Ashes and Ecstasy

by Catherine Hart

  Christmas morn dawned fine and bright. Kathleen watched the sunrise from her bedroom window, wondering if perhaps Reed was watching the same sight from New Orleans. What was it like there? Had he seen Eleonore, by chance? Or Jean; or Dominique? Had the British attacked yet? Was there much fighting? Were men bleeding and dying on a battlefield beneath this benevolent sunrise? Was Reed one of them? If only there was some way of finding out what was happening; if only news of the war did not take so long to filter back from the battlefields.

  Later that morning, when Kathleen sat with Reed’s gifts in her lap, she almost dreaded opening them. Reed held so much animosity toward her at times, that she was uncertain what she might find beneath the wrappings. Finally, unable to delay further, she opened her presents. The larger box contained a beautiful peach-colored morning gown and matching slippers. Kathleen recognized Mrs. Fitz’s handiwork in the fine stitching, and blessed both Reed and the seamstress when she found the gown designed in a loose style that would fit her both now and after the baby was born.

  The second gift was smaller, and rattled when she shook it. Upon lifting the lid, Kathleen was stunned to find a dozen jeweled pins for her hair. At the tip of six of the gold pins was a glittering emerald; the other six sported shimmering diamonds.

  In the lid of the box was a note. “To my lovely wife,” it read, “Whose beauty outshines any jewel.” It was signed, simply, “Reed.”

  The glow Kathleen felt was dimmed somewhat by the realization that though he might be proud of her beauty and choose a spectacular gift to compliment her, there was no mention in his note of love.

  Far from the beautiful sunrise Kathleen had witnessed, Reed watched the New Orleans sky lighten from black to a dull grey, as rain poured down steadily throughout Christmas Day. The weather suited his mood, as he thought of everyone back home.

  There was one thing Reed could be thankful for. Instead of eating with the troops, he had been invited to dinner at Eleonore’s. Upon hearing that Reed was in town, she had sent a message, insisting that he share Christmas Day with her and her brother. Eleonore was eager for news of Kathleen, and Reed came away with a thick letter in his pocket to deliver to Kathleen upon his return to Savannah.

  It was as he was riding through town that Reed saw the woman. At first, he thought his imagination was playing tricks on him, but then he caught a full view of her face, and was positive of her identity. It was none other than Sally Simpson! Something about her furtive attitude made Reed hesitate to reveal himself, hidden as he was beneath his cloak and the hat pulled low over his face against the rain. He watched as she glanced nervously around before hastily entering a nondescript carriage.

  Curiosity over her odd behavior and unexpected appearance in New Orleans made Reed decide to follow her. The carriage took a circuitous route, down side streets and less traveled byways, winding its way toward a rundown section of town near the docks. There, Reed watched as a man slipped quickly out of a doorway and into the carriage with Sally. A couple of miles further, the carriage halted to let the man alight. He scurried quickly into the trees at the side of the road, and the carriage went on.

  Reed was momentarily undecided whether to follow the carriage or the man. Since he had seen the house before which Sally had entered the carriage, he was sure he could find it if necessary. Turning his horse into the trees, Reed followed the man, keeping back a fair distance. Before long, he came out along a river track.

  Staying within the treeline, Reed followed the man eastward, until the fellow was met by three others in a small boat. Reed followed along the bank to where the boat disappeared into the swamplands, but he had heard the men’s voices floating back to him on the marsh mists. It was apparent that all four were British.

  Reed turned his horse back toward town, his thoughts spinning. Kathleen’s voice seemed to echo in his head, and again he heard her warnings about Sally, warnings he had brushed off as mere jealousy. Now he began to recall the various incidents he, too, had noticed, but failed to find significant at the time. It did seem odd, upon reflection, that Sally had chosen to visit her uncle in Washington mere days before the British attack, and again afterward, when Reed had gone up to the capital. Now it appeared she was up to something devious in New Orleans.

