The Railroad War (49 page)

“Anyhow,” Ash said graciously, “there were—and are—a goodly number of locomotives.” He caught Miranda’s eye. “You’ll be fascinated
at the story of how they got from there to here, Miranda. It’s an amazing tale, darling, every bit as fabulous and full of
adventure as an old epic.” He laughed, “Ulysses voyaging on great and powerful machines instead of sailing ships.”

“How right you are!” Will Hottel exclaimed. “Just so! It
was
an epic journey! What a splendid concept!”

“And my niece,” Ash sailed on smoothly, “had some previous acquaintance with your son.” He glanced again at John Ballard.

“So you said earlier,” John Ballard replied, beaming a radiantly golden smile in Miranda’s direction. “I’m positive he would
be most delighted to see you again,” he continued.

“And I would adore seeing Noah,” Miranda said sweetly.

“We’ll arrange such a meeting at the soonest possible moment,” Ash said, then turned to Will Hottel. “Meanwhile would you
be kind enough to regale Miranda with the odyssey of the locomotives?”

Miranda batted her eyes and smiled, then opened her mouth in the tiniest of yawns, a yawn that she instantly concealed with
her fingertips. “I’d just love to hear about all those great and powerful machines,” she said.

Inside she was churning. What has all this got to do with Sam Hawken? she asked herself.

Will Hottel launched with happy gusto into the tale of the travels of the locomotives. He, of course, had a great part in
the success of the adventure, and he did not minimize his role, but he didn’t fail to give John Ballard’s son credit for his
part, either. The whole operation would have fallen to pieces, Hottel maintained magnanimously, were it not for Noah Ballard’s
cleverness, bravery, and daring.

John Ballard took up the narrative at the point when the locomotives reached Mobile. He started by describing how the bay
ferries were reconstructed to accommodate the locomotives—which elicited more discreet yawns from Miranda.

But he suddenly managed to catch her attention—almost beyond her ability to hide it.

“Do you know what happened then, Miss Kemble?” he asked her, knowing that she didn’t.

“Why, no,” she said with a delicate quiver of lashes.

“All those big, beautiful locomotives just sitting there naked and defenseless turned out to be an irresistible temptation
to our Yankee friends. Those of us who’ve been engaged in this business didn’t expect it—and why we didn’t I’ll never figure
out—but the Yankees saw how valuable the engines will be to us, and they did what they could to keep us from enjoying them.”

“And what was that?” Miranda asked, afraid that she knew what his answer would be.

“They have a spy—or, I should say, had—” Miranda shot Ballard a look, but she didn’t say anything, so Ash’s barely lifted
restraining hand proved unnecessary. “A spy who was maybe just about their main spy. We’ve had experience of him even here
in Atlanta—bad experience.”

“Oh,
my!”
Miranda said, managing to make her reaction sound like wonder at the effrontery of a spy who’d even attempt to insinuate
himself into the heart and hub of the South.

“They sent him down to Mobile, and his mission was to do what he could to stop or destroy the locomotives.

“But we caught him. Or rather, my son did.”

“Oh,
good!
Miranda exclaimed, clapping her hands. “How splendid!”

“Isn’t it?” Ash said with raised brows.

“What’s this man’s name?” Miranda asked, as casually as she could.

“Sam Hawken,” Ballard said. “He’s a turncoat Texan who went with the Union. A profoundly evil man.”

“Sam Hawken?” Miranda blurted, as though she were amazed to hear that name. She turned to her uncle, reaching out for his
hand. “Uncle Ash,” she said, wide-eyed, “I think I’ve met this man Hawken. And you met him, too, if my recollection serves.
Do you remember years ago at the Military Academy?”

“I remember some such name,” Ash allowed.

“He graduated with Noah and Lam,” Miranda continued, “didn’t he?”

“I believe he did.”

“Imagine
that!
she breathed. “That nice boy that I met up there…turning into such a
monster!”

“There’s no explaining the human heart,” John Ballard said.

“No, there isn’t,” Ash agreed.

“So tell me,” Miranda continued breathlessly, “where is this man now?” She opened her mouth, then shut it. “They haven’t shot
him yet, have they?”

“Oh, no. Not yet,” Will Hottel said. “But shoot him they will.” He smiled benignly, then added, “After a fair and proper trial.”

“Where is he?” she insisted.

