by Beth White
“He’s a patriot! Why is that so hard to believe?”
“Judah, it doesn’t matter what I believe. General Jackson just got back from kicking the British out of Pensacola. He could have you hauled up, right along with Laffite and his men.”
Judah leaned forward. “I told you I’ve stayed on the right side of the law, Fiona. But Laffite is hoping to be pardoned so he can live without looking over his shoulder. And he may be the one man who can pull Jackson’s bacon out of the fire.”
“What do you mean?”
“The Brits are determined to figure out a way to get into New Orleans. And if they do that, they’ll be able to take Mobile and Pensacola back.”
“I’m not sure Jackson appreciates the danger,” Uncle Rémy said gravely. “No matter how fast we work to build it up, our American navy is outshipped, outgunned, and outmanned. We thought we could stay out of Europe’s trouble on the other side of the ocean, refused to spend money on our own military—and now we’re literally paying for it.”
Judah nodded. “The bad thing is, money won’t fix the threat to New Orleans. The British have just whipped Napoleon and are sending those seasoned marines and sailors over here to attack. If Jackson doesn’t get his skinny carcass to New Orleans quick, it’ll be too late to keep them out. But even if he does decide to mount a defense, he’s not familiar with the bayous and swamps and waterways that can be used to our advantage—and he doesn’t have enough men and boats and ammunition to fight back. Laffite can provide all that—if Jackson will accept the aid of a gentleman pirate.”
Fiona stared at her brother, imagination fired. “How can we convince him?”
Judah laughed. “Pray for me, little sister. That’s my job. Actually, mine and Uncle Rémy here. Our family has over a hundred years of influence laid up in this city and in New Orleans. What’s it good for, if not to spend on preserving our freedom?” Sobering, he laid his hands flat on the table. “If you don’t want to be a British citizen sometime in the next few months, you’d better pray Andrew Jackson decides to swallow his pride.”
NOVEMBER 12, 1814
MOBILE
Charlie’s week in the Fort Charlotte guardhouse had been lonely, frustrating, and uncomfortable. But when Mrs. Madeleine Gonzales Burch and her little son Elijah came to visit him, he found himself overwhelmed with embarrassment at his inability to properly entertain this lady. Which struck him as a singularly ridiculous emotion in the presence of the enemy.
As she settled herself upon a chair outside the bars of his cell, provided by the slovenly creature assigned to guard him, Charlie recalled the first time they met—he at the impressionable and scruffy age of thirteen, she as an eighteen-year-old debutante. His grandparents had hosted a house party that summer at Riverton, in honor of Miss Gonzales’s parents, Don Rafael and Doña Lyse Gonzales de Rippardá. The family—including shy, awkward eleven-year-old cousin Fiona—had arrived with a mountain of luggage and a flurry of Spanish-infused laughter that intrigued even Charlie the rebellious rusticator. Beautiful and accomplished Madeleine, who spoke four languages fluently and read a couple more, and whose lovely soprano entertained the company every evening whilst her father accompanied her on the guitar, paid not the slightest attention to Charlie skulking in the background—which cavalier treatment sealed his terminal case of calf-love.
Now, endeavoring to appear unmoved by her sudden whim to break the monotony of his solitary confinement, he wished he’d had the opportunity to bathe and shave before entertaining Fiona’s beloved cousin.
Whatever her motives, she kept them to herself, putting back the hood of her cloak and then folding her gloved hands neatly in her lap.
Little Elijah had no such reservations. He pelted toward Charlie’s cell, grabbed the bars with both hands, and tried to put his head through. “Hello, Mister! Mama says we are to do our Christian duty and visit the prisoners, and she says I mayn’t ask what you did, but I said you wouldn’t mind, would you?”
“I do not mind at all, but perhaps we should introduce ourselves as gentlemen first. I am Lieutenant Charlie Kincaid, and you must be Elijah?”
The boy’s eyes widened. “I told Mama I was famous, ’cause everybody knows who I am already. See, Mama?”
Charlie bowed. “Famous and forthright.”
Madeleine grabbed her son by the coattails and pulled him back from the bars just before he got his head stuck. “I am terribly sorry, Lieutenant Kincaid. I knew I should have left him at home.”
