Emilie (The Cajun Series Book 1)

by Claire, Cherie

  “To our health and our prosperity,” Lorenz said as he lifted his mug in a toast. “And to hell with Charles Lawrence.”

  The other men, equally saturated with wine, saluted with their mugs and drank their fill.

  “And to the memories of those absent,” Phillip added and the men lifted their wine once again. This time, a sadness descended upon the group as they all remembered the loved ones lost in le grand dérangement. The group of men continued to drink in silence, Phillip’s eyes glistening with tears.

  “You can sit here, drink until you’re bleary eyed and talk all you want, but your talking will get you nowhere.”

  Lorenz looked up to find a Frenchmen dressed in upper class garments approaching the foursome on horseback. “Jean Baptiste de Noyan,” the man introduced himself as he dismounted. “Lieutenant to Attorney General Nicolas Chauvin de Lafrénière.”

  The Acadians stared at the finely dressed man, but were unimpressed with his long title. Living in the New World had taught them one important lesson, that every man was equal when fighting the elements for existence. Wealthy aristocrats failed to ignite their respect, but an Indian or clever farmer who could produce enough food to last a winter in the worst of conditions became heroes.

  “Phillip Bellefontaine and Simon Mire of Pisiquid,” Phillip announced. “Dominique and Jaques Doucet and Lorenz Dugas of the town of Grand Pré.”

  The man bowed again and Phillip motioned for him to join them. The Frenchman produced a dark bottle from his saddlebags and held it up as if to silently ask them if they would care to share his rum. The Acadians smiled at the invitation; rum was not an easy drink to find in primitive Louisiana. Phillip rose and gave the man a friendly slap on the back and handed him a mug.

  “Now,” the Frenchman announced, “I will tell you all the secret to getting our way in this Spanish-run territory.”

  Curious, Lorenz leaned in close to hear more of the man’s secrets.

  “The answer,” the man continued, “is to revolt and take the colony for ourselves.”

  Emilie

  Chapter Thirteen

  Darkness descended upon Cabannocé, but there was no sign of Lorenz. Emilie left her cabin for the third time since sundown in the hopes of catching him on his way to the barn.

  “Have you seen Simon?” Marguerite Mire asked, rounding the side of the cabin.

  “No,” Emilie replied. “Have you seen Lorenz?”

  Marguerite shook her head and both women scanned the horizon for the men. The distant trees were hard to discern in the growing darkness; it was too late for the men to be away from the village. Emilie knew Lorenz would avoid her after their damaging conversation earlier, but it wasn’t like him to remain gone for such a long period of time. She thought of the talk of the cannibal Indians, of the alligators and other strange animals that roamed the swamps.

  “Do you think they’re safe?” she asked Marguerite.

  “More than likely they’re sampling Phillip’s recently acquired bottle of wine,” Marguerite said. “Still...”

  There it was again, that unexplained emotion. A gloom fell upon Emilie’s heart like a warning. She remembered that fateful afternoon in Grand Pré when her mother had experienced the same foreshadowing, the day her father walked out the door of their home and into the trap of the English. Suddenly, nothing else mattered. She had to find Lorenz.

  “I’m going to search for them,” she said as she wrapped her shawl about her shoulders.

  “Wait,” Marguerite said, and ran toward her house. “I’ll get you a lantern.”

  As Emilie waited for the woman to return, something caught her attention. The night was too quiet. The trees were silent and a dog barked in the distance. The wind had finally died down.

  Marguerite emerged and handed Emilie the lighted lantern. “Do be careful,” she said.

  “Those cannibals...?” Emilie began.

  “Lived in Louisiana before us in an area far from here. Believe me, we have other things to worry about.”

  “Such as?”

  Marguerite leaned in close, allowing Emilie to make out her face in the dim light. “The French Creole aristocrats who live nearby have a bone to pick with the Spanish. Poor trade, heightened regulations, lack of currency.”

  “What does this have to do with our men?”

