Dream Song

by Linda Ladd

  Bethany strolled eagerly along the roofed arcade supported by heavy pillars, intrigued by the market with its colorful sights and exotic odors, so different from St. Louis. All around them was a cacophony of sounds-chickens squawking, parrots screaming, and shouts in a dozen different languages as Negroes, Creoles, and foreign seamen explored the exciting place.

  Bethany took it all in as they passed tables of blue-gray fish, their scales shining in the sun, then vats of river shrimp, somnolent bayou crabs, and the belligerent-looking crayfish, all wriggling together. Piles of eggs wrapped in Spanish moss lay on one long table. The little group passed into the flower section, where Bethany bought a bouquet of petunias because they reminded her of those in Val Goodrich's front garden.

  Later, she paused before a selection of prickly pineapples, dozens of the pinecone like fruit stacked in neat piles like the cannonballs at the military parade ground. But, it was a strange, unknown, golden fruit that next drew Bethany's attention. She picked up one of the odd stalks, examining it curiously.

  "What in the world is this, Michelle?"

  "It's a banana. There are many such trees in the city, but most of these bananas are brought by ship from Martinique."

  Bethany had never heard of bananas, and she turned the tough-skinned fruit in her hands. "Surely, it cannot be eaten."

  Michelle smiled, which she rarely did since Philippe had heartlessly cast her out of her father's house.

  "You must peel them first, like this." She demonstrated, then broke off a piece for Bethany.

  "Oh, I like that," Bethany admitted, thinking it had a very different taste and texture from any other fruit she had eaten. "Petie, you must try this! Here's one for you, too, Raffy."

  The children tasted the bananas and wanted more, and Bethany decided she must take some home with her.

  "I will take this whole branch," she said to the Negro vender standing behind the table. His eyes widened in astonishment, and Michelle smiled again at the enthusiasm that was so characteristic of Bethany.

  "Non, Beth. They spoil quickly. You must buy them fresh every day or so."

  "Oh, I see. I wonder if Luke likes them?" Bethany murmured, but she bought a good-sized bunch of the delectable fruit anyway, placing the bananas in the woven basket Raffy carried for their purchases.

  "If you see anything you want or need, Michelle, you must tell me," Bethany told her friend as they moved along. "Luke gave me this whole purse full of coins just this morning. I certainly don't need it all!"

  "I need nothing. You and your husband have been very generous. I wish I was able to repay your kind hospitality."

  "Don't be silly. You help me all the time with Petie, and you're trying your best to teach me Creole, though I don't think I'll ever completely understand it!"

  They ambled among the crowd, passing rich Creole ladies in their high-waisted, pastel morning gowns with their Negro menservants carrying fancy parasols to shield their fair complexions from the sun. Other wealthy households sent their black cooks, dressed in calico skirts and gingham headscarves called tignons, to haggle over the prices of foodstuffs with the vendors. One section of the market was filled with animals-exotically plumed parrots, ducks, and geese from the swamps, and big river turtles-even an alligator, heavily secured, his long snout strapped together with ropes.

  Bethany was quick to lead the boys away from that frightful creature toward a large bamboo crate in which a small monkey was cavorting for the amusement of passers by. As Peeto and Raffy crowded close to the bamboo bars, the little dark-faced animal swung from side to side, using its tail as much as its arms. The two boys laughed in delight, fascinated by its antics. Peeto jumped back, startled, when the monkey suddenly reached for the banana he held, swiping it from his hands before he could blink. Bethany laughed as the mischievous creature peeled it deftly and popped the fruit into his mouth, then sent the peel sailing back out at the boys. She turned quickly, however, as someone's fingers tightened around her arm. Her smile disintegrated when she saw Michelle's white face.

  "Michelle! What is it?" Bethany asked in alarm.

  "I…I…I-" Michelle began weakly, but words failed her as her eyes rolled back into her head. Bethany barely had time to grab for her as the octoroon fainted dead away.

