Balance of Forces

by Ali Vali

  “No, sir, even if I have to crawl off this beast from hell, I won’t let you do my work. I wonder if anyone missed us?” Lionel fastened his cloak as the wind picked up and put an extra snap in the sails.

  “I’m sure they’ve noticed our absence. As much as I miss my homeland at times, I’m glad to be returning to Oakgrove. After selling my family’s land in France, I consider this my home now.”

  Their recent trip to Europe had taken a little over fourteen months, but now Lionel joined Jacques at the rail to scan the horizon for land. He couldn’t think of anything sweeter than stepping back on solid ground and seeing his wife and sons again. Unlike most of the other landowners in the area, Jacques never split up couples, much less any children that resulted from the unions they themselves negotiated.

  Since coming to the plantation, Lionel had received his own quarters to share with a young woman named Celia he’d fallen in love with. Their four small children often ran after Jacques’s horse when he visited the large cluster of cabins the servants occupied, and it was common to see them perched on his lap talking him out of the candies he carried in his pockets. A slew of children usually sat at his feet listening to stories created from his extraordinary imagination about people who lived long ago. As on the other plantations, Oakgrove required plenty of work, but Jacques worked right next to his slaves and never carried a whip. No one at Oakgrove feared a lashing.

  “Sir, will you tell me more of your family?” A few of the curls that had escaped Jacques’s ever-present ponytail flew freely around his forehead. Some of the men in New Orleans used the powdered wigs popular in their countries of origin, but not Jacques. Lionel had seen more than one woman’s lingering stare on his master when they did come into town. The combination of his thick black hair and his interesting eyes was unusual among the French and Spanish settlers who had made New Orleans their home.

  The silence grew between them, and when Lionel saw Jacques’s grip tighten on the rope, he thought he’d made a mistake. “I’m sorry, sir. I didn’t mean anything. It’s not my place to question you.”

  “It’s all right. I’ve told you most of my history so far, and you have a right to the rest. I have only one family member left, but he’s lost to me and I don’t like to talk about him. You have to understand that some choose their lot in life and others have it thrust upon them. Those who get to pick are lucky.”

  “I don’t understand, master.”

  “Could you perhaps, while we’re talking as friends, call me Jacques? It’s been years since I’ve heard anyone besides myself say my name.”

  Lionel laughed from nerves and tightened his grip on the railing. “But we’re not friends, sir.”

  Jacques’s expression softened but he didn’t move from his spot. “In this moment we are much more, Lionel. I’ve watched you grow from an angry young man who didn’t want to let his heritage go, to a fine father and husband. I may own you in the eyes of the law, but in your heart you’ll always be free, my friend. Did you think I wouldn’t discover that you’re the son of a king in your homeland who teaches your four little ones your language and your traditions at night?”

  For a brief moment, the long voyage to a new, cruel world after his capture returned to Lionel. The trip was in some ways more humiliating than being put on the auction block. Every day more and more lifeless bodies collected from the belly of the ship were tossed overboard. He came to think of those who found their freedom in the waves as the lucky ones. They were either dead or too weak to be worth anything once they docked.

  The young men from his tribe who had been captured with him looked to him for guidance, but demoralized and shackled, he had none to give. Now he’d come to terms with his capture and enslavement and had found people to love. However, this man who owned him could end his newfound peace with one strong shove and have no fear of recrimination. “In this moment we are much more, Lionel,” Jacques had said. Would he throw him overboard for teaching his children the way of his tribe like his father had done for him?

  “Please, master, I only told them stories to put them to sleep. I didn’t mean any disrespect.” He spoke in a rush laced with panic.

  Jacques moved his hand from the rope to Lionel’s shoulder. “I meant what I said. I’ve watched you because for so much of my life I was you. No one’s ever enslaved me, but I’ve been angry with the choices that I couldn’t make but that affected me nonetheless. I value your friendship, Lionel, that’s what I meant. Sometimes I wish I had sons like you to pass on the vast experience and knowledge I’ve accumulated through the years.” He squeezed Lionel’s shoulder and smiled. “See, sometimes you’re the lucky one, even if you think your life could be better. We’re both slaves to circumstance, my friend. That makes us closer than family.”

