Freedom's Price

by Christine Johnson

  “I did not want to disturb you. Moreover, you could not sort out my jumbled thoughts.”

  He cupped her jaw and ran his thumb along her cheek.

  She pulled away, unable to bear the man’s touch.

  “You are chilled.” DeMornay slipped out of his smoking jacket and placed it on her shoulders.

  She wanted to throw it back at him but had to play along with her stated purpose for being out of doors at this hour. “I was deep in thought and didn’t pay attention to the temperature.”

  “A beautiful woman should not trouble herself with deep thought.”

  “No. I should sleep.” She extended her hand. “Will you assist me back into the house?”

  “Of course.” DeMornay’s covetous grin turned her stomach, but he did lead her up the steps and into the house, giving Tom time to escape. “Aurelia will draw a hot bath for you. That will ward off the chill and relax you for slumber.” He halted as the housekeeper approached.

  “De bath is ready, Massa,” Aurelia said, her gaze cast down.

  “Very well. Miss Haynes will follow you to her room in a moment.”

  Aurelia hurried off, and Catherine slipped out of the jacket.

  “No, no.” He stopped her. “Keep it for now. Aurelia will bring it back to me.” His hand grazed her cheek. “I want only the best for you. Do you believe that?”

  His black gaze could mesmerize if she let it. But she was no longer a child. She fought off his attempts to woo her. “Good night, then.”

  “Beautiful dreams, my sweet.”

  She hurried across the salon but stopped to look back. DeMornay was gone. She tiptoed back to the veranda. The man was rushing toward the pigeonnier. For a moment she feared he would discover Tom. The thought caught in her throat, and she moved forward to warn Tom.

  “He be gone.”

  The whisper came from behind her.

  “Aurelia.”

  The housekeeper motioned for her to return to the shadows. “Your friend gone.”

  The fear dissipated. “You saw him leave?”

  Aurelia nodded.

  Catherine heaved a sigh. “Thank goodness.”

  “Massa suspects.”

  A new fear welled. Aurelia had seen Tom. Would she tell DeMornay? “Don’t say a word.” But Aurelia did not take orders from her. “Please.”

  Aurelia’s eyes glittered in the moonlight. “Leave dis place while you can.”

  Catherine did not miss the ominous tone. Everyone warned her. Why? What was happening at Black Oak that no one wanted her to discover?

  “This is my home. Why should I leave?”

  Aurelia looked left and right as if someone was listening to their conversation. “You don’t know de truth.” The whispered words barely reached Catherine.

  She stepped closer. “Tell me.”

  Instead of explaining, Aurelia turned without a word and retreated to Catherine’s room.

  Catherine followed and closed the door behind them. “Explain.”

  Aurelia moved behind her to unbutton her gown. Her whisper was very soft. “Gibson, Hunt, and Angel be mine.”

  The words shivered down Catherine’s spine along with Aurelia’s icy fingers. “They are lovely children.”

  “Dey all got de same papa.”

  “I didn’t know you were married.” Catherine hadn’t seen a man on this plantation the right age to be Aurelia’s husband. Maybe he was one of the workers that DeMornay said were out in the farthest fields.

  “Ain’t no slave be married de way white folks is.”

  “What do you mean? They deny you marriage?”

  Aurelia didn’t speak for some time. When she did, it was with icy hatred. “Dis man take what he want.”

  Surely the woman did not mean what Catherine suspected. The father of Aurelia’s children had forced himself on her. She could not speak the word. Rape. “Was it . . . that is, is their father my cousin?”

  Aurelia shook her head. “He here now.”

  Catherine breathed out in relief. Not one of her cousins or even her late uncle. But this could not continue. “Does he still . . . harm you?”

  Again Aurelia was silent for a long moment while she undid the corset and petticoats. When she spoke, each word was spat out with fierce desperation. “Gibson be ’most ten. Dey go away when dey old enough.”

  “Go away?”

