Actually, the last nail in their coffin, so to speak, had been pounded by the Interlocutor, who’d taken a fancy to the captain’s wife, and vice versa. They’d been found “interlocking” in the captain’s bed the night before.
Luckily—or perhaps not so luckily—he’d met the Babylons almost immediately. More than anything, the Babylons yearned to Christianize some wild savages. They would hear none of Hiram’s preaching that most of the primitive redskins had smoked way too many peace pipes, or were long gone to reservations.
Of course, Harriet had spoiled the whole effect by telling the two dozen gullible men, women and children, “Don’t worry. If we run into any wild Indians, my husband will take care of them. He used to live with the Comanches, you know. In fact, his first wife was the daughter of one of the chiefs.”
That Steve Morgan sure had gotten around.
Neither Harriet nor the blithering Babylons had taken into account the fact that he was supposedly blind.
That night they all slept on the ground under the wagon. In the pouring rain. Steve Morgan apparently had had better luck than he did. Like peas in a pod, there were Cain, Saralee, him, Lance and Harriet. Lance had insisted on squirming between him and his “wife,” resting his face on Etienne’s chest. He’d been about to toss the mongrel out into the rain…till he saw Saralee’s tearful eyes. His relationship with his daughter was still too tenuous to risk alienating her.
So now he had Lance snoring under his chin, blowing foul breath into his face. He suspected that Lance had dined on wild rabbit and wilder onion grass that evening. Which was a lot better than the fare served by Harriet over a sputtering fire. A good cook she was not, but then the same was true of the other wives in the congregation, as well. The whole lot were spoiled by modern conveniences, like stoves, Preacher Lezzer had declared with disgust. “But the Lord will provide,” he’d added with his usual optimism. “Let us all pray for heavenly assistance. And better vittles.”
God answered their prayers the following day when Saralee took over the cooking for the entire group. His daughter was a marvel. While Harriet and the other women helped gather the food around one communal cook fire, the seven-year-old girl put them all to shame with one after another of Blossom’s recipes.
For breakfast, there were hoecakes thick with wild huckleberries, sorghum syrup and rich chicory coffee. At a quick midday stop, she’d served up a hastily prepared sweet potato soup with spoon bread and more coffee. Now, as evening approached, Etienne lay back against a rock and digested the two servings he’d had of her wonderful Hopping John—a thick stew of black-eyed peas, rice, ham hocks, peppers and seasonings she’d gathered from the nearby woods. The Reverend Lezzer had proclaimed her featherlight biscuits a gift from God, at which Saralee had beamed. Etienne had also complimented her profusely, but Saralee trembled every time he came near. He had a lot of work to do yet with his daughter.
Sipping a cup of coffee, Etienne watched—although he still wore his dark spectacles and pretended to be staring blankly—as Harriet was teaching Saralee, who was an Indian maiden today, and a half dozen of the Babylon children how to play a game called hula hoop. She’d asked Cain to cut down a number of thin saplings about a man’s height, which she’d tied into circles. Now she was doing the most outrageous, erotic things with her hips. Over and over, she raised her elbows high and rotated her hips, trying to keep the circle aloft. She and the children laughed gaily as they practiced.
From his vantage point directly behind Harriet, Etienne thought there were some advantages to being blind. Like a full-blown view of the curve of her bottom every single damn time she twirled her hips. He was thinking about asking her to give him a demonstration later…wearing only her panty hose…and maybe the leopard-print chemise. Yep, that would be a sight to stir a man’s blood. Not that his blood wasn’t already boiling. In fact, it had been on a slow simmer since he’d entered a certain train compartment about two weeks ago.
Several of the other women came closer, and Harriet soon enticed them to try the hula hoops. Some of the younger men tried them also. Soon the small clearing rang with the giggles of young and old alike.
Reverend Lezzer squinted uncertainly at all the shenanigans. “I don’t know if this is quite respectable.”
“Oh, pooh, Nebbie,” his wife responded. “The good Lord never said jolliment was a sin.” So, Nebbie joined them, too.
