French Quarter

by Stella Cameron

  This wasn’t the way these things usually went. Even murderers and rapists made excuses for themselves. Sally wasn’t even trying to soften her story.

  He went to her and sat beside her on the couch. With his head bowed he asked, “Do you want to ask for absolution?”

  “I do. Oh, yes, I do. I feel safe with you because you’re not like other men. You don’t want me for my body. You don’t think about sex. You don’t even see me, really, do you? You never did.”

  Cyrus closed his eyes and moved his lips in prayer. Please God let him be granted the strength to resist temptation. It was a prayer that had kept him company through many difficult nights.

  “Will you give me classes? Just me? I know it’s a lot to ask, but I’ll make it worth your while.”

  He looked at her sharply and shook his head. “This isn’t about money, Sally. Get that out of your head. I’ll counsel you, but not for money. If you choose to give to the Church out of a need to give, that will be wonderful. What is between you and me and your conscience is another matter.”

  Sniffing, she pulled herself to sit up and hugged her knees. “Thank you. We can meet as often as you have time. I’m goin’ to give this my whole attention. You can come here, or I can come to you and we’ll be completely alone together.”

  “I’m not sure how long I’ll be in New Orleans.”

  She burst into tears again and thrust her fingers into her hair. “I’m dying, Cyrus. My spirit is dying. Please, please—”

  “I’ll do what I can,” he said hurriedly. “I’m sure I can spend some time with you twice a week while I’m in New Orleans anyway. Relax. You’ve done the right thing in reaching out.”

  “Oh, thank you.” Letting her rich hair slip down again, she captured one of his hands and took it to her mouth. “Thank you, Cyrus.” She turned up his palm and pressed her parted lips there.

  The door opened abruptly, and a silver-haired man peered into the room. He looked at Cyrus and Sally and shook his head. “I suppose I’m sorry to intrude. But beware of the sins of the flesh. The flesh is weak, and—”

  “Thank you,” Cyrus said. “I’m a priest and this lady is in my counsel. Can I help you?”

  The man entered the room and a woman came in with him. Her blond hair was combed into a smooth style that turned up sharply on the ends and stood out a long way from her head. She wore simple clothes but a lot of makeup. They came toward Cyrus and Sally with avid attention in their eyes.

  “A Catholic priest?” the man asked.

  Cyrus nodded.

  “It’s not too late for you to become a Christian, son,” the woman said. “This is Mrs. Wilson Lamar, isn’t it. I know you from your picture in the papers.”

  “I’m Sally Lamar.”

  “I just knew it.” The woman smiled delightedly. “I’m Joan Reed. This is my husband, Walt. We came lookin’ for someone and walked right into your lovely party.”

  Cyrus looked sideways at Sally and noted she appeared bemused. He decided to step in for her. “Pleased to meet you. Who are you lookin’ for?”

  The couple looked significantly at each other. “Oh, you wouldn’t know him, I don’t suppose. We came because we were told everyone had been invited tonight, and since he’s important in these parts, we decided to take a chance.”

  “And crash a private party,” Sally said, sounding less drunk.

  “I’m going to have to ask you to leave. if you don’t, our bodyguard will help you.”

  “Well, I never,” Joan Reed said. “Walt, will you listen to her? She sits there showin’ things meant only for her husband to a pagan priest, and she gets high and mighty with two humble servants of the Lord.”

  “Hush, Joan,” Walt said. “The lady isn’t quite herself, I don’t think.”

  “I’ll deal with this,” Cyrus said, standing up. “I’m sure if you tell me who you’re looking for, I may be able to help you.”

  “We’re preachers. Simple teachers of the word. No airs or graces and no wants or desires to speak of except a bare livin’ to get by. We came to New Orleans to collect something that’s ours. Something we need. We told the people concerned, and they know where we’re stayin’, but they haven’t contacted us and things are gettin’ a mite thin, if you take my meanin’.”

  “I’m sorry to hear that,” Cyrus said, still recovering from being called pagan. “I’ m sure Mr. Lamar would be sympathetic to your needs.”

  Sally made a disgusted sound.

