The Topaz Brooch

by Katherine Lowry Logan

  “I don’t think so, but she is with him. Where’d you hear about her?”

  “A British officer enjoyed telling me he had dinner with Lafitte and Billie at Barataria. Where’d you see her?”

  Philippe followed Sophia to the door. “She and Lafitte came to our house.”

  “So she’s here in the city?” Rick asked.

  Sophia opened the door. “No, she went to get the ammunition for the general. If she’s back, she hasn’t come by to tell us.”

  “Where’s she staying?”

  “With Lafitte at his apartment on Bourbon Street.”

  “So something is going on between them?”

  Sophia shrugged. “She didn’t admit to anything. If you want to know, you’ll have to ask her.”

  He’d never do that. It was none of his business. But, come on—a pirate and Billie Malone? He couldn’t see it happening. She was too classy.

  The general walked by the open door, and without stopping, said, “Mount up.”

  Rick clenched his jaw until pain shot through his neck. Then he glanced over at her face and settled on her eyes. “Please don’t go.”

  “I have to, Rick. The general’s depending on me.”

  “So is Pete.” Rick had one last chance. He could use the megatron bomb in his arsenal. “And so is Lukas.”

  “That’s a low blow, Rick. I wouldn’t do anything to deprive my son of his mother.”

  A gut check didn’t come in time to soften the words as they fired off Rick’s tongue. “Then what the hell do you think you’re doing?”

  Her eyebrows went up. “I…” Her eyebrows dropped, and her shoulders went up instead. “There’s a young man out there holding my horse’s reins. If I don’t go, he’ll be free to ride into battle with the general instead of staying at headquarters with me.” Her pink lips thinned into a stubborn line. “He’s supposed to die in this war. I don’t know if it’s tonight or next week or the next. But if I can keep him safe until January ninth, my contribution will far exceed anything I paint now or in the future. That’s what the… That’s what I’m doing.”

  Rick swallowed over the strangling lump in his throat. He ripped off his hat and wiped his forehead with his sleeve. “You found Billie’s ancestor?”

  “I didn’t do a DNA test, but Tommy’s information matches what Meredith discovered about your gunnery sergeant. And he’s the nicest kid you’d ever want to meet. General Jackson assigned him to me. If I don’t go, he’ll follow the general into combat.”

  A beat passed. Damn. She didn’t fight fair either.

  He rolled his bottom lip into his mouth, letting it go with a slow breath. “Okay, let’s go.” He turned to Philippe. “Somebody needs to tell Pete and Billie where we are. And also Marguerite. We’ll come to your house as soon as we can. And ask Billie to please stay in town so we can coordinate with her.”

  Philippe handed Rick the stack of maps. “Take these, and I’ll let Pete and Billie know. Stay close to the general. We lose twenty-four souls in this battle, and some die from friendly fire. The fog doesn’t help either side.”

  “Do we win?” Rick asked.

  “It’s a draw. The battle lines don’t change. Remember, you’re not supposed to be here so you could get captured, wounded, or killed.”

  “I’ve already been captured once today,” Rick said.

  “You weren’t supposed to be at the Villére Plantation either. Just be careful,” Philippe said.

  “What are you going to do?” Rick asked.

  “My orders are to stay in the city. If the British break through the line, I’ll set fire to the warehouses.”

  “At least we know that won’t happen.” Rick followed Sophia outside. De la Ronde was already mounted and holding the reins of Rick’s horse. “Do you have a horse?” he asked Sophia.

  She pointed. “He’s over there with Tommy Malone. Does he look like your gunnery sergeant?”

  “No.” Rick clapped his hat on his head, seized the reins of his horse, and swung into the saddle. The news about Tommy was like a semi-frozen ice tray thrown in his face—cold water and chunks of ice. His heart skipped several beats…or maybe it stopped momentarily. Keeping Tommy alive might change the future, but in this case, it was the right thing to do.

  As they rode through town, the signal gun at Fort St. Charles resounded, giving the alarm, scattering the pigeons in the Place d’Armes, alerting the troops around the city that the time had come. Seconds later, the cathedral bells tolled in reply to the triple cannon blast. Couriers sped west, north, and east from Royal Street to summon the outlying troops to Fort St. Charles.

