8. Eight
What a fine fiddle. Daniel stalked down the porch steps and into a blistering Mississippi afternoon. Mosquitoes buzzed his face, and he slapped one already feasting on his neck. Sometime during his discussion with his sister, Camilla Lockhart had up and abandoned him.
Depending on how much of the conversation she’d heard, he couldn’t say he blamed her. Looked like he’d be swimming in hot water with two women today, and the afternoon’s heat alone could boil a man alive.
He turned along the river road and sighted blue fabric up ahead. The orange feather bobbing from the top could belong to no other than Stella Breaux. Mabel had tried her best to convince Stella that blue and orange did not mix. Stella kept wearing it anyway either because she liked the colors or because she found Mabel’s huffing amusing.
A secondary female figure, slightly shorter and dressed in trousers, sauntered at Stella’s side. He quickened his pace and joined them.
“Where are you going?”
Before Camilla could answer his question, Stella leaned past her and grinned. “Lucas near about has her convinced gigging frogs is a worthwhile endeavor.”
A grin toyed with one side of Camilla’s lips, but she didn’t let it fully form. “I haven’t ever tried frog, but then I figured as well as Stella’s family cooks they could probably make dirt taste good.”
Lucas bounded up and made a sour face like he’d sucked on a green persimmon. “Why would anyone eat dirt? That don’t make sense. Mama said we are going to be dirt poor, but I thought that meant we had to sleep on the dirt. Not eat it.”
Daniel snagged the boy’s sweaty palm and hauled him farther from the cliffside. “That’s just an expression. You have a nice bed. You won’t be sleeping on the dirt. And no one is eating it, either.”
“Oh.” Lucas fell into a rare moment of silence, content to walk hand in hand.
They followed the river road until it veered from the cliff and meandered back into the more commercial section of Natchez.
“Since you’re in town”—Stella adjusted her hat and snagged Daniel’s gaze from where it had once again strayed to Camilla’s windswept hair—“would you mind stopping by the shop and hauling home whatever vittles we got fixed? Save me from lugging it back up the hill while wrangling that there slippery boy.”
“Of course.” The nights they brought home supper from Anna’s were his favorite. Before he could think through his next words, they volleyed out of his mouth. “We’ll fix an extra helping for Camilla too.”
Both women gaped at him. Though he wasn’t sure if the expression stemmed from the familiar use of her first name or him assuming she’d join them for supper without asking her.
Or Mabel.
He scratched the base of his throat. Likely a bad idea all around.
“Are you asking me to supper, Mr. Gray?” Camilla widened her stance and crossed her arms, her features an odd mix of amusement and self-assurance.
He doffed his hat. “I am. Please forgive my lack of manners in doing so. I thought we could discuss the matters of our arrangement over the meal.”
“Do we still have an arrangement?”
Lucas, having freed himself from Daniel’s grip, now pawed at Stella’s arm, and she sighed. “If you’ll excuse me, I’ll see y’all later. Best get this boy to his frogs before he tears my arm off.”
Daniel mustered a stern look. “Lucas. You behave like a gentleman, or you won’t be going anywhere. There’s no call for treating a lady like that. You know better.”
Lucas pressed his lips together. “Yes, sir.” He leveled big eyes on Stella that always made her melt like lard in a cast iron. “I’m sure sorry, Miss Stella. I didn’t mean to be rude. I let my excitement about the frogs take over my good senses.”
Daniel had to press his tongue to the roof of his mouth not to laugh. It was difficult to correct a child that precious. Poor boy didn’t mean any harm. He merely struggled reining in his energy.
“It’s all right, honey. Let’s just walk at a normal pace, all right?”
“Yes, ma’am.” He waved a little hand and bounded by Stella’s side with all the calm he could call to bear as they sauntered along the road leading down the hill.
Camilla laughed. “Like a squirrel caught in a shoebox, that one is. But he sure is adorable.”
“That he is.” Daniel chuckled. “On both accounts.”
A motorcar sounded its horn, and a man on horseback shook his fist and shouted something impolite. Daniel cringed at such words being used in the presence of a lady, but Camilla never flinched. Her gaze wandered over the people going about their tasks and the crowded streets crammed with horses, carts, and automobiles.
