Sweet Words of Love

by Betty Brooks

  But that changed when she was passing a specialty shop and saw the tiny gown displayed in the window. She stared at the delicate pink garment that had obviously been designed for a newborn, and her heartbeat quickened.

  Her feet seemed to move independently, and she found herself inside the store. The tiny garment beckoned. It seemed to have been placed in the window just for that particular moment when she'd be passing by. She fingered the delicate fabric, marveling at the soft, silky feel of it. If her suspicions were true, and she was expecting a baby, what would it be? she wondered.

  A girl would need a pink gown. Soft like this one, with fabric so silky it wouldn't scratch the delicate flesh of a newborn.

  Should she purchase it? "May I help you?"

  Rainey had been so taken by the tiny infant gown that she'd failed to see the salesclerk approaching. The woman was middle-aged, graying slightly at the temples. Her lips were lifted in a gentle smile. "It is a beautiful garment, isn't it?"

  "Yes," Rainey agreed, smoothing her finger across the delicate gown . "The stitches are so tiny, they are hard to make out. Do you know who made it?"

  "It's the work of Marie DuBois. Her work is quite unique. And easily identifiable since she has no equal. Old Marie specializes in infant clothing."

  "Old Marie?"

  "Yes. she is quite elderly. I imagine she's nearing her ninetieth year . . .a great age for a woman of our time."

  "Yes," Rainey agreed. "Most of the womenfolk in the Ozarks get worn out fast. The men seem to go through several wives during their lifetime. But I've known some women who've lasted near ninety years. Not many, but a few." She'd guarantee a better life for her own child, she decided suddenly. She wouldn't allow her daughter to marry a man who'd work her to death without the least bit of thought, then marry the next available woman to continue the chores.

  "When are you due, dear?" the saleswoman asked suddenly.

  "Due?" Rainey echoed.

  "Your baby. When are you expecting it? " The woman's pleasant blue eyes studied her intently. "You are expecting a child, aren't you?"

  "I-I'm not real sure," Rainey replied. "I think I might be, but-"

  "Oh, I'm sure you are, dear," the woman replied. "You have that glow about you that women get when they are waiting for a special little package to pop from the warming oven."

  Rainey uttered a laugh. "That's a nice way of putting it," she said. "A warming oven." She slid her hand over her stomach. "Do you really think I have one of those special packages in here?"

  "I'm almost certain of it. And so are you, or we wouldn't be having this conversation."

  "You're right." Rainey smiled at the woman. “I’m almost certain there's a baby inside me." She lowered her voice so it wouldn't carry beyond the two of them. "My woman-time is late, and yesterday I upchucked. That's something I haven't done in years." She felt odd talking about such things with a stranger, but there was no one else with whom she could share her secret. "Is there any way of being certain about such things?"

  "None thatI know of," the saleswoman said dryly.

  "Not until more time has passed. Then a doctor will know."

  "I wish there was away I could know for sure," Rainey said wistfully. "I don't think we'll be here much longer, andI sure would like that pretty pink gown for my baby . . . if there is a baby and it turns out to be a girl."

  "You should buy it while you have the chance," the saleswoman advised, pushing for the sale. "It's one of a kind, which means you'll never find another one like it. Marie has been failing steadily this past year, and I'm

  afraid her days of sewing are past."

  Rainey fingered the garment again, feeling saddened that anyone who could make such magic with her fingers should have to die. "She makes such beautiful things," she murmured. "Do you know if she has a family?"

  "Oh, yes," the saleswoman replied. "I know Marie real well. She is a dear friend, has been for many long years. And she does have a family, a very large one, in fact. She will be mourned by more than a hundred souls when she is gone, but she is not saddened at the thought of death, dear child. She told me just last week that her Henry, her late husband, you know-is waiting for her . . .just beyond the rainbow.''

