Without Refuge

by Diane Scott Lewis

“I want to, yet… I came all this way to be your help with the children.” Her fingers twisted at the edges of her yellow tignon as if she’d like to pull it off, to free herself of any bindings.

  “The children are growing older. They have their grand-mère now, too.” Bettina coughed to clear her thickening throat. “If you have a chance at happiness, please take it.”

  One rainy June morning, Bettina arose to find Oleba and all her possessions gone. She had left an apologetic note, explaining she was off to Natchez with her trapper.

  Bettina leaned against the rear porch wall and smiled through her tears.

  Chapter Six

  “I’ll take the mending to work. Write in ledgers and make a stitch,” Bettina told her mother when Volet visited the cottage in the early afternoon before her time at the café. “Frederick helps with the laundry…when he’s not off with his new friends.”

  “The girl just ran away. There are laws to bring her back.” Volet fluffed the silk scarves she’d taken to wearing about her throat. A froth today of yellow and pink.

  “Maman, Oleba is free, not a slave. I never owned her. Nor would I have.” Bettina ruffled through the sewing basket. She caressed an embroidery item Oleba had worked on, the delicate swirls and stitches. How would she cope without her maid and friend? “Frederick must learn to cook better, to feed the little ones when I have to work.” She did bring the leftover breads and pastries home. She hoped she could count on her restless “nephew.”

  “If you would not mind, I can move in and help you with the children.” Volet smiled in sympathy then patted Christian on the head. “Would you like that, mon petit?”

  “Yes, grand-mère.” The boy grinned with crumbs on his lips as he and his sister ate lunch at the parlor table. Genevre had her sandwich mashed on her plate, food on her cheeks and in her hair.

  “Oh, Maman, what about your caretaking?” Bettina picked up a discarded rag doll and tossed it on the sofa.

  Volet rearranged the doll in a sitting position. “The people who own the house are returning any day now and I’ll be out on the street.”

  “Of course, you are more than welcome, bless you for offering.” Bettina embraced her mother. Volet felt more solid, less frail, to the touch. The café food agreed with her.

  “Have you heard? The United States is enacting alien acts to chase the French out of the country. No wonder the owners are returning.” Her mother waved around her silk scarf. “No countries seem able to remain friends for long.”

  “Like my time in England, so volatile always.” Bettina dampened a cloth in a bowl of water and wiped her daughter’s face. “I will miss Oleba’s company. She had such a gentle soul, until this happened...and so quickly. Love softens your brain, as Maddie used to say. I did encourage her to find something for herself.” She sighed and stared down the dim hall. “I can put you in the boys’ bedroom. I’ll arrange something on the back porch for them. I suppose Genevre and I will forever share a bed.”

  “No bed, Maman.” Genevre stared up with her large blue eyes, Everett’s eyes, as if concerned she might be forced to take a nap.

  Volet picked up the little girl and hugged her. “Oh, Bettina, you will fall in love again some day and your new husband will buy you a bigger more lavish home.”

  “I doubt that will happen, Maman.” With the cloth, Bettina swiped up the crumbs on the table. In all the bustle of running the café, nurturing her children, she had no time for anything else. At least that’s what she kept telling herself.

  * * * *

  At a sharp knock, Bettina pulled open the cottage door. She gasped with relief. “You have found him, grâce à Dieu. I have been worried sick.”

  Aubert stood on the front porch in the fading light, gripping Frederick by the scruff of his neck. The man shook his head at Bettina. “Yes, Madame, your boy was found hidden on a river boat. He and his friend stowed away, voyaged most of the distance to Baton Rouge before being discovered. This behavior is very risky. Fortunately, the patroon was kind enough to bring him back.”

  “I am so sorry for the trouble. I was up all last night.” Bettina reached to hug Frederick but he glared at her, his face dirty and sullen. She ordered him inside. “I will handle him, Aubert, thank you.”

  “No one’s handling me.” Frederick muttered under his breath as he shuffled in. His hair matted, he stunk of fish.

