Redeeming Gabriel (11 page)

His words stung Camilla’s heart. “Gabriel’s mother was left with a baby to raise by herself?”

“Three. Johnny was two, Gabriel an infant and Sara still in the womb when their father left.”

“My soul, what kind of man would abandon his wife and children?”

“A very young and self-centered one.” Diron sighed. “Jean loved Little Flower in his own way, but he never adjusted to the coastal climate. Reckon he knew, between me and the Indian family system, his wife and kids would be cared for.” He paused and folded brawny arms, watching his nephew sleep. “Reckon they were.”

Camilla pushed away her plate. “Didn’t you have a family of your own?”

Diron colored to the ears. “Never had the manners nor inclination to keep a woman.” He chuckled. “Besides, once I had young Gabriel running around here raisin’ the roof, wouldn’t no woman come within a mile of the place.”

“Why would Gabriel’s mother send only him to live with you? Why not the older boy, too?”

“Oh, Johnny was getting along just fine. But Gabriel was—I guess you could say a bit of a handful. He was reading and writing by the time he was four, and talking like a college professor. If he wanted to know how something worked, he’d take it apart and put it back together, sometimes in better shape than it was to start with. Anything he’s seen one time, he’ll never forget.” Diron shook his curly gray head. “He could think of more questions than his poor mama had time to answer in a lifetime. She sent him to me out of pure self-defense. Didn’t take me long to realize he needed more education than I could give him. The Catholic schools didn’t have room for him, so I talked the Methodist missionaries into taking him on. Gabriel finished Barton Academy when he was only fifteen and won a scholarship to medical college.”

Camilla leaned forward. “And that’s where he met—”

“Uncle, you gossip like an old woman.” The subject of their discussion reached over Camilla’s shoulder to pluck a biscuit from her plate.

She jumped. “I just wanted to know—”

“I know what you wanted to know. It’s ancient history.” He towered over her, chewing, his expression bland. “Uncle, where’s that bundle of stuff I brought you to keep for me a few days ago?”

Diron set his mug down with a thump. “I put it away, but you owe me some explanations before I hand it over.” He eyed Gabriel’s travel-stained suit and Camilla’s boy’s clothes. “I ain’t asked no questions, figured you’d tell me why you show up here at daybreak with this pretty little lady.” His grizzled brows slammed together. “Her papa ain’t comin’ after you with a shotgun—”

Gabriel shouted with laughter, and Camilla found her breath snatched away. Gabriel Laniere with a genuine grin on his face was a sight to see.

“I imagine her papa’d be glad to get rid of her.” He chuckled at the indignant lift of her chin. “We’re on our way to Fort Morgan to take medicine to Camilla’s brother. I’m no cradle robber,” he added with unnecessary relish.

Camilla bristled. “I’m a grown woman, and I come and go as I please. It’s easier to travel in boy’s clothes, and Gabriel is kind enough to escort me.”

“Yep, young Gabe’s the soul of kindness.” Tongue in cheek, the older man got to his feet. “Sit down, boy, while I fix you a plate.”

Gabriel shook his head, pilfering another biscuit and a couple of sausage links. “We’ve got to get on our way. Camilla’s daddy
will
pull out the shotgun if I don’t have her back by sundown.”

Diron nodded. “Serve you right, you scalawag. I’ll get your bundle.” He set the remains of his breakfast on the porch, just outside the back door. “Come and get it, Ajax!” A blue tick hound, snoozing peacefully under a mimosa, lifted his head and lumbered to his feet.

While Diron climbed a ladder into a tiny sleeping loft, Camilla wandered around the room. She picked up a small hand-carved wooden replica of the hound slavering over his breakfast on the porch. It was cunning, lifelike and crafted with a loving hand. “I’ve never met anyone quite like your uncle.” She looked up to find Gabriel leaning against the kitchen table, watching her with hooded eyes. “What is it?”

“We’ll have to get on that packet down to the fort. Uncle’s right—you’ll raise some eyebrows dressed like that.”

She shrugged. “I’ll put my cap back on. Nobody’ll know I’m a girl.”

“Hope you’re right. But remember we’ll be in broad daylight, so keep your hands in your pockets.”

Camilla replaced the figure of the dog and examined her small, smooth hands. “Only you would notice something that minor.”

“Anybody with a grain of sense would notice it.”

She scowled. He was worse than either of her brothers.

Diron looked over the edge of the loft and cleared his throat loudly. “Anybody interested in this here quinine bag?”

