Ashes in the Wind

by Kathleen E. Woodiwiss

  “Saul Caleb!” Alaina cried in outrage. “You mean you took money from that Yankee for me!”

  “Now, Miz Alaina.” He glanced in appeal toward Mrs. Hawthorne who was staring off into the distance. He found no escape from his predicament in that corner. “Ah tole de major yo’ was gonna be hot and mad ’bout this, and he say he was gonna be hot and mad if’n ah didn’t do what he say.”

  “A fine kettle of fish you’ve gotten us into,” Alaina fussed.

  “Yas’m, ah know. But de major say ah was not to go back to Mistah Angus’s widout givin’ de money and hoss to yo’, an’ he made me promise, Miz Alaina.”

  She sighed heavily. “Leave the horse and buggy. You can take the money—”

  Saul shook his head passionately. “No’m! Ah promished ah wouldn’t! ‘Sides, de major done gone and left me money, too.”

  “Supper anyone?” Mrs. Hawthorne inquired sweetly as she rose to her feet. “I believe I smell it burning.”

  “Oooooohh!” Alaina flew to the door, yanked it open, and disappeared into the house, leaving Saul to stare glumly at the pouch.

  “If you would like, I’ll take it for her, Saul,” Mrs. Hawthorne smiled gently. “Just in case an emergency arises and she needs the money.”

  Saul was glad to be relieved of his burden, and he hurried to unharness the animal and put the buggy away, not wishing to stay around long enough to enter into another debate with the tenaciously stubborn girl.

  Mrs. Hawthorne made her way leisurely into the house and put the pouch away in an armoire. There would come a day when the girl might have second thoughts about the major’s possessions. Until then, the money could be discreetly kept or used for her.

  Chapter 24

  IF it was a summer of defeat, then it was a winter of disaster. Lee was besieged in Richmond, Atlanta fell, and Sherman marched to the sea, cutting the eastern Confederacy in half and leaving a path of destruction sixty miles wide. As the South awakened in spring, the last hopes of the Confederacy dimmed. Lee fled Richmond, and the city lay naked beneath Grant’s heel, and finally, on April ninth, driven back upon the Appomattox, Lee could find no more cause to support and surrendered his starving, ragtag army. Five days later a greater disaster struck; Lincoln was assassinated! The South crumbled as Johnson, Taylor, and Smith surrendered in turn. The fleeing Jeff Davis was captured on the tenth of May, and with a full blood of vengeance up, the Northern congress slashed the South with savage blows. The destitute Confederacy was punished piecemeal for its arrogant disobedience, and a locust horde of rapacious carpetbaggers descended like vultures to pick the bone-thin carcass clean.

  Louisiana was ruled by an implanted governor, basically honest but extravagant, to whit: a ten-thousand-dollar chandelier for the statehouse, and gold spittoons for every office. As a port, New Orleans thrived with the return of foreign shipping. As a city, it tore itself apart. The cheap black labor clashed with the Irish, Scottish, and German immigrants, and the Federal troops were called back in to quell the riots.

  The hospital became more and more a civil establishment. Although nominally still under the control of the army, a single ward now served the soldiers, and Doctor Brooks gained position and respect as the administrator. Alaina still served as she had, with an outwardly gay and cheerful spirit, but even Mrs. Hawthorne’s companionship could not lessen her attacks of abject loneliness. She turned away Lieutenant Appleby’s proposal of marriage and discouraged other suitors as she had no interest in being courted.

  It was a quiet afternoon when she was called to Doctor Brooks’s office. On arriving there, she found the aging man staring at the top of his desk with his white head braced in the palms of his hands. His eyes rose slowly as she slipped into a chair across from him, and he solemnly folded his arms on the desk.

  “I have just returned from the Craighugh house,” he informed her. “And once again the news I have to bear is sad.”

  Alaina stiffened, and her thoughts flew. Uncle Angus? Aunt Leala? Dulcie? Or Saul? Who?

  “Leala has just received a letter from Minnesota—”

  Alaina gritted her teeth, and her insides went cold with dread, yet she could not voice her fear even in her own mind.

