Diane T. Ashley

by Jasmine

  “Someone needs to put a rein on that girl. She’s allowed far too much freedom.”

  “According to what Lily told me, Jasmine would definitely not agree with you.” Camellia gave her aunt a peck on the cheek. “I’ve got to go meet with the cook about the menu before I go upstairs, change for dinner, and check on Amaryllis.”

  “I’ll send Jasmine up to you if I see her before you’re done.” Aunt Dahlia’s sigh was filled with disapproval.

  She opened her mouth to continue, but Camellia cut off her words with another kiss. “Thank you.”

  Aunt Dahlia entered the parlor as Camellia headed to the back of the house, her mind full of all that needed to be done prior to dinner.

  When she finally made it back to the parlor, the lanterns had been lit. She entered the room and looked around expectantly.

  Aunt Dahlia put down her needlework. “If you’re looking for your sister, you’re going to be disappointed. She’s not returned.”

  A frisson skittered down Camellia’s back. She was going to talk to Jasmine about being more considerate. It was fine to stay for dinner with friends, but she should at least send a message so her family wouldn’t worry.

  Jonah walked into the parlor, already dressed for dinner. “You look worried.”

  “I’m more irritated than anything.” Camellia told him about Jasmine’s absence. “Would you mind taking me over to the Champney’s? I know she must have decided to have dinner with them, but I’d feel better if I knew for certain she’s okay.”

  Jonah rubbed his chin with one hand. “Do you really think that’s necessary?”

  “Probably not, but I hate to think of her riding her horse back home in the dark.”

  He dropped his hand and nodded. “Okay.”

  Camellia hadn’t realized how tense she was until her husband agreed. “Thank you.”

  His smile warmed her heart. “Go get your cloak. I’ll have the carriage brought around.”

  Aunt Dahlia was shaking her head, but Camellia knew she had the most wonderful husband in the world.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Jasmine was ready to get off the Evangeline long before it docked at Vicksburg. She had purchased the cheapest ticket she could manage—an outside ride on the hurricane deck between the paddlewheel and the pilothouse. Several immigrant families huddled together and watched her with suspicion in their eyes. She tried smiling at some of the children, but their mothers gathered them closer and chided them in a guttural language she had never heard, apparently reminding them to steer clear of strangers.

  Someone stepped into the pilothouse, and she caught her breath as a desire to see her father overwhelmed her. But that was silly. If Papa were here she wouldn’t be on her way to meet Vance.

  Wishing she had brought more than a shawl as protection from the damp wind, Jasmine set her chin and focused on the future. They should reach Vicksburg within the hour. She hoped it wouldn’t be too hard to find Vance. Jasmine couldn’t wait to see him. Would he be as thrilled as she? What role did he have in mind for her? She knew she would excel even if she only got to appear in a minor part for now.

  It wouldn’t take her long to rise to the rank of someone like Miss Barlow. She might not have much experience as a professional actress, but Jasmine had been performing for family and friends since she was old enough to memorize lines. Everyone raved about her acting abilities. And it was due to her efforts that the orphanage could hire workers to replace the roof.

  In spite of his parents’ warnings, one of the immigrant children moved cautiously closer. Jasmine wished the little boy wasn’t afraid of her. She would love to talk to him, find out where his family was headed and maybe even offer some pointers to his parents about dangers on the river. It would be so nice to help them like she had the orphanage. One day perhaps she would have enough money to fund an organization to help those in need. The idea warmed Jasmine better than her thickest shawl would have done. She would do it … as soon as she was famous enough.

  They docked with little trouble, and she disembarked with her bag held firmly in one hand. As soon as she reached the other end of the gangplank, she began looking for the Ophelia. Her heart pounded when she spotted the long, two-story barge floating in front of a shorter tugboat called the Miss Polly. This was it. The beginning of the rest of her life. Raising her chin and tightening her hold on her portmanteau, Jasmine marched across the gangplank and stepped onto the Ophelia’s deck.

  “Sorry, ma’am.” A wiry man with a narrow face stopped her. “The next show won’t start until seven o’clock. You can come back around five to purchase a ticket, but the doors won’t open until a quarter to seven.”

