Tainted Lilies

by Becky Lee Weyrich

  One part in particular stirred the hearts of Nicolette and Jean Laffite. General Jackson wrote:

  They performed their duty with zeal and bravery… Captains Dominique and Beluche, lately commanding privateers at Barataria, with part of their former crew and many brave citizens of New Orleans, were stationed at Nos. 3 and 4. The general cannot avoid giving his warm approbation of the manner in which these gentlemen have uniformly conducted themselves while under his command, and of the gallantry with which they have redeemed the pledge they gave at the opening of the campaign to defend the country. The brothers Laffite have exhibited the same courage and fidelity; and the general promises that the government shall be duly apprised of their conduct.

  While the Te Deum was sung, Nicolette knelt beside Jean Laffite in Saint Louis Cathedral, deeply moved by the service of thanksgiving honoring the triumphant army.

  She reached out and unobtrusively took Laffite’s hand. She hadn’t truly seen him until this very minute. She could hardly believe he was real… and with her again. She wanted so to throw her arms around him and hold him close.

  Tonight! she thought. At the Victory Ball! Everything Jean and I have ever hoped for will come true tonight!

  He smiled down at her and she felt her heart ache with love for him.

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Nicolette waited like a nervous bride at her parents’ home for Jean to arrive. Their only time together so far had been the quiet hour in the cathedral. Immediately after the service, Laffite had been swept away from her on army business.

  They had had only a hurried moment alone—long enough for Jean to kiss her once and say, “I’ll come for you at seven this evening for the ball.”

  She had spent the afternoon finishing her gown—a special creation of white, trimmed in red and blue ribbons and silver stars to commemorate the grand occasion.

  “Nicolette, I have never seen you look so lovely. Being enceinte becomes you, my dear.”

  Gabrielle DelaCroix, gowned in French-blue silk, bustled about her niece, making sure she was perfect from every angle.

  “You and Papa are coming to the ball together?” Nicolette asked with some concern.

  “Of course! And don’t you be silly about it, Nikki. Everyone knows how your maman is. She imagines herself in a convent. She hasn’t seen Claude or anyone but the servants and the doctor in weeks. Poor thing! I’m afraid she’s quite ill. Yet she seems happy for the first time in her life. Perhaps when we don’t have what we want, God gives us the will to create our own happiness in our minds.” She shrugged. “Who knows?”

  Jean Laffite arrived at that moment and came to the salon where Nicolette was waiting. She caught her breath when she saw him. Never had he looked so magnificent. He was dressed in military uniform: tight buff britches, shiny black dragoon boots, and a fitted blue campaign jacket. She stared at him, too awed to speak.

  How will I ever last through dinner and the ball without making a spectacle of myself? I want him so! she thought.

  As if he read her thoughts, Laffite came to her and took her into his arms, finding her lips parted and waiting. Time seemed to stand still. Nicolette marveled at the way he could make her feel. She had a hunger for him which would never be satisfied—not if they lived and loved a thousand years.

  “It’s time we were going, darling,” Laffite said at last. “Everyone should be at the French Exchange before the General and Mrs. Jackson arrive. We want to make this a grand evening for him.”

  Even the weather seemed to have changed its attitude for the occasion. The air was still cool, but the rain had stopped. A few stars twinkled overhead, shining as brightly as those on the American flags, which flew all over the city.

  The banquet and ball proved elegant. The town fathers had spared no expense in their efforts to thank their general and his officers.

  When Laffite introduced Nicolette to General Jackson, the tall soldier bowed over her hand, impressing her with his mannered words. Surely General Jackson possessed two personalities, she thought. This man was certainly not the tough old warlord she had seen at headquarters in Royal Street.

  Rachel Jackson was a bright dumpling of a lady. And she obviously adored her husband. Nicolette hid a smile behind her lace fan as “Old Hickory” led his bride onto the dance floor. He galloped into a lively reel with Madame la Generate, as the Creoles called her, to the fast-paced strains of “Possum Up De Gum Tree.”

  “Nikki, my dear!” Dominique Youx called. “Ah, you look like a flower in full bloom. How can my little brother stand to bring you here and share you with everyone? Had I a lady of my own like you, I would be at home… teaching her lovely things.”

