Dearest Enemy

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So Suzanna kept the truth a secret. She mentioned casually that she had been invited to a social gathering at a Mrs. Mattie Kirkendal's and that she wanted to attend.

Emile agreed that it was a good idea. “Darling, you deserve an evening out occasionally. I hope you enjoy yourself.”

“I will, Mother,” Suzanna lied. “And you're not to worry.”

But when, just forty-eight hours later, Suzanna came into her mother's bedroom to say good-night before going out, Emile gazed at her strikingly beautiful daughter and became uneasy.

Buelah, Suzanna's stalwart maid and the only female servant still at Whitehall, was trailing after her charge, grumbling, “You got no business going out dressed like that, Miz Suzanna. This is not decadent Europe. It's Washington City and folk'll think you are a loose woman.”

Emile, in bed despite the early hour, tossed back the covers and rose to her feet with effort.

“Suzanna, perhaps Buelah is right, dear. Don't you have something else you could wear, something more appropriate?”

“I tried to talk her out of it, Miz Emile,” Buelah said, hands on her hips. “I did my best.”

“You may go now, Buelah,” said Suzanna. The servant turned and left, still muttering under her breath.

On this cold winter night, Suzanna was going to a glittering reception at Mattie Kirkendal's. It was the first of many such social gatherings she would be expected to attend, a gala where there would be a host of prominent guests and a number of Union officers. Officers who were sure to notice her. Suzanna had made certain of that.

She was dressed for the occasion in a gorgeous gown of shimmering yellow faille. One of the many ball gowns purchased before the war, it had a very tight bodice that accentuated Suzanna's small waist, and a décolletage cut so low it not only revealed her bare throat and shoulders, it exposed a generous expanse of her pale soft bosom.

Emile recognized the stunning ball gown as part of the expensive trousseau purchased for her daughter to wear on her Paris honeymoon. Neither it, nor any of the many traveling suits, ball gowns, bonnets and shoes and gloves, lacy lingerie or gossamer negligees had ever been worn. All had been stored away shortly after Ty and Matthew were killed.

“Suzanna, you're not really going to wear that to the reception, are you?”

“Yes, Mother, I am. Since I will never have a honeymoon, never go to Paris, I see no need to save it.”

Emile stepped close, brushed a flaming lock of hair off her daughter's bare shoulder, and said, “I know you feel that way now, dear, but in time you'll find someone else who—”

“I'm late, Mother. I really must go now.”

Ten

Suzanna had inherited uncommon strength, inflexible will and great charm from her father. She would need all three in the endeavor in which she was about to engage. She had volunteered for a thankless ongoing task that would be both distasteful and dangerous. But she never for a moment considered changing her mind and backing out.

This was war and she had enlisted.

Now, as the carriage rolled down Connecticut Avenue, then past the White House, Suzanna gazed out at the stately residence and thought of the sallow-faced president who lived there. Was Lincoln half as sorry as she that the nation was bitterly divided? Could he hear, from inside the White House, the low pounding of distant artillery and an occasional crackle of musket fire?

When the war broke out, Washington, D.C. had immediately turned into a training ground, arsenal and supply depot. In the well-fortified city, streets constantly reverberated under the wheels of heavy cannons. Sacks of flour, stacked against a siege, surrounded the U.S. Treasury, and the Union Army had built a ring of earthen fortifications around the city.

Sadness swamped Suzanna as she stared at the unfinished dome of the Capitol. She had passed this place so many times in all the different seasons. Now it was the center of the Northern Union! This was no longer her country, but the enemy's. Suzanna looked away, more resolved than ever to make the Yankees pay.

Soon the carriage turned into the circular drive of Mattie Kirkendal's palatial, well-lit residence. Suzanna had arrived fashionably late for Mattie's glittering reception. She had planned it that way. She wanted to attract as much attention as possible when she made her entrance.

She succeeded.

Once a servant had taken her wrap and directed her down the wide central corridor to the ballroom, Suzanna paused just outside the open double doors. Male voices, music, laughter and the clink of champagne glasses reached her. She swallowed anxiously, then nervously smoothed her yellow skirts and swept her loose red hair back off her shoulders. She took a deep breath that made her full breasts swell above the top of her low-cut bodice.

