“Some of them does, but me and Saralee are the only ones livin’ here in the big house. Too many rooms to clean and repairs to make when there ain’t no white folks about to use ’em anyhows. Teachin’ Saralee how to cook…well, it helps pass the time. Besides, every girl should know her way ’round a kitchen, I allus say.” She eyed Harriet. “You knows how to cook?”
Harriet laughed. “A little. I don’t have much time for it, though. I work so many hours.”
“Are you a doctor, for true, like Etienne said?”
“Well, yes, but not a medical doctor. I’m a psychologist. That’s sort of a mind doctor.”
“Well, glory be!” Blossom hooted. “I reckon we both be knowin’ someone ’round here in need of a mind healin’.”
They smiled companionably at each other.
“Where’s Saralee now?” Harriet asked, resuming her meal.
“Upstairs takin’ a bath.”
Harriet stopped eating. “A bath?” She sighed. “Upstairs?”
“Ain’t much in this house that the mildew and mice and wood worms doan call home, but that big old marble tub upstairs survived it all. And I makes sure those field workers come by once a month to clean the cistern.”
“Blossom, I’ll make a deal with you. If I can have a bath and a change of clothes…I don’t care what kind of clothes, a feedsack will do…if I can just have a half hour in a real tub with clean water and soap…well, I think I would do anything for you. Even help you thump some sense into Etienne’s gourd.”
Blossom beamed. “Sometimes the Lord does make a body’s work easy. A bath? Thass all? And here I was plannin’ on diggin’ up all the silver to offer you a bribe.”
Harriet gave the wily black woman a double take. Blossom played the part of a frail old lady, but Harriet suspected she was a lot stronger than she appeared. Yep, Blossom had more aces up her sleeve than a cardsharp.
Etienne had better beware.
In fact, the way Blossom was studying her, Harriet decided she’d better beware, too.
Toward evening, a clean, sweet-scented Harriet had still not found Etienne. She’d had a long soak in the fabulous marble tub on the third floor, having soaped and shampooed three times with Blossom’s gardenia soap. Now she wore an old gown Selene had left behind more than twenty years before. The fact that it dragged on the ground and bagged in the chest and was pink calico didn’t matter a bit to Harriet. It was clean, and that was the most important thing.
Harriet approached the back of the mansion from the “street” where the slave quarters used to be. Though ecstatic over their freedom, the blacks had apparently found that freedom didn’t pay the rent. Nor did it bring the expected “forty acres and a mule.” The war had been won, but it was an empty victory when empty bellies growled.
There were about forty of the unpainted cottages. many with little fenced-in gardens flourishing with fresh vegetables—pole beans, corn, beets, potatoes, squash, cucumbers, pumpkins and that Louisiana favorite, okra, which was a preferred ingredient for thickening the Creole gumbo, along with sassafras. The surprisingly well kept area housed about a hundred and fifty former slaves, who’d come back seeking work and living places for their families.
These people were dirt-poor, but self-sufficient. Too bad Etienne didn’t see the value in that. Sure, it would take a long time to get the plantation back on its feet again, but he had all the time in the world…as long as he and the workers were able to survive physically. One step at a time was all it would take.
But Etienne would have to take the first step.
Whoa! Hold on a minute! Wasn’t it odd that she, who had always held such ambitious goals, now considered day-to-day survival a noble ideal. Her much-valued independence didn’t seem all that important when placed in the microcosm of a plantation on which all of the people comprised an interdependent unit, each needing one another to make the whole work. Fame and fortune waned in importance compared with the satisfaction there would surely be in bringing this land and home back to life. Not that Harriet would be around long enough to see all those things happen.
It was late afternoon by the time Harriet finally found Etienne in his old schoolroom on the fourth floor of the mansion. By then she was wild with worry.
“I’ve been searching for you. Where have—”
“Don’t talk.” Etienne pulled Harriet through the doorway and into his arms. If the foolish wench insisted on venturing into secluded spots, seeking him out, she would pay the consequences.
