In new Rome there walked three men
A Judas, Brutus, and a spy
Each planned that he should be the king
When Abraham should die.
Riverboat Prairie State, Ohio River, en route to Pittsburgh, Friday, March 10, 1865
“Lonely?”
The hard-bitten, droopy-eyed young man turned away from his inspection of the Ohio shore and looked at the prim young woman. Or was she so prim? “No. Just thinking about old times,” he said.
“You from there?”
“Thereabouts. I was a teacher, went west because the prospects were better.”
“I’d think a strong young man like you would have been in uniform.”
The man laughed. “Draft people thought I was better off stuffing letters and numbers into the next generation of cannon fodder.”
“And you ‘re going back home now?”
“No such luck. I have business back East.”
She giggled. “Well, if you should be free for dinner . . .” she said, her voice trailing away suggestively.
“Perhaps. Who should I ask after?”
“Miss Eliza Pomfrey. And yourself?”
“Sharp.” He took the segar from his lips, blew out a smoke ring, and said, “John Sharp.”
She did not know his business, and he did not wish to tell her. Such matters were to be kept close.