  As he came within a block of the house from which he believed Sally had left, Reed saw Jean Lafitte coming out of Pierre’s home with Dominique. Much as he detested himself for it, he felt the need to confide in his former friends and get their opinions of the strange happenings. Acting on impulse, he called out, “Jean! Wait!”

  Drawing abreast of them, he launched into his brief tale. Then he asked, “You would recognize her, Jean. Have you seen her about town?”

  Jean frowned. “No, I do not recall seeing her lately. Surely I would have remembered her.”

  “I think she bears watching,” Dominique inserted. “Since she would not recognize me, perhaps I should be the one to keep an eye on her—or perhaps Pierre.”

  Reed agreed. After showing the men the house Sally had exited, he asked, “Do you know who lives there?” Jean nodded. “The house is rented by one of Claiborne’s aides, a man who would know everything the governor and General Jackson discuss or plan.”

  Reed’s face was grim. “A man who might be inclined to confide all to his attractive companion in the aftermath of passion?”

  “Perhaps.”

  “Blast! Kathleen suggested that Sally might be a spy, and I laughed at her.” Reed inwardly cursed himself for a fool.

  “We will watch, and if our suspicions are confirmed, we shall inform the general,” Jean assured him.

  At dawn the next morning, the Carolina was hit by British cannon fire and blown up. At the first shots, most of the Carolina’s crew abandoned ship and swam to safety. The Louisiana, immediately behind the Carolina, had to be rowed out of range of danger, since there was no breeze to combat the river current. Jean’s men and many of Reed’s manned the Louisiana's guns, giving cover fire until safe shores were reached. The following day, Jackson’s troops were attacked as they lay entrenched along a river embankment. The British force advanced in a double column along the river and bordering woods, their brilliant scarlet uniforms a blazing target. The red line soon broke up, as the Britons ran for cover. Between the barrage of gunfire on land and the accompanying cannon shots from the nearby Louisiana, the British retreated with heavy casualties.

  It was later that evening, on another mission for the British, that Sally Simpson and her contact were arrested and charged with spying. A missive was found on her person, outlining American troop movements obtained from her gullible lover. Being a woman, she would probably escape hanging, if she were lucky, but it would be a long, long time before Miss Simpson would be free to work her wiles on another susceptible male.

  Chapter 25

  New Year’s Day of 1815 began with a bang outside New Orleans. Under cover of a dense morning fog, the British had moved up to within a hundred yards of the U.S. troops. The battle lasted until noon, with fierce fighting, as the January sun burned away the mist. Reed fought alongside Jean throughout the battle, reluctantly acknowledging the man’s expertise as a marksman as well as with sword. Jean was a man worthy of respect; a good man to have at your side in a fight, as he proved on this first day of the new year. Amid the shots, the smoke, and the confusion of battle, Jean suddenly flung himself sidelong into Reed, knocking both of them to the ground.

  Reed’s temper immediately ignited. “What in blazes do you think you are doing?” he demanded, sitting upright in the ditch he had landed in.

  Jean grinned, his strong white teeth gleaming in his dirt-streaked face. “You should be thanking me, instead of cursing, old friend,” he commented casually, reaching over to retrieve Reed’s fallen hat. Jean twirled the hat about, his finger thrust through the hole caused by an enemy bullet. Reed blanched at the sight of the hat, which had been on his head just moments before. Had Jean acted a split second later, Reed would surely have
been a dead man.

  Reed blew out a heavy breath of thankfulness. “You saved my life,” he stated quietly.

  Jean shrugged, going back to his station as if nothing untoward had happened.

  The battle ended shortly thereafter, the British retreating to their former entrenchments. Afterward, Reed accompanied several others to General Jackson’s quarters for a briefing, but his mind was occupied with conflicting thoughts. Why would any man who coveted another man’s wife bother to save that man’s life? Surely Jean would have benefitted from Reed’s demise, claiming Kathleen at last. Was it merely in remembrance of their friendship that Jean had acted as he had? And had Reed been in Jean’s place, would he have done the same? Was Jean perhaps a nobler man than he?