  The old man continued haltingly. “Roberta has passed away. It seems she had a miscarriage. A fever consumed her, and she weakened and died.”

  Although Alaina felt no exaltation, overwhelming relief flooded through her, leaving her weak and thankful. She waited for the pang of sadness, but none was forthcoming. Quietly she excused herself and took the rest of the day off, making her way dutifully to the Craighughs’ with the thought of offering her services in whatever way they might be needed. Dulcie answered her knock on the door, and after a tearful greeting, the black woman’s face took on a deep frown of concern.

  “De doctah gib Miz Leala some powders, and she’s sleepin’ upstairs. Massah Angus, he gone back to da store. Miz Alaina”—the woman twisted her hands in her apron —“ah jes’ doan—know what to do. Massah Angus is ravin’ as how yo’ brought da Yankee here, and dat caused Miz Roberta to die. Dey is both downright blue, Miz Alaina, and ah jes’ think it’s best, chile, if yo’ waits a while befo’ coming to visit.”

  Alaina nodded mutely and returned to her buggy. Sadly, thoughtfully, she made her way toward Mrs. Hawthorne’s house. Perhaps, after all, it would have been better for everyone concerned had she stayed at Briar Hill and never ventured away at all.

  After his daughter’s death, Angus Craighugh lengthened his hours at the store, working feverishly into the late hours. Even then, he was inclined to stop and sample the wares of nearly every tavern he passed, and, more often than not, arrived home in no condition to negotiate the stairs without assistance. Thus, it was no surprise when a letter came from Leala pleading with Alaina to return and live with them. Several weeks passed while the girl pondered the decision. She was more than reluctant to go, for the Craighugh mansion had the capacity to arouse too many memories, most of them bad. Although she understood and sympathized with the loneliness of her aunt, it was not until the older woman visited her at the hospital and made a tearful plea that Alaina yielded the point, agreeing to move in with them.

  Almost immediately it became apparent that Leala expected Alaina to be her daughter, in fact as well as in fancy. She constantly pressed the girl to go out shopping for clothes and other accoutrements so that she might be dressed as befitted one of Craighugh stature. Leala even went so far as to suggest that Alaina might be more comfortable in Roberta’s old room, and seemed stricken by the young woman’s refusal. It was an innocent slip of a wishful tongue when Leala called her niece Roberta, jelling the mild resistance that had been born in Alaina’s mind. Alaina knew that she must set this dream at rest before it became a nightmare, and she faced Leala in firmness well tempered with tribulation.

  “Aunt Leala, I live here because it seems to please you, but I am not Roberta. I cannot replace her, and I will not be Roberta.”

  Leala twisted her hands in sudden nervous confusion, and tears came to her eyes as she avoided Alaina’s gaze. “I am sorry, child. I did not mean to make you my own. It’s just that it’s so easy to forget—”

  “I know,” Alaina sighed. “I love you, and I understand. But remember that I am someone different. A guest, for a while. Nothing more.”

  Leala seemed to brighten a bit each day after that, coming out of her doldrums. Having once faced the loss, she found it bearable.

  Uncle Angus, on the other hand, did not fare well in his time of testing. He stayed away from the house as much as he could, as if the very sight of the niece in his home rankled him. With shipping at its peak, his business was flourishing, and he drove himself mercilessly in a never ending effort to get another dollar ahead.

  With Alaina’s reappearance in the Craighugh house, another threat loomed over the girl, one she became aware of on a morning in July as she turned the buggy off the avenue where her uncle’s house was located. Seeing a large landau bloc
king most of the road, she slowed the buggy to pass around it, then gasped in surprise as Jacques DuBonné stepped down from the carriage. Wearing a cocky grin, he strode toward her and set a booted foot on the buggy’s step, very self-assured and prosperous looking in clothes that hinted more of good taste than his garments of earlier days. In fact, he was garbed more like a wealthy gentleman than a backwater’s roué.

  “Good-morning, madam.” He tipped his hat decorously. “I am pleased we meet again. I had almost given up hope of finding you, even though my men have been haunting these streets, looking for the widow. May I be reassured that you are no longer in mourning?”

