Dearest Enemy

“He had to go, Miz Suzanna. He's needed at the hospital to tend Union wounded coming in from Manassas.”

For a long moment, Suzanna said nothing more. She just stood there staring at her grieving mother and the teary-eyed servant. When she did speak, it was in level, well-modulated tones. “Durwood, are you absolutely certain that Dr. Ledet said…” She drew a shallow breath. “Both of them? Matt and Ty both…killed in battle? They're gone? They are never coming home?”

“Yes'em, he was sure,” the old man said. “If it be any help, the doctor said this first land battle of the war was a clear victory for the Confederacy.”

Suzanna nodded feebly. She closed her eyes, opened them. She dutifully stepped forward and put an arm around her mother's trembling shoulders.

Suzanna drew a spine-stiffening breath and said softly, “Yes, Durwood, it does help. It helps a great deal. I am certain that Ty and Matt were heroic and that we can all be very proud of them both. Thank you so much. You may go.”

“Anything I can do, I will, Miz Suzanna.”

“I'll call if we need you.”

The old man nodded and, blinking back tears, crossed the veranda and moved gingerly down the steps. He slowly circled the mansion and went to his quarters in the carriage house.

Suzanna heard a roaring in her ears. She felt faint and sick. She longed to scream in pain, but she didn't. She had to be strong for her helpless mother. She held the weeping Emile in her arms and comforted her, soothing her as if she were a fretful child.

When, finally, Emile was so exhausted she stopped sobbing and had calmed a little, Suzanna took her inside. She put her mother to bed and gave her a small amount of the laudanum that Dr. Ledet had supplied. She sat with her mother until Emile fell into a welcome slumber.

It was nearing sunset when Suzanna tiptoed out of the room and quietly closed the door. She walked down the grand staircase as if in a trance. In the foyer she paused and wondered, Should I turn and go into the library? Or should I make my way to the kitchen and see about the evening meal? Or perhaps go up to my room and write a note of sympathy to Ty's parents?

What exactly did a person do when she'd just received word that the two men she loved most in all the world were dead? When she'd been told that she no longer has the protective big brother who had been with her all of her life. That she would never be the bride of the handsome young man who'd promised to take her to Paris and to cherish her forever?

For a long, tortured moment, Suzanna stood there unmoving in the silent foyer, wondering how she could possibly endure this double tragedy. How she could go on when all was forever lost.

She couldn't.

It was too much.

She couldn't stand it.

At last, that much-needed release swamped her.

Suzanna put her hand over her mouth to stifle the wrenching sobs that were tearing at her tight throat. She flew out of the house, across the veranda and down the front steps. She raced around the mansion and out into the back gardens. She ran until her legs finally grew too weak to carry her, and her heart was burning in her chest, her hot face wet with rapidly flowing tears.

She had reached the riverbank when her knees buckled. She fell forward, sprawling on her belly, her hooped skirts belling up behind her. She didn't rise. She screamed and cried and beat on the ground with her fists, overcome with grief and pain. She cried until there were no tears left and her eyes were swollen half-shut. Until her head throbbed painfully and her fists were bloody from striking the ground.

Then she fell silent.

And still.

Completely still.

She stayed there until the summer sun had completely gone down and a pale silver moon had lifted above the treetops and was inching up into the night sky.

With great effort, Suzanna turned over onto her back. She lay there for some time, then finally sat up. She wearily rose to her feet and walked toward the house.

And as she climbed the back steps, she squared her tired shoulders, lifted her chin and silently promised her sweetheart and her brother that she would avenge their deaths.

She would not rest until she had caused Yankee blood to spill. Somehow, some way, she would make the hated Union pay for what they had done. She didn't care who she had to hurt. She didn't care what she would be required to do to exact reprisal. Nothing could be too dishonorable or too distasteful if it meant the certain defeat and death of at least one hated Yankee bastard!

