The Grand Masquerade (The Bold Women Series Book 4)

by Amanda Hughes

  The man sitting on the railing quit paring his nails, slipped his penny knife into his pocket and stood up. “I’ll go first,” he said in a husky voice.

  Looking at her father frantically, Sydnee blurted, “Papa, you forget, it was just yesterday I delivered a baby.”

  Silence. The only sound was rain spattering on the ground.

  The man looked at Victor and drawled, “You said she was fresh as the mornin’ dew.”

  Sauveterre sputtered, “But--”

  The other customer stood up, put on his hat and announced, “Come on, Rufus. Let’s go to Shoat’s. He’s got girls.”

  “No, no,” pleaded Sauveterre, jumping to his feet. “My girl is fine and dandy and ready for some slap and tickle. She’s just a little shy. That’s all.”

  The men mounted their donkeys with Sauveterre at their heels. “There’s no call to leave,” he pleaded.

  They kicked their donkeys and headed up The Trace in the pouring rain.

  Sauveterre watched them leave, and then whirled around, back-handing Sydnee. The force of the blow sent her staggering.

  “You had to open your goddamned mouth!” he barked.

  Panting, he looked at the men leaving and then started into the cabin. Changing his mind, he marched back down the steps and slapped her again, this time even harder. “I’ll teach you,” he snarled.

  She toppled a few steps backward again and covered her head with her arms. Grabbing her hair, he drew back and slapped her again and again, following her down the path as she retreated.

  Suddenly he exclaimed, “What the--”

  Baloo and Atlantis leaped of the woods and charged him.

  Sauveterre had forgotten. He had always given beatings inside the cabin to avoid the dogs. Baloo was the first to reach him. The massive dog took a running jump and toppled Sauveterre over into the mud. Next Atlantis was upon him, clamping onto his throat and thrashing back and forth, snarling and tearing at the arteries of his neck. Baloo ripped at his groin, and legs.

  Sydnee was stunned. She screamed for the dogs to retreat, but in their fury, they did not hear her.

  Somehow Sauveterre kicked off Baloo and struggled to his feet. Atlantis was harder to dislodge. She continued to dangle from his neck, like a huge goiter. He tried to free himself by clawing at her jaws and swinging her around, but it was no use. The ancestral memory of her breed was at work, and she hung on tenaciously. Blood was soaking his pants and running down his neck.

  Baloo began tearing at his legs again. The snarling of the dogs rose to a crescendo. Sydnee rushed forward to help, but her father swung Atlantis around and smashed her in the face with the dog. She tumbled back onto the ground, hitting her head on a rock. The last thing she saw before she blacked out was Vivian watching the attack passively from a tree. For the first time in her life, the crow seemed to approve of the dog’s behavior.

  * * *

  The sun was up when Sydnee recovered consciousness. She was covered with dried mud, and her head throbbed. Vivian, ever vigilant, remained in the tree watching over her. It took a moment to sweep the cobwebs from her mind, but then she remembered.

  She looked around frantically for her father. There was blood on the ground and shredded garments everywhere, but no trace of the man. The dogs were missing too.

  Maybe Papa got away. Maybe he is up at the cabin.

  Sydnee staggered toward the shack and then stopped. There was a trail of blood on a path of crushed weeds as if something heavy had been dragged into the woods. Her eyes followed the path. At the edge of the tree line, she saw feet.

  Her legs turned to jelly, and her palms began to perspire. She could see from a distance that her father had on only one boot. The other foot was bare and bent at an unusual angle. He was on his back, and his pants were shredded.

  Reluctantly she approached the body. Terror seized her as she leaned forward, pushing back the brush. One glimpse was all she needed to know that he was dead. The contents of her stomach rose into her mouth, and she retched. Sydnee was stunned. Everything happened so fast in the past few days that she was in shock. Her entire world had changed, and suddenly she was all alone.

  Taking a deep breath, she waded through the weeds back to the cabin. She returned with a blanket, rolled her father onto it and then dragged him into the meadow.

