“Jonah, you’re reacting to the battle. Give yourself a little more credit.” He nodded toward the group of men some distance away. “Do you think they condemn you? This was your first battle, and I assume the first time you killed something other than game.”
“If I could’ve found the strength, I would have run away.” Jonah’s confession brought a tiny bit of relief. He looked up at Cage and saw understanding in the other man’s eyes. He tightened his jaw to dam the flood of emotions threatening to overwhelm him.
“I know. Taking another man’s life is a thing no Christian should have to face. But this world belongs to Satan. Remember what we read last week. Why do you think Paul spoke of the armor of God?” He closed his eyes for a moment, his eyebrows drawing together. “ ‘Wherefore take unto you the whole armour of God, that ye may be able to withstand in the evil day, and having done all, to stand.’ ”
The verse washed over Jonah like a wave, cleansing some of the fear and shame that had hung over him this evening.
“And Paul was in prison when he wrote those words.”
Jonah closed his eyes and imagined being held in chains. The fear, the discomfort, the uncertainty that must have tried to settle on Paul. Had God whispered in the disciple’s ear as he looked at the Roman centurion guarding the prison? Had He suggested the comparison that Paul would send to the Ephesians? They were words to sustain Christians by reminding them of God’s protection even in this world of battles and rampant sin.
“Do you remember the different parts of the armor?” Cage’s voice brought him back to the present.
Jonah thought for a minute. “Is truth one of them?”
Cage’s grizzled head bobbed up and down. “That’s right, and the breastplate of righteousness, boots made from the gospel of peace, a shield of faith, and the most important part of all …”
“If I remember rightly, it’s my salvation.” Jonah was feeling better than he’d felt since they had come back to camp on the bank of the fast-flowing Mississippi River.
“Yes.” Cage’s infectious smile was as bright as a beacon. He leaned over and rapped Jonah smartly on the head. “The helmet of salvation to be exact.”
A chuckle filled his throat. It felt good to let it loose. For a moment his grief and shame lifted. Jonah almost felt human once again.
One of the other soldiers, a private with blond hair and a mustache, walked over to them. He bent and glanced at Jonah’s full plate. “You going t’eat that?”
Jonah shook his head and started to hand his plate to the lanky man, but Cage grabbed his wrist before he could finish the motion. “You’re going to need that food. You didn’t eat much this morning. If you give away your supper, you may not last another battle.”
The thought of future battles made Jonah’s stomach clench. He looked at Cage, recognizing the experience in his gaze. He glanced up at the private. “Give me a few minutes to decide.”
The man spat at the ground next to Jonah’s left boot. “I never thought you Johnnys should be allowed to join.” He stomped away and rejoined the men around the campfire. A couple of them glanced back toward Cage and Jonah, suspicion showing in their faces.
“I should have just given him the food.”
“We can’t buy their trust, Jonah. It’s only natural for them to be suspicious of us. We are Southerners after all.” Cage sighed and shrugged a shoulder. “Maybe one day they’ll understand why we refused to fight with the Confederacy. Until then, we have to remember why we’re Federal soldiers.”
He knew Cage was right, but sometimes it was hard to bear. Had he done the right thing to volunteer his service to the Yankees? Yes. Jonah could not support slavery on any level, even though he dreaded the idea of facing a friend or relative on the battlefield. Would his convictions force him into killing someone he knew? Jonah prayed not.
Cage’s grunt interrupted his circling thoughts. “Private Benton will survive. There’s plenty of forage if he’s hungry.”
Jonah picked up his hardtack and gnawed at it. Letting the tough biscuit soak up the moisture from his beans only softened it a smidgen. His thoughts seemed as hard as the food in his mouth. It was fine to talk about the armor of God, but it still didn’t answer all the questions and fears that had arisen because of the battle. “What does the Bible say about using weapons to kill someone else?”
“David was a great warrior, wasn’t he?”
“Yes.” Jonah was somewhat surprised by the question. Everyone knew about David’s many battles.