  Bethany lowered her to the ground as best she could while the boys gathered close. She looked frantically for help, her eyes stopping on the handsome face of Philippe Benoist, who was standing not a yard away.

  "May I be of assistance, Madame Randall?" Philippe asked solicitously, going down on one knee beside her.

  "No! It was probably the sight of you that made her faint!" Bethany snapped angrily. "Just go away and leave us alone!"

  Philippe only smiled at her display of temper. "I am afraid I cannot take credit for her collapse, since she had already swooned when I saw you. I would like to be of service, since you appear to be here alone. My carriage can have you home in minutes. You are living on Rue de Toulouse, are you not?"

  Bethany hesitated, wondering how he knew that, and not wanting to have anything to do with the man. Glancing around, she found no one else paying much attention to her plight, and it was a three-block walk up Toulouse Street to Andrew's galleried mansion.

  "Merci," she said stiffly.

  Philippe turned at once, speaking a word or two in French to his manservant. The slave bent and easily lifted Michelle into his strong arms. Bethany followed him through the marketplace, holding the little boys by the hand, while Philippe silently followed.

  The ornate Benoist carriage waited on the corner of Rue St. Pierre and the Rue de Chartres, and as the slave lay Michelle's limp body carefully on one of the velvet seats, the boys climbed delightedly up to the high seat beside the driver.

  Bethany took her place beside Michelle, supporting her friend's head on her lap as she worriedly fanned her face with a handkerchief.

  "It could have been the sun," Philippe suggested from the other seat of the open carriage. "It affects many ladies in that way."

  Bethany glanced at him, certain Michelle's fainting spell was in no way caused by the sun. It was the coolest day she had yet seen in the sultry region of Louisiana, and besides that, she had seen fear in Michelle's amber eyes just before she lost consciousness.

  "She hasn't been well of late, but are you sure she didn't see you?" she asked Philippe with not a little suspicion.

  Philippe chuckled. "I do hope I am not so distasteful in appearance as to make one faint dead away at the mere sight of me."

  "You are to Michelle, and to me, too. You are despicable to keep her away from her father, especially when he's so ill!"

  "It pains me sorely to have you harbor such ill feelings toward me."

  "Good," replied Bethany.

  Philippe gave a lazy smile. "But, I was most pleased to catch sight of you today. It gives me the opportunity to tell you about my change of heart."

  "What change of heart?"

  "I have decided to let Michelle visit my father after all."

  "Really?" Bethany said, her eyes narrowing.

  "Why?"

  "Must I have an ulterior motive?"

  "Don't you?"

  Philippe gave an expressive shrug. "Alas, you are too perceptive, chérie. There is, indeed, one condition that I must ask."

  "What does she have to do?"

  "Michelle needs do nothing. My condition concerns you."

  "Me?"

  At a loss, Bethany searched the young Creole's good-looking face. His blue eyes openly roamed over her in a way she didn't particularly like. "The Métairie Race is on Saturday. I have wagered a great deal of money. I want you to ride Osiris for me."

  Bethany stared at him, thinking he must be the one who'd been affected by the sun. "You can't be serious."

  "Au contraire, I am most serious. You impressed my groom as well as my father. Obviously, you are an expert equestrienne, with or without a saddle. Osiris will win with you atop her."

  "But, a woman wou
ld never be allowed to ride in the Métairie!"

  "No one will know you're a woman if you dress like a man. I understand you've done so before," he said. At Bethany's quick look, he added, "I have made discreet inquiries about you."

  "Luke would never let me ride in a public race."

  "He need never know."

  "You don't expect me to deceive him about it!" Bethany said indignantly.

  "Non, but what he does not know will not bother him, and it will surely make your unfortunate friend there most happy." He gestured at Michelle.

  "But, what if someone tells him about it?"

  "You are not well known here yet, and no one will recognize you if you wear a mask of some sort.

  "A mask? Won't that appear strange?"

  "Breeders often have their jockeys ride anonymously to keep the bettors off balance. No one will think anything of a masked rider."

