C. C. Phillips
C. C. Phillips
“… nah, I din't hear nothin' aboot who shot ol' Custus Lien. Could'a b'en just aboot anybody. When they pulled 'im out'en the river, his head was part blowed off.” The speaker shot a stream of tobacco into the river. “So I'm guessin' he pissed on the wrong wagon wheel.”
“Yeah, ol' Custus… Tain't likely the church was full when they buried 'im. But the ol' coot could run that ferry. I seen…”
Preston sat astride Rascal and waited for the boat to arrive. It was still going the other way when he rode up and, for the past ten minutes, he had been listening to a conversation between the two other passengers who were waiting at Conception Landing. The men, civilians in shabby clothes, were on foot and had taken a seat on the floating dock. They were near enough to be heard anyway, but Preston figured they had raised their voices for his benefit. Once in a while, one or the other would glance at Preston to see his reaction. Everybody likes an audience. Preston appreciated the information; he had wondered what had become of the ferryman's body after pitching head first into the Patowmack.
“Oh, wait on a minute, I jist heard another bit o' news this mornin', too.”
“Yeah, what'd ya hear that 'as more important than what I 'as aboot to say?”
“Somebody done fer Kitty Nails!”
Now the pair had Preston's total attention. He wasn't familiar with the name 'Nails' but 'Kitty' struck a note.
“Bull sheeit! Ya don' say.”
“Yep, some feller found her daid out on the grass there somewheres north of Alexandria. Feller seen 'er horse first, I guess. Then he rid over and taken a look. Damn if it weren't ol' Kitty alyin' there daid. They say she took a slug through the brisket.”
The barge was still tied to shore on the other side. Preston could see horses and bluecoats but couldn't identify anyone from this distance. The Union Army must be overseeing this crossing as well now that “ol' Custus” had been killed. Men were packing freight, but Diamond couldn't say if it was being loaded or taken off.
“God damn! Kitty Nails shot through the brisket.” The speaker looked toward Preston. “Seems to me she had a purty big pair o' briskets on 'er, too.”
Diamond deliberately faced their way and flashed a grin. It worked. The gossips knew they were being overheard, so they began to talk louder and embellish their stories.
From the corner of his eye, Diamond watched the chap listening to the news shake his head in disbelief. “So some son of a bitch went an' nailed Kitty Nails! Well, she was meaner than ol' Custus Lien hisself. They say she had a man oncet an' he come home on a binge, an' she lit into him with the fryin' pan. Poor bugger nearly died. But when he waked up, he politely took a crap in Kitty's fryin' pan, set it in the warmin' oven, an' lit outen there. Never heerd o' him after that. Could be Kitty hunted him down and shot him.”
“Yeah, I reckon likely she did. She up an' shot a few folks in her day.”
The ferry had left the other side now, soldiers were hauling on the cable.
“She 'as a good lookin' dame in her time, too. Come from lots o' money. Weren't shy around the menfolks neether… er… so I heerd.”
“I would'na touched 'er with a ten foot pike pole. She 'as prob'ly like one them damn bugs what breeds an' then the mommy bug, she eats the head right off'n that ol' daddy bug.”
The men recited a few more anecdotes attesting to the notion that Kitty Nails could be a rather difficult lady if she were crossed. But there was nothing pointing out why she had come hunting Preston. He had wondered about that, too. She must have been at or near the Army Camp. Had she recognized him before she shot him? Maybe she had seen him sneak into the staff tent and knew what he might find; too bad he hadn't taken the whole note. But what was it she had said just before she raised the Henry to shoot him? Something about a diamond… a little diamond sparkling… “So, this little diamond has lost its sparkle.” She either knew who she was shooting when she knocked Preston off the horse, or she had trailed him from camp, and shot him for a thief, then recognized Preston when he was laying on the ground bleeding. She had looked into his face before saying anything, perhaps she had heard of the Diamond eyes. Whatever the situation, she knew he was a Diamond, and she wanted him dead.
And that meant that Preston was being hunted.
