Kary, Elizabeth (36 page)

From
her perch, she could see the gentle undulations of the riverbank, thick and
velvety with newly leafed trees. Occasionally tiny river towns moved past. That
they relied on the Mississippi for survival was evident in the way the
buildings huddled at the edge of the water and by the amount of activity along
the levee. Goods were gathered in piles awaiting shipment, and wood and coal
tenders were strung out along the edge of the river ready to provide fuel for
the steamboats that passed upstream and downstream in an endless cavalcade.
Leigh could imagine the excitement when one of the boats pulled in, the people
who would pour from the houses and stores at the sound of the whistles that
signaled a landing. St. Louis was a city tied to the Mississippi by its history
and its economic life, but not with the same overwhelming dependency that these
smaller towns must be. As grim as the last year of war had been for the city of
St. Louis, Leigh could imagine the effect the diminished river trade must have
had on them.

She
could also see people along the bank outside the towns, boys with their fishing
lines cast hopefully into the murky water, and men working in the rich brown
fields. It was a time when crops were beginning to sprout, a time when weeds
must be dug and cultivating done. Sometimes she noted a red flag tied to the end
of a dock to signal a passing steamboat to stop for cargo or passengers. But
the
Barbara Dean
ignored the summons and moved steadily south on a
course of her own.

Fine
houses were visible along the riverbank, too, mansions nestled like jewels
between the trees. Some of them stood back from the water, elegant and proud,
with tall pillars and ornate pediments, glistening crisp and white against
their verdant surroundings. Some of the houses stood narrow and grand,
conceding much to the Federalist styles of the fashionable east, and nothing to
the hot, sultry summers along the Mississippi. Others were built to withstand
the heat, crouched low in the old French style, with wide, cool verandas and
broad hipped roofs. Leigh knew that riverboat pilots took their bearings from
the mansions on the banks as they plied the winding river, so that the homes
along its course had come to serve a purpose their builders had not intended.

Leigh
spent hours watching the river towns and the lovely old mansions move past her
in an endless parade, but finally she fell into a doze, awakening only when the
deep red of the setting sun blazed through the transom window. Smells from the
galley were drifting up to her, and hunger argued eloquently for making her
presence known. Still, Leigh might never learn Hayes' destination if she let
him know she was here, and her curiosity was by far stronger than her need for
food.

As
she lay trying to ignore the smell of baking cornbread and roasting meat, Leigh
began to realize what a harebrained scheme she had undertaken. It was more than
worthy of her days with Lucas and Bran and was the kind of stunt that would
have gotten their bottoms warmed. In her hurry to leave the house this morning,
she had not told anyone where she was going, and as the supper hour approached,
she knew her mother would be worried. If only Horace or Althea thought to
question her father's driver, they would at least know she was safe. As she lay
trying to ignore the murmurs of complaint from her empty stomach, Leigh began
to realize the full scope of what she'd done. With her good sense overwhelmed
by curiosity, she had impulsively climbed aboard a steamboat without any idea
of its destination, put herself at the mercy of a man who might well be a
Confederate spy, and freely courted scandal. There was no telling how long they
would be away from St. Louis or whether they would ever return. Nor did she
dare think what this could do to her reputation if word of her escapade got
out.

Leigh
cursed her own stupidity, her sudden vulnerability, and her impetuousness, but
somehow she was not sorry she had come. Hayes Banister was caught up in
something clandestine and sinister, and she could not rest until she found out
what it was.

Nightfall
came, and once all was quiet, Leigh dressed and tiptoed along the deck to the
rain barrel, desperate for a drink after her long, hot day in the cabin. After
she had assuaged her thirst and filled the washstand ewer with water for the
next day, Leigh bathed as best she could and stood lurking in the shadows as
the night breeze whispered softly against her skin and the moonlight danced
across the water.

Leigh
was awakened early the next morning by the sound of a key turning in the
stateroom's lock. Instinctively she shrank back against the wall as the door
began to open, and though she was hidden from her unexpected visitor's view by
the height and depth of the upper bunk, she realized what he must be seeing
down below. Last night she had undressed in the dark, leaving clothes draped
across the chairs. Her dress and petticoats were spread wide like flower
blossoms opened to the sun; her stockings and garters were pooled over the tops
of her shoes; her bonnet, parasol, lace-trimmed pantalettes, and even her stiff
corset were set out for an unobstructed view. Then, with her heart beating high
against her throat, Leigh became suddenly aware of the state of her undress, of
how revealing her delicate batiste chemise would be if she came face-to-face
with her visitor. But before Leigh could think of what to do, she heard Hayes's
voice just outside.

"What's
going on in there, Wilson?"

"There
are women's clothes strewn all over the cabin, sir," came the baffled
answer.

"Women's
clothes?" Hayes demanded.

"Yes,
sir. I noticed the transom was open and went inside to close it. That's when I
saw the petticoats and things draped everywhere. But there's no sign of the
lady herself."

"Well,
where the hell could she be?"

Leigh
pressed tighter to the wall as Hayes brushed through the doorway.

The
other man had not been able to see her huddled at the back of the top bunk, but
Hayes's greater height gave him a glimpse of one rounded hip and a creamy
shoulder visible over the edge of the bed. Cursing volubly, he hoisted himself
up to get a better look at their feminine stowaway.

For
an instant he stood staring, stunned by what he saw. Then the white heat of his
gaze moved over Leigh: from the bare feet and calves to the flare of her hips,
over the natural slimness of her waist to where her breasts billowed above the
neckline of her chemise.

