“I don’t think Lily will agree.” Her fingers traced the outline of the topmost dress pattern lying on the counter. “She wants me to travel to Memphis with her before I start school.”
“That’s terrible.” Aunt Dahlia shook her head and clucked her tongue. “Will she never stop interfering in your future?”
“I know, but it was the only way I could get her to agree to let me remain in New Orleans.” Camellia’s fingers drifted over the bolt of blue silk as she imagined the upcoming term. She would outshine every other girl at La Belle Demoiselle in a dress like this one. “At least it’s only for a week, and then I’ll be free to pursue my dreams.”
The shop’s owner returned to them then, and they began to discuss her new wardrobe. Camellia’s head spun with plans and dreams as they picked and chose from the designs available. She felt like one of the princesses in Jasmine’s dramas. And she would be … once she got to New Orleans.
Chapter Three
L ily was glad to be back on the river, even on a dreary day like this one. Winter had settled on them as they celebrated a subdued Christmas and ushered in the new year. The crisp morning air energized her as she watched the brown bank sliding past them.
A modest frame house perched on the western side of the river caught her eye. It amazed her how much the river had changed in the years since she’d first traveled its length as a young girl with her parents. Houses like the one they were passing dotted the landscape in ever-increasing numbers. She smiled and waved at a boy and girl who stood watching from the front porch. Lord, please bless us with children of our own.
A picture of the family’s dinner table formed in her mind, the boy on one side of the table, his sister on the other. Their parents would be situated at either end. She could imagine them joining their hands as the father asked God to bless their meal. Then they would laugh and recount the day’s adventures, perhaps even mentioning seeing Water Lily steam northward on the Mississippi River.
“You look awfully pensive on such a fine morning.”
Lily jumped at the unexpected sound of her husband’s voice. “Where did you come from?” She took a moment to study his masculine good looks. It never ceased to amaze her that such a wondrously handsome man had fallen in love with her, plain as she was. He could have turned the head of any female along the wide river, but he had chosen her to become his bride.
“I saw my beautiful wife standing out here all alone and came to see what might be on her mind.” Blake pulled her into his arms and planted a warm kiss on her lips.
Lily melted against him as always, lost in the tender devotion he lavished on her. He was the best husband anyone could hope for—a man who sought God earnestly and worked hard to follow His leading. When they first met, he had not been as admirable in his outlook, but God had worked a miraculous change in Blake. He had taken a hardened gambler, a man who thought he didn’t need anyone, and changed him into a thoughtful, kind, and generous disciple. Blake was always ready to tell anyone they met about Christ’s death and resurrection and the difference His sacrifice made in the lives of all who accepted His free gift.
When he finally released her, Lily’s cheeks burned in the cool air. “I love you.”
“Of course you do.” His eyes, bluer than the sky on a cloudless day, teased her. He wrapped her in his arms once more, this time resting his chin on her head. “I love you, too … more than I could ever have imagined.”
A sigh of pure bliss filled Lily’s lungs. She closed her eyes and thanked God for blessing her beyond anything she’d ever dreamed might be possible.
Their embrace lasted for several minutes before the long whistle of an approaching steamer separated them. Blake leaned against the rail, and she raised a hand to shade her eyes as the vessel drew nearer.
It had once been a merchant steamship much like the Water Lily, but unlike their boat, this one had become a warship. Steel plates covered the lower decks, featureless except for the cannons protruding from narrow openings along the side. Even the pilothouse and the great paddle wheel at the end of the boat were covered with shielding. The twin smokestacks belched black smoke, and cinders fell on the gray-suited soldiers who sat, walked, or lounged on the upper deck, their weapons close at hand.
Lily waved, even though her heart was heavy at this reminder of the terrible struggle that had been going on for nearly a full year. A few of them saluted or waved, but most of the group ignored her gesture.
She and Blake watched the boat until it disappeared around a bend in the river. “Where do you think they’re going?”
Blake shrugged. “To defend one of the southern ports, I imagine.”
