Gwyneth Atlee (12 page)

Like most of the other men around him, Gabe stood as the
Sultana
glided into Memphis at seven in the evening. As they drew nearer to
the wharf, he looked down at Zeke.

“You sure you’re doing all right?” Gabe asked. “It’s safe enough
here. Union soldiers, Union doctors even.”
“I’ve told all of you, I’m going home . . . as fast as I can get there,”
Zeke snapped. His color rose—a good sign after this morning’s pallor.
“And for the last damned time, I’m feeling fine—fine enough to belt
the next one of you who asks me how I’m doing.”
If Gabe didn’t think Zeke would try to make good on his threat, he’d
lean over and touch his friend’s forehead again just to reassure himself
that the fever was gone for good. If they didn’t get Zeke off the boat
now, he’d have to wait for Indiana to get decent medical attention.
“What I could do with is some food,” Zeke complained. “I’m so
hungry, I’d settle for hardtack.”
Jacob smiled. “Maybe I can do better than that. How about if I slip
off the boat and get us something decent? We still have some money
left from what Eliza sent us.”
Seth and Gabriel each dug into their pockets and offered Jacob more
money and advice on where he might go to avoid the crowds of other
hungry soldiers.
“Just don’t eat my portion on your way back to the boat.” Though
Zeke’s voice sounded irritable, he was grinning at the thought of a
real meal.
As the steamboat was made fast, officers shouted orders for the
men to remain aboard while the cargo was unloaded. They might as
well have been commanding a cloud of locusts to ignore a fresh green
cornfield. Hundreds of soldiers swarmed to escape the overcrowded
vessel. Many of them spoke excitedly about the prospect of obtaining
hot food at the Union-controlled Soldiers’ Home. Others made no
secret of their desire for a stiff drink and the chance to break up the
monotony of their long trip.
Gabe could hardly blame them. He’d do the same if he weren’t so
damned worried he would miss the chance to see Yvette once more.
Try as he might, he couldn’t escape the fact of his attraction.
Attraction, hell. She’d grown to an obsession in his mind.
There was probably nothing to it. But he had to see her one more
time, before the chance was lost forever. Before Yvette faded into his
past, one more regret that he was powerless to change.

Yvette’s spirits sank at the thought of all the things she’d left behind
in the stateroom. In her haste, she’d abandoned her jade-and-ivory
rosary beads, a gift from Papa after her confirmation, along with all
the clothing she’d brought with her when she’d fled New Orleans.
There were other personal items as well, all the little things she needed
to maintain some modicum of hygiene and beauty. All of them could
be replaced if she had money, but her last few dollars wouldn’t even
serve to take her to St. Louis if she left the boat. And then there was
the matter of Lafitte.

Her brother, Jules, had brought the kitten to her after finding him
abandoned in their garden. He was a pitiful bit of fluff, Jules told her,
probably not worth her effort. She’d accepted the challenge of saving
him as if her brother had thrown down a gauntlet. The tiny kitten had
been so thin and listless that for days she’d risen several times a night
to warm milk to feed him. Alone in the kitchen, she kept careful
watch, for
Maman
would have been incensed to find an animal inside
the town house.

Within two weeks, the kitten’s strength returned, and he turned
into a rambunctious terror. By that time, she’d grown too attached to
the black-and-white bundle of energy to give him up, to leave him
behind when she’d left home.

But now she didn’t seem to have a choice. If she understood
Kathleen Rowe’s cryptic comments, Darien Russell would find her if
she went back to her stateroom. Her best chance of escaping was to
leave this vessel now.

Yvette felt bad for the animal, which would be abandoned for a
second time in his short life. She tried to reassure herself with the
thought of Kathleen’s promise to look after him. But the thought
was cheerless, and she felt bereft, surrendering the last vestiges of
her former life.

The sun had set only minutes before the
Sultana
came into
Memphis. Twilight was fading rapidly as the crewmen and a few of
the stronger prisoners began unloading hogsheads of sugar from the
cargo. Small groups of soldiers bolted down the gangplank onto the
wharf boat and the cobblestones beyond. Watching them, Yvette
wished uselessly that she were a man so she could blend in. Even so,
the confusion offered her the best chance to escape.

