Free Hot Valley by James Lear Page B

government in Richmond?”
    â€œAh, if only it were that simple, Jack. We work for the real government. There’s things that you don’t know about. There’s powers behind the powers. You don’t read about that in your Boston newspapers.”
    â€œNo.” I was thrilled; it was exactly the sort of thing I’d heard my sister Margaret droning on about for months. Was I about to be inducted into some kind of secret order, some band of conspirators who knew the truth about things like war and money and power?
    â€œI’ve said too much. I apologize for my intrusion.”
    â€œNot at all, lieutenant.”
    â€œMy friends call me Bennett.”
    â€œBennett. I appreciate the company.” It was my turn to lower my voice. “To tell you the truth, my fellow travelers are a little less than inspiring.”
    He turned his chair around and leaned toward me.
    â€œThe big fat mama?”
    â€œAnd her snot-nosed brats.”
    â€œThe poor old fellow looks as if he ain’t had it in months.”
    â€œWho’d want it, with her?”
    â€œOh, Christ, Jackie, I’d rather—” He made a fist over his lap and moved it up and down.
    I spluttered into my beer. “Hah! I’d much rather do that!” I realized, even as I said it, that I sounded a little too enthusiastic.
    â€œWell, who wouldn’t? Nothing a woman can do for me that I can’t do for myself. Or for a buddy.”
    Had I been sober, I might have seen the danger signs at this point, and realized that Lieutenant Young was playing me like a fish on a line. But instead, buoyed up on my second tankard of beer—this was stronger ale than the watered-down bilge they served at the White Horse—I assumed that I was embarking on a wonderful adventure with the new friend of my heart.
    â€œFor a buddy?” I said, with what I thought was a seductive expression on my face.
    â€œSure, why not? We look out for each other in my company. All the guys will…lend a hand.”
    â€œJust a hand?”
    â€œWhat else, Jackie?”
    â€œAre you staying here tonight, Bennett?”
    â€œMaybe. Depends.”
    â€œDepends on what?”
    â€œIf your bed’s big enough.”
    â€œI guess it is.”
    â€œThen I guess I am.”
    I gulped down the rest of my beer; the tankard was immediately filled.
    â€œI should go and rescue my trunk,” I said. “Don’t go away.”
    I pushed my chair back, but Young restrained me with a hand on my shoulder.
    â€œWhat’s your hurry? Your trunk’s in good hands. Stay and drink with a lonely soldier.”
    â€œWhere’s the rest of the company?”
    â€œAt camp.”
    â€œWhere’s camp?”
    â€œYou ask a lot of questions, Jack. How do I know you ain’t a spy?”
    â€œMe? That’s a good one.”
    â€œYeah, looking at that face I guess I can trust you.” He held my chin between thumb and forefinger. He smiled. “Yeah. I reckon you won’t give me too much trouble.”
    â€œDepends what kind of trouble you’re looking for.”

    At that, Young laughed out loud, and, in retrospect, I can see why. At the time, I thought it was because I had made such a witty, suggestive remark.
    â€œSo, why don’t you show me up to your room, Mr. Edgerton?” He stood and bowed in a parody of formal New England manners.
    â€œWith pleasure, Lieutenant Young.”
    â€œI’m right behind you, Mr. Edgerton.”
    I took my key from the porter, and made an inquiry about my trunk. “It’s all under control, sir,” he said, with a glance toward Young.
    â€œTold you, Jack! Come on, race you!”
    He bounded up the stairs two at a time, his boots raising a hell of a racket that must have sounded throughout the inn. I imagined the family from New York kneeling to say their final prayers, convinced that those runaway slaves had come to cut their throats. In