“I’m so worried about letting Camellia attend school in New Orleans. I hate the idea of being unable to reach her.”
The color of Blake’s eyes seemed to change as a cloud briefly obscured the sun. “You’ve done everything you can to convince her, but your sister has her heart set on going to La Belle. If you don’t let her have her way in this, she may strike out on her own.” His lips curled in a quick smile. “She is an Anderson, after all.”
Lily couldn’t help the laughter that broke past her lips in response to her husband’s not-so-subtle reminder of her own stubbornness. “But that was different. My aunt and uncle were trying to force me—”
“Trying to get you to do what they thought was in your best interest.”
Her chin lifted. “I’m not trying to push Camellia into a loveless marriage.”
“I know that, Lily. But you’re the one who told me how adamant your sister is about going to that finishing school.” He shrugged. “I don’t see much wrong with letting her live in New Orleans. We have friends who will watch out for her safety, and if it becomes dangerous, we’ll have the opportunity to rescue her and bring her safely back to Les Fleurs. Or keep her aboard with us if you want.”
He was right. She knew he was right. But still she worried.
Blake dropped a reassuring kiss on her forehead. “Where is Camellia, anyway? I thought you wanted to spend all of your leisure time with her on this voyage since it will probably be the last one we manage before school begins.”
“I sent her up to visit Papa.” Lily glanced at the staircase behind his right shoulder. “She still seems so stilted and formal around him. I don’t understand why. Camellia couldn’t have felt the same way I did when I thought Papa had abandoned us. She seemed to get along well with him before she knew his real identity, and I would like to see them work out their differences before she goes away, before her heart hardens so much that—”
Blake’s face, so warm and caring before her answer, hardened into a cold mask.
Remorse washed through her. “I’m sorry, Blake…. I didn’t mean…. I wasn’t trying to—”
He put a finger over her lips, silencing her apology. “It’s okay, Lily. I suppose what I’m feeling is more guilt than anything else. Besides, we’ve had a similar discussion before when I was trying to get you to be more accepting of Henrick. I know I need to make peace with my own father.”
Lily wanted to put her arms around Blake. She wanted to comfort him, tell him that she would always be there for him no matter what he decided to do about his relationship with his father. But she held her tongue and waited for him to finish. Her patience was rewarded after a long minute ticked by.
Blake sighed. “I just don’t know if I’m ready to take that step yet. You cannot know what it was like—”
Unable to keep silent any longer, Lily interrupted him. “But I know what you’re like, Blake. I’ve seen you grow closer to the Lord since we’ve been together. I love the time we spend together in devotion and prayer.” She hesitated for a moment, trying to pick her words with care.
Blake smiled, but his eyes were filled with uncertainty. “But …?”
Lily didn’t want to cause Blake unnecessary pain, yet she owed him her honest opinion. “I can sense a hard place inside of you, a place you don’t want to let Him touch. Maybe it’s be
cause I once harbored the same feelings toward my father that I recognize them in you.” She put a hand on his arm, feeling the hard coil of his muscles under her fingers. “If you don’t release the anger, it will consume you. I’m afraid it will make you someone different from the man I know and love. I don’t want to see that happen to you … to us.”
His head dropped toward his chest. “I know you’re right, but it’s not easy. I understand with my mind that I have to forgive my father, but I don’t feel the truth of it in my heart. I’ve been praying about my father. So far, God has been silent on the subject. Maybe when things settle down some …”
Lily stood on her tiptoes and placed a whisper-light kiss on his cheek. “I love you, dearest, but you cannot continue to put this off. It’s weighing on you too heavily.”
“You’re right, and I want to.” His large, warm hand cupped her chin. “I have an idea.”
She placed her hand over his and met his gaze, trying to encourage him. She loved him so much she felt her heart would burst, and she wanted him to see what was in her heart. “What is that?”
“Why don’t you pray for God to show both of us the right time and the right way to deal with my father?”
Lily nodded. As long as both of them leaned on His strength, they would weather any storm. That knowledge also brought her a measure of peace regarding Camellia. The Lord would watch over all of them—whether they were in the same town or not.