  “I’m not—” Unhappy with the shaky sound of her voice, Jasmine halted her words and took a deep breath. “I’m here to see Mr. Vance Hargrove.”

  His face grew thoughtful. “You’ll find him inside, but if you don’t mind my saying so, you ought to turn yourself around and go home before he ruins your life.”

  “That’s enough, Arnold. Are you already finished with the repairs to the backdrop?”

  Jasmine recognized Vance’s voice before he finished speaking. She turned, and there he was, as tall and handsome as she remembered. And his attractive smile made her knees weak. She thought she might die of happiness then and there. “Vance.”

  He swept her a deep bow, every inch the gentleman she remembered. “I wasn’t sure you would come.”

  “I couldn’t stay away.” She blushed at the confession.

  “Here, let me help you with that bag.” He reached for her portmanteau. “How did you convince your family to let you come?”

  Should she tell him the truth? She couldn’t. He would think her a baby. And he might balk at accepting a runaway on board. “It wasn’t hard. They accepted my decision and let me go.” The lies tripped off her tongue without effort—almost like she was already playing a role.

  His dark gaze searched her face for a moment as though testing her veracity.

  Jasmine lifted her chin and stared back. Let him think what he might. She could be as imperious as Cleopatra.

  He nodded and held the door open for her. “Come inside.”

  Jasmine stepped past him and came to a halt, her mouth dropping open. She had never seen anything so beautiful in her life. The main cabin was long, with a stage taking up the back third of the space. In front of the stage was seating for at least a hundred people. A red rope cordoned off the long padded benches. She supposed its purpose was to prevent anyone from sneaking in without purchasing a ticket. “It’s beautiful.”

  “Wait until they light the candles this evening.” He pointed out the numerous gold leaf sconces, each holding three candles. “Do you see the mirrors they’re mounted on? They magnify the light until it’s nearly as bright as noon inside.”

  The boat had been appointed to cater to rich customers. Thick carpet cradled her feet, the seating was softened by deep cushions, and an ornate chandelier hung above her head, holding what appeared to be hundreds more lights. “You must love performing in here.”

  “As will you.” He held the red rope high so she could pass under it. Taking the lead, he stepped past her and walked up a set of steps onto the stage, waving to two men who were painting a backdrop off to one side of the stage. “I want you to meet someone special.”

  The rich red velvet curtain moved, and a beautiful woman stepped onto the stage.

  Jasmine caught her breath. She had never dreamed she might be near enough to touch someone she so deeply admired.

  “Vance? Are you ready to go over that scene now?” Tabitha Barlow asked.

  “In a moment. “He set down Jasmine’s bag and reached for her hand. “We have a new recruit. A young lady I know you’ll enjoy meeting.”

  The actress’s gaze narrowed as Jasmine dropped a curtsy. “Really, Vance. Are you up to your old tricks again?”

  Jasmine didn’t pay much attention to Miss Barlow’s words. She was too intent on trying to think of
what to say to her. Why hadn’t she thought of this? Her mind scrambled through reams of lines and came up empty. Only three words came to her. “I know you.”

  Miss Barlow’s face lost its bored expression. She smiled at Jasmine and beckoned for her to come closer. “You do?”

  “Yes, ma’am. You were playing the part of Laurette in Richard Coeur-de-lion in New Orleans. I remember it like yesterday. I was only nine at the time, but you inspired me to become an actress.”

  The smile drooped, and her eyes iced over as at least one of the workmen snickered. Miss Barlow looked past her to Vance. “Get her out of here this instant.”

  Before she could quite understand what she had said to upset the actress, Vance had grabbed her arm and dragged Jasmine off the stage. He hustled her into a narrow corridor and looked around. “Clem, come here.”

  She was surprised when the person who answered his summons was a slender girl not much older than she with a line of brown bangs across her forehead and a distracted look in her hazel eyes. “Clem?”

  “Clem McCoy.” The girl held a pincushion in one hand and a measuring tape in the other. “My real name is Clementine—it means ‘merciful.’ But everyone here calls me Clem.”

