John Miller - The First Assassin

Violet and her far-flung network did not believe that they could communicate in the open, so they developed a system of codes and techniques that would allow them to make contact under watchful eyes. She kept a few ciphers in her desk drawer, as well as other materials that helped her send and receive messages to contacts in Richmond, Montgomery, and elsewhere. One of her correspondents was Langston Bennett of South Carolina, whom she had met through her husband some years earlier. Yet it was not to him that her mind turned when Polly delivered the message from her visitors. She thought of someone else entirely.

Several months ago, on a day when her anger at Lincoln’s victory was particularly intense, Violet had discussed an extravagant plot with a New York merchant whose livelihood depended on his ability to transport slave-produced goods from Southern ports to European cities. When their conversation was done and the man gone, Violet reflected upon it-and concluded it was complete nonsense. There was no way the man could accomplish what he had proposed. It was simply too bold. But she also remembered how he had picked up a Bible on her shelf and flipped to the book of Matthew. “You will know my agents by the thirteenth verse of chapter seven,” he said. Violet followed his finger down to the black letters: “Wide is the gate and broad is the way that leadeth to destruction.”

She decided that she had spent enough time looking in the mirror. She was not sure that associating with these men was wise, but now they were here and they spoke the words from the book. It meant that no matter how much Violet might have wanted it otherwise, they already were associated. She decided at least to meet with them for a few minutes.

Violet walked down the steps and moved to the front of her home, where a pair of small red parlors stood side by side. A crimson silk curtain separated the rooms, hanging from a wide doorway. Gold candle sconces and small portraits of prominent statesmen decorated the walls. Several were familiar to anybody who kept abreast of federal politics: Senator Stephen Douglas, Secretary of State William Seward, and the late Southern political giant John Calhoun. A large tete-a-tete sat in the parlor by the front door, and a rosewood piano with pearl keys dominated the parlor in back.

Grenier moved silently beside the piano and watched her two guests, who had their backs turned to her as they stood and looked at the decorations in the front parlor. She could not see their faces, but their clothes were well-worn and lacking in the finery that most of her visitors displayed. One of the men was a good deal larger than the other.

“Good afternoon,” said Grenier as she passed into the front parlor. She spoke in a voice that was meant to convey a cool formality rather than a warm hospitality.

Both men spun around. At first, they said nothing. Their eyes ran up and down Grenier-a habit of many men, and one that Grenier occasionally even enjoyed, especially when she was making an effort to impress. Yet these two men were coarse. Grenier wished they would simply announce their business.

“How may I help you?” she asked, hoping that one of them would speak.

The larger of the two gave her a mischievous grin. “Wide is the gate and broad is the way that leadeth to destruction,” he said.

“So I have heard.”

“Our employer suggested that we meet with you,” he said.

“My name is Davis, and this here is Stephens, except that those aren’t our real names.”

“Then why do you bother giving them to me?”

“Our real names aren’t important. These are the ones that we’re using as we pursue our current project.” Davis raised his eyebrows, seeking some kind of acknowledgment from Grenier. She did not give him any. “You do know about our current project, don’t you? Wide is the gate and broad is the way that leadeth to destruction?”

“You have already said that,” replied Grenier. “I’ve met with your employer, and I think I know what you are planning. It is certainly ambitious.”

Davis and Stephens began to smile, but their smiles vanished as Grenier continued.

“I’m also concerned that it’s the wrong approach for right now. Sumter has fallen. Here in Washington, the government is confused and in disarray. What you are planning could create sympathies where none now exist.”

“All of this has been thought through,” said Davis. “We are beyond the point of reconsideration. I was told that you were consulted on these plans.”

“I wouldn’t use the word ‘consulted.’ But I was certainly made familiar with what you are intending to do. Perhaps you will succeed. My concern is that the risks are great and the price of failure is enormous. Events are going our way right now, all across the land. A mistake could change that.”

“We won’t make a mistake.”

Grenier did not respond immediately. She was distracted by the smaller of the two men-Stephens, the one who had not spoken. He was rubbing his fingers on a pale Romanesque bust that decorated a table.

“Please don’t touch that,” said Grenier sharply. “You’re supposed to look at it, not play with it.”

The reprimand jolted Stephens. He moved away from the statue and placed his hands behind his back. He did not even apologize, leading Grenier to believe that he had been sworn to silence. Davis wanted to do all of the talking.

“Please excuse us,” said Davis with a phony smile. “We are not men of great elegance. We have come to Washington with a single purpose. Upon the instructions of our employer, we have come here to seek your blessing and your advice.”

Grenier thought she had already delivered the advice to stop. But apparently this was not an option.

“It is more important that you not fail than that you succeed. There is a difference, you know.”

Davis laughed. “Don’t worry, we won’t fail.” Stephens let out a chuckle as well.

An uncomfortable quiet then filled the room. Grenier wanted the men to leave. She thanked them for coming and politely pushed them toward the door. A moment later, they were gone. This is a clumsy plan and these are clumsy men, she thought. Grenier was perfectly willing to support radical action in Washington, but radical action also had to be intelligent.

The most intelligent man she had ever met was Langston Bennett. She had not heard from him in a few weeks. Yet she knew that he was planning something bold because they had corresponded in the fall about the problem of a Republican president and the lengths to which they might go to prevent him from taking action against the South. Nothing was ruled out of bounds. For such an important assignment, he would not associate himself with low-rent ruffians. He would work only with the most capable of men.

I can’t wait to see your granddaughter . The words tormented Lucius all morning. Did Bennett know she was gone?

The old slave stood outside the front door of the manor, waiting for Bennett to finish writing a few letters and come out. A couple of younger men had just loaded several boxes of new clothes onto a cart. As soon as Bennett joined them, they would make their way to the slave quarters.

There was no way he could know, Lucius kept telling himself. Bennett had gone to bed before Portia and Joe had even arrived at the stables, and he had just gotten up when he made that troubling comment. It seemed impossible that he could know. And if he did know, would he play this kind of mind game? Lucius doubted that too. That was not like him. Bennett was a blunt man. He did not concern himself too much with runaways either. He generally let Tate handle those details. Yet Bennett had always taken a special interest in Portia. Would he treat her escape differently?

That was probably the real reason Bennett had mentioned Portia on the porch: she was a favorite. Her position had much to do with the fact that she was related to Lucius, but it was more than that, too. Portia had been an adorable girl growing up, with bright eyes and a precocious mind. She loved the company of adults and was a constant source of amusement for them. Since then she had grown into a striking young woman. There was not an unmarried male slave on the plantation who was not attracted to her, thought Lucius, and a few of the married ones must have desired her too. Over the years, Bennett had become quite fond of her, though his attentions were more innocent. He just seemed to like Portia. Everybody did.