Redeeming Gabriel (19 page)

Where did her loyalty to her father end and patriotism begin? She was very much afraid patriotism was being colored with a broad brush by her own tenderness for a certain Union spy—a tenderness she could not afford. When Gabriel Laniere got what he wanted, he would be gone.

Behind the patched canvas curtain, Gabriel slopped water from the chipped pitcher into its mismatched bowl, then splashed his face and upper body. He was so glad to see Camilla Beaumont that it scared him. He was almost ready to ride out of town right now, torpedo boat or no torpedo boat.

No telling what brought her searching for him. He jerked on a clean shirt and tucked it into his trousers. Deciding against a jacket because of the heat, he wet-combed his hair and started to shove aside the curtain. But long habit made him stand quietly, half-concealed.

Camilla was regaling uncle with the tale of the trip down the bay to deliver the quinine. “You never saw a ship so full of holes in your life. And it was all because of a rooster!”

Diron sat with his booted feet hooked over the top rung of a stool, enjoying his tobacco. He chuckled. “Wouldn’t have been so funny, though, if the ship had gone down.”

“That’s true.” Camilla’s eyes met Gabriel’s, but he put a finger to his lips, and she maintained a flirtatious lilt in her voice. “I’ve been meaning to thank you for obtaining the quinine. You’re quite a hero yourself!”

“Pshaw! An old scoun’l like me?” Diron turned his head and hit the spittoon with dead aim. “Not much I wouldn’t do for the Confederacy.”

“I know.” Camilla lowered her voice. “Papa says you’ve been quite a genius in the design of the—you know, the boat.” Camilla put her palms together in a swimming motion.

Diron frowned. “What boat?”

Camilla blinked. “Why, the boat my brother captains, of course.”

“It ain’t common knowledge he’s the captain,” Diron said slowly. “You better not say that to just anybody.”

Gabriel’s skin prickled. He’d been trying unsuccessfully to worm information out of his uncle for weeks, and Camilla had uncorked the old man in a matter of minutes.

Camilla smiled. “Papa says Jamie must have some pirate blood in him. He’s patriotic, of course, but he’s not interested in any sea venture that won’t bring him a good profit.”

“This one’ll make him a hero, for sure, and likely make us all rich.”

“Y-you mean Papa and Mr. Chambliss?” Camilla seemed to realize the conversation had bobbed into heavy undercurrents. She pulled her small spectacles out of her pocket and slipped them on, concealing her agitation. She wandered over to Diron’s workbench, where she began to poke around.

Gabriel frowned. What did Chambliss have to do with it?

“He’s an investor, sure. But your family stands to gain the most.”

“I think it’s thrilling Jamie gets to captain the boat.” Camilla picked up a pearl-handled knife and brushed its blade against her thumb. “He can’t wait to test it.”

It was all Gabriel could do not to whistle at her audacity. How did she know the thing hadn’t already been tested?

Diron leaned forward and gestured with his knife. “Tomorrow night we’ll know.”

Gabriel watched Camilla’s hand jerk, and a line of scarlet traced the pad of her thumb. Her stricken eyes met his.

He jerked the curtain aside and crossed the room to take the little pearl-handled knife out of her shaking hand. “What do you think you’re doing?” He pinched the cut together to stop the flow of blood.

Her skin was waxen as camellia petals. “I guess I wasn’t paying attention.”

“Uncle, don’t you have a clean rag around here somewhere? Sit down, Camilla, before you faint.” He hooked a stool with his foot, picked her up by the waist and plopped her onto it.

Shaking his head, Diron produced a clean cloth. Gabriel tore a strip off it and tied it around Camilla’s thumb. He stood frowning at her, holding her by the wrist, while she took a couple of deep breaths. “You all right?”

“Yes, I…that was very silly, wasn’t it?”

“Very. We’d better get out of here before you do some real damage. Ready to go?”

Camilla nodded, the smile returning to her eyes as she looked at Diron. “I hope I didn’t ruin your knife.”

“Shouldn’t leave it lying around. Wash that wound in clean water when you get home, Miss Camilla.”

Gabriel released Camilla’s wrist and helped her off the stool. “I’m staying in town tonight, uncle. I’ve an appointment early in the morning.”

Diron grunted an acknowledgment and went back to work.

Gabriel offered Camilla his elbow. She clung to it tightly as they left the shop and walked across the street, where she’d left the wagon hitched. Once they were rattling down the street, Gabriel glanced at Camilla. She was staring at her bandaged thumb. “To the depot, or do you want to go home?”

