Camellia (4 page)

“Then why are you taking away my choice? Why are you insisting I conform to your rules?” Camellia placed her hand over her sister’s. “Can’t you see you’re doing the same thing to me you claim Aunt Dahlia was doing to you?”

Lily sighed and pulled her hand away. She sat down in Grandmother’s overstuffed chair, her head drooping.

For a moment Camellia felt like a beast. Who was she trying to fool? Lily had always put her sisters’ needs ahead of her desires. She might have packed them up willy-nilly and brought them along with her, but she had also made sure they had everything they needed and many of the things they wanted. The very clothing she wore was paid for with money Lily had earned. Guilt knotted her stomach.

She opened her mouth to apologize for her manipulative words but was forestalled when Lily looked up. “All right.”

The knots tightened even further, but Camellia swallowed hard and waited. She couldn’t weaken now. Not when she was about to realize her dearest wish.

“Don’t you have anything to say?”

Remembering to float downward like an autumn leaf, Camellia settled on the footstool next to Grandmother’s chair. “Thank you so very much. Allowing me to stay in New Orleans is the best gift you’ve ever given me. I promise to make you proud of me, Lily.” She rested her head against her sister’s knees.

Lily laid a hand on her head and stroked her hair. “I am proud of you, Camellia. You are the most polished of all of us. Everyone says so. And you’re so pretty. One of these days, some man is going to snap you up. He’ll take you away from us and set you up in a beautiful house.”

Camellia’s eyelids drifted shut as she imagined the scene her sister described. She could see a big, fancy home—even grander than Les Fleurs. The formal dining room would seat a hundred guests, and she would preside over fancy dinners dressed in expensive jewelry and the most fashionable attire money could buy. The townspeople would be envious of her and her adoring husband … and they would have lovable children—a dozen at least. It wouldn’t matter how her father dressed or what he did for a living, or why her sister had married a former gambler.

But none of her dreams would come true until she attended the finishing school. Camellia’s eyes popped open, and she raised her head. “When can we leave for New Orleans?”

A laugh slipped from Lily’s mouth. “Don’t be in such a hurry, dear. You’re going to need new dresses. I thought we could go shopping this week.”

Camellia straightened and rose from the footstool. “I know how much you dislike shopping, Lily, so I’ve already asked Aunt Dahlia to take me.”

“Oh.” A world of hurt filled her sister’s voice with the single syllable.

A blush burned Camellia’s cheeks. How was she supposed to know her sister would volunteer to help her? Lily had never been interested in shopping. “I’m sorry. I can tell Aunt Dahlia you want to go along.”

Shaking her head, Lily stood. “Blake was telling me this morning we need to make a quick trip to Greenville and pick up some furniture and deliver it to a plantation in Tangipahoa Parish.”

Relief at Lily’s words eased Camellia’s discomfort. “So you can go with him instead of staying here to take care of me.”

Lily’s smile was a little shaky, but it solidified as she nodded. “You’re right. But I want you to make plans to travel with us the following week for our scheduled trip to Memphis.” She walked over to Camellia and put an arm around her waist. “I want you to spend a little time with us before you go off to school.”

Normally Camellia would have refused to go along with her sister’s plan, but she needed to focus on the greater goal. A few boring days spent aboard the steamboat was a small price to pay, even though she’d much rather stay here and get ready for her escape. As long as she and Aunt Dahlia finished the fittings next week, her clothing should be ready in time for the beginning of the term.

“You needn’t be anxious. The school won’t open for almost two months.”

Camellia knew it was important to keep her tone cool and logical. “I don’t see how you can blame me. Not after missing out last year.”

“I wish we had gone ahead and enrolled you at La Belle.” Lily’s brown eyes seemed to be focused on the past. “But I didn’t want to take a chance at putting you somewhere until I had the opportunity to thoroughly check Mrs. Dabbs’s reputation in New Orleans. Besides, you were so anxious because of the classes you had already missed.”

