Freedom's Price

by Christine Johnson

“No.” Tom was certain of that much. He must handle this meeting with great care. Henry Lafreniere might not even know of Catherine’s existence.

  To Catherine’s surprise, DeMornay joined her for a late breakfast. She had taken the light meal on the gallery, which enjoyed the breezes off the river. Catherine had pulled aside the curtains so that she might see the vast lawn extending from the house to the road paralleling the river. Just five days ago she and Tom had walked up that road, uncertain of what they would find. Today she was no more certain.

  “Good morning.” DeMornay slipped into the chair opposite her. “You are lovely as springtime this morning.”

  His eyes drank her in a little too familiarly.

  She looked away. “Surely you have work to attend to. Harvest, for instance.”

  His chuckle carried no mirth. “I can see you are a woman who never tarries. You will soon learn that life beside the river moves at a much slower pace than in your native land, where a season’s harvest might be ruined with an early frost.”

  “You have no bad weather here, then.”

  “Touché, my dear, but the sky is clear and the winds cool from the northwest. No storms will ruin the harvest this day.”

  The endearment made her cringe. “Tomorrow is another day, with challenges of its own.”

  “Then why worry about it today?”

  “I simply see no purpose in procrastination.”

  “An admirable view, but we can at least agree to enjoy each other’s company for the moment.” DeMornay reached across the table and caught her hand before she realized what he was doing. “You are too lovely to ignore.”

  Catherine withdrew her hand and clenched the napkin on her lap. His civility was overdone, as if he was trying too hard to direct her attention away from something. Since they’d been discussing the harvest, she assumed that was it.

  “You are expecting additional workers to arrive for the harvest?”

  She watched his reaction. He gave away nothing.

  “Is it always business with you? I have never met so single-minded a woman.”

  “This is now my home.” The word caught in her mouth, but she got it out. “As a Lafreniere descendant, I am naturally concerned with everything that relates to the family’s livelihood.”

  “As I’ve already told you, your cousin Henry has given me complete authority to manage the plantation. If he is pleased with my management, then surely you can be.”

  She couldn’t. “Speaking of my cousin, have you received any response to your letter telling him of my arrival?”

  “Not yet.” His expression was taut.

  “Then I ought to pay him a visit. I saw a carriage parked under the house. Might it take me into the city?” At the same time, she might locate Tom, whose absence had made the days pass slowly.

  DeMornay sat back ever so slightly, but it was enough for her to realize that she’d surprised him. He’d expected her earlier refusal to visit Henry Lafreniere to mark the end of the subject. That made her all the more determined to see her cousin. Perhaps his relationship with his manager wasn’t as well understood as DeMornay claimed it was.

  “Now, now, my dear Catherine. Why the hurry? I’m certain your cousin will arrive the moment he is free from business matters. There’s no reason for you to endure the grueling carriage ride into the city.”

  “How long could it be? Surely no more than a few hours.”

  His gaze narrowed. “The road is poor, the way treacherous in places.”

  “Then I shall take the ferry.”

  “Equally treacherous. Moreover, the city is no place for a beautiful woman like yourself without the protection of a strong man.”

  “Such as yourself.”

  He nodded slightly. “I would be glad to escort you after the harvest. That is your primary concern, is it not?”

  “Yes, but how long will the harvest take?”

  “Two weeks for the bulk of it. Perhaps sooner, depending on circumstances.”

  “Such as the arrival of labor.”

  His smile grated on her nerves. “You are astute, Miss Catherine. Your father taught you well.”

  “Papa also taught me to stand my ground. I wish for a carriage to take me into the city this afternoon.”

  “But did you not hear my concerns?”

  “I heard and took them under advisement, but as a Lafreniere by blood, I insist on the use of a carriage. I will accept no excuses.” To emphasize the point, she stared straight into his black eyes.

  This time he paused a little longer, though his smile never wavered.

  “That will be most difficult, Miss Haynes.” He reached into an inner pocket of his coat and withdrew an ivory envelope, which he handed to her.