  Rick, Sophia, and Tommy followed the general and his small detail until the general stopped to watch the troops pass down the Esplanade.

  “Here come the Tennesseans under General Coffee and General Carroll,” Tommy said, as they watched the troops gallop through the city trailing clumps of mud. He kept up a running commentary on the troops. “Behind them are Plauche’s Orleans Battalion of Volunteers, who keep claimin’ they’re the only ‘perfectly armed, well equipped and disciplined’ corps in the city.” Tommy rolled his eyes.

  They were a motley crew, with officers shouting orders in both French and English. But somehow Rick found them oddly reassuring. There wasn’t a dragging foot among them.

  In 1814 we took a little trip, along with Colonel Jackson down the mighty Mississip…

  38

  New Orleans (1814)—Rick

  Rick, Sophia, and Tommy Malone galloped behind the general and his aides-de-camp Major D’Avezac, John Reid, Edward Livingston, Major Chotard, and military aide Robert Butler as they headed toward the Macarté Plantation to establish the general’s temporary headquarters.

  “There it is.” Tommy pointed to a house standing on stilts and raised a full story above the Mississippi floodplain. A porch swept the perimeter and overlooked the Rodriguez Canal to the east. On the other side of the canal was Chalmette, the site of the real battle.

  So what is this? A warm-up game?

  The general reined in his horse. “Get men with spyglasses up on that balcony.”

  Major D’Avezac conferred with some of the soldiers who rode out with them. Two dismounted and ran up the stairs carrying spyglasses.

  Rick turned to Sophia. “You and Tommy stay inside. The British encampment isn’t far away, and snipers could be on patrol. If they see Jackson, they’ll start taking potshots. Tommy, get her a spyglass so you can see what’s happening. But don’t leave the house! I’ll be back as soon as I can.”

  “Let’s go see the canal.” The general turned his horse and galloped off with his aides-de-camp.

  Tommy dismounted and helped Sophia down. “I’ll take the horses to the barn.”

  Sophia stood there a moment, watching Tommy walk away. “We’ll be right here when you get back. But remember, Rick, this isn’t your war. You don’t have to fight this time.”

  Rick took off his hat, ran the sleeve of his filthy jacket across his face, and leaned forward a little, resting his forearm on the saddle pommel. He watched the general and his staff gallop off, knowing in his gut that he should be riding with them.

  “I hadn’t planned to be a part of this, Sophia. But now that I am, I can’t refuse the general’s orders. I’m a sergeant in the United States Marine Corps—”

  “Former,” Sophia said.

  “Once a Marine, always a Marine. There is no such thing as a former Marine. And the man riding away on that white horse is my commanding officer and the future President of the United States. Semper fidelis—always faithful. Marines have and always will stay true to that foundation.”

  “But this isn’t—”

  “I’m here, Sophia, and there’s a war going on. That makes it mine. Marines don’t pick their battles. They go where they’re told to go. General Andrew Jackson said he wanted me to work for him. My lie got me into this, but my honor and devotion to my country will see me through. I can’t refuse.”

  “That�
��s hogwash. How many tours did you do in Afghanistan? That was your war, and you were trained to fight it, not this one where you’re given one bullet at a time and have to fight hand-to-hand with bayonets.”

  Sophia had never been a Marine, and she would never understand what it meant to be one. “Pete would tell you he couldn’t refuse either.” Rick resettled his hat and straightened in the saddle. “Now go on upstairs. I want to see you on the porch before I leave.”

  She turned to go but stopped and frowned at him. “He might tell me that, but it doesn’t change the fact that this isn’t your war.’”

  Rick’s horse pranced restlessly, snorting through dilated nostrils. Rick patted his withers. “If General Jackson told Pete he needed him, Pete would stand in line and wait for orders.”

  “Hogwash to that, too.”

  Rick chuckled. She knew he was right, and there was no way she could change his mind. If she believed otherwise, she would have pulled out one of her rare cuss words.

