The Captain's Challenge (The Wolf Deceivers Series Book 3) Read online

  He went up the stairs of the two storied building and rapped on Room 4A. It was a nice establishment, but the major lived frugally for a man of his position, and he’d probably expect the same from his officers.

  If the major had retired for the night, he might be annoyed with his new captain. Alex let out a relieved breath when the man who opened the door appeared fully dressed in uniform.

  “Major Turley? I’m Alex Blaine. I believe you received my orders.”

  The major stood several inches shorter than Alex. Close-clipped graying brown hair, trim moustache and goatee. “Come in, captain. You’re a bit late.” His voice held censure.

  “I apologize for that. I had to rescue a damsel in distress.” He laughed, hoping to ease the tension.

  Major Turley didn’t smile. “Care to explain.”

  Alex did care, but he went over the barest details of Gillian’s dilemma. “I couldn’t leave the lady at the depot, so I took her out to Lynwood Plantation, but she discovered her father had sold the place to a Mr.—”

  “Lyman. I know the situation, and I know Gillian Carey is Gilbert Carey’s daughter.” Major Turley moved to a small desk. He bent to retrieve a folder which he opened to read. “Gilbert Carey, fifty-four, former state senator, former cotton plantation owner, former Confederate.” He closed the folder. “Present thorn in the flesh.”

  Alex had read a copy of the dossier, but the rancor in the major’s tone stunned him for a moment. “He seemed a genteel sort of fellow. What trouble has he given you?”

  “Oh, he’s a perfect southern gentleman.” The major’s voice dripped sarcasm. “But somehow he’s connected with all the trouble we’re having. Did Mr. Lyman tell you about arson to his tenants’ farms?”

  Alex nodded. “You think Mr. Carey’s involved? Why? He sold the place to Lyman. If he wanted the tenants run off, why sell?”

  “Why does anyone sell anything? Mr. Carey lost a lot from the war and not just money.” The major turned his back on Alex and stood staring out the small window.

  “His daughter told me she lost three brothers.”

  “Revenge motivates a man more than anything.”

  Alex didn’t like what he was hearing. He didn’t care one way or the other about Mr. Carey, except he was Gillian’s father. For some reason he wouldn’t take the time to explore at the moment, that made a difference. “I heard of Ku Klux Klan activity using these tactics. You think Carey’s mixed up in the Klan?”

  “No, this isn’t the Klan…something more subtle. This gang does use cover of darkness, but they don’t make a show of white sheets and such.”

  “They could still be the same group.”

  Major Turley whirled around, clearly not expecting an argument. “They don’t target freedmen like the Klan. These scoundrels target white men, northerners…businessmen. Farmers and store owners who come from former union states. That’s been the only common thread.” He shrugged. “Do you have a place to room, captain?”

  “Yes sir, I’ve rented two rooms at Mr. Carey’s house. He seemed rather eager to let them. Maybe he is hard up for money.”

  Major Turley’s eyes narrowed. “Or he wants to keep watch over army activities.”

  Alex’s jaw flexed. Was that Mr. Carey’s motivation? He’d mentioned the communicating room. Did he wish to gain access to Alex’s room that way? He’d not been keen on Cal renting the smaller room. Alex would make sure to change the locks, or put in locks if none were in place.

  “I had it in mind to watch over Mr. Carey’s activities,” Alex said. And his daughter’s, though the major needn’t know that.

  “Then you’re suspicious?”

  “I’m suspicious of everyone, sir.”

  “Good. Keep your ear open for anything on Amanda Brown as well. She’s Carey’s sister-in-law.”

  “The name sounds familiar.” He remembered Gillian speak of an Aunt Mandy, but didn’t she live in Atlanta? He wished he’d paid more attention to Gillian’s prattle.

  “Gilbert Carey’s late wife was sister to Amanda Brown. I think her husband’s distantly related to Joe Brown, Georgia’s former governor.” The major sat in the chair behind his desk and glanced over the top as if looking for something. “George Brown, Amanda’s husband is in the import/export business and not involved in politics, except for lobbying, as all big businessmen are. But he leaves that in his wife’s capable hands. She’s a political gadfly. Every ex-Confederate worth notice attends her soirees. They expect to take back control of the government, and she’s trying to clear the way for them to pass the loyalty test.”

