White Apache

by tiffy

  Heʹs playing with me. Gritting his teeth against the stinging but shallow cuts, Shelby persevered. His strategy was to tire Louvois and let him grow overconfident. Well, at least the second part of his plan was working. Louvois had excellent reason to be overconfident. Samuel backed away from Louvois in ever‐widening circles.

  ʺStand and fight, you flailing American savage,ʺ he taunted, ʺif you have the nerve.ʺ

  ʺA better question might be if you have the wind,ʺ Samuel said, falling back again.

  A flash of anger showed plainly on Louvoisʹ face. He was furious with Shelby for playing this evasive game. The Frenchman felt a trickle of perspiration race down his temple in spite of the early morning cool. ʺI grow weary of this charade. Let us end it,ʺ he said to Shelby.

  ʺEnd it if you can, old man. Your filthy habits are telling on you.ʺ Samuel felt his foeʹs blade again graze his forearm as he danced backward.

  Several times, their seconds tried to intercede when Samuel was hit. It was clear that neither man planned to let his enemy leave the field alive. The attending physician was just a formality, and everyone in the small group knew it.

  Damn his choice of weapons, Samuel thought as he parried another vicious thrust by a hair. Give me a saber. Then I could do some damage. But in spite of his bleeding cuts, the American could see that his youth was giving him a desperately needed advantage. Sweat began to soak the Frenchmanʹs shirt and run in rivulets down his face.

  If he continues his offensive on me, he may make a fatal mistake. Of course, that was predicated on Samuelʹs staying alive long enough to take advantage of any opening. He goaded his scandal‐ridden brother‐in‐law into expending more energy carelessly. ʺYour debauchery has slowed you down, French fop. You were once reputed to be a master fencer. Why havenʹt you killed me by now?

  Perhaps your lovers have poxed youor does your sort carry the disease?ʺ

  Louvois responded with a swift, vicious thrust as Samuel danced backwards again. ʺI will take great pleasure in killing you, knowing how your devoted sister shall grieve. But rest assured, I will console my enceinte wife.ʺ

  Louvois, too, could play the game of taunts. Keep him talking, wasting his breath.

  ʺHow does the news of Lizaʹs condition strike youeh, Louvois?ʺ A mocking smile slashed Shelbyʹs dark face; his eyes were cold as a stormy sea. Again he moved back, avoiding the Frenchmanʹs deadly blade.

  ʺYour sister is a whore, but perhaps it will be to my advantage to claim the child.

  What do you think? Not that you shall be around to see it.ʺ

  Louvois calmed down, and his blade once more moved with effortless wrist action, the perfect minimum of expended energy that marked the expert fencer.

  For every flick of his blade, Samuel had to exert more effort to counter, but his unorthodox slashing movements threw off Louvoisʹ rhythm. Even though the American was exposed to more hits, his swifter reflexes kept them to light, stinging cuts.

  The contest had begun in the middle of a clearing surrounded by high grasses and hillocks, with a dense stand of maple trees to the south. Gradually, Samuel lead his foe in an ever‐widening circle, moving toward the trees. Thick, gnarled roots bulged above the muddy earth around them. Having fought pitched battles against Indians on just such treacherous ground, Samuel was well versed in survival by virtue of sure‐footedness. The diplomat did not share that experience. Still, the ploy could backfire and he could be the one to slip. But considering how uneven were their skills with foils, Samuel knew he had to take the risk.

  ʺAmericans not only lack gentlemanly refinement, they are cowards to boot. You run from my blade, pretty boy.ʺ

  ʺDo I? Or do you simply grow tired of moving so swiftly?ʺ Again that nasty white smile flashed.

  Louvoisʹ next lunge left an opening, and Samuel took a chance. Feinting to the left swiftly, he made a savage pass at the Frenchmanʹs arm. His first blood! And it was a deep puncture in the bicep. He reveled in the look of amazement that flashed across Louvoisʹ face.

  ʺWhy, monsieur, it would seem youʹve never been marked before. Hurts like hell, doesnʹt it?ʺ Again Shelby moved back, with an enraged Edouard Louvois pursuing him.

  Every broken blood vessel in his face seemed to glow in the brightening sunlight.

  ʺI have never been marked by a crude oaf who uses a fine foil like a farmerʹs axe.

