Diane T. Ashley

by Jasmine

  Jasmine’s pang intensified. She wished for a moment she’d paid more attention to Camellia’s advice about learning the art of flirtation. But she had never needed it before this evening. Could she even flutter her eyelashes? “I’m sure Mrs. Cartier wouldn’t mind.”

  From the odd expression on the actor’s face, Jasmine’s attempt to flutter was not going well. She closed her eyes for a brief moment as she realized how gauche she must appear to him. When she opened them, he had recovered his aplomb. He bowed to her and offered his arm … to Sarah. Didn’t he hear her say that Sarah was a married lady? Jasmine trudged behind them and wondered how she might regain Mr. Hargrove’s attention.

  “My heart is broken to learn that some other man has stolen your affections. Dare I hope that your family forced you into a marriage with a doddering old fool who is at the point of demise?” His voice was pitched low, but Jasmine had no trouble overhearing him.

  Sarah giggled and rapped his hand with her fan. “You are a rascal. Dr. Cartier won my heart a decade ago.”

  “He is in poor health, though?”

  “My husband is in the prime of his life.”

  Mr. Hargrove shook his head. “Then I am doomed to worship you from afar.”

  Jasmine rolled her eyes. By the time they found Kenneth and performed the introductions, she was wishing she’d not been so impetuous.

  The drive to the restaurant changed her opinion slightly as Mr. Hargrove recounted several humorous stories of past performances. He accompanied his tales with admiring glances in her direction. By the time the coachman pulled up, she found herself in better humor.

  The men climbed out first and turned to offer their assistance to the ladies. Sarah accepted her husband’s arm. Jasmine had to wait a moment before Mr. Hargrove reached inside for her hand, so by the time her feet touched the ground, the Cartiers were almost at the entrance.

  Instead of releasing Jasmine’s hand, Mr. Hargrove tucked it into the crook of his arm. He leaned over so that his mouth was close to her ear. “I trust you understand that I must appease your chaperones if I am to have access to your company.”

  She didn’t know if she should be relieved or repelled by his explanation. “Sarah is very beautiful and accomplished.”

  “But she lacks a very special quality that you have in abundance.” His eyes shone in the light of a nearby lantern.

  Jasmine felt the blood rushing upward to stain her cheeks and hoped he could not see it. Prying her tongue from the roof of her mouth, she swallowed hard. “Wh–what is that?”

  “Innocence.” His smile made her heart stutter. She could hardly believe such a handsome, sophisticated man found anything interesting about her at all.

  He found her lack of experience a good thing? Jasmine could hardly believe he wouldn’t prefer a female who could match his own qualities. He was so suave, so comfortable in social situations. Perhaps he was teasing her? But a glance at his face showed nothing but admiration. She didn’t know how to answer him.

  The atmosphere inside was conducive to a romantic mood. Small round tables covered with white linen were scattered between vine-wrapped white columns of varying heights. Large potted ferns and tropical trees gave the illusion of privacy while kerosene lamps turned low made each table an intimate island. Jasmine felt as though she’d left America altogether and been magically transported to a romantic Greek ruin.

  A waiter dressed in black formal wear led them to a table and gave menus to the gentlemen.

  After glancing at the restaurant’s offerings, Mr. Hargrove leaned toward her. “I don’t know anything about your tastes, Miss Anderson. Do you wish to order for yourself?”

  Jasmine didn’t much care what food was brought to the table as long as she was in his heady company. The only thing that would make the evening better would be if she and the actor were dining alone. “I trust you to make a proper selection, Mr. Hargrove.”

  “I don’t know how proper my selection will be if you are involved.” His heated look set butterflies loose in her stomach. “It would give me great pleasure if you would use my Christian name, Vance.”

  Kenneth cleared his throat and gave a tiny shake of his head before handing his menu back to the waiter. “I’m sure we’ll all enjoy the braised lamb.”

  Taking the reprimand in stride, Vance smiled at his host. “I was telling your wife earlier that you’re a very lucky gentleman.”

