Ashes in the Wind

by Kathleen E. Woodiwiss

  “Alaina,” she whispered.

  “Young?” His fingers passed along her finely boned hand. Though rough from work, it was not a hand of an old person.

  “Seventeen.” Alaina bit her lip and asked shyly. “Are you going to tell anyone?”

  “Explain to me why you want the others to think you’re a boy, and I will judge for myself.”

  Reluctantly trusting to the blindman’s wisdom, Alaina related her reasons, leaving nothing out. “I am not guilty of spying,” she murmured. “But as you say, you are my judge now. My freedom depends on what you decide.”

  A long, dreadful, and anxious moment passed, then—“I always enjoyed the tale of Oliver Twist. Will you read it to me?”

  Tears of relief rushed to Alaina’s eyes, and in distraction she began to smooth his sheets. “My uncle has the book in his study. I’ll bring it tomorrow.”

  She started to move away, then paused. “You won’t tell Captain Latimer, will you?”

  “Not unless I see a need,” he assured her.

  The rain continued to fall upon the city, and by Saturday, when there seemed to be some hope of it clearing, the heavy mists of early morning coalesced to a soaking rain. Leaden skies pressed close above the rooftops, and even the cobbled streets grew rivulets of mud. Al was to have the afternoon off. Her labors during the week had brought everything to a gleaming tidiness, and even after a careful inspection, she could find nothing more to occupy her in the wards. But as she stepped from the last, the grimy, filthy marble floor of the wide foyer just inside the front door caught her eye. Here was a challenge indeed. It would take the best of her cleaning talents to bring out the original beauty of the pale-veined pattern.

  Some time later, Alaina stood back and surveyed with satisfaction the meticulously scrubbed floor. A final mopping with rinse water ought to do it, she thought, and then I can go home.

  The task was nearly done and the mop was being wrung out for the last time when voices sounded outside and the door swung inward to herald the entry of several officers and a pair of officious-looking civilians. They crossed the entryway and took no note of the angry glare that followed them as they left their passage marked with muddy footprints.

  Ominously, Al hefted the mop and heaved it back into the bucket. She started over again to erase the muck, dipping the mop often to rinse the dirt free. Little progress had been made when the door was flung open again and another pair of mire-caked boots advanced across the floor.

  The mop froze in mid stroke, and Alaina loudly complained, “Hey, c’mon, Yankee. Can’t you wipe your—”

  “Out of my way, you little fool!”

  Alaina was roughly pushed aside and went sprawling as her feet became entangled with the mop. Jacques DuBonné strode arrogantly past, unconcerned that his boots threw dark, wet slime across the clean marble floor. Several steps past the urchin, he paused and half turned, demanding, “Where is a doc—?”

  His last word ended abruptly with a wet shlop as the sopping rags of the mop took him full in the face and twined about his head. Dubonné flung up an arm to rake away the mess, then gasped as he was drenched from head to foot with the filth-thickened contents of the pail. He spluttered in outrage and reached beneath his coat for his slim blade, snatching it forth. In the dim light, the sharp edge winked evilly.

  Alaina stepped back, still holding the bucket, and began to chuckle at the dripping Cajun, then suddenly she was engulfed by two huge black arms that came from behind her, pinning her own to her side. She struggled to free herself and let loose a series of definitive expletives that would have made a mule skinner pause in awe. She kicked wildly in the black’s grasp as she saw the twisted snarl frozen on Jacques’s face. The small man crept forward, turning the knife threateningly in his hand.

  “Here now! What’s going on?” Cole’s sharp bark came from the stairs, and he hurried toward them. He had been about to leave and wore his regulation uniform and the Hardee hat which came down across his scowling brow.

  Furtively, Jacques slipped the knife out of sight, but the black made no attempt to release his captive. Alaina’s arms had grown numb beneath his merciless grip, and the bucket slipped from stiffening fingers and clanged to the floor, rattling noisily as it rolled away.

  Cole halted a short pace away. “Put the boy down,” he demanded and gestured to the black. “If there is a need, I will discipline him.” The giant man only stared at him, and the captain sharpened his voice. “Put him down, I say!”