The freight crew arrived. The ferry touched land and the passengers were unloading. Five bluecoats were running the operation. Two stood at the ready with their rifles as the boat came in, two manned the cables and a fifth operated the rudders and moored the boat. Preston wondered what had become of the displaced civilian crew, maybe the ride on a runaway ferry had been enough to satisfy their seafaring appetites.
Preston led Rascal aboard. The rough plank deck was still stained from the blood of General Grant's luckless mare. 'Socks' had shown promise and, under Uncle Lyss's steady hand, would have made a fine saddle horse. No doubt, Grant had been reluctant to shoot her, but the lieutenant general and his army survived by his ability to make difficult, split-second decisions.
Diamond's thoughts reverted to Kitty Nails. He pictured her horse, its mouth dripping blood from the bite of the bit. It had been a mare too, a dark bay with two white socks.
Now he knew that Kitty hadn't sent the letter he had found in the medical staff tent at the field hospital. She had written it there and left it on the table. She may have seen Preston leave the tent, probably went in and checked, found the last page missing, and rode off on the trail of the thief. Whatever had been in the first page or pages that he had left behind may have held valuable information, however, it seemed unlikely Kitty would have left anything of importance laying around in plain view. It didn't matter now.
What did matter was that Preston had a strong suspicion who the letter was addressed to.
Though Diamond was weak and sore by the time he reached the Unzer's stable, he tried to be thorough in tending to Rascal before going inside the house. Pale and limping when he made his way to the front door, it opened before he knocked and Rebecca wrapped him in a hug. She reacted much the same as Rufus did when he saw Preston and realized he had been wounded. “Adam! You've gone and got yourself hurt! I warned you not to go.”
“I'm alright, Rebecca, just a little sore.”
“I dreamed you had been shot. You were all alone, bleeding and cold.”
“Yes, Rebecca, I got your letter. And your dream came true, I got hit in the leg. But… I wasn't alone, Rebecca… I… I had Rascal and he took me to a farm where I knew the people. They fixed my leg and helped me out.”
Colonel Unzer, using a cane to steady himself, had come to the porch when he heard the voices. He gave Preston the cane and Rebecca helped them both inside.
Once seated in the warm parlour, Preston was made to remove his trousers and Rebecca skilfully tended to the wound, tut-tutting as she worked. “It's a wonder you didn't get the blood poisoning and lose your leg. By the look of this though, them Brannigans must have some know-how when it comes to bullet wounds.”
The colonel ran a critical eye over the wound, too. “You were lucky, Adam, I saw many a young soldier die from less serious bullet holes than that. I don't know why you didn't bleed to death.”
“And, I don't know how you stayed on that horse,” said Rebecca.
Preston fell asleep on the sofa after Rebecca had finished with the dressing. He awoke when Brigadier General Freemont Engels knocked on the door later that evening; the Unzers did not say if the general had been summoned. Preston's colour had returned, but his leg was sore and he favoured it when he walked. Engels noticed the limp immediately and wanted to hear the story in detail.
Mrs. Unzer insisted on Adam having a meal first. She brought a plate to the parlour and while he ate, she poured tea for everyone. Adam put a spoonful of sugar in his cup, gave it a quick stir and, pausing occasionally for a sip, related his story.
Engels and the Unzers listened without interruption. When Preston was finished, Colonel Unzer asked, “Adam, you think her name was Kitty Nails?”
“I think so, sir, from the hand writing and signature and what those men at the ferry said, I don't think she could be anyone else.”
General Engels said, “I've heard or read the name Kitty Nails somewhere… but…”
Colonel Unzer interrupted. “Kitty Nails is from Georgia. I hadn't heard of her either, until a few months back when a report came out to watch for her; naturally, right along with the report, came a dozen exaggerated tales, but between the report and the rumours, I figured this much: Years ago she was a southern belle, one with a wild side. She eloped with a no-good, so they say, but it didn't last. Her family are, or were, wealthy plantation owners, kept a hundred slaves, or so it was said. The Nails outfit has fought hard and spent a fortune for the Confederate side. Kitty herself fought no less than her brothers and cousins. A few months back, General Sheridan and his army wiped out a strip of Georgia, fifty mile wide. The Nails were right in the middle. They lost everything. Just around Christmas time, at Savannah, Kitty dolled herself up and walked into a meeting and shot dead two Union officers; one a major, the other a general. She escaped and disappeared. No one doubted but what the North had not heard the last from her.”
