Bride of the Night (22 page)

He shook his head. “They say that the two men ‘rescued' from the sea came from Fort Zachary Taylor.”

She nodded. “I knew the one man, Richard. He'd been kind to me.”

He sat next to her on the bed and she leaned against him as he slipped an arm around her. For a long moment they just sat together. “I never thought that I'd be praying to live long enough to reach a federal prison,” Richard said lightly.

“You'll live, Richard. You'll live!” she said passionately.

“Ah, Tara, you always think that you can change the world. You want to stop all the pain everywhere. No one can do that, you know.”

The door started to open; they both went still, looking toward it. Tara felt the tension that filled Richard's muscles.

Finn had come.

“Captain Tremblay would like your advice on the coastline, Richard,” Finn said.

“Aye, then.”

He turned to Tara, kissed her on the forehead and rose. The two men left and the door closed. Tara rose and exited the cabin, as well. She stood by the door to the cabin and felt the night breeze rush around her.

Darkness again. But they were still far from the port, far from Washington, and although she believed that perhaps they had been fated to have an encounter with the Union ship devastated by the monsters, she thought that now they would be waiting again.

Feeling the tension aboard the
Freedom
rising, she walked over to the captain's station near the helm. Richard was pointing out an area where the shallows could tempt a man by night, and advising Captain Tremblay on an alternate route. The sky was growing dark; some men sat with their mess kits, quietly conversing while they ate. There was a man up in the crow's next, on lookout.

The air was crisp; the breeze remained with them and, against the velvet sky, the sails billowed, oddly beautiful.

Finn stood at the stern, looking northward.

He turned as if he knew that she watched him. Then he looked to the sea again.

Tara returned to the cabin. She browsed through the books she found there, but a tract on the speed of mid-Atlantic storms did nothing to hold her attention. She ate
and paced, and considered heading out on deck again, but the tension on the ship held her back. While they had sailed with good camaraderie previously, even with the weight of fear upon them, tonight seemed to bring with it something different.

At length, she lay down. She didn't believe that she fell asleep, but she felt as if she left the place where she was, as if the air around her became an opaque rush.

She was back in Washington, D.C., again, sitting at the desk before Lincoln.

He looked up at her and smiled a welcome. “I'm about to give another inaugural speech, my dear. It's so important, always, to say the right thing.” He paused, flushing. “At Gettysburg, I didn't want to speak too long as people had already sat through a great oration. No words, of course, can ease the pain for those whom death touches personally. I hope that they know—the Rebel soldiers, just as the Union soldiers—that they all died to create a nation that must stand firm under God, and will one day rise to prove itself a bastion of freedom for all men.”

He sighed deeply. “Of course, I wish to speed recovery. I wish that the last of the battles may come, and that we may begin to heal the great rift between us. But I cannot approve any constitution for any state that is ready to return to the Union if they don't grant equality for all men—white and black.” He paused, looking at her. “You're coming closer, aren't you?”

“Yes, sir. And it's more important than ever that you take care of yourself.”

“Ah, don't worry! My good friends—military, civilian, Pinkerton—watch out for me. It hurts me, child, to see one so young worry so much.”

“You must understand, sir, that you have become the embodiment of the Union.”

He smiled. “Ah, yes. Well, the years have been hard and bitter. I think so often of my poor wife. It was a great day when I could come and tell my dear Mary that my enemies had not triumphed, that God himself was on my side, and I won the election the second time.”

He cleared his throat. “Tell me, what do you think? I will end my simple words—for a second speech should not be a long one!—with this sentiment, one that we must embrace. ‘With malice toward none, with charity for all, with firmness in the right as God gives us to see the right, let us strive on to finish the work we are in, to bind up the nation's wounds, to care for him who shall have borne the battle and for his widow and his orphan, to do all which may achieve and cherish a just and lasting peace among ourselves and with all nations.'”

“I think, Mr. Lincoln, that you are one of the finest politicians and men to ever hold public office,” she told him.

He smiled, looking at her. “Do I imagine you?” he asked softly. “Do I need to believe that the enemy will again be my friend, and so I speak to an unknown angel?”

“I, too, often wonder if I am dreaming when we speak,” Tara replied.

“So you are real. Are you living? Or perhaps I brought you to me when I attended one of my dear wife's séances in the Red Room?”

“I'm most certainly real, sir. And I'm
coming to help you…
?.”

