The Creole Historical Romance 4-In-1 Bundle

by Gilbert, Morris

Now she felt physically exhausted—and also besieged with doubts.

  This will never work. I feel so—so stupid! God knows what we need. Why do I have to keep on praying?

  She had prayed all day Sunday and all Sunday night, and now the sun was coming up. Her mouth was dry, and she felt the pangs of hunger. She could hear people moving around the hotel and knew that they were going down to breakfast.

  How long can I keep this up? And why should I keep it up? It isn’t doing any good.

  Neville had warned her before they had parted that thoughts like these would come. “It’s not a glamorous, exciting thing, praying through like this. Your body gets tired, but your mind gets even more tired. Most people can’t keep it up. But remember, Jesus prayed in the wilderness for forty days without eating.”

  Now Chantel shifted her position again on her aching knees. Suddenly she held up her hands and cried, “Oh, God, I don’t know how to pray! I’ve said everything I know. Do with me what you will, only save my sister.”

  Then even as she knelt there, Chantel felt her mind begin to clear. It was as if a fog had been in it, and now a fresh wind blew it away. A feeling of completion came to her. Somehow she knew that God had heard!

  As she quietly waited, a memory came to her very sharply, as clearly as if she were going through the experience again. It had to do with Michael Broussard and something he had said. She had paid little heed at the time, but now as she knelt there, suddenly she knew that this was the answer she had been seeking. She got to her feet slowly and whispered, “Thank you, God.”

  Then she walked to the door. Going out into the hall, she knocked at Neville’s room. When he opened the door, she did not even give him time to speak. “I think God has given me something, Neville,” she said, “but you must decide.”

  “Come in and tell me,” Neville said. He pulled her inside and shut the door.

  “It’s a little thing, but do you remember when we asked Broussard about Tubberville? He told us something that I hardly even took in because I was so worried about Veronique. He said that Tubberville had a daughter who had run away from home.”

  “I remember that. What about it?”

  “If we can find her, she will know that Veronique is not her real sister.”

  Neville blinked with astonishment. “Of course,” he said. “I’m so dense! She could give us the proof we need.”

  “Can we find her?”

  “Yes, we can find her. It’s something definite.” He smiled suddenly and said, “Fasting and prayer seemed to have worked.”

  A great joy came to Chantel, and she whispered, “It’s the first time I ever really heard from God about something. Come, we’ve got to get started. We must find her quickly!”

  Chapter twenty-seven

  Michael Broussard had not been surprised to see the couple return. “I thought you would come back,” he said. “How is Monsieur Gaspard?”

  “He’s very well. Well enough to go back to New Orleans,” Chantel said. The two had reached the Broussard cabin at midday and had talked most of the way about how to find Tubberville’s daughter. Now Chantel said, “You told us, Michael, that Simon Tubberville had a daughter who ran away.”

  “Yes, that is true.”

  “We need to find her,” Chantel said. “Does she live around here?”

  “No, she ran away with a man, but I think she would not want her father to find her even now. She was an unhappy girl. I think anyone living in that house would be unhappy.”

  The words gave Chantel pain, and she said, “If we could just find her, I think we could get my sister back.”

  Broussard shrugged. “I will ask around. Someone will know.”

  “Can you find out as quickly as possible?” Neville said.

  “I will do my best, monsieur.”

  Neville and Chantel were impatient, but there was nothing else to do. Broussard had left at once, riding out on his gelding, and they had decided that they would not go back to Baton Rouge but simply wait, no matter how long it took.

  Finally they went for a walk. November had come, and a chill was in the air. The sun overhead was white and threw rays that did not contain much warmth. They reached the edge of the bayou, and for a time they simply stood looking out.

  A great blue heron was fishing down the way. He moved slowly, almost imperceptibly, then suddenly his beak shot down and he came up with a small fish. He tossed it into the air, caught it expertly, and swallowed it headfirst.

