Destiny's Magic

by Martha Hix

  Zinnia took the box in her palm. “Let’s go powder a behind.”

  Twenty-nine

  “Ahh-choo!”

  Most of the night Susan had been attacked by sneezes, and by the time she stumbled out of bed at dawn, she knew why. There was some sort of powdery stuff all over her. Plaster must have fallen from the ceiling or something. The odor got to her. “Loa! It smells like gris-gris.”

  Before she could check out the problem, she ran for the commode. She barely made it to the dressing room before retching. It took several minutes to regain her composure.

  Swabbing her face with a wet rag, she worried over making amends with Burke. What was the best way? She’d done so little to make him happy. It was no wonder he felt as if Pippin were more important to her. How could she make him understand that her heart was big enough for both of them?

  Oh, Burke. What was truly in his heart? That he had not returned to their bed spoke of persisting anger.

  She would just have to get him in a good mood.

  After picking out fancy attire, she found her jewel box. Today she would dress for her husband as a subtle sign of his importance to her.

  Already Keep Smile had filled the tub with bathwater, so she got in. Little bits of strange things floated up. They weren’t ceiling plaster. “This is gris-gris.”

  Zinnia playing tricks again.

  The sassy servant didn’t come upstairs to help her dress, but Susan got into a corset by herself. Jerking and yanking didn’t help her queasy stomach. Put together, she found a very familiar sight on the bedside table. A burned-down candle, sticks collected in the cold, pooled wax at the base.

  “Why?” she asked Zinnia two minutes later.

  “I thought you could use some love powder.”

  “Burke will have a fit! How could you do that to him?”

  In the kitchen washing breakfast dishes, Zinnia said, “Trust me.”

  “He’s the most opposed to hoodoo in the whole of this city. Yet everyone works magic against him.” Susan would have given anything to find a way to bring a magical sparkle back into his eyes. “Where is he? We’ve got to get the mess cleaned up before he sees it.”

  “Left already. Said he’s going to see that ole Judge Duval.”

  Man of his word, Burke. She trusted him to do his best for Pippin.

  Zinnia eyed her knowingly. “Little green around the edges, I notice. Morning sickness getting to you, hmm?”

  “It’s not what you intimated to Pippin, which was, by the way, quite out of line. My queasiness is from the upset between me and Burke.”

  “Umm-hmm.” Zinnia dried her hands. “You throwing up all the time. Crab-cranky. There’s not been a dad-gum bloody rag come to my washtub whole time you been married. You’re gonna be a mother, girl. Might as well accept it.”

  “You’re wrong. Burke protected me.” Mostly.

  “What did he protect you from? Rain beating down on your pretty blond head? Humph. Been days there weren’t no trash in the waste bin, girl. Just stains on the sheets, to name one place. If you too ignorant to know your own body, you’d best let me call for the doc, so he can set you straight.”

  “I guess it could be possible, a child.” Susan dropped to the kitchen chair. Being honest, she’d refused to heed her instincts. A smile drifted over her face. A baby. A baby! “I always wanted children. All my life.” She laced fingers over her abdomen, loving the tiny mite already. “A sibling for Pippin. If I get to keep him.” Don’t think such!

  Another child to crowd Burke’s heart.

  This should have been one of the most wonderful moments of her life, knowing she’d forever have a reminder of Burke and their time together at 21 rue Royale. After last night—“We don’t need a baby.”

  “You got a choice?”

  A dry chuckle worked its way into Susan’s throat. “Well, now he’s stuck with me for . . . forever.” That was when she started crying, boohooing as if she were a baby.

  “You willing to put five dollars on something?”

  “Y-you know I don’t g-gamble.”

  “Durned shame, then. I could’ve got me some extra bourré money. ’Cause I sure reckon that rascal knew exactly what he was doing.”

  “You would’ve lost,” Susan returned between sobs. “It was only the heat of passion when we weren’t careful.”

  “Umm-hmm.” Zinnia patted her back and offered an apron corner as handkerchief. “He loves you something fierce.”

  “Then why does he want to send me away?”

  “You as stupid as you are ignorant. He thinks he’s giving you what you want. Trust me, girl. He loves you enough to do anything for you. Even bend his principles.”

