The Topaz Brooch

by Katherine Lowry Logan

  Rick looked over his shoulder as the gate to Marguerite’s courtyard closed, and the metal bolt clanged against the wood. “I never want to travel again.”

  “You don’t mean that.”

  “Uh, yeah. I do. Well, unless it’s a trip to the American West in the 1870s or 80s. I might even be willing to push it to the 1890s.”

  Pete’s head jerked back, and he stared at Rick. “You’re nuts. I’m not interested in fighting Indians. And now that I know the evil is waiting for us at home, I feel safer here. At least for another few days.”

  Rick slow-rolled his tight shoulders and cracked his neck. “Until we figure out what we’re up against, we’re not safe anywhere.”

  25

  Barataria (1814)—Billie

  A shake of Billie’s shoulder yanked her out of deep sleep. Her brain signaled an attack, and adrenaline blasted into her bloodstream. She shot up out of bed, grabbed the offending hand and threw the goddamned person to the floor, where she stood over the asshole, spitting fire and breathing hard, poised to break an arm and then a neck.

  “It’s me, Mistress Malone! Estelle,” the girl cried.

  The pleading voice penetrated the fury raging inside Billie’s brain, and she released Estelle’s arm. “Oh, God. What have I done?” She lifted the shaking girl to her feet. “I’m sorry. I thought… I thought…”

  Billie gave up hunting for an explanation and dropped onto the bed. The punch of adrenaline stopped surging through her bloodstream, and her heart rate slowed, but nothing went down as fast as it had gone up, and she shook in the aftermath of the tidal wave.

  “I hurt you, and I’m so sorry.” Billie had never reacted like that, even in Afghanistan, when her life was on the line, and fear and anger were under control.

  Estelle rubbed her arm. “It’s my fault, mistress. I should have whispered your name instead of touching you. I doan touch my mère when she’s sleeping. Once you’ve been awakened from a deep sleep by a violent man, you always wake up ready to fight.”

  Was it always going to be like this for Billie? God, she hoped not. Just one more issue to resolve in therapy. But after today, she’d at least be one step closer to her therapist’s couch.

  “Boss wants to leave as soon as the sun rises. My mère finished your wardrobe, and I’ve packed everything you’ll need in N’Orlanz.”

  Even in Billie’s semi-awake state, she knew she wouldn’t need anything Estelle had packed. “Your mère has done so much for me. I should leave her a gift.”

  “Oh, no, mistress. She did it for Boss. It made him happy. She doan want a gift.” Estelle’s face twitched into a proud smile. “And she finished two dresses for me, so I’ll look like a lady’s maid in N’Orlanz.”

  Billie stripped off the gown and reached for the bra and panties folded on the bed. She shook her head awake. “What’d you say?”

  “My mère—”

  “No, not that part. The part about being a lady’s maid.”

  “Oh, Boss says I should go with you, so you won’t be alone when he does business. I’ve never been to N’Orlanz before and never thought I would.” Estelle was so thrilled, even though Billie didn’t want her to go, she wouldn’t stand in her way.

  Billie quickly dressed in dark, tight-fitted trousers, a white shirt, and a blue, waist-fitted jacket that covered her ass. If she had to guess, the clothes were part of Lafitte’s wardrobe that Estelle’s mother had altered to fit Billie. Estelle handed Billie a pair of spit-shined black boots that reached her knees. The clothes came with an empowering attitude, and Billie sauntered out of the room with her head up, shoulders back.

  Stamp it. Ship it. I’m done with this place.

  Ten minutes later, Billie stood on the vast expanse of a white sandy beach, watching a dozen men load seven pirogues. Going to New Orleans in a canoe would take days, but she wasn’t going to argue. Maybe en route, she’d find a way to shorten the trip.

  “Where do you want me?” she asked.

  Lafitte did the one-eye thing, glaring at her, then his glance pivoted past her to the sea before returning with a more intense double-eyed stare. “If I hadn’t seen you last night dressed as a queen, my opinion of you today would be the same one I had when I first saw you.”

