Emilie (The Cajun Series Book 1)

by Claire, Cherie

Lorenz placed his drink on the table and retrieved his hat. “And killing a dozen Spaniards won’t bring my parents back.”

  Simon placed a friendly hand on his shoulder. “No, it won’t.” Picking up his own hat, Simon added, “Let’s go home.”

  The duo made their way to the door, making excuses to the drunk Creoles before emerging into the night air. The fresh breeze blowing up from the river was a welcomed relief from the stuffiness of the Creole’s study. Lorenz breathed in the humid air gladly, but nearly fell over from a wave of dizziness.

  A pair of strong arms saved him from falling face first into the dirt, but they weren’t Simon’s. Although the older Acadian had not kept pace with Lorenz’s drinking, Simon Mire was in no shape to catch a man of Lorenz’s size.

  “You made the right choice, Lorenz,” he heard a booming male voice say to his rear as he straightened and released him. “No sense loosing your life over a rich man’s problems.”

  Lorenz turned to find a man of his height but twice his girth staring back, a man whose stiff French accent was pronounced. Now what, Lorenz thought, another Frenchmen wanting help in a fight? “Who are you?” he asked the stocky man.

  Before the man could answer Lorenz noticed the familiar pendant at his neck. “You’re wearing Gabrielle’s cross,” Lorenz announced, shocked to see such an accustomed sight on a stranger.

  The man clutched the pendant between his fingers and his dimple deepened. “Your sister gave it to me for luck,” he said. “After a long talk by the river, where she told me all about you.”

  Something in his smile touched a nerve; he was too familiar with Gabrielle, speaking too intimately about a woman Lorenz cherished as a sister. Fear and anger surged through his rum-clouded mind, fury he had been saving up for the Spaniards. He grabbed the Frenchman by the shirt and threw him back against the trunk of a tree. “If you have harmed one hair of Gabrielle’s head, I’ll kill you. I swear I will.”

  The man didn’t retaliate angrily, which infuriated Lorenz all the more. Instead, he grabbed Lorenz’s wrists and forced them off the front of his shirt. “I appreciate the concern, Lorenz,” the man replied gravely, raising the hairs on the back of Lorenz’s neck. “But don’t ever insult me like that again.”

  Lorenz examined the impressive man, wondering how much Gabrielle had told him. For an instant, even though the thought was absurd, he imagined the Creole in love with her. If only he hadn’t drunk so much rum, he could make sense of this meeting. “Who are you?” he asked again as a wave of dizziness returned.

  The Creole grabbed Lorenz’s shirt this time, holding him upright as Lorenz felt the earth coming nearer once again. “Steady,” the man said. “You have a long walk ahead of you. Perhaps dunking your head in the river might help.”

  Lorenz knew exactly what would help and he was powerless to stop it. Before he could think to move his head aside, he heaved on the Creole’s fine leather boots.

  Emilie heard the sound of two men approaching, one she was sure was Lorenz, his voice booming over the other. She gingerly moved to the side of the boat, then jumped overboard and waded knee-high to shore. By the time she reached the bank, she recognized Bouclaire’s large form hobbling up the path with his arm about Lorenz’s waist. Lorenz was walking, but barely. Emilie’s heart dropped.

  “What has happened to him?” she asked running up to the two men. “Is he hurt?”

  Upon sight of her, Lorenz pushed Bouclaire away. “I’m fine,” he said brusquely. But that didn’t stop her from grabbing his shoulders and hugging him close. As she pressed her head against his cheek, so glad to see him alive and well, her arms roamed his back and arms, searching for injuries. All she could detect was a strong smell of rum. After several seconds, Emilie realized Lorenz wasn’t hugging her back. He stood motionless and unemotional.

  Emilie pulled away and stared into cold, dark eyes. She swallowed wondering where to start in begging his forgiveness. “Are you hurt?” she said softly.

  “Just his stomach and his pride,” Bouclaire announced from the river’s edge where the man was cleaning his boots. Emilie’s mind whirled from the thoughts. First, Lorenz leaves with a Creole threatening to revolt against the government, then returns drunk with a Frenchman wearing Gabrielle’s necklace who is suddenly concerned with cleanliness in the middle of the night.

  “Who are you?” she asked him.