  “I’d love to think so.” Susan left the chair. “I—I need some air. Please promise you’ll let me tell him about this baby.”

  Zinnia got another one of those cat-and-canary expressions. “I promise.”

  With Keep Smile and Pippin in the courtyard, where they chattered and swept in unison, Susan paused in her troubled course to give the younger worker a kiss on his forehead and a heartfelt hug. He didn’t know that his fate might be sealed this morning in a chamber at the Cabildo. Would that he never knew!

  She went up to the bedchamber where her little one could have been conceived. The linens were askew, evidence of a husband and wife loving, then quarreling. Oh, Burke. Would their child come into this world on that bed?

  “If I have any say in it,” Susan vowed.

  When he got home, she would confess her heart. She must make him know that she wouldn’t consider this home a cage.

  Her way made to the balcony overlooking the street, she settled into a chair. The sounds of pedestrians, beasts of burden, and conveyances filtered up to her. Puffed clouds moved under the sun, a morning shower threatening. A typical day in New Orleans. An atypical day for Susan O’Brien. A baby! And the Cabildo . . .

  Shivering despite the warmth of September, she rubbed the tummy that would soon expand with Burke’s child. “Are you a boy or girl, little love?”

  How unfair, bringing the O’Brien heir into this awful world, where his father was plagued by villains. But the morass of Rufus West would surely reach a conclusion forthwith. How? Please don’t let Burke be more grievously injured in it. Or killed. Maybe it wouldn’t come to a violent end. West might never be found.

  The O’Brien Steamship Company could sink, if so.

  What would that do to Burke?

  What if he were made to pay for a crime he didn’t commit?

  Whatever happened, Susan vowed to be at his side. But did he want her there? True, he’d expressed love, but what did it mean? How far did it go beyond lust? Nervously she touched her wedding rings. His actions gave an answer. He had given his all to their marriage. Burke had pampered, loved, and spoiled her—and the boy who was neither hers nor his. He took up for her. He’d spent lavishly when he couldn’t afford to.

  He had enough love to spare for a pair of circus runaways. . . and for the tiny mite who was wholly 21 rue Royale.

  Why hadn’t she seen it?

  Material possessions had come easily during the love-pauper years of growing up. She took money for granted. During those awful months with Orson Paget, she’d been dispossessed of everything. She simply didn’t know how to give her trust or her faith. As she’d been deprived, she had done the same thing to her loving husband.

  “Susan!” Burke called from the street.

  “Darling!” A rush of tender emotion went through her. She leaned forward to bend over the rail. A planter’s hat shading his eyes, he looked up at her from astride Avenger. She smiled down at her beloved. “I’ve missed you so! Do come up here. Please. I love you!”

  A broad grin marked his handsome face. He eased Avenger closer to the residence. “What did you say?”

  “I love you,” she shouted.

  “Hallelujah!” He tossed his hat in the air. “I love you too!”

  Then everything would be all right.
/>   “Burke, about last night. I don’t want England. I haven’t in months. I want you. And to stay at our home.”

  Deep dimples punctured his cheeks as he smiled up at her. “Hallelujah! Wife, we’re gonna seal this with a church wedding.”

  “Presbyterian?”

  “Whichever you choose.”

  “Well, we’d best make it quick, since I don’t want to walk an aisle with a swollen belly.” She leaned as close as she could to him. “Captain O’Brien, we’re going to have a baby.”

  He didn’t look the least surprised, although he appeared proud and happy. “I’m hoping for a girl.”

  Regrettably, Remy Cinglure rode up, his presence turning Burke’s mien somber. He said, “Get back from the rail, honey. Don’t come out of the house. You provide a sitting duck for the Eel.”

  “I’ll do whatever you say.” She blew him a kiss. Then, hands on the rail, she leaned forward again. “Wait. What about Pippin? What did Judge Duval say?”

  Burke tapped the palomino’s flank to send the horse even closer to the balcony, close enough that Susan caught sight of a now-unhappy expression. “I’m still working on Duval.”

  Her heart dropped, but she would show faith in Burke. “You’ll take care of it. I know you will. Hurry home, darling. We have much to make up.”