  As the Negro made no move to obey, Cole lifted the flap of his holster and laid his hand on the butt of his pistol before Jacques spoke to the black in a tongue unknown to Alaina. The giant smiled and spread his arms wide, spilling her to the floor. A grunt of pain was jolted from her, and she sat where she landed, gasping for breath.

  Jacques’s eyes suddenly narrowed as he looked at her more closely. “I know you from the riverboat!” he snarled. “You build a great debt to me. Next time I collect all that is due, eh?”

  As Alaina struggled to rise, Jacques peeled back the sodden jacket from his shoulder and whirled angrily to the captain. “You see?” He gestured to a blood-soaked sleeve. “I am wounded. I came here for a doctor, and this little—many-fathered snipe—!”

  Her jaw squared ominously, Alaina drew back a fist and lunged forward, but Cole grabbed a handful of her britches, drawing a yelp from her as he caught some bruised buttock as well. Despite her struggles to get free, he dragged her back, still holding her firm.

  Warily eyeing the irate youth, Jacques continued, “He attack me with the mop and bucket!” He scraped disgustedly at his befouled brocade vest. “Look! My clothes! They are ruined!”

  Alaina snorted, snatching her backside free of Cole’s restraint and tossed both men a glare. “He needed a washing.”

  “That whelp will pay!” railed Jacques, stepping menacingly toward Alaina.

  Cole moved between the two and caught the man’s arm as he tried to reach for the youth. “I doubt the boy can afford your kerchief, let alone the rest. He will be disciplined, rest assured.”

  Alaina glared as Cole snapped, “You’re here to clean up messes, not make them.”

  “That’s just what I was a-doing when this jackass stomped in from the barnyard. That lame-brained mule ain’t never been taught to wipe his feet.”

  Cole’s quick glance about the hall allowed him some understanding of the youth’s irritation, yet it was a doctor’s duty to tend the wounded. He gave the small Frenchman no chance to argue further. “Let me look at that.” He plucked at the bloody sleeve and briefly examined the injury before he peered down at the man curiously. “This looks like a saber cut. How did you get it?”

  “Bah!” Jacques threw up his good hand. “I took a house in the country for payment of a debt. The sheriff, he is a city man. He would not serve the papers, so I do it myself. Huh, Madame Hawthorne! She is crazy ol’ woman! She would not take them. She hid a sword behind her skirt, and when I try to give the papers so”—he stuck out his wounded hand indignantly—“she take a swing at me. Zing!” He laughed derisively. “Now the sheriff will have to arrest her. I show that old lady, eh?”

  “You blackhearted—!” Alaina cried hotly, but a sharp glare from Cole silenced her. She sulked, glowering at his back.

  “I was just leaving,” Cole announced brusquely. “But I suppose I can delay a moment.” He half turned to the urchin and promised direly, “I’ll talk to you later. Now get this mess cleaned up.”

  Alaina bristled like an enraged porcupine. She snatched up her mop and with eyes narrowed watched the captain escort Jacques down the hall. The black followed them, tossing a wide grin back at her.

  “We’ll clean that and put some carbolic on it.” Cole’s comment drifted back. “It’s not deep. A simple compress should do.”

  Alaina’s work was done in a rush, and the tools put hurriedly away. She had no mind to wait for further castigation but grabbed her hat and hurried on her way. Captain Latimer ha
d threatened her much too often. This time he might just carry out his promise.

  A bit of indignation still showed in Alaina’s tight lips when she arrived at the Craighughs’. With more energy than was warranted, even for one so petite, she slammed the kitchen door and ignored the windowpanes that rattled threateningly in their wood casings. She was hardly in the mood to exchange banalities with Roberta, but since their argument her cousin had made it a habit to wait near the back entrance for her. With Angus at the store and Leala frequently helping him, Roberta had nothing more than trivia to occupy her. She rose late, whiled away the hours attending to her person and long before the dinner-hour, began to dress with exacting care. By the time Alaina arrived home every strand of hair had been artfully curled, the long white fingers carefully manicured, and a fresh and pretty gown donned. It was no different this early afternoon.

  “I declare, Al.” Roberta had begun to enjoy using the masculine sobriquet. “I never know if it’s you or some errand boy coming to the back door. You do play your part so well!”

