Forever, For Love

by Becky Lee Weyrich

  Without changing expression, Tildy slapped the girl’s face. “Shut yer yap, Sal!”

  Nicolette stiffened, but Tildy’s cruel methods worked. Sal’s hysterics ceased immediately.

  The third woman—a tall, elegant beauty with the look of a Spanish aristocrat stood away from the others, ignoring the scene. She obviously felt that she was above the other two in station. A curious attitude, Nicolette thought, for one of the island whores.

  “What’s your name?” Nicolette asked her.

  The woman cut dark, suspicious eyes toward their hostess, but retained her disdainful silence.

  “That one there, she’s the Queen of Spain!” Tildy answered with a loud guffaw. “Ain’t you, Señorita Honey-Drawers?”

  The Spanish woman’s face went crimson with rage. “Close your filthy mouth!” she snapped at Tildy. “They do not touch me, those awful men of yours! Not one of them, ever. I am as pure as the day they stole me from my father’s ship.”

  “In a pig’s eye,” Tildy taunted.

  “Ladies, ladies. Please,” Nicolette soothed. “We’re all in this together. Let’s not make it worse by fighting among ourselves.” She turned to the young Spanish woman, whose eyes were still blazing pure hatred at Tildy. “I asked your name.”

  The black-eyed beauty held her head up proudly as she answered, “I am Señorita Isabel Maria Estella Consuela Estaban y Alejandro, madame. My father’s ship was attacked by these pirates three weeks ago. They stole the cargo, killed my father, and burned the ship. I alone survived, but I would have preferred death. I will take my own life if ever one of those filthy pigs so much as touches me. I swear it!”

  Nicolette felt a sudden kinship with the poor Spanish girl. She, too, had once been on a ship that was attacked by pirates. Her father’s merchantman, the Fleur de Lis. She had been returning from a year in Paris with her aunt, returning to marry a man she had never met. Jean Laffite had saved her—from the pirates and from the dreadful marriage.

  “It’s all right, Isabel,” Nicolette soothed. “Don’t upset yourself needlessly.”

  “That’s right,” little Sal added, mistaking Nicolette’s meaning. “It ain’t so bad, really once you get used to it. I hadn’t never known no men neither before I run away from home and come here with my big sister, and I was mighty scared of what they’d do to me. Shoot, I like it fine now.”

  Tildy cackled with delight. “You tell her, Sally-girl! She’ll get the itch one of these days, you mark my words. There won’t be nothing to cure it but some big, husky sailor-man with a bulge in his britches fit to kill and enough rum in his gut to fool with a goddamn puny virgin in the first place.”

  Isabel, her dark eyes flashing, uttered what sounded like a Spanish curse.

  “Come upstairs with me, all of you,” Nicolette ordered. “I’ll find you some dry things.”

  Sal and Tildy followed immediately, but Isabel lagged behind, defiant to the end. When they reached the attic stairs, Nicolette said, “You’ll find dry clothes and blankets up there. Try not to wake the baby. I’ll go down and persuade Isabel to join us.”

  “Good luck,” Tildy said with a sneer. “We had to drag her here. I think she wants to get herself drowned.”

  As she turned, Nicolette heard the front door open again. Sure that Isabel had fled back out into the storm, she hurried down the stairs. What she saw when she reached the first floor froze her blood. Isabel had not left. A man had entered—a man Nicolette knew well by his horribly scarred face and his equally repulsive reputation. Emilio La Paz was feared by every man on the island except Jean Laffite. He took orders from no man and claimed no country, but every woman, as his own.

  “No! Let me go!” Isabel screamed, clawing at her attacker’s eyes.

  Nicolette could see that La Paz had one thick arm about the girl’s slender waist in a crushing grip. With his other hand, he was ripping away the bodice of her gown. One firm, white breast sprang free. He clamped his big hand down hard and Isabel cried out in pain.

  “Release her!” Nicolette screamed. “Do you hear me, La Paz? Let her go!”

  The huge man swung around with a roar of rage. For a moment, he stood motionless, staring at Nicolette. Then an ugly grin twisted his hideous face.

