Dream Song

by Linda Ladd

  "Did he hurt you?" Luke asked Bethany, his eyes on the swollen weal across her cheek.

  She shook her head. "No, but there's a girl over there that he hurt real bad."

  For the first time, Luke saw the girl cowering against the stall. He went down on one knee beside her, wincing at the sight of her battered face.

  "We can't leave her here," Bethany was saying. "He'll kill her if we do. Please, please don't leave her here."

  "We're not leaving anybody," Luke said, handing Bethany his rifle as he carefully lifted the frail girl in his arms. He headed toward the door, but as he stepped outside, Smiling Jack and Bucko blocked his path.

  "Whar the bloody hell you be goin' wid our woman?" Jack Hackett demanded.

  "We're taking her out of here, so get out of our way," came Bethany's voice from behind Luke before he could reply. Luke cursed under his breath as both Hacketts turned their attention to the diminutive girl carrying a rifle every bit as tall as she was.

  Expecting trouble now, Luke lowered the beaten girl to the ground. As Smiling Jack went for the flintlock pistol in his belt, Luke lunged at him, tackling him around the waist. Bucko drew his knife to stab Luke, and Bethany pointed the rifle at him, closed her eyes, and squeezed the trigger.

  The bullet struck him square in the chest, knocking him off his feet, and he was dead before he hit the ground.

  When he saw the blood on his brother's chest, Smiling Jack roared in rage. Luke rolled to one side, trying to get to the pistol in his belt, but before he could pull it out, Hackett had Peeto by the throat and was aiming his gun at the boy's temple.

  "I'll kill the kid if you move, you bastard," Hackett cried, his eyes darting to the group of shouting men who'd been drawn from the saloon by the sound of gunfire.

  As the men ran toward them, Smiling Jack backed away to the horses, holding Peeto tightly around the neck as he mounted. Luke made his move before Hackett could kick the horse into a gallop. He dove for the reins, and the horse reared in fright, its hooves flailing the air as Luke tried to pull Hackett out of the saddle.

  Bethany screamed as Peeto fell. She tried desperately to get him out of the way of the prancing horse, but one of the sharp hooves struck the child's head before she could drag him out of the way.

  Jack Hackett hung on, managing to spur the horse enough to loosen Luke's grip on his arm, then thundered away down the road into the woods, leaving his brothers behind, one dead, one unconscious.

  "Petie, Petie," Bethany cried, cradling the boy in her arms as Luke fell to his knees beside her.

  "Come on, let's get him inside," Luke said as he examined the bloody cut at the back of Peeto's head. "Old John will bring the girl."

  An hour later, Bethany sat upstairs at the tiny inn, holding Peeto's hand as Old John wrapped a linen bandage around the boy's forehead.

  "He'll be, all right, missy. It ain't half as bad as it looks. He just be needin' to be restful fer a spell, and he'll mend right up as good as new."

  Bethany gave him a grateful smile, then glanced at the girl on the other bed. "What about her? Will she be all right, too?"

  Old John shook his head. "They like to beat her plumb to death, and we's right here close and dint even know it. Those there Hacketts are pure poison, all three of them, murderin' and thievin' and butcherin' anybody who looks at 'em wrong."

  "There's only two of them now," came Luke's voice from the door. "Bucko's dead, but the one we left in the barn is nowhere to be found. How's Pete?"

  "He be makin' it fine, I reckon. You best stay the night and let him have a spot of rest."

  "We'll leave in the morning then," Luke said, propping his rifle by the door. "But, I intend to get Hackett for what he did to Pete."

  Luke's voice sounded like chiseled granite. Bethany watched him bid good night to the stooped old man, but she swung around as the girl behind her rose into a sitting position. As the girl began to scream, Bethany went to her, and to her surprise, Luke sat down on the edge of the girl's bed, taking the frightened girl by the shoulders. He spoke to her in her own tongue, calmly, firmly, and after a moment, she suddenly went limp in his arms. Luke pulled her against his shoulder, murmuring soothing words while she wept.

  Bethany stared at him, astonished to see the big, mean fur trapper display such tenderness. The girl cried and cried, all the while speaking rapidly against his leather tunic.

  "What kind of talk is that?" Bethany asked after a time.