  “They keep agitating our residents to revolt with them against the Spanish,” Marguerite explained. “They want us to help fight their battle and Simon is all too willing. Members of his family live at St. Gabriel. He was furious they weren’t allowed to settle here with us.”

  Emilie thought of Lorenz and his hot-headed reaction to the soldiers on the German Coast. “What makes you think this is the case tonight?”

  “Widow Melancon saw one of Lafrénière’s men come through on horseback. The man’s notorious for inciting tempers around here.”

  Emilie pulled her shawl tighter across her chest. She had to find Lorenz. Immediately. “Where should I look?”

  “Go to Phillip’s house.”

  Nodding, Emilie hurried away, her heart beating furiously. Dear God, she thought, don’t let Lorenz fall into their trap.

  The moon finally emerged as a sliver in the sky and Emilie’s passage down the winding road to Phillip’s house was a slow one. As she held the lantern in front of her, watching its light cast ominous shadows among the bushes and trees that hugged the path, Emilie felt the familiar tightness in her chest return. This couldn’t be happening, she thought. Lorenz had promised.

  Finally, Phillip’s house came into view, but Emilie’s breathing failed to return to normal. The night was so still, the darkness so acute. She had to find Lorenz, know that he was safe, but something told her her travels had just begun.

  Emilie knocked on the door and was greeted by Phillip, who appeared as worried as she when he caught sight of her at the door. “He’s not with you?” Phillip asked.

  Emilie shook her head and swallowed hard to keep the fear from choking her. Phillip disappeared briefly inside, then emerged into the night pulling on a jacket. “I can’t leave my family. My youngest son is sick with the fever.”

  The last thing Emilie wanted to do was tear Phillip away from his family, but Lorenz had gone somewhere with this defiant Creole and only Phillip knew of his whereabouts. “You have to help me,” she pleaded. “Do you know where he is?”

  Phillip rubbed her arms in a reassuring manner, but his frown convinced Emilie she had a lot to be concerned about. “The last I saw of him he was speaking with Noyen. They had plenty in common when it came to the Spanish.”

  “Who’s Noyen?”

  “One of the Creoles who travels through here on occasion.”

  “Marguerite Mire said there was a Creole who tries to convince Acadians to help fight the Spanish with him.” Emilie swallowed again to force down the panic rising in her chest. “Tell me you didn’t let Lorenz leave with this horrid man.”

  Phillip stared down at his feet deep in thought. “They had a few drinks with me, that was all, Emilie. I have no idea what they did when they left here.”

  Emilie grabbed the lantern and surveyed her surroundings. She had to find Lorenz. If Phillip couldn’t help, then she would set out in all directions until she found him. “Which way should I go?”

  She felt a jerking of the lantern as Phillip pulled the light from her hands. “You’re not going anywhere but inside. Lorenz is a big boy, Emilie. He’s old enough to make his own choices.”

  Imagining Lorenz being killed or exiled because he was too hot-headed to think things through brought forth a burst of tears, but Emilie fought them back, wiping her eyes to rid her face of the tell-tale moisture. “He can’t make his own choices,” she said, trying to hid the emotions in her voice. “He’s young and he’s angry. You would be too if you lived the life he’s lived.”

  Suddenly, all her trepidation for her future, all the reservations she harbored in marrying Lorenz and his impulsive nature disappeared. He was her soulm
ate and she understood him clearly. Of course she did. She had been there with him every step of the way.

  The tears flowed down her cheek and this time she made no attempt to stop them. Standing there in the darkness of the mysterious Louisiana night, a place that felt as strange to her as a nightmare, Emilie wanted nothing else than to hold Lorenz in her arms, to have her best friend and lover safe within her grasp.

  “I am such a fool,” she said softly.

  Phillip placed an arm about her shoulder and offered a sympathetic hug. “I will go see if my neighbor can help. Perhaps he knows where the men have gone.”

  Emilie wiped the tears from her face and straightened. “Where does this Noyen live?”

  “You can’t go there, Emilie,” Phillip said sternly.

  “Where does he live?” She would crawl to the Creole’s house if necessary.

