Three days later, Cameron woke to the sound of the bedchamber door. Opening her eyes, she saw Jackson, his face lit with hazy morning sunlight, entering the room, carrying a tray laden with a tea service, biscuits and jam.
She smiled up at him as she stretched stark naked atop the bedcovers. It had been too hot the last few nights to wear a stitch of clothing, and the thought of a coverlet was suffocating. “Good morning,” she called brightly, elated to have him in her bedchamber again.
Jackson grinned back, closing the door behind him with his foot. This morning he wore canvas trousers and a simple rough-weave cotton shirt, the sleeves cut off halfway down to reveal his muscular bare arms. He must have just bathed because his hair was darker than usual and slicked back in a club at his neck. “Good morning.”
“You working this morning?” she asked, indicating the casual clothing. The simple garb made him look younger and far more carefree than a man of his age and responsibilities.
“I was out in the stable. One of the horses had colic.”
She immediately sat up with concern. “Should I dress? I can come out and—”
“No, no, the mare’s fine. She’s up and walking, eating again. I think she became dehydrated in the heat.”
Cameron eased back on the pillows in relief.
Jackson set the tray down over her lap. “Sugar in your tea this morning?”
She nodded. The moment she’d lifted her head from the pillow, her head had begun to swim and her stomach had begun to protest. The sugar seemed to soothe both. “It was kind of you to bring this, but Patsy could have done it.”
“I know, but I wanted to.” He poured tea from the bone china pot into the delicate cup as if he were an old hand at it.
Realizing she was still unclothed, Cameron laid her hand over his to move him aside. “I should get up and dress in something first.”
He sat down on the edge of the bed, effectively pinning her in. “I like you much better like this.” Again, that boyish grin, the one she had fallen for so many years ago.
“You ought to be ashamed of yourself, making such lewd remarks in the light of day,” she half chastised, reveling in his attention. Since he had returned from Washington, things had been so much better between them. They still had not spoken of her miscarriage, but so much tension had eased between them that Cameron was hopeful. Perhaps when this awful predicament with Taye was over, she and Jackson could see their way through to some kind of truce. Perhaps they could even start again and erase the memory of the last few months.
Jackson took one of the biscuits from the tray and spread strawberry preserves on it. “Cam, I need to talk to you.”
The tone of his voice made her immediately suspicious. She reached for the teacup, looking up at him. Waiting.
“I have to go to Memphis tonight.”
She set down the cup without tasting it. Her stomach had been queasy since the moment she had opened her eyes, but now it was churning. “Why?” she asked softly, not looking him in the eye.
“I can’t tell you.”
And just like that, the tenderness she felt for Jackson only moments ago slipped away and she was angry with him again. “Of course you can’t.”
“Cam, you have to believe me when I tell you that this is it. Once this mission is complete, I will hand Secretary of State Seward my resignation. But Falcon sent word to me this morning that he has intercepted a message. It’s the lucky break we’ve been waiting for and I have to go. Now.”
“You have to go now? What about Taye?” she flared. “The judge is finally expected back in town today, and Thomas thinks there may be a decision tomorrow or the next day. You can’t leave us now. You can’t.” She meant he couldn’t leave her, but she couldn’t say it. She was afraid to tell Jackson just how much she needed him right now. How vulnerable she felt.
“I’m not leaving you,” Jackson said firmly. “I’ll only be gone a few days. If there was any way I could stay here, I would. But this matter must be dealt with.”
“And you won’t tell me what?”
“It’s not a matter of won’t, it’s can’t.” He was talking in his captain’s voice now. All business, no emotion.
The thought of Jackson leaving now was almost more than she could bear. Did the last few days of happiness mean nothing to him? He had actually sat down with Lacy yesterday afternoon and taught her how to play marbles. Cameron thought the girl was really too old for childish games. But Lacy had been so tickled with the marbles he had brought her, and he had been so patient with her, that Cameron wouldn’t have stopped them for the world.
And they had actually talked, really talked, the way they had before the war, before they were married.
“I don’t want you to go, Jackson.”
“And I don’t want to go, Cam. Damn it, I don’t want to.”
He tried to take her hand, but she drew away. It was silly to be hurt, but she was.
“I have to,” Jackson intoned, getting up. “I made a promise to serve the Union and the president.”
“And what of your promise to me?” She pushed aside the breakfast tray and climbed out of bed, grabbing a night robe from the chair to cover herself. “What about that wedding vow you made?” Cameron didn’t know why she felt so strongly, but something inside told her he shouldn’t go.
Cameron tied the silk ribbon of the night robe with shaking hands, her anger building. Should she tell Jackson she thought she was pregnant again? Did she want him to stay for the baby’s sake or her sake? For theirs?