She almost weakened. She wanted to turn and run.

She closed her eyes and thought of Ty.

She opened her eyes and confidently stepped forward.

Utilizing the strongest ammunition in her arsenal—her youthful beauty and charm—Suzanna plunged headlong into battle, taking the ramparts, coolly sizing up the enemy. For a moment that seemed like an hour, she stood framed in the arched doorway, calmly awaiting her hostess.

Guests quickly caught sight of the flame-haired young woman in the shimmering yellow dress. Laughter lulled. Conversations stopped. Heads snapped around. Men stared. Women frowned.

Suzanna didn't flinch under the scrutiny. Beautifully gowned and groomed, she exhibited a cool facade of self-assurance, although inwardly she churned with anxiety and doubt. Could she really go through with this? Could she convince these Union officers that she found them charming and fun and romantic, when actually she despised them all?

“Ah, there you are now,” trilled Mattie Kirkendal, finally coming forward to greet Suzanna. Leaning close, the older woman said, “I did it on purpose, you know. Left you standing here alone. I wanted to give all the gentlemen ample opportunity to notice you.”

“And have they?” Suzanna asked.

Mattie's reply was the pursing of her lips and the twinkling of her eyes. “Now, come, I'll introduce you around.”

“I can hardly wait,” Suzanna said.

At once she was the center of attention. As she entered the brilliantly lit ballroom there were audible gasps at her youth and proud bearing, her shimmering yellow gown with its off-the-shoulder sleeves and low-cut bodice, her lustrous mass of flaming hair framing her fair, flawless face.

With the beaming Mattie at her side, Suzanna moved among the guests, nodding, smiling and offering her hand.

“And I've been waiting all evening for the opportunity to dance with you, Miss LeGrande,” said a pudgy, ruddy-cheeked, heavily bearded Union officer who was a good six inches shorter than the tall, willowy Suzanna.

The gala was finally beginning to wind down as the hour of midnight fast approached. Throughout the trying evening Suzanna had talked and laughed and danced with at least a dozen officers. She was tired and sleepy and could hardly wait to get home.

But no one would have guessed as much by watching her.

“Why, Captain Rood, I'm flattered,” she said now, and favored the short, rotund captain with a dazzling smile. “I kept hoping that you would ask me.” She lowered her lashes seductively.

“You did?” he said, his small, dark eyes widening with disbelief, his mouth stretching into a foolish grin.

“Why yes,” she lied. “Shall we?”

Captain Rood swallowed convulsively, took her hand and led her onto the floor. In his arms, Suzanna fought the revulsion she felt at having his bristly beard tickle her bare throat as he turned his face toward hers. That and the way he breathed, like a steam engine puffing to pull uphill. His hands were clammy and the brass buttons on his uniform blouse were pressing against her stomach. And, not surprisingly, he was a terrible dancer, totally without grace. He stepped on her toes at every turn.

But Suzanna endured the ordeal with aplomb and listened attentively as the Yankee captain, in an attempt to impress her, spoke freely of the Union's latest deployment of troops.

“Why, Captain, I'm afraid I've been a bit too sheltered. What exactly does ‘deployment' mean? And when and where will it happen?”

His wet, fleshy lips now grazing her throat, the captain cheerfully did his part to educate her. And to set her mind at ease. “You have no need to worry, my dear, we greatly outnumber the Rebs.”

“I'm relieved to hear that, Captain,” Suzanna said. “So, if there should ever be a battle in or around Washington proper, we townspeople wouldn't be in danger?”

Captain Rood laughed merrily. “Ah, how charmingly innocent you are, Miss LeGrande. The truth is, you couldn't be in a safer place than right here in this heavily fortified Union city.”

Suzanna nodded and bit the inside of her bottom lip. She could well remember the first days of the war, when Ty and Matthew had optimistically predicted that “we'll make Washington the new capital of the Confederacy.”

