And the brother, Connor observed, never once asked how she'd fared. The giver and the taker, that described them.
“Tell me about Honoré,” Marshall prompted. “And wee Stonewall. How are my wife and son?”
“Missing you. But they're fine.”
“Is the plantation surviving? What about Granny Mabel? Have you heard from Papa? How are our sisters? Are America and her family still at the plantationâKirby better be doing his job! What about the Smiths? What's going on in Natchez? Has White Post ridden the war well? Did Persia find a husband?”
A long moment passed. When India did reply, she ignored all but the last question. “Persia married Tim Glennie.”
“Tim Glennie? I thought he was your beau.”
“Tim? My beau? Never! What gave you that idea?”
She may have protested, but Connor had gotten familiar enough with her to sense there was more to the Tim story than she allowed. What had happened to turn the man to her sister?
Connor found himself pleased that Tim chose Persia.
Persia. America. India. Strange names. When he heard them mention yet another sister, China, it was all Connor could do not to laugh. The Marshall parents must have been tippling when they decided on names for their daughters.
Yet Connor's mother had been named after a spot on the map, but memories of Georgia Morganâno one ever referred to her as Mrs. O'Brien or recalled her as Motherâwere best filed away.
Besides, he had a curiosity about the Marshalls of Louisiana. Apparently Matt Marshall was the lone brother to four sisters. That so? Where had the “senior” come in Captain Winston Marshall's name? The junior must have passed away.
No wonder India had gone to extraordinary means to see the Rebel captain. Sisters had a way of adoring an only brother. At least, Connor had observed as much over the past thirty years.
He had no sisters to worship him. But he had adoring aunts, a grandfather, and one brother he wouldn't trade for peace in this land. As for the other, no telling what had become of Jon Marc. It would be a surprise if the O'Briens never again saw the youngest of the brothers.
“Matt, I need to know something.” India glanced at Connor, obviously wishing for privacy. She leaned to whisper something in her brother's ear.
“So, that's why you're here.” Marshall settled against the rough wall. “Strange, I thought you were here for me.”
Evidently India had broached the subject of Daddy's money.
Again, she gave her attention to Connor. “Major O'Brien, would you give us a moment alone?”
“Not a chance,” he answered with a shake of head. “This is a prison, not a picnic.”
“Please.”
He liked that word, and she knew it. What would it hurt to give them a couple of minutes to talk about how she could get her hands on the loot? “Five minutes. Not one second more.”
It didn't take a half minute for Connor to regret his concession. No telling what kind of trouble brewed.
Eight
“Indy, get me out of here.”
“There's only so much I can do.”
“You can always do more, Sis. You always do.”
Matt spoke the truth. Forever, and especially after Winny drowned, India's love, devotion, and efforts along the pleasing line had been for Matt. Tenacious she'd been. More so with Matt than anyone, for she needed his approval. Needed it badly.
In this instance, though, how much more could she give? Dreading his reply, she asked, “What are you wanting me to do?”
“Help me escape.”
“I can't do that We'd both be shot before we cleared the dead line. And St. Francisville is occupied, Mattie. The Yankees wouldn't let you stay at Pleasant Hill.”
“Have you forgotten I was always the champ at hide-and-seek? I'll stay hidden till our lads drive the blue bellies North.” He rattled chains. “Anyhow, don't cry coward to me.”
“This isn't a point of being yellow. What good would it serve if you got yourself killed en route to hide-and-seek?”
He would have none of that. “You got in here. You can get me out, safe and sound.”
“And that's what I'd want”âshe buried her face in a pair of cold, shaking handsâ“if I could have my wants.”
Not only did she want him free, the family needed him, and not just for his information about the gold. The plantation had been sinking with no man at the helm. But she hadn't come all this way to break him out. It was simply too dangerous.
“Abracadabra.”
Her regard whipped to his intense eyes after Matt said the secret word. Whenever a Marshall child needed help, all it took was that funny word to get another's attention. And help. Abracadabra was used in the most extreme cases.
Could she get him off the island? How much influence did India have around Rock Island? Very little, if it came to a prison break. “I must work to get you released.”
“That's where O'Brien comes in. It's all fitting into place, his knowing your identity and not making a stink about it.” Matt got a disgusted look in his midnight-blue eyes. “I saw that Yankee ogling you, even if you do look old enough to've changed his diapers. He wants to get under your skirts. Or has he been there already?”
India shuddered, but not from thoughts of being intimate with the major. Still sickened from passing long lines of skeletal prisoners, she could have horsewhipped Connor O'Brien. He may have made a few concessions under pressure, but he didn't give a care about the caged Southerners.
