Gwyneth Atlee (10 page)

Only by remembering your errors did I manage to break away from the
enchantment, to pull myself out of the flame. And only by imagining
your laughter at the sanctimony of my earlier letter, the smugness of
my naïveté.

Though the new day was already hurrying toward noon, Gabriel’s
last words hung over Yvette’s mood like a pall: “I hope our kiss will
give you something to remember. Something to make you wish for
more than lonely nights.”

She could scarcely imagine why she would find such a prediction
troubling. Unless she somehow managed to avoid Captain Russell
until she reached Uncle André, she would die soon. Too soon to worry
about whether she had hurt a Yankee soldier. Too soon to regret a life
of loneliness.

Yet, as she teased the kitten with a loose scrap of lace or tried
in vain to concentrate on the French novel she was reading, she
realized she was lying to herself. Whether she lived another
hour or many decades, she would worry over what had happened
on this boat. And what had almost happened with a Yankee
prisoner, a young man of unknown background whom her family
must despise.

But did they not despise her, too, now? She winced as she remembered
Grandmère’s words:
“The best thing you can do is leave and forget you ever were an
Augeron. God knows we will spend our whole lives living down the
scandal you have brought upon our name.”
Always the scandal. If Papa had taken Russell’s investment advice
and lost every last picayune he’d ever made, if Marie had been ruined
by a married Yankee, no one in the family would have ever spoken of
it, as if disgrace kept from the papers were no disgrace at all. But now,
with Marie’s death in the news and, even more shockingly, Yvette’s
public murder accusation, there was nowhere in New Orleans to hide
from gossip.
Even Papa had withdrawn his support. His reputation ruined, he
would sell the coffee brokerage, he explained, and buy a plantation in
the country. There the Augerons could live in tarnished splendor, a
fine society unto themselves. He offered his youngest daughter, a girl
he had cherished and spoiled all her life, not a word of invitation, not
even one last crumb of love. She’d been cut off from her family as
completely as if she were already dead.
Except for the possibility of Uncle André. Long removed from
Creole society, he had embraced American culture as completely as if
he’d been born to it—and in doing so, had prospered. At least that was
what her father always claimed. Yvette wondered if her uncle yet
remembered any French or the Gumbo Creole he had learned from his
Negro nurse.
But perhaps Uncle André remembered enough to realize what grief
Yvette had caused the famille. Perhaps enough to banish her as well.
A pang of terror made her drop her book. Without any family, then
what would she do? How could she hope to make Captain Russell pay
for what he’d done when she was all alone? And even if by some miracle she succeeded, how would she survive?
Heart pounding, she went to her bag and once more counted her
money, but she had no more than she’d had yesterday, after Gabriel
had left her.
Once more, her thoughts circled back toward him, settled on his
handsome features, allowed the caress of his lips. She had to admit
that she’d thought herself too fine to be a poor soldier’s diversion.
Despite his obvious intelligence and consideration, she never would
have dreamed of entertaining such a fellow in New Orleans.
But now, stripped of her family and her fortune, she wondered on
what grounds she based such pride. The amazing thought slashed
through her consciousness that a penniless fugitive such as herself
might not be good enough for him.
A tap came at her door.
Against all reason, she thought, Please let it be Gabriel. But fear that
Captain Russell was the more likely visitor followed on the heels of
that impulsive thought.
“Anyone inside?” The voice, though muffled, was distinctly female.
Yvette decided to risk a peek.
A woman of about her own age carried a folded stack of towels and
a water pitcher. The crimson birthmark covering her left cheek
reminded Yvette of a hand slap, but the blonde’s smile belied the
impression of fresh violence.
“Good morning,” she said brightly. “I’ve come to freshen up the
stateroom for you.”
Yvette detected a faint Irish lilt to the woman’s voice. Her father
ignored the sentiment that Irishmen were drunken laggards.
Sometimes he hired them as teamsters to deliver sacks of coffee. Yvette
was more used to Negro slaves and servants, yet she stepped aside to
allow the chambermaid inside. The door swung closed behind her.
“I’m Kathleen Rowe,” the young woman said with more familiarity than Yvette thought proper. Yet her blue-green eyes sparkled with
both warmth and good sense.
Although Yvette didn’t answer, she continued. “My husband’s
one of the crewmen. It’s so crowded I was asked t’help out with the
staterooms. Have ya been to the cabin yet, now? The cook’s serving
a glorious breakfast, and the day’s a bonny one.”
Ah, so this woman wasn’t properly a servant. Perhaps that
explained her unusual demeanor.
“I’m afraid I’m a bit seasick. Or maybe river sick’s the right term.”
Yvette hated being forced to lie once more, but entering the main cabin
would be far too dangerous.
Kathleen nodded emphatically as she refilled the stateroom’s water
pitcher. “I’ve just the thing for it. Let me drop these fresh towels, and
then I’ll bring some toast and tea.”
The Irishwoman smiled at Lafitte, who batted playfully at the hem
of her black skirt. “And perhaps I can find a wee bit of a treat for him
as well.”
Yvette found herself liking this amiable young woman and wondered
for a moment if class had too long blinded her to a diverse host of
good people.

