Gwyneth Atlee (14 page)

Damn. He felt in his pockets and found the remaining coins missing.
Not that there’d been many in the first place. Surely not enough to
jump a man and pound him till he lost consciousness. But there you
had it. What foolishness was not provoked by war was begotten out
of greed, he figured.

Cautiously, he tried to stand. His world careened crazily, tilting farther
over than Ma Abbott’s saloon. He sank down on his haunches so he
wouldn’t flop face first into the trash-strewn alley. That was when he
noticed they’d left the sack with the meat pies. The jar of pickled eggs
had rolled out of the bag and broken. Fearful of glass shards, he reluctantly
decided he would have to leave the eggs behind.

Picking up the sack with the pies, Jacob made a second attempt to
regain his feet. Though his head pounded and he still felt dizzy, this
time he managed to remain upright.

He heard a blast from a steamboat’s whistle. The
Sultana!
Was it
leaving him in Memphis? He hoped like hell that he was wrong.
As quickly as possible, Jacob shambled in the direction of the river.

Beyond Gabriel’s broad shoulders, stars burned themselves indelibly
into Yvette’s memory. Sparkling like his diamond hopes, glittering
like tears.

She knew in that moment that she would never forget the words
that he had told her. That forevermore, when she looked into the night
sky, she would see them written in the constellations, blazing out of
the cold depths of space beyond. And like those stars, the memory of
his love would offer a bit of light amid the vastness of the emptiness
that lay before her.

But could it possibly be true? Yvette remembered laughing with her
friends at the absurdity of the stories about strangers who fell helplessly
in love after a single glance. Yet here she was, drawing declarations and
proposals from a young man she hadn’t known three days before.

How could it be that the impossible words she was hearing and the
improbable emotions she was feeling were more real to her than all the
dreamlike years she’d lived in New Orleans? Had fear and loneliness
made a muddle of her senses, leaving her vulnerable to this mad spell
of attraction?

As she looked into Gabriel’s shadowed face, she could feel his
nervousness, his desperation. That much, at least, was genuine. He
loved her, and she began to believe she loved him, too. But that love
did nothing to diminish what she felt for her family, the equal shares
of pain and affection, of loyalty and pride.

She was still an Augeron, as Marie had been. Marie, who had
been killed because of the letter Yvette showed her, and by the same
soulless brute that now stood watch near the gangway.

She had sworn that she would see to it that the man who killed
Marie was punished. Even if, in doing so, she had to sacrifice the
possibility of a future with Gabriel. Yet she would always love this
young soldier for the offer, and so she tried to think of how to soften
what she had to say.

“A part of me wishes that I could stay with you,” she whispered.
“But we both know this plan would never work. I make a poor Yankee
soldier, do I not? Sooner or later, this deception must fall to pieces.
And then they would arrest you, too. I cannot risk that.”

“But Yvette—”
She hated the pain in those two words, so she rushed to cut him off.
“No, Gabriel. You mustn’t say more. Look, the captain’s left his

post. He will go to check my stateroom, or he will go to bed. That
means it is time now. Time for me to go.”
“Then I’ll come with you,” he offered.
“No. I will not have it. I mean to finish this with that devil Russell.
I have proof of his crimes, and I am the only one. And if I fail, I fail
alone. No one else must pay this time. I have already hurt too many
others that I love.”
She paused to let her final words fill the space between him, to give
him time to realize she’d just said she loved him, too. Loved him but
would never have him, would never press her lips to his again.
Pain welled up, bled over from the wounds left by Marie’s death
and by the loss of both her family and her home. Pain so intense that
it could only spill over in her tears.
“Yvette . . .” he told her, and her name on his lips made it seem much
harder, caused her to wonder if anyone had ever said the word just so.
She said nothing more, instead choosing that moment to turn away
and hurry toward the gangway. Praying he would love her too much
to call out after her. Wishing at the same time that he would risk everything
to try to stop her.
She never knew for certain what he would have done, never knew,
for at that moment, Lafitte began to meow.

Darien would not have understood that he was looking at Yvette
if not for her hesitation. While he heard the animal’s muted cry, he
could not be sure of the direction. He was so intent on finding the
belled outline of a skirt that he would not have noticed the boy
walking toward the gangway.

