River Road

by R. C. Matthews

  Tears glistened in her eyes, and she nodded.

  “Stop!”

  A man’s deep, booming voice cut through the rumbling of the crowd. The people parted, allowing him through.

  Tobi.

  Pauline stumbled into the circle behind him.

  “You should all be ashamed of yourselves!” the cook cried, turning around to meet the eyes of the other workers. “Have you lost your good sense? We are not animals!”

  Hatchet dropped his hold on Charity and sheathed his knife. If anyone could get through to this crowd, it was Old Pauline.

  “What would you have us do?” Benjamin demanded, heaving in a breath. “Let this family live in peace while Jenny is trapped forever with the memory of her rape? My sweet cousin faces the truth in the mirror. Every single day.”

  Pauline walked to the foreman and rubbed his cheek. “You’re wrong, Benny. Her soul was set free when she learned to forgive. Tobi witnessed it himself. Jenny is finally with her Maker. Please, let her find eternal peace.” Pauline held her hand palm up, beckoning. “Give me the knife.”

  Benjamin looked to Tobi for confirmation. “Jenny is in Heaven?”

  “I swear on my honor,” Tobi said with a nod. “Maribeth helped her pass to the next life. Saw her fade out of the mirror with my own eyes, and she was as beautiful as the day I asked her to be my wife. It’s time to let the hatred and anger go.”

  Tears trickled down Benjamin’s face. He paused, and his hand lowered slowly, until he dropped the knife altogether.

  Hope cried out and ran to Hatchet, throwing her arms around his neck. She trembled in his embrace, her tears soaking his shirt. He held on tight, squeezing until she squealed like a pig on a pit. He breathed in her scent, kissed her lips. She was alive. She was safe. She was free.

  “I love you, Hatchet,” she whispered.

  “I know,” he said, smiling into her shining eyes. “Because I never declare my love, unless—”

  “You’re certain it is returned,” she finished.

  He grinned wider, hugging her closer. “Precisely.” He kissed her once, savoring the warmth of her lips. “Come, let us go inside the house.”

  She leaned her head on his shoulder. “After the ritual. This all ends tonight.”

  Only then did he realize that his mother was addressing the gathered crowd.

  “All I have ever wanted was for Harmon Grove to succeed so my children would have a legacy to carry on,” Lucetta said, wrapping her arm around Mary. “I lost sight of who makes this plantation thrive. You may not feel it enough, but I do appreciate you all for toiling with me over this land. Running a plantation is not for everyone,” she said, glancing at Hatchet. “From this day on, my daughter, Mary, will manage the estate, and we will pay fair wages, not scrip.”

  A murmur of shock rippled through the crowd, and Hatchet’s chest swelled. His mother was not perfect, but she often meant well. And he loved her, too.

  “If you wish to find your own fortune,” Isaac said, wrapping his arm around Mary from the other side, “I’ll pay you one year’s wages in advance and you may leave at your will. But we hope you’ll choose to stay. Take a few days to think on it, if you wish.”

  Benjamin stepped forward. “I choose to leave! My cousin is finally free, so nothing binds me to the plantation anymore.” A crowd gathered around him, nodding in agreement.

  “Of course,” Isaac said. “Stop by the big house first thing in the morning, and I’ll settle with each of you. In the meanwhile, you’re welcome to join in our celebration with Kalfu.”

  Some in the crowd stayed, while others dispersed.

  Pauline approached with open arms, and Hatchet pulled her into a one-armed embrace, keeping his other arm securely around Hope.

  “I cannot thank you enough,” he said, squeezing the portly woman tightly. “Pauline, let me have the honor of introducing you to Hydropia Guillory Leblonc, mambo, mistress of Le Havre boardinghouse, daughter of Isaac Moore, and love of my life.”

  Pauline’s grin was wide. “Madame Leblonc, we meet at last. You’re famous in the French Quarter, all the way to Baton Rouge.”

  Hatchet chuckled.

  “Please, call me Hope.”

  “If you’ll call me Pauline,” the cook said. She glanced around. “Well, I think I’d best be off to the kitchen. We’re going to need more Kiman. Four bottles won’t be enough with this crowd. I’ll send Tobi with the apples and strawberries. Maybe even radishes? Anything red will do, I suppose. Only even numbers, of course.”

