"Celestine, The House on rue du Maine" Chapters 9 & 10 www.bertijud.blogspot.com

Chapter Nine

Celestine went to hitch the buggy, a job she could do… but hated.  It could get messy, and dirt was always coming from somewhere to find a home on her skirts.  She stepped through the courtyard into the carriageway and Josef was waiting with her Phaeton and her beautiful bay; an early birthday gift from Maurice, and the bay was prancing and ready to go.

“Josef, thank you. You don’t have to wait on me.  I can fend for myself.” She didn’t even know how to treat these people who had only known bondage. She was glad he was there though.  Josef helped her into the rear seat of the little sports buggy.

“Josef, I don’t think I can manage the reins from back here.”

“No, Mme. Dubois, I’ll drive.  Captain says I’ll drive.” He would never understand why Papa Maurice chose this silly woman.

Celestine had to do something soon.  She was in ignorance here.  She would allow him to drive her this one time. Maybe she could hire them as servants; after all if they were to be les gen de couleur Libres, they would need work, and she would be needing servants.  She liked not having to deal with anything in the stables, and her cooking was lacking in many areas.  Colette was the cook, Celestine was the seamstress.

She told Josef where she was going and he headed toward River Road.  Miles later they reached the new house sitting back from the river, and were amazed at how beautiful it was.  She felt like she was coming home.  Josef drove up to the stairs of the big gallery and Pierre came down to greet them.

“Josef, so glad you found us, little brother.” He grabbed Josef and gave him a big bear hug. He helped Celestine from the carriage and pointed Josef around to the back and the stables.  Celestine waited for the Phaeton to go around the house before she turned to Pierre.

“You knew about him and Marguerite?”  She was finding out a lot about this man and his Captain.

“Of course, didn’t Maurice tell you about his two favorite “slaves”? He laughed.

Celestine was incredulous.  She ran up the stairs calling for Colette before Pierre could stop her.

“What’s going on down here?”  Colette was gliding down the grand staircase, the perfect lady of the manner holding Letty in her arms.

“Did you know Maurice owned slaves?  Children, Colette?  He bought children in Haiti and now they are in New Orleans, and I am to deal with them and… God only knows how many others he may own.”

Pierre ran up the stairs trying to stop her from running away with her crazy ideas.

“Calm down, darling.  It’s not as it seems.  He bought them from the hangman’s noose and brought them here to save their lives.”

“What?”  She was more confused, “If he saved their lives, why’re they still slaves, ten years gone?”

“Pierre, explain to our dear, Celestine.  She’s worried that she’s now a slave owner. They aren’t slaves, dear.”

Pierre was not comfortable with this.  Maurice should have told her before he left.  He didn’t like getting between a man and his wife with intimate details of their lives.  To tell his Colette was one thing, a man often confided things in his wife, but to tell another man’s wife about her husband’s past was just not done.

“It’s not for me to tell, Colette.  Just suffice it to say, Celestine, they are not now nor will they ever be slaves.”

“But, I’ve seen the bill of sale.  I gave it to our lawyer.”

“WHAT… YOU DID WHAT? Woman, when are you going to learn to trust your husband and not go off on your own before you know the facts?”

Pierre was running around the back calling for Jake to saddle his horse. He yelled to Josef to hide until he came back and not to show himself to anyone.  He told the women not to betray Josef no matter who asked for him.  Celestine and Colette were left holding on to each other, and wondering what the hell she had done this time that was so wrong. They watched as Pierre pushed his horse to its limits down the drive and onto River Road.

Chapter Ten

Maurice was back into his memories again as the storm raged outside. He was remembering the second time he saw Anna.  He had not wanted to go back to her, but once he was in port again, he could not stay away.  He had mellowed toward her over his last few months at sea, and thought of her often.  He was still afraid to touch any of the women or wharf whores his friends found so amusing.  He knew himself, and he knew he would hurt them ,or not be aroused by them, and be labeled a woman in man’s breeches.  He walked into the market in the big square and she was there, sitting under a Pomegranate tree as if waiting for him.  She smiled with her arms open when she saw him, and held him tightly, not letting him go until he finally put his arms around her. 

Anna could feel how glad part of him was to see her.  She walked with him back to her little house, and he was surprised to see, the house was waiting for him with something cooking on the little fire in the back.  It made the lonely and homeless Maurice feel welcomed for the first time since leaving his mother when he was a boy.  She gave him a drink of her fine rum, and he sat in the big chair as she took his boots off. She pulled his shirt over his head and sat in front of him massaging his feet and cooing her happiness at his return.  He was happy for a few seconds, and then the old anger crept in and he looked down at this woman who knew nothing about him or his disgusting soul. How horrible and dirty she must be to find him loveable. 

Anna looked at his angry face.  He was frightening her with his hatred.  Maybe she had mistaken this young man for a savable soul.  She had been wrong before.  But this young man was different from the unsavable ones, he had such sweet eyes, and she had seen good things in his palm.  She would weather the storm and see where it went.  She took his hands in hers and brought them up to her lips and kissed his palms.

“Oh darling, you’ve been hurt in your life.  Let me love you.”

“How much?”  He was staring at her; his jaw muscles about to break his teeth.  He wanted to leave, needed to leave, or he would hurt her; but he wanted her to finish what she had started.

“I told you, I’m not for sale.  I just want to hold you.”

“You want to hold me?  I don’t want to be held, by you or anyone else. What kind of game is this?  Where’s your daughter?  Huh?  She with your mama while you’re… ‘working’?  Tell me, Anna, why shouldn’t I pay you?  I paid you last time.  You took the money, right?  You took the money?” He was getting to the point of no return when the evil takes over and he has no choice but to follow; he had felt it before, and like the dope fiends in the brothels, he would do anything to have his ‘fix’ and release the anger.  She walked over to the mantle and pulled the coins out of the little box where he left them.  She opened her palm and let them fall to his feet. How dare she, that is disrespectful, she’s asking for it.  He picked her up by her shoulders and threw her onto the bed.  She was a dirty whore and he would have her as a dirty whore, and if she had any self-respect, she would fight him off and throw him out.  He had gone too far, he knew he was about to rape this woman and hurt her… but he couldn’t stop.  The knowledge of what he was doing made him angrier still, and hate himself to the core; but still he could not stop.  She raked his face with her nails, and he backhanded her onto the bed grabbing her blouse, ripping it open.  He had a knee between her legs, opening them in spite of her, and he hit her again.  He felt his fist in the flesh of her face, and hit her again as he struggled with his breeches... then he felt the blade in his side and felt the warm blood collecting in his clothes.  She had stabbed him.  He fell back onto the floor holding his side and watching the blood seep through his fingers.   He saw his breeches were down and his flaccid penis was lying across his groin.  He had reached hell and crossed a line into pure evil, and turned into the very man who had raped him years before. He hoped and prayed to die.

Maurice awakened in a filthy jail in Port-au-Prince.  His side hurt and there was dried blood on a dirty bandage wrapped around his waist.  If this was death, he was in hell where he belonged.  He groggily realized he had become his own most hated enemy.  The man he hated for so long had taken his soul.  A kind Priest was standing next to his bed with a bowl of warm soapy water.

“Lie quietly, my son.  This will hurt, but we have to clean your wound, again.”

“I don’t deserve to be cleaned, Father.”  He began to cry like the broken child he was.

“We all deserve to be clean, my son.  Anna has come to take you home.  Will you go with her and behave, or should she keep the knife by her side?”  Maurice had to take this in.  She was coming to take him ‘home’.  Surely the Priest would not let him go back to the place where he tried to rape a woman… to her very house? She deserved to kill him.

“No, Father I’ll go to my ship.”  Yes, the safety of the sea, he thought. The mistress who could kill without pain, just a few strong intakes of her salty elixir and you could rest in her arms for eternity, peaceful, with no anger or fear.

“Your ship has sailed, my son.  You’ve been here for three days. You need to heal… you almost died. You still need to be tended.”

He had to go back to her as he had no other place to go. His money was with his things on the sailing ship, and his clothes were full of dried blood. Besides, he deserved her knife for what he had done.

Anna was holding the door when Father Jerome walked him in and helped him into bed.  Her little girl peeked around the corner of the little kitchen to see the man her mama stabbed.  The neighbor children told Anna Marie about the night the constable had come and taken the young man to prison. 

Maurice had so much he wanted to say to Anna.  He wanted to beg her forgiveness, and tell her about his past and how he hated himself for what he had become. He just didn’t know where to start.  When a boy is raped as Maurice had been, it could either destroy him slowly, or it could make a dangerous warrior to be feared, yet honored, as with his little friend Andy Jackson from the prison ship.  He realized he would never be a great soldier, and it was up to God to keep him from destroying himself, and others.

Anna walked over to the bed and began to undress him and take his dirty clothes.  She brought a bowl of hot water with good smelling sandalwood soap, and began to bathe his tired bruised body.  Her face had a huge bruise where his fist caught her under the eye, and another one on her beautiful cheek. He wanted to die from shame.  There were bruises under her arms and around her neck, and he knew he wouldn’t be able to bear the disgust he was feeling for himself.

“Why don’t you throw me to the gutter, Anna?  You and I both know that’s where I should live.” He was not looking for sympathy. He had never been more honest, or serious, in his life.

She put the wet, bloody cloth back in the bowl, and picked up his hand. She opened his palm and followed the lines with her fingers.

“This tells me who you are.  You’re not the man who hurt you… you’re only a product of that hurt.  You’re good and you want to be kind, you just don’t know how. You think he touched you because you weren’t worth anything. The kindness you showed to your friends in killing the man and helping them escape will come back to you in the future and will change history. 

“My friends?”

