by Linda Ladd
The more she thought about his proposal, however, the more absurd it seemed. And, Peeto kept looking at her with his big, trusting eyes, kept putting his thin arms around her. At those times, she wavered alarmingly. If nothing else, Luke was right about Peeto needing a real mother, one who loved him and would always be there for him, especially if Luke didn't plan to linger long in Louisiana.
The fact that he planned a fake marriage so he could go away again without feeling guilty angered her, even though he made it sound very simple and reasonable. In truth, all he was doing was abandoning his son again. First, he had chosen his sister to take his place; now, he was enticing Bethany herself with every inducement his wealth afforded him. Why was he like that? Why didn't he want to raise his son himself? Peeto was so young and sweet, with so much love to give. Why would a father want to give his own child over for others to raise?
She sighed heavily, watching Peeto playing on the floor with his miniature bow and arrows. Luke even wanted to take his Indian heritage away from him, but Bethany wasn't about to do that. Peeto had a right to know about his mother, even if she had been an Indian. If Luke was so ashamed of her, why had he gotten her with child in the first place?
She picked up the small suede satchel that Peeto had carried with him to the Younger mansion three years ago. Anne had given it to Bethany that first day with instructions to burn it, but when Bethany peeked inside the leather bag and found the little bow and arrows and the drawstring purse and headband worked with beads and quills, she hadn't been able to destroy them. Someone had painstakingly made Peeto's treasures for him, probably his unknown mother, and Bethany hadn't had the heart to strip away the only familiar possessions of a frightened and lonely three-year-old. She hid them instead, and let him play with them when no one else was around. Peeto kept them close to him even now, and no matter what Luke said, he was going to have them.
"You said we could go fishin' today?" Peeto reminded her, and Bethany smiled as she packed his bow and arrows in the bag, then hid them under her bed.
"That's right, I did. We'll go, but why don't we check on Michelle first? Then, we'll ask Elise where we can get some fishing poles."
Michelle was awake, propped up against the plump satin pillows, and Bethany sat down beside her, picking up a bowl of clear chicken broth that Elise had just brought from the kitchen.
"This is warm and good for you, Michelle," Bethany said quietly, her eyes on the girl's swollen face. "You must try to eat a little of it. It'll make you strong again."
To her dismay, tears squeezed out of the octoroon's blackened eyes. "You are the one who saved me, oui? Merci, merci."
Bethany was surprised to discover that Michelle spoke very good English, especially compared to that of Elise and the servants at Cantigny. She smiled. "I am so glad you speak English," she said, delighted to be able to converse with Michelle. "I didn't think you did. You spoke Creole French all the time on the river. My name's Bethany, and this is Peeto."
"I must thank you. If you hadn't come, they-"
Michelle had unusual eyes, a strange amber color, and as a terrible look of fear dawned in them, Bethany laid a comforting hand on the girl's arm.
"Don't think about them, Michelle. It's all over. You're safe here at Cantigny, and we won't let nobody hurt you again, I promise. You just rest up now, and get all well again, then, we'll get to know each other better. Would you like me to feed you some broth?"
"Non," Michelle murmured, shaking her head. Her eyes soon closed under the dose of laudanum the doctor had ordered for her pain, and Bethany left quietly, glad the girl was so much better. She would need a lot of support from them to forget the Hacketts, and Bethany would do everything she could to help her.
Bethany took Peeto's hand as they walked along the upstairs gallery. She looked out at the trees dotting the grassy lawns, the hanging moss swaying in the breeze. With so many different kinds of flowers blooming along the walkways and spilling out of the huge stone urns, it was hard to believe it was nearly October. Cantigny Plantation was beautiful, with its flaming hedges of poinsettias along the porticos and purple crape myrtle hugging the lower galleries.
After they reached the rear of the mansion, pausing to gaze into windows as they went, they descended a massive stairway of whitewashed brick that led to the rear columned entrance. Bethany looked out over the sweeping lawns to a good-sized red-brick building, which she assumed was the kitchen. Farther off, past a well-kept vegetable garden, she could see the small, whitewashed houses of the slave quarters.
