Eve of the Carpetbagger

By Charlsie Russell

In the fall of 1865, Confederate prisoner of war Cole Terry returns to post-war Mississippi consumed with anger and hellbent on vengeance. Spurning his wartime promise to the beautiful Annabelle Gardner, he sets out to thwart the stepfather who betrayed him and the Confederacy.

Fate hands Cole the means to intercept Sam’s long-sought settlement of an old Revolutionary War claim amounting to a fortune in Yankee gold. But Cole and cohorts’ theft is threatened by the fact that Sam’s acquisition of the money was itself a convoluted heist conceived deep within the bowels of the Treasury Department, and Treasury wants the money back. Complicating matters, Treasury’s investigation is mired in the disappearance of James Petersen, the politically connected Union officer who, working with Sam Caruthers, took Cole prisoner back in 1863.
But as the Radical design against the defeated South takes shape, Cole realizes there is more at stake than personal vengeance, now overshadowed by the cause of liberty and the realization that his tossed-away Annabelle, no stranger to the war-time machinations surrounding his capture, harbors secrets of her own, and those secrets have placed her in the crosshairs of ruthless men. How much does Annie know regarding the stolen money and the missing James Petersen, and truth be told, is she friend or foe?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Charlsie Russell
• Release date: Dec 12, 2022
• ISBN: 9780989430296

Charlsie Russell

Charlsie Russell is a retired United States Navy Commander turned author/publisher. She loves reading, she loves history, and she loves the South. She focuses her writing on historical suspense set in her home state of Mississippi.After seven years of rejection, she woke up one morning and decided she did not have enough years left on this planet to sit back and hope a New York publisher would one day take a risk on her novels. Thus resolved, she expanded her horizons into the publishing realm with the creation of Loblolly Writer's House.In addition to a naval career, writing, and publishing, Ms. Russell has raised five children, who, along with their dad, stick close.

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Prologue

Redbone Community, Warren County, Mississippi, October 29, 1863

Granddaddy Burnett told her many people could sense its presence without even realizing what it was. Hear its approach when nothing was there. See something out of the corner of their eye, only to turn and find nothing. And the smell. It didn’t smell of death as you might think it would, he told her, but like a wild animal or an angry cottonmouth about to strike. Tally laughed at him when he said that. Living in the swamp, she said, more than likely it was a cottonmouth, and you’d best check the ground before you took another step.

Then there were the special people, he continued, ignoring Tally. Those that could not only sense the demon but see it as well. He leaned close to her and spoke in a low tone while Tally scowled. You, Annie gurl, he said, have seen the carñivoro. Some do, most don’t. Your great-granddaddy Burnett saw it, so did DeSoto and his conquistadores, centuries ago. He laughed and slapped his knee at that juncture. They kept it fed, I reckon, with every run-in they had with the injuns.

But whatever a person’s sensitivity to the thing, the one certainty its presence conveyed was that someone was dead.

Annabelle Gardner sensed its presence now. She looked over her shoulder. Jubal Tabor was gone. He’d been there less than a minute before. Her uncles had told him to stay with her as far as the cypress log spanning Redbone Creek. She hadn’t wanted him to come, to have to make the trek back alone in the dark, but Uncle Saul had insisted. A favored second cousin, Jubal had been born in the swamp and would be fine, and he’d wanted to come. She suspected he was sweet on her. When she was safely across, he’d waved, signaling he was returning to camp a good five miles back. He wouldn’t make it to the safety of the campfires until well past suppertime, and he’d be in the dark most of the way. She shuddered, then prayed he was not the inadvertent target of an ancient demon. Or maybe she was the one about to die?

A crisp breeze washed over her, drowning the scent of rot oozing from the marsh and slime-covered water. Her cotton calico was wet halfway to her knee and covered in mud, not unusual for a trip to the Burnett camp. Heartbeat quickening, she faced forward. Light was fading, but on her left, the deciduous forest had thinned, and just above the distant tree line, the last brilliant slice of sun winked at her, urging her to hurry. Soon the path would bear south, away from the wooded creek bank, and cross the overgrown fields to home, less than a half mile beyond. She picked up her pace, the fear that accompanied her sense of doom rushing after her.

Wild hogs, cottonmouths, and gators were an ever-present danger, and these were turbulent times laced with desperate, war-weary men, deserters from both armies, and the indigenous criminals. Uncle Saul had been openly agitated by Jacob’s not accompanying her from home, but Jacob had left on an errand dealing with the mill before the need to warn her uncles had been anticipated. Her mother had been in no position to leave the store, Sam Caruthers had been there. Dealing with the Burnett boys was a matter of discretion now, particularly in the case of Sam, who’d shown his true colors when faced with the onslaught of Yankee blue last spring.

Heart pounding in her head, Annie whirled at an undisguised shuffle behind her, and she tightened her grip on the derringer in her pocket. A dark form clothed in rags, its hat low on its forehead, appeared to be a man…but its scent was that of a beast. The thing floated down the cow path, its dark form eating up the distance between them with a speed that left her no time to react. A primordial growl escaped her throat, and she fell off the path nearly toppling into brush. The thing was beside her now, and at her carelessness raised its head and looked at her with green, glowing eyes. It didn’t slow but returned those alien eyes to the path. Ahead of her now, it fell to all fours and disappeared at a lope around the bend on the narrow path.

