Freedom's Price

by Christine Johnson

  “Your place?” She feigned ignorance, though she knew full well that taking the seat at the head of the table had offended him. “I am family.”

  He pulled her close. “You claim to be a blood relation. It could all be a lie.”

  This was the first time he had questioned her story. Considering everyone else’s doubts, DeMornay’s initial belief could only be explained if he’d known of her arrival and expected it.

  “You did receive my letter. That’s why you weren’t surprised by my arrival.”

  “Irrelevant. Anyone could write a letter claiming to be someone she isn’t.”

  She could not draw a breath. His eyes, black as tar, sucked her into a pit. She clawed to get out. “My mother—”

  “Lisette Lafreniere lies dead in the family crypt.”

  “Her grave is in England.”

  “Lies that no one will believe.”

  “Her portrait—”

  “It could be any woman. It certainly bears no resemblance to Henry Lafreniere, who, by the way, has never heard of you.” His grip on her arm tightened, and she cried out again. “Calling out will do you no good. No one will come to your aid.” He yanked her through the house.

  “I don’t need to learn the accounts,” she managed to say through the throbbing pain.

  He halted and shoved her against a wall. “From the start you’ve been trying to see the accounts. Why? So you know how much there is to steal?”

  “No!”

  “You are a thief and an interloper.”

  “You’re wrong.” Ironically, those were exactly the accusations Tom had leveled against DeMornay. “I speak only the truth.”

  His laughter rang cruel, and the pain shook her resolve. She stood alone against a man who was physically stronger than her. If only she had left with Tom. If only she’d listened to him. Instead, she had let him and Rourke walk away.

  “Why are you doing this?” she cried.

  “Understand one thing. You are a woman, and as such, you will never command Black Oak.” The ice in DeMornay’s voice chilled her to her toes.

  She could not give up. She must stand strong for Maman and Aurelia and Angel and the others.

  He shook her. “Understand?”

  “Yes.” The weak word at least spared her from further abuse, for he let go of her arm. She cradled the throbbing limb, rubbing where he’d clenched her.

  “That’s better.” His eyes glittered. “But it is not enough.”

  “What?” she gasped.

  “You must learn this lesson thoroughly. Someone must pay for your crimes.” He stepped to the back door and shouted across the yard, “Aurelia! Bring Angel.”

  “The girl?” Catherine ran to him and clutched his arm, pleading. “She’s just a child.”

  He shook her off.

  Aurelia hurried across the yard, gaze cast down, dragging Angel behind her.

  Catherine couldn’t breathe. Whatever happened, she could not let harm come to the girl. “Please, take out whatever punishment you must exact on me.”

  Aurelia stopped at the base of the steps, Angel at her side. Both clasped their hands before them and did not look up.

  “Oh, you will suffer.” DeMornay took Catherine by the hand this time, as if they were master and mistress of the household, and headed down the stairs.

  At the bottom, he kissed her hand and then let go. It was all a charade. Everything he did was for his own purposes. Nothing was true. She backed out of his reach, conscious that Aurelia watched her every move.

  DeMornay stood with his hands gripped behind his back, legs spread wide. “Rules were broken today. You know what happens when someone does not follow the rules.”

  Catherine’s heart nearly pounded out of her chest.

  DeMornay reached up to where a thick leather strap hung on the supporting column of the veranda. Below a handle, it was cut into long strips, terminated by metal rivets. He gripped the handle.

  “Someone must pay.” His ominous words echoed through her head.

  Those bits of metal would tear apart flesh. Catherine’s thoughts flashed to Jesus, who had endured terrible flogging and pain to bear the punishment that belonged to us. Belonged to her. Catherine had sinned, had let pride and covetousness govern her actions. Forgive me, Father. Though her limbs trembled in anticipation of pain, what was this in comparison to all Jesus had suffered?

  Angel let out a sob before her mother silenced the little girl by pressing her against her hip.

  “Don’t coddle her,” DeMornay growled. “It’s time the child learned discipline.”

  Surely he would not harm a child.