Bethany led Peeto toward the kitchen building over a path of flagstones, but he stopped as the sound of talking and laughing filtered from the open door.
"What's the matter, Petie? Don't you want to go fishing?"
"I don't know nobody here."
In that moment, Bethany knew she would marry Luke Randall. Peeto needed her, and if she didn't become his mother, Luke would find someone else who would, someone who might mistreat Peeto after Luke was gone. Bethany couldn't bear for that to happen. Peeto had always been so insecure and terrified of people, she couldn't abandon him, too. Not ever.
"But, you know me, sweetie, and I'll stay with you the whole time."
Bethany kissed his cheek, then stepped over the threshold.
The Cantigny kitchen consisted of one large room flanked on either side by immense cooking hearths. Black kettles and pots hung suspended over the fires and were stirred and tended by several cooks, while at least a dozen scullery maids scrubbed dishes and cooking utensils at a table in one corner. Two long wooden tables stretched side by side down the middle of the brick floor, with more servants sitting around them and chopping vegetables or peeling apples. The moment Bethany and Peeto appeared, all activity stopped.
Bethany, a little intimidated by all the gazes fixed on them, felt very much the intruder. She was relieved when she saw the driver named Jemsy come to his feet from a bent-willow rocker beside one of the fires.
"Good morning," she greeted him. "We was just wanting some poles, so we could go fishing."
"Oui, mamzelle," Jemsy said, obviously surprised by her request, but he hurried to fetch what she wanted.
Bethany smiled at the other servants, hoping they could be her friends like the servants in the Younger house, but her attention was soon captured by an absolutely huge Negress. Her skin was as black as ebony, and her bosoms were like great pillows. Bethany noticed at once that she was not dressed in the black-and-white uniform that the others wore, but in a bright red-gingham skirt and blue blouse topped by a long, spotless, white apron. A massive yellow satin turban was wrapped around her head, and gold loop earrings hung from her ears.
"I be Tante Chloe, mamzelle. I teg kyah of dez 'ouse fo' marster."
"I'm Bethany Cole, and this is Petie," Bethany said. "I don't mean to be any trouble, but Petie hasn't had breakfast. Do you think we could get a leftover biscuit or something to take fishing with us?"
The servants exchanged glances, but a frown appeared on Tante Chloe's handsome round face. She snapped out a few orders in Creole French to a young maid, then looked apologetically at Bethany.
"Excusez-moi, mamzelle. 'Twas Delphine's job to serve de big 'ouse. She bring it to de dinin' hall, iv you pliz."
Bethany thought of the long, formal dining table with its elaborate candelabras placed along its polished surface. When they had peeked through the windows of that luxurious chamber on their way past earlier, she had not dared think of eating at such a grand table.
"Couldn't we just sit out here with you? Jemsy will be back in a moment, I suspect. We're in a bit of a hurry anyways."
Tante Chloe's eyes widened, then she frowned a warning to the younger maids who had gasped outright at Bethany's request. Another crisp command from Tante Chloe sent everyone back to work as Tante Chloe herself escorted Bethany and Peeto to the willow rockers in front of the fireplace. A small table was hurriedly placed between them, and moments later a gigantic pewter platter of fried ham
, croissants, and griddle cakes was set before them. Bethany had never even seen so much food at one time, much less been expected to eat it, but Peeto delved into the delicious fare with all the appetite of a hungry boy, pouring far too much honey onto his griddle cakes.
Bethany was hungry, too, but she watched the servants, remembering how often she had helped out in the Youngers' kitchen when their Irish cook was shorthanded. She had helped occasionally with the cooking in her father's trading post, too, but some of the dishes Tante Chloe was supervising looked very alien to Bethany. Watching a man pour rice into some sort of soup, then add some kind of small fish to it, she thought Louisiana seemed like a whole different country, though she knew for a fact it was part of the United States and had been for seven years.
As her gaze swept the room, it stopped on a little Negro boy cleaning silverware on the floor by the fire not far from Peeto's chair. He looked a little older than Peeto, probably eight or nine, and he was a handsome little thing with coffee-colored skin and big, liquid jet eyes. He had been watching Peeto eat with a great deal of interest.