Engels said, “Yes, now I recall. I received the same report, although I was not privy to the scandalous details.” He turned his attention to Preston. “Adam, if it was Kitty Nails you shot in self defence, you have done the Union side a great favour. She may have been one of the people plotting to kill the officers.”
“If she put that hole in Adam's leg, he did himself a great favour by shooting her, too,” said Rebecca.
General Engels said, “Adam, I've been to visit your hosts a few times since you went back across the river. There have been developments. We expect to hear that General Grant has secured General Lee's surrender within the next few days. There is still fighting going on in other regions, but the war is all but over for the South. Doubtless you will be wondering about Captain Wiley. He is still incarcerated; there have been no more attempts to kill him or break him out; he has not divulged any information about his cohorts. We have established a date for the trial, it will be April twelfth. Chester Bateman continues to be Wiley's attorney and we are having no luck connecting him as a co-conspirator.”
“Do you know anything more about the conspiracy, Freemont?” Colonel Unzer asked.
“We have not been able to make any firm connections. We have no idea who this initial “F” may be. It is assumed, because the message “F” sent originated on the other side, that the person lives across the Patowmack in Virginia. That leaves a very big area.”
“What about that Corporal Peters who was intended to receive the letter from Kitty Nails, telling him our James was going to be at Citadel Crossing?” Rebecca asked.
Engels said, “As you know, there was a Confederate attack at the crossing. A half dozen Union soldiers were killed. Corporal Peters went missing. Several bodies were dragged out of the river, maybe Peters is at the bottom of the Patowmack.”
Unzer grunted. “And maybe he's riding a Union horse out in Nebraska Territory.”
“Well, he's out of our bailiwick and beyond concern in either case,” said Engels.
After the brigadier general had taken his leave, Diamond asked, “Have you seen anyone lurking near your house, Rebecca? Do you think they are watching to see if I show up again?”
“No, Adam, I haven't noticed anything strange. We have been keeping a close eye, too, because I'm afraid that someone else will come after James.”
Preston said, “Only Captain Wiley knows who, or how many, he planned to kill the day he tried to stab you. According to General Engels, he isn't telling anyone else.”
Colonel Unzer, a half grin on his face, shifted in his chair and said, “Maybe he figured, since he was wounded too, I would be fair game.”
“I don't think the Adam Forsythe name is fooling anyone who is looking for me. I think they will find me here sooner or later and I don't want either of you to be injured.”
“Adam, we are not letting you out of our sight now. Look at you! Barely able to walk; what chance would you have if someone did find you?”
Reluctantly, Diamond agreed to stay for a few days until his leg had more time to heal.
Since the day Preston and the Unzers had returned from Alexandria Field Hospital, Rebecca had kept the double barrel shotgun just inside the kitchen door. Preston now noted that extra cartridges were placed beside the scattergun.
Preston Diamond's wound responded well under the careful attention of Mrs. Unzer. In a few days he was able to get around with less of a limp. He could walk further between rests, too, but he wasn't up to running or strenuous work. On the second day in the city he walked as far as General Grant's house, the next day Preston made it to Chester Bateman's place. On that outing, he stopped for a rest and concealed himself against the same tree trunk he had used when he saw Wiley come out of the lawyer's house, but no one moved near the premises.
Next afternoon, Preston returned. The street was empty. The sun shone warm, buds were popping out on the trees and grass sprouted tender green shoots wherever the light could reach. Birds sang, flies buzzed, Diamond dozed.
The clatter of hooves and wheels startled Preston awake. A black canopied carriage drawn by a smart looking white mare, dressed in fancy harness, drew up at Bateman's door. A portly fellow with greying hair showing under the brim of his derby hat, well brushed clothes and shiny boots stepped down from the right side. The driver, a younger, distinguished looking chap with dark hair and a drooping moustache, stepped down on the nigh side. He carried a gold painted or plated walking stick.