  Yet he stepped toward mother and child.

  “No!” Catherine rushed forward, placing herself in front of Angel. “The fault is mine. I should never have asked for tea service at that hour.”

  DeMornay tossed her aside like a stalk of sugarcane. “The fault may be yours, but the punishment will be borne by others. You choose. The mother or the child.”

  21

  Though Catherine covered her ears with her hands and squeezed her eyes shut, she could not block out Aurelia’s groans as the whip struck her back. Blood soaked her gown. Angel sobbed. Catherine had tried to take the child away, but DeMornay forbade it.

  She despised him.

  Pleas to stop only increased the punishment. It went on past Catherine’s endurance.

  All she could do was hold on to Angel and sing refrains from the hymns that had comforted her as a child. Even so, anger seethed within. Jesus said to turn the other cheek, but how could anyone turn away from such undeserved punishment? Not her. Not on Maman’s beloved plantation.

  If only it was hers. She must find the papers that Papa had signed. If she had them in hand, if she destroyed them, then Chêne Noir would be hers. A day ago, she might have said that was wrong. Papa had sold her portion and received the funds. That large credit on the accounts confirmed it. By all rights, the plantation did not belong to her, but she could not stand by in the face of injustice when she possessed the means to correct those ills.

  When DeMornay was finished, he hung up the whip as casually as hanging a hat. He then brushed off his hands and demanded Catherine go back into the house.

  “I will not.” She was the only protection Aurelia and her children had. She led Angel to her mother, who remained crouched on the ground until DeMornay left. She then helped Aurelia to her quarters and the straw pallet covered with ticking that served as a bed.

  “Rest here while I fetch medicine, soap, and warm water.”

  Aurelia’s wide eyes were filled with pain. “Don’t come back. You jess bring trouble.”

  Catherine felt a pinch of guilt. She should have realized DeMornay would grow angry when she sat at the head of the table. “I didn’t think he was capable of such a thing.” Especially since Angel was his daughter.

  She retrieved soap, water, and bandages. When she returned, she found Angel dabbing at her mother’s wounds with a dirty cloth.

  “Here. Use this one.” Catherine dipped a clean cloth in the pail of water and squeezed it out. She then gave it to Angel.

  Aurelia glared at her from the pallet. “Shouldn’t’ve come back.”

  “I had to.”

  “He won’t like it.”

  Catherine dipped the bloody cloth in the bucket and squeezed it out again. “Apply pressure anywhere it’s bleeding.”

  Angel nodded solemnly.

  “I couldn’t find anyone in the cookhouse. Where is Walker?”

  “In the overseer’s house.” That was said with bitterness. “The rest are in the fields. Except my boys, Gibson and Hunter.”

  Her boys. And DeMornay’s.

  Catherine looked up to see two sets of eyes watching her from the other room. The boys.

  “Who will take care of you?” Catherine asked.

  “My Angel.”

  Catherine was still trying to wrap her mind around the scarcity of servants. “Were there ever more household ser
vants?”

  Aurelia didn’t answer for so long that Catherine figured she didn’t know. Then she whispered, “When old massa Henri alive, dere be more, but dey go. One by one.”

  “What happened to them?”

  Aurelia shook her head.

  “Mammy. Her last name was Benjamin. Was she one of them? Is that how you learned of Key West?” Catherine held her breath.

  This time Aurelia didn’t clamp her mouth shut. “He wanted her. She die rather’n let ’im have her.”

  Catherine tried to control her trembling hands. Was this the horror under the surface of Black Oak? “Where did she go? Did he sell her?”

  Aurelia stared at her. “He beat her ’til she dead.”

  A cry threatened to burst from Catherine’s throat, but she could not break down in front of the children, lest they fear DeMornay would do the same to their mother. Instead, she took the cloth from Angel, cleansed it in the basin of water, and took over caring for Aurelia’s wounds.

