The seconds led Justin and Uncle Robert to their positions and I could only watch, frozen and helpless. So tiny now was the strand of time that hung between life and death. The two men stood facing each other, pistol muzzles down toward the ground. The pale light of dawn caught the murderous blue-black gleam from the barrels. The waiting was unbearable.
We heard the signal plainly: “Ready! One—two—three—fire!”
The explosion I feared crashed through the quiet grove. I saw Justin stagger briefly, then stand erect again. A spreading stain of crimson showed against his left shoulder. At once the seconds approached Uncle Robert to learn if he was satisfied and would call off the duel. He shook his head angrily. Justin did not move at all. Delphine whispered tensely, “The American did not fire.”
Uncle Robert cocked his pistol with his thumb and raised it again, but I saw that Justin’s arm still hung at his side. He did not raise his gun to aim.
Delphine pounded one fist in the palm of her hand. “Kill him; kill him!” she whispered.
Again a shot exploded through the grove, but this time Justin did not sway and I knew the shot had missed. Delphine raised her two fists and shook them. “Only one is shooting. The other awaits his turn. Oh, but this is wicked, wicked!”
Again the seconds tried to interfere, but Uncle Robert shook his head. He looked pale in the morning light.
“Go on!” Justin ordered curtly, though I could see that his left shoulder was wet with blood.
Uncle Robert seemed seriously shaken by having missed. Once more he cocked his pistol, but even at this distance I could see his hand waver as he tried to take aim. Now I understood what a shattering thing Justin was doing—though at what great risk to himself! Uncle Robert knew now that Justin would not fire until his opponent was through. Then Robert Tourneau must stand unarmed and face the careful aim of Justin Law. It was a cruel thing, perhaps, but it took great courage, for first Justin must face three bullets without firing, his own pistol pointed at the ground. Delphine leaned in the window, her fists clenched, willing Justin to die. And I stood beside her, shaken and sick, praying that both would live.
Uncle Robert took his time, trying to correct his aim. Beyond the duelists, movement caught my eye and I saw Courtney sit up to stare dazedly at what was happening. Above his head the moss strands dipped and swayed in the rising wind.
My uncle steadied his arm, pulled the trigger. The smell of gunsmoke drifted again through the glade. But again he had missed and I thanked God with all my heart.
Now it was Justin’s turn and I remembered the time he had said that when he had a score to pay, he paid it, for good or for evil. Was he truly a cold-blooded murderer as they said? The sound of his pistol being cocked was startling in the breathless quiet. Uncle Robert was plainly a brave man. He faced Justin, his shirt a white target against the dark trees. And Justin was young, his hand would not waver.
From where I stood it seemed as though he aimed directly for Uncle Robert’s heart. I wanted to cry out, “No, no! No matter what he has done, don’t kill him!” Beside me Delphine was as a woman carved from granite.
The shot rang out, but Uncle Robert did not fall. I almost wished that Justin had wounded him at the first shot. Then perhaps this dreadful affair might be stopped. Surely, if both men drew blood—but again Justin’s arm came up, his pistol was cocked, the shot fired.
Uncle Robert swayed, tottered, but there was no betraying spurt of blood and I had caught the singing of the bullet through leaves, the spat of it as it struck bark. Twice Justin had missed, but a third shot remained. My knees turned to water and I leaned heavily upon the splintered window sill for support. Delphine did not move at all, but I heard her praying softly aloud.
Again the dreadful routine was repeated. Again the sound of a shot shattered the peace of the grove and this time Uncle Robert cried out, clawed at his breast and fell face down upon the grass. The third shot had clearly found its mark. Yet I could not believe with my heart the thing my eyes told me had happened.
Delphine swung herself over the sill of the broken window and dropped lightly to the ground—sped across the grass toward the group that gathered about Uncle Robert. I was too weak to follow her with such dispatch. I chose the door, but I hurried too, with no thought for the impropriety of my presence at the Oaks that morning.