  Aurelia began to hum, leaving Catherine to ponder. It didn’t take her long.

  “Sold?” she asked the housekeeper.

  “Dat de way. But it better den bein’ a woman an’ catchin’ Massa’s eye.”

  DeMornay’s attentions had increased daily. Was Aurelia jealous or warning her? “What happens to the women?”

  “Dey disappear.”

  “Sold?”

  “No one know.”

  Catherine felt ill. “None of this will happen when I’m in charge here.”

  Aurelia’s laugh was bitter. “You never be mistress of Chêne Noir. He never let you.”

  Catherine’s mouth was dry, though steam filled the room from the hot bath. “Who?”

  “De devil.”

  19

  Sleep came fitfully that night, interrupted by terrible dreams of DeMornay locking her in a room from which there was no escape. She awoke with a start and dropped to her knees beside the bed to ask for God’s protection. Though her heart beat wildly, in time it calmed, and she slipped into that half-awake state where she could fight off the dreams.

  The following morning, Catherine stood on the veranda and watched Aurelia’s children move around the yard. All had the same father, a fairer-skinned man. Thankfully the father was not her uncle or cousins. Then who?

  The girl, Angel, played in the mud near the pigeonnier. Her rough, flour-sack dress was stained, but like most children her age, she didn’t care. Waves of curls fell below her shoulders. Something about her looked familiar, but Catherine couldn’t place it. She was drawn to the girl’s innocence and beauty. After DeMornay rode off to instruct the field workers, she crossed the yard and squatted beside Angel. The girl ignored her presence, humming to herself like her mother did.

  Catherine hazarded the first words. “What are you making?”

  “Pie.” The girl, perhaps five or six at most, did not look up. “Mud pie.”

  Catherine had watched the tenants’ children do the very same thing. As a child, she’d begged Maman to let her join them, but Maman always refused, saying that wasn’t the sort of thing the future mistress of the house ought to do. At the time, Catherine had thought her mother quite unfair. Now she wondered what Maman meant. She must have known the terms of settlement placed on Papa’s estate. Most likely she meant that Catherine would be mistress of a house once she married, but what if she believed Catherine would inherit Chêne Noir? Marrying Papa had cost Maman dearly, unless she believed she had protected that inheritance for Catherine.

  “Miss Haynes.”

  The familiar voice made her rise. “Judge Graham.”

  “I trust you are well.”

  She gave a nod.

  “I am here on the business I mentioned.” He withdrew an envelope from the leather portfolio he was carrying. “Is there somewhere we might speak in private?”

  Her heart pounded. Not the house. She never knew who might be listening. She led him to the far side of the pigeonnier, out of sight of anyone inside the main house.

  He nodded toward the house. “Is anyone home?”

  “Mr. DeMornay rode out to the fields not half an hour ago.”

  The judge’s tension eased. “Good. This is not something you should reveal to Mr. DeMornay or even to your cousins. I suggest you hire a good attorney. I can recommend an honest one who will not be swayed.”

  “Swayed by whom?”

  “By those who will lose what they thought they’d gained.”

  She sucked in her breath. “Do I inherit a portion of Black Oak?”

  “Perhaps.”

  “I don’t understand.”
>
  He handed her the envelope. “Read, and then I will explain.”

  She turned over the bulky envelope. The seal was intact. “Do you know its contents?”

  He nodded. “Your uncle had me draft it a year ago. I was to give it to you if you ever set foot on Lafreniere land.”

  The judge’s actions when they first met now made sense. “That’s why you questioned me.”

  “I had to be certain you were indeed Lisette’s daughter.”

  “I have my baptismal record.”

  “Good. You may need it. Please, read.” He nodded toward the envelope.

  She broke the seal and pulled out a lengthy document written more like a letter. Though she’d read a few legal documents while caring for Deerford, this one soon confounded her.

  “I’m sorry. I don’t understand.” She held out the papers to the judge.