  "It's Creole French. That's what they speak in New Orleans."

  "What's she saying?"

  "She says her name is Michelle and that she ran away with a white man. The Hacketts attacked them on the Trace."

  "What do you mean about a white man?"

  "She's an octoroon," Luke told her as he lowered the quieted girl to the bed. Bethany covered her with the blanket, but she still didn't understand.

  "Octoroon? What does that mean?"

  "It means she's one-eighth Negro, probably from a quadroon grandmother. It's one of the upper color castes in New Orleans; at least, it was when I was there."

  "You've been there?" Bethany asked, for some reason surprised by that.

  Their eyes met. "Yeah, I've been there."

  Bethany was more than curious as to when and where, and why he was acting so strange about it, but he gave her no chance to question him. He rose again and sat down at a small table by the window, laying out his brace of pistols in front of him. Bethany tucked the covers around Peeto as Luke began to clean and reload his guns. She sat beside Peeto, realizing how totally exhausted she was.

  Her eyes closed wearily, and eventually her head fell back against the wall. Sometime later, when something lightly touched her cheek, she jerked back to awareness. Luke Randall was standing close above her.

  "Is it very painful? Your cheek?" he asked, studying the darkened bruise on the side of her face.

  Bethany shook her head, surprised he had even noticed it.

  "Better get some sleep," he told her. "We're leaving at dawn."

  "Are you going to let Michelle come with us?" Bethany asked.

  "Yeah. John said the Hacketts will be back for her if we leave her here."

  Bethany lay down close to Peeto, cold chills rising on the back of her neck as she remembered Braid Hackett, with his whip and awful-smelling hair, and Jack Hackett's cold, cruel smile. Suddenly, she was very glad to be with Luke Randall. He was so big and strong, yet he had been gentle, too, with both Peeto and the girl named Michelle. He wouldn't let the Hacketts hurt them.

  Chapter 4

  As they floated past the riverfront of New Orleans on the wide bend of the Mississippi River, Bethany was amazed to see the high river levees the inhabitants of the city had erected to protect their low-lying homes from the annual flood waters. The earth embankments were at least thirty feet high, and she found it incredible that their canoe rode high enough in the water to look out over the rooftops of the city.

  Behind her in the stern, Luke paddled steadily, as he had since early that morning when they had left Old John's trading post. They had traveled hard all day in order to reach New Orleans before nightfall, and she had nervously watched the shoreline for the Hacketts in case the terrible brothers found a way to follow. She looked back to where Michelle lay wrapped in a blanket next to Peeto and shuddered to think of what the poor octoroon girl must have suffered at the hands of three such brutal men. Michelle was still very weak, slipping in and out of consciousness throughout the day. At the moment, Peeto slept as well, but he was much better, thank goodness. Bethany was proud of the way the boy had helped soothe Michelle when she awoke in terror.

  Glancing back at Luke, she wondered why he hadn't taken the canoe alongside one of the landing wharves. They had passed many wharves where long rows of flatboats and keelboats were docked along the earthen levee like great stepping-stones. At midstream, a forest of masts indicated a vast number of ocean sailing ships visiting the city from places far and wide.

  Bethan
y searched in vain for a glimpse of the Mariette, because it was very likely Captain Hosie was still in the city, selling his cargo before he labored to propel his boat back up the mighty river. She wasn't sure what Luke meant to do with her, because he seemed a little softer toward her now, even though he had said next to nothing the whole day. Perhaps, he wouldn't put her in jail, after all. Perhaps, he would let her stay with Peeto. But, if Luke did decide to jail her, she would escape and find Captain Hosie. He would help her.

  Bethany lay her paddle across the bow in front of her as they floated past a great open area near the river, which Bethany assumed was some kind of military parade ground. Both the Spanish and French seemed inclined to include such a place in their settlements along the Mississippi, but behind the grassy field stood a large, triple-spired church and several other massive stone buildings of Spanish design. Scores of pedestrians moved about the square, despite the encroaching dusk, but Luke still made no attempt to land along the high levee.