  Drenched with perspiration and nausea, Sydnee dug a hole. Several times she stopped and dropped to her knees panting, wondering why she felt no sorrow. She was burying her father, her own flesh and blood, but there were no tears. There was no despair. She felt nothing, except shame for not caring.

  When she was almost done, she dropped the spade, put her hands on her hips and arched her back. She was trembling from exhaustion, and her head ached. Adding to her misery was the fact that her breasts had engorged with milk and were tender and sore.

  Sydnee brushed the wet hair from her eyes and picked up the spade again. Something caught her eye. The dogs were watching her from the woods.

  * * *

  Sick and exhausted, Sydnee collapsed into bed that night. She decided to sleep in the shed inviting Baloo and Atlantis to join her. The dogs approached her cautiously, unsure of her feelings after the attack. They eased down stiffly beside her on the quilt, stealing furtive glances at her. It was not until she snuggled up beside them that they relaxed.

  All night long she felt the presence of Margarite and her father. They were not at peace, and she could feel their restlessness. Sydnee could not find the rest she needed until late the next morning, and then she slept steadily for almost two days. It was a heavy, dreamless sleep while she healed from the tribulations. She rose only to eat, feed the dogs and relieve herself.

  Late on the second night, the scream of a panther awakened her. The dogs were immediately on guard with their ears perked. The sound was not uncommon, but it always alarmed them. Sydnee listened outside for a long time, but all was quiet.

  She stared at the ceiling considering her future. It was comforting to know that at least she had The Devil’s Backbone to fall back upon. She could feed herself off the land, and Vivian, Baloo and Atlantis provided the companionship she needed. She would never be hungry or lonely.

  Nevertheless Margarite’s words nagged her. “Leave here. You are not listening to the spirits.”

  Sydnee sat up and ran her fingers through her hair. Anxiety flooded her. “Why must I leave?” she blurted. “I have nowhere to go. I don’t understand, and I am scared, Margarite.”

  Swallowing hard, she threw back the covers, retrieved an egg from the cupboard and then ladled water into the glass bowl on the altar. After sweeping the egg over her body, she cracked it quickly and dropped the white into the water.

  Taking a deep breath, she prayed and watched. The egg white dropped slowly in a solid mass to the bottom of the bowl. Fragments of something began to unfold, but it was not clear to her yet what the egg was divining. She closed her eyes, asking the spirits for guidance. A sudden draft blew into the room as if someone opened a window. The wind chimes moved, and Sydnee’s hair blew.

  She let her head roll back and closed her eyes. She was about to have a vision. The scene unfolded at last. Margarite and her father were arguing. Victor pushed the old woman backward, and she fell to the floor. She saw him yank the baby away from Margarite and walk out the door.

  Now it was clear. What she dismissed as delirium the night she gave birth, had been true. She had actually witnessed her father taking her newborn.

  Horror shot through her like a bolt of lightning. Her head snapped forward, and her eyes opened. She grabbed the roots of her hair and screamed. The dogs jumped to their feet, terrified.

  Sydnee burst out of the shed and ran up the path toward the water. The sun was just rising over Plum Creek as she plunged into the water searching madly for the remains of her child. She traversed the stream, back and forth, up and down, searching the muddy bottom for the body of her little girl. At last she collapsed on the grassy bank and sobbed. In the e
nd, she gained nothing except the revelation that her father had indeed been a monster.

  * * *

  By afternoon, a cold determination settled over Sydnee. She took what she needed from Margarite’s cupboard, rolled the crucifix and wind chimes into a blanket, and tied the bundle to a sturdy branch.

  After putting food into packs and strapping them to the dog’s backs, she went into the Sauveterre cabin one last time. On her father’s bed, where she endured the groping of so many strangers, she started a fire and then stepped outside to watch. Smoke belched out of the window and then poured out the door. Flames climbed quickly up the brittle walls to the moss covered roof and climbed into the morning sky.

  In a matter of moments, the house was an inferno. With Vivian on her shoulder and the dogs at her feet, Sydnee turned her back on The Devil’s Backbone and left forever.