  Neville turned to Chantel. “I haven’t told you what I want to do with my life.”

  “Are you going to leave the law and become a minister? I know you’ve talked about it.”

  “Not right away. I want to start a work down on the waterfront in New Orleans. I don’t know if you’ve ever been there, but it’s filled with derelicts, men and women who have reached the very bottom. They’re without hope, and no one seems to care about them.”

  “How can you help them, Neville?”

  “Well, for one thing, see that those who are starving get something to eat and a place to sleep, at least for a night or two. And then, of course, I want to lead as many as I can to know the Lord Jesus as Savior.” He went on for some time speaking of the rescue mission that he wanted to start.

  “I’d like to help, Neville. I can’t do much, but I can give money.”

  “That’s a kind heart speaking. I’m sure if you saw some of those poor men and pitiful women, you’d know that this is a good thing to do.”

  “I do know it, and I think it’s wonderful that you want to do such a thing.”

  “I’ll keep on with my law practice, and my income can build the place. I’ve been talking to some business associates, and many have said that they’d like to help.”

  “I want to come and see it when you get started. You’ll be preaching, won’t you?”

  “Unless we can get someone better.”

  Chantel listened as he spoke, and finally she turned her head. “Listen, I hear someone coming.”

  “It’s Broussard!” Neville exclaimed. “Let’s see what he’s learned.”

  Broussard came off his horse, smiling broadly.

  “You found out something, didn’t you, Michael?” Chantel cried.

  “Yes. I found the name of the man Joanna Tubberville ran away with. His name is Romain Billaud.”

  “Good work!” Neville said warmly. “Did anyone know where they live?”

  “His family were fishermen. They lived in St. Charles. That’s all I could find out.”

  “That’s enough. Thank you, Michael,” Neville said. “Come on, Chantel. The door is open.”

  St. Charles was a rather dreary village, and both Chantel and Neville were tired from their journey. “The horses are about done in,” he said. “I think we’re going to have to rest them up no matter what we find here.”

  “Oh, I hope the woman is here. She could help so much.”

  “She may not want to speak,” Neville warned. “Cajuns are very private people—very clannish. They don’t display their troubles for outsiders. But we’ll see.”

  He stepped out of the wagon and spoke to a man who was leaning back in a chair against the outer wall of a storefront. “Excuse me, sir. I’m looking for the Billaud family. Do you know them?”

  “I reckon I do.” The man was a rangy individual dressed in a heavy brown coat with a broad-brimmed hat pulled down almost over his eyes. “You know the family?”

  “We’ve never met them, but we have business with them.”

  “Well, you may not have heard, but Frank Billaud died last year. His wife still lives here though.”

  “Can you tell me how to get to her house?”

  “I can.”

  Neville listened carefully to the directions, said thank you, and got back in the buggy. “At least we found the right family.”

  They found the house with no trouble, and both of them got out and walked up to the front door. It was a plain white house, not large but with two stories, an
d was well cared for. When he knocked on the door, a tall woman opened it and waited for them to speak.

  “Mrs. Billaud?”

  “I am Mrs. Billaud.”

  “My name is Neville Harcourt, and this is Miss Chantel Fontaine. I wonder if we might speak with you.”

  The woman hesitated, then she nodded and said, “Come in.”

  When the pair entered, she led them to a drawing room where there was a fire throwing out warmth. “What can I do for you?”

  “I am an attorney from New Orleans, Mrs. Billaud. We need very much to find the woman who was Joanna Tubberville.”

  “That is my daughter-in-law.”

  Relief flooded Chantel, and she said quickly, “We need to find her very badly.”

  “Why would you want my daughter-in-law?”

  Neville understood her apprehension and said, “There’s no problem with Joanna or with your son, Mrs. Billaud. We simply need some information from her about her family.”

  Mrs. Billaud said, “I’m afraid I can’t give out information to strangers.”

  “May I at least tell you why we need to find her?” Chantel asked.