  “I see you’ve celebrated with Kalfu before,” Hope said. “He’ll bask in the attention. You’re a gem, Pauline.”

  When the cook walked away, Hatchet nuzzled his nose in Hope’s hair, breathing in the faint scent of lilacs. “I don’t know if I could’ve gone through with it.”

  She looked up. “I’m glad we didn’t have to find out.”

  He kissed the tip of her nose. “Let’s find you another gown. One of the ladies in the house will have something you can wear.”

  “There’s no need. The ceremony calls for a dance, so I brought a special dress for the occasion. Can you show me where I might change?”

  “In your shift?” Hatchet groaned. “With all of these men present?”

  She chuckled and threaded her fingers through his, heading in the direction of the big house. “I’ll wear a red and black dress in honor of Kalfu. He does not favor debauchery as Baron Samedi does.”

  “Thank heavens.” It was bad enough that one of his best friends had watched in rapture as Hope danced half naked, let alone fifty men. “No one should see you in a corset, except me, of course. Actually, I’m quite talented with buttons and stays. I could be persuaded to assist you in changing.”

  Her eyebrow arched. “I will manage, together with Mercy. While I freshen up, you can start the bonfire and herd the ox.”

  “Pardon me,” Hatchet said. “An ox? Whatever for?”

  “The blood sacrifice.”

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Moonlight danced on the silver cups of the revelers surrounding the perimeter of an enormous circle. In the center, Hope etched an intricate symbol into the dirt path to call the loa to his dedicated ceremony. Once completed, she offered up a prayer.

  “We honor you, Kalfu, spirit of the crossroads, and pray for your presence at our feast. Drink, dance, eat, and listen to the music we offer. May it fill your soul with pleasure and soften your heart to our plight. We seek your guidance in banishing our family’s bad omen through the crossroads, back to the underworld.”

  Hope accepted a goblet of Kiman from Hatchet and gulped the heady mixture. Spiced rum flowed through her veins, the hint of cinnamon heating her tongue. She held out her hands to Mary and James, welcoming them into the circle to dance with her. A bonfire roared to life nearby, and Hatchet lounged there with the others, watching as Hope surrendered to the beat of the drums vibrating through the soles of her bare feet.

  Blood pumped and pulsed throughout her body, filling her with a euphoric high matched only by her lover’s heated gaze. She swayed, shaking her hips to the slow beat . . . moving faster . . . and faster still, as the drummers found their unique groove. Each instrument offered a unique pitch: the congas, petwos, and dayomes. Her skirt swirled, the beads of her necklace rattled, the bangles on her arms clinked, and her hair tumbled down her back as she shimmied. Her wrists moved in a frenetic rhythm, prodding the beads of her asson to sing a glorious song, beckoning Kalfu.

  Come to me, mighty spirit of the crossroads.

  She became lost in the dance, until nothing and no one existed. Only her and the Grand Chemin, a long, peaceful road, winding and beautiful in its simplicity. Hope traversed the smooth path, aware of the cool earth under her bare feet. Her hammering heart began to settle, and the spirit world filled her with tranquility. All of her troubles dissipated, freeing her mind. And then she was one with Mother Earth, one with all beings, one with the spirits.

  A pearly gate rose out of the
mist. Legba unlatched the door, opening it wide. “Welcome, my child. Is this truly the road you wish to travel? Kalfu cannot be trusted.”

  “Your brother is an ever-faithful watchman over the crossroads,” she said with a smile. “He does not judge. What is good or bad? We must look inside our souls and decide what is right and what is wrong. Whether justice has been served. We have made our peace. Kalfu will not deny us mercy.”

  “Peace be with you on your journey, then,” Legba said, gesturing for her to continue on the road.

  She didn’t have to walk far, only around the bend. The night was still, the sky sprinkled with stars. Balmy air caressed her bare shoulders as she strolled toward Kalfu. He sat on a wooden crate, sipping from a chalice, his gaze directed on the evening’s festivities.

  “You’ve never thrown a party in my honor before,” he said, patting the empty crate beside him.

