As soon as the prow of the boat touched the land, Chantel stepped out and held it steady while Neville joined her. He moved awkwardly, for he had an enormous shotgun, and his pockets were stuffed with shells. He held the weapon gingerly and shook his head. “You don’t need to be along for this, Chantel. You stay here at the boats.”
“I don’t want to seem stubborn, but—”
Prewitt interrupted her. “Come, we go quickly. You, Miss Fontaine, and you, lawyer mon, you stay with me.” He turned to the three deputies and said, “Odo, you go and get on the other side. You go ahead of us. And you too, Sonny. You get on the east side of the house. And, Jean, you get on the other side. You surround him, no?”
The three deputies nodded, then trotted away like hound dogs on a scent. They disappeared almost miraculously into the tall trees and the undergrowth. Prewitt gave them a few minutes, waiting for a time and seeming to sniff the air. Finally he turned and said, “You two stay behind me a way. Thees ees one mean fellow.”
He carried a rifle in his hand and looked completely out of place in his fancy boots and colorful vest. He was smiling and humming under his breath, and from time to time he broke out into a song just barely loud enough for them to hear.
The party moved silently—except for Prewitt’s soft singing—and when they got within sight of the cabin, Prewitt held his hand up. “You stay here,” he said.
He moved forward slowly, and they saw his head turn from side to side and point to point. When he was some forty yards away from the cabin, he called out, “Tubberville—Simon Tubberville, come out here—and let me see some empty hands or you be sorry!”
Silence followed his call. Chantel looked on both sides of the cabin but saw no signs of the deputies. She was sure, however, that they were there.
Slowly the door opened, and Mrs. Tubberville came out. She had no rifle in her hands this time. Immediately behind her came the girl she called Jeanne.
“Mrs. Tubberville, where’s your husband?”
“He’s not here.”
“Just stay right there.” Prewitt moved forward, studied the pair closely, then stepped into the cabin. The woman and the girl did not move but stood staring across the open space at Chantel and Neville. Prewitt came back out quickly and stood in front of the woman. “Where is Simon?”
“Hunting.”
Prewitt laid his gun flat on the ground, reached into his pocket, and pulled out an envelope. He took out a paper and said, “You read this.”
“I can’t read.”
“Well, I will read it to you.” He started reading the paper, and suddenly Chantel moved forward. The sheriff stopped reading and looked at her. “What is it?” he said.
“Let me talk to the girl.”
“All right. You stay where you are, Mrs. Tubberville. Girl, you go with this lady.”
Jeanne looked like a frightened, stricken deer.
“Come along, Jeanne. I have something to tell you.”
The girl hesitated, looking at her mother, but the woman simply shrugged. She was defeated looking, with lines of suffering on her face. Her eyes were dull, and this scene, it seemed to Chantel, was just one of a series of sorrows in her life.
Chantel motioned to the girl and said, “Don’t be afraid, Jeanne.”
“Why does the man have a gun? Is he going to hurt my mama?”
“No, but I have something to tell you.” She hesitated and wondered if the speech she had rehearsed would work. “When I was about your age, Jeanne, I lived with my parents and my little sister on a plantation outside of New Orleans.”
Jeanne kept her eyes fixed on Chantel as the story poured forth. Finally Chantel told her about the flood and said, “My mother’s body was found in the river—but my sister was never found.”
As gently as she could she said, “I do not believe the Tubbervilles are your real parents. I think you are my sister.”
The girl’s lips tightened, and she seemed to shrink. “Why do you think that?”
“Because you look exactly like our mother, and your hair and your eyes are not the same as your parents. When you were a little baby your hair was that color, and your eyes were violet as they are now.”
“What do you want?” the girl whispered. She seemed unable to take her eyes from Chantel’s face, and she shivered as if a cold blast had struck her.
“I want you to come and live with me. You’re all the family I have. I want to tell you all about your mother and your father—our parents. I’ll show you where you were born. You’ll have your own room. I love you, dear sister, and I want you to come home with me.”