But when that “boy” pulled up short, looking so very ill at ease, he
found himself shocked once more at Yvette Augeron’s audacity. He
sprang out of his place among the shadows, eager to grab her before
she saw him coming.

A shouted warning from the opposite side of the gangway ruined
Darien’s plan. Yvette whirled around, saw him, and took off running.
But because he was closer than she was to the gangway, she fled in the
direction she’d come from.

She fled with him—that insufferable blond soldier who’d interfered
before. Clearly, the two of them had formed some sort of bond. Sly
little bitch was probably flipping up her skirts for his protection.

The two of them melted into the hordes perched along the deck,
their dark uniforms blending into the shadows cast by the lanterns
bracketed along the outer walls. He pursued, trying to keep his gaze
fixed on their movement and thread his way through the men, too,
but where a gap opened to Yvette and her accomplice, it as often
closed for him.

“God damn it, stand aside or I’ll have the lot of you arrested!”
Darien ordered, hating the loss of his composure nearly as much as
Yvette’s escape.

“Mister, here’s your mule!” called one soldier, referring to that idiotic camp song about a farmer led on a merry chase as he searched for
his errant equine.

“Arrest away, Cap’n,” another man called, his voice slurred by
liquor. “After Georgia, any federal prison’s bound to seem like
paradise!”

Tin cups were raised, and the shouts of laughter that followed
served only to inflame Darien’s temper more. How in God’s name had
this rabble gotten whiskey?

From all along the deck, mischievous former prisoners took up the
raucous cry.
“Mister, here’s your mule!”
Every goddamned one of them seemed to think himself hilarious.
Their laughter made Darien want to ship the whole worthless lot
back to the Southern prison camps and let the Rebels finish what
they’d started.
Ignoring them, he tripped past outstretched legs, but by the time he
escaped the mob, the pair he sought had vanished like candle flames
blown out by the wind.
Again he swore and returned to guard the gangway. At least he
knew she was aboard, still trapped within the crowded confines of a
two-hundred-sixty-foot-long boat. Once they left Memphis, she’d
have no way of escaping. No way except the cold and swollen waters
of the Mississippi River in spring flood.

“Damn it!” Jacob shouted at the stern of the retreating steamboat.
How was he to catch up with Zeke and his friends now?
He could feel more blood oozing through his scalp. He tried to wipe
the drip tickling his forehead, but he suspected all he’d done was
smear his face. With a frustrated sigh, he turned and nearly missed
another Indiana soldier who was bargaining with the owner of a skiff.
“I have to get back aboard,” the soldier insisted. “I’ll pay you to
row me.”
The skiff’s owner, a man whose arms were corded with hard
muscle, bargained with him until he set a price.
Jacob stepped closer. “Mind if I come, too?”
“You gotta pay,” the riverman insisted.
“I was just jumped. They took my money.”
“You’re still bleeding,” the soldier pointed out. Then, turning to the
riverman, he said. “Go on and take us both, why don’t you? I paid you
more than fair for two.”
The skiff’s owner frowned, then glanced toward the receding
steamboat. With a curse, he agreed, probably because he realized the
longer he spent arguing, the farther he would have to row.
“Much obliged,” Jacob told the other soldier. “How about a meat
pie for the journey?”
The two ate in near silence, never taking their eyes off the
Sultana,
which was pulling steadily away.

Capt. J. Cass Mason tripped on his way out of the main cabin.
Pull yourself together,
he admonished himself,
or they’ll imagine you
are drunk.

Though he had been drinking, Mason was a man who knew his
limits—and his boat’s. The thought chilled him that this crowd may
have exceeded the
Sultana
’s.

A steamboat was a fragile means of transportation. Few survived as
many as five years. They hit snags and sank. They caught fire and
burned. They blew apart in spectacular explosions. The only strategy
for a riverboat captain was quick profit. Pay for the vessel and bank
every cent you could so you could build a new one when she died.