“Cameron, listen to me.” He followed her to the window, where she drew back the drapes to gaze out at the countryside. “This mission concerns the security of our nation. I’ll explain everything when I get back. I swear to you, I will. But I truly must go and I must go now.”
Her mind screamed the words and it took every ounce of control Cameron possessed not to turn around and shout at him, If you leave now, you need not come back. But something in the tone of his voice made her believe him. Or maybe she just wanted to believe him because she wanted to give him a second chance. Give them both a second chance. “All right,” she murmured. “Go. Tend to our country. Taye and I will be fine.”
He stood behind her in silence for what seemed an eternity and then she heard him turn to go. “I’ve made arrangements, once the judge dismisses the case, which I know he will, for Taye to simply remain at The Magnolia with Gallier until Falcon and I return,” he said from the doorway. “It will look better than if she just leaves town, anyway. Then I suppose she and Falcon will make plans.”
Cameron rested her hand on the windowsill, feeling light-headed.
“I’ll be back as soon as I can, Cam.”
Jackson kept his head down, his face obscured by a broad-rimmed black hat as he filed along the rutted lane, behind the crepe-draped casket. He was suffering in the sweltering Alabama heat, his black wool suit causing him to sweat as badly as all the others making up the pitiful procession. Even the trees along the wooded road seemed smothered by the thick, humid air. Not a breeze stirred a single leaf. The horses drawing the hearse plodded along, their hooves sinking into the sandy soil, their tails flicking too feebly to threaten the greenhead flies that swarmed around team and mourners alike, feasting hungrily on their blood.
The graveyard and the blackened remains of a brick church appeared abruptly in a dark hollow to Jackson’s left. The old burial ground was surrounded by what had once been a substantial brick wall. Now the wrought-iron gates leaned crookedly, with vines and green briars clawing at fallen gaps in the enclosure. Weeds grew knee-high between the untended tombstones and precariously sagging monuments.
A stone angel and a waist-high pile of fresh dirt indicated the new grave in an area surrounded by stone pillars with the letter T carved boldly into them. Here, someone had cropped the weeds and set up a pair of rough sawhorses. Four men, including the driver of the hearse, shouldered the cherry wood coffin and carried it to the gravesite, then set the box carefully on the sawhorses and stepped back to allow the mourners to pay their last respects.
Jackson recognized Thompson, flanked by two young women in black veils. The reports claimed he had two sisters. One of the women began to cry, and Thompson slid his arm around her waist, supporting her weight.
Jackson glanced up in the direction of the large tombstones and above-ground vaults in front of them. Though he couldn’t see Falcon and the dozen men he had brought with him, he knew they were there.
Still keeping his head down, Jackson eased into the line of friends and relatives saying their last farewells to Cora Thompson, beloved wife and mother. Behind him, Jackson heard soft, muffled sighs. He slid his hand inside his coat and closed his fingers over the grip of his pistol. He was directly behind Thompson now. One of the sisters kneeled, resting her hands and head on their mother’s coffin, comforted by the other sister.
Jackson eased his pistol from his coat and leaned forward to speak quietly in Thompson’s ear. “You can walk out of here quietly, with your dignity, or you can walk out handcuffed and shackled,” he said softly. “Your choice, Captain Thompson.”
The sandy-haired man in his mid-thirties stiffened as Jackson pushed the barrel of his pistol into his back. “I don’t think you want to do that, sir,” Thompson murmured, still looking down at his mother’s coffin.
“No?” Jackson breathed.
“No,” came a deep voice behind him.
Jackson felt a pressure of a gun barrel in the small of his back. A smile flickered across his face as he lifted his head to look at the tombstones twenty feet away. Falcon and three more men dressed in black stepped from behind them, rifles aimed. The man behind Jackson lowered his weapon.
“Damn,” Thompson whispered. “You’d arrest a man at his mother’s funeral?”
“I’d arrest a man at his own funeral.” Jackson prodded Thompson with his pistol. “Now step away and take it slowly. I’ve got another handful of men behind those tombs and six more standing by the hearse. You behave yourself and your men can just disappear. We don’t want them. We want you.”
As Thompson began to walk slowly away from the coffin, one of his sisters cried out to him, but he shook his head. “Take care of Alma,” he said, indicating the other sister.
The crowd of mourners stood in quiet shock as Jackson led Thompson up the short hill to the line of carriages and the hearse.
“Where are you taking me?” Thompson asked.
“The train station. I’ve got a dozen soldiers to escort you to Washington, D.C., where you’ll stand trial.”
“I didn’t betray my country,” he said bitterly. “My country betrayed me.”
“You’ll have a turn to speak your piece.” Jackson nodded to the soldier who appeared from behind the hearse. “Now, come on, I’ll walk you into town. You’ve got a train to catch and then I’m getting the hell home.”
“Wait just one minute. Let me see if I understand this,” Judge Mortimer said to Thomas as he stared at the documents spread across his desk.
