Camellia

by Diane T. Ashley

  The two girls pulled Thad into the parlor.

  Jonah decided to ask if anyone in the kitchen could prepare a tea tray. As he waited for Selma to finish steeping the tea, he wondered what conversation was going on in the parlor.

  “We got a few more pralines, Master Jonah, but no cookies to go on the tray.”

  Maybe that would keep the captain from returning. But Jonah knew better. They could forgo tea altogether for that matter. He was here to regale Camellia and Jane with his derring-do. He would gloss over the conditions under which the Confederates held poor Mrs. Dabbs with the excuse that he didn’t want to upset the girls.

  Jonah gulped as a new thought hit him. If Camellia thought to upbraid him for his supposed message to the Thornton household, she would find out Jonah had made up that story. Grabbing the tray from Selma, he hurried back to the parlor, the rattle of the china announcing his arrival.

  “… and how much longer the city can hold out.” Captain Watkins sat on the sofa between Camellia and Jane.

  Jonah’s father and mother sat across the tea table from them in the pair of overstuffed chairs. Jonah was relieved to see his parents in the parlor, as it meant the conversation would be centered on the war.

  “As long as it takes.” Father banged his hand on the arm of his chair. “We’re not a bunch of sniveling cowards like the men at those forts. I still find it hard to believe they surrendered without a fight.”

  A fact for which Jonah was profoundly thankful. He attributed the event to God’s intervention. As He had done to the enemies of the Israelites, God had filled the Confederate soldiers with a spirit of fear. According to the reports Jonah had heard, they had spiked or dismounted the cannons, insisting on surrender no matter what their superiors promised. The route to the city was open, and he expected to see troop ships sailing into the port city any day.

  “Unfortunately, our batteries at Chalmette are intended to revoke an attack by land. There’s nothing we can do to protect the city at this point.”

  Jonah put the tray on the tea table and straightened. “So what will you do?”

  What the captain might have answered was lost as the sound of marching feet outside grabbed their attention.

  Jonah was the first to the door. He wrenched it open and strode to the sidewalk, followed by his parents and their guests.

  Soldiers marched through the street, their faces stern, the brass buttons on their blue uniforms gleaming under the noonday sun. The familiar red and white stripes of the U.S. flag waved bravely above their heads.

  “This is a disgrace.” His father’s voice was gritty with disgust. “A day of shame for the South.”

  “It’s the end of the war.” Relief flooded Jonah. Southerners would have to realize they could not win now. They could return to their homes, free their slaves, and vow fealty to their country.

  Captain Watkins rested a hand on his sidearm. “Not quite.”

  What was the idiot going to do? Fight the Union all by himself? Jonah failed to see how Camellia could admire the captain.

  “Come, girls. Let’s get out of the street.” Mother’s voice was quiet, emotionless. “The rest of you should come inside, too. No need to risk being shot.”

  Jonah ignored her suggestion, watching until the soldiers disappeared from sight. He supposed they were headed to city hall to replace the Louisiana state flag.

  It was over. Without access to the Gulf of Mexico, the blockades would succeed in stopping the movement of troops and goods. He had no doubt May 1, 1862, would go down in the history books as the day the War Between the States was won.

  Camellia turned over and punched her pillow. Settling back with a sigh, she studied the ceiling and wondered why sleep was so elusive. Was it because of the soldiers they’d seen marching through the streets? What would happen tomorrow? And when would they ever get out of the city? No Confederate steamships would come; that was for certain. Not unless they intended to fight the Union navy.

  According to both Jonah and Thad, all was lost for this city and probably for the war. While a part of her mourned the defeat, another part of her was glad it was ending. Maybe now her life could get back on an even keel. Thad would be able to woo her without the distraction of his military duties. Yes, the more she thought of it, the better things were looking.

  She rose from her bed and looked out the window, noting the rain that had begun falling. A figure on the street caught her attention. Her hand went to her throat. The stories of looters had begun to abate, but the danger was still there. Another figure joined the first, slipping from shadow to shadow as they traveled down the street and onto the Thorntons’ front lawn.