  Kathleen saw the New Year in quietly. Mary came to take the children to church, but Kathleen stayed home, not feeling up to the jouncing carriage ride. These days, she could balance a cup and saucer on her belly, if the child inside did not kick too hard. Waddling was a more apt description of her walk; and she required help in putting on her shoes, for her feet had disappeared from view somewhere below her bulk. Luckily, her face, hands, and feet had not swollen much, but her stomach more than made up for this, in her estimation. Constantly tired from carrying the added weight that pulled at her back and made it ache, she longed for the next weeks to hurry by, so she could transfer her burden to her arms, and a convenient cradle.

  As 1815 began, Kathleen wondered what the new year held in store for her—and for Reed. Would it bring terrible sorrows or aching joy—or a share of both?

  Back in New Orleans, a division of Kentucky troops arrived as reinforcements—better late than never, as General Jackson wryly put it. They were on hand, as it happened, for what was to prove the final battle of New Orleans, and, though they did not know it at the time, the last battle of the entire war.

  On a foggy Sunday at dawn, exactly one week into the new year, the British attacked again. Fortunately for the Americans, and fatally for the British, a breeze picked up just seconds into the battle, quickly dispersing the fog. With awed disbelief, the Americans gaped at the solid wall of British uniforms advancing from a mere six hundred yards away, across an open field, as if in fearless defiance of their foes.

  Jean shook his head in amazement. “I cannot believe the ignorance of these Englishmen! They could not present a better or brighter target!”

  “They are either terrifically stupid or outrageously brave!” said Reed. “I am not sure which!”

  “Either way, it will be like shooting fish in a barrel!” Dominique retorted in disgust. “I will not take much pleasure in killing a man simply because his superior officer is a bumbling jackass!”

  Time and again the Americans fired into the wall of scarlet, only to have the British falter and regroup as men fell and others took their places in the charge. Only because of their vast numbers did the British manage to gain the ditch at last, clambering up the banks into the American lines. For a time, fierce hand-to-hand combat ensued. This was where the privateers shone—when their guns were empty of ammunition, knives and cutlasses gleamed red in the melee.

  In the thick of the battle, Reed had finished one opponent and was about to face another, when his gaze was caught by Jean. Busy fending off an English soldier, he was unaware of the man taking aim at him from behind. Without conscious thought, Reed reacted instinctively. The knife in his belt was sent flying through the air to sink deeply between the Briton’s shoulder blades. The man was dead before he could pull the trigger. Immediately, Reed swung about to meet a challenger of his own.

  By mid-morning, the battle was over, both here and on the western bank of the Mississippi, where the Americans had been forced to retreat until reinforcements arrived to turn the tide. In the end, more than twenty-five hundred British lay wounded or dead, including their commanding officer. Less than three hundred and fifty Americans had died; of these, six were Jean’s men and one Reed’s.

  When the fighting was over, Dominique came up to Reed. Quietly, his dark eyes solemn, he said, “I saw what you did. You saved Jean’s life.”

  Reed lit a cigar. ”I suppose I did. What of it?” he challenged gruffly.

  “Why did you save the life of a man you profess to hate so much?”

  “Because we were once friends; because I still respect him, even while I loathe him.” A life for a life, he was thinking. Now I am no longer in his debt.

  The next day, a truce was called to allow the British to bury their dead. Finally, the English were seen disbanding their camps, and an exchange of prisoners was arranged. Early on the nineteenth of January, the English departed en masse. New Orleans went wild with joy. After a parade through the streets, where General Jackson and Jean Lafitte were proclaimed heroes, a celebration ball was held on the Place d’ Armes. The city and its inhabitants were so exuberant that the third week of January, General Jackson was once again forced to declare martial law. Rumors flew of a peace treaty having been negotiated in late December, prior to the actual battles in New Orleans. Despite this, Jackson refused to ease restrictions, and after another week had gone by, Reed approached the general.