He didn't hear her, Tara realized. She was feeling the rush of misty, opaque air again, and she was coming back to lie in her bunk in the captain's cabin aboard the
Freedom.

She started, almost screaming. She wasn't alone. Finn was seated in the desk chair, opposite her, watching her. He wore a grave expression as he did so.

“You were…gone,” he told her.

She eased up against the paneled wall in the niche where the cot was positioned, looked at him, and let out a long sigh. “I told you. I dream that I am with President Lincoln. Or, perhaps, it's some kind of vision. I don't understand myself. I have never met him. When the war began, I understood so little of what was happening. And then, in the summer of 1862, I began to have these dreams.”

“We were losing badly in the summer of 1862,” Finn reflected.

“Men were dying and Mr. Brady and other photographers were on the battlefields, and we, at home, were able to see how horrible the cost of war!” Tara said. She shook her head. “Finn, I don't know what it is—it's
something that I see and feel, but perhaps it's all in my mind, and I am going mad. But then again, as we both know, there are so many things that the world can't see or accept—such as what we are. So perhaps my dreams or visions are real.”

“Perhaps,” he agreed. “And perhaps you have a talent that I do not.”

He didn't touch her; he didn't come closer. It was almost as if he needed to keep a distance. She was surprised by his words when he spoke again. “Have you ever had any such similar experience?”

She frowned, looking back at him. “I knew the night my mother would die,” she said. “But she was ill. I believe that other people have had such sensations at the crux of the life of a loved one. Maybe we just see when the illness has run its course. We love someone so much that there's something inside of us that warns us when the end is near.”

He was thoughtful for a moment. “I try to come close to each man in the crew. I
should
be able to see through the monster among us, but I can't. I'm somehow blinded, and I can only think that it's someone old, and very adept and experienced. And I feel that we've been playing a game, and that we've been behind each step of the way. And because we're sailing north, and we're coming closer and closer to Washington, I fear that the monster is Gator himself, and that I am bringing him straight to his target.”

“We can sail elsewhere,” she said.

“That won't solve the situation. I have to ferret out the enemy,” he said.

“I don't know who it is,” she told him. “I know that it is not me, and that it is not Richard…?.”

“I've said it many times—I'm not here to accuse you.”

“Then?”

“I'm here because I need you.”

She sat up in the bed, looking at him. “What do you mean?”

“I'm not at all certain that I believe that those truly dead can rise, that ghosts come back to speak to us, or that poor Mary Lincoln or even President Lincoln have any hope of reaching their lost children. But I do believe that maybe, just maybe, there are more avenues to the human mind than any of us knows. And your mind may be the one that sees,” he added quietly. “And, of course, you were in Key West, you were near the fort…?. There might have been something, some clue, that just hasn't reached the forefront of your mind as yet.”

“What do you want me to do?” she asked.

“Tomorrow, we'll be off the coast of the Carolinas, and soon after that, we'll reach the Washington Naval Yard. Every step of the way, we might well have fallen into the perfect trap. Led to believe that Gator was a Rebel, we hunted down a blockade runner. And once that was achieved and our ship was lost, we were beset. But each battle that we've fought so far, I believe we were intended to win. Except, perhaps, the last. If we'd
grappled onto the Union ship yesterday, those men would have taken over, and the
Freedom
would have reached Washington with a company of men ready to create real havoc—while Gator himself got to the president. We have to discover the truth tomorrow, Tara. We have to.”

“What is your plan?” she asked.

“Bait,” he said softly.

“Bait?”

“You.”

She was surprised to feel a chill ripple along her spine. She'd begun this in innocence of what horror could truly await them, but she had followed him every step of the way, and though she remained horrified by the carnage, she knew that she had done well enough.

“What do you want me to do?” she asked him. “I would do anything, you know,” she added hastily. “The president must live!”

He lowered his head, smiling. “I'll be at your back, though you may not see me, through every step you take.”

“How am I bait?” she asked.

“I have to get you alone with each man,” he told her.

“But you've ordered that everyone must stay in threes.”

He nodded. “Except, of course, when someone comes to see you aboard the ship. You're right on the main deck here, with activity just beyond the door. There will be a way and a reason to send each man to you.”

She shook her head. “Still, I don't see what you will accomplish.”

