“You’re my guardian angel,” Ceci smiled.
“No. I ain’t, child,” she responded vehemently. “But, whoever that is, he is white haired and worn out by now. Don’t ever get yourself into a fix like that again. He may not be there, next time.”
Ceci stretched out a trembling hand, her fingers brushing Hecubah’s cheek. “I’m so sorry for what happened,” she began to sob. “I was so cruel to you. Can you ever forgive me?”
“I already have.” Hecubah caught Ceci’s hand in hers, pressing it to her lips. “Didn’t I tell you, one time. No matter what happens, I’ll always be your Hecubah.”
Ceci’s hand went limp as she lost consciousness again. Hecubah tucked it back under the covers, pulling the blanket up under her chin. “That’s right, child,” she crooned, “you sleep. Ain’t nothing gonna hurt you, while I is here.”
Chapter Twenty Eight
As the days wore on, Ceci continued to slip in and out of consciousness. There were occasions, rare moments, when she was entirely herself, but mostly she remained in the grip of the fever. Sometimes, her delirium would make her rave incoherently. There were other times, when she would say things so terrible, that they soared beyond Hecubah’s understanding.
“Cecile Huguette Prejean,” her father loomed over her, hickory switch raised to strike. “Look at yourself,” he roared. “Just look at yourself.”
Ceci glanced down at the Confederate uniform, she was wearing. “It weren’t my fault,” she sobbed. “He started it.” She pointed to where Trent stood, in his West Point uniform, nose dripping with blood.
Henry Doucet appeared. “Take off your clothes,” he ordered, “and put them into this bag.”
Ceci did as she was told, only to discover that she was heavily pregnant.
Then Celeste came in. “No, Ceci,” she demonstrated a perfect curtsey. “Like this.”
“It weren’t my fault,” Ceci cried. “It weren’t my fault.”
She surged up in the bed. “It weren’t my fault,” she screamed.
“It’s all right, honey.” Hecubah put her arms around her. “Easy now. You is only dreaming.”
Ceci was trembling violently. Hecubah held onto her until she’d calmed down. “How long have I been like this?” she panted.
“Almost three weeks,” Hecubah told her.
“Three weeks?” Ceci scowled. “Are we still in the boarding house?”
“Yes, honey,” Hecubah confirmed. “You is still too sick to travel. We has to stay here.”
“What’s been happening?” Ceci asked, as Hecubah poured a glass of water and held it to her lips.
“Chattanooga has fallen,” Hecubah informed her grimly. “Battle went on for about two weeks. Then our boys retreated. The Army of Tennessee has moved down to Georgia. The Union holds the city, and everything around it.”
“Do you think they’ll find us?” Ceci asked, after draining the glass.
“I doubt it,” Hecubah reassured her. “Hundreds of people have bin flooding into this town. Union soldiers are trying their best to keep order. They ain’t got no time for us.”
“We’re losing the war, aren’t we?” Ceci guessed.
“I don’t know what’s going on,” Hecubah admitted, with a dismal shake of her head. “I ain’t bin outside in weeks. Don’t you go worrying about it either,” she chided. “You just concentrate on getting well. Here, try and take a little of this hot broth.”
Ceci managed to eat a small bowl of broth before she passed out again.
A full moon rose high above the cottonwoods in the Louisiana bayou, flooding the garden with soft silvery hues. The warm night was rich with the fragrance of jasmine and lilac, and filled with the song of cicadas.
Ceci found herself in Trent’s tender embrace, tasting the sweetness of his lips. She looked up at him. “What do you think of Hecubah?” she asked. “As a woman, I mean.”
He glanced aside. “She’s very attractive,” he breathed heavily.
Ceci followed his gaze, to where Hecubah was standing, wearing the nightdress she’d bought for her. Her long black hair cascaded over her shoulders and down onto her bare breasts. “It’s just like wearing spider’s web,” she murmured seductively, moving her hands sensuously over her body. “I can’t hardly bring myself to take it off. Seems only right, a man should do it.”