“But, Etienne…” she protested.
He wrapped his arms around her waist, lifted her off the floor and walked her the few steps to the wall.
“Oomph!”
He hadn’t meant to slam against her. “I’m sorry, chérie. My body seems to have a mind of its own,” he murmured.
“You know what they say about men’s mighty minds?” she gasped out as he adjusted himself to her curves. She had delicious curves. “They’re mighty empty.”
He buried his face in the curve of her neck and nipped the soft flesh with his teeth. She smelled of gardenias and fresh woman skin. Suddenly his headache didn’t pound quite so badly. “No talking,” he said through gritted teeth. “And most definitely, no dumb-men jokes.”
He’d ridden over the plantation most of the day. The swamplands had reclaimed Bayou Noir. The bayou and the sugar lands were demanding mistresses. Unless pampered and given attention on a regular basis, they lost their veneer of civilization and quickly reverted back to jungle.
After his tour, Etienne had bathed in his childhood swimming hole, hoping to restore his spirits. Harriet had warned him about being negative. She’d said he could bring Bayou Noir back if he really wanted to.
Did he want to?
Yes! Etienne realized that was exactly what he wanted, and needed. Although he’d spent only his first six years here, Etienne’s love of the bayou was anchored firmly in his soul. When he thought of home, he didn’t envision California. He conjured images of shimmering sunlight on slow-moving streams through age-old cypress forests. Bayou Noir. His father had hated the South and couldn’t wait to leave; Etienne couldn’t wait to return.
But could he restore Bayou Noir?
Maybe. If he completed this mission for President Grant, he’d get twenty thousand dollars in commissions and back pay. That would surely give him a firm foundation…a start.
He drew back a bit and studied Harriet. Then he smiled. “Well, well, aren’t you the picture of…pink,” he drawled.
She looped her arms around his neck and smiled back.
Etienne’s heart constricted with breath-stopping yearning.
“I look like a big pink flower,” she said with a grimace.
“A gardenia?” He sniffed deeply. “Perhaps,” he said, running his fingertips down her sides from her armpits, over the indentation of her waist, then the flare of her hips, and back up again, “or a fluffy raspberry syllabub. Good enough to eat.”
“No,” she demurred weakly as he began to lower his mouth toward her parted lips. “That’s not why I came here.”
“I just want to kiss you, chérie. That’s all.”
He brushed his lips across hers. Once. Twice. Coaxing.
She moaned. “That’s what men have been saying throughout the ages. That’s the second biggest MCP lie on record; the first is ‘I love you, baby.’”
“Just a kiss,” he breathed against her mouth. Who cares what men say in other times? The trick here is to keep Harriet’s mouth busy so that she can’t talk, or think.
“No,” she breathed back. “I can’t resist your kisses.”
“You can’t?” he said and grinned. Thank you, God! Then he allowed himself the slow, exquisite pleasure of fitting his lips into the shape of hers. They were a perfect fit. Soft and hard. Teasing and punishing. Tempting and demanding.
“You are such a jerk, Etienne. But you sure can kiss, I’ll give you that,” she choked out.
He grinned and brushed aside a strand of hair that had
loosened from the knot atop her head. Then he trailed his lips from her too-enticing mouth to the small shell of her exposed ear. “A good kisser, huh?”
“Don’t act so surprised,” she said, struggling to escape his hands, which were locked on her sinfully sweet but tocks. He noticed that she didn’t struggle very hard, which was convenient because he didn’t think he could stop touching her if his life depended on it. “Women probably tell you that all the time.”
“Tell me what?” he asked, having lost his concentration. Her meager struggle had caused her breasts to whisk across his shirt and peak. “Oh, that I’m a good kisser? No, women have told me that I do other things well, but I can’t recall kissing being mentioned. Would you like me to demonstrate those other talents?”
“You are such a pig, Etienne. I’ve been looking for you all day to tell you that,” she informed him hotly. Or was she just hot? His brain was too fuzzy with want to distinguish. “But all I can think about now is how much I want to kiss you. Endlessly.”
