Camellia (9 page)

She looked up and met Jonah’s gaze. She wished she could think of something to say that would wipe away the half smile on his face. She had no reason to blush. It wasn’t like he could read her thoughts.

Jonah shook his head and turned his attention to Mrs. Dabbs. “If something happens, you will send a note around to my parents’ home.”

She tilted her head and stared at him. “Of course, but I believe we’re safe enough here.”

Camellia wondered why Mrs. Dabbs’s reassurance made Jonah straighten his posture. He threw his shoulders back, looking almost like a soldier for a moment. “Mr. Lincoln could end all of this fighting if he would listen to reason.”

“Yes, but I am afraid he is too stubborn to consider the desires of the South even though I write to him of my concerns.”

Camellia’s eyes widened. “You send letters to Abraham Lincoln?”

“Why not?” Mrs. Dabbs’s smile softened her question. “If I don’t ask him to stop this war, how can I expect him to grant my dearest wish?”

“How indeed?” Lily looked impressed by the lady’s calm logic. “Perhaps all of us should follow your example.”

Mrs. Dabbs nodded in agreement. “I encourage all of my students to do so.”

“Do you really think your letters reach Mr. Lincoln’s desk?” Jasmine’s eyes were wide at the thought.

“I am sure of it. I grew up in Maryland, you know. It is not so far from the White House. And I got to see one of the debates between Mr. Lincoln and Mr. Douglas a few years ago. He struck me then as a man who is very approachable.” Then she seemed to add as an afterthought, “As does our own president, Mr. Davis.”

Lily pulled on her gloves. “Well, I hope one of them pays attention to any pleas you send. I am afraid there will be no winner in this war.”

T
wo large beds filled the room, and a banked fire pulled dampness from the air and made the space feel warm and inviting. Camellia’s trunks were nowhere to be seen, and she wondered where they might be. A large wooden desk took center stage in the room, with several books stacked on top of it and a pair of ladder-back chairs tucked on either side. A rocker filled another corner, but there was still plenty of room to move around.

Camellia looked for the girl she had caught a glimpse of as they came upstairs. Was she going to be her roommate? Pushing the question aside for the moment, she removed her gloves and hat, tossing them on the nearest bed as she moved into the room.

Mrs. Dabbs cleared her throat. “You must not get in the habit of scattering your belongings about. At least a dozen young ladies will be attending classes this spring term. You’ll want to avoid the possibility of mixing up your things with someone else’s.”

A blush heated Camellia’s cheeks. “I’m sorry.”

With a wave of her hand and a quick smile, the older lady excused her actions.

Camellia snatched up her hat and gloves and looked around for a better place to put them.

“I had closets installed in all of the bedrooms last year.” Mrs. Dabbs took Camellia’s hat and walked to a bank of doors on the far side of the room. When she pulled on them, they parted, folding back like the spines of a fan.

Camellia’s jaw dropped when she realized several of her new outfits hung from a bar inside the wooden box. “How ingenious.” Her skirts looked ready to be worn. They were not crushed from lying on top of one another.

Mrs. Dabbs laid her hat and gloves on a shelf at the top of the closet before turning and dusting her hands together. “There. That’s much better. One of the first lessons most of my girls learn is how to take care of their clothes. During these uncertain times, you must learn to fend for yourselves.”

Camellia didn’t understand the other woman’s logic. She would never have to do without slaves or servants. But she was not going to start the term with an argument. She nodded and won an approving smile from Mrs. Dabbs.

“Jane Watkins, your roommate, arrived late last night. Like you, she comes from Mississippi. I’m sure you’ll get along famously.” Mrs. Dabbs moved to the door. “I’ll ask her to come up and help you settle in before dinner. We won’t start classes until tomorrow, as two of the local girls won’t be here until this afternoon.”

Removing her cloak, Camellia started to toss it across the foot of her bed. But then she stopped and looked toward the door. She would be a model student, learning everything Mrs. Dabbs offered whether she agreed with the lady or not.

