Archie swallowed, blinking. He flattened his hands on the desk. “You know how much I respect and admire you, Andrew, but Sevier does have more military experience. More reputation—for the military, that is.”
“He’s yesterday’s general, Archie. But this is today, and tomorrow is the problem. Let me sketch the situation.”
He laid out the French threat, the need to rally now and prepare, the frontline equation, the pressure to be ready to march, the flatboats needed to transport troops, the urgency of liaison with Kentucky and Ohio and with the national government … .
“Well …”
“Don’t forget, it’ll be the governor’s duty to call out the troops. Don’t you think I’ll be more help when you”—he saw Roane slump in his chair, face slack, and realized with a start that the man was a coward—“have to make that decision?”
“Oh, I don’t doubt you would be the better commander. I hoped you would win, but that’s the trouble—you didn’t.”
“But I didn’t lose—”
“Yes, that’s the problem, all right.”
“A problem for you to set right.”
Archie sighed. “Sevier is very strong. There would be a tremendous outcry, given his reputation is so high.”
“I don’t know about his reputation. He’s been involved in all manner of shady things.”
“Yes, but that was long ago. Everyone on the frontier was involved in—well, odd dealings. Hardly any law or rules, land titles a crazy jumble. You know that. Be fair, Andrew.”
So, yes, it had come down to this, here in a paneled office with a bossy woman’s portrait staring down accusingly, that he must plunge into the deepest water. He had a sense of the oddity—the irony—that you could decide the whole tenor of your future in an instant, with a phrase precipitate a battle that could have deadly consequences. Roane would make the move on his own if he had the balls of a rabbit, but he didn’t.
Jackson said, “There are serious questions about Governor Sevier’s reputation now.”
“Now?”
“Now.”
“Whatever do you mean, Andrew?”
Jackson saw the hunger in Roane’s face and wanted to
boot his ass. But it’s not unusual for contemptible men to hold the keys, and one must deal with the keyholder.
“You remember the giant land fraud I uncovered last year?” Using the powers of his court, Jackson had exposed a huge ring using forged titles ostensibly from old North Carolina land records to claim—and sell—land in the Tennessee wilderness.
“Remember that I named names, and one of ’em was Rachel’s brother? Near broke her heart, but I had to do it. But there was one name I didn’t release for the good of the state.”
“And that was …”
“Governor Sevier.”
“You’re telling me Sevier was party to that land fraud?”
“Yes. On the edges but definitely in.”
“You can prove this?”
“Of course.”
“I mean in writing, Goddamn it! Something that will hold up in court. Not some damned jackleg whose testimony will change in a flash.”
“I can prove it, Governor. In writing.”
Roane stared at him.
Jackson said, “When your two-year term is up, you’ll run again, won’t you?”
“Of course.”
“Well, Sevier is free to run for another three terms once he sits a term out. My understanding is he intends to do it. He’ll be a formidable opponent.”
Roane licked his lips. “You can prove it, you say? I call on you, you can come forward?”
“Yes.”
“In public, understand?”
“Yes. I can prove what I say.”
Roane smiled. He slumped in his chair, breathing a great sigh. “I agree with you, Andrew. Sevier, fine man though he is, isn’t right for the terrible threats now facing the state of Tennessee. We are thrust into the cockpit of international affairs. It is my judgment, sir, that you are better suited to the modern role of Tennessee commander.”
He came out of his chair in a bound and thrust out his hand. “May I be the first to congratulate you, Major General Jackson.”
Jackson took his hand. “Thank you, Governor.”
NEW ORLEANS, MID 1802
No sooner did Danny Mobry walk into Daniel Clark’s house on this last urgent errand than Zulie demanded, “Have you slept with Henri yet?” Then, laughing, “No, I see from your face you haven’t. Foolish girl!”
Oh, was that so! But maybe Zulie was right.
She was an extraordinarily handsome Frenchwoman well into her forties, the widow of a French cavalier. Madame Zulime des Granges was Uncle Daniel’s mistress. She was also well advanced in pregnancy, which seemed to improve her mood. She patted her bulging belly with satisfaction. Once Danny had asked why she didn’t marry Daniel, and she’d laughed. Her late husband’s family was content for her to sleep with him, which kept her out of trouble, and after all, a woman needs a man. At this Zulie had paused and added thoughtfully, “As do you, dear girl; it sticks out all over you.” But it seemed that if monarchy returned to France, her grown son would be a prince, and of course, a prince’s mother has obligations. “Meanwhile, Irish seed plowed into a French seedbed—its ecumenical, international, and highly satisfactory.”
