Clay bowed, rather formally. “Sir, I’d like for you to meet two good friends of mine. This is Jacob Steiner, and this is Miss Chantel Fortier. This is Colonel Stuart, my commanding officer.”
“I’m very happy to meet you,” Jacob Steiner said, bowing his head. He was a small elderly man, rather stooped.
“You’ve just arrived in Richmond, Mr. Steiner?”
“Yes, although we’ve been here several times before. I’ve been a peddler for many years, and I’ve been all over. But I am beginning to believe that in these coming perilous days, the Lord has led us here, to the South, for a purpose.”
“You’re a Christian man?”
Jacob Steiner smiled. “You’ve noticed I am Jewish, but yes, I am one of those rare converted Jews.”
Clay spoke up, “I have to tell you, Colonel, that Miss Chantel saved both of us.”
“Saved you in what way?” Stuart asked with interest. He studied the young woman dressed in a man’s trousers and shirt, with a floppy hat that covered most of her black hair. She had the strangest violet eyes. But in her gaze Jeb found kindness.
Jacob Steiner answered, “She found me sick on the side of the road and nursed me back to health. The same thing happened with Mr.—I mean, Lieutenant Tremayne. We found him wounded. My granddaughter is such a good nurse that he recovered very quickly.”
“She’s the best nurse I’ve ever known or heard of,” Clay said vehemently.
Jeb Stuart was a man who could assess a situation and make quick decisions. “Miss Chantel, I have a problem, and I need some help.”
Chantel asked him, “What sort of a problem, Colonel?”
“My wife has fallen ill. We have two small children, and she’s simply not able to take care of them by herself right now. I need someone to come in and help with cleaning and cooking, but mostly to take care of my wife and children. Would you be interested in helping me, ma’am?”
Chantel glanced at Jacob. “If Grandpere agrees, I’ll be happy to do what I can.”
“Why, of course, Colonel,” Jacob said readily. “Chantel is a good person and has a healing touch, I believe. If you need her to stay at your home, I will go and check on her and your family each day to see to their needs.”
“Thank you, sir,” Jeb said with great relief. “And thank you, Miss Chantel. I will be glad to pay you a fair wage.”
“I don’t need money, me,” she said carelessly. “Grandpere gives me all the money I need.”
“I’m glad of that,” Jeb said, “but still I insist on paying you. I know this is very sudden, but I’m afraid that my command is ordered to move out in the morning. Would it be possible for you to come with me now, Miss Chantel, to meet my wife?”
“I will come,” she answered. “Just let me get a few things.”
She turned, but Jeb said, “Ma’am?”
“Yes?” she asked, turning back to him.
“I just wanted to tell you that you’re an answer to a prayer. I’m very worried about my wife, but now I feel that you’re going to be a very big help to her.”
Chantel said warmly, “I will help her, and I will take care of your little ones, Colonel Stuart. And may the good God bless you and your men as you go to fight.” Her gaze slid to Clay Tremayne.
Jeb noted that Clay smiled at her, but she merely turned and disappeared into the wagon.
Jeb opened the door to his home and motioned for Chantel to enter, following closely on her heels.
Flora was stretched out on the couch with Philip lying beside her. Little Flora was sitting on the floor, playing with a rag doll.
Jeb hurried to kneel by the sofa. He took Flora’s hand and kissed it. “Dear Flora, the Lord has blessed us. This is Miss Chantel Fortier. Miss Chantel, this is my wife, Flora.”
Flora said weakly, “I’m very glad to meet you, Chantel. I’m—I’m sorry I can’t get up to meet you properly.”
“No,” Chantel said firmly. “You’re sick, Miss Flora. That’s why I’m here. And for these two darlings, too.”
“This is Little Flora. She’s a little grubby right now, but she’s my angel. And this is our son, Philip.”
Chantel took off her hat, laid her pack down by the sofa, and said in a businesslike manner, “First, I give Little Flora a bath, and Philip a bath. And then I give you a bath, Miss Flora.”
Jeb laughed as he stood. “The best thing in the world for them. I’m already very glad that you’re here, Miss Chantel.”