  The children silently watched. Catherine’s insides knotted at the terrible thoughts crowding into her mind. Would DeMornay go too far the next time he took out his anger on an innocent? Would he lash out at her? She’d assumed he wouldn’t dare touch her, but she was no longer certain. Crossing DeMornay brought terrible repercussions.

  Once the bleeding subsided, Catherine applied liniment and bandaged the wounds. “I will come back in the morning to change these.”

  “Don’t,” Aurelia warned. “He jess git mad. Make things worse fo’ us.”

  Catherine swallowed the truth that this was her fault. “I’m sorry. I will do what I can when Mr. DeMornay is not here.”

  Aurelia looked away. “Don’t be doin’ me no favors.”

  “I must. This is no life, not one worth living. I will bring you—all of you—to freedom.”

  Her impulsive declaration drew a sharp look. “Don’t be talkin’ foolish. He’ll hear.”

  “How?”

  “He hear everything.”

  Fear shivered down Catherine’s spine.

  Again, silence stretched between them.

  When Aurelia next spoke, it was in such a whisper that Catherine had to lean close. “You ask where de others go. After Massa Henri pass, dey disappear. Some die. Most jess go. One night dey here. Next mornin’ dey gone.”

  “Where?”

  “Only de devil knows.”

  Catherine drew in a breath, trying to shake off the fear that had her on edge. “He said he hires workers for the harvest.”

  “Don’t believe nothin’ he say.” Aurelia glanced at the doorway to the other room and scolded the boys until they slunk outdoors. “You think you strong, like yo’ mama. He break you.”

  Catherine drew on her reserves of strength to give the woman hope. “I’m not easily broken.”

  “Leave. Find dat captain, go, and don’t come back.”

  “But I can’t.” In that moment Catherine knew it wasn’t just because of the plantation and the terrible hold that DeMornay had on it. She must find a way to take Aurelia and her children from this misery.

  Only after Catherine returned to her room did the force of what had happened hit her. She collapsed onto the bed in tears. She was too shaken to take supper. Aurelia was in no condition to cook or move about, but DeMornay would probably force her to cook. Thankfully, he did not demand that Catherine appear.

  That evening she paced from window to window in her bedroom. The bright moon held no joy. The stars twinkled unknowingly over this evil place. Her heart was ripped to shreds. She must seek Judge Graham’s help to free Aurelia and her children. Captain O’Malley insisted she needed to travel to Key West with ownership papers in order to then emancipate them. Perhaps she could do it here. If she was indeed the owner of Black Oak. The judge would know what must be done.

  The door to her room creaked open, and Catherine spun around. “Who’s there?”

  DeMornay entered. “You did not join me for supper.”

  She should have latched the door. “I was not hungry.”

  “I will have Aurelia bring you something.” He lifted a hand to ring the bell.

  “No, don’t!”

  He lowered his hand. “If you hope to be mistress of Black Oak, you need to learn the ways of life here.”

  Bile rose in her throat. “If that’s normal life, I don’t care to learn it.”

  He stepped farther into her room. “England is very different.”

  She crossed to the window farthest from him. From here she could flee onto the veranda. A bitter laugh escaped her lips. What good would it do? DeMornay could outrun her. His physical strength was far superior. No one was here to help. The only household servants present were a groom devoted to his master, an injured older woman, and three small children.

  She should have left with Tom and Rourke. They would have ensured her safety. Where was Tom now? On a ship moored along the river or sailing downstream for New Orleans? Had she thrown away her only chance?

  DeMornay moved close. She felt it in the prickling of her skin.

  “I’m sorry for that harsh lesson,” he said softly. “Perhaps I should have warned you. Life here is hard. To maintain control over a labor force that far outnumbers you requires a firm hand.”

  “And fear.”

  “And fear.” He touched her arm, and it took all in her power not to jerk away. “That is a difficult lesson for someone as kindhearted as you. That’s why it’s best to leave the management of the plantation to those who can bear it.”

  “Such as the manager.”

  Had he flinched?

  She drove home the point. “That’s why my cousin gave you control, isn’t it? So he would not have to deal with the labor force.”

  “I’m glad you understand.”

