Jackson returned to Baltimore just after dawn. When he entered the house, all was still quiet. He didn’t see a soul, except for a sleepy houseboy, as he slipped up the staircase and into a guest bedroom to bathe before he went to Cameron.
The boy brought up hot water and Jackson shaved and washed the grime of his unsuccessful trip off his body. As he dressed in clean clothes, he contemplated what he would say to Secretary Seward when he met with him tomorrow. The contact had never shown himself on the riverboat and the trip had been a waste of time. He still knew nothing more of Thompson than he had two weeks ago and he was becoming frustrated.
Jackson felt it was his duty to support and aid the president in any way he could, out of loyalty not just to him, but to his fallen predecessor.
The house was still relatively quiet, but he now heard stirrings downstairs in the direction of the kitchen as he walked toward his bedchamber. No doubt Naomi had the women buzzing around the house, preparing for the day. She had turned out to be an excellent housekeeper, perhaps because she did not see herself as a slave any longer, as many of his employees still did.
As Jackson walked down the silent hallway, he decided he’d spend the day with Cameron doing whatever she wanted to do. He’d shop, ride in the park, even go out to see those damned horses of hers, if that would make her happy. He owed her that much. Perhaps his undivided attention was what she needed…and a little gift.
He halted at his bedchamber door and drew the small black velvet bag from inside his coat. He opened the drawstring top and pulled out an emerald eardrop to admire it. He knew Cameron would love the acorn-sized earbobs, and the deep green color would complement her red hair beautifully.
He dropped the jewel back into the bag and rapped lightly on the door. “Cameron? Cam, honey, it’s Jackson. I’m home.”
He turned the doorknob, thinking he would surprise her by waking her up, or perhaps leaving the velvet bag on her pillow beside her.
Just before he pushed open the door, he spotted Addy coming up the back staircase carrying an armful of clean linens. “Capt’n!” she cried, looking as startled as if she had seen a ghost.
“’Morning, Addy. I just got back from my trip.” He nodded toward the slightly ajar door. “Mrs. Logan isn’t awake yet, I take it?”
Addy’s mouth opened and closed but no words came out. Something was wrong.
Jackson flung open the bedchamber door.
The lush bedchamber, with its velvet draperies and brocaded bed curtains, was empty. Their massive carved bed was made.
Cameron was nowhere to be seen. No teacup marred the bedside table. Not a single book or petticoat lay discarded on the floor beside the bed.
“Addy!” he shouted. He needed to think there was a perfect explanation for Cameron’s absence at eight in the morning. She’d risen early to ride before the summer sun was too hot. She had an early appointment with a dressmaker.
But the tightness in the pit of his stomach told him that was not the explanation. That little bitch, he thought. “Addy, where is Mrs. Logan?” he barked, knowing the answer, but needing to hear it anyway.
“Gone,” Addy squeaked, hugging the sheets in her arms.
“Gone!”
Addy cringed as if he were going to strike her and Jackson glanced away, forcing himself to calm down. His head was suddenly pounding with anger, his fists balled at his sides. But he had no right to direct his anger at anyone but the woman who deserved it.
“Where did Mrs. Logan go, Addy?”
“Mississippi, we think,” she whispered. “Miss Taye and Naomi, too.”
Jackson tightened his fists at his side again, but he didn’t raise his voice. “How long?” His mind raced. Maybe she had just fled the house. Maybe he could catch up to her. Maybe…
“Near two weeks.”
“Two weeks? And no one sent word to me?”
Addy’s voice trembled. “We didn’t know where ya was, Capt’n. Everybody said it was a secret.”
He turned his back to her. Of course, no one could have contacted him. He had left that way purposefully to spite Cameron. “You can go, Addy,” he said quietly.
Jackson heard her run down the back steps as he closed the door behind him. Alone in his bedchamber, he ripped the velvet bag out of his coat and threw it on the floor. He brought the heel of his boot down hard on the bag and felt the gratifying crunch of the jewels beneath his foot. Clenching his jaw, he ground them into the floor. One earring shot out of the bag and he took a long stride, crushing the last gleaming green gem beneath his boot.
