He was coming home. At last, Jackson was coming home. Cameron stood outside the telegraph office and reread the telegraph clenched in her gloved hands. After weeks of secrecy and his brief, impersonal telegraphs from places like Chattanooga and Memphis, he had sent word that he’d be arriving at the week’s end. But now that his return was at hand, she didn’t know whether she was anticipating or dreading it.
“My husband will soon be gracing us with his presence, Taye,” Cameron murmured, tucking the telegraph into her drawstring reticule.
The two women stepped back, allowing three ragtag Confederate soldiers, still partially in uniform, to pass them. They were thin, sad men with hollow eyes; one, missing a leg from the knee down, walked on a peg with the aid of crutches.
Once the men had safely passed, Taye linked her arm through Cameron’s and hurried her down the wooden sidewalk. “That’s wonderful. You see, I told you he would come home. Now, Falcon says we have to hurry. It’s getting dark and he wants us safely tucked away by the time night falls.”
Cameron frowned as she allowed her sister to lead her along. “Falcon,” she harrumphed. “That man is entirely too dramatic, don’t you think?” She peered into Taye’s face, hoping she might discover something of the clandestine relationship she suspected between Taye and the Cherokee.
Taye glanced away, focusing on the boards that had been placed on the ground to keep the hems of ladies’ petticoats and crinolines from dragging in the mud. “There was another attack by that gang of ruffians last night, this time just outside of town. They grow bolder every day. Another rape and beating. The woman did not survive,” she said gravely.
“I cannot understand why the soldiers can’t track these blackards down. They just transferred an army captain here. I thought he was supposed to deal with this.” Cameron’s amber eyes flashed with anger. “I mean, damn it, how difficult can it be to find them? They must be selling the goods they’re stealing. And surely they talk of their escapades. Most men can’t keep their mouths shut when they commit a crime. It’s how they’re always caught.”
At the buggy, Falcon offered a broad hand to help Cameron up and then Taye. “You probably already know this,” Cameron told Falcon, “but Jackson is coming home.”
“This is good,” Falcon said in that soft cadence she had grown accustomed to. “It is time Jackson returns to his responsibilities. A man cannot make amends so far from his lodge.”
Cameron saw Taye’s and Falcon’s gazes meet in silent communication and wondered if they’d been talking about her and Jackson behind her back. She would have to speak with Taye on the matter. Of course, the question was, why was Taye talking to Falcon about such personal matters to begin with? Exactly what was her relationship with the Cherokee? She was supposed to be marrying Thomas, though that union seemed to be up in the air, too. Thomas had moved out, and they only saw him infrequently. Taye rarely mentioned him, but when pressed, she insisted they were still engaged. Cameron didn’t know what was going on inside Taye’s head and she didn’t like it one bit.
Taye was still young and naive in many ways. She did not understand how a man like Falcon Cortés could lead an unsuspecting innocent astray. And the closer Cameron watched, the more obvious it was that there was something between them. Fortunately, Jackson would be home Friday and she could tell him of her concern. Perhaps it was time the Indian was gone.
He was nervous, Jackson realized as he stepped off the train. He was coming home to his wife, so why was he so damned worried? He’d put an end to whatever it was that he’d had with Marie and Cameron need never know. Surely Cameron had had time to think during the weeks he had been gone. As her body healed, she most certainly would have come around to forgiving him for what he had done. For what he’d trade his immortal soul to undo.
As he walked through the train station, a single leather bag in his hand, Jackson half hoped Cameron would be there waiting for him in the apple green gown he liked so much, the one that showed off her voluptuous breasts and accentuated the rich color of her auburn hair. He pushed through the throng of men and women greeting family members and welcoming long-lost friends home. He imagined seeing her from afar, as pretty as she’d been the day he’d fallen in love with her all over again. He fantasized about opening his arms and having her run into them, contemplated what it would be like to go Atkins’ Way to share an intimate dinner with wine and candlelight and then carry her to bed and make love to her all night long.
