Historical Fiction Finalist:The 2016 Awards from AwardsForStories.
In 1863 on the tiny island of Key West, Yankee spy Aaron Matthews must find and eliminate a deadly Rebel saboteur whom he fears just may be the woman he loves.
[ILLUSTRATION: The Captain John Bartlum "Bahama House," Key West; photo taken in 1967, more than 100 years after the Civil War.]
AUTHOR'S NOTE:
Bogy Sands and the Rebel boys want to burn the homes on the island so the Yankees cannot have them after the Conchs are shipped off as prisoners.
Aaron knows hundreds of innocent people will be evacuated and imprisoned unless he can give Col. Morgan the Rebel spy he seeks.
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A murmur went through the group. Joe was the only female present, but she refused to be intimidated. "Whose side are you on, Bogy Sands? Bartlum's house was floated here all the way from Green Turtle Cay, board by board. Roberts' was, too. And the rest have withstood hail, hurricane, and high water. I would kill any Yankee soldier who tried to set fire to 'em, and I ain't gonna stand by and let you do it."
In a subtle way, all the boys pulled away from Joe, leaving her to face them alone. Bogy Sands seemed to speak for all of them: "Well, I swear. I'm glad Richard ain't here, Joe Thibodeaux, to see what a Yank lover you turned into."
Joe looked at each boy in turn, and each returned her look with nothing but distaste in his eyes. Only Porter seemed to feel regret, but he stuck with the menfolk on this one.
Josephine Marie lifted her chin, contempt in every line of her body, and backed away from the light into the dark recesses of the warehouse. Silence. Then the creak and whump of a door. She was gone.
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An hour later, on Boca Chica beach, a female figure, its skirts tucked into its belt like pantaloons, tossed a branch onto a bonfire blazing before it, then backed away into the darkness. Pine pitch in the fire popped and sizzled.
On the tin roof of a three-story wooden house, behind the wooden railing of a widow's walk, Joe Thibodeaux stood blown by the wind, scanning the southern horizon with a spyglass.
Aaron Matthews climbed the stairs behind her to join her in her aerie. "I need to talk to you," he said.
She turned to face him, the spyglass dangling in one hand. Her posture said there was nothing she wanted to discuss with this man. "About what?" she asked without interest.
"About these." He held out his hand to display the gemstones retrieved from Curry's transaction with Noah Lewis. The stones used by a Confederate spy to pay for services rendered. "I wondered if you might have any more."
Joe glanced at the stones, registered nothing, and turned her back to him. She began scanning the horizon with the spyglass, west to east. "I don't know what you're talking about, but it doesn't matter. I'll be gone in the morning."
"Will you?" he asked. He didn't say not if I arrest you for espionage.
"You know very well—" She stopped; she had seen something. "I knew it! Look!" She thrust the spyglass at Aaron, gesturing toward the east. She pushed him toward the railing, and he raised the glass to his eye, confused.