Jackson wasn’t satisfied. He stared at his empty bed and then caught his image in Cameron’s floor-length dressing mirror. He met his own volatile gray-eyed gaze. “Son of a bitch,” he muttered. “Looks like I’m going to Mississippi.”
“I can’t tell you what to do, Thomas. I can only remind you of what the town looks like right now. What kind of people are roaming the streets these days.” As Jackson spoke, he tacked up his horse. Silently, Falcon saddled a horse in the stall next to him. “You’ve been there, Thomas,” he continued grimly. “It’s not a place for decent women these days.”
Thomas seemed to squirm in his muddy brown frock coat. “I simply cannot believe Taye left that message saying she and Cameron had gone to New York.” His Adam’s apple bobbed. “I just assumed it was true because you left for New Orleans so abruptly and—”
“And Cameron was pissed with me.”
“I can’t believe Taye would deceive me that way.”
“Sure you can believe it.” Jackson checked the girth one last time, forcing himself to take his time to treat the horse gently. “Cameron said,” he mimicked, “‘Jackson says I can’t go to Mississippi. I’m going anyway because I’m a spoiled, selfish, little papa’s girl who won’t grow up.’ She looks at Taye, and says, ‘Do you want to go to Mississippi?’ And Taye jumps on board without thinking twice. It’s the way it’s always been with those damned sisters,” he said sourly.
“But Taye understood clearly my concerns of her going there, even after we had wed.” Thomas coughed and pulled out a handkerchief to press to his mouth. “It’s so unlike Taye to be so irresponsible.”
“Not when my wife is involved,” Jackson said bitterly.
“Well, I just don’t know,” Thomas mumbled into his handkerchief. “I’ve an important appointment this afternoon. A man who is considering hiring me on retainer for his shipping business will be locating in New Orleans. The initial fees alone would be enough to open my offices again.”
“Look, Thomas, why don’t you just stay here? Take care of your business and let me go to Jackson and bring the women home. I can slap Taye around for you, if you like.”
Thomas glanced up, folding his handkerchief, his face solemn. “I would never hit a woman, and I would hope you would not, either.”
“I was joking, Thomas,” Jackson said dryly as he threw his leather bag over the back of his horse and strapped it on. “I would never strike my wife or any other woman. You know me better than that.” He shook his head. “Not that Cameron hasn’t tempted me. Isn’t tempting me now.” He made a sound of frustration in his throat. “Damn it, what she was thinking? Doesn’t she realize that she’s risking her own life? And Taye’s?”
“We must go, friend, if we are to catch the train,” Falcon interrupted from the other stall.
Jackson glanced over. Falcon was always so quiet that it was easy to forget he was there. Jackson was glad he was, though, glad he would be accompanying him to Mississippi. Falcon would be his voice of reason as he had been so many times in the past.
“I’ll send you a telegram as soon as we find them, Thomas. They’re probably safe, camped out on the ballroom floor at Elmwood, wishing to God they had listened to us.” He clamped his hand on the other man’s arm. “Try not to worry. We’ve got two tough women there, and Naomi is with them. I’m sure they’re fine.”
Thomas stepped back to allow Jackson by with the horse, and he stood in the barnyard as the two mounted.
“We’ll be home soon,” Jackson said, tipping his hat to Thomas.
Jackson and Falcon rode out of the yard and turned north toward the railroad station. If they hurried, they would make the next train to Richmond.
Falcon glanced over his shoulder as they rode past the front of the house. “He is a good man.”
“Thomas?” Jackson settled in his saddle. “He is. He was loyal to Senator Campbell, and he’s been a good friend to me.”
“He is a good man, but he is not the right man for Taye.”
Jackson stared at Falcon, but there was no further explanation from his companion, and he knew there would not be. At least for now.
Taye clasped Cameron’s hand, forcing her to tear her gaze from the train window. They had grown used to the scenery by now, but they had not grown immune to its horrors. “We should go back to Baltimore,” Taye said firmly.