  “Frederick. What possessed you to do such a dangerous thing?” She slammed the door, anger and upset colliding. She threw up her hands. “You might have been arrested, killed.”

  “I enjoyed doing it. Why can’t life be exciting?” He slouched into the parlor, scratching at his filthy clothes. His breeches had rips in the knees. “And I want to be called Fred, just Fred from now on.”

  Bettina was stunned by his hostility and cringed at the cruel resemblance to his father. “You cannot ‘do’ something because it is exciting. You must think of…” She took a deep breath. “All right...Fred. Please tell me what is wrong?”

  “Nothing’s wrong.” He turned, his teeth clenched as well as his fists.

  “Yes there is, you are upset most of the time. I insist you return to school. This proves how wild you are.” She ached to see him so misdirected. Perhaps she should have left him in England under Hobart’s guidance, and away from this torrid, untamed country. He slipped through her weak grasp.

  “No. I can do what I want with my life.” He wheeled and stomped down the hallway. “Besides, you’re not my mother, you can’t order me around!”

  She wasn’t Fred’s aunt either. Lately, she worried that the boy—in a fit of temper—would tell her mother, or the children, about her true marital status.

  “Ma foi, what is all this quarreling?” Volet left her room and hurried into the parlor with Christian in tow.

  “Frederick’s back!” Christian stared down the hallway, eyes wide.

  “Be quiet now, son, please.” Bettina swallowed her distress, opened her door, satisfied that her daughter still slept.

  “Come with Grand-mère, we are going to look at the fireflies.” Volet led Christian toward the kitchen. She glanced over her shoulder. “You should not allow that young man to speak so rudely to you.”

  “After all he’s been through, I am not surprised he reacts now.” Bettina walked slowly through the parlor. “I do not know what to do for him. He needs a stronger “guidance than I can provide. A positive male influence.”

  “You need a man in your life, whether you wish it or not. You cannot do everything alone.” Volet opened a bottle of vinegar, dabbed the liquid on a cloth and rubbed Christian’s arms. “This will keep the insects from biting us.”

  “I smell like a salad,” the boy said with an impish grin. He stared again down the hallway. “Can I see Frederick?”

  “He is resting. You must call him Fred now, it is what he wants.” Bettina’s voice broke, but she tried to sound positive, a new beginning, not further confusion and uncertainty. She pressed on her throbbing head.

  * * * *

  After leaving the café the next day, where she’d expressed her concerns about Fred to Charlotte and Aubert, she hurried back to the cottage, her spirits lifted.

  She found Fred scrubbing the stains from his torn breeches with lye soap. “Monsieur Beaumont says he might be able to arrange an apprenticeship with the printer here in town. He is looking for someone as he has no sons and is growing older.” If the boy refused to continue his education she prayed a job would keep him occupied.

  Fred scrubbed harder at the material and didn’t glance up.

  “Please, will you consider this and at least speak to the printer?”

  Fred’s shoulders stiffened. He dropped the soap bar into a bucket with a plop. “No one ever asks me what I want.”

  “What do you want, other than precarious adventure?” She si
fted any accusation from her tone and resisted the urge to clasp his shoulder. “Please discuss this with me.”

  “I don’t need your interference, just leave me alone.” He jerked a hand through his unruly curls. “I won’t be caged up and forced to work at something I’ll hate.” He stood, tossed the breeches on the floor and stormed out the front.

  Bettina blinked back tears as the slamming door echoed through the little house.

  She picked up the damp breeches, folded them into a basket and sank onto the sofa with a groan.

  “Maman, you fight with Frederick…Fred?” Christian hurried in and crawled into her lap.

  She embraced him and kissed his cheek, wiping away her tears in his hair. “I am sorry you have to hear this. I hope we will behave better soon.”

  Her son twisted at the ribbon on her bodice. “If I tell you a secret, promise not to get mad?”

