Pounding the desk with his fist, he longed to know what Michael was up to. Having played cards with the man, Jervis new he rarely took a gamble without weighing his options. No man could actually want a brat like Gwen for a wife, so what did Michael hope to gain by taking hurt? Not the Willows, surely. Kidnapping was hardly the means of endearing oneself to a woman’s father, and Michael had to know John would never hand over his property if he were being forced.
Jervis sat straighter in the chair, a smile forming on his lips. Imagine his brother’s reaction should be he learned that Michael was holding his daughter for ransom. John might turn a blind eye to anyone running off with his daughter, but you could bet his pride would be pricked should his new son-in-law be so bold as to demand money.
Why, properly handled, and with enough alcohol swimming in his body, John would get so riled, he would denounce his daughter’s new husband. Should he do this publicly, and should a witness be near, Gwen might yet lose the trust fund to Jervis. And it could easily be accomplished without having to let the annoying the lance into the family.
All Jervis had to do was sit tight and be patient, waiting for the ransom letter to arrive. Should he be wrong about Michael’s intentions, if for some strange reason the demand and should fail to appear, well, Jervis had access to pen and paper.
Was there any reason he could not write a ransom note himself?
***
Once more, Gwen woke up before she was ready, and inconvenience she’d rarely suffered at the Willows. She rubbed her eyes, irritated that she again been dreaming about a certain black night, and didn’t at first place the sound that disturbed her.
Lying in bed, staring at her door, she saw the light streaming in through her window and realized that it was still early morning. The noise–had it been the children? True to Jude’s predictions, they hadn’t come home before she went to sleep last night. Were they in the house now, or was it an intruder?
The four-legged kind?
Heart pounding, she listened carefully, but the sound was not repeated. As she slowly rose from her bed, she told herself that it was her imagination playing tricks. If she meant to get along here, she had to stop jumping at every noise. Too well, she could imagine the children’s should be fine her cowering in her bed.
Nonetheless, she stepped gingerly from it, checking the floor before sliding her feet into the slippers Michael had brought to replace her ruined boots. They were a bit dainty for life in the swamp, but she wore them happily, for they reminded her of the days she’d been pampered and safe.
Panning over the hooks on the wall, she tried to decide what to wear today. The green dress was stained from trying to fix her own at dinner, and her riding clothes still wore its coating of mud. Longing, she thought of the Lavinia, wishing the old servant could calm for the day to do her laundry. And dishes, Gwen added, thinking of this stacks piling up in the kitchen.
She chose the blue dress, for it was the coolest, and threw it down on the bed. Seeking the petticoat in the dresser, she opened the door and was reaching inside when she heard the sounds of ruffling again. It was the hiss, however, that started her screaming.
She was up on the bed, pointing and screaming, when the children burst into the room. “Snake!” She managed to wheeze.
“There, in the dresser.”
Jude stopped over to the dresser to pull the writhing creature out. “This? This has you screaming like there was a fire?” He held up a six inch snake, no bigger around than a pinky finger, but for Gwen, it seemed repulsive enough.
“I am used to snakes,” little Christopher volunteered.
Jude snared. “That’s because you’re a lady.”
This brought on a round of laughter.
“Get it out of here,” Gwen whimpered from the bed, making a shooing motion with her hands.
Jude brought the ugly thing closer. “This little guy bothers you, then you are in big trouble. He’s got brothers twenty times bigger, living right here on the island. Why, I once found a twelve footer under my bunk, it did and I?”
The other boys nodded. “Be careful,” Patrick cautioned, the most solemn of all. “You would not want it to bite you.”
“She’s got it expect it,” Jude said, not bothering to hide a smirk. “That’s what life is like here in the swamp.”
“Just get that creature out of my room.”
“Whatever you say. Sure you don’t want us checking to see if there is any more in here? They like to squeeze in through the cracks in the walls, you know.”
Gwen did her best not to shudder. “If I need you, I will call.”