“I’m not going back,” Cameron said, feeling hollow inside.
“I knew this was a bad idea from the beginning,” Taye went on. “I was being selfish when I agreed to come. I wanted to get away, so I agreed to come here with you, not considering the harm it could do. When you got sick in Richmond, I should have insisted we return home.”
Cameron’s gaze strayed to the window again as she stared at the abandoned houses they passed, the fallow fields. The farther south they had traveled, the more dispossessed black men, women and children they had seen walking along the roads and rail tracks. Without a way to earn money to feed themselves or put a roof over their heads in the drizzling rain, they were left to wander the roads and scrounge or steal what they could find to eat.
As she stared at a huddle of black women along the roadside, dressed in rags, dragging children along beside them, her heart twisted until she thought it would break. Slowly the train chugged by them and they looked up at her with hollow eyes.
There were soldiers, too. Soldiers everywhere. Those dressed in blue seemed to have fared the best. They were on the train, on horseback, or at least in buckboard wagons, slowly making their way north toward home. But the Confederate soldiers, dressed in tattered rags of gray, walked south in hole-ridden shoes with little or no food. Those men looked at her with empty eyes, eyes of surrender, of defeat.
Cameron thought she had experienced sadness before, but scenes like this, what she had seen from the train window, were heart wrenching. Jackson’s words had been conservative when he said the South was devastated.
When the war came four years ago, Cameron understood intellectually why it had to be fought. Her father, though a Southern senator and planter, had been a staunch supporter of the antislavery movement. She understood that the dream to set men and women free might come to war. But never, in her wildest dreams, had she ever considered the price Americans—Northerners and Southerners—would pay for the conflict.
“Why did the South hang on for so long?” Cameron whispered, watching the group of women and children disappear from her view. “Why did they let the soldiers do this?” she murmured.
“Cameron!” Taye patted her hand to get her attention. “You have to listen to me. We don’t have to go to Elmwood. We don’t even have to get off this train. The conductor says it’s returning to Richmond from here. We can just stay aboard and—”
“No,” Cameron said, feeling as if she were waking from a dream. “I have to go. I have to see Elmwood again. Then I don’t know what I’ll do.”
Taye sighed and glanced at Naomi, who held Ngosi on her shoulder, patting his bottom.
Naomi rolled her dark eyes heavenward. “Well, we’re here,” she muttered. “Pullin’ into the station, or what’s left of it. We might as well find us a room, at least for the night. Miss Cameron don’t need to be sleepin’ on this train again. Not with her being so ill such a short time ’go.”
The baby continued to fuss in his mother’s arms and Cameron reached out. “Let me take him, Naomi. You rest a minute.”
Naomi handed the infant, swaddled in a red blanket, to her mistress and Cameron cuddled him against her. The warmth of the baby, the weight of him in her arms, was somehow comforting, and she thought of the child she carried.
Taye watched Cameron. “You’re certain this is what you want? You don’t think it will be worse, actually seeing Elmwood, now that you know what it will be like?”
Cameron shook her head. Ngosi was beginning to quiet. “No, I need to see my father’s home.”
“Then we’ll get a room at a hotel. We’ll have some supper and in the morning we’ll hire a carriage to take us out to Elmwood. We’ll see Elmwood, then we’ll return to the train station.” Taye ignored Cameron’s frown and continued. “And we’ll take the next train north, no matter where it’s bound.”
Cameron didn’t argue with Taye. There was no need to tell her sister that she had no intention of boarding this train again. Go home to Baltimore for what? she thought stubbornly. To what? A husband who lied to her? Had abandoned her? He could rot in hell. She had her own money, her own home. She and the baby would just stay in Mississippi.
The whistle sounded and the train began to slow. It jolted and jostled Cameron; she cradled Naomi’s baby tighter as he drifted off to sleep.
Cameron prayed the Jackson hotels had fared better than those in Richmond. She wanted a bath and a warm meal and she wanted to sleep the night without fearing there were cockroaches scurrying over her in the darkness.