Annie closed her eyes and let out the breath she’d been holding, then breathed in the sickly scent of death, real death, not swamp, not even monster. Death and nightfall had conjured the thing. It didn’t roam about in daylight.

Not ten yards ahead, the magnificent water oak spread its branches over the path leading home. Heart now pounding her brain to mush, she hurried forward, following in the wake of the creature that had rushed past, uninterested in her.

Chapter One

Warrenton, Mississippi, October 1865

The nature of his embrace had changed. For a heartbeat, it had been there, the want in his hold she’d feared she would never feel again. She’d waited for so long, her loneliness gnawed sick with worry. Now she felt him slip away, and the ardor in her own hold lessened.

He placed his hands on her shoulders and forced her head from his chest. Now was when he should kiss her with the passion of his last kiss, the one she’d hungered two years to taste again.

Cole pushed her to arms’ length. I made you a promise two years ago, Annie. He held her gaze. I’m taking it back today.

She felt the color drain from her cheeks, though everything had pointed to this end. He’d not responded to her letters over the summer, and the judge had not informed her when they were due home. They’d arrived three days ago. No one had sent word until today.

He dropped his hands and stepped back. He was thin, underweight, and she could tell standing was difficult for him. He was ill, she reasoned. She opened her mouth to tell him that wasn’t important, but subtly he shook his head, willing her not to speak. Thankfully, her eyes were dry. She nodded. All right. She waited for him to say something more, then realized he was waiting for her to leave. This is awkward for us both, Cole, she said with as much grace as she could muster and turned to the study door. We can say our hellos later.

Her voice had cracked with that, a last humiliation, but she was already out the door, and she hoped he hadn’t heard. The judge stood on the bottom step next to the foyer, sympathy written on his face. She nodded to him, then looked quickly away. Thank goodness he didn’t try to waylay her because tears dampened her cheeks before she reached the dining room.

She’d brought them under control by the time she exited the back porch. As she climbed into the rickety wagon, Jacob rushed out of the kitchen where he’d been visiting with Aunt Nell. No doubt he’d scarcely taken a sip of the fresh cup of coffee the old Negress had offered when they arrived. Annie swiped her eyes, and Uncle Jake lumbered onto the seat beside her. Bless him, he didn’t say a word, but picked up the reins and urged the old mule home.

Chapter Two

Warren Township, Indiana, January 1866

Dirk Petersen brushed the sleet from the shoulders of his overcoat before crossing the threshold of his parents’ Gothic Revival home on Sixteenth Street just east of Indianapolis’ business center.

Let me help you, sir, the graying butler said.

Warmth accentuated the golden glow of the gas chandelier, both luxuries of a private coal gas plant included with this fine house built less than a decade earlier.

It seems I’ve been summoned, Robert. Is Father in his study? He slipped the coat off one arm.

Along with Mr. Pace and your mother.

So, maybe not business after all given his mother’s presence. He wondered where Melissa was but didn’t ask.

The servant took the coat, along with his hat and gloves. The weather has taken a turn for the worse.

We’ll have snow before morning, but that’s better than the ice.

Robert, who’d been with the family since Dirk, now thirty-six, was a teen, nodded. You’re in your buggy, sir?

Came in a cab straight from the office.

I’ll let Evan know you’ll be needing a ride home later.

Thank you.

Marie, Robert said to the servant who’d entered the foyer, he’s here now. The woman nodded and started back down the hall, and Robert turned to Dirk. Your mother requested coffee upon your arrival.

Delightful, Dirk quipped in mimicry of his mother and drew a non-committal smile from Robert. Actually, hot coffee does sound good.

Dirk turned left, and Robert went the other way, toward the rear of the stately house. The hall sconces were already burning, lessening the day’s gloom. It was only four in the afternoon, but night still came early, hostile skies or not.

He knocked sharply on the last door on the right and, not waiting for a response, turned the knob and stepped inside. His father was at his desk. Isaac Pace, Douglas Petersen’s business partner, had pulled up a side chair and sat beside him. They appeared to be studying papers laid out on the magnificent flat-top desk. His mother sat in the comfortable wing chair in front of the fire. She looked up at him and smiled. Best chair in the whole house, and his if his seniors weren’t present. His mother didn’t spend much time in here with his father, but preferred the parlor across the hall.

Turn up the light, will you, son, Douglas said.

Isaac, a lean man of medium height now displaying a paunch, rose from his chair and circled around, away from the desk.

It’s gotten dark since we started, Douglas continued. Ah, there, that’s good.

Started what? Dirk said, moving toward his mother. She took both his hands in hers and offered him a cheek.

Hello, darling.

Mother, you are ravishing this evening.

A delicate laugh escaped her throat. I heard sleet on the windows. Pity we’ve drawn you out in such weather.

Ominous in that rarely did we summon Dirk. That was his father’s purview. I’d just finished work when the runner came. He turned to his father. His seniors hadn’t been in the office all day. Isaac motioned Dirk to the chair he’d vacated.

Does this have something to do with your dinner with Uncle John last night?

It does. Isaac and I have been hashing the matter out for the better part of the day. We’ve got a plan we want to discuss with you. Your uncle is offering us an opportunity. One that you can rest assured will reflect favorably on him, but will leave us basking in the limelight, too.