When at last the music mercifully ended, Suzanna gave no indication of her troubled thoughts. She was glowing, as she had been all evening, her enormous blue eyes flashing with gaiety and good health. The talkative captain was left with the impression that this beautiful young woman found him quite interesting.

That idea was solidified when a young major stepped forward to claim Suzanna for the next dance. Suzanna playfully winked at Captain Rood over her partner's shoulder. Then she quickly turned her full attention to the man in whose arms she now found herself.

Suzanna charmed everyone.

The enchanted officers laughed at her bold comments and saucy frankness. She could be wickedly funny and highly entertaining. She found it incredibly easy to dominate these would-be warriors and convince them to confide in her.

But it was tiring, and she was glad when the evening was finally over.

“What a fantastic performance!” praised Mattie Kirkendal when the last of the guests had gone and only she and Suzanna remained. “You were absolutely superb, my dear. Thank heavens you're on the right side of this!”

“But I learned nothing of value,” Suzanna said with a weary yawn.

“Don't be so impatient, Suzanna,” Mattie gently scolded. “Go on along home now and get some well-deserved rest. I'm planning a wine supper for Tuesday next. May I count on you to attend?”

“I'll be here.”

Eleven

Suzanna had declared a strong alliance with the Union, and no one doubted her sincerity. A small number of friends and acquaintances she'd known prior to the war had stayed on in Washington because their loyalties lay solidly with the North. They took it for granted that the same was true of her. There was no reason for them to suspect otherwise.

Suzanna easily insinuated herself into the social crowd of Washington. After attending only a couple of Mattie Kirkendal's soirees, she was added to the guest lists of other noted Washington hostesses. They jealously vied for her, insisting that she attend their gatherings. All agreed that Suzanna LeGrande was an asset with her beauty, charm and wit. Her mere presence ensured a lively party, with the gentlemen officers being entertained and thoroughly enjoying themselves.

Suzanna played her part well. But it was not easy. Many times it was extremely difficult to act as though she were delighted with news of the war's progress. Such as on the hot, hot summer evening of July 4,1862.

Suzanna was at a crowded soiree when a beaming Union officer strode into the great hall, leaped up onto the orchestra platform and raised his hands for silence.

Then he eagerly shared this message. “Good news, my friends! The Confederate general Robert E. Lee has suffered a terrible defeat at Malvern Hill!”

Suzanna was heartsick on hearing of Colonel Lee's defeat at the hands of the Union's Major General George McClellan. But she concealed her anguish. All around her whistles and shouts rang out from the joyous crowd, and many of the guests happily embraced. When the orchestra again struck a chord, the smiling Yankee captain who'd delivered the message stepped down off the platform and came straight toward Suzanna.

She found herself swept up into his arms as he stated with a pleased grin, “McClellan's a military genius, no doubt about it.”

“Indeed,” she managed to reply, smiling up at him. “Did General McClellan thoroughly trounce Lee then?”

“Handed traitor Lee a crushing defeat! The Johnny Rebs suffered more than five thousand casualties without gaining a single inch of ground!”

“Ah, that is wonderful! A stunning victory for us,” she stated, hoping she sounded genuinely joyful.

“Yes, yes it was, miss.”

“After the victory, did…?”

“McClellan wisely retreated to the James River. He's encamped at Harrison's Landing.”

“Oh? Is it safe for his men there?”

“Couldn't be safer. They're under the protection of the big guns on all those navy warships anchored there.”

“Thank goodness.”

Throughout the summer and fall of 1862 and on into the New Year, Suzanna attended a neverending round of receptions and parties and balls, where she met and charmed her share of Union officers and sympathizers. She flirted and teased and promised more than she ever aimed to deliver. And she gleaned as much information as possible from the captivated officers.

Suzanna pretended nonchalance and lack of interest when the conversation was of the war. But she hung on every word spoken regarding the conflict's progress, troop movements and coming battles. She memorized each place name, each mention of a direction or objective. She carefully committed to memory the names of men she'd not yet met, but whose daring deeds peppered the conversations of the officers with whom she danced. Such names as the well-regarded Captain Dan Stuart. Brigadier General Samson Weeks. Major General Skillman Bond.