Shrugging, yet raining, Jude carried the reptile out of the room, the others following.
When they had gone, Gwen slowly stepped down from the cot, feeling first sheepish, then dismayed. She had made a major mistake, letting those children see her fright. Not only would they taunt her unmercifully now, she would never get them to sit still long enough to teach them.
She rubbed her arms, upset by how much the incident had unnerved her. Even now, she was afraid to move about the room, not knowing if another snake had squeezed in through the wall. Shivering, she looked about her, slowly realizing that the walls were all covered with tarpaper, that there weren’t any holes to speak of. More importantly, as she leaned down for a closer look, she discovered there were no outside openings in the dresser, either.
Those little brats have put the snake in their!
Her first reaction was to run out to confront them, but as she was hurrying into her close–reluctance to be caught again in her underwear–her anger had time to cool. As it did, she knew there was no sense screaming at them; they were not likely to listen. Besides, who was she to be such a hypocrite? At that age, she admitted painfully, she’d been a bit of a terror herself.
Thinking back, she had to admit that she’d tried her own share of pranks, with poor Lavinia her usual target. Never with snakes, for even then she’d hated them, but she did remember a frog. She’d found it during one of her night time searches, when she climbed out of her window and crawled down the old oak to meet Lance for fishing.
It wasn’t until Edith had come to live with them, and mother had someone to compare her daughter to, that mother and father had stopped laughing at Gwen’s antics. It was time, her parents had agreed, and that their little tomboy learned to be a lady.
In truth, Gwen had been every bit as headstrong as Jude, and twice as determined never to change, yet her parents had managed to refine her behavior. How, exactly, had they done it? Father hadn’t yelled or screamed; there had been no need for lectures. He merely give her the look, and glad had instantly cringed. It was the same fierce expression with which he so often silenced her now.
Practicing her own version of his forbidding expression, Gwen went out into the hallway. She would try it on Jude, she decided. If she could get their leader to listen to her, the other boys would eventually fall in line.
Unfortunately, Jude wasn’t in the kitchen when she entered it. Little Christopher sat alone at the table, busily licking the bottom of a bowl.
“Christopher!” Gwen step up to take the bowl from his hands. “That is no way for a boy to be eating.”
He tried to snatch it back. “Give it. It’s mine. Jude made it for me.”
“Whatever it was, it’s long finished. Don’t you know a gentleman must never apply his tongue to the china?” From his puzzled expression, Gwen realize that the word china must be a foreign term. “The bowl,” she explained. “It is not polite to be licking it.”
“But I am hungry.”
Looking at his round little face, Gwen felt a pang. Poor thing, his older brothers must have left him to his own devices. Her own childhood not that long ago that she couldn’t remember how it felt to depend on others for everything, even your next meal.
Come to think of it, she still knew how it felt.
“Don’t worry,” she told the boy. “There must be something else you can eat.” She looked
about helplessly. Even if she could look through the mess on the counter, she couldn’t cook. What she what it give now for a big fresh slice of bread. “Actually, now that you mention it, I am hungry myself.”
“Jude made gruel.”
Looking in the pot, Gwen tried not to gag. In her book, gruel ranked right down there with snakes. “You cannot want any more of this. Where are the others, anyway? Why aren’t you with them?”
His face clouded. “It is a secret. They say I cannot be trusted to keep quiet.”
“Hmmm.” As much as she needed to know what they were plotting against her, she took pity on Christopher’s glum expression. The little boy seemed badly in need of a friend. “As long as we are both left out, I say we forget this revolting gruel and find something better. Wait right here,” she told Christopher as she headed to the pantry. “I will see if I can find us something more suitable to fill our stomachs.”
Opening the pantry door, she found a stream of light shining down from the hole in the roof. Apparently, the boys hadn’t begun in their repairs. They had been lucky that it had not rained; there was a good deal of food here that would be ruined if the roof was not patched soon. The moment they return, she would have to get on them about it.