“Yes, little Andy and John and the other boys you saved. You have a happy life ahead of you, mon ami.”  She looked deep into his eyes.  How did she know his past, maybe she could read his damned hand after all?  How did she know about Andy and John? No one could have told her these things about him. As far as living a happy life, she was clearly mistaken.

“That man is now dead in you… I killed him with my knife, just as you did.”  She reached over and kissed him sweetly on the lips, and he wanted to hold her, but his side hurt, and he could not stand being that close to the bruises he caused on her face. She took his face in her hands and stared into his eyes, and his soul, and whispered.

“It wasn’t your fault what that man did to you.”  She waited for his reaction. But he had none to give; no one ever said that to him, he had not even said the words to himself… and certainly never felt them.

 “It wasn’t your fault.  It wasn’t your fault.” Her whispers were a balm to his soul.  “It wasn’t your fault. It wasn’t your fault.”

Maurice began to feel his muscles relax, and his soul moving and stirring... and relief, began to flood over him. He could see the sun coming in through the window, and a breeze catching the little curtain, he had not even realized it was day.

“It wasn’t your fault...” She was still whispering the mantra in his ear and around his head and into his heart. 

“Say it, my darling.” 

“It wasn’t my fault… it wasn’t my fault… it wasn’t my fault.”  Tears were coming out of his eyes wetting his cheeks… and his nose was beginning to run. The muscles in his legs were relaxing and his mind was uncoiling. He saw smoky black anger rising from his being as from an evil fire.  Some ugliness burst in his head, and the poison was being drained from the terrible infection in his memory.  He was breathing deeper than he had in years and he was seeing the bruises on her face as talismans for her martyrdom… she had given herself for the safety of all women, from this boy who had been broken by a horrible man.  She was his savior, and he would cherish her and protect her for the rest of his life. He knew it, down where he was too young to know, he knew it.

He gently touched her bruised face.

“These are my fault though, Anna and I’m so sorry.”  She kissed his hand and continued his bath.  She had gotten through to him, and she could relax.  No woman would ever need a knife around him again. He let her finish his bath, and then he cried himself to sleep. Maurice was learning to live with the newly found freedom from the fear and anger that had been his jailors.  It would take time and the anger would reappear, but it was well on its way to leaving him to God.  He was up and about within a few days and his love for Anna was sweet and grateful.  He would miss her on the long nights at sea, but he would be back, Anna was becoming… home.  He hired on with a merchant ship leaving port going back to New Orleans and was very glad to be at sea again.  He wanted to breathe the salt air, and feel the wind; taking it into his clean soul… and sail into his new life.

Maurice was awakened from his memory by a jolt from a bad wave,  said a prayer of thanks for Anna, and continued his love letter to Celestine. Pierre went straight to the lawyer’s office.

“I’m sorry M. David, it had to be done.  The girl is wanted for a brutal murder.  I couldn’t leave her to roam the streets of New Orleans and murder another innocent man, now could I?  Capt. Dubois will understand when he knows what they did in Haiti. Her brother will be picked up soon.”

“You don’t understand, M. Dubonnet.  It was all a misunderstanding.  The children are not murderers. Besides, they belong to your client, why would you turn them in?”

“They belong to Mme. Dubois.  She has asked for their freedom and I’ve honored that request.  You must take it up with her, Capt. David.”

“Where is Marguerite right now?”

“To my knowledge she is resting more comfortably than she deserves in the belly of the Cabildo.  Good day, Capt. David.”

Pierre turned back to the lawyer.

“I wouldn’t want to be in your shoes, M. Dubonnet when Capt. Dubois knows what you’ve done with his children.”

“What are you saying?  These are Capt. Dubois own children? But they are murderers, cut throats?”

“No, M. Dubonnet; they are wrongly accused children of Capt. Dubois and I wouldn’t give a piss of Gulf water for your life once he knows what you’ve wrought.”

“Sit down, Capt. David and tell me everything, and we’ll see if I can reverse this action.

The lawyer knew of men who kept their own bi-racial offspring in bondage; he didn’t understand it, but these were strange times.

Pierre told the lawyer about Maurice and Anna and their long ‘friendship’. He would not mention Maurice’s past, that was for no man to know.  He told of Anna and how she had healed a knife wound from an ‘assailant’ on the young Maurice, and saved his life.  He told of her little girl, Anna Marie dying in a yellow fever epidemic when she was very small, and how Maurice tried to console her for years until she found, and married, a wonderful man, M. Moreau, who gave her two children; Josef and Marguerite.  He told of the tragic death of this fine man, and Maurice taking over the financial responsibility of the two children and their mother. 

Once Pierre had M. Dubonnet’s full attention, he told of how Anna was attacked by a young English Sea Captain and the young children, five and seven killed the man to protect their mother.  The man’s friends pressed horrible charges against the children, and they were in prison waiting for the hangman’s noose.  Captain Maurice Dubois sailed into port and ‘bought’ them from the jailor and hid them aboard his ship, and sailed out the same day.  They were raised on board his ship, until they were of an age to stay in port alone.  Capt. Dubois carried their forged papers for their own protection against the law.  Pierre had seen the wanted posters himself in the ports –of-call around the Atlantic seaports.  Maurice was hoping they would be forgotten eventually, but as yet, they were not.  For the last five years there had still been sightings of the murderous children, and their black evil hearts… strangely never growing any older in the rumors.  Once they became of age, both children had pledged themselves to their ‘step father’ and were his trusted companions and if you will, ‘servants’.

M. Dubonnet was astonished at this horrible news and what his actions may have caused.  He had never heard such a story, and he had no idea how to rectify what he and Mme. Dubois had done.  He and Pierre went to the magistrate’s office and attempted to get Marguerite released as a case of mistaken identity, but the coup of capturing, and jailing, this young girl was too good for the magistrate to allow her freedom.  He fully intended to get her brother and hang them both in the Place d’Armes ,so no other little black bastards would ever think of killing a white man over a whore.

Celestine could not calm down.  What had she done that was so terrible?  Why was she always in trouble for trying to do the right thing?  She sent for Josef, but was told he was nowhere to be found.  That was ridiculous, why was he hiding from her? She sent word to the barn that he would not be in trouble if he would just come and speak to her. Petal found him and coaxed him back to talk to Mme. Dubois.  Celestine was sitting on a little settee in the main drawing room of the beautiful new home, when Josef entered the room looking around to make sure it was safe.

“Josef, please take a seat.” The young man took a seat nearest a window in case he needed to make a quick exit.  He was holding a wrinkled piece of paper.  He held it out to her.  She took it and continued.

“I’m a kind woman.  I don’t believe in slavery.  I didn’t know my husband had the inclination to own other human beings, or he and I would’ve come to an understanding before he left.  Please be so kind as to tell me why you reject my offer of freedom.  If you feel strongly about working for Captain Dubois, I can pay wages, and you and Marguerite can stay on as free people of color.”

“My sister and I aren’t slaves, Mme. Dubois.”  Celestine was surprised to hear he spoke as well as any gentleman in any parlor.  He must have seen her surprise.

“I found this in my basket, it was under my books.”  He pointed to the paper she was holding.

Celestine opened the crumpled letter:

My Wife, or should I say, Tanti ‘Tine,

May I present my wards, or in my heart, my children?  The lovely Marguerite, and the handsome Josef.  They are as fine as I have told you and are looking forward to meeting you.  Please let them help you in any way. They are more than happy to care for you while I’m away.  They must not venture far from rue du Maine.  Pierre will explain.  I’ll not write here, but will allow Pierre to embellish.  I hope you will love them as I do.  Their mother has been a great friend to me and I owe her my life.

Your loving and devoted husband, M.

“He didn’t tell me.  He told me nothing. Tell me now Josef, what was Pierre to tell me?”

“Papa Maurice is a friend of our mother’s and he rescued us from being hanged in Port-au-Prince for a crime, not of our planning, when we were still children.  The slave papers are a ruse for our protection from unjust laws.”  He was staring at her to see how his news was being received.

“Capt. David has gone to save Marguerite from the same fate if he isn’t too late.  We’re still wanted criminals on the Atlantic Sea Coast, Mme. Dubois.”

“Josef, why didn’t you tell me?  Why did you wait until now?”

“We’ve never told anyone.  Our lives have depended on our secret for years. I thought Papa Maurice would’ve told you about us.  His letter says he did.”  Josef was afraid he was saying too much.

Celestine was horrified at what she may have done to Maurice’s child.  Why had he not warned her?  He must have meant to or he would not have put it in the letter. She would have loved to know she had people to care for while he was away.  People he loved and trusted who were a part of him and his past; young people of color who called him, “Papa Maurice”.

“I must make this right, Josef.  Please saddle a horse for me.  I’ll not take the Phaeton and you’d better stay out here.”  She found Colette, told her as much as she knew, and asked for a pair of Pierre’s breeches and a shirt.  She could not ride properly in a dress and corset.  She was not cut out for the lady’s riding habits, and the sidesaddle was just silly and a man’s invention.  She was taught how to ride bareback as a wharf orphan, but she preferred a saddle.  She had not forgotten how and she enjoyed the feel of the big horse between her legs, and the power it gave her.

On the way down the front stairs she turned to Colette.

“Give me the knife, Sister.”  Colette shook her head, Pierre would be mad as hell at what Celestine was doing, if she gave her the knife, he would never forgive his wife.

“Give me ‘MY’ knife, Sister.  Don’t challenge me on this, Colette.  I have a wrong to right, and if I’m too late it’ll come down bad on my husband, and I won’t have that.  Give me my knife.”  Colette ran back into the house and came back with the knife.

“Please be careful, my darling.  God go with you.”  Colette always knew Celestine was much braver than she. 