  Glory in that accidental strike. It will be your only one before I kill you.ʺ

  By now they were close to the trees. Louvois saw the rough, uneven ground behind Samuel, and his pewter eyes betrayed a flash of satisfaction before he masked it. Shelby, who had paced off the dueling grounds with painstaking care the day before, now prepared for the gamble of his life. You saw it, didnʹt you, you old fox? He carefully gauged Louvoisʹ physical condition as well as his state of mind. The Frenchman was out of breath, wet with sweat, and bleeding freely.

  That hit on his sword arm was an additional piece of luck. Shelby backed toward the cluster of roots beneath the largest maple, with Louvois in pursuit.

  Suddenly, Shelbyʹs boot heel struck a tree root and he turned as if regaining his balance. His second cried foul and demanded they stop and withdraw to level ground, but neither combatant heeded him.

  Sensing the kill, Edouard Louvois moved in. His foil aimed for Shelbyʹs heart, and he thrust it deeply just as the American backed up. Louvoisʹ blade was embeded as he lunged forward and thrust deeper, feeling the fine point of his blade break through Shelbyʹs back.

  The physician ran forward as an outcry rose from the small assembly.

  New Orleans, March 1807

  William Charles Coe Claiborne read the note with such joyous disbelief that he forced himself to read it a second time. Then he turned to the big black man who identified himself as Rufus from the Doubert Plantation upriver. ʺYou say itʹs nearly four hours by horseback to your place?ʺ

  ʺYassah. Road be real bad.ʺ

  ʺMadame Louvois and her newborn are in no condition to undertake such an arduous journey now, but I must see them safely returned to the city as soon as possible. Have madame send word the very moment she is ready to travel.ʺ

  He returned his attention to Eliseʹs note after Rufus had departed with his secretary, Paul. What could have become of that cold‐eyed renegade, Quinn?

  Elise seemed quite concerned for the bounder, but he imagined, since the Spaniard had lathered her daughter, that was natural enough. Still he found it difficult to imagine a man with Quinnʹs singularly unique survival skills falling prey to brigands or alligators!

  The rogue had probably fled American territory and returned to the savages, deserting his wife and newborn daughter without a shred of conscience. Sighing, Claiborne decided he would have to instigate a search in any case.

  When Elise felt that Orlena was strong enough and the weather warm enough, she sent word to Governor Claiborne. The boat and escort of soldiers, along with a ladyʹs maid who doubled as a nurse, arrived the following day. Not trusting the maid Ellen, Odine announced her intention to accompany Elise and her baby.

  When they arrived in New Orleans, the pungent perfume from the French Market hung redolent on the warm morning air. Spring had come to the city in a sudden burst of golden glory, leaving the citizens, always the most gregarious and jovial of people, livelier than ever. Elise did not share their zest for life on that beautiful day. Nearly a month had passed since Santiago had bidden her such a tender farewell and ridden away with Juliette Doubert, never to be heard from since.

  Elise was anxious to ask the governor what he had learned about Santiago and the Doubert woman, yet afraid to face him. lf l see pity in his eyes, Iʹll not be able to bear it. Tears threatened, but she straightened her posture and thrust her chin out resolutely. The small entourage wended its way up the levee to a waiting carriage. Iʹve done nothing but cry for weeks. Enough! Just then Orlena made a small burble. The sound warmed Eliseʹs heart, and she smiled down at her beautiful daughter.

  ʹʹA
inʹt she the lovey one,ʺ the young Scots maid, Ellen, said. ʺNever did I see such a brae bairn, so wee yet full of life.ʺ Her freckled face split in a wide smile that softened her irregular features, making her almost pretty. Ellen held Orlena while Elise climbed into the carriage, then reluctantly handed the infant back to her mother.

  The streets were crowded with all manner of people as they made their way to the governorʹs house. Free women of color with baskets of fresh flowers on their heads walked regally past red‐faced French fishmongers calling out that their shellfish were fresh caught in the gulf that very morning. Creole gentlemen decked out like peacocks disdained greasy‐haired Kentucky rivermen who spat noisome lobs of tobacco on the banquettes and cursed in strident English.

  The ride took far longer than the distance warranted because of the chaotic, narrow streets, but all too soon Elise was back in the hotel apartment she and Samuel had rented upon their arrival in the city last December. The Creole housekeeper had water heated for a bath and a special bassinet made up for the baby. The reprieve before facing Claiborne was welcome.