  “Thank you, sir.”

  “Won’t you consider my request?”

  “Thank you, Jacques.” The name rolled strangely off his tongue since he’d never uttered it, not even when he was alone with his thoughts. His own enslavement was grossly unfair, but it could have been much worse. He didn’t intend to disrespect someone who had treated him like a man.

  “And I thank you, Lionel.” They left the rail, walked toward a row of barrels the crew had lashed to the front for storage, and sat down. “Now let me try to make you understand what I said about my only family. My brother, Henri, chose his path and walked into the darkness alone. And because he did, I had no choice but to make my own future or face the same darkness. I received a gift as a way to escape my brother’s wrath, and when I accepted, my fate was set. Like everything in life, however, it comes with a price.” Jacques looked out at the water again and sighed. “I’m sorry, Lionel, that’s all I can share with you now.”

  “Does Henri still walk the dark path?” Lionel asked, not wanting their conversation to end. Children weren’t the only ones who got lost in Jacques’s voice and stories.

  “He revels in it and has only grown worse with time.”

  They sat together in silence until sunset, when it became too cold to stay on deck. As they stood to make their way back to their cabins for a bite to eat, Lionel spotted the signal fires the port lit at night to guide ships into the mouth of the Mississippi. With any luck they’d be in New Orleans by dawn and back at Oakgrove within days.

  New Orleans, present day

  Kendal had assumed so many personas through the decades, but her time as Jacques St. Louis had left a mark on her soul. The boat had docked the next morning all those years ago at the spot where she now stood.

  So many lifetimes had passed, yet the memories and the bittersweet pain they brought with them were still fresh because she had left so many things undone. It still angered her that she couldn’t save so many of the people she loved.

  “Ah, Kendal, weeping still, sister? Always the sentimental one, weren’t you? Tears are for the foolish and the weak. Aren’t you above that by now? Not that I’m not happy to see you, but I thought we agreed long ago you were never to return here. We each must have our realms, and this is mine.”

  Abez’s voice was the same one that haunted her waking dreams when she closed her eyes, and it still held traces of the French he loved to speak after he fell in love with his creation, Henri St. Louis. But a cultured accent along with the outer appearance of a French nobleman couldn’t hide the monster he was—not then, and certainly not now.

  “How did you know I was back?” she asked, trying to gauge how powerful he’d grown.

  “Your blood, my sweet. Its distinctive scent is like no other in the world. I smelled you in my sleep the moment your plane landed. But that doesn’t answer my question, does it?”

  “I’m here on business, Abez, and as for our agreement, it ended eighty-four years ago. Aren’t you going to introduce me to your pets?” Kendal had yet to turn around, since she wasn’t without skills. She was content to watch the tugboats on the river haul barges in both directions. The Mississippi had changed and grown massive over the years, but its years
of roaming free were over. The levees the Army Corps of Engineers had built kept it well confined, most of the time.

  “I’m sure you’ve better things to do. Why now?” Something must have caught Henri’s attention because he snapped his fingers, making one of the women with him move away at inhuman speed.

  “Because as the old saying goes, brother, to every thing there’s a season. It was my time to come back even though I didn’t want to, believe me. Like always, you do whatever pleases you without thinking of the consequences. Experience should have taught you everything has consequences, some more costly than others. Did you think they’d give you free rein forever? Surely the Elders have sent warnings about your behavior before my arrival?” She turned to face him.

  Time had also stopped for Abez, so he was still handsome and tall, but his white skin appeared almost like marble. His suit looked like black velvet, and the ruffled shirt seemed a better fit than the first time they’d met in New Orleans, but Henri was too much of a monster to display sentimentality.