  Chapter 5

  Every step Sydnee took away from The Devil’s Backbone, she felt stronger. The darkness that hung over her like a decaying shroud had lifted. It was replaced with warm sun and vivid color. She raised her face to the clear sky with a smile on her lips as she watched birds careening overhead. Her joy was contagious, and Baloo and Atlantis trotted alongside her happily. Vivian came too, flying from tree to tree, swollen with importance, overseeing the journey.

  Sydnee knew very little about her future, but she did know that her destination must be the big river to the west, the Mississippi. This great water, of which they spoke, is where all life seemed to originate.

  Overhearing customer’s talk, Sydnee knew that The Trace would end in the town of Natchez where she would find the great waterway. It was said that Natchez was the wealthiest city in the United States. The rich soil yielded huge cotton crops, and fortunes were made there every day. Located on the mighty Mississippi, Natchez exported goods around the world, making the residents fantastically wealthy.

  Although she was still weak from childbirth, Sydnee walked for hours that first day without stopping. She was trying to put as much distance as possible between her and The Devil’s Backbone. The day was hot, but they were surrounded on all sides by lush green darkness. The trees formed a canopy overhead, sheltering them from the blistering sunlight of midday.

  When the air grew sultry, they stopped to bathe in a small lake. It felt delicious, and it was tempting to linger, but Sydnee spied an alligator slide silently into the water looking for a hearty meal. She had to whistle briskly for Atlantis, who was frolicking in the water, to come ashore quickly. Before continuing, Sydnee applied a solution of cloves, alcohol and oil to her skin to repel the onslaught of bugs along on the densely forested trail.

  Late in the afternoon, steep banks rose up on either side of the path as they walked. The embankments were from ruts carved deeply into the soft earth by countless wagons, mules and horses traveling on The Trace. The scars were so deep one could not see over either side of the hills.

  The dogs went instantly on alert as they passed through the dark furrow. Sydnee was on guard as well. She heard these places were hideouts for bandits and cutthroats who preyed upon unsuspecting travelers. Luckily, they were unmolested. It seemed that too few people passed this way anymore for it to be a profitable haunt for bandits. Sydnee breathed a sigh of relief. All day long they traveled without incident, seeing only one man who merely lifted his hat and said, “Howdy, ma’am”.

  The dogs carried packs on their backs, loaded with meat, cornbread and eggs. Sydnee slaughtered and cooked chickens before they left, but the meat would have to be eaten shortly. There had been no time to smoke it or salt it properly. The journey to Natchez would take a week, and she had to ration the food carefully.

  When the sun set at last, Sydnee found a small clearing, well hidden from the trail, and draped a quilt over a low branch. Clipping one end shut with clothes pins, she draped a long veil of muslin netting from a hat she found on the trail, over the other end of the tent to allow air to circulate. After strewing pine needles and soft leaves on the ground, she snapped a quilt open for their bed and then invited the dogs in for the night. They slept heavily until the sun rose the next morning, at which time Vivian nagged and cawed at them to rise.

  Sydnee stepped out of the tent and stretched. She rubbed her eyes and gazed up at the clear sky. She had never felt such happiness. For the first time in her life, she was at peace and felt safe. Although Margarite was gone from this earth, Sydnee could hear her voice encouraging her and giving her direction. She felt the spirits with her too. Their presence was everywhere, particularly in the sheltering arms of the trees.

  Sydnee ran her fingers through her hair and put on her hat. It was a man’s hat, dirty with a wide brim that lost it shape and drooped, but it protected her from the sun and the bugs, particularly when she draped the veil over it. She winced when she took a step. In spite of years without shoes, her bare feet were still sore.

  She took down the tent, rolled everything up and tied the bundle back onto her stick. Next she built a fire and cooked some eggs and Johnny cakes in the small cast-iron pan that she brought along. She made enough breakfast for the dogs as well.

  Vivian resented the dogs receiving a free handout. The crow walked around the fire glaring at Sydnee, looking for her share. Nevertheless Sydnee gave little to the bird. The crow foraged and scavenged successfully all day long, whereas the dogs would have to hunt if Sydnee did not feed them. There was little time for that undertaking.