Morton has the legislature well in hand, Isaac said, taking a step closer to the desk, and a firm grip on power here in the state. More significantly, the Radicals plan on gaining control of Congress in the fall, and the rest of the party is falling in line.

It will put an end to Johnson’s shenanigans in the South, his father said. Congress will assume control of Reconstruction, and Morton will enter the U.S. Senate as a Radical Republican.

Isaac’s mouth tightened, a grimace neither he nor his father missed.

Their extremism has served us well these past several years, Isaac, Douglas said.

Can’t argue that, but the country would be better served by the conservatives.

But we won’t be, which is John’s point. Douglas again focused on Dirk. The Republican Party plans to establish itself in the South. Inroads there will come easier for you than up here where everything is already parceled out. Broderick is the fair-haired boy. He’ll get the railroads and eventually his father’s place in state politics.

Dirk glanced from his father to Isaac Pace. There’s the agency.

Douglas looked at Isaac, who said nothing. Certainly, you’ll get my half of it, his father said.

Isaac winked. We both intend to be around awhile, but your father is telling you your opportunity is now.

It’s what you’ve been clamoring for, son. We’ve got the backing of both John, and if all goes as planned, United States Senator Oliver Morton. John is ready for us to take the initiative.

The risk will be greater, Isaac said, assuming you like the plan we’ve come up with, but the rewards will be worth it.

Douglas slapped a palm on the stack of handwritten pages he and Isaac had been studying when Dirk entered the room. Sit down, son.

Dirk took the gothic armchair vacated by Isaac Pace, glanced at the documents, then met his father’s eyes.

James’ letters, Dirk said.

Fitting, in that James was a particular favorite of your Uncle John. Douglas leaned back in his chair and studied his son. Last night, in addition to suggesting how valuable you might prove to the Republican Party in the South, John pondered the possibility of undermining our Democrat colleagues in Washington. He didn’t link the two prospects but given the speculation we three—he glanced at Isaac, then resettled his gaze on Dirk—have given to James’ fate over the past two and a half years, I did. Then this morning your mother again brought up justice for James, and everything fell into place.

Dirk frowned, and Isaac shifted in his chair and cleared his throat. Your dad and I believe we have come up with the perfect scheme for inserting you directly into the action down in Mississippi.

Let’s look at what we’ve got, Douglas said. Back in the summer of ’63 James captures a Confederate operative who had been identified by his father as orchestrating the ambush of those men from the 113th Indiana at Vicksburg. In return, James aids the father in recovering a congressional letter tied to a claim lodged against the United States government. Before the captured operative could be questioned, he is inexplicably removed from James’ custody and incarcerated in, as we now know, a civilian facility in New York state, not a prisoner of war camp, under an alias. Next James disappears and a Treasury agent linked to both James and the perfidious father leaves the theater. Now the operative, who should have been shot as a spy, and the Treasury agent, whose dubious role in all this is unclear, have returned to the scene of James’ disappearance.

I remember how disgusted we’d been when we learned Caruthers had betrayed his son, Isaac said. In retrospect, we should have been more suspicious.

In our defense, Douglas said, he was a stepson.

Isaac looked at Dirk. Do you see where this is leading?

I do, he said. When did we last hear from Nathan?

I received his weekly analysis yesterday. Miller disappeared from Treasury during Christmas. Nathan found out this week he’s back in Mississippi in an official capacity.

James reported in ’63 that Miller and Caruthers were working together in the illegal cotton trade. Nathan confirmed that after he arrived in the fall. We might assume they’re still working together.

Isaac nodded. Nathan reports that claim has become an issue at Treasury, but he hasn’t come up with any details as of last week.

Absently, Dirk turned one of the letters toward him and perused it. James never expressed any interest in the congressional letter beyond trying to honor his agreement with Caruthers.

Well, Nathan thinks the matter might explain Miller’s sudden return to Mississippi more so than cotton thieving. According to what Nathan gleaned during his brief tenure there during the war, Caruthers was obsessed with the claim, leaving the impression he considered it lucrative.

James went to find a traitor, Dirk said. Nathan’s right, he wouldn’t have shown much interest in any money unless it tied into treason somehow. Has Calhoon’s letter turned up?

Not that we know of, his father said.

Calhoon’s dead, Isaac said, tugging the matching armchair closer to the desk and taking a seat.

His son isn’t, Douglas said, but I’m not sure the claim, no matter how lucrative, is relevant to treason and to James’ disappearance.

The speculation ended when our Jimmy disappeared, his mother said from across the room. Dirk looked up. She’d been so quiet he’d forgotten she was there. Louise Petersen rose from the plush wing chair and started toward them. If only he’d concentrated on what he was sent there to do.

He did, Mama.

He got sidetracked with a bunch of petty thieves. Nathan made it clear when he got back that the Caruthers person and the Treasury agent were in league together.

James bargained for the agent responsible for exposing those volunteers from the 113th to annihilation, sweetheart, Douglas said gently. That’s what he was sent to Mississippi to do. The search for the congressional letter came after Caruthers’ fulfilled his end of the bargain by pointing the finger at his son.

Once the spy was taken from him, James should have ended his association with Caruthers, Louise said. They’d broken the agreement.

Which begs the question, my love, who are ‘they’? We don’t know what other matters James was working on or how Caruthers may have been involved. Things might be more complicated than they appear. Douglas turned to Dirk. Our focus should be on who removed the Confederate agent before James could question him on the Davies ambush and why?