  All too soon, she stood before the door to his office in the Cabildo. His secretary ushered her inside. Claiborneʹs face, always slightly flushed, took on a rosy hue as he rushed from behind his large desk and greeted her effusively.

  ʺThank God you are safe, my dear! Your daughterI trust she, too, is well? You look quite splendid after surviving such an ordeal in the wilderness.ʺ He blushed and pulled out a chair, waiting for her to be seated.

  Elise had dressed in her best rose silk day gown and had Ellen dress her hair in a gleaming coronet of braids atop her head. She had decided to face whatever ordeal lay ahead at least looking like the woman she used to be. ʺYou are more than kind, your excellency. Yes, little Orlena is doing famously.ʺ She smiled, but the haunted look in her eyes must have struck the governor.

  He looked down at his cluttered desk and shuffled several papers nervously, then said, ʺI only this morning received some news. Castalʹs sister, the Widow Doubert, has been at large in the city.ʺ

  Elise clutched the chair arms. ʺHow can that be? She should be under arrest for her part in the conspiracy. Lord knows, Wilkinson has arrested practically every member of the Mexican Association.ʺ

  ʺShe has not exactly been hiding, but neither has she been seen. The report came to me from my dear Clarisseʹs cousin, Rodrigo Duralde, who paid an unannounced visit to his bankerʹs home.ʺ

  ʺAllow me to hazard a guess. His unfortunate banker was Clark Jamison.ʺ

  Claiborneʹs embarrassed flush heated his face as he replied, ʺJust so. And, of course, like the rest of the city, he is still unaware that Jamison and Castal perished in the swamps. But as the servants were turning him away at the door, he chanced to recognize the widow as she swept through the hallway. He mentioned it in passing, quite by chance, this morning when we had breakfast together.ʺ

  ʺIf sheʹs here, then what has she done to Santiago?ʺ Eliseʹs voice was tight with fear.

  ʺThat is precisely what I hope to learn shortly. Iʹve had the lady arrested and brought to the Cabildo.ʺ ʺMight I join you while you interrogate her?ʺ Elise Leaned forward in her chair. Her expression was forbidding.

  ʺAre you certain thatʹs wise, my dear? What ifwell, that is, if her cohorts in treason have harmed Quinnʺ

  ʺIf they have, I want to know immediately. Iʹve languished in the country feeling sorry for myself for weeks. Besides, I might be able to get the lady to talkwoman to woman, you understand?ʺ Her eyes were like chips of amethyst ice as she rose and faced Claiborne, daring him to refuse her, knowing he would not.

  The room where Juliette had been detained faced the forbidding stone prison behind it. Conditions had grown very crowded in the Calaboose because of General Wilkinsonʹs numerous arrests over the past months. The jail was packed with political intriguers, and the message was not lost on the frightened woman.

  She turned luminous, tear‐bright eyes to the governor when he walked through the door.

  ʺGovernor, whatever is the meaning of this summons?ʺ she asked in a bewildered voice. Then, seeing Elise behind Claiborne, her eyes narrowed and she paled. ʺWhat is that woman doing here? Surely you give no credence to her lies. She is simply jealousa cast‐off mistress who blames me because her lover deserted her.ʺ

  ʺDid he desert me, Juliette?ʺ Eliseʹs voice was cold and level as she dosed the distance between them slowly.

  Juliette backed up a step and looked from her adversary to the governor. ʺPlease, explain what is going on. I have done nothing to deserve arrest.ʺ

  ʺWhere is Santiago? He left your brother‐in‐lawʹs plantation almost a month ago with you as his prisoner.ʺ ʺThat is absurd,ʺ Juliette interjected with great affront.

  ʺThat is fact. He was bringing you to the governor because youʹre up to your painted eyelids in the conspiracy to invade Spanish territory.ʺ

  ʺShe must be suffering from childbed fever! I know nothing of any conspiracy.ʺ

  Juliette edged further away from Elise and nearer Claiborne.

  Elise turned to the governor and asked, ʺMight I have a few moments alone with the widow? There are some things better settled between women.ʺ

  ʺNo!ʺ Juliette seized Claiborneʹs arm with a vicelike grip.

  He looked from the frightened Creole to the calm American and decided that discretion was indeed the better part of valor. Prying Julietteʹs hand from his arm, he turned to the door. ʺI shall await you in my office at the far end of the hall. Just summon the guard outside the door if you need assistance.ʺ

  ʺI donʹt believe that will be necessary,ʺ Elise said softly.

