Bal Masque

by Fleeta Cunningham

  Lucienne struggled to hold back the rage that swept over her. Her bread—her own bread that she had made with her own hands!—and Dorcas sat there gobbling it as if entitled. The cords around her wrists bit into her skin. Lucienne ignored the burns they left as she kicked with futile fury at the sacking that covered her. “Leave my bread alone and let me out of here!” It was what she intended to say but her tongue felt like wood and the words were only garbled sounds.

  “Now, Miss Lucy Ann, you’re just wearin’ yourself out for nothin’,” Dorcas said, her tone as mild as if she were correcting a fussy child. “Pa’s gonna be here right soon now, if the cards were good to him, and you’ll be goin’ on back to Mister Dupre’s nice house tomorrow or the next day, for sure.”

  “Let me go! How dare you do this to me?” Her tongue was still thick from the gag, but the sounds were audible. Dorcas made frantic hushing sounds.

  “Don’t do that, miss,” she pleaded. “Honest, if you make a stir, we’ll both be in for it. Pa, he’s not always as sweet tempered as he might be, and if he don’t get a good run of luck tonight, he’ll be pretty ugly. You don’t want to catch the back side of his temper, believe me.”

  Anger loosened Lucienne’s tongue at last. “Your family problems are no concern of mine, Dorcas Price. You let me out of here. And give me back my things—my clothes and everything else you took from me. And leave my bread alone. I didn’t bring it for thieves.”

  Dorcas gave the limp towel a guilty look. “I’m sorry, Miss Lucy Ann. I didn’t mean to eat the whole thing, but I hadn’t had another bite all day. Pa didn’t leave me anything when he went off, and I didn’t dare ask. He was in a high temper this mornin’. The cards were runnin’ bad for him last night.”

  Lucienne stared at the girl. She wasn’t pretending; Dorcas really feared her father’s anger. Some glimmer of understanding reached Lucienne. She could remember being hungry and having no place to turn. She’d have taken a loaf of bread without a second thought if she’d seen a way a week ago when her world became so different. She’d been as hungry and scared as Dorcas that day. “He made you do this, steal my things on the boat and then drag me away at Grandmère’s, didn’t he?” The words sounded raspy and hoarse but understandable. Lucienne swallowed and tried again. “Why did he make you do it, Dorcas?”

  “You know I’d not do anything to you on my own, Miss Lucy Ann, but Pa has the gamblin’ fever. It’s like he cain’t help hisself when he gets that old urge, and it won’t let go. Your pa gave us the wages Pa had comin’, and it should have been enough to get our passage to the islands. But Pa had a mad on at your family, ’cause they sent us packin’ when they found out he’d been sellin’ off stores to other folks to pay his losses. He made me take your things on the boat, said I ought to have some pretty things and you had plenty. I wouldn’t ever have done it on my own, you know that. You been good to me always, but Pa wouldn’t hear a word I said. Well, we had a couple of hours before our ship was to leave, and Pa got it in his head he could play a hand or two and win some extra money before we left. He didn’t, of course. The cards were against him, like they usually are, and he lost all we had, our passage money and ever’thing.”

  Lucienne couldn’t imagine a father forcing his daughter to become a thief or gambling away what little security they had. Her own sweet Papa would have beggared himself before he saw his wife or daughter put to such shame.

  “I had to sell all your pretty things,” Dorcas was saying. “It just broke my heart to let strangers have those petticoats with all the lace, and that stylish dress. But I guess the thing I hated the worst was taking your necklace and ring and sellin’ them. They was just about the prettiest things I ever had in my hands. Pa let me keep this one dress and the bonnet, so’s I could go into places where I could ask more money and not have somebody guess I was sellin’ stuff I stole.”

  Necklace and ring? The delicate filigree of that locket and ring glowed in Lucienne’s memory. In the days since she’d run away, she’d forgotten the elaborate trifles Armand gave her to mark their betrothal. Relief flooded her as she blessed the caution that had kept her from taking the fabulous Dupre pearls. Price could have sold them for enough to gamble for the rest of his days, had they fallen into his hands.

  “Surely the ring and locket gave you enough to take passage out of the country.” Those two pieces alone should have given father and daughter a good start anywhere in the world.