Harriet came over and sank down beside him, smiling. “It’s amazing how little it takes to entertain kids. In my time, parents buy children all kinds of expensive toys. And one of the all-time best inventions was the hula hoop. The man who thought it up first made a fortune.”
That seemed hardly credible but he didn’t argue. He was enjoying her close proximity too much. “I think we should go take a bath,” he suggested suddenly. “Cain said there’s a secluded spot downstream a bit.”
She gave him a sidelong glance of disbelief. “Together?”
“Well, of course. Being blind and all, I could hardly make my way there alone.”
She laughed. “You’re incorrigible.” While laughing, she knocked against his arm and a little of his coffee spilled into the dust. “That looks just like a Rorschach ink-blot design.”
“A what?”
“Rorschach. It’s a psychological test that determines certain intellectual and emotional factors.”
All Etienne saw was a wet spot in the shape of a circle.
“For example, what do you see there? Say the first thing that comes into your mind.”
“Breast.”
She clucked her disapproval.
“How about this?” She took his cup and drizzled another spot on the ground, this time in the shape of a square.
“Buttocks.”
“Etienne! Be serious.”
“I am. What do I get if I pass this test? A bath?”
“There is no passing or failing of this test. Look at this one.” Now she dribbled a wobbly triangle.
He grinned and stared meaningfully at her lap…more specifically, the joining of her thighs.
“You’re teasing me. Let’s try another test. This is called word association. I’ll say a number of words, and you say the first thing that comes into your head. Do you understand?”
He didn’t. “Sure.”
“Bed.”
“Nipple.”
She frowned. “House.”
“Bed.”
The frown disappeared. “Wet.”
“Kiss.”
The frown was back. “Animal.”
“Cock.”
“Oh, you!”
“Keep going, this is fun. I think I would make a good psychologist.”
“Cotton.”
“Sex.”
“Give me a break, Etienne. There’s no way you could associate cotton with sex.”
“Yes, there is. Cotton sheets on a bed where two naked bodies are—”
“I give up,” she said, shaking her head at him.
“Guess that means I’m the winner.” Making sure no one was watching, he lowered his spectacles a mite and peered up at her, wiggling his eyebrows. “Want to come to my blanket tonight and ogle me while I take off my spectacles?”
She tsk-tsked him. “Rascal to the end, aren’t you?”
“Only for you, darlin’.”
Saralee walked up hesitantly then, her three pitiful rag dolls clutched in her arms. The braids Harriet had plaited for her that morning were half undone, and there were dirt smudges on her cheeks. She was the spitting image of him at that age.
As an Indian maiden, Saralee wore a leather thong around her forehead with a bedraggled black feather, which he assumed came from Harriet’s harlot fan. He hoped Harriet hadn’t gotten rid of all her feathers; he had another fantasy in mind for the future. Saralee also wore a leather belt with a scabbard for a small knife, and around her neck was a strand of chinaberry beads. When they’d asked her days ago to play along with their “game” of pretending to be a blind man with h
is wife and child, Saralee had had no trouble falling into the role-playing.
“Sit down, Saralee.” Etienne urged, making room for her on the ground between him and Harriet. The other children and adults began to move off to their own wagons and campfires.
Saralee’s lower lip trembled, but she did as she was told. A brave little soul, he thought.
Harriet remained quiet during this interchange. Etienne impressed her with a surprising sensitivity and endearing clumsiness as he tried to draw his daughter out of her shell.
“Would you like me to tell you some tales my stepmother told me when I was your age? She was a great storyteller.”
Saralee shook her head. “Tell me ’bout Selene. Is she my grandmother?”
Etienne took off his glasses and rubbed the bridge of his nose. He didn’t talk about his family…ever. Harriet saw the effort it took for him to unstiffen and answer in a civil tone. “Yes, she’s your grandmother.”
“Where is she?”
Etienne’s jaw worked. “California.”
“Blossom says she’s beautiful.”