She knew just where they would go. The Magnolia was a well-respected hotel with a fine dining room that was run by Mr. and Mrs. Pierre from Atlanta and their two adult daughters. If Cameron recalled correctly, Annie had just married before the war began. She had been a sweet girl, Cameron’s own age, who had often spoken to Cameron at church on Sunday mornings.
At last the train ground to a halt and Naomi stood. Cameron handed her the sleeping baby and she watched with fascination as Naomi tucked her son into the cloth sling that held him warm and safe against her body. Cameron had never seen a white woman carry her baby that way, but it made such complete sense to her that she decided she would do the same with her own child. She cared little what others would say. Why would it matter as long as she and the infant were content?
Passengers began to disembark and Taye reached out to Cameron. “Ready to go?”
Cameron rose without her sister’s assistance. “I’m fine. Yes, I’m ready. I do hope Mrs. Pierre has something tasty for supper. I’m starved.”
The three women disembarked from the train into an open field where the tracks ended a quarter of a mile from the train station—a parting gift from the Union army. A lump rose in Cameron’s throat at the first glimpses of home as she shouldered her own bags and picked her way through the mud with the other passengers.
A stench rose up out of the mud and Cameron fought the churning in her stomach. With every step that brought her closer to the train station in the twilight, she could not stop staring at the changes in Jackson, Mississippi’s appearance since last she was here.
She had followed the progress of the war in Mississippi after her escape north in September of 1861, but grainy photographs and black print on white newspaper couldn’t, she realized now, accurately describe the devastation to the capital city.
In early May of 1863, General Joseph Johnson was sent by the Confederate Secretary of War to Mississippi to defend Jackson against the two Union army corps. Under the command of Sherman and McPherson, the Union army was advancing on Mississippi. With only six thousand troops available to defend the town, Johnson evacuated it. The Confederate troops engaged in battle with the enemy and endured mortar fire until the evacuation was complete. At that time, Johnson was ordered to disengage and withdraw. The Union troops quickly moved in, cut the railroad connections with Vicksburg and burned part of the city.
The scent of charred wood filled Cameron’s nostrils as a warm, light rain began to fall. She could almost see Johnson ’s retreating army dragging wearily out of the city in defeat, hungry and dejected, and the Union soldiers riding in victorious. She could see in her mind’s eye the blue-uniformed soldiers riding up and down the beautiful streets of her hometown, setting fire to the buildings.
Cameron was so lost in her thoughts that she nearly stumbled over the carcass of some large animal she could not identify. It had to be the source of the stench in the field. Flies rose up and buzzed around her head and she stifled her gag reflex. Taye grabbed her arm and steered her around the dead, swollen corpse.
Arm in arm, they reached the train station and walked through a hole in the back wall to the main reception area. The station had fared poorly in the war, but it was still standing, and reconstruction on the exterior walls had already begun. Inside, the paint was peeling and the walls were smoke-colored and gray. As the women crossed the dirty floor to exit onto the street, Cameron tried not to think about what a pretty train station it had once been, or how much she had enjoyed embarking from here on trips to Washington, D.C., with her father. Those years were gone, relegated to memory.
The sun had disappeared beyond the horizon by the time the women stepped onto the street, and it was just as well. Cameron wasn’t sure how much more they could take in one day. At least in the darkness, the truth could be left in the shadows.
“The Magnolia is a few blocks away,” Cameron said, feeling a sudden surge of strength inside. It was time she took charge, time she started acting like Senator David Campbell’s daughter returning home. “It will be nice to see a familiar face.”
As the women walked down the street, they kept their gazes focused ahead, trying not to look at the burned buildings , the shattered windows, the evidence of mortar fire everywhere.
Even in the falling darkness, Cameron could make out the hollow frames of burned-out houses and stores, abandoned carriages, the charred remains of furniture. Garbage littered the streets and sidewalks.
The moment Cameron walked around the corner, she halted and stared up at the hotel—or what was left of it. The shutters were gone, the porch razed. Because the hotel was brick, it still stood, but appeared abandoned.