Colette didn’t know this Celestine, however.  Her eyes were dark, her voice was lower, and she seemed much older than her years.  Colette realized she was talking to the streetwise, wharf rat who bettered her life and soul, but not her self-preservation and fighting spirit.  She felt sorry for anyone trying to stop her friend at this point.

Celestine rode down the river road not knowing what she would find but feeling she needed to get Marguerite back up to Colette’s or to the convent, and keep her out of trouble.  She had to get things straightened out with M. Dubonnet.  She turned onto rue du Maine and saw the constable standing in her carriageway.  She rode calmly and quietly into the little stable.

“Bonjour, Monsieur may I help you?”  She would not speak until she knew what the hell was going on… maybe she was finally learning to think before acting.

“Bonjour, Mme. Dubois.  We’re looking for a slave named Josef.  We believe you may know of him?”

“No, I don’t. I gave him his freedom.  If that offends you, I’m sorry, but I don’t believe one of God’s children should own another.”  She was so calm she made herself nervous.

“If you’ll excuse me, I’ve been riding and I need to freshen and start dinner. Salut, Monsieur.”  She walked her horse into the little stable and left him saddled, and walked calmly into her house.

The constable left.  She seemed to be telling the truth.  He did not understand people who could afford slaves, but not having any.  He thought it was the greatest system in the world.  He would love to have a couple.

Pierre was sitting calmly in the kitchen waiting for her when she came out of the stable.

“Marguerite is in jail in the Cabildo.  I have to get her out.”  He said in his best male, authoritarian manner.  “You have to help me by staying here and keeping the facade of innocent wife waiting for husband to come sailing in. This is important, Celestine.”

“I know it is, Pierre.  I’ll not be blamed for this, damn it.  If you or my husband cannot share with me the most important things in his life, how am I to know?  Answer me, Pierre?  How the bloody hell am I to know.”  She pulled her knife out of her waist, glared at a spot directly over his head and threw it so fast he ducked. He heard the rat scream before he turned to see its blood dripping down the old kitchen wall. Pierre’s head reeled.  He had never met street wise Celestine.  He wondered if Maurice  had seen this side of his sweet little dove.  Pierre was suddenly glad she was on his side.  She walked over and grabbed the knife, and the rat, and threw the rat out to the cat, wiped the knife with the shirtsleeve she was wearing of Pierre’s, and put it back in her waistband.

“I’m going to see Mother Superior. You’ll stay here and play the calm guest waiting for me to return from the market. For once in your manly life, sweet Pierre, do as you’re told, even if it is by a woman.” 

He was still gulping air from the knife coming so close to his skull. She didn’t mean to speak so angrily to Pierre, it was meant for her dunce of a husband, but he wasn’t here to take her anger. She went back onto the streets and walked to the convent.  She went in through the back and ran to Mother Superior’s office. What was she to say?  She had been brave up until now, but this was different.  This was a place of gentle living, prayer and refuge; she was once more out of her league, and approaching a woman who knew more about life than she ever would.  She was thirteen again and the clean floors, and gentle movements of the long black skirts were soothing, but still scaring the crap out of her.  She could not imagine how frightened Marguerite must be at this moment. She knew she had come to the right place.  She knew it. She bent down and kissed Reverend Mother’s hem and looked up at the kind eyes.

“I’ve done a terrible thing, Reverend Mother.  I’ve put my husband’s ward in terrible jeopardy, and she’ll surely go to the gallows if I don’t save her.”

Mother Superior had already heard of the young girl’s plight. The city was still a small village full of gossips.  The knowledge of his two wards had come up while checking out Captain Dubois and his past, but not that they were wanted for murder, just that they traveled with him. She should have told this young wife, but she had no idea he would not have told her himself.  She would have to help Celestine.  She would not let an innocent child die, knowing she could have helped.

Mother Superior and Ste. Agnes went to the prison to visit the young girl. They were taking her a basket of bread and cheese with some oranges. Mother Superior raised her veil to speak to the jailor. She knew him as a good man who would not give them trouble. They were ushered in as clergy and the child was so frightened she clung to Ste. Agnes for support.  They were only with her a short time before they left as they had entered and walked quietly back to the convent.

The jailor was puzzled at the weird veils the nuns wore, but he had seen the Reverend Mother himself.  Still, something was not quite right.  He  went back in to see for himself.  Mother Superior was sitting in the cell eating an orange and offered him some bread and cheese.

“Reverend Mother!! Do you know what you’ve done?” He was incredulous.

“Yes, my son, I’ve offered you a piece of my good cheese.  Tell me, Gerrard, where is the young girl that was in this cell a moment ago?”

“You helped her escape.”  He started to run to call for help.

“I wouldn’t do that, Gerrard.  You’re going against God’s law, my son.  The young girl in your jail was a novice of mine, and was put here by mistake.”  God would forgive her this lie, and she would confess the sin of it this very night.

“How did you get her out of the cell and… how did you get in?”

“The lord works in mysterious ways, my son, nez pa” 

He was going to be in such trouble.

“Now if you’d be so kind, as to unlock this cell, I’ll help you out of your jam.”  He unlocked the cell door.

“HELP, HELP, SHE PUSHED ME DOWN AND RAN AWAY, HELP, HELP.”   Her screams could be heard all over town. The Reverend Mother winked at Gerrard and got carefully down on hands and knees, then rolled gently onto her side; a helpless victim in yards of black wool with muddy boots… prostrate on the floor of the old jail.

“Now quickly, run and tell your superior I was ambushed and the young girl escaped. Quickly, there could be rats down here.”

After answering questions from the main jailor, she walked slowly and calmly back to the convent.  She enjoyed this wicked adventure, maybe too much.  She would have much penance for her enjoyment alone, not to mention the act itself.

"Celestine, The House on rue du Maine" Chapters 7 & 8 www.fjwilson.net

Chapter Seven

They were married one week later in the Cathedral of St. Louis.  It had been easy explaining to the Reverend Mother, that Maurice’s proposal had caused Celestine to go into a downward spiral, and that God… Pierre and Colette convinced Celestine she would learn to love him and be patient as his wife.  The Reverend Mother was very relieved, she thought she knew people and to make such a mistake about the man had disturbed her greatly.

Maurice carried Celestine through the muddy streets to the Cathedral to protect her shoes and dress.  The wedding was sweet. Celestine wore her blue silk and Maurice wore his new linen shirt once Ste. Mary Clarisse got the blood out of the sleeve, and his big blue coat with the gold piping.  The only thing missing for Maurice was his Josef as best man and Marguerite as a maid of honor.  But it was too dangerous for them to appear in public; one day things would change, and he could have his cake and eat it too with his adopted children. Maurice wanted to introduce them to Celestine, but they were busy getting him ready to sail, and Celestine was crazy with the wedding. Time passed so quickly and before he knew it, he was getting married and his fantasy world was becoming his reality world.  There would be plenty of time to bring his little family together before he sailed.  He had never been so happy.

Celestine visited the new perfume shop on rue Royale and M. Chenier created a scent for her.  He sniffed around her hair and her shoulders and decided on a light scent of soft Jasmine. She and Maurice were both pleased with the fragrance.

Ste. Mary Clarisse was making a shirt for Maurice, and Celestine had almost finished another one by the time he was due to leave.  But…he would not know until he was out to sea that Celestine embroidered her name running through a tiny heart on the front of both shirts along the tail.  Her name would be worn next to his manhood, and none would be the wiser.  It would please him to know she was so close.

She filled his sea chest with clove soaps, mint leaves, and wild doe tongue leaves, to keep his clothes fresh on the long voyage. She filled his personal chest with peach preserves, strawberry jams, pickles, candied orange slices, Colette’s alligator jerky, pickled quail eggs and wonderful things he would want from home. Under his pillow she placed one of her handkerchiefs filled with her Jasmine scent.

The weather was too bad to leave that week, so he stayed on another week.  In the two weeks before he left he had accomplished a great deal.  He had married his sweetheart, bought her the house on rue du Maine from Pierre’s family, put everything he owned in her name including le Celestine and helped Pierre and Colette move up river, and... he was pretty sure he had impregnated his wife.  If not, it wasn’t for the lack of trying.  Josef and Marguerite were busy packing his things from his little house to move to the big one and had not had time to visit with him as much as they would like. He would be gone for almost a year but he had not had time to build the widow’s walk before he left.  That would be his first project once he returned.  He left with a list of furniture from Pierre and Colette for their new house and a smaller list from Celestine for their newly acquired dream house.  There was something important he forgot to tell her; the thought was nagging at him, but he was too busy being happy to remember anything but his maps,  charts and the clothes she packed for him.  Maurice dined with Josef and Marguerite aboard ship two nights before he sailed and told them how he wanted the new house arranged.

 Marguerite could not wait to meet her new Tanti’ Tine as Maurice asked that his wife be addressed, and was already excited about having another woman in her life.  It was such a long time since she had seen her own mama, and this was a new and exciting adventure.  Maurice gave Josef a letter of introduction to Celestine in case they were stopped on the way to rue du Maine once they had closed the little house. Life was good. Maurice and his children finished dinner and walked back up to the new house to meet their new ‘mama’.  But Celestine was having dinner with friends at the convent and would not be home until later.  Maurice walked the children home and went back to wait for his new bride.

Celestine was beside herself, she had the house of her dreams, but she was losing her man to the sea.  She wouldn’t be able to bear it… she knew it.  She would not be able to sleep without his arms around her, and that big hairy chest under her head; maybe she should keep the cat as a pillow.  The house was too big for just one person. 

He had not been gone three days when the bell on the big gate of the carriageway was ringing incessantly. She walked out to see a young African girl, she guessed to be around fifteen and a young man a couple of years older, standing at the gate; both well dressed holding satchels and baskets of their belongings.

