Without another word, he mounted and urged the horse into a full run. The men watching shook their heads. One said, “That horse ain’t going ta last to the fort, he keeps that up.”
Jed rode like a madman until his horse started to falter. He pulled it up at a little creek moving with the fast flow of melted snow. As the horse drank and rested, he leaned against a tree, surveying the plains as far as he could see. On the hill where a younger tree grew by a dead snag, he saw a figure on a horse sitting under the boughs. He would know that figure if he lived to be a hundred.
He fired his rifle three times in the air, standing, so the man on the hill could see his shots were not aimed at him. He jumped back on the horse, hoping it could make it, as he raced toward the tree. The man also mounted and moved toward him.
He felt his horse giving out again, so he slid off to wait. His heart beat faster than he could remember, but for that night with Lucretia. God, what a time to remember that. He stood wiping the drooping head of his mount with water from his canteen until the man dismounted and walked to him.
“Hello, Jed.”
“Hello, Captain.”
“Not Captain anymore. Just Eagle.” They grinned and hugged each other in the way men do—affectionately but distantly, pounding each other on the shoulders.
Jed’s face sobered as he took the folded paper from his pocket and handed it to Eagle, who unfolded it and read it. Several times he read it before looking up into the face of the younger man. “I have to go, Jed. Now.”
“Wait and listen and don’t go off half-cocked. The train is the fastest way. I am going with you. No, do not say a word. I love that woman. I have loved her from the first moment I ever saw her. The wagon is an hour or so behind me, so we can send word to the general, along with this telegram. And I ain’t taking no argument from you. I’m going with or without you.”
“Climb up behind me. Your horse cannot carry you any further. No need to ride like idiots. No train until morning anyway.” Eagle waited until Jed took the reins of his horse and tied them to the saddle horn. He mounted behind Eagle and they rode without speaking except to the wagon platoon, until they reached Cottonwood Creek. Between them, they had just enough money for the fare. Food was unimportant. Only the plea for help for Lulu mattered. But always between them—but never mentioned—were the pictures each carried in his mind of the woman they both loved.
Chapter 84
They were a strange-looking trio as their wagon pulled up in front of police headquarters near downtown New Orleans. The sergeant on duty inside did a double take as the threesome waited for him to speak and he was nearly speechless.
The fat one was a whore he recognized. The black woman was wrinkled and appeared to be at least a hundred years old. The white woman, brutally scarred, spoke.
“Officer, this lady is Claralee.” He nodded as she pointed to the prostitute. “This lady is known as Old Betty. I do not know either of them any other way. And I am Ruby.”
“Ruby what?” he asked, as his mind worked to remember something about a Ruby while trying to ignore her scars.
“I cannot…I do not know much about myself. I was abducted some time ago…”
Now he recalled the event. “Just a minute, madams.” He jumped to his feet and ran down the hall for someone he called “Captain.” He returned, asking them to follow him into a room with a large table and many chairs.
“Please sit down. May I bring you coffee? Tea? Anything?”
“Yes,” said the white woman. “We would love some tea.”
The man who came into the room was big. His uniform stretched across his more than ample body. He looked from one to the other before speaking. “Now, am I to understand that you three have some information on the disappearance of Ruby Redstone? I am in no mood for games and the reward is only for proof of what happened to the woman. So what have you to tell me?”
“Do you know of a man named Devereaux Benoit LaClaire?” asked the white woman. She was so ugly with scars that he wished she would cover them, as they made him uncomfortable.
“Yes, I do. He is in jail now, awaiting trial for trying to rape one of the city’s lovely newcomers. To protect her, I cannot divulge her name, but she is fine and he will not harm her in the future. Now, what does he have to do with Ruby Redstone?”
“He is responsible for her kidnapping and disappearance.”
The captain decided it was probably true, but needed proof. “How can we substantiate your claim?”
“He dun kidnapped me too, sir. Took us both ta shack in de bayou, ’til we got us away.”
