by Ali Vali
"I can see if we ever have children that you will teach them to turn to the last page of all their story books. Jewel was never seen again and until he died Jean looked for her. It was rumored that after her disappearance his face always had a look of longing and sadness. Now if you kiss me, I’ll tell you the rest," said Harry. The blonde that was practically sitting on her lap softly pressed her lips to Harry’s as encouragement to finish. Harry held her tight glad to know that despite all her own difficulties in their separation, the innocent child that Desi had been was still buried in there. The person Desi had been came back stronger every day that she spent in Harry’s heart, and the love that had started years before grew stronger as well. The other three in the room could see that they completed each other and despite the pain, they knew the two were better and happier together than apart.
"How was that?" asked Desi when they broke apart. She moved the rest of the way into Harry’s lap putting her head down on a strong shoulder. The fact that she could feel the burl of Harry’s deep voice as well as hear it made Desi smile in anticipation of the rest of the story.
"Fabulous. Where was I?" joked Harry.
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Jewel woke up in a small shack that held a stale smell. The windows had been boarded up and the only light was the sunlight that filtered in between the boards. She still had her nightgown on and her head hurt where the men had hit her with some hard object. It took her only a second to realize that she was not alone in the room when she heard the breathing coming from the corner of the room.
"How do you like your new home precious?"
"Please sir, I am the property of Jean Lafitte," said Jewel. The room was too dark for her to make out who the man was and his voice didn’t sound familiar to her. From his vantage point her captor could make out her face through the dust floating in the air.
"Not anymore my dear Jewel. You will live out your life here in this room servicing me. I have been sitting here thinking about all the wonderful fun we are going to have together," he continued. Taking one more gulp of whiskey Henri Lecompte unbuckled his pants and prepared to enjoy the fruits of his stolen goods. He ignored her crying and pleading beneath him as he savagely raped her.
The only thought that played out in Jewel’s head when he was done was for the welfare of her unborn child. For the next seven months this last connection with Jean was the only thing that kept her sane. Jewel’s body was littered with whip marks and burns from Henri’s cigars, but still the life within her moved in her belly. When she was alone she smiled, thinking that Jean’s child held the same fierce spirit as the man who had sired him.
On a cold night in October, Jewel gave birth to Jackson Lafitte with the help of the slave midwife that worked for Henri. The woman never spoke to her except to tell her to push, and her swollen left eye told Jewel that no slave on this hell she had been brought to was safe from the master’s vindictiveness.
"The little bastard even looks like him," commented Henri as he watched Jewel breastfeed her child. Jackson was born with Jean’s tan looking skin, black hair and bright blue eyes. The child he would never know about or meet.
"I will do anything you want if you leave my child alone," pleaded Jewel.
"Precious, you will do anything I want anyway. You have no bargaining power with me. I own you, don’t you realize that by now?" asked Henri. Holding the baby up to the lamplight he considered just smashing his head into the ground ridding himself of one more mouth to feed, but he could tell the long boned child would grow to be a fine worker for him.
Before her death, Jewel had whispered her wishes to the midwife as if having a premonition of what was to come. Jackson’s adoptive mother, kept her promises to the woman who lived out her last days in the dark shack, telling the child of the parents who loved him. A month later, Henri killed Jewel in a drunken fit of rage and Jackson was sent to the slave quarters for the midwife to raise. Henri called him "Dog" and forbade the slaves to give the child a name. The midwife told him when he was old enough what name his mother wanted him to have and that is the name he adopted.
By age ten the strong back was littered with permanent whip marks from Henri’s favorite toy as punishment for Jewel’s weakness. At age eleven Jackson ran for the first time, only to be caught by the dogs two miles away in the woods. On the third attempt at escape, Henri branded a large R into Jackson’s back to mark the slave as a runner. Two years later, Jean and Jewel’s child ran into the night and was never seen again.
