened, and the lieutenant shot to his feet. Jack rose as well. He wouldn’t be denied an audience. Not this time.

The major’s visitor sauntered out of the office and into the waiting room, cupping a gold-handled walking stick in one hand, a top hat in the other. Rich duds. And from the looks of his girth, richer food.

“Supper, tomorrow night, seven o’clock,” the man said. “Don’t be late.”

Major Beale filled the office doorway. “I wouldn’t think of being late.”

“Your sister will have your hide if you are.” The visitor slapped on his top hat. “I’ll have a look at that supply building before I leave. Make sure construction is coming along as planned.”

“Very well. Good-day, Henry.”

Lieutenant Gaines gave the passing man a brief nod, “Good-day, Mr. Lawrence.”

Jack straightened with awareness.
Lawrence
? As in Kitty’s Spivey Point Lawrence? She’d mentioned the commandant was a relation by marriage. Could there be more than just a family connection between these two?

As the door clicked shut, the major’s gaze lit on him. The officer frowned and flicked a glance at his adjutant.

Thought you’d gotten rid of me, didn’t you
? Jack crossed the short distance in four strides and stretched out his hand in greeting. “Major Beale, I presume.”

The officer nodded and took his hand.

“Jackson Porter, sir.” He gave the major a firm shake, letting him know he wasn’t some limp-wristed Nancy. “Journalist for
The New York Herald
. As I told your adjutant, I’m here to do an article on your prison.”

“Sorry for the delay, Mr. Porter. It’s been a hectic morning. We’re in the midst of planning for Senator Morgan’s visit.”

Previous Governor of New York and now United States Senator, Edwin Morgan was a force to be reckoned with. No wonder Beale was in a lather. “Then I won’t keep you, Major. If you’ll just assign someone to escort me around the prison—”

“That won’t be possible,” the major blurted. “Not only are we extremely busy, but I have strict regulations regarding civilian visitations.”

“Surely you have allowances for newspapermen?”

“Only for the select few accompanying Senator Morgan tomorrow.”

“I see.” Jack slid a hand into his pocket as if reaching for his wallet. “Any possibility you could add me to that list of journalists?”

The major’s gaze narrowed. “I’d have to check with the Senator’s people first. But I don’t expect there’d be a problem.”

“I would surely appreciate any effort on my behalf.” He gestured to the office door. “In the interim, perhaps we could have a little chat?”

“I imagine I could spare a few minutes. In the interest of the news.”

And in the interest of padding your wallet
. If Beale wasn’t averse to a little money greasing his palm, what other underhanded activities could he be involved in?

Lieutenant Gaines cleared his throat. “Excuse me, Major, sir. With your permission, I’d like to head to mess for a bite to eat.”

“Very well. Permission granted.” Beale turned back to his office. “This way, Mr. Porter.”

Jack took the chair across from the major’s desk and slid a notepad and pencil from his pocket. Cardinal rule of journalism—
Interview first, money later
. “I understand many of your prisoners came from Point Lookout.”

“They did.”

“And most were officers,” he added, watching the Provost for a reaction.

Beale’s expression remained stoic. “Most, but not all. Some officers weren’t healthy enough to travel. Others were sent to fill the quota.”

Jack flipped through the notebook as though reviewing his notes.
Damn.
No holes in that defense. Let’s try a flanking maneuver. “I was allowed to tour the Point Lookout facility which holds over ten thousand prisoners. You only have eight hundred. Why restrict visitations?”

Beale leaned back in his chair, arms folded over his chest in a classic I’m-in-control exhibition. “This is a newly formed prison, Mr. Porter. Construction is still on-going and could be dangerous to civilians.”

“Dangerous if you go where you’re not supposed to.” He let that sink in, then added, “It’d be helpful to my article if I could talk with some of the prisoners, get a few quotes. Like the group that just arrived from Point Lookout. I could have them compare the two facilities.”

“Why don’t you just make those up? That’s what you newspapermen do anyhow, isn’t it?”

Only the corrupt expected corruption in others. “Now, Major, that’d be dishonest.”

“Sorry, Porter. But I just can’t allow you direct contact with the prisoners.”

“What about the civilian who just left?”

“Mr. Lawrence? He’s a government contractor paid to supply food, clothing, and housing for the prisoners. It’s his job to inspect the facility.”

A government contractor. He had to be the same Lawrence suspected of shady dealings at Fort Delaware and Camp Douglas. Was the major also part of Lawrence’s corruption? “I overheard him speak of a dinner party. Are the two of you personal acquaintances as well?”

Beale stiffened ever so slightly. “We are.”

Ah, not comfortable with this line of questioning, are you? He smiled and set the hook. “Care to elaborate, sir?”

A loud boom rattled the window.

Startled, the Provost leapt to his feet and darted for the doorway. “Stay here,” he shot over his shoulder.