“Wasn’t he also called a ‘man after God’s own heart’?”
Of course. The oppressive doubt and shame lifted from Jonah’s heart, if only for a moment. He might not be as strong as David, but he could still spend time reading the Bible his sister had given him for Christmas last year. Once again he regretted not bringing it with him on his trip to visit his brother, Eli. But he’d never thought he would go from Memphis to the front lines of the war between the North and the South.
Eli had tried to dissuade him from joining, but Jonah had been adamant. He had known his reasons for volunteering were valid. Too bad he’d never imagined what his choice would cost him—his self-confidence, his pride, and perhaps even his life.
Jonah lifted his thoughts heavenward and prayed his sacrifices would matter. And he entreated God to someday see him in the same way He had once seen David.
The food on his plate seemed more palatable after his prayer. Jonah filled his spoon and lifted it to his mouth, savoring the smoky flavor. Even his hardtack was tastier. His appetite reawakened. He shoveled in another mouthful and chewed. Energy flowed through him like a rising tide, and Jonah realized once more how blessed he was to have such a strong Christian as his friend.
Jonah ran a finger underneath the scratchy blue-black collar of his uniform jacket before entering the general’s office. Good thing he’d managed to get the white pants washed and pressed by a local washerwoman. He wanted to present the best possible image to his commanding officers.
The room, a gentleman’s library in the house that had been commandeered, was crowded. Soldiers and officers stood in small knots, leaned against the walls, or sat in the leather chairs scattered about. Most of them did not notice his entrance, but his captain, Drew Poindexter, stepped forward and nodded briefly.
Jonah straightened his shoulders and snapped a salute.
Captain Poindexter returned his salute before turning to a large desk covered with papers and maps. “Sir, this is the man I told you about, Jonah Thornton.”
Jonah swallowed hard and saluted once again as he met the piercing, coffee-colored gaze of Brigadier General Nathaniel Lyon. He had only seen the man from a distance before this morning. Why was he here now? What possible interest could this man have in him?
“At ease, son.” General Lyon nodded toward a chair occupied by another soldier. “Major Eads, clear this room. I need a moment of privacy with Mr. Thornton.”
Jonah let his arm drop but stood at attention as the major carried out the general’s orders. His captain turned as if to leave, but the general stopped him with a raised hand. “I didn’t mean you, Drew. This is your idea after all.”
The room seemed much larger without the other occupants. The general leaned back in his chair and waved a hand at the pair of chairs in front of his desk. “How long have you been a soldier, Thornton?”
Jonah’s mind raced. Had his deplorable behavior on the field of battle several days earlier been noted? He looked down at his feet. “Only a few months, sir.”
“I want to commend you for choosing to serve your country in spite of the leanings of many of your fellow Southerners.” The general’s voice was not warm, but it was not as gruff as it had been when he addressed his subordinate.
Jonah risked a glance upward. The look on the man’s narrow face was one of respect. Jonah responded with a dip of his head. “Thank you, sir.”
General Lyon continued studying his face for a moment. Then he turned his attentio
n to Captain Poindexter. “Why don’t you tell Mr. Thornton your idea?”
Jonah swung his glance toward the captain on his right. Poindexter’s jacket was unbuttoned, but his shirt was clean and crisp. His blond hair gleamed in the yellow light of a nearby lamp. “I … um … I don’t want to embarrass you, Jonah, but I saw your reaction when you shot that fellow.”
Hot blood burned Jonah’s cheeks. The shame had begun to subside in the intervening days, but it resurged anew. What was he doing here? He should have listened to Eli, should have stayed in Memphis … remained neutral … avoided fighting for either side. But how could he ignore his convictions? He was not the type of man to hide out until the war ended. He could not abide the institution of slavery, could not support a society that depended on slavery to succeed. So he had joined the army and come to Missouri as ordered. Only to fail his first test. “I’m sorry, sir. It won’t happen again.”