Hanging on to her temper with difficulty, Camellia pulled away from her sister’s loose embrace. She didn’t remember the events in the same way her sister did. Lily was the one who had been anxious. But she wasn’t going to argue the point. It was ancient history, and she didn’t want to roil the waters.

“Shall we go outside and tell the others?” Not waiting for an answer, Camellia floated across the parlor. At least she hoped she appeared to be floating. What was it Aunt Dahlia said?
“The road to a lady’s success is trod with tiny footsteps.”
Holding her head high, Camellia forced her feet to a deliberate pace. If she was going to succeed at La Belle Demoiselle, she would have to remember everything she had ever been taught about deportment and etiquette.

She preceded her sister into the hallway and out onto the porch. Blake and Uncle Phillip rose from their rockers as they arrived. Camellia met her aunt’s concerned gaze with a tiny nod. Aunt Dahlia sat back, a satisfied smile on her lips.

Grandmother beckoned her to the empty chair beside her. “You have missed a fine rendition from Jasmine and David.”

“Never fear, I’ve heard that scene several times.” Camellia perched on the edge of the rocker, her spine as straight and rigid as a broomstick. “In fact, I have even been known to read the part of Ivanhoe when David is not available.”

Poor David. He followed Jasmine around like a puppy. Camellia had no doubt he would lay down his life for the dark-haired girl he adored. And perhaps for that very reason, Jasmine treated him with offhanded disdain. She expected him to fall into every plan she conceived no matter his own desires or concerns. If he dared to cross her wishes, she would ban him from her presence. Eventually he would come back and ask her forgiveness, and the two of them would continue on as before. Camellia thought he would earn more respect from Jasmine if he refused to do her bidding from time to time. But that was apparently not to be.

“I have not been able to convince Camellia she would do better to wait awhile before attending the school in New Orleans.” Lily’s voice brought her musings to a halt.

She braced herself for her brother-in-law’s frown. Blake Matthews didn’t like anyone to contradict Lily … except himself, of course. In the first year of their marriage, Lily and her husband had spent a goodly amount of energy on arguments. But no matter what happened between the two of them, he was always eager to defend his wife against anyone who dared disagree with her.

Camellia was determined to learn from her older sister’s example. Learn how
not
to act. When she married the man of her dreams, they wouldn’t argue. She would be a dutiful wife. One who always put his needs ahead of her own. That was the way to conduct a marriage, not butting heads with one’s spouse at every turn.

“Camellia has good reasons for being adamant.” Aunt Dahlia punched her needle through the lacy handkerchief in her lap.

“I don’t know, Dahlia.” Uncle Phillip’s long, manicured fingers worried at the cuff of his emerald-hued coat. “The Yankees seem determined to blockade the Gulf Coast and halt the flow of goods to and from Europe. They may well attack New Orleans to achieve their ends.”

“I hadn’t considered that possibility.” Grandmother entered the discussion. Her voice carried a hint of a tremble, one that had become more noticeable in the months since Mississippi seceded from the Union.

Camellia’s heart thudded, but she refused to let her consternation appear on her face. “If war does come to New Orleans, I’m sure our gallant soldiers will repulse them.” Realizing her hands were clenched together in her lap, she forced them to relax into a more ladylike posture.

She’d had a lot of practice hiding her true feelings—ever since she had discovered that the man captaining her sister’s steamboat was their father. Until that day she had thought he was dead, drowned in the same accident that took their mother. But he had survived. Faced with the prospect of raising three girls by himself, he had been forced to turn to his deceased wife’s family for help. They had in turn wrung from him a promise to disappear from their lives, a promise Camellia wished had never been broken.

“I’m sure we could get to her before it came to a pitched battle.” Her father tossed a smile in her direction. “Few men know the river as well as we do.”

Guilt speared Camellia at his words. Perhaps she should not be so judgmental about Papa. He could have his uses. Her gaze drifted down the red shirt he always wore and stopped at the old-fashioned, wide-brimmed hat in his lap. If only he would not dress in such a ridiculous manner.

