interrupted with a rude noise. “I don’t know what you are—bootlegger, slave smuggler, something else entirely for all I know—but you are no minister.”
He looked at her with real admiration. “That’s putting it with no bark on it. What makes you think I’m not a minister?”
“Besides the way you put your hands on me?” Her eyes sparked hot gold. “You’re too young and—” She gulped and tugged her hat brim down.
Gabriel smirked. “You’d have to be the first to admit that looks can be deceiving. Did you even look at that paper I gave you very much by mistake?”
“Of course I looked at it.”
“And what was it?”
“It looked like a sermon.”
“And that’s what it was. My sermon for my first service at the Methodist church this Sunday. I could write it again. But I’m asking you, as politely as I know how, to give it back to me.”
“You may be a preacher, but you are no man of God.”
“And you may be a female, but you are no lady.”
She gasped and then grinned at him, a dimple hovering at one corner of her mouth. “You sound like my grandmother.”
He stared at her for a moment, then growled, “Where’s the hospital?”
“Corner of the next block. Turn here.”
“That’s Barton Academy.”
“It was, before the war started. I thought you were from out of state.” Her bright-eyed look held a challenge.
“I visited here when I was in college.”
“Really? Do you know my brother Jamie?”
“Yes, but I doubt he’d know me. We ran in different circles.” He drew up the horses outside the hospital livery and got down to help Camilla from the carriage. “I did meet your cousin, Harry Martin.”
“Harry!” She turned and gripped both his hands. “I knew that message must have been from him! But what does it mean? Oh, please tell me how to read it!”
It took him a moment to realize she thought the sermon was a message from her cousin.
He glanced around. Military personnel, medical staff and visitors crisscrossed the hospital grounds. “This isn’t a good place to talk.”
Blushing, she released his hands. “It’s just that it’s been so long…” She straightened her shawl. “We’ll go inside. Lady said I should introduce you to Dr. Kinch, the hospital administrator.”
Every muscle in Gabriel’s body tensed as he followed Camilla up the broad stone steps fronting the building and held the door for her. The confrontation with Dr. Kinch was inevitable. He almost looked forward to it.
Dr. Joseph Kinch shook hands with Gabriel and gave Camilla an arch smile. “Miss Beaumont and her grandmother are two of our most ardent fund-raisers and visitors to the hospital.” He pinched Camilla’s cheek, making her squirm. “Quite the angel of mercy.”
Gabriel bowed. “The merit of your work is well-known, Doctor.”
Camilla opened her mouth to ask if the men had met before, but something in Gabriel’s hot gaze stopped her. Secrets. She’d better tread carefully.
Gabriel’s smile had an edge. “I’ve heard about your research into the causes and treatment of yellow fever. A large amount of my time is spent burying its victims and ministering to bereaved families. Seems to me the disease has carried off as many hale young fellows as the war.”
Dr. Kinch inclined his leonine head. “’Tis an unfortunate truth. My goal in life is to eradicate this elusive killer. I have my suspicions of the source, but have yet to prove it.”
“I pray for your success. Many of my former parishioners have expressed a desire to fund your research—when the war ceases to drain the Southern economy.”
“I regret to say that the war has conscripted my most promising medical students,” said Dr. Kinch. “Research is now confined to my own sporadic attempts, in between running the hospital and supplying field surgeons.” He sighed. “Medicines, especially quinine, are getting harder to come by every day.”
“Are the cases of yellow fever up, then, Doctor?” Camilla asked.
“I’m afraid so. Since New Orleans fell and refugees have descended on Mobile, the hospital is full to overflowing. We could hardly turn away the poor souls, and yet…”
“Your mercy is commendable.” Gabriel’s lips twitched.
Camilla set her teeth. “Reverend Leland, I promised to read mail to the poor soldiers here. Perhaps we should attend to our business.”
The reverend gave her a sardonic look. “An angel of compassion, indeed. Dr. Kinch, it’s an honor to make your acquaintance.”
With Gabriel behind her, Camilla entered the ground-floor ward and led the way among the patients. These visits broke her heart, but she had to come. She had no formal nurse’s training, but the doctors were glad to get any help available.
She was very conscious of Gabriel’s dark presence. Once or twice he seemed about to speak, but when she turned to look at him, he avoided her gaze and clasped his hands behind his back.
Camilla stopped at the bed of a seven-year-old girl who had caught her leg in a coil of baling wire. “This is Lecy Carrolton—” She gasped as two strong hands clasped her elbows and moved her aside.
Gabriel knelt beside the cot and gently brushed the hair back from Lecy’s hot forehead. Her delicate brows remained knit in pain, her eyes closed. “Hello, little one,” he murmured, “having a bad dream?”
Silken lashes fluttered, then lifted. “Yes, sir,” she whispered.
“How long has she been like this?” Gabriel’s hands gently explored the swollen angry flesh above and below the bandage.
“Her daddy brought her in over a week ago,” Camilla said, nonplussed. “She doesn’t seem to be getting better, no matter what the doctors do. They’re afraid they’re going to have to—” She bit her lips together and brushed the little pink toes of Lecy’s good foot. “We need to pray for her.”
“We need to do more than pray for her.” Gabriel looked around and snapped his fingers at an ancient orderly in a stain-spattered coat. “You there! Bring me some—” He caught Camilla’s eye. She stared at him wide-eyed. He raked his hand through his hair.
“Who are you?” she whispered.
He glanced at Lecy. “If the oafs would treat their instruments with carbolic acid before they operate, most of these gangrenous infections would never occur. I’ve—I’ve followed enough field surgeons to know that.”
“Dr. Kinch is one of the finest surgeons in the South. I’m sure he’s doing all he can.”
“He’s doing all he can to line his pockets.” Gabriel rose and stalked toward the doorway.
Camilla hurried after him and grabbed his arm. The muscles were corded, his expression angry. “I won’t let you speak that way about the greatest doctor who’s ever lived in this area. You don’t know him.”
His black glare scorched her. “You’re right. I don’t.”
Camilla dropped her hand. “What’s carbolic acid? It sounds dangerous.”
Gabriel took a breath and looked away. “It’s an antiseptic. If it’s sprayed onto wounds and the instruments used to operate, it somehow keeps infections from growing. Nobody really knows why.”
“Do you think we could get some? Maybe Dr. Kinch doesn’t know there is such a thing.”