Camellia

by Diane T. Ashley

  For a moment, Jonah’s troubled gaze followed his father’s exit. When Sarah threaded her arm through his, however, he smiled down at her. “One of these days, he will have to realize he cannot control me.”

  “No matter how old you get, Jonah, he will always be your father.” She glanced around the room.

  Mrs. Thornton resumed her needlework. “Weren’t you planning a shopping excursion?” Her practical question gave everyone a new focus.

  Sarah separated herself from her brother and shooed Camellia and her sisters out of the parlor.

  For the first time she could ever remember, Camellia didn’t want to go shopping. It wasn’t because she already had the necessary items for beginning the school term, nor did her eagerness to get to La Belle Demoiselle play into her reluctance. She wanted to spend more time with Jonah, regain the admiring attention he had showered on her during the trip from Memphis. He was so intense, so exciting to be around. Even when his eyes seemed filled with green lightning, she found herself drawn to the man.

  Of course nothing could ever develop between them beyond a light flirtation. She had her sights set on a much bigger prize than Jonah Thornton. He had neither job nor military rank, proving his lack of ambition. She adopted a pleasant smile even while scolding herself for her reluctance.

  As she and her sisters donned their cloaks and gloves, Camellia made a mental list of the reasons she could not be attracted to him. Jonah had no plantation and no prospects other than running his parents’ shipping business. She wanted someone of deep conviction who believed in a cause and was ready to risk everything for it. Not someone who stood on the sidelines and pointed a finger of blame at the men who were fighting for their beliefs.

  Satisfied with her logic, Camellia pushed Jonah from her mind. She couldn’t wait for La Belle Demoiselle to open its doors.

  Chapter Six

  Camellia’s excitement collapsed like an unstarched petticoat when Lily suggested Papa might want to accompany them to La Belle Demoiselle. She would rather be scalded with a pot of boiling water than have to face the ridicule of her peers and the teachers at the school when they realized what a character the man was. She cast a desperate glance around the breakfast table, but no one seemed aware of her consternation. “Perhaps I should go alone.”

  Lily’s jaw dropped open. “What?”

  If she had been trying to be the center of attention, Camellia had succeeded beyond her wildest dreams. Everyone was staring at her as if she had grown an extra head. “I … I don’t want to be any trouble.”

  Blake raised an eyebrow before returning his attention to the food on his plate. “I doubt your sister will send you off by yourself.”

  “Of course not.” Mrs. Thornton smiled.

  “I saw them loading your trunks into the wagon as I came through the courtyard.” Jonah added the information with a hint of mischief in his voice. “Perhaps you could ride on it instead.”

  “Jonah!” Mrs. Thornton shook her head at her son. “You are being ridiculous. Of course Camellia will ride with the rest of us in the carriage.”

  When Camellia saw the moisture in Jasmine’s expressive eyes, she felt even worse. Why did everything have to be so difficult? Her family seemed determined to punish her for wanting to break away, wanting to have a life of her own. She pushed back from the table. “Thank you for the delicious breakfast.”

  “And for your wonderful hospitality.” Lily put her napkin on the table next to her plate. “You cannot imagine how much easier I feel because you are here to watch over my sister.”

  “Never fear.” Mrs. Thornton leaned across the corner of the table and patted Lily’s hand.

  Camellia ignored the sardonic look in Jonah’s eyes and wondered if she could slip away before anyone realized she was gone. Probably not. Unless she wanted to ride in the wagon as Jonah had suggested. Camellia’s ears burned at the thought of arriving on such a pedestrian conveyance. Perhaps there were worse things than having to introduce her papa.

  She went upstairs to the bedroom she had been sharing with Jasmine to gather her cloak and check to make sure she was presentable. Staring into the mirror, Camellia tried to imagine what life would be like at the school. Now that the day had finally arrived, she found herself oddly reluctant to forge ahead.

  “I’m going to miss you.” Jasmine had entered the room without making a sound and came to stand behind Camellia’s left shoulder.

