Redeeming Gabriel (8 page)

“I think Harry’s that man.”

Portia’s shoulders lifted. “I pray you’re—”

The outside door flung open. Schuyler catapulted into the room, bringing with him a distinctly horsey smell. “What’s for lunch?” He snatched a roll in each hand and danced out of Portia’s reach. “I’m starved!”

“You always starved.” Portia rescued the rest of the rolls by setting them inside the dumbwaiter and slamming the door. “When you gonna stop growing and quit raiding my kitchen all hours of the day and night? I had a whole bucket of blackberries in the pantry last night and had to go pick more just to have enough for a cobbler!”

Schuyler laughed and picked Camilla up from behind, whirling her in a dizzy circle.

“Schuyler, quit! You’re squeezing the life out of me!”

“I’ve been bigger than Silly-Milly for a year now.” Schuyler winked at Portia. “Pretty soon I’ll be able to put
you
over my shoulder!”

“That would be a sight.” Portia shook a finger. “Put your sister down and go help your grandma down the stairs. I heard her bell a few minutes ago.”

Schuyler dropped Camilla with a thunk that jarred her teeth. She whacked his bony shoulder, then, grumbling under her breath, picked up a heap of linen napkins waiting to be folded.

“I will, but I’ve got to tell you the news first. Jamie’s ship’s been sighted! Another blockade runner made it in last night, and the captain says the
Lady Camilla
’s going to make it into port tonight.”

Camilla forgot her aggravation. “Praise God! Is the ship intact?”

Schuyler nodded. “She’s coming slowly. Seems she’s only sailing with a couple of sails for some reason, but the body of the ship looks fine.” He shrugged. “Maybe she’s overloaded with supplies.”

Portia closed her eyes. “May the good Lord be with our boy.”

Camilla fervently echoed the prayer.

“The meeting of the Mobile Missionary and Military Aid Society is hereby called to order,” announced Mrs. Chambliss in stentorian tones. The bird’s nest in her new spring hat quivered in tandem with her three chins.

The dozen women who littered Lady’s sitting room that bright Monday morning responded by putting away quilting hoops and bags of lint that they had been pulling for bandages. Under cover of the titter of feminine conversation, Camilla, who sat next to Fanny on the window seat, muttered, “I still think we ought to shorten it to ‘MoMass.’” The paradoxical title of their charitable organization always struck Camilla as ridiculous and pretentious.

“Camilla, you are so crude. Where would our dear, brave soldier boys be if we women didn’t cook and sew and work our fingers to the bone in their absence?” Fanny examined her perfect nails.

Camilla’s reply was forestalled by the deafening thump of her grandmother’s cane against the oak plank floor. All conversation came to a halt.

Lady posed the cane scepterlike beside her chair. “My son-in-law has agreed to transport the provisions we’ve been collecting on the next train into Mississippi. It’s time to get down to the business of packing and labeling it all.” Her compelling green eyes swept the room, daring anyone to find an excuse not to participate.

Even Lottie Chambliss wilted. “Where should we gather to work?”

“Since we’ve stored everything in the railroad warehouse, we might as well leave it there.” Lady tapped a finger against her lips. “It occurs to me that one or two strong male backs would be invaluable. Camilla!”

Camilla jumped. “Ma’am?”

“You will please contact Reverend Leland and request his assistance tomorrow morning.”

She’d had enough of the pretend minister’s company of late. “Why don’t we just get Horace and Willie to help?”

“Horace and Willie will be otherwise occupied. Besides, the dear boy has told me repeatedly to call on him if we ever needed him.” Lady tapped her cheek. “Perhaps Fanny wouldn’t mind asking him.”

Fanny simpered, “I’ll be glad to get a message to the reverend, since Camilla seems to be reluctant.”

“It’s not that!” Camilla passed Fanny an annoyed look. “I hesitate to take advantage of his kindness.”

Fanny looked ready to fight over the reverend, but her mother intervened. “Fanny does not pursue young gentlemen for any reason.” She quelled her daughter with a reproving glare. “Do you, Fanny?”

Fanny looked much struck. “Of course not.” She picked up her hoop. “This quilt should be ready to auction next week. I’m confident it’ll bring quite a bit for the Widows’ Relief Fund.”

“Yes, dear, your work is exquisite.” Fanny’s mother patted her hand fondly. “Lady, may I pour the tea?”