  “Ah, it’s Madame Boss.” The words oozed sickeningly out of his mouth. With one quick jerk of his arm, he tossed Isabel across the room. Then he started for Nicolette.

  “This seems to be my lucky day,” he growled. “I came looking for rum, but just see what I’ve found instead. Two pretty women panting for me!”

  He lunged for Nicolette, but she ducked under his thick, hairy arms. He howled with delight. “A playful minx. No wonder Laffite keeps you all to himself.” He inched toward her, grinning. “Come to Emilio,” he coaxed. “Come let him show you what it’s like with a real man.”

  Nicolette’s heart was in her throat, pounding so that she ached all over. Her head was spinning. Any moment now he would make another lunge for her and this time she might not be so lucky. The floor was slick with slimy silt washed in by the water. If she lost her footing…

  La Paz was inching ever nearer, unlacing his britches as he came. “Come closer, my pretties,” he said with an ugly laugh. “I’ll give you a peek at what you’ve been missing. You take a real good look, then you two whores will be tearing each other’s hair out, fighting to see who can climb on first.”

  When he yanked the great, throbbing thing from his britches, Isabel screamed. La Paz’s revolting actions had the reverse effect on Nicolette. Her head cleared suddenly. The gun. She reached into her pocket and brought the small pistol out, taking careful aim.

  “Get out of my house,” she said in a voice that was deadly calm.

  The pirate’s bearded face registered surprise the moment he spied the pistol. He broke into a huge roar of laughter and moved toward her once more.

  “You think you can ruin my fun with that little toy of a weapon? Such a tiny bullet would not even pierce my thick hide. So, you will hand it over to me and then we will get on with this.”

  “I’m warning you!” Nicolette said in a shaky voice.

  “And I’m warning you!” the man bellowed in reply, his face twisting into a hideous mask of rage as he rushed her.

  It all happened so quickly. She saw him coming for her. She felt her finger squeezing the trigger. She heard her husband’s words in her head: “Shoot to kill!”

  When the shot rang out, Emilio La Paz did not fall. He stood inches away—so close that Nicolette could smell his foul breath in her face. She watched his black eyes go glassy with pain. His huge mouth lolled open for an instant before he roared out his agony. Then she watched him turn, clutching his genitals as blood streamed through his thick fingers. Bellowing like a wounded bull, he stumbled out of the house and disappeared in the storm.

  Quickly, Nicolette gathered her wits about her. “Isabel, we will not mention this to the others. If Tildy and Sal ask about the shot, I’ll tell them a snake swam into the house.”

  The girl mustered a shaky laugh. “Not far from the truth is that lie. You are right, madame, there is no need to alarm the others.” Then she tossed her head, her spirit returning. “Besides, knowing those two, they would probably rush out into the storm to bring him back for their own amusement. But that one will not be of much use to a woman ever again.”

  Nicolette allowed Isabel to think what she would about her reasons for keeping La Paz’s visit a secret. In truth, she was ashamed. Not because she had shot the evil pirate, but because her husband had told her to shoot to kill. She had missed her aim. Jean must never know that after all the lessons he had so patiently given her, she could still miss such a large and threatening target.

  The storm raged on outside, and Maison Rouge filled with women and children. The water crept higher and higher in the house. Night was coming on. There was no word from Jean. ’Gator-Bait was still missing and Frisco had not come back. The full weight of
managing the crowd in the house and trying to soothe their terror fell to Nicolette. She felt weak, exhausted, and as frightened as she had ever been in her life.

  “Try to sleep for a time. I’ll take over your duties,” Isabel offered. “I’ll wake you if Jeannette needs feeding.”

  Nicolette, who was stretched out on the floor beside her sleeping baby, smiled weakly up at the girl. She was sweet and kind, and she seemed to have gained new confidence from their episode with Emilio La Paz. It was clear that she counted Nicolette as her friend now.

  “I don’t think I can sleep, Isabel. I’m so worried about my husband and ’Gator-Bait.”

  “They are probably together and safe, madame. All will be well, you’ll see.”

  “I wish I could be so sure,” Nicolette answered, trying to return the girl’s confident smile.

