C. C. Phillips
C. C. Phillips
Trailing behind General Grant on the short journey from the Patowmack to Washington, Preston Diamond debated whether the rifleman had been aiming at him. If he had been, and missed Preston, then probably Rascal would have been hit. When the bullet whistled overhead, the boat captain was standing on a freight box beside the slab board partition that passed for a pilothouse; just prior to that he had been hunkered down inspecting the cargo. Preston pieced this together and decided the sniper had waited for an opportune chance to kill the boatman. Why?
Darkness had settled as the cavalcade proceeded down the avenues of the capitol. The streets were crowded with all manner of people; many had no home to go to. The two men from the ferry crew had been left at the landing. Grant told them that a Union Army detail would be sent to return the ferry to service in the morning. Most ferries and bridges were now in the hands of the northern forces and Grant did not want any interruptions in transport if Confederate troops should rise up again. The four bluecoats went to an army barracks and Preston continued to follow General Grant. They put their horses up at a private stable then Ulysses led the way to a large house with a gas lamp burning over the porch, a fan light shining above the door.
“This is our home when the family are with me in Washington. I stay here whenever I return for meetings and emergencies at the capitol. Right now, though, Mrs. Grant and our children are housed near Richmond where the battle against General Lee continues.”
Preston had stayed at the Grant residence on the two occasions his parents had brought him to Washington, but this was not the same home. “Who is living here while you are away?” he asked.
“We have a maid and a butler who keep the house. It would not do, in these times, to leave the place unattended.”
Next morning, Preston awoke to the sounds of someone pounding on the main doors. He quickly dressed and made his way down the stair. A messenger had come for General Grant.
Ulysses was tugging on his boots as Preston entered the foyer. “I have to see President Lincoln, Preston. I may not see you again before I ride to Richmond. These emergencies are more common than not so last night I wrote a letter for you to read and then present to a lady who is a friend of mine. She knew your parents. Martha, our maid, will take you there. I have given you another name to use until this business is settled or until I can be with you. Instead of Preston Diamond, you will be Adam Forsythe.”
As he slipped into his army greatcoat, Ulysses apologized again for his untimely departure. He rumpled Preston's hair before stepping through the door. “I will report your father's findings to the President. We shall serve justice upon these traitors.”
The closed door held Preston's blank attention for a full minute. He had not anticipated being alone again so soon. Someone entered the room and a soft voice behind him said, “Mr. Grant is a very busy man. I know he is sorry to have left you.”
Preston turned.
“I'm Martha,” the lady said. “I was out when you arrived last night.”
“Oh, yes,” Preston said. “The butler chap told us you were away. Unc… Mr. Grant said he had a letter for me. Have you seen it?”
Martha found the note but Preston did not open it immediately. He took it to his room then washed up and combed his dark hair. He came back down to the parlour and Martha called him into the kitchen. She had fixed a hot breakfast and now served it on a china plate.
It was good food; a change from, but not necessarily better than, Rufus's cooking. After the repast, he went upstairs and read the note. It was addressed to Mrs. Rebecca Unzer and, as he read, Preston decided that Uncle Ulysses must be quite familiar with the family. Grant had explained the circumstances and also expressed the wishes Cutler Diamond had imposed on Ulysses himself. Mrs. Unzer was to provide lodging for “the young Forsythe lad” and etcetera.
Preston Diamond had an assumed name.
It would be the first of many in his lifetime.
Uncle Ulysses had not introduced Preston to the Grants' butler the previous evening and, apparently, Martha did not know Preston's name either. When he met the maid again, Adam introduced himself with an apology for not having done so sooner.
With his grip in tow, Preston walked with Martha the few blocks to his new residence. The Unzer's had a cottage style house, much smaller than Uncle Lyss's home, but well kept. White with a blue roof, it had a picket fence, flower boxes (bereft of growth at this time of year) and a wide front porch. A buxom grey haired lady, with a flush on her round face and perspiration on her brow, answered the knock. Mrs. Unzer called Martha by name and invited them into her warm kitchen. There was a fire in the stove and an aroma coming from the warming oven that made Preston's mouth water. They were offered seats at the table. The hostess made a pot of tea and, while it steeped, excused herself as she read the letter from General Grant. Preston met her gaze as she looked up from the note. After a moment, she smiled faintly and said, “Adam, is it?”