  In a glance she saw it had been sent by Judge Graham. She turned it over to break the seal only to discover it was already broken. “You opened this?”

  He flicked a hand, as if it was of no consequence. “I didn’t realize it was addressed to you. How would I know you had already made acquaintance with a neighbor?”

  She gritted her teeth. The damage was done. Hopefully the judge hadn’t written anything personal. She slipped the single piece of paper from the envelope and scanned the brief message.

  “I’ve been invited to a dance. In Titchwood.” Her pulse accelerated at the thought of leaving the plantation for even a short while. “It would be good to meet our neighbors. In fact, I should welcome such society.”

  “It is merely a country dance in celebration of the harvest. Simple, perhaps, compared to what you are accustomed to experiencing.”

  “It will be delightful.”

  “It is tonight.”

  “Tonight!” Catherine had missed that detail. “Why did the invitation arrive only now?” Unless it hadn’t. Unless DeMornay had withheld it. Judge Graham said no one visited Black Oak. Perhaps it was also the case that no one from Black Oak attended social gatherings at nearby plantations and towns.

  DeMornay gave her nothing. “One can only assume it was delayed somewhere along the route.”

  “From Titchwood to here? It is not a long distance.”

  DeMornay’s taut smile never wavered. “Some darkies are indolent. Regardless of the delay, the dance is tonight.”

  She rose to her feet. “In that case, there is much to do to prepare. You will ensure I have use of the carriage.”

  “Of course, my dear.” He leaned back, content as a cat stretching after a nap. “We shall leave at seven o’clock.”

  “We?” She choked on the word.

  “The mistress of Black Oak must have an escort.” He swept forth his hand. “It will be my pleasure.”

  The brief glimpse of freedom vanished.

  16

  Please sit.” Henry Lafreniere motioned to a ponderous leather-cushioned chair, appropriate in an attorney’s office.

  Tom stifled his aversion to the occupation. Attorneys had claimed they would help Pa but ended up taking everything. They’d fought over the spoils like the Roman soldiers had with Jesus’s clothing.

  Henry Lafreniere bore little resemblance to Catherine. From the high widow’s peak carved from thinning brown hair to the bland gray eyes, he revealed none of the spirit that infused Catherine’s every movement. Lafreniere removed his spectacles and leaned back in his chair, the gray silk waistcoat clean and unrumpled.

  “My clerk informed me that you are here about some long-lost cousin.”

  “Catherine Haynes.”

  “That is a married name?” Lafreniere twirled the bow of the spectacles between his fingers, sending the lenses side to side. “I’m not familiar with anyone named Haynes.”

  “No, she is not married. She’s from England.”

  “England? We have no connection to that country. My family has lived here for generations. Before that, we came from France.”

  Was it possible Lafreniere didn’t know about Catherine? Had he believed the tale that Lisette Lafreniere had died after her grand tour and was buried in
the family crypt? Tom judged Lafreniere to be in his mid- to late thirties. He would have been a child when Catherine’s mother supposedly died. He might never have heard the truth.

  “Her mother, Lisette Lafreniere, married an Englishman.”

  Lafreniere smirked. “Lisette Lafreniere is interred in the family crypt.”

  “A casket might be there, but Catherine assures me that her mother is buried in England.”

  “I see, though perhaps you do not. Miss Haynes must be a fortune seeker. We see them from time to time.” He brushed at the air. “They are soon sent their way.”

  “She’s no fortune seeker.” Yet a worm of doubt wiggled into his mind. What proof did he have beyond her comely face and assertions? “She has her baptismal record.”

  “False. They always are. Would you care for a cigar?”

  “No, thank you.”

  Lafreniere opened a box and extracted a single fat cigar. “I can take a look at her so-called document.” He cut off the end of the cigar and lit it. “I’ll soon find errors proving it a fake and put an end to her ambitions.”