  “Yes, they have, but with time comes power, if you’re willing to take chances. You always followed the rules and orders, the consummate perfect little soldier. Doesn’t it ever bore you to be so good? The time of such obedience has passed.”

  “This isn’t about you and me or your list of perceived wrongs the world has committed against you. It’s about balance, so grow up.”

  “It’s about both, don’t be ignorant. You robbed me of Father’s love and managed to always get the glory.” The woman who had run to do Henri’s bidding was back, appearing flushed. Her skin, which moments before had resembled carved alabaster, now looked warm to the touch.

  “You sound like a petulant child.”

  “Stay away from me, sister. This will be my only warning.”

  She turned around again when he left, not afraid that he would return. So many things about Abez never changed, besides his face. He still couldn’t face any conflict without a few of his minions to act as his backbone. He had never fought his own battles, yet his life revolved around constant conflict. But if he wanted a fight, it wouldn’t come an hour before dawn. Henri was at home in New Orleans, a place he’d stayed since 1728, giving him an advantage, but he wasn’t reckless enough to face her at a time that might leave him vulnerable.

  This ancient city was filling Kendal’s head with painful memories, yet some of them brought a sense of calm. In a city that seldom slept, an hour before sunrise was as close as it got to total silence; she focused on the sound of the water and turned her face to the east. She loved to watch the sunrise, but here it had a deeper meaning, as if the new day brought a new beginning. As pink fingers crept across the sky, she raised her hands and started to murmur a prayer her father had taught her as a small child in a temple near their home.

  “Father Ra, bringer of life, protect me. Give me strength to do your work and make me true to my spirit and to my cause.”

  Any scholar would give their firstborn to hear the old Egyptian dialect spoken correctly and with the proper accent. The language was as dead as the men who’d spoken it, but it gave Kendal a sense of belonging. She opened her eyes as the sun first appeared, and as always, a charge traveled through her as if the ancient god Ra had answered her prayer. If only he would give her the wisdom to make the right decisions in the coming days.

  With one final sigh, she turned and made her way to Café du Monde for a strong cup of Louisiana coffee with steamed milk. It was one of the things Kendal missed most about the city in her long absence. The French and Spanish settlers who built New Orleans had brought with them the recipe for strong, full-bodied coffee that had changed only slightly over the years with the addition of chicory. The filler, an inexpensive way to stretch the grounds during times of war and ration, had become as much a part of Southern culture as pecan pie.

  Chapter Four

  As Piper Marmande ran on her treadmill, she watched the sunrise on television when the weatherman cut to a camera stationed by the lake. The shower she’d taken after docking at ten the night before hadn’t left her feeling clean, so she’d increased her regular speed to try to sweat Kenny’s presence out of her skin. She appreciated his help, but the price was more than she was comfortable with.

  As the guy on the screen droned on about enjoying the cool, dry air and clear skies before the massive storm to the north hit them in a few hours, her cell phone started to ring. She would’ve ignored it, but her grandfather seldom called her this early unless it was important. He’d left numerous messages, but after she’d turned her phone back on, she hadn’t wanted to wake him.

  “Good morning, Pops,” she said, pressing a towel to the front of her neck. “Sorry about yesterday, but I was working on plan B.” What she said was true and necessary, but the dirty feeling came back.

  “I hope it’s a good one, sweetie, because I think I know who killed our deal and why.”

  She gazed out her kitchen window at the dark clouds rolling toward her. Fate seemed to be on its way to crush her, and she wouldn’t be able to face her grandparents if she lost the one thing their family had built for generations.

  “Did you hear me, Piper?”

  “Yes, sir,” she whispered, holding on to the countertop to stay on her feet. “What’d you find out?”

  “You ever heard of Richoux International?”

  Piper closed her eyes and pinched the bridge of her nose so she could concentrate, but the name didn’t raise any alarms. “Should I have?”