Etienne’s lips turned up at the edges. “Very beautiful.”
“And my grandfather? Does he live in California, too?”
Etienne nodded, the stiffness back in his jaw and a bleakness in his eyes. He hadn’t put his glasses back on.
“Will I ever meet them?”
Etienne closed his eyes for a brief moment, then looked directly at Saralee. “I don’t know, sweetie. I don’t know.”
His honesty seemed to satisfy Saralee. But then the very perceptive little girl asked, “Do you ever miss your papa? You looked sad when I asked ’bout him. Sometimes I miss having a mama and papa so bad.”
Staggered, Etienne glanced at Harriet for help, but before she could intervene, Saralee added the zinger. “Do you wanna hug one of my dolls? Sometimes, when I’m sad, it helps.”
He groaned. “Saralee, I’d love to hug one of your dolls. But more than anything, I’d like a hug from my own little girl.”
Saralee’s eyes went big as saucers before she leaped into his arms, dolls flying. She held on tight around his neck as Etienne rocked her back and forth, eyes closed. “Shhh, now, Saralee. You don’t have to be sad anymore. Shhh! Papa’s here. Shhh!”
For a long time, Saralee clung fiercely to Etienne, afraid the magic moment would disappear if she didn’t hang on for dear life. Little by little, she relaxed as Etienne whispered to her of all the things he would show her when they got home to Bayou Noir…a secret bayou glen, an alligator’s nest, the best place to pick wild berries, the best method of fishing. On and on he went till Saralee fell asleep in his arms. And then it was Etienne who held on tight, not wanting to relinquish his precious daughter.
Finally, he lifted his lids, his eyes locking with Harriet’s. She’d been weeping silently. He didn’t question her tears. Instead, he put a free hand around the nape of her neck, pulling her closer.
Laying his lips softly against hers, he kissed her. A heart-and-soul kiss. A featherlight gesture that reached into her essence and with its gentleness shredded everything that was Harriet Ginoza. Nothing that came before this kiss mattered. Nothing. This kiss represented all that she, or any woman, could ever want from life.
Etienne was her soul mate, and she’d be a fool to let him go.
Chapter Twenty-one
The next day, they crossed the Texas border into Devil’s Junction, where the Babylons prepared to part company with Reverend Frogash, heading in another direction. In a flurry of good-byes and promises to keep in touch, the Babylons rode off.
That was when they realized that Saralee was missing.
Frantically, they searched the town, asked every passerby they saw for news of the child. They even followed after the Babylons to see if she’d inadvertently gotten mixed in their group. Nothing. Lance whimpered at Harriet’s feet, rubbing against her leg. And Harriet knew that Saralee would never have left without her dog.
With a speed born of years of experience, Etienne dropped his disguise and strapped on his gun belts. Cain did likewise. They walked briskly out of the livery stable, where they’d just boarded their wagons and horses. The two fresh riding horses Etienne and Cain had rented stood saddled and waiting.
“What is it?” Harriet asked Etienne. His eyes glittered with fury. She wasn’t sure if it was directed at himself or her for bringing Saralee into this danger.
“Briggs,” Etienne clipped out. “I knew he was a snake, but I didn’t think he’d strike so soon. Or in such an underhanded manner—kidnapping a child, for chrissake. He must be desperate.”
“You should have killed him three years ago when you had the chance,” Cain said. Both men were checking ammunition belts and adding rifles to their arsenal of weapons.
“We needed more evidence,” Etienne responded. “The hell with evidence now! If he harms Saralee in any way, I’ll kill him with my bare hands.”
Harriet was thoroughly confused. “Who is Briggs?”
“Brandon Briggs. The honorable U.S. Senator from Texas,” Etienne said with a sneer. “And the biggest thief in the country. He’s the man President Grant wanted to snare in this whole entrapment scenario. He’s the mastermind behind a network of government graft that covers every state. He got his start by working with us in the Secret Service in the early years of the war.”
“Does he live here in Devil’s Junction?”
Both men shook their heads.