Answering seemed to take a huge effort. “The depot. Lady’ll have a fit if I don’t get these supplies delivered.”

“Why didn’t she send one of the servants?”

“I offered to go because I needed to talk to you. Where have you been for the past week?”

He shrugged. “Trying to catch up with your father. He’s been avoiding me.”

“I suspected he might. He and Lady have been arguing over our betrothal.”

“I finally talked to your papa. He’s slippery as a gar. Never said I couldn’t court you, but he let me know I’d better not get ideas above my station.”

“That doesn’t sound like Papa.”

“He was being protective of his only daughter. I’d probably do the same.”
I must be getting soft,
Gabriel told himself in disgust. He jerked the reins sharply as they turned onto Government Street. Camilla’s shoulder jounced against his.

“Papa’s protecting something, but I’m not sure it’s me. He and Beckham Chambliss have been dabbling in confiscated cotton, selling it somewhere up north.”

“What?” Gabriel turned sharply. “How do you know that?”

“Fanny Chambliss told me yesterday.”

“Are you sure it’s true?”

“It makes sense, doesn’t it? Papa and Mr. Chambliss have been in business together off and on for years. I’m sure that was him I heard with Papa that night, discussing the fish boat.”

“From what uncle just said, it most certainly was.” Gabriel gripped the reins. “They need money to finance the thing, and if the blockade and the war are eating into railroad profits, that would be a perfect way to make a little fast cash.”

“It may be more than a little.” Camilla leaned close. “Fanny said there’s a shipment of eight hundred thousand dollars in silver coming down this way soon.”

Dumbfounded, Gabriel stared into the sparkling gold of Camilla’s eyes.

“And that’s not all.” Camilla put her lips to Gabriel’s ear. “Virgil Byrd has seen the boat.”

“Where? I’ve got to see it for myself.”

“It’s in the old Bethel Church, but Papa’s got guards posted all around the property.”

“How did Byrd get close enough to see it?”

“He wanders around where he pleases, and nobody says a word to him.”

Gabriel drew a breath. “Let’s deliver these supplies.” He flapped the reins to hurry the horses. “I
will
get close to that boat, Camilla, one way or another.”

At the M & O depot people milled about—officers and enlisted men, slaves engaged in hauling and loading, and the odd gentleman of business. Gabriel was surprised at the number of women executing errands in the absence of their menfolk. The depot itself was so new that the raw boards had not yet been painted.

Gabriel rounded the wagon to assist Camilla to the ground, then swung along beside her as she lifted her skirts and picked her way across weeds, oyster shells and muddy red clay toward the transport office.

Gabriel took Camilla’s elbow. “How long has the station been open?”

“About a year. Papa convinced the state legislature to fund the railroad just before hostilities in South Carolina started.” She lowered her voice. “The folks in Richmond have made good use of the rail line, but haven’t been forthcoming with cash for the upkeep. You can see why Papa’s a bit anxious about profits.”

“Surely your father’s not the only stockholder.”

“Of course not, but he’s sunk a goodly sum into the enterprise.”

So the outcome of the war would determine the Beaumont family fortunes on multiple levels. If the secessionists won, Ezekiel stood to gain thousands in debt retirement from the Confederate government. In the opposite case, the Beaumonts would lose everything.

Gabriel handed Camilla up the steps onto the broad porch of the ticket office. What would he do if it came to a choice between protecting her and discharging his duty? Prayer suddenly seemed like a very good idea.

“Mr. Havard!” Camilla rushed toward the road agent’s counter. “Lady says there’s a delivery for us come in on the morning train.”

“Oh, yes. It’s from a Mr. Shoat, up in Benton’s Mills. Very peculiar shape and quite heavy. If I didn’t know your papa better, I’d say he’s routing dead bodies up and down the line!” Mr. Havard laughed at his joke. “Do you need help loading it onto your wagon?”

“No, thank you. Reverend Leland here will help me.” Camilla signed for the delivery and received a stamped bill of lading. “Give my regards to Mrs. Havard and the children.”

“Certainly, Miss Camilla. It’s good to have seen you.”

“You have some useful connections.” Gabriel accompanied Camilla to a large, noisy warehouse close to the tracks, where slaves and white hired men were unloading and reloading cars. “Do you suppose you could get him to feed you military use of the railroad? Troop movement in and out of here, numbers, provisions and such?”