  There was something refined about Sophia, and he appreciated the fact that he’d never heard her yell fuck. It was too earthy for her. Although as a writer, he found it abso-fucking-lutely to be a magical word, and just by its sound could describe pain, pleasure, hate, and love.

  When she appeared on the porch and waved, he pumped up a salute, spanked the reins on the horses’ rump, and galloped off to catch up with the general. He refused to second-guess himself. He had to trust her to do what she said she’d do.

  The 7th and the US Marines with two cannons led the way down the Levee Road toward the final assembly point at de la Ronde Plantation. Jackson, his commanders, and his staff were close behind.

  Rick made a few mental notes to later jot down in his pocket diary.

  The army doesn’t look like much in their mismatched uniforms. They’re untrained and untested, but there’s a determination in their eyes and an eagerness to tangle with the enemy. They are a fearless bunch, led by a fearless man.

  Arriving at the Rodriguez Canal, General Jackson and his military advisors walked their horses a few paces along the embankment. The fetid decay and stagnant water saturated the area.

  “Mr. Lafitte told me a few days ago to start digging out this canal to form a barrier. After tonight we’ll finish what the men have started.”

  “Did he mention the width?” Rick asked.

  “Ten feet wide here, about five feet deep, water and mud-filled,” Mr. Livingston answered.

  “And how many plantations are between us and where the British are bivouacked?” the general asked.

  “Between the Lacoste Plantation and here the British will have to cross the de la Ronde, Bienvenue, and Chalmette. The ladder-like plantations all sit on a flat, dry ribbon of land dotted with fruit trees and fields of dry, broken sugarcane stalks. Nothing on that belt of land will slow the enemy down until they reach this canal.”

  “Mr. O’Grady, bring the map,” Jackson said. “And a lantern.”

  Rick didn’t have a lantern, but he had a flashlight. Did he dare use it?

  Mr. Livingston lit a lantern and held it aloft so everyone could see the map, saving the assembled group from an early shock and awe. A flashlight and a Glock—two things Rick considered commonplace—could bring this night battle to a premature end with a show of technical dominance. If only he had an AK-47.

  “This will be a three-prong attack,” the general began, “a classic pincer move, and will catch the enemy off guard. The Carolina, with the Baratarians onboard, will anchor near the British encampment, here,” he pointed to the intersection of the Villére and Lacoste Plantations. “The army will lie less than five hundred yards from the British encampment. At seven-thirty, the Carolina will signal the attack.

  “Major St. Gemé will direct the center attack, anchored by the 44th and 7th. They’ll drive straight into the enemy. The knockout punch will come from Major General Coffee, Pierre Lafitte, and the Baratarians. They’ll skirt the swamp behind the Villére plantation and attack the rear of the British right flank here,” Jackson said, flicking the map with his finger.

  “It’s going to be dark, general,” one of his aides said.

  “I’m aware of that. Major Latour will bring down dozens of lamps to hang from the oaks on this side of the Rodriguez Canal to light the way for the men to return.” Jackson stopped and looked at his commanders. “Any questions?”

  When no one said anything, Jackson continued. “We know the lay of the land and the position of the enemy. The aggressor has an advantage tonight, and our untested troops need that.”

  Rick folded the map and packed it in his saddlebag. A steady hand touched his shoulder, and it was both strong and reassuring.

  “Where I go, you go, Mr. O’Grady,” the general said.

  “Yes, sir,” Rick said. “But sir, why have you put so much trust in me? You don’t know me.”

  The tiniest flicker of a smile came to the surface. “Private Orsini told me she was here with her husband and his friend. You’re his friend, correct?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “She also said you were both Marines, although you weren’t currently serving in the Corps. You may not know this, but Private Orsini gave me some medicine. The pills stopped the sickness that has plagued me for way too long. She’s a rare woman, educated, talented, and brave. She trusts you implicitly, Mr. O’Grady. And because I trust her, I trust you.”

  Rick arched his brow. “I wondered how she convinced you to let her tag along.”

