Camellia (27 page)

So why did her body stiffen in protest? Why did she pull free of his embrace? Why did she lower her head and turn away? Camellia couldn’t understand the instinct, but she also couldn’t resist it. “I–I’m sorry.”

“Camellia, forgive me.” He reached for her. “I didn’t mean any disrespect.”

“I know you didn’t.” She twisted her hands together and wished she had never left Jonah’s side. “Let’s just forget about this. We can go on as before, can’t we?”

Confusion filled his handsome face. He opened his mouth, but before he could put his thoughts into words, a shout interrupted them.

“Torpedo!”

The single word made him turn his attention to the water. What had almost happened was forgotten as they both searched for a glimpse of the threat.

“There it is.”

Camellia squinted. All she could see was an empty barrel floating on the surface of the water some distance away. It didn’t look particularly dangerous to her.

“Get back inside.” Thad shouted the command at her as he rushed up to the hurricane deck. “All stop. All stop!”

Curiosity kept her at the rail. The paddle wheel fell silent, but they continued drifting toward the barrel, their forward motion stronger than the river’s current.

Thad ran back downstairs with a bundle of dyed cloth in his arms. He didn’t slow down to tell her again to leave the deck, instead running to the flagpole. With efficient movements, he lowered the white flag they had been flying and tied on the corners of the material from his bundle below it. She watched as his strong arms worked the ropes and a new flag spread out over his head.

It took her a moment to realize what Thad had done. A bright red background was crossed by a blue X with white stars on it, the flag of the Confederacy. Thad was flying their true colors, hoping the torpedo was being manned by a Confederate soldier.

She held her breath as they drew even with the barrel. It scraped the hull of the packet, the sound distinctive in the thick air, but it didn’t explode. Then they were past it.

Camellia closed her eyes for a moment. She was thankful Thad was so smart. If not for his quick action, they might now be sinking into a watery grave.

Two near disasters in such a short time weakened her knees. She needed time to calm her emotions. To think about what had almost happened.

She ought to linger on the deck and see if Thad returned to take up the conversation about their future. But she took the cowardly route, returning to her room.

How could she explain her muddled feelings to him when she didn’t understand them herself? Thad was everything she’d dreamed of, but was he the right man for her?

J
onah floated in inky blackness, the screams of dying men all around him. It was too much to bear. The pain was physical and emotional as well. He didn’t want to live any longer. He wanted to join those who had gone before him. Jonah wanted to sing in a celestial choir and walk on streets of gold. He wanted to enter the mansion Jesus had prepared for him.

The first emotion to hit him as he opened his eyes was disappointment. Heaven should not be dark. He turned his head and was surprised to see Camellia sitting beside him. What was she doing here? She was far too young, so full of life and beauty. “Are you dead, too?” His voice was cracked and dry, a mere shadow of what it had once been.

But the sound seemed to please Camellia. Her mouth widened in a smile, a genuine smile of gratitude and happiness. Her warmth eased some of his physical pain. “Of course not, and neither are you.” She reached for his hand, her fingers encircling his wrist, causing his pulse to skyrocket.

“I don’t understand.”

“I’m not surprised.” Camellia let go of his hand and shook a finger at him. “You had us terrified that you wouldn’t wake up at all. You didn’t seem to be seriously hurt, but you wouldn’t wake up even for meals.”

“How long have I been asleep?” He tried to prop himself up on his elbows, but his arms refused to support the weight of his upper body.

She reached for a pitcher and glass from a small table next to his bed. The splash of the liquid made him realize how dry his throat felt. She held the glass to his lips, her free hand supporting his head and shoulders so he could swallow the water without choking.

Jonah still sputtered a little, unaccustomed to having someone else control the glass.

“It’s good to see you drinking on your own.” Camellia moved the water away from his mouth and gave him a moment to breathe. “For three days and three nights we’ve had to coax broth into you, feeding you one spoonful at a time.”

“What?” The urge to rise from the bed swept him again. “I have to get up.”

Camellia put a hand on his shoulder, holding him down with little trouble. He was as weak as a newborn babe.

“Not so fast. Didn’t you hear what I said? Your body needs to recover its strength. Don’t worry. You don’t have any battles to fight today.”

“Where am I?” Jonah fought against her grasp.

Her frown deepened. “Aboard a packet bound for Jacksonport, Arkansas. We fished you out of the water after the battle in Memphis. A battle we lost because of the efforts of men like you.”

The sting of her words was like a physical slap. He fell back against the pillows, his breath coming in gasps. “You don’t understand anything.”

“I think you’ve forgotten how much I do understand, Mr. Thornton.” She set the glass on the table with a punctuating
thump.
“I may not understand everything that’s transpired since we parted in New Orleans some months ago, but I know exactly why we found you masquerading in a Confederate uniform when we pulled you from the water.”

Dread of prison or a hanging filled him. “Have you already told them who I am?”

Her face hardened. “Of course. I could hardly do less. Did you think I would try to hide your identity?”

“I see.” His mouth grew dry all over again, as though it were filled with cotton bolls. “I suppose I should be thankful I’m not already in leg irons.”

