Gabrielle could easily see why Pierre took to the young Marie, whose golden skin shone luminously in the evening light and whose great liquid eyes were like twin pools of blackness in her oval face.
She questioned Marie curiously on the custom of the Quadroon Balls, and Marie, always willing to gossip, told Gabrielle about the beautiful golden-skinned women in their expensive damask and satin gowns and the fine jewels that sparkled around their necks and dangled from their ears.
She told her quite candidly that Jean and Pierre had attended a number of the balls, and many of the girls had set their caps for the younger brother. But Jean preferred to frequent the gaming room that adjoined the ballroom.
“All the dandies of New Orleans attend these balls, dressed in their stiff, white ruffled shirts and suits of tightest broadcloth,” Marie giggled. “Of course, my mother sat with the rest of the matrons, along the wall, all looking very dignified in their silk turbans. I used to be a little afraid of her, she seemed so regal and then I found out that she had served one of the richest men in New Orleans when she was younger and as beautiful as I.”
She chattered with a kind of poignancy about the liveried black servants who carried the great silver trays of cordials among the guests while the strains of violins and guitars filled the room.
“But what do the wives of the planters say to all this?” Gabrielle wondered. “Don’t any white women ever attend the balls?”
Marie’s liquid eyes looked surprised. “Of course not! Only men are allowed at the balls. Why would a woman want to attend?”
Gabrielle shrugged. “Certainly I would not want my husband to attend such a thing—would you?”
The other girl sighed. “Sometimes it is not what you want. Although Pierre is not my husband, I am jealous every time he journeys to New Orleans, for I know that he will attend the ball and perhaps even sample another of the girls. He has assured me, though, that he will find a suitable home for my mother and my sister and me as soon as he can, but still I fear for my position since I know that the other girls are very lovely.”
“But how can the citizens of New Orleans tolerate such a thing?”
“It is a very old custom, Gabrielle. Most of the wives expect their husbands to attend at least once, and some women have to accept the practice as part of their marriages.” She looked frankly at the other girl. “It is too bad your skin is not a shade more golden, my friend, for then you might be able to sneak into one of the balls and pass for an octoroon. You seem so curious to see one, but they would never let a white woman inside.”
Gabrielle turned away from her. “It’s not that I’m so curious to attend one, Marie,” she said a little severely. “It’s just that I wonder what attracts the men to them. I think it is scandalous that those poor young women should be paraded before married men to be mauled and petted as though they were animals for hire.”
Marie laughed. “Oh, but they do not consider it such. Only when they grow too old to spark a desire in men, only then do they begin to worry about their futures. For in such cases they will have to marry men of their own race or, perhaps, men from a class beneath them, in order to survive.”
“How unfortunate to be cast down from the luxury of their accustomed standards,” Gabrielle said bitingly.
Marie nodded, choosing to ignore her obvious sarcasm. “Fortunately, black men do not consider it dishonorable to marry a woman who was the mistress of a white man, even when she has two or three of his children to care for. Maybe they believe it is a sign of their own desirability when such a woman turns to them for marriage. Our men—they are sometimes very stupid,” she finished, and there was a note of bitterness in her voice.
They did not talk of the Quadroon Balls after that. Now, as Gabrielle turned restlessly in her bed, she thought about Marie Villars with compassion, realizing that she, too, must fear the day when her beauty would fade and Pierre would grow tired of her. Of course, Gabrielle could not understand what the eighteen-year-old girl saw in the heavy, older man. But Marie insisted that Pierre pleasured her considerably, and, above all else, he provided her with security.
“Still sleeping, Gabrielle?” It was Marie’s voice coming cheerfully from the kitchen as she walked into the bedroom. “Get up, get up! Don’t you know the ships have been sighted this morning in the Gulf? Our men will be home soon, and you are still abed. Jean will surely think you a lazy wench and replace you, if you’re not careful.”