  This didn’t match up with the picture Gillian had painted of her family. They were moderates politically—anti-slavery, in fact. Of course, that was before the war. Gillian didn’t know how things had changed.

  Major Turley was already heavily invested in this case, not surprising to Alex, since he’d been warned the major was more involved in politics than an officer ought to be. Policy should be left up to the government, not the army. “Has Mr. Carey passed the loyalty test?”

  “Not yet, but he could. If he runs for office.”

  This was one of Gillian’s concerns—that her father had suddenly lost his interest in politics. Alex clenched his jaw. Gillian might be taken out of the picture if her father didn’t run. Why was he focusing on the daughter? It was the father who bore scrutiny, and Gillian didn’t know any more than Alex did about what was going on. “So, you think he has his sights on Milledgeville?”

  Major Turley sent him a slanted glance. “No, he has his sights on Washington.”

  Chapter 5

  Gillian awoke to the sound of a noisy finch chirping outside the tall east window of her bedroom. Singing as though he had not a care in the world. How she envied that bird.

  Slumber left her, not refreshed, but with an acute awareness of something wrong. Undercurrents flowed between Papa and Julia. Jim and Maudie acted like they were afraid to say anything in their master’s and mistress’s presence. The house itself seemed to brood.

  Fragments of a dream clung to her memory. It was one of those dreams that made no sense. The only image left was of her mother standing over her—mute and ethereal as a ghost. She threw off that eerie thought along with the bedcovers and stared at the frilly pink canopy of her four-poster bed.

  Sunlight flooded the room. This was an unearthly hour to get up. She’d missed breakfast and, with it, the chance to see Captain Blaine. No doubt about it. He attracted her as no man had in her grandmother’s stuffy drawing room. Why, she couldn’t say. It wasn’t just his good looks—though that didn’t hurt.

  He possessed a certain amount of charm—in an annoying way. His conversation left much to be desired. He’d contributed little of himself in the journey from Savannah. But he was a good listener—she had to give him that—and he was the first man she’d ever known who didn’t like to talk about himself.

  If only he didn’t wear that blue uniform, reminding her he was the enemy. She closed her eyes, trying to visualize what he’d look like dressed in long tails and top hat. Or buckskins and Stetson.

  Maudie popped through the doorway, a tray in hand. “Look what I brought my sweet lamb.” She set the tray on Gillian’s bedside table and swiped the tea towel away.

  The aroma brought Gillian’s stomach to attention. “Hot cakes.”

  Maudie put her hands on her ample hips. “I remembered how you like them. With just enough cornmeal to make the edges crunch. And there’s maple syrup instead of sorghum and those little sausages you liked.”

  Gillian laid the tea towel on her lap and positioned the tray closer. “Oh, the sausages made at Lynwood?”

  Maudie twisted her full lips. “Well, no’um, I got them from the butcher shop, but they good all the same.”

  Gillian bit off the end of a sausage, then forked a mouthful of hot cake soaked in syrup. She slammed her eyes shut as the flavors exploded in her mouth.

  She took her time to swallow and held the next bite in mid
air. “I should have gotten up early enough for breakfast with everyone. I haven’t seen the O’Grady sisters yet.”

  “They were missing at supper last night, but they asked about you at breakfast.”

  “Was Captain Blaine at breakfast?”

  “Yes’m, the handsome captain was there.” Maudie’s grin teased. “Expect he wouldn’t have eaten so fast if you were at the table. Caught him looking at you last night.”

  Gillian patted her lips with the linen napkin. “I can’t prevent him looking at me.”

  Maudie waggled her brows. “Caught you looking at him.”

  Gillian snickered as she cut into another sausage. “This emancipation has given you a little sass, I see.”

  Maudie let loose her characteristic chortle—a low rumble, rising to a high pitched cackle. “Nothing wrong with looking, but I expect Mr. Gil will be wanting to keep you awhile. He shore has been down. You done brought some sunshine to this sad place.” Maudie busied herself emptying Gillian’s trunks, exclaiming over each dress she pulled out.

  Gillian chewed thoughtfully. Which dress should she wear at supper tonight? “Will Captain Blaine be dining with us tonight?”