  “Please tell me, sweetheart, I will not be mad.” She brushed the curls from his forehead, a lump in her throat. Her articulate four-year-old son, forced to grow up without his father. She ached for Everett’s presence to share in their children’s lives. Was her mother right and she needed a man in her life, now? How could she maneuver a new man into her shattered heart?

  “Sometimes...sometimes Fred sneaks out the back door when he thinks I’m asleep. It’s really late at night. Then he comes home a long time later, and I pretend to stay sleeping.”

  “Is that...everything?” Her voice trembled. Fred was worse than she thought, sneaking out and roaming at night. She gripped her son close.

  “That’s all, Maman.”

  “Thank you for telling me. I promise it will stay our secret.” Bettina kissed him again, running her hands along his back as another tear escaped down her cheek. “Promise me you will never sneak out.”

  That evening, unable to relax before climbing into bed, Bettina paced her small bedroom trying to compose her thoughts. Genevre was tucked beneath the sheets, breathing easily in sleep. Bettina wondered what the child dreamt of. Was it innocent and comforting? Was she still oblivious to the harsh punches life could throw? Bettina swiped at more tears. Her little girl would have no memory of her father, a man she’d never even met.

  Bettina stood at her dresser and lifted the lid of the music box. The same music box that Rose Camborne had fretted over leaving behind—a precious gift from her husband Samson. Everett’s parents had apparently shared a long and loving marriage.

  The wheel cranked the tinny, sweet sounds of Bach, and Bettina lamented over the man who should have been her husband. One more month and they would’ve married, his wife declared missing for seven years. Then he had to attend to that important shipment of gold from Africa, the French warship… Bettina dropped the lid with a thud. Genevre whimpered in her sleep.

  * * * *

  Two nights later shouting from outside drew Bettina to the front porch. Orange flames licked into the darkening sky. Volet bustled to stand beside her.

  “Look, Maman, something near the river is on fire.”

  People rushed along the bayou, dragging buckets through the water to dash with them toward the Mississippi. The thick stench of burning wood and smoke blanketed the air.

  Dread filled Bettina. Fred was out somewhere, wandering again. “I will be right back.” She hustled down to the quay where many of the townspeople had already gathered. Men stood at the mouth of the bayou, passing buckets of water hand to hand to douse the blaze.

  She saw Aubert near the riverbank, shouting orders. The stout sheriff, Jean Treuet, stood nearby directing people, holding a kerchief over his nose.

  “What has happened?” she asked Aubert as she coughed in the smoke.

  “Ah, Madame Camborne, we at last have it under control. Some hellions broke into the dock side storage shed. When the watchman discovered them, they torched the building and ran off, pilfered several items too. The man couldn’t catch them, but he is certain it’s the group of boys who usually congregate here.” Aubert mopped his singed brow with a handkerchief. “I’m afraid your nephew is one of them.”

  The splash of water and last sizzle of flames faded. Cinders floated around the participants, as conversation grew easier. With the fire out, the night closed in around them.

  “Frederick wouldn’t do such a thing. He comes from a decent family.” After she spoke, Hollis’s face swam before her. She swayed on her feet.

  “Where is your nephew now?” Aubert brushed cinders from his arms, his expression, even in the shadows, trapped between doubt and compassion.

  “I...am not sure.” Bettina turned, about to hurry off. “Please, Aubert, let me find him. I will bring him to you, if…if he is involved.” She ran over the damp grass toward her house.

  “Has anyone seen Fred?” she asked, barging through the cottage door.

  “No, Maman.” Her son scrutinized her. “You have black spots on you.”

  “Oh, the cinders.” Bettina glanced at her speckled arms then looked to her mother, who shook her head. Genevre was curled up on the sofa, half-asleep. “Please put the children to bed, Maman, I have to go out.”

  Bettina dabbed herself with vinegar, fetched a lantern and returned outside. After a moment’s hesitation, she walked inland along the bayou. She’d often seen Fred wander in this direction when he desired solitude. Deep swamps existed back here, beyond the wild blue iris and scarlet sage. The bayou branched out into many streams, winding and twisting among the moss covered oaks. To venture back this far for her was unexplored territory.