The why is simple, Dirk said. It robbed us of the opportunity to expose our traitor in Grant’s army.

Precisely. Isaac looked directly at Dirk. But given everything else we’ve dredged up over the past two years, we might be looking at more.

What your Uncle John wants, son, is the man protecting our suspect on Grant’s staff who betrayed Captain Davies.

Dirk frowned, then nodded. Someone beyond Summerfield, someone in Washington with links to Senator Hendricks.

More likely Jesse Bright, his father said.

Bright’s a dead horse, Isaac countered, then leaned back and folded his hands across his belly. Morton spent the last two years of the war trying to lay a treason charge at Hendricks’ feet. Your brother would like us to continue looking.

At the time, the family had been too shaken by James’ disappearance to make correlations between James’ presumed death and the removal of a Confederate operative three months earlier. Speculation as to James Petersen’s fate had run the gamut from foul play to desertion, but James’ family influence in Indiana and Morton’s pugnacious interaction with Washington had quickly dispelled the latter allegation. Still today, no one knew what happened to James, and his questions to the Confederate agent were unknown. Since the man was in James’ hands so briefly, Dirk had considered there may have been no questioning at all. The subsequent investigations in search of the congressional letter had, according to James, precluded official sanction. James had never, as far as they knew, broached the matter to his seniors on Grant’s staff, prompting his request for the family detective agency to send Nathan Brick to him. Dirk considered James’ request for Nathan instead of soliciting aid from a fellow officer in theater as justified. Despite his continuous attempts to weed out traitors from Indiana’s masses, Morton had never been sure whom to trust. Early in the war, Lincoln had offered now-doubtful men commissions in the regular army, leaving them beyond the reach of the governor who, in the short term, established firm control over the state’s militia. For Morton, as well as James, the primary security concern in Grant’s army had been Ray Summerfield, eldest son of a Union Party War Democrat from Shelby County, Indiana, for whom the shining light of Morton’s Republicans had dimmed by the October 1862 state elections. The influential family had dropped its Unity pledge and backed the Democratic Party, which subsequently sent Morton’s opposition leader, Thomas Hendricks, to the U.S. Senate. We’ve picked Nathan’s brain clean, Isaac said. Cole Caruthers was implicated in the ambush of the 113th. He’d been captured and dispatched before Nathan arrived in Vicksburg.

What wouldn’t I give for James’ journal, Douglas said.

The killer has the journal, darling, Louise said. You always said so. His mother, eyes bright with impassioned longing, started to say more, but Dirk gently cut her off. Mama, you can be sure if the killer took the journal, he destroyed it.

Douglas sighed in resignation, and Isaac sat forward. Look on the bright side, Douglas, without that journal, Dirk will have more liberty in this interpretation of events.

If Sam Caruthers’ betrayal of his son was a sham, Louise said, looking anxiously at Dirk, and if there is an Indiana traitor in Washington protecting that group of cutthroats in Mississippi, there’s a good chance this Sam Caruthers and his son may know something about where James is, don’t you agree, darling?

Dirk winced at the desperation in his mother’s voice. Douglas placed his hand over hers still resting on his shoulder. James is dead, Louise. He’d be home by now if he weren’t.

She shook her head, lifted her hand from her husband’s shoulder and walked back to her place by the fire. We need to bring him home in any case.

She’d not yet sat when the doorknob rattled, drawing their full attention. The oh-so-fair Melissa Petersen, balancing the coffee service in one hand, entered.

Peter told me you were all holed up in here. I intercepted Maria and absconded with the coffee. She found Dirk’s eyes and raised a cool chin. I should have guessed you were the reason for a clandestine meeting.

Which you immediately assumed excluded you. He smirked. For your information, I was asked to come.

Across the room, Louise said, It’s all right, my darling. Come in. It seems I indirectly played a role in this meeting, and your exclusion was inadvertent.

The three men had risen with her intrusion, and she bade them sit as she crossed the room to the Queen Anne coffee table just to the right of Louise. Melissa, her back to him, bent at the waist when she placed the tray on the table, and Dirk felt a stirring in his groin.

Coffee, Mother? Melissa asked.

Oh, darling, Louise said, gazing fondly at her daughter-in-law, we should be drinking champagne. It seems our fondest hope is to be realized.

Melissa straightened and turned to the men surrounding the desk. James? she asked softly.

It seems, fortuitously, Douglas said, that my brother John, in cooperation with Governor Morton, would like a liaison in Mississippi.

She frowned prettily, then glanced at Dirk. Liaison?

A euphemistic term, Isaac said, turning to look at her, for an Oliver Morton representative in a soon-to-be Republican Mississippi.

Really? she said and started toward the desk. We are going to Mississippi?

Dirk wasn’t sure if that was excitement or anxiety registering in her voice. I, he said, am going to ensure Mississippi is Republicanized.

Your entire family needs to go, Isaac told him, then looked at Douglas.

Douglas tightened his lips. That’s one of the things Isaac and I were discussing when you walked in the room, son. Your family will give you the appearance of permanency. Officially, we’re talking League business. The Union League will structure itself in the South similarly to how it’s structured itself in the territories.

Many of the forerunners have moved their families, Isaac said. Families provide structure for what the party regards as a new colony. Isaac smiled contemptuously. We are going South to stay, to Americanize the region.