  “Yeah! And I’m gonna take to toting me a gun, too!” the younger woman retorted with virulence. The boyish slang only added emphasis to her wrath. “Jes’ might kill me a few polecats afo’ I’m done.”

  Roberta was momentarily stunned into speechlessness. It was Dulcie who quickly turned from the hearth where she had been stirring a squirrel stew and demanded, “Whad yo’ gone and done now, chile? Ain’ yo’ in ‘nuff trouble widout killing yo’self some Yankee critter?”

  Alaina kicked off the heavy boots and sent them sliding across the brick floor toward the pantry. “I’ve been mauled, bruised, and threatened. I’ve spent the morning on my knees scrubbing floors, only to have some dirty, sneaking river rat go traipsing across it. Got my backside abused and manhandled by that long-legged Yankee—”

  Roberta gasped, truly scandalized.

  “He’s li’ble to be the first one I punctuate!” Alaina warned, wagging her finger toward Roberta. “Just you watch. And then I’m going to take my gun to that reprobate Jacques DuBonné, and make him crawl on his belly all the way back to Mrs. Hawthorne’s so that lady can finish what she started!”

  Roberta was aghast. She had never seen her cousin in such a temper. “Alaina! What has gotten into you?”

  “Righteous anger, that’s what’s gotten into me! Righteous! Do you know what that means, Roberta?” She advanced on her cousin, her jaw squared dangerously. Mumbling incoherently and shaking her head, Roberta stumbled back into a ladder-back chair where, with jaw aslack, she stared agog into those blazing gray eyes.

  “It means I have just cause!” Alaina railed at her quivering cousin, then she straightened, almost calmly, and strode arrogantly about the kitchen. She threw up a hand dramatically. “Just cause! Yes! I can plead that at my trial!”

  “Whad trial is dat?” Dulcie squawked, planting her hands firmly on her broad hips and thrusting out her jaw. “Whad yo’ gone and done, Miz Alaina? Yo’ tell me right now!”

  “Nothing, yet,” Alaina replied smugly. She took a peeled turnip and bit into it, then gestured with the vegetable, chewed, and waited until she had cleared her throat before she continued. “But. I’m going to do something. Before I’m through, Jacques DuBonné”—she spit the name out with loathing—“is going to wish he’d never laid eyes on Mrs. Hawthorne.”

  “You mean that old woman who comes to Daddy’s store?” Roberta questioned uneasily.

  Alaina’s attention perked. “You know her?”

  “Well, she doesn’t come in that often when I’m there,” Roberta hedged, not quite sure just how much she should tell Alaina. After all, her cousin might well jeopardize what seemed to be a most promising relationship with Cole.

  “But you know where she lives,” Alaina pressed.

  “Not exactly.” Roberta shrugged lamely. “Out north on the old river road somewhere, I think—”

  The girl strode to her boots and snatched them on. “I’ll find out where if it takes me all night!”

  “Now, Lainie, don’t! Don’t do anything foolish!” pleaded her cousin fearfully.

  The girl slapped the floppy hat on her head and grinned, showing small, sparkling white teeth. “That all depends on what you call foolish, Robbie. I guess I jes’ don’t consider shooting a few blackhearted varmints foolishness.” She shrugged nonchalantly. “It all depends on them.”

  Before she left the house, Alaina went to the armoire in her room and lifted out her father’s army pistol. None of the Craighughs knew she had it. She had carried it into the house in her valise the first day she arrived. It was a long-barreled Colt .44 that was almost too heavy for her, but she knew how to use it, and with accuracy. She tucked it carefully within her leather pouch and pulled the strap over her head and arm. Despite her threats, it was not in her plan to use the weapon but—just in case—she added the powder flask, caps, and ball box to the pouch. It gave her a sense of assurance to feel the weight of the piece solidly against her hip.

  It was more than an hour after Alaina dragged Ol’ Tar out of the stables and rode off on his back that Roberta faced Cole Latimer across the threshold of the Craighugh home.

  “Why, Captain Latimer,” Roberta beamed, having fully recovered from Alaina’s tirade. “I thought for sure you had forgotten about little ol’ me.”

  “I’m afraid this is not a social call, Roberta,” he stated as gently as possible. “I would like to see Al, if he is here.”

