Jane came to stand next to Camellia and placed an arm around her waist. “You’ve seemed different these past few days. Is that scene with my brother troubling you?”
Camellia would have liked to blame her problems on such an easy target, but she could not be untruthful to her best friend. “No.”
The other girl was silent, as though waiting for an explanation. But Camellia had none to give her. She couldn’t reveal her changed feelings about the war and slavery without exposing Jonah, and she couldn’t very well ask her friend to betray her brother by hiding Jonah’s secret.
“I suppose we’re all tired.”
Camellia sighed. “It has been a long trip.”
“At least Jonah seems back to normal. Even his cough is easing.”
Thanking God in her heart, Camellia smiled. “That’s true. Perhaps we have bright futures as nurses.”
Jane shivered. “I don’t think I have the stomach for it.”
“You don’t find it rewarding to see Jonah’s recovery?”
“Of course I do, but it’s not like he had any gaping wounds or sores. His problems were more internal.”
Thad’s reappearance stopped their conversation. He was escorted by an older man, a civilian.
“Here they come. I wonder what your brother has learned.”
They soon found out. Jacksonport had been in the hands of the Union until only a few days earlier. Camellia wondered what might have happened if they had arrived then. Would they have been taken prisoner, or would Jonah have come forward and worked to ensure their freedom?
The Confederate commander who had retaken the town had a number of wounded on his hands, and he needed to arrange transport back to Vicksburg where they could receive proper care. Even though their packet was small, he thought it would meet his requirements.
Thad described the proposition as a choice, but Camellia viewed it as a command. They would transport the wounded soldiers to Vicksburg whether they wanted to or not.
She and Jane spent the afternoon scrubbing out the unused guest quarters. Soldiers drove nails into the walls and hung hammocks inside the cleaned quarters. By the time the sun was setting, the boat was almost ready.
The commander’s assistant, a pale man with a long beard and pale eyes, joined them for dinner. It was a fancier dinner than they had enjoyed for the weeks they’d been on the White River. Colonel Thomas Scoggins regaled them with stories of battles and skirmishes they had managed to avoid in their time on the river.
As a result, Camellia found herself unable to eat any of the fried squirrel or rice. From the colonel’s descriptions, they would surely encounter Union gunboats if they tried to return to the Mississippi. Would she and Jane spend the rest of the war in this small town in Arkansas?
“I’m surprised Mr. Thornton is not present for dinner this evening.” Mr. Carlton’s innocent comment set Camellia’s heart thumping. “I would have thought he would be anxious to make a report of the activities at Memphis.”
Colonel Scoggins raised an eyebrow. “Who is this?”
Thad explained how they had fished Jonah from the river after the battle above Memphis and watched him sleep for three days and nights. Colonel Scoggins expressed a desire to interview Jonah, and the conversation at the table became more general.
But Camellia knew it didn’t bode well for Jonah. She had to warn him and see that he avoided talking with the sharp-eyed soldier. She had no intention of seeing him hanged for his actions—not now that she understood the truth.
Two days later the packet had taken on a whole new identity. Fresh paint blazoned the word Hospital on the housing that protected the paddle wheel, declaring to all that she should be allowed to pass without being fired upon. Camellia hoped both armies would respect the packet’s purpose.
She had never been more tired in her life. Her legs hurt, her arms felt too heavy to lift, and her neck was as stiff as a board. And still the wounded and sick were brought onto the boat in a never-ending flood. Women from the town came aboard, too, with offerings of fresh bandages, soap, and herbal remedies.
The doctor had Jane and Camellia organize their supplies and start a list of their patients’ names. Along with Mr. Carlton and some of the other crewmen, they talked to the men, holding their hands, cleaning their faces, and making them as comfortable as possible. The stench was nearly unbearable, but somehow Camellia managed to get around the crowded room.
Jonah caught her in the passageway at noon on the second day. “I want you to come to the dining hall with me.”
“I don’t have time to eat.” She tried to push past him but was halted when he spread his legs and crossed his arms over his chest. “Get out of my way.”
He uncrossed his arms and touched her cheek with a gentle finger. “You cannot keep spending all your time with the wounded.”
“That’s what Thad told me when I was tending you.”
Jonah’s head snapped back as though she had slapped him.
Remorse flooded Camellia. “I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be. I don’t mean to irritate you, Camellia. But I’m worried about your health. You’re exhausted.” He took her by the shoulders and turned her to face one of the passageway windows. “Look at yourself. If you keep up this pace, you’ll expire before those men in there.”
Tears burned her eyes. Couldn’t he see she was doing this because of him? Because he had helped her see the truth? “What do you want from me?”
“Come with me.” He dropped his hands from her shoulders and pulled her toward the exit. “I have something I need to tell you, and spending an afternoon in the sunshine will make you feel better.”
The fresh air did smell good. And the warmth of the sun on her skin was a welcome relief. Strangers, the soldiers who came and went from the Confederate headquarters in a never-ending flow, watched them disembark. But no one challenged Jonah. Had he convinced them that he was one of them? Was he even now gathering information that would be used to defeat them? “Where are you taking me?”
