Destiny's Magic

by Martha Hix

  Aunt Phoebe collared the lad. “Let’s me and you go to the kitchen, sprig, and fix something cool to drink.”

  Throck lumbered up to Burke. As soon as the lad was out of earshot, he ran both hands through his shock of gray hair. “Ye’d best steel yourself. Zinnia’s been found near the city dock, shot in the back. She ain’t dead—yet.”

  “Susan. What about Susan!”

  Jon Marc grabbed hold of his arm to steady him while Throck confirmed his worst fears: “West has your missus.”

  A part of Burke died at that moment. His beloved wife, carrying his child, in the hands of hell. Out of his reach. “By God, I’m going to save them.”

  It didn’t matter, his useless arm. Even if it took hand-to-hand combat, Burke O’Brien would save a helpless woman and child. His woman. His child.

  Brokenhearted over Zinnia, Susan straightened her shoulders and glared down the nose of a Colt revolver. Continuing the bravado that had kept her going for what seemed like hours, she said, “If you pull that trigger, you’ll never get a dime out of Burke.”

  Rufus West, his eyeglasses bent and his nose swollen, had her cornered in a warehouse near the city dock. Mama Loa be praised, Newt Storey wasn’t with him.

  “I want more than money,” announced the Eel. “I want to destroy O’Brien, so the world sees him as the weakling he is.”

  She called up every memory she’d had or heard about this monster. While he had no compunction about killing anyone, especially a female, West also had a weakness for women.

  Eels might creatures of the deep, but they were enough like snakes. Or she chose them to be. Susan knew how to charm snakes. She would seduce him out of that gun.

  Casting a hypnotic eye, she murmured in a tone that seduced serpents, “You were my hero.”

  “What do you mean by that?”

  She had his attention, could see it in his bespectacled eyes and the way he ogled her body. “You set me free of Paget. Forever. I’ve yearned to thank you.” She moistened her lips and gyrated her shoulders. “I would have done anything that night in Natchez to thank you. I wonder what would be happening today if you’d taken me to your hotel instead of the wharf, hmm?”

  Suspicion clamped over his absorption. He waved the Colt. “You’ve got a trick up your sleeve.”

  Several. It was time to charm the disgusting excuse for a man. She scratched her bosom. “Burke O’Brien loves me. He would move heaven and earth for me,” she crooned truthfully. Then came the lies. “He isn’t man enough for me. I like a chap who can give me a taste of danger, excitement. He cannot. You know about the magic lamp. He cajoled me into marriage, but he doesn’t appeal to the dangerous. And all he does is whine over Velma Harken.”

  “Why should I believe you?”

  “Why shouldn’t you? You know I’m a dangerous woman. You first saw me at the circus. I saw your eyes on me in the hackney. You wanted me.”

  “I considered keeping you for myself.”

  “I know you did, Rufus. Such a shame you didn’t do something about it. Here’s our chance. I would rejoice to see O’Brien’s nose to the ground. How better than to lie with his enemy . . .”

  West’s crippled hand shoved his spectacles up his nose. “Prove it. Expose yourself.”

  “I’d get such a thrill from having your hands on me. Would you deny your new partner that thrill?”

  Hesitating, he licked his lips. Lust got the better of him. He tucked the gun behind his belt and slunk forward. Following Zinnia’s long-past instructions, she brought her knee up at just the right moment, hit just the right place. He squealed, grabbed himself.

  She gathered her skirts and ran for her life.

  A bullet struck her hip before she reached outside. It was as if a hot poker had run her through. She stumbled. Almost fell. Got to get out of here. Limping, she achieved the wide warehouse door. She meant to flee north, away from the Mississippi. Then she saw an armed man who looked very like Throck, only bald. Newt Storey.

  Storey lifted a pistol. Onlookers scattered. Her life flashed before her eyes. But he didn’t fire at Susan.

  Another of West’s shots rang out, missing her.

  Hemmed in, she had no choice but to run for the levee.

  Gun in hand, Burke ran toward Susan as she struggled up the embankment. The blood staining her dress terrified him. Don’t let her die!

  “Duck, O’Brien,” a voice that had to belong to Newt Storey shouted. “ ’E’s behind you.”