Now that he had somehow got her feeling in the wrong, Charlie began to enjoy this rather bizarre encounter. He pulled forward the severe ladder-back chair he’d been allowed and crossed one leg over the other as if he conversed with widowed ladies from behind the bars of a prison cell every day of the week.
“I’m very glad you did not. Perhaps Master Elijah would like to practice with my bilboquet whilst we talk? A Mr. Counselman stopped in and gave it to me several days ago, but I have yet to master the technique of landing the ball in the cup above one time in ten tries.” Charlie reached under his cot and showed the boy the carved wooden toy. “He brought it along with a basket of books and stayed all afternoon to give me an astonishingly thorough lesson in American government and economics.”
“Oh! I gots one of these!” Taking the ornate little cup and spindle with its wooden ball attached by a string, Elijah began to flip the ball into the cup, tip it out, and repeat the exercise with dizzying speed and accuracy.
Madeleine smiled. “Mr. Counselman made that himself, I’m sure, but he is so modest he wouldn’t have told you so. He’s quite the artist, and his fishing lures are prized all over the territory.”
“He did mention both fishing and carving, but he seemed more intent on converting me from my wrongheaded views on monarchy, aristocracy, and parliamentary procedure.” Charlie laughed. “Reminded me of my grandfather quite a bit.”
Madeleine blinked. “I don’t remember your grandfather being of a Republican mindset.”
“Oh, no, but he was a proponent of broad reading and debate as a method of sharpening one’s thought processes and personal convictions.”
“Funny that you brought up your grandfather . . . It is my memory of him, and your family’s kindness to ours, that brings me here today.”
“Indeed?”
“Yes. I want you to know that I mean to speak to General Jackson on your behalf, when he returns from Pensacola.”
“Forgive me if I question what good that will do, Mrs. Burch.”
“Please, call me Madeleine. I understand your skepticism, but you’ll have to take my word for it that my connections go pretty far up the chain of command.”
“All right. Let’s say you are not only sincere but correct in your estimation of your influence. What exactly do you hope to gain? I will not be paroled, for I will never swear to refrain from participating in the war on the side of my country. I desire to return to my duties as soon as may be.”
She nodded. “I would expect nothing else. No, I am hoping you’ll be included in a prisoner exchange. And I wish in return for you to agree never to contact my cousin Fiona again.”
“Oh, I see. My grandfather’s service to your family in the past and the return of your brother are not enough. Now I must earn your gratitude by cutting ties with the woman I love.”
She looked away. “Come, Lieutenant Kincaid, you and Fiona are both very young. These first attachments can seem unbreachable when one is in the throes of youth, but I assure you they fade with time. She will get over it and be grateful that we didn’t allow her to cut herself off from her family—and you, well, young military men are notorious for fickleness of heart. Don’t try to tell me you didn’t have an inamorata in every port before you landed here.”
“Mrs. Burch, what a cynical mindset you have. I don’t know whether I should be insulted or feel sorry for you. Was your husband really such a philanderer?”
The big brown eyes swung to his face and her pretty mouth fell open. “Ho
w dare you—”
“Ah, it’s true, I see. How long was it before the bloom fell off the rose and you realized what you’d got yourself into?”
She stood abruptly, snapping her fingers to get her son’s attention. “Come, Elijah, give the toy back to the lieutenant. We must go home.”
“But, Mama! I almost got to a hundred!” The boy clutched the bilboquet to his chest.
“You can’t count to a hundred. Give it back.”
Charlie moved to crouch in front of the bars. “You may have it, little man. One day you’ll have to return and show me your technique.”
“I assure you,” Madeleine said coldly, “he will not be coming back.
Charlie looked up at her, amused by her kittenish outrage. “And I presume the prisoner exchange offer is rescinded as well. Ah well, it was a nicely played volley. I bear you no ill will, and I will do my best to convince Fiona to forgive her relatives’ attempt to manipulate her life choices without her knowledge.”
Madeleine actually stamped her foot. “She—she is very angry with you anyway, after you stole her horse—and wouldn’t believe anything you say, even in the unlikely event that she ever saw you again. So don’t get your hopes up.”