Preston noted a twinkle in her eye. “Yes, ma'am,” he said.
“Well, Adam, if we're going to get along, you call me Rebecca. And I want you to know, I consider your being here a favour to me, not a favour to Ulysses.” She reached across the table and shook Preston's hand.
Rebecca Unzer was one of the few people you like instantly and will never have to change your mind about.
After the tea, Martha took her leave and Preston asked Rebecca what he should do with Rascal.
Mrs. Unzer opened the warming oven and extracted a hot apple pie. “Before we worry about your horse, Adam, I think we best be feeding you. You look thin, child.”
Preston was halfway through a thick slice of pie when Rebecca said, “Adam… I'm not sure if that is your first name or not, but I will tell you something I do know: If your last name is Forsythe, I am Marie Antoinette.”
Adam stopped eating, the fork suspended halfway to his mouth. 'Guilty' was written all over his face.
She patted his free hand. “I can see Diamond in your eyes. You're Cutler Diamond's boy.”
There wasn't an abundance of responses waiting on the tip of his tongue, so Preston shovelled the forkful of pie into his mouth and resumed chewing.
Rebecca laughed. “Colonel Unzer and I have known your parents for a long time. My husband longer than me. I was there to meet the ship when your father brought his new bride home from Spain.”
Preston swallowed his pie. “Major James Unzer was the best man when the Captain of the ship married my father and mother. I read that in Papá's army journals. Mother has told me the story, too.
“I remember them coming down the ramp. Your mother was so beautiful. Your father was having difficulty walking because of his injuries. He was thin and sickly pale but I could see how handsome a man he was. When Major Unzer ?my husband was a major in those days? introduced us, I was so taken by the blue of your father's eyes. I had never seen such striking colour… and now, I see those beautiful blue eyes again.”
Tears lurked in the blue eyes now. In a husky voice, the lad said, “Preston. Rebecca, my father and mother named me Preston.
Mrs. Unzer did not wrap her arms around Preston or make a fuss. She said, “Colonel Unzer told me about your tragic loss in the last letter I've had from him. He said that you were presumed dead.”
Preston told her about his cryptic message to General Grant and the chance meeting at Conception Landing. He said nothing of the murders nor any of his subsequent adventures. Mrs. Unzer asked no questions. Her only comment, “If Ulysses prefers that you use a different name, I am sure he has his reasons. Colonel Unzer and I will keep your secret, Adam Forsythe.”
Rebecca Unzer started Preston's cultural learning that morning. The pair took a long and roundabout stroll on their way to the stable where Rascal had been put up. Diamond had a hundred questions, and more, regarding the Capitol, the history and architecture of the buildings, even the numerous gardens and grounds. He recognized the White house and asked about the fire at the Lincoln family stables. They walked past Ford's Theatre and Preston told Rebecca that, along with his mother, father and the Grant family, he had seen two performances there. She asked if he enjoyed the plays and, noting Preston's enthusiasm, promised to take him to a performance soon.
Rascal was moved to a nearby stable where Colonel Unzer kept his horses. Rebecca fussed with a proud pair of matched dappled greys. She said her husband had bought the team as a twenty-fifth anniversary present. They were no longer young, but the horses were well-groomed and in fine fettle. “I can't handle them, but Colonel Unzer always takes me for rides about town and sometimes out into the country when he has time.” Preston offered to drive the team if she ever wanted to go somewhere. “I could take you out to our farm if you'd like, Rebecca.” And she said, “I'd like that, Adam Forsythe.”
The opportunity to go for a carriage ride came sooner than either Rebecca or Preston expected.
For the second morning in a row, Diamond was awoken by a pounding on the door. It was still dark as he scrambled into his trousers and rushed to the kitchen. In the pale light of a gas lamp outside, Preston saw Rebecca, with a hastily thrown shawl over her night dress, standing at the opened door talking to someone. She closed the door and turned with a paper in her hand. Preston hurried to light a lamp.
As she read, Mrs. Unzer's face paled and she settled lower in her chair. Preston stood by quietly. She looked up and he saw fear in her eyes. “Colonel Unzer has been shot.”
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