And Rear Admiral Mitchell B. Longley.

The admiral's name kept coming up in conversation, the officers eagerly exchanging stories of Longley's heroic exploits. Suzanna learned that Rear Admiral Mitchell Longley was highly respected for his brilliance and his bravery. It was said that he was fearless and cunning and as cold as ice. Confident to the point of arrogance, having no need of acclaim or accolades. A laconic loner who disdained social gatherings.

Suzanna was just as glad the lauded admiral didn't bother coming to the galas when he was in the Washington area. Such a man couldn't be counted on to share tidbits of valuable information; therefore, she had no desire to meet him. She was interested only in those officers who became amazingly loose-lipped after a few glasses of champagne.

Suzanna invariably sipped her own wine very slowly, but she often laughed and behaved as if she were tipsy. Those gentlemen she charmed would never have believed that, unfailingly, Suzanna was as sober as a judge. Or that on those occasions when she excused herself to freshen up, she immediately went in search of a private spot to write down anything of interest that had been carelessly disclosed. She was extremely careful and if she could find no privacy, she silently repeated the tidbit to herself, over and over, memorizing what she had heard.

When she did reduce an item to writing, she used a code concocted by one of the trusted couriers she and Mattie used to slip through enemy lines to deliver messages to the Southern commanders.

Suzanna had quickly learned what she was to be on the alert for. Always get the name of the military unit and commander. Find out, if possible, where the officer and men expected to be sent. The place from which they had arrived. Which scouts they had and the scouts' whereabouts. And to never be caught with a message that would give her away and endanger the troops.

She'd had a couple of close calls. Once, she was holding a hastily scribbled note in her hand when an officer came up from behind, surprising her. She had managed to shove the damning scrap of paper into her bodice before turning to smile at the man. On another occasion, when she'd volunteered to carry a missive through the Union lines herself, since a courier was unavailable, she had carefully concealed the paper in her hair, intricately dressed atop her head, with large curls circling her crown. Stopped by an armed picket on the outskirts of the city, she was forced to hand over her cape and reticule and bonnet, all of which were thoroughly searched, then handed back.

The missive had remained safely hidden in her hair.

Suzanna was proud of her modest accomplishments. She felt she was doing something constructive, contributing in some small way. She had received the gratitude of more than one Southern commander who had acted on gathered intelligence to save precious lives. Success spurred her on. She had become adept at drawing out the Union officers. More than one was guilty of disclosing information that should never have been shared with her. And she had managed to give nothing in return other than a few harmless kisses, which had been decidedly distasteful, but had had no lingering adverse effects.

Anyone who saw her at one of the glittering gatherings would have sworn Suzanna had not a care in the world.

Nothing could have been further from the truth.

Twelve

Suzanna spent most evenings in a seemingly carefree pursuit of pleasure, but her days were spent worrying and wondering how much longer she could maintain Whitehall. In the early weeks of the war, Colonel Robert E. Lee's Arlington plantation, just down the river from Whitehall, had fallen into Union hands. Occupying forces now lived in his stately home, Arlington House. Suzanna went to bed each night fearing that blue-coated devils would come swarming into Whitehall.

Her own apparent alliance with the Union had thus far saved Whitehall. Still, there was the ever-present danger that she would be unmasked for the Confederate sympathizer she was. Should that occur, she had no doubt the Yankees would immediately seize the estate.

Even if that never happened, she worried that she would soon lose the mansion. The lengthy war had been financially devastating. The sizable LeGrande fortune had been lost. The tobacco fields of northern Virginia had long since been trampled down by thousands of marching feet. Months ago a letter had come bringing the distressing news that the once-profitable coastal cotton plantation in South Carolina had been taken over and occupied by the Yankees. There were no longer any indigo crops in Georgia. No huge amounts of capital rested safely in banks generating interest. No cash poured into the coffers to offset expenses for necessities. There was, although Suzanna never hinted as much to her ailing mother, next to nothing left.