  “We’ll find Mr. Lamar,” Joan Reed said primly. She stared at Sally and shook her head. “That poor man must be beside himself. An important man like him needs a wife who can be his right hand, not a harlot.”

  Cyrus caught Sally by the hand and squeezed. “It’s okay,” he told her.

  Walt Reed came farther into the room until Cyrus had to turn his head to see the man. “Ι think it’s a fine idea for you to find Wilson,” he told him. “The last I saw of him he…well, he was here, but I think he was joining my parents. Mr. and Mrs. Payne.”

  “Walt!” Joan pointed at Cyrus. “Payne. Are you related to Celina Payne?”

  “My sister.”

  “Is she here?”

  Cyrus didn’t feel good about any of this. “Celina isn’t here tonight.”

  “Where is she?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Well, she isn’t in Royal Street. We already went there.”

  “My sister is a very busy woman.”

  “We know all about her,” Joan said. “We’ve been asking questions. But she’s not the one who’s got what belongs to us.”

  Cyrus felt Sally move. She rested back on the pillow, flung her hands over her head, and raised her legs to prop them on the back of the couch.

  Joan tutted and averted her eyes. Walt moved in closer, and his eyes threatened to leave his head.

  Joan went to her husband and hooked an arm around one of his. “Come along, Mr. Reed. We’ve got to get to that man before he spends everything that should be ours.”

  “What man?” Sally asked very clearly. “What should be yours?’’

  “Jack Charbonnet.” Joan raised her chin. “We won’t be put off again. Errol would have been the first to say we saved his soul for him. He was grateful. He promised us he’d always take care of us. It’s time his will was read. We don’t like thinking that Charbonnet is probably findin’ ways to take Errol’s money before it can go to its rightful owners.”

  Cyrus knew people like this existed, but he’d never actually been confronted by any. “Mr. Charbonnet isn’t here either,” he said. “But I know he’ll want to make sure everything’s exactly as it should be. And by the way, he is a very wealthy man in his own right.”

  “From gambling money,” Joan said, her lip curled. “And other unsavory things, from what I’ve learned. His sort never has enough to make them happy.”

  He wouldn’t argue, there was no point. “On Jack’s behalf, I suggest you contact him at his office in the Royal Street property. On Monday. He likes his weekends free.” Cyrus had no idea what Jack liked to do with his weekends, but on a hunch, he thought he’d try to head off distractions on this particular weekend. Jack and Celina needed uninterrupted opportunities to decide if they’d made a wise choice.

  “Come on, Walt,” Joan said. “We don’t stay where we’re not wanted. The Lord said that we should brush the dust off our feet when we came up against people like you. Sinners who won’t see the light.”

  “That’s right,” Sally said, and to Cyrus’s deep humiliation, she rocked from side to side, setting her voluptuous breasts swinging, swinging and showing the nipples and full contours. “We’re sinners who won’t see the light. Go look for some good people.”

  Walt Reed watched her with hot eyes. He backed slowly away, staring at Sally until the instant his wife yanked him from the room.

  “Well,” Sally said. “Now, I just wonder what that’s all about. Errol paying money to some holy rollers. Who’d have thought it? I’ll just bet
there’s another story there. It’s too late to make you listen to me anymore tonight. But please talk to me tomorrow, Cyrus.”

  “Well—”

  “Don’t refuse me. I couldn’t bear it. I’ll get an address to you where we can meet and not be interrupted.”

  “Well—”

  “I need you.” Tears welled in her lovely eyes. “I didn’t know until tonight just how much I was going to need you. I don’t want to say too much, but I may be in a lot of trouble and getting out of it may mean…Well, enough of that for now. I’ll get in touch with you tomorrow.”

  “Sally, I can’t be sure I’ll be able to make it.”

  “Didn’t the shepherd go after the one sheep that was lost? I’m that one sheep.”

  He wasn’t in the mood to discuss the parable of the missing sheep. “All right, Sally. All right. Let me know what time and I’ll be over. I do want you to include Wilson in this though. Not in our sessions, of course, but in your decisions regarding the Church. He’s your husband.”