  “Why is that?” The frown on Kenneth’s face did not bode well for the rest of the evening.

  “Because you snatched up Mrs. Cartier before any of the other men in New Orleans could. I am sure you’re the envy of everyone you know.”

  Sarah beamed at both men and put her hand over her husband’s. “I’m the lucky one.”

  Kenneth sat back, his features easing a tad.

  Jasmine was relieved. She listened to the two men discuss politics and the general state of the country, Sarah tossing in a witty comment now and then. The meal came, but she found herself unable to consume much. The butterflies still fluttering inside her stomach forbade her. She played with her fork, picked at a loose thread on her napkin, and managed to swallow a few sips of water. If tonight was a preview of what New Orleans had to offer, perhaps she should reconsider staying here.

  A black police officer studied David’s badge, a furrow between his brows. “Didn’t I see you here yesterday?”

  David held out his right hand. “That’s right. My name’s David Foster. I’m investigating the Citizen’s Bank robbery.”

  “Levi Campbell.” The officer’s grasp was firm. “The chief’s down at the mayor’s office, but Lieutenant Moreau might be able to see you.”

  It was a place to start. David knew he needed to enlist the support of the department if his plan was to succeed. Putting his badge into his coat pocket, he smiled at Officer Campbell. “Lead the way.”

  The constable who’d escorted him the day before sat at one of the wooden desks in the main room of the police station. A look of concern crossed his features as he recognized David. “Is something wrong?”

  David wracked his memory for the man’s name. French. Long. That was it! Longineaux. “Morning, Constable Longineaux.”

  A look of surprise and appreciation replaced his concern.

  Before he could say anything, Officer Campbell blew out a breath to show his exasperation. “Pinkerton here wants to see the chief.”

  “Does it have something to do with the robbery?”

  “ ‘A course it does.” Campbell answered for him. “That’s what he supposed to be investigating.”

  Longineaux sent a glare toward his fellow officer and turned back to his desk. “He’s gone. I doubt he’ll be back before dinner.”

  “I know that.” The black man’s answer was clipped and full of disdain. “I’m taking him to Lieutenant Moreau’s office.”

  As they moved forward, David maintained an air of neutrality. He didn’t want to get caught up in any local politics. He was supposed to work with local law enforcement, not take sides in their squabbles.

  Turning into a hallway, they left the central office behind. David counted two doors on the left and one on the right before Officer Campbell stopped and rapped smartly on an unmarked entrance.

  Someone on the other side barked out a command to enter.

  Campbell glanced at him, his brown eyes cool. “Wait out here.” He turned the knob and disappeared. After a moment the door opened again, and Campbell waved him inside.

  Lieutenant Moreau was a short man with dark skin that hinted at mixed ancestry. His hair was as black as Jasmine’s, and his eyes were a deep brown. He waved a hand toward a wooden chair and leaned back. “What brings you down to New Orleans?”

  “The robbery two weeks ago at Citizen’s Bank.” David wondered how many times he would have to describe his mission. “We think it may be connected to a string of robberies that started in Chicago a couple of months ago.”

  Moreau moved a stack of papers to one side of his
desk. “What makes you think the man we arrested has anything to do with your robberies?”

  “In Chicago the thieves seemed to know the exact time to strike. They don’t ever shoot anyone. They empty the safe, fire off a couple of shots into the air, and escape. Sound familiar?”

  He could tell he had the lieutenant’s attention. “Very.”

  “They’ve hit a couple of other locations on their way down here. My captain thinks they may be headed for Mexico next. We want to stop them before they get out of the country.”

  “And you think our prisoner can help you?” Moreau didn’t sound convinced. “Do you want some of my men to interrogate him?”

  David shook his head. “I don’t think he’s the type to be intimidated. But I think he’d do anything to save his own skin.”

  “I don’t know why you think you could trust him to be honest with you.” Moreau’s eyes narrowed. “He’s more likely to get you killed by giving you the wrong direction or sending a message to warn his friends.”

  Inspiration dawned on David with the other man’s words. “That’s it! He can send a message.”

