Free The Spy on the Tennessee Walker by Linda Lee Peterson Page A

her mother. I felt sure that Eli knew that story as well as many others, and annoyed though I was to give up nearly an entire day to call on Mrs. Greenhow and to once again surrender to Eli’s dark arts, I confess that I looked forward to meeting her in person, and perhaps having a glimpse of her extraordinary young daughter. I could not tell if I should feel disgusted by the thought of a young child virtually imprisoned with her mother, or inspired that mother and daughter chose to stay together, no matter what. Really, Victoria, I upbraided myself, you are a fine one to make assumptions about how one should behave.
    As I mused, a carriage went by, and its front wheel splashed hard into a ditch. Eli pulled me out of harm’s way as I watched the dark, ill-smelling mud splash nearby. He tucked my arm into his, and I felt a cruel moment of loss, that feeling of being watched over, cared for, truly treasured by someone. I had that once, and now, Eli’s rote gallantry reminded me of what would never be mine.
    â€œSometimes,” I said to Eli, “I think the two of us are destined to go our wicked ways together. Most mornings I wake up and do not know who is and who is not a traitor. I’m sure I must be.”
    â€œTo be a traitor,” said Eli, “you have to have a fixed side to be on. I do not, and you should not.”
    â€œYou’re right. Fixed sides are what got us into this predicament. I curse this war, I curse the blue and the gray.We are wasting time and money, and worst of all, we are spilling blood.”
    Eli patted the top of my hand with a familiar touch. “Don’t waste your time cursing, dear Vic. There is so much more to do, and we shall do it. When we get back from Mrs. Greenhow’s, we will devise a new strategy.”
    I squeezed Eli’s hand, but in all aspects I saw very little advantage of planning some new scheme. As it happened, I would come to know far more about Eli’s scheme than anyone could wish. And despite my reservations, I, too, would find myself a serious student of the art of wartime deception. A spy? A turncoat? A traitor? These were all terms that suggested there was a side that was right and a side that was wrong, but that’s the unquestioning way men see things. Who can blame them? Their commanders think only of progress: taking this hill, destroying this regiment, marching ever forward into filth and blood and death. And at the end, what?
    We women are all Ariadne, looking for the thread that can guide us through the labyrinth and spin us home. As the train pulled into Richmond, I thought of that labyrinth and the mythological Minotaur who lurked there. It would take all I had not to make a misstep in that maze, and disappear forever.

CHAPTER 14 CHAPTER 14
    GABRIEL’S JOURNAL, 1862 GABRIEL’S JOURNAL, 1862
    Â Â Â Â Â Â Â  “Once let the black man get upon his person the brass letter, U.S., let him get an eagle on his button, and a musket on his shoulder and bullets in his pocket, there is no power on earth that can deny that he has earned the right to citizenship.”
    â€” Frederick Douglass
    I have two pleasures in life: women and my bugle. My employer, Mr. Allan Pinkerton, heard me pass this remark one day and asked, “And your work with us, keeping this great Union safe and secure, is that not a pleasure as well?”
    â€œDo you want a fancy answer?” I asked. “Or do you want the truth?”
    Mr. Pinkerton preferred a fancy answer, it seemed clear to me, and therefore I found something to commend. “Your employment has provided me with a unique experience, sir. And although going one thousand feet into the air initially filled my soul with fear, I will confess that my journeys in Professor Lowe’s balloon are ones I shall never forget.”
    Pinkerton raised an eyebrow. I believe he could notdiscern if I was making a jest or telling the truth. I was, in fact, speaking plain.