Camellia (30 page)

Two days later the packet had taken on a whole new identity. Fresh paint blazoned the word
Hospital
on the housing that protected the paddle wheel, declaring to all that she should be allowed to pass without being fired upon. Camellia hoped both armies would respect the packet’s purpose.

She had never been more tired in her life. Her legs hurt, her arms felt too heavy to lift, and her neck was as stiff as a board. And still the wounded and sick were brought onto the boat in a never-ending flood. Women from the town came aboard, too, with offerings of fresh bandages, soap, and herbal remedies.

The doctor had Jane and Camellia organize their supplies and start a list of their patients’ names. Along with Mr. Carlton and some of the other crewmen, they talked to the men, holding their hands, cleaning their faces, and making them as comfortable as possible. The stench was nearly unbearable, but somehow Camellia managed to get around the crowded room.

Jonah caught her in the passageway at noon on the second day. “I want you to come to the dining hall with me.”

“I don’t have time to eat.” She tried to push past him but was halted when he spread his legs and crossed his arms over his chest. “Get out of my way.”

He uncrossed his arms and touched her cheek with a gentle finger. “You cannot keep spending all your time with the wounded.”

“That’s what Thad told me when I was tending you.”

Jonah’s head snapped back as though she had slapped him.

Remorse flooded Camellia. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be. I don’t mean to irritate you, Camellia. But I’m worried about your health. You’re exhausted.” He took her by the shoulders and turned her to face one of the passageway windows. “Look at yourself. If you keep up this pace, you’ll expire before those men in there.”

Tears burned her eyes. Couldn’t he see she was doing this because of him? Because he had helped her see the truth? “What do you want from me?”

“Come with me.” He dropped his hands from her shoulders and pulled her toward the exit. “I have something I need to tell you, and spending an afternoon in the sunshine will make you feel better.”

The fresh air did smell good. And the warmth of the sun on her skin was a welcome relief. Strangers, the soldiers who came and went from the Confederate headquarters in a never-ending flow, watched them disembark. But no one challenged Jonah. Had he convinced them that he was one of them? Was he even now gathering information that would be used to defeat them? “Where are you taking me?”

Jonah didn’t answer her, just kept a guiding hand under her elbow. They walked down the dusty street, passing a mercantile and half-a-dozen houses. And still he walked. Over a slight rise, through a valley of tall grasses.

Camellia was beginning to think her legs would fall off. “I have to stop.”

“It’s not much farther now.” Jonah’s promise encouraged her to continue.

Finally he turned into the woods, following a path only he could see. Trees surrounded them, hiding them from civilization. She could hear something new ahead of them, a sound like thunder. Where was he taking her?

And then she saw it. The thunder was water rushing across huge boulders. “A waterfall?”

Their gazes met. He looked like a mischievous kid. “One of the local men told me about this place. I thought I would offer to stand guard while you refresh yourself.” He held out his hand, his palm open to show her a sliver of soap.

Suddenly the layers of grit and grime on her skin were intolerable. She took the soap from him, imagining the feeling of the cleansing water surrounding her. “Really?”

He nodded and turned his back to the waterfall. “Be careful. I’d hate to have to offend your modesty.”

Camellia felt her blush, though she knew he couldn’t see it under the dirt. She moved to a pool at the base of the waterfall and stripped off her clothing one layer at a time. Dressed only in her chemise, she stuck a toe in the water. It was cool, as refreshing as she’d hoped. She glanced back over her shoulder to make certain Jonah was not watching. His back was barely discernible among the tree limbs. Satisfied, she walked forward. The water climbed to her waist then to her neck. Camellia held her breath and plunged her head into the water. She lathered the soap and used it to melt the dirt and grime. She rinsed the suds away and started over again, scrubbing her scalp, her skin, every part of her body she could reach.

“Are you still in the water?” Jonah’s voice reminded her of his presence.

“Yes. It’s wonderful, Jonah.” She rinsed the soap off a second time and stepped out of the pool. Getting dressed was not easy, but with a bit of squirming and straining she managed the laces and buttons.

Squeezing the water out of her curls, Camellia walked back up the path to the place where she had parted from Jonah. “Where are you?”

He appeared from behind a large oak. “Right here.” His crooked smile made her breath catch.

“Thank you.”

“Did you enjoy yourself?” He offered his arm.

Camellia nodded. “It was worth the walk. I feel I could take on the whole world again.”

They wandered down the path again, at peace with each other. The sun was beginning to approach the western horizon.

Jonah sighed and stopped walking just short of the town’s edge. “I have to leave.”

Although she’d been expecting this moment from the start, Camellia’s heart fell. “When?”

“Now. A couple of days ago Colonel Scoggins sent a messenger to my battalion to report my survival. As soon as he realizes my commanding officer doesn’t have any record of me, he’ll realize I’m a spy.” Jonah heaved a sigh. “I wish I could stay, but it’s impossible.”

“I could go with you.” The words slipped out before Camellia could stop them.

He shook his head. “Thad will take care of you.”

Camellia promised herself she would not cry. She would not let him see how his refusal hurt her or how much she would miss him. She choked back her emotions. “Godspeed, then.”

“Camellia, I want you t—” He bit off the word and shook his head. “Thad is a good man. You could do worse than marry him.”

She shook her head. “Please don’t say such things.” They had been through so much together. The memory of his kiss came back to her with startling clarity. She wanted to do nothing more than repeat the experience. Before she could talk herself out of it, Camellia lifted herself on tiptoe and pressed her lips against Jonah’s.