  “See that Jasmine gets settled. “Vance turned to her, taking her hand to drop a kiss on her wrist. “I’ll be in rehearsal this afternoon, but we’ll talk after the play is over.”

  Jasmine’s skin tingled where his lips had touched it. She wanted to ask him about the confrontation with Miss Barlow. Did the older woman misunderstand her intent to offer a compliment or was she simply too shy to appreciate such adoration?

  “Come along.” Clem walked down the hall, her gown swaying with each step.

  Picking up her bag, Jasmine followed.

  “You can share my room for now.” Clem pushed a door open. “But I can’t stand a mess, so make sure you pick up after yourself.”

  The room was barely large enough for the pair of single beds inside. A small dressing table took up one corner of the windowless space, its mirror the only brightness in the room.

  “Thank you.” Jasmine dropped the portmanteau on the floor and sank onto the mattress. So far, life in the theater was more confusing than exciting.

  Jonah turned into the Champneys’ drive, and the warm light spilling from the windows encouraged Camellia to believe they would find Jasmine inside. But if Jean Luc and Anna had invited her to dinner, why hadn’t they sent a note to Les Fleurs? The question pricked her concern, making Camellia more anxious than she should have been. Something wasn’t right. She tapped her foot on the floor of the carriage as Jonah came around to help her down. His hand at her waist steadied her as they climbed the steps to the front door.

  Leaning past her, Jonah lifted the knocker and rapped it smartly. The seconds crept by as she waited for someone to answer her husband’s summons.

  The door finally creaked open, and Camellia summoned a shaky smile, knowing how odd their presence must seem to the butler at this hour.

  Jonah inclined his head. “We need to speak to Mr. or Mrs. Champney.”

  Camellia was right on his heels as the butler announced them. “Is Jasmine here with you?”

  Aunt Tessie, Anna, and Mrs. Champney were sitting in the parlor. Anna and Aunt Tessie came to their feet.

  Aunt Tessie spoke first. “I haven’t seen Jasmine since the Water Lily landed yesterday.”

  Was it only yesterday? That carefree time seemed an eon ago. Camellia’s knees turned to water. She was more frightened than when she’d been leading the children away from the fire at Les Fleurs. More frightened than when the Yankee army surrounded Vicksburg and shelled the city.

  “What’s happened?” Anna stepped forward, a concerned look on her face.

  Camellia turned away to control her tears while Jonah filled them in briefly.

  “What can we do to help?” The question came from Mrs. Champney, still seated on the sofa.

  Camellia gave her the only answer she could. “Pray.”

  They were out of the house and back into the carriage with a minimum of fuss. Jonah whipped up the horses, and she followed her own advice as they headed to town.

  “What if she’s not here?” Camellia looked at her husband’s profile. She wanted him to tell her everything was going to be okay, but not unless he really thought it would be. Empty promises would be worse than silence. She didn’t need false hope.

  “Don’t borrow trouble.” He put his free arm around her. “We’ll find her in town, Camellia.”

  Why was it getting so dark? They needed light to check the byways for signs of an accident. She searched her memory for the time of the month and came up empty. “Will the moon be full tonight?”

  Jonah spared her a glance. “No, but we’ll be able to see well enough.”

  As he drove the carriage, she looked for any evidence of an accident. Fear, dark as midnight, stalked her. She had managed to hold onto hope that nothing was wrong until learning that Jasmine had not visited the Champneys. Now that hope was gone. Something had happened to her sister.

  What if she’d been abducted? They hadn’t seen any bushwhackers in the area for more than a year, but what if one had been crossing their land this morning? Tears sprang to her eyes as fear swelled.

  The hooves of the horses barely touched the ground as they rushed toward the orphanage. The rhythm normally soothed her, but this evening the sound only increased her anxiety.

  Hope burst on her with the force of a lightning bolt when she saw Jasmine’s horse tethered in front of the orphanage. “That’s Juliet, isn’t it?”

  Jonah grinned at her. “I told you we’d find her.”

