Bal Masque

by Fleeta Cunningham

  Leaving the horses where they would have grass and water, Lucienne and Armand made a sketchy camp on the rough floor. She spread the big horse blanket over the rocks to pad them as much as possible. Armand rounded up dry wood, started a fire, then strolled off into the woods with his rifle, leaving her to watch the fire.

  “Dinner will be whatever I find, Lucienne, but we have good water. We’ll have our fill of that, at least.”

  Lucienne watched the heavens darken and the stars shoot golden pinpricks into the lavender sky. Armand had been gone far longer than she expected. She was more than ready for the supper he’d promised. The shadows of the woods grew darker. From beyond the stream came the low call of a wakening owl. Scurrying sounds in the brush nearby brought her a sickening memory of the cottonmouth at the barn that morning. Lucienne moved nearer the fire and tossed a good-sized chunk of wood on it. Listening for every sound that might announce Armand’s return, she tried to shut out the chorus of green tree frogs serenading her.

  “Would madame care for the fish course first, or would she like a sweet?”

  Lucienne twisted to see over her shoulder. Armand made only a shadow in the dim light with his hat in one hand and a dripping honeycomb in the other, his rifle slung behind his shoulders.

  “Sweets first, always! How did you manage to get that? Didn’t the bees attack at the first sign of someone robbing their hive?”

  Armand broke the comb into smaller pieces. “I happen to be one of those charming fellows the bees like. They let me take a little from their hives from time to time without too much bother.” He passed one piece to Lucienne. She licked the drips from the edge of the comb before they could fall to the floor and be wasted.

  “That’s black magic. I get stung if I just see a bee in the flowerbeds.”

  Armand lifted an enormous fish from his hat. “And this will be Madame’s main course this evening. I’m sorry I don’t have wild rice or candied yams to finish, but it should be large enough to make a meal alone.”

  “You lure fish, too?”

  Armand wiggled a flat stone loose from the ruined wall and rubbed it down with damp grasses and leaves. “This old fellow made the mistake of coming up after a tasty bug just as I stopped for a drink of water. He obligingly toppled right into my hat.” He spread the split fish on the rock and nudged it into the fire with a green willow stick.

  “I’ve always heard that fishermen exaggerate, but that’s the worst lie ever.”

  “Well, a slight exaggeration, but give me credit for originality.”

  As the fish cooked in the fire, Lucienne and Armand sucked the last of the honeycomb dry. Darkness settled in earnest over their camp, and by the time Lucienne and Armand finished their dinner, the night birds had taken up a chorus with the frogs. A wave of honeysuckle perfumed the air, carried on a sweet breeze from the stream. Armand gave Lucienne his dampened kerchief to clean the residue of honey and fish from her fingers.

  “My compliments to the chef, m’sieu.” She passed the bandana back to him.

  “He’ll be delighted to know you approve.” Armand fed more wood into the fire, then sat with his back against the wall, his knees under his chin. “You manage to adapt very well, Lucienne. You don’t cry about the discomforts or wail about what you don’t have. Still, I think you’ll be glad to get back to featherbeds and regular meals served on real china.”

  Lucienne curled her legs up under her ragged gown. “I think I’d like a clean dress and a comb more than anything.” She lifted a tangled braid and looked at it with dismay. “I hate feeling like a scarecrow.” She didn’t want to talk of what life might be like once they returned to daily life.

  “Yet you are as beautiful now as you were in your fine gown at the little masquerade when we danced. Tangled hair, torn dress, threadbare shoes and all, you are still very lovely, Chou-Chou. Whatever else, I’ll never regret we had this time together.”

  “Hurricanes, pirates, snakes, and all, Armand? You’re a glutton for punishment.”

  “Ah, maybe so, but I take my pleasure where I find it.” He raised her hand and left a kiss on her palm. His gesture stirred Lucienne’s senses, and her palm heated from his slight caress.

  Her breath caught in her throat. “But I think you prefer the belle in the pretty gown and her conventional conversation to this ragamuffin swamp girl.”