Justin stood alone, his pistol hanging loosely in his hand, watching the seconds and the doctors as they knelt beside my uncle. He saw Delphine’s whirlwind approach before he saw me. Then he turned and looked incredulously in my direction.
I ripped back my veil and ran toward him. He tossed the pistol to the grass and reached for me with his good arm. I clung to him, hid my face against his shoulder. No matter what I had seen, I did not believe that Justin had meant to kill my uncle.
“You wouldn’t shoot to kill!” I wept against his shoulder. “It was an accident. I know you didn’t mean to harm him.”
He held me tightly. “I got your message, Skye, and went out to the Garden District at once. But Courtney didn’t return home at all last night. So I came here this morning to stop him in any way I could. I had no other choice than what I did.”
“I know,” I said, clinging to him. “I understand.” Then I remembered his wound and raised my head. “You’re hurt. The doctor must help you.”
“It’s nothing,” he assured me. “Only a grazing of the flesh.”
“Is—is my uncle dead?”
“I don’t know,” Justin said gravely.
Courtney got to his feet, rubbing his jaw as if it pained him. Uncertainly he moved toward Justin. Before he reached us, the small group around my uncle opened to let Delphine in and even the doctors seemed to know and respect her, for she was allowed to kneel beside Uncle Robert as they examined him. It was one of Uncle Robert’s seconds who spoke first. He stood up and looked in Justin’s direction, puzzled.
“There is no wound,” he said. “The bullet did not strike him.”
“I never intended that it should,” Justin said. “Do you think I could not have killed him if I’d wanted to?”
“But, monsieur—” the second began doubtfully, and Justin spoke curtly.
“Take it that I missed, if you like,” he said. “It makes no difference to me. I meant to frighten him well and apparently that’s what I’ve done.”
The man gave him a look of cold disapproval. No Creole ever thanked you for breaking with proper tradition.
From where she knelt beside Uncle Robert, Delphine looked up at the others. “It is without doubt his heart. He knew he should put no stress upon it. Often, often, I have warned him. But he lives and we must take him home at once. Will you permit this, M’sieu le Docteur?” When Uncle Robert’s doctor nodded, she spoke to the seconds. “Please—you will carry him to the carriage, messieurs.”
Two of the men picked him up and bore him from the dueling place. Delphine followed, her head held high. She did not glance our way, but brushed past close to us without a word.
“And now will you see Courtney’s doctor?” I pleaded with Justin.
“Wait,” he said, and I saw that Courtney was approaching.
After a quick glance of astonishment at me, Courtney stopped before his brother. “Had I stood in your place,” he told Justin, “as I intended to do, one of us would be dead by now—M’sieu Robert or myself. I would not have missed, I think, but I would have offered a less nerve-racking target to my opponent.” Suddenly he held out his hand. “Sir, I thank you. I’ve long misjudged you. Will you accept my apology, brother?”
The words were stiff, formal, but Justin flung an arm about his shoulders in a quick embrace. Before anything else could be said, one of Justin’s seconds hurried across the grass to us, with the doctor following. He held out his hand in congratulation to Justin.
“You are fortunate to be alive, m’sieu. May I suggest that we leave this place at once? It is likely that the police will get wind of the affair and be upon us at any moment. A duel with pistols is not a qui
et matter. Naturally this lady”—he bowed to me—“must not become involved with the law.”
He added, as though it had been my main concern, that no gentleman present would ever permit my name to pass his lips as having been present this morning. Quelle horreur should my name appear in print in the newspapers! In my state of weak relief I wanted to laugh. Always the Creole must be a Creole and true to his code, so I thanked him as sincerely as I could. But as far as I was concerned, I didn’t care if they blared my presence from the rooftops. Courtney, however, was plainly of the same mind and took my arm protectively.
We waited only for the doctor to examine and bandage Justin’s slight wound. By that time it was clear that there was another reason for hurrying. So concerned had I been with the events before me that I had not glanced at the black, scudding clouds overhead, or noticed my skirts whipping in the wind. I’d held to my hat automatically and paid no attention to the gusts that tried to snatch it from my head. But now, even as I looked toward the heavens, cold drops stung my face. This appeared to be no summer shower like the one which had caught Justin and me once before.
