Sweetsmoke (35 page)

    "Oh,
go on, have a sit down, don't worry about Mule, he won't say nothing, will you,
Mule? Care for a beer?"

    No,
said Cassius. That would antagonize the German unnecessarily and he knew he
would need his wits later on.

    "Fair
enough. Just me, Mule. I take any and every opportunity to indulge."

    Mueller
tapped Logue a beer and brought it, foam still building as he set it down. The
head rose dense and creamy and finally boiled over the side, touching the table
as a golden puddle. Mueller gave Cassius a wintry look, and Cassius pretended
not to notice. It was done now, he had a new adversary with which to deal.

    "They
call this Teutonic swill a lager. I'm a porter man myself, but I'm damned if I
won't develop a taste for it, as my beer here is gratis."

    Cassius
nodded, but still kept an eye on Mueller walking to the far end of the bar.
Mueller's son, perhaps fifteen years old, blond and very pale, came in the far
door. Cassius did not remember the boy's name, but he remembered that the boy
was brain simple. He offered a large bowl to his father. A moment later, the
pleasant smell of fresh baked goods reached Cassius.

    "Mule
and me, we got an arrangement; I deliver certain items from the North for him
and he affords me a home away from home and a ready supply of piss juice."
Cassius decided that this was not Logue's first lager that morning, as he was
surprisingly talkative. "Mule doesn't get a lot of customers, so he
supports himself trading my wares. Anything you need, you'll do better here
than the dry goods."

    I
think you made him my enemy.

    "Mule?
Nah, he's all right."

    Cassius
said nothing and Logue looked up to see Mueller approaching a second time,
setting down a bowl deliberately in front of Logue. Logue pushed it toward
Cassius, and he saw what appeared to be thin sticks of bread. Mueller stared at
Cassius with grave malevolence.

    "Well.
I could be mistaken," said Logue.

    Cassius
kept his eyes on the objects in the bowl.

    "Pretzels,
try one. German food. Also got a thing called sauerkraut, damnedest food you
ever ate."

    Mueller
went off to the far end of the room, but Logue waved him all the way out.
Mueller looked at him coldly, but he took his son by the arm and they both
left. Logue did not care to be overheard. Cassius looked at the two Germans who
remained. He met Logue's eyes.

    "Forget
'em, those boys don't speak English. By the by, in a minute that clock is going
to announce the hour," said Logue.

    Cassius
looked at the clock and saw a small door come open, built in under the clock's
roof but above the clock face. He heard the wooden mechanism whir as a tiny
carved bird poked its head out.

    In
unison and without emotion the two Germans said, "Koo-koo, Koo-koo."
The bird pulled back into the clock and the door closed.

    "Cuckoo
clock," said Logue. "Had a little accident on the way over from the
old country. Everything works but the bellows, so the bird doesn't sing."

    It's
all carved? said Cassius.

    "German
farmers do 'em in the winter, or so they tell me. What else is there to do when
you're snowed in?"

    Every
moment brought some new thing, and Cassius understood he had entered another
world, so near to his home.

    "If
you're here, you got something for me," said Logue, and Cassius saw him
distracted and decided that his early morning drinking, his willingness to
talk, and his hearty warmth were disguising something that disturbed his mind.

    You
got some sort of trouble? said Cassius.

    "Me?
Hell no. Me?" He sipped his beer. "Naw, nothing important."

    Cassius
left Morningside's papers in the haversack and waited. Out of nowhere, and to
Cassius's surprise, Logue spoke up.

    "You
know anything about women, Cassius?"

    Cassius's
head came up straighter.

    "I'm
damned if I know what to do about this, me, a married man."

    Of
all things, here's something I didn't reckon, said Cassius, fighting back a
smile.

    "Just
got a letter from my wife, caught up to me, or I suppose I caught up to it
since no one knows where I am, and at first I was glad to have it, until I read
the damn thing."

    How
odd, thought Cassius. He is about to tell me about his wife.

    Sorry
to hear it, said Cassius solicitously. She got someone else?

    "Someone?
No, hell no! She doesn't want to end the marriage. God knows she couldn't
afford it. No, she's offering lessons on manners. In a letter. Napkins and soup
spoons and, and etiquette! Haven't seen her in eight months. Etiquette!"

    I
see, said Cassius.

    "No
sir, you do not. My wife is from one of those fancy waistcoat families up in
Massachusetts. First time I saw her, Jesus wept, what a pretty little thing,
like she stepped off a cameo, never imagined anything so dainty could walk and
talk. And I fell for her, damn fool, I did, I mean she was a great challenge
for a man like me. Acted unimpressed and above me, my own damn fault for taking
it like a red flag in front of a bull. What pride won't do to a man."

    But
then you caught her, said Cassius.

    "I
chased her, but I did not catch her, no sir." A fine and healthy
eructation gathered in Logue's belly, he fought it down, but it finally climbed
through his chest and up his neck and escaped loudly. Cassius thought he could
detect in the air a mist of lager.

    But
you said she was your wife, said Cassius.

    "I
got snared, Cassius. Snared. Walked right into it. A trap is what it was."

    Cassius
did not understand why Logue was telling him this. Unless it was similar to the
way planters spoke indiscreetly in front of their people.