A hand came down on his right shoulder. “Fighting is not the only way you can serve the Union.”
“Yes, sir.” What other way could there be? He had no naval skills, so they couldn’t be thinking of putting him aboard a ship. Maybe they were intending to assign him to the rear, an assistant to the quartermaster. Jonah braced himself. After his experience on the battlefield, perhaps it would be a relief.
General Lyon leaned forward and steepled his hands. “One of the most valuable resources in any war is information.”
A memory surfaced in Jonah’s mind from the first time he and his brother had traveled to visit their grandparents in Natchez. One sunny afternoon, the two of them had gone exploring in a copse to the north of town. They had looked for dangerous Indians, scared squirrels out of hiding, and chased each other around the bases of monstrous oak trees. All the sorts of things youngsters found such fun. But the fun ended suddenly when Jonah broke through dense undergrowth at the edge of a drop-off. He remembered pinwheeling his arms and trying to keep from pitching forward into the ravine. An echo of the same stomach-clenching fear he felt that day enveloped him. “Exactly what are you saying, sir?”
The general frowned at him. “This war is going to be costly for both sides. One of the ways to shorten it is to have men infiltrate the rebel ranks and bring back information on their weapons, their plans, and their manpower.”
“You want me to be a spy?”
Silence answered him. The general sat back once again, his gaze boring into Jonah’s face. Captain Poindexter cleared his throat and shuffled his feet, the sound loud in the quiet room.
Tugging at his collar once again, Jonah’s mind returned to the past. His brother had thrown an arm around him as he teetered on the edge of a lethal plunge, pulling him back from the precipice. But who would save him today? A spy? He’d never considered such an idea. Didn’t want to consider it now.
“You’ll be able to return to your family.” Captain Poindexter’s voice brought him back to the present.
“But I would have to lie to them.”
“Yes.” The general’s voice was firm, uncompromising. “You will have to hide the truth.”
“Your efforts could shorten the war. You would save lives, perhaps even the lives of your loved ones.” Captain Poindexter’s voice was less stern. He seemed to be asking Jonah rather than ordering his compliance with the plan.
The general stood up and walked around in front of his desk, waiting until Jonah and the captain also stood. “My first concern will never be with those who have rebelled against their government. It is with your loyalty. After all, you could well be a spy for the Confederacy.”
Jonah felt like he’d been punched in the stomach. Hadn’t he volunteered for service in the army? Hadn’t he accepted the slurs and suspicions of the Northern soldiers while holding fast to his belief in the rightness of the Union’s position? Many of his friends and family would consider him a traitor if they discovered that he’d become a Federal soldier. Smarting from the accusation, Jonah shook his head. “I have killed for the Union. Isn’t that proof enough?”
The general shook his head. “The death of one nameless man would be a small price for a Confederate soldier to pay for the information he could gather while traveling with this army. If you want to prove your loyalty, you must be ready to do whatever service you are called upon to do.”
Jonah’s stomach twisted. This must be what his older brother had understood when Jonah announced his decision to fight for the United States. But Jonah thought he knew better, and in the end, Eli had yielded. He’d had such high hopes, such unrealistic visions of what his future would be. Jonah thought he had considered all the privations and sacrifices he might be called upon to give. He had wondered whether he might be able to shoot someone he knew. But this? The intimate, planned betrayal of his family? Could he be that loyal to his country? Jonah didn’t know the answer. “I’d like some time to pray about this, sir.”
General Lyon raised an eyebrow. He exchanged a glance with the captain before nodding. “Take all the time you need … as long as I have your answer by this time tomorrow. And I’m sure you know you cannot mention this to anyone outside of this room.”
Jonah snapped a salute, holding his bent arm stiff until a nod from the general dismissed him. He turned sharply and marched out of the room, ignoring the whispered conversation behind him. His mind raced in circles as he considered the unappealing option he’d been given. What should he do?