  A scream rose to her throat but then halted when she saw the smaller figure raise a hand to knock on the door. Burglars wouldn’t knock, would they? She ran to her bed and pulled on her dressing gown. She used the tinderbox on the mantel to light a candle then slipped out of her room, one hand guarding the flame while the other grasped the balustrade.

  Light flowed up the spiral staircase, indicating the late-night visitors had roused someone in the household. Voices from below were hushed, but she heard her name clearly. The voice was familiar. Her feet moved faster, and Camellia was suddenly glad she’d been unable to sleep.

  “Lily?” She reached the foyer and threw herself at her sister, excitement stripping away her decorum and the training she’d received at La Belle Demoiselle. But for the moment she didn’t care. Camellia wrapped her arms around Lily and squeezed her like a fresh lemon. “What are you doing here?”

  Lily returned her hug. “We came to get you, of course.” Her voice choked. “Did you think we wouldn’t?”

  “I’m so glad you’re here.” She leaned back a little, her smile encompassing her brother-in-law as well.

  “Why don’t you come into the parlor and tell us all about it.” Camellia had not realized Mrs. Thornton was in the foyer until she spoke.

  Lily shook her head. “We don’t have much time. You’ll need to pack one set of clothing, Camellia. Your other things can come to Natchez by wagon.”

  “I understand.”

  “What? No argument?” Blake’s blue gaze held a twinkle. “I’m beginning to think that school was a good idea after all.”

  “What’s going on down here?” Jane looked down on them from the first-floor landing.

  Camellia beckoned to her friend. “Come down and meet my family.” She performed the introductions, leaving out the fact that Jane’s brother was the man she was going to marry.

  Lily and Blake exchanged a glance, some wordless communication passing between them. “We’ll gladly take you with us, Miss Watkins, if you wish.”

  “I hate to leave, but I do think it would be best. Thank you.”

  “Then both of you had better get upstairs.” Blake gestured toward the stairwell with his chin. “And remember you cannot bring more than one valise each.”

  Camellia rushed to do his bidding, wadding up underclothing, a nightgown, and a shirtwaist and stuffing them into the bag she had stored under her bed a week earlier. She dragged on her smallest hoops and tied them loosely around her waist. Her black skirt looked a little lopsided, but perhaps no one would notice.

  By the time she returned to the parlor, it seemed everyone in the household was awake. Even Jonah had come over from his garçonnier, his auburn hair gleaming in the candlelight. He was standing in a corner of the room, talking to her brother-in-law. Was he going to come with them? The thought made her heart race.

  Mr. Thornton was asking Lily about commerce north of the city, a subject that seemed unimportant to Camellia. As steeped as she had been in the standoff between the mayor and the Yankee admiral, she had forgotten the rest of the world might continue business as usual. When he saw her, however, he stopped. “I’d better call for the carriage.”

  Jonah raised a hand to stop his father. “I’ll drive them.”

  “It’s not too far for us to walk.” Blake took Camellia’s valise from her. �
�As soon as your friend is ready, we’ll leave.”

  Jane entered the room as though on cue, a bit of lace trailing from her valise. “I’m here.”

  “I insist on taking you. It’ll be much safer.” Jonah straightened and moved to the door. “I’ll meet everyone outside in a few minutes.” Since no one argued, he disappeared through the door.

  At least he would be with them a few more minutes. Now that it was time to go, sadness swept through Camellia. She hugged both of the Thorntons and thanked them for their hospitality.

  Lily hugged them, too. “Are you sure you won’t come with us?”

  “Not now.” Mr. Thornton shook his head. “Maybe in a week or two when we can be certain our daughter and our home are safe.”

  Blake handed the ladies into the carriage before joining Jonah up front. Since they had no lantern, Camellia knew it would take both of them to avoid obstacles.

