Authors: Lorena Dureau
Although many of the townspeople continued to cling to the
old-type buildings, like those of the original French settlement, some
were slowly changing over from the wooden structures to the more
solidly built ones of plastered brick, neatly painted in white or
pastel colors and frosted with black iron-lace balconies and gateways.
Much as Monique hated to admit it, the new Spanish style of
architecture was giving New Orleans a more elegant air than it had ever
had before. Her father had even adopted the style for the Chausson town
house when he had rebuilt it after the fire.
Their more or less unwelcome rulers were making other
improvements, too. New Orleans had a newspaper of its own now, and the
newly appointed governor, the Baron de Carondelet, was planning to put
up street lights and organize a permanent police force for the city in
the near future.
Only a few months ago, the governor had signed a peace
treaty with the Indians and reinforced the five forts guarding its
palisades, although Maurice had observed that the Spanish had probably
taken such measures more to keep its subjects inside the walls than
protect them from any dangers without!
Monique cast a disdainful glance up at the royal red and
yellow flag lightly fluttering in the mild afternoon breeze. It was one
of the few things she didn't like about the plaza, but she hoped the
day would come soon when that Spanish banner would be replaced by the
fleur-de-lis of. France.
Celeste nudged her sister nervously and whispered, "Look,
there's Padre Sebastian. I'm sure he's spotted us. See how he's looking
this way? Now we're going to get it for sure!"
Monique crinkled up her tiny nose until it almost
disappeared from sight between her rosy cheeks.
"I hope he doesn't come over here," she moaned. "That
Spanish friar gives me goose pimples every time he comes near me. He
always seems to be peering down my fichu!"
"He's writing something down on that piece of slate he
always has stuck in his prayer book. I wager it's something about us!"
Monique gave a toss of her wheat-colored curls. "Don't be
silly!" She laughed lightheartedly.
But Celeste cast another anxious glance at the hooded
figure standing in front of the church. "I'm sure Fray Sebastian will
say something to Grandmother this Sunday about having seen us without a
chaperon."
"You fret too much, my dear," insisted Monique merrily,
but she pulled her sister deeper into the crowd, hoping they were no
longer in range of the Spanish monk's disturbingly penetrating gaze.
As they stood on tiptoe, stretching their necks as far as
they could to see what antics the Harlequin was up to just then that
had the people laughing so much, their view was suddenly blocked by two
stockily built figures in dirty buckskins.
The unsightly pair stood there facing them, and the men's
bearded, suntanned countenances suddenly broke into broad, mocking
grins as they saw the consternation they were causing the two young
girls.
"Well,
lookie here, Will! We done stumbled on two pretty little
French
feeyahs
!" exclaimed the older of the two
while he shifted his wad of tobacco from one side of his mouth to the
other.
Instinctively Monique caught her sister's hand in hers and
drew herself up indignantly, feigning a bravado she was far from
feeling at that moment.
"Will you please step aside, messieurs? You're blocking
our view of the show," she protested, trying to keep her voice steady
despite the growing apprehension within her.
"But the view right here is sure better than any old
puppet show, isn't it, Will?" snickered the same man as his pale
bloodshot eyes swept approvingly over Monique's fully developed figure.
"I want this one for myself," he added with a sly wink to his
companion. "I'll bet there's a lot of tit under there holding out that
fichu!"
The younger man flashed a row of crooked yellow teeth
behind his scraggly beard. "What luck to find choice ones like this
without any leashes on them," he replied. "They look like real quality,
too. A pair of dainty little Frogs like this would make a trip
downriver worthwhile anytime!"
Monique recognized them as flatboatmen—the type
of men that the colonists in New Orleans referred to contemptuously as
"Kaintocks" from the Ohio and Kentucky territories to the north. They were
carefully cutting the bewildered young girls off from the knot of
spectators gathered around the marionette show and easing them over to
a less busy part of the square.
Monique continued to hold tenaciously on to Celeste's
trembling hand, pulling the frightened youngster along with her as she
tried to walk away from their unwanted admirers.