A fit of trembling seized the girl, and tears began to gather in her eyes. Chantel put her arm around the girl. “Are you happy here, dear?”
A struggle seemed to take place within the girl. Fear was there, but also a longing. “No, I’m—I’m afraid.”
Chantel said, “You must come with me, Veronique. That’s your name. And I promise you that you will never be hurt. I know you’re afraid, and I know you and I don’t know each other, but I’ll take you to our home, and you’ll be safe. I’ll take care of you always.”
Veronique looked over her shoulder toward the yard, and she whispered, “My papa. He will not let me go. He will hurt anyone who tries to take anything that’s his.”
“Sheriff Prewitt will take us out of here. Your father won’t know where you are. He can never hurt you. Will you come?”
Veronique nodded, and Chantel took a deep breath. “Come now, sister. It’s time for you to leave. Get your things.”
She led Veronique to the front and said, “Mrs. Tubberville, you’ve heard the sheriff. I’m taking my sister with me. Let her get her things, and we will go.”
The girl did not do as Chantel said, but went to the woman and held out her hand tentatively. Mrs. Tubberville stared at it, then reached out and took it. They stood that way as if frozen for a time, and then the woman said, “It is better for you to go, Jeanne. This is no good place for you.”
“You are not my mother?”
“No. Now go before your papa gets back.”
Veronique pulled her hand away and went quickly into the house. Chantel came over to the woman and said, “I’m sorry. I know you love her, but she shouldn’t be here.”
The woman did not answer for a time. Then she lifted her eyes, and Chantel saw the pure misery that was in them. “Take her quickly. Take care of her.”
“I will. I promise you I will.”
The door opened and closed, and Veronique stood there with a sack in her hands. She went over to the woman she had called mother all her life, and the woman suddenly reached out and embraced her. Chantel heard her whisper hoarsely, “Think of me sometimes.” Then she released her and turned her back to them. She stood stiffly as if she could not bear to watch.
Prewitt said, “Your husband I will arrest. He will be charged with kidnapping.” He put his fingers into his lips and blew a shrill blast. Almost at once the three deputies materialized, and the party moved away.
As they moved down the path, Veronique held tightly to Chantel’s hand. She looked back once, and Chantel followed her glance. The woman was watching them. She did not move or lift a hand in farewell.
Tears were flowing down the child’s face, and Chantel’s heart went out to her. I’ll take this grief away from her. Before God, I will.
The three deputies and Prewitt went first, and they were almost to the boat out in the clearing when a shot rang out. The deputy named Sonny fell to the ground and lay perfectly still. The other two deputies and Prewitt whirled and began a furious fire on the wood. Prewitt was shouting, “He’s over there! Move around to your left! You people lie down!”
Bullets whistled around Chantel, and suddenly Neville was there, grabbing her and the child. He pulled them to the ground and shielded them with his body. Then, lying down, he leveled the shotgun, and a tremendous booming sound filled the space.
Chantel held her sister tightly, but she watched
as Prewitt suddenly got up and ran directly at the spot from which the fire seemed to be coming. He seemed to have no fear whatsoever, and he was shouting and cursing as he ran. He emptied his rifle, pulled out a revolver, and fired three times. Chantel heard him yell, “I got heem that time!” He emptied the revolver, then suddenly turned and came back. He was limping badly, and Chantel saw him stop and pull up his pant leg. “Why, that devil got me in the other leg!”
“Is it bad?” Odo said.
“No, just a nick.” Prewitt walked over to Sonny and bent over him. Prewitt did not move for a moment, and finally he stood up. “He is dead.”
Jean Baptiste came to look down at the fallen man. He whispered, “He is my cousin. I will kill Simon for this!”
Chantel stared at the dead man, sick with the violence that had unfolded. She tried to speak, but found that speech was more than she could manage.