  Just then, the house shuddered. Women screamed and children began to sob.

  “What was that?” Isabel cried, her calm slipping suddenly.

  “The storm surge,” Nicolette said quietly. “The whole island must be under water now. The worst is yet to come. Pray that my husband built this house well. It must hold up against the force of the tides!”

  The surge came as Laffite had predicted—suddenly and with awesome force. The women and children clung to each other, hearing the great wave crash into the Gulf side of the house, feeling the floor move under them, seeing the dirty, angry water race up the stairs to flood the second floor. Those in the bedrooms climbed on top of furniture to keep their heads above water. Only inches of breathing space remained.

  The roof shifted over their heads and rain poured down over Nicolette and the baby. “Oh, God, please!” Nicolette prayed softly. “Don’t let me go without telling him goodbye!”

  The night seemed endless, but somehow Maison Rouge held its own against the fierce hurricane. When the first hint of dawn began to color the sky, Nicolette knew that the worst was over. Those in the house had survived. As for the others, until the water receded she could do nothing to find out how bad the news was. The long hours of that second day dragged by.

  Finally, near sunset, she heard a shout from below. “Hallo! Is anyone there? Madame Boss?”

  Handing Jeannette to Isabel, Nicolette hurried down the stairs. The water was still knee-deep on the first floor, but she paid no attention.

  “Frisco!” she cried with relief, wanting desperately to hug the weather-beaten young man. “You’re safe!”

  “This ’un here made it, too, ma’am!” Frisco yanked at the rope in his hands and Nicolette saw wide round eyes staring at her from a very black, very frightened face.

  “’Gator-Bait!” she cried, lifting the terrified lad out of Jeannette’s toy chest that had served as his lifeboat to ride out the storm.

  The little boy clung to his mistress, whimpering incoherently.

  “What about my husband?” She was almost afraid to ask.

  Frisco avoided her gaze and brushed nervously at a lock of hair that had fallen over his eyes. “Sorry, ma’am. I ain’t seen the Boss since yesterday. By the time I found ole ’Gator-Bait here, the water was mighty high. Me and him just had to hang on and ride her out. We been drifting with the tide all night.” He paused, considering his next words. “We seen some bodies.”

  Nicolette gasped.

  “But wasn’t none of them his,” Frisco added quickly. “I’ll go see can I find him right now, ma’am.”

  Nicolette nodded, her throat too constricted with tears to answer. Why did Jean have to go back out in the storm? Why couldn’t he have stayed with her where it was safe?

  “No need to bother yourself, Frisco.”

  Jean’s familiar, well-loved voice sent a sudden thrill through his wife. She looked up through her tears.

  “My darling,” she whispered.

  The next moment, she was in his arms, holding on as if she’d never let go.

  Slowly, the waters sank back into the Gulf. The rain stopped. The last exhausted gasp of wind died away. The sun shone once more on the tiny speck of sand between the Gulf and the bay.

  That night, Nicolette and her husband shared a dinner of soggy crackers and Spanish wine in their attic—the only dry spot in the house. She could not take her eyes off him. It seemed to her that if she looked away for the barest instant, he might vanish again.

  “The clean-up will be a major task,” he told her. “I’ve lost four ships with all hands. The village is gone, except for the house and three or four shacks on the bay side. Dozens are dead. It’s the worst I’ve ever seen.”

  Suddenly, he gripped her hand and brought it to his lips. His eyes took on new light. “But, you and I, we still have each other, darling. You can’t imagine what I went through last night—not knowing if you were safe.”

  “Believe me, Jean, I can imagine.”

  He rose and gently led her from the table, drawing her down with him to the blanket beside their daughter’s cradle. Then blowing out the candle, he showed his wife, sweetly and tenderly, how much he had missed her, how much he had worried about her, how much he loved her.

  Pandora’s eyelids fluttered slightly and she stirred on the couch.

  “She’s coming out of it,” Dr. Pinel said to Madame Celeste. “The storm outside and the storm of her emotions have both ceased.”