  Moreau’s eyebrows climbed toward his hairline. “You want him to warn his cohorts?”

  David shook his head. “I want him to draw them out, get them to meet him. Didn’t you catch him with a sizeable amount of money on him?”

  “It’s in the evidence room.” Moreau rubbed his chin as he considered David’s suggestion. “But I still don’t see how you plan to work this.”

  “The one we’re really after is not someone who actually carried out the robbery. The robbers are nothing more than puppets. Half an hour with Petrie convinced me he doesn’t have the wit to execute one robbery with such precision, much less ten.”

  “Ten?” Moreau whistled. “They must be the luckiest group of men in existence.”

  “No one has that kind of luck. It takes careful planning and inside information to pull off that many crimes without a hitch. I believe a mastermind is behind them. He’s the one I want.”

  “I see. But how do you plan to get Petrie to convince him to show his face?”

  “Blackmail.” David allowed a small smile on his lips. “I’ll put a reward notice in the newspaper, and our friend can threaten that he’s going to claim it if his boss doesn’t take him back into the fold.”

  “What if the boss isn’t the only one who shows up? I know Pinkertons are well trained, but I don’t think you can take custody of the whole gang.”

  David knew he would need the support of the police department, but he wanted to lead the mission. “If you can supply me with a couple of men at the right time, I can manage.”

  Moreau frowned at him. “What about Petrie? Are you sure he won’t betray you as soon as his friends show up?”

  “I doubt he would want to get caught in the crossfire. He knows he’d be the first to die. And Mr. Petrie has a driving desire to live.”

  The lieutenant’s face relaxed. “If you get Petrie to go along, I’ll make sure you have what you need.” He stood and held out his right hand.

  David took it, his smile widening. “Thank you, sir.”

  He left the office and went to find the constable. He was anxious to set his plan in motion.

  Petrie was less than enthusiastic about the plan. “I don’t know who calls the shots. He sends us written instructions. I’ve never seen him, and I sure don’t know how to send him a note.”

  “There has to be a way.” David thought hard. “How do you get the money to him?”

  “He tells us where to drop it off.”

  That wouldn’t work. David considered a few schemes, each too unwieldy or unbelievable. Finally it came to him. “We’re working at this too hard. All I have to do is tell the newspaper that you’ve turned over a new leaf since escaping the hangman’s noose. You plan to tell us everything we’ll need to arrest your leader. That will bring him out into the open.”

  “You’re forgetting that I don’t know what he looks like. I could walk past him on the street and never realize it. He could shoot me before I said a word.”

  “He’ll want to know how much you’ve already told us before killing you. Once he shows himself, we’ll take him down.” David grew more excited as he talked. If he caught the man who was the head of the outfit, it wouldn’t take long before they had all of the robbers in custody. He could practically hear Mr. Bastrup’s accolades already.

  Chapter Twelve

  I knew your plan for saving Les Fleurs was liable to get us all murdered in our beds.” Aunt Dahlia glanced across the dining room table at her husband for support.

  Uncle Phillip’s grimace was exaggerated by a singed mark on his forehead. Proof of his efforts to save Les Fleurs. “All’s well that ends well, Dahlia.”

  Although her husband’s defection must have been a blow to Aunt Dahlia’s esteem, she was not likely to be silenced by it. Like the other women in the family, she had a strong personality and boundless self-assurance.

  With a sniff, she turned from Uncle Phillip to glare at Jonah. “Before you married Camellia, she was a good girl who understood how things should be.”

  “Aunt Dahlia, don’t try to blame Jonah.” Camellia kept her voice low even though she wanted to spring to her husband’s defense. “If we hadn’t done something, we would have lost Les Fleurs for taxes. The sharecropping system Jonah put in place saved us. We rent the land, and our tenants help us with the work. Everyone prospers.”

  “I don’t understand why we couldn’t keep selling our cotton to those Europeans who have always been so eager for it. You can’t convince me that the Yankees aren’t putting a great deal of profit into their own pockets.”

