Tainted Lilies

by Becky Lee Weyrich

  Can I stand it? she wondered. The answer came quickly: No! Not without marriage!

  By the end of the play, her mind was made up. Laffite made things all the easier by announcing when they got into the carriage, “I’ve decided we should set out for Grande Terre tomorrow, if you feel up to the trip, darling.”

  “I’m fine, but if we’re to leave so soon, will you take me to the cathedral to pray before we leave?”

  “Right now?” he asked in a shocked tone. “It’s past midnight!”

  “The Holy Mother never sleeps,” Nicolette answered softly. “I won’t be long, Jean. You can wait in the carriage for me.”

  He called up to the driver to change his course. Moving slowly through the dark streets, Laffite was reminded of another carriage ride in the same direction so long ago. He put an arm around Nicolette and pulled her close.

  “I love you, Nikki,” he whispered.

  “Enough to marry me?” She waited for his answer and added, “I’m a free woman now that Diego is gone.”

  “Yes, my darling. Yes!” he murmured, then kissed her tenderly.

  Nicolette found Père Antoine still awake when she entered the cathedral. He didn’t look shocked to see her in such finery or at such a late hour. Few things shocked the old priest after so many years of hearing confessions.

  “Father, I have to talk to you,” she said.

  Fearing that it might upset her to return to his quarters so soon after her unpleasant time there, he motioned Nicolette to a far corner of the cavernous sanctuary, where they sat down on a hard pew.

  “Now, my dear, what’s troubling you?”

  She took a deep breath. “I want to be married, Father.”

  “But you are married, Nicolette. I performed the ceremony myself.” He studied her face, a worried expression on his own.

  “He’s dead.”

  The white eyebrows shot up. “Oh? Why hasn’t his death been reported to me to be recorded in the Church records, then?”

  “I don’t know. Does it matter? I am a widow now. That’s all I care about. That and marrying Jean Laffite.”

  Père Antoine could not cover his surprise. His twin, pointed beards twitched noticeably and his thin lips worked, trying to form a gentle response.

  “My child, I don’t think you have considered all the ramifications here. Officially, you are still married. I have seen no death certificate. There has been no funeral. The Church does not recognize you as a free woman. I know for a fact that Diego Bermudez was alive less than a month ago. I saw him myself. Had he died that very day, I hardly consider one month a decent period of mourning!” His rheumy eyes took in Nicolette’s lavish attire disapprovingly—hardly tasteful widow’s weeds.

  “You aren’t talking about the laws of God, Father! -These are the laws of man you’re trying to throw in my way. I refuse to let those hamper my plans,” she answered angrily.

  “There are conventions to be considered, Madame Bermudez.” He matched her anger.

  She almost replied, “Damn your conventions!” Then, remembering where she was, she said instead, “I won’t be bound by mourning a man I hated!”

  “Hate is a sickness, not a feeling, madame.”

  “Diego Bermudez was a sickness! One which almost killed me and did kill my baby!”

  Again the priest was shocked.

  “I’m sorry to learn that your own husband abused you so, but I still cannot marry you. I’m sorry. It’s out of the question.”

  Nicolette, tears streaming down her face, jumped up and ran down the long aisle of the cathedral. She stood on the steps for a moment—long enough to compose herself and dry her tears. Laffite came to stand beside her.

  “You didn’t pray long,” he said.

  She smiled up at him. “There wasn’t much to pray for, darling. I have everything I want.”

  “You might have prayed for our long and happy marriage.”

  “No,” she answered. “I’ve decided that if it takes the Church to hold us together, then we would be better off apart. I don’t think I’ll marry you after all.”

  At his sharp intake of breath, she added, “Only love you for the rest of my life.”

  There in the moonlight, on the steps of Saint Louis Cathedral, Nicolette and Jean Laffite kissed with a new tenderness and pledged a vow more sacred and binding than any priest could have spoken.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Nicolette awoke suddenly when a cannon boomed. She felt as if she were reliving some terrible dream when the roar out over the Gulf shattered the early September calm. Before she was fully awake, she visualized her cabin onboard the Fleur de Lis; then she thought of the more recent blasts in New Orleans to dispel the fever.