“He has a ranch about three hours south of here, near Beaumont. The Double B,” Cain explained as he swung up onto the saddle of his horse.
“But…but where are you going now? And where’s my horse?” Harriet asked in alarm.
Etienne turned on her, jaw set stubbornly. “You’re staying here. No, Harriet, don’t argue. There’s no time. I want you to register at the hotel over there.” He pointed to the Empire, a three-story plank building fronting a board sidewalk that lined the entire main street. In fact, it was the only street.
“But—”
“No ‘buts,’ Harriet. I want your promise.”
She nodded.
He held her gaze for a long moment, measuring her sincerity. When satisfied, he went on, “If we’re not back by tomorrow evening, I want you to go to Galveston and board the steamboat for New Orleans. Go to Simone’s. If you don’t hear from me by the twenty-eighth, three weeks from now, I want you to hotfoot it to the train station and buy a ticket for that first train over the bridge to Chicago. And never look back.” He added that last with a hitch in his voice.
Never look back? As if that were possible! “Are you crazy? I’m not leaving here till I know for sure that you’re either safe…or…or not safe.”
“Yes, you are, Harriet. I want your promise on this or else I’m gonna tie you to a bedpost in that hotel with orders for the proprietor to do as I say. Is that clear?”
Once again, she nodded. But she wasn’t happy about it. “What about Lance?”
Etienne blinked, obviously having forgotten the mutt. “Hold on to him for Saralee.”
“Shouldn’t I go to the sheriff, or something?”
“No!” they both exclaimed.
“Or wire Abel, or your father?”
“No!” they responded in unison.
Seeing that Etienne was about to mount the horse, Harriet panicked. “Etienne,” she pleaded.
This was it then. He was riding off and might never return. And he didn’t even seem to care. How could he be so heartless? Oh, she knew he was preoccupied with worry over Saralee. She was, too. But they might never see each other again. Ever.
“You are a gold-plated jerk.”
He arched one brow. “So you’ve said before.”
“Be careful,” she whispered. Tears were already welling in her eyes. She knew that he noticed and tried not to be touched.
He nodded.
“I love you, you know?”
He nodded again.
“Say something, dammit!”
>
He smiled. “If I come back…” he drawled.
If? That word more than anything washed over Harriet like a cold premonition of doom.
“If I come back,” he started over again, forcing her chin up with a forefinger, “will you do me a favor?”
“Anything,” she said softly.
He laughed. “Now that has possibilities. Would you consider putting it in writing? Actually, what I was wondering was…if I come back, would you mind giving me a personal demonstration with that hula hoop, wearing your leopard-print chemise and those sinful panty hose?”
She tried to smile. “On one condition.”
He grinned at her…a lazy, rogue’s grin, which never reached his grim eyes. And he repeated her quick retort of moments ago, “Anything.”
“As long as you give me a demonstration wearing boots and a cowboy hat.”
“And what else?”
“That’s all. Oh, maybe spectacles, too.”
He chuckled and the grin did reach his eyes for an instant. Leaning down, he brushed a quick kiss across her lips and murmured against her mouth, “It’s a deal, sweetheart.”
Then he was gone.
For once, Harriet obeyed Etienne’s orders. She stayed at the hotel, wringing her hands with worry, straying from her room only to eat in the hotel dining room or take Lance for a stroll down the town’s boardwalk. The exercise took about five minutes.
By the afternoon of the second day, she was a mass of jittery nerves, alternately weeping and praying. Lance slept through most of it. The cad!
That was when Cain arrived with a dirty, distraught Saralee on the horse in front of him. And no Etienne. Harriet saw them from her second-story window, where she’d been sitting vigil. Townspeople scurried out of sight and shopkeepers pulled down their shades and locked their doors.
Six armed men surrounded them, all wearing kerchief masks over their faces. Two of them accompanied a limping Cain into the hotel lobby, spurs jangling and guns out. A tear in the cloth of Cain’s trousers at thigh-level revealed a bloody bandage. He’d been shot.
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