  The darkness hid his face so she couldn’t gauge his expression. “No, Chou-Chou.” His words were slow but insistent. “You must realize how much I admire the swamp girl. She’s resilient and clever. She doesn’t abandon her friends or become helpless in the face of danger. I don’t think many of the belles of New Orleans could show such courage.” He leaned forward to grasp her other hand. “In society you wear that foolish mask of social conventions, like the frivolous thing you wore for our wedding, something that hides who you really are. You need never wear that mask for me, Lucienne. I know who you are and I delight in it.” She shivered against the chilly wall. “You’re cold, chèrie. Perhaps you should get your blanket and sleep now. We’ll leave as soon as there’s light enough to see the trail.”

  “You’re not…” Lucienne didn’t know how to finish the question. “Aren’t you tired? You’ve had a longer day than I did.”

  “I’ll sit up a while yet and keep the fire going. Get some rest, Chou-Chou. Tomorrow is a long day, too.”

  Mingled disappointment and relief warred as Lucienne smoothed the saddle blanket over the floor. With the day she’d had, she should be able to sleep anywhere she could find to lay her tired bones, but slumber escaped her. His words, I know who you are, I delight in it, wouldn’t leave her; they circled round and round her mind. She found herself staring up at the powdering of stars that filled the sky overhead. For a long while she looked up, hearing his words, counting stars and watching the occasional one shooting across the heavens in a blaze of silver light. Armand tossed a log on the fire from time to time.

  “Not sleeping yet, Chou-Chou?”

  “Not used to rocks for pillows, I guess.”

  “A hard bed for you, chèrie. I’m sorry I couldn’t do better.” He pulled his own blanket toward her and spread it. A moment later he lay beside her. “I can’t do anything about the bed, but I can offer a pillow.” He lifted her up so that his shoulder cushioned her head. “Better? Will you sleep now?”

  Warmth and a heady kind of drowsiness washed over her. Armand’s shoulder fit around her tired head. His lean body cradled her. Her breath came in long sighs. “Yes, much better.” She closed her eyes as the peace of sleep drew her into its web.

  The last her conscious mind heard was Armand’s soft murmur. “Ah, little bird, what am I to do with you?”

  ****

  Armand had risen and made them a skimpy meal of two small fish by the time Lucienne woke. She ate and stretched luxuriously, as if she’d spent the night on the finest linen sheets in a proper bedroom.

  “Hurry yourself, sleepyhead,” Armand urged. “We need to make an early start so we don’t lose the light before we get to trail’s end.”

  A wisp of remorse for the end of their journey touched her. She glanced at the tangled blankets. It had been a moment, just a flicker of time, but in that instant she’d wished she and Armand could go on as they were and never go back to their routine life or the decisions she faced with the next sunrise.

  “Can I go to the stream and wash the sleep out of my eyes?” She gave the stream an anxious glance. “Without the company of snakes or alligators, I mean?”

  “I was there moments ago and it was safe. Go ahead, but look before you step.”

  Lucienne made a cautious pilgrimage to the water’s edge and gave her face a hasty wash in the cool water. She looked at the reflection below in dismay. Could that disheveled urchin be Lucienne Toussaint? Tangles framed a face spattered with a spray of freckles across a sunburned nose. Marie would faint with shock. A Creole lady’s unblemished white skin was not to be risked for anything. Her hair, a crown in itself, had
never been seen in such disarray. Lucienne giggled to think what her lifelong watchdog would say to the swamp child reflected in the water.

  Suddenly conscious of passing time, Lucienne dried her face on the least grimy square of her skirt. She pulled her hair back and tied it with a scrap torn from her hem, a hem that was becoming more ragged with each hour, and brushed her skirt free of grass and twigs. Armand would be waiting, and the last leg of their journey couldn’t be postponed forever.

  Lucienne ran lightly over the scrub grass and up the slight rise. She scrambled around low brush and sidestepped an uneven stone. Armand wasn’t there. His rifle and pepperpot pistols were still at the edge of the stone floor. She looked toward the place where they’d left the horses and saw the mounts saddled and waiting. No sign of the man. Where was he?

  The sound of footsteps, heavy and awkward, came to her. Certain he was injured or ill, she started to run toward the footsteps. A man bent with the weight of a massive burden stepped out of the trees.