  She peppered Lily with questions on the way to the river, learning that Jensen and Tamar had stayed on board to protect the Water Lily. Seeing their former nanny and her husband would be more pleasant than dealing with her father once more. Odd how when she’d been wishing to sail away from New Orleans, Camellia had not once considered the most colorful member of her family. A familiar vise settled around her chest. It was a reminder of the reason she’d fled to New Orleans in the first place. How had she ever forgotten that?

  Yet when she looked out the carriage window to see the white decks and tall stern-wheeler of her sister’s steamship, Camellia wanted to applaud. Safety was finally within reach.

  The carriage halted, and Jonah pulled open the door. Mindful of her experience the last time he’d helped her out of a vehicle, Camellia pulled back. Jonah handed Jane out. Then Blake appeared and caught Lily around the waist, pulling her out amid giggles and whispered demands that he be more serious.

  Camellia rolled her eyes, but inside a part of her rejoiced to be near them once more. She moved to the door quickly and stepped down without any assistance. It might not have been her most graceful exit, but at least Jonah’s touch didn’t electrify her.

  Her father, Jensen, and Tamar stood at the rail of the boat, waving toward the dock.

  Camellia returned the gesture, moving closer to Jane. “It won’t be long now before we’ll be back in Confederate-controlled territory.”

  A grunt made Camellia look behind her. A nearby lamp played against the planes of Jonah’s face, highlighting his disgust. Why? Because of her words? Even if he wouldn’t fight, he still supported the Confederacy … didn’t he? He had chosen to return here. What other reason could he have for remaining?

  The answer to her question smashed into her with the force of a runaway train. He didn’t like the Confederacy, was opposed to all of its goals. He didn’t want independence, and he was here to make sure the Cause failed. The reason he’d come to La Belle Demoiselle so often had nothing to do with her or Jane. He had come to pass along information to Mrs. Dabbs. All the little incidents, all the glances, words, and gestures played through her mind, ending with the kiss. Was that nothing more than another of his lies?

  Jane crossed the gangplank with dainty footsteps while Camellia, thoroughly shaken by the monumental realization, stared at Jonah, not wanting to believe he could have betrayed his country, his friends, his family.

  “What’s the matter with you?” His whisper came out sharp, like the buzz of a wasp.

  Camellia shook her head. “You’re a spy.” She watched him carefully, hoping he would deny the accusation.

  His shoulders drooped. “You don’t understand anything.”

  No denial. No attempt to hide the truth now that it was too late for her to do anything about it. “I ought to send a note to Thad.”

  “Camellia, my work here is done. The city is in the hands of the United States.”

  “If not for people like you and Mrs. Dabbs, New Orleans might still be safe.”

  “Or thousands could be dead, including my family.” He sighed. “Why do you think Farragut has not bombarded us with his cannons?”

  He stepped closer to her, wrapping his hands around her upper arms and squeezing them with gentle strength. “Because of people like me who assured him there’s no need. You haven’t seen the horrors of war … the destruction and death. What I’ve done has spared New Orleans. Can’t you see that?”

  Madness. Even now, even when she knew how he had lied to her, Camellia wanted to lean into him. She wanted to rest her head against his broad chest and let his argument convince her. But she couldn’t. “I see nothing but your betrayal of the people who care for you.” She stepped back, wondering if he would try to stop her.

  But he released his hold on her arms. “I wish you weren’t going. Not now. Not like this.”

  The words were soft, tempting. Like the look on his face. But what could she believe from a man who lied to everyone around him?

  Camellia grabbed her skirts and ran across the gangplank, eager to put physical distance between them. Tamar was there, and Camellia fell into the older woman’s arms, thankful for the familiar welcome from the woman who had raised her and her sisters. But the ache in her chest did not ease. Overwhelmed by a loss she didn’t completely understand, Camellia sobbed into Tamar’s collar.

  “There, there.” Tamar patted her back. “You’re safe now, dearest.”

  The words were empty to Camellia. In the last few days, everything had changed. Two people very close to her—her teacher and her … what was Jonah to her exactly?—had proven to be the opposite of what she had thought. She didn’t think she would ever feel safe again.

