"Celestine, The House on rue du Maine" Chapter 14 Amazon.com www.fjwilson,net

Chapter Fourteen

Maurice was gone seven months when Celestine had their baby boy, but he didn’t come home until the baby was three months old. The birth was hard, but uneventful with Marguerite in attendance.  In the last year, Marguerite was being trained as a nurse at the convent but she really wanted to be a midwife and help the African women in the city.  They were not allowed the hospital and too many were trusting in Voudou and African folklore to help with difficult births.  Marguerite felt there was a nice combination between the scientific medicines of the day and the medical gifts from the forests. Each was equally important in her mind. 

She helped Celestine through a long labor, but Celestine’s body was so prepared to give birth after the months of plying her with medicines from the woods and feeding her the right foods, that Celestine considered Marguerite a genius.  She had not gained one unwanted pound and her skin was oiled and greased into stretching without leaving marks. If one didn’t know, they would never guess the young woman had gone through childbirth.  Marguerite taught her how to nurse the baby and keep her nipples from getting too sore and her breast from sagging with the heavy milk.  Marguerite enjoyed her work and used Celestine as a grand experiment to see if her lotions and potions worked.  So far they had been a complete success and her Tante ‘Tine was a grateful recipient.

Josef was working at Lafitte’s blacksmith’s Shop.  Celestine had gotten him an apprenticeship which he was enjoying as he learned a trade, but he still took care of Tante ‘Tine and was devoted to her and his new little brother. 

Josef and Marguerite fit nicely in les gens de couleur Libres and Josef was courting a young woman named Augustine.  She would make an excellent wife and Josef was anxious for Papa Maurice to give his blessing.  The people of New Orleans accepted them as servants for Captain Dubois but still talked behind closed doors about the murderous children killed in the swamps and buried by Jean Laffite.  Some said they were twins and were under ten when they were eaten by the big alligators.  Some said, no, they were closer to fourteen or fifteen, but none knew them as the two young people working for the Captain and his wife.  Josef discovered gossip had a way of destroying itself and turning ridiculous along with the truth it destroys in the process.

Celestine kept herself busy during her husband’s absence.  She had her charity work through the convent, part of which was to visit the cribs along the levee and make sure the children had food and warm clothing in winter.  She knew what that would have meant to her as a child; a nice hot meal once in a while.  Most days Marguerite went with her, but many days she went alone.

Jean Lafitte saw her going in and out of the little cribs and places a woman expecting a child should not frequent, and sent one of his men to watch her at all times for her own protection.  Josef kept Jean informed of her outings and unbeknownst to Celestine, her safety was in Laffite’s hands, not hers.  Josef enjoyed working as an apprentice to Jean’s brother, Pierre. He mostly fronted their shop and worked on his own ironworks and inventions, as Pierre was usually off with his brother.  He suspected they were running slaves and plunder from the back of the shop, but he would not ask and he certainly did not want to know. The brothers were glad to hire him when they discovered this was the infamous Josef, the slave buried and eaten by the alligators in the swamp.  The whole idea amused them.

The first time Jean met Celestine after his kiss in the swamp was on market day several months after her husband sailed out of New Orleans.  She was much thicker around the waist and he guessed she was with child.  He would never leave her unattended if it were his child she carried.  He had many children and his mistresses  were always protected during the long months of their confinements, not necessarily by him personally, but there was always a man of his choosing watching for their own protection.  He loved his mistresses as any man, but this little waif was different.  She was a fair maiden and she needed a dark, handsome knight… well, he was a dark handsome knight, and he needed a fair maiden.  Of course, this little maiden would cut your throat and feed your genitals to the crabs, but that only made her more desirable to his jaded heart.

He had been accused of being a pirate, but he considered himself a privateer, a corsair, and would shoot any man who said differently. Lately, he wanted to be a dangerous pirate and sail with Celestine around the world by his side, her knife ready to cut or kill, her soft breast and mouth desiring of his touch.  He was a hopeless romantic, but no man would ever voice it. 

Celestine was startled when he approached her in the big market.  He thought he captured a bit of embarrassment on her beautiful face, why not, she was a married woman and she had responded sensually to his kiss, and he felt her shudder when he ran his hand along her breast.  It changed his life and filled him with a desire he had not been able to quench with other women.  He had been jealous of her husband for months and now to see Dubois’ seed under her dress was almost more than he could take.

“Madame Dubois, how nice to see you.”  He was the parlor gentleman at his best.

“Captain Laffite. I knew we’d meet again.  I’d like to thank you again for the favor you did for my husband’s wards. Josef is very happy working with your dear brother.”  She offered her hand and he turned it over, gently took off her glove and kissed the palm.  He held it and breathed in the Jasmine scent a bit longer than she found comfortable, but she felt safe with her husband’s child in her womb and her head could not be turned by his charms.  If anything, he caused her to miss her husband, feeling this handsome virile man’s warm breath on the palm of her hand.

 “I believe that belongs to me.”  She gently pulled it back and began to put on her glove.

“For now, Madame, but who can read the future, nez pa?” The dark green and gold of his hazel eyes were bringing back the old feelings from the swamp. 

