Bride of the Night (19 page)

“What's odd?” Captain Tremblay asked him.

“It seems after all this time, we
do
know how to make peace,” Father Timothy said. “If you will excuse me, I believe I could do with a few hours' rest.”

Smiling, Captain Tremblay left.

“I'm going to see if there's anything here that we didn't notice last night,” Finn said.

“I'm coming with you!” Tara told him.

Pete said to Tara, “You take the horse I rode from the fort. I'll be home. Join me when you are hungry.” He looked at Finn. “Both of you.”

They bid goodbye to Father Timothy together, but out in the churchyard, Finn hesitated.

“There aren't many graves here. They were mostly moved to the Key West cemetery,” Tara said.

“Yes, but I want to make sure that nothing has been disturbed. Other than the obvious.”

But nothing had been disturbed, and the citizens of Key West had already removed the diseased that had been slain the night before.

“It's all right, isn't it?” Tara asked him.

He nodded slowly. “Yes, it's all right.”

“Where should we head first?”

He shrugged. “It's your town.”

“And it's beautiful, especially in winter!” she told him, smiling.

“Let's mount up, shall we?” he suggested. They walked around the side of the church, and found the gelding Finn had ridden and the mare that Pete had used when he'd returned with Captain Tremblay. The gelding hadn't broken free and taken flight during the attack the night before. Finn was quiet, thinking that they needed to be grateful that they were prepared, and the fight hadn't been elongated, that none of the diseased had attacked the horse.

Finn patted the mare's long sleek neck as Tara mounted. She was quiet, looking northward.

“We talk about the war coming to an end, but Florida has a militia still fighting, you know. They call them the Cow Cavalry, because they protect the beef used to feed so many of our soldiers. The Union men sailed from here to do battle with them.”

Finn looked up at her. “We can't stop the war,” he told her.

She nodded. “I know.”

Finn mounted as well, and they rode along. She pointed out some of the trees, and the bursts of colors, and she explained how many of the streets had been named for the founders, such as Simonton, and Duval, of course, was for Florida's first civilian territorial governor, William Duval. “Angela and Margaret Streets had been named for his daughters, and that it was like a frontier, and not a frontier, of course, because of all the money that had come in through the salvage business. Eaton, of course, was named for John Eaton, President Jackson's secretary of war, until politics undid him. He was the second territorial governor, but I also believe he owned property down here when they were naming the streets.” She paused, looking at him. “And, yes, there are about four hundred slaves here, though with the Union fort having been held so long, and the Emancipation Proclamation, most are now escaped, or free. But even before the war, Finn, there were about one hundred and fifty free African men who lived and worked here, and our whole population is just about two-thousand and two hundred, and you saw so many of the people last night. Our mariners come from everywhere on the East Coast and they're Italian, French, Spanish, from the islands…?.”

He laughed as they rode, reaching over with a hand, taking hers. The simple touch seemed to shoot sparks of fire throughout her, and she flushed, remembering now, by the light of day, how sweet it had been to feel
his intimate touch. She looked away quickly, not wanting to give away how she longed for a time when they were just together, the two of them, and she wondered if such an event could ever take place again. Assuming they both survived, they would reach Washington, and whether he believed in her or not, there was still Richard's captivity to consider, and the war, and the bitterness.

But Finn was unaware of her thoughts, and he spoke with amusement and courtesy. “This is a beautiful place, Miss Fox, and I pray that no more harm comes to your island.”

She sucked in her breath suddenly, wishing the same fortune.

Upon reaching the west martello fort, soldiers halted them. Here, there were only a few men, but they were protected by strong walls, and they were wary at the appearance of visitors. Like Fort Zachary Taylor, it was still under construction, but supplies ran daily on the railroad between fortifications.

Finn showed his badge to the young officer who approached them. They were allowed entrance and spoke to the young lieutenant who had been apprised of the situation. They went out to start searching the grounds, and the graveyard. The graves were located toward the beach, and there had been little here before the fort had gone under construction. As they walked out, Tara noticed that an old woman bent over one of the graves that looked freshly dug. But it was no ordinary grave: a
heavy piece of coral had been set at the head of it, and there were crosses constructed from palms and bits of wood around it.

Tara went down on her knees by the woman, whom she recognized. Elsi Hatare—and she had come with her husband, Henri, from Haiti, years ago, when Tara had been just a child.