Trent let Ceci go and went over to her. In one swift action, he stripped the diaphanous garment away, before dragging her roughly to him, kissing her fiercely.
“Kissing in the French manner,” Hecubah gasped. “Where’d you learn that?”
“From some books in the library,” he replied, before scooping her into his arms.
“Is she prettier than me?” Ceci asked, as he carried Hecubah into the darkness.
A dull orange light began to permeate the shadows. Ceci went towards it. The patch of colour grew larger and brighter, until finally, she opened her eyes and stared blearily around the attic room. An oil lamp flickered erratically in the corner, then Hecubah’s face swam into view.
“Was Trent here?” she asked feebly.
“No, child,” Hecubah responded softly. “It was just your imagination playing tricks on you.”
“It all seemed so real,” Ceci recalled. “We were together again, in the garden.”
“You can’t believe everything you see, honey,” Hecubah soothed her. “It’s the fever that makes you think that way.”
Ceci felt unhappy and confused. To have been in his arms once more, only to discover that it was just a dream, was a bitter pill to swallow. “How long have I been here?” she asked.
“Almost seven weeks,” Hecubah told her.
“Seven weeks,” Ceci sighed. “Is this the first time I’ve woken up?”
“No, child,” Hecubah sighed, “you bin awake lots of times. We talked. Don’t you remember?”
Ceci shook her head. She felt as if she were living in a twilight world, where reality and imagination bled into each other. She couldn’t trust her own senses. She was as helpless as a baby and prey to any fantasy the fever chose to inflict on her mind. The thought of it terrified her. “Am I going to die?” she asked.
“You stop that, now,” Hecubah scolded. “I won’t hear that kind of talk. No one’s gonna die. Not while I’m here.” She stopped short. Ceci had already drifted back into that twilight world.
As summer turned into fall, the Union garrison finally managed to establish some semblance of order in the town. Now, there were patrols every day and a curfew every night. Hecubah couldn’t have cared less, her only concern was for Ceci. She seemed to be making no progress at all. Her wound had almost healed, but the fever was unabating. It was all she could do to get her to eat a little soup and drink a sip of water.
One night, things got so bad, she had to tear up a sheet and tie Ceci down so that she could keep her hand over her mouth, always afraid she might smother her. After that, Ceci fell silent. She hadn’t come round in days. She just lay there, limp as a rag doll, thin and pale, the shallow rise and fall of her chest, barely discernible.
Hecubah had continued her vigil, strengthened by the fervent hope of Ceci’s recovery. Now, she was forced to admit to herself that she was wasting away before her eyes. Finally, she could stand it no longer and summoned the doctor.
“There’s nothing more I can do for her,” he gave Hecubah the news she least wanted to hear. “There’s nothing anyone can do.” He put his hand on Hecubah’s shoulder. “It’s all in God’s hands now. Let me know, if anything changes.”
Hecubah knew, as he closed the door behind him, that he expected Ceci to die. She went and knelt beside the bed, clasped her hands together, and bowed her head. “Dear Lord,” she prayed. “Here is a poor lost child. Please help her find her way back to me.”
Ceci stood on the edge
of a battlefield, strewn with hundreds of bodies, just as dusk fell. She heard a whippoorwill call. Instinctively, she answered it. The bird rose from a thicket and soared high into the sky. Suddenly, a hawk appeared and plunged down on it. She heard it scream, as it died. She looked back at the field. The dead men rose and beckoned to her. She stepped back, shaking her head. Then, she felt a presence behind her. She turned. It was the rest of the Bird spies.
“Come with us,” Oriole invited.
“It’s peaceful, where we are,” Cardinal told her.
“Ain’t you had enough?” Bunting sighed.
They crowded in on her, cold hands plucking at her clothes, hollow eyes beseeching her to follow them.
To her relief, Trent rode past. She could see the ribbon he had taken from her, fluttering from his horse’s bridle.
“Trent,” she screamed, but her cries were drowned by the crack of a musket shot.
Trent’s horse reared, throwing him from the saddle. He crashed to the ground and lay still.