He rose and grinned down at her from his superior height. “On the contrary, my hopes are considerably lifted. You would never have come here if you weren’t petrified that Fiona will change her mind and run off with me. I shall sleep well tonight, Mrs. Burch—oh, sorry, Madeleine. Since we are to be kin by marriage, I had best get accustomed to your Christian name.” He tipped his head and said with exquisite relish, “And you may call me Cousin Charlie.”
Maddy couldn’t think when she had been this angry—except possibly the day she’d found a strange woman’s garter in her husband’s trunk. How did Charlie Kincaid know about that? No one knew—not even her parents. She was always careful to speak of Stephen with respect and nostalgia. Dear Lord, she even tried to think of him charitably. It had taken a long time to get over the anger, to release the bitterness and forgive. They’d managed to build a solid, comfortable marriage, in spite of his long absences.
Well, if she was honest, likely because of his long absences. Stephen hadn’t been all that easy to live with.
She continued to stomp down the road, holding Elijah by the hand, trying not to foolishly berate him for acting like a little boy. He walked along, holding his bilboquet by the spindle, swinging the ball in dizzying circles and reeling off his usual spate of unanswerable questions. “Mama, why does leaves fall down instead of up? Where does the sun go when it rains? Can dolphins read music? How come ships don’t tip over? Why can’t I see my nose?”
She didn’t even bother answering until he looked up and frowned. “Mama, you’re cross. Why don’t you like Uncle Charlie?”
She squeezed his hand and sighed. “He’s not your uncle, honey. And I don’t not like him. I’m cross about . . . something else.”
“Oh.” That seemed to satisfy him, and he went mercifully quiet. Then a few minutes later, “Well, why is Uncle Charlie in prison? Did he do something bad? Did he forget to make up his bed?”
She laughed. “Undoubtedly. So remember that when you get up in the morning.”
Sense of humor restored, she picked up her skirt and started to trot. “Come on, I’ll race you home.”
With a whoop, Elijah snatched his hand from hers and took off, legs pumping. Maddy kept him in sight until he darted around the corner of Royal Street and Conti. She took a deep breath and ran a little faster. Served her right for initiating such an unladylike pursuit as racing.
Just as she reached the edge of the Laniers’ yard—with Elijah nowhere in sight—a large, closed carriage, piled high with luggage, rolled down the street from the direction of the waterfront. What on earth? Uncle Rémy hadn’t said anything about expecting guests.
She slowed to a walk and watched the carriage bypass the Laniers’ house to roll into her own drive path. A man leaned out of the open window to wave, a handsome middle-aged man who looked an awful lot like—
“Papa!” she screamed and ran for him.
By the time she got to him, breathing hard from her run, the carriage had stopped, the two horses stamping in the traces, blowing steam into the cold afternoon air. Without waiting for the driver, Papa opened the carriage door and jumped down to envelop her as she flung her arms about his neck.
“Oh! Oh! Oh! I didn’t know you were coming!” She was crying with joy.
“How is my heart of hearts?” Papa rocked her, clearly almost as emotional as she. “And here is your mother right behind me, who will beat me about the head if I don’t give way immediately.”
Maddy laughed and let him go, smearing away tears with her fingertips. “As if Mama ever did anything but kiss you in the most disgustingly affectionate way imaginable!” She reached for her laughing mama, who had in typical fashion descended from the carriage unassisted. “Mama! I have missed you so much!”
“Oh, but I live in fear of my Lyse’s displeasure. It is a fact.” Papa stood back beaming as Maddy and her mother embraced.
“And I you, my darling!” Mama leaned back to take Maddy’s face in her gloved hands, her expression sobering. “How I wish I could have been here to support you in Stephen’s passing. I know it has been hard.”
Maddy bit her lip and looked away. “Yes, I have had to grow up.”
Papa rubbed his hands together. “Come, ladies, let us continue this reunion indoors.” Taking the two women one on either arm, he walked toward the house, leaving the driver to follow with the luggage. “But where is my little grandson? I vow I shan’t recognize him, it’s been so long since I saw him last.”
