White Doves at Morning: A Dave Robicheaux Novel Read Online Free PDF Page B

few men, including ones in the company of their wives, could prevent themselves from casting furtive glances at.
    But for many her ways were suspect, her loyalties questionable, her candor intimidating. On one occasion Willie had asked her outright about rumors he'd heard.
    "Which rumors might that be?" she said.
    "A couple of Negroes who disappeared from plantations out by Spanish Lake," he replied.
    "Yes?" she said, waiting.
    "They got through the paddy rollers. In fact, it looks like they got clean out of the state. Some say you might be involved with the Underground Railroad, Miss Abigail."
    "Would you think less of me?" she replied.
    "A lady who hand-feeds those with yellow jack and puts their lives ahead of her own?" he said.
    But she was not reassured.
    Now, in the gloaming of the day, he stood on her gallery and tapped on her door, his straw hat in hand, a discomfort in his chest he could not quite define.
    "Oh, good evening, Miss Abigail, pardon me for dropping by unexpectedly, but I thought you might like to take a walk or allow me to treat you to a dessert down at the cafe," he said.
    "That's very nice of you," she said, stepping outside. She wore a plain blue cotton dress, buttoned not quite to the throat, the sleeves pushed up on her arms. "But someone is due to drop by. Can we just sit on the steps for a bit?"
    "Sure," he said, hoping his disappointment did not show. He waited for her to take a seat on the top step, then sat on the step below her.
    "Is something bothering you, Willie?" she asked.
    "I enlisted today. Out at Camp Pratt. I'm just in the Home Guards now, but I suspect we'll be formed into regular infantry directly."
    The darkening sky was full of birds now, sweeping above the chimneys, the oaks loud with cicadas and the throbbing of tree frogs.
    After a long silence, she said, "I'm sure in your own mind you did the right thing."
    "My own mind?" he said, and felt his face color, both for his rudeness in mimicking her statement and because he was angry at himself for seeking absolution from her, as though he were not possessed of either humanity or a conscience himself.
    "I don't judge you, Willie. Robert Perry is enlisting, too. I think the world of you both," she said.
    "Robert believes in slavery. I don't. He comes from a wealthy family and has a vested interest in seeing the Negro race kept subservient. That's the difference between us," he said, then bit his lip at the self-righteousness in his voice.
    "Robert is reading for the law. He doesn't plan to be a plantation or slave owner." She paused when she saw the injury in Willie's eyes. "Why are you enlisting?"
    Because I'm afraid to be thought a coward, a voice inside him said.
    "What?" she said.
    "Nothing. I said nothing," he replied. He looked out at a carriage passing in the street. Don't say anymore, for God's sakes, he told himself. But his old enemy, his impetuosity, held sway with him once again.
    "I think all this is going to be destroyed. By cannon shot and fire and disease, all of it wiped out," he said, and waved his hand vaguely at the palm trees in the yards, the massive houses hidden inside the live oaks, a paddle-wheeler churning on the Teche, its lighted windows softly muted inside the mist.
    "And you make your own life forfeit for a cause you don't respect? My God, Willie," Abigail said.
    He felt the back of his neck burning. Then, when he believed matters could get no worse, he looked up and saw Robert Perry rein his horse in the dusk and dismount and enter the yard, removing his hat.
    "Good evening, Miss Abigail. You too, Willie. Did I break in on something?" Robert said.
    Robert waited for a reply, his face glowing with goodwill.
     
    TWO hours later Willie Burke was on his fourth glass of whiskey in the brick saloon next to Carrie LaRose's brothel. The plank floor was scattered with sawdust and burned by cigars and stained with tobacco juice around the cuspidors. Hand towels hung from brass rings along the bar, and above the