Return to Me

by Rosemary Rogers

  “Of course,” Falcon said stoically.

  “But who wants to climb into that den?”

  “A she-bear can be dangerous,” Falcon agreed. “Sometimes she is better left alone. Bait her, and she may take your head.”

  Jackson adjusted the front panel of his flannel trousers. “Or worse.” He raised the bottle. Just having Falcon here lightened his spirits. “Drink?”

  Falcon nodded.

  Jackson poured them both a shot and they swallowed in silence. He refilled the glasses.

  Falcon eyed him. He must have known that Jackson had had quite a bit to drink before he went upstairs. It was that kind of look.

  Jackson pushed the shot glass toward his friend and tipped the other glass to his mouth. The second one went down smoother than the first, and Jackson began to relax. Damn it, he was the man of the house. Cameron was his wife. She was bid by law, before God, to do as he said, wasn’t she?

  “Cameron wants to go home to Mississippi,” Jackson explained to Falcon. “She wants to have the baby there.”

  “There has been much devastation in the South.”

  “That’s wh…what I tried to tell her.” He heard his words slur slightly. “She says she wants to go home to the house she was born in, but…” His words drifted out the open window.

  Falcon listened calmly, nursing his second shot.

  Jackson poured himself another. “Well, I’m just going to tell her that it’s out of the question.” He nodded, liking the sound and volume of his own words. “In the morning I’m going to tell her that she will stay here where she’s safe, and that will be the end of it. She will not be going to Elmwood.” He slammed a fist down on his desk in emphasis. “Then I’ll head to New Orleans, see if Marie’s lead takes us anywhere. And then I’ll come home. If I let Cameron stew for a week or two, she’ll be ready to listen to reason.”

  Falcon only nodded thoughtfully.

  “So that’s it.” Jackson reached for the scotch bottle again, then let go. He turned to Falcon. “You want to go to New Orleans?”

  Falcon studied him with those intense black eyes. “With Marie?”

  Jackson nodded.

  “And you think this is wise, considering your past?”

  “Listen, friend.” Jackson clamped his hand on Falcon’s back. “I don’t want to be lectured by you on this subject. Whatever Marie and I once had is done. This is strictly business. We go. We put our ears to the ground, and I come home to my shrewish wife.” He managed a chuckle.

  Falcon stared at the floor for a moment and then glanced up. “I told you when I came that I am here for as long as you have use for me.” He opened his broad bronze hands. “So it is to New Orleans we go.”

  10

  Early the following morning, Taye opened the door to Cameron’s bedchamber to find her packing trunks.

  Jackson had left at first light, without speaking to his wife, according to the servants.

  “What do you think you’re doing?” Taye asked, knowing full well what Cameron was doing. She closed the door for privacy.

  “I’m going home to Elmwood,” she said haughtily. “I want you to come with me, if only for a few weeks, but I’ll understand if you want to remain here with Thomas.”

  “My hesitation doesn’t concern Thomas.” Taye retrieved a frilly white crinoline from the floor and tossed it on the bed. The truth was, she realized, the idea of getting away from here, away from Thomas, appealed to her right now. She needed time to think, time to get her head straightened out. Thank heavens that arrogant man had left this morning with Jackson, before she came down for breakfast. She wasn’t certain she could have faced him with Thomas in the same room, not when her lips were still burning with his kiss.

  “It’s not safe to go alone. Two women unescorted—

  there’s no saying what could happen,” Taye lectured. “Not if what Thomas and Jackson told me is true of the South.”

  “Nonsense. They were just trying to frighten us. We’ll be perfectly safe. We’ll be taking the train.” Cameron lifted a carpetbag to carry it to the door, but Taye waylaid her and took it from her. “There will be others aboard,” Cameron continued obstinately. “Besides, I’ve packed my pistol.” She patted the deep pocket of her traveling gown, sewn in for just this purpose.

  “We’re just going to go without telling Jackson?” Taye asked.

  “And just how would I tell him?” Cameron spun around angrily. “He’s gone, Taye.” Her voice caught in her throat and came out as a sob. “He’s gone. Gone and I don’t know when he’ll be back.”