Or so she thought until she spotted Captain Russell. He was keeping
to the shadows, watching everyone who left the
Sultana.
A couple of
soldiers appeared to be talking to him, but his hawk’s gaze never
lessened in intensity. Yvette knew beyond a doubt that if she stepped
into sight, he’d swoop down on her in a moment and haul her off the
boat, where he could see to her in private.

She harbored no illusions that he really meant to take her back to
New Orleans. The journey and a trial would offer too great a chance
for her to speak, to show someone the letter she kept hidden in her
reticule, carefully folded and sewn into the lining. The damning letter
Darien had written to his wife.

If he ever found that letter, he’d destroy it, and she’d hang. No
Yankee would believe her story without written proof. She became
more and more convinced he couldn’t take the chance that anyone
might listen. If he got his hands on her, she would not live long
enough to hang.

She thought once more of her stateroom and realized that if Russell
were here, he could not be there. Her belongings beckoned her,
especially Lafitte. Now was her best chance to retrieve them, and
perhaps when she had finished, Captain Russell would have given up
watching the gangplank. The plan seemed worth a try.

Quickly, she hurried upstairs to the cabin deck. Her knees were
shaking by the time she reached her stateroom door. What if Russell
had left someone inside to guard it, someone who would arrest her the
moment that she stepped inside? For a long moment, Yvette hesitated,
feeling vulnerable, almost naked standing out here on the deck, yet
reluctant to risk walking into what would be a perfect trap.

Quiet as it was, the voice still made her jump. By the time she
turned to face it, the speaker was almost close enough to touch her.
Certainly too close to flee with any real hope of success.

Her pent-up breath gusted out through painfully clenched
teeth.
Gabriel Davis.
She ought to feel upset at his appearance,
for the last thing she needed was another complication now.
Instead, she felt relief at seeing him, someone she could trust
with all her burdens.

Ridiculous to feel such absolute faith in a Yankee soldier she had
met just days before. Yet she did, and for some unfathomable reason,
she felt certain that her surety had nothing to do with desperation and
everything to do with the warmth she saw in his blue eyes.

