“It was more than I could take when he started selling my babies—both the boys and girls—to the one with the most money. Their crying and yelps of pain pushed me into some hell on earth and I ended it.”
By now, tears ran in full rivers down her scarred face. Lucretia moved her chair beside Ruby and held the older woman to her chest as she would a child. “Ruby, stop talking. It does not matter. Truly, it does not. Let me help you to bed. You are exhausted.”
Ruby shook her head and took another deep breath. “I waited until he snored in his chair, waiting for more customers. I walked to the building with rooms and took off my dress. By now I had actual breasts and body hair, so the men really liked me. I went from room to room, suggesting that I join the pair there, holding the knife behind my thigh. Naturally, the men were delighted with the idea, so it was easy to entice them to face away from me while I rubbed against them. I cut the throats of a couple, stabbed another couple between the ribs, and saved the best for the last one.
“I returned with the children to the main house, where my father lay asleep. I awakened him, letting him see me naked. His penis hardened and he grabbed me, probing me as I reached down and quickly cut it off. Then I cut his throat as he bellowed in pain at the loss of his manhood, if you could call it that. Blood went everywhere and the children all gathered at the door to watch him in pain. It was sick, so sick. They applauded while my father slowly bled to death.
“I told the children to gather up everything they had and take what we could use. Then I set fire to first the house, then the newer building. We all stood and watched them burn. I directed them to the creek, where we washed ourselves clean. I knew there was no way I could feed them all or find them a place to live. I had no choice but to take them all—including my brothers and sisters—to the orphanage. It took us two days to get there, because those who had traveled from it were vague as to its location. But arrive we did, and every child knew it might be their home until they were sixteen, but it was better than where they had been.
“I was mature for my age. I had no talents, no intelligence, no nothing. So I did the only thing I knew how to do. I whored then and have never stopped.” She stood and walked to her bedroom. Lucretia followed and saw Ruby take a suitcase from her closet.
“Where do you think you are going?” She took the bag from her friend and returned it to the closet. “The only place you are going tonight is to bed. And right now, unless you wish a bath first.” Ruby shook her head and stood still while Lulu undressed her and dropped a nightie over her head. She turned back to the bed and waited for Ruby to get comfortable before sitting down next to her.
“No matter what you think you did that was so horrible, I can see nothing wrong with anything you told me. Those men deserved what they got and even worse. I think they will suffer for eternity in hell. You did what had to be done and I am so damn proud of you. I could never have done what you did. I would have taken the coward’s way and killed myself.” She bent forward and kissed the wet face on the pillow. “I love you, Ruby. I love you!”
Chapter 63
“No, Captain Grant, I will not accept your resignation. You are too valuable to the army for me to let you go. Let us make a compromise. I will give you an open-end furlough and you can return here or to any other base when, and if, you decide you want to return.”
Black Eagle nodded and shook hands with his commandant. He returned his saber and his army-issued guns, but the general insisted he keep his coat, horse, and personal belongings. As a parting gesture, he handed the rifle back to him. “You will need this, no doubt. Where will you go now? What will you do?”
“Sir, I have no plans. I think I will visit my father’s people and perhaps go to Mexico or California. Who knows, maybe I will strike gold or become a bounty hunter. Yes, I would be good at that. Thank you, sir. I appreciate your understanding.” He saluted crisply, turned smartly, and left the officers’ area for the last time. Outside, by his horse, he let his mind wander through the days he had spent there. When an image of Lucretia Lucinda Sawyer reared its golden head, he shook it away and mounted.
He rode away from the fort with nary a look backward. That part of his life was done. As he had told the general, he had no plans other than visiting his former home with the Indians, primarily to visit the death platforms of his grandparents. He need to pray to his gods and to ask Summer Swan for help. Help with what, he did not know, but somehow it was important to visit her.
He did so that same afternoon. The ladders were long gone and the platforms were too deteriorated for him to consider climbing upon them. Nevertheless, he dismounted and sat on the ground, where he could see what little remained of their bones.