Jonah didn’t answer her, just kept a guiding hand under her elbow. They walked down the dusty street, passing a mercantile and half-a-dozen houses. And still he walked. Over a slight rise, through a valley of tall grasses.
Camellia was beginning to think her legs would fall off. “I have to stop.”
“It’s not much farther now.” Jonah’s promise encouraged her to continue.
Finally he turned into the woods, following a path only he could see. Trees surrounded them, hiding them from civilization. She could hear something new ahead of them, a sound like thunder. Where was he taking her?
And then she saw it. The thunder was water rushing across huge boulders. “A waterfall?”
Their gazes met. He looked like a mischievous kid. “One of the local men told me about this place. I thought I would offer to stand guard while you refresh yourself.” He held out his hand, his palm open to show her a sliver of soap.
Suddenly the layers of grit and grime on her skin were intolerable. She took the soap from him, imagining the feeling of the cleansing water surrounding her. “Really?”
He nodded and turned his back to the waterfall. “Be careful. I’d hate to have to offend your modesty.”
Camellia felt her blush, though she knew he couldn’t see it under the dirt. She moved to a pool at the base of the waterfall and stripped off her clothing one layer at a time. Dressed only in her chemise, she stuck a toe in the water. It was cool, as refreshing as she’d hoped. She glanced back over her shoulder to make certain Jonah was not watching. His back was barely discernible among the tree limbs. Satisfied, she walked forward. The water climbed to her waist then to her neck. Camellia held her breath and plunged her head into the water. She lathered the soap and used it to melt the dirt and grime. She rinsed the suds away and started over again, scrubbing her scalp, her skin, every part of her body she could reach.
“Are you still in the water?” Jonah’s voice reminded her of his presence.
&n
bsp; “Yes. It’s wonderful, Jonah.” She rinsed the soap off a second time and stepped out of the pool. Getting dressed was not easy, but with a bit of squirming and straining she managed the laces and buttons.
Squeezing the water out of her curls, Camellia walked back up the path to the place where she had parted from Jonah. “Where are you?”
He appeared from behind a large oak. “Right here.” His crooked smile made her breath catch.
“Thank you.”
“Did you enjoy yourself?” He offered his arm.
Camellia nodded. “It was worth the walk. I feel I could take on the whole world again.”
They wandered down the path again, at peace with each other. The sun was beginning to approach the western horizon.
Jonah sighed and stopped walking just short of the town’s edge. “I have to leave.”
Although she’d been expecting this moment from the start, Camellia’s heart fell. “When?”
“Now. A couple of days ago Colonel Scoggins sent a messenger to my battalion to report my survival. As soon as he realizes my commanding officer doesn’t have any record of me, he’ll realize I’m a spy.” Jonah heaved a sigh. “I wish I could stay, but it’s impossible.”
“I could go with you.” The words slipped out before Camellia could stop them.
He shook his head. “Thad will take care of you.”
Camellia promised herself she would not cry. She would not let him see how his refusal hurt her or how much she would miss him. She choked back her emotions. “Godspeed, then.”
“Camellia, I want you t—” He bit off the word and shook his head. “Thad is a good man. You could do worse than marry him.”
She shook her head. “Please don’t say such things.” They had been through so much together. The memory of his kiss came back to her with startling clarity. She wanted to do nothing more than repeat the experience. Before she could talk herself out of it, Camellia lifted herself on tiptoe and pressed her lips against Jonah’s.
After a brief hesitation, his arms embraced her, holding her close. His lips moved on hers, and a shock like lightning shot through her. Time stood still as the bond between them strengthened. For a moment she seemed to melt into him, become a part of him in some way that she didn’t understand. Then it was over.
Jonah put his hands on her shoulders and slowly pushed her away. “I have to go.” His voice was rough, but she could see the remorse in his gaze. Then he turned on his heel and walked away, disappearing into the woods without a backward glance.
Pain tore through her, and Camellia sank to her knees and wept. She wept for past mistakes and present dreams; she wept for lost causes and separate pathways. But mostly she wept for the brave man who would not shirk his duty no matter the cost.
Chapter Twenty-eight
The note was delivered by a young boy who put Lily in mind of David, the child they had rescued from the streets of Natchez Under-the-Hill. Dirty and barefoot, he was another of the “throwaway” children who should be staying at the foundling home. She must remember to mention him to the orphanage’s matron.
“I have a note here for y’all. The scary man said you’d pay me for it.” He held up the folded sheet.
Lily frowned. “The scary man?”
The child nodded, his brown eyes solemn.
Wondering who had given the child a note, Lily shrugged. She reached for the reticule at her waist and drew out a gold coin. “Is this enough for your long walk?”
The child’s eyes widened at the generous offering. “Yes, ma’am.”
She held out the coin, smiling as he snatched it from her hand.
He handed her the note and skipped off the veranda. Lily imagined the tales he would share tonight in whatever hovel sheltered him. Perhaps the money would buy him a good meal and a real bed or stretch to a new pair of shoes. She hoped so.
Returning to the front parlor, she sat next to Blake. “I had hoped this would be a note from Camellia, but it’s addressed to you.”