  There had been a catch in the woman's voice when she'd added the last four words, and sympathetic tears momentarily blurred Rainey's vision. For some reason she was reminded of Gustave Larson, who lay beside his wife in the little glade deep in the swamp. Had he felt that same way toward death? Did he welcome it, knowing he would be seeing his beloved wife again when he passed through the gates of oblivion?

  "Maybe somebody else might copy your friend's design and make some more of these beautiful gowns," Rainey said, fingering the tatting on the tiny garment.

  "They might try," the other woman said. "But no other woman has ever been able to equal Marie's skill when it comes to tatting. No." She sighed deeply. 'Tm afraid there will never be another like Marie." She took the garment from Rainey, holding it carefully as though fearing she would damage it. "This design is special, so delicate that no other has ever succeeded in her attempt to match it. Nobody else could ever create such delicate tatting. I very nearly didn't put the gown on sale for that very reason." Her voice was soft, remembering. "Marie is part of New Orleans's history, my dear. A woman whose memory will survive long after her frail body leaves this earth."

  The look on the woman's face told Rainey she was in danger of losing the infant gown, and she couldn't allow that to happen. Not now; not after learning something about the old woman who made it. She must have it for her baby . . . it would be a legend to hand down from generation to generation.

  "May I have the gown?" she asked softly. And when the saleswoman reluctantly handed it over, Rainey clutched the tiny garment against her breast. "How much do you want for it?" she asked, needing to close the deal before the woman changed her mind about selling it.

  "Too little," the woman said. "Not near what it's worth." She named a figure that seemed enormous to Rainey, but Thorne had given her money and she gladly handed it over. She watched anxiously while the woman wrapped the gown in soft white paper, then inserted it in a paper bag with the name of the store printed on it.

  Moments later Rainey closed the door behind her and hurried down the street toward the hotel.

  She didn't know why she looked across the street. Perhaps it was an almost imperceptible movement that caught her attention. Whatever the reason, her gaze slid sideways and she halted abruptly. A man strode along the sidewalk opposite her, deliberately matching her stride for stride.

  Realizing that she'd seen him, he ducked furtively inside the nearest store, leaving her staring in consternation and fear. His swift departure had been too late.

  During that one fleeting moment when she'd caught sight of him, Rainey had quickly realized his identity. The man had been none other than Cage Larson, the pseudo-salesman. Once again he'd surfaced, and this time he appeared to be following her.

  Her heartbeat quickened in fear at the thought. She looked around quickly for some means of escape. When she realized she'd only gone a short way from the specialty store, she hurried back again, seeking shelter with the woman who had been so kind to her.

  "Did you need something else, dear?" the helpful saleswoman asked.

  "Uh . . .yes," Rainey said, trying to think of an excuse for returning, while keeping a sharp eye out for the man who'd set her heart to racing with fear. "Do you have a . . . have a . . ." She glanced around frantically, saw a bonnet displayed on a rack, and said, "A bonnet!I need a bonnet to go with the gown."

  "Of course," the woman said. "Allow me to show you what we have."

  By the time Rainey made her selection she was chiding herself for being a foolish coward. So what if Cage was following her! He couldn't do her any harm. Not in a city the size of New Orleans.

  "Is there anything else I can help you with?" the sales­woman asked, handing the package to Rainey.

  "No. Wait! Yes. Mayb
e you could tell me where to find a restaurant."

  "Just go down the street to the first crosswalk and turn left. You'll find it a few doors down."

  "Thank you." Rainey's body was tense as she continued on her way, but there was no sign of Cage Larson, a fact that made her heave a sigh of relief.

  Her footsteps were slow as she continued on her way. She was unaware of danger until she heard a sound in the alleyway she was passing. By then, it was too late.

  A shadowy movement turned her head, just before hard fingers wrapped around her arm and dragged her inside the dark alley. Then a hand covered her mouth, stifling her breath while stopping her scream before it was born.

  The hand holding her mouth shifted slightly to allow his arm to hold her against him, while he dragged her

  deeper into the alley. And then his free hand was on her white throat, squeezing, squeezing.