“No,” Taye murmured.
Cameron exhaled in frustration. “Not The Magnolia, too,” she whispered. “What did I expect?”
“We’ll have to find somewhere else,” Taye said. “And soon.” She glanced over her shoulder warily. There were many men on the street, but few women.
A mangy dog trotted by the women, baring its teeth.
“Shoo!” Naomi hissed and waved her arms at the mongrel.
“Cam,” Taye whispered, obviously afraid.
“Wait! I think I see a light.” Cameron gazed up at a window on the second story. “Maybe the Pierres are still here.”
“The hotel doesn’t look open,” Taye whispered. “We should go.”
“Go where?” Cameron asked. “Don’t be a goose, Taye. If we can’t sleep here, we may have to sleep in the train station. Now come on.”
Cameron walked onto what remained of the porch, pointing to a hole burned through the floor. “Careful.” She pushed open the front door and stepped into the once elegant receiving hall, now watermarked and smoke stained. “Hello?” she called. “Mrs. Pierre? Mr. Pierre?”
Cameron listened to the silence of the once busy hotel, trying to ignore the eerie feeling making the hair rise on her arms.
“Spirits,” Naomi murmured, making a voodoo sign of protection with her hand.
“Nonsense,” Cameron snapped. “Mrs. Pierre!”
The scrape of a door opening sounded hollowly from upstairs and timid footsteps followed. “Someone there?” called a feeble voice.
Someone holding a kerosene lamp appeared at the top of the carved, winding staircase.
“Mrs. Pierre? It’s Cameron Campbell.”
“Cameron Campbell?” The old woman came slowly down the stairs, gripping the rail. As she drew closer, Cameron’s jaw dropped in shock and she had to force herself to smile. “Mrs. Pierre, it’s so good to see you.”
The once plump, dark-haired woman was a mere shadow of herself. Her hair was a thin shock of white standing on end, and she wore a tattered dress, too faded to tell the color, which appeared several sizes too large.
Mrs. Pierre reached out a thin, trembling hand. “Cameron Campbell.” She spoke as if she were seeing a ghost from the past.
“And look, I’ve brought my sister Taye,” Cameron said cheerfully. “And this is Naomi, a dear friend.”
Mrs. Pierre’s gaze flickered to Naomi and a look of disapproval crossed her lined face.
Cameron ignored her. She knew that old traditions would change slowly here in the South. “Where is Mr. Pierre? Your daughters?”
“Mr. Pierre died. Battle of Vicksburg. God rest his soul.” She crossed herself. “Alison died in childbirth last year.”
“I’m so sorry,” Cameron whispered. Alison had only been a year older than Cameron. “And Annie?” She was almost afraid to ask.
“Oh, Annie.” Her tired mouth lifted into a smile. “She’ll be home shortly. She works for one of the army captains in town. Washes, cooks. I have her little one upstairs.”
“She has a child?”
“Brett. He’s three. His father, Annie’s Charles, was captured and sent to prison—Fort Delaware.” She shook her head. “Terrible place…terrible. We never heard anything of him again.” She pressed her thin lips together. “Dead, of course.”
The old woman’s words lay heavy on Cameron’s heart. A part of her wanted to weep for what Mrs. Pierre had lost, what all Southerners had lost, but she couldn’t be weak. She had a responsibility to Taye and Naomi and the baby.
“Mrs. Pierre, I was wondering if we could rent a room for a night or so. I’ve come back to Elmwood.”
The woman lifted her head as if hearing sounds no one else could hear. She gazed into the darkness of the empty hotel. “We’ve been closed for business since the evacuation. What Sherman didn’t steal, he burned,” she said bitterly.
Cameron exhaled. It was fully dark outside now and they were all exhausted. Surely there was some room here they could use. “Mrs. Pierre, I have money. We’d be willing to take whatever you can offer in the way of a bed and meal.”
“Union money, not that worthless Confederate paper?” she asked, her eyes lighting up with interest.
