by Bobbi Smith
After watching Joel leave, Christopher returned to the study for another drink. He knew he had some serious planning to do.
Christopher stood, hands clasped behind his back, admiring the painting hanging above the fireplace in the parlor of the Montards' New Orleans home.
"Mr. Andre will be with you shortly," the butler spoke from the hallway door.
"Thank you," Christopher responded turning around. "Please inform your master that I appreciate his seeing me on such short notice."
"Yes, suh."
When the servant had discreetly disappeared in search of Montard, Christopher moved to the front window to watch the idle flow of the midmorning traffic. It had been a difficult decision to come to Andre with his request, but he could think of no other way to achieve his goal quickly. His goal being to purchase Dee and the child.
"Mr. Fletcher? To what do I owe this dubious honor?" Andre's remarks were snide and he eyed Christopher warily, recognizing a worthy adversary.
Christopher returned the regard. There was something about this swarthy little man that he didn't like. He couldn't pinpoint it-it was just an instinctive distrust and he always followed his instincts.
"Mr. Montard," Christopher spoke cordially. "I won't take much of your time. I have come with a business offer for you."
"Oh?" Andre was not impressed. "What can I do for you?"
Christopher ignored Andre's rudeness at not offering him a seat and came straight to the point.
"I have come to make you an offer on some property you own."
"Oh, really?"
"Yes. There's a slave woman on your Greenwood plantation-Dee, I believe her name is. Anyway, I would like to buy her from you."
Andre looked at him oddly, "Dee?" How had this Yankee found out about his new mistress?
"Yes. And I am prepared to make you a very generous offer for her and her son."
"I'm sorry, Fletcher. She's not for sale."
"Name your price, Montard. I intend to have her."
"Like I said," Andre's voice was cold and cutting. "She's mine and she's not for sale. I'm sure you can find your own way out. You will excuse me, won't you?"
Without a backward glance, Montard strode from the room.
Thwarted in his honest attempt, Christopher left quietly. He had known before he'd come how Andre would react to his offer, especially if Dee was his current mistress. But he had wanted to try, if for no other reason than to prove to Joel that he'd done everything possible.
So it was that he arrived back at the Williams's home, wondering how to get Dee and Jebediah away from Andre. Joel was waiting for him and listened dejectedly while Christopher explained what had happened.
"He wouldn't sell her to me, Joel. I'm sorry."
Joel knew he couldn't give up. "Ah have to get her out..."
"Joel there's just no way. Not without getting yourself killed. We'll think of something, but you'll have to be patient."
For the first time Christopher saw a glimmer of hope and trust in the huge black man's eyes. "Ah'll try.,~
"Good. I don't know how, right now, but we will get them out of there. Trust me."
They looked at each other very seriously for a moment; Christopher offering understanding and a friendship that Joel could scarcely understand and yet Joel in turn offering his trust for the first time to a white man-a man he'd known only a few hours.
The Meeting Late Spring, 1856
Aboard a steamer on the Mississippi, heading South...
Kathleen Kingsford, Katie to all her family and friends, made her way slowly down the promenade deck of the riverboat. Though she appeared to be enjoying herself on her mid-morning stroll, in truth, her emotions were as turbulent as a late summer storm. She was miserable. Had she been of a meeker constitution, she probably would have been in her cabin crying. But Katie had never been one for tears; she found direct action to be much more effective in gaining control of a situation.
And so, here' she was, walking nonchalantly along, looking for her brother and once she got her hands on him... It was bad enough that he'd gone to the card game with Emil Montard last night, leaving her alone to fend off the unwanted advances of his son, Andre, but missing their breakfast date had added insult to injury.
Katie did not want to be here. She longed to be back with her father at the railroad construction camp en joying life, not all gussied up in these new clothes on this gilded steamboat heading for Kingsford House. Where had her father gotten the idea that she needed to be presented to society? She felt no need for balls and parties. She had been happy where she was. Katie loved the wilderness and the gruff, good-natured acceptance of the men she'd grown up around. Why, she could ride and shoot with the best of them, and curse pretty well, too, although she was trying to refrain now that she was in "polite society."