  “It’s not like I’ll be gone for a long time. The school term will end in a few months, and I’ll return to Natchez.” She turned and held out her arms, enfolding Jasmine and dropping a kiss on her forehead. “But I don’t want you to get any older until then.”

  “I won’t.” Jasmine could usually be counted on to giggle at her silliness, but this morning she seemed more somber. Her lower lip protruded slightly, and her violet eyes were shadowed. “Please don’t forget about us.”

  “As if I could.” Camellia leaned back and stared into her sister’s eyes. “I know you don’t understand why this is so important to me, but I promise to come home again.”

  “Lily says you’ll probably be married before the end of the year.” Jasmine’s dark eyes filled with tears again.

  What a wonderful idea. Camellia was glad her sister was prepared for that eventuality. But this was not the time to admit as much to her younger sister. “Don’t worry so. It will be your turn before too much longer.”

  Jasmine shrugged her shoulders. “I don’t ever want to get married.”

  Feeling the full weight of her eighteen years, Camellia drew on her own experience. “You’re a warm and caring young lady who is not quite grown up yet, but wait and see. One day you’ll wake up and realize that a home and children are exactly what you want most.”

  Jasmine didn’t look convinced, but she did not argue the point, instead looking around for her cloak and bonnet.

  Once she was sure they were both ready to leave, Camellia took a deep breath. She would go through with this. Nothing, not even a marauding Yankee army, was going to stand in her way.

  Mrs. Thornton arranged her skirts with care in the crowded carriage. “I’m glad you could arrange your schedule to accompany us, Jonah.”

  Ignoring the beautiful Camellia, whose skirts were taking up the majority of the bench he shared with her, Jonah leaned his head back and closed his eyes. “I am happy to be of service.” The thick irony in his voice was carefully contrived. None of the four females in the carriage could suspect his real motive for joining them.

  “How far away is the school?” Lily was sandwiched between his mother and Jasmine. She sounded as uncomfortable as she probably was.

  “Not too far,” his mother answered. “The Garden District is not as close to the river as our town house, but it is a lovely area.”

  “Why is it called La Belle?”

  Jonah lifted his head, wondering why Lily encouraged Jasmine’s never-ending curiosity. One of these days it would likely put her into a perilous situation, much like those faced by an inquisitive feline. It was a pity Jasmine could not boast nine lives. She would probably need several.

  “The name is La Belle Demoiselle.” His mother answered the question. “It means the beautiful young girl. The man who built it, Mr. Peter Hand, was a successful architect with a very young bride. I have heard that he named his home for her. When Mrs. Dabbs, the present owner of the house, decided to open a school for young girls, she decided to use the original name.”

  “How romantic.” Camellia leaned forward and stared out of the window as though counting the minutes until their arrival.

  Wouldn’t she be shocked to discover the other side of her romantic headmistress? Jonah ran through the code phrase to make sure he would not stumble when the time came to alert the woman to his identity. He hoped she was more experienced at this spying game than he. If not, the North was in serious trouble.

  The last one out of the carriage, Camellia put her hand in Jonah’s and caught her breath. Tranquil …
tranquil as the surface of a pond. The mantra helped her present a calm face even though her heart felt as though it was about to jump out of her chest. The quick squeeze he gave her gloved fingers did not help matters. What was it about this man that affected her so? Why did her cheeks burn in spite of the cold wind swirling through the quiet neighborhood?

  As soon as her slippers touched the raised sidewalk, she pulled her hand from his and looked around, determined to minimize the contact. In an effort to regain control, she focused on the ornate iron fence surrounding the school property. “Is that a snowflake design?”

  “Oui.” Mrs. Thornton touched the gate with a gloved hand. “The story is that Mr. Hand’s young wife was from New York, and she missed the beautiful winters of her youth. So he ordered the fence to ease her homesickness.”

  Jasmine had been quiet all the way to the school, but she brightened at Mrs. Thornton’s explanation. “How romantic.”

  A grunt from Jonah showed his lack of appreciation for Mr. Hand’s gesture. Typical.