“I am expected to believe he found it necessary to kidnap you. I would assume your ‘favors’ were close enough to free to hardly warrant kidnapping you. Anything else? Well, thank you for stopping in.” He rose to leave and was ready to close the door behind him when the scarred woman spoke.
“I am Ruby Redstone. No—I remember now! I am Ruby Clanton Sawyer. Lucretia Lucinda Sawyer is my daughter!”
From one open door to another, sound carried in the old stone building. The jailer opened the door to the cell chambers just as Ruby spoke. Her voice carried along the corridors into the cells nearby. One prisoner heard the words and they went through him like an electric shock. “The bitch is not dead. The whore lied to me. Once they testify against me, it will be certain death for me. Kidnapping on top of rape. If they can kill me more ways than one, they will do it. I have to get out of here. Come hell or high water, I will kill them all before they get me again.” From that moment on, his entire life revolved around plans to escape.
In the other room, things happened so fast that it became a blur to the women and the officers as well. One raced outside, jumped on his horse, and tore through the streets. He slid off his horse before it even halted and bounded up the stairs. He did not even stop to ring the bell. He burst through the door shouting, “We found Ruby Redstone. She is at the police station waiting for you.”
Sam rushed to the carriage house, but Lucretia did not have any intention of waiting. She pushed the officer out the door, demanding he take her back to the station. He would have agreed anyway in his excitement, but sitting behind her with his arms around her was like taking a ride with an angel.
She ran up the long flight of brick stairs into the dark building, straight into the arms of the woman she loved, the woman who was her mother. They clung together, crying and laughing, both talking at once. Happiness filled their hearts, as well as those of the two women behind Ruby and the officers all around. Lucretia Lucinda Sawyer did not think she could ever be happier than she was at that moment.
Chapter 85
Devereux LaClaire conceived a plan so simple that it could not fail. He would wait a couple of days to give the women time to settle in at the mansion Lucretia owned. He did not care about the old black woman, or even Fat Whore whom he had twice seen together in the old wagon, unless he came across them. He certainly was not going to hunt for either of them. All her wanted was his revenge. Lucretia would feel his manhood and watch as he gave the bitch a few more cuts. Then they would feed the alligators.
He was sure Lucretia would have money at her home. She was big on tipping everyone, dumb bitch. Maybe he could hold her hostage for a couple of days and ransom her. Yes, that would work. He even composed a note in his head. “If you want to see the women alive again, put $10,000 in a carpetbag and leave it…” Well, he would work on that later. Hell, he might even have the fat whore do the pickup. He knew where he could find her. Oh, he was going to have some great fun before this was over. The pictures in his head hardened his cock. He closed his eyes and put his hand around it, pretending it was Lucretia.
At that moment, Lucretia and the three other women sat in her kitchen, sipping tea while Peg and Sam stood aside, grinning as they served them. “Now, you two, stop all that and sit down with us,” Lulu ordered.
“No, ma’am, ain’t right fer servants ta sit wif white folk,” replied Sam.
“What
am I, you old buck, da Queen of France?” Old Betty shook her finger at him. “Get your butts o’er here like da lady say.”
Everyone laughed as he acquiesced. “Ain’t nobody argue wit Old Betty,” said Claralee.
“I know you are all tired, and the police will be here later to ask you some questions, so would you like to wash up and rest awhile?” Lucretia rose and poured more tea in the pot.
“Here? We wash up and rest here?” Claralee seemed stunned at the idea.
“Of course, here. Where did you think I meant?”
“Well, I ain’t ne’er been in a place like dis afore. What if’n I break somethin’?”
“Then we will throw it out. Probably don’t need it anyway.” Ruby smiled.
They chatted on and on until Old Betty rose, nodded to Lucretia, and bent to hug Claralee and Ruby. “I bes’ be goin’ now. Ya can tell da policeman dat I donna know nothin’ but dat I drive ya round. Thank ya, Miss Lucretia, fer tea an’ vittles.”
