The Railroad War (53 page)

“And me?” Noah asked.

“You write a deposition in which you state the truth about Sam’s saving your life, together with a few other mitigating circumstances
in Sam’s favor that you and we can probably come up with. Such a deposition, coming from you, ought to give us our two weeks.”

“Why does it have to come from me?” Noah asked.

“You’re the chief witness against Sam, aren’t you? Don’t you think the people who are about to stand in judgment of him will
listen to you?”

“The case doesn’t depend on me,” Noah said. “There’s already plenty of evidence to justify executing him.”

“The case doesn’t depend on you, that’s right,” Lam said firmly. “But the delay does.” He lifted himself up as much as his
wounds would allow, and leaned toward Noah, bringing himself as close to his friend as he could. “Well, Noah?”

Noah closed his eyes and then covered them with his palms. He remained that way for several minutes.

“Yes,” he said finally, his voice a whisper. “I’ll do it tomorrow.”

Lam sank back into his cushions. “Good man!” he managed to say.

“Oh, Noah!” Miranda said, as tears formed in her eyes.

A moment later she realized that someone was standing beside her, and an arm had grasped her about the shoulders. She looked,
and it was Ariel.

“I’m glad for you,” Ariel said.

“I’m sorry Lam and I kept you in the dark,” Miranda said, “about all this. But we thought that you…because of Ben…” She stopped,
her words failing her.

“I understand,” Ariel said. “Don’t worry.”

There was a silence, and then Noah said, “I’m glad you told me this, Lam. In fact, it’s because of all of you, I think, that
I’m going to do this thing for Sam. If it were just Sam and not you, I don’t think I’d do it.”

Later that evening Uncle Ash met with Lam, Miranda, and Ariel. They told him how the meeting with Noah had gone, and he told
them he was as satisfied with the outcome as they were.

“You’ve all done wonderfully,” he said. “But that comes as no surprise,” he added generously.

“Thank you, Uncle,” Lam said.

“Now I want all of you out of here,” Ash continued, astonishing them.

“Out of Atlanta?” Miranda cried.

“That’s right,” Ash said firmly. “Tomorrow. It’s important. I want you all in Raven’s Wing. Even your friend Noah. And your
mother, of course.”

“But…” Lam said.

“I have to stay with Sam!” Miranda cried.

“No, you don’t,” Ash said. “We’ll take care of Sam, don’t you worry. But all the Kembles, meanwhile, have to be out of town,
off of people’s minds. I don’t want tongues wagging.

“You can travel, can’t you, Lam? You’re well enough for that,” Ash questioned.

“I can travel,’ Lam allowed.

“Then that’s it.”

And so it was. They all boarded carriages as soon as Ash had read and approved Noah’s deposition on Sam’s behalf.

By the time the little caravan reached Raven’s Wing, even Fanny Shaw had been fully brought into the secrets that had made
the move necessary.

She had by then pretty much sniffed out the nature of the mystery; yet when it was at last revealed to her, she hit the roof.
She was, in her words, “terribly hurt and miffed that not one of my children trusts me.” With her actress’s sense of timing,
she knew enough to keep her anger to herself until the proper moment to indulge it.

When the moment came, her fury was withering.

The children of the great actress, however, did not seem to be as devastated by her rage as she intended. She found it hard
to believe that they knew her too well to be affected by the demonstrations of her greatness.

The two weeks of anxious waiting passed, and still there was no word from Ash about the disposition of Sam Hawken.

Fanny Shaw turned out to be a great comfort and solace to Miranda during those two terrible weeks. She did not give her daughter
a performance, but her own genuine caring and concerned heart; Miranda saw that and appreciated it.

Miranda also kept herself going with the help of the nearly boundless support her brother and sister gave her, and with the
help of Noah Ballard. The communion the four of them had joined in during that misty, rainy night two weeks before on the
gallery grew more solid at Raven’s Wing.

But the communion didn’t start then, Miranda realized; it started years earlier at West Point, New York, on a June day during
graduation time. On that June day she had glimpsed bright, radiant possibilities for that glowing company.

The war had seemed to crush all chance that those possibilities could be fulfilled.

