Good riddance! If Chase divorced me, as the rumor mill reported he eventually would, so much the better. I could marry Ambrose or someone else to keep my freedom, if pressed to do so. I had no shortage of kind eyes upon me.
Oddly enough, thanks to Ambrose’s generosity, I had everything I needed. I had cornered the market here. If you wanted fine silk, you had to see me. Or at least visit my shop in the Ramparts. I alone determined who purchased those fine fabrics, and even the proper white women had to come to me to get the most beautiful prints! Oh, how it burned their hearts to do so! It was always a humorous sight to see their fine carriages roll up in front of my store.
Yes, the rumors still flew.
I was a left-hand wife, an adulteress in some people’s eyes, and even to this day I was living like a whore with my lover. They said all these things, sometimes to my face. But they couldn’t help themselves. Despite their disgust for me, they came with coins in hand, behaved as politely as they could during our business exchanges and left with the fabric they wanted. On a few occasions I had even refused to sell silk. It was my prerogative. Ambrose rarely came to the shop, but when he did it was to deliver some good news about a new supplier or a potential customer.
Ambrose and I were wealthy. Very wealthy indeed. So wealthy that even Etienne could not touch me anymore. I could buy her and sell her if I chose to. From all accounts she was very sick. And I wished her nothing but death. Just as she had delivered to my daughter. Somehow she had caused my daughter’s death. I knew it in my bones. Despite my requests for information, my offers of money, she told me nothing.
Rarely did a man darken my shop door. Oh no, these fine women would never allow their husbands to visit me. I laughed at their disdain. I reviewed the numbers once more and smiled approvingly at this month’s revenues.
I hated to admit it, but Ambrose was something of a genius when it came to business. He knew everyone, even though most wouldn’t admit to that. In a way, he was like me.
A castoff, an unmentionable.
Recently he had secretly moved against the Mobile businesses, singlehandedly destroying their silk trade market with a few well-placed fires. Of course, he never admitted to such behavior, unless I plied him with liquor. And even then he did not share details. Ambrose was no fool. He knew better than to trust anyone.
Especially me. He felt the fire that burned in me. He knew that beneath my sweet smile and polite words I wanted nothing more than to drive a knife through his heart.
And so it was very smart of him to keep quiet. I hated him with a passion so deep it drove me to fantasize about killing him. To his face I smiled sweetly, kissed him often and did all that he asked when the lights went out, but secretly I seethed inside. His betrayal and abandonment would never be erased, no matter what good deeds he did on my behalf now. My heart and my pride demanded punishment—for them both! Both he and Chase should pay for what they had wrought in my life. My daughter was gone, and no amount of money or status could replace her—or the life I had intended for her.
Those first few months, how many times had I walked the halls of Thorn Hill in a dreamlike state, looking for her? Ambrose would find me and lead me back to bed, my tears flowing. But that did not happen anymore. I gave up my nighttime searches. I gave up the tears. I had no tears left anymore. Afterwards I walked the halls remembering the curses Sulli taught me. I cast them about like invisible nets over everything. Over every fine statue, every painting, every rug. I covered the place with my hate until I had nothing left.
Sometimes, after nights with Ambrose, I imagined I loved him. But when the sun rose, I remembered the pain of yesterday and hated him all over again.
Ambrose the beautiful. Ambrose the clever. Ambrose the vain. The thief of my happiness! The murderer of my soul!
Sometimes I let my guard down and allowed myself to feel the hatred fully, to revel in it. In those moments, he would look up from his book or his letters. It was as if he sensed my white-hot hate, for he would remind me of my tie to him. “Tell me, my soul mate. What are you thinking?” I would make something up, talk about business or the latest silk shipment, and he would ask no more questions. He knew something was amiss but felt satisfied not to push me.
Tired of waiting for me now, Ambrose appeared in the doorway. “Come see me off, my love. Or won’t you miss me at all?”
“Of course I shall miss you. Who will I have to talk to while you’re gone?”