Walking across the room, she pushed on one of the closet doors. It didn’t budge. She stepped back and considered the problem. Did it act like a fan? She looked toward the floor but saw nothing except wooden planks. Raising her gaze slowly upward, she spied a pair of depressions—one on each door. She placed her fingers in one and tugged, her lips curving upward in a triumphant smile as the door glided open.

She didn’t think closets would catch on. Her skirts looked odd—deflated—suspended from hooks that ran along the walls of the closet. The flounces bunched together, and the arms of her shirtwaists hung empty. Her clothing looked like it belonged on a scarecrow. With a sigh, she bunched up her cloak and tried to fit it on an empty hook. It slithered to the floor as soon as she let go of it.

“Here, let me help you.”

Camellia jumped at the unexpected sound of a voice. Her ringlets bounced around her face as she turned to the front of the bedroom. Taking in the pretty girl who must be Jane, she wondered if they were going to be rivals.

Sunlight poured into the room from a large window and seemed to set Jane’s thick auburn hair aflame. She stepped up to the closet and took Camellia’s cloak, shook it out, and hung it on the offending hook by its collar. “There. It only takes a little practice to get the hang of this.”

She giggled, her brown eyes dancing. “Get it? You’ll soon get the
hang
of it.”

A nervous laugh gurgled up Camellia’s throat.

“Oh good. I was hoping my roommate would have a sense of humor.” Jane put a hand on Camellia’s arm and pulled her toward one of the beds. “You’re quite beautiful, you know. I should be jealous, but that would make living with you so uncomfortable.”

Camellia took in her roommate’s curvaceous figure. From her long neck to her tiny waist, Jane was the very embodiment of femininity. She had thought the other girl’s eyes were brown, but now that she was close to her, she realized they were more hazel. “You’re pretty, too.”

Jane waved away the compliment with a quick motion. “I’ve always wanted curls like yours, but no matter how much effort I expend, my hair has more in common with a mop than a corkscrew.”

Unable to resist the urge to laugh, Camellia felt the tension and fear fading. Jane was not going to be a rival. Whatever sadness had lingered at parting from her sisters disappeared. “Your hair gleams, though, while mine is as dull as wash water.”

Her new friend’s mouth tightened, and the green flecks in her eyes dimmed. “I have an idea.”

“What?” Assuming an equally serious expression, Camellia straightened her spine.

“I assume you’re here for the same reason I am—to find the perfect husband.”

Camellia wasn’t sure if she was ready for this much frankness. She waited for Jane to continue.

“Think about it, Camellia. Not every man wants a vivacious, redheaded beauty on his arm.”

Both of them were perched on the edge of the bed, their skirts billowing around them. Camellia thought they would present a nice picture—one dark, the other fair. Her eyes widened. She looked at Jane, who nodded. “I believe you may be the smartest girl I’ve ever met.”

Jane squealed and fell on her neck. “Between us, we’ll attract every available man in the city of New Orleans.”

“Why stop there?” Camellia emerged from the embrace with a sigh. “I have my heart set on marrying a hero, someone who is willing to fight for his beliefs.”

Jumping up from the bed, Jane squealed again and reached for her hand. “I cannot believe it.”

“What?”

“My brother. You have to meet my brother. He’s rich, handsome, and a soldier.” She ran to the desk and pulled out a chair. “I’m going to write to him right away. I can’t wait until we’re sisters.”

Camellia watched as she bent over a piece of stationery, excitement building in her. She’d known coming to La Belle Demoiselle was the right move, but she’d never dreamed she would find the perfect husband on the day of her arrival. “What’s your brother’s name?”

“Thaddeus … Thaddeus Watkins. But everyone calls him Thad.”

Mrs. Thad Watkins. She extended her hand and imagined a large ring on her fourth finger. Fate had ordained her future. Maybe she’d been foolish to spend so much energy regretting the necessity of putting off her education for a year. Everything was working out perfectly.