  “These things can be difficult to decipher.” He indicated she should keep the papers. “Your uncle Henri approached me, wanting to right a wrong.”

  Catherine gave him her full attention.

  “Given the forced portion allocated by the law and adding in the disposition by your grandparents, your mother stood to inherit the bulk of the plantation upon your grandfather’s death.”

  “Forced portion?”

  “The law stipulates an equal division of an estate between all heirs. However, a certain additional percentage may be granted to one or several heirs.”

  Catherine still wasn’t certain she understood. “Wouldn’t Uncle Henri have inherited the bulk of the estate?”

  “Only if your grandparents granted him an additional percentage. Instead, they gave that to your mother.”

  “But they were upset by Maman’s decision to stay in England.”

  “Perhaps they hoped an inheritance would change her mind.”

  “It didn’t. Why wouldn’t they change it?”

  The judge shook his head. “We will never know.”

  “Uncle Henri must have been angry, and yet Maman did not inherit.”

  “Actually, she did. As her only child, you would then have inherited her portion upon her death, providing your mother made the proper agreements before her marriage.”

  “Proper agreements?” Was this what Papa had meant in his final regrets?

  “It’s my understanding that in England, without prior agreement, a woman’s holdings become the property of her husband upon marriage.”

  “Papa would never have taken that away from me.” Or had he? Was that what he had lost?

  “Let’s set that aside for a moment and return to this document. Your uncle would have been left with only a quarter ownership of Black Oak. If your mother died before having offspring, however, he could claim it all.”

  She gasped. “The funeral and burial in the family crypt. It was orchestrated so my uncle could own all of Black Oak.”

  Judge Graham nodded. “In later years, he regretted his role in that sham and in his subsequent actions to ensure you received no inheritance.”

  Her skin prickled.

  “Your uncle sent Mr. DeMornay to England with an offer to purchase Lisette’s portion of the plantation. He offered a generous sum, far more than the land was worth. Your father accepted, and the transaction was done.”

  “Papa.” The gasp came from deep within. That’s what he’d considered lost. “He must have assumed I would never go to Louisiana since the family was estranged. He must have wanted to set aside the money for me so I would have a fine dowry. That’s what Papa would have done.” Except Deerford was always in debt. Failed crops, unpaid leases, high taxes. Many things had taken a toll. He must have borrowed from her dowry, intending to pay it back in better times. “But there never were better times.”

  “Pardon?”

  She shook her head. “My poor father. He did what he thought was best and regretted it on his deathbed.”

  The judge nodded sympathetically.

  “Then I have no claim on any part of Black Oak,” she summarized.

  “Perhaps you do. Your uncle wanted to return a share to you, an eighth.”

  “Not exactly generous.”

  “It is not much but more than you would have had, with one possible exception.”

  He had her attention again.

  “I can’t find any record that the purchase and transfer of ownership was ever recorded. Further investigation is needed, but you might still have claim to the bulk of the estate.”

  “Not recorded? I can’t imagine Uncle Henri would have paid handsomely to purchase the land and then not follow through.”

  “My thoughts exactly. He must have assumed it was filed properly, or he would never have had this document drafted.”

  “Then what happened?”

  “I intend to find out,” the judge said. “I will search the records to see if the purchase was misfiled or entered incorrectly. You should check here to see if it is still on the premises.”

  That would not be easy. DeMornay would never let her near the study. Perspiration broke out on her brow. As it stood, she was part owner of the plantation. For now.

  “Maman lost her right to the property when she married. What would happen if I marry?”

  “It would depend on the terms of any agreement you make with your prospective husband.”

  Cousin Henry would not be pleased to discover he owned very little of Black Oak. The profits he’d been enjoying would vanish. She would need an attorney to guard her interests and ensure she claimed her role as mistress. How she wished Tom and Rourke were here now. But they were on a sailing ship moored out of sight somewhere.

  “I have no funds for an attorney.”

  “My friend will wait for payment until you have received your inheritance.”

