“Damn fine bait, eh, Boss?” he said to Laffite, who nodded his agreement.
Both men knew that many young slaves were taught to attract alligators during a hunt in this manner. This boy obviously knew his job well. The more noise and splashing, the more likelihood of attracting the quarry. After the huge reptile entered the water, the bait would be snatched back to safety before the alligator reached him or the men opened fire. Prime gator-bait was too valuable to be used only once.
Nicolette, however, did not know all this. Such quaint folk customs were not taught by the Ursuline sisters. When she spied the horny head of the alligator, its jaws parted, showing double rows of jagged, razor-sharp teeth, she jumped up and screamed, “No! You can’t do this!”
Laffite tried to pull her back to her seat and silence her, but she twisted away from him. He managed to grab the hem of her skirt and keep her in the boat for the moment.
The three rivermen recognized a woman’s voice when they heard one. ‘Gator-hunting was good sport, but there were others they enjoyed far more. And a woman—any woman—meant just one thing to them.
“Reckon you fellers been holdin’ out on Big Red,” the leader said, baring yellow teeth in a wide grin. “‘Pears like you got somethin’ a heap better than rum fit for the sharin’.”
Laffite rose to his full height, several inches shy of Big Red’s astounding stature, and pointed the four barrels of his pistol at the man’s heart.
“This is my wife! Back off now and let us pass or you’ll be dinner for that ’gator!”
Nicolette was too caught up in the terrifying drama taking place in the water to realize any threat from the Kaintocks. The ten-foot alligator had emerged from the underbrush and was slithering over the muddy bank toward the water’s edge. The little boy was screaming with real terror now, trying desperately to fight his way back to shore. Nicolette knew that once the creature maneuvered its heavy body into the water, it would strike like lightning. There were only seconds, and none to spare.
Hauling her canvas skirt up, she knotted it about her waist and leaped from the pirogue to the spongy bank. She ran directly for Big Red and yanked the rope from his hands, pulling for all she was worth. The hysterical child kicked and squirmed, making it more difficult for her to bring him to safety. The alligator was in the water now, sailing like a log in swift current toward its evening meal.
“Dammit, boy, quit fighting me!” Nicolette yelled.
The men fell silent, taking in the drama with amazed immobility, too stunned by her actions and words to offer help.
It seemed to Nicolette that she tugged at the coarse rope forever. Her delicate hands burned, her shoulders ached, and her breath tightened hot bands about her chest. Finally, just as the dreadful beast gave a last lunge, his jaws wide to receive the bait, she yanked the boy onto the bank. The release sent her sprawling into a stagnant pool of slimy mud. A cheer went up from all the men.
“Goddamn! If she ain’t a pistol!” Big Red hooted, slapping his knee. “I reckon it ain’t likely you’d want to sell her to me, mister?” He measured Jean Laffite with an unmistakable gleam in his bloodshot eyes.
Laffite raised his hand weapon again and the look on his face told them all that he wasn’t far from pulling the trigger. He answered in a steely voice, “Not for sale, for barter, or for loan, you filthy, overgrown son of a river rat!”
He went to Nicolette, never taking his eyes or his aim off the big Kaimuck, and positioned himself between her and the three men.
“Don’t get me wrong,” Big Red answered almost sheepishly, raising his hands in front of his chest as if to shield it from the bullets he expected at any moment. “I ain’t one to jump another stud’s mare. They’s a-plenty more in the pasture. Just thought as how I’d ask, mister. Don’t do no harm to ask, does it?”
“Well, you’ve got your answer! Now get away from her before I let daylight through your shirt.”
Laffite reached down to help Nicolette up. “Come on. Let’s get back in the boat and get out of here before I have to shoot somebody,” he said.
She sat cross-legged in the mud, refusing to budge, and said stubbornly, “No!”
“What do you mean?”
“I’m not leaving here without that boy! These men cannot be allowed to go on torturing him this way!”
“Nicolette, be reasonable,” Laffite pleaded softly. “The boy’s been raised to hunt ‘gators. He doesn’t know anything else.”