Camellia reached for another of the plates Tamar had scrubbed clean. “If I never had to spend another night on a steamboat, my life would be perfect.”
“Don’t you say such things.” Tamar frowned at her as she continued her task. “This is your sister’s chosen home.”
“She can come and visit me once I get married.” Camellia grimaced at the thought of her family creating a rumpus in her spotless, well-ordered plantation home. Papa’s tall tales, Jasmine’s dramatic posturing, and Lily’s stubbornness would put an end to harmony. It would be a wonder if Camellia’s husband didn’t forbid their return after a single day in company with her family. “But only if she brings Aunt Dahlia and Uncle Phillip along as well.”
The choked sound from the woman standing beside her made Camellia smile. Both of them knew the likelihood of Lily and Aunt Dahlia traveling together. The probability that at least one of them would expire during the journey—and not from natural causes—was extremely high.
Camellia reached for another plate to dry. “Why do you remain on the Water Lily?”
“Many reasons.” Tamar’s voice sounded serene, almost dreamy. “I suppose the main reason is that a wife’s place is at the side of her husband.”
The statement brought a nod from Camellia. She had finally gotten used to the romance between Blake’s friend and the woman who had been a surrogate mother to her.
Tamar and Jensen first met on Lily and Blake’s steamship the Hattie Belle. Jensen had been the cook on that ship, but Tamar was a slave, the slave who had taken care of Lily, Camellia, and Jasmine as though they were her own children. She had seemed content with her position. For as long as Camellia could remember, Tamar had been loving and kind, with a world of practical wisdom to impart to her charges.
Camellia had been surprised when her older sister went to their grandmother and asked for Tamar’s freedom—and even more shocked when the newly freed woman announced she was going to marry Jensen. It gave her a whole new view of Tamar as a real person, not just the unassuming woman who made sure her clothing was mended and her hair arranged.
“But don’t you want a regular home and children of your own?”
“Oh child, a home is wherever and whatever you make it. Besides, the good Lord blessed me with both of those things when He let me watch you and your sisters grow up.” She sighed. “I wouldn’t complain if He decided to give us a child of our own, but with things in such an uproar, I don’t know if that’s a good idea.”
Now it was Camellia’s turn to sigh. “The war affects us all, doesn’t it?”
“Even though I’m free now, it may not always be that way. Who knows whether our children would be safe?” Tamar’s voice was matter-of-fact.
Camellia’s problems were small in comparison to Tamar’s. The war had delayed her plans for the future, but whether she would be free to pursue her goals had never been in doubt.
Tamar swished her hands through the dishwater and pulled them out to reach for the towel Camellia was holding. “That’s all of the dishes.”
Jasmine ran into the small gallery. “We’re about to dock!”
Camellia thrust her disturbing thoughts aside. Tamar was free. She had a husband and a good job. Untying her apron, she pulled it off and hung it on a peg to dry. “I’ll meet you on deck, Jasmine. I just need to check my appearance.”
“Looks are not the only thing that matters.” Tamar’s warning chased Camellia out of the room.
Ignoring the words, Camellia hurried to the room she shared with Jasmine. A glance in the mirror proved her concern was valid. Her hair was a mess, and her shirtwaist was wrinkled from leaning against the galley counter. It would take too long to heat a curling rod. Camellia ran her fingers through the blond ringlets and fastened them with combs so that they cascaded around her face.
A quick search in her trunks unearthed her short cloak. She could use it to hide the wrinkles in her blouse. Swinging it around her shoulders, she fastened the navy frog at the neck and checked her appearance once more.
Milky complexion, wide blue eyes, generous forehead, and long neck. She would turn heads as always. Men admired her while women hid their jealousy behind stiff smiles. It was her place in the world, a place she was determined to keep in spite of everything else.
She found both of her sisters and Jasmine’s shadow, David, on deck, watching as their shipment was off-loaded by burly dockworkers. “How long will we be in Memphis?”