She could not be persuaded to stay or let Sam drive her home. “I drive me here, I drive me da utter way.” With that, she opened the door and walked painfully down the long flight of stairs and around the house to where her old wagon and ancient pair of horses waited.
Lucretia led the two women up the wide staircase to the second floor and turned to the left. “This will be your room, Claralee, if you like it.” She opened the door on the right.
“My room? I havin’ a room here?” Her eyes widened so much that they seemed too big for her gigantic face. She could not comprehend that all this was for her. Even for one day, she thought, it was like heaven. The bed was covered with a pink comforter with white rosebuds that matched the wallpaper and the rugs. A fireplace was laid, but unlit, on the outside wall. The wall was so long, it had a large window that looked out over the back garden. Along another wall was a dressing table and matching bureau. A closet with two doors took most of another wall. A settee with matching chairs and tables completed the décor. Sparkling sconces reflected the light from all around the room.
Their sparkle could not compete with the glittering in the eyes of the woman. “I ain’t ne’er seed nothin’ like dis in ma life. I canna stay here. It belons ta a high lady, na a fat ol’ whore.”
Ruby pulled her into her arms. “Claralee, you are the highest lady in the world to me. If not for you, some gnarly old gator would have eaten me alive. You are here with me and you will stay as long as you want.” Lucretia moved to join them, spreading her arms as wide as she could to take Claralee into her arms as well. They cried together, out of happiness.
A sweet-faced young woman, small and cocoa-colored, waited outside the door until they noticed her. “Oh, Teresa, come in and meet Miss Claralee. Claralee, this is Teresa. She will be here to help you in any way you like. She will draw your bath now and when you are asleep, she will go to town and purchase some clothes for you. Now, if you need anything else, just pull this cord here and Sam or Peg will come.”
“Wait, Miss Lucretia. I canna have a maid. I jist a fat ol’ whore and whore’s dunna have maids.”
Ruby took both Claralee’s hands in hers. “Listen, and listen good, Claralee. From now on, you are not a whore. You are a permanent guest in our house and our guests all have maids. Teresa will be your friend, too, if you let her. One of her first tasks is to teach you to speak properly and show you how a lady acts. Oh, that is, if you want to learn.”
Claralee shouted. “Damn hell, shits afire. I gonna be a lady.”
Teresa spoke as Ruby and Lucretia left the room. “Well, for one thing, Miss Claralee, ladies do not say ‘damn hell, shits afire.’ Nor do they say ‘gonna.’ They say ‘going to.’ Now, you try it.”
The smile faded from her fat face as Claralee looked at the young woman. “Well, if ya thin you is gonna tell me whatta do, well, den you is right.” She grinned again, pulling the other into her overly ample arms. “Going to. How was that? Ya going to learn me to get skinny, too?”
Old Betty would have been furious to know that she had been followed by a couple of her neighbors, who took turns watching out for their wonderful matriarch. The next morning, one of them returned to Lucretia’s, asking for Scar. They huddled for a few minutes, whispering, and then the man left.
She had tears in her eyes as she returned to the breakfast table. “I have sad news. Old Betty passed last night, sitting on her porch, smoking her pipe. Cassius said she just closed her eyes and was gone. He said he was sure I would want to know, and he is right But, we were asked not to come to the village or attend the funeral. It is, as he said, ‘jist fer home folk.’”
Chapter 86
The trio of women was so happy, getting to know one another and shopping. If you had asked Sam, he would have told you he got tired just driving them, so he could not understand how they could spend all morning shopping, have lunch, then shop some more. He waited outside the businesses, taking their parcels to load in the carriage, and watched shaking his head, as they moved on to another establishment. More often than not, one parcel always contained a small thing for Peg and him. A scarf for her head, as the law required her to wear, a pair of stockings for him, a lap robe for cool evenings, even silly, nonsensical doodads to make them laugh.