“Elsi,” she said, setting a hand on the old woman's. “Is this a grave for one of your family members?”

Elsi looked at her and nodded, great sorrow held in the rheumy gray of her eyes. “Henri,” she told her. “Two nights past. He died of a fever and flu.”

“I'm so sorry, Elsi.”

Elsi continued to look at her. “You've come because you fear the day…?. There is no need. We have tended to these graves. In the islands, we know that the dead don't always rest well.” She paused, looking up at Finn. She crossed herself, and spit on the ground. She looked at Tara again. “He is with you?”

“Yes. This is Finn Dunne. I'm so sorry about Henri, Elsi.”

“I know you are, Miss Tara. I know you. But I don't know
him,
” she said, staring at Finn again.

“Finn has not come to do trouble here, Elsi,” Tara assured her. She tried to think of something to say that would convince the perceptive old woman. “Pete is his friend, too. He is here to help.”

Elsi sniffed, and arranged another cross on the grave. “Well, Pete, he knows. But something came to
the island. Something evil blew on the wind, just night's back. And they were here among us last night.”

“Didn't you hear the church bells?”

Elsi offered her a smile at last. “It's a good church, Miss Tara. The pastors there, they are good people. But we have our own church.” She lowered her voice, assuring herself that the soldiers were standing far enough back. “We call it Catholic, for the white folk. It is more than that. Richer, with the culture of the Caribbean. You understand, right?”

“If you are protected and safe,” Tara said, “that is what matters.”

Elsi nodded. “You needn't fear. We tended to my husband, and to all the dead and dying here.”

Tara said again, “I'm so sorry, Elsi. Henri was a very fine man.” She stood, offering a hand down to the woman. “May I help you?”

“No, Miss Tara. I will bide here, with Henri.”

“Please, Elsi—”

“I will watch for the dusk,” she said with finality.

Tara nodded and stepped back. Finn appeared indignant, but he didn't speak. Tara walked back to the soldiers. “It's all right. Elsi and many of her friends are from Haiti. They have their own means of defense, and I believe you are all safer here, because of her.”

“I'd not have believed…” one of the soldiers murmured.

“I'll see to it that she eats,” the other said awkwardly. “She's been here all day.”

“She will appreciate your generosity,” Tara told him.

She and Finn returned to their horses.

“She didn't like me!”

Tara laughed. “Ah, well, she knows what you are.”

“Then she should know…”

“You're a stranger,” she told him. And she smiled again. “You're a stranger, and a Yankee. Everyone here doesn't understand that neither means
bad
yet!”

He lowered his head, hiding a half smile. “I don't believe that she was worried about me for
those
reasons.”

She had to smile at that. “Elsi has always
known
many things. The island girls and women always went to her for palm readings. And, of course, reading tea leaves. She could always warn the men of a storm that was brewing, or a ship floundering. At first, only the freemen living in the sparsely settled areas believed her. Eventually, good fishermen, who would show up bright and early for church every Sunday, began to consult with her, too.”

She was startled when he reached over and caught her arm.

“What is it?”

“Let's go back,” he said.

“Where?”

“To see Elsi.”

She was surprised, but she nodded. “If you wish.”

The soldiers were concerned with their return to the fort, but Finn quickly assured them they had just come to talk to the widow again.

Finn went back over to Elsi and Tara followed. Her eyes were closed and she was praying. Finn went down to his knees at her side. He waited, patiently. She didn't open her eyes for a long while.

Tara knelt down next to Finn. At last, Elsi opened her eyes and looked at Finn. “What is that you want to know, half-breed?”

“Elsi…” He hesitated a minute, as if he might have worried himself that he was a fool for believing so easily in an island mystic. “My name is Finn. Finn Dunne.”

“You're with the soldiers,” Elsi said.

He nodded. “But I'm not in the military, Elsi. I'm a detective.”

She studied him for a long moment. She waved a hand in the air. “It's been coming. I've felt it. I've felt the evil coming, and I've known that—even when men speak softly in their homes, knowing that war will end—there has been something wrong here. Now it is here. Now it has come in force. It has grown and waited, and there's been such a bitterness beneath the beauty and brilliance of the winter skies. Is that what you're
detecting,
sir?”

