Redeeming Gabriel (20 page)

But that wasn’t going to happen unless God Himself intervened.

The drive home was silent, Camilla and Gabriel both absorbed in thought. When he pulled the wagon up behind the house, Portia appeared at the kitchen entrance, hands on hips.

“Thought you’d gone to Fort Morgan and back again.” She skewered Gabriel with a look. “Y’all drive on down to the smokehouse. I’ll get Willie to meet you there.”

Gabriel started the wagon again. “Who died and crowned her queen? The woman’s going to freeze me into a pillar of salt one of these days.”

“She’s just protective.”

“Whole family is.”

Camilla couldn’t dispute that.

When they got to the smokehouse, a little whitewashed building situated several hundred yards from the main house, Gabriel and Willie unloaded the wagon. Then Willie picked up a crowbar and, with matter-of-fact efficiency, pried the lid off the “coffin.”

Camilla put her hand to her mouth and began to giggle.

Gabriel shouted with laughter. “Looks like Mr. Shoat himself came down the line.”

With a broad grin, Willie began to unpack two hundred pounds of bacon, ham and salt pork. “Mister Zeke gonna find a way to get hisself some bacon for breakfast, General Pemberton or no General Pemberton.”

Gabriel walked with Camilla back up to the house. “Your papa’s a scoundrel, you know that? The rules are for everybody but him.”

She had to acknowledge the truth of that statement. “I’d stop him if I could, but that seems like such a minor thing compared to—”

“Camilla, I never claimed to be a saint.” Gabriel made a wry face. “But at least I admit what I am. These people who talk out of both sides of their mouths—they just get under my skin.”

Camilla stood with one hand on the doorknob, looking up at him. “Papa’s not perfect, but he’s a good man. I love him very much.”

He stared at her a moment. “I know you do.” He turned to go, but she caught his sleeve.

“Gabriel, what are you going to do?”

He picked up her hand and pressed her fingers. “I won’t let anything happen to you.”

She watched him stride down the drive path. He’d never once looked her in the eyes.

Shortly after midnight, with denouement on his mind, Gabriel leaned against an oak at the corner of Conception and Church, listening to the racket coming from the saloons and lagerbier shops. He remembered when he and Harry had celebrated passing their first medical-school examination and had awakened the next morning to find themselves incarcerated in the city jail, both with crashing hangovers. Later they’d slithered into class together, more than green around the gills.

Odd to think Camilla had been not too far away that day, playing with her dolls. Or, more likely, sneaking off to go fishing.

Ever since they’d parted ways earlier in the day, Gabriel had been considering how best to extricate himself from an unendurable situation. The job he could do. What he could not do was stare into a pair of gold-streaked brown eyes and continue to hold himself aloof.

He fingered the watch in his pocket. He was going to have to stop thinking about her every other breath, wondering what she was doing, what she was thinking.

He straightened as he heard soft, shuffling footsteps and labored breathing.

The Birdman appeared, empty newspaper bag slung over a bony shoulder. “Now, you ain’t got no call to come snooping around here in the dead of night, Revrint. Missy said for me to come get her if you—”

“Keep your voice down, Byrd. Camilla sent me herself. How else would I know where you’d be?”

The old man rubbed his nose. “You ain’t gonna get me in no trouble, are you?”

“Byrd, I’m convinced you’ve got a whole troop of angels watching out for you.” Gabriel cast about for some way to allay the man’s suspicions. “If you don’t help me get into that church, Camilla’s the one who’ll suffer.”

Confusion flitted across the emaciated features. “She said I weren’t supposed to tell nobody but you, and she wanted to know if you come down here to look.”

“Byrd.” Gabriel shared a man-to-man look. “We’ve got to protect Camilla from that thing in there. You’re the only one who can help me.”

Byrd shifted, tugging at his cap. “I don’t want nothing to happen to Missy. What you want me to do?”

Ten minutes later, a small fire burned merrily in a weedy field less than a hundred yards from the munitions dump on Water Street. Byrd, leading his sleepy mule on an impromptu trip to the creek for a drink of water, raised a hue and cry. Startled out of its stupor, the mule brayed loud enough to resurrect every inhabitant of Bethel cemetery.