  She gathered her skirt and sat, watching as more and more revelers joined in the circle to dance with her.

  He raised his glass in salute. “An excellent Kiman, and the dancing . . . ahhh. You are one with the music.”

  “Will you join me?” she asked with a smile.

  He glanced her way, and a throaty chuckle escaped his lips. Full, sensuous lips. Kalfu was an uncommonly handsome man, with eyes so dark she couldn’t help but fall into their depths. Many people feared the Great Spirit and fell silent in his presence, but when his lips parted in a grin, he was enchanting.

  “You entice me,” he said, leaning closer. “But so did Marie Euchariste. A glorious woman, that one. She paid dearly for her revenge. You would have me undo her hard-won work. Who is right?”

  Hope lifted her brow. “Can’t we both be right? Marie sought justice by cursing those who were blind to the injustice of their ways. But humans are fascinating creatures. We absorb, learn, and grow. We regret . . . We evolve . . . We change. And we forgive. Jenny has moved on. Come dance with me and lead the bad omen over the crossroads, back to the underworld. You are not the judge, Kalfu, but the guide.”

  The spirit grunted and turned his attention to the celebration once more. After a few minutes of quiet reflection, he sighed. “Only if you promise to make James stop dancing. A chicken has more rhythm.”

  Hope giggled, watching as her half-brother flailed his arms about. “Perhaps, but he’s trying hard to please his sister. The man has more of a heart than I gave him credit for.” She stood and held out her hand to the spirit. “Tell me, can you dance?”

  He stood, towering over her. With his collar unbuttoned, the beautiful, smooth skin of his muscular chest peeked through. His scent was an exotic mix of cinnamon and smoke, and the moment their hands touched, and his spirit blended with hers, she knew the answer.

  The crowd around them stilled and stared as she fell to her knees, overwhelmed by the awesome power of the loa coursing through her. All of his thoughts, all of her dreams, all of his fears, all of her hopes blended together until she couldn’t separate the two. He stood and called out to the drummers, raising his hands to the sky, demanding a deafening beat, a manic rhythm. Their steps were quick and light, their hips and shoulders limber, arms raised high, fingers reaching for the stars. They were the eye of the storm, the center of the universe, summiting the peak of the mountain.

  And then all went quiet except for the thunderous beat of her heart and Kalfu’s glorious laughter. He panted, standing before her with sweat glistening on his bare chest. His black eyes penetrated hers.

  “May you walk this earth untethered by evil,” he said, covering her heart with his hand.

  A wisp of charcoal smoke seeped out of her chest, wrapping around his wrist like a snake. He strolled to Mary, whispering in her ear. She spoke, but instead of words, a black noxious vapor oozed out of her mouth. Kalfu inhaled sharply, sucking the fumes in. Then the spirit walked in a circle around James, eyeing him from head to toe before gripping him by one hand. A reddish, brown slime bled out of her brother’s palm, coating the loa’s skin.

  Without another word, Kalfu tipped his head in a goodbye and evaporated into the night. Hope crumpled to the ground, light-headed. A moment later, Hatchet was by her side, smoothing her hair out of her face.

  “Are you all right, love?”

  A weak smile was all she could offer, though she wanted to shout with joy. “We’re all free. Hurry, go to Isaac. He must sacrifice the ox in Kalfu’s honor. A clean slit across the throat. Please, go. I’ll be fine.”

  As Hatchet did her bidding, she gazed up, sending a prayer of thanks to the spirit of the crossroads. Kalfu could have denied her request, or turned on her instead, so she was grateful. Footsteps shuffled on the dirt road, and Hope glanced over to find Lucetta bending to pet her daughter’s hair lovingly. She leaned forward and kissed her forehead, then she turned to her son, James, and did the same.

  “Please, tell me the nightmare is over,” Lucetta said, wiping at the tears gathering in the corners of her eyes. “That you’re free.”

  “That was”—James shook his head in bemusement as he kneeled with his hands braced on his knees—“liberating.”

  “Do you feel lighter?” Mary whispered, her eyes wide with wonder. “Something is different. One minute I was dancing, and the next . . . I don’t quite recall . . . Did the ritual work?”