Leigh
steeled herself for the moment when his eyes would meet hers, but she was not
prepared for the rage she saw in their gray-blue depths or the scorching
vulgarity he hurled at her.

"Go
get the dressing gown from my cabin," he snapped at the man hovering
below, "and don't be gone all day!"

After
he left, Hayes turned back to Leigh. "You damn fool woman!" he
exploded. "What in God's green earth are you doing on my ship?"

Leigh
squirmed under his hostile glare and tried to think of an appropriate answer.
This wasn't the way she had planned to confront Hayes: half-dressed,
half-asleep, and cowering.

"Here
you are, sir," the crewman said, returning, having taken seriously Hayes's
admonition to hurry.

"Go
out and close the door," he ordered. "I'll be out in a minute
myself."

In
silence he extended the blue silk dressing gown to Leigh, and when she took it,
he left the stateroom, slamming the door behind him.

Leigh
clambered down from the upper bunk, wishing she had time to dress and see to
her hair, but she was sure Hayes would not wait that long for explanations.
Sighing, she swept the oversize dressing gown around her and stepped out onto
the deck. Most of the crew had gathered to get a glimpse of their stowaway,
but, without a word to either the men or to Leigh, Hayes caught her arm and
dragged her up the stairs to his cabin.

The
moment they were inside, he turned to face her, more angry than she had ever
seen him. "All right, Leigh, you owe me an explanation. What in hell are
you doing aboard the
Barbara Dean?"

When
Leigh had pictured this confrontation with Hayes, she had imagined herself as
the one in control, the one who had discovered all his secrets and then
revealed herself to him. Unfortunately, that was not the case this morning.
Hayes had found her out long before she had learned anything of value, and he
was making it clear that she was an unwelcome intrusion, an impediment to
whatever he was going south to do. That realization further unsettled Leigh,
but no more than the open hostility she saw in his eyes.

In
the year since Hayes had rescued her from the mob at Camp Jackson, Leigh
thought she had come to know him well. She had seen the light of laughter
shining in his face when something pleased or amused him, had heard the concern
and sympathy in his voice when she had been in need of comfort, had shared the
anger and grief he felt when his cousin had been killed at Shiloh. But she had
glimpsed the side of his personality he was displaying this morning only once
before: the night he had been willing to challenge Aaron Crawford for her
virtue.

That
man, that stranger filled with barely leashed anger, was stalking her now,
moving in ever-tightening circles like a big cat scenting his prey. His pale
blue eyes were narrowed until only the pupils showed, dark and sharp as needles
probing her expression. His fury was a palpable thing, and she was aware of a
tensile hardness in him, a dangerous, intimidating ruthlessness that he had
never before turned on her.

With
difficulty she suppressed a shiver of fear. What did she know about Hayes
Banister after all? she asked herself. Could he be a Confederate spy? Was he
something more than the kind and tender man he had always seemed? The
Barbara
Dean
had been moving steadily southward, and all at once their destination
became crucially important to her. Where was Hayes going? What would happen
when he got there? And what would he do with her?

Hayes
came to stand before her, his feet braced slightly apart, the angry set of his
body mere inches from her own. The heat of him radiated against her thighs and
belly, setting off a thudding in her chest. Awareness of his size and bulk, the
breadth and strength of his shoulders overwhelmed her. Yet in spite of his
intimidating presence, or perhaps because of it, Leigh found herself standing
taller, facing him defiantly.

She
had never let any man bully her, not her father, not the military doctors who
held nurses in such low esteem, not Aaron Crawford, and she would not let Hayes
Banister bully her now. But how could she explain her reasons for being on the
Barbara
Dean
without telling Hayes everything Aaron Crawford suspected, the things
she had begun to believe?

"Why
are you aboard the
Barbara Dean?"
He thrust the question at her a
second time, his voice dangerous and low.

"When
I got your message yesterday, I came down to the riverfront," Leigh
answered with a studied insouciance she was far from feeling, "and boarded
the riverboat on impulse to find out where you were going."

"And
have you figured that out?"

"No,"
she answered carefully. "I know we're headed south."

"South.
Yes, we are headed south."

"As
far as Island Number 10?" Leigh managed to say, seeking the truth in his
eyes. Island Number 10 was the southernmost Yankee position along the
Mississippi. To be traveling farther south than that would prove her suspicions
correct.

For
an instant Hayes hesitated, his eyebrows lifting slightly. "Even farther
south than that."

Leigh
drew a breath, dizzy with the implications of his statement. What was it Hayes
was telling her? That she was in danger because she had come with him? That he
was indeed a Confederate spy?

"But
why?" she asked in a whisper.

"It
seems to me you must have some theories of your own if you were curious enough
to stow away," he observed.

There
was a subtle change in him, Leigh noticed, as if his anger had been tampered
down, subdued. It was still there, evident in the tension at the corners of his
mouth and in the smoldering depths of his eyes, but it was overlaid with a
carefully leashed watchfulness that made her even more wary than before.

This
would be the moment to tell him about Aaron Crawford's accusations, explain how
she had needed, beyond all reason, to know if they were true. But she could not
tell him. She was too angry with the way he was treating her, too appalled by
what he must be, too confused by the emotions sweeping through her to put her
answer into words.

"Well,
it hardly matters what you think, though your presence here is"—he weighed
and measured the word— "inconvenient, since by tomorrow night I am not
going to be aboard to be your host."

Leigh's
head snapped up at the admission. "Where— where are you going?"

"The
question you should be pondering, Leigh, is where
you
are going to be
staying while I'm gone."

"And
where is that? I'm sure you've already decided the answer." There was
bitterness in her tone and disillusionment in her eyes, but she stubbornly held
her ground.