“Oh, I am, too,” Flora agreed. “I haven’t felt like bathing the children. I haven’t even felt like cleaning up myself.”
Expertly Chantel picked Philip up and pressed her hand to his fat bottom. “First his cloths need changing, then baths. After that, I fix you something good to eat, Miss Flora, so you can get strong again.”
“That would be wonderful,” Flora said. “Jeb, are you going to be here tonight?”
“I am,” he said slowly. “But there’s something I have to talk to you about.”
Chantel held out her hand to Little Flora, who immediately grinned up at her and took it. Carrying Philip, she led the little girl into the bedroom and quietly closed the door.
Flora searched Jeb’s face, and then she sighed. “You’ve been called out, haven’t you? When must you leave?”
“At dawn.”
“Then,” Flora said quietly, “it is very good that the Lord has sent Chantel to us.”
Jeb knelt by her again and took her hand. “The Lord is good,” he said. “He will never forsake us. Not you, Flora, and not me. I know that, wherever I go now, He is with me.”
“Yes, He is,” Flora whispered, pressing his hand to her cheek. “And wherever you go, I will always be here, waiting for you to come home.”
PART TWO: CHANTEL & JACOB 1859—1861
CHAPTER SEVEN
Chantel Fortier came out of a deep sleep as a sudden and blinding fear shot through her. Hands were touching her body. When her eyes flew open, she looked into the face of her stepfather, Rufus Bragg. Bragg had a brutal face, and he was leering at her and running his hands over her body. Chantel cried out, “You leave me alone!”
“You need a man, girl,” Bragg said, grinning like a sly snake. He grabbed the top of the lightweight shirt that Chantel wore.
She had been sitting up late with her mother and was exhausted, so she had simply gotten into bed without undressing.
“I know how to make women feel good,” Bragg snickered. He gripped the top of the thin shirt and tore it.
Chantel struck out with both hands, fingers extended like claws, and raked Bragg’s face. He cursed and lost his grip on her. As he did, Chantel rolled to the other side of the bed and jumped up into the corner. She was trapped in the room, and Bragg was laughing at her.
“I like a woman with spirit,” he growled, moving slowly around the bed.
Chantel whirled and picked up the sawed-off shotgun that was leaning on the wall beside her bed. She had put it there for just a time like this, for this wasn’t the first time her stepfather had put his hands on her. She drew back the twin hammers, and the deadly metallic clicking stopped Bragg in his tracks.
He stared at her, his eyes narrowing, “You wouldn’t have the nerve to shoot me, little girl.”
“Get out of here or I’ll give you both barrels!” She was deathly afraid but determined. “You leave me alone, or I swear I’ll kill you, Bragg.”
For a moment, he looked uncertain, but then he laughed in his ugly hyena bray. “You got some spit, Chantel. As soon as your ma dies, I’m gonna marry up with you.”
“I would never marry you! Never!”
“You ain’t but fifteen, and the law says you got to do what I say when your momma dies. Everything she has will be mine—and that means you, too. So you will marry me, too, little girl.” He crossed his arms and nodded as if she had agreed with him. “I’m gonna have you, Chantel. You just make up your mind to that.” With one last leer, he turned abruptly and left the room.
Chante
l was so shaken she thought that her legs wouldn’t support her. She sat down on the bed, trembling in every nerve. Bragg had been after her for over a year, since her mother had been sick. He found excuses to touch her, and he made crude remarks. The fear that had driven Chantel to fight him off turned into a sick emptiness deep inside her. Still she trembled, but now with a treacherous, nauseous weakness. With an effort, she leaned the shotgun back against the wall; then she fell on the bed and began to weep. Her body shook, but she muffled her sobs, for her mother was in the next room.
Finally the storm of weeping ceased. Chantel took a deep shuddering breath. She stood up and retrieved the shotgun. The weight of the gun gave her some courage.
He’ll get me … He’ll never stop coming at me, no!
Moving to the window, she gazed out at the bayou. The moon cast its silver image on the still dark waters, and the hoarse grunt of a bull gator broke the silence.