  A cloud of foul-smelling smoke made Tom’s eyes burn. “It isn’t false.” Catherine had shown nothing to indicate she was posing as an heiress to claim an inheritance. Given the state of the plantation, there wasn’t much worth inheriting. “I don’t see her seeking to inherit. She wants to make the plantation profitable.”

  Lafreniere’s gaze narrowed. “What does she know about Black Oak, or any other plantation, for that matter? Nothing. As a woman, she couldn’t possibly know what is or isn’t profitable.”

  “She can see. The plantation certainly doesn’t look prosperous.”

  Lafreniere tapped lightly on his cigar. “Is that her assessment or yours?”

  “Both.”

  “You are familiar with the operation of a sugarcane plantation?”

  Tom felt the blood creep up his neck. “No, but the buildings ought to look tended. Whitewashed at the very least. And there should be more help around.” He could name a dozen things, but that was sufficient to alert an absentee landowner. “Maybe you haven’t been out there recently and don’t know its current condition.”

  Lafreniere blew out a plume of smoke. “Your speech marks you as a northerner. You know nothing of our ways.” He leaned forward. “Since you are Miss Haynes’s advocate, I suspect she too lacks any knowledge. If this supposed heiress has something to say to me, she can do so in person without an intermediary. Please ask her to call on me. Alone. Meanwhile, I suggest you return home, Mr. Worthington.”

  That was the third time Tom had been warned to leave, all by different people. He ought to head back to Key West with Rourke and leave well enough alone. Catherine’s future was not his business. She had given him no reason to think they had a future except for the way she’d clung to him in the pigeonnier. Even though he’d fought the urge to kiss her, he’d felt her desperate passion.

  She was afraid.

  That was reason enough to stay. But there was also the matter of his father’s ship. The black ship, as Boyce had called it. Perhaps Lafreniere knew of it.

  The attorney blew out another cloud of smoke. “If that’s all, I am a busy man.” After drumming his fingers on the desktop, he stood and began to make his way around the desk.

  Tom did not rise. “Does the plantation have its own ship?”

  Lafreniere halted. The pause was tiny but enough to tell Tom that this question had caught the wily solicitor by surprise. “Why would it?”

  “To ship out the sugar?”

  Lafreniere smirked. “There are plenty of barges and steam tugs willing to haul sugar.”

  “For a fee.”

  “Less than the cost of maintaining a ship and hiring a crew.”

  Lafreniere had a point. Yet the earlier hesitation told Tom he’d hit upon something that Lafreniere didn’t want to discuss. Further questions would only make the man more wary. Something peculiar was going on at Black Oak, something that neither DeMornay nor Lafreniere wanted him to discover. Something that could very well put Catherine in danger.

  Tom slowly rose. “You make a good point.”

  Lafreniere’s expression stayed taut, his gaze still narrowed. “Why do you ask, Mr. Worthington?”

  “I am a sea captain.”

  “Ah.” At last Lafreniere relaxed. “Seeking employment? Or a fortune, like Miss Haynes? I assure you that neither is to be found here.”

  “So I see.”

  Disappointed, Tom bid Lafreniere farewell and stepped out into the sultry air. The bustling streets filled with pedestrians, hawkers, peddlers, carriages, and horses did nothing to ease his discomfort. Something was very wrong at Black Oak, and Catherine was stuck in the midst of it.

  “Are many dances held here at Black Oak?” Catherine asked Aurelia as the maid arranged her curls for the evening.

  “Ain’t never been none since I got here.” Aurelia glanced toward the door even though DeMornay had not returned from the fields yet.

  During yet another long afternoon of unsuccessfully looking for items on Tom’s list, Catherine had come to the conclusion that none of them were on the premises. Tom must be wrong about DeMornay stealing his father’s ship. That made her feel a tiny bit better about tonight’s arrangements.

  “Of course you will come with me to Titchwood.” Often Catherine had brought a maid when no family member was available to escort her. This evening she needed someone as a buffer between her and DeMornay.

  Aurelia’s nimble fingers stilled. “No, miss.”

  Catherine fought a wave of panic. “Then who? Surely not just Mr. DeMornay and myself.”