“We’re here, Tanti ‘Tine.”  The young man was holding his hat clutched to his chest.

“Who are you and what do you want?”  She figured they had the wrong house.

“Captain sent us, Tanti.  We’re his....”  He looked confused, why did this woman not know or expect them.

“My name’s Josef… and this is… Marguerite.”  He asked trying to trigger her memory.  Celestine had no intention of having slaves in her home.

“To whom do you belong?” She asked with her heart in her throat; she had never had the discussion with Maurice, but she knew many of the ships were slave ships, and she would not condone that.

“We’re here for you, misses.”

 “Aah,” her gasp was audible. “Come in, please, get off the street.”

What to do with this dilemma?

“When did my husband make this... purchase?”  She was finding it hard to breathe.

“We’ve been with Captain since we were very young.”  Josef was more confused, how much should he tell her?  Would she turn them out before the Captain came back to rescue them?  He put an arm around his sister.  She was trying not to cry.

“Please go around to the kitchen and have some milk and cake.  I have to think.”  She was incredulous.  She would love some help to keep her company, clean the house, and take care of the horse and carriage, but she would not own another human being. She had seen too many slave auctions in the parade ground outside the Cathedral.  Miserable children dragged from their mother’s arms, young women holding onto husbands they would never see again in this lifetime.  She would never be a part of that.

She walked into Maurice’s new study and opened the drawer to the big desk.  She grabbed the papers he had put in her name.  She was shuffling through the deed to the house and the ship and then in the very last of the papers was an old bill of sale for two slaves, one Marguerite Dubois and Josef Dubois.  Born in Port-au-Prince, Haiti and sold to one Maurice Dubois in 1789.

These two people must have been very small children when he bought them.  What did that say about her husband that he would buy children? He had not signed these papers over to Celestine.  She found a legal document giving her power of attorney. Praise God from whom all blessing’s flow.  She made the sign of the cross and went back out to the kitchen.

“Josef, Marguerite?  It seems my husband has made it possible for me to give you your freedom.”

“Please, misses you don’t understand.  We don’t want freedom.”

“I don’t believe God intended us to own each other and I’m spiritually, morally and emotionally against owning another being. Therefore, I have to speak to my husband’s lawyer and find out how I go about releasing you.  Until that time you may stay in the rooms off the kitchen as my guests.”  She knew the guest part was totally taboo, but she had to think this through and decide what could be done.

Celestine was ushered into Mother Superior’s office and took a seat.  She had the bill of sale in her hand and told the Reverend Mother everything.

“I agree with you, my dear.  I think it’s a good idea to go to his lawyers.  It’s important that this is a legal agreement so they can’t be put back on that horrible slave block.”  She didn’t want Celestine to see her face.  The Convent had owned slaves, but not children.  Why would this man buy children?  Celestine walked around to rue Royale and spoke to M. Dubonnet.  He was not in total agreement with her wish to give these people their freedom, but under the law, she was entitled to this action.  He would draw up the necessary papers and bring them around to her in a couple of days.  He would also send a letter with his next packet to let Capt. Dubois know of his wife’s actions.  This business of signing your things over to your wife was a bad citizen and he was against it from the beginning.  What if she decided to sell Le Celestine out from under the Captain?  He would then see his folly. If he were here, it didn’t matter if her name was on a paper or not, a husband owned his wife’s property, but with him gone for so long, she could sell anything and be gone before he returned.

Celestine went home and explained to the couple what she had done.  There was not the rejoicing she expected.  There was terror from Marguerite and confusion and fear from Josef.  She explained that they could stay in the house while she was gone up river to visit friends and when she returned, the papers should be completed.  She needed to speak to Pierre.  She knew he did not believe in owning slaves either and was a big reason he had run away from his parents’ plantation in Natchez when he was a young boy.  She needed to know what he thought about this whole business.  She wondered if he even knew about these two.

Chapter Eight

Maurice was gone three days before he realized he had forgotten to tell Celestine about Marguerite and Josef.  He was glad he had given Josef a letter of introduction to Celestine and instructions for their safety, but he could not believe his horrible blunder.   He would be receiving a packet  from Dubonnet while in Haiti,  and would send long letters of apologies to his new family.  What kind of horrible papa forgets to present his children to his new wife?  He decided to fill the package with delightful delicacies for all; maybe he could buy their forgiveness, like other wayward papas.  Anna would have a package ready to go to Josef and Marguerite, and he would add a few things to that also. Meanwhile, he would have to pray the letter would suffice and his children would be safe.  Thank God he gave Josef the letter, he was not a total idiot, just felt like one at the moment.

He could not wear the new shirts too often walking the big decks of the beautiful ship as they caused a huge erection knowing Celestine’s name was resting on his groin.  Maybe she could embroider his pillow cases instead.  He laughed as he thought of the handkerchief filled with the scent of jasmine resting on the pillow next to him each night, causing him to dream of her constantly.  He never knew love could rob your time and energy while clouding your mind.  He had known sailors getting tangled in the rigging while mooning over their wives left behind, but he never understood until now. 

So far the weather was good and except for the choppy, square waves of the Gulf making the big ship feel like broken wheels on a rocky road, he made better time than expected.  His men carried such respect for him, none had mentioned the incident with Celestine and her announcement on the levee and he appreciated it more than they knew.

He felt good knowing Josef and Marguerite were watching over Celestine, and she over them in the big house, but his guilt at not introducing them was heavy.  He had worried about her being alone with Pierre and Colette so far away, now he need not.  He wondered what his children thought of his new wife, but maybe they had not gone to rue du Maine as yet.  It would take time for them to clear out the little house he kept in New Orleans, before the new owners moved in.  His children were such a part of his life he could not imagine any acquaintances of his not knowing about them. They were not allowed to attend the wedding; it was too dangerous, but his Marguerite would’ve loved it.  She loved the ceremony and the pageantry of the church. He would make sure the packet contained a new dress for her.  His life was working out better than expected, but he had no idea his life was empty until he met Celestine.  He should have told her about the two loves of his life.  The letter explained as much as he could write, the rest should be spoken and not written. Pierre could clear up any questions she may have, or she could ask the children directly.

Maurice was a day out of Port-au-Prince when the weather began to turn ugly.  He left his well trained crew to weather the storm, and went to his cabin to finish his letter to Celestine.  The choppy, bouncing cabin was comforting and familiar.  There had been times when these storms frightened him, and made him worry for his crew and cargo, but over the years he learned to read the sea and the wind.  He knew when to worry and when to let it happen.  This was one of those storms that could rock you to sleep or out of bed, but keeps you close to God.  Always a religious man he had weathered many storms with the old man’s help and mercy, and sought him in times of trouble.  He trusted him now to see his ship and crew into calm waters and the safety of Port-au-Prince. 

Anna always knew he was coming before he sailed into port.  She would have the little house clean and spruced up just for him, and he was looking forward to telling her about Celestine and his new life.  He wanted to tell her how Marguerite was growing into a beauty and Josef was getting taller and stronger by the day.  She was so proud of them and missed them so. One day Maurice would talk her into coming to live in New Orleans and giving up her Voudou, but if she insisted, she could practice her religion in New Orleans.  He was not her judge, and if God needed her to change he would deal with it.  Maurice would love for her to know Celestine, but he did not know how to handle his long time mistress and wife under the same roof.  It could get a bit messy with one wielding a knife and the other wielding strong Voudou, a man could end up dead... or worse. 

He would never give up Celestine, and he didn’t want to give up Anna.  She had been his safe harbor ever since he was young and afraid of life.  She turned him into a lover and taught him not to be afraid of his own sexuality.  It was not an easy task as he had been combative, mean and  had fought like the devil not to feel anything but disgust for the whole business.  But, his sweet Anna won, and her gentle ways and love for him had given him a normal life.  He never wanted men, but for a while after the rapes, he did not know what he wanted, and he was afraid the men who raped him saw something in him he did not know was there.  When he first met Anna, he wanted neither a man nor a woman.  His friends bragged about the women they had conquered, and how mighty and manly they were in bed, but the whole business just made him want to hurt someone. 

Killing the man trying to rape him on the British prison ship had not helped him feel good about himself.  He was only eleven when he ran away from home to fight in the revolution of 1775.   Before he was twelve he was captured and sent to the prison ships out of Charleston Harbor with other boys who foolishly had done the same.   He watched in horror as the other boys were exploited and hurt, but he waited for his turn, he knew it was coming and by damn, he would be prepared.  He made a weapon from his spoon and used it right as the man was trying to enter him. To this very day, remembering the man bleed to death with his pants down and pecker going limp, still haunted him.  But the man’s death allowed him the opportunity to escape and take a few of his friends with him. Once they were free, no one, not even the British, suspected a little boy had done such a brutal murder, but knowing he was capable of it terrified him.  He said good-bye to his friends Andy and John, went to sea as a cabin boy and never went home again. 

Anna dealt with the memories of his past and killed the demons the memories created. 

