Camellia

by Diane T. Ashley

  Slipping back into his bed, Jonah prayed for patience and faith like Joseph’s. His anxiety lessened, and his eyes drifted shut. God would help him see the way.

  Chapter Eleven

  Camellia checked her appearance in the mirror. A row of tiny buttons on the front of her dress were covered in matching crimson material. She loved the tiny lines of gold that lent a striped appearance to the fabric. The sleeves, daringly simple and straight, were adorned with a single ruched band before ending halfway between her elbow and wrist. But the neckline was too plain. Draping a white scarf across the bodice, she turned to ask Jane’s opinion of her embellishment, surprised by the worried frown on her friend’s face. “Don’t be anxious. The Thorntons’ church has so many nice people. They’ve always welcomed me and my sisters.”

  Jane hid a yawn behind her hand. “I hope I don’t fall asleep during the sermon.”

  “I promise to pinch you before you begin snoring.”

  “I don’t snore.” Jane pointed a finger at her. “You are a different matter, however. Your snoring would put a locomotive to shame.”

  Camellia shook her head. “That wasn’t me. It was you.”

  They continued to banter as they headed downstairs to meet the others. Sarah and Dr. Cartier had returned home, of course, and would meet them at the church. But Camellia was surprised to see only Mrs. Thornton and Jonah awaiting them in the foyer. Mrs. Thornton was already wearing a dark cloak that hid the color and cut of her dress. Jonah wore a bottle-green coat that stretched across his broad shoulders. An embroidered waistcoat and striped trousers completed his outfit, marking him as a gentleman of fashion.

  Dragging her gaze away from his compelling features, she looked around the foyer. “Where is Mr. Thornton?”

  Mrs. Thornton shook her head. “He’s stopped attending services for now.”

  Jonah held Jane’s cape for her, taking his sweet time with her friend. Determined to show she didn’t need anyone’s help, Camellia managed to get the heavy material of her own cloak across her shoulders without twisting her arms completely off.

  “The pastor dared to express his support for abolition from the pulpit.” Jonah’s voice was as sour as ever. Did he always have to be so sarcastic?

  Jane fastened the button at the top of her cloak and sent a grateful look in his direction. “Our pastor in the Garden District has not addressed that subject at all.”

  “Pastor Nolan is a good shepherd for our little flock.” Mrs. Thornton pulled on her gloves. “He is a man of conscience, and his spiritual message is always applicable to our lives, even if we disagree with his political views. Coming together with other Christians is a directive from the New Testament that I will not ignore. Especially during these troubled times. I don’t know how people survive when they do not have the support of a church to sustain them.”

  Camellia nodded. “We attend a church just around the corner from La Belle Demoiselle, even when the weather is inclement. You should see all of us following behind Mrs. Dabbs and Mademoiselle Laurent.”

  “Like a colorful line of ducklings?” Jonah’s half smile had returned. “I’m certain you turn all the heads in your neighborhood.”

  She was not going to let him rile her this morning. Let him poke fun all he wanted. This was Sunday, and she was determined to be more circumspect. Didn’t the Bible say something about heaping coals on someone’s head? “I hadn’t thought of it in exactly that way, but you’re right, Jonah.”

  The surprise on his face at her agreement was delicious. A victory over the supercilious man at last. Squelching her glee, as it might not be considered very Christian, Camellia sailed through the door he opened and into the bright spring sunlight.

  Their path to the church roughly paralleled the crescent path of the river, taking them past several shuttered homes. New Orleans had changed since Louisiana had seceded from the Union. Men had volunteered to fight, and their wives and children had fled to the safety of extended families. Those with Northern roots escaped the South rather than swear fealty to the Confederacy, leaving behind the lives they had established during the lucrative heyday of international shipping and trade. The weed-choked lawns made Camellia wonder if anything would ever be the same again. Would the residents return once the war ended? Or would those who survived remain in the new lives they had crafted? Who would one day live in these abandoned homes?