  "Where is Thorne Lassiter?" he whispered huskily, his fingers loosening just enough so she could draw a quick breath. "What is he doing in New Orleans?"

  She struggled to free her arms, but found it impossible to break away. His grip was much too tight. Her heartbeat was erratic, her fear overwhelming. Spots danced before her eyes. "D-don't," she whispered. "Let me go!"

  His hard fingers were brutal, his expression without the least bit of compassion. "Talk, bitch! Tell me what Thorne Lassiter is doing here?"

  "His sister," she whispered. "He wants to find her."

  He swore softly. "Just as I thought. And he's the kind that won't stop looking until he's found her!" His fingers had loosened enough so that she could suck in more air, and she felt the faintness fading away, felt her legs becoming stronger. If he would only allow her one moment, she could dart away from him, could scream for help.

  "The two of you should've stayed in the mountains," he snarled. "But you had to go and interfere with my plans, didn't you?"

  She shook her head, denying the fact that she had done anything, but his grip around her neck tightened. Realizing that if she didn't break free quickly she would surely die-along with the new life that she was carrying- Rainey summoned every ounce of strength she possessed and yanked her right arm free from his grip. She lashed out quickly, raking his face with her fingernails.

  As beads of blood bubbled out of his injured cheek, he released her, muttering a loud oath as he covered

  his bleeding flesh with one hand.

  Rainey jerked free and spun away from him. She darted toward the light at the end of the alley, where

  she knew there would be people and, hopefully, protection from the man who sought to end her life.

  He dashed after her, too late though, because she was already in the street.

  Gathering up her long skirt, Rainey raced down the street, running as fast as her legs would carry her across the cobblestones, past courtyards and alleys, past people who had gathered to watch her flight. And never once did she consider appealing to anyone for protection. Her fear was too great, too overpowering to allow her to stop.

  Death was behind her, and safety from that eternal darkness lay in the hotel. In the rooms where she had found love. Then she saw it . . . the hotel. Only a block distant. Her heart lifted at the sight. She would be safe now. In only moments she would reach that haven of safety ahead. And the madman chasing her would have no recourse except to leave her alone.

  But the fury driving him appeared to be all consuming. He continued to race along behind her, his heavy footsteps thudding against the cobblestones with the rapidity of bullets fired from a repeating rifle.

  Reaching the hotel only moments ahead of her pursuer, Rainey ran through the door that a guest had just pushed open. She had one glimpse of the startled desk clerk as she ran past him, dashing toward the stairs that led to the upper floor.

  Her heart beat like a trapped butterfly caught in a spider web as she hurled herself up the staircase.

  Oh, God, she cried inwardly, racing up the stairs to the first landing. Let me make it , l,et me make it, let me make it-

  Her silent litany was interrupted when she was suddenly brought to an abrupt halt by a hand that wound tightly through her long hair. A quick jerk caused her to become unbalanced, and then, as she flailed out for balance, another jerk sent her careening down the stairs.

  Rainey's terrified scream sounded through the hotel as she bumped against each step on the long descent, which carried her to the bottom of the staircase.

  She felt a hard blow against her temple, which sent pain streaking through her head and set her senses reel­ ing. Stars danced before her eyes. And, although she fought against the darkness that closed in around her, it was a useless fight. The last thought she had before darkness claimed her was about her unborn child.

  Nineteen

  Thorne, finding himself unable to bide his time while the detective he'd hired conducted his investigation, made his way to the French Quarter, where Joy Wang's house of pleasure was located. There was nothing to set the house apart from the buildings on either side of it. No way for a stranger to know its purpose, unless he'd been told of its existence. It rose three stories above street level, with decorative iron grillwork that bore the look of heavy black lace.

  Striding quickly up the wide steps, Thorne picked up the heavy iron doorknocker, which bore a remarkable resemblance to a lion's head, and let it drop against the thick wooden door. It made a satisfying thud, which quickly routed a servant somewhere inside the building. The door was pulled open abruptly by a dark-skinned maid wearing a long black dress covered by a white apron. When Thorne requested an audience with Joy Wang, the maid ushered him into a large room, where heavy red draperies covered the windows, blocking out the light from the afternoon sun.