Loving memories of Anna were filling his head and he didn’t want to stop them.  He first saw her in the market of Port-au-Prince reading palms and telling fortunes.  She was a black haired beauty, full breasted…  her peasant blouse showing more than half of her dark-brown, silky breasts. An old leather belt held up her skirts and encircled her tiny waist twice.  The end of the too-long belt hung over her groin like a long, limp penis and was strangely arousing. Her thin ankles and parts of her long legs could be seen when she propped one sandaled foot on the carriage block. Her raw sexual beauty stirred something in his groin for the first time, and he was intrigued to find this creature could give him an erection.  He had just turned nineteen and had been celibate for so long, he had given up the whole idea of intimacy.  Most times when he thought about the act, bad memories flooded in and erased any pleasure he was feeling, and made him sick to his stomach. She was obviously a fake, reading his palm and telling him he would become a great lover; that was ludicrous… although he liked her holding his hand.  He liked feeling her skin and looking into her deep black eyes.  Her long curly lashes seemed to blink slower than most and he felt she was becoming aroused just speaking to him.  She was intoxicating, and he fell under some spell to follow her; listen to her laughter, and watch her eyes looking deep into his soul. He followed her around the old tropical square, spying on her from behind clusters of banana trees, as she took on more customers.  Hearing her wonderful laughter, and watching as she drew many men into her web was intoxicating to his young man’s soul.  When she walked it was like dancing and when the music started in the square, she did dance, and she danced for the sailors who would throw money to her.  Hardcore, seasoned sailors offered her their full pay to go with them, but she laughed, stuffing their money down their breeches and feeling around before withdrawing her hand, sending them on their way and teasing:  “Oh Monsieur, you are too large.”  Or “Oh Monsieur, I’d lose my heart to you and that monster in your breeches.”

She was enchanting to an awkward, backward nineteen-year-old virgin, and he thought he had found the fountain of erotic lust right there in the old square.  He followed her home later that night, hiding in the shadows. She stopped and turned to him at her door, speaking into the shadows.

“You are a pitiful puppy.”  She moved to him, reached up and kissed him on the mouth.  She smelled of spices and rich heady flowers, and his head began to spin.

“Do you want to come in?  I’ve seen you following me all night.  Have you no girlfriend?”  He shook his head ‘no’.

“Why is that?  You’re a handsome young man and you have the smell of the sea in your hair.  Did you not leave a girlfriend behind in America?”  She knew exactly what his problem was; she had seen it in his palm, and she had read it in his eyes, and in his heart.  He was an abused little boy who knew nothing of love nor pleasure or forgiveness.  Here was a very angry young man who needed and wanted to hurt someone, she could feel it when he walked into the square.  That he was a dangerous young man challenged her to heal him, arousing her and pulling her into the danger.

She walked inside and held the door for him to come in.  She poured him a drink of fine rum and showed him to a chair.  Maurice was surprised to see children’s toys and little clothes hanging on furniture to dry.

“You have children?”  Maurice asked dumbfounded that this woman would have a normal life outside the market.

“I have a little girl, but she’s with my mother the nights I work.”

“Do I pay you?”  He knew he was naive, but it would be nice, there was no need to think or feel.

“No, my bebe, I’m not a prostitute.  I’m a fortune-teller. I don’t want your money.  I want to help you.”

“Help me? I don’t need help!?  To whom do you think you’re speaking?  I just came in here to buy sex.  If that’s not what you do, then I’ll leave.”  He was trying to swim in mud.  He had no real idea why he had followed her in. But she embarrassed him in his ignorance.

She took his coat, put it across a chair and offered him the big chair.  She gave him some more rum and sat gently in his lap.

“I allowed you to follow me home, mon ami.  I’m lonely and I need a man.  I need a kind lover, and I believe that’s you.  The stars sent you to me.”

 Her voice was barely a whisper, and so kind he wanted to cry on her shoulder and tell her about his life.  He looked into her black eyes and wanted to please her, make her feel safe and take away her loneliness.  He knew about loneliness.  He could write books on loneliness. He kissed her hard on the mouth, and he thought he might break her lips as he inhaled the delightful, heady scent of tropical flowers and humid nights. His erection was uncomfortable.

She pulled away from his mouth and put two fingers on his lips.

“Shhh not so hard, mon ami; go gently into your kiss.”

She took his mouth and kissed him gently as she opened his lips with her tongue. He responded for a second, and enjoyed her soft wet tongue on his, but his mood changed and everything about her made him angry. How dare this whore tell him how to kiss a woman?  He felt the need to punish her for the very erection he was glad to have.  He carried her to the bed and began taking off her clothes.  She was undressing him but he caught her hands and threw them off. He threw her on the bed and spread her legs.  He was too rough, and he didn’t care if she was lonely or needed a gentle man. He was driving toward a release he had never had, and he wanted her to suffer for choosing him, and wanting him when he wasn’t worthy.  She needed to be punished for her choice of lovers. He spent quickly and fell on top of her. The rum and her scent after his release sent him rushing outside to throw up, but he came back to bed, and fell into a fitful sleep. 

He did not wake until morning when he felt her mouth on him.  He was about to explode.  She was going down on him, swallowing his erection with her warm, wet mouth. He saw colors and wanted to spend and she tried to move her head but he wouldn’t allow her to waver from her ‘job’. He grabbed her head and held it down hard and before he could think, he was spending in her mouth. She gagged and couldn’t breathe but he was spending more, and thought it would never stop.  He knew what he had done was wrong, but caring was not part of his nature at the moment.  He would pay her if she wanted.  He did not know how to please her so he would offer her money.  He could have no respect for a woman who allowed him to follow her home, and spend in her mouth.  What did she want from him anyway?  She had a child for God’s sake, what kind of mother was she?  He made some stupid excuse, grabbed his clothes and left.  He left money in a little box on the mantle as he crossed the little sitting room.

 By the time he got back to his ship, he was angry.  He was mad at himself for wanting her, but terrified at the part of himself that tried to hurt her.  He was confused.  She aroused something in him that made him want more, but he could tell her ,or any woman, the sea was his mistress, not women or men.  He wanted to go back to his first love, the sea and she would soothe him, and allow him to bury the feelings Anna had awakened.

There was a knock on Maurice’s cabin door. The knock woke him from his memory and thrust him into present day.  He wiped the tears he had been shedding over this particular memory and called, “Come in”.

“Will you be wanting dinner, Capt.?”  Robert didn’t like disturbing the Captain, but knew if he didn’t order dinner, he would be hungry later and wonder why it had not been offered.

“No, Robert, thank you.  I have some bread and mutton left from lunch.”

He went back to his letter writing and tried to get the memories of his first days with Anna out of his head.

"Celestine, The House on rue du Maine" Chapter 6 www.fjwilson.net

Chapter Six

Celestine didn’t stop running until she was back in the convent. Ste. Mary Clarisse and Mother Superior followed her into her cell.

“What’s happened, my girl?  Has someone harmed you?  Speak to me, child.”  The Reverend Mother knew a broken heart when she heard one.  Was she wrong about Capt. Dubois?  She was told his ship arrived earlier in the day, and Celestine was indeed heart-broken. 

How could Celestine tell this woman, who had been more a mother to her than her own, that this man had taken her heart and thrown it to the wind and watched as birds of prey attacked and devoured it.  But Celestine herself summoned the birds of prey, and now he would probably have her arrested.  A girl didn’t threaten to kill a mighty Sea Captain on his own ship, with his crew aboard; it was rude and most likely illegal.

“Sister Mary Clarisse, lock the big gates. We’ll not be receiving Capt. Dubois again.”  The Reverend Mother’s voice was controlled anger, and she wouldn’t be taking back her decision anytime soon.

Celestine buried her face in the Reverend Mother’s bosom and cried.

She did not leave the convent for a week, and Maurice was turned away several times. The Reverend Mother had to admit, he seemed confused and contrite, but neither he, nor Celestine would tell her anything.  Celestine knew what the mighty captain wanted and she was not about to give it to him again.  She had learned her lesson, and he could find another woman to please his lust and answer his disgusting needs.  It would be so much easier if she had not enjoyed it so.  Her guilt over her own pleasure was as strong as her anger at the captain for his exploitation of her good nature.  Colette came to visit but could not get Celestine to talk.  A mistake was made about Capt. Dubois, and she wished him well, that was the only statement Celestine would make.

Celestine looked for three days before she found her knife in the back of the linen closet, under some old bandages, and began to wear it again in her stocking.  Killing the man was one option, but the punishment was too severe so she changed her mind, but he did deserve at least to lose an ear, or maybe a finger.  She would see him sooner or later and then her attack would be sure and swift, but would be considered by all… an ‘accident’.  She was not stupid, she had no wish for jail, but she could strike a blow against everyman who had ever taken advantage of any woman, ever… and walk away as an innocent young girl.  Her anger, hate and guilt were filling her with poison and robbing her thoughts, taking her energy from her daily work.  She wasn’t good for anything but planning the mutilation of the man who stole her heart, made her body betray her, as it came wonderfully alive to his touch.

Maurice couldn’t fight Mother Superior and the whole convent, and they had made a fortress that was damned powerful.  If he ever became a wanted criminal, he knew where to hide.  He was leaving on his next voyage soon, and he wanted this settled before he left.  If she would just tell him what he had done, he could deal with it, but he didn’t know if it was something he had done the day on the ship, or something from her past that appeared as a result of their love making. 

He couldn’t allow himself to think about the love making.  The sweetness of the love, and the horror of her grabbing his knife and running away from him, were too strange to relive. He knew too well the feeling of love and hatred in the same moment.  But he didn’t have his Anna to advise him in this. Had Celestine been raped by the men who took her mother, was that it?  No, she was a virgin.  The answer seemed to lie in Maurice’s own actions. He begged Pierre and Colette to find out for him, but they were unable to get anything other than… she made a mistake about Capt. Dubois and she wished him well . Well, I’m not well and it’s her fault. Damn, women could be irritating.  God forbid they ever went to war, the generals would have to throw down their arms, surrender, and beg for mercy.

On the fourth week he wondered if maybe he had made a mistake.  Maybe she was too complicated and broken for him to fix.  He was not a healer like Anna, and didn’t want to be.  Maybe this young woman was too far from his expertise, and her demons were too big, and too ensconced in her being, for him to conquer.  He thought God would help, but so far no miracles had come, and he was leaving in a few days for a very long voyage.  By the time he returned she could have taken her vows, or married some little boy she could mold and control. She certainly didn’t have any problems in the bedroom.  He would like to take credit for that, but he couldn’t be sure anymore.

