Jacob just shrugged.
“Well,” Christopher said, “we’d better get our gear from the hotel.”
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August 6th, 1866
The next week passed uneventfully. Charlotte received a telegram ordering her to the East Coast, near New York. The agency wired money to her with instructions to leave on the first steamer out of the city. The Templars booked passage on a riverboat heading north on the Mississippi. Their ship was due to leave before Charlotte’s.
Charlotte walked the three men out to the dock. They came out on Levee Street. All those masts stretched out just like they had two weeks before, a forest just as thick as ever. Ships unloaded and loaded, carts trundled by. Barkers hawked their goods, and men dickered over prices. Life went on.
Christopher and Father Jacques walked out ahead of Charlotte and Jacob, the old priest’s hand on Christopher’s arm for support.. They’d wanted to get Jacques a carriage, but he wouldn’t have it. He insisted on walking.
“I am not an invalid,” he had said.
“Thank you, by the way,” Jacob said to Charlotte.
“For what?”
“You saved my life twice this last week.”
“Saved mine once,” Charlotte replied, laughing. “Even if it did cause all this mess.”
Jacob smiled and looked down at his feet as they walked. “So, they have you going to New York?”
“Washington first. They need the head of the OSW, I guess.”
“Well,” Jacob said, looking out over the ships, “you’ll do fine, I reckon. You’re a strong woman. Smart, too.”
“Well, thank you, Mr. Smith. I greatly appreciate that from a church man.”
Jacob laughed. “I ain’t exactly a church man, you know.”
“No? Guess I never did ask.”
“Templars are separate. We ain’t priests or nothing.”
“Could’ve fooled me,” said Charlotte. They walked quietly for a while. “Jacob, I have a question,” Charlotte said after a few moments.
“What’s that?”
“Will you write me? Letters, I mean?”
“I – I dunno. I ain’t exactly a man for letter writing and such. I mean, I can write and all. Ma made us learn our letters and such, but I ain’t the type to, you know . . .” Jacob stopped rambling and looked at Charlotte. She grinned from ear to ear.
“Just say yes.”
“Yes?”
“Good.”
They arrived at their riverboat’s berth. Smoke bellowed from its boiler stacks. Charlotte quickly said her goodbyes to Christopher and Father Jacques. She shook Christopher’s hand and hugged the priest tenderly. She and Jacob said their goodbyes.
Jacob didn’t know what to do. He offered her a hand to shake. She laughed and took it. The three men gave over their tickets and Father Jacques began to lead the way up the riverboat’s gangplank.
“Jacob?” Charlotte said from behind him.
He turned.
She kissed him. She had to stand on her tiptoes to do it, but she managed just fine. The kiss was a long, sweet one. Jacob couldn’t remember the last one that had been so nice. There’d been a girl in Lawrence, back when he was a boy. Annie. But she’d been almost ten years ago.
He put an arm around Charlotte’s waist and kissed her back. Feeling eyes on them, they broke the embrace.
“Write me,” Charlotte said quiet enough for only Jacob to hear. A faint smile touched her lips.
“Yes, ma’am, Miss Gibson.”
He joined the other two men on the boat. Charlotte stayed and watched the ship from the dock until it had pulled out into the river and joined the northbound traffic. Jacob stayed on the upper deck, watching her.
When he lost sight of her, he gave the same courtesy to New Orleans.
“You’re in love,” Christopher said from beside him. Jacob hadn’t heard him come up.
“What?” Jacob asked.
“Seen that hangdog look before. Hell, see it every time in the mirror since I met my wife.”
“I ain’t in love.”
Christopher laughed, clapping Jacob on the shoulder. “If you ain’t, you should be. She’s a good woman. Even I can see that.”
Jacob grunted.
“Told you them pretty faces were trouble.”
Jacob grunted again.
Their ship steamed north to Chicago.
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Afterword
A note on characters and events in this book. Only one of the characters is not entirely fictionalized, though I have taken great liberties with writing them. I leave it up to the reader to guess which character it is!
The events of the Zombie Riot of 1866 are entirely fictional, though inspired by the very true New Orleans Race Riot of 1866. The Reconstruction period of the United States was a sad portion of my nation's history, made sadder still by how little the average American citizen knows about it.
If you'd like to read more about the time period (and I hope you do), I can't more highly recommend the excellent history Reconstruction: America's Unfinished Revolution 1863-1877 by Eric Foner.
Also, chronologically speaking, these are the first stories in the Jacob Smith series. The first one I wrote was “A Knight Templar in Lincoln County.” It had a decidedly unhappy ending, though, and my fiancee told me she wanted more stories with Jacob Smith. So I wrote these.
Will the ending for “A Knight Templar” stick? I don't know yet. Maybe, maybe not. Jacob Smith's world is a fantastic, magical one, and anything can happen.
About the Author
Craig Gabrysch lives in Dallas, Texas with his fiancee and cat. He is the author of many short stories and novellas, most of which can be found around the internet. He's had a multitude of really awful jobs he tends not to discuss. You can find him on Facebook or www.craiggabrysch.com
The New Orleans Zombie Riot of 1866: And Other Jacob Smith Stories Page 25