  A short time later, they left the town behind, and the landscape began to take on an almost funereal look from the huge, thick-branched live oak trees draped with long gray moss that resembled tattered shrouds. Not long after, as the shadows of night deepened over the river, Bethany saw with relief that Luke was finally ruddering the canoe toward a wide wooden loading platform that extended for perhaps thirty yards along the river levee.

  Bethany remained in the bow as Luke climbed out and gave a couple of sharp jerks to the black iron bell affixed to a weathered piling on the dock. Three loud clangs echoed in the twilight quiet, and Peeto sat up, rubbing his eyes with his fists. Michelle didn't move.

  "Where are we?" Bethany asked tentatively.

  "Cantigny Plantation. You help Pete, and I'll get the girl."

  He easily lifted the thin girl out of the canoe, waiting with her in his arms while Bethany and Peeto stepped out; then, they followed him across the dock. Narrow wooden steps led to the top of the levee, where a dirt road stretched out upriver. Not far in the distance, Bethany could see the lights of New Orleans. Cantigny Plantation was situated surprisingly close to the city.

  At the sound of shouts, she looked down the other side of the embankment and saw the glow of torches coming toward them through the darkness. She stopped, holding Peeto close, as a group of people came into sight. The handsome man in the lead was tall with broad shoulders, dark curly hair, and a thick mustache. His face creased with pleasure as he greeted Luke.

  "Luke! Good God, where'd you come from?" he cried, then, upon sight of the limp girl in his brother's arms, he drew up in surprise. "Who's that?"

  "She's hurt pretty bad. We found her upriver at Old John's."

  "Here, Micah can take her to the house," the man said, gesturing at a big black man standing just behind him. The Negro servant immediately took the girl from Luke, and his master added, "Take her to Tante Chloe, then run for the doctor."

  "Tell him to bring the sheriff as well," Luke said, and Bethany's body went rigid. He was going to throw her into prison! She held back slightly as Luke turned, drawing both her and Peeto into the torchlight.

  "This is Pete, Andy. Pete, this is your Uncle Andrew."

  "You found him then! That's wonderful!" Andrew Randall exclaimed, his gaze moving to Bethany. "Is she the one who took him?"

  "She's the one," Luke answered mildly, "but right now we're all tired and hungry. Let's get up to the house."

  "Of course. I'm sorry," Andrew said quickly. "I've been anxious to show you around Cantigny." He turned to the handful of Negro servants still waiting behind him. "Jess, run up to the house and have Elise ready the guest rooms, and have the cook prepare food for everyone."

  Luke picked up Peeto in his arms, and Bethany followed them up a graveled road between twin rows of massive oaks with the curious moss. Awed, she stared at the plantation house at the end of the avenue, its windows ablaze with light. It was as big as the mansions she had seen atop the bluffs in Natchez, where all the wealthy aristocrats lived. Six stately columns graced the semicircular portico that faced the river, and symmetrical wings stretched out on either side. Both the first and second floors had wide stone galleries supported by long rows of columns. As Bethany followed the men up wide brick steps set with urns, then across the porch to a set of tall carved doors with a gigantic fanlight, she wondered if Cantigny belonged to Luke's brother.

  Inside, the first thing she noticed was the clean smell of beeswax and lemon oil such as Mistress Anne had used on her cherry wood tables in her sitting rooms. Then, her gaze swept across the black-and-white-tiled foyer to where a beautiful staircase ascended in a graceful curve to a wide mezzanine. A huge chandelier was suspended on long velvet ropes from the high plastered ceiling, its crystal teardrop prisms tinkling musically as cooling river breezes wafted through the front door.

  When Luke set Peeto down, the little boy immediately ran to Bethany, who picked him up, glad to have his small warmth in her arms again. Her gaze drifted again to the elegant stairway and glittering gold mirrors. Two handsome Negro maids wearing black silk dresses and white ruffled aprons stood waiting at the bottom of the steps, and Bethany suddenly felt ugly in her dirty shirt and torn breeches. This house was much grander than Hugh Younger's estate on Olive Street, and Bethany had thought that was a palace beyond compare.

  "The maids there will take you upstairs, so you can put Pete to bed," Luke told Bethany. Without waiting for her answer, he turned to accompany his brother across the glossy foyer to a door at the rear of the house.