  Burke whirled around. Pistol raised, Rufus West crept toward him. The cowboy, unnoticed and to West’s left, aimed.

  “No!” Burke shouted, lifting his left arm to fire. “He’s mine!”

  Jon Marc beat him to the trigger.

  West fell.

  Throck jumped Storey.

  Burke’s arm dropped. He’d been stymied in revenge.

  But he could still save his wife and their child.

  He dashed toward the levee. Hair flying behind her, Susan topped the riverbank.

  Another blond woman dashed up, as if to help her. Velma Harken had come back from the dead!

  Susan shied from the stranger who was no stranger to Burke. Her arms went up. She tottered, then tumbled into the river.

  God above, she can’t swim!

  Burke flew to save her, dove into the murky water. But he couldn’t swim. The sling, the splint, dragged him down. His foot tangled in a mooring line. His lungs filled with the Mississippi.

  Susan came out of her haze. The fire still burned at her hip, but it had moved about. Where was Burke? She knew he wasn’t there. She would sense if he were. Oh, God in heaven, please don’t let him be dead, she prayed.

  What about their baby?

  Sweet Jesus, please let them be safe.

  Somehow she knew she rested in their bed at 21 rue Royale. A familiar man sat in a chair at bedside.

  “Throck,” she whispered past a scratchy throat, and took his hand. The sweet fellow squeezed her fingers. How could she have ever suspected him of crimes?

  “Wh-where is my husband?”

  “Your da’s downstairs with Pip. I’ll tell him you’re awake.”

  Father. “No. Not yet.” She centered on the most important aspect in her life, repeating, “Where is Burke? Is he dead?”

  “Nay. He’s not dead or hurt. He’s just not here at the moment. Ever’thing’s fine. West is dead. Storey’s in jail. Lloyds will pay the claims. ’Tis a happy day,” Throck ended, not sounding as cheerful as he ought to.

  “Thank God. What about Zinnia? Is she dead?”

  Throck chuckled. “Can’t kill that gal. She’s in the kitchen on a cot, ordering Phoebe and Tessa about.”

  “That’s good.” So many questions, so many regrets. “Throck . . . do you know I accused you? I’m sorry. So awfully sorry. You’ve always been wonderful to my husband. And you’ll be wonderful for Aunt Phoebe. It will be nice, having you for an uncle.”

  “ ’Tis nice of ye to say that, Suze. Just want ye to know, ye and the whelp have a home with me and Phoebe in case ye want it. I mean, in case ye ever want to, well, I don’t know what I’m saying.” He rushed on. “Got a nice li’l cottage in the English section. Still planning on a Halloween wedding. Me gal’ll be asking ye, and her sis, of course, to stand up with her.”

  “I’ll be honored. But what did you mean, give me a home? I thought you said Lloyds will pay the claims.”

  “Just got me tongue-tangled, Suze, ’tis all.” Throck continued with wedding plans. “Jinnings said he’d stand up with me. I hoping for the cap’n too.” Too quickly, he added, “Jon Marc promised to be at the wedding.”

  “Oh, how nice. I’m glad he’s made up with the family.”

  “Wouldn’t go that far, Suze. But he promised me gal to dance at our wedding. Gone up to St. Francisville he has. He’ll be back.”

  “That’s wonderful.” Susan glanced at Throck, wondering why he wouldn’t speak of Burke. “Who saved me?”

  “Velma Harken. She pulled
ye outta the river, shoved the water from yer lungs.” The big man chuckled softly. “Always a good one to pull stuff outta people is Velma.”

  “Velma’s alive?” Susan asked, incredulous.

  “Storey pulled a trick on Rufus. He and Velma cut off her hair and sewed it on wig rigging. ’Twas not a scalp yer hubby seen. Just a trick.”

  “I’m so very glad for Miss Harken.”

  “She and Remy Cinglure are gonna get hitched.”

  “That is fine news.” Susan tried to smile. “I’m sure Burke is pleased all around.”

  Throck scrubbed fingers down his mouth, admitting, “He ain’t too pleased ’bout nothing at the moment. His pride’s had another fall, seeing how Jon Marc took Rufus down and then had to jump in the drink to save the cap’n too.”