How could he? If he treated them right, he might never pick off more enemies.
Forward the Light Brigade!
“Has he been under your skirts?” Matt pressed.
“What if he has?”
With a raised fist, he answered, “I'll kill him.”
India laughed. “The Arab is coming out in you, Mattie.”
His face got red with anger. “We are not Arabs. One seafaring ancestor from Portugal does not an Arab make.”
“I won't argue the piddling.”
“Suits me. Besides, I'd rather talk about protecting my own. You are my sister. I'll handle O'Brien.”
She couldn't begin to count the many times she would have given an eyetooth for Matt to stand up for her. “You'll be protecting your wife and son, not to mention the rest of us, when you tell me where the gold is.”
Matt rubbed a manacled hand down the knee of his tattered britches before looking up at India. “Since you've asked me about the money, Kirby must be dead.”
“Yes. He stood on the bluff and fired his pistol at a passing Yankee ironside. It wasn't a smart thing to do, tactically or otherwise. A Billy Blue stole up behind him. Shot Kirby in the back of the head. We, uh, we buried him alongside Granddad Mathews and France and ... all.”
“That fool Kirby never had a lick of sense. Shouldn't have left him in charge, dash it!” His eyes then closing, Matt groaned. “Poor America. Poor Catfish. Poor us.”
“Yes, poor us. America lost her mind.” India's voice lowered. “I sold Mama's cninaâthankfully, I found a buyerâand got Sister a nurse. Catfish tries to be the man of the family. But our nephew is only twelve, so young, too young.”
“If only Winny were still with us ...”
If Matt had slapped her, India couldn't hurt more. “Our brother has been dead a long time.”
“Yes. Yes, of course he has. I was cruel to mention him.” Matt rubbed the area below his knee. “I've got to get back to Pleasant Hill. I'm needed.”
She repeated her whispered words of earlier, adding an addendum. “Tell me where Papa deposited the gold, then we can think about other things.”
Matt spoke quietly. “Indy, there's not enough to make a difference. Two, three thousand dollars' worth at the most.”
Her words were equally hushed. “You've been away a good while. You don't know what a difference that amount can make.”
He kept rubbing that shin, and her eyebrows knit when he winced. “What's the matter?”
“Got crossways with a guard a couple of weeks ago. He was old as Methuselah, but a sword against chains is a great equalizer.”
“Let me see.”
“No.”
“Don't tell me no, Mathews Marshall!”
His eyes got hard. “Maybe I don't want a Yankee lover touching me.”
Her spine stiffened, her voice elevating. “You don't actually believe that Sanitary Commission stuff, do you?”
“I'm talking about Port Hudson.” Matt also shouted. “I'm talking about a Marshall woman parking an ambulance on the wrong side of the embankments, waiting for blue bellies to fall so that she could pick them up and carry them off.”
“I was there for our own, too, Mattieâour own! But no Confederates left the fortress, not until the surrender, and you know it. What was I to do? Leave the Yankees where they lay? I couldn't. Y'all were excellent shots. I couldn't stand their cries for mercy.”
“Always looking for approval, even in the wrong places, that's my younger sister.”
He dug into the open wound of her heart, but what good would it do to try to make him understand?
She heard the key click, as well as the sound of Connor O'Brien opening the door, welcoming both.
“Time's up,” he announced.
“Then close the door. I'm not through here.”
Despite his squirming objections, she rolled up Matt's trouser leg. Her stomach roiled. He was in no condition to travel. The wound itself hadn't been that severe, a mere flesh wound, but it had gone bad.
“I've been picking the maggots out of it,” Matt offered, subdued now.
“Don't They eat the dead flesh, but not the healthy tissue. Maggots will staunch gangrene before it spreads.”
“What gives you that idea?” the major asked her.
“I learned it from a Union medical officer. He says it'll be a breakthrough in treatment, will save amputations.”
“What else did he teach you?”
There was a double meaning to Connor O'Brien's question, but instead of making a smart remark like, “You know he didn't teach me to kiss,” India answered the better one. “Many things. Such as to use boiled horsehair for sutures, instead of silk thread. It seems to help in recovery. As does boiling surgical instruments. He also lectured on quarantining the diseased.”
“Let's go, Miss Marshall. Your time is up in here.” Connor strode over the floor and hitched his left thumb toward the exit. “You've got other duties to attend.”
“Such as?”
He didn't answer, just marched her out of Matt's cell. She, nevertheless, made a point of leaving Matt comforts. She shucked her woolen cape, its pockets lined with the gloves she carried around for weeks, just in case ...
