Judah's eyes softened. "I always find it hard to say no to you." His lips curled in a smile, then hardened into a firm line. "But do not ask more of me than I can give, Mother."
She shrugged her shoulders. "I suppose I could go alone. ..."
Judah drew in a deep breath, knowing his mother had won. He would never allow her to face her father without him at her side. "When would you like to leave?" he asked, admitting defeat.
Her smile was bright. Then she touched her lips to his cheek. "I believe good things will come from this visit. As you know, my father is wealthy beyond anything you can imagine. Perhaps I can persuade him to give you the money to make the needed repairs on the Winged Victory."
"No, that is the one thing you must not do, Mother. I will never take money from a man who denied my existence and swore that you married beneath you when you wed my father. I want nothing from him."
"But you will go with me?"
"If it is your wish."
She laid her head against his broad shoulder. "You are a good son, Judah."
"I can only imagine how you must have twisted my father around your little finger. I myself can never resist your pleas."
"No, no. It was always the other way around. Your father could charm the birds from the trees when he wanted to. You are a rake, and have your father's glib tongue. If you can so easily charm me, do you not think you must be devastating to the inexperienced young ladies of your acquaintance?"
His laughter was warm. "How can I answer such a question without appearing to be an egotistical fool?"
Gabrielle laughed softly. "No need to answer, you scoundrel. I have had any number of young ladies inquiring as to when the Winged Victory would put into port. It is my belief that you could pick and choose a bride from among Boston's finest families."
"I believe you are deliberately trying to flatter me, Mother. Could it be that you are trying to lure me into a marriage with someone of your choosing."
Gabrielle laughed merrily. "I leave the choosing of a bride to you, Judah." A mischievous light sparkled in her eyes. "Still, I would not say no to Abby Munsinger. She is a lovely young lady."
"Her feet are too large, her ankles too thin."
Gabrielle pretended shocked surprise. "How would you know about her ankles?"
He smiled. "I notice the small details."
"And Carrie Lundigan?"
"I cannot abide her twittering laugh."
"Sissy Dewitt?"
"Too skinny. Did anyone ever tell you that you are a meddlesome woman, Mother?"
"On occasion," she replied, undaunted in her quest. "How about Maggie Dewitt?"
"Too stout." Judah held up his hand. "Can we not talk about something else? Tell me more about the letter from your father."
Gabrielle Slaughter removed the crumpled letter from her pocket and lovingly pressed the wrinkles out before replacing it in the envelope. "I could not believe it when the letter came. After all these years, I was sure my father would never consent to see me again. Imagine him changing his mind."
Judah clamped his jaw together tightly so he would not be tempted to express his own views on his grandfather's belated invitation—belated by twenty-five years. Judah thought of the man as an unfeeling bastard who still wanted his own way. Seeing the wistfulness in his mother's eyes, he knew it was best to let her put her own interpretation on the letter.
"I know what you are thinking, Judah, but you are wrong."
He smiled down at the tiny woman who had been his whole world for so much of his young life. She had kept them going despite impossible odds, and now she never complained when he was at sea for months at a time, but welcomed him joyously when he returned. "What am I thinking, Mother?"
"You are thinking that I should have thrown this invitation back in my father's face, but you do not know him as I do. I always knew the day would come when he would want to see you, so he could judge for himself how you had turned out. He has no family other than his younger brother's son, Sebastian. He is an old man, and wants to see his only grandson. I will be proud to present you to him. I believe he will find you are a credit to the Montesquieu name."
Judah's reaction was swift. His turquoise eyes blazed, and his chin set in a stubborn line. "I bear the name Slaughter, as did my father," he reminded her with a slight sting to his words. "I will never apologize for a name that is as old and as prestigious as Montesquieu. Why should I be concerned about whether or not I measure up to your father's idea of what a gentleman should be? If my father was not good enough for him, then neither am I."