As a ray of sunlight beamed down on a glorious ham, as if it had been created for the sole purpose of calling it to her attention. As she gazed at the chunk of meat, all cured and ready to be eaten, her stomach began to grout. She reached for the knife beside and hastily slice off a slab.
Proud of her discovery, she brought it back to present to Christopher, but to her disappointment, the boy’s eyes the not widened with the delight. “We cannot eat that,” he said quickly, clearly alarmed. “Jude is saving it for a special occasion.”
Gwen, mainly rooting through the drawers for a clean plate, bristled with exasperation. “Jude said this, Jude said that. I am the mother here–or at least I am acting in that capability for the next few weeks–so unless someone crowned you to King when I was not looking, you can tell him I am the one who decides what’s we can eat and when.” Closing the cupboard drawer, she turned to face the boy. “Is there a single clean plate in this whole house?”
“Jude says we are not supposed to –“sheepishly, he shook his head. “No, there is not.”
Grabbing a skillet, which seems clean enough, Gwen brought it in the ham to the table. She sat beside Christopher and cut the slab into bite-size chunks. “Let me guess,” she told him, handing him a piece. “Jude decided nobody would do dishes, hoping it would help convince me to leave. Am my right?”
His eyes went wider, but he did not speak. Then again, his cheeks were filled with him.
Chewing on her own chunk, Gwen thought aloud. “And if something should crawl in here from the swamps, all the better. And nobody would need to go out looking for snakes.”
The boy refused to look at her as he jammed another piece of meat into his mouth.
“Well, I refuse to live this way,” Gwen went on, frowning at the piles of dirty dishes. “I am here to teach, not to entertain you. If you children refuse to wash up after yourselves, I won’t be the ones us suffer. I will just have to deal with them myself.”
Standing compulsively, Gwen reached for the nearest pile, trying to touch is little of the bottom plate as possible. Swallowing her revulsion in, she carried the stack to the door.
“Hey, where are you going?”
She did not answer the boy, for in truth, she had not the least idea. Her only thought had been to get the entire mess out of this shack, but the moment she spied by you, she knew that was where she would dump the pile. At least in the water, the dishes would get a much needed soaking.
The boy followed her outside, stopping to watch from the porch. “Are going to need help with that?” She asked, as she passed him on her return to this shack for more. “Or do you mean to stand there gawking.”
He came inside behind her, going straight to the table to snatch another chunk of ham. “I don’t think Jude’s going to like this,” was all he had to say.
“No, I don’t suppose he will.” One smiled at herself. She could well imagine Jude’s expression when the child came into cook the evening meal and found the kitchen empty. “But don’t you fret about it, because I plan to take full responsibility. Sooner or later, Jude–and the rest of you boys–will have to accept that I am in charge here. We going to help me or not?”
He looked at the door, as if hoping his brothers would charge into save him.
“You might as well. Jude already going to be angry about the ham.” He looked so alarmed, she instantly relented. “Do not worry. We can tell your brothers I did it. I swear, I won’t tell another soul.”
“Code of honor?”
Remembering how Jude had spoken of their code, she held a hand over her heart. “Code of honor, I won’t carry tells. It will be our little secret.”
He looked at the piles, then the skillet. “Okay, but only if I get the rest of the ham.”
“All right, let’s hurry. We don’t want Jude catching us dumping the plates in the water.”
He grinned, but quickly try to hide it, as he did several times as they carried the dishes and pots outside. Seeing that his brothers had left him behind, Christopher was probably enjoying their little conspiracy as much as she.
Daunting thought. What she actually enjoying herself?
On the last trip, she looked at the water longingly. If only she, too, could have a good, long soak. “I can’t tell you how much I wish I could take a bath.”
Christopher looked at her in surprise. “Why can’t you?”
“I’m not going into that bayou.” She did not bother to stifle the shutter.
The boy looked at her as if she were lacking intelligence. “Why not use the bathtub, like Michael does?”