  “I didn’t hear him say, but you might ask Miss Maybelle or Miss Lydee. They talked his ear off the whole time during breakfast.”

  The O’Grady sisters had always enjoyed talking, and if it were to a man, all the better. “If I remember the ladies well enough, they were probably fighting for his attention like two birds over one worm. It hardly matters they’re past forty. I’m sure the captain lapped it up. We both know all men suffer from an inflated ego.”

  Maudie’s laughter rang out. “I see you still have a bit of sass, too.” She pressed a hand to her chest. “The ladies still looking for a husband for one or the other of them.” After getting control of her laughter, she darted Gillian a slit gaze. “What for you so down on men?”

  “Grandmother was forever trying to match me with some insufferable dandy. And Papa went along with it, or I’d have returned home long ago.”

  “You didn’t find none of them to your liking?”

  “They seemed to be of two persuasions. There were those who looked upon women as helpless little creatures who must be tolerated only to produce the necessary heir. The other type was even more annoying. After one dance, they’d declare they would fling themselves in the Thames if I didn’t marry them.”

  She got to her feet, holding a glass of chilled buttermilk. “I used to enjoy the O’Grady sisters’ visits. After I dress I must greet them. Where will I find them?”

  “At this time of day, they’ll be working in the back rose garden.”

  “Working? Surely Papa doesn’t require the boarders to work.”

  “Oh, no. Miss Maybelle and Miss Lydee enjoy it. Mr. Gil allows them to sell the roses for a little pocket money.”

  Gillian swallowed the last of her buttermilk and returned the glass to the tray. She pointed to the peach floral morning gown Maudie held. “Don’t put that one away. I’ll wear it.”

  After dressing—a tortured affair of being laced up in a corset—Gillian fluffed out her skirt as she settled on the vanity bench. “Coil my hair on top with ringlets in back,” she told Maudie. “That will be cool. I didn’t have anyone to help put it up yesterday.”

  “I’ll do my best, but Miss Purity could’ve done a better job of it.”

  “Who’s Purity? Papa didn’t mention any other servant except Silva, our cook, last night.”

  “Miss Purity ain’t no servant, but she works like one. She’s some poor relation of one your pa’s friends. Miz Julia sent her to live with your Aunt Mandy up in Atlanta.” Maudie’s reflection in the vanity mirror revealed a scowl when she mentioned Julia.

  Gillian decided to hold her curiosity about Purity. Maudie had just put in the twentieth hairpin into her mass of curls when Julia glided through the doorway. “Gillian, you’re finally up.” Her lilting voice couldn’t hide her censure.

  “Good morning, Julia. Thank you for letting me sleep.”

  “Your father insisted you needed the rest after your journey, though a young thing like you shouldn’t require much rest.” She moved to the window to adjust the heavy drapes. Gillian would replace them with cotton curtains so the breeze could blow around and under them.

  “What are your plans, dear?” Julia asked.

  “I’m going out to the rose garden and speak with the O’Grady sisters. Other than that, I haven’t any plans.”

  “Sometime today we must discuss your homecoming party.”

  “No need to bother with a homecoming party. Aunt Mandy is planning to give a cotillion in my honor.” She should write her aunt soon to let her know she had arrived. Aunt Mandy would want to hold the cotillion in Atlanta, and Gillian must have some time with Papa before traveling to Atlanta. He’d evaded her questions about Lynwood. In fact, it was clear he didn’t wish to discuss any of his affairs or his political plans.

  Before she left London, she’d received a long, rambling letter from Aunt Mandy detailing some plot to help the Conservatives unseat the Radical Republicans. Her scheming aunt had admonished Gillian not to tell her father because he didn’t think highly of the plans.

  Gillian had tried to keep up with the political dealings of reconstruction because her father was a politician, but it was all confusing to her. Whatever it entailed, she’d help Aunt Mandy.

  Julia turned from the window. “Maudie, Silva needs you in the kitchen.”

  As if Julia had dashed a pail of cold water at her, Maudie’s pleasant features shifted to stiff formality. “Yes’m.” She sent Gillian a knowing glance before leaving.

  Julia smiled. “Of course we’ll have a party here. Just family. Lizzie and her husband and…Reuben.”