“Elsi, I think that the evil is deeply hidden. And I believe that it's following me.”

“Give me your hands.”

Finn stretched his arms out, so they extended over the grave.

Elsi took his hands and closed her eyes again. She rocked slightly, humming. She smiled before she opened
her eyes. “You have too much pride and arrogance, young man. You have strength, but you rely too much on it. Still, you have honor, as well. And I can feel your heart. You will fight what you see as the good fight. But don't forget, others believe in the honor of their fight, too. What is here is different. A power that you don't see, and don't know. The evil doesn't
follow
you, but it is going where you will go. You are trying to block it, and the evil sees. The evil sees so much more than you know.”

Elsi still had his hands. She held them tightly.

He nodded gravely. “Elsi, when we leave, will the people on the island be safe?”

She nodded gravely. “But you know that!” she told him softly.

“Thank you, Elsi.”

She didn't release his hands. “You may help me up now. Already the day grows short. I hear the whisper of darkness on the wind. You, go, too. Take care, young man. You have a good heart. I pray you will survive.”

Finn helped her to her feet. She paused, looking at Tara.

“No one can stop you from what you seek,” she told her softly. “But the evil will try. You must take care. And hurry. Go to your church. It's winter, and the sun is deceptive. The blue is catching the sun's rays in pastels—we've not much time.”

Head high, she left them.

And even as she did so, Tara saw that she was right. The sun was falling into the western sky.

Another night was coming.

F
INN WAS QUIET
,
PENSIVE
,
as they rode.

“Many people think that the séance craze—that the mediums and fortune-tellers are all fakers just trying to prey upon the bereaved for the money,” Tara said.

He looked over at her and smiled. “And many people believe that dreams are nothing more than our thoughts and our fears doing battle in the night.”

“But you believe in the future being foretold?”

“I'm not sure. I know that there are those around us—like Pete—who have an instinct and know when someone is…different.
I
can usually tell when someone is different, even when they were those who had been helped, like my father. I can't understand it, because I'm so afraid that it is someone who is with us—or who was at least on that island.”

“You found nothing unusual about the men when you sailed, or when we came to the island?”

He cast her a glance, his brow arched and a rueful smile on his lips. “When we sailed, I was seeking a blockade runner, not an unworldly being. And on the island, I was hoping that we were discovered and rescued by a Union ship rather than a Southern. And as
to Elsi, yes, I believe that she has a power to recognize the world around her. Can she really see into the future? Nothing but the future will tell.”

He reined in for a moment, looking up at the sky.

“Home?” she asked him.

“
Your
home,” he told her.

“You'll need to be careful, you know.”

“And why is that?”

“I've been among your people,” she told him. “And now, you are among mine.”

“I think the fortune-teller likes me now,” he said, still smiling.

“But you must admit, you should be careful, perhaps even extremely courteous to me. You are among
my
people. They will defend my honor.”

“Tonight, they're all one,” he said, chuckling at her light tone. “And I do believe that I've been extremely courteous, except perhaps when we first met. But then, when we met in Gettysburg, you were frightfully rude.”

“You wanted to arrest me—for wanting to give the president a
scarf.
”

“And if
you
were charged with protecting him, wouldn't you have come after anyone who was so eager to get so close?”

“I like to think I'd be a better judge of character.”

“It's a pity we can't all judge character so swiftly as you. Which way?”

“Toward Whitehead,” she told him.

They rode together. Roosters and other livestock
ambled about, but there were no children out on the road, and the few businessmen and passersby they encountered acknowledged them grimly, and hurried about their business in the waning daylight hours.

They reached Pete's tavern, and their home. It was a large whitewashed structure, built some forty years earlier. Front steps led to an entry hall. To the left was a staircase that led to the rooms above, and to the right, through an arched doorway, was the tavern. As they entered, Pete came hurrying out, a large satchel swung over his shoulder.

“Provisions,” he said. “We need to leave quite soon. Agent Dunne, if you'd see to getting these tied on to one of the satchels?”

“Yes. Is there more?”

“One more. Coffee and kerosene heaters, and some fresh-baked biscuits for those who stay awake to keep watch. I'll get the rest,” Pete said.

“I'm going to grab a few things from my room,” Tara said, and hurried upstairs.