“Tub?”
“Yep. It’s outback. Under the rain barrel.”
Gwen was afraid to hope. “Show me”
With the air of a man on an important mission, Christopher led her to the back of the cabin, where a huge wooden barrel had been set on a four foot high platform its top cut off to collect the rain.
The boy pointed to the tin plated tub on the ground beside it. “See that spigot on the side of the barrel? The opens and fill the tube. On hot days, the water comes out warm.”
Eyeing it, Gwen imagined standing beneath the spigots, letting the warm water shower her skin. “I don’t suppose there is soap?” She asked hopefully.
“Michael usually keeps a bar in that tin over there.”
Walking over to the barrel, Gwen dipped her hand in the clean, warm water. Though sorely tempted, she knew it would be better to come back later this evening, when she could soak in private.
Besides, at this moment, Christopher needed the bath more.
Yet when she mentioned the idea to him, the boys looked at her as if she’d suggested murder.
“Don’t you children ever bathe?” Grabbing the soap, she held it out to him. “Here, it won’t buy you. Get clean and you will feel much better after word. You might even have fun.”
Smiling, she open spigot to fill the top. As she turned it off, Christopher began to edge backward. Determined that at least one of the children would be clean when Michael returned, Gwen grabbed the boy by the arm. “No, you don’t, young man. Stay here and let’s get you nice and clean.”
As she tugged him back to the top, he screamed loud enough to wake the dead. Fighting fiercely, she tried to reason with him, but Christopher continued wiggling like a snake, until he managed to break free of her grip.
“Let go of my brother.” Jude stood beside the tub, a string of fish in his hands, stench of which was near overwhelming.
“I was trying to give Christopher a bath, but since you have helped him escape, maybe you can take his place.”
“I am not taking no bath.” This wasn’t uttered by the boy’s usual defiance; Jude seemed close to panic.
“What is wrong with you boys?” One a
sked mystified by their aversion to cleanliness. “Bathing is fun. Here, just try it.”
“Leave me alone.”
Jude also tried to flee, but this time, Gwen was prepared for it, and doubly determined that at least one of these children would take a bath. If it must be their leader, then all the better.
To the tune of some colorful language from Jude, Gwen was soon involved in a wrestling match. Their struggle, the file words coming out of the child’s mouth, were all symbolic of the war of wills Jude hoped to wage. It was too late now to back down; the boy would forever be testing Gwen, taunting her, if she could not prove she was boss. Whatever it took, she had to convince Jude to take this bath, and that was the end of that.
Perhaps she made the decision with the bit too much relish, for with a surprising burst of strength, she forced the boy into the tub. The string of fish went flying as Jude fell backward, landing in the water with a loud splash. Soaked herself, Gwen took advantage of the boy’s momentary surprise to push his head and shoulders under the spigot.
“Here,” she said, handing him the soap. “Might as well wash your hair while you were in there.”
Slapping her hand away, Jude glared at her with surprising dignity. Gwen, who refused to be daunted told the boy to take off his clothes, so they could wash them, too.
Jude ignored her, rising to stand proudly, shaking his head, tears running silently down reddened cheeks. It made Gwen on easy, seeing this proud boy cry, until her gaze drifted downward, to the wet cotton shirt hugging his chest.
“I hate you,” Jude yelled out, stumbling out of the tub to run off into the swamp.
“Good heavens,” Gwen gasped, staring after the fleeing figure. What a fine way to discover that Jude was a girl.
***
Pacing back and forth across his father’s library, Lance felt like a caged animal. He hated Bella Oaks, hated what it written represented. What good did it do to be born and be branded a planter, when all he’d inherited were a series of broken down levees, overgrown fields there were more marshland than soil, in a house so long neglected, that the property pervaded its mildew walls, the vegetation surrounding had become so thick, it was only a matter of time before the bayou reclaimed their home. Many nights Lance had nightmares of the vines swallowing the house whole, with him and his family still inside.
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