  Still amazed by his proposal, Bethany nevertheless realized he had thought out all his answers in advance. Anger rose in her at his gall. "I think you are contemptible to ask this of me. If you were any kind of gentleman, you would do the decent thing and let Michelle see her father without any conditions."

  "True, but I've never been accused of being particularly decent, and I'm not much of a gentleman, either-at least not when it comes to horse racing."

  How true, Bethany thought as the triple balconies of Andrew's townhouse appeared around the next corner. Except for Luke's not liking the idea, though, what harm could it do, especially if she hid her identity behind a mask? She looked down at poor Michelle. She had suffered so much at the hands of others, and now her own half brother tormented her. The only time Bethany had ever seen her happy were those few days when Michelle lived with her father.

  "All right, I'll do it," she agreed reluctantly, "but not until I have your promise to let Michelle visit her father anytime she wants, for as long as she wants. Written down," she added. "In English."

  "Bien. The Métairie is at noon on Saturday."

  "I will come to your father's house at eleven o'clock," she told him as the carriage rolled to a stop.

  One of the Randall's many servants immediately appeared from the arched portal. Bethany quickly instructed him to carry Michelle to her room, then helped the boys jump down before she moved toward the house without another word to Philippe Benoist.

  By the time Michelle had been carried to her bed, she had regained consciousness, but she was filled with terror. The entire household staff stopped in their dusting of the gleaming mirrors of the entry hall and their polishing of silver trays in the dining room to look with frightened eyes toward the front staircase as the young woman's shrill, terrified screams echoed through the house.

  Luke flung open the doors of the study, where he had been working on his fur trapping accounts, and took the stairs to the second floor three at a time. Thinking that the screams were coming from Bethany, he was relieved when he pushed through the handful of servants clustered outside Michelle's door and found his wife trying to calm her hysterical friend.

  "What the devil's going on?" he demanded, coming up beside Bethany, who was sitting on the edge of the bed.

  "I don't know. She fainted at the open market, and now she's so scared she can't tell me what's wrong."

  "He's here! He's here! No, no, no!" Michelle was crying frantically, then lapsed into fast, erratic Creole.

  Bethany watched intently as Luke suddenly frowned and leaned down to question Michelle in his flawless French. His quiet, compelling voice brought a degree of calm to Michelle as it had in Natchez, but her answers were punctuated with sobs. Bethany turned to Luke as he straightened.

  "She says she saw Jack Hackett," he muttered, his expression somber.

  "Oh, no!" Bethany cried. "Could he really be here, in the city?"

  "He could, but it would be a stupid thing to do considering the reward I've posted on him and his brother. Did you see him?"

  "No, but it was very crowded. Oh, Luke, what if they had gotten Michelle again? What if Philippe hadn't been there to help us?"

  "Benoist? What's he got to do with it?"

  "Michelle couldn't walk, so he brought us home in his carriage."

  "I thought he wanted nothing to do with Michelle."

  "He was kind enough today," Bethany answered uneasily, already uncomfortable with the idea of keeping something from Luke. She wasn't used to being secretive, and she toyed momentarily with the idea of asking his permission to ride Osiris. Before she could, however, Luke paced a few steps away, his brow furrowed.

  "If Michelle did see Hackett, we'll have to take suitable precautions. I'll contact the sheriff. The Hacketts might be out for revenge since we killed their brother." He turned back to Bethany. "I don't want you or Michelle to go marketing alone again, or anywhere else. Not without Andrew or me or one of the male servants. And that goes double for Pete."

  Seeing the frightened look on Bethany's face, he put an arm around her shoulders. "I don't think they'll try anything here in town, where they might be captured. They're cowards, both of them. They like their victims helpless like Michelle was when we found her."

  But, his words weren't all that comforting to Bethany, and although she spent the rest of the day endeavoring to calm Michelle's fears, she felt increasingly uneasy. Even the thought that the Hacketts were nearby, perhaps lurking outside the house, shook her to the marrow.