  "She seems a harmless little thing," Andrew said as he crossed the library to his desk and lifted the lid of a silver cigar box.

  Luke gave him a sour look as he chose one of the narrow Cuban cheroots his brother offered him. "Bethany Cole's a whole lot of things, believe me, but she's not harmless," he said, puffing the cigar to flame as Andrew held a taper for him. "I learned that the hard way."

  "She gave you some trouble?" Andrew asked, obviously surprised.

  Luke sat down in a leather armchair, his smile grim. "Well, I'll tell you this much. When I ran across her a couple of days ago, she slapped the side of my head with a string of fish and tried to kill me with a pitchfork. Then, she stole everything I had, including my clothes, and took off with Pete in my canoe. Last but not least, she nearly got us all killed when she tried to rescue that poor battered octoroon you saw a moment ago."

  "Is that all?" Andrew asked with a straight face, his dark blue eyes twinkling with amusement.

  "So far," Luke replied, "but tomorrow's another day."

  Andrew laughed. "She hardly looked big enough to cause you that much grief."

  "That's right. She's not much more than a kid herself."

  Andrew's expression sobered. "Not according to the letters I've received from Hugh. He's accusing her of everything in the book. He insists she's a criminal of the worst sort."

  "And, she says Hugh abused Pete. That's why she took him."

  "You don't believe that, do you?"

  Luke studied the glowing tip of his cigar, taking a moment to consider. "I didn't at first, but I'm beginning to have doubts about Hugh's story. You should see her with Pete. She loves him, there's no doubt about that. And, he loves her."

  "He's a handsome boy."

  "Yes, he is."

  Andrew grinned. "I'm glad you found him. I've been worried. But, what are you going to do about Hugh's warrant? The sheriff will be here soon."

  "I don't want him for her. I'm not putting her in prison. If it hadn't been for her, I'd be dead right now."

  "Dead! What the hell happened on this trip?"

  "She shot a man at Old John's before he could help his brother finish me off. That's where we picked up Michelle, from three bastards named Hackett."

  Andrew's eyes darted to Luke's face. "Hackett? Not Jack Hackett?"

  Luke turned to him. "He's the worst one. The one named Bucko is dead now, and the one with the braid got away. Do you know them?"

  "I know
of them. Jack Hackett and his brothers are the scourge of the Trace, Luke, and have been for years now. It's bandied around that they killed their own mother when they were just boys. There are other stories, as well-so grisly I didn't want to believe they were true."

  "Believe them. The men I tangled with are capable of anything. They nearly beat that poor little octoroon to death, and I want them. Jack Hackett held a gun to my son's head and nearly trampled him with his horse. I want him hung for his crimes. As soon as the sheriff gets here, I mean to put a price on his head, one so big that his own brother will turn him in."

  After Luke and Andrew had disappeared into the library, Bethany carried Peeto up the beautiful stairs set with gleaming banisters and covered by a thick crimson carpet that silenced their footsteps. The maid led them down a wide corridor on the second floor lined with fine settees and chairs of gold-and-white striped satin.

  "I bez Elise, mamzelle," the maid said in heavily accented patois, as she opened the door of a bedchamber. "Zour bath bez in de alcove le toilette, and zour supper bez by de fire, iv you pliz."

  Bethany waited for the polite chambermaid to depart before she examined the spacious bedchamber. It was furnished in the height of luxury, the drapes made with some kind of rich fabric of a lovely rose color trimmed in ivory lace, but she hardly even looked at the immense white four-poster bed hung with a billowing white netting caught up at the corners with gold ribbons. A set of elegant French doors opened onto the upstairs gallery, and Bethany stepped outside, still carrying Peeto in her arms. She stood very still in the darkness, afraid to believe Luke had not thought to post a guard at her door.

  The night was quiet except for the sound of the rushing river, and there was no one in sight. She could walk right out with Peeto, and if she didn't, Luke would put her in jail just as soon as the sheriff arrived at Cantigny. She had to try to make it back to New Orleans. She had no choice.

  Peeto lay his head on her shoulder, and Bethany patted his back. He was so tired, and his head probably still ached. How could she expect him to walk all the way back to town? It wasn't far, but he was so little. She knelt down, cupping his cheek in one palm.