  A shiver fell across her skin and ziplined down her spine. The yearning in Lafitte’s eyes was real. Raw. It had depth she wouldn’t or couldn’t accept. She cooled the heat rising to her cheeks by turning her face into the early morning breeze, and then took a deep, soul-resetting breath of salty air.

  “Okay, you don’t like me in pants. I get that. But come on. Would you prefer to travel in a canoe wearing a dress? I wouldn’t.”

  His expression sobered. “Watch your step getting in.”

  She scaled back on an eye roll and glared instead. The man could turn hot or cold quicker than New York weather.

  “I had to build a boat once or else swim across a bayou. You don’t have to tell me to be careful.” She positioned her right foot directly in the middle of the canoe, shifted her weight, and grasped the sides while getting her second leg in. Then she eased toward the rear as Lafitte climbed into the front and picked up a paddle.

  “Hey, where’s mine?” she demanded.

  “I don’t expect you to paddle,” he said over his shoulder.

  After spending weeks in Ranger school, and then during her deployments, she’d rarely experienced discrimination. She’d been expected to carry the same load as the men, and she’d be damned if she’d do any less today.

  “Give me a paddle, Lafitte.”

  He passed one to her. “If you can’t keep up, I’ll take it away from you.”

  She held the oar like a club, and said with a smile, “Just try it.”

  He chuckled. “I’ve seen what you can do if someone pulls your hair, so I assume you have other fighting moves, mon Capitaine. Keep your paddle, but if I tell you to take it out of the water, you do as I say.”

  Oh, those were fighting words. But not today. Today Lafitte was finally taking her to New Orleans.

  As they pushed away from the shore, she glanced back at the bottom of the cove, where Lafitte’s whitewashed mansion with green shutters anchored the end of a street lined with a dozen houses. Behind each picket fence were gardens and flowering yards and lines of fluttering wash.

  A battery commanded the landing, along with several warehouses and a small shipyard. The large shell heaps mounded here and there along the beach were the only indication that the chénier of Grande Terre had been inhabited for centuries. It was breathtakingly beautiful, and the voice of the sea was seductive.

  Was this the same place she’d seen days earlier? She’d always been proud of her finely-tuned powers of observation. So what was different? Everything. She had approached Lafitte’s enclave from its underbelly with a gun pressed to the base of her skull, and that had formed her impression and colored her opinion of the land and Lafitte with a stroke of a thick, black marker.

  She shook away flashes of her shattering experiences there and focused on leaving behind the sparkling beaches of Barataria Sound. She and Lafitte paddled at a comfortable, steady pace as they entered a gloomy forest. They traveled in formation with two pirogues in front of them, two behind, and one on each side, all there, she was sure, for Lafitte’s safety.

  After they’d been rowing for an hour, he looked over his shoulder at her. “You want me to treat you like one of my men, then pick up the goddamn pace, or I’ll beat you with the paddle. You’re holding us up.”

  “What the hell?” she said. “I thought this was a leisurely trip. You set the goddamn pace then, and I’ll keep up.”

  “You have the mouth of a pirate. I like you better dressed as a queen. At least then, you act like a lady.” He doubled the speed, the muscles flexing in his arms and shoulders beneath the linen of his shirt. The man was a maniac. It didn’t take her long to realize she wasn’t as fit as she thought she was. But she’d never fess up to that.

  The water was
smooth, and the movement of the boat created a refreshing breeze against her sweat-soaked skin as they weaved among the big trees, passing a hummock of mud hiding an alligator. She shivered. Stay away from me. It was rare to see Mother Nature in all her beauty without a power line or a summer home tucked away in the woods. So far, she hadn’t even seen a road.

  A variety of trees grew along the banks, creating an exotic canopy and throwing the bayou into semi-darkness just as the sun was rising. Ahead in the shade, a thick carpet of ferns covered the ground, and an oak forest replaced the cypress trees.

  They stopped once to stretch and eat a quick lunch before piling back into the boats and plunging into the Bayou St. Denis, then crossing Lake Villiers—and still no houses fronting the lake, no power lines, not even a dock. Where in the hell were the residents?

  At sunset, the lead canoes pulled up to a small sandy beach. If Billie enjoyed bird watching and photography instead of thrill-seeking motorcycling, this would be the place to go. The tallest cypress tree she’d ever seen sat among a grove of tupelo trees.