  They passed many stands like The Devil’s Backbone on their journey, but they had all been abandoned, remnants of an earlier time when overland travel was the only way to the north. It was a lonely sight, doors left open, roofs caved in, split rail fences crumbling, and nature reclaiming the landscape. Sydnee considered entering these stands to search for discarded tools or clothing and then reconsidered. She did not want to surprise any wildlife inside or risk injury from the shacks collapsing.

  At sunset on the third day of their journey, they passed an active stand. There were men sitting on the porch, drinking from jugs and smoking. They were dressed in rags and had long tobacco-stained beards. When they saw her, they hooped and hollered, whistling and shouting profanities. They told her to come and drink with them and take turns pleasuring them.

  Sydnee held her breath and walked past, not making eye contact. Even Vivian and the dogs did not acknowledge the men. They walked by quickly and cautiously, and much to their relief, the men did not follow them. Even though Sydnee knew the dogs would protect her, the canines were no match for firearms.

  There was a lot of time for Sydnee to consider her future as she walked along The Trace. At the top of her list was earning a living. When she reached Natchez, she decided that she would find work on one of the plantations. Maybe she could pick cotton, plant or help with household tasks. In a town the size of Natchez, there was sure to be employment.

  She also took time to appreciate the beauty of The Trace too. It was midsummer, and the wildflowers were in bloom. Thick hedges of purple flowers that looked like thistle lined the trail along with yellow daisies, wild roses, and orchids. The smell of the air was thick with fragrance, especially late in the afternoon, when the air was heavy. At night the moonlight dappled the floor of the forest, illuminating white wildflowers as the crickets sang.

  A day never passed without rain, but Sydnee welcomed it and found it refreshing. It cooled the heavy coats of the dogs while it soaked her clothing and skin. On two occasions when the wind was right, she thought she heard a whistle blowing in the distance. But she could not imagine what this could be and put it down to fancy.

  On the fifth day, they heard a woman calling from her stand on a hill. She was an old lady, hunched over with age with skin like brown leather. Her cheeks and lips were sunken, but her smile was warm and friendly.

  “Howdy, lil darlins’,” she called. “Can you see fit to keep an old woman company? I ain’t seen no one now for near seven days.”

  Sydnee lifted up her veil and climbed the hill, smiling. “O
f course.”

  The dogs trotted up to the woman, and she stroked their heads.

  “Come take a load off. The name’s Nell Patchett,” she said, pointing a skeletal hand at a porch chair.

  Sydnee sat down with a sigh. She had not been in a chair for almost a week, and her back was grateful. The dogs dropped down beside her. Vivian landed in the yard searching for grasshoppers.

  “I don’t have much food since my husband died a month ago,” the old woman said, easing herself down stiffly into a rocker.

  “W--we have plenty for us all,” Sydnee said shyly, embarrassed of her stutter. She had never been comfortable with strangers, but she forced herself to ask, “Y-you have lost your husband?”

  “Yezum, a month ago. I miss him terrible,” she said, her voice cracking.

  Sydnee turned in her chair to look at the decrepit cabin. It was in worse shape than The Devil’s Backbone. One side of the shack had caved in, and a straw mattress was on the floor in the opposite corner. They were no farm animals and no chickens in the yard.

  Sydnee built a fire under the tripod in the yard, and using the old woman’s crucible, she cooked up a chicken stew. They sat on the porch and ate.

  “You sure are a pretty little thing,” the old woman said, gumming her corn bread and looking at Sydnee.

  Embarrassed, Sydnee smiled and looked down.

  “You headed to Natchez?” Mrs. Patchett asked.

  “Yes, is it close?”

  “Almost a week’s walk.”

  Sydnee looked up abruptly. “A week?”

  Her heart sank. She had enough food for only three more days. Nevertheless she was more concerned about the old woman. She rehearsed her words in her head and then said, “How w-will you make it here all alone? Come with us.”

  The old woman cackled. “These ol’ legs can barely make it down to get water. No ma’am, I lived here, and I die here,” and she held out her bowl for another helping.

  Sydnee nodded and brought her more stew. The sun was starting to go down, and the old woman suggested they stay at her stand for the night. Sydnee agreed and pitched her tent over a limb in the yard.