“I know you, you’ll keep busy. You work too hard, Susanna Serene. You should enjoy the fruits of your labor.” He leaned against the doorway, his hat in his hands. He wore his hair loose tonight; the dark locks looked even darker against his white shirt. As always his full lips were bright red, and he had some extra color in his cheeks, proof that he’d enjoyed a few sips of his favorite brandy not long ago. Ambrose was tall and slender with a regal bearing that made him appear even taller. He had a handsome face, and if I didn’t know the truth about his black heart, I might love him.
I slid my arm through his and walked him to the door. He continued, “I’ll only be gone for a few weeks, my dear. In the meantime, don’t work yourself to death. Do remember to come home and rest at night, Susanna. You look thin. Maybe you should visit the shop less. Let Ingrid handle the customers for a few days.”
“Oh, how can I do that? Mrs. Daugherty and Mrs. Forsythe are coming tomorrow. Ingrid would give them the store if I left her alone. You know she doesn’t have the mind for negotiations.”
He took my face in his hands and kissed me. Despite my hatred for him, desire grew within me, and I knew he knew that. He smiled down at me through slitted eyes. “You do what you think is right. I’ll be home soon.” I didn’t ask him where he was going or what he was doing. I didn’t have to ask. I knew. These visits started at the beginning of spring. Ambrose had left the house and gone to the Ramparts; he said he was going to see a man there. But the truth was he had a girl there, a younger girl, Ingrid told me.
“Her name is Coquette. Mr. Ambrose messes with her. You want me to fix her?”
Of course, I had no desire to do such a thing. It was no bother to me; if he was with her, he wasn’t with me and I did not have to pretend to feel affection for him. In fact, it helped me to remember how much I hated him. My heart was a deceitful thing that I could never depend on.
I watched the carriage roll away but didn’t wave or make any friendly gesture, even when he waved to me.
It was the day before Easter, and I decided to retire early. Mass was at sunrise, and I planned to attend. I needed all the peace I could gather to keep my soul from lighting on fire. I ate a simple meal: a piece of bread and a slice of salted ham. As I slipped into my tub, I watched the lightning flash across the water.
A storm had rolled in off the Mobile Bay, and from my second-floor vantage point I could see the ships lolling on the waters. I prayed that my fabrics had been safely unloaded without damage. When my bathwater became chilly, I slipped out and dried myself off; I’d sent my servants to bed. I had no slaves—I detested the practice and insisted that Ambrose not have them either.
I wrapped my blue gown around me and tied the ribbon at my neck. Then I heard the sound. Someone was knocking at the door downstairs. I took the candle beside me and headed down to see who would call on me at such an hour. To my surprise, the door opened, seemingly on its own, and I stood watching and waiting for whomever or whatever it was to come in from the rain.
“Ambrose?”
It was not Ambrose. The man began to cough and sputter as if he had just been pulled out of the Mobile Bay. Then he fell in a heap on the ground. I waved the light over him and immediately recognized my visitor.
Chase!
I did not come to his rescue. Instead, I stood over him, unwilling to even lift him from the floor.
My housekeeper Nicole ran into the room, her gown half open. “I thought I heard—Miss Susanna! Who is that? Oh my word! It is a gentleman by his clothes! Did he say anything? What happened?”<
br />
Nicole wanted details, but I had nothing to tell her. “Call the doctor. Have John take him to the doctor. He doesn’t belong here.”
“Miss! You can’t take him back out in the rain! Look at him! He’s very near death, I think. He’s not even awake!” She reached down and touched his forehead. “This man is burning up. We’ve got to get him to a couch or a bed. Somewhere warm.”
“No!” I set the candle down. My hands were shaking too much to hold it. “He’s not staying here! Put him outside and get John. Tell him to take him to Sugar Hill. They’ll know what to do with him.”
“Oh my Lord! Is this Chase Dufresne?”
“Do it, Nicole, or you can go too.” I said quietly, evenly. I had never been anything but friendly to her before. “Take him away and mention nothing to anyone about his being here. Especially Ambrose.”