  But, no! She and Jean were back at Grande Terre. The sickness in New Orleans and the long bayou trek were behind them. Their past two days at “home,” as she thought of Laffite’s tropic outpost, had been peaceful, wonderful, away from war talk, illness, and unsympathetic eyes and tongues.

  “But I should have known it couldn’t last!” she murmured, pulling on her robe.

  When she walked out into the shell-pearl dawn, she saw from the veranda Laffite and three others shoving off from the beach in a small boat. The cannon, which had ceased its roar, still smoked on the deck of a British sloop in the harbor. A tender from the ship, flying the Union Jack and a white flag of truce, moved toward the Baratarian boat. Nicolette could see by their uniforms that the two Englishmen in the craft were officers, but she had no way of knowing what they were saying to Laffite and the others when the two boats drew together.

  Unconsciously, she strained to hear their words, then realized how outrageous the attempt was. She hurried inside to dress, leaving them to their conference.

  “Is Mr. Laffite on this island? I must speak with him. It’s of the utmost importance,” Captain McWilliams of the British Army said to Laffite himself.

  Laffite squinted at McWilliams, then at Nicolas Lockyer, commander of His Majesty’s sloop Sophia. “You’ll have to come ashore to meet the Boss,” he said, still unsure what the British were up to.

  Several hundred Baratarians stood watch on the beach, alert to every move the foreigners made. As Laffite pulled into shore, he knew his power. One word and these Englishmen would be his prisoners. Indeed, a number of his men were calling out for that.

  “No! They’ve come under a flag of truce,” he shouted back. “You’ll not touch a hair on them unless I give the word!”

  The two young officers exchanged nervous glances. They, too, realized their precarious position while in Laffite’s territory. They stared at the dark-haired pirate who had quieted the mob.

  “Laffite’s second-in-command,” Lockyer whispered to McWilliams. “I’d lay odds on it.”

  “Then you’d lose, Captain!” Laffite said. “I am Jean Laffite.”

  “Sorry, sir,” McWilliams said, handing over a packet addressed: Mr. Laffite—Barataria.

  Dominique Youx moved among the sailors, agitating their cries with his whispers. “They’re probably spies, you know. Should be taken bloody prisoners and dumped in Claiborne’s lap in New Orleans.”

  His words spread like ripples on the Gulf in a smart breeze and cries rang out on all sides: “Spies, they are! Let’s have at ’em! Haul ’em off to the Cabildo!”

  Laffite nodded almost imperceptibly to Youx, signaling that his work was done. Then he turned to the two Englishmen and said, “I think we had better go inside to discuss this. My men follow orders fairly well, but they can be hot-tempered at times. I wouldn’t want either of you to catch a stray bullet out here in the open.”

  Laffite put on a fine show for his British guests. They ate exotic delicacies from silver plates and drank the best French wines from crystal goblets, all laid out on priceless damask. Nicolette watched it all through a door at the back of the hall, marveling at Laffite’s flair for handling such touchy situations.

  The packet they brought contained two letters. The first, which La
ffite read aloud, was a proclamation written by Colonel Edward Nicholls of the Royal Marines, asking that the citizens of Louisiana toss in their lot with the British to overthrow the United States government.

  The second document, written by William H. Percy, Captain and Senior Officer in the Gulf of Mexico, threatened the total destruction of the Baratarian empire unless Laffite and his men aided the British in their invasion of the United States. Percy promised that their services would be rewarded with full pardons for all and lands taken from the Americans.

  Nicolette held her breath so as not to miss a word as Jean Laffite finally spoke after reading the two missives.

  “Your threats are all too clear, gentlemen,” he said amiably. “And I’m sure my men will be enticed by your promises. But what, exactly, do I get out of all this?”

  No, Jean! Nicolette thought frantically. You can’t be considering their offer!

  Captain Lockyer’s words upset her even more. He promised Jean the one thing she didn’t think he could refuse: Pierre’s freedom—along with thirty thousand dollars for himself and the commission of captain in the Royal Navy.