  Chapter Twenty-one

  You’re here!” A feminine squeal split the morning air, and weight landed on Camellia’s bed.

  Disoriented for a moment by the familiar walls of the bedroom she had grown up in, Camellia squinted at the dark-haired girl perched on her bed. Almond-shaped eyes the color of violets stared back at her. “Jasmine.”

  It was the only encouragement her younger sister needed to launch herself at Camellia and envelop her in a tight embrace.

  The nightmare of the dark journey home began to fade. She was home. Home where everything was still normal. The scourge of war and soldiers and traitorous spies had not touched Natchez, and she hoped it never would.

  Emerging from Jasmine’s hug, Camellia leaned back and stretched her arms over her head. “What time is it?”

  “Noon.”

  The single word caught her in midyawn. “It can’t be that late.”

  “Grandmother said we should let everyone sleep this morning.” Jasmine hopped off the bed and went to the pair of long windows on the far side of the bed. She pulled back the claret-hued curtains, and golden sunlight flooded the bedroom. “But everyone else is up, even your friend Miss Watkins. So Aunt Dahlia said I could come wake you.”

  Camellia pushed back the quilt and swung her legs over the edge of the bed. “Find something for me to wear, please. I had to leave nearly everything in New Orleans.”

  “There should be an old outfit around here somewhere.” Jasmine moved to the bureau, opening and closing drawers in her search.

  Surveying the familiar room, Camellia was comforted by the floral wallpaper, marble mantel, cane-backed chair, and dressing table. It was good to be home. She sat in front of the mirror and unbraided her hair.

  “You don’t look much different.” Jasmine held up a white shirtwaist and a gray wool skirt with a patched hem. “What did you learn at that fancy school?”

  “Too much to tell you about right now.” Camellia dragged a brush through her hair to remove snarls. “Where are the servants?”

  “Uncle Phillip said they were a danger, what with all the rumors of an uprising, so he shipped them to some island in the Caribbean.”

  The brush halted. Obviously not all things had remained the same during her absence. “Who does the chores?”

  “Cook is still here, and we hire out some of the work, like the laundry.” Jasmine took the
brush from her hand and started pulling back the curly locks. “I help Grandmother with her buttons, and all of us have chores in the house. When Lily and Blake are here, things are much easier.”

  “What about the fields? Surely we are not reduced to picking cotton or cutting sugar cane.”

  “No, silly.” Jasmine giggled. “Uncle Phillip hires workers, some black, some white. Everyone who has not gone to fight in the war needs work. Everything has gotten very dear because of the blockade.”

  “Why didn’t anyone tell me what was going on?” Camellia thought of the letters she had received. Not a hint of any troubles had been apparent. Feeling chastised and a little miffed, she dressed in silence.

  Jasmine continued chattering, however, apparently unaware of her sister’s emotions.

  As they trod downstairs, Camellia trailed her hand along the rail of the stairwell, noticing it lacked its usual glossy sheen. Would she be reduced to dusting the woodwork and polishing the silver?

  A vision formed in her imagination. She wore an apron and carried a dustpan in one hand and a broom in the other as she welcomed guests to Les Fleurs. What kind of suitor could she hope to attract in such a situation? Maybe Aunt Dahlia could give her some advice.

  Feeling a tiny bit better, Camellia took a deep breath, threw back her shoulders, and followed her sister into the front parlor. Whatever the future held, she would face it with the aplomb and gentility she had learned at La Belle Demoiselle.

  Camellia set the pitcher of lemonade on the tray and picked it up with both hands.

  “You sure you can handle that by yourself?” Tamar watched her with a doubtful expression on her face.

  “Don’t worry. I made the lemonade, didn’t I?” Proud of her accomplishment, Camellia walked out of the kitchen and around the side of the house to take the refreshment to Aunt Dahlia and Jane on the front porch. She kept one eye on the grass and the other on the slices of lemon threatening to slosh over the top of the pitcher. Arriving without mishap, she set the laden tray onto the table between the rockers.