“Yes, real money. I’ll pay you well. It’s just that we’ve come so far—from Baltimore. And we’re tired. We just need somewhere to sleep the night where we’ll be safe.”
“The room would be meager, nothing like The Magnolia once sported.”
“Anything, just a roof over our heads.”
“I’ve got a room on the third floor with a mattress,” Mrs. Pierre said hopefully. “Maybe a sheet and a blanket.”
“That would be fine. Perfect,” Cameron said excitedly.
“No food, though. Nothing to make. We ate the last of the turnips for supper, Brett and I. Annie eats at the captain’s place before she comes home.”
Cameron sighed with relief as she herded Taye and Naomi farther into the entranceway and closed the door behind them. “I’ll go out for something to eat as soon as we’re settled. Thank you, Mrs. Pierre. Thank you.”
Mrs. Pierre had not exaggerated when she said the room would be meager. She managed to find another lamp, and when she lit the room, Cameron almost wished she had not.
The flowered wallpaper was peeling and the once polished wooden floor was rough and splintered. Night air blew in through broken panes, and the sounds of the street below drifted in. The furniture was all gone except for the remnants of a wooden chair that someone had broken for firewood. In the corner of the room was a bare mattress on which Mrs. Pierre spread her one sheet and blanket. The room smelled of mouse droppings and mildew, but at least it was not a bench in the train station.
“I…I can get you a table,” Mrs. Pierre said shakily, obviously embarrassed.
“We’ll get it ourselves,” Cameron answered kindly. “This will be fine. After sleeping sitting upright on the train, that mattress will feel like clouds in heaven.” She walked the older woman to the door as Taye and Naomi came in and put down their bags.
“Now, you go back to your grandson, Mrs. Pierre. If we need anything, we’ll call.” Cameron pressed several bills into the old woman’s hand.
“I never thought I’d live to say this, but you’re a saint, Cameron Campbell.”
“Nonsense. Good night.”
After Mrs. Pierre was gone, the women scrounged the rooms up and down the hallway and found chairs, a table and a wooden crate for Ngosi to sleep in. Once they set up the room, Cameron went into one of her bags, got more money and slid her pistol into her dress pocket.
“I’ll get us something to eat. I won’t be long, I swear it.”
Naomi sat down on the mattress and lifted the baby to her breast. “You be careful, girl.”
“Of course.” Cameron gave an exaggerated smile.
Taye worried her hands. “You want me to go with you? You haven’t been on your feet a whole week yet.”
“I’m fully recovered and strong as an ox, puss. I want you to stay here and see if you can find anything else that resembles bed linens. Some dishes, too.” She walked to the door. “And fresh water. There are a couple of candles there on the table. Mrs. Pierre said that the pump still works in the kitchen downstairs. Pump some water and boil it. We’ll take no chances until we know the wells are safe here.”
Taye followed her out into the hall. “Are you sure it’s safe to go out alone?”
“I was born and raised in Jackson, Mississippi,” Cameron said proudly. “I’ve a right to walk these streets. Besides, I have my friend here.” She patted the pistol in her pocket. “Now don’t worry your pretty little head. I’ll be right back.”
Cameron’s words sounded braver than she actually felt, and by the time she had walked half a block from The Magnolia, she was beginning to regret her decision. The street was pitch-dark except for light that glimmered in dirty windows. Starving dogs roamed the streets and an occasional wagon went by, its driver huddled on the front bench.
There had been a drinking establishment, O’Shea’s, on the next corner that Cameron guessed would still be open, if anything was. No matter what happened in life—wars, death, devastation—men still needed their liquor. She had never been inside herself; her father would never have permitted it. But she guessed that if it was open, she might be able to buy some food there.
“Hey, missy.”
Out of the corner of her eye she saw a shadowy figure move in the alley.
Instinctively, Cameron stepped sideways, away from the man. But she wasn’t fast enough.
“You hear me talkin’ to you?” the voice said as a hand shot out of the alley and caught her wrist.
Cameron opened her mouth to scream, but another hand clamped over it and she was lifted off the sidewalk and dragged into darkness.