Ever My Love: A Saga of Slavery and Deliverance (The Plantation Series Book 2) (14 page)

“You. Who knew you were insatiable?”

She laughed. “I suspected it.”

He would have to make her listen to him now. He grasped her
hand and brought it to his mouth. “You’ll have to give up so much,” he said,
kissing each of her knuckles. “Society. Position. Wealth. Friends. You know
this?”

“Marry me, Gabriel. That’s all I want in the world.”

The candle sputtered out. “Kiss me in the dark, Gabriel.”

“Woman, you are going to consume me.” He grabbed her to him
and kissed her hard. Then he laughed. “Never thought I’d say this: get your
clothes on, woman.”

They walked down the road arm in arm, starlight glinting on
the river, the humid air caressing them, making Simone’s hair curl around her
face. When they reached the magnolia tree, Gabriel stopped. “I’ll find a priest
today. Is that what you want?”

“It’s what I’ve always wanted.”

“After we tell the family, we’ll go to Baton Rouge or Vicksburg
until I find a position further off, maybe in Jackson. You understand, Simone,
we may be very poor for quite some time.”

“I have a little money,” Simone said. “Papa called it my pin
money, and I saved most of it. We can live on that for weeks and weeks if we’re
careful.”

“I don’t intend to live on your money.”

“Gabriel, stop. I could have married a wealthy man while you
were away. Two wealthy men. I waited for you. Don’t worry about money. We’re
going to have a wonderful life together.”

They kissed a lingering good-bye. Simone at last stepped
away and, still holding Gabriel’s hand, turned to go into the house. She
started. Someone was there, in the road near the gate. Watching them.

“It’s Maman,” Simone breathed.

Tante Josephine’s slow steps closed the distance between
them. “I wish to speak to you in the house, please. Both of you.”

Gabriel followed the women up the gallery stairs and into
the parlor where his aunt had left a lamp burning. He’d never felt more guilty
or lowly than he did at that moment. His dear Tante Josie, he’d betrayed her
trust and her love. But she could not stop them, not now. We are going to be
married.

“Sit down, please,” Tante Josephine said.

The lovers took the sofa. Simone reached for Gabriel’s hand
and raised her chin. “I’m going to marry Gabriel,” she told her mother.

“
Oui
, Simone. You are.” Josephine burned a solemn gaze into
Gabriel’s conscience. “And how will you live? Where will you live? There is no
place in Louisiana you will be safe. You know that.”

Gabriel nodded. “Yes, Tante. I will find a hospital
position, or begin a practice of my own, far from here. No one knows me off the
river in Mississippi. Or in Alabama. Mobile is a big place. Or Montgomery.”

Simone reminded her mother, “Papa was a poor Cajun, you a
rich Creole girl, Maman. You married him.”

“And I am grateful every day for the years I had with your
father.” Josephine stared into the lantern shadows as if Phanor might
materialize there and take her into his arms once more. He’d loved Gabriel, too.
Phanor would not have sent him away even if he’d not already taken Simone’s
virtue. Though Josephine knew her daughter: Gabriel had not taken what Simone
was unwilling to give.

“Do not pretend, Simone, this is about money. Your lives
together will be difficult, even dangerous.” Josie took a deep breath.
“Gabriel, this will not be a clandestine marriage accomplished in the dark. I
want everyone here, in this house, for the wedding. Cleo, Pierre, Nicolette.”
She hesitated. “Your father, if you wish it.”

“
Merci
, Tante Josie.” Gabriel was humbled that his aunt
would bless them, and he felt Onkle Phanor would have blessed them too after he
and Simone had tried so hard and so long to find another path in life.

“I have a cousin who married into a family in New York,”
Josie said. “She can make inquiries for you in the North.”

“The North?” Simone said.

Gabriel squeezed her hand. He knew she had not thought this
through. “It will be safer,” he said.

 “New York is farther away than I would wish,” Josie said,
“but, children, these are dangerous times. There will be no tolerance for your
marriage down here, not with the slave owners stirred up by the talk coming
from Washington. Southerners don’t want our ways to change, and you will be an
affront to them.”

Simone turned her eyes to Gabriel. He saw she wasn’t afraid.
“I’ll go wherever you go,” she told him. She looked at her maman. “If the North
is where we must go, then we will go north.”