He closed his eyes and pictured them together in his mind’s eye from his childhood. “Grandparents, it is I, your son’s son. I am Black Eagle, the half-white boy you named after yourself. My life is half over and still, I am not contented. The ways of our world are gone and now we are taking on the ways of the white man. Worse yet, we are taking to us white women. None is as strong or loving as you, Grandmother. Oh, yes, they warm my feet, but so do dogs. I am here to ask you to help me drive out the memories of one of them. Somehow, she will not leave my mind and I think she is in my soul now, as well.
“Give me a sign or omen from the gods on how to rid her from me. Please! I feel as if I will never have a life until she is gone.” He waited and watched the sky, but there was nothing. He pulled his bedroll from his horse and lay on the ground on it, beside the platforms that sometimes frightened unknowing visitors on nights such as this. He felt no need for a fire. H watched the fog as it formed and rolled across the plains while coyotes howled to the moon-slice, which slid in and out of the clouds. He watched the sky until sleep overtook him and he sank into the world of dreams.
They came to him then. His grandparents walked in the sky above him, holding hands as they had in life. He knew they were dead, but he was comfortable with them as they stood finally at his feet. His grandmother waved her hand at the sky; the clouds blackened, thunder broke the silence, and lightning tore across the sky. A wave of intense cold seemed to envelop him.
He turned his eyes skyward, as did his grandparents. A bolt of energy rolled into a white ball and moved toward him. Its brightness forced him to shield his eyes. He heard his grandmother’s voice in his head. “My son, you must decide if you fear what you see or desire it. Only then will you have a path to follow.”
The light ball moved closer until he could feel its heat replace the cold. As suddenly as it came, it disappeared, and the prairie returned to its former calm and fog. When he turned to his grandparents, they were gone.
He sat on his bedroll for hours, thinking of what he had seen and what his grandmother’s words meant. When dawn came, he was no closer to understanding than he had been the night before.
Black Eagle did not wait for sunrise. He mounted his horse, letting it pick the direction they would go, but was not surprised to find himself on the hill beneath the branches of the old tree. He looked down at the plains below. Nothing moved as far as he could see, but for the wind and the things it touched. He had felt loneliness most of his life, but for the first time, he seemed to be absolutely alone in the entire world. His soul felt hollow, completely devoid of emotions. Not even sadness penetrated that hollow. Nothing, nothing at all.
Chapter 64
Lucretia opened the door just a crack. Ruby was asleep on her side, snoring lightly. It appeared the older woman would sleep the night through, she was so exhausted. Her rumbling stomach reminded Lucretia that she had not eaten for quite a while Her first thought was room service, but then she decided it would be nice to see some smiling faces and hear inane chatter, so she took the elevator down to the dining room.
Immediately, the maître d’ appeared at her side and escorted her to a table near his post. He wanted to insure no one would bother the lady. It was seldom that a lady dined by herself, and he planned to make sure it was a pl
easant meal for her. After all, was she not in the most expensive suite in the hotel? He suggested thick shrimp consommé, a salad of assorted greens, and an assortment of fresh seafood, followed by a chocolate concoction the chef would create just for her, along with a bottle of the cellar’s finest wine. Lucretia laughed. “I will need a seamstress to alter my clothes if I eat like this very often, but it sounds wonderful and I bow to your splendid choices.”
The dining room was resplendent, with gleaming lanterns along the wall covered with ornate, flocked blue paper, and gilded statues of Greek gods and goddesses in alcoves every few feet. The floor felt to Lucretia like she was walking on air with the matching blue carpets. The table linen was white damask so bright it seemed to shimmer in the light. The tall candles stood in silver holders, and a bowl of gardenias floated on each table, permeating the air with their perfume. Lucretia was sure heaven was scented with gardenias. She closed her eyes for a moment and savored the light wine the steward poured for her.