With white skin and blue eyes Jackson had no problem living the life of a southern gentleman. Watching the men that visited the whorehouse that had provided a job, Jackson learned what clothes were right and what language was acceptable. Only a few of the slaves on Henri’s plantation knew of his parentage, so it was the blood of Jean that made Jackson a masterful thief. One that was as rich as he was elusive to catch.
He arrived in New Orleans three hours after relieving the coach of its gold shipment. The people that were up with the sun watched him pass making comments on how much the young man looked like the rogue Jean. Everyone thought it, but no one ever told him to his face the rumors of who his father might be. Jackson had chosen the name Lafitte not only in memory of Jewel, but also to hide in plain sight.
After a bath and a long sleep he was planning on attending the Batiste party that would kick off the season. Jackson always attended alone, and there were no women within the social circles that could brag that they had ever bedded the sometimes aloof Jackson Lafitte. The man obviously had money, but no one ever questioned its origins, and he had charm, which was apparent by how many women he attracted to his side at any social event.
Jackson walked in to the party alone, looking handsome in his dark suit and boots and ignored the looks his way from both men and women. Leaning on the bar, the thief surveyed the room as he sipped his first drink, stopping when he looked upon the most beautiful woman he had ever seen.
He caught glimpses of her smile from behind her fan as she talked with another young woman. Her blonde hair was pulled up into curls on the top of her head as was the fashion of the day, and her dress was such a dark burgundy that it looked black as she moved. As if feeling someone staring at her, the woman looked in his direction and Jackson was lost in two eyes as green as the emeralds he gave away to women as a reward for a kiss.
Like the conversation that had taken place years before Michael, the bartender said, "Forget that one Jackson." The old slave behind the bar had worked for the Batiste family since he had been a boy, and like most of the slaves around the New Orleans territory knew of Jackson’s exploits. The Land Pirate lived well, but some of his ill-gotten gains were given back in the form of medicine and food to the area slaves on the sly. Folks would get up for a long day of labor and find staples no owner would provide, and they knew that Jackson was alive to ride another day. Any slave that would try to sell him out to the white law would find punishment at the hands of their own. The ultimate joke was the way the city people threw themselves at the ex-slave’s feet, trying to gain his good favor. They would kill him if they ever saw the brand on his back along with the whip marks that never quite faded no matter how many years past.
"Why Michael, she’s pretty enough?" asked Jackson. He smiled back at the woman and dipped his head in respect to the lady.
"She’s taken, boy. Last month she was wed to Henri Lecompte," answered Michael pouring the man another dark rum. The bartender saw the dark look that passed over Jackson’s face at hearing Lecompte’s name. Before he had a chance to say another thing, Michael watched Jackson walk across the room toward the young woman as a waltz began to play.
"Madame, may I have the pleasure of this dance?" asked Jackson. He bowed at the waist as was expected and held his hand out as an invitation.
"May I ask your name, sir?" asked the soft voice in front of him. Her fan was low enough for Jackson to see the beautiful eyes that had drawn hi
m across the room.
"Jackson Lafitte, at your service Madame….?"
"Lecompte. My name is Bella Lecompte."
"And beautiful you are Madame Lecompte," said Jackson taking her hand and placing a kiss on her knuckles. He smiled at the blush making its way up her neck, distracting her enough to lead her to the dance floor.
The other partygoers murmured how much better the girl looked in Jackson’s arms than those of her new husband’s. Instead of the envy Henri thought his marriage would bring, it had only made him a laughing stock for picking someone so young. Having no dowry, Bella had no choice but to marry him when her father struck the deal. The one saving factor of the whole ordeal was the fact that while Henri liked to stare at her, after a month he hadn’t touched her in any intimate way.
"Are you having a good time Madame?" asked Jackson with a smile.
"Please call me Bell, Mr. Lafitte, and yes I’m having a wonderful time. Do you know the Batiste family?" asked Bell.
"Yes, I sometimes hunt with Stefan at their plantation. Are you here for the season Bell? And please feel free to call me Jackson." Bell followed Jackson’s’ lead so flawlessly that they looked like they had danced together for years.