Together Courtney and I ran toward the carriages. I longed to go with Justin, but Courtney was the man I was going to marry; he had the right to be my protector. I was bundled into his carriage and we set off toward home in the wake of the other party.
That drive became a race with the elements about to break in fury over New Orleans. The driver whipped up his horses and we clattered at a great rate toward the Vieux Carré, to reach home before the storm really started.
To my surprise, Justin stood on the banquette outside the Tourneau house, bidding the other members of his party good-by as we drove up. When we left Courtney’s carriage, he came into the passageway with us.
“If no one objects,” he said, “I’d like to wait downstairs in the anteroom of your uncle’s office. I want to know how matters go with him. Believe me, Skye, I didn’t intend what happened.”
“I know,” I said, and could only put my heart into my eyes as I looked at him.
“I too will remain,” Courtney decided. “You will bring us word, Skye, of your uncle’s condition?”
Only a little while ago he had wanted to kill Robert Tourneau. Now he was concerned about his health.
I nodded, but there was something else I must know from Justin. “If—if he gets well, what will you do? I mean, if you have proof that he used your mother’s money—”
“I want only to regain my father’s business,” Justin said. “Otherwise I’ll not expose him. I’ve no desire to hurt his family, or submit those near to him to public disgrace. He did not, after all, leave my mother in want. She has been cared for with my father’s money all these years. Her suffering has been of the spirit, not the body, and there’s no reparation for that. From now on, I’ll take care of her myself. Perhaps she will make a home for my son.”
I knew then how very much I loved him. When I turned away we did not say good-by. He was still in the house. I would see him yet another time. For the moment I forgot Courtney as if he did not exist.
TWENTY-SIX
I found the household in a turmoil. Delphine and the doctor had arrived and supervised the matter of getting Uncle Robert to his bedroom. Aunt Natalie never went to pieces as Tante Aurore did. She was bustling about upstairs and down, arranging whatever could be arranged for the sake of Uncle Robert’s comfort. News of the duel had sped through the house and there was concern on every face. I found a maid and asked her to take Justin and Courtney a pot of coffee. And I sent Justin a fresh shirt of my father’s.
When the girl had gone on these errands, I stood on the rain-lashed gallery for a moment watching the miniature storm in the courtyard. The wind whirled through the small patio, whipping the banana leaves to shreds. As I stood there Lanny rushed toward me and flung himself into my arms. I had never seen him so wild with excitement and I drew him into the dim and quiet parlor, away from the storm.
“Mam’zelle!” he cried. “Is it true that M’sieu Law is my father? Maman says this is so and that my father is a murderer. She says that he has now killed M’sieu Tourneau.”
I put my hands gently on his shoulders and looked straight into his eyes. “It is true that Justin Law is your father, Lanny,” I said. “But it’s not in the least true that he is a murderer. Uncle Robert has not even been wounded. He is ill, but your father did not try to kill him.”
Beneath my hands I could feel the boy quiver. “But my mother says there was a man in Colorado whom my father killed.”
Anger against Isabelle rose in me. Why had she chosen this time to tell Lanny things that had so long been withheld from him?
“Come with me,” I said to Lanny. “I’ll take you to your father now. You mustn’t believe any lies you’ve heard about him. He is a father you can be proud of.”
We went downstairs together and into the office where Justin and Courtney waited. I saw that the two brothers had been having a talk that must have cleared the air, for Courtney seemed moved almost to the point of tears.
“I’ve brought your son,” I said to Justin and gave Lanny’s shoulders a gentle push that took him toward his father.
He stepped forward uncertainly, unsure of how to meet a long-lost father. Politely he held out his hand in greeting. Justin was so big, so towering beside the slight, small boy. But he took the boy’s hand in his and drew Lanny toward him with a tenderness I had seen before. I had one glimpse of Lanny’s shining face and the pride in Justin’s eyes. Then I touched Courtney’s arm and we went together out of the office.