The thought of moving lock, stock, and barrel appealed to Dirk, not because the South needed an infusion of American blood, but if he were to make a place for himself inside the Mississippi Republican party, he did need to settle his family there.

I should go, too, Melissa said.

Are you sure you want to? Douglas said after giving his daughter- in-law a meaningful study. The place has been devastated by the war.

You’d let Ellen and your grandchildren go without a second thought, Louise said. She stood. Of course, Melissa should go with them. She’s James’ widow and will elicit sympathetic support—

Because there are no widows in the South, Douglas said, amused.

I care not if those women sympathize, Louise said sharply. I was referring to the loyal officers in charge of the investigation.

There is no investigation, darling.

But there will be when Dirk gets there. Moving forward, she linked her arm through Melissa’s. Along with James’ beautiful, young widow. Don’t tell me you don’t believe she’d prove an asset. Louise gazed fondly at the young woman. She’s always been an asset to the family.

Melissa, eyes glistening, raised her chin. Thank you, Mother.

Dirk suppressed a groan. If Ellen had had the good sense to charm his mother, she would be treated as a daughter, too. But Melissa’s mother had died when the girl was three, and Ellen’s still lived. Louise Petersen had embraced James’ orphaned bride as a daughter she never had. Though Ellen got along well with his mother, she’d never been receptive to being the woman’s hoped-for offspring.

She could help Ellen with the children, Dirk said. I doubt Lillian Lowell will be eager to go with us to the wilds of Mississippi.

Louise tsk’d. I imagine you’re correct about that and good riddance. I never liked her as a nanny to the children. She is too straitlaced.

Melissa caught Dirk’s eye, and he smiled knowingly. Then his lovely sister-in-law huffed and pressed against the edge of the desk closest to Douglas Petersen. Please, Daddy Douglas. I have a right to go. No one wants to know what happened to James more than I.

Dirk looked at his mother, who didn’t look at him. Still, she didn’t appear to take umbrage at Melissa’s words, and the young widow certainly had a vested interest in uncovering the truth.

Douglas did not commit himself, but instead looked at Dirk. You’ve a lot to discuss with Ellen.

Yes, I do, Dirk said. And selling Ellen on Melissa would be more difficult than selling her on Mississippi, and Mississippi was going to be hard enough. Not that his wife’s reticence would make any difference. He’d wanted this for months now, but the ordeal was going to be hell with Melissa thrown into the mix.

Douglas looked at his wife. Perhaps you and Melissa would enjoy coffee in the parlor, my love.

Of course, dear, Louise said and patted Melissa’s arm. Come darling, let’s give them a chance to mull over your proposal amongst themselves. You have a champion in me if no one else. She winked at her husband as she turned Melissa toward the coffee table and the tray.

~

Dirk waited to make his departure until he heard the parlor door open and his mother say she would check on Maria and dinner, then follow Melissa up to dress. He’d already declined his father’s dinner invitation saying Ellen expected him home.

What was that about, dear ‘sister’?

He’d caught up with Melissa on the first step of the central staircase.

With him on the foyer floor, they stood face to face. Whatever do you mean?

Inviting yourself to Mississippi. You can imagine how that will go with Ellen.

Melissa sighed. I’m no more pleased at the prospect of living with her than she will be with me, but you know I need to go.

I know you want to go, but I don’t know that any value you prove to me will outweigh the discord you’ll bring into my happy home.

She gave him a feminine snort followed by a Mona Lisa smile. You and I both know I will be the true happiness you find in your home.

He didn’t respond to that, and she touched the tip of her tongue to her upper lip. So, has your father decided?

Yes.

And am I to accompany you and Ellen?

We all three agreed your presence could prove valuable.

Delightful. And what of Nathan?

What about him?

He was the last person working with James. He needs to be with us in Mississippi to help with the investigation.

"He was the last person known to be working with James."

Fine. I thought he might be valuable. If you don’t think so… She raised the hem of her blue velvet skirt and turned away.

What game are you playing at now, Melissa?

She hesitated. Now on the second step, she looked down on him. What does it matter, Dirk, as long as you get to play with me?

He turned away. At present, he threw over his shoulder, the plan is for Nathan to join us there.

Chapter Three

Warrenton, Warren County, Mississippi, mid-February 1866

Wilson Caruthers shot Judge Lawrence Pendleton an uneasy glance, then turned to Cole, seated in his favorite upholstered wing chair in front of Uncle Larry’s desk.

I’d hoped we’d be able to talk privately, Wil said.

Cole shifted, planning to remove his right leg from the ottoman where it rested, at the moment, pain-free, but Uncle Larry was quick to his feet. Stay where you are, Cole. He looked at Wil. Have a seat, son, I’ve got something I need to talk to Kit about anyway.

My apologies, Judge, Wil said.

Think nothing of it. If it wasn’t so hard on Cole to get around, I’d run you both across the hall to the parlor. The older man smiled.

Thank you, sir.

The door closed behind the judge. Wil still hadn’t taken a seat, and Cole frowned at him. His younger brother grimaced. Discomfort permeated his every move. Leg still bothering you, huh?

Cole relaxed back in the chair. It’s the bad weather, I think.

So, you’re gonna become one of those old fogies who’s always able to tell us it’s about to rain?

I hope not, Cole said.