  “There is no way I will let you go after him. You are not leaving this village or my sight.”

  Emilie was about to launch into a serious argument, when a deep male voice sounded from behind. “I know where to find this Creole, mademoiselle, but your friend is right, you are to remain in the village. It’s not safe.”

  It was difficult to make out the man in the darkness, but Emilie discerned a large, muscular shape approaching the lantern’s light. When the man became visible, she was amazed at the broadness of his shoulders and the powerful forearms carrying a fat satchel and rifle. His eyes were invisible beneath his broad-rimmed hat, but she detected a slight dimple. Then something else caught her eye. She knew she was imagining things, but for a moment Emilie thought she saw her sister’s hand-made cross lying across the man’s shirt.

  “Bouclaire,” Phillip announced, extending his hand. The two men shook hands while the large man deposited his belongings on the ground at her feet. “This young lady is looking for her companion who has...”

  “Run off with that insurgent Noyen, yes, I heard. I met with Marguerite Mire in the village.”

  “Then you know where he is?” Emilie couldn’t wait to be introduced. Time was of the essence.

  The large man tilted his hat back and two enormous brown eyes stared back at her. “You’re different,” the man said, examining her closely.

  “Emilie,” Phillip said, “this is Captain Jean Bouclaire. Jean, this is Emilie...”

  “Gallant,” the man answered and Emilie felt a shiver run up the length of her spine. Oh God, he knew who she was. The Spanish had finally caught up with them.

  Then the man inched closer and Emilie got a better look at the pendant. It was Gabrielle’s cross, the one she had carved from mahogany and religiously wore at her neck. The one she was waiting to give to Papa when they reunited. When she turned her eyes to his, to investigate the man wearing her sister’s most prized possession, she found him examining her.

  “No, you don’t look at all like your sisters,” he said as he took in her figure.

  “How do you know all this?” Emilie asked. “What do you know of my sisters?”

  As if the question reminded him of his manners, the Captain bowed politely. “I am at your service, mademoiselle, at the request of Gabrielle Gallant. I am here to see you and Lorenz Dugas safely to St. Gabriel. That is, if I can find the young man.”

  Emilie stared at him dumbfounded. They had spent two months alone in the wilds of Louisiana, accepting favors from the people they met along the way, favors that had kept them fed and healthy. But the last thing Emilie expected was a giant of a man popping out of the woods and offering them safe passage to St. Gabriel. At least, she imagined it would be safe. If Gabrielle indeed had something to do with this man, he was to be trusted. Still...

  “There is so much to explain,” Bouclaire said, as if reading her mind. “But there is no time. I will tell you the entire story after I go after Lorenz.”

  His last comment broke her from her thoughts and brought her to attention. “I’m going with you.”

  The Captain moved closer and sent her a stern look with his bronze eyes, paternal eyes that wouldn’t stand for defiance but offered a twinkle of comfort. “No, you’re not,” he said firmly like a father.

  Despite the tone of his voice and his unwavering look, Emilie wasn’t one to be left behind. “Yes, I am.”

  The twinkle disappeared. “No, you’re not,” he repeated and Emilie stepped back at the power of that statement. “You’re going to head straight to the river where my boat is docked and wait for me there. There’s food and water and plenty of blankets. Here,” he added as he thrust the lantern into her hands, “take the lantern.”

  Before she could retort, the robust man replaced the rifle on his shoulder and strode out of sight. She turned toward Phillip for support, but her friend was smiling.

  “Well said,” Phillip replied, then turned Emilie toward the river and pushed her forward. “Stay put,” she heard him instruct her from behind. “Lorenz is in good hands.”

  The distance to the river was short and a flat-bottomed boat was docked at the end of the path, just as the Captain had said. Emilie waded through the water and climbed aboard, sitting cautiously on a crate so as not to cause movement on the small craft. She never understood what Gabrielle loved about sailing. Give her the solid earth — Louisiana mud if need be.

  Afraid to move to upset the boat, Emilie sat stiffly on her wooden crate, staring out at the magnificent body of water silently passing. A slight breeze began from the south, warmer this time as if sending a slice of the tropics north.