“Hello, and can it be? Mrs. Mills, is that truly you? I have left message after message for you and was about to call the militia to see if you were truly in the hotel or if you had been abducted and spirited away to hide in the sky among the stars, as surely they would welcome another such as you.”
Lucretia did not need to look to know the voice belonged to Devereaux Benoit LaClaire the Third. She smiled up at his face as he took her hand. “Hello again, monsieur. I believe that is the correct term here in the city with roots to the lovely French. Would you like to join me? I have already ordered, but no matter.”
“Ah, lovely lady, I am delighted to see you have not forgotten me. How could I turn down such an offer? I would be delighted to join you.” He waved to the maître d’, indicating a chair should be brought.
Innocent Lucretia had no way of knowing that the man in charge did not like Mr. LaClaire, never had, and was sure he never would. He motioned a waiter to bring a chair and see to the needs of the man who joined the lovely lady. He wished he could somehow warn her about the man trying to charm her, but he knew there was nothing he could do. If he said anything to her and word ever got out, he would lose his job. It mattered not that what he said was true. LaClaire was considered one of the aristocrats of New Orleans and, as such, enjoyed the protection of society and even the law—no matter what his true character might be.
However, Lucretia knew none of those things. She found the gentleman at her table to be charming and witty. Her conscience bothered her for thinking that it was much more pleasant dining with him without Ruby, as for some reason she seemed to actively dislike Mr. LaClaire. Tomorrow, after Ruby recovered from her trying tale, they would take a drive through the city and she would ask her about her dislike for the man she now called Devereaux.
“Tell me, my dear Mrs. Mills, how do you like our fair city so far?”
“Please, call me Lucretia, as I call you by your given name. To be honest, I have seen so little of it that I cannot say anything about it. Well, except for what we can see from our rooms. The view there is incredible. In addition, we thank you so much for the chance to see it all and for your generosity. Tomorrow we shall seek less costly quarters. Actually, I wish to purchase a small house close to where we are now.”
“Perfect. I shall pick you up at…say, eleven. We will have a true New Orleans breakfast, then see some of the homes available. Before I come for you, I will contact several brokers I know, who will be delighted to show you the properties. However”—he took her hand and looked her in the eye—“it will be necessary for them to have a figure of money from which to work. Say, the top amount you wish to spend.
“Oh, perhaps you wish that to remain confidential. I understand. I shall have the waiter bring several envelopes and paper and you can write the amount for me to hand deliver to them when I arrange viewing times.”
Lucretia laughed. “Sir, I hardly think that necessary. One should be sufficient. I will write a note to the bank, telling them to disclose to you my discretionary funds. You have been so kind to us, I see no reason to doubt your honesty and confidentiality. I feel, Devereaux, as if I have known you for years. You so remind me of my uncle, God bless his soul. He was my protectorate from the time I was a wee child until he passed and I still miss him so.
“But enough of maudlin things, sir. Thank you for joining me. A solitary meal is just a time to be less hungry. Company makes it a pleasure.” She stood, offering her hand. He raised it to his lips for what she considered an overlong amount of time. But, perhaps the French had different ideas of politeness.
Chapter 65
It was all Devereaux could do not to turn handstands. Everything had gone far better than he could have hoped for, but for one thing. She had forgotten to give him the note for the banker and he was unsure of how to ask for it without seeming overzealous. His smile faded as he walked her across the expansive lobby to the elevator, his hand possessively around her upper arm.
“Oh, wait, Devereaux.” She pulled away from him and moved to the desk, where she spoke to the bell captain. The man handed her a sheet of paper and an envelope on which she wrote a few lines. She asked for the hotel seal to fasten it shut. She thanked the man and returned to Devereaux, handing the envelope to him. He took it, sliding it into his jacket pocket as he punched the button for the elevator.
“Let me escort you to your door, Lucretia.”
“No, that is not necessary. So until forenoon, good evening.” The doors closed behind her.