"Yes my husband and I have a set of rooms at the hotel on the square. This has all been so exciting for me since this is my first time to the city. My family never ventured off the homestead very often. Do you live here in town?" asked Bell. Neither one of them noticed that the song had ended and another had begun.
"I have a house here close to the river. If you will permit me, I would love to show you and your husband some of the sights and treat you to lunch during your stay," offered Jackson.
"I would love to," started Bell before seeing Henri at Jackson’s back. His brown eyes seemed almost black with hate and the rest of her response died in her throat. Jackson stopped dancing at her expression and turned around to see what had upset her so much. Behind him stood the man that had killed his mother and made the first years of his life miserable, but Jackson held in his contempt and held out his hand.
Henri looked at him as if trying to place where he knew the man from. There was something so familiar about Jackson, but the connection eluded him for the moment. "Mr. Lecompte, I presume," said Jackson.
"Yes and you are?"
"Jackson Lafitte, sir. I would like to thank you for the privilege of dancing with your lovely wife. As a repayment I hope that you will except my invitation to lunch tomorrow," offered Jackson. There was no reason not to accept so Henri did so and after reclaimed his wife for the rest of the song. Bell watched the man leave as Henri twirled her around the room, hoping that Mr. Lafitte would fulfill his promise of lunch so that she could talk with him again.
"I saw him tonight for the first time since leaving," said Jackson. The woman taking off his shirt was the only servant allowed in his private suite of rooms. Monique spent her nights with Jackson, but they had never been lovers. They just both enjoyed the company of sharing the bed with someone else. She was the only one Jackson trusted to keep all his secrets, which was why Monique was the only one that had a key that unlocked the doors where Jackson was free to be himself.
"My love, that must have been horrible for you," said Monique. She unbuttoned his shirt and pulled it from his trousers.
"No cheri, I was actually calm. Henri Lecompte has no more power over me. He is married now, has been for a month. I was dancing with his wife when he walked up so I invited them both to lunch tomorrow," said Jackson as Monique unbuttoned the pants he was wearing. Sitting him on the bed, Monique pulled off Jackson’s boots then stood him up to remove the pants. When he was as naked as she was, Monique admired the body of Jackson Lafitte and the hidden treasures that were covered by the fine clothes.
Monique was one of the only people still living that knew Jackson Lafitte was actually the daughter born to Jean and Jewel. The tall woman had inherited her father’s build as well as his facial characteristics. The deep voice had made it easier to pass herself off as the gentleman that everyone had come to know, and after her escape from Henri she had become an accomplished fighter as well as marksman. Of the house servants in her employ, the one that shared Jackson’s bed was the only one that knew the complete truth, not only of her gender, but where the money they lived off came from. Till the day she died Monique would keep Jackson’s secrets as payment for saving her from the auction block.
"You are taking them to lunch?" asked Monique. She kissed Jackson’s chest and led her to the bed. Monique straddled Jackson’s lower back and began a deep massage waiting for the woman to finish her story.
"Yes I am. I am interested in getting to know this woman that Henri has married. I am convinced that she is too young for him, so she was either forced or is brainless. Something about her intrigues me," said Jackson. The muscles in her back relaxed under Monique’s knowing touch. They went through the same ritual every night when Jackson was home. The woman would massage her back then finish with a kiss to the angry brand on Jackson’s back.
"Aren’t you afraid that Henri will recognize you, Jackson?" asked Monique. She was not anxious to return to the life of a normal slave if anything should happen to Jackson.
"He looked at me hard tonight as if trying to remember me, but I don’t think he will figure me out for the runaway slave from twelve years ago. My eyes are still blue, but I have grown into this body now so I’m not concerned cheri. I’m not that child he was free to whip whenever it struck his fancy to do so. Come, let’s get some sleep, I have a full day tomorrow."