  Laffite chuckled softly when the officer finished. The two Englishmen smiled at each other, sure they had lured him with their thousands in gold—not knowing that the warehouses on Grande Terre alone held merchandise worth millions.

  “A tempting offer, I must say!” He nodded to Lockyer and then to McWilliams. “But I am a cautious man. I’ll need time to think about this and to persuade my men. You saw for yourselves, they’re not an easy lot to handle. You’ll stay the night, of course.” Laffite’s smile was slow, confident, yet threatening.

  The officers exchanged worried looks, realizing that they had no choice in the matter. They were Laffite’s prisoners for as long as he chose to keep them on Grande Terre.

  That night, after his guests had retired, Laffite joined Nicolette at last. She had been waiting for hours, her anger growing with every passing minute. By the time he entered their bedroom, she was in a tearing rage.

  “I thought I knew you!” she said in a murderous whisper.

  “What kind of man would sell out his country to that pack of hyenas?”

  He tried to put his arms around her, but Nicolette pulled away, hissing her distaste of a traitor’s touch.

  “Nikki…”

  “Don’t call me that! That’s my father’s name for me. He loves me and America. You love nothing… no one! Only gold can warm your heart! Well, sleep with it!”

  He chuckled softly, then the sound grew and grew. Nicolette stood staring at him, fighting back hot tears.

  “I was worried, darling. But you’ve laid those fears to rest. I gather you were listening in on our whole dinner conversation. If I fooled you, then those idiot Englishmen were certainly taken in by my act!”

  He moved toward Nicolette and caught her in his arms, holding her in a bruising grip. His voice was suddenly cold.

  “But it hurts me, Nikki, to think that you could put so little faith in my integrity. At least you might have accused me of doing it for Pierre’s sake instead of for British blood money. Did you really think I would betray our country and everything I believe in for mere gold?”

  “Jean, please, you’re hurting me,” she begged. “I don’t know what I thought… only what I heard, I suppose. Many men can be bought at the right price. Why should you be any different?”

  “You know how I feel about the damn British!” he replied, easing his hold on her. “I plan to use them, not fight for them!”

  The day’s strain hit her all at once. All the tension drained from her in the form of tears, which Laffite kissed away. He held her close, gently now, and stroked her hair until her sobs subsided. Soon the only sounds from the room were sounds of love.

  Deep in the night, while Laffite lay restlessly forming his plans, thinking Nicolette had been asleep for hours, he heard her murmur, “What are you going to do, Jean?”

  He slipped his arm under her and pulled her warm body close to his. “I’ve been asking myself that same question.”

  “And?”

  “And, I’m going to take this information to Claiborne. He may be a pompous fool, but he can’t deny that Louisiana is in great danger. He’ll have to get reinforcements to New Orleans quickly, if there’s any hope of saving the state and the country!”

  “What if he won’t meet with you?”

  “I don’t plan to make an appointment. He’ll hear me out or I’ll run the bastard through!”

  “Won’t he make things harder on Pierre if you threaten him?”

  Laffite leaned down and kissed Nicolette’s forehead, then whispered, “Pierre will be a free man by then, my love.”

  “You’re sure?”

  “Positive.”

  Captains Lockyer and McWilliams wasted no time in boarding the tender back to the Sophia the next morning. The Baratarians, still calling for their blood, followed them to the beach, waving and shouting like pagans. When Laffite requested fifteen days to give them his answer, the officers spent no time quibbling.

  The two British envoys had not reached their ship yet when Laffite called Raymond Ranchier into conference.

  “I want these two letters taken straight away to New Orleans in your fastest pirogue. The first goes to my friend, Congressman John Blanque. The other is a copy of the British documents along with my letter to Governor Claiborne.”

  “Monsieur le Gouverneur, himself?” the gaunt Ranchier asked, raising an eyebrow.

  “None other. I’m offering our services to the United States. The man must accept! We will be able to double his ranks. I hear that General Andrew Jackson has been sent for to defend the city. But where is he? The British may be in New Orleans before Jackson arrives. We can’t take that chance.”

