Love and War

'Morning, Mr. Hazard. Here to take care of some departmental business?'

Say something. Cover yourself. He was positive his guilt showed. 'It's — actually, it's personal, Mr. Stanton.' The small but intimidating man who stood polishing his wire-frame glasses was, like Wade, an Ohioan; a Democrat who had long been one of the best and most expensive Washington lawyers, and, more recently, Buck Buchanan's attorney general. He was also Simon Cameron's personal attorney.

'So was mine,' Edwin Stanton said. His whiskers exuded a strong smell of citrus pomade. 'I apologize that my appointment ran over into yours. How is my client? Back from the West yet?'

'No, but I expect him soon.'

'When he returns, convey my regards and say I'm at his disposal to help draft his year-end report.' With that, Stanton vanished into the Capitol corridors, which still stank of greasy food cooked while volunteer troops were quartered in the building, sleeping in the Rotunda and lolling at congressional desks and conducting mock legislative sessions when the hall was empty.

'Go in, please,' Wade's administrative assistant prompted from his desk.

'What? Oh, yes — thanks.' Numb from the unexpected encounter with Stanton and mortally afraid of the encounter to come, he entered and shut the door. His palms felt as if they had been dipped in oil.

Ben Wade, once a prosecutor in northeastern Ohio, still had that air about him. He had come to Washington as a senator in 1851 and remained for a decade. During the crisis of Brown's raid, he had carried two horse pistols to the Senate floor to demonstrate his willingness to debate Mr. Brown's behavior in any manner his Southern colleagues chose.

Stumbling toward the senator's big walnut desk, Stanley was intimidated by the scornful droop of Wade's upper lip and the gleam of his small jet eyes. Wade was at least sixty but had a kind of tensed energy that suggested youth.

'Sit down, Mr. Hazard.'

'Yes, sir.'

'I recall we met at a reception for Mr. Cameron earlier this year. But I've seen you since. Bull Run, that was it. Paid two hundred dollars to rent a rig for the day. Disgraceful. What can I do for you?' He fired the words like bullets.

'Senator, it's difficult to begin —'

'Begin or leave, Mr. Hazard. I am a busy man.'

If Isabel was wrong —

Wade locked his hands together on the desk and glared. 'Mr. Hazard?'

Feeling like a suicide, Stanley plunged. 'Sir, I'm here because I share your desire for efficient prosecution of the war and appropriate punishment for the enemy.'

Wade unclasped his hands and laid them on the burnished wood. Strong hands; clean, hard. 'The only appropriate punishment will be ruthless and total. Continue.'

'I —' It was too late to retreat; the words tumbled forth. 'I don't believe the war's being managed properly, Senator. Not by the executive' — Wade's eyes warmed slightly there — 'or by my department.' The warmth was instantly masked. 'I can do nothing about the former —'

'Congress can and will. Go on.'

'I'd like to do whatever I can about the latter. There are' — his belly burning, he forced himself to meet Wade's black gaze —  'irregularities in procurement, which you surely must have heard about, and —'

'Just a moment. I thought you were one of the chosen.'

Baffled, Stanley shook his head. 'Sir? I don't —'

'One of the Pennsylvania bunch our mutual friend brought to Washington because they helped finance his campaigns. I was under the impression you were in that pack — you and your brother who works for Ripley.'

No wonder Wade was powerful and dangerous. He knew everything. 'I can't speak for my brother, Senator. And, yes, I did come here as a strong supporter of our, ah, mutual friend. But people change.' A feeble grin. 'The secretary was a Democrat once —'

'He is ruled by expediency, Mr. Hazard.' The pitiless mouth jerked — the Wade version of a smile. 'So are all of us in this trade. I was a Whig until I decided to become a Republican. It's beside the point. What are you offering? To sell him out?'

Stanley paled. 'Sir, that language is —'

'Blunt but correct. Am I right?' The frantic visitor looked away, his cheeks damp with cold sweat. 'Of course I am. Well, let's hear your proposition. Certain members of Congress might be interested. Two years ago, Simon and Zach Chandler and I were inseparable. We made a pact: an attack on one would be considered an attack on all, and we'd carry retaliation to the grave if necessary. But times and attitudes — and friends — do change, as you have sagaciously observed.'

Stanley licked his lips, wondering whether the unsmiling senator was mocking him.

Wade went on: 'The war effort is foundering. Everyone knows it. President Lincoln's dissatisfied with Simon. Everyone knows that, too. Should Lincoln fail to act in the matter, others will, much as they might regret it personally.' A brief pause. 'What could you offer to them, Mr. Hazard?'

'Information on contracts improperly let,' Stanley whispered. 'Names. Dates. Everything. Orally. I refuse to write a word. But I could be very helpful to, let's say, a congressional committee —'

A verbal sword slashed at him. 'What committee?'

'I — why, I don't know. Whichever has jurisdiction —'

Satisfied by the evasion, Wade relaxed slightly. 'And what would you ask in return for this assistance? A guarantee of immunity for yourself?' Stanley nodded.

Wade leaned back, brought his hands up beneath his nose, fingertips touching. The jet eyes bored in, pinning his caller, expressing contempt. Stanley knew he was finished. Cameron would hear of this the instant he returned. Goddamn his stupid wife for —

'I am interested. But you must convince me you're not offering counterfeit goods.' The prosecutor leaned toward the witness. 'Give me two examples. Be specific.'

Stanley burrowed in his pockets for notes Isabel had suggested he prepare to meet such an eventuality. He served Wade two small helpings from his tray of secrets, and when he finished, found the senator's manner distinctly more cordial. Wade asked him to speak to the assistant outside and arrange a meeting at a more secure location where Wade could receive the disclosures without fear of interruption or observation. Dazed, Stanley realized it was all over.

At the door, Wade shook his hand with vigor. 'I recall my wife mentioning a levee at your house soon. I look forward to it.'

Feeling like a battle-tested hero, Stanley lurched out. Bless Isabel. She had been right after all. There was a conspiracy to unseat the boss, either through congressional action or by presentation of damning information to the President. Was it possible that Stanton was in the scheme, too?

No matter. What counted was his deal with the old crook from Ohio. Like Daniel, he had walked among lions and survived. By midafternoon he was convinced it was all his doing, with Isabel's role incidental.

38

His name was Arthur Scipio Brown. He was twenty-seven, a man the color of amber, with broad shoulders, a waist tiny as a girl's, and hands so huge they suggested weapons. Yet he spoke softly, with the slight nasality of New England. He had been born in Roxbury, outside Boston, of a black mother whose white lover deserted her.

Early in his acquaintance with Constance Hazard, Brown said his mother had sworn not to surrender to the sadness caused by the man who had promised to love her always, then left, or by the way her color impeded her even in liberal Boston. She had spent her mind and her energy — her entire life, he said — serving her race. She had taught the children of free black men and women in a shack school six days a week and given different lessons to pupils in a Negro congregation every Sunday. She had died a year ago, cancer-ridden but holding her boy's hand,