Chantel leaned over and put one hand against the wall and began to pray. I can’t leave ma mere, good God. So You keep him from me, yes!
Chantel’s spirit was crying out for her mother, who was dying. She knew that her stepfather was evil and would never leave her alone. She’d never understood why her mother had married Bragg after her first husband, Chantel’s father, had died. The thick hatred she bore for her stepfather was like a sickening sour taste in her mouth.
Chantel knew nothing about the law, but she suspected that Bragg might be right. When ma mere dies, he’ll take me. The thought caused a wave of fear, as sharp as the knife she always carried. She lay on the bed, grasping her knife in its leather sheaf in one sweaty hand and holding the shotgun with the other. Chantel waited for the dawn.
At daybreak, just as the sun was coming up, Chantel heard the sound of Bragg riding away and felt a welcome relief. She rose quickly, still fully dressed, for she had been wakeful all night, expecting Bragg to come back into her bedroom at any moment. Hurriedly she went into the kitchen and fixed a broth of turtle soup for her mother.
Carefully she set a tray with the broth and some hot ginger tea. After staring at it for a moment, she turned and ran outside, then returned with a piece of honeysuckle vine and laid it across the plain tray to make it look as pretty as she could. She then took the tray into her mother’s room.
Even though her mother had been very ill for more than a year, still Chantel received a small shock when she saw her for the first time every day. She was so pale and thin! Her eyes were sunken, and her color was pale. Chantel forced herself to smile. “I have something good for you, Mere. You’ll like it.”
“I’m not very hungry, child.”
“You’ve got to eat to keep your strength up, yes.”
“Maybe just a little bit.”
Chantel set the bowl down and helped her mother sit up. Her mother’s bones felt as fragile as those of a bird, and there was practically no flesh on them. The doctors had said that it was “the wasting disease” and they could do nothing for her. In the last two months it had seemed that the life was draining out of her moment by moment.
Chantel fed her mother, but she could eat only a few spoonfuls of the broth. Wearily she then said, “I can’t eat no more, me.”
“Maybe you eat some later.”
“Chantel, sit down. There is something I must say.”
Chantel put the tray aside and drew a chair close to the bed. “What is it, Mere?”
Her mother reached out and took her hand. “The good God has told me that it’s time for me to go.”
“No, Mere, you mustn’t say that!”
“It is the good God who has told me this in my spirit. You must not grieve for me. I’ll be glad to go home, I’m so tired and I hurt so bad.”
“Maybe you get better.”
“No, Chantel, you know I won’t, and I’m ready. I want you to listen carefully.”
“Yes, Mere, what is it?”
“I’ve been praying for you to find the Lord Jesus, and you will. But when I’m gone, you must leave this place. You must go to my sister Lorraine in Mississippi.”
Chantel didn’t question her mother, for she knew that her mother was aware of Bragg’s evil ways, and this was her attempt to protect her. “It will be safe for you there. Promise me, cherie!”
“I promise,” Chantel said, “but my heart is breaking for you.”
Her mother pressed her hand. “God has appointed us a time to go, and it will be good for me. Now I pray that God will watch over you.” She bowed her head and began to pray.
As she did, Chantel felt the tears begin to run down her cheeks. She wiped her eyes on her sleeve, and after her mother ended her prayer, she said, “It will be well, ma mere. God will take good care of me.”
Chantel left the room, carrying the tray, her heart as heavy as it had ever been. She knew that her mother couldn’t live long. She also knew that as soon as she was gone, Bragg would be after her, and there was not a soul in the world who could help.
Chantel had helped her father make the boat called a pirogue before he died. She remembered as she pushed it out into the dark waters of the bayou how they had worked on it together. He hadn’t lived long after this, but he’d taught Chantel how to get through the waters of the bayou and the swamp in the frail craft.
