Heather Graham - Bride of the Night

Tara thought that she and Richard were far closer than they might have been had they been born blood sister and brother. Tara’s mother had returned from an excursion to the mainland with a new name and child, but no husband. Richard’s mother had deserted his pirating father, who had eventually been seized and hanged for his criminal ways. Lorna Douglas Fox had taken Richard in when he’d been just eight years old, ignoring all speculations that the boy would surely grow to be as bad as his father. Lorna had already weathered rumor and whispers; she didn’t care what people said, no matter how tiny the island community. She had been born in Key West, and her father had been there before Florida had even become a U.S. territory, much less a state. And, of course, at the beginning, statehood had meant little in Key West. Its population had remained Spanish, Bahamian, English and American … and that really only at shifting intervals, since so many came just to fish, drink and rest, and move on back to nearby island homes.

Tara stood. Richard eyed her warily but stood, too.

“Where is your ship?” she asked flatly.

“I haven’t dissuaded you at all, have I?”

She wagged a finger at him. “You have given me a lecture. Now, I shall give you one! I think—however he might have been hated in the South—that Abraham Lincoln is an incredibly good man. I believe that of many of our leaders and generals, as well. And, I think that we need him. I think that we’ll need many men of his ilk if we’re ever to repair the great rift that’s been created. As you said, John Brown might have been an out-and-out murderer, and certainly, by the law, his sentence was just, but he did have the right idea. Here’s where we are, though, about to surrender to a furious power that will have to have any remnant inklings of vengeance held in check, or else the South will be truly doomed. I have to try to get close to the man. I believe that he needs me—and that’s not turning traitor, because my state will need a strong, enlightened man in control when the giant foot of victory stomps down on us as if we were a pile of ants. Maybe God did decree that we lose the war, but I don’t believe that even God wants more horror than what we’ve already seen to follow it.”

Richard looked downward for a moment, and then met her eyes again. “I’m so afraid anytime you leave, Tara. Here … here, you’re safe. You have me—and even if I’m not here, you have the threat of me! You have people who know you and love you, and if the general population somewhere knew everything about you—or if they suspected the truth about you—we have stock! We have plenty of beef, we have … blood.”

THE UNION SHIP USS Montgomery found anchor in the deep harbor at Key West.

Soon the ship’s tender drew to the dockside entry of Fort Zachary Taylor on a crystal-clear winter’s morning, and Finn took a moment to enjoy the sun streaming down on him through a cloudless blue sky. Palms and pines lined deep-water accesses on the island and joined with the bracken that collided on small spits of sandy beach.

The fort itself was a handsome structure, joined to the island by a causeway that was equipped with a drawbridge. When the Union had first maintained the fort, there had been fears that the citizens of Key West would rise up and try to take it, hence the drawbridge, and the ten cannons set toward the shore. The walls were thick, and dominating the northwest tip of the island, the fortress was an imposing structure to those at sea.

However, despite these fears, it had yet to see real action in the war, and at this point, it was not likely to. Still, the fort had been a major player by enforcing the Union’s dominance of the shipping lanes. The Union blockade was strangling the South, and many of the men stationed at the barracks at Fort Zachary Taylor had been the sailors who prevented Bahamian goods and British guns from reinforcing the rebels.

Finn mused that, from the outset, the North had been at a disadvantage when it had come to true military genius, since many of the mainstays of the Union army—men who had fought and prevailed valiantly in the Mexican conflict—had chosen to lead the troops in their own states. An agrarian society, the South had naturally bred many fine horsemen, and their cavalry had been exceptional. But the North had the manufacturing, a greater supply of men upon which to draw and what Finn considered the key in finally winning the war: tenacity. That tenacity, of course, came in the form of the one man who stayed his course no matter how bitter and brutal and disillusioned many had become: Lincoln.

“Agent Dunne!” a smartly saluting soldier proclaimed, offering assistance with his travel bags. Finn greeted him in return, leaping upon the dock.

“I’m Lieutenant Bowers. We’ve been expecting you, sir! And, please, whatever you’ve heard about the island and the fort, don’t condemn us before you’ve had your stay. Winter is the time to be here. Though it can grow cold, the days are dawning beautifully! It’s not wet and humid like the summer, and mosquitoes are at a minimum. There’s hardly a man in the hospital ward, and we’re praying we’ll not see another summer of war, sir, so we are.”

“We can all pray,” Finn assured him.

“Come along, sir.”

The fort was impressive, Finn thought as they entered. The causeway and drawbridge gave it a bastion against the island, and its high thick walls and multiple guns aimed at the sea provided for a threat against invaders from the water. On the grounds, the barracks seemed clean and even bright in the winter’s sun, while within the walls, Finn was certain, there was ample space for supplies, ammunition and further arms. As they walked, Lieutenant Bowers pointed out the dorm-style rooms where many of the fort’s occupants slept, the guard stations and the desalination plant, supplying the fort with its own mechanism for providing clean, potable water.

“Started out with cisterns here, but the rain didn’t come as thought. Then the seawater came in and the salt started eating away at the foundations,” Bowers said cheerfully. “We expected much more difficulty from the population, but … well, the citizens may call themselves Southern as we’re in a state in secession, but the place was filled with speculators, fishermen, a few rich and a few down and trodden. None has risen at arms, and while the few moneyed families are careful to keep their daughters under close guard, most of our men have managed to carry on decent relations with the Rebels. Oh, there’s a bit of jeering and even some spitting here and there, but nothing too bad!”

“And yet, you know that some of the populace must be plotting,” Finn said.

“Sir?” Bowers asked.

Finn smiled at him. “Please. Those running the blockade surely sift right through here. In small boats, there are many ways to move undetected or unnoticed. Fishermen still make a living, rum is reaching the bars and taverns. It would be impossible to police every transaction taking place.”

“True, of course,” Bowers said. “But you’ll note the east and west martello towers across the causeway on the mainland, sir. We are not a huge garrison, but we do manage something of control. Our power, however, is on the sea. We’ve learned well through the years.”

“We’ve learned a great deal through the years,” Finn agreed. “Where there is a will, dedicated men will always find a way.”

Finn was led to an office in one of the wooden barracks constructed on the grounds. Bowers opened the door and introduced Finn to his commanding officer, Captain Calloway, and then left.

“Agent Dunne,” Calloway said, standing. The captain had the weathered look of a man long familiar with the sea, and the very fact that his skin had begun to resemble one of the state’s famed alligators made him a man well worth his salt to Finn. Here was no pretty boy, no educated rich man sitting in power through academic hobnobbing. He’d been on a hard ride in service to his country.