Camellia (6 page)

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.

J
onah’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 color.”

“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.

“You’ll need to make haste to New Orleans. Even now the Federal navy is considering how to capture it. They need whatever information you can glean.”

“I understand.” He remembered the day Poindexter summoned him. Remembered the drawn look on the man’s face. A colonel’s eagle had replaced the captain’s stripes on his shoulders, and his kindliness had all but disappeared under the weight of his new responsibilities. He gave Jonah the two phrases to memorize and sent him to Memphis to await further development.

Jonah had felt like the prodigal son on his arrival two days earlier. Of course, the prodigal son wasn’t hiding dangerous facts from his family. Renée had prepared a feast, cementing his guilt because he knew the high prices she was paying for food, especially sugar from the plantations in the Caribbean. He’d barely been able to force down a morsel of the three-layered butter pecan cake topped with caramel icing. Or join in the happy conversation between Eli, Renée, and their three sons, Brandon, Cameron, and Remington. But no one seemed to notice anything odd.

“Is that all?” He wondered why he could not have received this instruction from Colonel Poindexter, but Jonah was too anxious to end this meeting to ask.

“Mrs. Dabbs’s school is on Camp Street. Arrange to meet her alone and say, ‘Mr. Lincoln could end all of this fighting if he would listen to reason.’ ”

Jonah nodded.

“Repeat the phrase, please.”

He was not a child. Jonah opened his mouth to argue with the man but then hesitated. The knowing glint in “Mr. Brown’s” eyes stopped him. He was much more experienced at spying. “Mr. Lincoln could end all of this fighting if he would listen to reason.”

“Good. She will say, ‘Yes, but I am afraid he is too stubborn to consider the desires of the South even though I write to him of my concerns.’ ” The other man looked at Jonah, a hint of his impatience evident in the shuffling of his feet.

“Yes, but I am afraid he is too stubborn to consider the desires of the South even though I write to him of my concerns.”

The shorter man nodded once before glancing around at the quiet square. “Godspeed. May God be with us all.”

When he turned and walked away, Jonah felt his stomach plunge. Was that how he would appear to some new recruit in a few months? Would he spend the rest of this war slinking around in the shadows and meeting other spies in deserted areas? Jonah began to pray as he left the square in the opposite direction “Mr. Brown” had taken. He prayed for the wisdom to outwit his friends and acquaintances. He prayed they would not be punished if he was caught. And he prayed that the war would end before he arrived in New Orleans.

Camellia was not surprised when Jonah Thornton took the seat next to hers even though he had several other choices. Most men would have chosen to sit next to the most beautiful woman in the room.

She intercepted a glance between Blake and Lily, seated at opposite ends of the table. Jasmine and David had their heads together across the table from her, and Papa sat between her and Lily. Either Jonah could choose to sit between David and Blake, or he could share her side of the table.

Satisfaction and self-confidence surged within her. She glanced at Jonah sideways, noting the well-brushed frock coat he wore over fawn-colored trousers. A white shirt, stiff collar, and silk tie completed his ensemble, showing that he was both a man of means and particular about his appearance.

“You are even lovelier than I remember, Miss Anderson.” His eyes crinkled at the outside corners when he smiled. “I’m so glad you’ll be in our fair city for several months.”

Camellia could feel her heartbeat accelerating and wished she had brought her fan to dinner. It would have given her hands something to do and helped to hide the blush rising to her cheeks. “Thank you, Mr. Thornton. It is kind of you to say so.”

Blake cleared his throat. “Let’s bless this food.”

Everyone bowed their heads, but Camellia peeked up at the man sitting next to her. Jonah Thornton might not have a plantation, but he was quite charming. She would enjoy bandying words with him during their trip to New Orleans. It was a pity they only had one more full day before reaching their destination. When Blake ended the blessing, she raised her head with the rest of the diners.

Lily uncovered a dish of sliced beef and passed it around the table. “How long has it been since we saw you, Mr. Thornton?”

Jonah’s grass-green eyes narrowed as he considered her sister’s question. “You were Miss Anderson still. And I was naught but a carefree partygoer.” His smile invited all of them to join his regret over youthful indiscretions. “I wish you would call me Jonah.” He glanced at Camellia for a moment before returning his gaze to the others at the table. “Mr. Thornton is my father, or perhaps Eli. I could never aspire to their heights of maturity.”

Blake filled his plate with beef, creamed potatoes, and one of Tamar’s fluffy biscuits. “Whether you aspire to become mature or not, you will find yourself growing old faster than you might believe possible.”

“Pay no attention to my gloomy husband.” Lily smiled in his direction. “He found a gray hair this morning and has felt the weight of his age ever since.”