Now, the field was empty, save for the two of them. Ceci lunged forwards, but her feet sank into the ground, anchoring her to the spot. She reached out to him, straining every sinew, screaming at the top of her lungs. “Trent.”
“It’s all right, child,” Hecubah held her tightly. “I got you, honey.” She pushed her gently back down onto the bed. “I’m here. You’re safe.”
Ceci’s head flopped against the pillow. She sweated from every pore. Her nightdress and bedclothes were soaked. Her head ached and her vision was blurred, but she could hear Hecubah’s voice.
“The Lord be praised. I think the fever’s broken.”
The doctor confirmed her diagnosis. “Her recovery was one in a thousand,” he remarked with astonishment. “Something must have been holding her here.”
“Or, someone,” Hecubah was closer to the truth.
“The battle’s not over,” he warned. “She’ll need time to recuperate. That means plenty of bed-rest. A light diet, to start with, and a little exercise every day.” He paused, studying Hecubah. “You could use some rest, as well,” he observed solicitously. “You look exhausted. Why not accept the offer those Methodist women have been making all these months and get some help. Be my pleasure to give them the good news.”
Hecubah nodded wearily. “That would be a blessing,” she agreed, no longer afraid that Ceci might, inadvertently, give herself away during some delirious episode.
The doctor looked at his watch. “It’s nearly time for the Yankee curfew,” he scowled. “I’ll send them over in the morning.”
Once the doctor had left, Hecubah stripped the bed and remade it with fresh linen. She changed Ceci’s nightgown and bathed her. As the evening drew in, Ceci felt better than she had for a long time. She was still weak and very tired, prone to dozing off at any given moment, but at least she was free of the fever.
“How long have we been here?” she asked.
Hecubah sat beside her, holding her hand. “You bin sick for more than three months.”
“It doesn’t feel that long,” Ceci admitted.
“That’s because you was outa your head most of the time,” Hecubah pointed out.
“Did I say anything?” Ceci enquired tentatively. “I mean, anything strange?”
In her present condition, Hecubah wasn’t about to burden her with the truth. “No, child,” she lied. “Nothing that made any sense.”
“Did you tell anyone our names?” Ceci persisted. “Or where we come from?”
Hecubah mulled it over. “I told them we was escaping from the bombardment at Chattanooga when you got shot. I don’t recall any names being exchanged. Now I think about it. I don’t even know what the doctor’s called.”
“That’s good,” Ceci relaxed visibly. “Keep it that way. We must choose new names for ourselves while we’re here.”
“What’s going on, honey?” Hecubah’s brow creased with concern. She leaned forwards, lightly brushing a vagrant curl from Ceci’s cheek. “Won’t you tell me what it is you’ve bin doing? What have you got yourself into?”
Ceci glanced away. “It’s better,” she paused. “It’s safer,” she corrected herself. “If you don’t know.” She looked back at Hecubah. “One day, I’ll explain.”
“All right,” she conceded grudgingly. “My only reason for coming out here was to find you and bring you home. If I must change my name to do that, then that’s what I’ll do. I won’t ask no questions.”
“Home,” Ceci warmed to the thought. “Tell me about home.”
“It’s just as you left it,” Hecubah was happy to reassure her. “The plantation, the house and the garden. Even Ol’ Magic,” she laughed. “You get any time to think about him?”
“Now and then,” Ceci smiled.
“What about Trent?” Hecubah asked.
“I think about him all the time,” Ceci sighed wistfully. “You know, I’ve seen him twice. Once in Washington and then again at Gettysburg, but he didn’t know I was there.”
A hint of doubt crossed Hecubah’s face. She couldn’t be sure if Ceci was telling the truth, no matter how fantastic it sounded, or if it was just something her fevered imagination had conjured up. In any event, she thought it best to humour her.
“At Gettysburg Trent was injured,” Ceci went on. “I had to leave him.” She chewed her lip in anguish. “I don’t even know if he’s dead or alive. Maybe I’ll never see him again.”
“Nonsense,” Hecubah objected, “that boy’s indestructible. When this war’s over, he’s gonna come looking for you.”