  When they arrived, the pastor and his wife were standing at the front door of the whitewashed building. After brief introductions, they moved inside.

  Even the church seemed subdued. The majority of those in attendance were ladies and children. Camellia wondered if that was because the men had volunteered to fight or if they, like Mr. Thornton, refused to attend.

  Mrs. Thornton led the way to a vacant pew near the front, crimping her skirts to navigate the narrow space.

  Camellia had meant to sit between Mrs. Thornton and Jane but somehow ended up behind her friend, meaning she would be trapped between Jane and Jonah. She wondered if she could manage to ignore him the whole time. It shouldn’t be too hard. Straightening her spine, she folded her gloved hands in her lap. Presenting an attitude of humility was always appropriate in church.

  “ ‘Thou wilt shew me the path of life: in thy presence is fulness of joy; at thy right hand there are pleasures for evermore.’ ” The words thundered out of the pastor’s mouth, making Camellia forget all about the man sitting next to her. The reverend’s gaze lifted from the Bible he held in his right hand, and he studied the congregation. “I don’t know about the rest of you who are in attendance today, but I am spending hours on my knees praying for America’s future.”

  A shifting among the pews signaled discomfort from at least some of the people. Or was that the Holy Spirit? Camellia held herself very still. If God was here with them, she didn’t want Him thinking she wasn’t listening.

  “If we don’t pay attention to God’s Word, this country is doomed.”

  “Amen!” A male voice from somewhere behind them startled Jane.

  A nervous giggle formed in Camellia’s chest. She tamped it down and managed to resist the temptation of glancing at her friend, unsure if she could maintain proper decorum otherwise.

  “Last night as I studied my Bible for the right message to bring to you, I was drawn to the middle of my Bible.” The pastor reclaimed her attention. “I read this verse, and it got me to thinking about paths and the nature of the steps we take. Then I turned to Proverbs, the book of good advice we should all read at least once a month.”

  Camellia twisted her gloved fingers together, concentrating on the smooth feel of the silky material in the palm of her hand. The leather corner of a Bible appeared within her field of vision. Jonah’s Bible. Curiosity turned her gaze toward the words his finger was underlining as the pastor read the verse.

  “ ‘There is a way which seemeth right unto a man, but the end thereof are the ways of death.’ ”

  She shuddered. Some parts of the Bible didn’t appeal to her at all. Why did God have to go to all the trouble of making the way to Him so difficult? Why couldn’t He make things simple? If she was running the world, things would be different. Her cheeks heated at the errant thoughts. Should she apologize to God? Was He listening that closely to her thoughts? Would He smite her where she sat?

  A breathless moment of fear made her freeze again. Nothing happened, and she relaxed.

  Jonah closed his Bible, his fingers stroking the worn leather cover. The book was old, worn, well used.

  It sparked a new thought in her mind. Was the Bible outdated? Was it too old? They lived in a modern world, a world that would confuse the people in the Bible. She sat straighter. Maybe that was it. Maybe the Bible wasn’t relevant anymore. Maybe God had instituted a new system.

  The pastor had been droning on for a while now, talking about how they were all going to end in destruction. He’d probably start talking about weeping and teeth gnashing in a minute. She should have stayed at the town hous
e with Mr. Thornton. She could understand why he refused to come.

  Her head drooped lower as she studied a line of tiny stitches. It was a good thing she didn’t have to make her own dresses. She caught the giggle before it escaped, but a hiccup managed to break free.

  Jane elbowed her. “What are you doing?”

  Jonah turned his head and looked at them, his frown stopping her answer.

  Camellia pouted at him and pulled on the cuff of her glove. He didn’t have to be so sanctimonious. She’d like to run his world for a little while. Send him racing down a path that no one else was on. Or was that what God had already done to him?

  Her eyes narrowed, but before she could continue the thought, the pastor asked for everyone to bow their heads. After he prayed for a little while, his words running together in her mind, the pastor ended the prayer. Then it was over.

  They gathered their things and began to file out of the church. Jonah offered his arm to his mother.