  “That’s one tall tree,” she said.

  “It’s said to be thousands of years old. The Indians have used it as a landmark for centuries. We’ll camp here for the night.”

  By the time she climbed out of the pirogue, Estelle had a small campsite set up for them away from the men. Billie collapsed on a blanket.

  “I’ll draw some water for a bath then rub a potion on your arms. It’ll take away some of the soreness.”

  “I guess everyone knows I was the weak link today.”

  “No, mistress. The men were impressed. They were sure you’d drop the paddle before lunch.”

  With one of the men’s help, Estelle tied a blanket to several branches to create a privacy screen for Billie to bathe. Then, wearing clean clothes, she collapsed again while pine torches flared in the darkness.

  Lafitte brought a plate of fruit and fish to her. “You surprised me today, mon Capitaine, and gained the respect of my men. Eat, then get your rest. Dominique will sleep nearby, and a man I trust will guard you and Estelle.”

  Billie reached for the plate, and Lafitte saw her blistered, bleeding hands. “Why didn’t you say something?”

  She tried to laugh but didn’t have the energy. “And lose the respect I worked so hard to gain? I don’t think so.”

  “Estelle, why didn’t you notice her hands?” he asked sharply.

  Estelle held hers up to her chest. “She hid them, Boss.”

  “Bring me salve and clean cloths.” He touched a burn in the middle of her palm. “This isn’t a blister. It’s a burn. What happened?”

  “I was holding a brooch until it got too hot.” And the next thing I knew, I was abandoned in the swamp. “I always get burns on my hands from working in the kitchen. So it’s nothing to get worked up about.”

  Something out of reach paced around her brain, but it wouldn’t land long enough for her to consider it, and she was too tired anyway.

  Estelle gave him a jar and two strips of cotton fabric. He rubbed a sap-like substance with a strong, unpleasant odor on her hands. “Is that aloe vera?”

  “It’s good for sores and burns. I’ll dress them again tomorrow and decide then whether you may paddle or not.”

  She bit the insides of her cheeks to keep the tears at bay. “I have to do my share. The men won’t respect me.”

  He gave her that closed-lip smile as if to say he didn’t care what his men thought. “You’ve already earned their respect. They won’t think less of you for resting your hands.” He wrapped the strips of cloth around her palms.

  At his tender, caring touch, her pounding heart climbed into her throat. She glanced up in the sky for a distraction and was oddly comforted by the three medium-bright stars of Orion’s Belt. “There’s Orion. It’s a good view from here.”

  “It’s visible this time of year in the Northern Hemisphere.”

  There was something between them that she tried to ignore, but it was a connection that made the air spark, and it crackled the closer they got. She had a big, bad case of Stockholm Syndrome. But as soon as she escaped him, he would be out of her mind and locked in a jail cell.

  “I can finish this. Thanks,” she said.

  Billie ate and climbed into the bed Estelle had prepared for her on the ground. The vastness of this little stretch of beach swallowed her. The murky lake reflected the hazy sky, and it was impossible to tell where the heavens ended, and the earth began. They seemed lost in a place without limits.

  But where were the lights of civilization, a gas lantern, a fishing shack? A mother calling a child to come in for supper? Nothing. And the absence of it all terrified her.

  She rolled over on her side and listened to a symphony created by the whisperings of duck wings. And as the light dwindled, the bellowing of alligators, the screams of nocturnal waterfowl, and the sorrows of the whippoorwills created a mishmash of swamp sounds that played on the strings of her thoughts and poured out over her broken spirit.

  Could she ever blend the pain of her past with hope for a future? Her soul had tried for years to whisper the truth to her, and she had ignored it for far too long. So long that now it had become a roar. If she was ever to silence the roar, she had to replace the horror of violence and betrayal she endured on Chalmette Battlefield with honor and victory. The how would reveal itself in time.

  The next morning Estelle poked her with a stick. “Mademoiselle, wake up.”

  Billie swatted it away and rolled over. “Five more minutes.”

  “Boss says he’ll leave without you.”