  “Monsieur DuBonné, I don’t think you should be reassured at all where I am concerned. I do not like you, and I do not care to change that situation in any way. Now, if you don’t mind, I’ll be on my way.” She lifted the reins to urge the horse forward, but Jacques placed a delaying hand across hers. Alaina stared at the short, blunt fingers with a mild showing of distaste, then slowly raised her gaze to meet the shining black eyes which rested upon her. “Was there further business you wished to discuss with me, sir?”

  His fingers traced along the fragile wrist, while his gaze held hers imprisoned. “It had come to my attention that your benefactor has left the city.”

  She slowly arched a brow. “And who might that be, sir?”

  Jacques smiled leisurely. “Monsieur Doctor Latimer is the one of whom I speak.” His caressing fingers traveled further up her arm. “And now you have no one to see to your care, so I think perhaps I should offer to you my protection.”

  “How kind of you, sir.” Her smile was bland. “But I see no need for your guardianship.” The last word was stressed with open mockery.

  Tossing his dark head back, Jacques laughed in amusement. “Oh, but, mademoiselle, you do not understand. Unless you will allow me to bestow upon you my protection, you will find no peace either day or night.”

  “Are you threatening me, sir?”

  He shrugged his shoulders and spread his hands. “I would not like to frighten you, mademoiselle. I am more willing to soothe your fears—”

  “At what cost?” she asked bluntly.

  His hand slipped down to rest possessively upon her knee. “I should like to be intimate friends with you, mademoiselle.”

  Alaina rose to the challenge with fire in her eye. “Get your hands off me.”

  The sound of his mirth rang again as he stroked upward along her thigh, but in the next moment, Jacques found himself staring into the bore of the small derringer that she had snatched from her handbag. He needed no command, but cautiously lifted his hand from her leg, then stepped back in urgent haste. At that, the wheels of the buggy nearly marked the toes of his boots as Alaina slapped the reins against the horse’s back and sped away, leaving Jacques standing in the middle of the street, staring after the fleeing coveyance.

  The huge black stepped from behind the landau and, climbing into the driver’s seat, urged the horses forward, bringing the carriage to his employer.

  “Zat hospital boy-girl, massah?”

  The Frenchman’s gaze came around to stare at the negro. “What do you mean?”

  The broad shoulders shrugged. “She looked like hospital boy-girl.”

  “You mean the one who throw the bucket of water on me?”

  “Yassuh—zat hospital boy-girl.” He patted his chest. “Under coat, she girl—woman. I pick her up, and she soft—woman.”

  Jacques caught the black’s meaning, “The same boy-girl who also held gun on us at Madame Hawthorne’s?”

  The black nodded vigorously.

  “I see!” Deep in thought, Jacques climbed into the landau and signaled the black to drive on. Why would a young woman pose as a boy he wondered. Unless of course there was something she wished to hide. But what was that? And how could he find out?

  Dully, Angus Craighugh rose from his store desk as the door opened and a wealthily garbed man strolled in, followed by an oversized black who resembled Saul in bulk and height.

  “May I be of service, sir?” Angus solicitously asked as he moved forward to meet the men.

  Jacques DuBonné smiled graciously and lightly caressed a bolt of silk on the table beside him. “Very good taste, monsieur.”

  “Are you interested in some materials, sir? I just received a shipment of rare, fine silks from the Orient.”

  “Ahh, but it must be a coincidence.”

  “A coincidence? In what way, sir?”

  “It has come to my attention that a ship from the Orient was seized in the Gulf, divested of her cargo, then was sunk with all aboard.”

  “What has that to do with this silk, sir?”

  “The cargo just happened to be silks and ivories, the rarest carpets—such as you might have there, sir.” Jacques waved his hand toward a rug displayed on the wall.

  “I assure you, sir”—Angus reddened at the subtle insinuation—“I have paid good money for these articles, and if they were pirated, it was not of my doing.”

  Jacques laughed casually. “In this day and age of carpetbaggers and high prices, isn’t it strange to come upon good bargains? A man, unless he is completely scrupulous, would not question his good fortune in finding such a bargain. He is grateful for the opportunity to make a profit, and would not think of questioning his suppliers.”