  “I s’pose they would have,” Dorcas agreed, “but by that time Pa had borrowed and lost half a fortune. It took most ever’thing just to pay back the folks who’d staked him. And Pa owed men who he didn’t dare not pay back. He’s goin’ ’round to some pretty lowdown places, I’ll tell you.”

  “What has all this to do with me? I don’t have anything to do with your papa’s troubles.”

  Dorcas took off her bonnet and put it on the wooden box beside the loose hay. Her face was troubled, tired and grim with the weight of the things she’d been forced to do. She gave Lucienne an apologetic look.

  “Pa heard that Mister Dupre was offerin’ a good reward for information about you. The Jessups, old Orman and Mort, they were panhandlin’ down at the dock, and Mister Dupre gave them some money to watch for you. They told Pa, of course, but not meanin’ anything by it, just gossipin’ about the gentry like folks do. Pa, he realized he could make money out of findin’ you and reckoned you’d gone to your grandma’s or the Pardues’ house, so he talked the boys into helpin’ us look for you. We been watchin’ one place or the other all week long. I was about set to give it up for today when I saw you hurryin’ along the road. Almost didn’t know you, not in that plain dress, with your hair hangin’ in two tails down your back.”

  It was all for nothing! All these days of running and hiding, trying to avoid the very life the Dupres and Papa had planned for her. Wordlessly Lucienne pounded the sacking and hay with her bound hands. It wasn’t right, it wasn’t, and she couldn’t go back. “You can’t, Dorcas, you can’t just hand me over to Armand Dupre as if I were livestock or a bag of onions he bought. I ought to have some say in this.”

  Dorcas waved her words away. “Pa says the Jessups will get word to Mister Dupre in the mornin’ and tell him you’re found. That reward should be enough to get us goin’ somewhere.” Dorcas gave her an imploring look. “You’ll be all right, Miss Lucy Ann. You’ll have a good life with the Dupres, lots better than most. And with a little luck, your folks won’t ever know Pa had anything to do with it. Lord knows, the Jessups ain’t too bright, but even they can see how it’s going to be better if it looks like they’re just collectin’ what Mister Dupre promised for findin’ you.”

  A terrible thought crossed Lucienne’s mind. She knew the whole story, who was involved doing what. She could tell everyone Price and his daughter had taken her, held her against her will, and extorted money for her return. The punishment for a crime like that, well, Lucienne didn’t know what the law would hand out, but Price would be lucky to have his skin still attached to his bones once Papa and Uncle Gaston got through with him.

  Or did Price plan to see to it that she never revealed anything to anyone? Apprehension shivered through Lucienne’s slim form.

  Dorcas seemed to read her thoughts. “Pa’s countin’ on you likin’ me enough to keep mum about his part in this, I ’spect. Anyhow, he’ll be right pleased we found you tonight, and the moon’s up good, so we’ll get ourselves out of town. Let the Jessups send word they found you and deal with things here. When they get the money, Pa’ll let them bring you back to your man. By that time Pa and me should be a good ways gone.”

  “And where will I be until this fine plan is finished? The accommodations here are pretty poor. If it rains again, this shed will likely float away.”

  “Pa and me, and the Jessups, will take you with us in the boat. The Jessups’ll come on back tomorrow. The boys have a place out in the bayous where we can hole up. Won’t be more than a day or two, you know. Just till Pa has m
oney enough to get us away.”

  “Unless he gambles it away again and there’s nothing left.” Lucienne sat up as far as her confined situation permitted. “Dorcas, why don’t you just untie me? We can slip out of here, go to Grandmère’s house, and you’ll never have to do this sort of thing again. I know my family will help you. You don’t have to be afraid of your papa. You don’t even have to see him again.”

  “No, Miss Lucy Ann, I cain’t hardly do that.” Dorcas shook her head, her brown hair bobbing with the force of her answer.

  “You don’t have to be afraid, honestly, Dorcas. We’d keep you safe.”

  “It’s not that, Miss Lucy Ann. Not that I’m afraid to leave.” Her blue eyes darkened, as if to deny her words, but she drew herself up with determination. “I do get a mite scared of Pa when he’s losin’ and can’t stop gamblin’, that’s true, ’cause he cain’t help hisself. He’s got the devil’s own temper, and sometimes he makes me do things I don’t want to do. But I couldn’t just take off on him, not like my ma did when I was little.” She reached out, as if to ask for Lucienne’s understanding. “Who’d take care of him? Who’d see after him when he gets hisself into some mess and cain’t get out? No, Miss Lucy Ann, I best just stay here and look out for Pa, ’cause we ain’t either one got another soul in this world who cares about us.” She patted Lucienne’s arm. “Now don’t you worry yourself. We’ll have you home, safe and sound, in just a day or so. And Mister Dupre is gonna be so glad to have you back where he can see to you, why, I bet you can ask for most anything and he’ll break his neck to see you get it.”

  An exchange of male voices drew their attention outside. A moment later, Price himself lurched through the listing doorway.

  “Pa?” Dorcas turned to face him. “You see we found Miss Lucy Ann. Ever’thing go all right tonight?”

  Price stared down at Lucienne with something that was half relief and half undisguised greed narrowing his small, hard eyes. His red face had a bristle of whiskers, and the stale odor of cheap alcohol surrounded him.

  “Go all right?” A rough, sardonic laugh ran under his words. “Couldn’t rightly have gone much worse, girl. Card sharks, that’s what they were, ever’ one of ’em. Let me win till I was ahead enough to matter, then suckered me into one more hand, cheated so I lost, and suckered me in again.” He looked once more at Lucienne. “Better hope that Dupre fella wants her back real bad, ’cause it’s gonna cost him. We got to get us a stake to leave on, and I owe a couple of those fellers more’n Dupre ever offered in the first place.” He leaned out into the dark and whistled. The Jessups’ huge boots pounded on the ground as they came in answer. “Boys, you get that girl down to the boat, and don’t be slow about it. Make sure she cain’t holler or kick the sides of the cart. We don’t need no attention drawn this direction right now.” He looked back at his daughter. “And don’t you go feelin’ sorry for that little girl, either. Remember, it’s her family that got us into this situation, and it’s only right that some member of it serve to get us out. Hear me, girl. It’s only right.”

  Chapter Fifteen:

  Where Water and Land Are One

  Lucienne tried to roll onto her side to ease the pressure on her back and neck. The flesh above her elbows was swollen where the cords had cut her circulation. She had no feeling at all in her hands and feet. If she’d had a chance to run, or a place to go, she couldn’t have managed a step. How much longer would Price and his crew go on? The boat cut silently through water thick with duckweed and marsh grass as it had for what seemed more hours than a night could last.

  “You doin’ all right there, Miss Lucy Ann?” Dorcas leaned across the flat-bottomed craft to ask. Lucienne shook her head and held up her bound hands as best she could. Dorcas nodded and gave her a sympathetic pat on the shoulder. “Not much longer now. When we get there, I can get you loose. Not much place for you to run off to, not out in this swamp.”

  Grimly Lucienne had to agree. A pale slice of moon put little light over the vast monochrome view. In shades of black and grey the restless bayou slipped past the sides of the boat. Ghostly veils of Spanish moss hung down almost to her head. Ancient trees arched the stream sides, trees buried deep in water made eerie by shadows beneath the sluggish current. Night birds and small insects filled the air with a melancholy song. In the distance some water creature splashed. Something, Lucienne guessed an alligator, made long ripples through the grasses.

  “House yonder,” one of the Jessups announced.

  The crude boat turned into a narrower byway. Lucienne didn’t know how the men could see the slight opening, but they poled through the clogged water and into a stream. A warped landing dock, only a black shadow in the grey water, stretched a crooked finger out into the marsh. Abruptly the bow bucked against it. Price jumped from the boat, leaving the Jessups to toss out a line and make it fast to the stump of a fallen tree. Dorcas wriggled over the side.

  “Orman, you go and get Miss Lucy Ann and bring her along. Careful how you carry her, now. She’s not feelin’ too bright, what with bein’ tied like a yearling and pushed against the side of that stinkin’ boat for all this time.” She waited, hands on her hips, for him to follow instructions. He looked mulishly at Lucienne, lantern jaw jutting forward, then back at Dorcas. At last he stepped back into the boat. Lucienne was sure they would sink or turn over from the uneven weight Jessup added. The flimsy craft tilted with a drunken lurch as the man reached for her. With no effort at all he raised her to her feet and draped her over his shoulder.