"What's your name?" Bethany asked with a smile.
"Raffy," he answered shyly.
"Do you like griddle cakes and honey, Raffy?"
"Oui, mamzelle," he answered with a quick bob of his close-cropped head.
"Rafael! Don zou bez bodderin' dem," scolded Tante Chloe from her place across the room before lapsing into French.
Raffy immediately scooted away, rubbing vigorously on the shiny silver coffee urn.
"Tante Chloe?" Bethany said. "Can Raffy come fishing with us? We don't know where to go. Maybe he could show us a good fishing hole? Would you like that, Raffy?"
"Oui, mamzelle. I's likes to fish."
"He bez as lazy as a hundred-year-old hound dog," Tante Chloe complained, but despite the gruffness of her tone, Bethany could tell that the old woman was fond of the boy. "But, I guess it bez all right, iv zou wand."
"Do you know when the marster is coming back?" Bethany asked, feeling very strange to be calling Luke by that title, but the servants did and she supposed she should, too.
Tante Chloe nodded. "Marster Andrew say he bez back dis day."
"I meant Luke Randall," Bethany began, then paused, taken aback by the immediate hush that fell over the kitchen. She looked around, amazed to see fear on the faces of those around her.
"Le sauvage," came a shocked whisper from the corner, and Tante Chloe whirled, chastising the speaker with a sharp word in Creole.
Bethany was immediately curious about why Luke's name had caused such fright among the kitchen servants, but even more, she wanted to know what le sauvage meant in Creole.
Jemsy picked that moment to enter, carrying several cane poles, and Bethany accepted them from him. "Thank you very much, merci," Bethany said, trying French for the first time on Tante Chloe.
At the door, she noticed a bucket of swarming crayfish and turned back. "Could we have some of those crawdads for bait?" she asked innocently, and was startled by the insulted look on the big housekeeper's face.
"For bait? Dad is fo' my gumbo dis night!"
For supper, Bethany thought in revulsion, remembering how often she had seen the crab like creatures scuttling into their mud holes along the riverbank. The thought of actually eating one was enough to turn her stomach. She escaped the kitchen with the two boys in tow.
Outside, she looked down at Raffy. "Do you know a good place to dig some worms, Raffy?"
"Oui, deys in de cane, mamzelle."
A horrible thought occurred to Bethany. "Tante Chloe doesn't ever cook worms, does she?" she asked Raffy, who grinned to show a wide gap between his front teeth. He shook his head.
"Good. Where should we go? Up on the levee?"
"Daz be a place, but it bez way oud dere," Raffy answered, pointing across the cane fields. "Ole Cricket tole me. He bez de chimney man at Ole Oaks acrost de river." He looked around, lowering his voice. "It bez a secret place."
Amused, Bethany lowered her own voice. "We won't tell, will we, Petie?"
Raffy scampered away, and Bethany followed at a more sedate pace as Peeto ran to catch up to the older boy. As they passed through the kitchen yards, two old black-and-tan hounds joined them, and not long after, so did a feisty white spaniel.
They stopped at the edge of a rippling canebrake where bare-backed field hands were hacking the sturdy stalks of sugarcane with big machetes. Peeto and Raffy dug in the rich black loam with pointed sticks until they had uncovered a great mass of wiggling black worms. Bethany laughed as Raffy promptly stuffed most of them into his clean shirt pocket. She had a distinct feeling that he might have earned himself a dose of Tante Chloe's displeasure.
The day was mild for the end of September, and Bethany studied their surroundings with interest as they moved away from the big house. Cantigny Plantation was very different from other places she had lived, flat and verdant, with no hills and lots of vines, moss, and unfamiliar trees whose leaves didn't change color at autumn. And, there was water everywhere-in small ponds and pools, and in sluggish, weed-choked streams that Raffy called bayous. When they passed an old, deserted building, Bethany asked Raffy about it.
"Dat bez de ole sugar mill, but Marster Andrew, he done gots a new one on de river. Dis bez de ole madame's."
"The old madame?"
"Oui, she die and Marster Andrew buy Cantigny and all its people, long time back, when I's bez little."