Taye sat beside Mr. Gallier in the judge’s private chambers off the courtroom and tried to remain calm. Since the judge had not returned when first expected, Taye had spent a full week in the jailhouse. It was not so much the accommodations that had been difficult to deal with, as it was not knowing what would happen next. And now that a decision was about to be made, Taye was terrified.
“We are looking for Taye Campbell,” Judge Mortimer said, “and this young lady was identified by the witness to the murder as being Taye Campbell.”
“That’s correct, your honor,” Thomas said.
“The witness knew Miss Campbell intimately,” the prosecutor explained. “The very idea that this might not be Miss Campbell is absurd, your honor.”
“What is absurd,” the judge said, not looking up, “is that my desk is groaning with cases, and you are wasting my time, Mr. Johnson.” He shuffled through the documents once more, picking one up to read. “Mr. Gallier?”
“Sir?” Gallier stood, his hat and cane in hand.
“This is your niece, Miss Minette Dubois?” Mortimer indicated Taye with a wave of his hand.
“Oui, your honor.”
“And not Taye Campbell?”
“With respect, Monsieur,” Gallier said, “I do not know this Taye Campbell. I came to Jackson to do business with my lawyer and brought my niece along so that she might see something of this fine country beyond my wife’s laundry.”
A smile twitched within the judge’s white beard. “I once had a young female cousin come stay with us. My wife worked her until her hands bled. She was gone in a month.”
Gallier chuckled as if he and the judge were old friends. “Oui, your honor. You understand perfectly, then.”
Mortimer glanced up at Thomas and the prosecuting attorney standing before him. “Gentlemen, according to the documentation before me, and Mr. Gallier’s photograph, we have no case against this woman because she is not Taye Campbell.”
“But your honor,” Mr. Johnson protested, “much of this so-called documentation is in French. I don’t know what it says. I haven’t had enough time to find a translator.”
The judge peered at the young lawyer. “I speak a little French, Mr. Johnson. What is your point?”
“How do we even know these documents are official and not…falsely produced?”
The judge picked up the papers and handed them across his desk to Thomas, then peered intently at Johnson. “Young man, did you by chance know Mr. Grant Campbell?”
“No, sir, I did not.”
“Then you are a fortunate man.” Judge Mortimer removed his spectacles, eyeing the prosecutor. “Mr. Johnson, in questioning your witness, Miss Campbell’s accuser, I find that she did not, in fact, witness the death of Grant Campbell. We do not know how he died because there was no eyewitness. Mrs. Logan reported her brother’s death at the time, making no such claim of murder, as claimed by your witness.”
“But your honor—”
Judge Mortimer held up one finger, silencing the lawyer. “If we have no claim but your client’s that Mr. Campbell was murdered, then we have no case against Miss Taye Campbell—” he glanced at Taye “—or the lovely Miss Dubois. Mademoiselle,” he said in what was obviously his best French.
Taye rose and held her hands so that no one would see them shaking. “Oui?”
“I apologize profusely for holding you so long in the jailhouse. I hope your accommodations were not too dreadful.”
Taye felt her heart skip a beat. He was going to dismiss the case against her. Praise God, he was going to set her free!
“You can go, mademoiselle. Please enjoy your stay in Jackson, and again, I apologize for any inconvenience we have caused.”
“Merci, merci, thank you, your honor,” Taye said in heavily accented English. She dipped a curtsy and accepted Gallier’s arm.
Judge Mortimer eyed Mr. Johnson still seated before his desk. “You are dismissed, sir, and in the future, let me suggest that you be more careful with the cases you bring before me. I do not appreciate my time being wasted in this manner.”
Seeming to sense when to concede, the young lawyer came out of his chair, documents tucked under his arm. “Thank you, your honor. Have a good day, your honor.” He hurried for the door.
Thomas, Mr. Gallier and Taye also moved toward the door, but the judge stopped them with one hand. “Please, if the three of you would remain just a moment.” He waited until the heavy oak door closed behind the prosecutor. “What I’m about to say is, of course, completely off the record. If you repeat this, I will deny it and all three of you will end up behind bars for one thing or another. However, let me say this—”
Taye gripped Gallier’s arm tightly.
“I do not know what took place the night Grant Campbell died, don’t care to know. As far as I am concerned, it was for the best. For now, there is no accusation against Taye Campbell. She is not a wanted woman.” The old judge met Taye’s gaze. “But some day, in the future, God knows who might turn up making accusations, truthful or not.” He looked to Thomas. “I think it would be best if Taye Campbell were not to reside in the state of Mississippi.”
Thomas nodded. “We understand completely, your honor. And should…should we locate Miss Campbell, I will make that recommendation.”
The judge reach for a pile of documents on his desk, effectively dismissing them. “Have a good day.”