“Hold that still, boy! I know I taught you better than to jump around like a june bug in a fryin’ pan!”

Gripping a set of tongs, Gabriel used his wrist to swipe at a blinding stream of sweat. It was hot as Hades in the Chambliss Brothers’ Machine Shop, where he’d gotten snookered into helping Uncle Diron work on a boiler. “Uncle, you said we were coming down here to check on a new project design. You didn’t tell me you planned to fire up the anvil.”

Diron gave one more slam of his enormous hammer and removed the bowed sheet of metal from the anvil, his scruffy gray beard split by a grin. “When you were just a little tad, you used to spend hours with me making knives and tomahawks and horseshoes. The clerical profession’s let you go all soft.”

“Maybe so.” Gabriel flexed his aching shoulders and looked around the shop. The oily, metallic smell of the place did bring back pleasant memories, but he didn’t have time to think about them. He had arranged to meet Delia at the military’s afternoon parade review. He reached for a rag and began to wipe his hands. “Speaking of my ministerial duties, uncle, you’ll have to excuse me while I clean up. I’ve a patient in the hospital I need to visit.”

Diron gave him a skeptical look, but shrugged and went back to work on the boiler.

Gabriel went to the rain barrel just outside the door and brought back a bucket of water, which he poured into the basin on a worktable at the far end of the room. As he soaped his chest and shoulders, he noticed a scrap of wrinkled paper lying on the table. It was covered with his uncle’s spare but painstakingly detailed drawings, four or five views in three dimensions, all of the same object. It looked like a modified boiler, but there were significant differences between it and the boiler on the other side of the room. Finlike projectiles extended from its bottom and sides—and there seemed to be a rudder, and a hatch.

He continued to stare at the drawings. Excitement burned through every nerve ending as enlightenment dawned.
This
was the military project his uncle was building for Ezekiel Beaumont. This was the mysterious fish boat.

His hands itched to pocket the sketch. But perhaps he would learn more by continuing to observe his uncle. Besides, he wanted to see the boat itself. He wanted to touch it and know if it really would do what he’d heard it would do.

Now, more than ever, he had reason to pursue Camilla Beaumont.

Virgil Byrd was loitering with his mule at the front steps of the Beaumont mansion later in the day when Camilla appeared for her outing. She stopped to pet the mule’s whiskery muzzle and offer a gardenia from her silver posy-holder as a treat.

Virgil gave her a worshipful grin. “Candy shore does think you’re the beatin’ est thing she ever seen. Man alive, that there’s the purtiest shirt—whatcha call it, now?”

“It’s a Garibaldi blouse.” Camilla plucked at one thin red sleeve, praying the buttons would hold. It was a couple of years old, but it was still one of her favorite garments. She gave Candy another flower. “Virgil, do you know Reverend Gabriel Leland?”

Virgil canted his triangular head. “Now, is that the one that rode in here couple days ago on a bay gelding? Got a Bible in one pocket and a derringer in the other?”

Camilla nodded grimly. “That’s him.”

“I like that fella! He was real nice to Candy.” He scratched his chin. “He give me back my newspaper bag and bought me some oysters.”

“What was he doing with my—your bag?”

“Dunno. But he give it back to me when I told him where you live. He shore is a nice man.”

Nice
was not a term Camilla would have applied to the devious reverend. “Do you know where he is?”

“He’s staying at that big old hotel down on Govermit Street.”

“The Battle House?”

“Yes’m. But he ain’t there right now. He’s gone in the hospital.”

Camilla caught her breath. “He’s hurt?”

“Naw!” Virgil guffawed. “He ain’t
in
the hospital. He’s just visiting. He ast me if I could get him some carbolic spray, so I did.”

“Carbolic spray?” Camilla frowned. “Where would you get that?”

“Oh, I can get most anything if I got something to trade for it.” Virgil looked anxious. “I wished I’d knowed you needed some—I done give it all to the rev’rint.”

“Never mind. I suspect he’ll know what to do with it much better than I would.” Camilla slapped her gloves against her palm. “Virgil, I’m going to the hospital. Would you do something for me?”

“You want a ride, Missy? Candy would be pure honored—”

“No, no, thank you.” Camilla hid a smile. “All I want you to do is go down to the wharf and find out if there’s any news about Jamie’s ship. See if he made it to port last night.”

“Yes’m. Shore will. Missy?”

Camilla halted in the act of stepping down onto the boardwalk. “What is it, Virgil?”