She decided that she could afford the time to swiftly wash up. She poured water from the ewer at the washstand and scrubbed her face, and then hastily changed her clothing. There was a knock at her door and she opened it. Finn was standing there.

He smiled. “You look—”

“Yes?” she asked, surprised that the question was a little breathless.

“Clean,” he said enviously.

“Oh, yes, well. Clean. Thank you.”

He laughed, reached out and touched her cheek, and suddenly drew her to him, holding her in a way that was oddly tender and gentle, almost as if she were fragile, and yet, he did it with a great strength. She didn't breathe; being with him, touching him, could stir so many emotions—passion such as she had never imagined, and then this, something she had felt so seldom in her life.
Cherished.

“I can't imagine that you've gone through life without a slew of compliments, my dear Miss Fox. You look clean. And lovely. Glorious, actually. The sun setting against the color of your hair creates a dazzling halo greater than that cast by any heavenly body alone. Your eyes are those of the mesmerist, of every siren known to man in the length of the history of the world. And your face! Ah, like that of Helen of Troy, you could sink a thousand ships. Ah, my love, excuse the last—we've both seen a few too many sunken ships,” he said, moving away and meeting her eyes.

“You're mocking me,” she said.

“Never,” he told her, stroking hair from her face. “There were times today, far from cemeteries and soldiers, when I could imagine that there was no war, that we faced no unholy enemy. I thought what it would be like to live in this strange paradise with the sway of the tree branches and the scent of the ocean in the air. I've seen the seafarers and fishermen, seen all the colors of the people, heard their accents and their languages,
and I know why you find this to be such a unique and special home. I would never mock you. It's that my own words trip me up and I'm thrown back into reality, where all we can do is pray for an end to this war, and for safety from this unholy enemy.”

She looked at him, marveling that someone she had once thought so brutally single-minded and austere could have such dreams of a different world—and touch her as he did.

“Tara! Finn!”

Pete's voice broke into her thoughts, reminding her of the world they did live in. Finn caught her hand.

“We must go,” Pete said.

“It's dusk,” Finn said huskily. “The sun is going down. I should have sent Pete up to get you before.”

“Why didn't you?” she asked.

He grinned. “I wanted to see your home, your wonderful abode. And it's a beautiful old house, a fine tavern, and your room… That's a picture of your mother, isn't it?” he asked, pointing to the dresser.

She nodded, feeling a tightening in her throat. Lorna Douglas Fox had been stunning in life, more so because she had such a sweet and gentle smile. The warmth in that smile had been caught in the one poor photograph that had been taken of her just before the war had begun.

“She was lovely, too,” Finn said. “Let's go—before Pete thinks I'm up to no good.”

“He's my friend, not my father,” she said.

Finn laughed. “He may not be your father, but I believe he'd kill any man for you. And Richard may not be your blood brother, but I believe that he'd do the same. You're a very lucky young woman in those who love you—father, brother, friend or other. They do so with a passion.”

Taking her hand, they walked quickly down the stairs. Pete was waiting for them on the porch, holding the door open.

As ever, his strong features were stoic and impassive. She knew that Pete had decided that whoever—whatever—Finn might be, he was a man to be respected. She was glad. He wasn't her father, but he meant so much to her.

A second large satchel was now attached to the saddle of the mare, but they were just blocks from the church, so none of them mounted the horses. Pete looked at the sky as they walked along the streets.

The air was crisp and cool; the breeze was coming in from the northwest, and it seemed as if it were something so clean, it couldn't possibly allow for a whisper of evil upon the night.

A block from the church, Pete stopped, and signaled for the two of them to do the same. The gelding he led neighed, pushing against Pete's back, as if even the horse knew they needed to reach their destination.

But Pete set a hand on the gelding's nose. “I nearly forgot. There is a drink for you both in the satchel the
mare carries. You've been facing a great deal each night. You need to keep up your strength.”

Finn thanked him and found the two canteens that Pete had prepared. He watched them steadily as they each swallowed down the contents.

“Now,”
he said, “you're ready for the night.”

The church bells were ringing, and the streets were filled with the stragglers who had not made it in earlier. They arrived with the strangest solemnity. People greeted the three of them with a grim welcome. They were courteous, as if it was a Sunday morning and they were all heading into the Anglican mass. And, yet, of course, it was because the skies had gone silent. Even the wildlife and the trees listened, and waited. Father Timothy had aged overnight, so it seemed. He was grave, and strong, and ready to greet his flock. The church had only a couple pews remaining, so most found places on the floor, and sat in family groups. Many had brought their suppers with them, most were willing to share.