  “Sir, I respectfully request that you allow me to leave New Orleans now,” he said.

  “Give me a good reason why I should make exception for you, Captain Taylor,” Jackson countered.

  Reed’s jaw tightened in an attempt to restrain his rising temper. “You declared martial law to restore order in New Orleans. Your men are needed to maintain that order.” Reed drew a deep breath, looking the general square in the eye. “My men neither have personal concerns for New Orleans, nor is their presence necessary. If anything, boredom is leading them to become disruptive.”

  “You are saying my job would be easier if I let you go, taking your men with you,” Jackson concluded with a sly look.

  “Since the English are no longer a threat, and a peace treaty is either being negotiated or is already in effect, yes.”

  Jackson squinted in concentration. Finally, he stood. “Go then!” he barked in his usual gruff manner. “Be off with you!” As Reed let himself out of the office, Jackson added, “And thank you, Captain Taylor, for your help. You are a good man to have around when the going gets rough.”

  It was a compliment in the extreme, coming from the tough old general, and Reed recognized it as such. “My pleasure. General.” He saluted on his way out.

  Anxious to be on his way before Jackson changed his mind, Reed wasted no time readying his men and ships. On the day he was to leave, Jean and Dominique came to see him off.

  Dominique handed him a letter for Isabel, asking if he would deliver it for him. “Tell her I will come for her as soon as I can,” he requested.

  “I will,” Reed said stiffly.

  Jean offered his hand. “I wish things could be different between us, Reed. We were good comrades once.”

  Reed took the proffered hand. “What will you do now, Jean? Rebuild Grande Terre?”

  Jean grinned boyishly. “No. Claiborne is making rude noises again, and I get the feeling I will wait a long time before the American government reimburses me for my ships and arms. I am thinking of leaving New Orleans altogether.”

  “And go where?” Reed asked.

  “There is an island perhaps better suited to my privateering ventures now. It is called Snake Island, or Galveston, and lies off the coast of Texas. I will perhaps set up my new base there.” Jean smiled slightly. “I have the blood of corsairs running in my veins, I suppose. It is difficult for me to imagine not having a deck shifting beneath my feet. I have been harassing the English and Spanish for too long to give it up now.”

  “I wish you well in your ventures, Jean,” Reed said, and was surprised to find he sincerely meant it.

  “And I you,” Jean returned.

  “ Farewell, Jean. ”

  As Reed headed for the bridge of his ship, he knew that much had been left unsaid. They would never truly be friends again, but there were too man
y memories, and too much had passed between them for them to part as mortal enemies. Jean would go his way, and Reed back to Chimera to deal with Kathleen. The two men would probably never meet again, and perhaps this was for the best, but it was easier to have parted on a note of mutual respect.

  When Reed arrived home, he was amazed at the size of Kathleen. In two short months, her figure had mushroomed to monumental proportions. She needed to be helped in and out of chairs and bed, and her back ached constantly. It made Reed wince to see her discomfort.

  Since Kathleen still adamantly refused to return to Chimera, Reed decided to move to Emerald Hill. He wanted to be on hand when the baby was born, to assure himself that Kathleen came through the ordeal alright— as well as for his own personal reasons, among which was a strong desire to prevent further gossip.

  Something had awakened him. Reed lay listening, wondering what it had been. Just as he was about to drift off once more, he heard a muffled moan again. He rolled over, his eyes searching Kathleen’s face on the pillow next to him. By the faint moonlight, he saw the pearl white of her teeth as she bit her lower lip.

  “Kat?” he whispered softly.

  “Mmnf!”

  He waited until the spasm passed. “How close are the pains?”

  “How the devil should I know?” she mumbled. “I am not an owl, and the clock is across the room.”