by Beth White
“Willing is in custody, that is true,” Major Redmond said without smiling. “But he is a prisoner of the king, and I would not release him without—”
“—without a very good reason, I am sure.” Rafa looped his hands around his knee. “And this I am happy to provide. You see, Governor Gálvez bids me inform you that Captain Willing took into parole two British planters on his so-naughty raid down the Mississippi River last month. Perhaps you know of a certain Alexander McIntosh and Anthony Hutchins of Natchez? They are at present free to walk about New Orleans, but unable to return home. And they have been forced to watch their belongings fall under the auctioneer’s hammer.” Rafa shook his head. “A most humiliating circumstance indeed.”
“And I suppose,” the major said slowly, “your governor proposes something of a trade? Why does he want Willing back? As you said, he is quite a nuisance.”
“Oh, indeed.” Rafa chuckled. “The governor is determined to seek redress for the embarrassment caused by the captain, and he cannot do that if the miscreant remains at large, so to speak. And frankly your charming planters would do everyone more good at home, taking care of their, um, plantations, rather than wandering about the city complaining of the heat and mosquitoes.”
“I confess, I see no reason not to honor this request, Don Rafael—if you will give me your word as a gentleman that Hutchins and McIntosh will be safely returned to Natchez.”
“It is my pleasure to do so, Major.”
“What about their personal belongings? I presume there were slaves and other valuable items confiscated in the raid.”
“I’m sorry to say that those transactions cannot be undone,” Rafa said cheerfully. “But remember that you are getting two planters for the, er, price of one insurgent. Quite a bargain!”
Lyse stifled a giggle, in spite of her anxiety. She couldn’t wait to hear what Rafa’s fertile brain came up with next.
“Which reminds me,” he said, suddenly leaning around the major to wink at Lyse. “I believe you have uncovered another foolish little rebel who must be dealt with.”
“Foolish and dangerous,” Major Redmond said. “There is an information leak to the Americans, and I am going to make sure Mobile isn’t its source or funnel.”
Rafa sighed. “I understand your dilemma, Major, but surely one young girl who spends her days teaching children to read and write and multiply can hardly be considered a national threat, eh?”
“She can if she is a particularly bright young lady who is connected to the Lanier and Lafleur families, not to mention those of the children she teaches. I’ve discovered that even while Lyse lived in my own house, she was absorbing the seditious writings of rebels like John Locke, Thomas Paine, Adam—”
“Papa, stop! You don’t understand!”
Lyse had all but forgotten Daisy’s presence, once Rafa entered the room. She caught Daisy’s hand, forcing her to look at her. “Be quiet, Daisy. It’s all right. I did read those books.”
“No! They were—”
“Major Redmond, a word, if you please.” Rafa slid off the desk, a lithe movement that put him between Daisy and her father, and which effectively halted whatever Daisy had been about to say. He leaned in toward Major Redmond’s ear and murmured, “I realize that this may not be the most appropriate moment for what I’m about to say, but as it has bearing upon this rather uncomfortable discussion, I feel that I must suspend etiquette and ask Miss Daisy to forgive the interruption.” He slanted Daisy a sleepy look which somehow caused her to close her lips and meekly retire to a corner of the room. “Thank you,” he said with a graceful bow.
Major Redmond, looking perplexed, waved an impatient hand. “Yes, yes, get on with it, Don Rafael.”
“Oh, well, this is very embarrassing, but part of my business here in Mobile was of a more personal nature. As I mentioned before, I had been searching for Miss Lanier—or more particularly, I was looking for her papa, because, well—in short, I wanted to ask him for his daughter’s hand in marriage. You can imagine my chagrin when I discovered he had been detained for treason, of all things!”
No. Oh, no no no no. He had not just declared his intentions—now, at the worst of all possible times.
Lyse brought both shaking hands to her mouth. She wasn’t sure if what she felt rising in her throat was a wail or hysterical laughter.
And then he looked at her. By now she knew him well enough to see beyond the slightly raffish facade to the kindness and intellect he hid from the world. And buried in his eyes, under the sheepishness, she saw a glimmer of warning, a deadly seriousness.
In an instant it was gone, so that she wondered if she had imagined it.
Rafa sighed. “I see that I have taken Miss Lanier—my dear, precious, beautiful Lyse!—all by surprise. But it is ever so when a man is in love with a woman of such humility that she can hardly believe she has created such deep and unfathomable feelings. Major, you must remember that at our very first meeting in your home, I could hardly keep my eyes from your daughter’s friend. And I have created excuses to return to your fair city time and again, all for the privilege of laying eyes upon her . . . dancing with her . . . even touching her hand, if I may be so bold.” He laid one elegant hand upon his breast as if unable to contain his feelings.
Lyse supposed she must be grateful that he had refrained from mentioning the unbridled kisses. Where on earth was he going with this absurd declaration?
Clearly Major Redmond wondered the same thing. He glanced at Lyse as though seeing her for the first time. “Er, yes, of course,” he said, “but what does that have to do with—”
“But it has everything to do with . . . everything!” Rafa reached for Lyse’s hand, and she gave it to him as one in a trance. Or a Shakespearean comedy. Or possibly both. She allowed him to lift her to her feet and draw her to him. “When Lyse becomes my wife, should I be so fortunate, then she will be neither French nor British nor American—but Spanish. What is good enough for my admired Governor Gálvez, who has recently married his Creole lady María Feliciana de St. Maxent d’Estrehan, is surely good enough for me!”
Major Redmond scratched his head. “Lyse, do you want to marry this young peacock?”
She looked down at Rafa’s fingers laced through hers. His hand was big and strong, and the blood-red signet ring on his index finger pressed hard into hers. She imagined giving herself to him as his wife, bound by law and the church to follow and obey him in everything—as he said, to forsake even her heritage and take on his.
Her choice was to remain single, to face whatever consequences came from the paper she had hidden under her pillow. But if she did that, Daisy would confess in order to protect her, and her grandfather would remain in prison as well . . .
Looking up, she tried to read Rafa’s brown eyes, to discover whether there was any sincerity in his offer. He was such a theatrical clown, and yet, he could also be motivated by sheer gallantry. His expression softened, as if he understood her dilemma. She saw his lips move: Say yes.
The untamed side of her nature bloomed.
“Yes,” she whispered.
Rafa smiled.
Cheeks warm, Lyse looked at Major Redmond. “But I want to take my grandfather with me.”
He shook his head. “You are in no position to make demands.”
“That would be one more dissident out of your hair, so to speak,” Rafa said quickly.
Major Redmond heaved a sigh. “Yes, it would. And I have far more important things to do than continue this pointless argument. Very well, then, Don Rafael—take your American captain, your bride-to-be, and her grandfather, and get out of my city. Do not take this amiss, but I will be glad to see the back of the lot of you.” He moved to open the door. “Good day, sir.”
Daisy looked at her father, stunned. He continued to hold the door open, as though waiting for her to rise and follow Lyse and Rafael from the office. But she couldn’t move, could barely breathe.
Lyse had just agreed to marry the Spa
niard. She would be leaving Mobile, moving to New Orleans, never to return. Oh, maybe she would come back for the occasional visit, but things would never be the same between them.
She had been aware of Rafa’s regard for Lyse. Maybe she herself had been swept up in the romanticism of their odd, teasing courtship—but never had she imagined that Lyse would actually leave the city, leave her family, leave her lifelong friends.
And Daisy would be left alone. Simon was gone. Her father—this stranger who had shut her up in the fort, as truly a prisoner as Antoine Lanier or James Willing—her father had just as surely shut her out of his heart. Or perhaps she had done that to herself the moment she opened Thomas Paine’s book and made herself vulnerable to its beautiful, dangerous teaching.
She wanted to wail like a child. She wanted to run after Lyse and beg her to stay. She wanted to prostrate herself on the floor and pray for God to intervene.
But she must sit here, stoic, and pretend to obey her father, because to refuse to do so would be to admit to insanity. What was her alternative? Admit to treason, when Lyse had sacrificed herself to keep Daisy from doing so? And when Rafa clearly wanted her to hold her peace?
Why, God, why?
There wasn’t even time to talk to Lyse, to get a farewell hug.
Alone.
“Thank you, Papa, for your generosity.” She said it because it was expected. Her lips felt numb, so she bit the lower one, to make herself feel something.
“You’re a good daughter, Daisy,” Papa said. He walked over to her, took her limp hand, and raised her to her feet. “But I’m very busy. Find some of the other women, go back to your students . . .” He circled a hand in a vague manner. “Find something useful to do.” The implication being, Get out of my office so I can get back to work.
She left the office like a sleepwalker, heard the door shut behind her.
Corporal Tully, seated behind his desk, cleaning his gun, looked up at her. His pale eyes were concerned, far more personally engaged than her father’s had been. “Everything all right, Miss Daisy?”
“Yes, I’m just . . .” Her thoughts drifted. She blinked. “Do you know where Lyse and Rafa—Don Rafael went? I wanted to say goodbye.”
Tully shook his head. “Walked toward the guardhouse with McLeod. I sent him to turn loose old man Lanier and the American, like your da said to do.”
“So you heard—”
“I heard.” Tully grimaced. “Not one of the major’s finer moments. But Miss Lyse will be fine with the Spaniard,” he hastened to add. “The boy’s not as stupid as he likes to make out.”
Daisy smiled faintly. “No, he’s not. Well. Thank you for bringing him. I might have—well, I’m not sure what I was about to do. Probably something really stupid.” She suddenly looked at Tully hard, saw the kindness in his face. Maybe she wasn’t so alone as she’d thought. “Thank you for watching out for me and Lyse, Corporal. I want to do the right thing, but sometimes I . . .”
“Miss Daisy, you’re going to be fine too.” His scalp was pink with discomfort. “But if there’s ever anything you need, all you got to do is send for me. You hear?”
She smiled and saluted. “Yes, sir. I hear.”
The guardhouse smelled like moldy cheese. Lyse could hardly bear to breathe, and to think her father and Grandpére had been in this place for two weeks—
Her indignation boiled to the surface again, and only Rafa’s steadying presence, a calming hand on her elbow, a word to be careful as she mounted the doorstep, kept her from an unseemly explosion.
Niall held the door as she entered the building, but she refused to look at him. He knew. He’d known Grandpére and Papa had been held here on short rations, without decent beds or baths or any other humane treatment. And he had done nothing. At least Daisy had tried, as soon as she discovered the situation, to do something about it.
The last two days had been dry and sunny, so most of the rainwater had drained through the cracks in the floor. But the boards were still soft, slightly squishy, and damp enough that the soles of her slippers were wet by the time she and Rafa walked through the darkness of the high end of the building to the cells where the two prisoners were kept. Only small glints of light slipped through the chinks between the shakes of the roof. Some small noise of dismay must have escaped her, for Rafa’s hand slipped to her wrist.
“Steady,” he murmured. “We’ll have him out of here before you know it.”
She glanced at him, nodded, but then she saw her grandfather. He sat on a crate close to the bars of the cell, straight as an arrow, holding his hat in his hands. His head was bowed as if in prayer.
“Grandpére! I’m here! You’re coming with me and Rafa.” She fell to her knees. “Are you well? We’ll get you something to eat soon.”
At last he looked up, blinking as though waking from a long sleep. He looked as if he’d aged ten years. “Lyse? What are you doing here?”
“Didn’t you hear me? I came to get you out!” Even as she reached through the bars for his hand, she looked over her shoulder. “Niall! Come open this door at once! Hurry!”
“I’m coming.”
But before Niall could get the key in the lock, Grandpére was on his feet. “No! Antoine first. I can’t leave without—”
“Grandpére!” Lyse felt like sobbing. “I’m sorry, but Major Redmond won’t release Papa—at least not now. We’ll get him later, but right now, you must—”
“I said I’m not leaving without my son. Not this time.”
