Kary, Elizabeth (35 page)

"The
mission to Corinth was more than enough to satisfy any. craving I might have
had for adventure," he continued, "and I'm not planning to stir from
St. Louis again for anything short of a Confederate invasion!"

The
suggestion of a smile played beneath the heavy fringe of Pincheon's moustache,
and he stroked the pointed beard below. "Let's hope you have no reason to
leave then, Banister. But then neither can you claim to have had any part in
preventing such a dire eventuality," he observed mildly.

Hayes
threw himself into a chair across from the one Pincheon occupied and glared at
him. The flicker of amusement that had been briefly evident on the older man's
face was replaced by a quizzical expression, calm and unemotional in spite of
Banister's refusal.

"I
am sorry you feel you can no longer help us, Hayes," Pincheon continued.
"There are several situations where your expertise could be very useful.
But I do understand your reluctance; you've taken more than your share of
risks."

Hayes
felt the sarcasm in Pincheon's tone and tried to ignore its sting. "You're
not going to convince me to get involved in this, no matter how hard you try. I
was a fool to even respond to your note; I should have stayed away."

Pincheon
allowed Hayes a moment of complacency, a moment of false victory before he
continued his attack. "Would it matter if I told you there were lives at
stake, lives your cooperation could save?"

"Surely
there are others you could send," Hayes suggested.

"Others?
Oh, yes, there are others, but not with the contacts you have along the river,
not with your knowledge of the terrain."

A
weighty silence filled the room, and Hayes did his best to ignore it. There
were so many risking so much, so many who would not return to their homes and
families as a result of the war, that it seemed wrong to refuse Pincheon's
request. Yet he had already gone on two missions for this man, Hayes argued
silently, and was devoting himself single-mindedly to the Union. He had built
gunboats and hospital ships, and there was so much more he could do to further
the Federal cause as a naval engineer than as a spy.

Why
was Pincheon pursuing him, then? Surely his experiences before the war with the
Underground Railroad were not so extraordinary as to make him indispensable to
this man. And how was it that Pincheon could make him feel guilty, selfish, and
cowardly, in spite of all he had accomplished? He was not a selfish man, Hayes
told himself, not a less than patriotic man, but he wanted to fight this war in
his own way. He wanted to use his brain and skill to help the Union prevail. Why
couldn't Pincheon understand that?

Still,
he had agreed to meet with the Western coordinator of the Union intelligence
service, in spite of his determination to refuse whatever assignment Pincheon
offered him, in spite of the realization that to come here was courting
disaster. Was it the promise of adventure or the crushing weight of duty that
had brought him to Alton this afternoon? Pincheon was not a charismatic figure,
yet Hayes had been unable to resist his summons. He had come in spite of the
conviction that he did not want to be a part of any more of Pincheon's schemes.

Banister
hated the loss of life his last mission had caused, was haunted by the memory
of the Confederate he'd shot and then watched die. The thousands he had seen
lying dead and wounded on the fields at Shiloh had filled him with anger,
especially since the information he and Travis had risked their lives to obtain
had been ignored. That alone should have convinced him of the futility of what
Pincheon was asking him to do. Why couldn't he simply put the man and his
assignments out of his mind? What could he say to convince Pincheon that he no
longer wanted to be part of the network of agents the man employed?

Banister
had been so preoccupied by his own thoughts, he was hardly aware of the older
man standing over him, preparing to see him to the door.

"I
thought our business was concluded, Banister," Pincheon prodded,
"unless, of course, you've decided to change your mind."

Hayes
unfolded his long-limbed body from the chair and spoke with deliberate
finality. "No, Pincheon, I want no part of the things you're
planning."

Pincheon
paused with his hand on the doorknob. "Well, it is a shame about Travis,
anyway."

Hayes
hesitated, well aware of the bait Albert Pincheon was dangling before him. In
spite of the jump in his pulse, he nibbled at it warily.

"Nathan
Travis?" Hayes asked casually. Damn the man! Why hadn't he said straight
out that Nathan was in danger? "What does Travis have to do with
this?"