  Camellia climbed down before the carriage came to a full standstill, running toward the orphanage without a thought for her dress or her dignity. She pushed the front door open before Jonah caught up with her. “Jasmine!” She shouted the name as loudly as she could manage.

  Jonah came through the front door as Miss Deborah entered the foyer from the back of the house. “Camellia, Jonah, welcome.”

  “Where is Jasmine?” Jonah sounded as impatient as she felt.

  “Jasmine?” The confusion on Miss Deborah’s face frightened Camellia, brought the fear roaring back. Miss Deborah had to know where Jasmine was. Anything else was impossible.

  “Her horse is out front. Where is she?”

  The puzzlement on the other lady’s face deepened into a frown. “What horse?”

  Jonah stepped aside so she could look down the walk through the open doorway.

  Miss Deborah shook her head. “I’m sorry, Camellia. It may be Jasmine’s horse, but she hasn’t been here all day.”

  “Are you certain?”

  “I saw her.” Marguerite appeared from the same area of the house where Miss Deborah had been. “I thought she was acting a bit strange. She told me she was leaving her horse here and would send someone to retrieve it tomorrow. I assumed she had gotten a ride back to Les Fleurs.”

  What was her sister doing? Camellia wracked her brain for an answer that made sense but came up with nothing. “Is that all she said?”

  Marguerite nodded. “I’m sorry.”

  “It’s not your fault.” Jonah put an arm around Camellia.

  Miss Deborah wrung her hands. “What can we do? Do you want me to send someone to make inquiries downtown?”

  This couldn’t be happening. Camellia wanted to wake up and discover she’d been having a nightmare. But the rough texture of her husband’s coat against her cheek told her this was no dream.

  As Jonah explained what little they knew, she thought back to the morning. Had Jasmine been planning to disappear then? Or had she been forced to leave her horse behind by some heartless kidnapper?

  Camellia couldn’t feel her legs beneath her as Jonah half-carried her back to the gate. She sat with her hands in her lap, her gaze locked on nothing, as he tethered Juliet to the carriage.

  “What do we do now?” She asked the question as he climbe
d onto the bench and turned their vehicle back the way they had come.

  His jaw was tight as Jonah shook his head. “It’s beginning to look like your sister has run away.”

  “Why would she do such a thing?”

  “I have no idea. But then again I don’t understand why ladies act the way they do more than half the time.” He blew out a long sigh. “Think, Camellia. Did Jasmine say anything odd this morning? A hint of what she was planning?”

  “We talked about Papa and Aunt Tessie.” Camellia remembered her sister’s reaction to the affection between them. “And she said she didn’t sleep well last night. I remember thinking that she looked tired.”

  “Was she upset?”

  Camellia didn’t want to admit that Jasmine had been angry with her, but she knew she had to put her own feelings aside. She gave him a reluctant nod. “She thought I was being too controlling. She even accused me of being too much like Lily.”

  “None of you can be called mealy-mouthed.”

  A sob caught in her throat. “It’s my fault, Jonah. All my fault. Lily is never going to forgive me for not taking better care of Jasmine. And I don’t blame her.”

  “Shhh.” His arm tightened around her once more. “It’s not your fault, Camellia.”

  Hot tears bathed her cheeks. She wished his reassurances didn’t sound so hollow. She had failed both of her sisters. Camellia had known Jasmine was acting strange this morning, but she’d been too focused on her schedule for the day. Instead of rushing off to teach the children, she should have stayed with Jasmine. She had made a terrible, thoughtless mistake. A mistake she would regret for the rest of her life. “What are we going to do, Jonah?”

  “If she’s run away, we need to try to find her.” Jonah’s voice sounded determined. “But even if we know where she is, we may not be able to compel her to return to Les Fleurs. She is twenty years old.”

  His warning brought her no relief. She wished for Lily’s calm presence. Then the responsibility wouldn’t be all on her shoulders. The thought was a revelation. Even in the midst of her fear, she gained a new respect for her older sister. Who could Lily turn to when life—in the form of her younger sisters—threatened to overwhelm her? Camellia felt shame at the knowledge that she had been as hard to handle at eighteen as Jasmine was now.