  “Got her,” he said with no inflection.

  “Take her to the house, then.”

  The path to the house, if there was one, was invisible to Lucienne. She felt the bounce of every step as the man strode along. The ground, marshy and dank, made sucking sounds at each of his footsteps. She saw no sign of a building until she was abruptly dropped from his shoulder to a splintery doorstep. With her feet still bound and all feeling gone, Lucienne couldn’t keep her balance and promptly sank down in a heap.

  “You ain’t takin’ no care of her at all,” Dorcas spat at the man. “Here, Miss Lucy Ann, let me get you undone. Your pore feet must be all needles and pins.” She untied the kerchief that covered Lucienne’s mouth and tucked her skirts up a few inches to find the knots that rubbed against Lucienne’s boots. Nimble fingers loosened the ankle bindings and then turned to the cords around Lucienne’s waist and hands. Pain sharp as hot knives flooded Lucienne. The ground tilted at a sickening angle.

  “You gonna faint?” Dorcas rubbed Lucienne’s hands vigorously. “Look at how swole up you are! I swan, you got no blood at all in those pore fingers.”

  As her vision cleared, Lucienne welcomed the pain in her hands and feet. Anything was better than feeling so helpless. She gritted her teeth and tried to stand. Dorcas held her up, one sturdy arm around her waist. “Can you take a step or two?” she asked anxiously. “Where’s a place for Miss Lucy Ann to rest, Mort? She’s a lady and not used to such rough livin’ as you got here. She needs a bed and a little privacy.”

  “Bed in there,” the bearded brother growled.

  “Come along, Miss Lucy Ann. Can you make it over to that door? I’ll get one of the boys to carry you in, iffen you need me to.”

  “I can walk,” Lucienne croaked. She’d had all the assistance she wanted from the Jessup brothers.

  The bed was nothing more than a coarse bag of straw spread across a frame of tightly drawn ropes. A faded quilt covered it, but there was no pillow. If possible, it was less luxurious than the thin cot Lucienne had used at the convent. Still it was better than the rickety bench standing near the far wall. She let Dorcas help her to the bed and sank into its meager comfort.

  “You just rest yourself, Miss Lucy Ann, and I’ll get you water and see if there’s somethin’ in the house to eat. Some coffee for you, maybe.” Dorcas started to pull the patched quilt up over Lucienne. “Or should we get those boots off first? Help that swellin’ in your feet.” She unfastened
Lucienne’s half-boots with difficulty but at last drew them off. “Now, I’ll get you a drink and see about some food and that coffee.”

  Lucienne had never tasted coffee like the vile black brew Dorcas brought her in a tin mug. Coffee at home was tempered with warm milk, sweetened, and served in dainty cups half the size of the vessel Dorcas handed her. “Watch out, now. That cup’s pretty hot.” Lucienne sat up, barely managing the awkward mug with fingers still stiff and swollen. She sipped the bitter liquid, grimacing at the taste but grateful for it.

  “I found some fatback to fry, and some grits,” Dorcas told her. “And I sliced off some of that bread you had and I’m gonna brown it in the drippin’s. It ain’t the fancy kind of supper you’re used to, miss, but it’ll keep the body going.”

  The plate of food wouldn’t have been permitted on her mother’s table or even in the whitewashed quarters behind the big house, but Lucienne devoured what Dorcas brought her with a good appetite. It had been a very long time since she shared breakfast with Sister Mary Agnes at the convent.

  “Pa and the boys are out on the stoop talkin’ big about what they’re gonna do tomorrow.” Dorcas pulled the low bench close to the bed and spoke in a muffled voice. “I think Pa’s goin’ to go into town with Orman, ’cause Orman’s a tad brighter than Mort. Mort’s gonna stay here with us till the money’s paid. Then Pa and Orman’ll come back here. We’ll head back in the boat soon as it’s dark, and the boys’ll take you back to town. Me and Pa will go on our way soon as the boys bring us the money. I’m a little worried about leavin’ you with the Jessups. They’re just dumb enough to get themselves into trouble, but I don’t rightly see what I can do to change things, Miss Lucy Ann. Pa ain’t listenin’ to me, not a-tall, right now. The gamblin’ fever’s got him bad this time.”