Camellia (22 page)

She finally shrugged and moved to the door. “I don’t suppose we have much choice. But I’m going to take Thad to task when I see him next for sending a note to you—or your parents—when he couldn’t be bothered with letting us know what was going on. Jane and I have been worried sick about him since he failed to show up yesterday afternoon as expected.”

“I’m sure he wanted to.” Jonah kept his tone light. “Go on and get your things. We need to leave as soon as possible.”

The moment the door closed behind Camellia, Jonah collapsed onto the striped damask sofa. That had been a close one. He would have to send a missive to the captain reassuring the man about the girls’ whereabouts. And he would have to hope his subterfuge was not discovered.

As long as Camellia was around, Jonah would also have to watch every word he uttered. If she realized his true mission, she would run straight to Captain Watkins with the information. Then his usefulness as a spy would be over. He wouldn’t be able to rescue Mrs. Dabbs, and he’d probably have to run for his life to escape imprisonment or hanging.

“Mayor Monroe sent a note back that if Farragut didn’t like the flags flying over our government buildings, he would have to remove them himself.” Mr. Thornton’s laughter rocked the carriage.

Camellia hoped the noise their host was making wouldn’t bring unwanted attention to them. Fog and smoke swirled outside the window, barely visible in the predawn hours. She stretched her senses to their utmost, trying to hear above the
clip-clop
of their horse’s hooves on the pavement. Did a shadow detach itself from the alley they passed, or was it only her imagination?

“Are you sure the boat will leave this morning?” Jane’s question brought her attention back to the interior of the carriage.

Accustomed to the dark, she saw Jonah’s nod. “Don’t worry. Everything’s arranged.”

Why did his voice sound so kind when he addressed Jane? When Jonah spoke to her, which had been an infrequent occurrence over the past three days, it had been in distant monosyllables. When she had asked if he’d seen the Yankee boat, he’d answered yes. When she questioned him about further messages from Captain Watkins, he’d simply said no. No explanation, no comment. As though they were strangers. It was very perplexing.

As she returned her gaze to the dark landscape, Camellia’s thoughts turned to home. Wouldn’t Lily be amused that she was so anxious to board a steamboat? A pang speared her. She couldn’t wait to see precious Jasmine. Had her baby sister memorized any more dramas? Or had she grown out of that fascination? She had no doubt that Lily and Blake were still happy in their odd, argumentative way. And what about Aunt Dahlia and Uncle Phillip? Had they found her a better suitor than Thaddeus Watkins, Esquire? She couldn’t wait to show all of them how much she’d matured. Even Grandmother would be impressed by her improved skills.

If only she’d been able to convince Mrs. Thornton to come with them. But the lady had refused, stating that she would not abandon her husband and children. Camellia shuddered to think of any of them caught between the opposing forces. The men in the family would try to protect Mrs. Thornton and her daughter, but would it be enough?

She would have to pray that the Yankee admiral would give up and slink away. Wasn’t it enough that his ships were blockading Confederate waters? Did he have to threaten the cities, too?

Camellia glanced toward Jonah and wondered what he would say if she voiced her opinion. Would he stick to monosyllables then? She was tempted by the idea of engaging him in a discussion, even if it was an argument.

She knew she should be thankful he was keeping his distance from her. They could not afford a repeat of that moment in the library at La Belle Demoiselle. Her cheeks heated, and a chill that had nothing to do with the damp morning air raced through her. A part of her wanted to repeat the experience, if only to prove that the emotions of that night had been a result of the excitement of the dance rather than a response to his kiss.

A shout interrupted her thoughts and brought Camellia’s attention back to her surroundings. The carriage came to a halt as they reached the port. How different it looked without all the steamships lined up along the docks. Before the war, she would not have been able to see the oak trees on the west bank, but as the sun began to rise above the horizon, she could easily make out the widespread limbs and gnarled trunks lining the opposite shore.

The pungent odor of burned cotton seemed to hang over them as Jonah opened the door and jumped out, turning to offer a hand to assist them.

Camellia waited for Jane to alight then took Jonah’s hand. She realized her mistake as soon as her bare hand touched his. No admonition to be as tranquil as a lake’s surface could stop her reaction. Grabbing hold of a lightning bolt could not have caused a greater sensation. A flash in Jonah’s dark eyes told her he had felt the same thrill. Time stretched out as she leaned against his strength, as she relied on him to keep her from tumbling to the damp pavement. Then her foot touched the ground, and the moment ended. Her heart was fluttering in her chest like a frightened bird. What had happened? What power was it that Jonah had over her? Why could the mere touch of his hand cause such a furor?

Jerking away from him, Camellia caught her breath and looked around them. The fog dampened all sounds, giving the area an eerie, deserted feel. Gooseflesh arose on her arms. She wanted to reach for Jonah’s solid form again but moved closer to Jane instead. “Where is the boat?”

Behind her, the horse whinnied and the coach creaked as Mr. Thornton disembarked. “It ought to be right over there.”

“I don’t see anything.” Concern filled Jonah’s deep voice. “I thought he was going to wait here for us.”

Jane put an arm around Camellia’s waist. “Perhaps he had to move to a berth farther down the river?”

Mr. Thornton walked to the water’s edge and raised a hand to his brow, searching in both directions for any sign of the boat. “Nothing. I don’t see anything but water.”

Camellia’s heart sank. Would they not be able to escape after all?

A bright light shone from the opposite bank, piercing the fog that seemed to grow denser with every passing moment.

She pointed toward it. “Is that the boat?”

“That doesn’t make sense.” Jonah took up a position on the other side of Jane. She could almost feel the tension rolling off him. “Why would it be on the west bank?”