Colette was determined to get to the bottom of what was happening to her friend.  If Maurice had purposely hurt her, she would cut his heart out.  Knowing someone in the parlor doesn’t mean you know them in the bedroom, and men could cover up their bad behavior without blinking an eye.  Pierre was no help, he just kept saying he knew the Captain loved her, and would never hurt her.   It took Colette nagging constantly three days before he finally gave in and told her the truth about Maurice and Anna. Pierre  had sworn her to secrecy, but he really didn’t know his wife.  She had no secrets from Celestine, and she was bound and determined that Celestine would have no more secrets from her.

Celestine finally agreed to dinner and ventured out to Colette’s and Pierre’s. She needed the good fun company, and to feel alive again.  She carried her knife, just in case.  It may take time, but she would know when and where.

“Darling, you look wonderful.”  Pierre took her arm and ushered her into the drawing room through the courtyard.  The night was beautiful with the soft breeze sweeping the big lace curtains into the lovely room, across the worn cypress floors.  The candles in the chandeliers flickered in the breeze making wonderful shadows on the high ceilings, but threatened to go out in spite of their crystal shades if the breeze picked up.  Celestine loved this house; she had always felt at home here, and hoped she would always be welcomed.

“Celestine, how beautiful you look.”  Colette was walking down the curved staircase, wearing a new dress that fit her perfectly; Celestine could not help but wonder if a sea captain had given her the new material.

Celestine was wearing the blue dress she loved; she had decided not to burn it.  It was not the material’s fault an ass bought it.  They would be having dinner in the courtyard, and the table was lovely and inviting.

“Celestine, we want to talk to you.”  Pierre was not expecting this.  He hoped the women would wait until he had gone to bed before Colette started her inquisition.

“I have nothing to say, Colette.  Please, let’s have our dinner.  Pierre, tell us some funny stories from the workmen up river.” 

Pierre scratched his head, and rang for dinner to be served.  He wanted to eat before this got out of hand.  Colette had two glasses of wine before dinner, and was saddling up for some high hurdles. She was always too involved with Celestine and her love life, and it made Pierre nervous on several levels.

“All right, Celestine, have it your way, since you and I aren’t good friends, and we never tell each other everything.”  She said in a mocking, almost angry voice. “I’ll not ask why you’ve broken the heart of my friend… who loves you… and is heart-sick over your treatment of him.”  Colette was getting angry just thinking about Maurice’s face, begging them to find out what he had done.

Celestine knew this moment was inevitable, besides, it was their fault for introducing her, and pushing her to the man.  It may as well be now.

“Colette, it’s embarrassing, but if you must know.  Your friend took advantage of me on his ship, and when I was leaving he blew a whistle to warn his men to hide so his ‘harlot’ could leave unrecognized.  I was on the deck of a strange ship, just having given myself to a man I thought loved me, and he showed his true colors as the womanizing, whoremongor he is. Not to offend you, Pierre,  I find you are the exception to your gender.  All other men are pigs.”

Colette was up and holding her friend to her.

“Oh, my darling, how awful.”  She looked at her husband as if to say, your friend is a cad, but Pierre was laughing and shaking his head.

“That’s it?  That’s the horrible thing he did?”  He could not believe the ignorance of these two women.

“You women are such idiots.  That’s a Captain’s privilege when a lady is aboard ship, so the men don’t think her of ill repute, or, in your words, a harlot. Why do women never ask before jumping into a bayou full of alligators?  Would one of you answer me?”  He was calming down enough to eat his dinner, and shake his head again at the foolishness of women in love.

“Celestine, take that damned knife out of your stocking and give it to me.  I owe the Captain too much to watch you gut him like a fish. I’ve seen the scar you gifted him.”  Pierre reached out his hand and took the knife from Celestine.

“So, the old man got your virginity before the wedding, eh?  He makes me proud to be a man… or pig.” It was hard to chew his food and laugh at the same time.

“Oooh.”  Celestine could not believe she had just confessed to what she was doing on board the ship, and… she had announced very loudly to Maurice’s crew that she was, indeed… a harlot. She would die of embarrassment.

Celestine started crying, and Colette knew it was going to be a long one.  There was so much to cry about.  One, she may have chased away the love of her life… two, she had given up her virginity, and confessed it to her friends over dinner… three, she would have to find a way to tell the convent it was all right for Capt. Dubois to call if he ever wanted to see her again… and four… she had given her knife to Pierre and Colette knew he would never give it back.

Colette took Celestine upstairs to a guest bedroom; undressed her and put her to bed.  Celestine would not be good for anything until this news had settled, and she could figure out what to do, and how to make amends.  Colette sent Pierre to find Maurice.  She knew her husband would be back soon… he had not had his dessert. 

Pierre found Maurice in a bar a few whiskeys away from sober, and helped him get his coat.  Maurice paid the bartender , took the young lady off his lap, sat her on the stool at the bar, and steadied her.  Pierre buckled the sword belt around his old friend and told him if he hurried, he could share his dessert.  Maurice walked unsteadily out of the saloon with Pierre, having no idea where he was going, or why. 

“You’re a good son, Pierre; yes, sir, a damned good son.  Your papa must be very proud.”  Maurice slurred as he walked into a wall of a building turning the corner onto rue du Maine, and gave himself a black eye.

Pierre set him straight, and they walked into the courtyard. Colette sighed, and asked Petal for some hot water.  She helped Pierre clean him up, and nursed his swelling eye, gave him mint leaves to chew, and escorted him into the dark bedroom, and into bed next to Celestine.  Neither Colette nor Pierre knew why they did this; it just seemed like a good idea at the time.  They backed out of the French doors, and went to have dessert.

“I guess if we hear a scream it didn’t go well.”  Colette put to Pierre.

“If I know my Captain, there’ll be no scream.”  Pierre admired his boss, and his way with women.  The man had been an inspiration when Pierre was courting Colette.

The storm clouds were rolling in and the wind came up the river from the Gulf to attack the trees in the courtyard.  The rain soon followed and Pierre and Colette ran to close the big double doors and windows.  Thunder and lightning made for a safe, and romantic night at home.

Maurice thought what good friends Colette and Pierre were. God only knows where he would have ended tonight, if Pierre had not come and gotten him.  He was confused about his sex life.  He didn’t know if God wanted him celibate and waiting for Celestine, or if he could spread his seed in every port, and walk away.  He was tired and he wanted to sleep off the bad whiskey.  He would think about things in the morning.

Celestine cried herself to sleep.  God sent her a beautiful husband, and her jumping to conclusions, and depending on her shady past to guide her, destroyed her chances of being happy.  When would she ever learn not to go off half cocked?  Of course what Pierre said made sense.  A whore would not care if other men saw her leaving the Captain’s quarters… she would probably consider it good advertisement.  The Captain certainly would not care that his men saw a harlot leaving his quarters.  What was wrong with her, that she could not figure these simple things out before she ran off like a ninny with a knife in her stocking?

Maurice awakened just before dawn.  His first thought was whether he had paid the whore in his bed, or should he get up and find his coat and get his money ready. He might like a little slap and tickle this morning, but he wanted to see her first.  He had awakened in strange ports with really strange women in his life, and he knew not to start something he may not want to finish when sober.  He rolled over and smelled a hint of cloves and saw the blonde curls spread on the pillow.  This was not your ordinary whore, he thought.  Is this what Pierre had in mind for me last night and did I enjoy her?  Oh my God, it’s Celestine.  His heart was racing like the storm outside.

She rolled over to see him looking into her eyes; his hand began brushing the hair out of her face as she began to cry, and begged him to forgive her.  She reached up and traced the little scar under his chin and his swollen eye and started crying again.  He held her, and thanked God for her.  It was as if they had been sleeping in the same bed forever, warm, familiar, and safe. God was good to give him back his woman.

He kissed her with all the love he held for her. 

“Do you still want me?”  She sounded so small and helpless.  He took her bottom in his hands and pulled her closer, and she felt how much he forgave her and how much he wanted her.  She didn’t care about the men in her mama’s past; she wanted to lie under him while he entered her, and make her his woman.  God was good to give her back her man. 

“Open to me, my dove and let me pleasure you.”   He made love to her until the aroma of good strong coffee forced them to deal with the day and the storm.

“I want to wake up every day making love to you.”  

“Yes.” She smiled, and wished on it.

"Celestine, The House on rue du Maine" Chapter 5-- be warned, sex scene up ahead.

dress, painted to look like her own.  The figurehead was headed into the unknown, brave, stoic and very beautiful.

She could not hide her tears from Pierre.  It was the dearest thing anyone had ever done for her.  A gift so fine, she didn’t know what to think, or how to repay her future husband.  If her mama could put up with a stranger’s grunt, then maybe she could put up with Capt. Dubois’ love making no matter how terrible.  Celestine stood on the levee until the ship turned and sailed past the crescent, and out of sight down the river.  She ran back to the convent and prayed for his safety, the first of many lonesome, worried hours praying for her man’s safe return from the sea; mixed with the fear of his safe return and what that would mean to her future.