Gabriel dreamed of her hazel eyes again and the smooth dark
brows that arched above them. His palms slid along Yvette’s raven
hair as his lips tasted the warmth of her fair skin, the desire of her
pink, kiss-swollen mouth.

He awoke with a groan and blinked in the bright sunlight. Bored
with sitting still, he must have dozed awhile.
Eagerly, he gazed toward the trees and noticed how many of their
bases were blanketed by brown floodwaters. Yet the shoreline seemed
unchanged, unmoving. Only the endless splashing of the paddlewheel blades and the smudged gray trail behind the smokestacks
assured him they were truly moving north.
“Hey, Gabe, how ’bout some water?” Zeke’s voice surprised him.
He’d been asleep all morning.
Gabe pushed himself up on his elbows and yawned until his
ears popped. “Sure. Let me find the bucket. Those Tennessee boys
borrowed it.”
“I’ll get it,” Jacob offered. “If I sit here one more minute, my knees
are gonna rust.”
Despite the clear attempt to hide his concern, worry for his
younger brother strained Jacob’s voice. When Gabe looked at Zeke,
he understood. Zeke’s straight brown hair hung in damp strings, and
perspiration sheened his pallid face. His green eyes still looked
sharp, though, as if he were plotting some sort of diversion, the
way he had in prison.
“You’ve got that look again, Zeke. Planning another championship
season of louse racing?”
“Naw. Those Sisters of Charity picked off my best vermin. Besides,
I don’t think it would be so popular outside of Andersonville.” His
humor sounded forced, his voice exhausted.
“How’s the leg?”
“Just fine.” Zeke’s words had an exasperated edge to them, as if
he’d been asked the question once too often.
Gabe shook his head. “Maybe we should get off in Memphis.
They’ll have some good food at the Soldiers’ Home there.
Doctors, too.”
“God damn it, you sound just like my brother— and Seth, too. He
went to see if he could find some fresh bandages. I’ll tell you what I
told him. I’m better. Anyway, I heard you groaning in your sleep. You
see the damned doctor.”
“Sawbones can’t fix what ails me,” he admitted.
Zeke managed a laugh. “I hear you’re courtin’ trouble.”
Gabe smiled, for Zeke’s sake, then shrugged. “I can’t get her off
my mind.”
“You don’t want any Southern woman. You come on home with us.
Jake and I’ll introduce you to our sister. You’re already just about a
brother. You could be our brother-in-law for real.”
Jacob laughed and knelt beside him with the water. “You must be
delirious for sure. There’s not a man alive could pry Eliza off that
farm. Not with a pitchfork. And you’d best keep her name out of the
conversation when Captain Seth gets back.”
Seth had grown up near the farm where Jacob and Zeke lived.
He’d been friends with Jacob for years before he’d gone off to
teach mathematics, and he had some sort of history with Eliza,
too. Gabe had never gotten the whole story, though.
Apparently, the subject was still a sore one as far as the captain
was concerned.
Zeke nodded to his brother, his green eyes closing as he drank from
a dented tin cup. The same one he’d had in prison, Gabe recalled. Like
the rest of them, he’d resisted giving up the implements of his survival. Just as well. Hell could freeze over before any of the paroled
prisoners aboard could get a cup.
Water began to drip out of Zeke’s slack lips. That quickly, he’d fallen
back to sleep.
Jacob Fuller lowered his brother until he lay half-curled on the deck.