“Why, that’s inhuman!” she cried. “I can’t believe you’re willing to accept this and just go your own way. And even if you are, I’m not!”
Jean Laffite scowled, helpless in the wake of this sort of insubordination. He knew his men were all watching the confrontation. And probably laughing behind their beards, he thought. He’d have to take a firmer stand with her.
“You will do as I say! Now!” he bellowed.
“No, I won’t! You didn’t buy me at some auction, Jean Laffite, and you can’t order me about. Either the boy goes or I stay.”
Big Red heard Nicolette’s reply and grinned broadly. He winked at her and said, “I got a nice tent, missy, and plenty of whiskey and ‘gator meat salted down. We could have ourselves a high ole time!”
Laffite narrowed his green eyes at the man and made a menacing motion with his pistol.
“Nikki?” he said, trying to raise her again.
She only shook her head, set her jaw in a firmer line, and stayed put.
“How much for the boy?” Laffite growled at last.
“Oh, me and my men, we paid a-plenty for this little, ole nigger. ‘Sides, there’s sentimental attachment.” He poked the toe of his boot into the buttocks of the panting figure on the bank and snarled, “Ain’t that right, Gator-Bait?”
“Yes, massa! Whatever you say, massa!” the boy answered, quaking with fear.
“Why, this here youngun’ll tell you, I been just like his own pappy. Don’t reckon I could part with him… without it plumb breakin’ my heart… for less than a thousand.”
The boy darted his eyes, panic-filled and pleading, from Big Red to Nicolette.
“Pay him, Jean,” Nicolette demanded.
The pirogues moved on up the bayou a few minutes later. Big Red and his compatriots grinned and waved from the bank while they counted their gold coins—currency that had lately resided in Jean Laffite’s leather pouch and before that in the velvet purse of an unfortunate Spanish nobleman.
Nicolette used a lace-edged handkerchief to wipe the mud from the tiny black face beside her. His wide eyes looked uncomprehending.
“What’s your name, child?” she asked.
“Gator-Bait, ma’am. Ain’t never had me none other.”
“Well, we’ll remedy that.” She thought for a moment.
“I’m going to call you Daniel, because he escaped death in the jaws of a fearsome beast, too.”
The boy, probably not more than eight years old, crinkled his face into a merry smile. “Yes, ma’am. I heared tell about that. How Marse Dan’el Le Beaux over to Vermillion Parish whupped that ole swamp cat bare-handed and saved his own skin.”
“No, not in Vermillion, Daniel. This was in the Bible.”
His forehead creased as if he were thinking hard about something. Then he shook his head slowly.
“Reckon I ain’t never been in that parish, ma’am.”
Nicolette tried to make the name stick. But for the rest of his life, “Madame Boss’s boy” would only answer to Gator-Bait, and eventually even his mistress forgot that for a brief time he had been christened Daniel.
Jean Laffite remained brooding and silent as they moved on through the bayous. He wasn’t pleased at having to hand over so much gold for the pint-sized slave, and he was even more unhappy at Nicolette’s high-handed tactics in getting her way.
This was a side of the gentle girl he hadn’t seen before, but he knew with a terrible certainty that he would see it again.
Chapter Nine
The flo
tilla of pirogues from Grande Terre arrived at The Temple the next day, just as the sun was setting and turning the greenish shadows into soft purple twilight, pinpricked by fireflies.
Nicolette had remained uncomplaining through the exhausting trip, though every muscle and joint in her body screamed with pain by the time their boat nosed through the marsh at the old shell mound. Even more agonizing was the swelling of her face caused by the bites of ravenous mosquitoes, who had seemed to fancy the crushed juniper berries she’d rubbed on her skin to repel them. More than anything, she wanted a bath and a soft bed.
While Nicolette still sat in the boat, Gator-Bait clambered over the side, squealing his excitement.
“Lawdy, look at dis here place! All dem shells musta took your darkies a heap of shuckin’ and stackin’ time, M’sieu Boss!”
Laffite, occupied tying the boat, answered halfheartedly, “Not my people, Gator-Bait. Indians… a long time ago.”