A few blocks away, in the stone and brick courthouse, Devereaux Benoit LaClaire forced himself to vomit, deliberately missing the bedpan. He wanted the guards to see that he really was sick. After the first time, it was easy. All he had to do was smell the odor permeating his cell, and up more would come. He dropped to the floor, moaning as he held his stomach, making sure his nose was firmly pressed into his armpit until he needed to upchuck again.
Three guards conferred before sending a message to the captain that they had a really sick man. There was no way the captain was going near any sick man. He lived in fear of catching something. He even covered his nose and mouth when his own children sneezed or coughed.
He sent for a doctor, who took one look at the man who feigned semi-consciousness with his low moaning, and decided to have him moved to the hospital. LaClaire’s simple plan was working just the way he had hoped it would. By dark, he would be inside the bitch’s mansion and by morning, she and her aunt would both be missing.
He had not foreseen being strapped to his bed. He fought the two large orderlies as they removed his restraints in the wagon and moved him to a wheeled cot. He forced himself to calm down, hoping they would forego the straps, but one man grabbed each arm and before he could flex a muscle, he was tied down. He knew that if he was quiet, they would not fasten his legs, so he remained still but for moaning and making his stomach bounce up and down.
In a room with five other men, he saw his chances of escaping dwindling away. He might be able to handle one or two, but five—that was another story. Think, think, think, think. However, his luck turned. Three of the five were old and unconscious. Die, you bastards, he thought. All right, two then. And a nurse, probably.
He waited until the hospital quieted. No doctor or anyone else came to see him. He concluded that he had been brought here to die. Well, he would show them. Finally a young female nurse came in and leaned over him.
“Mr. LaClaire, can you hear me?”
He moaned and made his voice sound thin and strangled. “Hurt, hurt, so bad, sister.” He kept up the charade until she saw his hand motion. His wrist was bleeding from the abrasion he had done himself to make it appear the strap was too tight.
She smiled at him, taking a small knife from her pocket, and cut him loose. As she straightened, his hand came up to encircle her neck and pull her down, pressing her face into his chest. His cock came to full attention as she gasped for breath. He knew he did not have the time to spread her legs and give her what all women wanted, as much as his need pained him. When she stopped struggling, the rest was easy. He blew out the lantern, put the woman’s body in his bed, and covered her. All was well in the terminal men’s dorm.
Back at the mansion, Judge Franklyn Mountebank and his w
ife and Banker Melvin Charles Duval, Esq. were dining with the three ladies. It was a gala affair. Even Claralee made every attempt to curtail her language and said very little, but smiled continually. Ruby had covered her face again with a veil and loved the small talk, although she, too, said little. Lucretia led the conversation from one subject to another as a good hostess might. From the cellar below, an unwanted guest listened and hated. It had been so easy to break a window that went unheard under the laughter above. He recognized the voices of the judge and banker. Could he be that lucky? Yes, he could and he was. His grin was so grim that even the devil might have hesitated accepting him. Oh yes, his time was coming and coming soon.
Chapter 87
The servants moved in and out of the kitchen while Devereaux watched them from a slightly ajar door that led to the cellar. It was not a cellar in the true sense of the word, because no digging was done anywhere in New Orleans. The water level was so low that even a small downpour would bring up little floods here and there. Under the Sawyer home, a latticework allowed water to run where it would and at the same time allowed air movement to cut down on the rot and mold so prevalent in the south. Under the Sawyer home, the stairway led to a floating platform that allowed the servants to hang bags of onions, potatoes, and the like. Rats might find them, but the city offered so much for the rodents, they seldom bothered with things they had to work at reaching.
As Sam and Peg filled and lifted the trays of food, Devereaux took the opportunity to run into the kitchen, grabbing two long knives and a loaf of bread. He was hungry after the strain of repeated vomiting, but forced himself to eat small bites until his stomach settled.
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