  Camellia refused to be baited. Conspiratorial Yankees, greedy tax collectors, and uppity former slaves—these were the things that vexed Aunt Dahlia the most. As well as what she viewed as Camellia’s foolish decision to marry a Yankee sympathizer at the end of the war.

  “Jasper Calhoun went to Natchez Under-the-Hill last night to celebrate the demise of Les Fleurs.” Jonah continued the story he’d already begun. “He bragged about the fire to anyone who would listen.”

  “Why would he do such a thing?” Nausea threatened to overwhelm Camellia as she considered how narrowly they had avoided disaster. “Jasper brought his family here for the Christmas celebration last year like all the other workers. He’s worked here for most of the past five years. Did he hate us all that time?”

  Jonah’s dark gaze showed empathy for her pain. “Apparently, he’s felt ill-used for quite some time. Then everything came to a head with our decision to appoint a new overseer to replace Mr. Smithson.”

  “But Nahum got that job.” Camellia had agreed with her husband’s choice of the hardworking, honest man. Like the Bible parable of the men given talents, Nahum had taken what he had and increased its worth. Both he and Jasper had been among their first sharecroppers but the differences between them were marked.

  Nahum’s home was one of the prettiest on the grounds—the yard was always well-kept, and his house received a fresh coat of whitewash every year. His pride was obvious in the way he took care of his home.

  The windows at Jasper’s cabin were stuffed with rags, his yard had more weeds than grass, and his field had one of the lowest yields, if not the lowest, each year. Furthermore, he never allowed his children to attend classes at her school, showing his lack of concern for their futures. With all that, why would he think he could handle more responsibility?

  “Some people refuse to see the facts before them.” Jonah sighed. “He seems to have gotten it into his head that he would receive the promotion based solely on the fact that Nahum is black and he’s white.”

  “I have no patience for that kind of attitude.” Camellia straightened her back and glanced at her aunt, whose gaze dropped to the table between them. “The true worth of a person has nothing to do with the color of his or her skin.”

  Jonah cleared his throat. “I spoke with the sheriff earlier
this morning. He rode out here to find out what happened, and he’s promised to locate Jasper and take him in for questioning.”

  “Do you really think he’ll tell the sheriff the truth?” She was unable to keep the skepticism out of her voice. Bragging about his misdeeds under the influence of alcohol was one thing. Confessing to the law in the cold, sober light of day would be different.

  Jonah’s mouth quirked upward. “I think the sheriff has the expertise to separate truth from lies. I imagine Jasper will have to answer for what he’s done.”

  “I’m sure your husband is right.” Uncle Phillip exchanged a glance with Jonah. “Jasper Calhoun will be going to jail for a long time.”

  Camellia was glad to see evidence of the affection between the two men. Of course, men seemed to rub along better in most circumstances than women. If only she could convince Aunt Dahlia to let go of her prejudices long enough to give Jonah a chance… . What would it take for the older woman to do so? Prayer was the only option. She prayed for their family every day. And for everyone on the plantation, including the treacherous Jasper Calhoun. Camellia’s mind wandered in another direction. “What about his poor wife and children? How will they manage without him?”

  “With a little help from us, they may be better off than when he was living there.” Jonah pulled out his pocket watch and flipped it open. “I’d better get back to work. We still have a lot of cleanup to do from the fire.”

  Putting down her napkin, Camellia rose at the same time as her husband. “I’ve moved the classroom to the back porch for the time being.”

  “That’s probably a good idea.” Jonah kissed her on the cheek. “It may take us a week or more to rebuild your schoolhouse. But when we do, it should be better than before.”

  “Which wouldn’t take much.” Camellia thought back to their decision to use the old cabin and shuddered. Imagining a large room with generous windows and a separate desk for each of her students, she shooed her husband out of the room and headed to the back of the plantation home.

  She was so thankful to be married to Jonah Thornton, a man with an abiding love for Christ and a shared vision for what their life should be. No matter what men like Jasper Calhoun tried to do to stop them, they would always rise again, secure in God’s promises for their future.