  Hope nodded, yawning. Her siblings wouldn’t remember anything beyond the dance. Before becoming a mambo, Hope had always enjoyed the ritual, but never interacted with the spirits on a personal level. “Better than I could’ve hoped for. We have nothing to fear anymore.”

  A sob escaped Lucetta as she pulled both of her children into a tight hug. The heartless bitch Hope knew so well was gone, and in her place sat a mother with love shining brightly in her eyes. This woman would do anything to save her children, even invite an enemy to her home and allow an illegal ritual to take place on the grounds of her beloved plantation. Perhaps Hatchet’s mother was not pure evil.

  A moment later, Hatchet dragged Hope against him, nearly suffocating her with his fierce hug. His mouth crushed against hers. “I’m so sorry for placing you in danger, though I daresay I’ve never been happier. Say you’ll marry me, Hope.”

  She never wanted anything more in her life.

  “You know I can’t,” she cried, pulling out of his embrace. Everything had changed, and still nothing had changed. If they both stayed in America, they could never marry. Although they could marry in England, that would never be her home.

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  “Come to bed, Hope,” Hatchet said, patting the empty space beside him. “I’m exhausted.”

  She lounged in one of the chairs beside the hearth in his bedroom, twirling a strand of hair around her finger. He had little fight left in him to bring her to reason, but he must try. Given enough time, he would break through her walls.

  “You’re insane,” she said with a smirk. “I’m sleeping in the guest room. Our parents are two doors down the hallway and we’re not married.”

  Hatchet rolled his eyes. “Yet, but we will be married soon enough. I haven’t held you in weeks. Please, come to bed. I won’t be able to sleep without you by my side, love.”

  “I can’t marry you. My life is in New Orleans. Your life is in England. Even if you wanted to build a life here, which you don’t, we could never marry.”

  He sighed and closed his eyes. How many men were lucky enough to find love three times in one lifetime? This conversation was ridiculous.

  “Then don’t marry me. I don’t care about a goddamned piece of paper. Marriage is about friendship, love, respect, and trust. We have that without being legally married. All I want is to enjoy the rest of my life with you.”

  “You won’t be happy without your friends,” she said, coming to sit on the edge of the bed. “I’ve seen how close you are with Victor. I can only imagine your bond is equally as strong with Dominick.”

  He rubbed her cheek and smiled. “You’re wrong. I’ll be happy so long as we’re together.” />
  “You’re lying to yourself.”

  “Then come with me,” he said, pulling her into his embrace. “No promises, but give us a chance. You might love England.”

  She kissed his nose. “I can’t leave Le Havre. So many women depend on me. I could never be happy knowing I’d abandoned them.”

  “We both know Isaac would never sell the boardinghouse. Let one of the other ladies take over the management. Adeline would be an excellent choice. She has a solid head on her shoulders and is persuasive when she needs to be. Her nursing skills are adequate, and she’ll have Albert to keep an eye on the others.”

  His gaze fell to their joined hands. Why didn’t she want to explore the possibility of building a life together in England, one where they could grow old as equals, with a family and surrounded by friends? Unless . . .

  “You don’t truly love me,” he whispered, misery sweeping through him. “You risked your life to save mine. I thought—”

  Her fingers covered his mouth and she straddled him on the bed, holding his face steady with both hands. “Hush. Of course I love you. More than my own life. I’m struggling to embrace the dream. What if I hate England?”

  He flipped her over on the bed, and she squealed as he nibbled her ear.

  “Devil’s Cove is a small town, but the people mind their own business, for the most part. No one will care that you’re a mambo. In fact, your talents are mundane when compared to Eveline’s. She communicates with ghosts.” Hope’s mouth twisted in a wry grin, so he pushed his agenda. “You’ll love her. Even Mercy is notorious among the citizens for her witchcraft. You get along so well. We’ll rent a house in the vicinity of Mercy and Eveline, and everyone will come welcome you. I can envision the ladies lining the street, awaiting their opportunity for a tarot card reading.”

  Her fingers trailed over his back. “You make everything sound simple. How will we earn a living?”

  “We don’t have to work at all,” he said, kissing a path down her neck. “Or we can open a shop. Run a boardinghouse. I don’t care. Say you’ll come with me to England.”