  “Oh, dear. No! Is he angry with his brother?”

  “Angry with himself is what. ’Twas sixty-four again.”

  A tear rolled from her eye. Susan tried to swallow. “Water. Please.”

  Throck poured from the pitcher. She drank thirstily. Restored to a certain degree, she sank back onto the pillows. “Tell Burke I want to see him. Now.”

  “Suze, ye’ve been shot. Nearly drowned. Doc says you need rest. Go back to sleep.”

  “Why?”

  “ ’Tis best.”

  What would keep Burke away? He couldn’t be dead. He couldn’t be angry if he was dead. A sharp pain in her stomach gave her a clue. Was he staying away because she’d lost the baby? With a gunshot wound she couldn’t tell if the pain came from her womb or from her hip. She chose to believe his child hadn’t suffered.

  She thought of everything Throck had said, then demanded to know, “Why isn’t Burke going to be your best man? Where is he? What’s the matter with him?”

  “He’s drunk.”

  Thirty-one

  Two weeks after Throck’s announcement, Susan insisted not only on leaving her bed, she demanded that Keep Smile drive her to the street that was so aptly named Bourbon. Furious described her. She would confront the sot who hadn’t once deigned a visit to his felled wife.

  She found him in a hole-in-the-wall public house, propping up the bar, the sole customer at two in the afternoon.

  His nose in a glass filled with whiskey, he didn’t notice her lurching approach. He resembled reheated hell—hair wild and dirty, bags under his eyes, splint as filthy as his clothes. He smelled as if he’d spent a lifetime in a distillery, or on the floor of a public house.

  The urge to turn back was a force to be reckoned with. But this visit had little to do with her feelings. She must harden her broken heart. Her marriage might be over, but she would do her best to save the man.

  Unable to sit on one of the hard stools, and not wanting to, she sidled up beside him. “Celebrating?”

  “Susan . . .” He grabbed the bar edge, her miniature falling to the crusted floor. “What are you doing here?”

  “Celebrating.” She motioned for the barkeep. “Bring me two of whatever he’s having.”

  Burke took the drink out of her hand, saying, “You don’t have any business here.”

  Neither do you. “You’re going to do me out of a good-bye drink?” she asked in a chipper tone that belied her bodily urge to crown him with that whiskey bottle. “Let’s celebrate, husband. Everything is going well for you and the O’Brien Steamship Company.” That was a laugh.

  A drunken grunt was Burke’s reply.

  “This is all my fault,” she admitted quietly. “I shouldn’t have gone to the dock. You always did your level best to keep me and Pippin safe, yet in my greed to get him for my own, I ran after Angela.” Susan swallowed. “Yet you were in Judge Duval’s chambers, signing adoption papers. Pippin was ours, while I defied your orders.”

  “You never did like cages.”

  “I thought I disabused you of that misconception.”

  He slugged another shot of rotgut.

  Her mouth flattened with disgust. “Are you waiting for me to thank you for the two tickets to England?”

  “Not.”

  “I don’t think I’ll be able to travel just yet.” She didn’t feel at all strong this moment, her strength ebbing. “When we do leave, will you come down to the wharf to bid me and Pippin bon voyage?”

  “No.” Burke quaffed a slug of rotgut.

  Could she rouse a bit of wisdom with reminders of the future? “I’ve decided to open a seamstress establishment once I get settled.”

  “Do as you please.”

  Don’t let that hurt you. “Then I was quite mistaken. I presumed you meant it when you said you loved me.”

  “Go away, Susan. You got your boy. Now go away.” He tipped the glass to his lips. “Leave me be.”

  “I will not. I love you.”

  “The gris-gris worked.”

  “It was unnecessary.” She almost touched him. Almost. “I’ve loved you all along. You were always magic to me.”

  “I don’t know how.” He took another slug of rotgut. “I failed you, just as I failed in the past. I couldn’t keep you, or our babe, from harm.”

  Susan wouldn’t cry. Not now! “We could have another child.”

  “No. No more. Not with me. Find yourself a coxcomb, one who hasn’t messed up too many lives. Make a fresh start in England, you and Pip. I’ve told Fabienne Laure to transfer money into your name.”