  So that was the purpose of the party. “All right, but we must include Miss Maybelle and Miss Lydee and Captain Blaine.”

  Julia lips pursed into a thin line. “I don’t know about Captain Blaine. The numbers won’t be right, but I’ll see what we can do. We’ll plan for Saturday night.”

  Gillian tied a wide brimmed straw hat atop her head. “Captain Blaine’s friend will be here by Saturday, so the numbers will be perfect.” She strode to the door and turned with her hand on the doorknob. “Please excuse me, I’m going to join the O’Grady sisters in the back garden.”

  ***

  Alex propped against the outside wall at the depot, waiting for Lieutenant Duncan to emerge and, at the same time, he kept a keen focus on the goings and comings of the people. He mentally divided them into groups. Southerners, most averting their eyes from him, a sullen look about them, telling him they hadn’t forgotten the war or that anyone in uniform was a despised conqueror. Then the Northerners—businessmen looking for opportunities. Some do-gooders with a sincere desire to help, others looking to take advantage.

  The last group was the colored people. Even without their color, he’d have been able to pick them out by their downward looks, grim countenances, and battered carpetbags, waiting for the next train and the opportunity to flee. The dream of equality had been drained from them, leaving pinched faces.

  Cal was almost down the platform before Alex noticed him. “Ho, Lieutenant.”

  His friend swung around. He set one of his bags down to clasp Alex’s hand. “Know any good places to eat? Not much on the train, but I guess you knew that.”

  “There’s a little café down the street, but the food’s not nearly as good as where we’re staying.” Alex saw Cal’s questioning glance and added, “Let’s get going. We’ll stop at the café, and I’ll buy you coffee and peach pie—their specialty.”

  Alex led the way to the buggy, and Cal threw his bags inside. “We might not be in Macon long. Rumors have it there’s trouble in Atlanta.” He climbed up beside Alex.

  “We might have expected trouble when Congress disqualified the Democrats. What surprised me was the stupidity of the ex-Confederates. They won the election and could have easily regained co
ntrol. Surely they knew unseating the Colored Delegation would spit in the eye of the Republicans…not to mention, be an affront to every Northerner who gave his life for the slave’s freedom.”

  Cal laughed. “Let’s face it. That noble reason didn’t move them as much as their hatred, but in the end, the love of political power will win out. The Republicans, headed by that carpetbagger governor, Bullock, needs the freedmen to retain power. He spent all last year lobbying Congress to return Georgia to military rule.”

  Yes, that’s why they were here now. Why he’d been given this mission. But God worked in mysterious ways, bringing Gillian into his life, making him forget about the past and start planning for the future.

  Alex pulled up in front of the whitewashed clapboard building with a sign hanging by chains announcing the Cozy Café.

  After they’d found a table and a dusky server had brought the coffee, Alex glanced around to make sure no one would hear. “How long do you think we’ll be down here this time?”

  “Who knows? We’re just pawns in their game. Do you know what’s going on in Atlanta?”

  Alex added cream and stirred his coffee. He didn’t even know what went on in Macon yet. “Major Turley thinks the ousted Democrats are gathering in Atlanta at the home of Amanda Brown to develop their strategy. Amanda Brown’s husband is a distant relative of Joe Brown, the Confederate governor. Her brother, Gilbert Carey, lives here in Macon and is one of the ousted Democrats.”

  Cal lifted his steaming cup. “Carey? The name’s familiar. Isn’t that the name of the little redhead you rescued in Savannah and gallantly left early to escort to Macon?” He lifted his brows and smiled.

  “That’s right.”

  “Well, this might be more interesting than I first thought.” Cal chuckled before putting the mug to his mouth.

  “Major Turley filled me in. He thinks Mr. Carey may be organizing a new vigilante group, but Carey doesn’t strike me as the type.”

  “Because of his lovely daughter?”

  “Because he was an abolitionist before the war. He’s a second generation Englishman and used white share-croppers instead of slaves like the English tenant/lord arrangement. While serving in the state senate, he tried to introduce plantation owners to new methods, not outlawing slavery, but showing them share-cropping was financially better. He was considered a moderate, even by Radical Republicans.”