Her lighthearted patter brought a distinct flush to Gabrielle’s face as she thought of the welcoming Jean would demand from her. How she wished to get away from here! As Marie continued talking, Gabrielle felt as though she would like to gag her.
The early-March breeze was still chilly, and she hurried with her bath, eager to slip into the warmth of her lettuce-green muslin gown, another gift from her lover—probably taken some from poor woman’s sea chest.
As Marie helped her into the cotton chemise and adjusted the lacing, Gabrielle decided to take all of her courage into her own hands and tonight—when the timing was right (and she gulped nervously at the thought)—she would ask Lafitte to take her to New Orleans with him for a—for a shopping excursion! Yes, that was perfect! After all, he was well aware of her extreme dislike for wearing the spoils of his plunder. Surely he would not refuse her!
“You look beautiful,” Marie declared without malice when Gabrielle had finished dressing.
“Thank you, Marie. I—I only hope that Jean thinks so.”
The girl laughed. “He is a complete fool if he does not fall head over heels in love with you,” she assured her, but the words only brought a dread into Gabrielle’s heart.
No, she did not want him to love her. He could not love her, for if he did, she knew that he would never let her go. But she was silent to Marie about her thoughts, knowing the girl would never understand her passion to leave.
Together they walked down the sandy path that led to the beach and waited with the others for the arrival of Lafitte and his lieutenants. Lafitte’s ship was the first to round the turn, and Gabrielle had to admit that it was a magnificent schooner. It was followed by You’s ship and Beluche’s.
The people on the beach began shouting and waving almost hysterically, and Gabrielle realized that winter without their leader had been hard on them. Now she was swept on toward the shore by the surging tide of people, for they could see the longboats being lowered into the water as the sailors filled them and began rowing to shore.
Lafitte was in the first boat that touched land, and his dark eyes searched the mob of faces for her. His eyes found hers, and their gazes locked for a moment as she perceived the look of relief that changed his sharp features. Behind her, she could feel hands pushing her forward, the mistress ready to greet her master.
She would have held back, but, remembering her earlier resolution, she let them pass her from hand to hand until she stood within arm’s length of Lafitte. He smiled at her and let out a whooping shout as he gathered her up in his arms and kissed her full on the mouth, so that everyone else laughed and shouted approval. Breathless from his kiss, Gabrielle let her head drop back into the crook of his arm as she stared up into those eyes that searched her face hungrily.
“Did you miss me, Gabrielle?” he whispered.
Her throat felt tight as she strained to answer him. “Yes.” The word exploded softly on a puff of breath, and his smile widened as he hugged her tighter against his chest.
Putting her on her feet, Lafitte addressed his people, his face flushed by his personal victory as well as the good news he held. “We have been successful,” he shouted to the crowd. “Seven ships among us and enough gold and silver to give every man a goodly share. We’ll have a feast tonight, if you ladies will be good enough to start the cooking and spread the tables.”
In a frenzy of titters and giggles the women hurried to do as he bade them. Meanwhile, the men began talking excitedly among one another, and Gabrielle followed the rest of the women with Marie t
agging behind her.
“Oh, Gabrielle! You must be the luckiest woman in the world! Did you see—did you see the way he looked at you?”
Gabrielle stopped and stared at the girl. “What—what do you mean? He was glad to see me, as all the men are glad to be home. It’s too bad Pierre never goes away except on a short trip to New Orleans, or you would see the same glow in his eyes,” she ended, laughing a little nervously.
Marie shook her head vehemently. “No, no! Jean looked at you the way a man does who understands that his fate lies with one woman. He is made for you, Gabrielle. Don’t tell me you couldn’t feel that?”
Gabrielle longed to slap the girl’s grinning face, but her hands were shaking so badly that she hid them in the folds of her skirt. He can’t be in love with me, she thought wildly, he can’t be! Dear God, he won’t ever let me go! Oh, why, why did he have to choose me from among all the others? She hurried into the house.