Gabrielle felt tears well up in her eyes. "No one could have been prouder of your father's name than I. Daniel was a hero, and died a hero's death. I have letters from Thomas Jefferson and John Adams praising his heroism." Gabrielle dabbed at her eyes before continuing. "When I met your father in France, the summer we were married, he was acting as an emissary for the Continental Congress. He was a good man, an honorable man. I loved him well. You must always be proud that he was a hero."
"A hero . . . but dead nonetheless," Judah said bitterly. "Your father disinherited you for marrying him, since he felt you had married beneath you, and in all these years he has returned your letters unopened and has refused to communicate with you in any way. Why are you not suspicious about why he wants to see you now?"
"It is as I said. He wants to meet you. He is an old man, and wants to make peace before he dies. I have heard that he made his nephew, Sebastian, his heir when he became displeased with me."
Judah laced his fingers together. "I see that you have kept up with your family. I wonder how you accomplished that?"
His mother returned his smile. "My girlhood friend, Minette, lives in New Orleans, and we communicate each Christmas. She always keeps me informed on local happenings."
Judah glanced down at the envelope on his mother's lap. "Just what does the letter say?"
"It simply states that I am to bring you to New Orleans. There we will be met and transported to Bend of the River Plantation. Your grandfather was always one to issue orders. He expects everyone to submit to his command. It is his way," she said apologetically. "If one loves Father, one overlooks his domination."
It was hard for Judah to feel charitable toward a man who had broken his mother's heart and had left her alone and floundering after her husband had died. He was thoughtful for a moment while he worked the details out in his mind. "I will have the Winged Victory outfitted tomorrow. I have always considered testing the trade in the Spanish Territories. I suppose now is as good a time as any. While I take you to see your father, Philippe can sail on to the Spanish coast. He will then return to New Orleans and wait until you are ready to leave. Is this satisfactory with you?"
Her eyes sparkled happily. "Oh, yes. That is very satisfactory with me."
Judah had no intention of remaining at Bend of the River Plantation one day longer than was necessary. A feeling of dread passed over his heart, for he had the strangest feeling that he would soon be stepping back into his mother's past and there would be no place for him there.
2
Louisiana, 1811
It was a swamp world of strange undisturbed beauty, a land of struggle and survival —a majestic wilderness. Great oaks were draped with cloaks of gray Spanish moss. Willow trees dipped leafy branches in the mirror-bright water, while the mighty cypress trees stood like ghostly sentinels, guarding against man's intrusion into this paradise.
Overhead, a heron glided on the soft morning breeze. Below it, the lazy bayou sheltered a multitude of wildlife before it emptied into the Mississippi River. One of the swamp's wayward sons, an alligator, eased through the green blanket of wild hyacinths and disappeared from sight.
Suddenly a small skiff skimmed over the bayou, breaking the halcyon silence. A family of nutria scurried to the water's edge. Large turtles, sunning themselves on cypress logs, occasionally plopped into the bayou. As the skiff bumped against the mossy bank, the lone occupant, a young girl, step
ped agilely ashore and secured the boat to a sun-rotted log.
At fifteen years of age, Liberty Boudreaux was as much a part of this land as the white-tailed deer that now darted through the blackberry thicket to approach her, unafraid. She was a frequent visitor and was welcomed by all the small animals that called the swamp home.
The skirt of her gray homespun gown was tucked inside her waistband, revealing muddy, knee-high brown boots. Her golden hair was plaited into a single braid that hung over one shoulder. Liberty was a child of the earth, attuned to every aspect of nature.
The white-tailed deer nudged the young girl's hand, and was rewarded by the sound of laughter. The girl reached into her pocket, then offered the large animal a handful of grain. Other animals, smaller ones, began to timidly poke their heads from the underbrush. A venturesome swamp rabbit hopped across Liberty's boot and was offered a soft pat and a plump carrot.
As Liberty dropped down onto a carpet of soft lilacs, she was immediately surrounded by her strange entourage. In this swampy isolated world, the girl was not lonely, for she had her animal friends. This was where she always came when her own world offered her only neglect and heartache.
