Josef rubbed his forehead.
"Where are the books?" he asked gently.
"In your trunk. I had to take a bunch of them. If I had just swiped the one, he'd have suspected you right away, since you even told him who you were and where you lived and all. Now, keep cool, Mr. Friedrichs. Don't get excited. It's bad for your health."
"In my trunk," Josef repeated. "Fifty thousand… That's grand larceny, Mark. Very grand. Plus breaking and entering-"
"I wore gloves," Mark said.
Josef face was a bright, dangerous crimson. He folded his arms on the tabletop and lowered his head onto them. His shoulders shook.
"Josef." Pat found her voice. "Mark, curse you-look what you've done." In considerable alarm she reached for Josef's wrist. Before she could locate his pulse he raised his head and she saw, incredulously, that he was gasping with laughter.
"He'll have to go away to school," he wheezed. "To Hawaii, or Tibet -someplace where there is only one flight a month out…"
Relieved and unregenerate, Mark grinned at him.
"You're a good sport," he said approvingly. "I was afraid you might be mad."
"Mad?" Josef's alarming color faded, and his mouth closed like a trap. "Mad? What would your father have done to you, Mark, if he caught you in a trick like this?"
"Uh." Mark sobered. "I hate to think," he admitted.
"Think. Because whatever it is, that's what is going to happen to you. I'll ponder the subject. Your dad sounds like a man of considerable ingenuity, but I'll try to come up with something.
"In the meantime, we must deal with the situation as it stands. Just tell me one thing. Was it worth it?"
"Yes," Mark said. He got to his feet. "You'll see. I'll show you."
He slunk out of the room. Kathy, her eyes blazing, turned on her father like a miniature Fury.
"He did it for me, Dad. How dare you yell at him!"
Her father's face softened. "All right, honey. I do understand, but-"
"He has to be punished, Kathy," Pat said. "Good intentions don't count."
"What would your husband have done?" Josef asked.
"Made him pay for the books, I suppose. But, Josef- fifty thousand-"
"That's the Colonel's estimate. We'll find out the true market value." Josef grinned. "That will be a suitable job for the young swindler: getting the prices without leaving evidence of his interest in those particular books. I'll lend him the money, and he can figure out how to reimburse the Colonel anonymously. If he gets a job right now, after school, and works straight through the summer, he'll be able to pay me back. Plus eight percent interest on the loan, of course."
The idea obviously appealed to him. He was about to develop it further when Mark returned carrying the letters of Mary Jane Turnbull. The book bristled with little slips of paper, evidence that Mark had spent the remainder of the night, after the raid on the bookstore, in perusing his prize.
"The cloth is too rough to take fingerprints," he announced cheerfully, making sure the table was clean and dry before he put the book down. "I turned the pages with my fingertips, and-"
"You are unnecessarily obsessed with fingerprints," Josef said. "There is only one chance in a million that our overworked county police would… Wait a minute. Are your prints on record?"
"Certainly not," Mark said indignantly.
"It wouldn't surprise me," Josef said. "All right, Mark, what revelations have you come upon?"
"I want you to hear it straight from the horse's mouth," Mark said. "See if you get the same impression I did. I'll read it aloud."
"That will take all day," Pat objected, looking at the thick volume.
"No, it won't. I've already marked the relevant passages." Without further ado Mark opened the book.
"Background first," he began. "These letters were written by Mary Jane to her friend, who lived in Richmond. Cordelia kept them. Ten years after the war was over she had them published, 'as a memorial to a martyr to that Holy Cause for which so many died.' " Josef started to speak; Mark raised an admonitory finger. "Wait. We'll discuss our conclusions later. I want you to hear this first.
"The ladies had been corresponding for some time before hostilities broke out. I won't waste time with the earlier letters; the first one of interest to us has the date of April twentieth, 1861.
"Surely this is the most momentous era of human history. Events follow one another so rapidly that a weak female pen can scarcely do them justice; yet, my dear Cordelia, I find relief in writing to you, since I can express my true feelings here only within these four walls. We are surrounded by enemies, the most hateful of them only a few feet from our door. The new wall keeps them from our sight, but we cannot forget their horrid presence.
"The news of Fort Sumter made us thrill with pride. The apelike monster who was inaugurated in March (would that the gallant citizens of Baltimore had succeeded in destroying him; but he stole through the city by night, like the coward he is!) then called for volunteers. On his head lies the onus of beginning the destruction! Virginia has joined the glorious roll of freedom, and to Virginia my noble father has gone, to lend his arm to the Cause.
"We are left a household of women, for my dear brother was sent away to school in Lynchburg after the incident I wrote you of. Thank God I was able to save him from its fatal consequences. His heart is too susceptible to the machinations of vile persons. It will turn now to the Cause; and if, which God forbid, he should perish, that fate would be preferable to the one his trusting heart might have been duped into seeking."
Mark stopped reading. "Nice lady, isn't she?"
"I don't know which is worse, her literary style or her vindictiveness," Pat said.
"The style is typical of the time," Mark said tolerantly. "They all wrote that way. The important thing is her reference to an incident that caused Peter to be sent away. It isn't mentioned in the earlier letters, so either some letters were lost, or Cordelia edited them for publication. But it's obvious, isn't it, what the incident was?"
Josef cleared his throat. "I will admit that Mary Jane's catty remarks can be interpreted as referring to a romantic attachment on Peter's part, an attachment of which she did not approve-"
"That's putting it mildly," Mark interrupted. "She says she would rather see him dead than engaged to… All right, Mr. Friedrichs, I won't say it; she doesn't mention the girl's name, I admit that.
"Okay. We roll merrily on, to First Bull Run, in 1861.
That was the first big battle of the war. Bull Run, or Manassas, is only about twenty miles from Washington, and a lot of the dumber congressmen and senators went out to watch the fighting. They ran like rabbits when the Union lines broke.
"In August of 1862 the same damned thing happened, at the same place. Second Bull Run. This time Lee decided to follow up the victory and invade the North. He crossed the Potomac at Leesburg, and here's Mary Jane's comment:
"Lee is in Maryland! Words, weak words-how can they express our exultation! First in the hearts of all loyal to the Cause must be the triumph of our arms, but, Cordelia, allow me to confess that my heart burns with equal fervor to behold again my honored parent and beloved brother. Yes, they were here-only briefly, for duty drove them. They succeeded in their aim of finding horses for the Confederacy. No less than fourteen mounts came from the pastures of Mr. Habitan, at Fern's Folly-a crony of those whose name I have sworn never to mention. How I laughed as Peter described, with his inimitable humor, the rage of the white-haired old man, who rained stuttering curses on those who removed his horses. War has made a man of my darling brother. Bronzed and slender, his hair bleached to whiteness, his eyes a fiery blue, he must turn many a maiden's heart. A loyal Southern maiden, one must hope…"