“Yes, indeed.” She turned from him, her chin held high, her golden curls bouncing with the strength of her convictions. “I’ll make certain that the situation is remedied before you regain your strength. We can’t afford to allow a traitor to escape.”

He had no answer for her, so Jonah remained silent.

Camellia busied herself with folding a towel and placing it on the table that held the water pitcher. Then she filled a spoon with some kind of concoction from a small brown bottle and tipped it against his mouth.

Jonah drank reflexively, making a face as the bitter draught slid across his tongue. He coughed, wishing for another swallow of water but determined to conceal his weakness.

“Why did you do it?” She put down the spoon and reached for his glass of water, holding it to his lips.

Another cough rattled him, but Jonah managed to drink. His chest relaxed as the cool moisture spread through his body. When she took away the glass, he had regained the strength he needed to answer her. “Become a spy, you mean?”

Camellia nodded, her harsh expression at odds with the gentle touch of her hand on his brow.

“It’s not like I awoke one morning and decided I should lie to my family and friends in the service of my country.”

She blew out a sharp breath. “You live in the South.”

“Yes, the southern part of the United States of America. Not some cobbled-together rebellion that has but one purpose—the continuation of slavery.”

“You twist everything about until it makes no sense. Why can’t you be like everyone else and simply accept that we are trying to preserve our freedom, our way of life?”

Jonah wanted to answer her, but the room was growing fuzzy, distant. He couldn’t keep his eyes open any longer. Yet even as he sank into oblivion, Camellia’s face hovered over him, but it looked as though a long tunnel had formed between them. She was saying something to him, and her hand reached through the tunnel to touch his cheek. Turning his face into her hand, he relaxed and let the void take him to a more peaceful place.

“Jonah seems better.” Camellia looked toward Thad. “We’ve managed to get more food down him, but I wish we were in Jacksonport. Jane and I aren’t doctors.”

Thad pushed his empty plate away and tossed his napkin on it.

“We’re taking things much slower than normal. We have to spend most of our time in bayous and shallow waterways to avoid falling into enemy hands. The boilers need fresh wood every day, and the snags are worse because the snag-boats have been pressed into service for one side of the war or the other.”

“Have you seen any more torpedoes?” Jane’s eyes were shadowed by lack of sleep and worry.

Camellia knew the same could be said for her. Both she and Jane had worn themselves out taking care of Jonah. They divided their time between sitting at his bedside, preparing and feeding him nourishing broths, and administering medicinal concoctions the cook made for them.

Those who had remained on the packet worked hard each day, even old Mr. Carlton, the silver-haired man who walked with a cane. Several of the passengers and one of the original crewmen had decided to take their chances on land after the near disaster with the first torpedo. Only five men had remained on board the packet—the captain, the engineer, the cook, Thad, and Mr. Carlton.

“Not since the one on Wednesday,” Thad answered his sister.

Camellia pushed a curl back with her right hand. Her coiffure had suffered from the lack of proper facilities and the help of a lady’s maid. She had learned to thread a ribbon around her head to keep her hair out of her face. Aunt Dahlia would be appalled, but then, Aunt Dahlia had never had to survive aboard a boat without any of the basic necessities. Deciding to dwell on more positive matters, she summoned a smile. “What fine stories we’ll have to share with your parents and my family about this excursion.”

Mr. Carlton nodded and pushed his chair from the small table at which they sat. “If that handsome fella there didn’t have an eye on you, little missy, I’d try to woo you myself.”

A blush heated Camellia’s cheeks. She found it impossible to look toward Thad. Since the day he’d almost kissed her, she had kept some distance between them. That wasn’t hard to do, of course, since she had to see to Jonah. She began to gather the dishes from the table, having fallen back into the habit she’d learned when living aboard Lily and Blake’s steamship. “Come along, Jane. We need to check on the rabbit stew for Jonah.”

A male chuckle followed them out of the dining room, but Camellia didn’t look back to see if it came from Mr. Carlton or Thad. In the past she might have remained with the men and flirted with both of them. But now she had more important matters to see to.

The next time Jonah awoke, Jane Watkins was sitting beside his bed. He coughed, and she held a glass of water to his lips as Camellia had done. He told himself he was not disappointed that Jane’s hand was the one supporting his shoulders. Had he only dreamed Camellia had caressed his cheek as he fell asleep?

“Good afternoon, Mr. Thornton. I hope you’re truly on the mend now.”

After he’d drunk enough to moisten the inside of his mouth, Jonah indicated he was done with a shake of his head. She removed the glass and let his head fall back against the pillow.

He sent a smile in her direction. “Thank you.”

“You’re very welcome.”

Jonah studied the young woman, a beauty in her own way. Did she feel any kindness toward him? Would she help him escape? Would the time she had spent around him and his family influence her decision? She was certainly being considerate of him now. But that might change as he got stronger. If she was filled with the same misplaced zeal for rebellion that had infected Camellia, she would never countenance his escape.

The door to his room opened, and Jonah squinted toward the newcomer. His heart climbed up toward his throat when he recognized Jane’s brother in full dress uniform. Whether or not he could convince Jane or Camellia to help him became immaterial. As long as Captain Watkins was aboard, Jonah’s chances of escaping dwindled to nothing but a vain hope.

“How is the patient today?”