  Mrs. Billaud looked at the young woman, and something changed in her face. “I suppose it will do no harm for me to listen. Sit down.” She took a chair herself, sitting stiffly upright.

  Chantel at once plunged into the story of how she had lost her mother and her sister. She felt that this was the time for the truth, and she related everything that had happened. “So you see, Mrs. Billaud, I’m convinced that the girl who is living with Simon Tubberville is really my sister, and I need her back. She’s all the family I have.”

  Something about Chantel’s voice and features must have moved Mrs. Billaud, for she said, “I never heard of such a thing, but I would put nothing past Simon Tubberville!” Her face grew tense. “He’s a vicious man. When Romain wanted to marry his daughter, I felt he was making a mistake. But we were wrong about Joanna.” Her face eased, and she said, “She has been a good wife to my son.”

  “Could you tell us where they are? Do they live here in St. Charles?”

  “No, Romain lives in Alexandria. He owns a general store there and has two fine children.”

  “We need to see your daughter-in-law and get the truth about how this girl came to her family.”

  “I think that is a good thing to do. That is no place for a child— especially a young girl.”

  “I think something may be done if Joanna could help us.”

  Mrs. Billaud went to a desk against the wall, where she wrote a note and put it into an envelope. “Give this to her,” she said. “I think you’ll find she’ll be as helpful as she can.”

  “Thank you so much, Mrs. Billaud.”

  As the two left the house, Chantel said, “Can we leave today?”

  “I’ll have to change these horses. Perhaps there’s a stable we can rent from while these two rest up. Yes, I think we need to press on as quickly as we can.”

  Alexandria was a much larger town than St. Charles, but finding the object of their quest was not difficult.

  “I’ve been praying that this would be the end of our search,” Chantel said as they pulled up in front of the store.

  “So have I. Let’s go in.”

  It was a rather large general store packed with merchandise of all sorts, from animal traps to bolts of cloth to groceries of many kinds. A woman stood behind the counter, and when they approached, she smiled and said, “May I help you?”

  “We’re looking for Mr. Billaud.”

  “That’s my husband, but he’s out of town on a business trip. Could I help you?”

  “I have a letter here, Mrs. Billaud, from your mother-in-law.”

  “From my mother-in-law? Is she all right?”

  “Oh, she’s fine!” Chantel said. “She thought the note might introduce us to you.”

  Joanna Billaud opened the envelope, read the letter, and said, “We can speak privately in the room behind the store.” She lifted her voice and said, “Claude, watch the store while I’m gone.”

  Chantel and Neville followed her down the aisle and then into a small room containing a desk, a safe, and several chairs.

  “Would you care to sit down?”

  “Thank you very much,” Chantel said. “I’ll tell you the same story I told your mother-in-law.” She launched into her story, and Joanna Billaud listened. Her face changed when Chantel mentioned the little child who had disappeared, but she said nothing. Chantel left nothing out, telling how one of their number had been wounded in an attempt to get the child back.

  “And so you see, Mrs. Billaud, I’m convinced that the child known as Jeanne Tubberville is really my sister, Veronique Fontaine. I want to take her out of that place and give her a home. I can provide for her very well and give her love and affection.”

  Chantel came to the end. For a moment she feared that the woman would not be willing to help, for Joanna’s face had grown hard.

  She sat there silently, but finally she said, “So you would take the child into your home and treat her as your own?”

  “She’s all the family I have. I just want to help her.”

  The woman looked directly at Chantel and examined her carefully, as though she were trying to memorize her features. Finally she said slowly, “I remember the day my father brought the girl home.”

  “Then she’s not Simon’s daughter! I knew it!”

  “No, she is not his daughter. And you are right. Just one look tells you she’s not like the rest of the family. Her hair and her eyes are different. Everything about her is different.”

  “What did your father say about her?” Neville asked.

  “He said that a man had died and the mother was sick and had other children. He said she asked him to take the child as his own.