It was foolish whimsy, of course. He hadn’t said in his telegram which train he was coming in on, or even from what town. Still, when he spotted Falcon near the outside door, he couldn’t suppress a sense of disappointment.
“Falcon,” Jackson called, offering a hand.
Falcon put his arms around him, and Jackson was both surprised and embarrassed by the lump of emotion that rose unexpectedly in his throat. He had not realized that a man could give another man comfort this way.
“Friend,” Falcon said simply.
Jackson stepped back, uncomfortable with his emotional response to the Cherokee’s embrace. “It’s good to see you.”
Falcon nodded, staring with those obsidian black eyes of his, eyes that seemed far wiser than their years. “I came in the wagon to pick up barrels for Naomi. I hope you do not mind the transportation.”
Jackson chuckled. “Sounds like Naomi has the household under control.”
“She does. And Noah has taken charge of rebuilding the kitchen at Elmwood. They are good people.”
Jackson scowled. He couldn’t help but think it was Elmwood, damned Elmwood, that had brought about all this trouble to begin with. If Confederate soldiers had just burned the damned plantation house to the ground four years ago, he’d still be in Baltimore with his wife, and they would still be expecting a child.
Jackson threw his bag into the back of the buckboard and climbed onto the seat beside Falcon. “I have a lot to tell you. I know my messages have been cryptic. They had to be that way, of course.”
“Are you close to finding Thompson and his men?” Falcon released the brake, lifted the reins and the farm wagon rolled forward.
“Close on more than one occasion, but Thompson is smarter than we suspected. And these Southerners have a sense of devotion to their lost cause that goes beyond what we Northerners can understand. People are hiding these men, good people who should know better. We caught some of his men attempting to raid one of our warehouses. I was hoping one of the men would provide us with some valuable information, but it’s been a dead end, so far.”
Jackson watched the store windows go by, taking notice of all the changes in the town in the nearly five weeks he had been gone. He knew the process would be long and difficult, but the president’s Reconstruction plan was a good one. He also noted how many more Confederate soldiers roamed the streets than a few weeks ago. He had read in the paper yesterday that more Northern prisons had been emptied—Hart’s Island, Camp Chase, Fort Delaware. When the prisoners were set free, they simply began to walk south, praying they’d reach home before they died of starvation.
“If we find this Captain Thompson, do you think that will be the end of those who follow him?”
“I think so. Spider has been a valuable contact. From what I’ve been able to pick up, many who served under Thompson during the war are devoted to the man rather than to the cause. I can’t help thinking that many of them are probably hoping our government will put an end to this last stand, so they can go home.”
“Tell me what you need me to do. I’ll do it.”
Jackson grinned. “You know, you’d make a damned fine wife.”
Falcon chuckled, tugging on the long, black braid that hung down his back. “You are not the kind of man I would marry, I am sorry to say, friend.”
The two men laughed and then settled into conversation. Falcon updated Jackson on the local band of men who had still not been captured and seemed to be growing bolder by the day. He spoke of the increasing size of the household at Atkins’ Way and the number of freed black men and women and homeless soldiers they had employed. Neither man brought up the women both knew were on the other’s mind.
Efia stood in front of the jailhouse in her best dress, thinking not only of the blue bonnet, but of all the bonnets she had seen in her lifetime and wanted and could never have. Through the window, she watched two blue-uniformed soldiers drinking coffee from tin cups. She couldn’t tell what they were saying, but she could hear their laughter. Why did her life always feel this way, like she was standing alone outside while everyone else was inside, smiling and happy?
Efia wasn’t dumb enough to think that money was the only thing that could give a person happiness. She knew that the color of her skin would be a disadvantage the rest of her life. But Taye Campbell’s skin was almost the same color, and look how far she had gone.
Efia reminded herself once more of the blue bonnet perched on Taye’s head, then walked through the door of the jailhouse.
A blond soldier with a bushy mustache sat behind a big table, reading a newspaper. He didn’t even look up at her. “Help you?”
Efia glanced over her shoulder at the door, clutching her purse strings with every bit of strength she had. If she walked out now, nobody would be the wiser.