The passageway of the porte-cochere was a windy place with the storm howling at both ends and trying to tunnel through it. My skirts whipped about me and there was a roar of wind and rain in my ears.
“Everything possible is being done for Uncle Robert,” I said. “Perhaps it would be better if you went home to your mother. If any rumor reaches her—”
He nodded. “You’re right, of course.” But he stood there looking at me strangely and when I would have turned away, he took my hands and held them gently. “I can see the truth in your face. I began to sense it this morning at the Oaks. You love my brother, Skye?”
There was no reason now to hold back. “I love him,” I said, and suddenly I knew that I must carry the words farther than that. “I love him and I can never marry anyone.”
Courtney kissed me lightly on each cheek. “I could wish life had set us a different pattern, Skye.”
I knew now that his gallantry was part of him and truly sincere. My affection for him was greater than it had ever been.
“You’ll go alone to the place in Ohio where Justin wants to send you,” I said. “Away from my uncle, you’ll find yourself.”
He nodded. “I will find myself, and then I will return. Never could I be happy too long away from New Orleans. But now I must get home to my mother. I’ve a carriage waiting for me, if the horse is not drowned.”
He turned toward the street and the storm and I watched him go, glad that neither he nor Aurore would ever again have to grovel before Uncle Robert’s wishes.
Slowly I climbed the stairs. When I reached the top Isabelle came hurrying toward me and I saw that she looked almost hysterical with terror.
“Where is Justin?” she shrilled at me. “Tell me where he is! Tell me quickly!”
Anger for what she had revealed to Lanny stirred in me and then, strangely, was gone. She was too pitiful to make me angry. I answered her in as calm a tone as I could summon.
“He has come back to the house to see how Uncle Robert is. He is downstairs in my uncle’s office.”
She recoiled as though I had struck her. “In this house? Now? What shall I do? If he finds me, he will kill me! Just as he has killed your uncle.”
“He’s not looking for you,” I said quietly. “And no one has been killed. For the sake of your son, as well as your own sake, you must control yourself.”
She twisted a soggy handkerchief between h
er fingers and her eyes were wide with a frantic fear which had no reason in it. One thin hand grasped my arm.
“Help me to get out of this house! I must escape from him and save my life. There are ferries across the river. I can hide myself in some town where he would never think to look. Oh, please help me!”
I looked at her in all her misery and unreasoning despair and I could not despise or hate her, as once I had done. Long ago she had been young and pretty and sweet. Justin had loved her. These things she had somehow destroyed. This morning I had stood beneath the Dueling Oaks and watched life spin itself into the frailty of a cobweb. And in those moments something in me had changed, had gained in perspective and proportion. I could not think of Isabelle as Justin’s wife, but only as a human being in great misery and need.
Gently I took her arm and led her along the gallery to her room. “You mustn’t make yourself ill,” I said. “Here, lie down on the bed and be as quiet as you can. It’s storming terribly outside and you couldn’t possibly go into it.”
She seemed to relax a little under my soothing, though there was still a wildness in her gaze.
“No one wants to hurt you,” I assured her. “Not Justin, or anyone else. You must believe me.”
“You don’t know!” she wailed. “You can’t know!”
I brushed the damp brassy hair back from her eyes and felt no repugnance, as once I might have done. The smoothing of my hand seemed to calm her a little and I hoped she would fall asleep.
“Lie here and be still,” I told her. “No one will harm you. I’m going to find Delphine now and send her here with something to help your nerves.”
“I don’t know why they let him out of prison!” she murmured. “I don’t know why!”
There could be no reasoning with her in this overwrought state. I held a glass of water for her to sip and then I went upstairs to find Delphine.
She came out of my uncle’s room with a tray and I told her quickly of Isabelle’s condition. Delphine was plainly impatient and not inclined to trouble. But she agreed, at my pleading, to give her something to quiet her so she wouldn’t disturb the rest of the household—in particular my uncle, who was now sleeping quietly.
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