  I never believed that, but no one ever questioned my father. Not in that house.”

  At once Neville expelled a sigh, and his eyes met those of Chantel. He turned again and said, “Would you testify to this, Mrs. Billaud?”

  It was as if the woman did not hear him. She sat there staring blindly across the room, and finally she whispered, “My father, he is not—a good man.” She seemed to struggle with painful memories that were coming back, then she turned to face them. “I had to run away because it was not safe for me to be there.”

  She turned to Chantel and said, “I love the girl Jeanne. Get her away from that place.” Then she turned and nodded. “Yes, Mr. Harcourt, I will take an oath before God in court that Jeanne is not of Tubberville blood.”

  The sun had come out in full strength now, and heated the earth as Neville and Chantel drove along the rutted road. The rain had softened it, and the mud was splattered over the guard and had even gotten on their clothes. But it did not matter.

  Neville had taken Mrs. Billaud to the local judge, and she had told her story. It had been set down, and she had signed it. Now he patted his pocket and said, “With this paper and Mrs. Billaud’s testimony we’re going to be all right.”

  “She was very worried about Veronique, and I am, too. Oh, we must get her out of there at once.”

  The buggy jolted along, and Neville turned to face her. “We will get her out,” he said. “God is on our side.”

  Chapter twenty-eight

  He looks more like a gambler on a riverboat than a sheriff, Chantel thought as she studied Sheriff Louis Prewitt. Neville had discovered that Sheriff Prewitt had jurisdiction over the area where the Tubbervilles lived, and the two of them came to his office and presented their case to him. Prewitt sat back in his chair, fondling the gold chain that hung across his colorful vest, and studied the pair. He was a short man, no more than five-foot-five, but he wore high-heeled boots to compensate. His white ruffled shirt was almost glaring, and a string tie decorated the area under his chin. From time to time, as Prewitt moved his hands, four diamond rings glittered. He had innocent-looking blue eyes, and overall Chantel was disappointed in his appearance. She
had expected a strong looking man over six feet tall.

  Prewitt brought his chair down and laid his delicate looking hand on the paper that Neville had brought to him. “And what you say these papers they mean?”

  “That you have the authority to get Miss Fontaine’s sister from the home of Simon Tubberville.”

  “And what I gonna do with her?”

  “The papers explain that you may turn her over to us. There will be a trial to determine the parenthood of the girl.”

  Prewitt scratched his cheek gently. He had an olive complexion and a thin mustache that he touched from time to time as if to reassure himself that it was still there. He studied the pair before him, then turned to the tall, hulking man who stood with his back to the wall listening to all of this. “What you think, Odo? You think Tubberville give up this child if we say please?”

  The deputy was at least six-foot-three and massively built. He appeared to have some Indian blood in him. He said stolidly, “I theenk we will maybe shoot him first. He will nevair give up nothing, him!”

  Prewitt stroked his mustache fondly, then looked up at Chantel. “Why I should maybe get killed or get Odo here killed trying to get this girl?”

  Neville said quickly, “Because you’re a noble man, and I have a feeling that Tubberville isn’t one of your favorites.”

  The words touched a nerve in the sheriff. “He is not, no!” Reaching down, he stood up, walked around the desk, and pulled up his right pant leg. “You see thees scar? Tubberville give him to me. He shoot me two years ago, and I promise I shoot him back someday.” He said, “Odo, go get Jean Baptiste and Sonny. Tell them to bring plenty guns and bullets.”

  The big deputy moved out the door, making no noise whatsoever, and Sheriff Prewitt said, “You staying at the hotel. I’ll send someone after you when we get back.”

  “I’m going with you,” Chantel said.

  “No, that is not good,” the sheriff said at once. “He is a dangerous man.”

  “That’s right,” Neville said. “You mustn’t come, Chantel, but I’ll go.”

  The argument was rather long and lasted until Odo got back with the two other deputies.