“Why, he’s right here in Atlanta,” John Ballard said.

Miranda took a long, deep breath. “In
Atlanta!”
she said. “Oh,
my!”

“It’s the proper place for his trial,” Ballard said.

“Was he the one who burned down the arsenal?” Ash asked.

“That’s the one,” Ballard agreed. “Killed two soldiers in there, too. Shot them both in the head in cold blood.”

“Amazing!” Miranda said. “Will they try him soon?”

“As soon as my son’s well enough to testify against him.”

“Oh.” Miranda asked. “What happened to your son?”

“His leg was broken in four places by one of the locomotives. It was during a storm on Mobile Bay. An amazing thing, in fact.”

“How so?”

“Noah was taking Hawken and two locomotives across the bay. From there they’d go on to here, but a big, late season storm
blew up, and the ferry started to sink. During all the confusion despite his wounds, my son saved this man Hawken’s life.
Carried him to shore.”

“Kind of a surprising thing for a man with four breaks in his leg to do, don’t you think?” Ash observed drolly. “Especially
for a man who’s such a reprobate.” Neither Hottel nor Ballard paid notice to the drollery.

“Noah is a man with strong attachments to his obligations,” John Ballard said. “He has the soul of a crusader. He felt it
was his holy mission to return the man for trial.”

Miranda gave Ash a questioning look, but his only reply was a small negative shake of his head: keep quiet.

“I guess you’re right that there’s no explaining the human heart,” Ash said.

“Now I remember how I met him,” Miranda said, as though summoning up with great difficulty a distant fact out of the depths
of her memory. “The three of them were friends at the Military Academy—my brother Lam, and Noah and Hawken.”

“Well, they sure aren’t now,” Ballard said with a dismissive shrug. “At least not Hawken and my son. Noah
does
say good things about your brother. Lam actually helped Noah in Mississippi with those locomotives; he gave him some cavalry
support.”

Miranda nodded. “I didn’t know that,” she said.

“But Noah just can’t forgive Sam Hawken for what he has done to our nation. Taking arms against your own land and people is
bad enough, but spying against them is indefensible and unforgivable. And, like I said, Noah has the soul of a crusader.”

“An admirable quality,” Ash said quietly, after which he turned to Miranda. She saw a new light in his eyes. He was on to
something he hadn’t been before, and that gave her sudden—though still faint—hope.

She saw warning there, too. Let me keep doing the talking, he was telling her.

Ash turned then to Noah’s father. “Say,” he said, as though struck by a sudden, vagrant thought, “where is your son these
days? In one of the hospitals?”

“Oh, no,” John Ballard said. “Not on your life. He’s at home now. I’d never have him condemned to one of those charnal houses.”

“Smart man,” Ash said, nodding his agreement. “And he’s doing well there?”

“As well as you can expect for someone who’s fractured his leg in four places.”

“What I was thinking,” Ash said with a sage inclination of his head, “is that he might do better with more company.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, you see,” Ash said, “Your son’s friend Lam—my nephew—was hit at Chickamauga, and we have a big house here that we’re
using and two perfectly lovely and competent nurses who could use more work.” He leaned toward Miranda. “My niece and her
sister, Ariel, would adore taking care of another handsome and unmarried young man, especially one who doesn’t suffer the
stigma of being their brother.”

John Ballard tipped his head back and laughed hard. “That’s quite a fascinating idea,” he said, obviously liking what he was
hearing. He gave a concerned toss of his head. “Poor Noah has fallen into a melancholy mood I’d very much like to see him
out of. All the inactivity of an invalid, I suppose, distresses him. Friends would do him good.”

“So then, let’s do it,” Ash said, beaming. “I’d be proud to have him in my house.”

“By all means. Consider it done. Noah would love the companionship, I’m certain of it.”

“Tomorrow?” Ash asked.

“Tomorrow,” John Ballard agreed. “We’ll ship him over in the morning.”

“We’ll pick him up,” Ash said. “Let us do that.”

“Fine,” John Ballard said, “if you insist.”

“Don’t you think,” Miranda asked, “that we ought to ask Noah first? Not,” she added, “that I don’t want him to stay with us.
I’d adore it. But…”

“You’re right, my dear,” Ash said, laughing. “Some of us have the bad habit of arranging people without consulting them.”