Jacob’s long sigh shuddered, as if he were fighting his own exhaustion—
or an urge to weep.
Gingerly, he shifted and then began to unwrap the cloth around
Zeke’s foot and ankle. The wound looked red and angry, and moisture
oozed along its edges. Gabe couldn’t smell it—yet, but he’d seen
enough at Andersonville to dread the coming stench.
“Maybe they can save the leg in Memphis,” Gabe suggested. “I’ll
bet they have good hospitals there.”
Jacob’s brown eyes were dark with pain and pentup anger. “I
promised him I’d get him home, but this . . .”
Gabe helped him bathe the wound. “You look like you could use
a walk.”
“You heard what the captain said. They need us to keep still. And
Zeke—”
“You know we’ll take good care of him. Besides, I have a thing for
you to do. You remember what I told you about that Captain Russell,
who’s looking for the Southern girl?”
“What’s the matter? It’s not enough you’ve gotten yourself into
trouble? Now you’re working on me, too?”
“If half of what Yvette told me was true, he’s the criminal.”
“Do you realize you’re taking this Southern girl’s word against a
Union officer’s? She’s a goddamned Rebel, Gabe. The whole idea
stinks of treason. How can you be sure of anything she said?”
“She’s not some Confederate operative, Jacob. She’s just a very
young woman, and she’s scared as hell. Look, I’m not asking you to
spit on Lincoln’s casket. All I want you to do is find this Russell and
tell him you saw her hiding down below, among the cargo.”
Jacob shook his head. “You do it if you’re so damned certain of this
girl’s word. You’re the one always spoiling for a fight.”
“I’ll get more than that if I interfere with him again. Maybe prison
time. I’ll tell you what. You’ve always been the best judge of character
of the four of us. Go meet Captain Russell. I’ve heard he’s in the main
cabin trying to buy some information. You can act like you know
something, and maybe he’ll buy you a drink. Then, if he doesn’t strike
you as an arrogant son of a bitch, make up some excuse and come
right back. But if he does, if he seems to have something to hide, tell
him what I said about the girl.”
Seth returned with a sheet he’d commandeered. He sat down
beside them and began to tear it into bandages.
“I’ll wrap this time,” Gabe volunteered, peering furtively at Jacob
Fuller. Seth would give him hell if he knew what Gabe had suggested.
Jacob rose. “I’m doing this for my stiff knees, Gabe, not because I
think it’s smart.”
Without another word, he began making his way toward the bow—
and the main stairwell.
“What was that about?” Seth asked. “You aren’t stirring up more
trouble, are you?”
“Not me. I just told him about the rumor they had some extra
rations in the main cabin.”
“Hell, we don’t have any way to cook those cheap hog jowls they
gave us. More of the same won’t do us any good. Now if he could get
more food like you brought last night . . .”
Gabe grimaced, his stomach growling at the thought. “Not much
chance of that.”
“You never told me how you came by that meal.”
Gabe busied himself wrapping Zeke’s ankle. “You’re better off not
knowing, Captain.”
Seth smiled. “I’m not one to look a gift horse in the mouth, especially
one that comes bearing real food. But since you were involved, you’re
right. I don’t think I want to know.”
Gabe finished his task and used an extra length of cloth, dipped in
the bucket, to wash Zeke’s face. All the while, he was thinking that
Seth would probably tie him to the deck rail if he guessed what Gabe
meant to do tonight.