Feet propped on the rail, Gabriel lounged under the striped canvas awning on the upper deck of the western bay steam packet. After leaving Caleb at a livery near the quay at Deer River Point shortly after seven, he and Camilla had boarded one of the little thirty-foot steamers that slogged up and down the coastline. The shallow-draft boat had dodged sandbars and trees and stumps embedded in silt and reeds for nearly an hour, and another two remained before they would reach Grant’s Pass.

Except for pretty villas dotting the low, wooded shore, the monotonous coastline had changed little from the days Gabriel had spent as a boy hunting and fishing with his uncle. He found himself interested in watching Camilla, who stood at the rail looking pensively out over the water. Her nose was getting pink.

He nudged her elbow with his foot. “Better rest while you’ve got the chance. Don’t want you fainting on me before we get home.”

She lifted her face to the breeze blowing fresh off the water and hugged the leather sack holding the bottle of quinine to her stomach. “I like the sun, and I’m not tired.” She turned to look at Gabriel, anxiety filling her eyes. “How long does it take for yellow fever to kill a man?”

“Depends how long they’ve been down with it. Cuba’s rife with the stuff.”

“When is somebody going to find a way to prevent it?”

Gabriel felt the old bitterness take hold. “Maybe somebody’s already found what causes it. Maybe nobody else is listening.”

“My brother’s such a good man, and he loves the Lord so much. He doesn’t deserve to die.”

“Camilla, nobody deserves to die. It just happens. Remember, we’re in the middle of a war. A
civil
war, God help us. Your brother’s a blockade runner. He knew the risk he took.”

“There’s something you don’t understand.” Camilla met Gabriel’s eyes, her chin set against its trembling. “My mama was carried off by yellow fever when I was four. I’m not losing Jamie the same way.”

As the packet hauled up alongside a jetty off the eastern tip of Dauphin Island, Gabriel told himself it was just as well he didn’t have time to think about Camilla’s disclosure. He and Camilla threaded their way among the civilian passengers headed for the tatty-looking masonry shell of Fort Gaines. The wharf swarmed with army and navy personnel, businessmen and fishermen. The few women in the crowd looked to be of the strumpet variety. Gabriel was relieved that Camilla chose not to draw attention to herself.

The fort was surrounded by a hot wasteland of sand and tents. A former commander had ordered removal of the trees in order to clear the line of approach from any direction. Much of the activity today, however, seemed to center more around food than defense. Cook fires were in abundance, and the scent of coffee, fried salt pork and hardtack made Gabriel’s mouth water.

Camilla had to be hungry, too, but she trudged beside him up the hill to the fort without complaint. Though her shoulders drooped, she allowed him to take the heavy bag of quinine from her with obvious reluctance.

As civilians desiring passage on the ferry to Fort Morgan, Gabriel and Camilla were required to show the pass signed by Provost Marshal G. M. Parker to the commander of the fort. Major Hallonquist, a delicate-looking man with a middle-aged paunch and a shallow chin camouflaged by sparse whiskers, stood as his visitors came into his office—a rough table and three straight-backed chairs in a large tent.

Camilla swept the cap from her head, spilling long, gold-shot curls in every direction. “Good afternoon, Major. I’m Captain James Beaumont’s sister. I’ve come to take some quinine out to his ship, the
Lady Camilla,
which is quarantined at Fort Morgan.”

Major Hallonquist gaped.

Hiding his dismay at her brashness, Gabriel said smoothly, “And I’m Reverend Gabriel Leland, come to give Miss Beaumont my aid and escort.” He spread his hands, as one reasonable man to another. “Please forgive our intrusion and odd attire, sir. Miss Beaumont was anxious to get to her brother as quickly and with as little attention to herself as possible.”

“My brother’s very ill,” she added.

“Your brother is a hero to us all, Miss Beaumont.” Major Hallonquist smiled. “We’re anxious to obtain the supplies and arms he’s brought in. But he must remain in quarantine for the full two weeks. I can’t risk endangering an entire garrison with that fever.”

“But I’ve got quinine right here!” Camilla held out the bag of medicine. “Let us take the ferry over to Fort Morgan. We’ll find a way to get out to the
Lady C
somehow.”

The major shook his head, but Gabriel held up a hand. “Sir, if there’s even one man still infected with the fever on that ship, I promise we’ll not come back through here. We’ll find a way to get back to Mobile on our own.”