  Thick carpet of a crimson color covered the floor, muffling their footsteps as they crossed the room and entered a long hallway. Moments later Thorne found himself in a smaller room, decorated much as the larger one had been, waiting for the mysterious madam to appear.

  The walls were hung with gilt-edged mirrors and paintings of amply endowed women in various stages of undress, and the room was furnished with heavy mahogany sofas and high-backed chairs, which were covered with the same fabric that adorned the windows.

  Thorne was wondering who had chosen the colors for the bordello when his question was suddenly answered by a young, girlish voice, coming from behind him. "She happens to like red."

  Spinning around, Thorne frowned at the girl who had spoken. He judged her age to be somewhere between ten and twelve years old. Her stature was small, not more than five feet in height, and she was rail thin, completely undeveloped.

  "What are you doing here?" he asked gruffly.

  "I live here," she answered calmly. Her dark eyes were slanted, definitely Asian, and yet, young as she appeared, those eyes held a world of knowledge. "My name is Lynn Wang."

  "This is no place for a young girl," Thorne said grimly. "You should be with your parents."

  "I have only one parent," the girl said, something flickering in her dark eyes. "A mother. And since this is her home, it is also mine."

  "Joy Wang is your mother?"

  "Of course." She dropped onto a sofa and curled her legs beneath her. "She doesn't like me to tell her guests, though." Lynn Wang looked curiously at him. "You have come too early, you know. Joy doesn't make her girls work until dusk. It's a long time before then."

  "I haven't come looking for a woman," he explained stiffly. He didn't like explaining his presence there to the girl, yet perhaps he could gather information from her about his sister. "I came looking for information, Lynn."

  "We're not allowed to give information to anyone," she said solemnly. "Loose talk could close us down."

  "The information I'm after couldn't hurt anyone," he told her.

  She thought about that for a minute. ''Joy told us to keep our mouth shut around strangers."

  If this young girl had been so instructed, then Joy Wang herself would most certainly be uncommunicative, he rea
lized. He seated himself across from her so he wouldn't appear as formidable to the youngster. "If I introduce myself, then we won't be strangers," he said. "My name is Thorne Lassiter."

  "Lassiter?" She frowned heavily. "I know a Lassiter. She-"

  "Is my sister Eulalie. And I'm looking for her, Lynn. That is why I came here. To find my sister.''

  "But she's not here," she said quickly. "Didn't you know?"

  "No.,,

  A door slammed somewhere in the house, then a voice called out, "Lynn! Where are you, Lynn?"

  "Uh-oh," she said, sliding quickly off the sofa. "That's my mother. She's come back! Don't tell her I was here!"

  She hurried across the room toward a small alcove and pushed aside the heavy crimson drapes. It was then Thorne saw the doorway that was secreted there.

  "Wait, Lynn," he exclaimed. "Where is my sister?"

  “Joy traded her to Madam Louise." The reply was only a whisper, then the room was empty, save for Thorne himself.

  But not for long. A woman entered the room. Her appearance was so much like Lynn's that Thorne knew this must be the mother, Joy Wang. The Asian woman's gaze slid quickly around the room, then returned to rest on him. "It is too early for guests," she said evenly. But there was something in her expression that told Thorne she knew he'd not come for the usual purpose.

  "I haven't come to be entertained," he said abruptly. “I’m looking for information."

  "We have no information here," she informed him coldly.

  "How can you know that, when I have not yet asked my questions?" he asked.

  "We mind our own business in this house and expect others to do the same," she said.

  "Eulalie is my business," he said, cocking a dark brow at her. "Eulalie Lassiter. She is my sister."

  "I do not know of such a person," she said calmly. "Now if you don't mind, you may leave the house the way you came. By the front door."

  "Perhaps you would prefer to speak to the police," he said: