by Toombs, Jane
"I'll try to pick up the poor bastards," the captain said, "but we have to steer clear of the fire."
The river current caught the men in the water and, though the crew from the 'Tite threw lines, only one man was pulled aboard.
The 'Tite steamed past the burning Yarmouth, now aground. Men jumped from the flaming boat into the shallows and splashed ashore.
"They're lucky," the captain said as he looked down at the scalded flesh of the man pulled aboard the 'Tite. "He wasn't. Dead. Just as well he died right away. Lingering on to suffer for days is a hell of a way to die."
Tim O'Donnell grew increasingly angry as Guy told him of the attempted abduction.
"Jesus, Mary and Joseph!" he said, pounding his fist on the table. "Cannon and his friends are mad—the lot of them! Why shouldn't a man speak the language he was born with? Me own mother, God rest her soul, spoke Gaelic from the cradle. Her family lived in the hills of the old country. She never did get the hang of English."
O'Donnell not only voted with the Creoles, he swung five more votes their way with his tales of the race up the Mississippi and the bullies he claimed he had to fight off to get to New Orleans.
"Never say an Irishman won't fight," he'd finish. "Sure, and didn't the Spanish have to bring in an Irishman, Bloody O'Reilly, to do their dirty work in New Orleans away back when they took over? I don't say O'Reilly did right or wrong, but fight he surely did."
The temporary alliance between Guy and Nicolas didn't make them friends, but now Guy greeted him in the chambers of the House and even nodded if they happened to meet in the streets of the city. He was entirely unprepared to have Nicolas rush angrily toward him in Tremoulet's one December afternoon.
"You!" Nicolas shouted. "You planned it all. Cachon! I challenge you to the death."
Guy stepped back, completely confused. "I accept," he said automatically. What in the nom de Dieu had happened?
"Julienne might have died," Nicolas said. "No thanks to you she didn't. I hadn't thought even a La Blanche could stoop so low as to use voodoo potions." He glared at Guy. "Second?" he snapped,
"Andre Lafreniere."
"Marc will contact him." Nicolas turned on his heel and strode off.
Guy had a terrible sense of deja vu. The duel with Philippe, the same seconds . . . But why was he being forced into this duel? Voodoo?
What was Nicolas talking about?
Voodoo. Estelle.
Guy pictured the fat slave, Lulie, crying over the unconscious Julienne as she cuddled her, saying she hadn't meant to hurt her. Was there a connection between Lulie and Estelle?
He flung himself out of the coffee house and pounded toward Estelle's cottage. He found her in the kitchen.
"What did you give Julienne Le Moyne?" he demanded, taking her by the shoulders. "What devilish brew?"
Estelle jerked away from him. "I told Lulie to put a love potion in her drink to make her marry Nicolas Roulleaux. Lulie was afraid her little darling would change her mind about the marriage."
"What you gave Lulie almost killed Julienne."
"No. It was merely a love potion."
"The girl's been ill for months. Ever since the night she drank your poison.” He reached for her again but Estelle evaded him, slipping behind the table.
"I ought to whip you."
"You won't do that to me again. You won't do anything to me. I'm finished with you. Through. Take your cottage. I want nothing of yours."
He lunged at her, but Estelle grabbed a bread knife from the table and thrust at him with its sharp blade. He twisted away and, knowing her easily aroused fury, stepped far out of reach. Estelle was dangerous.
"I wanted that Le Moyne girl out of your way, married to Nicolas Roulleaux so you couldn't have her, I wish her no harm. I didn't give Lulie poison. The girl shouldn't have been sick so long." Estelle breathed hard, her eyes dark waters of hatred. "You're the one I want to suffer—like Aimee suffered." Guy stared, shocked at her words of pure loathing. He was unable to speak.
“The potion is strong. She had to go to bed, that's part of it. She's a foolish kind, no good for any man, but Nicolas Roulleaux also deserves punishment for what he did to Aimee. To marry Julienne Le Moyne is to be tied to trouble." Estelle shrugged. "Lulie says she won't see him, so I don't know what will happen, who the potion will force her to love. I don't care anymore."
"Estelle..."
"Don't you talk to me, I don't have to listen to you, don't have to have you touch me. You look like him, feel like him, like Francois, is why I let you. But no more. I'm voodooienne now, maman is sick, she makes me the queen. Don't need men except when I choose. Don't need you ever again. The Great Zombi is my only true lover."
There was nothing to be said. Guy backed away, unable to trust her not to knife him. When he reached the door to the main room, he turned and left the cottage with as much dignity as he could manage, his mind churning with foreboding.
At Lac Belle, he found Madelaine in her bedroom. Odalie was helping her pack.
"Odalie brought me the news of the duel," she said. "I don't want to hear any more."
Odalie looked from one to the other and scuttled from the room.
"I didn't tell Estelle to give Lulie the powder she put in Julienne's drink," Guy said. "I had no idea. . ."
"Be that as it may, you didn't decline to fight over it."
"What could I do? Be reasonable, Madelaine. Nicolas challenged me. Was I to brand myself a coward forever by refusing?"
"I told you I'd leave if you fought him. I'm doing just that. I don't wish to discuss it further."
"Well, of course you can stay in the townhouse but. . ."
"I want no part of your plantation, your townhouse. I want no part of you. I'm going to Annette Louise. She's invited me to stay as long as I wish. Goodbye."
"Madelaine! Please listen to me."
"Why?" She turned to face him, hands on her hips. "You've never listened to me. Wasn't killing Philippe enough?"
"I didn't mean to kill him. I tried ..."
"Don't talk to me!"
"What do you want of me? That I should let Nicolas kill me? Would that satisfy you?"
"You know what I want. I want no duel between the two of you. None ever again."
"If I back down I'll be the laughing stock of New Orleans. No Creole would ever respect me again. How can you ask that of me?"
"You asked me to leave my baby daughter alone in another country. Did you think that was easy?"
"Madelaine . . ."
"Please leave me, Guy. I have nothing to say to you. I'm through with you, with everything you stand for. Goodbye." She turned from him and continued folding her clothes.
After dinner, alone with the servants, Guy sat in his library with a bottle of brandy. Damn all women, he thought. They cause most of the trouble on this earth. There was no way to satisfy any of them.
As the level of the brandy dropped he grew morose. He was friendless, deserted, accused of something he hadn't done, misunderstood on all sides.
Estelle blamed him for Aimee's death, had never forgiven him. Yet how could he have saved Aimee? Senalda was mad, had gone mad while he was away. How could he have predicted the actions of a mad woman?
He'd tried with Senalda, tried his best. Was a man expected to have eternal patience? She couldn't learn to accept a husband's love and he'd turned away from her because of it. How could it be his fault she lost her reason?
Then Annette Louise. They might have had a good marriage, they were fond of one another, but, no, she had to reject him by siding with Madelaine over the duel with Philippe. Dieu, he'd never meant to kill Philippe.
Fabrienne was the one he regretted. She'd come the closest of any woman he'd ever met to understanding him. If only he hadn't reacted so quickly to her terrible revelation. Children. Yes, he wanted children—but was the desire for an heir worth losing Fabrienne?
Julienne had been a mistake from beginning to end, he knew that now. He'd been intrigued by
her pretty face, captivated by her flirtatious manner. Madelaine had been right.
How empty the house would be without his sister. He couldn't remember how it had been without Madelaine. She'd been with him since he was four years old. He loved Madelaine.
He was alone. Andre and Rafe must have heard the news by now, yet neither of them had come to call, no one had. He'd been deserted by everyone. Perhaps Andre wouldn't even act as his second.
"I thought I did right," he said aloud. He buried his face in his hands and wept.
The next morning Andre came to Lac Belle.
'I've seen Marc," Andre said. "Have you decided on the weapon?"
Guy rubbed his forehead. Dieu, how his head ached. "Yes," he said. "Bowie knives."
Andre stared at him. "Have you lost your mind? Who fights with knives? Only Kaintocks and Indians."
"Bowie knives," Guy repeated.
"What kind of knife is that?"
"Fifteen inch blade with a single cutting edge and a straight back that curves in to the point. You know Jim Bowie. He's been smuggling slaves with Jean Lafitte for the last couple of years. No doubt Dominique You can tell you where to get ahold of two Bowie knives."
"What will Nicolas say?"
"Neither Nicolas nor I are skilled with knives,” Guy said. "Perhaps he'll think twice." Andre shook his head. "He's determined to kill you.”
"I won't make it easy."
Andre shrugged. "Do you wish to set the date?"
"Two days from now should leave us time to find the correct weapons. Tell Marc only a genuine Bowie knife will do. We'll meet under The Oaks at dawn."
On the morning of the duel, Guy turned to look at Lac Belle after he'd mounted the stallion he intended to ride to The Oaks. Would he ever return to his beautiful home again? How the white columns gleamed! If he was killed, there would be no one to carry on the La Branche name. It would die out before the seventh generation, exactly as the curse of that ancient Roulleaux had predicted.
He wouldn't die!
He'd ridden less than a mile when Andre met him, and they continued on together through the misty predawn.
"The duel is over nothing," Guy said, not explaining further.
"Most are," Andre said. "I asked Dr. Moudier to bring plenty of bandages." He shook his head. "Knives."
Nicolas and Marc were waiting.
The seconds discussed rules for knife fighting, but neither was certain of how to proceed. As Nicolas and Guy examined the wicked, curved blades of the knives they were handed, hooves clattered along the road.
Guy glanced in the direction of the sound. Not Madelaine again, he thought. I don't think I can bear to see her here.
"Ready?" Marc asked Andre.
As Andre said, "yes," a man shouted and a horse dashed toward them. Both Guy and Nicolas, who'd been facing one another, knives in hand, stepped back
"Don't start! Wait!" Joubert Le Moyne cried as he flung himself off the horse. "She's run off, Julienne's run off with the Proulx boy. With Ignace Proulx." He took a deep breath. "I just found out she hasn't been ill all this time as we've thought."
Joubert looked from Guy to Nicolas. "I don't want you to duel over Julienne when she's been deceiving you as well as her mother and me. You know she'd have only old Lulie with her in her room. Apparently she's been feeding Lulie laudanum, then sneaking out to meet Ignace. For months! I can't think how it happened that no one discovered her deceit.
"I did let the boy in to see her once soon after the party. He came to me begging to apologize to Julienne and he looked so ill I hadn't the heart to refuse him the one visit." Joubert spread his hands. "They've been playmates since they were infants. Ignace's father and I are the best of friends. The man is heartsick,"
"No one blames you," Nicolas said. "Or Antoine Proulx."
Guy thought Nicolas didn't seem as upset as one might think a man would be when he's lost his fiancée to another.
"I hope you won't challenge Ignace," Joubert said to Nicolas. "It's up to you, of course, but the boy truly went out of his head over Julienne. I should have suspected there was something between them that day I saw him kneel beside her bed. She looked into his eyes for a long, long time with none of her usual little ways. I thought it was because she was ill.”
Estelle would claim her love potion worked, Guy told himself.
"I have no intention of challenging Ignace Proulx," Nicolas said. "He forfeited all right to be challenged the night of the party."
Joubert again looked from Guy to Nicolas. "But now, you two. . . ?"
"We must fight," Nicolas said. He took a deep breath and, looking considerably more pained than he had over Julienne's defection, he said to Guy, "I'll amend my challenge to be satisfied with first blood. Is that satisfactory?"
"Completely satisfactory. Accepted," Guy told him. Again they faced one another. Nicolas thrust out his knife and ran the point down the back of Guy's hand. Drops of blood beaded the scratch.
"First blood!" Marc's cry was echoed by Andre.
Nicolas threw down his knife. Guy did the same.
The beginning of January, 1820, was the coldest Guy could remember since the battle of Chalmette. In the middle of the month, a carriage pulled up at Lac Belle and Guy saw Ancin begin to unload boxes and bags under the direction of a bonneted woman.
Madelaine!
Guy ran out to the carriage, lifting her off her feet to hug her.
"I've missed you," he said.
"I've missed you, too. I know I said I've never come back, but . . ." She stopped, eyeing him nervously. "Have you heard about Annette Louise?"
"What about her?"
She took a deep breath, let it out. "We'll go inside and I'll tell you."
Over coffee in the parlor, she chattered on about trivia until he grew impatient.
"I couldn't be happier to see you," he said. "I'm glad you're home. But what's all this about Annette Louise?"
"I expect you to behave reasonably over this," Madelaine warned him. "No nonsense about challenges."
"Bon Dieu, tell me!"
"Annette Louise and Nicolas Roulleaux are to be married."
His mouth dropped open. This was a match he'd never expected.
"I was surprised, too," Madelaine said, "She never said a word to me. Apparently he was seeing her while Julienne was ill. At first he went to see little Gabe, but then they fell in love."
"I can't believe it," Guy said.
"I know. She was terribly upset over the duel, but I thought it was because of me. She confessed later she'd have died if Nicolas had been killed."
"I can only hope she'll be happy with him."
"You don't still feel a little tenderness for her?"
Guy shook his head.
"So, you see, I had to come home. You couldn't expect me to stay in the home of a woman who was marrying a Roulleaux." She looked at him, only a trace of mockery in her smile, then got up and kissed him on the cheek. "Oh, Guy, I'm so happy you and Nicolas found a way to settle the duel without harm to either of you."
"No wonder he wasn't too upset by Joubert's news," Guy said.
But the next November, when Annette Louise bore Nicolas' son, Guy found himself envious of Nicolas. Not for his wife, but for his son. His heir.
I must marry, he told himself.
The Creole girls were as pretty as ever. He was attracted first to one, then to another, but none kept his interest. How could he be expected to share his bed and his home with one of these light headed creatures for the rest of his life?
"Why not court Yolande?" Madelaine asked.
"One entanglement with a daughter of Joubert Le Moyne was enough," Guy told her. "No, Yolande's a fine girl but there's no feeling between us. What I want in a wife is a woman who's lived long enough to know something of the ways of the world, who speaks with some intelligence. She must be pretty and desirable, but sensible, as well. We should feel a mutual attraction but also have a meeting of minds."
I know a woman who's al
l of those things, Guy told himself sadly. Who suited me as no one has before or since. I knew her and I could have had her.
"You've left out one thing," Madelaine said. "I'd have thought it was uppermost in your thoughts."
“What’s that?”
“This wonderful paragon you describe must also produce a La Branche heir.
He sighed. “No, I haven’t forgotten.”
Chapter 24
On May 5, 1821, Napoleon died on St. Helena. Dominique You's group of Creoles, who were finally ready to sail to rescue him, wept when the word came. Indeed, all Creoles felt a sadness, for Napoleon had been much admired in New Orleans.
The next news from Europe to electrify the city came in 1824, when the marquis Marie Joseph de Lafayette made his long awaited visit to the United States, sailing from Le Havre on the American frigate Cadmus the day before Bastille Day, July thirteenth, and arriving in New York a month later. He journeyed to New Orleans the following year.
The Natchez brought Lafayette to the levee. The marquis was an old man who wasn't in the best of health, but he was a gallant and beloved hero all the same. An arc de triomphe was erected in the Place d'Armes and he was driven beneath it in a landau drawn by six matched greys, with a troop of cavalry as an honor guard.
One hundred Choctaw braves who'd camped outside the city for a month waiting to see "the great warrior, brother of the “great white father, Washington," passed in review in full war paint and feathers as Lafayette watched from the balcony of the Cabildo. The Indians were followed by the new militia company organized in honor of the visit, the Lafayette Guards.
"Vive Lafayette!" the crowds shouted. "Viva la liberte!"
The marquis stayed in rooms fitted for his living quarters in the Cabildo, but visited at the plantations, including Lac Belle.
"Why have you not been back to France?" he asked Guy. "Our visit there was so short, and I'd looked forward to your return."
"I plan to return someday, of course," Guy said.
"I think, sir, my brother will be sailing quite soon for la belle France," Madelaine put in.
Guy slanted a quick look her way.
"We have a cousine who longs to come to New Orleans," Madelaine went on. "As she's nearing marriageable age, we hope to help her meet an eligible Creole and settle here in Louisiana."