The war had interfered with that bold plan. Mason had no savings,
only a meager one-sixteenth share in the
Sultana.
As he made his way toward the stairs that would take him to his
quarters, a nightmare vision rose before his eyes. Bodies floating in the
river, illuminated only by the hellish flickering of a burning hulk.
His mouth went dust dry in spite of the drink he’d just imbibed.
One of the prisoners, a lieutenant, asked Mason if he knew a spot
to sleep.
Ignoring the question, Mason said only, “I’d give all the interest I
have in this boat if only we were safe in Cairo now.”

Yvette didn’t know how much time had passed before her shaking
subsided enough to allow her the power of speech. It seemed an eternity,
hiding in a place that felt nearly as dangerous as the gangway. She wondered, Would there ever be a time when she felt safe again?

“Can’t we find somewhere else? It smells bad here.” Yvette wrinkled
her nose at the pungent odors of horse sweat and manure.
The culprits, tethered so close that she felt the heat radiating from
their bodies, shifted on restless hooves. They loomed frighteningly in
Yvette’s vision, gigantic shapes carved from the darkness. As a child,
her ribs had been badly bruised by a kick from Pierre’s pet pony. She’d
been suspicious of all equines ever since.
The nearest of the animals nickered and flung its huge head up
and down. Yvette flinched and took a step back, into the wall of
Gabe’s chest.
“Shh. It’s all right.” Despite his quick and heavy breaths tickling her
ear, Gabe’s voice was calm and reassuring.
Yvette wondered if he meant to soothe the horses or her. She was
surprised by the way his words formed misty puffs along the outside
border of her vision. After running in the woolen uniform, she felt so
warm, so damp with perspiration, that she hadn’t noticed that the
temperature had dropped.
“We can’t very well stay here all night,” she told him. Following his
lead, she pitched her voice lower. “I have to get off now, while there’s
still time.”
“Look, Yvette.” He reached over her shoulder to point toward
the lights on shore, which were receding. “You’ve already missed
your chance.”
She forced herself to stillness, noticed for the first time the familiar
churning of the paddle’s blades, the deep rumble of the engines, and
the steamboat’s forward motion. Down here on the main deck, the
sounds were louder, so much so that she could not imagine why
they’d failed to register before.
The two of them had found a section of deck reserved for cargo,
not all of which had been offloaded in Memphis. They had slipped
past a sleeping guard to hide among the horses and mules being
transported.
“I-I don’t much care for horses,” she admitted. Gently, she set down
the handbasket with Lafitte. Thankfully, the kitten had grown quiet.
“Could’ve been worse, Yvette. They drove off the pigs in
Memphis.”
“You don’t understand,” she whispered. “They’re so awfully huge.
I-I’m afraid of them.”
His arms wound around hers to cross her body, and she felt his
solidity behind her. Bolstering her strength and courage, making her
own breath puff out in swifter plumes. Making her conscious of the
effect their nearness was having on his body, the growing hardness
that pressed against her. She felt reassured and excited all at once, and
far less mindful of the horses, which had by now grown complacent
in their presence.
She shifted her arm to swing around the reticule she had tied
behind her back, beneath the dark blue jacket. When it no longer
lay between them, she leaned toward him once more, enjoying his
quiet gasp beside her ear. Enjoying the way fear melted with the
tingling heat ignited by his warm breath, only to ripple through her
body, everywhere.
She could not suppress a sigh, as if she’d stepped into a warm bath
on a frigid day.
“Still frightened?” Gabe whispered. The words kissed at her ear, or
was that the heat of his lips instead?
Some part of her looked on in disbelief. Here they stood, among a
score of dozing horses, hiding from a man who meant to have her
hung. Yet her body still took pleasure from this illicit contact, this
man’s loving touch.
He must be caught up in the spell of it as well, for his lips traveled
along her neck. His hands reached up beneath the army jacket. And
then he held her breasts, which no other man had ever touched. He
seemed to scoop and lift them, and his fingertips played lightly at
their almost painfully hard tips.
“Mon Dieu . . .”
she whispered, her whole weight leaning backward, her whole being possessed with this new pleasure. And she
knew in that moment there would be no pretense of denial, no
abandoning whatever little miracle had taken hold aboard this
boat. She would lie down if he asked her, right here among the
