Lorenz’s jaw tightened. “I know your game, Emilie. Now get back to camp.”
“Do you Lorenz?” Emilie pulled off her shirt exposing a camisole that was stretched tight across her voluptuous chest. She watched as Lorenz fought hard not to stare at her bosom begging to be set free.
Finally, his eyes met hers and they were filled with rage. “What do you think you’re doing? Phillip is only a few yards away.”
Emilie removed her hat and shook the mound of auburn curls free. “I thought I’d let Phillip decide whether or not I’m beautiful since you seem to think otherwise.”
“You’ll do no such thing,” he bellowed. “Now put your shirt back on.”
Lorenz moved forward to grab her, but Emilie was faster. She reached the rest of his clothes and moved back out of his reach, grinning slyly as she retreated.
“You’re not in a position to be running about, Lorenz. Unless, of course, you want to show me those adorable dimples again.” His eyes grew enormous and Emilie felt her power returning. “When did you get so hairy, Lorenz? And so big?”
Lorenz’s intense stare never faltered. He was never one to be out-challenged by Emilie. “The same time you grew breasts, Em.”
Nothing Lorenz said or did shocked Emilie, but hearing such a forbidden word on his lips made her laugh. “My mother would kill you for saying such a thing,” she said removing the miserable shoes. “You know she thinks you’re a bad influence on me.”
“I’m a bad influence? Your mother will kill you when you make it to Natchez. If I don’t kill you first.”
Emilie threw his clothes at him, forcing him to drop his pants. For a brief moment she got quite an eyeful. Then she removed her own trousers and quickly jumped into the water.
Emilie
Chapter Three
Lorenz felt quite the fool standing naked with his small bundle of clothes clutched in front of him. The late-morning sun felt good on his face, but the brisk wind blowing down from the north chilled other parts of his body, some quite sensitive to cold. But he couldn’t resist getting in the last word.
“Watch out for alligators.” He then moved out of Emilie’s sight and pulled on his britches, shirt and shoes. Grabbing his satchel, which contained a bar of soap and a clean shirt, Lorenz walked toward the stream and began washing his face and neck. He hadn’t washed in days and he was damn sure not going to miss a chance because stubborn Emilie Gallant insisted on swimming half-naked nearby.
“Lorenz?”
He would have laughed had he not been so angry. Emilie wasn’t scared of many things, but alligators were another story.
“Lorenz?” she called out again nervously.
How long should he make her sweat, he wondered with a devilish grin? She deserved a good scare, something to mirror her family’s fear of her traveling alone in a strange wilderness full of alligators, snakes and God knew what.
“Lorenz, there aren’t any alligators in here,” he heard her say defiantly, then with an anxious afterthought, “are there?”
Wiping the water from his face, Lorenz grabbed his satchel and moved back to where Emilie was swimming. He strode to the water’s edge, placed a boot on to a nearby tree stump and stared at the bathing beauty before him. The water was muddy enough to conceal her curvaceous features, but Emilie feared otherwise. On sight of Lorenz approaching, she drew her arms about her chest and swam backwards a few feet.
“Go away,” she commanded him.
Lorenz refused to move, staring intently at the exposed silky skin of her shoulders that led to her long, graceful neck. When he lifted his eyes to hers and the auburn curls that had sprung to life around a lovely oval face, he leaned an elbow on to his knee and made himself comfortable. “I thought you were worried about alligators.”
Emilie jutted her chin up. “There are no alligators in here. You’re lying.”
“Perhaps.”
Emilie folded her arms tighter against her chest. “This isn’t funny, Lorenz. You need to go away. I have very little on. And it’s wet.”
Thinking back on how she had found him naked by the stream, Lorenz felt the fire burn through his veins, but he fought to remain cool. “What’s the matter, too modest to bathe with other men?” He leaned over and picked up Emilie’s discarded muddy shirt. “Of course, you’re not a man, just a obstinate woman stealing a boy’s clothes.”
“I didn’t steal,” Emilie insisted. “I only borrowed...”