Prewitt was tying a handkerchief around his bloody leg. “I think maybe you will. Now, Odo, take these people back to town. You get Nick and his dogs out here—and send word to Sheriff Blevins to block off the bayou. Round up all the men you can. We throw a ring around this swamp. He will never get out. We catch him this time.”
He turned to Neville and Chantel. “Get that child out of here. This is no place for her.” The two deputies began to reload their weapons as Neville urged Chantel and Veronique into the boat. He shoved it off, and Chantel joined him as they paddled away.
Neville saw the girl trembling and said, “Don’t worry, little one. You’re safe now.”
Chantel broke her rhythm long enough to turn and reach her hand out. “Don’t worry. There’s nothing to fear. You and I, we are sisters. I will take care of you always.”
Chapter twenty-nine
As soon as they reached the landing at the Broussards’ cabin, Odo mounted his horse and rode off at a furious pace. Neville said quickly, “Let’s go back to the hotel.”
The Broussards came out with curious looks at the girl but asked no questions. Chantel went to Michael Broussard and held her hand out. When he took it, she said, “I’ll always be grateful to you, Michael, for the help you’ve given me in finding my sister.”
“I’m glad it turned out happily for you,” Broussard said simply.
Chantel turned and took Veronique’s hand. The girl seemed to be stunned, unable to speak. “Come along and get in the buggy. You can ride between Neville and me.”
Neville kept the horses at a fast pace. He and Chantel spoke quietly, mostly to break the silence. Chantel kept her arm around her sister. From time to time the girl would look at her, but she was silent all the way back. Chantel wanted to heap assurances on her, but she knew that things would be difficult for a time. When they reached the hotel, the three of them went inside. The room clerk remembered them. “Ah, Mr. Harcourt. You’re staying with us again.”
“Yes, I need three rooms.”
Chantel spoke up quickly. “Oh, my sister and I can share a room, Neville. Will that be all right, Veronique?”
The trembling girl nodded.
“Come along,” Chantel said as the clerk handed her a key. “I know we’re all tired.”
“You two get a good night’s sleep, and we’ll meet for breakfast,” Neville said. He knelt down in front of Veronique, and she flinched slightly. “You sleep well tonight, Veronique. You and I will get better acquainted soon. There’ll be lots of good things we can do when we get home. Good night.”
Chantel was glad that Neville had taken the time to speak to her sister and to show her attention. She led Veronique up the stairs, and when they entered the room, she put the sack she had brought with her on the bed. “Why don’t you put your bag over there by the wall? Then you and I can wash up. We may have to get some fresh water.”
Without a word, Veronique put the bag down, and then Chantel said, “Are you hungry?”
“No.” Veronique spoke in a whisper, and her frightened expression brought a quick sympathy to Chantel.
“I am. I think I’ll get us something to eat if the restaurant’s still open. I’ll bring it up here, and we’ll have a little picnic. Why don’t you wash in the stand over there? Come, I’ll show you.”
Veronique seemed to warm up to the loving attention from her sister. She followed Chantel to the stand and watched her pour the basin full of water. “See, there’s soap and a washcloth and a towel. Did you bring a nightgown?”
Veronique finally spoke. “Don’t have one, me.”
Chantel had noted that Veronique had the peculiar speech habit of the Cajun people, of adding “me” after a sentence instead of beginning with “I.”
“I’ve got a spare. It’ll be too big for you, of course, but when I was your age, I used to love to wear grown-up clothes. Here, let me get it.” She opened her suitcase, pulled out a flannel gown, and said, “You wash and get into this, and then I’ll be back with something to eat.”
Going downstairs, she found that the kitchen was not yet closed, and she had the cook fix her two plates of hot food. She stopped by the desk and asked them to bring up some fresh water, then went back to her room, where she found Veronique wearing her nightgown and sitting stiffly in a chair.
“Well, you’re all clean and have a nice, fresh gown on. Look, let’s use this dresser as a table. This food smells good.”