She heard her brother call out, “Abracadabra!”
His plea echoed in her head.
Once she and the major were outdoors in the freezing cold, her teeth chattered. She hugged her arms; he turned to her, draping his coat around her shoulders. Barely did she have a chance to savor the blend of wool and the uniquely pleasant scent of the coat's owner before Connor capitulated.
“All right, dammit. You win.” He doffed his cocked hat. “Do what you can for the sick prisoners. I'll cooperate in any way you ask. Wave your magic wand, nurse.”
At last. At last he'd shown a human side. She smiled, both in relief and gratitude. “You're wonderful. Flat-out wonderful. Letting me stay here, letting me see Matt, and now allowing me to nurse the tormented.” She paused. “I could cause trouble for you if Colonel Lawrence returns and discovers you know the truth, yet you humor me. Thank you.” Unable to leave well enough alone, she asked, “But why? Why do you do it?”
“I've always liked a challenge.” He ran a finger along her cheek, warming it. “With your spunk, you'll make a difference in this godforsaken place.”
How his praise filled her heart! She chewed her lip, though, worrying about the future that was so important to this man of war. He tempted a court-martial with his kindness.
He stared at his polished boots, crossed his arms, then lifted an all-too-beautiful face. “I admire you, India.”
“You do?” Her words chimed incredulous.
“You have magical powers over men, especially me.”
His fingers wrapped around her elbows, and if not for the bad form of a thirty-year-old officer kissing a woman in publicâespecially one who appeared agedâshe felt certain he would have kissed her.
“You have something this country needs more of. A heart that favors no flag.” He ran splayed fingers through his dark hair. “Because you did something for the Union that Congress refuses to do. You provided an ambulance for our soldiers.”
“You listened at the door!”
“To all I could hear. You'll get no apology.” Head bowed, hands planted on his hips, Connor warned, “You're a fool if you fall for your brother's blackmail.”
“I won't spring him, if that's what you're worried about.”
“No. I'm concerned for
you.”
He lifted his eyes. “Don't get yourself killed for him.”
“I owe him.” Unexpectedly, words started to flow. “If not for me, he could have made different choices. Matt is a Marshall. He's got saltwater in his veins. Duty kept him at Pleasant Hill. Which belonged to my mother's family, you see. And hers before that.”
“Explains why a sea captain is also a farmer.”
She nodded. “Winny loved everything about the land. A regular little farmer, he, dirty fingernails and all.” Finding it cleansing to speak of the anguish she'd kept to herself, India admitted, “It was my fault Winny died. We were eleven, twins. He was”âshe swallowed hard, closed her stinging eyesâ“afraid of the water, didn't know how to swim. I do. One day I coaxed him into taking me on a picnic along the riverbank. It was hot. I was hot. So I jumped in. Screamed to tease him into the water. It worked.” A long pause. “Winny jumped in to 'save' me. A water snake bit my wrist. IâI couldn't save my twin.”
An arm wound around her; she leaned into formidable strength. “Connor, I've never been able to forgive myself.”
He murmured tender words, sweet words of sorrow. His hand rubbed warmth into her upper arm, giving a certain peace. It had truly been purifying to talk of Winny, that fine young boy.
“Somethin' wrong, Miss Marshall? Get bad news?”
She opened her eyes, Connor swiveling around at the same moment. One of the guards, a friend since that day she'd tried to break open the fence, stood a few feet away, worried.
“I'm fine, Corporal. I'll be okay.”
The elderly man tipped his kepi, took his leave.
“Indy ...” Connor spoke her nickname, and she approved, for there seemed a new bond between them now that she'd opened her heart. Now that he'd granted so many of her wishes.
“Indy, forget Zeke Pays.” Splendid hazel eyes held her gaze. “I'll be your hero.”
A smile broke through her lingering sorrow for Winny.
“Let's go see what we can do about putting you to work.” The magnificent major let go his hold, did an about-face.
Her feet didn't move. Amid a gathering of curious Confederate prisoners and a heart that raced, she yet lagged behind him. Major Connor O'Brien, the handsomest man on the banks of the Mississippi, was intrigued by a box-faced spinster who spoke her mind. Aladdin's princess had never been so lucky!
Abracadabra.
Should she follow the call of an ancient Arabic catchword? She'd said she would do nothing to aid Matt's illegal liberation.
Abracadabra.
A terrible dilemma. She could save Matt. Or she could save lives.
Should she stay to help the misfortunates ... and be in company with the first young man seeking to be her hero?