It was not until they had withdrawn from the judge’s chambers that Taye, at last, breathed. “Thank you so much, Thomas,” she whispered as the prosecuting attorney brushed past them in a huff.
Thomas smiled kindly at her. “I did give a good performance, didn’t I?” he asked.
“That you did!” She let go of Gallier’s arm and lifted on her tiptoes to kiss Thomas’s cheek. “I’ll be staying at The Magnolia a few more days.” She cut her eyes to Gallier. “My uncle and I would like to invite you to dine with us this evening. I thought I might also invite a woman I met. She was most kind to me upon learning of my detention. A Mrs. Jackson Logan. I understand she is a family friend of yours.”
Thomas’s mouth twitched. “I should be honored to join you, mademoiselle.” He took her gloved hand and made an event of bowing to kiss it. And then he was off, and Taye realized that she suddenly had a full life ahead of her again. Now she couldn’t wait for it to begin.
“Fee!” Clyde barked from his rocking chair on the front porch. “Got a dang blasted soldier here lookin’ fer ya. Got officer stripes and everything,” he called in obvious derision.
Efia glanced up from the table where she was finishing up the little sacks Clyde had told her to sew from bigger flour and meal sacks. She didn’t know what they were for; they wouldn’t carry much. But she didn’t ask. She knew better. At the sound of Clyde’s roar, she slapped the last sack down on the table and got out of the chair. A soldier? Was that what he had said? What soldier wanted her? She told that man she met at the general store that she didn’t sell tail.
“Fee!”
“I’m comin’, I’m comin’,” she shouted back as she stepped out onto the porch and glanced up. She was startled by who it was. “Captain Grey.” She had no idea why he was here, but it couldn’t be for anything good.
The army captain remained seated on his horse. He eyed her harshly. “I just wanted you to know that we do not take kindly to false accusations.”
“I…I don’t understand,” Efia stumbled.
“I think you do. That wasn’t Taye Campbell. She’s apparently either run off with or been carried off by some redskin. That woman you identified in town was an innocent bystander.”
“No, it ain’t true. She was lyin’,” Efia protested weakly.
“Well, you can guess who the judge believed,” the captain said sarcastically. He glanced at Clyde who continued to rock in his chair, a pup on each knee. He looked back to Efia who was now trembling. “And I want you to know I’ll be keeping a close eye on you from now on. There’ve been rumors of you stealing in town.”
“I ain’t—”
He pointed an accusing finger, silencing her. “You make trouble for me, I can make trouble for you.”
Efia pressed her lips together in fear, her knobby knees trembling. She knew now that she should not have gone to the sheriff’s office. She hadn’t seen Taye kill Grant Campbell. Even if she had, he deserved to be shot. Deserved worse. It had been plain mean-spirited of her to accuse Taye in front of those men. And what had it gotten her? Taye still had the blue hat. And what did Efia have? Nuthin’, she thought miserably. Same thing she had had before, only now Captain Grey would have it out for her. If she got caught stealing, she knew she’d be in jail until her teeth rotted and fell from her head.
Efia just stared as the army captain rode off, then turned to go back into the shack to make something up to eat.
“What the hell’s wrong with ya?” Clyde slid both pups to the floor and got out of the chair, blocking her way to the door. Clyde’s tone was even nastier than usual.
“Ya run to town tellin’ tales that ain’t even true and bringing the soldiers to my house!”
Efia cringed. “She did kill ’im,” she murmured. “I swear on my ma’s grave.”
Clyde’s hairy arm snaked out, and he struck her hard across the cheek. “I got new things cookin’ here, don’t ya know that, girl? Got a way to make some serious money. I can’t be havin’ no soldiers stickin’ their noses round my place!”
“I’m sorry,” Efia whispered, hanging her head.
“Not half as sorry as you’re gonna be.” He grabbed one of the short plaits of hair that stuck out from her head and gave it a tug. “Now pack yer shit and get out of here!”
She looked up, tears filling her eyes, not so much because pulling her hair hurt, it had, but because she didn’t want to go. She had nowhere to go. “Clyde, please.”
“You hear me?” He let go of her hair and pulled back his leg to kick her.
She tried to step sideways out of his way, and as her foot came down, she heard one of the puppies yipe.
“You bitch!” Clyde exploded. “Ya hurt my pups, I swear to God almighty, I’ll kill ya!”
Efia stumbled backward and felt the porch rail press into the small of back. As Clyde threw himself at her, she ducked, folding herself in half, and fell backward off the porch.
“Ya come here, ya little puppy stompin’ bitch!” Clyde came lumbering down the steps after her.
Efia landed on her bare behind and scrambled up, pushing her flour sack dress down over her hips. Without looking in Clyde’s direction, she took off.
“Come back here, ya little burnt, baked bitch!” he bellowed in rage.
Efia darted around the back of the shack, around the outhouse, into the darkening woods, and ran for her life.