She gave him a troubled look. “I don’t like to use people who trust me.”

That sounded like an accusation. “Do you understand you don’t have a choice anymore? You’re in this whether you like it or not, and it’s too late to back out.” The moment the words were out of his mouth, he wished them back.

Camilla’s luminous tea-colored eyes filled. She jerked her arm out of his hand and hurried toward the warehouse.

“Camilla!” Gabriel strode after her. “I didn’t mean—”

“Leave me alone.” Her back was a straight, angry line. Hiking her skirts well above her ankles, she stepped over steel beams and sacks of salt, dodged towering stacks of crates and elbowed past piles of unclaimed furniture and machinery. She was going to trip over something and get hurt if he didn’t do something. Helplessly he followed.

She came to the end of the warehouse, walked into a corner behind a leftover bale of cotton and stood with her forehead pressed against the rough pine planks, hands flat on either side of her head. Her bonnet hung from its ribbons, and her eyes were squeezed shut.

He stood a short distance away, castigating himself for a fool.

“I’d have done anything for you, Gabriel, if you’d just asked,” she choked out. “Haven’t you learned
anything
yet?”

“I suppose not.” He took off his hat. “You’re new territory.”

Camilla turned her face so that the tear-streaked curve of her cheek glowed in a shaft of light. “I’ll help you, but you’ve got to let me do it my way.”

“There’s not time.” He moved around the cotton bale. “Uncle knows you’re involved, Fanny Chambliss, too, and God knows who else.” He paused. “There’s something I’ve got to tell you.”

“What is it?” She turned, back to the wall, eyes wide.

She was afraid of him. He wanted to hold her and convince her that—What? That he was a hero like her cousin or her brother or any number of young men she knew and admired? That he hadn’t come here to overthrow her country and destroy her family’s way of life?

He took a breath. “Delia Matthews told me Harry’s regiment was in a skirmish outside of Tupelo, Mississippi, and they couldn’t hold out.”

“Is he dead?” Her voice was high, almost inaudible.

“We don’t know for sure. Rebels took the survivors prisoner. Delia says she can find out.”

Camilla’s head fell back against the wall.

He moved to pull her into his arms. She flung her arms about his waist and buried her face against his chest. He endured her clinging, knowing she wept for another man who was—or perhaps used to be—his closest friend. What a grand joke on Gabriel Laniere. When had it happened? When had he fallen in love with Camilla Beaumont?

“I don’t know what to do,” she whispered. “How can I go to Harry when you’re here, and Jamie’s going to test that horrid boat tomorrow night, and Papa’s selling illegal cotton…”

Gabriel put his hand to the back of Camilla’s head. She lifted her face, eyes closed. Tears were smeared across her cheeks, those ridiculous little spectacles skewed to the side. He took them off and slipped them into his pocket.

With the slow inevitability of a coastal tide drawn to the moon, Gabriel bent to kiss her lips, swollen and salty from weeping and innocent as dew on rose petals. For a moment he felt her respond before she shoved at his chest.

“Gabriel, stop. I can’t do this.”

His heart thudded in his throat. “I’m not going to apologize.”

“I know, my fault.” She averted her face.

He set her away from him, plunked her bonnet on her head and began to tie the ribbons. “You look like a fright,” he said gruffly, as if his world had not just been turned inside out by less than half a kiss. “Where’s this delivery we’re supposed to pick up?”

“We’ll have to find the freight agent, but—”

“Then let’s go.” He walked off.

“Gabriel!”

Releasing a breath, he turned. “In two days I’m gone, Camilla.” He waited a beat, while she looked at him with tear-filled eyes. “Nothing’s changed.”

Chapter Fifteen

C
amilla trailed behind Gabriel as they went in search of Percy Cleveland, the road agent. How could she be falling in love with this pigheaded
Yankee?
He didn’t have a heart for the Lord. He was not, as Lady would say, her “right man.” And Portia would preach for a week if she knew what he really was.

Nothing’s changed.
That might be true for him, but her life had just been turned inside out.

To Gabriel she was a tool, someone he could use to further his mission. The knowledge was bittersweet. She wanted to help end slavery, and aiding the Union was the best way to do it. But more than that, she wanted with her whole heart to work side by side with Gabriel. She wanted to belong to him. She wanted him spiritually whole. She wanted him
alive.