Free White Doves at Morning: A Dave Robicheaux Novel by James Lee Burke Page B

not good to lock ourselves up with our losses," he said.
    The dining room on the steamboat was aft, and through the back windows, in the failing summer light, she could see the boat's wake swelling through the cypress trees and live oaks and elephant ears along the bayou's banks. Ira Jamison poured a glass of burgundy for her.
    "I wasn't aware you were in the army," she said.
    "I've taken a commission in the Orleans Guards. Actually I attended the United States Military Academy with the intention of becoming an engineer but after my mother's death I had to take over the family's business affairs," he replied .
    "Is it true you're instituting some reforms on your plantations?" she said.
    "It hurts nothing to make life a little better for others when you have means and opportunity. I wish I'd done so earlier. No one has to convince me slavery is evil, Miss Abigail. But I don't have an easy solution for it, either," he said.
    When he turned toward the galley, looking for the waiter, she studied his profile, the lack of any guile in his eyes, the smooth texture of his complexion, which did not seem consistent with his age.
    He looked back at her, his eyes curious, resting momentarily on her mouth.
    "You don't like the wine?" he asked.
    "No, it's fine. I don't drink often. I'm afraid I have no appetite, either," she replied.
    He moved her glass aside and folded his hands on top of the tablecloth. They were slender, unfreckled by the sun, each nail pink and trimmed and rounded and scraped clean of any dirt. For a moment she thought he was going to place one hand over hers, which would have both embarrassed and disappointed her, but he did not.
    "Perhaps Lieutenant Perry is a prisoner or simply separated from his regiment. I haven't been to war, but I understand it happens often," he said.
    She rose from her chair and walked to the open French doors gave onto the fantail of the boat.
    "Did I upset you?" he asked behind her.
    "No, no, not at all, sir. You've been very kind. Thank you also for ensuring that your employee did not harm Flower again," she said.
    There was a brief silence. For a moment she thought he had not heard her above the throb of the boat's engines.
    "Oh yes, certainly. Well, let's get our pilot to turn around and we'll dine another evening. It's been a trying day for you," he said.
    She felt his hand touch her lightly between the shoulder blades.
     
    THE next morning she went to the small brick building on Main that served as stage station and telegraph and post office. Mr. LeBlanc sat behind the counter, his eyeshade fastened on his forehead, garters on his white sleeves, sorting newspapers from Baton Rouge, New Orleans, and Atlanta that he would later place in the pigeonholes for the addressees.
    He had married a much younger woman and their son had been born when Mr. LeBlanc was fifty-two. He was a religious man and had opposed Secession and had dearly loved his son. Abigail imagined that his struggle with bitterness and anger must have been almost intolerable. But he held himself erect and his clothes were freshly pressed, his steel-gray hair combed, his grief buried like a dead coal in his face.
    "I'm sorry for your loss, Mr. LeBlanc," Abigail said.
    "Thank you. May I get your mail for you?" he said, rising from his chair without waiting for an answer.
    "Have you heard anything else about casualties among the 8th Louisiana Volunteers?" she said.
    "There's been no other news. The Yankees were chased into Washington. That brings joy to some." Then he seemed to lose his train of thought. "Are you a subscriber to one of the papers? I can't remember."
    He hunted through the pile of newspapers on his desk, his concentration gone.
    "It's all right, Mr. LeBlanc. I'll come back later. Sir? Please, it's all right," she said.
    She went back outside and walked up the street toward her house, staying in the shade under the colonnade. Men tipped their hats to her and women stepped aside to let her pass, more deferentially