Veronique got up and pulled her chair closer. Without appearing to do so, Chantel noted that the child held her fork clutched in an awkward way. She bent over close to her plate and stuffed the food into her mouth as if she were afraid someone would take it from her. The juice ran down her chin and she wiped it with her sleeve. As she ate, she kept glancing fearfully at Chantel. She did not eat much, and she said nothing, but Chantel kept up a running conversation. She hardly knew what she said, and it mattered little, for all Veronique needed was the sound of a voice.
Halfway through the meal a servant brought water, and after they had finished their meal, Chantel undressed and washed herself as well as she could. She slipped into her other nightgown and said, “Now, we ought to sleep well tonight. “
She watched as Veronique moved to the bed and went to her side. She took the child in her arms and hugged her, saying, “I’m so glad I found you, little sister! I’ve always longed for you!” She felt the tension in Veronique’s body at first, but gradually the child relaxed. Chantel kissed her on the cheek, saying, “You look so much like Mama!”
“Do I really?”
“Yes, indeed.” Chantel ran her hand over Veronique’s wealth of light hair, saying, “Her hair was exactly the color of yours—and your face is oval like hers. I’ll show you her portrait when we get home and you’ll see.”
Chantel tucked the child into the bed, smiled, and said, “I’ll see you in the morning, sister.” She turned the lamp’s wick down, and when she got into the other side of the bed she saw that the silvery moonlight was coming in through the window. She lay still for a while, hoping that Veronique would say something, but she did not. She could hear the girl’s rapid breathing and knew she was not asleep, but decided to lie quietly without saying any more.
Soon she fell asleep herself, for she was exhausted. Sometime in the night she heard a cry that startled her. She sat up and saw that Veronique had buried her head in her pillow and was sobbing.
“What is it, dear?”
“I had a bad dream.”
Chantel’s heart went out to her sister. She had had her share of bad dreams, and now she reached out and pulled Veronique into her arms. She held her while the girl sobbed, soothing her, stroking her hair, and making meaningless sounds of comfort. Finally the sobbing ceased, and an idea came to Chantel.
“Now, that’s better. But I want to show you something.” She moved out of the bed, lit the lamp, and got something from her suitcase. She sat down on the bed and pulled Veronique into the circle of her arms. “Look. I want you to see this.”
“What is it?”
“It’s a locket. You see, it opens and there’s a pic
ture inside.”
Veronique grew interested. She took the gold locket and with Chantel’s guidance opened it up. She looked at the picture. “Who is this?”
“This is your mother. Isn’t she beautiful?”
Veronique stared at the picture, hypnotized. She was still so long that Chantel said, “You look very much like her.”
“Do I really?”
“Yes, you do. She had very nice teeth, so even and white, just like yours. I want you to have this locket. When you get lonely, you can open it up and see your mother.”
Veronique turned suddenly. Her face was only inches away from Chantel’s. She whispered, “It’s mine? I can keep it?”
“For always and always. And someday when you have a little girl, you can give it to her.”
Veronique suddenly threw her arms around Chantel and clung to her. She did not speak, but Chantel knew that a bond had been formed. Under her breath, she thanked God that she had brought the locket.
During the trip from Baton Rouge to New Orleans, Neville went out of his way to keep Veronique entertained. He had told Chantel that they must keep her mind off of the past and on the future.
On one long, level stretch he asked her, “Do you know how to drive?”
Veronique shook her head, but Neville handed her the lines and said, “There, you are now a driver.” He winked over Veronique’s head at Chantel and said, “We’re in good hands now.”
Veronique’s eyes lit up, and when they stopped to water the horses, she got out of the wagon to stretch her legs along with the other two.
Chantel whispered to Neville, “That was a sweet thing to do.”
“How do you think she’s doing, Chantel?”
“She had nightmares last night, but I gave her my locket with our mother’s picture in it. She’s wearing it now.”
“I’ve seen her take it out and look at it several times.”
Chantel watched Veronique as she stood in front of the horses, reaching up to touch their noses. “She’s a sweet girl, but she’s had an awful life.”
The Exiles Page 25