But now…well, who could know? Here four of them were together, wounded, stripped of their sails, but afloat. And somehow they’d
managed to reunite themselves into something resembling the company that had shined so irresistibly seven years before.

But the fifth…?

The first hint that a resolution to Miranda’s anxieties was nearing came from a totally unexpected source. On the morning
of Friday, the thirtieth of October, the Reverend Charles Todd Quintard arrived by horseback from Atlanta. The Reverend Quintard
was paunchy and florid faced, but he was tall enough to cut an impressive figure. And though he was an Episcopal priest, his
manner was austere and fearsome enough to frighten small children.

Robbie Edge, who was playing outside when Quintard arrived, was duly terrified when the reverend descended from his horse
and made as though to approach him. Robbie fled into the house screaming and calling his mother.

Robbie’s mother gathered him up and gave him comfort while Miranda Kemble walked out to see about the apparition that had
so filled her nephew with dread.

She was acquainted with Reverend Quintard, but only in a passing way. She had not felt eager to prolong her previous meetings
with him. As it happened, though, he turned out to be more uncomfortable introducing himself than she was in receiving him.

“I’ve come here to Raven’s Wing at the urgent request of your uncle Ashbel Kemble,” he told her, implying that he would not
have traveled to Raven’s Wing on his own account. “He believes that you will have need of a clergyman out here very shortly,
and he felt that I’d be the best man to perform the necessary services under the circumstances. He’s a most persuasive man,
your uncle. I saddled my horse the instant he asked me to ride out.”

“Services?” Miranda managed. “What kind of services?” The services that flashed into her mind were the services for the dead.

Reverend Quintard was disinclined to explain himself further.

“Your uncle wrote a message for you, Miss Kemble,” Quintard said, plucking a sealed envelope out of an inside pocket of his
long, black frock coat. He handed the envelope to her, and she tore it open.

The note read:

My Dearest Miranda,

Please be so kind as to take in this gentleman for a while—it may be only a few hours, or as long as a day—until I can come
to see you myself.

He’s a good man underneath his dark, gaunt, lonely exterior and his sometimes rabid enthusiasms. Be kind to him.

I’m sure your kindness will be repaid. You’re going to need this man very soon.

As ever, your loving Uncle,

Ashbel

The note from Ash did nothing to calm Miranda’s fears. But she did as she was told. After she read the note, she led Reverend
Quintard into the house, gave him a meal, and showed him to a spare room. During all this, he was silent about the nature
of his visit.

Two hours later Sergeant James Sutton made his appearance—another complete surprise to those residing at Raven’s Wing.

Sutton also arrived on horseback, and Robbie was again playing outdoors. To Robbie this visitor was as much a stranger as
the reverend had been, but this man failed to frighten him—though Sergeant Sutton was much more grizzled, scruffy, and raffish
looking than the well-tailored, well-barbered, and well-shaved minister of God. Robbie led him graciously by the hand to Miranda
and introduced him to her.

Miranda had by then heard something of Jimmy Sutton from Noah, but she had never met him. He, too, handed her a message from
Ash. It came without an envelope this time, and it was even shorter than the minister’s:

Miranda—

You’re going to have to put Jim Sutton up, too. You’ll like him. And besides, he’s a hero.

Ash

“I don’t know why I’m here, either,” Sutton said to her after she’d had a chance to glance at the note. “Ash Kemble sent me
a message to come here, and here I am.” He produced another piece of paper and showed it to her. “I’m even legal,” he said.
The paper was a three-day leave, and it was granted by Colonel Marcus Wright.

“Well, you’re most welcome here,” she said.

But beneath her gracious behavior she was upset and baffled. Why Sutton? she kept asking herself. And why the Reverend Charles
Todd Quintard? Why here?

No other sudden and unexpected arrival rode in to Raven’s Wing that day. Sutton proved to be a hit with all the residents
of the plantation. Quintard kept to himself. He was hostile and resentful but polite.

Miranda went to bed early that night, but her sleep was fitful and troubled.

She woke once, hearing what might have been hoofbeats. She listened intently. The sound was gone.

She then tried unsuccessfully to untangle the hopelessly knotted bedclothes. After she gave up on that, she returned to her
fitful sleep, sprawled on her back with her arms flung over her head.