“But do you love Daniel?”
“Do I love him, does he love me? We make love, my dear. Isn’t that enough?”
“well …”
“Danny, of course I love him. But that doesn’t change the realities of our lives. You love Henri—don’t deny it—at least enough. But that doesn’t change your realities.”
She clucked her tongue. “And now you leave in a week.”
Three months had changed New Orleans, air soft and warm, explosions of flowers, the sultry weight of summer blessedly holding off. Danny had moved to a comfortable pension on rue de Chartres and sent Captain Mac north in the
Cumberland Queen
heavy laden with sugar for the Boston distiller; he had just returned with hardware to Daniel Clark’s order, word that her other ships were en route, and a letter.
She’d been busy touring plantations with Henri, assuring herself of the quality of the sugar she would be purchasing. He would serve as her agent when she was gone. Day by day, in his carriage drawn by a handsome pair of matched bays, they rolled down level dirt roads between fields of green shoots. At each plantation they went into the sugarhouse to see the big vats for cooking cane juice down to raw sugar, hogsheads in which sugar the color of a fawn’s coat was packed, carts with wheels higher than her head, and arched frame centers that could lift the massive casks and, creaking and swaying, tote them down to a river wharf where her vessels could tie up and winch them aboard.
Henri drove well, his strong hands as delicate on the reins as a pianist’s fingers. At noon he would produce lunch and a bottle of wine from a wicker basket. Often they would stop by the vast rolling river, boiling water that had scoured the continent coming now the color of mud and laden with the debris of a million square miles. Looking at that water you had to recognize that who controlled this river’s mouth controlled the continent. Whole trees spun slowly in the current, sometimes pegging into the bottom and then rising into the air like ponderous ghosts, to fall back with a splash and vanish around a bend en route to the sea. After the meal they sat quietly, watching brown pelicans scooping fish from the river
and screaming at the gulls that drifted in from saltwater. If such sweet days could go on forever—but then she would remember Carl and the ships and a waiting distiller … .
Well, perhaps she was falling in love, but what did that mean? Henri wanted a wife, here, a mother for his children; Danny lived in Washington. More important, the law was such that if she married, her husband would take legal control of the business Carl had built, and she would never tolerate that She reminded herself that she was vulnerable, far from home and lonely, but there was more to it than that. Pulling herself out of grief to seize control of her business had somehow restored her to life and vitality, and with life came all its thrusts and urges. There would never be another Carl, but he had died and she was alive and must go on.
Zulie said she needed a man. Was that all there was to it? She refused the thought, but God, Henri
was
attractive. Sometimes, lying on a blanket with a straw hat over her face after a lunch, she would study him from under the hat brim, intensely aware of a force and power vibrating in him. She hadn’t forgotten that first night when Clark had told her the French were coming and she’d seen both men enjoying her dismay. She knew them well now; she always would be cautious with Clark, but her trust in Henri had grown, at least as much as she was willing to trust anyone.
Now, impulsively, she hugged the bulbous Madame Zulime des Granges and kissed her cheek. “You’re a sweetheart,” she murmured, and then, straightening herself, squaring her shoulders, marched into her uncle’s study and closed the door. She placed a large envelope squarely on his desk. It was addressed to her and the red wax seals were broken. She tapped it with a fingernail. “Read this, Uncle,” she said.
The door opened. “So serious!” Zulie cried. “But I will help you keep him in line.”
“Now, Zulie,” Clark said.
She settled herself determinedly, peered over his desk and said, “A letter! To Danny, eh, but intended for you. Do open it, my dear.”
The letter was from Dolley Madison, entrusted by hand to
Captain Mac, to be handed to no one but Danny. She had studied it for hours, pacing the quarterdeck of the
Queen
while chanting hands turned the winches that hoisted cargo from her hold.
She watched Clark draw out the two sheets, one a letter to her, the other a commission naming Clark U.S. consul in New Orleans. He tossed the commission aside, glanced at the letter, looked up at her.