Camellia squinted, trying to discover the source of the light. It seemed to expand, becoming several points of brightness. Was that the effect of the fog? Or something more ominous?

“I think it’s a fire.” Jane whispered the words as though afraid to say them out loud.

The lights jumped higher and spread out wider at the same time, casting a yellow reflection on the dark water of the river. For a moment she thought someone might have set fire to one of the old oaks, but then Camellia recognized the outline being made—a steamship.

A blast rent the air, and the sky filled with burning debris.

“Watch out!” Jonah turned and caught both of them in his arms, bending his torso to form a barrier between them and the dangerous missiles.

She could hear the thunks and splashes as the pieces rained down all around them, but Camellia was more aware of the scent of Jonah’s cologne, the strength of his arms, and his protective stance than the danger they were in.

As soon as the noises abated, he dropped his arms from them. “Father? Father, are you all right?”

“I’m fine.” Mr. Thornton was no longer standing where he had been.

Camellia looked around, relieved when she saw Jonah’s father and the coachman emerging from the space under the carriage. “There they are.”

“Look.” Jane’s voice brought their attention back to the river.

The decks of the steamer were completely enwrapped in a blanket of flames. The paddle wheel still churned, however, its great blades pushing through the muddy water and sending the boat downriver.

Camellia looked for the name on its side, her heart sliding downward as she made out the last three letters: H–O–E. “It’s the
Ivanhoe
.” Her voice cracked on the last word.

“Don’t worry.” Jonah stepped toward her. “We’ll get you out of New Orleans.”

“How?”

“We’ll find another boat.”

Camellia wanted to believe him, but his eyes told her a different story. “There aren’t any more boats.”

He put a hand under her arm and guided her back toward the carriage. “I’ll do whatever is necessary, Camellia. If I have to carry you out of here on my back, I’ll see that you reach your family safely. You can count on me.”

And somehow she knew she could.

J
onah wondered how the mayor could continue refusing to bow to Admiral Farragut now that everyone knew both forts guarding the river below the city had surrendered. It was only a matter of time before troops arrived and put the city under marshal law. He ought to be proud that his work had helped make a bloodless victory possible.

Even his father had accepted the inevitable and freed their slaves. A couple of the older ones stayed, but most of them were happy to seek out brighter futures than they had once dreamed possible. Jonah had given them all the cash he could collect, a gesture he hoped would help them during these difficult times.

A knock on the front door went unanswered for a moment until he rose with a grin. Along with his parents, he was going to have to remember to wait on himself. He crossed the marble floor of the foyer and pulled the door open, a frown drawing his eyebrows together when he recognized their visitor. “Captain Watkins.”

“Are my sister and Miss Anderson staying with you?”

Jonah bowed and stepped back begrudgingly. “They’re safe.” He wanted to voice the unspoken words
thanks to my efforts
but decided that would be an unchristian remark.

“Captain Watkins!” Camellia didn’t run to the door, but she moved faster than her usual sedate pace.

Jane followed, her smile mirroring the wide one Camellia wore.

The two girls pulled Thad into the parlor.

Jonah decided to ask if anyone in the kitchen could prepare a tea tray. As he waited for Selma to finish steeping the tea, he wondered what conversation was going on in the parlor.

“We got a few more pralines, Master Jonah, but no cookies to go on the tray.”

Maybe that would keep the captain from returning. But Jonah knew better. They could forgo tea altogether for that matter. He was here to regale Camellia and Jane with his derring-do. He would gloss over the conditions under which the Confederates held poor Mrs. Dabbs with the excuse that he didn’t want to upset the girls.

Jonah gulped as a new thought hit him. If Camellia thought to upbraid him for his supposed message to the Thornton household, she would find out Jonah had made up that story. Grabbing the tray from Selma, he hurried back to the parlor, the rattle of the china announcing his arrival.

“… and how much longer the city can hold out.” Captain Watkins sat on the sofa between Camellia and Jane.

Jonah’s father and mother sat across the tea table from them in the pair of overstuffed chairs. Jonah was relieved to see his parents in the parlor, as it meant the conversation would be centered on the war.

“As long as it takes.” Father banged his hand on the arm of his chair. “We’re not a bunch of sniveling cowards like the men at those forts. I still find it hard to believe they surrendered without a fight.”

A fact for which Jonah was profoundly thankful. He attributed the event to God’s intervention. As He had done to the enemies of the Israelites, God had filled the Confederate soldiers with a spirit of fear. According to the reports Jonah had heard, they had spiked or dismounted the cannons, insisting on surrender no matter what their superiors promised. The route to the city was open, and he expected to see troop ships sailing into the port city any day.

“Unfortunately, our batteries at Chalmette are intended to revoke an attack by land. There’s nothing we can do to protect the city at this point.”

Jonah put the tray on the tea table and straightened. “So what will you do?”

What the captain might have answered was lost as the sound of marching feet outside grabbed their attention.

Jonah was the first to the door. He wrenched it open and strode to the sidewalk, followed by his parents and their guests.

Soldiers marched through the street, their faces stern, the brass buttons on their blue uniforms gleaming under the noonday sun. The familiar red and white stripes of the U.S. flag waved bravely above their heads.

“This is a disgrace.” His father’s voice was gritty with disgust. “A day of shame for the South.”

“It’s the end of the war.” Relief flooded Jonah. Southerners would have to realize they could not win now. They could return to their homes, free their slaves, and vow fealty to their country.

Captain Watkins rested a hand on his sidearm. “Not quite.”

What was the idiot going to do? Fight the Union all by himself? Jonah failed to see how Camellia could admire the captain.