  Captain Dominique was decked out for the occasion almost as handsomely as Laffite himself, though the older brother wore his treasured uniform of the grande armée of France. His chest gleamed with medals.

  “Jean and I are both anxious to hear General Jackson make his commendations this evening. At last, you’ll all be free men—heroes!” Nicolette said, beaming. “What do you plan to do now, Dom?”

  “Me, I got my eye on a little tavern here in the city. I plan to settle down, Nikki.”

  “And marry?” she asked.

  Dominique’s eyes twinkled merrily. “No, my little dove. I leave that to you younger folk. Me and Reyne, we were born bachelors. Now, Pierre, that one should marry. I’d be proud to call Marie Louise my sister!”

  Nicolette glanced about. She hadn’t seen Pierre tonight. “They aren’t here!”

  “What are you thinking, Nikki? Of course Pierre couldn’t bring Marie Louise—a griffe—to a party like this. It would be an embarrassment to her. No, they are home together with little Jean, celebrating in their own fashion.

  Nicolette didn’t miss the fact that, though most of the guests at the ball greeted her warmly, a few still held out, even now. Let them pretend they don’t know me! she thought. All that will change soon enough!

  She watched her father and her aunt across the floor. They stood together, laughing quietly over some secret joke between them.

  Aunt Gabrielle is the loveliest woman in the room, Nicolette thought. But others were eyeing Nikki and saying those same words aloud.

  Raised voices from across the room suddenly drew Nicolette’s attention. General Jackson, Governor Claiborne, Colonel Coffee from the general’s staff, and Jean Laffite were standing together. Nicolette couldn’t hear what was being said, she could only make out the angry tone of Jean’s voice.

  “Now, gentlemen,” she heard Jackson say in a cajoling tone, “let’s begin this introduction all over again. Colonel Coffee, I’d like to present Captain Laffite.”

  The colonel hesitated a moment too long in extending his hand and Laffite snarled, “You remember me, Colonel! Laffite the pirate!”

  In a rage, Laffite whirled about and headed for the door. Nicolette stood watching, horrified. What had happened? Where was Jean going?

  She ran after him and caught up on the stairs, clutching his arm.

  “Wait, Jean! What’s wrong?”

  His face was a storm cloud. “Everything! Claiborne and Coffee just insulted me. You see, they don’t need me now. New Orleans is safe. They never meant to accept me… only to use me! I won’t stay where I’m not welcome. I’m leaving!”

  “You can’t leave me!” Nicolette cried.

  “I certainly can’t take you! I don’t even know where I’m going.”

  “Jean, please,” she sobbed. “Don’t do this.”

  He pulled his arm away. She had never seen him this angry. She crumpled to the stairs, overcome with shock.

  “Dom will let you know when I’m settled somewhere. I’ll send for you then.” He turned to leave, but hesitated and said, “I love you, Nikki.”

  “Jean!” she wailed, struggling to her feet. But he was gone.

  Nicolette fled back into the ballroom to find Dominique Youx. The jovial cannonier had missed the angry exchange and Laffite’s departure.

 
“Dom,” Nicolette said desperately, “I need your help. Jean’s gone! You must take me to him!”

  Jean Laffite felt as if his whole world lay in pieces about his shining boots. Two things only he wanted in life: Nicolette and a country to belong to. If he couldn’t have a place where he was respected and accepted, how could he have Nikki? She deserved far better than he had to offer.

  He stood on the deck of his ship with a handful of Baratarians as crew—men like himself, who could never settle down. The difference between me and them is that they don’t want to and I’m not allowed to, he thought bitterly.

  He had made a few stops on the way to his ship—at his house to pick up some gear, at a tavern for enough wine to see him to Havana, at the stable to make sure his horses would be tended. Now the wind was rising and there was no reason for him to linger in the harbor.

  His sad eyes traveled to the lights still glittering in celebration at the French Exchange. Perhaps he should have let Nikki come with him. It would have eased his pain to have her share it. But, no. How could he ask that of her? She’d been through enough on his account already.

  “Hoist anchor!” he bellowed.

  Every groaning wrench of the anchor chain seemed to be twisting around his heart. The lights of the city dulled through the mist in his eyes. He stood for a long time, not wanting to let go of New Orleans. His whole life was there…

  “You can’t take me back! The wind’s wrong!”

