Redeeming Gabriel by Elizabeth White

almost to Uncle Diron’s.”
    She shook her head. “Just tired.” She leaned her aching forehead against his back as he chirruped to the horse.
    Sometime later she awoke as someone lifted her down. Sunlight fell against her eyelids. Drowsily she lifted her arms to hang on and snuggled her cheek into Gabriel’s shoulder.
    Her eyes popped open. “I’m going to be in so much trouble.”
    Gabriel shook his head, eyes amused. “I sent a message from the hotel when we got the horse.” He carried her up the steps of a weather-beaten river shack and across the porch. She smelled sausage, heard someone whistling with a beautiful, warbling tremolo.
    “Put me down.” When he did so, she stared up at him. “What did you tell my papa?”
    “The truth. That we managed to get hold of some quinine, and we’re taking it to your brother.” He spread his hands. “How could he object? I’m the preacher. Besides, I’ll have you back home by sundown.”
    “It’s a long way down to the fort.”
    “Not by boat. The steam packet makes a stop at Deer River Point.” He placed a hand against the doorjamb and bent close to her. “Uncle doesn’t know I’m blue. So keep your tongue between your teeth. We’re going to get the quinine and go.”
    Camilla nodded and removed her cap. One more person to deceive.
    Gabriel’s uncle looked like a man who could move a mountain if he’d a mind to. Yet his face was kind and open, and he greeted her with an elaborate old-fashioned bow. She laughed as his mustache tickled her hand when he kissed it.
    She looked for Gabriel and found him sprawled comfortably in a basketlike chair surrounded by a clutter of fishing equipment, an artist’s easel and an odd assortment of musical instruments and pots of brushes and paints. He was already sound asleep.
    Diron sent a droll glance toward his nephew. “Gabriel’s a young man of simple needs.”
    Camilla surveyed the crowded room. “He didn’t tell me he has family in Mobile. I thought he was from—well, not from here.” Her stomach growled. “Is that sausage I smell?”
    Diron chuckled. “And grits. Come on back, and I’ll feed you.” He led the way toward the back of the long, narrow room, where a cast-iron cookstove squatted. He dusted a wooden chair with a rag and seated Camilla with great courtesy.
    She might have been dressed in her finest taffeta ball gown, instead of her brother’s breeches and boots. “Thank you.” She smiled.
    Diron hadn’t forgotten her implied question. “Gabriel ain’t big on letting folks into his brain box, though when he was a little fella he’d chatter your ear off, asking questions.” He filled a plate for Camilla and handed it to her. “He’s got lots of family in the area, but they’re on the reservation across the state line. Doubt you’d know ’em.”
    Camilla swallowed a bite of biscuit. “Reservation? There’s an Indian reservation near here?”
    Diron sat across the scarred little table, a spatterware mug of coffee clamped in his big paw. “They moved the last of the Creeks over there in thirty-six, the year Gabriel was born.”
    “So Gabriel’s Creek Indian.” That explained the deep-set dark eyes, bronzed skin and high cheekbones. “How did he end up living here with you?”
    “Kind of a long story.” Diron shrugged. “My brother and I are French-Canadian by birth. We came downriver to trade and ended up staying. Jean married an Indian girl, but after they moved the Creeks off Alabama land, she missed her family and wanted to follow. Turned out he couldn’t stick it. He went off on a trading expedition and never came back.”
    His words stung Camilla’s heart. “Gabriel’s mother was left with a baby to raise by herself?”
    “Three. Johnny was two, Gabriel an infant and Sara still in the womb when their father left.”
    “My soul, what kind of man would abandon his wife and children?”
    “A very young and self-centered one.” Diron sighed. “Jean loved Little Flower