Free The Railroad War by Jesse Taylor Croft Page B

above a dry-goods store two blocks from the state capitol.
    As it also happened, the major needed to see her not because she was an attractive woman, but because she was a Union spy.
     For nearly a year she had been one of the agents operated behind Confederate lines by General Grenville Dodge, a railroad
     man from Iowa who ran an extensive espionage network all through the South—when he was not rebuilding the railroads in Tennessee
     for General Grant or protecting those railroads from the ravages and depredations of Confederate cavalry raider General Nathan
     Bedford Forrest.
    Miss Jane Featherstone was one of his top agents.
    When the servant, a quadroon from New Orleans named Francoise, ushered Major Rusk into the parlor, Miss Featherstone rose
     from her chair and extended her hand. There were two windows in the room, both thrown wide open, and they cast harsh light
     on the dark and heavy furniture and the frayed rug. A big upright piano abutted almost one entire wall, and over it, in a
     frame, hung a diploma from the Boston Conservatory of Music. Until very recently, Miss Featherstone had made her living providing
     musical instruction to the children of Jackson’s better classes.
    She was dressed in gray and brown, and there was a great stillness about her, even as she moved toward him.
    ‘Major Rusk?” Jane Featherstone said mildly, and let him take her hand. “I don’t believe we’ve met. But I’m pleased to make
     your acquaintance, I’m sure.” She looked at him with caution and interest.
    “Forgive me for intruding on your peace,” the major said.
    “There’s no peace in this town,” she said simply.
    “I reckon not,” the major said with a small movement of his lips that could have been a smile. “But I do trust I’m not disturbing
     you. I don’t normally arrive unannounced to ladies I don’t know. Under the circumstances, however, there was no other way
     to see you except to appear at your door.”
    “So then, here you are,” she said with a wry smile. “What can I do for you?” As she said this, she motioned him into a dark
     red plush love seat next to her own upholstered chair. With another gesture she ordered Francoise to withdraw.
    “General Dodge,” the major said, coming immediately to the point, “sends his greetings.” He noticed that Miss Featherstone
     took a long breath and raised her brows in the slightest flicker of movement. Then she held her gaze steady on him. “And his
     thanks,” the major continued quietly. “He is most grateful for the information you’ve provided him during the past two months.”
    “General Dodge,” she said. It was a statement, not a question.
    He nodded.
    “Please continue,” she said.
    “I’ve been instructed to tell you that the general has caused two thousand dollars to be placed on deposit in your name at
     the Wells Fargo Bank in San Francisco. Your passage to that city will be arranged whenever you choose to avail yourself of
     it.”
    She nodded slowly. “And what would a Confederate major know of General Dodge?”
    “I’m not a Confederate major, Miss Featherstone,” he said, then handed her a paper he’d kept hidden in the lining of his tunic.
    “You’ve come from General Dodge?” she asked cautiously after she’d glanced at it.
    “No. From Sherman. General Dodge doesn’t normally divulge the names of his”—he paused, searching for the word—“associates,
     even to General Sherman. But for various vital reasons, he did this once.” He looked at her. “You’re in no danger from me.”
    She nodded again. “So what can I do for you, Major?” she asked quietly.
    “It’s Captain,” he corrected. “Captain Hawken. I’m an aide to the general.”
    “But you’re a southerner?” she asked, noting his accent.
    “I’m a Texan,” he agreed.
    “And you are fighting for the North?” She looked at him closely, cocking her head slightly to one side. He remembered another
     woman holding her head that