“Gator, I believe wholeheartedly, intends to take over the ship before we reach port. That means he will strike tomorrow or tomorrow night. The men on this ship have learned well, but none has the strength that you and I possess. Given the chance, Gator will want to destroy you as a threat.”

“And not you?”

“Oh, yes. But I believe that he sees you as an easier target.”

“I'm not an easy target!”

“I didn't say that,” he assured her, smiling gravely. “But I have far more experience. If he is able to take you down, he will believe that he can rip through the men. When he's created enough havoc…well, then, he can come for me, without my having hope of any assistance. He's been laying traps for us since I arrived in Key West. It's time for us to lay a trap for him.”

Tara nodded. “I will do whatever you think we must. I know that I must reach the president. So…do we start now?”

He looked at her. He lowered his head again for a moment, and then met her eyes. “Tonight, we rest and gather strength,” he told her.

She looked at him, and she was ready. But also afraid.

“All right,” she murmured.

He started to rise. “I should leave you to that rest.”

“No.”

“No?”

“Don't leave.”

He smiled. “I rather thought that you were angry with me.”

“I am.”

“Then…?”

“Well, you see, I'm really not that tired. And I do believe a bit of physical exertion would help greatly in that matter,” she told him.

There were a dozen arguments they might have had. There were many things they might have said. But they didn't speak at all.

He took her into his arms, and his mouth found hers.

Whatever the morning would bring, Tara thought, she would have the night.

F
INN STOOD BY
C
APTAIN
T
REMBLAY
near the helm; Billy Seabold held the wheel. The wind was staying with them, and the sails billowed beautifully against the bright blue sky.

“Coming closer, and the sailing goes smoothly,” Captain Tremblay said.

“Coming closer,” Finn agreed. He looked at the captain. “I'm hoping all will be well. I've asked Tara to use a few of her special abilities to ensure it.”

Tremblay frowned. “Her abilities? The young woman
is
quite amazing, more adept with a sword than a good portion of the army, I dare say. But, with good luck and God's help, we'll not come across another ship laden with diseased!”

“Well, sir, I know this sounds quite absurd, but then, the situation we've been in has been quite absurd. Tara has other abilities.” He spoke loudly. Dr. MacKay was seated on a barrel not far from them, writing in a journal. Grissom was repairing a sail near the helm and several of the other men were involved in mundane tasks of one kind or another in the near vicinity. Whatever he said would be repeated over and over again, until his
words were heard by every man on the ship. “She has a strange sense of inner sight, I suppose you might say. There are times when she can
see
what others are thinking. And when something is dire, or eventful, she can sometimes use that to predict what's going to happen.”

Tremblay frowned. “Ah, but did the young lady
see
any of the events that have so recently plagued us?”

“A few of them, sir,” Finn said. “The human mind is an amazing puzzle, so, no, Tara doesn't
see
all events, just some. It's extremely strange, more than just all the talk you hear about mediums and séances from other venues. Tara can sometimes tap into someone else's mind. I know it to be true, because she's told me about events and people that only I know about.”

“I'd have said that all ‘spiritualism' was botch!” Captain Tremblay said. “Not long ago, aye, that's what I would have said. The armed forces and half the country have whispered about President Lincoln and his wife, Mary. They say she went off the wall when they lost little Willie in the White House. Séance practices going on—and even the president taking part! I thought it all true rubbish! Now…well, now I say that anything is possible.”

He looked at Finn and said seriously, “If only she soon sees into the heart of the traitor who has caused the death and destruction of so many good men!”

“Yes, we can certainly pray that happens. The time grows short before we reach the naval yards at D.C.,” Finn said.

“Aye, we'll be on fierce guard!” Tremblay said.

Finn nodded, and walked down the deck toward Dr. MacKay. “A journal, Doctor? It will be interesting to see how you have recorded these days.”

MacKay looked up at him sheepishly. “It's interesting recording the truth, and should anyone read what I've written, the truth will surely be regarded as fiction. Actually, I'm thinking of writing it all up as fiction, and perhaps repairing my prewar business by selling this wild story to some publisher.”

“Where do you hail from, Doctor?” Finn asked.

“Massachusetts. A little town just outside Boston. My grandfather fought in the American Revolution,” MacKay said proudly.

“Was he a doctor, too?” Finn asked.