  “There, there,” Taye soothed, wrapping her arms around her sister. “It will be all right. He’s just stomped off angry. He’ll be back.”

  Cameron held tightly to Taye, her tears dampening both their gowns. “But what if he’s gone with that horrible woman?” She sniffed. “What if he isn’t coming back?”

  “I’m telling you that I know Jackson, and I know you.” Taye smoothed Cameron’s glossy red hair tied back in a knitted snood. “This will all blow over.”

  “You think so?” Cameron shuddered and then took a step back, accepting the handkerchief Taye pressed in her hand.

  “I do. But I also believe you would be better to wait here for Jackson, rather than having him come home to an empty house.” Taye shook her head, imagining the thunder. “If he has to chase you all the way to Mississippi after he’s just returned from New Orleans, he’s going to be angry, Cam.”

  Cameron wiped her eyes. “Well, he can just be angry. And if he wants me back as his wife, truly wants me back, he’ll have to come to me on my terms, won’t he?”

  “Thank you for seeing me on a Sunday, sir.” Jackson offered his hand to Secretary of State Seward across the wide expanse of his desk. “I apologize for the inconvenience, but the information Mrs. LeLaurie has related demands immediate action.”

  Seward shook his hand. “No apology necessary. Your message got me out of a long afternoon of listening to another of the Vicar Wicket’s long, dull sermons.”

  “I would like to introduce Falcon Cortés, Mr. Secretary. As I have told you before, Mr. Cortés was instrumental in several vital—”

  “Mr. Cortés’s exploits are well known in Washington’s higher circles. This country owes him…owes both of you a greater debt than we can ever repay. Your devotion to the Union and the repeated acts of courage which the two of you—”

  “Simply doing our duty, sir,” Jackson said. “And we were lucky.” He smiled at Falcon. “Although I’ve rarely seen anyone with such total disregard for his own personal safety.”

  Falcon frowned. “As you say, we were lucky. Many brave men were not so fortunate.”

  “He will be accompanying Mrs. LeLaurie and me to New Orleans,” Jackson continued.

  Falcon stepped up to the desk and nodded respectfully before shaking Seward’s hand. “It is good to meet you, Mr. Secretary.”

  “Good to meet you, at last, Cortés.” Seward pumped his hand. “Jackson has been singing your praises for years.”

  “Jackson is free with his words.”

  Seward gestured, stiffly. “Please, gentlemen, sit.”

  “We can’t, sir.” Jackson raised his head. “We’ve left Mrs. LeLaurie making arrangements at Union Station. But you sit, please. I know your physicians would not approve of you even being here. First the carriage accident that laid you up, then the assassination attempt.”

  Seward chuckled, his hollowed face filling out a bit. “Not the least to say, my wife.” He lowered himself slowly into his chair; it was obvious his injuries from the attempted assassination had not yet entirely healed.

  “Jackson, you understand how important it is that this man and his cohorts be stopped as soon as possible. President Johnson doesn’t need any more damned distractions. He has many opponents to his Reconstruction plan for the South, and tempers flare regularly on the Senate and House floors.” Seward absently brushed the bright red scar across his cheek that would be a permanent r
eminder of the attack made on him. “There are many who are saying that Andrew Johnson, self-educated tailor-turned-politician, should never have become president after the assassination. They say Lincoln had only asked him to run on his Union ticket in ’64 to placate Southerners still left in Washington. Many radical Republicans see our Tennessee-born president as a confederate and the enemy, despite his words and deeds. Thompson’s Raiders must be stopped! Now, tell me what you know and what your plans are, where you’ll be going. I’ll arrange for safe houses, should you need them, and also cash. Have you need of additional weapons?”

  Jackson shook his head, offering a wry grin. “We’re all armed, of course, even Mrs. LeLaurie, but we prefer to use our wits rather than firepower when possible. We’ll bring these men to you, sir. Alive.”

  “I know you will, Jackson. That’s why I was so adamant that you help us out, at least this one last time.” Seward opened his arms. “After this, it’s up to you.”

  Jackson nodded, backing toward the door. “We’ll see, sir. Thank you for receiving us.”

  “Godspeed, Jackson, Cortés.”