  “Jean has made me understand tonight how very deep our love for each other truly is. We are no longer two separate people, but two halves of a single soul. We cannot be parted!”

  “Pandora, can you hear me?” Dr. Pinel’s raspy voice cut through the tense silence in his office. “Pandora, I want you to come back now. I will count slowly. When I snap my fingers, you will wake feeling rested and refreshed. You will remember nothing that has transpired here. Now, Pandora, one… two… three!” He clicked his thumb and forefinger together.

  Pandora felt as if she had been sucked under by a whirlpool and was not drifting peacefully to the surface once more. She gave up her struggle, letting the warm tide carry her safely back to the light.

  Slowly, slowly, she returned to the present.

  Chapter Nine

  Pandora blinked once and then again. She shook her head, trying to clear it. She felt wonderfully relaxed, but for a few seconds she had no idea where she was. Then things began to fall into place and she smiled up into Dr. Pinel’s kindly, but concerned face.

  “Goodness!” she said. “I must have fallen asleep.”

  Dr. Pinel and Madame Celeste exchanged glances.

  “We have finished for the day.” The curt tone of Dr. Pinel’s voice startled Pandora.

  She sat up, a look of disappointment on her face. “But I thought you were going to hypnotize me.”

  “I did.”

  “You couldn’t have!” she argued stubbornly.

  “Look at the clock, Pandora.”

  She glanced toward the mantel. The brass hands were almost straight up and down.

  “Six o’clock?” she asked, unbelieving. “In the evening?”

  “Exactly.” The doctor watched her closely as he answered, trying to gauge her reaction. “You’ve been in trance for nearly four hours.”

  “Did I tell you what you wanted to know, Doctor?”

  “Not exactly,” he evaded.

  “You were unable to take me back?”

  “Oh, you went back, most certainly! But somehow, Pandora, you managed to disregard my instructions totally.”

  “I must know what happened, Doctor! My whole future depends upon my recalling what I saw in the past, doesn’t it? If I can’t remember it, you have to tell me, Dr. Pinel.”

  He put a calming hand on Pandora’s shoulder. “There’s no need for alarm. The things you told me could not possibly be true. I suspect your fear of hypnosis and your active imagination simply took things out of my hands.”

  “I don’t understand, Doctor.”

  “I think I do,” he answered. “You believe in reincarnation, don
’t you, Pandora?”

  She stared at him as if he’d lost his mind. “Of course not. That’s sheer foolishness. I’ve always believed that we get one chance on earth so we have to make the most of it. I’ve lived my life thus far by that golden rule.”

  He expelled a long breath. “I’m surprised to hear that you and I agree. If you are telling me the truth, young lady, then this whole session has been a waste of time. You were never in trance at all, were you? You made up the whole story.”

  Pandora stared at him, horrified. “I don’t even know what story you’re talking about, Dr. Pinel. Please, I came to you for help.”

  He shook his head, but avoided looking at her directly as he answered, “I’m afraid I can’t help you.”

  A chill passed through her. Maybe he was making a joke, hoping to lighten the mood.

  “Are you going to tell me what I said?” Her voice was shaky now. In fact, she was trembling all over.

  Dr. Pinel almost whispered his next words to her. “I can tell you some of it, Pandora. The rest you can read for yourself in Madame Celeste’s notes, if you like. You never mentioned your parents or the storm that took their lives. You said your name was Nicolette, a married woman with a child.” He went on to list other details while Pandora sat listening, trying to take it all in, trying to understand.

  It was as if he were talking about someone else—telling her a fairytale of long ago. She had to make his words connect with reality somehow.

  “Where did this Nicolette live, and when, Doctor?”

  “You said she was raised in New Orleans. The exact location later was unclear.”

  “I said,” Pandora whispered, trying to make herself believe.

  He nodded. “While you were supposedly under hypnosis, you told me all about this woman. The year was 1818. When you went into trance and I commanded you to go back to the storm, you followed my instructions, but not to the letter. I told you a specific storm. However, you chose another and made up quite a tale about it. The hurricane you chose to revisit was another that struck somewhere along the Gulf of Mexico many years before you were born. You couldn’t possibly have been there.”