After a brief hesitation, his arms embraced her, holding her close. His lips moved on hers, and a shock like lightning shot through her. Time stood still as the bond between them strengthened. For a moment she seemed to melt into him, become a part of him in some way that she didn’t understand. Then it was over.

Jonah put his hands on her shoulders and slowly pushed her away. “I have to go.” His voice was rough, but she could see the remorse in his gaze. Then he turned on his heel and walked away, disappearing into the woods without a backward glance.

Pain tore through her, and Camellia sank to her knees and wept. She wept for past mistakes and present dreams; she wept for lost causes and separate pathways. But mostly she wept for the brave man who would not shirk his duty no matter the cost.

T
he note was delivered by a young boy who put Lily in mind of David, the child they had rescued from the streets of Natchez Under-the-Hill. Dirty and barefoot, he was another of the “throwaway” children who should be staying at the foundling home. She must remember to mention him to the orphanage’s matron.

“I have a note here for y’all. The scary man said you’d pay me for it.” He held up the folded sheet.

Lily frowned. “The scary man?”

The child nodded, his brown eyes solemn.

Wondering who had given the child a note, Lily shrugged. She reached for the reticule at her waist and drew out a gold coin. “Is this enough for your long walk?”

The child’s eyes widened at the generous offering. “Yes, ma’am.”

She held out the coin, smiling as he snatched it from her hand.

He handed her the note and skipped off the veranda. Lily imagined the tales he would share tonight in whatever hovel sheltered him. Perhaps the money would buy him a good meal and a real bed or stretch to a new pair of shoes. She hoped so.

Returning to the front parlor, she sat next to Blake. “I had hoped this would be a note from Camellia, but it’s addressed to you.”

Blake took the note from her hand. “One of my admirers, no doubt.”

She punched his arm.

“Lily, control yourself, please.” Aunt Dahlia sniffed.

Blake adopted an angelic expression and nodded. “Thank you. I have told Lily again and again that she should adopt your manners.”

The older woman preened, and Lily felt like punching his arm again. If she had followed Aunt Dahlia’s advice, they never would have met. She never would have purchased half interest in a steamboat, and he probably would have been shot by some unhappy gambler by now. Deciding to take the higher road, she forced her lips into a congenial smile. “Are you going to open your note?” His unrepentant grin teased her.

Lily folded her hands in her lap and gazed at the fireplace. She refused to be drawn into further tomfoolery.

Blake sighed and pulled a small knife from the pocket of his trousers.

Aunt Dahlia gasped and fanned herself, apparently overcome to find a lethal weapon in their parlor.

Lily regaled her aunt and grandmother with a description of the boy and his “scary man” while her husband perused the note. She didn’t realize anything was wrong until the sheet of paper drifted to the floor. She turned to look at her husband, surprised to see the anguish in his navy-blue eyes. “What is it?”

Blake shook his head and leaned back against the sofa, his hand covering his eyes. Was he crying?

Lily scooped up the note and read it:

The note was signed with a flourishing
J.

Grandmother put down her teacup. “What has happened?”

“It’s Blake’s father. He’s been in some sort of accident.”

“Your father?” Aunt Dahlia looked at the man beside her. “I thought you were an orphan.”

Blake lowered his hand, and Lily noticed that the skin under his eyes seemed moist. The urge to protect her husband took hold of her. “Blake had a difficult childhood and had to break free from his family.”

Aunt Dahlia’s jaw fell. After a moment, she snapped it shut. “I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised.”

What she left unsaid was a phrase Lily had heard often enough …
from a gambler.
She frowned at her relative. “Not everyone is as comfortable or blessed as we have been. Blake deserves your admiration for succeeding in spite of the setbacks he’s faced.”

Blake patted her hand. “It’s all right, Lily. You don’t have to defend me. I have never corrected your relatives’ mistaken assumptions about my past.”

“But—”

A look from him stopped her words. “I believe the time has come for me to take your advice.” He stood and reached for the note.

Lily bent her wrist away from his hand. “Don’t think I’m going to let you take this trip alone.”

Grandmother cleared her throat and sent a look in Aunt Dahlia’s direction. “I believe we need to inspect the linens upstairs.” It was her tactful way of offering them privacy.

Aunt Dahlia’s mouth curved downward, but she nodded and rose from her rocker.

Lily waited until both of them exited the parlor before returning her attention to her husband. “We can pick up Camellia on the way. I think it’s time she rejoined her family. I really miss her.”

“It’s too dangerous for you to come. Every day we receive more reports of battles and skirmishes along the river.” He reached for the note once more.

Shaking her head, Lily stood and held her hand behind her back. “You are no more impervious to bullets than I.”

“Lily, be reasonable. I must go.” He cupped her chin with one hand.

She refused to be swayed by his tenderness. “I suppose you mean to take
my
boat and
my
father.”

“I can catch a ride on a different boat. Captains will be eager to travel north for goods they can sell to us at inflated prices.” He slid his hand down the length of her arm, raising gooseflesh.

Lily shivered and failed to hold on to the note.

Blake snatched it from her hand and stepped back, a teasing smile on his lips.

“I can’t stop you if that’s what you want to do.” Lily returned his smile with deceptive humility. “But whether you’re aboard or not, the
Water Lily
will be making a trip to Cape Girardeau.”

Camellia wept for the first soldier whose shroud-covered body slid into the dark waters of the river. She cried over the next one, too. But then her heart seemed to scab over, hardened by experience. Fever swept the packet ship, and more of them died. Helplessly, she swabbed their foreheads and listened as they spoke of home.