"Come now, my
chayrees
, don't run
off on us like that!" coaxed the older man as he laughingly placed
himself in their path once more. "We can show you two one hell of a
good time if you let us,"
There was the strong odor of alcohol about them, and the
one who was speaking teetered a little as he tried to balance himself
in front of her.
"That's right, girlies," interjected the younger man. "We
just sold our flatboat, cargo and all, so we have a bagful of money now
to spend on the lucky wenches who give us a little loving before we
have to start back up the trail."
"Please, messieurs, let us be on our way," insisted
Monique, wishing she could keep her voice from sounding so tremulous.
The older man detained her with a large callused hand.
"Come on, dearie, don't put your airs on with us," he
chided. "You two came out to have a good time, didn't you? Well, we're
the ones to give it to you. I promise you that."
"Let go my arm, you smelly old man!" snapped Monique,
stamping her foot impatiently. The pink of her dimpled cheeks was
turning to apple red as she struggled to break free from that ironlike
grip, all the while trying to hide how frightened she really was.
The man reeled back unsteadily as though she had struck
him. "Smelly? Did you hear that, Will? She called us smelly! And us
that just paid out good money for a bath up the street!"
Celeste, on the brink of tears, went white as a sheet as
the younger man caught her by the arm.
"Now, ladies, don't be so finicky!" he scolded. "Although
we may not look it, me and my partner here are all nice and washed up,
so don't go calling us names. Of course, we didn't bring no change of
wardrobe with us, but I don't see where that ought to matter much.
We'll be only too glad to peel it all off for you as soon as we get to
a more private place. Right, Jeb?" He chuckled meaningfully and pulled
Celeste in closer to him. The poor girl looked as though she were going
to faint away at any moment.
The feel of her little sister's hand trembling in hers
fired Monique all the more. She let Celeste go and tried to place
herself protectively in front of the girl.
"You let us go, or I'll start scratching your eyes out and
screaming for help," she warned, holding up a threatening fist.
But the grip on her other arm only tightened, and the man
named Jeb seemed to find her threats all the more humorous as he toyed
with her as a cat might with a mouse trapped within its paws.
"For myself, lassie, I'm not so particular." He grinned.
"I don't give a damn whether
you
just took a bath
or not." He poked a curious finger into the folds of her neatly crossed
collar. "From the feel of you, I wager you'll be something to keep me
going all night, once you've shed these trappings!"
Monique was so horrified at the feel of a man's hand
testing the fullness of her breasts that her fury fanned her
desperation all the more. She tried again to free herself. She was
about to let out a cry for help when suddenly she heard a cutting
masculine voice coming from behind her.
"Perhaps you ruffians would prefer tilting swords instead
of ladies' parasols?"
The roustabouts paled beneath their suntans, but they
continued to hold fast to their prey.
"This is none of your concern, sir," retorted the older
man. "These wenches here gave us every reason to think our attentions
would be well received."
"That's right," seconded the other, but his bloodshot eyes
were blinking nervously. "We was just discussing where to go."
Monique turned quickly around to face that unfamiliar but
very welcome voice. For a second she was taken aback to see that her
savior was a tall, elegantly dressed Spaniard in a claw-hammer tailed
frock coat of mulberry-colored velvet with black satin breeches and
vest. He had probably just exited from Don Almonester's house, the huge
mansion extending along one side of the plaza where the governor and
the city council were temporarily holding most of their meetings until
adequate chambers for the Most Illustrious Cabildo would be ready.
"Oh, no, monsieur, that's not true!" she exclaimed, the
spots in her cheeks burning redder than ever as her large gray eyes
widened in dismay at the drunken boatman's words. "I assure you we did
nothing—"
"Say no more," the stranger bade her with a wave of his
long, discreetly cuffed hand. "I can see the situation at a glance,
although what possible reason such ruffians could have for molesting
children in the street, I can't for the life of me understand." He
turned contemptuously to the two men once more. "Surely, senores, you can find wenches more suited to your
needs in any tavern or bawdy house. From what they tell me, the town
abounds with them."