  Camellia couldn’t resist adding her own interpretation. “When a marriage is based on mutual love, such wonderful gestures become commonplace.”

  Lily nodded her agreement, but Jonah rolled his eyes before opening the gate for the ladies.

  Lacy iron formed arches between the black columns that framed the first-story porch and the second-story balcony. They reminded Camellia of picture frames. She could see herself standing on the balcony. Her soldier-fiancé would have an arm around her, and they would be facing each other as they exchanged sweet words of love and devotion.

  A jerk on her arm ended the pleasant daydream. “Are you going to stand out here in the cold all morning?” Jonah’s frown was like a slap.

  “Of course not.” She lifted her skirts and climbed the steps to the front porch, her head high. How dare he criticize her? This was her time. She was not going to let him destroy her anticipation.

  A black woman wearing a dark dress and a fancy white apron met them at the front door. Mrs. Thornton introduced herself and explained the reason for their arrival, handing her calling card to the servant.

  While they waited for Mrs. Dabbs to send for them, Camellia looked around the stylishly appointed foyer. A silver tray filled with other calling cards rested on a small table to her right. Above it was a rococo mirror. Several chairs lined the wall next to the table, a place for visitors to sit while they waited to see if the lady of the house was receiving guests.

  A door opened farther down the hall, and a tall, spare woman appeared. She was probably about the same age as Aunt Dahlia, but that was the only similarity Camellia could find between them. Mrs. Dabbs moved more slowly than her aunt would, her hands folded at her waist. Her hair, parted in the center, was very dark except for a stunning stripe of snow-white tresses beginning at the V of her widow’s peak. Each step she took was small and deliberate, conveying her authority and self-confidence.

  “Bienvenue, monsieur and mesdames, á mon ecôle.” Her accent was as impressive as her entrance. Camellia wondered if she had spent time in France.

  “Merci, Madame Dabbs. Me permettre d’introduire….”

  The words washed over Camellia. One day she would be able to carry on a conversation like the one between Mrs. Thornton and Mrs. Dabbs. It was a pity she had not studied French when she was younger, but her relatives had never seen a need for her to learn the language.

  Mrs. Thornton switched to English and introduced Jonah, Lily, and Jasmine. Then she turned to her and nodded. “And this beautiful lady is of course your new pupil, Miss Camellia Anderson.”

  “Mademoiselle Anderson, it is a pleasure to meet you.” She spoke without any trace of accent, slipping from one language to another with an ease Camellia envied.

  Camellia could feel the weight of Mrs. Dabbs’s assessing gaze as she curtsied.

  When she straightened, the lady was smiling at her. “We are going to have such a wonderful spring, my dear. Your things arrived earlier, and they have been taken to your bedroom upstairs. Say farewell to your family, and I will take you to meet your roommate.”

  So soon? Her nose tingled as she turned to face the others. Parting from her sisters was going to be harder than she had realized. It wasn’t like remaining behind at Les Fleurs while Lily and Jasmine took an overnight trip to Memphis or Baton Rouge. She wouldn’t see her sisters for months.

  The tight smile on Lily’s face was an indication of her older sister’s emotions. She was probably already regretting her decision. And Jasmine looked as though she might burst into tears at any moment.

  “Thank you so much for letting me do this.” She hugged Lily and Jasmine at the same time. “I love both of you very much.”

  “We love you, too.” Jasmine’s voice was a bare whisper.

  Lily’s arms tightened around her. “Are you sure you want to do this?”

  Camellia nodded, her head rubbing against theirs.

  “Then you’d better get upstairs before I drag you back to the carriage.” Lily released her and raised her chin. “But remember that I can come get you at any time. All you have to do is get a message to the Thorntons.”

  “Now, now.” Mrs. Dabbs stepped between them, cutting off Camellia’s escape route. “Your sister will be very happy here. All of my students enjoy themselves.”

  Allowing herself to be pulled toward the staircase, Camellia heard a whisper from the second floor. She glanced upward and caught a glimpse of a heart-shaped face surrounded by a cloud of dark hair before it disappeared around a wall. One of the other students. She looked about Jasmine’s age. Camellia glanced back over her shoulder at her younger sister, wishing for a brief instant that she would remain behind.