I saw Annie a couple of days ago.

Cole looked at him.

You still haven’t seen her? Wil asked.

Not since last fall. How is she?

More beautiful every time I lay eyes on her. Makes Mama angrier than a wet cat when I go over there.

Don’t go.

Wil snickered, a reaction Cole, inexplicably, found disturbing. Well, not inexplicably. He knew why it bothered him and thought Wil knew, too. But the only way Wil would think that was if Annie had been telling tales out of school. Cole watched his brother but didn’t pursue the subject.

Look, Cole, Wil said, combing fingers through his tawny hair before finally sitting down on the settee. It was the farthest place he could find from him, Cole noted. I came for Dad.

I figured that.

So, you know why?

Yes, Cole thought he did know why, but he wasn’t going to admit that to Wil. You haven’t been here since November, so I didn’t think it was concern over my recovery. I did hope Mama might come at some point, though.

Wil wet his lips with the tip of his tongue. I’d like to tell you Daddy doesn’t want her here, but you might as well know, she’s not interested in seeing you any more than the rest of us.

That stung, but Cole hoped he didn’t let it show. His stepfather’s sentiments were understandable in that he should be ashamed to lay eyes on Cole, but Cole’s gut told him Sam Caruthers’ guilt had transformed into resentment and given current events Sam now believed it should be Cole feeling shame. Cole didn’t, but he was hardly euphoric. He nodded curtly. So be it. What does Sam want?

Dammit, Cole, all your life he was Daddy, now he’s ‘Sam’.

He hasn’t been ‘Daddy’ to me for the past two and a half years. He never will be again.

Wil rose, fists clenched, then he relaxed his fingers and rubbed his chin. Daddy knows Isabel Hayes was here last fall, and he knows she’s been here since. Why?

Cole cocked his head. Business with Uncle Larry, then a few weeks ago she came up on behalf of Eli Calhoon.

What did he need?

A certain Treasury agent, who I believe Sam knows, Walter Miller—Cole raised a brow, but Wil said nothing in response to Cole’s understatement. Wil knew by now that Sam had been working with Miller for years. Anyway, Miller was trying to have Eli arrested for the murder of a Treasury agent last fall. Isabel asked Uncle Larry to intercede with the provost. Eli’s recovering from a gunshot.

We know about the gunshot. When’s the last time you talked to Isabel?

Cole pursed his lips. We spoke last fall.

About what?

Cole leaned back in his chair and studied his younger brother. She took the time to welcome me home, asked about my health. He shrugged. My bum leg.

The McGowan claim? Wil ventured.

How would she even know about that?

Toby told her. You, Holland Calhoon…dammit, tell me if you discussed it with her!

No.

‘No’ you didn’t discuss it?

‘No’ I won’t tell you.

Wil stepped toward him. That’s an answer in and of itself, isn’t it, Cole?

Not really. Tell me, Wil, just what do you think I would have discussed with her regarding that claim?

Wil straightened and sucked in a breath. Tobias Holbein told her something. What was it?

I know for a fact that Sam recently met with both Isabel and Toby. Did he ask them?

Wil’s nostrils flared, then his angry glare was broken by the opening of the study door. Cole looked at his uncle, expectant at the threshold, frowned, then turned back to Wil. Why did Sam send you here this morning, little brother?

Uncle Larry pushed the door wide. In his hand he held what appeared to be a telegram. From Toby, the older man said and looked at the paper in front of him before glaring at Wil. And the answer to your question, Cole, is because Isabel Hays is dead.

~

Wil was gone, escorted out by Uncle Larry, who now closed his office door, leaving him and Cole isolated inside. Cole slipped back into his chair. He felt hollow. The beautiful, provocative madam, Isabel Hays, whom he’d approached six months ago in search of Eli Calhoon and what Eli might know regarding a Treasury agent named Guthrie and the payout of a fortune in Treasury funds due the Calhoon-Caruthers clan, was dead. It had been the smart and savvy Isabel who’d put two and two together and violated Tobias Holbein’s trust by stealing the heretofore undisclosed authorization letter for the payout that Toby had entrusted to her safekeeping. And it had been Isabel who’d called in a marker from an old friend and orchestrated the theft of the money from the National Bank in New Orleans. Now she was gone.

He knew, Cole said, keeping his eyes on his uncle as the man made his way across the room and settled behind the polished desk.

Hell, yes, he knew. No doubt he wanted to get answers from you before you found out. She was killed in the wee hours this morning. For Sam to have learned so soon tells me he had someone at the Pink Lady.

The killer?

I can’t believe Sam wanted her dead before he turned up the authorization letter.

He knew she’d been here last fall.

Larry nodded. Means he’s had someone at the Pink Lady for a while.

Cole blew out a breath. It’s a terrible waste, Uncle. That money has been safe for months.

I know it, but Sam and Miller don’t. Uncle Larry looked Cole in the eye. The fact your brother was here this morning means they suspect you know where the money is.

But I don’t.

And our beautiful Isabel, God bless her, orchestrated that ignorance by design.

Chapter Four

Gardner Place, Redbone Community, Warren County, Mississippi, late February 1866

Annabelle!

Sam Caruthers’ voice was not only unexpected, it was undesired.