The boy crouched low on the bank and swept the clearing and shadowy oak and cypress forest beyond with keen eyes.
“Them Choctaws, they bad! Ain’t none ‘round these here parts now, is they?”
“No,” Laffite answered, helping Nicolette to dry land. “But you mind Madame Boss or I’ll conjure up a ghost of one to teach you right from wrong. You hear me, boy?”
Gator-Bait shrieked with terror and rushed to hide his face against his mistress’s skirt.
“Jean, how could you be so cruel?” Nicolette scolded. “You’ve no call to frighten the child.”
Laffite made no reply, but scowled his displeasure. A new brand of jealousy ate at him, though he wouldn’t have admitted to it by that name. Ever since Nicolette had coerced him into buying the boy, she’d put the worthless little slave’s comfort before his. It rankled deeply.
Probably she’ll want him to sleep on the foot of our bed tonight like a pet dog, he thought morosely. Well, by God, I won’t stand for it!
“You, boy,” Laffite growled. “Fetch the lady’s satchel up to the house.”
“He has a name, Jean!” Nicolette reprimanded again.
“I know!” he mumbled under his breath. “Trouble!”
They walked from the boat landing the short distance to the cabin. Nicolette welcomed Laffite’s supporting arm. Her stiff legs protested every step of the way. Her back ached and her head throbbed.
Though she felt little like examining her surroundings closely, she did note the strange hill of oyster shells, four or five feet higher than the marshes, and the two-room cabin of cypress perched at the edge of the chenière. The weathered wood looked as silvery-gray as the Spanish moss trailing down out of the oaks. The house appeared warm and cozy from the outside.
“The men are building a fire now, so you’ll have hot water for a bath shortly,” Laffite told her as they mounted the steps to the miniature veranda. “I’ll help you out of those muddy clothes and you can lie down for a while, darling.”
He couldn’t stay upset with her, he realized. She looked so utterly miserable and so vulnerable in her present state of untidiness and fatigue. He wanted her fresh and clean so that he could lie down in the bed next to her and massage away her pain… hold her close and do the things to her that made her sigh with pleasure… whisper how much he loved her and needed her near… let her relieve his own primal ache.
But making love was the farthest thing from Nicolette’s travel-weary mind at the moment. She glanced about the tiny sitting room of the cabin and her heart sank. Dust, cobwebs, and rotting leaves filled all four corners. A large, green lizard skittered across the seat of the lone chair in the room, sending a shiver through her.
Laffite saw the disappointment in her face and said, “I know it isn’t much, darling, but it will serve well enough as a roof over our heads for one night. I’ll get Gator-Bait busy in here with a broom and a pail.”
She walked silently, hesitantly, into the bedroom and breathed a sigh of relief. At least there was a bed—a low, narrow affair with a moss-stuffed mattress sagging down into the ropes. But it was a place to lie down. With a silent prayer of thanksgiving, she eyed the mosquito netting which covered it.
“The tub’s in here,” Jean said, opening another door to a closet-sized room, “and the basin and chamber pot.”
When she still didn’t answer and kept her back to him, he came to her and turned her to him. She let her head droop against his chest and suddenly she was weeping pitifully.
“I’m sorry, Jean,” she sobbed. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me. I’m just worn out and all this is so new to me. I’ll get used to your way of life, but I guess it will take more time than I thought.”
He caressed her tangled hair and whispered, “Don’t cry about it, sweetheart. I won’t be impatient with you. I promise. Besides, we have all the time in the world.”
After Nicolette had undressed, bathed, eaten a light supper of delicate frogs’ legs, and sipped at a concoction of rum, water, and fresh lime juice that Jean had urged on her, she felt restored.
She lay back on the cool sheets. The drawn mosquito netting seemed to screen out the rest of the world, lulling her senses and dulling her aches. She listened to the night sounds—the Baratarians talking and laughing around their campfires, the sad-sweet songs of the slaves who would go to new homes shortly, the chorus of crickets, and the intermittent hoots of an owl far off in the swamp.