Jasmine pulled David onto the porch where the rest of them sat. Dropping his hand, she took a step forward, her violet eyes swirling with excitement. “I know. I could go with her.”

Lily’s gasp mingled with Blake’s chuckle. “I don’t see how that would keep Camellia safe.”

Jasmine flung her ebony hair over her shoulder with a melodramatic sigh. “I was only trying to help.”

Few things sounded worse to Camellia than the suggestion that her sister might accompany her to New Orleans. “Don’t be silly. You’re too young to attend a finishing school.”

Aunt Dahlia and Uncle Phillip nodded while Grandmother and Papa exchanged a glance. Camellia sat up straighter in her rocker. Had she said something wrong? Should she not have expressed the truth in such plain language? “I’m sorry, Jasmine. I am sure you would be very welcome at La Belle Demoiselle.”

“No, Camellia is right.” Lily reached out to Jasmine and pulled her down onto her lap.

Camellia relaxed a tiny bit. Maybe a prayer would help. That’s what the preacher had talked about last Sunday—about getting anything one asked for. Would God listen? Would He magically change the attitudes of her family? Asking for His help couldn’t hurt matters. Not that she meant any disrespect.

She closed her eyes.
Lord, please forgive me for my wayward thoughts. I promise to be more circumspect if only You’ll let me attend La Belle Demoiselle. It shouldn’t be too much trouble for You…. Oh, and if You’ll work this out for me, I promise to do something kind in return. I don’t know exactly what, but maybe You have something in mind. Whatever it is, I’m sure we can work things out…
. Camellia hesitated. Should she add something else? She couldn’t think of anything. Amen. As prayers went, it wasn’t very eloquent, but maybe He would understand and give her her heart’s desire.

Camellia opened her eyes and glanced around. Everyone looked the same except Jasmine, who had slumped back against Lily’s shoulder and twisted her mouth into a pout.

Maybe God needed more time. She sure hoped He didn’t wait too long.

“What do you think of this color?” Camellia held up a length of gold silk for her aunt’s approval.

Aunt Dahlia tilted her head as she considered the suggestion before nodding. “It should make a stunning ballroom ensemble with a white lace overskirt and dark gold ribbons.”

Her smile widened as Camellia imagined entering a crowded ballroom on the arm of a dashing Confederate soldier. But then the dream crashed. “What if my escort is a soldier? Will the gold clash with his gray uniform?”

She held her breath as Aunt Dahlia frowned in concentration. “I don’t believe so.” Her aunt beckoned the owner of the dress shop to join them.

The tiny woman who ran the most fashionable shop in Natchez bustled over to them, a ticket book in her right hand and a pencil tucked into her elaborate coiffure. “You’ve chosen a marvelous cloth. Look at how it complements your niece’s curls.”

Aunt Dahlia nodded. “I know you won’t have any of the suiting for men’s attire, but do you have something the exact color of a soldier’s uniform? My niece wants to be certain her dress will complement her escort’s attire.” The two women walked off, chattering about flounces, buttons, and ribbons.

Camellia was so glad her aunt was the one who had brought her to town. It wasn’t that she didn’t love Lily, but her sister would never understand or pay attention to all the implications of each decision they needed to make. She looked toward the counter, where the bolts of material they had already selected were piled high. By Christmas they would be transformed into day, tea, and walking dresses of white, periwinkle, jade, and jonquil. Tan broadcloth would become a riding habit for afternoon excursions. They had also ordered chemises, petticoats, and aprons from plain white cotton. She would have a short cape of black wool for fall and spring outings, as well as a long winter cloak made from a luscious length of figured navy velvet to replace the plain black wool one she currently used.

“Look at this, Camellia.” Aunt Dahlia placed the bolt of gold silk on the counter and laid two swatches against it.

The pewter gray swatch was a nice contrast to the gold silk. The other swatch, a dull gold Camellia recognized as butternut, was more troublesome. She frowned but immediately forced her eyebrows back to a more pleasant position. She didn’t want wrinkles. She pointed at the butternut-colored square. “I don’t like that one.”