Jonah was sick of parties. He was tired of sifting through bits and pieces of information and trying to decide what was important enough to pass along to Mrs. Dabbs. At least he’d been able to report the encouraging news that the work on the two ironclads being built in the New Orleans harbor was at a standstill. Getting the supplies through Admiral Farragut’s blockade had proven more difficult than expected. Furthermore, many of the men who were formerly employed as shipbuilders had volunteered in the Confederate army.

Last night he had learned that a portion of the New Orleans forces were being sent northward, further weakening the city’s defenses. He needed to get that information to Mrs. Dabbs right away. If the Union showed up today, he believed they could take over the city without firing a single shot.

“Did I overhear you ordering that your horse be saddled?” His mother’s question interrupted his thoughts. “I am planning to visit Mary Lee Thompson’s mother and thought you might like to join me. You seemed to be taken with her at your sister’s party last week.”

“No, thank you. I’m going to La Belle to check on Camellia Anderson.”

“Again?” Her gaze searched his face. “You have been to see her several times in the past month. I thought the first time that it was just your sense of obligation to Lily, but I am beginning to wonder if you have other reasons to frequent the school.”

Another of the problems with being a spy was the lying, especially to people he cared about. “She’s pretty, but I have no interest other than that of an older brother. Besides, she has her sights set on a much bigger prize.”

A frown crossed his mother’s face. “I don’t know why she wouldn’t be flattered by your attention. Why don’t you take her some flowers? Young ladies always like romantic gestures.”

“Thank you for the advice, Mother.”

“I know, I know. You don’t need your mother telling you how to act.”

At least he knew enough about the female gender to not respond to that comment.

“Why don’t you invite Camellia over for a weekend visit?” His mother seemed to have taken his silence as an invitation to meddle. “I’m sure she would like to get away from the school for a few days.”

“She seems pretty happy at La Belle.” As soon as he made the statement, Jonah could have bitten off his tongue. Even to his own ears, he sounded too much like a jealous suitor. “I’ll invite her if you wish.”

“Excellent. Sarah would probably like to see her, too. And we’ll all go to church together. Perhaps I can even convince your father to join us.”

“I doubt that. Father cannot abide the pastor’s cooperationist leanings. The last time he went with us, I thought he was going to have an apoplexy.”

“He is a man of strong principles.”

“It’s a shame he’s chosen the wrong ones.”

She considered him for a moment before answering. “Youth is a glorious time. You know all the answers and could solve all of the world’s problems if only you were in charge.” She pursed her lips. “But things are not that simple. Your father is an ardent supporter of states’ rights. He believes the federal government has grown too powerful, and he doesn’t want to be ruled by the politicians in Washington.”

“He would rather be ruled by the rich planters instead?”

Silence fell between them, filled with tension. Jonah wondered if other families suffered the same divisions, argued the same issues.

“Your father is a good man.” His mother’s voice was tender.

The tension leached out of Jonah’s shoulders. He smiled at her and pushed back from the table. “I should be back in an hour or so.”

Her eyes, a darker shade of green than his, were luminous with unshed tears. “I love you.”

He moved to her side of the table and dropped a kiss on the cheek she raised to him. “I love you, too, Mother.”

“Now go. And don’t let Camellia get away from you. If you wait too long, she may fall for some other fellow’s smooth talk.”

It was time to make his escape before his well-meaning parent sent out invitations for a wedding. “I promise you my heart is not pining for the beauteous Miss Anderson. I’m not ready to marry anyone.”

“If you change your mind, you will let me know, won’t you?”

“Of course. You’ll be the first.” He left the house then, snagging his greatcoat on his way to the stable. A misty rain chilled the air as he threaded his way through the congested streets.

A feeling of anticipation surprised him. He wanted to get this errand behind him, didn’t he? Of course he did. It must have been all the silly talk from his mother about other suitors that had him thinking of Camellia Anderson.