Chapter 32 Part II

Palmetto Drills and Pinkerton Spies, Oh My

It dawned on Jude his rapid acceptance into the Palmettos seemed too good to be true, they’d turned down Matthew Swann who they’d known their entire lives yet accepted a perfect stranger into their ranks based on little more than an introduction letter from one of their sisters. He needed to be careful.

He turned to see James Gilmor giving him a studious look. “You practiced with Mr. Swann?”

“I believe I already explained our connection,” Jude said tersely.

“Indeed.” Gilmor’s head tilted as if he’d come to a realization. “Yes, indeed, Mr. Royer.”

Looking away uneasily, Jude eyed Otis closely again. What else did the little man know?

“You are a good shooter, Mr. Royer, eh?” Ferrandini winked. “Mr. Gilmor tell me so! The boys have appointed me the lieutenant of our troop, second only to Mr. Harwood himself, our glorious and honorable captain. I train in Italy and France and Mexico. And I tell all these men why I use Major Gilham’s manual. But first, we drill!”

To Jude’s relief, the initial hour of drilling was little more than marching in formation. He found it easy to follow, even if he struggled with the bizarreness that militia drilling was only teaching men to kill. Or to be killed. Under Ferrandini’s watchful eye there seemed to be no opportunity to ask around the men what’d happened to Matthew Swann from when he left the prison to the discovery of his body less a mile away from this field.

“You’re really good at drilling,” Otis said, coming up to him when the squad broke up to move on to target practice and Jude remained behind, squatting against a tree to get out of the wind for a minute.

“I walk a lot,” he said.

“It’ll be a pleasure to see you shoot, Mr. Royer. I’m told you grew up in the country. Country men are excellent shooters. It’s why we in the South make excellent soldiers. City men are soft.”

“Hmm,” Jude grimly said.

“You are coming with us to Mrs. Travers tonight?” Otis asked. “We always go there after drilling. They’ve got the sweetest girls. I’ll introduce you to mine,” he said generously.

“Annette Travers?”

“Finest hostess in Baltimore! Always keeps a private room for us gents and plenty of champagne on ice, too, Mr. Royer!”

His suspicions were getting more right. The colored woman must have cleaned for Annette Travers and overheard the Palmettos. He looked around; they were alone for the other Palmettos circled around Ferrandini and Philip Harwood. He tried not to look at Gilmor, then he remembered someone visited Matthew in prison. What had the guard said? That a fart catcher held the man’s beautiful horse?

Jude sharply turned to Otis. “I know the Palmettos must have collected Matthew from jail. His mother is wondering where he went in his last days and I promised to find out,” he lied.

“The Palmettos were protecting Matthew,” Otis slowly said, visibly uncomfortable.

“From what? The Congressional investigators?” Jude sized up Otis. The boy was an idiot. How far could he push Otis without scaring him? Or exposing himself? “What did Matthew have to hide?” He peered closely. “He was protecting the Palmettos, wasn’t he? But from what? Why wasn’t he allowed to testify, just like you?”