Lily glanced in her direction. “We’ll stay with Eli and Renée Thornton tonight and leave in the morning.”
Swallowing her groan, Camellia pinned a fake smile on her lips. She was not going to complain, even though she had no doubt Lily knew she didn’t want to stay the night in Memphis. She wanted to get to New Orleans, get settled, and begin her school term.
“Don’t worry.” Jasmine stepped closer and grabbed her hand. “Papa says we’ll get you there in time.”
Camellia pulled her hand away. She didn’t want to hear what Papa had to say about anything. What did her sisters see in him, anyway? All he did was tell stories about the way the river used to be. Or preach at them about turning the other cheek and forgiving other people hundreds of times when they were unpleasant. That was fine for him, but Camellia didn’t see what good his talking did for her. Why should she be the one who forgave other people?
The one time she’d tried to talk to Lily about Papa’s sermonizing, her older sister had gotten all serious and talked to her about letting go of the past like she had done. Camellia didn’t have any problem with Papa’s past. It was his present that bothered her. She’d much rather have Uncle Phillip for a father. He was a businessman. He knew how to dress, how to act at a dinner party, how to conduct himself in public. He would never be caught dressed like someone from the Revolutionary War. She busied herself comparing Uncle Phillip to Papa as they left the Water Lily and climbed into a rented carriage for the trip to Eli Thornton’s home a few miles east of the harbor.
Jasmine chattered as usual, pointing out every building they passed as if they’d never before stayed in Memphis. How would others see them in the carriage? She was the pretty one, of course. Jasmine was the vivacious one. And Lily? Lily was just plain old Lily. Now that she had married Blake, her life had taken on a predictable pattern—one that Camellia would abhor, but one that seemed to bring her older sister happiness.
Chapter Four
Jonah’s mouth was so dry he didn’t think he would be able to deliver the code phrase. “May I inquire where you got that flower? Yellow is my favorite c
olor.”
“A shop on Beale Avenue purchases them especially for me. They are quite dear, but I don’t mind the cost.”
It was the correct response, the one that meant he was officially a spy. Jonah’s shoulders tightened. His tongue felt too big for his mouth, and his breathing was choppy—as though he’d run all the way from his brother’s store. He forced himself to take a slow, deep breath. “What happens next?”
He eyed the short man whom he named Mr. Brown for the color of his frock coat. He sported long brown sideburns, a bushy mustache, and a beard. If not for the bright yellow rosebud on his lapel, Jonah never would have given him a second glance. He supposed that was a good thing for a spy.
“You’re going to New Orleans, a visit to your parents.”
Jonah’s blood chilled. He didn’t like that this stranger knew so much about him and his family. “What will I do there?”
“Ferret out information about the rebel defenses—their weapons, plans, the number of soldiers present—and pass it along to your contact.”
“How will I know him?”
The shorter man hesitated. Jonah thought he smiled, but it was hard to tell through the tangle of facial hair. “Your contact is not a man.”
Jonah’s eyebrows climbed high. “A female spy?” What type of lady would involve herself in such a dangerous pursuit?
“Why not? She’s Colonel Poindexter’s cousin, a widow who runs a school for the pampered daughters of rich Southern planters. That’s why the captain was involved in choosing you. He has an interest in selecting an honest man, someone who won’t betray his sister and can blend in with aristocratic society. You’ll elicit all the information you can and give it to Mrs. Dabbs. She’s responsible for getting the information to her brother. They’ll be written in code, so even if a letter is intercepted, she won’t fall under suspicion.”
Wondering how he would avoid suspicion when delivering the information, Jonah nodded. When he had agreed to spy for the Union in June, he’d thought the general would send him out immediately. But that was before they received orders from President Lincoln to chase down the Missouri State Guard and stop them from consolidating a base in Missouri. They marched to Springfield, anxious to end the threat. But they had lost. Lost miserably. Catastrophically. So many men died. Even General Lyon was killed in a hail of bullets as he tried to rally his remaining men.
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