“No doubt poor Charles Braud is at Natchez right now without a change of clothes,” Lorenz continued, the anger rising inside him. “Did you think about what you were doing when you waltzed out of that warehouse in New Orleans? Did you think about Charles? Or your sisters? Or your poor mother sick with worry?”
“Gabrielle knows where I am. She knows I’m with you.”
Lorenz placed both feet on the ground, his tall form towering over her. “You could have been killed between here and New Orleans. Any number of things could have happened to you along the way. With the distance you were keeping, you could have had your throat slit by Indians in the night and we never would have heard a peep.”
Emilie turned her head and gazed at the forest behind her. “There are Indians here?” she asked sarcastically.
Lorenz shook his head and sighed. She was the most insufferable woman he had ever known. “You’re not listening to me.”
“I am listening,” Emilie shot back. “If you want to be angry at me for refusing your hand on the ship that night, then be angry. But don’t stand there and accuse me of being cruel to my family because I wish to get word to my father.”
“I was getting word,” Lorenz said, placing a hand on his chest. “We don’t need two people risking their lives.”
Emilie threw her head back. “And why you? Who declared you head of this family?”
Lorenz tensed and Emilie realized she had delivered quite a sting. She immediately regretted her insensitive remark. Since the death of his parents, Lorenz had become a welcomed part of the Gallant family. If anyone was to risk his life and get word to their father, it was Lorenz. He never would have thought otherwise. Why couldn’t she ever think before she opened her mouth?
“Lorenz,” she said softly. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it that way.”
Lorenz crossed his arms about his chest, but the sadness lingering in his eyes didn’t leave. “You’ve been sorry a lot lately, Emilie. Have you noticed that?”
Emilie had had enough of their sparing. She didn’t care if he would see her breasts through the cotton camisole she was wearing or notice her legs through her wet pantaloons. She had to talk to him.
Lorenz must have read her thoughts for he pulled out the clean shirt from his satchel, held it out for her and politely turned his head. Emilie quickly emerged from the water, turned and slipped off the wet camisole, then slid her arms into his shirt. With her back toward Lorenz, she fastened the buttons, noticing that he never moved an inch.
“I didn’t mean to laugh,” she said softly. “You caught me by surprise, is all.”
When she turned to look into the fathomless black eyes she had adored since childhood, he stood so close she could smell the soap on his cheeks. Her mother’s lillac soap. Lorenz Dugas always looked, smelled and sounded like home. She knew he always would. And that was precisely the problem.
A cold breeze blew across the clearing and Emilie shivered. Lorenz buttoned the last two buttons at the top of his shirt, then rubbed her arms to warm her. “How could you have been surprised, Em? We have been close for years.”
“We have been friends for years.”
Lorenz stared so hard she shivered again. “The best of friends. Hasn’t that meant anything to you?”
Emilie broke free of his grasp and picked up her own satchel. Somewhere underneath the supplies she had managed to steal at the warehouse was a skirt, a petticoat and her own beloved shoes. It was wiser to continue wearing trousers, but she needed to feel feminine, to feel herself again. The aching that e
merged like a chasm opening inside her was back and she needed to regain her strength, her focus.
“Do you think it would be all right if I wear a skirt? I’m used to my own clothes. It won’t slow us down, I promise.”
Lorenz looked skyward and shook his head and Emilie imagined he felt as dark as she did. “Wear whatever you like,” he mumbled angrily and moved to walk away.
Before he could back off, she grabbed the front of his cotton shirt and pulled him close. Their foreheads touched and she could feel his hot breath on her cheek. “Don’t stop being my friend,” she pleaded. “It would destroy me.”
Lorenz’s hands were instantly on her cheeks, his thumb sliding across her wet skin, skimming the top of her lips. She could see the anguish in his eyes, feel the pain of his broken heart, but she was powerless to do anything about it.
“Marry me,” he asked so heatedly Emilie closed her eyes to shut out the image. She couldn’t bear watching him suffer, but she couldn’t ignore the haunting darkness tearing at her own soul.