“I said, could I help you?” He glanced over the top of the paper, looking her up and down. Judging her.
“Yeah. I was wonderin’—”
“What’s that?” He lowered the paper to the table, giving Efia his full attention. “You’re goin’ to have to speak up.”
Efia pressed her lips together and met the young soldier’s gaze. “Do y’all pay for information?”
“What kind of information?”
“’Bout crimes. ’Bout crimes people do but don’t get caught.”
She had his attention now. He pressed the palms of his hands to the newspaper. “What kind of crimes?” He turned his head. “Captain Grey, could you come out here?” He looked back to Efia. “You can tell our captain.”
Efia shook her head. “Nope, I got to know how much yer payin’ first.”
“That depends on how serious an offense you’re talking about.” He hooked a thumb. “If you’re talking about stealing hens out of a neighbor’s henhouse, we’ve got no time for that. If you’re talking about real criminal offenses—” he leaned closer “—something can be arranged.”
“I’m talkin’ ’bout a serious crime,” she said, staring him down. “I’m talkin’ ’bout murder.”
At the house, Falcon let Jackson out at the pillared front, then he drove the wagon around to the back to unload the barrels Naomi would use to store the pickles she was making in the summer kitchen. Jackson walked up the steps to the veranda and in the front door. There was no one there, but the house buzzed like a beehive on a warm Sunday afternoon. Voices rose from everywhere, from the kitchen and the ballroom, from upstairs, and even through the open windows. Out on the side veranda, through the parlor, he could see a young boy he did not know sweeping grass clippings.
Jackson walked up the grand staircase, eyeing the place where that magnificent mirror had hung at the head of the stairs. Someone had replaced it with a large oil painting of horses grazing in an open field, but there was a faint fading of the wallpaper that revealed the outline where the mirror had once been. Passing the picture, he remembered the sound of the shattering glass and the feel of his breaking heart.
As Jackson walked down the hall, he squelched the impulse to call out to Cameron. What if she refused to come to him, or worse yet, hurled insults at him? He had no desire to share their problems with a staff the size that Falcon said Jackson was now supporting. At the bedchamber door, he halted. It was slightly ajar. When he listened, he heard movement inside.
“Cameron?” He pushed open the door in time to see the little imposter, Lacy, scramble off the bed. Clutching a schoolchild’s blackboard to her chest, she glared at him with startled eyes.
Jackson looked around, but Cameron wasn’t there. “Where is she?” he demanded.
At least the chit was dressed decently now in a light blue gown covered with yellow flowers. It even looked as if someone had attempted to tame that wild frizzy hair.
Lacy thrust out her lower lip and lifted one thin shoulder. “Don’t know.”
“Don’t tell me that,” Jackson snapped, his words coming out harsher than he intended.
Lacy took a step back.
He halted, realizing he was scaring her. He didn’t like her being here. He didn’t believe her story that she was a Campbell for a moment, but he didn’t want to scare her or harm her, either. She was just a child, a child who had obviously had a difficult life. “I know you know where she is.” He held up his hands to show he would make no move toward her. “Just tell me.”
“Elmwood” was the only word Lacy muttered.
Jackson strode out of the bedchamber. Elmwood. Of course. Where else would she be? How could he have been so foolish as to think she might have been here waiting for him when her precious Elmwood beckoned?
Jackson walked down the grand staircase.
“Jackson, it’s so good to have you home.” Taye smiled, meeting him at the bottom of the staircase. She kissed his cheek and he returned the gesture.
The moment she drew back, her gracefully arched brows furrowed. “Oh, dear, Cameron. I’m sorry. She’s not here. She wanted to be here when you returned, but she had to go out to Elmwood. There was—”
“Of course she did,” he interrupted dryly.
“Jackson, where are you going?” Taye stood at the staircase and watched him cross the front hall that echoed his footsteps.
He yanked open the front door, thinking this was not how he had envisioned his homecoming. “Where do you think?”
“You’re sure everyone is all right?” Cameron climbed over fallen timbers at the barn site, carrying a bucket of water she had drawn from the well to give the tired, dirty workers a drink. As she stepped over the freshly sawed boards, water sloshed up onto the bodice of her apple green gown. The water was cold and felt good, considering the heat.