  Bouclaire frowned at his failure to rectify his boots, but he glanced her way and offered a smile. “All in good time, mon amie. Right now, we have to get you to St. Gabriel. Time is of the essence.”

  “But it’s close to midnight,” Emilie said.

  “It can wait until morning,” Lorenz added. “How are we going to find our way in this pitiful moonlight.”

  Bouclaire laughed heartily, untying the bow line. “I know every league of this river. Every bend. Every current. I could find St. Gabriel with my eyes close.”

  “But tonight?” Emilie asked. “Clearly Lorenz is in no shape to travel.”

  “I’m fine,” Lorenz countered and headed toward the river’s edge. “If we’re going, let’s go.”

  Bouclaire looked at Lorenz, surprised at his curtness, then up at Emilie. Apparently during their walk from the Creole’s house to the boat, Lorenz had failed to inform the man that she had refused his hand four times. Well, that was a first. He usually told everyone. She caught up with him at the river’s edge and grabbed his arm.

  “Tu est tignon,” Emilie said to Lorenz. “But that doesn’t mean you have the right to be rude. The man is bringing us to Papa.”

  “Yes, I am drunk,” Lorenz replied to her, then glanced over to Bouclaire. “And if I’m being rude, forgive me. I’ve had a trying day.”

  Before Emilie could react, Lorenz gathered her up in his arms and carried her toward the boat. “What are you doing?” she asked, before he gently deposited her into the boat.

  “Being careful,” he answered solemnly. “You may be with child.”

  Lorenz climbed into the boat and caught the bow rope Bouclaire sent his way. When Bouclaire moved several feet away to work at unfastening the stern rope, Emilie leaned toward Lorenz and whispered, “I’m not with child. I’m certain of it.”

  He appeared as disappointed as she, and knowing he cared enough about the prospect of a child warmed her. But as quick as that emotion crossed his features, another one replaced it. It wasn’t possible for those enormous black eyes to become colder, Emilie reasoned, but she was certain they did. A shiver ran up her neck and she hugged her shawl tighter. “Well, that’s convenient,” he said with a smirk. “That should solve all your problems.”

  The shiver multiplied and Emilie worked her jaw to keep her teeth from chattering. How could he possibly think such a thing? She wanted children as much as he did. She stared at the distant shore, anything to avoid his hurtful stare.

  “Let’s be honest, Emilie,” Lorenz said solemnly. “We want different things. Let’s be sensible and move on.”

  Emilie knew Bouclaire had joined them when the boat tipped in his direction. Lorenz stood and offered his services and the two headed toward the bow of the boat. She heard them talking about sails and paddles and wind directions, but she comprehended nothing but Lorenz’s final words.

  He couldn’t be dismissing her, not after all that they had shared, all the love they expressed to one another. She made a mistake, but she could reason with him. Couldn’t she?

  Suddenly, the boat drifted toward the center of the river and the thought of heading to St. Gabriel gave her hope. She would reunite with Papa and head north to Natchez. There was a light to this nightmarish evening.

  “About my family, monsieur,” Emilie said eagerly to Bouclaire when he joined her at the stern to take command of the rudder.

  “Your family is well,” Bouclaire said. “They have constructed a house, received a land grant and supplies and been well taken care of at Natchez.”

  “And Gabrielle,” she insisted, aching for news of her sisters and m
other. “My mother, my baby sister Rose?”

  Bouclaire stared in the distance, his countenance becoming grave. “All in due time, mademoiselle. What is most important now is getting you to St. Gabriel.”

  Emilie swore her heart ceased beating. Something was not right. Lorenz stopped his duties and turned to listen.

  “Your sister sent me after you because the commandant at Natchez only allowed you two months to make your way upriver,” Bouclaire began. “Those two months have come and gone.”

  Lorenz sent her a worried gaze. “We’ve been detained because of bad weather.”

  “I understand,” Bouclaire answered. “But Piernas has already sent the dispatch. If the Spanish find you between here and Natchez, you will be arrested.”

  “We’ve been fortunate so far,” Emilie said.

  Bouclaire turned to her. “I’m afraid, mademoiselle, your luck has run out. The Spanish soldiers were at Cabannocé this evening, asking for you both.”

