When the door squeaked open behind her, Cordelia jumped and half expected to see her imagined toadies marching in. But no, it was only a black woman with a tea tray in hand.
The new figure ought not to have garnered any attention, but Cordelia found herself watching her. And not just because of Cordelia’s silly fancies. There was something in this woman that made her think a story lurked. Something about the stick-straight posture, the defiant roll of her shoulders, the stubborn light in her eyes. Not at all what one usually saw in a servant. She didn’t move with the silent motions meant to go unnoticed, nor did she slide the tray onto the table without a clatter.
No indeed, she all but plunked it down, and then she turned to Annaleigh with a brazen lift of her brow. “Do ya be needin anythin else, miss?” She spoke in an accent Cordelia hadn’t heard before. Not the Gullah from the Low Country, not the more structured patterns some in the city used.
Annaleigh didn’t so much as glance at the tray. “Lemon.”
“There is some there already.”
“Bring more, then.”
The black woman’s lips parted, gleaming with disgust, but then she clamped her mouth closed and nearly stomped from the room.
Yes, definitely a story there. Though it might be as simple as being fed up with a surly mistress.
“Stupid creature.” Annaleigh flounced back over to her seat beside Sassy. “I do declare, Pa ought to have sent her to the rice fields rather than keeping her here—and will yet, if I have anything to say about it.”
Sassy turned her face Cordelia’s way and gave her a wide-eyed stare that begged her to change the subject.
There was nothing in the world like shared emotions to restore Cordelia’s cheer. She grinned. Why pass up even the smallest opportunity to play the role of heroine? “Have you heard from your brother lately, Sassy?”
“Not directly, no.” But she smiled and smoothed back her sleek, honey-colored hair, though it needed no smoothing. “Daddy read a report that the CSS Sumter finally broke through the blockade, though, and is in open water. Apparently it caused quite a fuss among the Yankees.”
“Blockade running!” Annaleigh snapped open her fan and gave it a vigorous swish. “Oh, it’s so dangerous. I hate to even think of dear Phin in such a situation.”
Dear Phin? Why, if that little ninny had any designs on him . . . well, it didn’t matter. He was Delia’s beau. She was the one with the right to dream of him, she was the one he was writing to, she was the one he’d asked to wait for him. Cordelia tilted her head a bit and folded her hands in her lap. “Really? But just imagine the adventure he’s having. I hear the mouth of the Mississippi is a treacherous place, unable to be navigated by any but the most experienced pilots. And it can’t have been easy to find one, what with the Yankees patrolling the waters.”
She leaned forward, a smile tickling her lips. “I imagine he and his crew had to sneak by them in the dead of night. The sultry, brackish air would have been hanging heavy over them, the eerie light from the full moon shining down on their deck. And they’d have been praying for a cloud. A whole bank of clouds to block that traitorous moonlight.”
Sassy lifted her hoop just enough to make a quick move from Annaleigh’s couch to Cordelia’s. “Did it come? Or did they have to make a run for it?”
“They could see the cover they needed building on the horizon, but it was still hours away. ‘Gentlemen,’ their captain said as he paced the deck before them, ‘it is time to beseech the Almighty for a way to be made for us—and to go out and search for our prophet who can lead us toward it. We must find a pilot.’ And so he appointed a scouting party to put down on a little island close by.” She paused, frowned. Were there little islands in the mouth of the Mississippi? “And at the head of it, of course, was the favorite among the crew—Mr. Phineas Dunn.”
Lacy gave a little clap and edged closer, expression enthralled. “Keep going, Delia. Did they find their prophet-pilot?”
Oh heavens, she hoped so. And that no giant squids were involved. Pasting on her most mysterious smile, she pitched her voice low. “Well, he led his men into the thick undergrowth of the island, with only that cursed moonlight to illumine his path. . . .”
Chapter Five
Phin tossed a few more pieces of jerky onto the tray and deemed it good enough for the prisoner crew. He made no pretense of being a ship’s cook, and so they’d have to settle for what was on hand—a few hard biscuits, the jerky, and a couple shriveled apples.
Unfortunately, the prize crew would have to settle for the same until they made it to Cienfuegos and rejoined the Sumter. For the sake of his friends aboard the second ship they’d captured, he hoped they had better fare on the Machias.
He strode from the galley toward the captain’s cabin, where the Cuba’s men were being held. Spencer had been assigned the task of guarding them, along with Davidson.
Yet the passageway outside the cabin was empty. Where the devil were the men?
He didn’t know whether to be relieved or irritated when he heard Spencer’s voice coming from within the cabin. “Do I have your word as a gentleman?”
“You do.” Stroud’s voice, calm and low.
Phin snorted even as something went tight in his chest. He didn’t know what Spencer was talking to this man about, but he sure hoped his friend realized that no Yankee really knew the meaning of the word gentleman. Each and every one he’d met put higher stock in his own goals than in honor—which was why they were now at war with them. Had the Northerners abided by their word to let the South live as it desired, to determine its own laws and fix its own mistakes and live its own way . . .
He toed open the door and set the tray down upon a table with a bit more clanging than necessary, then sent his closest friend an arch glance. “Everything all right in here, Spence?”
Was it his imagination, or was Spencer’s smile too bright? “Just fine, Dunn, just fine. Davidson and I were asking the captain about the, uh, company to be found in Cienfuegos. Not sure he’s directed us to the right place though.”
He glanced to Stroud, whose mustache twitched. The man was seated at his desk, unbound, on the assumption that he could do no harm without a weapon. Like saying a snake couldn’t harm you if you had it by the tail, in Phin’s opinion.
He scanned the rest of the room, not missing the way Davidson seemed to find the ceiling so very interesting. Then Phin nodded at Spencer. “You’d better get back outside before Hudgins comes by.”
“Good idea. Gentlemen, enjoy your . . . meal, if that’s what we’re calling it. This the best you could do, Dunn?” Spencer’s grin looked right this time, natural.
Maybe it had been his imagination—or maybe the man was just embarrassed at having been caught talking to a Yankee about where to find intimate company in Cuba. He ought to be . . . but that wasn’t his usual way.
Phin mustered up a smile of his own. “Careful, sir, or you’ll offend my honor and I’ll have to call you out.”
Spencer laughed and slapped a hand to Phin’s shoulder that propelled him out the door. “I’ll guard my tongue. Captain, gentlemen.”