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“Oh! You startled me! What was that sound?”

“Someone threw a log through the lobby window. Turns out the hotel owner is a Yankee, a New Englander. Just like us.”

“Heavens!” Now I began to wonder how we’d get back to the boat through the angry crowd.

“Your appointment canceled. These damn Rebels—I don’t know how I’m going to get through to New Orleans by the twelfth. I guess I don’t think I can now.” The Colonel trudged over to the settee, which was illuminated by that one flickering oil lamp. I could see his face more clearly; in the shadows his eyes appeared hollow, his cheekbones sharp and threatening. He plopped down, removed his hat, and wiped his brow with his sleeve.

“Surely we can get out?” Hesitantly, I stepped toward him. For the first time ever, Colonel Wood appeared truly out of options. Beaten. He seemed too stunned to move, staring into the darkness, his bushy brows drawn together over his sharp nose.

“I don’t know. We’ll have to make it to Kentucky somehow; that’s still neutral territory. Then I’ll figure out what to do to salvage the rest of the season. Goddamn it, I wish I could get to New Orleans!”

“But the boat will make a trip upriver, won’t it? Whatever repairs you were going to get in New Orleans, they can wait?”

“ ‘Repairs’?” He turned to me, a quizzical expression in his eyes. He blinked twice, as if just now registering my presence. “Repairs? Oh—yes. It ain’t the repairs I’m talking about. It’s that appointment of yours.”

“It can’t matter, I’m sure whoever it is doesn’t care about me at all, not with all this war talk.” I tried to soothe him, for some odd reason; I felt responsible for his agitation, as it was my appointment he was worried about. I found myself placing my hand upon his sleeve before I could even think what I was doing.

He looked at my hand, my small, manicured hand, my nails pink and shiny, my fingers small and delicate. He studied it, and then all of a sudden his face split into a terrifying, wolfish grin; I could see all his back teeth, even in the dim light.

“You don’t think he cares? You know how much I was going to charge for that one? Five hundred dollars, that’s what!”

“Five hundred dollars?” I was stunned—too stunned to remove my hand. “Whatever for? Who would want to pay five hundred dollars—it wasn’t Mr. Barnum, was it?” My heart quickened, and I looked eagerly into Colonel Wood’s amused eyes. They widened, then narrowed; their gaze swept me up and down again, lingering upon my bosom.

“Barnum? Ha! No, it ain’t no Barnum. I don’t know his damn name—an intermediary contacted me. But he wanted to pay to have you, my tiny cousin. Five hundred dollars, to be the first one to touch those sweet little breasts of yours, to take that sweet little c—”

“Don’t!” I shrieked, the word tearing itself from my throat. “Don’t say that! Don’t!” I put my hands over my ears, the searing, animalistic nature of my fear surprising me. Yet I knew it had always been there, always that quivering, fearful understanding of the true nature of man—and my utter helplessness in the face of it. I had buried it under layers of manners and deportment and denial, but I had carried it deep within me, from the first moment I had stepped foot on his riverboat.

“Listen to her shout! My, my, the famously composed Miss Mercy Lavinia Warren Bump, yelling like a whore!” Colonel Wood laughed, amused by my revulsion. “You know, I didn’t understand, at first, these men. Oh, I received many such requests, my dear, you can be sure of it. Men who wanted to touch you, feel you, have you. I thought they were queer, at first, figured they were sick. And maybe they are. But I held out for the highest bidder, and over time I started to understand their—curiosity, shall we call it? I mean, look at you.” With a leer, Colonel Wood leaned over me; before I could say a word he had picked me up, my legs dangling helplessly, and flung me down upon the sofa.

I lay there, frozen for a moment, unable to register anything but his hot, hungry breath in my