The second man's face was vaguely familiar to Diamond. He was certain he'd seen this dapper gentleman before. The older man led the way to the house and walked straight in as if he owned it. Preston decided he must be Chester Bateman.
Diamond waited in the shade as the sun worked its way around the bowl of the tree. The white horse's head drooped and its tail swished half-heartedly at a fly. Several pedestrians walked down the street and passed within a few yards but none noticed him in the shadows. By the travel of the sun, Preston estimated an hour had passed when the man with the gold walking stick emerged. He said something to Bateman as he closed the door, then strode to the carriage. His face held a determined look that was not there earlier. Diamond remained seated until the rig had passed out of sight before climbing to his feet. His wounded leg was stiff and sore from sitting so long in one position. With a painful limp, he made his way back to the Unzer's cottage.
Captain Wiley's trial was drawing nearer and General Engels came again to the Unzer's house. “I have a great fear that Adam Forsythe is in danger. We have to move him somewhere safe until after the trial.”
Rebecca said, “Well, Glory be! In the past two months, Adam has lost his parents; Wiley came hunting him in our house; he was shot and wounded out in the wilderness; he is the only link the military has in this conspiracy; and now, after all that and more, the Union Army decides he should be protected? Brigadier General, how absolutely prompt!”
Engels looked to Colonel Unzer, but the officer's face showed nothing. Unzer may have fought fearlessly for the North, but he wasn't taking the army's side against his wife.
“I'm sorry, Mrs. Unzer. I know I should have done something before this. Fortunately, it isn't too late.”
“Well, don't you start worrying about Adam now. We will take care of him,” said Rebecca.
“Please, Mrs. Unzer, Adam has to be moved. You can't protect him here.”
“We can do more than the army, General. If you take him, he may as well be put on a firing line. Colonel Unzer and I will do something, but it's best if you do not even know about it.” She crossed her arms and glared at the officer. The general, used to commanding regiments, took his orders without further argument.
That evening, Rebecca Unzer took Preston to live with Martha, the maid, and Hardee, the butler, in General Grant's big house. It was expected General Grant and his family would be returning from Richmond soon. Preston would be safe.
Rebecca talked long with Martha. Preston did not hear what she said but when Mrs. Unzer left the house she gave Preston a hug. “I know you won't stay put, and I've instructed Martha not to interfere. I may have to deal with Ulysses for giving you so much tether, but I'm sure you know what you are doing. Remember, I am only a short walk away, come by when you can, and run to us if you need help.”
Later that evening, hearing footsteps on the stair, the maid sat up in her bed. She listened intently and heard the soft click of the latch as the outside door opened and closed. Martha got up, dressed quickly and slipped out into the night.
It was a shorter distance to Bateman's house from General Grant's than from the Unzers. In minutes, Diamond was slipping through the tangle of shrubbery behind the attorney's house. A light glowed from within and, standing on his tiptoes, slightly back from the window, he could see into the sitting room. Chester Bateman was at a table, smoking a curve stemmed pipe, and reading through a sheaf of papers. There was no one else in the room. Preston could detect no other lamps lit in the home. In his vigils under the tree, Diamond had seen no one other than Bateman and his two visitors; it seemed the lawyer lived alone. The hour was late and no company arrived this evening. After fifteen minutes or so, Bateman set down his cold pipe, picked up the lamp, and left the room. The house went dark; probably the man had gone to bed.
Just as he turned to leave, Preston heard a repeated scraping sound. He listened closer and determined that there was someone approaching down the ally. The steps were slow, deliberate, occasionally dragging on the dirt and cinders; they stopped near the rear of Bateman's yard. Diamond sank into the shadows and waited. Within seconds, the back door of Bateman's house opened and someone stepped out into the darkness. Preston didn't take time to wonder whether there had been a midnight tryst planned, if this was to be a chance encounter, or if Bateman was making a late trip to the biffy. At the moment, all he knew for certain was that he was caught between the back door and the outhouse.
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