Pausing at the rail, she tilted her face to the sun wanting to feel its soothing warmth, but the protective brim of her fashionable bonnet foiled her efforts. Oh, how she hated these hats! Katie knew some people considered them pretty, but she found them utterly ridiculous. What possible reason could one have for wearing all these flowers and bows on one's head? Just because fashion dictated it didn't mean it was comfortable. Her basic maverick nature urged her to untie the blooming monstrosity and give it a good heave overboard. She certainly wouldn't miss it, no matter how perfectly it matched her dress. Looking down at the delicate blue sprigged material of her new daygown, Katie almost snorted in disgust. She was used to practical clothessplit riding skirts and the like, not these confining, breath-stealing garments which pushed parts of her anatomy where they weren't supposed to be.
Shaking her head in mute denial, she started down the deck once again hoping to find her errant younger brother. They were supposed to be taking this trip together and yet he had spent very little time with her, leaving her mostly at the mercy of Andre Montard. Katie fought to keep from shuddering. She didn't know why, but something about the man repelled her. Oh, he was handsome enough in a smooth sort of way, possessing the typical Creole dark good looks, but Katie al ways judged a person by their eyes and Andre had the shiftiest eyes she'd ever encountered.
Nodding a greeting to one of the other passengers, she caught sight of Andre heading in her direction and she almost stamped her foot in frustration. The man was everywhere!
"Miss Kingsford, what a pleasure," Andre greeted her, his gaze devouring her trim figure and lingering just a little too long on the firm upthrust of her breasts.
"Good morning, Mr. Montard." She forced a smile and tinned back to the railing to avoid his probing eyes.
"May I say you're looking quite lovely this morning. Your bonnet is very becoming." He tried to charm her.
With that remark, Katie nearly laughed, "Thank you." And this time her smile was real.
"May I join you?"
"Of course. In fact, you might be able to help me. I'm looking for my brother."
"Well, maybe if we circle the deck well run into him." Andre offered her his arm and Katie was forced to accept his gallantry.
"Fine."
Andre felt pleased indeed as he escorted her down the promenade deck. Perhaps at last he was making some progress with her. She had been most discouraging these past few days, refusing all of his advances. But Andre's interest had been piqued even more by Katie's reluctance. He was not accustomed to being rejected; women usually pursued him! Glancing down at her as she strolled gracefully by his side, Andre knew that she'd be worth whatever effort it took to win her. Engaging her in conversation, he expounded on the pleasures of living on a Louisiana plantation, hoping to impress her with his family's wealth. He was going to have her and he would do whatever was necessary to achieve that goal.
Though it was morning, no one in the close confines of the crowded, smoke-filled private cabin aboard the steamer took notice. Nerves were stretched taut as what had begun as a friendly game of cards last night turned into a major confrontation. Just when the mood changed, they weren't sur
e, but change it had. And now the remaining two players faced each other across the wide expanse of the green felt tabletop, their expressions equally determined and equally confident.
Christopher Fletcher lit up a new cheroot, his eyes narrowing as he studied his opponent, Emil Montard. All evening Montard had huddled over his cards, his manner nervous and uncertain. But now, he appeared almost relaxed as he sat easily back in his chair. Instinct told Christopher that he was holding a good hand, a very good hand. Glancing down at his own cards, Christopher controlled the urge to smile with some difficulty. Things couldn't have worked out better if he'd planned it. Who would have guessed that the elder Montard would be so eager to engage in a night of serious gambling? And now he had him right where he wanted him... in a high stakes showdown hand.
Christopher was relieved that Andre Montard had chosen not to join his father this night. With a concerted effort Christopher and Joel had managed so far to avoid running into him on the boat and they wanted to keep it that way.
"Montard?" Christopher spoke sharply, knowing that he'd given the older man ample time to study his cards. "Your bet."