"As
you said yourself, my operations don't concern you anymore, Banister. Why don't
you just be on your way?"

Hayes
stood before the door with his hat in his hands, sensing that the other man was
angling, preparing to set the hook. He could not walk away from this assignment
if Travis was in danger, and Pincheon knew it. Still, Hayes resisted, fighting
the inevitable capitulation as long as he could. He put his hat on his head as
if to go and offered his hand to Pincheon.

"We'll
find someone to go after Travis," Pincheon continued. "Of course, it's
a shame about his missus if Nathan shouldn't make it back. She's a pretty
little thing, I understand. They've been married just a little more than a
month now."

Hayes
knew exactly how long Delia and Nathan had been married. The question leaped to
his lips in spite of his desire to bite it back. "When had you expected
Travis to report in?"

Pincheon
cocked his head to one side, shooting Hayes a sidelong glance. "The end of
last week. He was just supposed to move on down toward Memphis and poke around
a little."

"I
do know a few people around Memphis from my years on the river," Hayes
ventured as if unaware of the contest of wills they were waging.

Pincheon
said nothing, giving the line plenty of play.

"If
Nathan were in trouble, I can think of a few places he might go."

The
other man reeled Hayes in with silent skill.

"I
suppose I could go down that way and make some inquiries."

The
expression in Pincheon's eyes was smug and self-satisfied, but when he spoke,
his voice was conversational. "That might be very helpful," he
conceded.

Hayes
was caught hook, line, and sinker. "I suppose I should be on my way to
Memphis as soon as possible, then," he conceded.

The
bearded man nodded, and Hayes cursed the bonds of duty and friendship that made
involvement in Pincheon's scheme inevitable. "Yes. It seems wise."

"Is
tomorrow soon enough?" Hayes asked.

Pincheon
glanced across the room at the warm amber light filtering around the edges of
the window shade. "Soon enough, I reckon."

Gravely
Hayes nodded and turned to go, and for a second he had the odd sensation that
he had made a pact with the devil—and come up short.

***

May 24, 1862
—St.
Louis,
Missouri

From
where Leigh stood on the levee, half-concealed by a pile of crates and barrels,
she could see that there were neither goods nor passengers on the
Barbara
Dean's
decks. Wherever the steamboat was going, it was obvious it was
making the trip without concern for either appearances or profit.

Since
her interview the day before with Aaron Crawford, Leigh had been waiting impatiently
for her chance to talk to Hayes. When the message arrived this morning
canceling their outing and saying Hayes had been called away, Leigh had dashed
to the waterfront with confrontation on her mind. Why determining Banister's
loyalty was so important to her, Leigh could not say. She only knew that
resolving the question of Hayes's allegiance was vital to her peace of mind.
Perhaps it was that she resented being a pawn in someone else's game, Leigh
reflected as she stood watching the
Barbara Dean's
crew preparing to
leave port, or because Hayes had not trusted her with the truth about himself
when she had offered him so much. Clearly he was something more than James
Eads's associate, and the fact that both Delia and Nathan Travis seemed to know
Hayes's secrets when she did not hurt and infuriated her.

As
she stole a few feet closer to the riverboat, Leigh's mind teemed with
unanswered questions. Why was Hayes leaving so suddenly, and where was he
headed? Was he fleeing St. Louis in fear of his life? Could he be a Confederate
spy, a man on a sinister mission for an alien government, as Crawford claimed?
Or was there a perfectly good explanation for this trip and everything else he
had said and done? Whatever the answers, Leigh knew only that she had to learn
the truth.

