The Crescent Spy (36 page)

As soon as the war ended, she told herself. As soon as she had done her duty. She would do two things. First, she would search out the Colonel. She would make him an offer, but on her terms, not his. If he would accept those terms, she would be open herself, in turn, to some kind of relationship. Something that looked like family. She would even speak to Francesca, to listen, her mind open and her heart softened.

When that was settled, she would speak openly with Franklin. Again, on her own terms. She would continue to write for publication; nothing would stop her from that pursuit. Could Franklin take a woman who was only partially domesticated? She could be strong willed, and her confidence sometimes crossed the line to arrogance. Could he accept that?

Josephine made her way down from the levee, suddenly knowing how she would spend her last Sunday afternoon in New Orleans. A few miles away, in Congo Square, the slaves would be dancing hard with anticipation of the closing of the square at nightfall. She wondered if she would find the dancing today just a little more frenzied, the banging of the beef bones on the cask more vigorous, in anticipation that they would soon be set free by the victorious blue-clad army from the North. She intended to find out.

The rest of the city also waited in anticipation, its gas lamps flickering, the vines and tree roots of the subtropical river port always trying to pull the city down. In the Irish Channel and on Gallatin, the riverboat men would be drinking, gambling, and whoring. In the Garden District, the society women would be scheming for the return of their men in gray, even as they gossiped about money and fashion and status.

New Orleans would continue on when Josephine had left. The Mississippi would continue its slow, muddy roll to the sea, carrying the water and debris of half a continent. Upriver, the battles would continue, with or without her. But this wasn’t the end for her. When the time came, she would return.

A
BOUT THE AUTHOR

Photo ©
2011 David Garten

M
ichael Wallace was born in California and raised in a small religious community in Utah, eventually heading east to live in Rhode Island and Vermont. In addition to working as a literary agent and innkeeper, he previously worked as a software engineer for a Department of Defense contractor, programming simulators for nuclear submarines. He is the author of more than twenty novels, including the
Wall Street Journal
bestselling series The Righteous, set in a polygamist enclave in the desert.