“Candy shore thinks you look a huckleberry above a persimmon in that there Jerry-bald shirt!”

The entire city of Mobile seemed to have gone military-crazy. Gabriel paused outside Barton Academy where, as far as he could tell, people lined Government Street clear down to Royal. The Friday review was a sight to see. Patriotic fervor was high; Confederate flags fluttered from balconies and stretched across carriageways, and women had even sewn tiny replicas into the sleeves of their dresses or appliquéd them onto their hat bands. The opportunity to watch the regiments posturing and drilling was too good to miss. His next report would be filled with squadron numbers and names of commanders.

“It’s nice to see you looking hale and hearty this afternoon, cousin.”

Gabriel turned and gave Delia Matthews a mocking bow. “Are you enjoying the reviewing of our brave troops?”

“Oh, indeed.” She slanted a provocative look from under heavy lids. “My stay in the city has been most profitable.” She glanced down at the small burlap sack in his hand. “What’s that?”

After meeting Crazy Virgil at the riverfront, Gabriel had come downtown with the prized carbolic spray. He hoped he wasn’t too late to save the little girl.

But Delia didn’t need to know he’d been wasting time chasing down chemical compounds for medicinal purposes. “It’s a…gift for someone. I’m about to make a hospital visit.” He frowned as he examined Delia’s conservative bonnet, high-necked dress and practical shoes. If not for the lush figure and dramatic beauty of her face, she would have blended in with the mostly female crowd. “I trust you’re behaving yourself?”

“I am the soul of decorum.” Delia yawned. “The women you sent to keep an eye on me have been most diligent. It took some ingenuity to give Mrs. Chambliss the slip this morning. She wanted me to go with her to a quilting bee!”

Gabriel laughed. “You should’ve gone with her. You might have learned something.”

“I already
did
learn something before—bunch of gossip-mongering biddies that they are. Word is, the riverboat raises anchor at first light tomorrow. Time’s up, cousin.”

“You can’t go yet.” Drawing close, he lowered his voice. “I could write most of that paper again, but certain things in it can’t be safely duplicated. Give me two more days.”

“I can’t, Gabriel.” Delia’s eyes softened. “I’m expected.”

Gabriel supposed Admiral Farragut did have a certain claim on Delia’s time. She was leaving, so he’d have to get that cipher back one way or another. Even if he had to kidnap Camilla Beaumont to do it.

“All right then, I’ll meet you at the wharf before dawn.”

Delia bit her lip. “Don’t do anything to jeopardize the mission.”

He gave her an ironic smile. “I’m not the one who got myself arrested. I have something to take care of. Lie low until tonight, and I’ll see you then.”

“Be careful.” Delia melted into a crowd of women waving to a troop of passing soldiers.

With an effort Gabriel shelved his worries about the missing cipher and turned toward the hospital.

He found the little girl named Lecy lying in her cot, playing with a doll made from a hank of yarn tied to form head, arms and legs. The child was still pale, but her eyes were bright. Gabriel looked at the end of the bed. Both legs were still intact.

Releasing a pent-up breath, he smiled. “Hello, Lecy. How are you feeling today?”

The big Irish-blue eyes lit. “Pastor Gabriel! I’m getting well. My leg quit hurting after you were here the other day. Miss Camilla came to see me again.”

“That’s good.” Gabriel hunkered beside the cot to examine her doll. “Where’s your mama?”

“Home with my brothers and sisters. I got to get well so I can keep an eye on them while Mama works outside.”

“There are eight in all,” said a quiet voice behind him. Camilla Beaumont moved to the other side of the cot. “Lecy’s number two. The oldest isn’t quite right, so her folks depend on her a lot.”

Gabriel looked up Camilla, not entirely surprised to see her. A splash of sunshine from the open window made a nimbus of the gold-streaked hair curling about her face, and her ruddy blouse echoed the healthy color in her cheeks. Leaning over the bed, she looked like a guardian angel in primary colors.

He dragged his gaze back to the child. “She’s doing better today, thank the Lord.” Startled by the rush of gratitude that flooded him, he jerked the sheet free of the mattress so he could unwrap the bandage from the wounded leg. It was free of infection, the skin a healthy pink. “She’ll be able to go home soon.”

“I wasn’t able to find any carbolic spray, but I’ve been coming by here every day to wash her wound. It seems to have helped.”