    "I
had a reputation by then, honed it myself to scare folks, get their respect,
but I didn't think it could be used against me."

    You
named
yourself
The Angel Gabriel? said Cassius.

    "Very
nearly The Archangel, but then I thought that was a might ostentatious."

    Cassius
was amused to discover Logue's moniker was self-christened, but not surprised.
He was now convinced that Logue had also never killed a man.

    "That
delicate little thing knew that someone with my reputation would need to claim
such a prize, that was her trap, but she understood something else. She
understood that I was the prize because I have the gift; I know how to make
money off this good land. Her father came from old Europe and the old fool
squandered his inheritance in bad deals. Only thing left of the family fortune
was their manners. You are looking at the one and only breadwinner of my wife's
noble ancestral clan."

    That's
power, then.

    Logue
slammed his fist on the table. "Now you'd think so, would you not? But all
I get is disapproval. Money buys a seat at the table, and the right to follow
their rules. I try, though. I try to use all those good manners. And now,
refresher lessons in a letter."

    She
thought it easier to change you than learn how to make money, said Cassius.

    "That
precisely." Logue leaned in close and spoke conspiratorially. "You're
around them, Cassius, tell me what to do."

    Around
them
?

    "Planters,
rich folk. People with manners and culture, how do you deal with 'em, how do
you handle 'em?"

    Angel
Gabriel, said Cassius, hiding his smile.

    "Yes?"

    The
Angel Gabriel.

    Logue
sat back and cocked his head. "All right, I see where you're at. I got the
reputation, I got the money, why not just let her and her kind have it?"

    Why
don't you?

    "I
guess I love her."

    Ain't
that a funny thing.

    "Don't
know what to do about it."

    Maybe
that's all you can do. "What?"

    Love
her, said Cassius.

    Logue
sat up. He nodded and a light came into his eyes. "Show the woman that you
love her and then maybe you don't need to change and get all fussy and grow
manners. Love makes up for all that. I do believe she will like that. I knew
you were the man to talk to. You certain I can't get you that beer?"

    No
beer.

    Cassius
reached for Morningside's papers in the haversack. But as he was about to
reveal them, he said:

    Why
did Emoline lie about Hoke?

    "Emoline
lied about Hoke?"

    She
said Hoke came to her bed the first time when I learned that in fact she went
to him.

    Logue
smiled. "Emoline was smart. Hoke took special care of her after that,
which I think she counted on. Emoline knew, of all things, how to
survive."

    But
why lie to me about it? said Cassius.

    "Seems
obvious enough to me, Cassius. Vanity. She did what was necessary, but when she
got what she needed, she wanted to be seen as above it. She liked how you saw
her. It was how she wanted to see herself."

    Cassius
had not considered that as a possibility, but it made good sense to him and
after a moment's thought, he was relieved to have the secret explained.

    With
a smile, he laid Morningside's papers on the table. Logue looked them over,
then looked up at Cassius.

    "Where
did you get these?"

    You
know what they are?

    "Of
course I know what they are, they're from Morningside," said Logue.

    Cassius
nodded. Logue had pretended that the members of the spy ring were unknown to
one another, so everyone was protected, and yet the name Morningside was on the
tip of his tongue. Cassius appreciated the man more every time he saw him.
Logue looked at the documents closely.

    "This
tells us Lee's movements. Indirectly, but it gives us everything we want to
know, as it says where supplies are being directed. Good information. It would
have been a boon for the Union brass… three weeks ago. This is old
intelligence. When it's past its time, it's useless."

    Your
man died for it. He was far gone as it was.

    "You
continue to be the bearer of bad news."

    I saw
him. Starving and talking crazy.

    "Tell
me he died of starvation."

    No,
Whitacre's ambush. Shot dead.

    "Did
you lead Whitacre to him?"

    Whitacre
was there before me.

    "Then
I have less time than I thought. I will endeavor to skedaddle, although I can't
leave until tomorrow the earliest. I reckon that allows you to feel somewhat
more contented."

    Why
contented?

    "With
your murderer revealed."

    Not
Morningside, said Cassius, genuinely mystified.

    "Of
course not. Solomon Whitacre killed Emoline."

    Whitacre?

    "He's
on to us, removing us one by one. I won't underestimate him again. He'll come
next for me."

    Cassius
felt a chill crawl under the crust of his back. It all came clear to him. He
thought back and in his mind the pieces fit together. Whitacre. Of course. It
made perfect sense. Maryanne had said that she and Whitacre were in town the
week, no, the very day Emoline was murdered. He had only considered Maryanne as
a possible culprit. Strange that Whitacre had not entered his consciousness.
But there it was. Whitacre had been ordered to expose the spy ring.

    While
Cassius did not experience emotional satisfaction in the knowledge of
Whitacre's culpability, rationally he knew it was right. It seemed that
Whitacre had not bothered to give the order, but had carried out her death
himself. It fell in with what Cassius knew of Whitacre's nature, a man of
bluster committing a cowardly act, attacking a female spy from behind. Cassius
pictured him bragging to his men that he alone had destroyed the key to the spy
ring. Cassius looked at his hands with grief. He had been close to Emoline's
killer and had not realized it.