“What if he does,” the thought didn’t cheer her. “When he finds me, and discovers what I’ve been doing, will he still want me then?”
Hecubah wasn’t about to let her give up hope now. “I done told you already,” she reminded her. “Never underestimate Ol’ Magic, but most of all, don’t underestimate Trent Sinclaire.”
Ceci brightened a little. She yawned, gazing into the shadows. Her mind wandering off to happier times. “Hecubah?”
“Yes, child?”
“Talking of Ol’ Magic. You never did say who that mystery man was. The one who saved you from the auction block.”
“Mercy, child. Ain’t you never gonna give up on that?” she clicked her tongue, feigning annoyance, inwardly glad that Ceci was becoming more like her old self.
“Please, won’t you tell me?” Ceci begged, clutching at her hand.
“All right,” Hecubah relented indulgently. “If you must know, it was Simon Robicheaux.”
“The overseer?” Ceci sounded disappointed. “But he’s old.”
“He weren’t so old then,” Hecubah pointed out. “He was thirty-two, strong and handsome. I was eighteen. He took a shine to me right off, risked everything to save me and he was an easy man to love.”
“Did he ever ask you to marry him?” Ceci wondered.
“Lots of times,” Hecubah smiled.
“Then, why didn’t you?”
Hecubah’s smile faded. She’d always dreaded this moment. Hoped that it would never come, but now that it had, there was nothing she wouldn’t do, or say, to keep Ceci on the road to recovery.
“There was another man,” she confessed, tears beginning to well up in her eyes.
“I knew it,” Ceci proclaimed weakly. “I was right all along. I did smell two different colognes. Who was he?”
“He was a widower,” Hecubah pressed her free hand to her breast, finding it hard to speak. “Oh, Lord,” she gasped. “Ol’ Magic certainly had his way with us. I fell for him, so hard, and he loved me the same.” She sniffed, brushing the tears from her cheek. “We had our time together, even though we knew it couldn’t go nowhere. He was an influential man, a plantation owner, and I was just a creole girl. Don’t matter anyway,” she sniffed. “He�
�s dead now.” She fell silent, waiting for Ceci to make the connection, if she could.
Some moments passed. “Hecubah?”
“Yes, child?”
“Are you talking about my daddy?”
“You asked me, so I told you,” she responded defensively. “You chew on it. If it makes you angry, makes you strong, then so much the better.” She paused, waiting nervously for the condemnation she felt sure would come. Instead, she felt Ceci’s hand gently squeeze hers.
“I’m glad you made him happy,” she murmured drowsily. “I’m glad he made you happy.”
Hecubah gazed down at her, fresh tears spilling down her cheeks.
“Hecubah?” Ceci’s eyelids began to droop.
“Yes, child?”
“Is that why he asked you to take care of me?” Ceci’s eyelids fluttered, then closed, as she began to breathe deeply.
Hecubah bent down, and kissed the brow of the sleeping figure. “No, honey,” she answered anyway, “I asked him.”
Chapter Twenty Nine
As promised, a group of Methodist ladies arrived early in the morning, all anxious to be of assistance. From the very first, they made a great fuss of Ceci. She seemed to represent to them a symbol of life over death, of resistance against federal oppression.
Foremost among them was Twyla-Fae Fuller and her daughter Savannah. Savannah was like a breath of fresh air, wafting into the stale atmosphere of the attic room. She was about the same age as Ceci, auburn haired, with green eyes and skin as pale as buttermilk. She was inquisitive, naive and clearly addicted to romantic novels, which she brought with her every day to read to Ceci, whether she wanted her to or not.
Endlessly swooning over some fictitious hero, like most young women, she was always curious about the physical side of love, whilst, at the same time, displaying a complete and obvious lack of experience. Whenever Hecubah wasn’t around, Ceci would drop her the odd juicy titbit. She felt it was the least she could do in return for all the girls attention. Savannah would listen in breathless silence, eyes wide, mouth open, hand clasped to her bosom, until Ceci had finished. “My Lord, that’s shocking,” she always said the same thing. “Then what happened?”
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