Sukey had always said that an owl’s mournful night cry presaged doom, but Nicolette never believed it. The sound was soothing, not threatening.
She was on the verge of sleep when she heard Jean enter the cottage. His protective presence removed the last concern from her mind and she let herself drift off into blessed oblivion.
Laffite stood beside the bed, staring down at his Nikki. She looked much better now-all pink and white in her fresh linen gown with her clean hair brushed and spread out on the pillow. A sweet smile touched her lips. He longed to kiss it. One arm was under her head. The other hand rested between her breasts, the fingers curled delicately as if she were beckoning him to that region.
“Nikki,” he whispered.
She moved slightly, but didn’t open her eyes or answer him.
The heat of the May night made his clothes cling to him. Quickly, he shrugged out of them, then slid under the netting to lie beside Nicolette. When he was settled so close that he could feel her warmth and breathe in the femaleness of her, he let out a satisfied sigh.
“At last,” he murmured. “I thought I’d die from wanting you these past two days, darling. But I couldn’t do much about it with all the men watching us every minute.”
When she didn’t answer, he leaned over to kiss her. Her only response was to turn her face away from him.
“Don’t be that way, Nikki,” he pleaded. “If you’re still angry about the way I treated the boy, I’ll promise not to tease him anymore. But, God, don’t punish me this way!”
He touched her face tentatively to see what response he got. She swatted his hand away as she had so many insects in the past days.
“Nikki, please’.” he begged, letting his hand ease inside the loose bodice of her gown.
Her body stiffened as he clasped her breast. She pulled away and gave a soft sob.
“Darling, what’s wrong?”
But her level of sleep was so deep that nothing he said penetrated. Instead, the aches in her body conjured up hideous, suppressed visions of her encounter with Silas Browne. The nightmare which she couldn’t remember by day was beginning to creep back to conscious level under cover of darkness.
“No! Don’t touch me!” she cried out, slapping at his hands.
Laffite pulled away. “I’m sorry, Nikki,” he said in an injured tone.
He lay still for a few moments until her whimpering stopped and she turned on her side toward him.
Sure that she had given in at last to him, he let his hand slide up under her gown to stroke her thighs. She twisted out of his grasp and pounded his chest with clenched fists
. He released her abruptly and battled his way blindly out of the tangled netting.
“Have it your way!” he said angrily. “I’ll sleep in Pierre’s-tent tonight!”
He grabbed his britches and stormed out of the cabin.
Nicolette slept on undisturbed, her exhaustion so complete that even nightmares couldn’t penetrate her consciousness after a short time.
While she slept, Laffite drank more than his usual quota of rum and told his brother, “Maybe it was all a mistake. I don’t think she loves me the way I love her, Pierre. She cares more about that little nigger than she does about me. God, I could die from this ache in my gut! And there’s not another woman within a day’s journey of here!” He stared silently down in to his mug for some time, then said, “I wouldn’t want any other woman, anyway. I only want her.”
Finally, the rum did its work and Jean Laffite fell into an uneasy slumber, which would leave him with an aching head and a quick temper the following day.
Nicolette awoke the next morning to find Jean dressed and standing at the foot of the bed, staring at her.
“I trust you slept well,” he said when he saw her eyes come open.
She smiled and stretched, realizing thankfully that most of her soreness had vanished. “Yes, Jean. And you?”
“You already know the answer to that question!” he snapped, scowling at her.
She didn’t understand what he meant. “What’s wrong, Jean? I’m sorry if .
“Belay that!” he cut in angrily. “I don’t want your apologies. I don’t need them.”
Nicolette sat rigid in the bed, trying to piece together what was happening. Obviously, they were embroiled in their first lovers’ quarrel. But where had it come from? Out of the blue! And why was it happening? She had no idea.
“I wasn’t trying to apologize,” she said. “As far as I know, I have no reason to. I was simply going to say, before you interrupted so rudely, that I’m sorry if you didn’t sleep well.”
Laffite threw up his hands and turned away from her. Focusing his gaze on some distant point out the window, he addressed an unseen presence. “Now she’s sorry. But she certainly didn’t give a damn last night.”
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