There was joy in Liberty's heart as she breathed in the exotic fragrance of the numerous flowering plants that dotted the landscape. This wilderness could be harsh and dangerous to anyone unfamiliar with its hazards—but not to Liberty. She knew every inch of this swamp, knew where the pools of quicksand were located. They could swallow a man without leaving a trace of him. She always avoided the poisonous snakes that lay in wait for the unaware, and she had a great respect for the alligators that ruled the swamp kingdom.
Liberty also knew where Zippora, the old black woman, lived with her simple-minded grandson, Reuben. Liberty avoided the old woman most of all, for it was said that she was a witch and practiced voodoo. That fact did not seem to stop many fashionable young ladies from flocking to Zippora when she went into New Orleans to sell her love potions, gris-gris, and good-luck charms. The old woman was quite the rage among the more prominent women of New Orleans.
It was rumored that Zippora had been very beautiful in her youth. She was said to have been a slave until her young master fell in love with her and set her free. Liberty doubted this to be true. Liberty's mother believed that Zippora herself had circulated the story so she would appear tragically romantic to the young ladies of quality.
When Liberty was in the swamps she would often see Zippora and her young grandson from a distance. Liberty and the old woman had an unspoken agreement; they never invaded each other's privacy. Liberty certainly had no intention of even nearing Zippora's territory. No one ever crossed Zippora's land.
Suddenly the soft peaceful sounds of the swamp were disturbed by the sounds of man's intrusion. Voices were raised in anger, and there was no mistaking the sound of the whiplash that filled the stillness. The small animals scurried into dense undergrowth, while the fleeter deer bounded into the air and disappeared down a grassy slope.
Liberty stood up slowly and moved toward the sound. Keeping in the shadow of the willow trees, she made her way to the place where the red cypress-stained swamp water forked and emptied into the Mississippi River. She cautiously parted the willow branches and held her breath as she watched the two men struggling with a young boy. It took her only seconds to see that the boy was Zippora's grandson. The poor child was frightened out of his wits, and was making fearful whimpering sounds.
Liberty had no trouble recognizing the two as slavers that sailed the Mississippi River looking for runaways. Everyone knew they were residents of Barataria, the haven for Jean Lafitte's cutthroats and pirates. Liberty's soft lips curled in disgust as her anger boiled. When one of the men raised his whip and applied it to the young black boy's back, she didn't stop to weigh the consequences, but ran to the river's edge and bounded onto the swamp boat.
Before the startled slavers could react, she had jerked the whip from one of them and had tossed it onto the riverbank. "How dare you do this!" she cried, bending to gather the sobbing young boy in her arms. "I am appalled that you would torture a child. My father will hear of this, and you will regret your folly."
The man who had been wielding the whip now turned his attention on Liberty. "Mayhap I just trade the boy for you, little girl." Grinning, he showed chipped and blackened teeth. He smelled of the sweat that dripped down his face and onto his shirt, plastering the material to his body.
The second man reached out and grabbed Liberty's braid, jerking her face up to his. "Who would your pa be, that you should want to threaten us with him?"
Now Liberty could see the folly of her actions. She knew she had placed herself in real danger. These men were unscrupulous, with no regard or respect for human life. They ran a black-market slave ring, and wouldn't think twice about harming her. Nevertheless, her eyes sparkled with anger. "My father is Louis Boudreaux, and he will see you dead if you do not release me at once."
Loud laughter came from both men. "I know about Monsieur Boudreaux. You can't be the daughter of such a fine gentleman. You look like nothing more than a poor little swamp rat."
The young boy had been all but forgotten, and Liberty surreptitiously watched him crawl over the side of the boat, drop into the water, and swim around the bend of the river, toward the bayou. She was glad he, at least, had escaped the two men.
Tears of pain brightened her eyes as the slaver applied pressure to her hair. "Allow me to introduce myself to you, little girl. I'm Sidney, and this here's my brother, Frank. There ain't no need for last names."