  He winked. “I’ll be home later.”

  Later was what she waited eagerly for.

  Sooner got in the way.

  Not ten minutes after her husband rode off and Susan had withdrawn indoors, Zinnia burst in. “Mercy sake’s alive, all that baby talk, I forgot to tell you—a lady come by at dawn, looking for you. Found out you were asleep, she left this.”

  Susan took an envelope from Zinnia’s waving fingers. She read the note quickly, then slid the paper back into the jacket. Her heart seemed to stop.

  “What is it?” Zinnia wanted to know.

  “Angela Paget. She’s at the city dock. Says she’ll wait for me until ten. This could be a trap.”

  “Ignore her, then.”

  “Tempting.” Susan lifted her eyes to Zinnia. “She wants money to get out of town. We could be rid of her.”

  “Girl, it does sound fishy. Sure would be nice, though, not worrying our heads when we got a new baby to think about. And a sweet li’l ole boy to keep.”

  Susan couldn’t help but smile—the baby! Her baby, and Burke’s. Their baby. A sister or brother for Pippin. Oh, Pippin!

  Oh, Burke!

  “We going or not?” Zinnia demanded.

  “We can’t leave Pippin alone.”

  “Mr. Burke done gave a pearl-handled pistol to Keep Smile, said shoot that Eel betwixt the eyes, he come sniffing around.”

  A reckless move on Burke’s part, one Susan understood.

  “I got a derringer of my own.” Zinnia patted her apron pocket. “Fits right here, right where I can get to it in case of traps. Let’s me and you sashay on down to the city dock.”

  Should they take such a chance?

  “On your feet, girl. Let’s go to the dock.”

  “I don’t have any money.”

  “That thousand from yesterday, it’s available.”

  “We can’t do that to Burke.” Desperation drove Susan to consider it. “He’s not got much cash. And it’s his, not ours. He may need it.”

  Zinnia got in her face. “Ain’t his. It’s mine. He gave it to me last night. To help with the gris-gris. Love powder was his idea.”

  “Burke did that?” Susan’s mouth dropped. “Burke? Mama Loa, he didn’t!”

  “He’d do anything for you.”

  Flabbergasted, excited, touched, Susan closed her eyes and drew a mental likeness of her beloved. A big heart was bursting through his strong chest.

  “Don’t you start bawling again, girl. We ain’t got time for that. We got to get rid of that Angela trash.”

  Susan, along with Zinnia, arrived at the levee at nine-thirty. Egrets and heron perched upon soaring stacks of baggage; a tall ship, the Duchess of Brighton, at anchor. The women saw nothing of Angela Paget, but heard her voice call from between a tall pile of trunks and a warehouse overhang: “I’m over here. Was afraid you wouldn’t come. Why, look at you, all gussied up.”

  Even in the shelter of shade Susan could tell the brunette insect had suffered a beating. Those fresh cuts and bruises almost caused Susan to feel sorry for her. Sentiment fled rapidly. “What do you want?”

  “To be on the Duchess when she sails at ten. Did you bring plenty of money?”

  “More than you would ever deserve. A thousand.”

  “I gotta get outta the country. Going to Sweden, or Cuba, or someplace. A thousand won’t set me up forever.”

  “It’s all we have,” Susan answered.

  “Take the money, lady.” Zinnia patted her apron as if to make certain her firearm hadn’t shifted.

  Angela started to chew her bottom lip, but a scab stopped her. “I might be willing.”

  Susan drew up her shoulders. “We aren’t turning over a dime until you give some answers. Why did you take Pippin out of the orphanage? Why didn’t you just leave him alone?”

  “Thought he’d be my ticket back to Orson.” Angela simpered. “You know how it was with our husband. He knew how to hurt a woman and make her beg for more.”

  Now that she’d known marriage with a real man, Susan didn’t know what she’d ever seen in the bilge water of Orson Paget. She was sorry for asking. “When you get on that ship, do you agree to relinquish all rights to Pippin?”

  “Yeah, I do.” Angela dug in her bosom to pull out a crumpled slip of paper. “Newt wrote this out this morning for me. That’s my X. I trust it says you can have the boy.”