The sun lightened the sky and a gray beam penetrated the
windows of the parlor. Servants moved softly in other parts of the house. “Stay
to breakfast, Gabriel,” Josie said. “Then, if you please, ride to the Lake to
bring your mother home. You and Simone must not defy propriety any longer.”
Josie frowned and crossed herself. “And let us not forget your disobedience to
God. Hurry home with Cleo, Gabriel, and I’ll have the priest waiting.”

Gabriel kissed his aunt’s cheek. “
Merci,
Tante. I love you.”

“I love you,
mon cher
.”

Josie walked out onto the balcony and leaned against a post.
Below this very spot, she had first met Phanor DeBlieux. He’d brought hearts of
palm to sell to Grandmére Emmeline, and she and Cleo had handed over far too
many picayunes for them.

Phanor had the most devilish look in his eye, even then, and
a devastating smile. She’d felt the thrill of that smile from her head to her
toes. And yet they’d wasted all those years, waiting to learn that the
difference between Cajun and Creole meant nothing.

Of course there had been Bertrand Chamard. She had been in
love with him, too, for a time. Josie smiled to herself. She knew her Simone,
because she knew herself. She would have yielded to Bertrand in those heady weeks if
he had pressed her. And how she wished he would. Those weeks of Bertrand’s ardent
courtship had been exhilarating, and his abrupt marriage to the wealthy Abigail
Johnston had nearly destroyed Josie. But he had not been quite the blackguard
some had assumed. There had been no formal engagement, and he had not taken her
virtue. Almost, she laughed to herself, remembering that day in the orchard,
but not quite.

Josie’s eldest had chosen a troubled future, but life was
not meant to be easy. Trouble awaited Simone, no doubt, but joy too, and
perhaps even happiness.

The smell of coffee wafted to Josie on the gallery, and she
walked inside to breakfast. Simone and Gabriel - may God bless them.

Adam wearied of the quiet life on Magnolias and proposed
they return to the amusements – and the company of Nicolette Chamard - at Lake
Maurepas.

Yves would have preferred to stay on the plantation. He had
yet to win Marianne Johnston’s favor, and it was becoming oddly important to
him that he do so. Everything he said or did seemed to nettle her, and the more
she displayed her pique, the more he wanted to win her over. She was a
challenge, and yes, that was part of the attraction. But she was so much more
than that. More committed, more indignant, more passionate – she had depth,
this Marianne Johnson.

The way her mouth tightened and her nostrils flared when she
was annoyed intrigued him, but he envied the smiles she bestowed on his
brother. Who, by the way, had been showing her far too much attention. Marcel’s
mulatto placée Lucinda, whom he’d ensconced in a comfortable cottage in Le
Vieux Carré, might have Marcel’s affection, but she would not satisfy the
getting of an heir. Just as well Miss Johnston not be any further exposed to
the considerable charms of his elder brother.

Curious how eager she is for us to be off, Yves mused. She
had assured Adam that his presence was not required at Magnolias. “I will send
out the Hue and Cry for the runaway. You needn’t concern yourself,” she
insisted.

Yves wondered about that. Having shepherded Luke and Cat to
the next safe house himself, he had an interest in their success. She seems
uncommonly willing to be left alone in this big house. Was she truly going to
pursue Luke’s recapture?

 It was decided. The three bachelors were off. On a
stifling, muggy morning, Adam kissed his sister goodbye. Marcel murmured
au revoir
over her hand.

Yves’ inclination was to bend her backwards over his arm and
take his adieu with a deep and lingering kiss. As it was, he chose not even to
kiss her hand. He had to get her attention before he could ravish her, here on
the veranda. or anywhere else he could capture her. Thus, with his mouth in
that crooked smirk that could charm, or infuriate, he held his hand out in the
American fashion, as if she were a gentleman of his acquaintance instead of a
delectable belle.

Marianne accepted his handshake, a bit taken aback at the
lack of gallantry implied. Oh. She breathed in sharply. His finger stroked her
palm, such a simple touch, and yet it sent a shiver down her spine. She jerked
her hand away.

Even a handshake is an opportunity for seduction? He is a
rake. Yves smiled his goodbye, a gleam in the hazel eyes. She refused to smile
in return. If he thought she was that kind of girl, he was mistaken. Surely
these feelings he roused in her were improper. Neither Martin nor Albert had
upset her equanimity like this. Not even Marcel, and he was far more handsome
than Yves.