The sentries posted at the property on Church Street came running, but by the time they got there the fire, now a roaring blaze, had spread dangerously close to the munitions dump.

Meanwhile, Gabriel slipped through the back entrance of the church and lit a small oil lamp. He wished he had time to savor the moment. His heart pumped as he walked toward the vessel in the center of the room, which had been cleared of all furniture, the windows boarded.

He held the lamp high as he walked around the cigar-shaped cylinder boiler. This little tin can was going to sink a Union gunboat? By his best estimate, it was somewhere between thirty and thirty-five feet long, four feet wide and five feet deep. Six-foot-long fins on each side gave it a sharklike appearance. Small for its purpose, the boat would barely fit through the double doors of the church’s front entrance. The builders would have to be careful to get it out of here without drawing attention.

He touched the smooth, darkly gleaming metal. The seams were expertly joined; at least it appeared seaworthy.

A brief glance around the room produced a ladder, which he dragged over. Once he was high enough to examine the top of the boat, Gabriel saw at either end a sea-cock valve with a pump, opening into water-ballast tanks. That answered the question of submersion. In the center of the boat, two elliptical hatches were fitted like corks in a bottle, just large enough for a man to slip through.

It took him several precious moments to figure out how to release the central hatch cover. Sweating, he pulled it back on its hinge, settled it with a soft metallic clink, and lightly vaulted on top of the boat. Taking a deep breath, he eased into the hatch. No problem to the waist, but his shoulders barely fit through the opening. He stood with his body in, head out, and reached for the lamp, which he’d set on top of the ladder. Holding it high, he crouched.

The interior of the boat had a tomblike closeness. It was hard enough to breathe now—how on earth could a crew survive underwater for any length of time? It gave him the shudders to think about it. Gabriel faced the port side, where a long metal bench ran the length of the vessel. A pole fitted with eight hand-cranks ran toward the propeller. Ingenious.

Turning cautiously so as not to bump into anything, he moved forward crabwise. He couldn’t resist turning the wheel, which controlled the rudder. A finely crafted mercury gauge, which would ascertain the depth of the craft, was fixed to a wooden panel to the left, with a compass beside it.

He mentally sketched everything he saw, including a couple of four-foot lengths of pipe, whose purpose he couldn’t immediately determine. After examining every inch of the vessel’s interior, Gabriel emerged from the hatch and noiselessly hoisted himself out. One more thing he needed to do before he left the building.

He approached the sea-cock valves.

Camilla awoke sometime in the night, feeling as though someone had been tapping her on the shoulder. The Holy Spirit often woke her to pray in the quiet darkness, the perfect time to hear that still, strong voice. Sometimes He brought someone to mind, someone with a need, someone hurting. In these days of war there were many of those.

She listened, waiting.

She had been dreaming about Gabriel. The image of his dark, inscrutable face, the intent way he looked at her, made her stir restlessly.
Father, he’s Yours. I can’t change him. Make him yearn for You. Whatever he’s doing now, let it lead him to You.

Turning over, she covered her head with the pillow. What should she do about Harry? She didn’t know if he was dead or alive, could hardly remember what he looked like. She was afraid to go to him, had no idea how to find him. And what about Jamie? Should she warn him not to get in that awful boat?

The answer came clearly in the form of a Bible verse.
Have I not commanded thee? Be strong and of a good courage; be not afraid, neither be thou dismayed; for the Lord thy God is with thee whithersoever thou goest.

It was a verse she’d learned as a child at her grandmother’s knee, and she’d been reminded of it again in Gabriel’s sermon from the book of Joshua. She lay in the dark, allowing her spirit to be filled and strengthened. Gradually her shivers ceased.

With a deep breath, she flung the covers back and reached for a flint to light the oil lamp.

Weak early morning light was breaking over the bay as Camilla silently boarded the
Magnolia Princess.
She found the correct cabin door and firmly knocked. Something hit the other side of the door and bounced onto the floor with a soft thud.

She smiled and knocked louder. “Miss Matthews?”

There was a soft expletive from inside the cabin. “I’m not receiving callers this morning.”

“Miss Matthews, I’m sorry, but I’ve got to talk to you.”

After a moment of silence Delia Matthews, clad in nothing but a rumpled negligee, yanked open the door. “What do you want?”