“You don’t mind if I help you with dinner?” Marie asked cheerfully. “Pierre’s not due back from New Orleans until tomorrow, and I don’t have anything to do.”
“Of course I don’t mind, Marie,” Gabrielle replied, desperate to hide the anxiety she felt. “Jean—will not—he won’t be home for hours.”
Marie giggled. “By the look in his eyes, I’d say his trousers should already be near to bursting,” she sighed. “I doubt that he will wait too long.”
“Marie, I really wish you wouldn’t talk so,” Gabrielle begged her, tying a clean white apron over her gown.
“Oh, I’m sorry, Gabrielle. Sometimes I forget that you are a lady of quality and not used to the things I have been surrounded with since I was a child.”
Gabrielle whirled around, her face a mask of surprise. “How—how do you know that?”
Marie shrugged. “Pierre told me how you came to be on the island, of course, but I can tell, too, by the way you talk and walk and other little habits—your insistence on bathing, for one. Don’t you know that all the other women think you are a little bit crazy to want to bathe every day?” She tittered smugly as though mimicking them.
“Well, you mustn’t worry about my past, Marie,” Gabrielle assured her with a trace of bitterness. “Here on Grande Terre, I am no better than anyone else.”
“Ah, ha! And you long to be,” Marie whispered softly, tying another apron around her waist.
Gabrielle looked at her carefully before replying in the same tone of voice. “You’re right, Marie. I cannot imagine growing old on this island and—and I am almost eighteen years old—”
“There are many aristocratic women in New Orleans who would give anything to be your age again, and there are just as many young girls who would give the same to have your beauty. You are young, lovely, and intelligent, Gabrielle. Do you truly think I am silly enough to believe you would want to stay on this island? I’m surprised you haven’t tried to escape before now.”
“Escape! Marie, I think of nothing else! But how could I try such a thing when you know I would need help—and you also know what would be the fate of my accomplice.”
“And there is where your upbringing will trip you up again and again, my friend. You have not been taught that life is always a matter of the survival of the strongest and that you must care little about those you leave behind.”
Gabrielle felt a lump in her throat, and she could not believe that Marie was talking to her this way. All along, she must have known about her and divined her feelings, but Gabrielle had been too wrapped up in her own miserable thoughts even to guess at the sharp intelligence behind those languorous dark eyes.
“And now,” Marie continued a little more hesitantly, “you are afraid that if Lafitte truly feels love for you, you will never be able to leave here.”
Gabrielle was practically speechless before the girl’s utter candor.
“Gabrielle, you’re so silly, really,” Marie went on. “Don’t you see that Lafitte only makes himself more vulnerable the deeper he lets himself feel for you? If you only had a little less of the lady in you, and a little more of the wanton, you could probably wrap him around your little finger.”
“No, no, he is not easy to bend,” Gabrielle corrected her. “You don’t understand, Marie, how cruel he can be. I saw what he did to the crew of the ship I was on—to the women prisoners! He is not a man to be easily tricked, whether or not he loves a woman.”
“Oh, foolish Gabrielle! Think a little less instead of letting your intelligence smother your emotions.”
Gabrielle shook her head, still not willing to believe it would be that easy. Perhaps Marie really thought that Lafitte would be easy to control. And although she might be right, up to a point, Gabrielle could not imagine Lafitte taking her to New Orleans with her baggage and setting her down comfortably in the nearest hotel lobby, wishing her good fortune, and walking out of her life.
“And then again,” Marie’s voice broke through her reverie, “is Jean Lafitte all that bad?”
“What do you mean, Marie? He’s a murderer, a thief, a smuggler, a man with no morals!”
“There are many men in New Orleans who have killed others in order to defend points of honor, many fine, upstanding members of the community who buy what Lafitte has smuggled in without a thought as to where he got the goods. Are they any better because they shut their eyes and ears to his true nature, thanking themselves that they have made a good bargain? As for morals—how dull the world would be if all men went to church on Sunday and never indulged in a little reckless gaiety. What about the adulterers in your own homeland, Gabrielle? What about the dalliances and clandestine romances that result in murders and tears and recriminations?”