The man called Frank flicked his tongue out and allowed his eyes to feast hungrily on the delicate young girl. "Bet she'd be a tender young thing, Sidney. We found ourselves a prize today. Suppose we take her home with us, mayhap fatten her up a bit."
"Yeh, she's a mighty spicy piece at that," his brother added, running his filthy hands down the front of her gown and pinching her firm young breasts until she cried out in pain.
Liberty swung wide and caught the man hard across the face. He only laughed and picked her up in his arms. She shuddered in disgust when he stepped out of the boat. Then she quaked with fear, realizing what the two men had in mind for her, knowing there was no one about to come to her rescue.
Sidney carried her up the grassy bank and out of sight of the river. Tossing her onto the ground, he quickly straddled her, while pinning her arms above her head. "Me and my brother will both have us a time with you, little swamp rat."
Grabbing Liberty's chin in a viselike grip, Sidney made her look at him. He was crude and filthy—she could feel the bile rising up in her throat. Defiant blue eyes challenged him. Liberty knew she had to try to save herself. Even though she struggled with all her might, he only laughed at her puny efforts. Angry and frightened, Liberty spit in the man's face.
"Damn you," he swore, striking a forceful blow that brought blood to her lips and almost made her lose consciousness.
Liberty's head was swimming, and she felt as if the ground tilted up and hit her in the face.
"Have at her, Sidney; then I'll take me a turn," Frank said, dropping down and grasping Liberty's arms. "She ain't a bad looker, and I like 'em young."
Liberty knew it would do no good to plead for her freedom. These men were past reasoning. She fixed her eyes on a moss-covered tree limb, trying to resign herself to her fate, but a tear slid down her cheek as she remembered that today was her birthday and no one in her family had remembered. Since she was about to be ravished by two slimy creatures who would probably kill her afterward, Liberty prayed for a quick death.
She felt the man's hands slip under her gown, and she gritted her teeth to keep from crying out. Closing her eyes, she tried to blot out the sight of his ugly face. It was so quiet; hardly a sound could be heard above the two men's labored breathing. It was as if time had been suspended and the whole swamp world was watching and waiting to see what would happen to the young girl.
Suddenly the sound of a
bullwhip crackled through the air, shattering the stillness. Sidney leaped to his feet, while his brother stared in disbelief at the tall black woman who wielded the whip like an avenging angel, or perhaps a devil.
"Back away from the girl, white man," Zippora said in a deadly calm voice—a voice laced with a heavy French accent.
"Who are you?" Frank asked, releasing Liberty and standing up beside his brother.
A sudden gust of wind swirled about Zippora, and her dark eyes blazed with a strange yellow light. "I am one who will horsewhip you if you do not do as I say."
Sidney advanced a step toward the old woman. "Ain't no threat coming from you gonna scare me off. I don't care if you are an old woman. I'll tear your head off and feed it to the 'gators."
"You had better take my threat as real, white man." The whip slashed through the air and caught Sidney across the cheek. Swearing in pain, he reached up to find blood flowing from a deep gash. "I'll kill you for that," he swore angrily.
By this time Liberty had gained her footing and was backing away. Again the whip snaked through the air, this time wrapping around the neck of the second brother. Zippora yanked on the handle and toppled the man to the ground, where he twisted and gasped for breath.
"I predict your death," Zippora said softly. "I see your boat sinking in the river. I hope you can swim against the current."
Sidney watched his brother unwind the whip from around his neck before he blurted out. "I know who you are! You're that damned witch, Zippora."
"That is so. My grandson you met earlier," she answered, nodding to the young black boy who had come up to stand beside Liberty.
Frank stood on shaky legs, and his eyes bulged out in fear. "We been cursed, Sidney. This here's the voodoo woman. We're as good as dead!"
"Shut up, you fool," his brother commanded, backing toward the boat while keeping an eye on the old woman. "We didn't mean no harm, ma'am. We was just funning with the boy."
"Were you also funning with the white girl?" Zippora asked, pointing a bony finger at both men.
Moontide Embrace (Historical Romance) Page 2