  She pouted, finally smiled, and said, “Oh, very well. If that’s the way it has to be. Now, run along and look after Bitsy. She’s been having a bad time. Neville’s been out of hand for some time. He drinks everything they make, you know.”

  Cyrus stared at her. “I’d appreciate it if you didn’t say things like that in company. All my mother has are her illusions. Public talk along those lines would destroy her.”

  “What would destroy her more would be for it to get out that Neville’s turned violent.”

  “My stepfather?” His laugh sounded as forced as it felt. “He’s a passive man. Always has been.” For his mother’s sake, he must try to make sure that fiction was kept intact.

  “He might have been once, but he’s forever getting belligerent with people now. Maybe he needs to see a doctor. Wilson’s been talking about not inviting him to functions for a while. He doesn’t want to go that far, because your folks have been so useful…so good to us.”

  Cyrus stood up. “I’m sure they have been useful. I’ll gather some reading materials to give to you tomorrow.”

  She stacked her hands under her head and smiled up at him. “That would be dandy. I’ll read every word.” The smile faded. “I’d do anythin’ to satisfy you, Cyrus.”

  He stepped away, and felt a bolt in his belly and privates that would have sent him to his knees if he hadn’t locked them.

  Little wonder Walt Reed had moved to find a different angle on Sally. Her skirt had risen high enough to show that she wore no panties.

  Twenty-two

  A sense of urgency drove Jack. He wanted Celina to be his wife—yesterday if that could be accomplished—and he wanted Amelia to love her stepmother and be crazy about the coming baby, when she was told about the coming baby, and he wanted everything that threatened their mad grab for happiness to be solved and then to go away.

  “What are you thinking?” Celina asked him. Freshly showered, and dressed in the white shirt and gauze pants she’d arrived in the previous evening, she looked fabulous. Lovely, glowing, and wholesome.

  “A penny for them.”

  He jumped and looked into her navy blue eyes, now so close to his that he blinked. Seated on a kitchen chair, he’d been watching her prepare the breakfast she’d said she wanted to “cook.” He hadn’t commented that bowls of dry cereal, apples cut in quarters, and glasses of orange juice didn’t constitute cooking. Neither had he mentioned that as the first meal of the day, but served at two in the afternoon, this might be adequate for her, but he might be tempted to take a bite or two out of the “cook” afterward if he were to stave off starvation.

  She pressed her nose to his.

  “Okay.” He laughed and pulled her onto his lap. “I was thinking that I’m a bit nervous about Amelia’s reaction. And Tilly’s reaction. And I hope your parents come around. And I hope Cyrus decides to abandon the dire warnings of impending doom when we go ahead with our marriage. And I want to know exactly what happened to Errol and put it behind us as best we can.” And he also wanted to deal with the oldest, biggest outstanding debt owed him, and move on.

  Celina eased from his lap and pulled a chair to face his. She’d removed the daisy-scattered tablecloth of the night before—blushing profusely as expected—and replaced it with two of Amelia’s frog-strewn plastic place mats.

  “We’ve got a lot to overcome, Jack. If you’ve got doubts that we can do it, speak now. I’ll manage, I promise I will. And I will never, ever suggest that Errol had anything to do with my condition.”

  “You changed your mind?”

  “Of course I changed my mind. I’d have changed it anyway in time. You just speeded the process. I wouldn’t do anything to hurt you, and you treasure his memory, just as I do.”

  “Tell me who raped you.”

  She flinched, and kept her eyes closed. “Please don’t ask me.”

  “Tell me.”

  “I’m never going to tell you. He’s never going to know what he really did to me. And he’s never going to know that while he thought… He’s never going to know that he brought me far more joy than pain. I want my baby. I’ve wanted her almost since I knew I was expecting her. At first I was too shocked to know what I thought or wanted, but that passed quickly enough.”

  He leaned forward to hold her hands. “Will you let the baby be mine, too?”

  Her soft smile undid him. Her full lips curved upward, and her eyes sparkled. “I want the baby to be yours too.” She sobered and looked at the floor, and said quietly, “I wish she really were yours.”

  “I wish he were, too.”