“I don’t think that’s a bad habit,” John Ballard said. “Not when we know what’s best for them.”

“Of course you’re right,” Ash said, laughing. Then to Miranda, “Come on, my dear, you and I will pay a visit to Major Ballard.
Let’s see if he’s up to a change of venue.” Then to Will Hottel, “It was a pleasure, Captain.” Ash rose and extended his hand.
Hottel rose and grasped it.

“The pleasure is mine,” Will Hottel said.

John Ballard was by then on his feet, too. “We’ll be seeing you again tomorrow, Mr. Kemble. It has also been
my
very great pleasure to meet you, and I hope to be seeing you at much greater length in the future.”

Ash smiled. “By the way,” he said, as an afterthought, “just out of curiosity, what’s going to become of all those locomotives
your son and the captain brought back here?”

“They’ll be used for the cause,” Ballard answered quickly. “Split up among various rail lines, where they can do the most
good.”

“I see,” Ash said.

“They’re much needed here,” Captain Hottel added. “We left a few back in Mississippi; it was only just. But the real need
in coming months is right here in Georgia. Mississippi…” He shrugged, holding his hands away from his body. “That state’s
lost to us.”

“Split up?” Ash asked, curious. “Does that mean that your line will receive some of them?”

“That’s right,” John Ballard said guilelessly. “I expect we’ll receive something in the neighborhood of eighteen or twenty
of them.”

“That should be a great relief,” Ash said.

“Oh, it is.”

Ash looked at Miranda, and she bowed slightly to each of the other men and extended her hand.

“It was so nice to see you,” she said.

Miranda was able to hold back her tears until she and Ashbel were seated in their carriage and he was driving them to the
Ballard house, which was a large double-brick home on the corner of Washington and Mitchell. But when her tears started, they
flowed like a river. She cried as she had never cried before; her crying was even more forlorn than it had been when her father
died.

“Your Sam is in deep trouble,” Ash said, acknowledging her distress. “That’s for sure.” With the arm that was not holding
the reins, he reached over and clasped her, drawing her closer to him. “I’m sorry, darling, though I know that’s no comfort.”

“It isn’t,” she agreed.

“But it’s all the comfort I have to give you,” he said.

“’I know,” she choked. “Thank you, Ash. You’ve been lovely.”

Then, releasing the reins for a moment, he took her face in his hands and brought her close to him. “There’s one other thing
I want you to know,” he said. She looked at him through tear-filmed eyes. “It’s important. Listen carefully.”

“All right,” she nodded.

“There’s not nearly enough for me to go on yet for you to get your hopes up, or to take any comfort.” She nodded. “But the
thing is, girl, I think there’s a chance to pull your Sam out of this.”

“What chance?” she whispered through clenched lips. Her tears, which had partially let up, started to flow copiously again.
“Tell me about it, Ash!” she demanded.

“I told you, it’s not a clear notion yet. I can just tell you that I’m thinking about it, and that my idea may develop. Take
it as a sign of my love for you, girl, and as a sign that I’m working for you. When I’m surer of myself, I’ll talk to you
about what’s on my mind.”

“You don’t need to hide things from me, Ash. I’m a grown woman.”

“It’s not you that worries me. It’s me. As I said, I’m not sure of myself. When I start getting sure of myself, then I’ll
tell you what I’m thinking.”

“All right,” she said doubtfully.

“When we get to Noah Ballard,” he added, “let me keep doing the talking. I want to stay off the issue of Sam Hawken for now.”

He released her face then, and she sank back into the seat, slumping abjectly, until the carriage reached the Ballard home.

A servant escorted Ash and Miranda Kemble upstairs to Noah Ballard’s room. They found Noah lying on his bed, his leg encased
in a heavy cast, his back supported by pillows. When they entered the room, they found him staring into half-darkness; there
was only one lamp lit, and it was turned down low. He did not look especially pleased to receive a visit by Lam Kemble’s sister
and uncle.

Before he had left the party at The Terraces, Ash had thought to pack up in a linen napkin a few inviting delicacies for Noah.
After he’d introduced himself and Miranda, he opened the napkin and spread the food out on it.

“I don’t know if you’ve seen anything so nice in a while, Major,” Ash said. “We’ve come from the party at The Terraces. 1
thought you might be hungry for food that doesn’t taste of sawdust.”

“Thank you,” Noah said without much interest.