"I think he bought it for Luke to own," Bethany said to herself, then noted the frightened look on Raffy's little face. "Are you afraid of Luke, Raffy?"
"I's no wand talk bad 'bout de marster. Tante Chloe get me fo' dat."
"All right, don't say anything, just tell me what le sauvage means."
Raffy looked around uncomfortably. "Dat mean de savage, like de red injin."
"The savage? Why do they call him that?"
"Mimi, who work upstair in de big house, say de madame she haz afore say he lived wid de injins," Raffy said, looking fearful, as if a band of Indians might be lurking about on Cantigny itself.
Bethany glanced at Peeto. Though he didn't seem offended in the least, she decided to drop the subject before it did bother him. After all, he was half Indian.
As they walked on, Bethany stopped beneath an ancient oak tree with great gnarled limbs, examining the coarse gray moss that hung down to brush her head as she passed. It was strange and a little creepy, and she turned, looking back at the big columned house across the distant fields. If she married Luke, she would be mistress of this magnificent place, mistress over Tante Chloe and Elise, and Raffy and Jemsy, and the dozens of other slaves and servants who lived here. She couldn't even imagine it. She couldn't imagine being Luke Randall's wife even if it wasn't a real marriage. But, she couldn't help thinking how beautiful a place it was, how grand and spacious and serene. It was much easier to think of Peeto growing to manhood in such luxury, then someday becoming the master of Cantigny Plantation. Indeed, that idea pleased her a great deal.
"Dere, dere it bez," Raffy called from several yards in front of her. "See dere, de sign dere, it says de name of dis fishin' hole, Ole Cricket say so."
Bethany glanced at the white board sign at the edge of the narrow bayou, wishing she could read it. All her life she had looked at the mysterious markings painted on shop windows and on the pages of books, wanting more than anything to know what they meant. She had begged her father to teach her to read, but he had always said girls had no need of learning. And, at the orphanage, they said she was too old. Besides that, she had always been too busy with the smaller children to have time to learn.
The bayou did look like a good spot for fishing, with its dark, brackish water and cypress stumps, and she followed the children to a relatively clear part of the bank. They sat down near an old gray log, half hidden by water willows.
"All right, let me bait your hooks, then you can both sit right here by me."
The little boys hunkered down obed
iently, taking turns handling the writhing worms that Raffy retrieved from his pocket. Soon, Bethany had their lines ready, and the worms fell with a double kerplunk into the murky water. All three settled back to wait for the first bite, while the three dogs lay down to scratch their fleas or snore softly in the sun.
It wasn't long before Peeto's cork floated into a thick rootwad. Bethany muttered impatient words as she tugged it a few times, trying to dislodge it with a flick of her wrist. It proved to be stuck fast, however, so she sat down to take off her boots and stockings. She waded out to untangle the line, not particularly thrilled about the way the cold, slimy mud on the bottom oozed up between her toes. A moment later, the line was free, but as she turned around to head back, she froze. The log just behind Peeto and Raffy began to move, and she realized it was some kind of reptile with slanted eyes and a long, rounded snout. As it turned toward the children, she screamed a warning. The boys jumped up, backing away as Bethany splashed back to shore. She nudged them safely behind her, swallowing hard as the strange beast swivelled its ugly yellow eyes to her.
"Now, where the hell did they go?" Luke muttered under his breath as he sat astride the great black stallion he had chosen from the stables of Cantigny, peering out over the rippling field of unharvested sugarcane.
Tante Chloe had said they had gone fishing, and James Barclay, the overseer, had seen them heading through the trees toward the bayous. Luke hadn't seen a trace of them, and he didn't know the paths and winding bayous of Cantigny very well yet. Neither did Bethany. He thought it unlikely she had tried to leave with Peeto again, not after what had happened the last time, but if there was one thing he had learned about Bethany Cole, it was that trouble followed her as surely as thunder followed lightning.
He jerked around as a loud commotion started up not far away. It sounded like several excited children and a whole kennel of barking dogs, and he spurred Onyx in that direction, his mouth dropping as the stallion nosed its way through some willows, giving him a clear view of the melee.