  “It’s not the way I was raised. At Deerford, we treated the tenants with dignity and respect. They were our friends as well as our tenants.”

  “And your estate fared well?” Even his voice seemed to smirk.

  She would never acknowledge that his cruel ways were right, not when the Bible laid out the relationship between masters and servants so concisely in Paul’s letter to the Ephesians. “‘Masters, do the same things unto them, forbearing threatening: knowing that your Master also is in heaven,’” she quoted.

  He recoiled a step. “A noble if impractical sentiment. What do you want, Catherine?”

  She did not answer.

  He did for her. “Black Oak. It’s in your blood, and you can have it—with the right alliance.”

  He meant himself. She felt it as certainly as it was night. “Please go. I am tired.”

  “Clearly you are still distressed. I will send Aurelia to prepare you for bed. A good night’s sleep will restore you. In the morning you will see everything much differently.”

  She would not. Ever.

  “It’s gone!” From the deck of the James Patrick, Tom stared at the empty cove where his father’s ship had been moored. “You saw it. Everyone saw it.”

  Rourke nodded. “Did you expect DeMornay to keep it here now that he knows you’ve returned?”

  Tom raked a hand through his hair. “I should never have shown myself.”

  “You were worried about Catherine.”

  Tom blew out his breath. “But my ship!”

  “Your father’s ship at best,” Rourke corrected. “Even with the proper documents, it would take time and persuasion to convince a court.”

  “Where would DeMornay take it?” He scanned the river. “It can’t be far away. He must be hiding it somewhere.”

  “Or they set sail and are on their way to the Gulf.”

  “Why would they sail? They only just returned. The ship hasn’t been here long enough to load anything, and there was no crew aboard.”

  “They might have taken it to the city.”

  “That makes no sense. Why would they come up here only to turn around?”

  “Perhaps there was something they needed to load or unload here. R
egardless, it is gone. If it sailed downriver, it has the advantage of speed and time. We would never catch it.”

  Tom squeezed his hand into a fist. “To have it this close after all these years only to see it vanish. I can’t accept that.” He slammed his fist onto the rail.

  “What do you plan to do? Hunt for it in New Orleans?”

  That was the problem. DeMornay wouldn’t keep it in broad daylight in the city. He’d send the ship to another hiding spot.

  “We’ll scour the area,” Tom insisted, “search for another place it might be moored.”

  “We can do that for a couple days, but then we need to make a decision. As much as I care about you and your concerns, I can’t hold my crew here indefinitely. What do you plan to do?”

  Tom had no idea. Not once during the night had it occurred to him that DeMornay would set sail. No, Tom had fretted over Catherine and what that man might do to her. Never the ship. He’d been dwelling on the wrong problem. DeMornay would never harm Catherine. She was a Lafreniere. Her family might not want to admit kinship now, but they would in time. DeMornay had everything to gain from an alliance with her.

  “We should have anchored outside this cove last night.”

  “‘Should haves’ won’t solve anything,” Rourke said calmly. “The question still remains. What do you intend to do now?”

  “I don’t know.” Tom hated to admit that, but he was at a loss. “You’re leaving, and I won’t have a way back to Key West.”

  “Except the way you came.”

  Tom groaned. “I can’t leave without her, but she refuses to leave. She seems to think she will one day become mistress of Black Oak.”

  “Perhaps she will.”

  “DeMornay would never allow it.”

  Rourke nodded. “I asked you this before, but a decision is now urgent. If you can have only one, which is more important to you? Catherine or your father’s ship?”

  Tom squirmed. “I thought we weren’t going to discuss hypothetical situations.”

  Rourke laughed and clapped him on the shoulder. “I admire that stubborn determination in you. Catherine has it too. Perhaps that’s why you’re drawn to each other.”

  “Perhaps that’s why we’ll succeed.”

  “Or fail. I won’t ask you to answer that question now, but you need to ask yourself which one you’re prepared to lose. Seldom in life can you have it all. Pray on it, Tom. Ask God for guidance. His way is always the right way.”