Blake took the note from her hand. “One of my admirers, no doubt.”
She punched his arm.
“Lily, control yourself, please.” Aunt Dahlia sniffed.
Blake adopted an angelic expression and nodded. “Thank you. I have told Lily again and again that she should adopt your manners.”
The older woman preened, and Lily felt like punching his arm again. If she had followed Aunt Dahlia’s advice, they never would have met. She never would have purchased half interest in a steamboat, and he probably would have been shot by some unhappy gambler by now. Deciding to take the higher road, she forced her lips into a congenial smile. “Are you going to open your note?” His unrepentant grin teased her.
Lily folded her hands in her lap and gazed at the fireplace. She refused to be drawn into further tomfoolery.
Blake sighed and pulled a small knife from the pocket of his trousers.
Aunt Dahlia gasped and fanned herself, apparently overcome to find a lethal weapon in their parlor.
Lily regaled her aunt and grandmother with a description of the boy and his “scary man” while her husband perused the note. She didn’t realize anything was wrong until the sheet of paper drifted to the floor. She turned to look at her husband, surprised to see the anguish in his navy-blue eyes. “What is it?”
Blake shook his head and leaned back against the sofa, his hand covering his eyes. Was he crying?
Lily scooped up the note and read it:
Dear Mr. Matthews,
I am sorry to inform you that your father has suffered a serious accident and is not expected to recover. By the time you receive this note, it may already be too late, but your sister has expressed a desire for your help, as she has no other male relative to support her during these trying and dangerous times. As a friend of the family, I have taken it upon myself to contact you and request that you repair immediately to your family’s home in Cape Girardeau.
The note was signed with a flourishing J.
Grandmother put down her teacup. “What has happened?”
“It’s Blake’s father. He’s been in some sort of accident.”
“Your father?” Aunt Dahlia looked at the man beside her. “I thought you were an orphan.”
Blake lowered his hand, and Lily noticed that the skin under his eyes seemed moist. The urge to protect her husband took hold of her. “Blake had a difficult childhood and had to break free from his family.”
Aunt Dahlia’s jaw fell. After a moment, she snapped it shut. “I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised.”
What she left unsaid was a phrase Lily had heard often enough … from a gambler. She frowned at her relative. “Not everyone is as comfortable or blessed as we have been. Blake deserves your admiration for succeeding in spite of the setbacks he’s faced.”
Blake patted her hand. “It’s all right, Lily. You don’t have to defend me. I have never corrected your relatives’ mistaken assumptions about my past.”
“But—”
A look from him stopped her words. “I believe the time has come for me to take your advice.” He stood and reached for the note.
Lily bent her wrist away from his hand. “Don’t think I’m going to let you take this trip alone.”
Grandmother cleared her throat and sent a look in Aunt Dahlia’s direction. “I believe we need to inspect the linens upstairs.” It was her tactful way of offering them privacy.
Aunt Dahlia’s mouth curved downward, but she nodded and rose from her rocker.
Lily waited until both of them exited the parlor before returning her attention to her husband. “We can pick up Camellia on the way. I think it’s time she rejoined her family. I really miss her.”
“It’s too dangerous for you to come. Every day we receive more reports of battles and skirmishes along the river.” He reached for the note once more.
Shaking her head, Lily stood and held her hand behind her back. “You are no more impervious to bullets than I.”
“Lily, be r
easonable. I must go.” He cupped her chin with one hand.
She refused to be swayed by his tenderness. “I suppose you mean to take my boat and my father.”
“I can catch a ride on a different boat. Captains will be eager to travel north for goods they can sell to us at inflated prices.” He slid his hand down the length of her arm, raising gooseflesh.
Lily shivered and failed to hold on to the note.
Blake snatched it from her hand and stepped back, a teasing smile on his lips.
“I can’t stop you if that’s what you want to do.” Lily returned his smile with deceptive humility. “But whether you’re aboard or not, the Water Lily will be making a trip to Cape Girardeau.”
Camellia wept for the first soldier whose shroud-covered body slid into the dark waters of the river. She cried over the next one, too. But then her heart seemed to scab over, hardened by experience. Fever swept the packet ship, and more of them died. Helplessly, she swabbed their foreheads and listened as they spoke of home.
“I’m afraid Michael won’t last another day.” One of the soldiers traveling with them whispered the information as she took his place beside Michael’s hammock.
Camellia nodded and removed the warm cloth from the patient’s forehead, dropping it into a pan with other dirty cloths. Later she would boil the contents of this pan in a large pot with lye soap. “I think they might do better if we could carry them to the deck.” Replacing the soiled cloth with a fresh one, she thought of the way she’d felt that bittersweet day when Jonah had taken her to the waterfall.
How impossibly far away that moment of hope seemed to her now. Jonah was gone, and all that was left was sickness, pain, and death. Helplessness and hopelessness were her constant companions. Sometimes she felt she would lose her mind.
Moving to the next hammock, Camellia peeled the dirty cloth from the soldier’s head, wrung out a fresh one, and laid it gently across his face. As she turned away, however, this man put a hot, dry hand around her wrist. “Are you an angel?”
Camellia shook her head.
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