  “Don’t try getting away, missy. I don’t want to hurt you none, but you ain’t runnin’ off this time.”

  Lucienne didn’t believe it could be the same man. How could Price be in this place? His red face was flushed to the color of a beet from exertion. Slowly he released his burden, and the limp form of Armand Dupre rolled to the stone floor.

  “You’ve killed him, you devil!” she shrieked as she ran to Armand’s unmoving side. “Armand! You’ve killed Armand!”

  Price laughed grimly. “Singing a different tune now, are you? Nonetheless, your folks’ll pay me well for bringing you back. Dupre said that was what I should have done in the first place. Looks like he was right.” He pulled her to her feet and dragged her across the ground to the waiting horses.

  “Armand! Armand!” Her screams fell on uncaring ears.

  “He’s not dead, missy, or at least I don’t think so. I didn’t hit him so very hard. He’ll come around.” Price tried to force Lucienne into the saddle. She kicked his knee as hard as her frayed boot could manage.

  “There are snakes! Alligators! You can’t just leave him here!” She tore at his hair and ripped the sleeve from his dingy shirt.

  “Little lady, I sure can. I’m doin’ just that!” Wrapping an arm around her waist, he fished a length of rawhide from his pocket and tied her wrists with clumsy haste. He lifted her up toward the saddle. Unable to defend herself with her hands, Lucienne kicked at her nemesis with all her might. She got in a hard blow to his face and was jubilant when blood poured from the cut in his cheek. Regardless of her efforts, Price was able to force her into the saddle. He looped her bound hands over the saddle horn and then mounted Armand’s waiting horse. Leading her mount by the reins, Price kneed the gelding to a trot and both riders, willing and not, disappeared into the trees.

  Chapter Twenty:

  End of the Trail

  Lucienne rubbed the rawhide binding, stretching it against the saddle horn. Price had poor skills in tying hands, she noted with glee. A little more effort and she’d have her hands free. If only they didn’t get too far from Armand or turn away from the trail.

  “M’sieu, m’sieu, I beg you, you must slow down. I’m not accustomed to riding in this fashion. You’ll receive something less than a reward if my Papa thinks I’ve been treated without respect.” Her plea in wailing tones came from the depths of her gift for mimicry. She had no difficulty manufacturing the tears that trickled down her cheeks.

  Price slowed his mount to a walk. “I suppose there’s something in that,” he conceded. “Horses need to take a rest, too. These critters look like they’ve been rode down to the nub.”

  “Could we stop for a while, m’sieu? I’m not used to being so long in the saddle.”

  “Not yet. If we get lost in the swamp, we might never find our way out.” He gave her a stern look. “I’m not coddlin’ you, girl. We stop when I say.”

  He ignored her plaintive pleas and occasional sobs with his rigid back turned away. As long as he disregarded her, Lucienne sawed her bonds against the pommel with vigor. The rawhide was giving way, stretching and fraying, with her efforts. In a little while, minutes maybe, she’d have her hands free. Then she only had to wait for the moment when she could distract him, snatch her reins from his hands, and speed into the trees. Surely she could find her way back to the camp. Or if Armand had regained consciousness, he was certain to be following them and not far behind. Price glanced back. Fearing he’d see what she was doing, she let two more tears pour down her face as she stared into his eyes.

  “Oh, please, m’sieu, can’t we stop for a little? Riding in this fashion is most difficult for me. I can barely stand the misery it causes me.” Her wail was as false as it was entreating, but Price must have believed her. He reined in his horse.

  “Were you this much trouble to Dupre?” His tone suggested he wondered if she was worth his efforts in spite of the money he expected.

  “Far more, I fear. He was much put out with me.” She sniffed pitifully.

  “And little wonder.” Price turned back and picked up the pace a little.

  Too much depended on slowing him down. Lucienne tried a new attack. “How did you ever find us, m’sieu? You must have been very clever.”

  He did drop back a pace or two. Lucienne hid the loosened thong between her hands. “Not clever so much as lucky. Maybe that’s changed things for me, findin’ you. I had some people, people I didn’t want to see, lookin’ for me. Late last night I spotted them before they spotted me, so I slipped into the trees to stay clear of them. Found some of the trail and followed it. Caught sight of Dupre across the stream this mornin’ and then heard you up at the camp. Never thought any of you’d still be alive. Looked like a sign my luck was changin’. Figured I was due a new deal and took advantage of what I found. Clunked Dupre with a whiskey bottle, and here we are. Worked just the way I thought.”