Chapter Five

Pierre and Colette were spending more and more time at the new house with the baby.  Colette was collecting ideas for decorating and had made a huge list for Maurice to bring back from his next long trip abroad.  Celestine wondered when that would be, as he had not returned from Cuba and the West Indies.  She finished the gift she made him a month before, and now she was lonesome without her friends and little Letty.  It had been three months since she had heard anything from or about Capt. Dubois and Pierre said the trip would take less than two.    Maybe he had changed his mind.  Maybe there was a beautiful senorita in Cuba who captured his heart.  After all, he was not the marrying kind or so Pierre told Colette in the beginning.  Maybe he had a fling with the idea of Celestine, and then run away in the light of day to the open Gulf.  She would give him his shirt anyway whenever he returned.  It would be her thank you for the peaches and his helping Colette bring little Letty into the world.  She was trying her best to give him up, and think about a life on her own.  But in trying to give him up, she realized she liked him very much, and it hurt to think that he didn’t care for her anymore.  Thoughts of him were always in her head, more than she wanted, and she had to keep very busy or they would rob her day, and interfere with her work.  His image came to her in dreams, and woke her from sleep with a desire for his gentle mouth on hers.  This last was something so foreign, she prayed for hours to get it out of her mind. She did not like thinking of that smile charming another woman though, it produced an unfamiliar anger.  She even had moments thinking of the bedroom act and wondering what it would be like with this gentle man.  He had, after all, aroused feelings she never knew she would have in this lifetime.

Celestine was shelling peas in the big convent kitchen and came out of her daydreaming  long enough to remember she needed to go to Colette’s to feed the cat.  There were no servants in the old house as the only two they kept were with them in the country.  Pierre thought the cat would eat mice and get by, but Celestine and Colette both knew the cat loved milk and left-over bits of fish from the market.  The poor little creature never left their courtyard, so Celestine went every other day and left nice treats for the dear little thing.

This particular day, she wrapped Capt. Dubois’ new shirt in brown paper  and went to Colette’s.  She intended to leave it on the main table in the music room.  She would leave it, and when and if, he ever came back; Colette could give it to him.   Once she got to the house, she changed her mind, maybe she would not give it to him at all.  It was Celestine’s finest needlework and when she first began, she was anxious to see how handsome he would be wearing it.  It was of the finest linen; so light you could see through it for those hot summer days in the tropical city and the full sleeves caught the slightest breeze.  There was a delicate linen neckcloth with his initials, (MDE) embroidered in gold thread.  It pleased Pierre that she had gone to so much trouble to make the shirt for his friend. Celestine hoped Pierre would not be too disappointed in Maurice for changing his mind about her.  She wrote a note with the package:

Capt. Dubois,

For kindnesses rendered.

I meant to give this to you before you left, but alas,

I hadn’t thought to create it.’ 

Sincerely, Celestine Haussey

He didn’t deserve the beautiful shirt.  She picked up the package and the note and went down to rue de Quai. She loved walking along the levee watching the big sailing ships load and unload, the tall masts going and coming on the big river to the open Gulf with their goods. There was always energy with people laughing and talking on their journeys to somewhere exciting.  She didn’t want to go back to the convent and answer questions about her oncoming tears.  The sun was going down and the smells of the food in the market were making her hungry.  As she turned to go home, she saw a ship leaving and she stopped to enjoy the sails being hoisted and readied for the trip down the river, but just then, another ship shifted, and she saw, Le Celestine.  The gangplank was lowered.  How long had it been in port?  She couldn’t move.  She would just watch for a few minutes to see if maybe, maybe... this was silliness; she had to let him go.  She saw her handsome Captain at the bow.  The wind was in his hair and her heart was in her throat.  She wondered if he was sorry he named his ship after her.  She should leave; he would think her forward to be standing waiting for his ship.  What if he saw her but ignored her? What if he felt uncomfortable and stayed on the ship?  She turned to walk away; she did not want him to think she was a silly girl, waiting for his ship… and him.  She was half way down the levee when she heard him call.  He was walking fast toward her, closer than she expected and suddenly he had her in his arms.  She raised her face to his and he kissed her. He took off her bonnet and the curly blonde hair blew around her face, tickling her skin and getting caught in her tears.  She felt strange things awakening that she never  knew existed. The pit of her stomach was on fire, and fear mixed with desire was about to strangle her.

“Oh, my little dove, you’re here to meet me.  Oh God, Celestine I’ve dreamed of this.” He kissed her again, sweetly, with his big strong arms holding her close… but there it was, hard in his breeches and she could feel it through the silks of her dress.  She tried to back away, but he held her close and kissed her again.  Within one kiss, one moment being held in his big arms, she gave in… gave up… and melted into him and wanted to feel it again, his manhood. It was his desire, his love for her and she thought she had lost it.  He picked her up in his arms and walked back to the ship and across the deck into his cabin and locked the door.  He laid her on the bed and stood back to look at her.

“Will you marry me, Celestine?” 

She looked up at him through half closed eyes and said; “Yes, I’ll marry you.  I…I missed you.”

“Oh, my little dove, I love you.  I’ve missed you so much, this is the way it should be, the two of us in this cabin.”  He fell onto one knee and took her hands.  “We could sail around the world if you like, or you can stay here and I’ll buy you a house and come to you from the sea.” He was totally crazed at this moment.  He had imagined having to coax her out of the convent or renew his courtship, but she was on the levee waiting for him, as he had seen so many women, waiting in so many ports for their men to come home.  He could die a happy man, but not before he had married this wonderful creature.

“I thought you weren’t coming back to me, and I became frightened and thought… I’d lost you.”  She was looking at him with big sad eyes reproaching him for something he had not done. He had to get that look out of her eyes, it was breaking his heart.

“Why would you ever think that, my dove?  Is that why you were walking away?  Please, don’t ever think that again, Celestine. I promise I’ll always come back to you.”  He took her face in his hands and whispered into his kiss. “Celestine, I’ll always come back to you.”

She received him and responded to his kiss as he began to remove her dress and unlace the few strings on the short stays that covered her breast.  Before he knew it his hand was on her breast feeling the silky skin and the nipple and he stopped.

“Oh my God, Celestine, I’m so sorry.  I can’t believe this, I’m a cad.”  He was trying to pull her stays back together and get the strings laced again. He was beside himself with worry for what he had almost done to this delicate creature who needed time and patience.

From the moment he kissed her on the levee she knew what she had known as intimacy was disgusting men rutting with a whore.  His kiss, what she felt, and what Colette told her, over and over again was true.  It could be sensual and loving.  Her body filled with longing and desire for this man and just that quickly, just that easily, her years of fear and disgust evaporated, became history, dead energy and she knew she would give herself to this man.  She pulled his face down to hers, kissed him and let him run his tongue inside her mouth and whispered.

 “I love you, Maurice.  I know you’d never hurt me. I want you to make love to me.  I’m not afraid anymore.”  She kissed him again and got up.  She stood in front of him; took off her dress, petticoats, and corset and walked in her chemise back to the bed.  She picked up the package and gave it to him.

Maurice was dumb struck.  Where had she come from?  Who was she?  This was not the girl he was warned about.  Had she taken another man while he was gone?  Had she taken a lover?  His head was spinning with questions.  Celestine looked at his face and in his eyes.  There was confusion and anger all boiling around in those great blue eyes.

“What... what...um,  what about your  past and... your fears...? Was that a lie, Celestine?”

She stood shocked and confused.  Why did she have to explain?  Why was he angry?

“No, but when you kissed me, I wanted more.”  She didn’t know how to tell him how she felt. She didn’t know why, or what she had done, but he was angry with her.  Oh, so that’s it?  I knew it was too good to be true, next will come the back of his hand against my face.  What could I have been thinking?

 “You’re just like all the rest, judge, blame, yell, grunt… hit.”  She was yelling, crying and trying to talk.  I’ll tell him what I think of his sorry ass before I leave and he can go back to his whores, and women who have no love for themselves, and don’t care if a man uses them to release his jizzem and his anger.

“Nothing has changed in my world, but this time, I felt it, not my mama.  You’ve never had anything bad happen to you so you don’t understand what it’s like when something shifts and changes… and all of a sudden the fear’s gone… and desire is… strong… pulling you into a place you never knew.  You just don’t understand.  Now I’ve made a fool of myself. I’m standing in your room with my chemise on, with my clothes at my feet and I could die of hatred for you.   You’ll not grunt over me you oaf, but you can be proud of yourself, you managed to make me want you before you struck…you snake… and that will never happen again.”  She was sobbing and grabbing for her clothes.  She would die from humiliation and hate before she could get off this ship.

“Yes…  you’re very wrong, my dove.”  He could not believe how stupid he had just been.

“What?” Yes to what, what was he saying yes to?  She managed to get her petticoat on and was stepping in to her dress.  She would have to hold her corset under her dress so no one could see it.

He walked over and took her in his arms, and she fought until he whispered close to her ear. “Yes, I do know what it’s like to have bad things happen to you.  I do know. I’m so sorry. I’m clumsy and as frightened as you.”  He laughed a little nervous laugh.  “Don’t hate me, my little dove.”  He kissed her and fell into her love and wrapped them both in his love and his strength.  He held her until she was calmed.

“Celestine, I love you.  I want to marry you.  Let me make love to you.”

He felt her relax into his body and hoped she would trust him.  He gently took off her dress, removed her petticoat, and sat her on his lap in his reading chair.  She was still crying but holding on to his arms, she wanted so badly for him to be telling her the truth.  Her heart told her to stay.  He held her to his heart and hated himself for being so damned clumsy.   She put her arms around his neck, and kissed his cheek.

 I’m a big stud man of the world, for God’s sake; a big ladies man,  and I’ve bumbled the most important moment of my life, with the love of my life. He knew exactly how she felt a moment ago.  He felt the same thing with Anna in Haiti years earlier and Anna had made no accusations and asked no questions.

“Tell me you’re sure you want to do this, Celestine.  Tell me you’re not afraid. Tell me to wait until we’re married and I’ll wait. I love you.”  He was trying desperately to regain his footing and start again.