Monique didn't especially appreciate the reference to her
and her sister as "children", but she was in no mood to quibble over
the point. She tried again to pull herself free from the boatman's
grip, and this time he offered no resistance.
"Now don't go getting your dander up,
seenyour
,"
the older riverman ventured sheepishly. "We was under the wrong
impression, that's all."
"That's right," echoed the younger man, releasing
Celeste's arm of his own accord. "You can't blame us for thinking the
wenches was out looking for some fun. After all, they was running
around loose here like they wanted someone to come on to them."
The dark-eyed young Spaniard gave them such a glaring look
that they quickly decided to withdraw any further protestations of
innocence.
"All right, all right, sir, we'll be on our way," the
older man assured him, tugging at the sleeve of his partner to leave
with him. "Our apologies, ladies. No offense meant. We only wanted to
show you a good time. Come on, Will, there's nothing here for us. Let's
go to the Maison Coquet. We'll be more appreciated there."
For a moment Monique and Celeste stood there beside their
unexpected deliverer, watching the two flatboatmen walk rather
unsteadily across the square and disappear into a cluster of people
standing near the river side of the plaza.
Monique was trying to think of some appropriate words of
gratitude to say to the stranger, but before she could speak, he had
turned back to her and, with the easy bow of one accustomed to such
courtly manners, removed his high-crowned black beaver hat and
addressed them. "And now, little ladies, if you'll tell me where you
last saw your chaperon, I'll be glad to help you find her. She must be
looking frantically for you by now."
The two girls lowered their eyes in confusion. For a
moment they could only stammer, feeling suddenly very young and foolish.
Monique was the first to regain her aplomb. "Oh, we're not
lost, monsieur," she replied, deciding to brazen it out as best she
could. "We live only a few blocks from here, on the Rue Royale just
past Dumaine Street."
The Spaniard narrowed his dark eyes and scrutinized her
more closely. "Then those men spoke the truth. You really are
unaccompanied. You were… as they so aptly put it…
running around loose?"
"We were doing no such thing!" protested Monique
indignantly. "That is, it's not the way they made it sound. We only
wanted to see the marionettes. Then we would have gone right back home.
After all, we're not
children
!"
The tall, ebony-haired stranger kept a stony, disapproving
look on his lean face, but a faint twinkle flickered momentarily in the
depths of his dark eyes.
"Indeed? Well, permit me, then, to accompany you to your
home. I didn't realize things were so lax in the colonies, but then I'm
newly arrived here. Where I come from a lady doesn't go about
unaccompanied, especially not to the plaza!"
"But we're not really unaccompanied," insisted Monique
with a firm set to her fleshy little mouth. "After all, my sister and I
are accompanying each other, aren't we?"
The twinkle flashed again in the Spaniard's eyes as he
bowed. "Very well… if you say so," he acquiesced. "And now,
if you'll show me where you live…"
He offered them each an arm, but Monique hung back
hesitantly. She dreaded arriving home escorted by someone who might
call attention to the fact that she and Celeste had been out. She had
hoped they could sneak back in through the carriage entrance without
anyone's being the wiser.
"Please don't bother," she said, giving him her most
gracious smile. "We've already caused you enough trouble. We can return
home all right. Thank you, sir."
"It's no trouble at all," he assured her politely. "My own
destination is on the Rue Royale. Perhaps you'd be so kind as to direct
me to where I'm going once I leave you and your sister off at your
home?"
Monique cast a reluctant glance in the direction of the
still-performing marionettes and, with a sigh of resignation, accepted
his proffered arm, whereupon Celeste, following suit, took the other.
But they had no sooner turned to go toward the Rue Royale
than they nearly collided with the dark, silent form of a hooded
Capuchin monk. Monique recognized him at once as Padre Sebastian and
realized uneasily that he had probably been standing nearby all the
while observing the whole incident.