  “You haven’t asked about Dorcas, m’sieu. Don’t you wonder where your daughter is?”

  “Meanin’ she’s alive after that hurricane, too? I’ll be jiggered. Never figured her to be smart enough to get clear. Where’s the girl at?”

  “I don’t really know. Said she had friends who’d take her in. Went off in a boat.”

  “Friends? Don’t know about that, but she’ll be lookin’ for her pa in a day or two, when she learns I’ve got money again. She’ll hie herself back right quick.” Price must have realized the horses had slowed to an amiable walk. He urged his mount to a faster pace, and Lucienne’s mare could do nothing but follow.

  In another mile, Lucienne saw Price’s horse had developed a limp. The heavy gelding no longer moved with the ease of a rocking chair. The man rode until it was impossible to ignore the situation.

  “Must have picked up a stone.” Price looped Lucienne’s reins over his saddle horn. “Don’t do sumthin’ foolish now, girl. Iffen you try to ride off with your hands tied, you’re gonna get th’owed.”

  While he examined first one hoof and then a second, Lucienne uncoiled the binding around her wrists. She leaned forward to pull her reins free, then froze when a band of shadowed movement caught her eye. It lay in the crevice of a fallen log, menacing. Price stepped over the log to lift his mount’s front hoof. The horse sensed danger and reared.

  “Look out, Price!” Lucienne cried out just as the cottonmouth struck. The horse screamed with alarm and pulled free, releasing Lucienne’s reins at the same time. Her horse danced back. The gelding bolted. Price, horror mirrored in his eyes, spun just in time for a second viper to rise up and strike above his heavy boot.

  The mare, reacting to the fear in the air, whirled. Lucienne barely caught her reins before the creature thundered away from the site. She tugged madly, trying to bring the horse under control while clinging to the saddle with her knees.

  Racing headlong into the thicket, Lucienne had no sense of her direction. She crouched in the saddle, clutching the mane of the panicked creature. Low limbs flashed over her head. Trees l
oomed dangerously close. She held on with all her strength.

  “Easy, easy,” she soothed the frightened animal. “Easy, slow down now, easy.” She kept up the gentle coaxing as the horse slowed, overcome with exhaustion. At last the run became a walk, then a standing stop. Shaken to her boots, Lucienne slid from the saddle and clung to her mount’s lathered flank.

  Panting as much as the animal, Lucienne gave the horse a careful look. Everything seemed to be in place, no broken bones or torn flesh. “We came out of that better than we might have.” She praised the animal, stroking its heaving sides. “You at least looked where you were going.”

  Gathering up the reins, trying to see a tree that would mark the trail, Lucienne led the horse between thick trunks and fallen limbs. She didn’t see anything even resembling a trail. She looked up at the sky and marked where the sun was. It seemed to be directly overhead, giving her no direction. “Well, we have to go one way or another.” She sighed and turned to the right. The stream should be on her right if she was going back toward the camp she’d shared with Armand. She had to find him. He could be dazed, confused by the blow from Price’s whiskey bottle and wandering in the swamps. Driven by fear and a concern she barely acknowledged, she searched for familiar landmarks or signs of human trespass. He had survived, Lucienne assured herself, ducking to look for markers. A blackguard like Price couldn’t destroy such a man as Armand, a man who faced down pirates and a hurricane. She would find him, she repeated over and over. Finding him was the only hope for all of them, Price included, though he didn’t deserve it. How long could a man live with snake venom in his veins? Snakebite wasn’t all that uncommon; with care many people survived.

  In the next cluster of trees she saw the first trail marker—a single limb pointing left. A few feet beyond, she saw another. Her spirits lifted. At least she was on a trail even if she didn’t know which way she was going. Determined to press on, Lucienne plodded forward. The nagging hum of mosquitoes filled her head. She slapped the hungry pests away and pushed toward another marker. Her horse shook the reins, as if unwilling to proceed.