“No. He was an evil-doer!” MacKay said, laughing. “A politician, but he went to war, fought with General Washington and survived Valley Forge. He lived to tell the tale, and see that I made it through medical school at Harvard.”

“Well, then, all the best with your…fiction,” Finn said, nodding and walking away. Heading toward the portside rail, he found Charles Lafferty fishing. They were moving at a good clip, but Lafferty was still sending out a line.

“Any luck?” Finn asked him.

“Aye, believe it or not. Three big cod so far! Hoping to have fresh fish for all by suppertime tonight,” Lafferty said cheerfully.

“Continued good fortune. I confess, I couldn't begin to fish under these circumstances,” Finn told him. “We're moving at a good speed.”

“Keeps the bait moving, which the fish like,” Lafferty said. He shrugged. “And I come from a long line of fishermen, so it's something I've done since I was a child.”

“Are you from Massachusetts, too?”

“Too?”

“The doctor is from the Boston area,” Finn said.

“Ah, yes, of course. I did know that. Our pasts have all been lost in the years of the war, I'm afraid…?. I'm not from Boston. Gloucester, man, Gloucester! A beautiful place, but brutal sometimes, when winter comes. And still, in winter, we went out to make some of our finest catches, that we did!”

“I daresay, it's almost time that we may look to our old lives again,” Finn said, and nodding, he headed down the steps, anxious to see what was going on below. Three of the men were sleeping. Richard and two others were watching over the sleeping men, playing a game of cards.

“All is well here?” Finn asked Richard.

Richard nodded. “One of us dozes off now and then. No one has slept well. But we're doing all right.”

“Have you slept?” he asked Richard.

“Enough,” Richard assured him.

Finn bid good day to the others and returned topside. He walked back to Tara's cabin, knocked and entered.

She was awake and pretending to give her attention to a book. It was upside down. He righted it for her.

“It has begun,” he told her.

“What do we do now?” she asked him, her beautiful hazel eyes as bright as a brushfire.

What was going to happen when they reached Washington?

If
they reached Washington.

They had to. The threat aboard the ship was great, and as the days passed, he found himself growing ever more concerned. He had never felt torn like this in his life, lost in a pair of eyes, the scent and every movement and breath of a woman…?.

And such a fear for the future.

“Finn?” she said, puzzled as she stared back at him.

He couldn't allow his feelings for her to jeopardize the discovery they must make, and the ultimate shipboard battle they must win.

“We wait,” he told her. He smiled. “You now have truly remarkable powers! They'll all be watching you.”

“And you?”

“I'll be watching them,” he told her quietly.

 

F
INN WAS STRANGE
. But, of course he was; she was surely strange herself. They were tense, waiting for the horrible event that was sure to occur.

As the day wore on and the afternoon arrived, Finn was convinced that his words about her “abilities” had traveled through the men on the ship. She wandered out on deck with her book—carefully held in the up
right position—and found a seat near the helm where the breeze was cool but the day bright, and the sun like a sweet beacon in the sky.

She wasn't there long before she heard her name called softly.

“Miss Fox!”

She turned. Billy Seabold was standing by the rail behind her, staring at her with a curious expression.

“Yes, Billy?” she said, turning to look at him.

“Would you…would you talk with me in private a bit?”

Tension gripped her muscles as if a great hand had clamped down upon her.

“Of course, Billy,” she managed to say.

Captain Tremblay was standing by the helm; Charles Lafferty had the great wheel.

Finn was down in the center of the ship talking with Dr. MacKay, and Richard was topside with Grissom and London, cleaning and filleting a cache of fish.

She stood, and eased toward the stern with Billy. She tried to make sure that she kept a distance of a few feet between them.

He struggled to speak for a minute. “I hear that you have very special powers, Miss Fox.”

“Perhaps that information is something that shouldn't have been shared by Agent Dunne,” she murmured.

He touched her arm, as if reaching for her. She gripped the rail hard, not wanting to appear to be frightened of him. He started to speak again, and then hes
itated. He moved a bit closer to her, and she looked around, hoping that the others were watching.

“Miss Fox, I have to know,” he said.

“You have to know what, Billy?”

He let out a long breath. He was even closer. She was nearly pinned to the rail.

“I need to know about…”

His face was so close to hers. She felt that she could almost see him change, almost see something come over his face and his eyes. She was afraid that when he opened his mouth again, she would see that his fangs had extended, and that he wasn't the young man she had thought that she had known.

