“Was your family responsible?”
Not her family.
Her
. Had she not trusted the sweet-talking Bart... She dug her fingernails into the sash. “It wasn’t his fault.”
“Whose?”
“Lance’s. He was only trying to—” The words wedged in her throat, jammed like logs in a river.
“Trying to what? You can tell me.”
“He...I...” She broke off with a strangled sob. “I-I can’t. It’s just too awful.”
He reached out and cupped her elbow. “You don’t have go into the details. I get the general idea. Something happened at Spivey Point and your brother got blamed.”
Blamed for something she caused. “When I learned of Lance’s capture, I knew I had to get to him before the Lawrences did.”
“How would they have known he was at Point Lookout?”
Heat rose in her veins, for the moment dousing the iciness of misery. “Because the polecats had spies in Richmond. I knew they’d soon be warned of Lance’s whereabouts.”
“How did you know there were hired agents?”
“They weren’t hard to spot. Like goats trying to hide in a herd of sheep.” A pang stabbed her. “Also because of Papa.”
“I thought your father was dead.”
“He was killed just after we moved to Richmond.” Her throat burned with the venom of hatred. “A runaway carriage...according to the authorities.”
“I take it from your tone you don’t believe his death was accidental.”
She turned back to the window. A blotch on one of the panes claimed her attention. She wiped at it with her finger. The smudge only got worse and spread further. Just like her life.
“Papa hated the city,” she finally managed. “Said there were too many people crammed into one small space. Crossing the busy streets near made him ill. He’d walk an extra block just to find a safer route and wouldn’t go across until it was all clear.”
She rubbed harder at the stubborn spot, her finger squelching on the glass. Dratted dirt. She drew in a breath, then pushed it out on a long exhale. “His death was no accident.”
In the window’s reflection, she saw Jack kneading his chin, his expression thoughtful. It was one of the gestures she’d miss most once he was gone.
“Well then,” he said. “We’ll just have to go to Elmira and make sure your brother doesn’t meet with the same fate, won’t we?”
We
? He wanted to continue with their charade after hearing all that? She stilled her rubbing. A glimmer of hope cut through her gloom. “What about your assignment?”
“I’ve found no evidence of corruption here at Point Lookout. Visiting another prison would be the next logical step.”
Logical. She was anything but logical. And the people she loved most had gotten hurt because of it. Outside the window, a breeze rifled through the treetops, lifting the leaves and revealing the hospital looming in the distance.
“What about Jeb?” she said. “I can’t just leave him here.”
“I took care of your friend.”
“You did? How?”
“I called in a favor. When he recovers, Jeb will be sent to my grandfather’s home in Baltimore. I told Lieutenant Whitlock we could use an extra hand around the place.”
“I thought Jeb was being held for questioning.”
“No charges have been brought against him. Besides, after seeing the scars on his back, the lieutenant felt a little more lenient. Figured Jeb had been forced to carry out his master’s orders and might be interested in the opportunity at freedom and a new life.”
Though his voice held no censure, she stiffened anyway. “He didn’t get those scars at Spivey Point. Father didn’t hold with whipping. Jeb was already marked when he came to the estate.”
He held up his hands. “Whoa. I didn’t mean to imply he’d been mistreated. I only wanted to explain why he wasn’t being detained. He’ll be released as soon as he’s strong enough to travel.”
“Jeb’s getting better, then? He’ll live?”
“He’s fighting a fever, but the doctors say a man as strong and healthy as he is should recover just fine. He’ll be up and about in no time.”
Her shoulders lifted as if a great weight had been removed from them. “Thank you for seeing to him, Jack. I owe you...again.”
“So, there’s nothing to stop you from going to Elmira, then.”
Nothing but the fear of finding a corpse at the end of her journey.
****
A tunnel of black encroached on his vision. He gripped the solid deck rail, anchoring himself, feet braced against the rise and fall of the steamer. Bile burned in his throat. He fixed his gaze on the beacon of light flashing on the shoreline and focused on maintaining his composure.
He shouldn’t have agreed to travel by water. It would only feed the nightmares. But Kitty had insisted. Said the boat would get them to Elmira quicker. Those pleading green eyes and pouting lips had been damn hard to resist.