  Susan nearly hated him at that moment. What would it take to knock sense into his thick head? “Isn’t it a shame, this place not having a mirror over the bar? Then you could take a look at yourself. You’re quite a sight, Captain O’Brien. You’d get a gander at the weakling Rufus West accused you of being. You are not the man I married, to be sure.”

  “You knew what you were getting.”

  Not quite. “Burke, you aren’t responsible for Antoinette. Her course was set before you ever met her. Which doesn’t mean I’m not sympathetic to her, or that you lost your child.”

  “I’m not even certain he was mine.” Burke motioned for a refill. “All I know is, she never stood a chance. She and her child never stood a chance. I wasn’t able to help her. Just like I wasn’t able to spare your suffering. You’ll be better off without me, Susan. I’m not worth having. Go home. And I mean to England.”

  That made Susan flat angry. “You’re not even certain that child was yours! You’ve wrecked your life over a faithless woman? Thank you very much. You’ve cleared my head. Thank you for the tickets. Once”—when she’d recovered, she thought—“Phoebe and Throck are wed, I’ll take you up on your offer. But rest assured, I won’t take your seed money. You’ve given me quite enough of yourself already.”

  His bleary eyes turned to her. “Susan, don’t. Don’t say any more. Just go.”

  “I do believe this is a free country, sir. With free speech guaranteed by the Constitution. You can’t stop me from talking.” She got in his stinking face. “Wake up and smell the coffee, Burke O’Brien. Do something to rectify the past. Or learn to accept yourself as is. If you cannot, then do enjoy your drink, sir.”

  She picked up the bottle and poured the contents into his lap. He didn’t even give her the satisfaction of flinching.

  “Bloody bastard. Go right ahead, brood into your drink. Carry on grieving for your precious Yankee princess who was never worthy of you. Don’t bother to think about me. Nor the child you can be damned certain was yours.”

  He took her hand, but she yanked it back.

  “She . . . I didn’t love her. Not like I love you.” His eyes watered. “Don’t you realize I’m setting you free because I love you?”

  “Then prove it!” Susan gathered her pride. Never looking back, she parted with: “But don’t come to me a failure. And don’t show your face until you have forgiven and forgotten everything that you view as connected to that damned magic lamp!”

  Inside the squalid grog shop, Burke had never been this sober. He stared vacantly at his sodden lap. The tears of a weakling mixed with the poured whiskey. He didn’t move
until he heard Susan’s conveyance pull away from the banquette of Bourbon Street, and when he did, he rushed to fresh air. To watch as the carriage turned southward, carrying his cherished wife away.

  A drunk he was, but it had taken all his strength not to gather Susan to him, mingle his tears with hers for their lost child, then give in to her pleas, those issued before that final adieu. He hadn’t. For her sake. He was unworthy of the earth goddess who’d transformed into a wonderful spate of wifely contradictions. She did deserve better than he could ever offer.

  And now she’d have her chance at better. She’d have her dreams.

  I can’t live without her She is my dream. My heart. My soul. And she said she loves me.

  Aye. But what good could he do her, like this?

  Change!

  That would mean forgetting the past, as she’d advised so wisely. Burke glanced into the grog shop, then toward the street of Canal. He could go back to whiskey. Or he could do whatever it took to make a man out of himself.

  He didn’t have what it took.

  The years had proven that.

  You can’t change the past. But he could do something about the future. And the first step was never taking another drink.

  Prove it.

  Susan waited a week for her husband to return, but he didn’t. She and Pippin, along with Zinnia, took Throck and Phoebe up on their offer of shelter. Lost, empty, and unhappy, Susan went to the booking office and exchanged the tickets for passage on a sailing ship to leave Halloween afternoon.

  She told herself that this would allow for attendance at the upcoming Halloween wedding, but giving Burke ample time to crawl out of the ditch of drink was her true intention.

  Halloween arrived. Susan had healed, at least in body. The doctor had given her a clean bill of health. She could travel, and would. She had no reason not to.

  All these weeks, and she’d heard nothing from Burke. But she wouldn’t ask after him. She had, nevertheless, sent a package to his office. She couldn’t in good faith wear her jewelry, so she’d sent it back to the source.