  Jane touched Camellia’s arm as they moved to follow. “Tell me what you were doing during the service.”

  Camellia shrugged. “Nothing much. Just trying to stay awake.”

  Jane shot a look at her. “I didn’t have much trouble.”

  Ignoring her friend’s censure, Camellia raised her voice so the Thorntons could hear her question. “Do you think we’re on the right path?”

  She could see Jonah’s shoulder tighten.

  It was all the encouragement she needed to continue. “I’m not sure this is the right way. It may be the path that leads to destruction.”

  Mrs. Thornton looked over her shoulder at them. “I’m so glad you took the sermon to heart, Camellia. I was afraid you might find the message troubling.”

  “No, of course not.” Camellia silenced the voice inside her head. “I may not agree with his whole message, but I know he believes what he says.”

  Jonah stopped walking for a minute then seemed to recover himself. He continued on until they reached his family’s home. But she could almost feel the storm brewing in him.

  “I need to speak to you for a moment, Camellia.” He practically dragged her from the foyer, his fingers making certain she didn’t escape.

  Camellia refused to be intimidated. Jonah held no power over her. She took a stance in the center of the room, shoulders back, head high. Aunt Dahlia would be proud of her. “What is wrong?”

  “You may not…. No, let me start again. You obviously do not value the message you heard today.”

  “I don’t see why the path to God has to be narrow and strewn with briars.” She pulled off her gloves and held them in one hand. “And if it is, who is to say the South is not following the right path? After all, we are the smaller group. Does that make us the ones with the right answer?”

  He sighed. “Is that really what you believe? That God smiles on the South and the Southern way of life?”

  “If you’re so sure we’re wrong, why do you stay?”

  His mouth closed in a straight line.

  Camellia could sense she was about to win. She let her mouth relax into a smile. “Are you going to answer me?”

  “You wouldn’t understand if I did. Your ears have been closed. Your eyes can’t see.” He turned on his heel and walked out of the room.

  The victory she had sensed felt hollow, empty. She slapped her gloves against her empty palm and blew out a breath of disgust. How like a man. He would never admit she might be right.

  Chapter Twelve

  On the Mississippi River near St. Louis

  John Champion tossed another piece of wood into the boiler and slammed the door shut. “Do you want me to add more?”

  The engineer pushed back his black cap and scratched his head. “No, that’ll do her fer now.”

  Nodding, John pushed his sleeves back down and fastened them.

  “Don’t see why ya bother with that.” The shorter man shook his head. “Ya gonna have to roll ’em up again or replace that shirt soon.”

  It was a habit born of his earlier years, but one John seemed unable to break. Even though it had been two years since he had last seen his home, it was hard to forgo some routines. “I’ll roll them up when I have to.”

  The engineer’s puzzled look made John laugh as he left the engine room and wound his way through hogsheads of sugar from southern Louisiana. Captain Pecanty should make a good profit this voyage. Sugar was worth its weight in gold since supply had been cut off by the Union blockade in the Gulf of Mexico. That meant John would also earn more.

  Not that he had much need for money these days. Working on the Catfish ensured him a serviceable bunk and plenty of food. He usually stayed on the boat with the Pecantys instead of visiting the gambling dens that lined many of the towns along the river. Keeping to himself had grown easier and easier the longer he remained on the steamship. A warm breeze pushed his hair down into his eyes. He reached up and brushed it back with an impatient gesture.

  “If you didn’t wear it so long, it wouldn’t bother you.” The feminine voice brought his head around. Almost as wide as she was tall, Naomi Pecanty had twinkling green eyes, a smile as wide as the river they rode upon, and a caring heart as steady and strong as the paddle wheel steering them northward.

  She never came up on his right side, the side that bore the reminder of past sins. It was an indication of her thoughtfulness. Mrs. Naomi never asked him about the disfiguring scars that marred one side of his face. She and her husband were not the kind to ask many questions about a man’s past, a fact that suited John to a T. But that hadn’t stopped the kindly woman from presenting him a scarf last Christmas to serve the dual purpose of keeping his head and neck warm while covering a goodly portion of the rough, purplish-red skin left by the explosion.