She fiddled with the end of her braid. “Sorry to ask, but I figure I do need to know. Did you and your sister decide? I didn’t mean to overhear, mind you, but did you really sell one of those fancy motorcars to cover my fee?”
“I did.” He tucked his hands in his pockets as the road jam cleared. Dust churned and settled into his nostrils, joining with the scents of horses, sweat, and river water. “It was the easiest asset to unload. My grandfather didn’t leave much else other than the house and furnishings, and it would have taken much longer to sell several items of furniture than one motorcar.”
Her eyebrows twitched, but she only nodded. “Didn’t sound like Mrs. Shoemaker wanted to part with it. Can’t say I blame her. Hard to trade something you have in hand for something you hope to find.”
They rounded the corner onto another street, and he followed her lead. Didn’t seem like they were returning to the docks. “My sister is mourning her former life.”
Camilla’s eyes swam with sympathy. “It must hurt an awful lot to lose your life mate. I know what the loss did to Papa. He never was the same.”
Something in his chest pinched. If only that were true. “I’m sure it is. And in her way, she is also dealing with the pain of his death. But most of her frustrations come with the loss of the lifestyle he provided. One that I cannot.”
“She didn’t get an inheritance from her husband?” As soon as the words left her mouth, she snapped her teeth together. “Forgive me. That was an inappropriate question. That’s none of my business.”
He followed her around another corner and to a stone structure with green awnings. “That’s all right. Turns out, my brother-in-law invested all his money poorly. After he died in the factory, Mabel found out the bank was coming to take the house and nearly everything else they owned to cover Lucas’s debts. She thought she’d spend her days at leisure wrapped in furs and attending parties. Not sharing a makeshift boardinghouse with her brother and strangers.”
Once again, more words than he’d intended escaped between his teeth. What about this woman greased his tongue?
“I suppose I can understand. A person gets used to a certain kind of life, no matter what it is. Sudden and drastic adjustment can be difficult for anyone.” She smiled sweetly at a woman who glared at her pants as they passed.
Perhaps that was why he found it easy to talk to her. Camilla didn’t seem to carry any pretenses and navigated the world around her with simple honesty and kindness.
She opened the door to the stone building before he could do it for her, so he followed her into the relative coolness of the dark interior. Gaslights struggled to hold back the gloom. “Where are we?”
“Shipping offices. I started thinking about what you said about that boat taking the back channels. There are a lot of those, sure. But we can narrow it down by leagues if we know what kind of vessel we’re dealing with. If she’s a keelboat or a flatboat or if we’re looking for a packet or side-wheel, it makes a difference.” She lifted slim shoulders. “An empty towboat will sit shallow enough to make most of the waterways if they are wide enough, but a packet or fueler wouldn’t.”
“Cleaver, Captain. I would have never considered that.”
She flashed him a grin and ambled to a high counter manned by a fellow in a shirt that must be pinching him too tightly around the neck, judging by the way his eyes bulged. “I’d like access to the records, please. Boat by the name of the Carolina. Would have gone missing in…?” She looked to Daniel for clarification.
“In 1865, I believe.”
The man barely glanced up as he flipped through a tome. “Records room is that way.” He pointed behind them. “Ledgers are labeled alphabetically after the year.”
They followed the man’s instructions and entered a cavernous chamber. Flickering gaslight hovered in measured spaces, creating circles of yellow against the shadowed walls. Shelving stood sentry in neat rows, home to hundreds of volumes like the university law library.
If it had been housed in a dungeon.
Camilla squinted at the lettering on the nearest shelf. “Let’s see. This is 1800 to 1810.” She leaned past to scan the length of the shelf. “Who knew there’d be so many records?”
He counted six more shelves to his left. “Ours should be down here.”
“I wonder when these start?” Her voice trailed away, and he turned to find her long legs carrying her toward the other side of the room.
They weren’t on a timetable, but what did it matter when the city began keeping boat records? “Haven’t you been in here before?”