“They want me to go to America on your ship?” he asked incredulously. “Impossible—ridiculous!” He flicked the commission to the floor. It was no surprise. He’d been told of it the year before. But it meant nothing, he said. The French were taking command, and Louisiana’s future would rest with them. An American connection would be an embarrassment.
“Uncle,” Danny said, “are you willfully obtuse? Or just naive?” She watched anger flash across his face. “Can you be so unattuned to nuance?”
“‘Unattuned’! I’m attuned to the fact that you’re a damned impertinent young woman!”
“Perhaps, but listen to me. This is an informal letter from the wife of the secretary of state of the United States, and I promise you she has his full confidence, as Mr. Madison has Mr. Jefferson’s confidence. She says informally what he chooses not to say formally.”
“No, Danny,” he said, words clipped and hard, “it is you who misunderstand. Look at me. I’m an Irishman educated in Britain who lives in a French community that’s ruled by the Spanish. I have nothing to do with the United States.”
“Your loyalty, you’re saying, is to yourself?”
“Of course. Why not?”
“Have you met Monsieur LaFarge? Recently arrived?”
“I’ve met him. French, an envoy of some sort, I expect.”
“He arranged an introduction to me,” Danny said. “He seems to find me attractive.”
“Aha!” Zulie said.
And, Danny said, Monsieur LaFarge boasted a bit and revealed more, not an uncommon trait in men around a pretty
woman. She heard Zulie’s low chuckle at that. And it turned out that Monsieur LaFarge, in fact, was Colonel LaFarge of the French army, and he was surveying New Orleans as one huge military base, an army staging ground for the advance up the river. She laid out the facts with the cool efficiency of a business report in detail that her uncle could not doubt.
“My business will die,” she said. “that goes without saying. But yours will too. Think about that.”
He stared at her but didn’t answer. The silence stretched. She heard a dog barking somewhere in the distance.
At last she said, “Uncle, do you expect people at this level to spell out precise meanings in a letter that could fall into anyone’s hands? Really! Here, let me read it to you again.” She paced her voice, reading slowly.
Dearest friend, Jimmy joins me in hoping that all goes well for you. Captain Mac tells us of your sugar arrangements with your estimable uncle. As you by now know, great events are in the offing. Doubtless you are considering your own position in swirling and rapidly changing times. I think you can feel confident that the ground you tread is solid and that no untoward events beyond those in your own control will disturb your plans.
Enclosed please find Mr. Clark’s commission. Mr. Madison sends with it his congratulations and felicitations. Please ask Mr. Clark to accompany you when next you return to Washington; there is much to be discussed and it is of great importance. Do not fail in this mission, dear Danny.
Clark did not speak and Danny waited. The dog was still barking but with an aimless note now. Zulie chuckled and Danny saw sophisticated comprehension on her face. “Very interesting,” she said. “Daniel, darling, don’t be difficult. It’s not fair to your niece—nor wise. The letter tells you the Americans will not let the French take New Orleans and control the river. Otherwise, such a fine lady as Mrs. Madison
would never tell Danny her commitment to New Orleans sugar is safe.”
“Umph!” Clark said. “Perhaps. But I have no interest in going.”
“My dear, dear man,” Zulie said, “that you’ll be gone when our little newcomer arrives will break my heart. But consider, you man of no state. The first paragraph says that if the Americans will not let France control your future, then certainly they will control it. The second says the president of the United States wants to see you on a matter of high importance. Do you really imagine you have a choice?”
The silence stretched again. As if Danny weren’t in the room, Clark took Zulie’s hand. “Ah, Zulie,” he said so softly Danny almost missed it, “you are my woman.” Then, briskly, to Danny, “I can’t leave for two weeks.”
“I’ll wait, Uncle. Sail in two weeks.”
“Done,” he said, and stood, dismissing her.
Henri was waiting in the main salon. It was late now and the city was silent. He escorted her to her pension. They walked in silence, the air between them charged. At the pension door he took both her hands and held them, hard. She saw a nerve flutter in the corner of his eye. The tension became unbearable, and then she tore a hand free and with the other led him inside and up the stairs. She took the huge key from her reticule, unlocked the door, stepped inside, and turned. He didn’t move. Her lips parted and she nodded. He came in and closed the door, and she folded herself into his arms with the feeling that she was plunging off a cliff with no idea of what lay below.