Emil looked over his hand one more time and fought to keep the smirk off his face. He had the damn Yankee now! A full house! He'd been waiting all evening for his luck to change and finally it had. He was going to win, just like he always did. Montards never lost!
Meeting Christopher's gaze, Emil's tone was triumphant. "I'll match your bet and raise you $2,000."
There was a collective gasp from the onlookers and Mark Kingsford moved closer to the table to get a better view. He found it hard to believe that these were the same two men who only a few hours before had been playing seemingly for the fun of it. There was something deadly earnest about this hand... the stakes were so high.
Mark had been forced to drop out early in the game after Fletcher had cleaned him out rather handily. Fletcher was good, too good as far as Mark was concerned, and a big win by Montard would help to even the score.
Mark and his sister Katie had met Emil Montard and his son Andre their first day on board. Having discovered that the Montards were neighbors of their Uncle Isaac's in Louisiana, their plantations sharing a common boundary, they had spent the better part of the voyage in their company. Andre had been immediately taken with Katie's slender blond beauty and had been pleased to find out that she and Mark would be staying with their Uncle Isaac and Aunt Suzanne at Kingsford House.
And so, when Emil had been invited to join in the card game, he'd brought Mark along, too. Andre had declined to play, preferring to spend as much time as possible with Katie.
At the thought of Katie, Mark pulled out his pocketwatch to check the time, for he had promised to meet her for breakfast at eight. Much to his disgust, he found it was already after ten and knew that there would be hell to pay when he finally met her. She'd be furious and with good reason.
Mark almost decided to leave so he could go look for Katie in order to apologize, but the temptation to see the game through to the end was overpowering, especially if Emil had a chance to beat Fletcher. Mark wanted to see him lose.
The sound of Fletcher's voice drew Mark's full attention back to the table and he forced all thoughts of his sister from his mind for the time being. He would face Katie's wrath later. Right now, this game was more important.
Mark watched intently as Christopher Fletcher responded to Emil's bet. Displaying no emotion, he regarded his adversary evenly. After a long, silent minute and without even looking at his own cards, Christopher pushed all of his money to the center of the table.
"I call."
For a moment, Emil was apprehensive, but a quick glance at the full house he held renewed his flagging confidence.
"How much?" Emil indicated the large stack of greenbacks.
"As near as I can figure, about $20,000." Christopher waited almost indulgently for his opponent to respond. His quiet, stoic manner revealing none of the excitement burning within him.
Counting what money he had in front of him, Emil came up sadly lacking, his earlier repeated losses to this man having stripped him of his ready cash.
"I find I am short on cash right now."
Christopher leaned forward to rake in the pot.
"Wait!" Emil spoke quickly. "Would a piece of prime land be acceptable to you?"
"I have no desire to be a farmer, Montard," Christopher sneered arrogantly, idly tapping the ashes from his cigar onto the floor.
A murmur ran through the crowd as Emil paled at the implied insult. "Suh. The owner of Greenwood would never be considered a farmer."
"What is Greenwood?"
"A very profitable, working, sugar plantation."
"A plantation?" Christopher quirked an eyebrow.
"Yes. Five thousand prime acres. It's on the Mississippi just a little south of Baton Rouge."
"I have no use for land. Is there a house on it?"
"My home is there... sixteen rooms in excellent repair."
Christopher nodded, pausing to think, "All that land with no one to work it... What about slaves?" he pressed.
"They would be included, the livestock, too..." Emil bit out, eager to lay down his winning hand and put an end to this humiliating scene. "The value of Greenwood far exceeds your paltry $20,000," he concluded contemptuously.
"Maybe so, if you want it..." Christopher hedged, wanting absolute control of the game.
Again the onlookers muttered their surprise at Fletcher's insolence. Why, Emil Montard was a powerful figure in Louisiana... you just didn't toy with him.
"Just why are you so eager to bet this `Greenwood'? If it's as valuable as you say."