horses’ steel-shod hooves, for she would rather die of trampling
than live without fully understanding what love offered.
She turned, suddenly desperate to kiss his mouth, to know how it
felt to touch him, too. But in a moment, he grasped her hands to stop
her, then pulled away his lips.
“Yvette, honey,” he whispered. “You have to stop now. We have to
stop before I can’t.”
“What if . . . what if I don’t want to?”
“Hiding here won’t do us much good if we spook the horses.”
She could hear, rather than see, the smile behind his words.
He let go of her hands so he could hold her, then bent to kiss her
head. “You deserve better than this—”
Tears made the receding lights of Memphis swim in Yvette’s vision,
and she felt the breeze of their passage chill her face. “What if we
never get the chance at anything better? What if Russell captures me
before I reach my uncle?” He squeezed her tighter to him. “I won’t let
that happen. I swear it, Yvette.”
She shook her head, suddenly feeling desolate. “Russell planted
evidence. He left the poison in my room. No one in New Orleans
believes I didn’t kill that lieutenant. They didn’t even want to see my
proof. They’re going to hang me, Gabriel. And I don’t want to die
without being with you first, without knowing—”
“You won’t die,” he interrupted, as if he were convinced his words
could make the situation better. As if he thought his love could stop
the future from opening before them, a somber banner unfurled by a
baneful wind.
She laid her head against his shoulder, felt the itchy wool against
her face, the way her tears dampened the fibers.
“Say you’ll come with me to Oregon,” Gabe told her, his every
word throbbing with his need. “Say you don’t care that I’m a Yankee
and you don’t mind that I couldn’t kill that boy in Tennessee. Tell me
that you’ll marry me, Yvette. I don’t care if you don’t mean it; I want
to hear it from you, anyway. Give us both a future we can look forward to tonight . . . even if it isn’t real.”
She pulled away from him, but her hands sought his. Her
hands, which, like the rest of her, hesitated to break their connection.
“I couldn’t lie to you. I couldn’t do that to myself. Can’t you feel
how much I want you? I don’t care about those other things—
where you’re from and what you did or didn’t do before we met.
I think people must change into something different in war,
something separate from their better nature. I know that I did,
but I’ve only seen it in these past few days. I’ve only noticed it
since meeting you.”
He withdrew a hand to touch her cheek. “You’re not like me. You’re
innocent.”
She shook her head once more. “I didn’t kill Lieutenant Simonton.
But I
am
guilty. Of being jealous of my sister’s love. Jealous enough to
bring the whole world crashing down upon our heads.”
“But you were right about Captain Russell, weren’t you?”
“I was right, yes, but my reasons were all wrong. And I was wrong
about a lot of other things as well. But I’m not wrong in saying this. I
love you, and I’d give anything for the chance to marry you. If only I
hadn’t thrown away that chance before I knew you.”
“You said that you had proof, Yvette. Proof that Captain Russell is
not the man he claims to be.”
“I do. I have it right here with me, and when—
if
—I can get it to my
uncle, he might know how to make the Yankees listen.”
“Will it prove your innocence as well?”
She shook her head.
“Non,
it cannot do that. It can only cast suspicion
on my chief accuser.”
“Then come with me. Don’t risk it!”
She shook her head once more. “I must do this . . . for my sister. And
I must do it for myself. I could never be happy in Oregon, even with
you, if I failed to make the murderer pay.”
“Then I’m going to help you,” he answered. “I swear, I’ll never
leave your side.”
She wasn’t certain whether his words increased her burden or
relieved it. Though she could hardly bear to think of him hurt or
imprisoned on her behalf, some part of her exulted that she would not
have to go through this alone. That she would not have to die alone, if
that came to pass.
Selfish,
that desire. To have someone who loved her in the end. Too
selfish, for in the end she would be just as dead as if she were alone.
And she would destroy this kind man, too.
What sort of woman was she to even think of causing him such
grief? The thought shamed her, so deeply that she knew that she
must say no.
But not yet. Not now, while he was holding her so tightly. Not when
this man’s touch might be her last.
With the thought, waves of exhaustion nearly overwhelmed her.
The hour was very late, and her day had been so troubled.
So was it too much to ask that she should rest now? Rest and let him
hold her before she said good-bye.