Chapter Two
Les Fleurs Plantation Natchez, Mississippi
I have to go this term.” Camellia Anderson couldn’t keep the pleading tone out of her voice. Her eyes stung with unshed tears. “I’ll be too old to go by the fall.”
“I know how badly you want to attend the finishing school in New Orleans.” Her older sister stood up and moved across the front parlor at Les Fleurs. Her skirts did not have the graceful sway Camellia had practiced for hours. Lily had never taken time to practice feminine arts.
Camellia turned away from her to watch the scene from the window. The unseasonably warm November afternoon had tempted the family to spend time on the front porch. Jasmine, their youngest sister, was entertaining the rest of the family by reading to them from her dog-eared copy of Ivanhoe by Sir Walter Scott. Her voice rose and fell, and her free hand was splayed across her chest in a melodramatic pose.
David Foster, the young boy she and her sisters had rescued from life on the street, stood beside Jasmine. His legs were planted widely, and as Camellia watched, he reached for an imaginary sword and brandished it in the air above his head.
She could hear Aunt Dahlia’s distinctive laugh as the playacting continued. It was a shame their aunt had not come with them to the parlor. She would have lent her support to Camellia. But Lily had dragged her away from the others, bringing her inside the salon so they could “chat.”
Camellia unfurled her fan and fluttered it in front of her face. Straightening her spine and concentrating on forming a pleasant smile, she turned to face Lily once more. She wanted to stomp her foot in protest, but her aunt’s insistence on decorum stayed the impulse. “You promised I could go, Lily.” She was pleased with the blend of pleasantness and determination in her tone of voice.
“I know I did.” Lily’s gaze fell. “But I didn’t know then that we would be in the middle of a war.”
“The war has not come here, and it probably never will, not with our courageous soldiers fighting so fiercely. They won the battles at Fort Sumter and Manassas, after all. They’ve whipped those Yankee aggressors at nearly every turn. Who knows, the Northerners may realize by the end of the year that they cannot win. Then the war will be over, and we’ll be able to resume our regular lives. I don’t see any sense in putting off my future because of fighting going on so far away.”
Silence fell on them as Camellia stopped speaking. In the quiet afternoon she could hear applause coming from the porch. Why couldn’t Lily understand she had to get away from here? Away from her eccentric father and melodramatic younger sister. If she was ever
going to find the kind of husband she dreamed of, it was going to be through the friendships she would make at a nice finishing school—one far from Natchez.
“These are dangerous days.” Lily’s words brought her back to the problem at hand. “With the Union navy blockading the gulf, who knows what may happen? I want to keep my family near. Except for Blake—you, Jasmine, and Papa are the most important people in my life.”
Camellia sensed a weakness she could turn to her advantage. “If I’m so important to you, why are you trying to ruin my life?”
Lily’s eyes widened, and her chin lifted. “Be reasonable. I’m not trying to hurt you. I just want you to be safe.”
“I’ll be very safe in New Orleans. The Thorntons and the Cartiers will watch out for me. Besides, if La Belle Demoiselle could not keep their students safe, I doubt they would still have any young ladies in attendance.”
A sigh from her sister made Camellia’s heart ache. She didn’t like hurting Lily, but she had to persevere if she was to become a proper bride for a proper husband. Her time was running out. Soon her beauty would fade, and she would find herself without any prospects, much less the kind of husband she wanted to attract.
The type of man she dreamed of marrying would not accept less than perfect manners, perfect accomplishments, and perfect breeding from his fortunate spouse. And rightly so since he would offer the same benefits to her. He would be kind and handsome and rich, so rich that she would never have to set tables, polish silverware, or count linens. She could forget about all of the menial chores Lily made her and Jasmine do aboard the paddle wheeler.
“I wish you had been able to attend Mrs. Gossett’s Finishing School last year.”
Camellia sniffed. “It’s not my fault she decided to close her school and return to Rhode Island.”
“Of course not. But I could not blame her for returning to her home state after the death of her husband. During uncertain times most people want to be near their loved ones.”
Camellia Page 2