  Billie threw off the covers. “Give me a couple of minutes.” She jumped up and spotted Lafitte sitting by the fire, slowly sipping from a steaming cup. Her first thought was to give him the finger, but instead, she smiled and dashed off into the trees.

  The boats were loaded, and the men were ready by the time she finished washing up. Estelle stood next to Lafitte’s boat with a cup of coffee and a plate piled high with fruit.

  “Let me see your hands,” he demanded.

  She jerked her hands behind her back. “They’re fine. Let’s go.”

  He snapped his fingers. “Let me see them.”

  They weren’t going to leave until she did as he asked, and all his men were watching. For her to ignore Lafitte would send a dangerous message with severe consequences. She flashed her palms then put them down by her side.

  “Satisfied? Let’s go.”

  Anger radiated off him like heat on hot asphalt. He grabbed a sack from a pile of supplies men were loading into the canoes, taking it with him to where he sat down amid long, flat needles beneath the tall tree with its stringy red bark.

  “C’mere.”

  She dropped to the sandy beach and sat cross-legged as he unwrapped the bloodstained bandages. “You will not touch a paddle today. Do you understand?”

  His orders rattled her, but she wouldn’t overreact. She nodded and let out a long sigh. “When I was in Ranger school, no one cared if you had cuts, bruises, or burns. You were expected to slap on a Band-Aid and get back to your job. It was the same during my deployments to Afghanistan.”

  His head shot up, and a perplexed look crossed his face. “Afghanistan? That covers the entire Durrani Empire. What in God’s name were you doing there?”

  She hiked up her brows and cocked her head, staring at him. “What do you think I was doing? I was fighting against the Taliban.”

  “What is that?”

  “Have you been living in your make-believe world for so long you haven’t heard of the terrorist group that held power over roughly three-quarters of that country?”

  He didn’t answer but continued to clean and medicate her palms. “Did you carry a pistol?”

  “M4 rifle, M9 Beretta pistol, plus—”

  “I don’t know what those are,” he said, cutting her short.

  Her heart paused for a beat. Lafitte lived in a violent world, and he murdered people. How could he
not know what a Beretta was? Once again, the lurking feeling paced in her mind, and prickles crawled up her neck.

  He wrapped her palms with clean rags. “The only thing you can pick up today is a coffee cup.”

  The tenderness in his voice caused her to reconsider all the horrible thoughts she’d entertained about him—for a total of five seconds. “Aye, aye, sir.” She gave him a sharp salute.

  “I’ve never met a woman like you, mon Capitaine.” He glanced away a moment, then back at her. His eyes said he had more to say, but whatever it was, he kept the thought to himself.

  “We should go,” she said. “Your men are waiting.” He picked up the small sack, and they walked to the boats.

  As soon as she settled into the back of the canoe, Estelle handed over her food, and they left the campsite with the canoes in the same configuration as the day before. But she wasn’t paddling, wasn’t pulling her weight, and it pissed her off.

  All she could do was study the scenery and pick out landmarks in case she ever had to lead the police to Lafitte’s camp at Barataria. Her map orientation skills earned the highest marks all through training, and those skills said she should be spotting roads, electrical lines, pathways, cabins, and summer homes, but there was nothing except trees and gators and snakes.

  They traveled through an endless bayou where the nostrils and eyes of alligators popped in and out of the swirling water. About midday, Billie asked, “Where are we now? About halfway to New Orleans?”

  “We’re in Bayou Barataria at the extremity of the island of Barataria where it intersects with Bayou Perrot and empties into Little Lake. Look over there,” he pointed. “That’s called The Temple.”

  “It’s another cheniére built by the Indians.”

  “That one is a religious and funeral mound. Human bones are mixed in with the shells.”

  “Do the Indians still use it?”

  Lafitte shook his head. “I’ve held auctions there. Buyers prefer going to The Temple instead of Barataria. It’s closer to New Orleans.”

  Where were the planes and helicopters, and motor sounds of all kinds of boats? Where were the residents? Didn’t anyone live around there? She blinked and refocused her eyes, searching the line of trees for a break indicating the land had been cleared to build a house or storage building or something. When she spotted the outline of a roof, her heart soared. People. Civilization.