Camilla took a deep breath. “Gabriel says you know where Harry Martin’s regiment is.”

Delia leaned against the door frame and yawned. “Does your mama know where you are?”

“My mama’s dead, but she taught me some manners before she passed on. Are you going to let me in or not?”

“Maybe. Depends on what I get in return.”

“If I tell you how you can get hold of eight hundred thousand dollars in silver, would that be enough?”

Delia straightened, sleep gone from her dark eyes. “Would you mind saying that again, please?”

“Can I come in so we can talk privately?” Camilla struggled not to let her embarrassment show. She needed this woman’s help, and it wouldn’t do to antagonize her. Besides, she’d been thinking about judgmental attitudes. She’d been proud of her generosity toward Virgil, but it wasn’t easy to extend the same toward a beautiful woman who had some claim to Gabriel’s attention.

“I have a roommate. Let me get dressed, and I’ll come with you.” Delia shut the door firmly in Camilla’s face.

A few minutes later, the door opened and Delia came out wearing a modest blue two-piece dress. In the careless way of beautiful women, her heavy dark hair was bundled in a thick knot at the back of her head. She looked stylish but demure.

Camilla followed Delia into a gambling parlor abandoned during daylight hours.

Delia seated herself in one of two red velvet slipper chairs and gestured for Camilla to follow suit. “How do you know about this silver shipment?”

“It’s coming to my father.” Camilla moistened her lips. “I suppose Gabriel told you about the fish boat?”

“He mentioned it.”

“I don’t know where the money’s coming from, just that it’s intended to finance the boat. I think I can help you get it.”

“Why should you do that?”

“Didn’t you hear me? I want you to take me to my cousin.”

“I can’t just up and leave.”

“I think you could leave whenever you felt like it. Especially for eight hundred thousand U.S. dollars.”

Delia laughed. “You’re not as stupid as you look. Does Gabriel know you’re planning to fly the coop?”

“He wouldn’t have told me Harry’s in trouble if he didn’t want me to go to him.” Camilla frowned. How did she know Gabriel had told her the truth? To him, truth was a commodity for sale, and he was likely to dilute or embroider it for his own purposes.

Delia leaned back and tucked her feet up. “I don’t know your cousin.”

“But Gabriel said—”

“Maybe Gabriel didn’t think you’d have the nerve to come and question me. What did he tell you?”

“That Harry’s regiment was in a skirmish and the survivors were taken prisoner.”

“That much is true.” Delia’s tone softened. “But we don’t know if your cousin survived.”

“Harry’s a surgeon. He wouldn’t have been directly in the line of fire.”

“Miss Beaumont, have you ever seen a real battle?”

“No, but—”

“I’ll put it to you this way. The science of aiming a cannon is far from perfected.”

Camilla blinked back her tears. “So he might be dead. But I’ve got to know for sure. If you could tell me where to go, who to ask…”

Delia tapped a fingernail against her teeth. “I could tell you where the battle site is, but you’ll get in all sorts of trouble, asking after a Yankee surgeon. Even if he’s alive, he’ll be in a prison camp somewhere.”

Camilla clenched her hands in her lap, praying for wisdom. “I’ve got to try. I’ll offer myself as a nurse and look for Harry as I go. It would be easier if you were with me, but I’ll do it alone if I have to.” She hesitated. “Is Gabriel going to sabotage the fish boat?”

Delia looked at her with half-closed eyes. “What do you think?”

“I don’t trust either one of you.” Camilla rubbed her temple. “But if my brother is hurt, you’ll never get one more bit of information out of me.”

“Gabriel’s stingy about what he tells me. I don’t know what he plans to do with that boat. But if I were you, I’d make sure anybody I care about stays away from it.” Delia sat up, swinging her feet to the floor. “Now tell me about that silver.”

Chapter Sixteen

“L
ady, I’m all set to leave. Don’t make this any harder.” Camilla stood before her grandmother on the side porch, a bandbox in one hand and a portmanteau at her feet. “General Forney signed a pass to get me through any lines I might cross. They’re desperate for nurses.”

Lady set her favorite rocker into angry motion. “George Havard won’t sell you a ticket if your father tells him not to.”