“Very well, miss. But I hope you know you are sending him to his death.” She made the sign of the cross as if it would protect her from anything that happened to him.
“I understand. Do as I ask.” My heart bounced in my chest like a rabbit. What did this mean? As I began to climb the stairs, Chase began to call me.
“Susanna! Please, Susanna…”
I froze knowing that if I turned around, if I helped him, it might melt my heart. No, it wouldn’t. I couldn’t allow that, but I couldn’t allow him to die either, could I? What would Ambrose say? What would he do if he were here? We never spoke of Chase, and I had no idea of his feelings for his cousin. Not truly.
“Please…”
His voice found it. The one small portion of me that cared whether he lived or died. I didn’t want to be with him, and I didn’t want to care about him, but I also did not want him to die. I walked down the stairs and called after Nicole, “Let’s get him to the couch. Stoke the fire and ask John to fetch the doctor.”
“Look, miss! He’s bleeding! He’s been shot or something!”
I fell on my knees beside him and pulled back his clothing. Yes, he had been shot. Gut shot. If he lived it would be a miracle. “Give me your gown!” Obediently Nicole stripped herself naked, and I used the garment to staunch the bleeding. “Get dressed and tell John to go find the doctor!” She scurried out of the room, and I sat on the cold floor with my dying husband.
“Susanna, forgive me,” he whispered. His blue eyes were full of pain, and his blond hair was wet and sticky with mud. He must have fallen down a few times before he arrived at Thorn Hill. I lifted his head and put it in my lap, keeping one hand on the nightgown. Thankfully, the bleeding was slowing. Or so I hoped.
“Hush now, Chase. Don’t talk. Keep still.”
“I have wronged you. Forgive…” His words faded as he passed out, but his intention was clear. He wanted forgiveness. He wanted my forgiveness. This I had not expected. I had not dreamed this would happen.
Then the tears came. They slid down my face like two rivers. By the time the doctor arrived, Chase was barely breathing but still alive.
But for how long, and what would happen if Ambrose knew he were here? I couldn’t think about that now. I had to think of Chase. He had to live!
No matter what it cost me.
Chapter Eighteen – Handsome Cheever
“Toting water up a hill with a bucket that’s got a hole in it—that’s what this is, Miss Billie. That’s exactly what this is. But I got to go. You know Handsome has to go now, but I’ll be back, Miss Billie.” He packed the items in his bag and stepped outside his old wooden house. He did not have a fine home, nothing like Sugar Hill or the Rose Cottage, but it was his own place. And there were no ghosts there, only his angel, Miss Billie Holiday, who sang to him when trouble stirred up around him. It was stirring now for sure!
Ooh, what a little
Moonlight can do.
Ooh, what a little moonlight
Can do to you.
“I know, lady, but I don’t have no choice. There’s no moonlight, but I can’t stay. Don’t be mad at Handsome, Miss Billie. I have to go. I promised her I would. You know I have to.”
You’re in love.
Your heart’s a-fluttering
All day long.
“Now, don’t say that, Lady. I’m not in love with no one but you.”
Handsome’s son came out to see what he was doing, but Handsome had long given up trying to explain to him what he saw, what he heard. Lucas didn’t understand that Handsome had an angel who sang to him when trouble drew near. And even though there was trouble lingering nearby, he was happy to hear her again. She never let him down. She wouldn’t start now, surely.
He slid into the leather seat, waved at his son and backed the black Cadillac down the driveway. Handsome did not look back. It didn’t matter that Lucas wouldn’t approve of his mission. He didn’t care.
He sang the song, right along with Miss Billie.
He was so grateful to have the use of this car. It was an older Cadillac, but it looked and smelled like new. Oh yes, Handsome liked to keep everything clean and tidy. He didn’t have any other car; this car belonged to the Dufresnes, but it was like it was his. He couldn’t drive around with a dirty car—that would not be caring for it properly. Only he rarely drove it anymore. Miss Avery never called his house. She didn’t call and say, “Hey, Handsome! Bring that car up here!” Not like Miss Anne or Miss Margaret did. He usually got to run errands for the old matrone, but no more. He hardly had anything to do. But tonight—tonight she would need him.