Eight

Suzanna understood her mother's suffering. She shared that pain, but dealt with her own loss in a very different way. While Emile languished in her room, often too distraught to even come downstairs, Suzanna paced the drawing room restlessly, scheming, plotting, considering how she could best help the Confederacy.

Impatient to begin an endeavor wherein she could be of genuine value to the Cause, Suzanna realized she had to bide her time until her mother grew a bit stronger. But she despaired of her mother ever growing stronger.

Suzanna was determined to help the war effort and, more importantly, to avenge the deaths of her beau and her brother. While she waited for her mother's health to improve, she considered and discarded idea after idea.

Then, one cold February morning in 1862, Dr. Milton Ledet, the family physician who had delivered both Matthew and her, unwittingly came up with the perfect strategy for Suzanna. One she hadn't seriously considered, but which was ingenious.

The caring physician had stopped by to check on Emile, as he did regularly. After spending a few minutes with his frail patient, listening to Emile's heart, checking her pulse and assuring her that by spring she'd be fit as a fiddle, he came back downstairs.

Suzanna was waiting in the foyer to question him about the progress of the war. At her insistence, he shared the latest news. News that was not favorable. He had, he told her, heard that the Federals had attacked the Confederate positions on Roanoke Island, off the coast of North Carolina.

“The Union Navy sent in such a large fleet they easily overwhelmed the Confederates. The ships unmercifully bombarded the Rebels dug in along the shore.” He shook his head sadly. “The Rebs couldn't hold their position against such a mighty force. Those that weren't killed had no choice but to surrender.”

Suzanna gritted her teeth and silently cursed the Union's powerful navy. In frustration she said, “When the war began, everyone—you included—said it would be over within weeks. It's coming up on a year and…” Her words trailed away. Then she asked point-blank, “Are they going to beat us, Doctor Ledet?”

“Us? My dear, I've warned you time and again about referring to the Confederacy as ‘us.' I'm constantly careful, and you must be as well. If you and Emile refuse to flee, then you must pretend alliance with the Union.”

“I know, I know,” she said, waving a hand dismissively. “Don't worry, I only confide in you.” She sighed wearily. “Everyone else on our side is gone.”

“Not quite everyone,” he said with a sly smile. “Last evening I was at the home of one of Washington's most noted hostesses, an old friend I've known for years.” He looked around as if someone might be listening, then lowered his voice to just above a whisper and confided, “Mattie Kirkendal frequently entertains Yankee officers in her palatial mansion.” He paused for effect. “I'll betray a confidence here, because you and your family go back a long way. Mattie Kirkendal strongly sympathizes with the Confederacy.” His light eyes twinkled.

Suzanna's eyes twinkled as well. “And hosting these parties for Yankee officers allows her to learn the enemy's pernicious secrets. Mattie Kirkendal is a spy for the Confederacy!”

“Shh. Now, Suzanna, don't you dare breathe a word of this to anyone.” He took hold of her elbow and guided her into the drawing room. Continuing to speak in low tones, he asked, “Have you ever heard of a lady named Rose O'Neal Greenhow?”

Suzanna shook her head.

“Mrs. Greenhow was also a prominent Washington hostess who sympathized with the South. It is said she was responsible for the Confederate victory at Manassas last summer. She managed to get an important ten-word message to General Beauregard that helped win the battle!”

Her blue eyes dancing with excitement, Suzanna said, “That's it!”

“That's what?” The doctor's brows knitted.

“Get me an invitation to one of Mattie Kirkendal's social gatherings. Can you do that?”

“I suppose I could, but…”

“How old is this Mattie Kirkendal?”

The doctor shrugged. “Mmm, mid to late fifties. Why?”

Suzanna's smile was cold, calculating. “If a middle-aged woman can pry secrets out of the enemy, think what I might be able to glean.”

The doctor was already shaking his head worriedly. “No! Absolutely not! I have made a dire mistake in discussing this with you. I shouldn't have told you about Mrs. Kirkendal or Rose Greenhow. Did I fail to mention that Mrs. Greenhow is now in prison? You don't understand, child. Spying against the Union is punishable by death!”