  In the silence that followed, they held hands and stared at each other.

  “Celina, I know you’re easily embarrassed, but I’m never going to forget last night—or this morning.”

  “I’d better check the cereal.”

  “Check the cereal?” he said, keeping a straight face.

  “You don’t like it soggy, do you?”

  “Nope.” Something told him his future wife was unlikely to spend a lot of time in the kitchen. “Can you put into words why you’re so determined that…You seem even more determined to have nothing to do with the baby’s father than one might expect. You seem fearful that he might find out. Will you tell me why?”

  She got up and carried the bowls to the table, then fetched the apples that had begun to turn brown, and the orange juice. “It’s probably not an issue at all, but I’m afraid he’d either hold the pregnancy over me and try to use it. Or decide he wanted the baby.”

  Jack turned cold. “So this wasn’t a random thing with a stranger.”

  “I never said it was.”

  “You never said one way or the other. He’s someone you know well?”

  “I’ve answered your question about my fears. Can we drop the subject now?”

  “Of course.” He took up a spoonful of flakes turned to the mush Celina dreaded, and ate valiantly. The apples were fine if you didn’t look at them.

  “The apples look funny,” Celina said. “I think you’re supposed to put vinegar on them to stop that. I remember Ms. Simmons saying that when we were in school. Or was it salt?”

  Jack made an interested sound. He didn’t want to drop the question of the baby’s father, but it could wait. “When did Cyrus say he could get over?”

  She pushed the brown glop around her bowl. “He’s agreed to counsel Sally Lamar.”

  Jack put down his spoon. “You’re kiddin’.”

  “Uh uh. She was in a terrible state last night. That’s what Cyrus was talking about for so long on the phone. I’ve got a hunch there may have been a lot he didn’t say, too. Cyrus is very discreet, but he sounded worried. Evidently he’s going to meet with her today, and she wants them to get together a couple of times a week.”

  “A pretty serious sinner, hmm?” He didn’t like Sally Lamar any more than he liked her husband.

  “In pretty serious trouble emotionally, so Cyrus said,” Celina told him. “I don
’t trust her. She had a thing for him from when we were children. And he’s an innocent when it comes to women and the way they react to him.”

  “He’s a big boy.”

  “He’ll be mortified if she really comes on to him. You know what she’s capable of. He said they’re going to be meeting in private. Not at her home and not in Royal Street.”

  Jack couldn’t help grinning. “Maybe you’re right to be worried. And you’d better hope Sally really is trying to save her soul, rather than capture Cyrus’s for the devil.”

  “That’s not funny.”

  “No. Sorry.” He promptly laughed, tried to stop, but gave up.

  Celina punched his shoulder.

  Jack coughed and managed to control himself. “The main thing I’m thinking about is Amelia. When Tilly gets back with her, I want to tell her about us.”

  With her spoon halfway to her mouth, Celina stopped. She looked at the food and set the spoon down again. “I think it’s too soon.”

  “Tomorrow we’re taking care of the formalities. I intend to do the deed on Friday or Saturday, whichever suits you. And Amelia must be there. Tilly too. I’m sure Cyrus will come, and I’d like to see your parents attend, but I won’t expect them.”

  “Friday or Saturday?” Her voice squeaked.

  He chomped a piece of apple and swallowed. “I thought we could have the marriage blessed later, if that’s what you want.”

  She looked blank.

  “We don’t have time to waste, Celina. You’re already quite obviously pregnant. Which reminds me. You probably should do something about a whole new wardrobe. I’d like to take you away afterwards but we’ll have to wait, I suppose.”

  “You’re going too fast for me again, Jack.”

  He got up and bent over her until she raised her face. He stroked a forefinger back and forth over her lips, then kissed her. At first the kiss was soft and sweet, but quickly it became passionate. How was he going to manage what she did to him? He only had to look at her to want to get her naked and feel her body pressed to his.

  He took his lips a fraction away from hers. “All I have to do is think your name and I’m hard. When you were asleep this morning, before it got light, I watched you and you wouldn’t believe the urges I had. A lesser man would have given in to them.”