Damn her. If she had not sealed it, he would know what she had written. Now, he would have to wait until he got to the bank and that was something he would rather not do, but he saw no choice now. She seemed to make everything so much harder for him than necessary. Well, that would change later.
A carriage rounded the corner, nearly striking his horses. Sam, his age and health aside, was quick to pull their team up quick enough to avoid a real accident. Devereaux was furious as he jumped to the ground. The other driver jumped down also, but nearly fell before catching himself. “Devereaux, my friend, is that you?”
LaClaire recognized the man as Thomas Bozeman Winthrop, son of one of the most wealthy and influential men in the city. “Yes, Thom, old man, it is I. Here, let me help you. Your cups seem to have caught up with you.”
“Appreciated, LaClaire, but I am fine. My friends and I are heading to Bourbon Street for a night of music, imbibing, and perhaps a lovely lady or two. Why not join us? Evening will be on me, for my reckless driving. Say yes, my man, and we will be off.”
Devereaux quickly accepted the invitation, which he knew he would not have received had Winthrop been sober. Sam shook his head, but followed the other coach as instructed. “Now, Sam. None of that head-shaking. I am a grown man, not a child anymore, and I can take care of myself. Just park the buggy behind the other one and take a nap until I rouse you to take us home.” Again, Sam shook his head and did as told.
Winthrop and his three friends waited, swaying to the music pouring out of the club. Or, just swaying, perhaps, thought Devereaux, from too much to drink. He shook hands with all four and with Winthrop’s arm around his shoulder, he followed his host’s drunken escort. They found an empty table near the band, but it was not to Winthrop’s liking. He demanded one close to the stage where the ladies would perform at the hour, as they did every hour.
No table was available there, so he and his friends staggered over to the one closest to the stage and physically dumped the men seated there onto the floor, laughing all the while. A fight ensued, but the management quickly stopped it. After all, Mr. Winthrop was too important to go to jail for a barroom brawl. The men on the floor were helped to their feet and led to a different table, appeased by the free drinks the manager sent their way.
Alcohol flowed freely. At no time was there ever an empty glass on the Winthrop table. The ladies danced, removing items of clothing as they did so, accepting bills stuck into whatever articles they still wore. By the end of their dance, the s
ix men were falling-down drunk.
Several employees helped them into their waiting carriages. Sam drove to the front door and helped get the passed-out LaClaire into the buggy.
At home, he just drove the vehicle into the carriage house and let his employer sleep it off there. As he tucked a blanket around the comatose man, he felt an envelope on the seat. He could not read, but decided it must be important, so he slid it into his own pocket.
Devereaux awoke in the carriage, wrinkled and unshaven. He hurried to the house and his room on the second floor. He quickly washed, shaved, and changed his clothes. He left the dirty laundry on the floor for Peg to find and launder. It was late and the banks would be open already. Rather than find Sam, he decided to drive himself to see Lucretia’s banker and then pick her and that damned Ruby up for touring homes.
He was forced to wait, growing more irate with each passing minute. Finally, his name was called and he followed the secretary to the office of Melvin Charles Duval, Esq., who did not rise to shake his hand. “Hello, Mr. Duval. Mrs. Lucretia Mills is a dear friend of mine and suggested I speak to you regarding the limit and/or dollar amounts you would suggest she spend on a suitable residence here in our fair city. She gave me this letter of introduction…” He felt in his jacket pocket before realizing he had changed clothes and not removed the letter from the soiled one.
“I am so embarrassed, sir, but it is in my suit at home. I will bring it by for you later. If you would be so good as to give me the figures, it will help me limit the brokers when showing her the houses.”
Mr. Duval stood. “You really cannot expect me to discuss my client’s finances with you on simply your word that you have such a letter, which, frankly, I doubt. Please do not return to waste my time further until—and if—you actually do have a document. Good day, sir.” The banker walked to his office door, opened it, and motioned for Devereaux to exit.
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