“I can’t,” she whispered. “Please forgive me.”
When she opened her eyes, the anguish was gone in Lorenz’s eyes, replaced by the now familiar anger. “A ship’s anchor, eh?”
For a moment, she had no idea what he was talking about, then she remembered their conversation aboard the ship, when she pulled arguments out of the air to satisfy his constant questions. Anything but tell him the truth. She thought to continue the lie, to remind him that she never wanted to be the property of another. It wasn’t exactly a lie, after all. Why should she wish to be a powerless female married to a man who legally had all rights to property, money and decisions of the household? Since her father’s disappearance on the beach that day at Grand Pré, Emilie Gallant had become head of the family, a position she both deserved and enjoyed. She liked being in charge, plowing fields, working a farm. Cooking and sewing were talents better served on her mother and Rose.
But Lorenz wasn’t the kind of man to keep her chained to a stove. He knew her ambitions, understood her tastes and desires. Of all the men in the world, Lorenz Dugas would have been the perfect man to marry. If only she wanted to marry.
“I can’t,” she repeated in a whisper, then grabbed her satchel and walked back to camp.
Around sundown they arrived at the first settlement, a collection of small houses lined up along the riverfront with acres of farmland behind. Now that they had left the marshlands and entered into a clearing that halfway resembled a typical Maryland farm, Emilie’s spirits lifted. She had tired of the endless wetlands with its thin layer of smelly green algae floating on top, the fear of snakes and alligators and the concert of bullfrogs every evening that kept her awake. She wanted solid ground, a place where her wooden shoes wouldn’t lodge themselves in the mud every several feet.
“Those shoes don’t work well here,” Phillip told her when one muddy spot nearly caused her to sprain an ankle. “They are better suited to a Canadian climate.”
“I figured that out,” Emilie answered tersely. She hadn’t meant to be rude, but everything seemed to annoy her. She was tired of the journey, tired of cold, humid wind wiping around every corner of the Mississippi River, tired of finding a swamp to cross every few miles, tired of Lorenz ignoring her. Since their conversation that morning he spoke only to Phillip, engaging in all subject matters but never including her.
Why must she be punished for not wanting to marry him, she thought as she yanked her skirt from the clutches of a holly bush. They had led a perfect life until this point, were the best of friends. Now, because she preferred to remain unmarried, he was treating her as if she no longer mattered.
Is that all women were created for? Emilie wondered as she pulled her jacket up around her ears to ward off the incessant cold. To be married? Lorenz was never the type to suggest such a thing, but he had presented many surprises since their journey began. Maybe deep down all men were the same, despite their insistence otherwise.
“The first house is the Frédérics,” Phillip announced. “They are a friendly couple and their children are grown. I’ll ask if they can spare their back rooms.”
Lorenz paused while Phillip approached the house. For the first time since their conversation at the coulee, he turned his eyes toward Emilie. “Are you going to ignore me forever?” she asked. Lorenz shrugged and looked away.
“You’re acting like a child,” she added.
At this remark Lorenz looked back at her sharply. “You’re right Em. I am acting childish. I’m acting exactly the way a child would act when someone has trampled on his heart.”
The hurt he exhibited earlier returned and Emilie turned away to escape those dark eyes full of pain. “I never meant to hurt you,” she whispered.
“Well you did. And right now I don’t feel much for conversation with you.”
Phillip was greeted at the back door of the house by a stocky, middle-aged woman. They spoke for a few moments, then Phillip waved them over. Before Lorenz moved to leave, Emilie tugged on his sleeve.
“Don’t do this to me,” she pleaded.
Lorenz took her hand at his sleeve and rubbed it gently, despite his better judgment, she was sure. “Do what, Em? Ignore you or ask you to be my wife?”
Emilie slipped her fingers through his and held tight. “Both?” she responded sheepishly.
For a moment, Lorenz gazed into her eyes so intently, Emilie thought he might kiss her again. For a moment, she hoped he would. Then he frowned and untangled his fingers from hers, whispering heatedly to her before walking toward the house, “Like you said at the coulee, I can’t.”