  Catherine feared even a moment’s delay. “Couldn’t you represent me?”

  He smiled indulgently. “No, my dear. I would be the justice before whom you would bring the case.”

  She took a deep breath, and her head finally cleared. “Then I must act.”

  “I suggest you leave, Miss Haynes. Take a room in the city and secure my friend’s services. His address is noted inside the envelope.”

  She nodded, but how could she escape without DeMornay following? And what of the missing document? No doubt DeMornay had it hidden somewhere. He’d probably carried it from Deerford in the strongbox. Somehow she must find it.

  Her gaze drifted to Angel, who was carrying the mud pie in her hands, heading for the slave quarters. Her back was erect, her head held high. The sun highlighted her loose curls, which were tucked behind an ear with almost no lobe.

  Catherine drew in her breath sharply. That was it! The resemblance she’d spotted earlier but hadn’t been able to place. The wave in the hair was far looser than Aurelia’s tightly kinked hair. But it was the ear that cinched it. Only one other person on this plantation had an ear with virtually no lobe.

  Louis DeMornay.

  Tom’s palms sweated as he and Rourke walked up the road to Black Oak plantation.

  “Are you sure this is the right thing to do?” Tom had second-guessed their decision to present themselves to DeMornay dozens of times during the sleepless night. Birds chirped overhead, oblivious to the tension about to erupt. “I’d rather meet Catherine again at night and convince her to leave with me. Pushing DeMornay might make him tighten his grip.”

  “Perhaps,” Rourke mused, “but he already knows you’re back. The housekeeper saw you.”

  Tom regretted that mistake. The kiss had dismantled every bit of restraint. He’d wandered from the pigeonnier with a jumbled mind and didn’t see danger until it was too late.

  “But he doesn’t know about you,” Tom pointed out.

  “Nor does he care. I am no threat. You, on the other hand, are the enemy. If you’re certain he recognized the Worthington name—”

  “I am.”

  “Then there’s nowhere to hide. He will be on the lookout for you.”

  Tom blew out his bre
ath in frustration. “What will happen to Catherine? He won’t just let her walk out the door.”

  “Why not?”

  “She believes she inherited a share of the plantation.” When Rourke stared at him blankly, Tom added, “That could threaten whatever her cousin and DeMornay are doing here.”

  “You still think there’s something illegal going on?”

  “Based on what I heard and the fact that Pa’s ship is painted black and hidden, yes.”

  “Do you think either man would harm her?”

  Tom thought back to Lafreniere’s response to Catherine’s arrival. “I believe her cousin would find a way to discredit her claim and force her from the land. As for DeMornay, it depends how much she pushes.”

  Rourke nodded as they drew to the head of the carriage drive leading toward the main house. “Then we must convince her to join us. We can take her to New Orleans or wherever she needs to go.”

  They began the walk up the long drive.

  “I’m not sure DeMornay will let her go.” Tom knew his fears sounded irrational.

  Rourke halted. “How can he stop her? She is a free woman.”

  “I don’t know.” Tom stared at the bleak house. “I only know that he is very persuasive in a dark and deceptive way. Everything he says sounds good on the surface, but it’s all lies underneath. She’s faced him alone these last few days.” He thought of how she’d run from him after the kiss. “It’s my fault. I never should have left.”

  “Catherine is a strong woman. Elizabeth tells me her faith is solid. She will not believe lies.”

  Tom wasn’t as certain, but he would soon find out.

  Aurelia drew in her breath sharply. “What he be doin’ here?”

  Catherine crossed the salon to the open gallery, rag in hand after dusting the frame of Maman’s portrait. Thus far she hadn’t been able to get into the study, and no amount of cajoling would persuade Aurelia to unlock the door. The housekeeper insisted only DeMornay had the key. Catherine had resorted to examining every nook and cranny of the house on the pretense she was helping remove the dust that reappeared each day. The moment she looked across the lawn, all thoughts of the missing document disappeared.