“Please,” she breathed, “would you step inside ahead of me? I’m
afraid—afraid that someone unpleasant might be waiting.”
He nodded his assent, and she slipped past him to wait. Her every
muscle tensed, prepared for flight, as he pushed open the stateroom
door and peered inside.
The kitten tried to dart between his legs, but Gabriel scooped him
up and grinned at him.
“Here’s something unpleasant for you,” he told her, passing her the
squirming creature.
“Oh, Lafitte,” she crooned. She carried him inside and felt a
renewed surge of relief when Gabriel followed.
Yvette placed the kitten into her handbasket and latched it. Then
she began gathering necessities as quickly as she could.
“Are you getting off in Memphis?” Gabe sounded disappointed.
She paused to stare at him. “I’m in a great deal of trouble, Gabriel.”
“Russell?” he guessed.
She nodded. “I believe someone has told him which stateroom I’m
using. I hid on the main deck for a while, and I’d decided that I’d have
to leave the
Sultana,
though I really need to travel farther north. But
when I approached the gangplank, I saw him waiting—watching for
me to disembark.”
“Then you’ll have to stay on board.”
“But how? He’ll find me if I stay here.”
Gabe looked at her strangely, then placed his hands on her
shoulders.
“Please . . . we have no time to waste on kisses.”
“I don’t consider kissing you a waste, Yvette.” But he did not lean
toward her. Instead, he slowly spun her all the way around so that
when he’d finished, she was facing him once more.
“Laissez-moi tranquille!”
she said, her anger for the moment pushing
past her English. She took a deep breath and shook off his grasp. “Let
go! I’m trying to collect my things!”
“And I’m trying to help you. You’re going to need to take those
clothes off.”
Her French came in an angry torrent, words that would have
turned her mother crimson. Even her brothers would have been
shocked at the way she handled expressions she’d only overheard
them saying among themselves. Unfortunately, their meaning was
quite lost on the insolent Yankee. Even worse, she’d never learned to
swear properly in English.
To her surprise, Gabe laughed and held up his palms, as if in
surrender. Shaking his head, he told her, “I’m sorry. I’m sorry.
Th-that’s not what I meant.”
The
imbécile
was laughing so hard that he could barely speak. Yvette
felt a flush of rage and shame heating her face.
Gabe regained control. “I’m not sure how I’ll do it, but I’m going to
see if I can find you something else to wear. Men’s clothes—maybe we
can dress you like a roustabout. I don’t know much French, but from
your tone, I’d guess you have the right vocabulary.”
“Mon Dieu!
You mean to disguise me as a man?” The idea was so
absurd, so shocking, it nearly took her breath away.
“Well . . .” he began, his gaze appraising her once more. “As little as
you are, maybe a boy. Let me go quickly and see what I can round up.
I’ll need to commandeer a cap, too, since we don’t have any way to cut
your hair so quickly.”
Yvette blinked, wondering who would ever believe the fiction
that she was male. But even a ridiculous idea was better than
nothing, so she nodded mutely. At least then he’d leave her alone
to finish packing the remainder of her things.
“Do you have money or anything to trade?” Gabe asked her. “Some
pretty trinket? Something a soldier or a crewman might want for his
sweetheart? I’d play the gentleman about this, but I just gave most of
my money for the promise of real food.”
“Real food,” Yvette repeated, thinking for the first time of the box
Kathleen had given her. She went to the table where she’d left it and
opened the top. Apparently, Kathleen had been afraid that she’d go
hungry. Inside she found wrapped meats and cheeses, several
oranges, half a cake, and a loaf of bread, still faintly warm. “Do you
think this might do?”
Gabe stared at it with poorly disguised longing. “Good Lord! There
are men out there who’d strip naked for a share of that.”
She couldn’t help smiling at his expression. “Careful, Mr. Davis.
Salivating in the box might lower its trade value.”
“What?” At last his gaze shifted from the feast to her. “Oh, sorry. I’d
better go now.”
“Please hurry,” she told him as he moved to leave. “I don’t know
how long I have before he returns.”
Gabe hesitated, then abruptly took her into his arms. How wonderful
it felt to have him squeeze her, how safe and comforting! She was glad
when he followed with a kiss, one so full of promise that she began
immediately to melt, to wish that he would stay with her despite
the danger.
Too soon, he pulled away. “Do you still think it’s a waste of time?”
She shook her head, too overwrought to deny the power drawing
them together. He grinned at her and left. She blinked at the closed
door for a long moment before returning to her packing.
And all the while, she prayed Gabe’s help would come in time.

Gabe hurried toward the stateroom, a rumpled wad of clothing
tucked beneath his arm. Hurried not only because Yvette needed him
but because he wanted her.

Every time Gabe saw her, his hunger grew to see her one more
time. But that craving was as nothing compared to the clear conviction
that coursed through him when he held her in his arms. Implausible
as it seemed, he knew that she was meant for him. The reality of it
went soul-deep, unchangeable, as if it formed the kernel of his
beating heart.

A jolt of fear that the one woman who moved him was too far
beyond his reach rode hard on the thought. A French-speaking
Southern woman and a Catholic, too, if the rosary she’d stuffed into
her reticule was any indication. A fugitive from Union justice. He
imagined his father’s reaction if he dared bring her home; the thunder
of artillery would pale in comparison to the old man’s disapproval.
The rest of his family would react with utter disbelief, and he knew
beyond a doubt they would abandon Yvette to chilly isolation, excluding
her from the warm circle of their favor.

He nearly laughed aloud at the idea. Bringing home a woman—any
woman—wouldn’t change their welcome one iota. He’d be disgraced
with her or without. With her, however, he could feel hope flutter into
wakefulness inside him. They could both make a fresh start.