  “Walker see after you and drive de carriage.”

  “No footman?” Catherine had scraped to save every shilling at Deerford, but she always had both driver and footman when taking the carriage.

  “Don’t know. Ain’t never seen Massa take out de carriage for a ball.”

  “It’s not a ball. It’s a simple country dance. I insist you join me.”

  “Massa won’t like it.”

  “Master?” Aurelia’s wording perplexed her. “Don’t you mean ‘the manager’? Mr. Lafreniere is your master, not Mr. DeMornay.”

  Aurelia finished Catherine’s hair and adjusted the ruffles on her regal blue gown. “Don’t never see Massa Henry.”

  “Never? Surely he visits the plantation at least once a year.”

  “No, miss.”

  “Wasn’t he raised here?”

  “Don’t know. I weren’t here den.”

  Catherine was getting nowhere with this. Clearly the family had become deeply estranged if the son never visited his father, even at his deathbed. Deep sorrow welled as she recalled her papa’s gradual decline.

  “Then there truly is no family,” she whispered. The deepest hope of her heart was crushed.

  Aurelia set down the curling tongs. “Dey go off here and dere, like boys is wont to do.”

  “I have no experience with that, never having had a brother.” Catherine shifted her perspective to another point that had troubled her since she arrived. “What is it like living here? How are the servants treated?”

  Aurelia fiddled with Catherine’s already completed hair. “Don’t know about dat, but if I was you, I’d be gettin’ gone right soon.”

  Catherine ignored the repeated warning and returned to the subject Aurelia was avoiding. “You know how your family is treated.”

  Aurelia busied herself tidying Catherine’s bottles and jars of creams and liniments.

  “If I’m to be mistress of Black Oak,” Catherine continued, “I want to do everything possible to ensure contentment, even happiness.”

  “Happiness ain’t for dis life.” Each word was coated with bitterness.

  Again Catherine wondered about Aurelia’s past. “How did you come to be here? Who brought you?”

  The housekeeper’s face hardened. “Done come by ship.”

  Could it have been Tom’s father’s ship?


  “How long ago?”

  “Ten, twelve years. Cain’t say exactly. We don’t count da passin’ days like white folk do. We count days ta glory.”

  Aurelia’s words tugged at Catherine’s heart. With no hope here on earth, those like Aurelia must cling to God’s promises of a mansion prepared for those who love Jesus. “One day you could be free. Great Britain freed the slaves.”

  “What man can free someone’s soul?”

  “A courageous man can write laws—”

  Aurelia’s derisive snort cut her off. “Laws don’t mean nothin’.”

  “They do. It can take time, but the enslaved peoples are now free throughout the British empire. One day that will be true for you too. America will see reason.”

  “Change come wid great cost.”

  Catherine couldn’t deny that. The upheavals, the poverty, the repercussions were serious. “But right must prevail.”

  Aurelia didn’t respond, and Catherine began to wonder if such drastic change could ever happen in this woman’s remaining years. The streaks of gray meant she was not a young woman. Her worn frame, once tall and strong, bespoke a life of hardship. Lives without hope wore down quickly.

  This place seemed caught outside time. Would tonight’s dance be the same? Catherine’s nerves fluttered as Aurelia put away her day dress.

  “What should I expect tonight? Will there be many people there? What sort of dancing? Are ladies expected to accept every invitation? What is considered proper?” She knew nothing of this society. What was considered mannerly in Staffordshire might be offensive in Louisiana. Why had she agreed to attend?

  Aurelia closed the armoire doors. “If dat be all, miss.” Her gaze remained rooted to the floor.

  Catherine could expect no help from her. Aurelia likely had no experience with Louisiana society. Catherine must muddle through and hope the neighbors would grant her leniency.

  She sighed. “I suppose so.”

  Aurelia turned to go but paused at the door. “You oughta wear jewels.”

  What a peculiar statement. “I have no jewels. All Maman’s jewelry is gone.” Except the pearl earrings.

  “He has some.”

  “He?”