Handsome made the sign of the cross as he eased out onto Jackson Lane. Miss Billie Holiday was singing a different song now, and he didn’t take that as a good omen. He believed this was her favorite song.
All of me.
Why not take all of me?
Can't you see
I'm no good without you?
“No, no, Miss Billie. You won’t be without me. I’m here! Handsome is listening!” He said nothing else, only hummed along to the music that played in his head. Her voice warned him sweetly but persistently.
Take my lips;
I want to lose them.
Take my arms;
I'll never use them.
Your goodbye
Left me with eyes that cry.
How can I go on, dear, without you?
You took the part
That once was my heart.
So why not take all of me…
He turned down the road that would lead to the outskirts of the Ramparts, for that was where he was going. He knew that, just as clearly as he heard Miss Billie’s song in his ears and his heart. He patted the bag beside him. He hoped his collection of hoodoo talismans would help him, would protect him and help him save the lady. Just as his family had done for generations. Yes, he could do this. Sulli’s blood ran through his veins. Strong blood, courageous blood.
I’m going! I’ll give my life if you ask, but don’t take my Miss Billie away! I love you, Miss Billie!
He could see the fire from the road. It was blazing, and it lit up the dark woods, sending the shadows scurrying for cover. Those weren’t just any shadows, but dead things that wore shadows like cloaks.
Your goodbye
Left me with eyes that cry.
How can I go on, dear, without you?
You took the best,
So why not take the rest?
Baby, take all of me.
He hummed as he pulled the car off the road and grabbed his bag. He had a fire extinguisher in his trunk, but he knew it wouldn’t do him any good. That wasn’t any normal fire but a supernatural hoodoo one! Handsome set his jaw and pulled his chauffeur’s cap down over his eyes so far it was like it was a superhero mask.
“Come on, Miss Billie. We’ve got to go help the lady now. She’s going to need our help in a minute. See over there?”
Baby, take all of me.
He began to run, run toward the danger, toward the fire. Someone had lit it again, and that was a dead someone. Soon the fire would spread across the Ramparts, as it did so often during th
is time of year. But usually folks weren’t here to see it.
They was about to see it now, though.
Oh, yeah, Miss Billie! They’s all about to see it!
Chapter Nineteen – Avery
I clicked off the television and headed downstairs to grab a bite to eat. Grandmother Margaret’s storytelling had once again grabbed my imagination and held it captive. I was foolish to think I’d tackle both Vertie’s diaries and these videos in the space of an afternoon, but I was certainly giving it the “old college try.” Margaret had a knack for telling stories. For the hundredth time, I wondered how she could know any of this. Were these stories that a family member passed on to her? A matrone, perhaps? Who would I ask to verify her tales?
I foraged through the refrigerator and found a cling-wrap-covered plate that contained a sandwich, a sliver of pickle and a small cup of fruit salad. It had a sticky note with my name and a friendly smiley face on it. How thoughtful of Robin to leave this for me! I snagged it and intended to head back upstairs to finish the videos. I heard voices nearby, probably some of the housekeeping staff, so I didn’t think much of it. The young women were always tidying up something, and I could smell wood polish. I heard Robin’s laugh and breathed a sigh of relief. Thank goodness it was a voice from the land of the living.
“Miss Dufresne, may I help you with something?” I yelped in surprise. Pepper stood in my foyer. She watched me unsmilingly, her hands in her cardigan pockets.
“No, I don’t think so. Is there something you need, Pepper?”
“I want to talk to you. If you have a minute.” She closed the side door and waited for me to answer.
“Sure, let’s talk.” Yes, let’s get this out in the open. Maybe there is some way we can come to a peaceable agreement. “Come into the dining room. I don’t think there’s anyone in there.” I led the way as a feeling of dread washed over me. This wasn’t how I wanted to spend the rest of my day.
Fire on the Ramparts (Sugar Hill Book 2) Page 13