Lyse stared up at her grandfather’s lined face, stubborn as a mule, but beautiful in its self-sacrifice. “Oh, Grandpére . . .”
Rafa stepped close and helped Lyse to her feet. “Listen, sir, the situation is a bit, um, odd here, as you know. Lyse has gotten herself in a bit of difficulty with the major—I’m sure Ensign McLeod here would be glad to explain—but to give you the short version, I’m allowed to take the two of you out of the city, and no one else.” He paused, then added delicately, “I don’t think it would be wise to question Major Redmond’s generosity.”
Grandpére’s heavy brows lowered, and he fixed a penetrating glare on Niall.
Niall stood shifting from one foot to the other, until he finally said grudgingly, “He’s right, sir. You’d better come, or it won’t look good for Lyse.” He slanted a shamed look at Lyse. “I’ll watch out for your pa, Lyse. Make sure he eats, and get him a cot to sleep on.”
“Pére.” That was Papa’s voice, coming from the shadows of the next cell. “Listen to them. Get Justine and the children, take them to your house.”
In two steps, Lyse found him. He did look gaunt and ill, but he was also sober—which in one sense made him well for the first time in a long time. “Papa!” She reached through the bars to grab his sleeves and pull him toward her. “I wanted to take you too, but—”
“I know, I’m a traitor,” he said roughly. “When they are the ones killing their citizens unjustly. I don’t expect them to release me.” He touched her face and whispered, “I heard them say you’d been brought in for questioning—but stay safe, precious daughter. Pray for me and take your grandfather to safety.” He paused. “Promise me.”
Lyse choked back a sob. “All right, Papa. I promise. We’ll come back for you,” she whispered.
15
NEW ORLEANS
MAY 12, 1778
“Sofía! Where are you, child?” Doña Gonzales’s voice floated down the curving iron staircase and found Scarlet kneeling at the feet of the diminutive Sofía, who stood upon a wooden step constructed just for Scarlet’s use in the sewing room.
“Down here, Mama! Scarlet is pinning the hem of my new dress. You must come see! The drape through the hips is just so—ah, Scarlet, I’m sorry, I’ll be still, I promise. It’s just that you do such beautiful work, and I shall be very sorry when you have to go back to my brother.”
Pins in her mouth, Scarlet glanced up and smiled at her bright-eyed and excitable young mistress. She, too, would be
sorry to leave Miss Sofía—though nothing could be worse than service to Isabelle Dussouy or picking cotton.
After purchasing her from the slave market, Don Rafael had taken her first to the governor’s wife, Madame Gálvez. Madame had exclaimed over Scarlet’s pitiful physical condition, then gave her a long bath in lye soap, fed her, and made her rest for two whole days—for the sake of the babe, said Madame. Scarlet meekly complied, too exhausted and grateful for her redemption to even care what might befall her next. But when Madame called her into her private parlor the next day and bade her sit in the only other chair in the room, a finely upholstered blue voile, her confusion twisted in on itself.
“Madame, I’m happy to stand,” Scarlet said, laying her hands protectively across the bulge of her stomach.
“Yes, I’m sure you would be,” said Madame with a smile, “but I’ve no desire to crane my neck whilst we talk, so sit down, if you please.”
Flustered, Scarlet sat. “Yes, Madame.”
“Now, Scarlet, Rafael says you are a seamstress.”
“Yes, Madame.”
“And your baby will be coming . . . maybe in July?”
Scarlet nodded, wary now. “I think so.” Was having a baby a bad thing?
Madame’s eyes softened. She was very beautiful. It was said that her Spanish husband was crazy for her. Perhaps as much as Don Rafael was for Lyse. “I’m sorry you had to leave your baby’s father,” Madame said gently. “We’ll try to find him, but in the meantime, there will be plenty of work for you here. How would you like to go to Rafael’s mama until the baby comes?”