  It did. Susan turned a suspicious eye on the brunette. “Why didn’t Rufus West witness it?”

  “Newt beat the hell outta him last night, tied him up so’s I could get away. That was after Rufus beat the hell outta me for not getting the hush money.”

  Zinnia laughed. “That’s rich!”

  True. But it didn’t sound quite cricket, Angela’s tale. Newt Storey, murderer and pirate, let this insect flee, when she could sting him and his partner-in-crime? “I don’t believe you.”

  “It’s true. He ain’t a bad sort down deep.”

  Tell that to the widows and orphans of the Delta Star. Or to Burke. Especially to poor Velma Harken.

  “Where are West and Storey?” Susan asked.

  “Don’t know exactly.” A shoulder shrugged. “Sunup, we got thrown outta our house. Couldn’t pay the rent. Newt loaded Rufus up in the wagon. Said he’d take him to the boat shack, where he’s got his shrimper drydocked. Ain’t never been there, so’s I can’t tell you exactly.”

  “Let’s go to the booking agent.” Susan marched toward that particular shack. “It’s time for you to get aboard.”

  “Come back here, Susan.” Angela stepped out of the shadows. “Never said I’d settle for no lousy thousand dollars.”

  Susan whirled around, a vicious pool of red before her eyes. “If you don’t, Zinnia will pull her gun and drain your worthless head of brains.”

  She grabbed Angela’s arm roughly, but had second thoughts. How could she ever look Pippin in the eye again if she killed his natural mother?

  Fingers whipped into the apron, and Zinnia pointed the derringer. “My pleasure.”

  Angela shook off Susan’s clutch. “Oh, stop that, you two! I’ll take the thousand. Let me see it.”

  Zinnia pulled an envelope from her pocket.

  A quick look at the contents satisfied Angela, who started to tuck it in her reticule.

  Zinnia shook her head. “Nope. None of that. You’ll get on that boat first.” She bustled off to the booking office nearby, then came back to hand over the envelope.

  Fifteen minutes later Angela Paget was safely aboard the Duchess of Brighton. The tall ship weighed anchor and headed into the middle of the great river’s channel. Susan knew in her heart they would never see Angela Paget again.
“That was the best thousand dollars ever spent.”

  “What thousand dollars you mean, girl?”

  Susan’s gaze shot to a mischievous grin.

  “That Iowa girl don’t know Confederate money from good.”

  Conspirators and friends, Susan and Zinnia both burst into laughter, hugging each other tightly. Yet Susan’s tears sprang. If only the West morass would work out as well for Burke.

  That was when the shot rang out.

  Thirty

  The bad news reached Burke before he got home.

  While he’d parlayed with Judge Duval about Pippin’s custody, Remy Cinglure and a quartet of his men surrounded a boathouse across the river. The Eel and his accomplice got away, but not before killing a policemen and injuring Cinglure.

  Burke rode hell-bent for rue Royale. He didn’t feel a thing beyond sorrow for the detective and the others and fear for Susan and the boy. Susan—who loved him and carried their child. His child, there was no doubting.

  This should have been the happiest day of his life.

  He burst into the vestibule, rushed to the courtyard. His eyes searched for his precious wife. Instead, he got an eyeful of one spirited boy and three grave-faced adults. Wearing frowns were Throck, Aunt Phoebe . . . and a lanky, russet-haired cowboy.

  Jon Marc O’Brien.

  That explained the grave faces. And the reason Aunt Phoebe was speaking with Pip and holding him back.

  In a loose-limbed gait the youngest O’Brien brother, one thumb tucked behind a gun belt, ambled toward Burke. He beat a ten-gallon hat against his thigh, once. “Needn’t be troubled. I won’t be staying.”

  “Won’t be because you’re not welcome, Jones.”

  Any other time he would have been in high spirits to see the brother who’d made himself a stranger for the past eight years. They needed to bury the hatchet.

  Right now it worried Burke, not seeing Susan in the group. “Where’s my wife?”

  “Dad!” All eyes, Pip shot away from Aunt Phoebe. “You didn’t tell me your brother was a real cowboy! He can lasso a real steer. And he sleeps un’er the stars. And he’s played cards with some real Indians! Ain’t that wonderful?”