It was Harriet then who took his face in both hands and pulled it down to hers. It was Harriet who pressed her lips against his and forced his mouth to open for her tongue. Well, not really forced. Etienne was just a mite surprised, that was all. “Endlessly,” he echoed on a prayerful sigh of appreciation when he came up for air…the first time.
“Endlessly,” she promised when she came up for air…the second time. Or was it the third? Etienne had lost count.
In the distance Etienne heard the sound of the dinner bell calling the sugar workers from the fields, but he was beyond caring about such bodily appetites as food. The only appetite his body had now was for the woman cradling his arousal against her parted thighs.
He drew the scooped neckline of her ridiculous pink gown as far as her elbows, trapping her arms at her sides and exposing her beautiful pink-tipped breasts. A rush of such exquisite pleasure-pain washed over him that his vision blurred.
“What are you doing to me?” he groaned, taking first one, then the other hardened pebble into his mouth and suckling wetly. He felt like a newborn child, needful and way too vulnerable, but he couldn’t help himself.
She let out a keen, drawn-out wail of pleasure. The kind that could make a man’s ego bloom to outlandish proportions. “What are you doing to me?” she cried. “This isn’t supposed to happen, you wretch. You weren’t supposed to touch me.”
“Did I touch you first?” he asked, his voice almost unrecognizable in its raspiness. “I don’t remember.”
He began to bunch her gown in his fists, gathering it higher and higher, exposing long legs and finally that little wispy undergarment Harriet called panties.
“You have been taking those birth-control pills, haven’t you, Harriet?” he said against her neck as he undid the waistband of his trousers and let them drop to his ankles.
She nodded, as speechless with excitement as he was.
“This will be so good, darlin’,” he promised as he began to slip the sides of her panties down her hips. “No worry. No babies. Just us, sweetheart. That’s all.”
Harriet went still and put halting hands on his. “No,” she said on a whimper, then more loudly. “No!”
Etienne couldn’t believe she was going to stop now, Just like before, But he couldn’t be angry with the woman who crumpled to the floor and sobbed loudly into her widespread fingers. What was wrong with her?
Tucking his painfully hard erection back into his pants, he sank down beside her, taking her into his arms. She laid her face against his chest and sobbed even louder.
“What is it, chérie?” Is that me, talking so calmly? When her bare breasts are moving against me with every sob? When her lips are swollen from my kisses, and begging for more? When I am so hard and hot for her I just might burst?
I must be a saint.
“Babies,” she blubbered.
“Babies?”
“You said, ‘No babies.’”
Suddenly, Etienne didn’t feel quite so aroused. “That’s right. You know I don’t want children. I’ve mentioned my mother’s madness. Dammit, why do you bring this up now? Why?”
“Because you already have a baby…a child.” She sniffled, wiping a hand across her nose. “That’s why I’ve been looking for you all day. To talk to you about Saralee.”
Etienne stiffened and then stood abruptly. Harriet scrambled to regain her balance.
“I have no children.”
“Yes, you do,” Harriet stormed. She stood, too, then belatedly remembered to pull up the bodice of her gown.
Etienne stifled a moan at the sight.
“Saralee is not my child. I will explain this to you one time, and one time only, Harriet. Then I never want to discuss it again. I have always been concerned about the possibility of passing on my mother’s madness. I have always used precautions, even with prostitutes. Do I make myself clear?”
Walking over to the window, he stared blindly out at the fields. He inhaled and exhaled deeply to regain his composure.
“Now, let me make myself clear, Mr. Know-It-All Baptiste. You’re always accusing me of giving lectures. Well, I’m giving you a lecture now. In my time we have the most advanced forms of birth control imaginable. When you refer to taking precautions, I’m assuming you mean those French Letter things. Well, listen up, babe…condoms aren’t infallible in the twentieth century, and they sure as hell aren’t infallible in the nineteenth century.” She took a deep breath and continued, “Furthermore, Cain says your mother wasn’t insane, just addicted to laudanum. So forget that bad blood business.”