“Eric Wordsmith,” he said.

“Pardon?”

Billy began to speak quickly. “He was my mate. My best friend. We opted into the navy together, and he was killed in a sea battle early on in the war. He was terrified of hell, but he was a good fellow, he really was. He thought that God would damn us all for taking arms against our brothers. I think about him night and day, and I'm praying that you can
see…
that Eric rests in heaven.”

“What's going on here?” Finn demanded suddenly, breaking between them.

Billy flushed to the roots of his hair.

“It's all right, it's all right!” Tara said quickly. “Billy just had a question for me, Finn. That's all. Just a question.”

Billy backed away. “I mean, begging your pardon, please?” he said to Tara. “You see, it was my fault that Eric was in this thing. I wanted to be in the navy, and Eric joined up because of me.”

She smiled at him. “Billy, I believe that God knows that men were forced to make a choice. I think He knows that Eric was a good man, caught up in a horrible war. God weeps at the loss of life, and we all have to hope that it's been for a greater cause, and we'll all go on to a better life. I doubt you need to worry, Billy. I believe that your friend rests with God, in heaven, and that all will be well for him.”

Billy reached for her hands in a sudden motion that brought Finn instantly stepping between them.

“It's all right!” she said softly. She squeezed Billy's hands.

He smiled at her gratefully. “Your pardon, Agent Dunne,” he said to Finn, and then he walked away, heading toward the fish-cleaning project, whistling a sad tune as he walked.

Tara looked at Finn and grimaced. “Most likely, the men will just be asking me about their loved ones who have died,” she said.

“I'm sorry, but I needed to start something about your mental powers of observation. I hadn't anticipated that
those
would be the primary questions they'd have…?.”

“It's fine. It's just that I can't see behind the veil of death. How will I know if someone is asking me about a human monster?”

He studied her intently for a moment. “Your dreams of Abraham Lincoln seem to be so intense and real. Maybe you do see more than you imagine.”

“I can't see who the monster might be,” she said quietly. She shook her head. “Finn, perhaps he or she isn't aboard the ship. You have been a detective for a long time. And,” she added softly, looking around, “you are half vampire—you should be able to
see
who this is!”

He was frustrated; she saw that instantly. His fists clenched at his sides and his features tightened, but she knew that he wasn't angry with her.

“I can't see, and that makes me really afraid. Believe me, this vampire is here. And he's old, and far more experienced than me.”

She tried to appear strong and confident.

“Perhaps then, you shouldn't spend so much time with me. Let the others come,” she said.

He nodded. “I will be near. I will be watching. At all times.”

“So I pray. And now, sir, if you will please…go.”

Finn walked away, heading to the helm where he spoke with Captain Tremblay. Soon after, Richard left his work and came to stand by her.

“All is well?” he asked softly.

She wrinkled her nose. “You smell like fish.”

“You won't be looking down at me like that tonight when you dine on cod fillets, Miss Fox!”

She smiled, but her smile faded quickly. “I am fine. How are you doing? Richard, I fear for you. You are so
often among the men, and with this building air of distrust…?.”

“They're tired,” he said. “Even spelling one another in groups of three to see that we are on guard for one another. Today, I was on guard shift with two of the men—Samuels and Humphrey—and Humphrey dozed off. Samuels went to wake him, and I nearly panicked and attacked Samuels. The anxiety among us
is
growing, but not for nationalistic reasons.”

“With every mile,” she said. “Every man walks about, doing his duty. But I see that they are strained. I see it in their faces.”

“Nothing will happen by day,” Richard said.

“You're so certain?”

“Aye, this man will wait for the darkness,” he told her. He smiled then. “I smell that badly of fish? I will go wash up, and leave you to your observations.”

Richard left her. She gave her attention to her book. It was an excellent book—
Tales of the Sea
—but she couldn't make her eyes focus on the words and they began to blur before her. As she read, a man would approach her now and then, asking what she saw for them, if anything.

Many asked about their loved ones.

The wind shifted direction. Captain Tremblay shouted orders, and the men scurried about to trim the sails.

And finally, the sun began to lower in the western sky.

Billy Seabold and several of the men prepared a smoke over with a large pot and coal from the steam
room, and soon the smell of the fresh-cooked fish began to waft across the deck. Rum portions were ladled out, and limes and coconuts and other still-fresh produce completed the meal.