  “Her sketches are remarkable. She told me about the work she did for Thomas Jefferson. Knowing the little bit about her that I do, I feel comfortable saying that Mr. Jefferson was a fool to let her go.”

  “He might agree with you, sir.”

  Jackson buffeted Rick’s shoulder again. “Get some rest. You’ve had a long day, and we have a long night ahead.”

  Rick rode back to headquarters, chuckling. Sophia had pulled a fast one on the general. She must have figured out quickly that throwing Jefferson’s name around wasn’t going to get her what she wanted, so she gave Jackson medicine guaranteed to heal him. When he felt better, he couldn’t say no to her.

  Pete would still be pissed as hell.

  Rick returned to headquarters to check on Sophia. She was in the parlor talking to a group of nuns dressed in habits and wimples. When she saw him, she smiled and crossed the room to join him.

  “Are you okay? You look so tired,” she said.

  “I am, but I can rest when this is over. What are the nuns doing here?”

  “They’re nurses. Doctors are setting up their surgeries downstairs. They’ll only keep the seriously injured who require surgery here. Everyone else will be loaded in the wagons and moved to the city. Remy could be a big help with triage, but there isn’t time to go get him.”

  “Let’s sit down.” Rick dropped on a sofa, put his head back, and rested his eyes. He was exhausted but couldn’t give in to what his body demanded yet. “Where’s Tommy?”

  “He went to the kitchen to get me a cup of coffee and a bite to eat.” She joined Rick on the sofa.

  “Do I smell sausage and biscuits? Hell, let’s get the grub on.” He opened his eyes and turned his head to look at her. “What’s wrong?”

  “I’m worried about Pete. We should have heard something.”

  Rick put his arm around her shoulders and squeezed her neck. “He had farther to go. He’ll be back by tomorrow, I’m sure. If he ran into trouble, he has a brooch. He could go home and come back again.”

  “I’ve thought of that, and since he’s not here, he’s still out looking for Billie. I just wish he had a way to communicate with us.”

  “Do you remember the story of Jack going on a bombing mission in a B-17 without telling David?”

  “Didn’t David slug Jack when he caught up with him?”

  Rick laughed. “He did. Knocked him right on his ass.”

  “Is there a point to bringing up that story?”

  “I’m afraid wh
en Pete discovers what you’ve been up to, he won’t hit you or anything, but man, he’s gonna be pissed as hell.”

  “We’ll work it out,” she said. “It’s not something you need to worry about.”

  Rick kissed her forehead. “Okay, I won’t. So what are you sketching now?”

  “The house. It’s a beautiful place. The furniture, rugs, and drapes are all from France. It reminds me of the Fontenots’.”

  Rick checked the time. It was six-forty-five. “The action is going to start soon. I need to head back. Please be careful.”

  She walked with Rick out to the porch, and they stood there looking at the river.

  “Brrrr,” she said.

  He put his arm around her and pulled her close. “Go back inside.”

  “I will in a minute.”

  “You’re worried, aren’t you?”

  She sighed. “I would have gone nuts if we’d been married when Pete joined the Marines.”

  “If you’d been married, he wouldn’t have enlisted.”

  She rested her head on Rick’s shoulder. “Tell me he’ll be okay.”

  If Rick didn’t think Pete would be okay, he’d lie to her, but his gut said Pete was on his way back. “He got into tight situations in 1881 and 1909 and managed fine. Whatever’s delayed him will work out.”

  “If you say so.”

  “Hey, look.” Rick pointed toward the river. “There’s the Carolina. She’ll anchor just beyond the dividing line of the Lacoste and Villére Plantations, adjacent to the greatest number of campfires.”

  “Is most of the crew made up of Dominique Youx’s men?”

  “The Baratarians? Yes. At seven-thirty, they’ll open fire on the British encampment. As soon as that happens, the troops will advance.”

  “Won’t the British see the ship?”

  “It’s too dark to see who the ship belongs to. They’ll assume it’s their’s.” While they stood there watching the ship, four riders galloped toward the house. “Looks like someone’s afraid they’ll miss the action.”

  The riders pulled up, and one man dismounted on the run. “Sophia!”