“Please, sir,” Camilla said with dignity, “you know how valuable that cargo is. If my brother dies, you may never see it.”

Hallonquist sighed, reaching into an overflowing crate beside the table. “Very well.” He scribbled on a scrap of paper. “This will get you on the ferry, but it’s Colonel Powell’s decision whether to let you into Fort Morgan.”

“Oh, thank you, sir!” Camilla beamed.

Gabriel took her elbow. “Come on, before we miss the ferry. Thank you, sir.”

The major shook his head. “Just don’t come back here with that fever!”

Chapter Nine

“H
ave you lost your mind?” Gabriel kept his voice low, though he felt like howling.

Camilla tossed her head, oblivious to fellow passengers on the ferry goggling at the brazen hussy dressed in pants. Her hair fluttered like a wavy banner in the gulf breeze.

“You should have let me handle the major. There was no need to make such a display.”

Camilla set her white teeth. “My brother’s dying, and I wasn’t going to shuffle around in the background while you took all day to get to the point.”

He bent close to her ear. “A little patience and self-restraint go a long way to getting you what you want!”

“Major Hallonquist was impressed with my daring and devotion to my brother.” The dimple beside her mouth gave her a self-mocking appearance.

Gabriel grunted. “I grant you, he was taken in. But don’t pull a stunt like that again without checking with me first.”

She slanted a look up at him. “You’re the boss, right?”

“Yes.” He stared her down.

She gave him a slow and completely female smile. “We’ll see about that.”

As the lighthouse at Mobile Point came into view, Gabriel began to take mental notes. Admiral Farragut would need detailed information in order to plan any future invasion of the port.

What Gabriel had seen so far assured him that Mobile would fall like an overripe peach whenever Farragut was given clearance to attack. Competition between Rebel gulf coast army and navy command had led to confusion and jealousy, a deadly combination in any war effort. Troops were enthusiastic, but poorly armed and sketchily trained. The fort on Dauphin Island was a disaster, though Major Hallonquist seemed to be struggling to correct the mess. It remained to be seen if Fort Morgan, under Colonel William Powell’s command, would be any better.

Gabriel and Camilla disembarked at the engineer’s wharf, along with a small wagonload of supplies and building materials. The parapet wall along the top of the star-shaped fort appeared to be in excellent repair. Cannons poked through the small embrasures in the corner bastions. Only a swift and strong naval force would bluster past this Confederate stronghold.

The two gray-clad soldiers in charge of moving the wagon onto the wharf nudged one another and grinned behind Camilla’s back as she strode toward the glacis—the cleared ground sloping upward toward the fort. Gabriel, following at a more leisurely pace, paid little attention until one of the men whistled.

“Hey, honey bunch,” the man called, “you want a ride in on my wagon?”

Camilla walked faster. She had almost reached the tunnel that led through the glacis, when the loud-mouthed soldier caught a handful of her hair and jerked her to a stop. Her eyes widened.

Gabriel quickened his pace.

“Let me go.” Camilla pulled at the big hand holding her hair. “I’ve got business in the fort.”

The soldier looked at his snickering friend. “Let’s see your pass, sweetheart.”

As the man poked into Camilla’s pockets, Gabriel approached. “The lady’s with me. Let her go.”

The soldier reluctantly released Camilla’s hair. “Some lady. Dressed like a—Ow!”

Camilla had stomped hard on the man’s instep. She stalked into the sandy tunnel without a word of thanks to Gabriel. He followed, catching up to her just as she exited the postern into the dry ditch surrounding the fort.

“Don’t say it!” She whirled to face him.

“Don’t say what?”

“You know what. I could have handled that oaf! I’m only letting you come along because I might need your help to get out to Jamie’s ship. But don’t get the idea that you’re in charge. You hear me?”

Gabriel took the last step, put a gently cupped fist under her chin, and bent so close that he could have kissed her—if he’d had a mind to get his ears boxed. “I see it this way. You and I need each other. Now, you may not approve of my methods, and I sure don’t approve of yours. But we can get a lot more accomplished if we work together.” He let her think that through and watched her expression go from mutiny to reluctant agreement. “There’s a certain underwater vessel that I believe your father is bankrolling. I hope my helping your brother will make your daddy trust me enough to give me access to his business ventures. If you’re on my side, like you claim to be, you’ve got to trust me, you’ve got to
help
me—not keep balking every step of the way. Do
you
hear
me?
”