  Then reality intruded. Jasmine would never be happy here. She barely tolerated the lessons she received aboard the Water Lily. La Belle Demoiselle was not the place for either of her sisters. But it was the perfect place for Camellia. She felt lighter as she moved away from the first floor, as though each step upward was freeing her, freeing her to become an irresistible combination of style and grace that would complement her physical beauty.

  She looked up and met Jonah’s gaze. She wished she could think of something to say that would wipe away the half smile on his face. She had no reason to blush. It wasn’t like he could read her thoughts.

  Jonah shook his head and turned his attention to Mrs. Dabbs. “If something happens, you will send a note around to my parents’ home.”

  She tilted her head and stared at him. “Of course, but I believe we’re safe enough here.”

  Camellia wondered why Mrs. Dabbs’s reassurance made Jonah straighten his posture. He threw his shoulders back, looking almost like a soldier for a moment. “Mr. Lincoln could end all of this fighting if he would listen to reason.”

  “Yes, but I am afraid he is too stubborn to consider the desires of the South even though I write to him of my concerns.”

  Camellia’s eyes widened. “You send letters to Abraham Lincoln?”

  “Why not?” Mrs. Dabbs’s smile softened her question. “If I don’t ask him to stop this war, how can I expect him to grant my dearest wish?”

  “How indeed?” Lily looked impressed by the lady’s calm logic. “Perhaps all of us should follow your example.”

  Mrs. Dabbs nodded in agreement. “I encourage all of my students to do so.”

  “Do you really think your letters reach Mr. Lincoln’s desk?” Jasmine’s eyes were wide at the thought.

  “I am sure of it. I grew up in Maryland, you know. It is not so far from the White House. And I got to see one of the debates between Mr. Lincoln and Mr. Douglas a few years ago. He struck me then as a man who is very approachable.” Then she seemed to add as an afterthought, “As does our own president, Mr. Davis.”

  Lily pulled on her gloves. “Well, I hope one of them pays attention to any pleas you send. I am afraid there will be no winner in this war.”

  Chapter Seven

  Two large beds filled the r
oom, and a banked fire pulled dampness from the air and made the space feel warm and inviting. Camellia’s trunks were nowhere to be seen, and she wondered where they might be. A large wooden desk took center stage in the room, with several books stacked on top of it and a pair of ladder-back chairs tucked on either side. A rocker filled another corner, but there was still plenty of room to move around.

  Camellia looked for the girl she had caught a glimpse of as they came upstairs. Was she going to be her roommate? Pushing the question aside for the moment, she removed her gloves and hat, tossing them on the nearest bed as she moved into the room.

  Mrs. Dabbs cleared her throat. “You must not get in the habit of scattering your belongings about. At least a dozen young ladies will be attending classes this spring term. You’ll want to avoid the possibility of mixing up your things with someone else’s.”

  A blush heated Camellia’s cheeks. “I’m sorry.”

  With a wave of her hand and a quick smile, the older lady excused her actions.

  Camellia snatched up her hat and gloves and looked around for a better place to put them.

  “I had closets installed in all of the bedrooms last year.” Mrs. Dabbs took Camellia’s hat and walked to a bank of doors on the far side of the room. When she pulled on them, they parted, folding back like the spines of a fan.

  Camellia’s jaw dropped when she realized several of her new outfits hung from a bar inside the wooden box. “How ingenious.” Her skirts looked ready to be worn. They were not crushed from lying on top of one another.

  Mrs. Dabbs laid her hat and gloves on a shelf at the top of the closet before turning and dusting her hands together. “There. That’s much better. One of the first lessons most of my girls learn is how to take care of their clothes. During these uncertain times, you must learn to fend for yourselves.”

  Camellia didn’t understand the other woman’s logic. She would never have to do without slaves or servants. But she was not going to start the term with an argument. She nodded and won an approving smile from Mrs. Dabbs.