Thieves Of Mercy

him.

They rode in silence back through the streets to Molly’s home, streets that were mostly deserted, and Wendy wondered if that was because the bulk of the people had already fled town, or if they had given up and gone to ground in their homes, waiting for the Yankees.

They arrived at last at the dark house they had left the day before. There was something anticlimactic to their return, Wendy thought, a step back after the extraordinary measures they had taken to leave that place. But it was only for a single night’s sleep, she knew, and indeed, the thought of a soft bed absolutely trumped any other consideration.

She climbed with difficulty down from the seat, and Molly after her, and she noticed that even her aunt was not moving as spryly as she had. Batchelor took their bags from among the galley stores and led the way through the white picket fence and up the flagstone path to the front door.

He stepped aside and Molly pulled a key from her reticule, unlocked the door, and swung it open. The moonlight and the illumination from distant gas lamps came in through the door and through the gauzy curtains and dimly lit the room in patches of dark blue and gray. Batchelor stepped in and Molly behind him and then Wendy. In the faint light she could see the shadowy shapes of chairs and love seat in their familiar places. She knew the room so well, dark or light.

Then something in the blackness shifted, something moved, something scraped on the floor. Wendy gasped, heard Molly shout, “Damn!” saw Lieutenant Batchelor take a step into the room. And then from the dark place, a pistol fired, a great flash of orange and yellow in a horizontal column, and Wendy saw Batchelor flung back, arms up, crashing to the floor, knocking Molly aside like a bowling pin.

She heard herself scream and she staggered back, hands on her mouth. The echo of the shot died away. And then, through the dullness and ringing in her ears, Wendy heard, clear as the gunshot, the sound of a pocket watch snapping open, snapping shut.

SEVENTEEN

I then dispatched [Jones] to Norfolk to confer with General Huger and Captain Lee. He found the navy yard in flames, and that all its officers had left by railroad… the enemy were within half a mile of the city…

FLAG OFFICER JOSIAH TATTNALL TO STEPHEN MALLORY

In the dark, Wendy saw Molly make her move for the door. Off balance, Molly lunged to her right, but stumbled over Batchelor’s body. She grabbed Wendy’s arm, hard, and pulled, trying to drag her along out the door.

“Stand still!” Newcomb’s voice was hoarse and shrill. The pistol fired again, the sharp crack of percussion cap, the explosive sound of the cartridge going off. The room was lit up in the lightning flash of orange and yellow and red. Something on the wall shattered. Mirror, Wendy thought, ridiculous to think of that, of all things.

“Don’t move, or God help me, Cathy, I’ll blow your brains out!” Molly froze and Wendy froze, and for a moment Wendy could

hear nothing but her own breath. Finally, Newcomb broke the silence. “Close the door and light a lamp. Now.”

“I can’t close the door,” Molly said. “This poor man you murdered is in the way.”

Wendy’s eyes were beginning to recover from the muzzle flash. She could see Newcomb now, the dark outline of his body, on the far side of the room, standing in shadow. She could see Molly, tense and tight-lipped beside her, could just make out the features of her face. She heard Newcomb sigh in exasperation.

“Drag him out of the way and close the door. And by God if one of you tries to run, I will kill the other.”

Molly nodded toward Wendy and they stooped down and each grabbed one of Batchelor’s legs and pulled him inside. Wendy thought perhaps the man was only wounded, hoped desperately that that was the case, but now she knew he was not. There was no response, no life at all in the body they were dragging.

Then Batchelor’s body gave a sigh, a gasp, as if it was struggling to draw breath, and Wendy screamed and dropped the leg. Newcomb screamed, “Don’t move!” and the pistol fired again, the muzzle flash lighting Newcomb’s startled face. The bullet whizzed by, thudded into the half-closed door. The gunsmoke tasted bitter in Wendy’s throat.

“Goddamn it, Roger, take your goddamned finger off the trigger!” Molly said.

Quiet again, in the wake of that order, and in a voice that sounded as if it was struggling for calm, Newcomb said, “Close the door and light a lamp.”

Molly stepped around the body and shut the door. It clicked with a finality like a tomb being sealed, and half of what light there was in the room was gone, and it was hard to see even the shapes of things. Wendy could hear Molly’s hand patting the side table, looking for the box of matches. She found them at last and with a scraping sound struck a light, and suddenly Molly’s face was illuminated, her lips taut, her eyebrows together-angry, frightened, her mind working, her mouth shut.

She lifted the chimney off the lamp on the table, lit the wick, and turned it up. Now the yellow light fell on the dark shapes and gave them color-the floral patterns in the upholstery, the stripes in the curtains, the intricate pattern of the oriental rug.

Wendy looked down at Batchelor. The bullet had hit him dead center in his chest. There was a bloom of dark red around the wound, soaked into the gray cloth of his frock coat. A puddle was forming beneath him, a swatch of red on the floor and carpet where they had dragged him. His eyes were open, his skin was white like candle wax. His expression was one of surprise. Wendy felt her gorge rise and she looked away, quickly.

Now they could see Newcomb as well, and he was not a lovely sight. He was wearing his uniform pants and a white shirt, splotched with great patches of perspiration and stained and smudged in various places. Over that was a civilian vest and on his head a slouch hat. His eyes seemed wider than Wendy remembered. He held his navy.36 at waist height, held it in his left hand. With his right he pulled his watch, snapped it open, looked at it, returned it to the pocket.

“Roger, this will not end well-” Molly began.

“Shut your mouth.”

“You are a dead man, Roger, either way. If the Confederates get you, they will hang you for a spy in your civilian clothes. If your people get you, they will hang you for a deserter.”

“Hah! Deserter! See here, you… I know who you are. I know! So we wait here, and when the Union takes Norfolk again, I present them with a Confederate spy and assassin.”

“Oh, come now-”

“Yes, damn you, assassin! Worming your way into the President’s confidence, getting close to him, so at a later date you can come back and kill him. Oh, don’t think I haven’t worked this all out! Hang for a deserter? No, I think not. Promotion would be more like.”

Molly shook her head, an expression that implied pity. “Roger, Roger… what are you going to say? You had me on board your boat, let me escape to the Norwegians, then deserted in order to capture me again? I think-”

“Enough!” Newcomb roared, so loudly that Wendy started. He raised the gun and, straight-armed, advanced on Molly until the wicked octagonal barrel was just inches from her face. “Enough of your lies! You have played me, lied to me, tricked me into falling in love with you, made me think you loved me… enough! I’ll turn you in and you will be tried and you will be hanged and may God damn me if I am not right in the front row to watch it.”

Molly stared at him, right over the black steel of the gun. She did not flinch. For a long moment they remained that way, eyes locked, pure loathing in the air between them.

Finally Molly sighed, turned, and stepped away, as if she were simply done with Roger Newcomb. “I am too tired for this nonsense, Roger. I am going to bed.”

“Wait,” Newcomb said, following her with the gun as she walked away. He paused, unsure what to say. It seemed to Wendy as if he wanted to object but could find no reason for it. “You stay here. You can sleep on the couch if you want, but you stay where I can see you.” He walked sideways toward the door, eyes on Molly, and picked up the reticule she had dropped in her surprise.