“Jack?” A hand settled on his arm, pulling him back from the darkness. “Jack, are you ill?”
He drew in a steadying breath and wagged his head. “I’m fine.”
“Good. I wasn’t sure. You sounded a bit edgy when Major Brady suggested we take this steamer.”
“I said I’m fine,” he repeated, a bit harsher than he intended.
She frowned, then moved her hand to secure her bonnet from the whipping wind. “I want to thank you again for offering to take me to Elmira. I don’t think I’d be able to manage on my own.”
Not for the first time, he wondered at his sanity in making such an offer. This woman had careened into his orderly world, knocking it clean of its axis. All he could expect would be more of the same, more chaos, more nightmares, and more longing for something that could never be. She’d made her intentions quite clear. This husband and wife business was just that—business. Nothing more.
“I imagine you’d do well enough on your own,” he said.
“Hmmph. Most likely I’d end up in some smelly Yankee prison.” She skimmed a hand over the railing, one finger tap-tapping the wood. “My mouth has a tendency to spill over, if you recall.”
He managed a smile. He could never forget a mouth like hers. All pink and pouty. He didn’t have enough fingers to count the times he’d wanted to silence those lips with a kiss.
“I’m relying on you to help me curb my tongue,” she added.
Oh, he could help her with that. In more ways than one. “So, you trust me, then?”
She regarded him with those fascinating cat-eyes, now coyly hidden beneath half-masted lids. “Perhaps.”
“I’ll take that as a yes. What changed your mind?”
She shrugged. “Just the way you saw to Jeb, providing Socks for him to travel to Baltimore and leaving a note hidden in your saddle bag explaining my situation so he wouldn’t worry. You’re not such a bad egg...for a Yankee.” She treated him to a quick smile, then leaned over the rail, face turned into the wind.
He clamped his teeth around a shout of alarm. It took every ounce of self-control he possessed not to haul her back to the safety of the deck. He didn’t want to startle her and send her tumbling into the water.
“Papa once described the ocean to us, but words just don’t come close.”
“Don’t let the water fool you,” he warned. “It can be just as dangerous as it is beautiful...just like a woman.”
She thankfully leaned back to a safer perch. “Sounds like you’ve had experience with both, Jackson Porter.”
“I have.”
“Who is she?”
“Who?”
She shifted from foot to foot as if unsure of the path she had taken. Her gaze flicked around the ship until it rested on him. She squared herself and finally answered. “This beautiful, yet dangerous woman. You said you didn’t have a wife. So who are you talking about? Someone from back home?”
No
.
You
. He peered out over the water to avoid her probing stare. If she discovered his feelings for her, she’d surely head for the hills. “I rather not discuss my personal life.”
“I see. Well, if your personal life is forbidden, how about the sea? Where have you traveled? Europe perhaps? That’s where all the privileged folks seem to go.”
“I prefer my feet on
terra firma
.”
“
Terra firma
?”
“Solid ground.”
“Oh.” Almond-shaped eyes glinted with amusement. “Not afraid of the water, are you?”
“Let’s just say I have a great respect for it.”
A sailor drew next to them and tossed a rope over the rail. The weighted end plummeted into the swirling water and disappeared. The seaman let the rope play out in his hands until it stopped moving. He turned to the quarterdeck and called out, “Ten fathoms.”
Sweat dampened Jack’s armpits. Ten fathoms of cold, dark water, just waiting to suck him under. Any composure he’d garnered while bantering with Kitty sank at the thought.
She leaned toward him and whispered, “What’s that sailor doing?”
Jack swallowed past the barnacles in his throat. “Measuring the depth. Those knots on the rope are six feet apart. He counts how many disappear into the water until the weighted end hits the bottom. We’re sailing over...” He swallowed again. “Sixty feet of water.”
“Lordy, that’s near as tall as the granddaddy oak at Spivey Point. Is that why you’re uncomfortable around the ocean? Because of its size?”
“It’s not just the size.”
“What then?”
Might be best if she knew. The nightmares would come no matter what he did. “I had a bad experience with water when I was younger.”
“Oh? What happened?”
“Remember I told you my parents had died in an accident?”
“Yes, I remember.”