  “Thank you, Mr. Secretary,” Jackson and Falcon responded.

  Outside the office, Jackson closed the heavily paneled door behind them.

  “You sure you want to do this, friend?” Falcon said.

  Jackson scowled, walking away. “Don’t ask me again. Right now I can’t wait to get the hell out of this town.”

  “Cameron, are you sure this is what you want to do?” Taye asked as the women left the bedchamber. “You’re certain you don’t want to at least wait a day? Jackson may have second thoughts and—”

  “I’m leaving today.” With a carpetbag in one hand, she closed her bedchamber door, then picked up her other bag. “I hope I’ve brought what I need, but I didn’t want to bring trunks. I’d rather not make any more fuss than necessary. I’d just as soon get out of here as quickly as possible with as few of the servants knowing as possible. I can have my things sent to me later.”

  Taye followed her down the hall, weighted down by two heavy canvas traveling bags.

  Cameron halted at the top of the rear servants’ staircase and listened. She heard trays clinking, orders being given for servants leaving the kitchen, but there was no one on the stairs. “We may just be able to slip out the back this way.”

  Taye balanced carpetbags in each hand. She had changed into a simple traveling gown, like her sister’s, a practical sunbonnet and sturdy boots. “I still cannot believe you’re really going to do this,” she murmured. “I cannot believe I’m going to do this.”

  “Do you want to say goodbye to Thomas?”

  Taye shook her head. “That won’t be necessary.”

  Cameron found her tone of voice odd. “Did you two have an argument?”

  “Of course not. Now let’s go, if we’re going.” Taye probed Cameron’s shoulder.

  “You didn’t fight with Thomas?” Cameron turned to face Taye.

  Taye pressed her lips together and shook her head.

  Cameron could tell by the look on her sister’s face that something had happened, but what, she didn’t know. It felt strange that Taye would not immediately tell her; once, they had shared everything. But Cameron would not press Taye now. There would be time on the train to talk.

  At the bottom of the narrow stairs, Cameron halted and peered around the corner into the kitchen, where one of the cooks was arguing with another over the burned edges of a pan of biscuits. She stepped into the hall and shot past the kitchen door, Taye’s hurried footsteps soft behind her.

  Cameron placed her hand on the white glass doorknob and drew a deep breath. In another moment they would be safely out of the house.

  “Miss Cameron! Jus’ where you two think yer goin’?”

  Cameron spun around. “None of your business, Naomi,” she said crisply. “Go about your duties.”

  Naomi strode down the hall toward them, wiping her dark hands on her pristine apron. “Where you think the two if you is goin’ with yer bags in yer hands and yer ridin’ boots on your feet? Hmm? Sneakin’ out of here like a thief takin’ a loaf of bread.” The head housekeeper shook her head as if disgusted.

  “Naomi, we don’t have time for this,” Cameron whispered harshly. “When my husband returns and asks where we’ve gone, you’ll have nothing to say if you don’t know.”

  Naomi whipped off her apron, still shaking her head. The gesture reminded Cameron of the days at Elmwood when Sukey had been head housekeeper and had caught her and Taye up to no good. It was the same disappointed look, the same stern voice. Cameron had to struggle not to feel twelve years old again.

  “You goin’ home, ain’t you, Miss Cameron?” Naomi shook the apron at her.

  Cameron stared stubbornly.

  “I know the captain done left in a huff this morning, but that ain’t no reason to be takin’ off like this.”

  Still, Cameron would not answer Naomi.

  “I jest knew it was a matter of time before ya took off.” Naomi harrumphed and headed for the kitchen. “Now you wait right here ’til I speak with my Noah and grab up that baby of mine. You two ain’t goin’ nowhere without Naomi.”

  Taye looked from Cameron to Naomi, her lips pressed together.

  “That’s really not necessary,” Cameron said in her best mistress tone. “Taye and I are quite capable of—”

  Naomi stepped up to Cameron, her dark face in Cameron’s face. “Either you wait for me, missy, or I’m chasin’ down the captain, clear to New Orleans if I have to, and I’m telling him jest what yer up to.”

  “You wouldn’t,” Cameron demanded.