“My goodness, I completely forgot about him!” Maddy looked around in chagrin. “He ran ahead of me, and then I saw you—He must have gone on to Uncle Rémy’s house.”
“Then let us follow posthaste.” Papa turned to the driver. “If you would be so good as to leave everything on the porch here, I will dispose of it when we return.” He pulled a large silver coin from his pocket and gave it to the driver, whose eyes lit.
“My pleasure, Don Rafael.”
Maddy and her parents crossed the yard and mounted the steps to the Laniers’ front porch. Maddy knocked, opened the door, and stuck her head inside. “Aunt Giselle! Have you seen Elijah? I have a surprise for you!”
Giselle, wearing a pair of steel-rimmed spectacles and an apron, appeared from the family parlor. “Hello, dearie—I haven’t seen the little rascal, but that doesn’t mean he’s not here. I’m thinking you might want to attach a bell to his collar like—” A gasp interrupted whatever she had been about to say. “Lyse! Rafa! Come in, come in!” She hugged both newcomers, then drew them all into the foyer. “I’ve a nice fire going in here, and tea made. You’re hungry after such a long trip, I’m sure. Oh, what a grand surprise!”
While Giselle disposed of outer garments and made everyone comfortable in the parlor, Maddy listened in vain for childish voices. “I’m going to look around and see if Elijah slipped past.”
“I suppose he could be upstairs with Ruthie. She’s writing a story.” Giselle shook her head with fond amusement. “The boys have gone hunting with their father, and Fiona and Sehoy are in the barn.”
Maddy’s mother paused in the act of pouring tea. “Fiona is here?”
“Yes, I’ll explain about that,” Giselle said with a sigh.
Leaving her parents to visit with her aunt, Maddy went to the foot of the stairs. “Elijah? Are you up there?”
After a moment, his voice fluted downward. “Here I am, Mama. I’m telling Ruthie her story.”
Panic gave way to irritation as she hurried up the stairs. “How dare you disappear without telling me where you were going, young man?” She marched to the schoolroom doorway and stopped, nonplussed. Ruthie sat at the table with pencil and paper, apparently transcribing the dictations of her little cousin, who lay sprawled on his stomach like a sultan across a large floor pil
low in front of the fireplace.
“You was too slow, Mama, so I comed over here to wait.”
Ruthie poked her spectacles higher on her nose. “Aunt Maddy, Elijah is the best storyteller! His is much better than mine.”
“Indeed?”
“Yes, ma’am! Listen to this! ‘Prince Charlie slept very well that night on the pirate ship, but he forgot to make up his bed the next morning. So the evil pirate Jackson put him in jail. But as soon as it got dark, Charlie climbed out the window and swam a hundred miles to shore. “You can’t count that far!” shouted Jackson the Pirate in a rage, but Charlie laughed and said, “Oh, yes, I can, cuz I’m a Republican!” So when he got to land, he sneaked into the first castle he came to—really quiet—and was gonna steal a horse, but he knew that would be bad, so he waked up the princess. He gave her a rose to pay for the horse, and she said she would be his inamorata if he’d take her with him. But he said, “No, I don’t need none of them, expecially girls,” and he rode off on her horse and she cried bitterly.’” Ruthie sighed. “Isn’t that lovely, Aunt Maddy?”
Maddy stared at her niece. “Oh, my, that’s . . .” Pressing her lips together, she looked at Elijah. His eyes had drooped shut. If he wasn’t asleep, he would be soon. “What an interesting story. I’ll just . . . go visit with our guests while you keep writing.”
She walked down the stairs like one in a dream. A horrible dream in which one’s dirty laundry hangs out the window for the world to snigger at. It was hard to feel superior to Fiona when her own choices had been so very unwise.
Upon reaching the parlor, she stood looking at her beautiful parents, still in love with one another after more than thirty years, eyes flirting, finishing one another’s sentences. Why couldn’t she have been enough for Stephen? What was wrong with her? Was Charlie Kincaid right—that she was imprinting her husband’s infidelity onto every man she met?
“There you are, my dear.” Aunt Giselle beckoned. “Are the children safely occupied? Come and sit down with a cup of tea. You look worn out, poor darling.”