He turned slowly and gazed at her. She stood, hands on hips, glaring at him. Her hair spilled out over her shoulders, having lost its fastenings. Her face and shoulders were flushed from his caresses. Her green cat eyes flashed fire at him.
“Saralee is not my child,” he repeated, more softly this time. And his headache returned with a vengeance, exploding behind his eyeballs.
Tears welled in her eyes. She lifted one hand beseechingly, then dropped it. “You’re not a cruel man. I know you’re not. How can you hurt your own daughter so? She needs you.”
He tightened his jaw and lifted his chin.
“You stubborn fool. Take that blasted picture you carry around…the one of you as a boy with your brothers and sisters…take that damn picture and hold it up next to Saralee. She looks just like you.” Her voice broke. “She really does.”
Etienne’s shoulders slumped. Could Harriet be right? No, no, it was impossible. But what if she was right?
“Will you at least consider the possibility?”
He hesitated for several long moments, then nodded.
She nodded back and in a swirl of skirts headed for the doorway, then froze. “Oh, no! It can’t be.” She slapped a hand over her chest in alarm, then scowled at him accusingly over her shoulder. “How could you do this to me?
“Do what?” Etienne snapped. His body and soul had been battered by this infuriating woman. What next?
“This is the worst thing that could happen to me.” She shivered with distaste.
“Well, don’t be afraid to speak up, darlin’.” Why stop now?
“I love you, stupid.”
Chapter Fifteen
Harriet didn’t see Etienne again for another hour. She was sitting on a bench at the kitchen table waiting for dinner when he slipped in beside her.
By then her temper had settled down. But not her emotions. She abhorred Etienne’s effect on her. All he had to do was flash her one of his roguish once-overs, and her passions were inflamed.
“I love you, stupid.” Did I really say that?
She stole a glance at Etienne.
He winked.
Aaarrgh! I did.
The feminist and the rogue. A match made in hell.
God, I’m turning into my mother. I can’t love him. I can’t love any man. No, no, no. I will not stand for this.
Red faced, she scooted over, making room, but couldn’t look at him dir
ectly. When she finally sneaked a sidelong glance, she noticed a flush underlying the dark skin of his cheeks. The fingertips of one hand tapped nervously on the table.
Okay, so he wasn’t so calm either. Good.
No, that was bad. He should do something jerky so that I can say, “Blech! Sorry, Charlie, I don’t love you after all.”
His clean-shaven face smelled of soap lather. Why couldn’t he have a beard and b.o.? He’d put on dark trousers and a faded blue cotton shirt, with several buttons open at the neck. A few gold chains would help. His black hair was combed wetly off his face, the bump on his forehead barely noticeable now.
Across from her sat Saralee, flanked by Cain and Abel, who were trying their best to get the little girl to loosen up.
“Will you play princess with me tomorrow, Sarie?” Abel implored. “I’ll even be the frog this time. Ribet, ribet!”
Saralee was a shy thing who had burst out with an occasional giggle or given reluctant monosyllabic answers to their questions…before Etienne’s arrival. At first sight of her father, she went rigid with fright and her skin paled to a ghostly white. If she hadn’t been trapped on the bench, she would have fled like a scared bird.
“No, Sarie is going to be my nurse tomorrow,” Cain insisted.
The adorable girl had a miniature cap perched on her head similar to those worn by women nurses during the Civil War. Cain had brought it for her as a coming-home gift. In the pocket of her long apron was the mouth organ Abel had presented to her moments ago, promising to give her lessons before his departure.
Saralee beamed at the two brothers who vied for her favors, but she remained silent, casting wary peeks at Etienne. Did she fear he would chastise her for speaking, or smiling?
Of course.
And where was Etienne’s gift for his daughter? Harriet scowled at the louse. Good idea…think about all his bad qualities.
The louse squeezed her thigh under the table.
“Don’t you dare touch me,” she hissed. Luckily, Cain and Abel were playing a guessing game with Saralee that distracted them momentarily.
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