Father Timothy spoke to his flock, and gave a blessing that night. He thanked God for bringing them through the darkness and the shadow of death the night before, and asked that He guard over all in His house, the church, that night. That He watch over the island of Key West—all of His children, no matter the great divide ripping apart the country. Everyone answered with a solemn, “Amen.”

Finn sat with his back to the wall. His eyes were half-closed as he listened.

“Finn?” Tara asked.

He opened his eyes and looked at her. He smiled, caught her hand and squeezed it.

“What were you thinking?” she asked him.

“That there's hope.”

He didn't mean just for the night, Tara realized.

The hours passed. Mrs. Hawkins came by, slightly shy, but determined to offer them some of the biscuits and chicken she had brought. She was eager to please, to do something for the people who had saved her life, and she, Pete and Finn gratefully accepted. Pete set up his portable kerosene stove and brewed coffee, and the men who would be on guard first came to drink it.

Children lay on pallets of blankets and clothing set up by their parents and the church. Some played with dice and jacks, some read and a few of the men played cards. Tonight, no simple pleasures were considered to be sins.

Finn was restless; every few hours, he spoke to the men standing at the windows, and when there was a disturbance outside—the raucous cry of a dozen roosters and the squeal of a pig—he took his sword and went out to investigate. Gone for several long minutes, which seemed like eons, when he returned, he noted that a horse had broken free, frightened the rooster and the rooster had attacked the pig.

Somewhere along the line, Tara drifted to sleep.

When she did so, she was far away from the church. She found herself in an elegant dining room, seated across the table from President Lincoln. Mary was there, at his other side, and she could see that two men were standing by the door, watching inward, their eyes never leaving the crowd or the other diners. There were soldiers milling around at the bar; they chatted, enjoying a drink and the music of a single violinist who played softly from a small corner stage.

But they were all aware of her.

“It's amazing what war does for some,” President Lincoln said, carefully cutting off a piece of meat. “This fine capitol was nearly as small a city as your Key West, my dear—all but empty during the summer months when the heat is liquid and the mosquitoes infest. But come the war it's become mammoth, with hotels and restaurants doing a booming business, as you see. The Willard does exceptionally well. It is one of my favorite places to dine. One day, I'm sure, I will bring you here.”

He was speaking to her. Mary Lincoln didn't seem to hear him. She was concentrating on a wayward pea that was escaping her fork.

“It's a beautiful restaurant,” Tara said. “But—”

“Ah!” Lincoln said, and he set his fork down. “You're worried about me again. I
must
go out. I am leading these people, and I have led so many to death. What do I say to the mother who lost her son fighting this great battle if I don't take a few risks myself—the risk of telling them how sorry I am for their losses? Excuse me…”

One of the officers who had been milling at the bar came to the table, bending down to speak softly to the president. Lincoln listened gravely.

The officer excused himself to Mary and left the table.

“Mr. Lincoln, good news, I pray?” Mary asked him.

He nodded. “Even my good news is sad news, I fear. Our troops were attacked in Florida by the Cow Cavalry there. Our positions were not taken, so that is fortunate, of course.” He smiled, squeezed her hand and paid heed to a waiter hovering by him. “I would, indeed, sir, enjoy more coffee. Thank you.” The waiter hurried away.

“February turns to March. As the year comes closer to spring and the snows melt, so the armies will move in force. Again, I will go to sleep each night seeing an army of dead soldiers walk before me, and I will pray that in death they do not despise me. That in the end, when I meet them in heaven, I will be able to say, ‘Forgive me, that I called upon you for your life, but look at the great nation you created.' And even then, I know, when I am called to my rest, I will meet the Confederate boys, and the generals—some of them old friends from different days—and I will have to explain that I believed, in my heart, that slavery is an abomination, and that we could not continue to expand our nation and make beasts of our African brothers. I will tell them that I know that they died for honor, be that honor mistaken, and that in God's eyes, all men are truly equal.”

“What's that, dear?” Mary Lincoln asked. Her atten
tion seemed to be elsewhere; perhaps she still thought of the son she had lost during the war, and lived in her own realm of pain.