“It happened one night during a rainstorm.” He gripped the railing, drawing strength from the solidness. “Our carriage skidded on the wet road and crashed over the side of a bridge. It toppled into the river below. My parents...”
The macabre tale caught like a sliver of bone in his throat. He spun around, away from the water, away from her observant gaze. Away from the deaths that haunted his nightmares.
“Go on,” she urged, her sweet voice lapping at his raw nerves.
“I survived the accident. My parents didn’t. I had nightmares for a long time afterward.”
“And being around water makes you feel like a long-tailed cat in a room full of rockers.”
He shook his head at her amusing turn of phrase. “That sounds like something Grandfather would say.”
“It’s one of Nanny Belle’s.” She glanced skyward, then gave him an encouraging smile. “Don’t worry. There’s nary a cloud in sight. We should reach Baltimore quite safely.”
“From your pretty lips to God’s ears.”
She ducked her head, pink staining her cheeks. “Thank you for sharing that about your parents. I know it wasn’t easy.”
“You’re welcome. And thank you for being so understanding...about my weakness.”
“We all have weaknesses, Jack.”
And she was rapidly heading to the top of a long list of his.
Chapter Eight
Louisa grabbed for her glass before wine sloshed onto the spotless, linen tablecloth. Dratted ship rocked worse than the rickety hobby-horse she’d found in the barn loft at Spivey Point. At least in the barn, she’d been pitched into a pile of straw. Here, it’d be onto the unforgiving plank floor.
She eyed the open doorway. Jack had politely declined the captain’s dinner invitation. Said he preferred to stay on the deck where he could see the shoreline. Seasickness, he called it. She knew better.
“You and Mr. Porter haven’t been married very long, have you?”
Her dinner companion regarded her from across the table. A mass of gray curls that must’ve taken some maid hours to shape framed a plump, rosy-cheeked face. Pearls decorated her ears and neck. Congressmen, it appeared, made good money.
“Um...no, ma’am, we haven’t,” she answered. “Just three weeks.”
Mrs. Clark gave a knowing smile. “It shows.”
Drat. What had she seen? Possibly overheard? She forced a smile of her own. “What shows?”
“The secretive glances you give one another. As though you’re not quite sure about the other but are excited about the prospect of learning more.” She ladled up a jiggling spoonful of pudding. “Not to mention your distraction since dinner was served.”
Embarrassing heat flamed up her neck. “I’m sorry. I didn’t realize I was being inconsiderate.”
“No need to apologize. I was once newlywed myself.”
Louisa relaxed, reassured by the woman’s shrewd yet warm expression. “And now?”
“Now, according to Arthur, I’m an old married hen who knows her husband’s mind better than he does.”
“And tells him so at every opportunity,” added the man seated beside her.
Louisa hid her amusement behind her wine glass. That was the type of marriage she wanted. Comfortable. Respectful. Full of good humor.
“Are you staying long in Baltimore, Mrs. Porter?” asked the congressman.
She shook her head. “I wish we could. I’d love to visit the city. But we need to catch the next available train to New York.” Not quite the truth, but close enough.
The captain cleared his throat. “I’m sorry to be the bearer of bad news, Mrs. Porter. But Confederate raiders destroyed the trestles north of town last week. I doubt you’ll find any trains heading for New York any time soon.”
Her heart plummeted along with the ship. If it wasn’t for bad luck, she’d have none.
Mrs. Clark, her wide brow creased with a scowl, wagged her spoon in the air like a general wielding his baton. “This close to Washington, you’d think the Army could prevent such attacks.”
While the captain and Congressman Clark nodded in agreement, Louisa merely dabbed at the wine that had sloshed onto her hand. Though she cheered Confederate victories, getting to Lance was much more important. If only the Rebs had postponed their raid for another week. Then she’d be well on her way to Elmira and not facing a frustrating wait in a city chock-full of Yankees.
She set her napkin on the table and rose. Her appetite, along with her enthusiasm, had fled. “Thank you for dinner, Captain. The food was delicious.” She forced a wan smile. “But I’m afraid I may be suffering the same difficulty with the sea as my husband. Perhaps a stroll on the deck will help. If you’ll excuse me?”