She had to think.  She was confused, but he said he loved her; maybe she had been wrong… again.  She wanted to stay in his arms and let him make everything bad go away. His safe arms were the first she had ever felt, and the most familiar things she had ever known.

“If we wait until our wedding night, I may change my mind.  I invent dragons while waiting, as I did with your return. If this is as pleasant as Colette says, I’ll marry you.  If it’s what I fear, I may not.  But, if I wait, I’ll surely be too afraid to marry you.”   She didn’t know where this bravery was coming from, maybe from his strong arms, but it was the truth.  She reached her face up to his and opened her lips for his kiss.

Maurice had never had such pressure on his love making or ability to perform.  It was his fault for misjudging her desire earlier.  No, damn it, he knew in his heart she was to be his. He met her mouth and pulled her close to him.  If she was ever to relax and make love to a man, it was now.  She was right, if she waited, it would get worse, just as it had for him with Anna. 

He could do this… he could love her as gently as the great lover he was known to be. He sat her on the chair and began to undress himself, slowly keeping his eyes on hers and thinking gentle thoughts.  He kept his eyes free of lust and filled them with the love he felt for her at this very moment.  Once he had taken off his shirt, he heard her gasp and he knelt down to reassure her she was still safe.  Maurice had no idea that once Celestine makes up her mind, she doesn’t waiver, but steadies her course as she did walking in to the Ursulines Convent years ago.  Seeing him without his shirt sent strange shivers from her groin up to her breast and into her head.  He was beautiful.  There was no hint of the horrible flabby dirty men she had seen with her mama.  His chest was a wash board of muscles and brown chest hair making a beautiful design around his nipples and down into his breeches.  She was taking shallow breaths, staring at his manhood under his breeches. Her lips were open and wanting.  He began to unbutton himself and slowly let his pants down to show her the full him. There was a jagged scar on his side, and she wondered if it was from a pirate’s sword. She wanted to see more.  She wanted to feel him.  He smelled like the sea and fresh rope, and her head was getting dizzy from her own lust awakening in her.  Celestine sat in the chair watching him, and fighting the last bit of fear in hopes he would not see it, and stop his advances. She didn’t want to be treated like the little virginal victim. She wanted him to take her as his love, as Colette said her Pierre had done.  She wanted Maurice to do the same.  He sat her on his naked lap and kissed her breasts, amazed at the silk of her skin.  The little pink rosebud of a nipple was velvet and warm in his mouth, and caused her breathing to deepen.  The little moans came from deep in her throat and made him crazy with desire.  He opened her legs and felt gently for the blockage he hoped was there. She could not stop her hands going through his hair and holding his head to her breast. He felt for the little center that brought such pleasure to a woman when it was massaged, and began to give her pleasure. 

Fearing his erection may hurt her; he would wait until she was in her ecstasy before he entered her. He kept the steady rhythm with his massage, listening to her moans getting deeper and closer together until he heard her catch her breath and hold it.  She opened her mouth to scream and he covered it gently with a big hand.  He felt every muscle in her body tense and stiffen and he knew she was about to release.  He lifted his knee and put one strong arm under her to move her center over his erection and as she began to shudder and clutch his head to her heart, he sat her down hard on his member and felt the resistance give with a little ‘pop’.  She began to move herself in her release, up and down his erection.  He was delighted and surprised that she could fit him inside of her and sheathe him in her warm, wet center.  He shifted so she could adjust herself to him and he pulled her hips up and down to her own rhythm until he could stand it no more.  He spent his seed into his love… three months at sea desiring her and three months in port before that.  She was still riding him to give him pleasure.  He was enjoying a woman down into his soul for the first time in his life.  He doubted if she could spend again as it was her first time, and he did not want to disappoint her by making her sore. 

He let his erection dissipate and pull itself out of her.  He looked into her face.  She began covering his face with kisses, taking his mouth in hers again and breathing calmer, settling herself into his chest.  Within seconds he heard her breathing turn to sleep and tears were filling his eyes.  He would never let her leave his arms.

When Celestine woke, Maurice was asleep and she was sitting on his naked lap.  She wondered how long they had been asleep, and if she had  dreamed the wonderful afternoon, or was it real?  She gently moved his arm from around her waist and started to get up, but it came back down strong and immovable, and held her in place.

“You’ll never get away from me that easily, my dove. Where do you think you’re going, my pretty wench?”  He was kissing her neck, and she could feel his manhood waking up against her bottom.

He began kissing her breast again and she felt herself awakening, again feeling the now familiar rush of erotic juices flowing in her center.  She was coming alive from her groin up into her stomach and chest. Her womanhood felt tender and a little sore, but she was willing to overlook that to feel the pleasure she felt a while ago. He picked her up and walked with her to the big bed.  The moon was shining through the open porthole and the velvet air of the tropical evening reminded them they had slept for some time. 

She wondered if Ste. Mary Clarisse was worried about her and would she cover for her until she could get home?  Celestine looked over at the chair and saw blood on the cushion.

“Maurice, there’s blood on the chair.  Should there be?  Am I all right?”  She never dreamed she would ask a man such an incredibly personal question as this, but it felt right to ask, it felt normal to ask this man who was to be her husband.  He gathered her to him.

“Shh, it’s natural, my little dove.  That was your old life leaving and your new one beginning.  You’re a woman now, my dove and you’ve given me your gift.  You’ll release when I enter you in the future, my love, until then, you’ll spend from other means.  You are magnificent, my lady love.”  Maurice decided not to make love to her again.  She would be sore and he had no intentions of hurting her.  It had worried him to press so hard in taking her the first time, she hadn’t felt pain, he made sure of that, only the joy of her release and a bit of pressure. But he was not going to chance it too soon, he had almost bungled the whole afternoon with his paranoia, now, he wanted her to leave wanting more.  Besides, if he kept her here longer, he would want to spend the night with her and never let her leave his arms and that would never do.  Maurice got up and went behind the screen and found a dressing gown.

“I’ll go on deck, my dove while you dress yourself.  You’ll find the washing bowl behind the screen.”  He kissed her more passionately than he intended. “If you need help with the bathing, call me, I’ll gladly lend a hand.”  He smiled like the letch he felt himself to be, and laughed at his own joke as he walked out onto the deck.

Celestine got up from the bed and went behind the screen.  The soap was a manly soap not fit for her delicate parts, so she washed with the cool water and got dressed.  She was nervous about going out on deck, what if someone from the convent saw her?  Once she was dressed, she opened the door for Maurice to walk back into the room and watched as he went behind the screen to wash himself.  He came around the screen with his breeches and boots on and his suspenders hanging around his knees. He walked to his chest to get a shirt but when he turned she was holding the one she made. He was stunned.  His life just kept getting better by the moment.  He pulled the shirt over his head, and felt the soft linen on his skin.  It fit perfectly; how had she ever gotten it to fit so nicely?  She wrapped the neckcloth around his neck and tied it so the initials could be seen clearly, walked him to the shaving mirror and showed him the results.  He was the happiest man alive.  He pulled her up to him and held her off the floor, as he kissed her, and told her again how much he loved her. Celestine watched with admiration as he put on his big jacket with the gold piping up the sleeves and took a sailor’s whistle out of his breeches pocket, opened the door a crack and blew a series of short toots.  She could hear boots running, men laughing and doors slamming, then quiet.  He opened the door and ushered her out onto the deck.

“What was that, Maurice?”  Something did not seem right.

“My men making themselves disappear, my dove. Your ladyship?”  He was offering her his arm to walk down the gangplank.

She couldn’t move.  This had been a tryst like how many others?  His men knew the drill very well, that’s why they were laughing; they were laughing at her.  It hadn’t taken them two minutes to ‘make themselves disappear’ for their stud Captain. The Captain who had a woman in every port… she must be his New Orleans’s whore.  Funny, she had not seen any money for her services.  She was fighting back the tears.  To think she had been fooled into loving him. He was just a man after all, he may not grunt or hit, but he knew how to get what he wanted and kick her to the gutter.  She was shaking with anger.  She wanted her knife; she wanted to cut his cock off, or at least an ear or two.  “Aaah,” her gasp was audible.  She had just given this man her virginity and he had not even tried very hard for it.  She presented it like passing the salt at table. She was brazenly waiting on the levee for him like a dock whore and he had seen her as such.

Maurice reacted to her gasp.  He looked down into the angriest face he had ever seen on a woman, and he had seen many. Her beautiful blue eyes had turned the color of brackish lake water and before he could take a breath to speak, he felt the sting of his own knife blade under his chin. She could cut his throat or leave a nasty scar; and he was prepared for neither. He had never seen such power and cunning in so frail a woman.

“You’re not worth it.” She returned his knife to the sheath inside his jacket pocket.

“You may come back to your work, men.  The Captain’s harlot is leaving.”  She was down the gangplank and running away from this man who had used her and degraded her for his own pleasure… just like all men.

Maurice’s head was spinning.  She could’ve killed me and damned near did. What have I done?  Harlot?  Captain’s harlot?  He wiped the blood from under his chin and saw the red soaking into his new shirtsleeve.  What the hell just happened?

He was afraid it was too good to be true when he saw her waiting on the levee. Mother Superior warned him; but she had warned him the girl would not want to be intimate, not that she would be wonderfully intimate then kill as swiftly as the deadly black widow spider.   God give me strength to deal with this woman, it’s going to take me and you working together. I’m not giving up, I will have her.  Just show me her demons, Lord, and I’ll destroy them, or die in the trying… most likely the latter.

Maurice needed to go home and see his children.  His obsession with Celestine was dividing his well ordered world into one of fantasy versus reality.  At home with Josef and Marguerite he could get his bearings and reclaim his real life; then and only then could he think about winning his love back and bridge the two worlds.