Emil started, totally shaken by this fool's arrogance. "I wish to stay in the game. If you are not interested in my wager, then say so!" he sputtered, indignant in his outrage.
Christopher held up his hand to stop Emil's tirade. "As long as the slaves are included, all right."
"Agreed." Emil brought his hot, Creole temper under control with obvious effort. Never had he been treated so insolently before! He would get enjoyment out of taking this man's money.
Quickly writing out a note offering Greenwood as his bet, Emil tossed the paper on top of the cash. Then, slowly, pompously, he spread out his cards to the approving murmurs of the group gathered around the table.
Smiling, Emil looked up at Christopher, "Full house."
Christopher noted the three nines and pair of queens and remained quiet, watching as Emil smugly grabbed for the winnings.
"But I'm holding two pair," Christopher offered offhandedly.
"So?" Emil continued to pull in the dollars.
"Maybe you'd better have a look."
Christopher carefully laid out four jacks and a king and took a moment to enjoy Emil's stunned disbelief.
"I believe the hand is mine."
Picking up the deed to Greenwood, Christopher carefully folded it and slipped it into his vest pocket, while Emil looked at him aghast.
"Four of a kind?"
"That's right," he answered, standing to pull on his coat after gathering his winnings. "And now, if you'll excuse me? Gentlemen, it's been a pleasure."
Bowing slightly to the speechless Montard, he nodded to the others and quit the cabin.
As the door closed behind Christopher, all eyes turned back to Emil. But Montard was a man of quick wit and he recovered enough to smile at those around him.
"Mr. Montard..." Mark broke the strained silence, wanting to sympathize with him, but a cutting look from Emil strangled the words before he could speak them. "May I buy you a drink, sir?"
"A fine idea," Emil consented. "I feel the need for something potent."
Donning his jacket, he led the way from the room, anxious to be gone from there.
They were comfortably ensconced at the bar, drinks in hand before either ventured to speak again.
"Was he cheating?" Mark voiced the thought that had been bothering him all night.
Emil stared t
houghtfully at his drink for a long moment. "No, my friend. I think not."
"Then how?"
Emil leveled a cold-eyed stare on the younger, more inexperienced man. "He was very good, Mark."
"But how can you be so sure? He won everything."
Emil shrugged. "You will learn the difference in time."
Mark, viewing his losses through an alcohol clouded mind, shook his head in confusion, "You're so calm..."
"Looks can be deceiving," Emil advised. "You would do well to learn the same control."
Mark blanched at the reprimand and fell respectfully silent.
"I will be sorry to lose Greenwood. It's a most successful plantation," Emil finally revealed.
"And Andre? How will he take the news?" Mark inquired. "Just last evening he was boasting of your home..."
"He loves Greenwood. He grew up there... it was to be his." Emil downed his drink. "But Greenwood is not my only property. We shall just move into our New Orleans townhouse until I can arrange for one of my other houses to be readied for us."
"You own other plantations?" Mark was impressed.
"Only three now that I've lost Greenwood." Emil smiled reassuringly. "Don't worry, Mark. I will get Greenwood back. Montards never lose. Now, if you will excuse me...I think sleep is in order. Good day."
Mark watched the older man as he left the bar, leav ing him alone with the bartender, a big burly man named Jake. After getting his bourbpn refilled, Mark drank deeply of the golden liquid.
"Little early for such heavy drinkin', don't you think?" Jake questioned the young man.
"Actually, it's a little late," Mark mumbled, still feeling the sting of his own losses and Emil's reprimand. More control, hah! More action, that's what was needed.
"Late?"
"I haven't been to bed yet."
"Oh," Jake nodded knowingly. "You were in the poker game?"
"Yeah. I made it through a few hands."
Jake smiled. "Yep, that Fletcher fella is good."
"He wouldn't last an hour where I came from," Mark stated emphatically, his words slurring as the liquor he'd consumed began to take effect. "Why in the railroad camps they gamble for gold..."