  Emilie

  Chapter Fourteen

  The night dragged on forever. Lorenz’s body ached from the rowing, the endless battle against the river’s mighty currents. His head pounded from the lingering effects of the rum. His only respite was the gentle breeze to his rear that helped pushed the boat forward and the exhilarating feeling of standing in the midst of such an impressive body of water.

  “She’s an amazing river, isn’t she?” Bouclaire asked him.

  “It’s an awe-inspiring territory,” Lorenz answered, thankful that the man didn’t hold grudges against drunkards who expel their guts on expensive, store-bought boots. He glanced down to see if Bouclaire’s boots had survived the ordeal.

  “My boots are fine,” the man said with a friendly smile. “That’s why I wear leather, because it’s durable. They’ve seen worse, I assure you.”

  Lorenz shook his head, trying to make sense of the evening. “I swear I usually don’t drink that much.”

  “Women will do that to you.”

  Who was this man who appeared out of the darkness, who wore Gabrielle’s beloved cross? Who knew of their secrets? Lorenz was thankful Emilie had finally gone to sleep. He was tired of remaining silent, tired of pretending to ignore her. He needed to confide in someone and he wanted more information.

  “It isn’t hard to see that you two have had a lover’s quarrel,” Bouclaire said. “When I first met Emilie, her heart was about to break at the thought of losing you. Don’t be too hard on her. She loves you, that’s obvious.”

  “She doesn’t want to marry me,” Lorenz said as he sat down at the stern, watching the steady breeze fill the boat’s sail.

  “Why?”

  Lorenz sighed and rubbed his hands at his temple. How many hours before the pounding stopped, he wondered? How long before the searing pain in his heart ended?

  “So many reasons,” he answered. “Anxiety over her father, of starting over in this land.” Lorenz laughed grimly thinking of the promise he made the night they first made love. “Then there’s the problem of me being impetuous. She’s afraid I might do something rash like revolt against authority and get exiled from Louisiana.”

  He expected a lecture of concurrence over the last remark, but Bouclaire said nothing. The silence gave Lorenz pause to think. Was he being unreasonable? Was he crazy to ask a woman — who had traveled thousands of miles to find her father, who was an outlaw traveling through a land of swamps and marshes, who lived in fear of her best friend and now lover acting impulsively and getting himself killed — to marry him? Perhaps he misjudged Emilie. Always the pillar of strength, the leader of her family. Could it be possible that deep down Emilie Gallant was terrified?

  Lorenz stared at her sleeping face that was anything but peaceful. What demons raged inside? he wondered. First her father disappearing. Now, she worried whether Lorenz might disappear from his constant lack of forethought. She had valid reasons to refuse him.

  No. They loved each other. It was as simple as that.

  Wasn’t it?

  “There’s something I have to tell you,” Bouclaire said. “I was waiting for Emilie to fall asleep.”

  Lorenz rubbed his forehead harder. The horrid day refused to end.

  “Gabrielle asked me to check on you on my way downriver, so I stopped first in St. Gabriel.” Bouclaire studied him to gauge his reaction. Lorenz cringed, waiting for the next shoe to fall. “Joseph Gallant’s not at St. Gabriel, Lorenz. In fact, he’s not in Louisiana.”

  Lorenz shut his eyes as the pain ripped through him. It was everything they had feared. “Are you sure?”

  “When he received word that his family was in Maryland, Joseph traveled to New Orleans and took the next ship to that colony.” Bouclaire placed a hand on Lorenz’s shoulder to soften the blow. “As far as I could discern, he’s on his way to Maryland or is there now.”

  Lorenz’s stomach winced in pain and the pounding in his head doubled. They had been so hopeful coming to Louisiana. How would he break the news to Emilie? How would he tell Marianne? It wasn’t possible. After all their traveling, Joseph couldn’t be heading to Maryland. What God would be so cruel? For a moment, Lorenz understood Emilie’s trepidations over marrying. Who could believe in happiness when life offered such trials?

  “I thought it best for you to tell her,” Bouclaire said.

  Lorenz nodded. It was best that way. A weight as heavy as all the world’s problems descended upon his shoulders and he shut his eyes to brace himself.

  “Get some sleep,” he heard Bouclaire said.