She
could hear the laboring of the boat's engines as the
Barbara Dean
was
readied for departure. Soon the crew would be casting off, and unless she acted
immediately, Leigh might never learn whether Aaron Crawford's accusations were
fact or fancy. She had only seconds to decide. Without pausing to question
either her motives or the consequences of boarding the steamer, she scampered
up the gangplank. Ducking beneath the slope of the stairs, Leigh paused to
catch her breath, thankful that no one had seen her. But if she was to remain
aboard the
Barbara Dean
long enough to discover Hayes's destination, she
would need to find a place to hide. From the look of things, the passenger
cabins on the promenade deck were unoccupied, and they seemed a likely spot to
pass some time. Tucking her parasol under her arm and gathering her flowing
skirts around her, Leigh ran up the stairs.

The
first stateroom she looked into was filled to the rafters with crates and
boxes, as were the two just beyond it. Her palms were slippery as she twisted
the ornate knob on the fourth door, and she started at the sound of footfalls
on the deck above her head.

"Cast
off, men. Let's get under way," a familiar voice ordered.

Aware
that she was plainly visible on the open deck and driven by evidence of Hayes's
nearness, Leigh desperately nudged the cabin door with her shoulder. It
resisted her assault at first, then swung wide, and she stumbled into the
stateroom. Closing the wooden panel behind her, she stood wedged in the narrow
space, surveying her surroundings. This cabin was filled with chairs: delicate
gilded chairs with jewel-toned seats, stacked like acrobats, one on top of the
other. Nor was this one of the more opulent cabins she'd ever seen. It was
small and the furnishings simple. Two austere single berths were built against
one wall, and a washstand with a ewer, basin, and chamber pot stood at the foot
of the beds. Yet there was more space in this stateroom than in any of the
others she had tried.

Frowning,
Leigh considered her options. Should she continue her search for another place
to hide and run the risk of being seen, or make herself comfortable here? If
she meant to discover the secrets Hayes was keeping, she must remain
undetected, and while this cabin had its drawbacks, Leigh could be sure she was
safe. With her decision made, she locked the door to insure her privacy, took
one of the gilded chairs from the pile beside the bunks, put aside her reticule
and parasol, and sat down.

From
outside came the voices of the deckhands calling their good-byes to the people
on the landing, and she could sense the riverboat pulling out, then being
caught by the rushing river current. By the way it moved with the Mississippi's
flow and by the sound of the engines, Leigh surmised that they were moving
downstream to the south. But were they headed for Cairo or even New Madrid, or
was Hayes on his way to places even farther downriver, places behind
Confederate lines? Leigh wished she could step out onto the deck and watch the
city fade away behind them, but she knew she could not. To reveal herself too
soon was a mistake she refused to make. Determinedly, Leigh settled down to
wait.

As
the day progressed, the temperature in the tiny stateroom soared. By noon, she
had taken off her gloves and was using her flat-brimmed straw hat for a fan. By
midafternoon when the sun came around farther to the west, the heat became
unbearable. In desperation she eyed the narrow transom above the door and
dragged her chair closer to investigate. Standing on the seat, she could just
barely reach the catch at the bottom of the glass, and once she had released
it, Leigh used the handle of her parasol to push the window wide. Welcoming the
gush of air the open transom afforded, Leigh stood for several minutes enjoying
the fresh spring breeze.

It
soon became evident that the upper bunk afforded the coolest place to sit, but
Leigh knew she could not climb up there dressed as she was. Setting aside the
parasol, she lifted her skirt to release the tapes of her wide hoops, and eased
them silently to the floor. Once the springy cage was collapsed and stored
against the wall, Leigh looked down at her dress. She had selected a lovely new
gown of turquoise lawn for her ride in the country with Hayes, but the sweeping,
ruffled skirt and the gathered sleeves were not at all suited to these
accommodations. Quickly she slipped the buttons from their holes, drew the
dress over her head, and spread its delicate, lacy folds across one of the
chairs. In the name of practicality, her heavy petticoats quickly followed it,
and at last she stood in the crowded stateroom clad only in her corset,
pantaloons, and chemise. This costume, while less modest than what she had been
wearing, was practical for her enforced mode of travel and considerably cooler
than full dress had been. Silently, Leigh hoisted herself to the upper bunk and
stretched out on the mattress, enjoying the flow of air that drifted across her
body.