  A faint breeze carried the whisper of insects. Moisture clung to the air, a tinge of smoke remaining. Bettina called Fred’s name and swatted bugs from her eyes. With no response, she poked her way through the crackling rushes and soft earth.

  An egret squawked nearby. Fireflies winked in and out of the rushes.

  Something scurried by her and she flinched. An alligator might slither out of the swamp at any moment. She thrust the lantern forward and stepped carefully.

  Her foot slipped in the mire. She stumbled to her knees and cried out.

  A rustle and a footfall crunched to the left. “Are you hurt?” a guarded voice asked. Fred stepped forward and helped her up. His tear and soot-streaked face reflected harsh in the lantern’s glow.

  “Mon Dieu, Fred, the fire, you were there I can see.” Her heart sank. Her throat tight, she brushed off mud as her thoughts raced. “Did you have anything to do with starting it?”

  He screwed up his features. “No...I..it’s not what you think.”

  The light cast on his hands revealed raw, oozing blisters. Bettina gasped. “Oh, Fred, how could you do–”

  “No! I was there and watched them do it. I know I should’ve stopped them. I-I chopped the door open with an ax, to let them in. Then I tried to put the fire out. That’s how I burned my hands.” He held up his fingers and wheezed in his breath. “You have to believe me.”

  “I do want to believe you.” She reached out and touched his damp cheek. He didn’t flinch away from her. His eyes looked huge and haunted in the lantern light. She pulled him to her and hugged him, his sweaty sooty body. “I do believe you.”

  “You’ve been nothing but good to me...and I’ve...I’ve felt so angry. Something inside was ripping me up.” He sobbed on her shoulder.

  “You do not have to conceal your concerns from me...your fears.” Sobs erupted in her chest. She steadied her quivering and held him at arm’s length. “Are you unhappy here?”

  “It’s all mixed up. Anger...feeling sorry for myself. I hate the scoundrel my father was. It was his face I wanted to chop up.” The boy sucked in a ragged breath. “My mother dying so young. Then losing my uncle and grandmother. I used to pretend everything was fine, but…”

  “You have a right to be angry, yet you should put that effort into hard work.” She sniffed b
ack tears and again touched his cheek. “Hélas, I am guilty of denying so much too.”

  “I believed it was my fault my father didn’t want me.” He slapped at a mosquito on his arm. “Now I know he was a rotten person, not worth me or my mother.”

  Bettina clasped his forearm, gripped the lantern, and they strolled back toward the cottage. “That is the truth. He was a bad person. I suppose you needed to realize that on your own.” Their feet whisked through the slick rushes. “Now if I do not sound like a proper old schoolmaster.”

  “Well, you were my favorite tutor.” The boy managed a weak laugh, but his expression in the bobbing lantern light remained troubled.

  “Tres bien.” She slipped her arm around him. “I know I hold in my anger. Losing your uncle...” Her heart shivered. “My life in France. Stuffing it inside only makes it fester.” Bettina squeezed his shoulder. “A wise young sage named Kerra once told me that. Let us promise to...try and discuss our problems with each other.”

  Bettina escorted Fred to the assistant sheriff the next day, where the boy explained the circumstances of the fire.

  “Very well, young man, the printer says he’ll be pleased to take you on as an apprentice. If you faithfully apply yourself, I might exonerate you,” Aubert said with a shake of his finger. “Now don’t disappoint me or your aunt.”

  “I’ll try not to.” Fred nodded, his bandaged hands limp at his sides.

  “We will have many long discussions.” Bettina pressed his shoulder, hoping that remained true. He looked more resigned than enthusiastic. Would a man have managed the situation any better?

  Chapter Seven

  “Bonjour, mon amie!” A booming voice crashed through the air, almost rattling the café windows.

  Bettina laid down her inventory list, left the pantry and stepped into the kitchen. At quarter to four, closing time was almost here. She peeked around the doorway into the dining area.