  “I like it long.” He leaned against the wooden rail and looked out at the green hills. Of course the lock fell down into his eyes again, but this time John ignored it. He could almost feel her disapproving look. The silence lengthened until he finally gave up, sighed, and pushed back the hair once more. “Did you come up front to advise me on fashion?”

  “No.” The gentle tone of her voice made him feel guilty for his gruff tone. “I need to ask a favor of you.”

  “A favor?” He glanced sideways and met her gaze.

  Something swirled in those eyes, something that made his shoulders tense. John wanted to walk away, but he couldn’t. The woman next to him had practically adopted him the moment she joined the crew as the cook.

  Yankees had raided her home, taking the livestock, looting the garden, and burning down the house she and Captain Pecanty had built. They decided she would be safer on the boat, so Mrs. Naomi took over the kitchen duties. John had gained at least ten pounds since she’d come on board.

  “I need some supplies from Devore’s in Cape Girardeau.”

  Their next stop would be at the small town in southern Missouri—a regular destination on their voyages. He fumbled for an excuse. “I don’t know. I doubt I would come back with the right supplies.”

  “I made out a list for you.” She pulled a folded slip of paper from her sleeve.

  Tommy Bender, a short man with dirty blond hair and light blue eyes, came down the stairs and moved past them with a toothy grin. “Is dinner about ready?”

  “Not yet.” Mrs. Naomi returned his smile. “Biscuits will be ready at sunset.”

  “Don’t let John eat all of ’em before the rest of us get to the dinner table.”

  John frowned. He should be used to the ribbing from the rest of the crew, but he wished they would simply leave him alone.

  “I won’t.” Mrs. Naomi pushed the list toward him.

  John took it and stuffed it into a pocket. It seemed the time to object had passed. He supposed he could do as his employer’s wife wished. As he walked away from the rail, his shoulders twitched. Why did it feel like he had a target painted on his back?

  New Orleans

  Camellia tucked a bit of hair under her nightcap and leaned b
ack against her pillow. “What do you think of Jonah Thornton?”

  Jane blew out their candle and shrugged. “He seems like a nice man.”

  Tilting her head, Camellia tried to decide if Jane was hiding her feelings. Her tone of voice was calm and matter-of-fact. But she must have been impressed with Jonah. He was quite handsome, after all. And he had been nothing but kind and courteous to Jane. He had never called her an impolite child, laughed at her faux pas, or castigated her for the number of trunks she needed for her clothing. If Jonah had been half as nice to Camellia as he had been to her roommate …

  Camellia shook her head before the thought could complete itself. She needed to concentrate on Jane’s needs. “He’s well connected, you know. His family is quite popular. Sarah, his sister, hosts the grandest parties.”

  The bed sagged as Jane settled next to her.

  A faint glow from the fireplace on the far wall was the only illumination in the room. Camellia pulled the cover up to her chin and waited for an answer.

  “Yes, I’m sure you’re right.” Jane stopped speaking.

  “But?” The word echoed in the room, but no answer came.

  After several moments, Jane cleared her throat. “Nothing really. It’s just that Mr. Thornton seems so … so serious.”

  “Is that all?” Camellia let out the breath she hadn’t realized she had been holding. “What he needs is a pretty young lady to help lighten that serious nature.”

  Her mind went back to the night when Lily and Blake had taken them to the theater. How young she had been back then. And how debonair Jonah Thornton had seemed. He’d been dashing and mysterious—grave one moment and carefree the next. He had been exactly the type of beau she wanted to snag. Camellia could feel her cheeks growing warm as she considered how he must have perceived her back then—the gauche younger sister of an unconventional family. She had made little secret of her admiration, but Jonah Thornton hadn’t been interested in her. He’d never been interested in her. And he never would be. Not that she wanted him to be … although it would have been satisfying for him to pursue her, if only so she could ignore his advances.