“Lorenz Dugas,” Phillip said as they approached, “this is Madame and Monsieur Frédéric.”
“C’est un plaisir madame, monsieur,” Lorenz said, accepting the man’s outstretched hand. “May I present Mademoiselle Gallant.”
The husband bowed politely toward Emilie and the woman smiled broadly. “Please,” the husband said, “I am Mathias and this is my wife Anna.”
“Please to meet you both,” Anna said, still smiling. “Come in out of this horrendous cold.”
Mathias held the door open for his wife and all three men waited for Emilie to pass through. When she proceeded past Lorenz, she could still see the hurt simmering in his eyes. And like so many times in the past, his hurt reverberated into her soul.
She entered the modest house, obviously built in the early days of the colony before tools and resources were plentiful. The center of the dwelling offered a rugged floor of crudely assembled planks and a fireplace that appeared to be constructed of mud and sticks. Spoking out from the fireplace were additions constructed with more expertise, but even these more refined rooms lacked the comfort and security of a finely built home.
Despite the coarse construction and the wanting fireplace, the small house exhibited a genuine warmth. There were braided rugs, lace curtains and a dozen carved wooden figures gracing the mantle. The hominess of the house tugged at Emilie’s heartstrings and instantly brought to mind her mother and sisters and the home they shared in Grand Pré. More than likely her family was at the Natchez post now, living inside the Spanish fortifications.
Emilie looked back toward Lorenz, wondering if he felt the same longing for a house of his own, of a place they could finally call home after so many years living off of foreign governments and the charity of neighbors, but he refused to acknowledge her.
Of course Lorenz wants a home of his own, Emilie thought. With me in it.
Like the image of the German’s warm house and the thoughts of her family, Emilie’s heart ached for such a life. But as quick as the thought entered her mind, she dismissed it.
“Are you hungry?” Anna asked them.
Phillip twirled the brim of his hat in his hand. “Yes, Anna,” he answered with a bright smile. “We’re very hungry.”
Emilie couldn’t imagine Anna’s smile getting any bigger, but it did. She clasped her hands together, then moved into the kitchen and
began placing an assortment of pots on to the stove.
“She is very happy to have company,” Mathias said. “Since our youngest married and began his own farm upriver, she has had no one to cook for.”
“We’re glad to be of service,” Phillip said with a large grin of his own.
Mathias leaned in conspiratorially. “Perhaps you would care for some brandy too?”
The men chuckled and began to talk among themselves while Mathias began searching the cupboard for a bottle. Suddenly, as was usually the case when Emilie was in the presence of men, she was excluded from all conversation. They joked, exchanged manly grasps on each other’s shoulders and turned their backs toward her. Instantly invisible, Emilie stood awkwardly on the periphery of the action, wondering if she should stay and attempt to be included or join Anna in the kitchen. She knew the latter was her duty as a female but she wanted to sit down and relieve her aching feet, warmed by a glass of brandy like the men.
Mathias raised a dusty dark bottle above his head. “I found it,” he announced proudly. He poured each man a glass, then lifted his in a toast. “To your health and happiness,” he said, and the three men responded by lifting their glasses in kind.
Mathias signaled for the men to sit down at the large wooden table. Emilie knew it was time for her to retreat to the kitchen, but she hated leaving the warmth of the fireplace or the male conversation. Perhaps her father was right. Perhaps she would have been better off born a man.
Is this how her life would be married to Lorenz? she wondered. Visitors would come to call and she would be relegated to the kitchen while Lorenz enjoyed a good drink with company? She tried catching his eye, hoping he would offer her a place at the table, but he continued to refuse to look at her. Suddenly, Anna was at her side.
“Have a seat by the fireplace,” Anna said to her. “I will bring you something to drink.”
“But I need to help you with the meal,” Emilie insisted, feeling guilty for hesitating to help.
Emilie (The Cajun Series Book 1) Page 4