  ʺYou cannotʺ

  ʺAh, but he can and he has,ʺ Elise said grimly as she opened her reticule and extracted a small knife. The blade caught the afternoon sunlight as she held it up.

  Juliette debated faking a swoon and decided against it. The crude American guards might well let her languish while the furious woman in front of her cut her heart out! She shoved a chair between her and her taller adversary. ʺIf you kill me, the governor will have to arrest you, even if you are both Americans,ʺ

  she said in her heavily accented English.

  ʺWhat makes you think I would just kill you, Juliette? First Iʹll mark you. You know Santiago is called the White Apache. I am the White Apacheʹs woman.

  Iʹve seen things in New Mexico that would make even your blood congeal. And Iʹm capablevery capableof doing whatever I must to learn the truth. Where is Santiago? I wonʹt ask again.ʺ She flicked the knife at the cornered womanʹs ruffled sleeve and caught the cream‐colored lace, ripping it.

  ʺNext time itʹll be your arm.ʺ

  ʺI did not kill the Irishman,ʺ Juliette said in breathless haste. ʺHe is there.ʺ She pointed out the window.

  ʺIn jail?ʺ Elise asked incredulously.

  By the time Governor Claiborne was summoned, Elise had wrung the whole mad tale from a sobbing, hysterical Juliette.

  ʺIt would seem the charming little widow has a number of youthful admirers among General Wilkinsonʹs junior officers, governor. When Santiago was bringing her to you, they chanced upon a patrol. A few tearful pleadings from her brought a dozen muskets to be leveled at him. Lieutenant Melrose threw him in the Calaboose, but conveniently neglected to write up a report.ʺ

  ʺNo wonder weʹve been unable to find any trace of him.ʺ Claiborneʹs relief was palpable. Quinn had not abandoned Elise!

  ʺFortunately for her,ʺ Elise cast a meaningful glance at Juliette, ʺshe had not informed Wilkinson that Santiago was in his jail. Jamison himself told me thatʹ he was under orders from the general to silence Castal and everyone else who knew about his complicity in the filibuster. Wilkinson would certainly have seen that Santiago met with a fatal accident while in the Calaboose.ʺ

  ʺIʹll see to his release at once.ʺ He turned to summon a guard, but Elise stayed him. ʺPlease, may I be allowed to unlock the door? I have owed this to him since Santa Fe,ʺ she added with a wicked
smile.

  Claiborne gave her a curious look but did not ask questions. ʺVery well. I shall see to accommodations for the grieving widow here,ʺ he replied drily.

  Chapter Thirty‐Four

  Santiago sat in the small, rat‐infested cell, watching a large spider devour the hapless moth that had chanced into its web. He scratched his bristly beard, now well grown out, and visualized what he must look like after weeks in this filthy hole. He had been in solitary confinement for at least ten daysever since his last unsuccessful attempt to escape. At least the American guards had not beaten him excessively, but his left arm still ached where the brawny sergeant had twisted it after disarming him.

  The trouble was losing his edge. In Santa Fe, he had not cared if he lived or died.

  He had performed like the desperate man he was. Now with Elise and little Orlena depending on him, he could not risk getting killed. That had doomed his escape. If only he could convince someone to send word to Claiborne. To date, all his guards had looked at him as if he were a raving lunatic. And he certainly looked the part. Lord knew, if he had Julietteʹs pale throat in his hands right now, he would choke the life from her with the fiendish glee of a madman. He scratched his chest, where the vermin infesting his sleeping pallet nightly devoured him. While he was trapped here, Elise and Orlena were stranded on that ghastly shambles of a plantation. What if his tiny daughter took a fever or something happened to Elise? Such nightmarish visions had kept him from sleeping since he had been thrown into this hellhole. He placed his head in his hands and sat, slumped against the rough stone wall.

  That was how Elise found him when she peered through the bars. ʺThis time you were not able to escape before I could rescue you.ʺ

  His head jerked up, and bloodshot green eyes set in a grizzled face stared at her in amazement. He rolled to his feet in one lithe movement as the guard unlocked the door for her. Elise stepped into the small, filthy cell and threw herself into his arms, heedless of her fine dress or his filthy buckskins and unwashed body.