  Did he imagine the voice? Was he losing his mind?

  “Nikki?” Laffite asked without turning.

  Warm hands slipped about his waist from behind and he felt a slight frame pressing against his back. His whole body quivered at the touch.

  “I waited until you had the ship out of the harbor. I know you didn’t want me to come, but you see, I can’t live without you. You said you loved me, Jean, but I think I must love you even more. And, besides, I didn’t get a chance to tell you that I’m going to have your baby, and, well… I just don’t think it’s fair for you to leave now.” She knew her words were tumbling out in a jumbled torrent, but she couldn’t stop them. “Dom brought me to the ship and told me it was right for me to be here. He said you need me just as much as I need you. He’s your older

  brother, Jean, and I think you should listen to him…”

  Laffite finally put an end to her nervous monologue. He caught her in his arms and stole her breath with his lips. She could feel his tears on her cheeks and soon her own mingled with them. They seemed unable to tear themselves apart even long enough to speak.

  When, at last, Jean released her, he stared down with eyes as warm as spring light on the sea.

  “Oh, Nikki, my darling, I do love you so!”

  “You won’t send me back, then?” she asked in a small, trembling voice.

  “I’m going to send you below!” he answered. “To the captain’s cabin… with the captain!”

  Nicolette learned to love that small, austere cabin in the months to come. In her lover’s arms, she passed the gentle nights at sea, learning a passion few women ever experience. For the first time in her life, she felt totally free. She had only to please herself and her man.

  And when their daughter was born early the following summer, she added to their love, cooing her pleasure of the waves’ rolling motion from her sea chest cradle next to their bunk.

  On a night in the fall, when the soft air hinted of winter, beckoning travelers toward home, Nicolette asked gently, “Jean, darling, what course are we sailing?”

  He cradled Nikki and little Jeannette in his arms, kissing one and then the other. His smile gave him a boyish look, and his eyes twinkled with the green-gold lights Nicolette had learned to love that first night he kissed her on the levee.

  “Where are we sailing? I thought you knew, darling. I’ve set a course that will take us straight into the pages of history!”

  Nicolette laid her head on his firm shoulder and sighed. She couldn’t think of a nicer place to call home.

  Afterword

  Jean Laffite became a legend in his own time. He remains this country’s most colorful and mysterious folk hero. Tales about him vary from writer to writer. The real man remains cloaked in secrecy.

  He was born in Bordeaux … no, in Port-au-Prince. He was a pirate … never! He was a patriotic privateer. Laffite said so himself! He died in 1826, in the Yucatan. But, no! His journal, written in French, was translated and published in 1958. It plainly states that Jean Laffite was still alive in 1850. And an old family Bible gives evidence that Jean Laffite, alias John Laffin, died May 5, 1854, in Alton, Illinois.

  Many of the various tales about this man he undoubtedly put into circulation himself. It is known that at a ball one evening in New Orleans, Laffite told three ladies totally different stories concerning his birthplate, his age, and his marital status.

  On June 4, 1850, Laffite wrote in his journal: “Nobody knows who I was, but I knew myself quite well.”

  Jean Laffite planned it that way!

  Historians tell us of his settlement at Galveston similar to the one on Grande Terre. He was reported to have been in Washington, Baltimore, Charleston, St. Louis, Havana, and the Yucatan in later years. But where did he really go and what did he do with the rest of his life after leaving New Orleans in 1815?

  The answers are as elusive as the treasure troves he reportedly buried. While I was writing this novel, an old chest filled with Spanish gold was unearthed at a construction site in New Orleans—supposedly buried by Jean Laffite. Perhaps someday the true and complete story of the “gentleman smuggler” will come to light, just as his gold does from time to time.

  My thanks to the staff of The Historic New Orleans Collection and members of the National Park Service, especially those connected with Chalmette National Historical Park and the Jean Laffite Park, for their help with my research. Special gratitude goes to Emmie Espinole for giving me a tour of the old Orleans Ballroom and bringing characters out of New Orleans’ history to life for me with her wonderful tales.

  And, as always, I must say, “Merci!” to my traveling companions and research assistants, Hank and Vincent.

  Becky Lee Weyrich

  Unicorn Dune

  St. Simons Island, Georgia

  April 1983

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