Annie looked up from the washtub and braced against a bitter blast of air, made colder by the presence of Walter Miller with Sam. They were a good twenty yards from her but moving her way. Squinting against the morning sun reflected in the water, she rinsed the soap from her hands, and when she looked again, they were upon her. The cookhouse door slammed, and Annie looked, as did Sam and Miller. Tally stood there, a good distance away, her shotgun nestled in her arms, watching. Annie waved at her grandmother. The old woman set the shotgun against the outside of the building and took a seat on the stoop.

Annie looked at Sam. What can I do for you, Mr. Caruthers? He pressed his lips together. Her formal address was a purposeful slight. All her life she’d called him Mr. Sam. She looked over his shoulder. Mr. Miller.

The man dipped his fair head in silent greeting, a smug smile on his lips.

We need to talk to your uncles, Sam said, his words to the point.

You absolutely do not want to meet with my uncles.

Miller stepped closer. He may not, but I ‘absolutely’ do.

She stared at Miller, then turned to Caruthers. Why would either of you think I would arrange a meeting between you two and my uncles?

We need to talk to them about James Petersen’s disappearance, Miller said.

Her gut clenched, and she focused on Sam, a tall, dark-haired, and still handsome man, lean but for a slight paunch hinting at his near fifty years. "There was no meeting, you know that."

Sam held up a palm. I believe you, just as I believed your mother, but Mr. Miller believes there might be something learned by talking to Saul directly.

Yes, my uncles, she said, directing her words at Miller. They are wanted men.

The war is over, Miss Gardner. Cooperation could place Saul Burnett in good stead with Federal authorities.

Or a hangman’s noose depending where your talk on James Petersen’s disappearance leads. I don’t know where they are. She reached for her washing. Miller moved, but Sam stayed him with a hand.

Miller sucked in a breath. "We just walked up from the store, Miss Gardner. It’s well stocked. You have seen your uncles recently. The provost might be interested in what’s in that store."

And I imagine the Treasury Department might be interested in what you’re up to these days.

Miller smirked. Touché, Miss Gardner, but in this case, you are mistaken in assuming my doings unethical.

Annie doubted that, but she wasn’t going to challenge the man. She glanced again at her grandmother, alert and watching. I’ll tell them you wish to talk to them, but the decision to meet will be theirs.

He looked the fifty yards across the unkempt field to her well-stocked store sitting on the Warrenton-Redbone Road, and Annie bristled.

Don’t threaten me and most especially don’t provoke my Uncle Saul. That won’t get you what you want.

The man nodded agreeably. Very well, we’ll do it your way for the moment.

Annie turned again to Sam. "You don’t need to go anywhere near Uncle Saul."

I didn’t kill Maggie. You know that.

I don’t believe you did, but I haven’t convinced him of that.

She pushed the sleeves of the wool coat up her forearm and reached for the dress she’d been working on when interrupted. Sam stepped close to her elbow and the scent of sandalwood and soap assailed her senses. Cole flooded her memory. I loved her, Sam said, and I’m bothered that you hold me in any way responsible for her death.

And she loved Cole, and she did hold Sam responsible for what had happened to him and, therefore, to them.

She was playing a dangerous game, Annabelle, and I didn’t realize it in time.

For twelve years she’d played it, but none of that mattered now. Annie drew a breath. I blame Mama for her death, and you were all playing a dangerous game. She turned and looked at Miller who stood behind them, listening. Are you still?

Indeed, we are.

Whether that ‘we’ included her she wasn’t sure, but it should. Annie looked again at Sam. I can forgive you what happened to Mama. I know you weren’t the only one to blame, but I can’t forgive you for Cole.

His nostrils flared. Anger? Guilt perhaps? She tossed the dress into the rinse water. It splashed her, and she swiped a sleeve across her cheek.

Have you seen him? he asked.

Not since right after he got back. Annie agitated soap from the dress. Have you?

Sam didn’t respond. Annie guessed that he hadn’t, and if he had, the meeting hadn’t gone well."

I’ll be back, Sam said to Miller and moved toward the family cemetery out back of the house.

Annie let go of the dress floating half-inundated atop the frigid, soap-laced water. Come along, Mr. Miller. It’s cold out here, and my grandmother may be willing to coach you in the proper etiquette when dealing with my pirate uncles, should they agree to a meeting.

He chuckled, then fell in step beside her. In front of them, Tally was getting to her feet. I doubt she’ll even bother to greet me.

I tend to agree.

On the few occasions I’ve had the pleasure of your company, Miss Gardner, you’ve impressed me.

She looked at him but didn’t ask. Impressing the likes of Walter Miller wasn’t necessarily a compliment.

You’re beautiful, smart, educated, and, I perceive, savvy. Under the right circumstances I fear you could be ruthless.

She frowned. I can do what I have to do, if that’s what you mean.

Chapter Five

Petersen Home Outside Indianapolis, Indiana, late February 1866

I do wish we had another day to rest before we leave, Ellen said.

Dirk Petersen sighed. I came to fetch you home three days ago, if you remember.

I know. You were right, of course, but Mother begged.

Hogwash. The poor woman was exhausted with the four grandchildren there for three weeks. She’d raised only two children with six years between them.

Dirk gave his wife a sidelong glance. He was holding the bundled baby, Rachel, in his right arm and a valise in the other. Ellen held two carpetbags, one in each hand. He looked around for Tommy. The boy was busy holding onto Matt, who was sliding on ice as he attempted to kick snow into the shrubbery.