  “Aye, Boss! I’ll have these letters in the proper hands by tomorrow night and be back with answers the next day.” Ranchier saluted and turned to leave.

  “Oh, Raymond!” Laffite called. “Stay in New Orleans long enough to bring my brother back with you.”

  The courier stared. “You mean Pierre?”

  “One and the same! I hear there’s a jailbreak planned two nights from now,” Laffite answered with a broad smile.

  Raymond grinned back, then departed, almost running over Nicolette as he hurried through the library door.

  “A jailbreak! So that’s your plan, is it? Will it work, Jean?”

  “It will. Pierre will be home in no time. Marie Louise will have her wish. I tried the law, but what good is law when it only stands in the way of justice? Pierre is no more a pirate than I am. Privateers are always welcomed in wartime, only to be branded criminals once their services are no longer needed. It’s always been that way.” He sighed deeply. “I suppose it always will be.”

  Nicolette perched on the arm of his chair and slipped a comforting arm about his shoulders. “But heroes are always honored, my darling. Once you’ve proven yourself to Claiborne and the others, they’ll never call you a pirate again. Wait and see!”

  He brought her hand to his lips. “I hope you’re right, Nikki. I hope to God, for our sakes, you’re right!”

  “Well, brother, at least you’re worth more than I am!” a beaming Laffite said to Pierre a few days later as they breakfasted together while reading the latest papers from New Orleans.

  Pierre laughed, glancing at the notice Laffite referred to:

  1000 DOLLARS REWARD

  WILL BE PAID TO WHOEVER ARRESTS PIERRE LAFFITE, WHO LAST NIGHT BROKE FROM THE PARISH PRISON AND ESCAPED. THE SAID PIERRE LAFFITE IS FIVE FEET, TEN INCHES TALL, AND OF ROBUST STATURE, LIGHT COMPLEXION, AND SOMEWHAT CROSS-EYED. IT IS BELIEVED THAT A MORE COMPLETE DESCRIPTION OF THE SAID LAFFITE IS USELESS AS HE IS SO WELL KNOWN IN THE CITY.

  “Cross-eyed, is it? Why, if I ever catch the lying sonuvabitch who wrote this, I’ll show him cross-eyed! He’ll be seeing double for the rest of his life!”

  Jean Laffite was laughing so hard that the table shook. Pierre
had teased his younger brother all his life about his curious habit of squinting one eye when he concentrated. Now they were even.

  “You’ll have to thrash me, then, brother!” Jean said.

  “You?”

  “I wrote that to let our friends know you’ve escaped. You don’t think Claiborne would have advertised it, do you? I had Holland, the jailor, take the notice to the papers.”

  Pierre was still scowling. “You made me sound like some kind of brigand, for God’s sake! Cross-eyed, light complexion.”

  “Well, I figured you would have lost your color after so long in the Cabildo.” He studied his brother with concern. “I put in the part about your ‘robust stature,’ hoping it might still be true.”

  “Don’t give that another thought! Just pass the platter of fish down this way. I’ll have those pounds I lost back in no time, eating Xavier’s cooking!”

  Nicolette, who had slept late, entered at that moment, and cried, “Pierre! You’re really here!”

  “In the flesh!” he answered, sweeping her into his arms and kissing her so thoroughly that Jean cleared his throat several times, trying to gain their attention and put an end to the embrace.

  “I know you’re a starved man, Pierre, but how about saving your lusty appetite for Marie Louise.”

  “Ah, my sweet Marie!” Pierre sighed, releasing Nicolette abruptly. “Our child is due any day. I wonder how she is.”

  Nicolette and Jean exchanged secret glances, smiling. “See for yourself, Pierre,” Nicolette said, turning toward the door she had just entered.

  Pierre turned slowly, as if he feared they might be teasing him. When he saw the copper-skinned woman in the doorway, he stood still for a moment, his mouth open, but no words coming out. Then he hurried toward her and took her into his arms, too overcome with love and emotion to speak.

  “Pierre, my dearest,” Marie Louise whispered. “We’ve waited for you… your son and I.”