  The same heavy foreboding pervaded her after dinner as she prepared for bed. With a shiver, she closed the balcony doors that looked out over Toulouse Street and sat down in front of her dressing table. Two white candles glowed in their holders on either side of the mirror, and as she studied her reflection, she thought of Michelle's battered face the day they had met, so black and blue and grotesquely swollen. Michelle's life had been so tragic, yet she was so good and kind. She had never done an unkind thing to anyone! It was so unfair! All Michelle wanted now was to be with her father, and if Bethany rode Osiris for Philippe, Michelle would be granted her wish.

  Bethany jumped a bit guiltily as Luke's hands settled on her shoulders, her flesh quivering as she met his dark gaze in the mirror. All other thoughts fled, as they were wont to do when he was near, and she was happily appalled at her reaction. His mere touch sent her into paroxysms of trembling anticipation.

  "Are you ready for bed?" he asked, leaning down to press a kiss to her temple.

  "I really should check on Petie and Michelle first."

  "They're asleep. Come to bed."

  As his arm moved under her knees, lifting her against his chest, she decided to take his word about Peeto and Michelle. She closed her eyes, looping her hands around his neck until he placed her gently on the bed. As he discarded his silk dressing gown, she took in his wide brown chest with its dark hair, hardly noticing the scar as his hard muscles touched her naked breasts, making her forget everything, but him.

  She lay still, her hands threaded in his soft black hair, luxuriating in his long, thorough, intoxicating kisses. It took a moment or two for Peeto's frightened wail to seep through the sweet lethargy she was feeling. When it did, however, she immediately struggled to sit up. But, Luke held her gently in place.

  "No, stay here," he murmured.

  "But, he's frightened! He's calling me! I have to go to him!"

  "Let Tante Chloe take care of it," Luke insisted, but Bethany angrily twisted away, pulling on her robe as she ran into the next room, where she gathered Peeto into her arms.

  "I had a bad dream," he sobbed hoarsely. "I thought the Hacketts got me again!"

  "Sssh, it's all right now, sweetie. I'm here, and I'll stay here with you, if you like. I won't let anybody hurt you, I promise."

  Luke watched from the hall doorway as she held his son, humming and rocking him. He returned to his own spacious bedchamber and poured himself a tumbler of brandy, smiling to himself. Bethany was a born mother, but things were getting a little out of control of late. She hovered not only over Pete, but also over Michell
e and Raffy and Tante Chloe and every other bloody servant in the house. It gave Bethany very little time to spend taking care of his needs-except at night in bed, and he had to admit she did that very well.

  He sat down in front of the fire to await her, thinking how good she felt in his arms, with her velvety skin and silky hair and soft lips. Maybe he should faint or have a nightmare or some other thing that would send her running to him, he thought whimsically. Then, still smiling at his own ridiculous thoughts, he got to his feet. Surely, Pete was asleep by now.

  Pete was asleep, but Bethany was nowhere to be found. Luke frowned, walking down the hall to her bedchamber. She hadn't slept there since he had brought her into town. He turned the knob, his jaw clenching when he found the door locked. Controlling his rush of annoyance, he tapped softly on the panel. A moment later, Bethany opened the door.

  "Yes?" she asked.

  "Yes?" repeated Luke, cocking one dark brow. "What the hell do you mean, 'yes'? Come back to bed."

  "You want me?"

  "You're damn right."

  "And, you need me?"

  "Damn right," he repeated, grinning.

  Bethany gave him a long, level look. "So did Petie, but you said Tante Chloe could take care of him," she said sweetly. "Perhaps, she'll see to you, too."

  Luke stood transfixed as the door shut in his face, then he gave an inward laugh. He turned the knob, expecting to find the door locked again, but it opened easily under his hand. Bethany sat propped against the pink satin pillows on the bed, her expression earnest.

  "Don't you see, Luke? Petie needed me. He was scared and wanted his mother, not Tante Chloe. When you want me, you expect me to come. It's the same thing."