Taking up a pole, she pushed off from the shore, and the pirogue seemed to glide across the water. The smell of humus was thick in her nostrils. She glanced up as a flight of brown pelicans in a V formation made their way across the sky. The sun was as yellow as an egg yolk. Despite the heaviness of her heart, Chantel admired the beautiful wild orchids that carpeted the still waters. Then she made her way through large pools, green with lily pads that clustered along the bayou’s banks. They were bursting with flowers. She quickly went into the heart of the bayou, where she watched a flight of egrets, then a blue heron lifting its spindly legs carefully, its needlelike beak darting down on a fish. He tossed the fish up in the air, caught it, and swallowed it. Chantel smiled as it went down his long thin neck. “You have a good breakfast, you,” she said.
The air was moist and cool, but it wouldn’t remain so long. She reached the enormous cypress, where she had tied one end of a trotline. She started to pull up the line, and she felt it trembling. “I got me a big fish,” she said with satisfaction. Even as she spoke, a flash of white caught the corner of her eye. She whirled around quickly and saw a cottonmouth that was thicker than her leg. The white in the mouth was exposed, giving it the name. She smelled the stench that these snakes give off, and it made her shudder. Quickly, Chantel reached down and picked up the shotgun. In one smooth motion, she loaded it and pulled one of the triggers. It tore the monster’s head off, and Chantel nodded with satisfaction. “You ain’t gonna bite nobody no more, you!”
She looked around to be sure that there were no alligators. She saw none, so she began to run the trot line. She pulled up the line, and on the third baited hook, she found a large catfish that weighed over six pounds she assumed. Carefully she pulled it off, avoiding the spines, which were poison. When it was free, she kept her thumb in its mouth, holding it carefully. She picked up a pair of clippers and clipped off the spines, then tossed the fish into a sack that she had brought.
Picking up the line, she continued to check for more fish. Many of the baits had been lost, but finally the line resisted her. “I got me something down there,” she said. She tugged at the main line, and finally the head of a huge snapping turtle appeared. He’d swallowed the bait and was now snapping at her and hissing. “You go on and hiss, old turtle. You’re gonna make a nice soup, I tell you.” She heaved the turtle into the boat, and with the hatchet she always carried, she chopped off its head. The mouth kept snapping as it lay in the boat. She picked it up with her thumb and forefinger and threw it into the swamp. “I gonna eat you tonight, me.”
She continued until she’d run the trotline; then she reversed the boat and headed back. As she reached the shore, she saw Ansel Vernier, a good friend. “Ansel, I g
ot plenty of fish. I give you some.”
Ansel helped her pull the pirogue to the bank. She pulled a large catfish out and handed it to him. He spoke in French saying, “Thank you, Chantel. You have good luck today.”
“See this big turtle? He’ll make a good soup. Come over tomorrow. I give you some of it.”
“Maybe I will.”
Ansel was a small dark man with a mouth as big as the catfish he held in his hand. He now said, “How is your good mother?”
“Not good at all, Ansel, very weak.”
“I will pray for her and light a candle when I go to church.” He shot an unhappy glance toward the house then turned to her. “Is Rufus at home?”
“No, he’s gone to get drunk in town. I wish he’d just stay there.”
Ansel nodded. He knew that Bragg was an evil man, and he feared for Chantel. “What will you do when your mother goes to God?”
“I will stay here, me. This was ma pere’s place.”
Ansel was troubled. “Thanks for the fish. Let me know if you have trouble, little one.”
Two days passed and Chantel knew that her mother couldn’t live much longer. She had no family, but the Cajuns who lived close in the bayou came by. They tried to comfort her, and they brought food, which her mother was too sick to eat. Chantel was just too grieved.
Eventually Bragg came home drunk. As he entered the house, he grabbed at Chantel.
She whipped her knife out of the sheath.
“That’s all right, Chantel. I’ll have you soon.”
“You’ll never have me!”
“Yes I will. You’ll see.”
That night Chantel sat up with her mother, who was in a terminal sleep. Her breathing was barely discernible. She finally woke up sometime in the early hours. “I go to meet—Him. May the good God take care of you.”
Her mother didn’t move again, and Chantel was unable to tell the moment when she left this life. She folded her mother’s hands across her breast as the hot tears rolled down her cheeks.
The Sword Page 8