Monique draped herself along Jackson’s left side pillowing her head on the broad shoulder. Dawn wasn’t too far away and across town Bell’s last conscious thought was of Jackson and if he would call on them in the early afternoon. The man had the most beautiful blue eyes she had ever seen and the thought of spending more time with him was definitely appealing.
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"Jackson was a woman!" exclaimed Desi, pulling her head off the shoulder she had it lying on. They had all been listening to Harry’s story for over an hour and no one looked like they wanted to move until they had heard the end.
Mona came in with hot chocolate for everyone and laughed at Desi’s constant interruptions. The older woman couldn’t wait to see Harry as a parent telling these stories before the small Basantes children went to bed. Mona was certain the tall doctor and her small companion would be naturals at the task of raising children. When that time came, she was going to take a more supervisory position leaving the running after small bodies to the younger set.
"Yes Jackson was a woman. She was a strong woman that was ahead of her time, and who became a living legend to the African American people who were living as slaves in the area during that time. From her came the medicine and supplies that saved a lot of them from beatings at the hands of their masters. She also left food for the children who weren’t given as much because they weren’t old enough to work yet. I think your partner did well in picking y’alls costumes," said Mona.
"I’ll say, I never even heard of this woman and yet she did so much," added Desi. Knowing that Desi wasn’t going to move, Mona handed her a large mug so that she and Harry could share. "Come on honey, let’s get on with it."
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Jackson hired a carriage for her trip to the Riverside Hotel where Henri and Bell were staying. Monique sent one of the young boys ahead to the restaurant to secure Jackson’s reservation if indeed the Lecomptes were going to join her for lunch. She saw Henri in a deep discussion with a man that Jackson recognized as an exporter figuring they were discussing prices for Henri’s crops.
"Good afternoon gentleman, I hope I’m not disturbing you," said Jackson. She took note of the half-empty whiskey bottle on the table and the contracts sitting next to it. The buyer’s glass still held what she guessed was his first drink and by looking at Henri
’s eyes knew were the missing half had gone. Jackson smiled back at the buyer when he figured out she knew his best bargaining tool when it came to doing business with Henri Lecompte.
"Actually, Mr. Lafitte, we will be a few more hours. I apologize for not sending a message along to you to tell you that we couldn’t make it. I use this time in the city to take care of business as well as indulge in a little fun," said Henri with a slight slur in his voice. He looked over the young man again trying to figure out why he looked so familiar to him but the whiskey was starting to take effect. It was the only explanation for his next offer. "Why don’t you take Bella with you instead? You look like a gentleman that I can trust with my wife, Mr. Lafitte. I’m sure she’s tired of looking at the walls of our rooms by now."
"She will be perfectly safe with me, Mr. Lecompte. You have my word as a gentleman. I thought she might enjoy seeing the new church before we have lunch," offered Jackson. It took restraint not to rub her hands together in anticipation of spending the afternoon alone with Bell.
"I’m sure she will, now, if you will excuse us," said Henri ready to get back to his talk with Jasper. As a token of thanks Jackson poured the next round for them before heading to the front desk to collect Bell. The two men engrossed in cotton prices never noticed Jackson and Bell leaving.
Stepping outside, Bell was glad to take Jackson’s arm as he led her to the carriage he had waiting. "What a beautiful afternoon Mr. Lafitte," said Bell.
"Please Bell, if we are going to spend the day together call me Jackson." She settled Bell in the back of the carriage and tapped the driver to go. Jackson sat a respectable distance away from her not wanting any talk about the young woman with her.
"Thank you Jackson." Bell opened her parasol and admired the buildings of the French section of the city as the carriage started forward.
"I thought you might like to see some of the sights before we head to Antoine’s for lunch," said Jackson. She turned a little in the seat to face Bell loving the smiles that came across the woman’s small mouth. They stopped at the church as Jackson had told Henri, but they had covered most of the city by the time they sat down to have lunch. A few conversations stopped when Bell entered on the arm of the most sought after bachelor in New Orleans. The owner of the restaurant sat them personally fawning over one of his best customers.