“Are all those other girls like you?” Gabrielle asked wonderingly. “I begin to see why the planters find your Quadroon Balls so enticing.”
For the first time, she smiled genuinely, with an honest affection, at the other girl. “Forgive me for underestimating you, Marie.”
Marie flushed. “I'm only glad to be your friend, Gabrielle,” she replied, then cocked her head. “You know, you look even prettier when you smile like that. Your dimples show.”
The two young women laughed together and set about fixing dinner. Gabrielle realized that Marie hadn’t solved all of her problems, but she had forced her to take another look at her own attitude and had strengthened her resolution to escape.
By the time all the food was eaten, it was well into late afternoon and the sun was already casting long shadows on the ground. Lafitte, with his two lieutenants, sat a little apart from the rest of the group with two clerks who were busy writing on their tablets as Lafitte went over the long lists of goods in the ships.
Gabrielle, sitting a little to the right of them, leaning her shoulders against a small knoll, listened with half an ear to their talk. But something Lafitte said made her straighten up suddenly, her face revealing her excitement “Of course, I shall have to leave for New Orleans tomorrow to set up an auction date with Sauvinet. The word will get around soon enough. We can’t keep these goods here or the warehouses will be bulging at the seams.”
The other two men agreed and after a little more conversation Lafitte cast an impatient glance at Gabrielle, then stood imperiously before her, extending his hand. “Enough talk,” he said quietly. “I long to be welcomed home by my woman.”
Gabrielle placed her hand in his and felt his hold tighten as he pulled her to her feet. She noticed that several of the others had paired off and were drifting down along the beach in order to find more private places.
Trembling a little, she followed Lafitte as he pulled her along to the house he had finished building for her. At the threshold he picked her up in his arms and pressed a deep kiss to her mouth before slamming the door shut behind them and taking her to the bedroom. He laid her on the bed and tore at his clothes hurriedly before divesting her of her own garments.
For a moment, he lay beside her on the bed, both of them naked, just holding her in his arms. Gabrielle could
feel his ragged breathing against her hair, and the beat of his heart mingled with hers as her breasts were flattened against his hard chest.
“This is good,” he murmured, kissing her eyes and ears, moving slowly down to her throat before burying his head against her bosom.
Despite her rationalization that she was only complying so as to get from him what she wanted, Gabrielle soon found herself kissing him back and caressing him as he lowered his body onto hers. His hands smoothed her thighs and swept over her hips as though he could not get enough of her. He took her forcefully and with a passion that left her moaning softly. There was perspiration on her face and body, and his flesh was slippery against hers. His mouth and tongue drove her crazy, and a cry of astonishment escaped from her throat in the darkness, causing him to smile at her response. It seemed he would never get enough of her, never stop driving into her flesh, and she surrendered herself to a world of sensual pleasure until, finally, he lay spent beside her, his breathing gradually returning to normal.
“Dear God, how I have dreamed of this night, this moment, all these weeks away from you,” Lafitte murmured softly, his hand lightly teasing her still-upright nipples. He turned to his side and propped his head on one hand. “To tell you the truth, spitfire, I was mightily afraid you might not be here when I returned.”
Still steeped in languor, Gabrielle would have liked to brush his mouth with her finger and kiss his chin lazily, but she forced herself not to give in to such a display. “How could I escape?” she questioned him seriously.
He reached down and kissed her bruised lips softly. “I’m glad you had thought of no plan,” he answered her ambiguously. “Then, too, upon seeing you, I was surprised that I did not find you growing bigger with child.”
His words made Gabrielle shiver, and she pulled away from him fearfully. He pulled her back possessively and was gentle with her as his arms held her against him.
Gabrielle Page 15