She was on her back that way when she felt Sam’s kiss on her mouth. It was full and deep and long. At first, of course, she
didn’t realize it was Sam kissing her—or even that she was being kissed. But she started to respond even before she was fully
awake.

And then she gave a full-throated cry, “Sam!” for she knew then that it was indeed he.

“Sam!” she cried again. Then she launched herself into his arms, pressing herself against him fiercely as in a physical attack.
It was an attack Sam was prepared to endure.

“Hi there, darlin’,” he spoke softly in her ear. “It looks like you’re glad to see me.”

“Glad!” was all she could say.

“It’s good to see you, too, darling,” he said. “Truly!”

“I thought I would never…”

“I thought you would never, either,” he said with a faint smile.

They continued that way, holding one another, telling each other the words of love and concern until another voice interrupted
them.

“All right,” Uncle Ash said; he’d been watching their reunion from the shadows. “Enough! Up, both of you. Out of bed, and
dress properly! We don’t have much time.”

“Uncle Ash,” Miranda managed. “I didn’t know you were here!”

“I’m sure you didn’t,” he said. “But quick! Up with you. There’s little time. You’re going to have to travel.”

“Wait, wait,” she said. “I’m not…” She fell silent, then slowly flailed about on the bed, searching for something. Somehow
she managed to lay her hands on her robe and slipped it over her gown.

“It’s all right, darling,” Sam whispered in her ear, at the same time gathering her again in his arms. “It’s all right, truly.”
Then he turned to Ash. “Explain to her.”

“We only have an hour or two,” Ash insisted, his voice full of urgency. “At most we have until dawn, and then we have to get
you moving.”

“What’s happening? What are you doing? Where am I going?” Miranda asked, still confused.

“It’s all right, darlin,” Sam said. “We’ll clear all this up in a minute.”

Ash lit a lamp, then pulled up a chair, took out a cigar, and lit it from the lamp. “You do it,” he said to Sam. “But hurry.
You’ve got three minutes. And then she has to get herself dressed and packed and into the parlor. They’ll be waiting for her.”

“Dressed? Packed? Parlor?” Miranda said, wide-eyed, swinging her startled gaze back and forth between Sam and Ash.

“All right,” Sam said, rubbing his head as though he wasn’t sure where to begin. But then she realized that wasn’t the real
reason he was doing it. His real reason was that he was nervous. She soon found out why. “You know, Miranda, I never thought
I’d say this to a woman in her own bed, but here goes.” He put his hands on her shoulders. “You know I love you, don’t you?”

“Of course I know that,” she said.

“I’d like you to marry me, too. Do you want that?”

“Of course I want to marry you,” she said. “I want that very much.” Her eyes misted over, and she might have trembled, but
his hands on her shoulders steadied her.

“Will you do it tonight, darlin’?”

“Tonight!”

“Right. We have to do it now or else we have to wait for the end of the war.”

“Tonight? How?” she asked.

“I commandeered the Reverend Quintard yesterday for that purpose,” Ash said, interrupting. “The Reverend Charles Todd Quintard
is the most ferociously ardent and single-minded advocate of slavery and secession you’re likely ever to run into in a reverend.
He was most unhappy at the prospect of officiating at the wedding of a soon-to-escape Yankee spy. But I still had a few chips
to cash in here in Atlanta, and I cashed them, and he agreed to do it. He’s a real reverend. He’ll do the job the way it should
be done.”

“And besides,” Sam muttered under his breath to Ash, “you thought it would serve him right to marry Miranda and me.”

“That thought did pass across my mind,” Ash admitted with a sly, wicked smile.

“What chips?” Miranda asked. “What did he know about a soon-to-escape spy? How did he know about that?”

“All in due time,” Ash said. “You’ll have it all explained. But not now.”

Sam took her hand in his. “You haven’t said yes yet,” he said.

“Yes,” she said.

“Then get dressed,” Ash ordered. “And get packed.”

“Wait,” she said.

“What now?” Ash asked impatiently.

“I still want to know what happened,” Miranda demanded. “You haven’t told me that. How did Sam escape?”

“You can learn all about that on the road,” Ash said. “Come on, girl, move!”

“Move? Where?” she cried, confused again. “What am I doing?”