In Oregon, together. With Yvette beside him, he could survive his
exile. Together they would both have love, and in time they could
begin their own new family.

Excitement coursed through him as he thought of their future. The
first real excitement he had felt in such a long, long time. Now all he
had to do was convince Yvette that he was not insane.

At his knock and soft words, she let him back into the stateroom.
She wrinkled her nose at the bundle in his arms.
“Those Illinois boys might have sold their souls for all that food,”
he told her as he spread out the clothing on the chair. “But I settled for
a jacket from one fellow, a pair of britches from another, and this cap.
All too big, I know, but we’ll do what we can. There are plenty about
dressed worse.”
Yvette picked up the jacket’s empty sleeve. She used only her nails,
as if she loathed touching it. “This doesn’t smell too clean.”
“Don’t worry. These clothes came from Vicksburg. Vermin-free, you
have my word.” He hoped it was true. He winced at the image of her
on deck, trying to hide among the men, then erupting into shrieks at
the sight of a flea or louse.
She looked dubious. “What about my feet? Surely, I can’t go
barefoot.”
“You won’t be the only one.” He felt exasperation growing at her
stalling.
She folded her arms across the swell of her bosom. With a shake
of her head, she told him, “Thank you for your efforts, but I simply
cannot put these on.”
“Why not?”
“I will not wear the Union blue. You told me you’d find some
roustabout to trade with.”
“Nobody’s hungrier than the soldiers. Yvette, you have to do this.
Unless you don’t mind Russell catching you.”
“I’ll hang before I dress as a Yankee.”
Gabe’s dream of a future with her withered. What in God’s name
could he want with such a damned fool, stubborn woman?
“You’d hang?” he asked. She’d said that Russell meant to kill her,
but hanging sounded more like execution.
She nodded. “He’s had me charged with murder. The murder of the
lieutenant looking into his affairs.”
“So you’re going to let him win?” Gabe argued. “You’re going to let
this Yankee, this man who you say killed your sister, take you?”
He shook his head, disgusted, before muttering. “And I
thought you had spirit. I thought you had sense. Turns out you’re
not a damned bit different from all those other Rebels, ready to
die over your puffed-up pride. More concerned with appearances
than winning. No wonder your side lost. No wonder —”
She slapped him, and he felt the sting of it along his cheek, heard
the sharp crack of her palm against his flesh. Her hand shook, and she
stared at it as if she were surprised at what she’d done.
He grinned and resisted the impulse to rub the burning flesh on his
face.
“That’s
what a fighter does. And you’re a fighter now. Not some
little girl just playing at it. I don’t care about the war, Yvette. I only care
about you winning this one. I . . . I care about you. Now put on the
damned uniform or I’ll strip those clothes off you and dress you myself.”
Her face flushed crimson, and her eyes blazed hazel fury, but she
didn’t back away.
“You wouldn’t dare,” she told him.
But she wasn’t certain. He heard it in her voice. Good, then. That
made two of them. He called her bluff, stepping forward until he was
so close, her folded arms were touching him.
It took every bit of self-control that he could muster not to reach out
and grab her then, not to rip her dress off. He’d be doing it to save her,
he swore to himself, but he remembered the desire between them, and
he wasn’t certain that his motives were completely pure.
Before he had the chance to find out, she relented.
“All right,” she spat the words and turned from him. “But step
outside. I certainly won’t have you watching.”
“What in God’s name makes you think I’d want to?” he asked her,
hoping that lightning wouldn’t strike him, for he’d never uttered such
a lie since he’d been born.
She stared at him and held his gaze, and he could tell she knew.
Knew how he wanted her not only now but for his whole life.
Tears welled up to soften the fierceness in her eyes.
“Thank you. Thank you for helping me,” she said, though her voice
faltered beneath the weight of her emotions.
He had to force himself to turn away from her, had to remind
himself that Russell could come here at any moment. Only that kept
him from kissing her again, from caressing her, not stopping until both
of them had had their fill.
Instead, he waited outside while Yvette Augeron, proud daughter
of the Confederacy, transformed herself into a Union soldier.