In her other hand, she grasped the offended palm, still hot
where his finger had violated her.

As soon as the men mounted and were on their way, Marianne
wiped her palms on her skirt to erase the sensation. That failing, she tried to
ignore the lingering impression and marched into Father’s office. She untied
her muslin neckerchief and sat down at the heavy desk. Her legs safe from
observation, she pulled her skirt up around her knees in a distinctly
unladylike pose to relieve the heat. Alone as she was, she blushed when an
image of Yves Chamard finding her like this came to mind. Well, he was gone,
and good riddance to him.

Searching for paper and pen in the top drawer, she considered
how to write the Hue and Cry notice for the circulars. She had not posted a
notice for John Man. She’d had Peter to think of; Father would fuss at her, but
only for an hour or so. And Adam had not thought of it all. What was his
excuse?

She decided to state the facts clearly, if not entirely
accurately. Luke was, she remembered, a fine-looking Negro, broad shoulders,
tall. Wasn’t there a small scar over one eye? In her notice, she wrote the
runaway was of average height and of an unprepossessing appearance. Joseph said
he’d headed north to the next safe house. “Believed to be looking for a ship
bound for England,” she wrote. She offered a twenty-five dollar reward,
respectable, but not enough to inspire a thoroughly intense hunt for him.

Satisfied it was a properly written notice, Marianne folded
it and addressed it to a printer in New Orleans with instructions it should be
forwarded to the
Picayune
from there. She looked around for stray papers,
books, whatever might do for her purpose. There were two yellowed newspapers, a
bill from her dressmaker she had already paid, and a periodical about fishing
in the Gulf. These she arranged on a corner of the big desk. Then she inserted
the Hue and Cry amongst the layers.

That will do. If Adam or Father wonder why no one has seen a
notice for our runaway, I can truthfully claim to have written one. She smiled
to herself. Adam at least will have no trouble excusing me as a “poor
featherbrained female.”

 Marianne’s satisfaction lasted through the morning as she
went about her duties. Before the sun grew any hotter, she tied her bonnet on
and made a quick trip to the vegetable garden where she directed the gardener
to harvest some of the tomatoes for drying. The cucumbers were ready, so she
walked over to the cook house to inform Evette how many vats of vinegar and how
many of brine pickles she wanted.

Next she commandeered the household maids to change all the
linens from the gentlemen’s rooms, to air the pillows and bedding, to sweep and
mop and polish. The runner on the stairs bore marks from some careless fellow’s
boots, most likely Adam’s, and she supervised one of the girls in cleaning the
stains so that the expensive carpet wasn’t damaged.

With Father and Adam gone, she would again have to meet with
Mr. McNaught. She had Hannah help her into her most severe frock and sat behind
Father’s desk. This time, she did not invite the overseer to sit down. After
mulling it over, she had decided to discover if it were more advantageous for
him to stand while she sat, or for her to stand while he sat. She listened
attentively as he went over the current activities and events on the various
farms that made up the greater plantation. Then she said, “About these
runaways, Mr. McNaught.”

His respectful tone became aggressive. “Your slaves have
been spoiled, Miss Johnston. A new overseer has to show he’s the man in
control. Bound to be some discontent at first.”

Her impulse was to jump to her feet in order to confront him
eye to eye. But she kept to her resolve. She placed her hands on the arms of
the chair as if she were completely relaxed, but in truth she hoped to hide the
fact that they were trembling.

“Mr. McNaught, Magnolias has been a prospering, well-run
plantation for a third of a century.” She had to tilt her chin up to meet his
gaze, but her eyes bored into his without any of the submissiveness he seemed
to expect. “Brutality has not been necessary. We expect our overseers to manage
the property and the slaves without recourse to harsh treatment.”

McNaught was not a man who could hide his feelings. His fair
skin flushed and his mouth turned down. He knew his place, however, Marianne
observed. He stood, bowed stiffly, and took his leave.

Marianne sank back into Father’s chair. Thank heavens
McNaught had not been more bullheaded. She didn’t really know how to run
things, not nearly so well as Father, nor even Adam. All she knew to do was try
to seem authoritative and tell McNaught to be nice. She wished Father would
come home. She wondered if that widow, Marguerite Sandrine, had followed him to
Syracuse. If she had read the signs right last season, she’d definitely set her cap
for Albany Johnston.