  “What are you suggesting, sir?” Angus questioned indignantly.

  “I am saying that you must have been aware of some chicanery, but chose to overlook it with the hope that you could add some wealth to your pockets.”

  “That is preposterous!” Angus objected strenuously to the suggestion that he might be less than an honest man—a little frugal perhaps, but certainly not a thief. He blustered, “What interest do you have in this matter? Was it your ship that was pirated?”

  “Let us say, monsieur, that Jacques DuBonné has a way of knowing certain things, and is interested in all happenings here in the city.” He waved his fingers in a mysterious gesture and glanced about him. “One never knows when a disaster can strike. A fire, perhaps. Vandals maybe.” He shrugged. “I have many friends, some to whom I can offer protection since I’ve become a very important man in this city. A word here or there will keep the authorities from involving themselves in affairs that are no concern of theirs. Sometimes a bit of information might suffice to soothe my yearning to see justice done.”

  “Are you blackmailing me, sir?” Angus questioned suspiciously.

  Jacques chuckled. “No indeed, monsieur. I would never dream of offending a man of your integrity. I was merely curious about a certain young lady you have living in your home. Is she kin to you, monsieur?”

  Angus’s brows lowered darkly, and his face flushed with color. “No kin of mine,” he replied savagely. “She is just a guest in my home—for a time.”

  “I’m aware that she left your house for a time and lived someplace else. Where did she go?”

  “As you know all things, sir, I would suggest that you rely upon your friends to gain the information for you. I am much too busy to answer your questions”

  “If that is your wish, monsieur. Bonjour!”

  The next day Angus stormed home in a rage because two Yankee officers had come into his shop and demanded to see certain bolts of cloth. In the days following he found no peace from their presence in his store. It became the usual thing that an officer would meander in to look about or buy a plug of tobacco or some other trivial thing at odd hours of the day.

  It also became apparent to the Craighughs that the house was being watched. A man was usually in sight while Alaina was home, and could be openly seen lounging against a tree, sitting on a horse, or relaxing in a carriage. Saul became Alaina’s guardian once more, driving her wherever she needed to go while he continued to help Angus at the store.

  Jacques waxed bold in his courting and visited Alaina at the hospital, finding her in a rare quiet moment alone in the officer’s dayroom.

  “You cannot escape
me, Mademoiselle Hawthorne,” he laughed confidently as she felt a presence at the door and turned to find him standing there. “I know now where you work and where you live. I know many things about you.”

  “Indeed?” She displayed little interest in him as she continued with her dusting.

  “I also know you worked here as a boy—the one who doused me with water.”

  Alaina carefully kept her gaze on the surface of the table. “A prank—nothing more.”

  “I would like to point out to you, mademoiselle, that I have become a man of some power and circumstance,” Jacques stated, as if he sought to convince her of his importance. “I have acquired many things, and can pass as a gentleman wherever I go.”

  Alaina let his statement pass without verbal comment, for she had already noted that his speech now wavered somewhere between the lazy drawl of a Southern gentleman and a blooded Frenchman. He even dressed the part of an aristocrat.

  “I have acquired a valet from one of the best families in town, and he has taught me much about a gentleman’s way. I can escort you about this city in a manner worthy of royalty.”

  Alaina smiled serenely as she gazed at him. “Not probable sir since I have yet to give my consent to be escorted anyplace by you and I doubt if ever I will. You don’t seem to understand that I am quite satisfied with leading my life without you. Now good-day, sir.”

  “Not just yet, mademoiselle.” He laughed and strolled arrogantly forward.

  She watched him warily as he halted close before her. Reaching out a hand, he cupped her chin, turning it up until her eyes met his and tightening his fingers when she tried to turn her face away.

  “I can take you here and now, mademoiselle, if it met my mood. You would not be able to stop me. But I offer you something better. To be my companion—a hostess when I entertain, or sometimes, when there would just be the two of us. I would dress you in rich gowns, and you would be the envy of every woman in this town—”