  Lorenz wanted to object, to offer his help in getting the boat upriver, but a tiredness so acute overtook him and he was powerless to confront it. He felt his head falling forward. Within seconds he slept.

  The sun warmed Emilie’s cheeks as she and Lorenz gathered apples from her orchards. From the tree’s branches she could see the calm waters of Minas Basin and Gabrielle dancing on the shore. Marianne paced at the tree’s base, singing to Rose in her arms.

  All was perfect in the world.

  Papa appeared from working in the fields and waved. Emilie waved back, reveling in his warm smile and blanketed by her father’s love. Then Joseph turned and began to walk away.

  An intense fear enveloped Emilie and she looked to Lorenz for support. Lorenz sat in the branches of the neighboring tree, but all he could do was shake his head.

  “No,” Emilie shouted. But it was too late. When she looked back toward the fields, her father was gone.

  Emilie bolted upright, the visions of the dream still fresh in her mind, the horror still vivid, the pain still choking her heart. When Lorenz appeared at her side, she grabbed him and held him tight.

  Thankfully this time he returned the embrace.

  “What’s the matter, Em?” he asked softly, stroking her hair. “Another bad dream?”

  “Oh Lorenz, when is this going to end?”

  Lorenz said nothing, just continued holding her close. When he finally pulled back, still lovingly stroking her hair, he appeared as if his night was as disturbing as hers. “We have to talk,” he finally said.

  He was relenting, Emilie thought with joy. She smiled and captured his solemn face in her hands. “Yes, my love, we do.”

  Lorenz took one of her hands and buried his face into the palm, but his countenance never changed. Emilie felt the strings of her heart stretch. She had hurt him, pained him deeply. But she was going to change all that. It was a new morning and they were on their way to St. Gabriel.

  “Where are we?” Emilie searched the horizon. To the north, only a few leagues away, a village appeared around the bend in the river.

  “We’re approaching St. Gabriel,” Lorenz said softly.

  Emilie’s heart leaped. Hope filled her being. She stood up, waiting to adjust to the movement of the boat — getting her sea legs Gabrielle would have said — then moved as quickly as she could to the bow of the boat.

  “Emilie.” Lorenz had reached for her arm as he called her name, but she didn’t hav
e time to talk. They would discuss things later. They were approaching St. Gabriel!

  She felt Lorenz’s hands on her arms as she stared at the collection of houses so close she could make out the faces of the people on the shore. A young girl waved and Emilie enthusiastically waved back. “We’re here,” she said to Lorenz, afraid that this, too, might be a dream.

  “Emilie,” Lorenz repeated, “we must talk.”

  Emilie turned and met his serious gaze. “We will. I am so sorry for everything I said yesterday.” When she looked back toward shore, the little girl was following them upriver, waving as she ran. Others had gathered too, waiting for the boat to make landing. “I’ll make amends, I promise, as soon as we get ashore.”

  Lorenz placed his fingers on her chin and forced her gaze away from the village. “Emilie,” he stated so gravely she shivered. “We need to talk now.”

  Then a wicked thought came to her.

  “You’re worried about what happened between us,” she whispered with a grin. “I won’t tell Papa about it.”

  When Lorenz didn’t react, a fear ran through her. He looked at her as he had in the dream, as if he knew something horrible was about to happen and was powerless to stop it.

  “Emilie!”

  A familiar voice shouted from shore and Emilie’s fears lifted. When she turned and gazed at the riverbank, she realized she wasn’t imagining the sound. Gabrielle stood ahead of the others waving and jumping up and down.

  “It’s Gabrielle,” Lorenz said. “How on earth?”

  “Well I’ll be damned,” Emilie heard Bouclaire say. When she turned toward the captain she watched in amazement as his face erupted in delight. Dear God, Emilie thought, the man was in love with her sister! What on earth had happened during those two brief months in Natchez?

  “It can’t be,” she said to Lorenz. “Am I dreaming?”

  When Rose appeared next to Gabrielle Emilie started crying from happiness. Lorenz pulled her close and kissed the top of her head, but he appeared as grim as before. She wanted to reassure him, that things were finally falling into place and her anxiety over their future had been unfounded. She would marry him now. They would have a ceremony at the church at St. Gabriel — if they had a church — and Papa would give her away. For the first time in years, Emilie felt hopeful.