  Naomi stood her ground, arms crossed stubbornly over her chest.

  For a moment the two women, once mistress and slave, now something far more, stared each other down.

  Cameron broke eye contact first. “I suppose it wouldn’t hurt to have someone with us,” she said begrudgingly.

  “I ’spose not.” Naomi’s dark eyes seemed to spark. “Now you go out to the stable and get them little lazy negra boys to harness a carriage. I’ll be out directly.”

  Naomi watched the two women slip out the back door and shook her head in disappointment. She had seen this coming, Cameron and the captain arguing, the gossip all over town. Still, Cameron didn’t belong traipsing off to Mississippi, especially considering what the bones had told her. And if Cameron didn’t have the sense to know that running away wasn’t going to solve any problems, at least Taye should have. That girl was getting more like Cameron every day. Just as stubborn and headstrong. Just as foolish.

  But Naomi knew she would go with Cameron whether it was bad for her marriage or not. The bones didn’t send you to save a marriage. Naomi was here because Cameron needed her and because, in the coming months, Naomi knew that her friend would be tried near to breaking. And she knew that she was here to catch Miss Cameron when she fell.

  Naomi climbed the narrow stairs that led to the tiny rooms above the kitchen where she found her Noah seated at a small table. Baby Ngosi slept in the cradle beside the bed, his thumb comfortably plugged into his mouth.

  Noah had a lit candle on the desk and was gripping a book Cameron had loaned him from the captain’s extensive library. It was a primer meant for children, but Noah acted as if it were made of gold.

  Naomi had no desire to learn to read—it was an aspect of the white man’s life she wanted no part of—but it was important to Noah. He wanted to be able to teach their son to read when Ngosi was old enough because he insisted that letters and ciphers would be the only way the African free man could make his way in this new world that President Lincoln had created.

  Noah was too wrapped up in the white man’s life to her way of thinking. He didn’t even call their son by his proper African name, Ngosi, blessing in the old talk. No, Noah had to call the boy Nathan, as if giving him a white name would make folks forget the color of his skin. Foolishness, she thought. A boy needed to be brought up prideful of his ow
n people, to remember that he had the blood of African warriors and kings pumping strong in his veins.

  “I have to go to Mississippi,” Naomi said, fingering the gris-gris bag she wore around her neck, carefully kept hidden beneath her dress. She walked to a wood trunk under the window and drew out a sailcloth bag. She stuffed a clean petticoat into it and began to gather the things a voodoo priestess would not travel without—her leather bag of throwing bones that had been her grandmother’s, candles of various colors, incense and several paper envelopes of powders and herbs. She talked as she packed, fearful that if she gave Taye and Cameron too much time, they might do something foolish like try to leave without her. They were smart women, both of them, but to Naomi’s thinking, sometimes neither had enough sense to find an egg in a henhouse.

  “Now I’ll be taken little Ngosi with me ’cause he still needin’ his mama’s milk, but—”

  “Goin’ to Mississippi?” Noah barked, turning on the three-legged stool he sat perched on. “Like hell you are!”

  Naomi went right on packing. “I don’ know how long I’ll be gone. I ’spect the captain’ll be right along after us, soon as he’s done with his business in N’Arlins, so I may be back within the month.”

  Noah rose off the stool. “You hear me, woman. I said you’re not goin’ to Mississippi alone—”

  “I’m not goin’ alone. I’m goin’ with Miss Cameron and Miss Taye.”

  “And yer sure as hell not takin’ my boy there!”

  Naomi never slowed down. “You go right on to work every day in the city like yer ’sposed to. I’ll tell Addy to make you a pail for yer midday.”

  Noah grabbed the sack from Naomi’s hand. “You listenin’ to me, woman? I said no wife of mine is goin’ to no Mississippi. These is dangerous times. They lynchin’ darky girls like you down there.”

  She frowned and snatched back her bag. “You been listenin’ to those fools down to Bayou’s again, ain’t ya?” Bayou’s was a blacksmith’s shop that also served as a saloon and catered to the free black men of the city. Located down near the harbor, it was a rough place that Naomi didn’t think her husband had any business going to. But like his name said, Noah Freeman was free to be a fool like the rest of them.