  “Al?” Roberta was crushed. She had thought that Alaina, disguised as a boy, could give her no competition in her efforts to win Cole, but she had not reckoned that this warring animosity between the two would draw Cole’s attention away from her. She covered her irritation with a winsome pout and coyly fluttered her lashes. “Why, Captain, you mean to tell me that all you came for was to see that runty little boy. And here I was thinking you had come calling on me. I’m dreadfully put out.”

  “I’m sorry,” Cole said apologetically, “but the boy threw a bucket of dirty water over a wounded man today at the hospital.” Roberta’s gasp of horror was genuine. “What I have to say to Al won’t take long. May I speak to him?”

  “Why, Al’s not here, Captain.” Roberta smiled hesitantly. “He was, but he left some time ago.”

  “Did he say where he was going? I must get this straightened out before he comes to work Monday. I can’t allow anything like this to happen again.”

  Roberta pondered a brief moment whether it was better to claim her own innocence and tell all, just in case Alaina really carried out her threats, or appear ignorant of the girl’s whereabouts. The trouble with lying was that it might get back to Cole.

  “I tell you, Captain, that boy was in such a temper.” Roberta wavered in her telling when she thought of what Alaina’s reaction might be, but bravely proceeded. “He plumb scared the life out of me and Dulcie. Why, he was a-threatenin’ to shoot some varmint named Jacques, and I’ll swear to it, he went off looking for trouble.”

  Despite himself, Cole felt responsible for the boy. “Which way did he go?”

  “Why, off down the river road.” Roberta stepped out onto the gallery and lifted her arm in the same direction Alaina had taken. “You go down there about a mile, then turn north a mile or two. You can’t miss it. A big old board house with a steep roof and only a single porch across the front. It has an iron hitching post like a black boy with a ring in his hand.”

  Cole was about to turn away when she laid a restraining hand on his arm. “You will be careful, won’t you, Captain? Al is a pretty good shot, and he did mention he was thinking of putting a hole through you.”

  “Hot-headed little scamp!” Cole muttered beneath his breath. Jacques had said that he intended to return to Mrs. Hawthorne’s with the sheriff. It would be just like Al to get into more trouble than he could handle.

  Chapter 10

  THE rain had stopped much earlier, but had left the streets and dirt roads a muddy hazard. The shuffling gait of Ol’ Tar
kicked up clods of mud and only nibbled at the miles, much to Alaina’s festering impatience. She was not in the mood to contend with the nag’s single-minded determination to return to the stable, though her angry prodding gained her little more than sporadic jolts of a knock-kneed canter, and she applied the smart taste of a heavy willow switch to his scarred hindquarters in hopes of speeding him on his way. The worst of her fears was realized as she came toward the end of the muddy lane. Tall shrubs allowed only a glimpse of the steeply pitched roof of the Hawthorne house, but afforded a clear view beneath the overhanging limbs of the massive oaks that bordered the road. Two empty carriages waited there, one a fancy landau, the other a plain buckboard. Alaina could only surmise that Jacques had arrived ahead of her and possibly, as he had threatened, with the sheriff.

  Alaina turned Tar off the lane and slid from his bony back. She left her boots beside the bush where she tethered him and, feeling the coolness of the wet grass beneath her bare feet, made a furtive approach along the tall hedge until she could view the front yard through the tangled growth of a wisteria vine. Her eyes readily found Jacques DuBonné, and she noted with a certain satisfaction that he had delayed long enough to effect a complete change of clothes. The enormous black was present, lolling indolently against the far side of the fancy carriage, and another man, almost as big, stood near Jacques at the foot of the front steps.

  Facing them off near the edge of the long, raised porch was a tall, white-haired woman of sixty years or more. She bore herself proudly, with a firm, almost haughty demeanor, while she rested her crossed hand in imperious grace upon the hilt of a downward-thrust, brightly gleaming saber. The unspoken challenge was clear; she’d use the sword if there came a need.

  Alaina ran along the bushes until she could slip through a break to the back of the house. Rounding the structure, she stopped to choose the best vantage point. A few low shrubs grew alongside the house, and she crouched behind their cover where she would miss no word of the exchange.