“Everyone is fine, Miss Cameron.” Noah, shirtless, lifted several timbers that had fallen to the ground and began to stack them neatly. “Now stop worryin’ yerself. Jake, he got a broken leg, and Pouty done wrenched his neck. The rest of ’em got nothin’ but skinned knees and a year of their lifes scared out of ’em. Ain’t nothin’ Naomi can’t set right.”
Cameron halted and lowered the bucket to the ground. The workmen had been putting up the south wall when a piece of timber had apparently snapped. The entire frame of the wall had come tumbling down on top of them. When one of the young boys had arrived at Atkins’ Way to tell her what had happened, no one had known how seriously anyone had been injured. Noah had simply sent for his mistress immediately.
“Look, here, jest like I said.” Noah carried a six-foot-long board to her. “Broke off right at the knot. Them boys shoulda looked over these here boards better before they nailed ’em in.”
Cameron sighed in relief as she watched the last of the workers settle into the wagon Noah would drive them home in. Naomi sat on the tailgate, washing a man’s bloody knee.
Cameron dipped her hand into the bucket and drew it across the back of her neck, savoring the feel of the cold water trickling down her sweaty back. She had ridden here at breakneck speed, the first time she’d been back in the saddle since her miscarriage.
The sound of a horse galloping up the drive made them both turn to see who was approaching.
“Oh, no,” Cameron groaned, recognizing the rider. She smoothed her hair that had tumbled hopelessly from her chignon. “It’s Captain Logan. I completely forgot in all the confusion. His train must have arrived.”
Watching Jackson ride across the barnyard, straight for the new stable, Cameron’s mouth went dry, and she felt tingles of excitement skitter down her spine.
“Good afternoon to ya, Capt’n,” Noah said, lifting his hat as he walked to the wagon to load his toolbox.
“’Bout time you come home,” Naomi muttered.
“You hush, woman,” Noah hissed, waving his hat at her. “Stop yer sassin’.”
Jackson shook his head as he dismounted, then ground-tied his mount. “I understand you’re both doing a fine job keeping everyone in line for me.”
Noah grinned as he walked around the wagon. “Jest doin’ my job, Capt’n. You ready, Naomi?”
“I’m ready. Let’s get these boys home.”
Cameron stood a hundred feet away watching Jackson as the wagon turned and headed down the drive, leaving them alone. She wanted to lift her skirts and run toward him, wanted to fling herself into his arms and tell her how sorry she was for everything. But her feet wouldn’t move.
It took longer than an eternity for Jackson to finally turn toward her.
Slowly they moved closer.
“You…you’re home,” Cameron stammered.
“Falcon picked me up at the train station.” He lifted one hand and let it fall, halting before he reached her.
She nodded. “I…I wanted to be at the house when you arrived, but—”
“I’m sure you did,” he said sarcastically.
Cameron’s half smile fell and her hackles went up instinctively. “I did!” She looked at him, amber eyes blazing. “You know, I’ve had a lot of responsibility here while you were gone, traipsing all over Tennessee and Alabama and God knows where—” she flung up one hand “—doing God knows what.”
He blinked and looked down, twisting his mouth into a frown. “I could say that I wouldn’t have been in any of those places and you wouldn’t have been here if you hadn’t left Baltimore in the first place.” He paused. “But I won’t say that.”
Cameron wanted to pick up the water bucket and fling it at him. She wanted to grab one of the broken timbers and hit him across his thick head. Instead, she just stood there and stared at him.
Cameron heard Jackson curse under his breath. Cursing her?
“Cameron—”
He held her gaze. His eyes were stormy, but there was something there….
“Jackson…” she whispered.
He pulled her roughly into his arms and she didn’t fight him. “Cameron, Cameron, what are we doing? Is this really the way we want things to be between us?” he groaned. “Is this how we will let it end?”
She couldn’t answer.
Then, God bless him, Jackson lifted her chin and covered her mouth with his.