Evan, the stable boy who had picked them up at the train, was dragging their one trunk up the unshoveled walk. Dirk had wanted to leave it in the carriage, but Ellen said she’d need it tonight. Dirk dropped the valise and raised the knocker. Hardly a heartbeat passed before Robert opened the door, and Louise rushed around the corner into the brightly lit foyer. They’d been waiting for them.

There you are. Come in, come in, Louise cried, then bent down to take Tommy in a hug before reaching for Matt and two-year-old Laura. Oh, my beautiful darlings, come in out of the cold.

Melissa followed his mother into the foyer, then took charge of the three older children, removing coats and boots. His mother took Rachel from him.

Dirk coaxed Ellen out of Robert’s way, so he could help Evan drag the trunk inside the house. His mother took Ellen’s coat, passed it to Robert, then kissed Ellen’s cheek. Egad, she said and reached for Matt’s hand. You’re all like ice. Did you not light the heater in the carriage?

You know Ellen refuses, Mother. Afraid we’ll go up in flames.

Oh, I know, but with a night like this one….

It was so windy, Louise, I didn’t want to risk it, Ellen said.

Oh, well, you’re here now, and the parlor is toasty. She smiled and gathered her grandchildren around her. Come, my darlings, let’s get to the fire. Ellen, dear, how are your mother and father?

In good health but concerned about our going to Mississippi. They wanted me and the children to stay with them.

Well, that’s understandable. His mother caught Dirk’s eye. I assume that’s been laid to rest?

It has, he said.

At the parlor entry, his mother turned to him. John is in the study along with Isaac and your father. He wanted to see you tonight, because he won’t be able to see you off in the morning. I was emphatic it be before dinner since you are already tired, and tomorrow is a big day. She pushed the parlor door open. Ellen stepped inside. Dirk had stopped in the hall and now caught Melissa’s eye as she, Laura’s hand in hers, guided the little girl into the room.

You’re packed? he asked.

She smiled. Indeed I am.

Go talk to your uncle, now, his mother said. The sooner he’s talked to you, the sooner he’ll leave.

~

Isaac handed Dirk a tumbler of whiskey, then started back to his chair. Southerners plan to keep Southerners in charge down there, and Johnson has allowed it so far, John said. The Party can’t afford that. Too much loyal American blood has been shed to get us to where we are today. What would be the point of all the carnage if we don’t put an end to that state rights nonsense once and for all?

Once the Radicals have control of Congress, Lincoln’s plan for Reconstruction will be as dead as he is. Isaac Pace smiled ruefully at John Petersen. And we will have successfully traded state rights for Jacobinism.

And you find that amusing, Pace?

I find it ironic that you have boarded that particular train, is all.

John Petersen gave Isaac a hard stare. He had, over the years, been tolerant of Isaac Pace but had never professed to a strong liking. Because of that, Isaac’s feelings toward Uncle John had been cool. They’d made effective allies during the crisis, however, with Douglas acting as a buffer between the two. Isaac, by far the more adept at detective work than his friend and junior partner, had been a boon to John Petersen and Oliver Morton during the war and Isaac knew it. What’s more, he knew Uncle John knew it, too.

Well, that’s the railroad that laid the damn track, isn’t it? So, it’s the one we’re obliged to travel.

Douglas nodded. Even Lincoln climbed on in ’62.

And jumped off as it was sliding into Richmond…after he got himself re-elected.

A tactic which possibly got him killed, Douglas said softly.

John shrugged. Perhaps. I never thought much of the whoreson anyway. Whatever the case may be, those who built the train are at present in control of it, and we need to focus on the ride. My concern is our family interests being superseded by other Republican hopefuls, some of whom are already in Mississippi. Old-line Southern Whigs are holding them at bay for the moment, but that will end once the Radicals have Congress. John turned to Dirk. Within the next two years, I’ll wager, the South will be represented by Northern patriots. Before then you need to have positioned yourself in Mississippi to take charge.

Dirk turned to his uncle. We haven’t discussed the Negro, he said.

Negro suffrage, Isaac said, is what will put and keep the Republicans in power across the South.

The national council has been looking at that, his uncle said. There is discord regarding the proposed makeup of the party base in the South.

Meaning…

"What Mister Pace just stated is the Radical position."

A Negro voter base controlled by white Radicals to be specific, Isaac said, and Dirk watched as his father caught Isaac’s eye, then subtly shook his head, willing Isaac to cease provoking his powerful brother.

John glared at Isaac, then looked at Douglas before turning back to Dirk. There are many old Whigs in the conservative faction of the party, and they are biding their time.

Yes, the non-egalitarians. Dirk was aware.

The fate of the Radical ploy will depend on its effect on the Northern voter.

Isaac smiled. Yes, one of many delicate matters to be sorted out in Washington in the near term.

It’s a moot point at present, Uncle John said, ignoring Isaac. I’m merely making you aware. There are none of that degraded race here in Indiana worth our concern and the power has shifted to the Radicals. Oliver knows it, and that’s where we need to align our loyalties.

Rumor has it Negroes want power for themselves down there, Dirk said.

Rumors are running rampant everywhere, his father said, but as long as we keep them in the South, we should manage not to rankle the Northern populace.

John nodded. "We’ll toss the freedmen a bone here and there, but rest assured, the Negro will be led by white men.