  “Strange weather,” Emilie said to no one. “First winter, then summer, and then winter and summer again.”

  She had to admit, the warm breeze felt nice against her neck and was complemented by the soothing sound of the river lapping against its bank. Bullfrogs offered a chorus among the rushes and the slight moon sent down rivets of golden light.

  It wasn’t so bad, Emilie thought, this swampland Lorenz called Paradise. In its own way, it possessed certain beauties. But in the grand scheme of things, did any of it matter?

  She was such a fool. What was she afraid of anyway, that she would be left behind wondering of her man’s fate like her mother? Here she was on a boat on the Mississippi River wondering where Lorenz was, worried of his safety. Should he meet with harm, her life would be devastated. What difference did it make if they were married or not? She loved him, he was a part of her soul and whether or not they traded marriage vows would never change that.

  Anna was right. Love made a person whole. She learned that the past few nights when he came to her cabin and they shared in each other’s pleasures, became one in love. But it had been that way before their lovemaking. They were destined for one another. They were bound regardless of whether a priest made it so.

  Emilie vowed that if she ever saw Lorenz again, she would make matters right. She would live in a house made of mud and sleep on mattresses made of Spanish beards, if that’s what it took. As the tears flowed in torrents down her face, Emilie prayed that she wasn’t too late.

  “I say we march on New Orleans and give Gov. Ulloa his walking papers back to Spain,” one of the Creoles announced, dressed in the finest clothes Lorenz had ever seen. His words sent up a chorus of agreement among the drunk, equally well-dressed crowd.

  “It’s a difficult walk to Spain,” Lorenz said, but no one paid attention. The group, consisting of mostly Louisiana-born residents of French parentage, was too busy focusing on the next round of rum than on common sense being spoken. Now that Lorenz thought of it, common sense had not reared its head once that evening.

  “My brother has gone to Pensacola,” Noyen said. “He is going to convince the English to fight with us to take over the colony. When the English get here, we’ll show these Spaniards a thing or two.”

  Simon gazed over to Lorenz and they exchanged a questioning look. It was one thing to admonish the Spanish, quite another to enlist the aid of the English. Lorenz had a serious quarrel with the Spanish and their determination to populate the frontier at the
Acadian’s expense. But the Spanish had welcomed them into a friendly environment and given them land, tools and provisions. Enough to barely survive, but what could one expect from a colony on the verge of bankruptcy. It was more than France had done for the scattered exiles. And certainly a better government than the damned English.

  Simon placed his drink on the table and made his way to Lorenz’s side. “I don’t like this,” he said.

  Lorenz looked around the room at the wealthy Creoles and their problems of exports and outdated currency. This wasn’t his fight. After listening to Noyen launch a tirade against the Spanish that afternoon, Lorenz was more than happy to lend a hand. But he was a simple man who only wished to obtain a land grant, start a farm and raise a family. He didn’t care about the problems of the transfer from one colonial power to another, of one crown’s neglect to meet the financial needs of its colonists or the politics and ramifications of a years-old war. Like his father he wanted to remain neutral in all the conflicts. Just give him a piece of land and...

  “Simon,” Lorenz asked, feeling as if a bolt of lightning had struck him. “What was it the English called us in Nova Scotia?”

  “French neutrals,” the man answered.

  Lorenz thought of Joseph Gallant, who stood proudly at the church that day when the edict was read, his head never bowing even though the words were crushing. He thought of his father and the day he swam leagues into Minas Basin to save a child caught by the incoming tide. The village men, so many now dead, who worked twice as hard to bring in a good harvest to feed themselves and the English soldiers in an effort to keep peace. The men of Grand Pré were the bravest men he knew.

  “We weren’t cowards because we didn’t fight the English, were we?” Lorenz asked Simon.

  The Acadian sent him a powerful stare, but when Simon realized Lorenz was too young to recall the events leading up to the exile, his features softened. “No, mon ami, we were not cowards. We made an agreement with the English and they failed to live up to the bargain.”