by Lam, Arlene
“I can fight my own battles, Jessie. Lord, I got a plan; just trust me.”
“I trust you; just let me know if you need my help. I always will help you. You are my best friend.”
Anthony grinned at her now. He was late getting to work for Mrs. Susanna Bradford. He liked working for the woman. She was kind and treated his people with dignity.
This was a rare trait in his white counterparts, especially since the days after the war. She paid him well and, once she found out how smart he was, began teaching him to read and write.
Jessie didn’t know this yet. It was going to be a surprise. Her family was never poor, never slaves like his family. They were creole and lived a life he one day hoped to give his mother and siblings.
Anthony had met Jessie when running an errand for old Massa Hanson. He’d been about seven. Hanson had sent him down to the general store to get some flour and other items for Mrs. Hanson; she was making a birthday cake for their son.
He’d turned about in that store how long he didn’t know, scared because he’d been gone too long and because he could not find what he was looking for. He’d asked the shopkeeper for help, but he only snarled and shooed him away.
That’s when she came in, long French braid swinging and went to the task of loading her basket full of goods. She must have known from the looks of him what was wrong. Plucking the parchment from his dirty hand, she sped about the store gathering every item he was instructed to bring home. With a smile, she handed them over to him. “My name's Jessie, what’s yours?”
That’s how it started, their friendship. They saw each other rarely, usually at the general store and she was always there to help him.
New Orleans 1875
If the man thought he could deter her by mentioning Wilson King, then Anthony wasn’t as smart as Jessie gave him credit for. He was up to something and she was going to find out what.
Anthony never kept anything from her. They were the closest of friends, so why would he start now? Hastening her pace, Jessie counted herself lucky that Anthony didn’t seem to be in much of a hurry.
Keeping to the trees and at a safe distance so as to not to give herself away with the sound of the earth crunching beneath her feet, Jessie insured she was nothing more than a shadow.
When he took an uncharted turn into the woods toward the swampy bayou, her interest was really piqued. Heading down there would lead you nowhere near Harold’s ferry.
She was worried now. No one came into this part of the bayou but lowlifes and thieves. What if he’d gotten himself into some type of trouble? He was her best friend; didn’t he know he could come to her with anything at all?
No that couldn’t be it. Anthony was a good man and a hard honest worker. He had to be, after that crook Morgan managed to swindle all his father’s land away.
When that happened, Anthony’s pa had been devastated and the humiliation must have been too much to take, because old Henry passed away three months later. Anthony was left to take care of his mama and two younger brothers and he did a fine job. Even managed to purchase a few acres from Mr. Jasper McMahon to build a new house on. He was doing a fine job. Anthony was no lowlife.
Jessie stopped suddenly as Anthony dismounted and scurried over to a clearing. It was dusk now, so it was hard for her to make out the four other figures that appeared out of nowhere. She had to get closer. From her vantage point, there would be no way to hear what was being said.
Carefully, Jessie crept as close as she could allow and cupped her hand to her ear. She watched as the group went behind an old wagon, further from hearing distance. Now she’d never know what the man had gotten himself into.
Pushing up slowly, she was about to turn when she was engulfed in a pair of strong arms. A hand over her mouth stifled her scream.
“We got a spy!”
Anthony hurried back around the side of the wagon at Mitchell's call. His heart racing, he prayed, please don’t let it be Jessie. In his gut, he knew it was. He’d been so careful and no one had ever been able to sneak up on him but that woman.
“Ouch!” Mitchell pulled back his hand to examine the wound the woman had inflicted. “She bit me!”
Anthony heard what he feared might be a scuffle and launched into a full-fledged run just in time to keep Mitchell from pushing Jessie into the ground below. “Don’t! Or you’ll regret it!” he warned.
Mitchell slowed his hand and stepped away from the girl. “You know her?”
“Unfortunately.”
Jessie regarded the men all dressed in dark clothing and looking downright ominous and then turned to Anthony. He, too, was clothed all in black. “What are you, a bandit?”
“Something to that effect.”
Never did the Iris dream her wish would finally come true and that she’d be on the way to her wedding.
Nor the Magnolia believe it possible not only to be rescued but truly loved.
As for the wildflower, free and willful, never could she imagine that she’d ever be tamed by a bandit.
Coming Soon
Rescued (The Magnolia)
The Wedding (The Iris)
Bayou Bandit (The Wildflower)
Table of Contents
Part One
Part Two
Part Three
Coming Soon