  “Kendal Richoux owns it. She visited the bank yesterday and offered to make good on our loans.”

  It was hard to listen to the weariness in Mac’s voice, but she tried not to let it swamp her as she booted up her laptop. She didn’t remember the company, but she’d heard of Kendal Richoux. “Is she the woman the Wall Street Journal calls the Great White?”

  “That’s what Brad called her.” Mac sighed. “Ms. Richoux came out of nowhere, and he tried to put her off, but she knows what she’s doing.”

  Brad Howell and Mac had met in grade school, so if he was willing to forget the friendship he and Pops had shared for decades, they were in serious trouble. “What does that mean?” she asked as she found a few articles about Richoux International that barely mentioned its owner.

  “He told her the bank was working with us, and he wasn’t in a position to sell us out…literally.”

  “That sounds like Brad.” There was more, but she felt better knowing Brad hadn’t turned his back on Pops immediately.

  “She hosted a reception for the full bank board last night, and it’ll be hard for them to ignore the amount of money she’s talking about.”

  “What in the world would she want with us?”

  “That’s easy,” Mac said, as if he’d resigned himself to the inevitable. “We’re worth more with our doors closed than operational, and people like Kendal Richoux thrive on situations like this.”

  “You’re not giving up on me, are you?”

  “We’ll find out today if we have a fight left to wage.”

  “The board would act that quickly? It’s the weekend, for God’s sake.” Panic sucked the air from her lungs.

  “Brad said it’ll take about a week if they decide to accept her offer, that’s not what I’m talking about. Ms. Richoux’s invited us to lunch to discuss why she’s here, so I need you to meet me at the Palace Café at noon.”

  “I’ll meet you there, Pops, but I need to make a few calls.”

  Piper hung up and hurried into the shower to try to organize her thoughts. She put on a robe after she dried her hair and skipped breakfast to head to her home office. Then she called Kenny, who assured her that the bank officers would consider their merger plan before they entertained anything from an outsider.

  She felt better now about delaying Richoux, but was still uneasy about Kenny. Deals that seemed to have no downside when the other guy was explaining them usually ended in disaster for the one being buttered up, so the red flags were still fl
apping when she considered tying their future to Kenny and his investors.

  “This absolutely sucks,” she said as she scrolled through her contacts, searching for a number.

  Hillary Hickman answered after the second ring. “Hickman Investigations.”

  “Hill, thank God you’re in,” Piper said. “I need a favor, hopefully before noon.”

  “Not a lot of time, but I’ll do my best.”

  Piper gave her Kendal’s name and company information, wanting as many facts as Hill could find before their lunch date. If she could send this woman back to New York, she’d have a better shot of getting them out of trouble without anyone’s help.

  “I’ll give you a call.”

  She placed the phone back in its cradle and stared at the framed photo her grandmother had given her as a housewarming gift after she bought her condo. Mac and Molly had tried to talk her into a house, but she liked the sameness of this place. It wasn’t different in any way from the other twenty-nine units, which matched how she felt about herself—common and mediocre. She lived here, but it wasn’t home or permanent.

  The picture of her parents that sat on her desk showed her mom, Jen, seven months pregnant with her. She sat in front of her dad, Mackey, mid-laugh, her hands holding her midsection as if protecting the life within from being jostled too much. It was their only family photo, capturing perfectly Jen Marmande’s joy that everyone remembered her for. The black-and-white moment teased Piper with the possibilities she’d never have. The happy memories stopped there, and she’d had no chance to build on them.

  Her mother had died in childbirth, leaving her father to deal with the pain and loss along with their baby, but Mackey didn’t have the strength to start a future without the one person he’d invested all his happiness in. They didn’t talk about it, but her father took his life, or threw it away, as she considered it. He selfishly gave up, never thinking of the wreckage he’d left behind. Mourning his loss, Mac had been walking around in a fog for years, which inevitably led them to the scary cliff they were teetering on, but she never blamed him.