She shrugged and dipped into a dark shadow. He lengthened his stride to follow. They reached the end of the room, and she tapped a shelf. “These down here are port and docking records. It looks like the city has information dating back to the establishment of Fort Rosalie. Imagine what we could discover in here.”
“You’re interested in history?”
“Not exactly.” She gave the shelf a thoughtful look and walked toward him. “But if there are this many records, then there could be notes on river patterns in stretches I haven’t navigated before. I’ve been thinking about expanding beyond where Papa made his living and giving my crew new opportunities. Any advantage I can find would be helpful.”
They ambled over a brick floor uneven with age. “I knew river captains prided themselves on reading currents and eddies and the like, but I always figured those skills could take you any length of river.”
“They can.” Camilla hooked her fingers on the 1860–1870 shelf and swung around the corner. “But there’s more to it. Hidden sandbars, sudden drop-offs. Things like that. If you’re running unfamiliar water, you risk trouble you didn’t know was there.”
He scanned the book spines. Where most law books had been similar in size and shape, these varied as much as the books in Grandfather’s library. He read titles as he passed.
Medical logs, 1860–1861. Engineer logbooks, station logs, steam logs, telegraph logs. “Looks like most of these are kept by the Coast Guard.”
“And some are port records from the city.” Camilla tugged a book free. “Here. This one is for vessel records.”
She opened the book, and he looked over her shoulder. She held it at arm’s length with a squint, then snapped it closed. “We need better light.”
“Have you considered spectacles? They could help you read better.”
Her boots clapped against the brick as she stalked to the end of the shelf. “I can see eddies shift from a hundred feet out. My eyes are fine.”
“At distances, yes.” He followed her to a table underneath one of the wall sconces. “But sometimes people benefit from lenses that help them read small words up close.”
She dropped the book on the table and flipped through the pages. “Not something I do often enough to justify the expense.”
But didn’t she say she liked to read? Perhaps she did, but her eyesight made it difficult.
She leaned closer to the book and then shot him a sidelong glance when she noticed him watching. “Here. You search.”
Daniel reached around her to get the book from the table. This close he could smell the treatment she used in her hair. The inviting scent clung to his nostrils and slowed his mind. He blinked to clear the sensation. He shifted the book closer, but his feet locked in place. She remained against the table and scooted so her arm settled against his chest with him partly looking over her shoulder.
Apparently also aware of the closeness, she stiffened almost imperceptibly. He should move away. But since he hadn’t been the one to put such little space between them, he waited.
“Are you going to look, or do you need spectacles too?”
At her teasing tone, he relaxed and flipped through the pages, though concentrating on faded words increased in difficulty when he had to lean even closer to see over her.
“Wait.” She grabbed his hand. “Go back a page.”
Rather than letting him do so, she flipped the thick page herself. “Carolina. There.”
He scanned the brief notation. “Three vessels by that name, all belonging to Mr. Edward Williams. All three are listed as packets, like your Alma May. This shows the first one wrecked with another steamer and the second he sold for a larger vessel. Used the same name for each boat.” He ran his finger over the final line. “The last one reportedly sank after a boiler fire.”
“That’s something, at least, though not much to go on. When we saw all these books, I’d hoped there would be more information. Maybe logs on where and when these boats went.” Her shoulders lifted in a sigh and a strand of hair tickled his nose.
He wiggled it to ease the urge to sneeze. “Those records are probably kept by the boat captains. At least we have a name and a type of vessel, which is a start.”
“That’s true.” She twisted her head to look up at him, and her eyes widened. Her lips parted, their faces only inches apart.
He should step away. It was the proper thing to do. So why couldn’t he?
She blinked at him, and then a wry smile crept over her lips. “If Solomon saw you standing here like this looking at me like you are, he’d chunk you in the river.”
“Then I’d have to inform him you were the one who positioned yourself this close.” The words came out low, teasing.
She arched a brow. “I suppose that’s true. I find you to be a very intriguing man, Mr. Gray. I’m not sure what to do about that.”
The admission warmed his chest. “And I find you to be rather fascinating as well, Captain.”
Silence stretched taut between them, and an unprofessional thought forced its way to the surface.
What would it be like to kiss her?