“You go too far, sir.  You forget I’m a married woman.”  He angered her with his insult and she needed to leave before she said something she would be sorry for later.  He bowed and allowed her to walk away.  He had his answer, she desired him as much as he her.  She just did not trust it yet. Had she not been angered and flirted back, he would have known it as innocent banter.  But she felt something that frightened her.  That was a good sign… a very good sign and her idiot Sea Captain left her alone for months, what a fool.

Celestine went on with her life, missing her husband and anticipating the birth of her child.  The next she saw Capt. Lafitte was a few months later.  She was coming out of one of the cribs when she saw a man start to strike a little girl.  She rushed to stop the violence, but Jean stepped from nowhere and grabbed the man by the collar and threw him away from the little child.  She rushed to the child and held her close.

“It’s all right, my little lamb.  You’re safe now?”  The little girl was crying.  Jean stepped up, took the child in his arms and walked with her to the market and sat her at one of the stalls.

“Oh monsieur, you’ve saved my little girl.  You’re a good man.  How can I ever repay you?” The woman was over playing her role.  He looked at the bad actress and raised an eyebrow and nodded his head for the woman to stop.  Celestine missed that bit of theatrics, but she knew the child did not belong to the woman in the stall selling peppers and onions.  She stood back and watched the performance as the big pirate pretended to sooth the child and take his compliments like a hero.

“Berti?” Celestine said. “Isn’t your mere waiting for you to help with the milking?”  The child looked past Celestine and up to the big pirate and gave a shrug.

“I tried to tell him you knew me, Mme.‘Tine.  Men don’t listen to little girls.”  She was off and running down the levee to her family’s barn.

She stood trying not to laugh, waiting for him to say something.

He was speechless.  He had never been speechless in his life; he could hold a conversation in any drawing room in any mansion, in any city in the world, he spoke four languages fluently, but he was totally speechless. He tipped his hat.

“Good day, Madame.”  He was walking off when her laughter stopped him.

“That’s it?  That’s all you have to say?” She was hurting she laughed so hard but once the laughter stopped, the pain didn’t.  She was big with this child and suddenly she was standing in a puddle of water and she thought she had wet herself.

“Ahh, Jean, help me.”  She turned to him first, he had many children; everyone knew he had many children by his beautiful quadroon mistresses. He looked over at his beautiful torment, her eyes were full of fear and she was looking to him for help.  

She lost the water holding Dubois’ child in her womb.  She was in trouble and she called on her knight. That fool of a husband of hers; he doesn’t deserve her. He picked her up and walked up rue du Maine.

“Why are you out alone so close to your time, Madame?”  Celestine was surprised at the anger in his voice.

“Where is your husband and why does he allow this?”  He opened the big gate calling for Marguerite. 

“Hush, Jean.  Please don’t criticize my husband.”  The contraction made her grab her stomach with one hand and the lapel of his big black jacket with the other as she buried her face in his jacket.  He was met by Marguerite in the courtyard and shown to Celeste’s bedroom.  Once he put her on the bed, she perked up and thought maybe it was a false alarm, and then another contraction hit and she cried out to Marguerite.

“I’ll return with the doctor, Madame, please don’t fret.”

He walked out of the gate and Celestine was left to deal with the pain and her embarrassment of losing her water in front of this man who reproached her husband for making a living.  She was angry but was in too much pain to care.   She, the doctor and Marguerite worked all afternoon and into the night.   When the doctor placed her little boy in her arms and finally left, Jean got up from the little table under the banana tree. He didn’t notice the mangled and bent decretive iron scroll work on the table he caused each time his damsel cried out in pain. He had not moved since he brought Dr. Pabon back to her, nor would he consider it when Josef offered him supper and late night coffee.

He walked upstairs and saw she was sleeping, bent to kiss her forehead and left his card on the empty pillow next to her.  He would be back.  What a damned fool her husband was. Jean lost his only wife in child birth; he would not wish that pain and guilt on any man.  Dubois shouldn’t have left her alone to walk the streets big with child so near her time.

"Celestine, the House on rue du Maine" Chapter 13 www.fjwilson.net ebooks and paper backs, Amazon.com

Chapter Thirteen

Sitting in a dark corner of the barn at the David’s plantation, Marguerite held on to her big brother and wouldn’t let go.  She understood they had to act as slaves in Natchez until Papa Maurice came for them, but she never wanted to be parted from Josef again.  Who was this little lady who caused her to be jailed, and then saved her so heroically, and why had Papa Maurice married her?   Marguerite had known gut-wrenching fear years ago in Port-au-Prince, while she and Josef watched as the little gallows was being built outside their cell window.  At the time, she was very young and wanted her mother, but Josef assured her God was not going to let them die.  Josef had clairvoyant powers like their mother, and Marguerite counted on the powers to save them, but watching the weapon of your death being built by big men and their hate, made her doubt her brother’s promises and bravery.  She wanted her mother, but they didn’t know if she was alive or dead in the little hospital where she was taken after the man stabbed her.  She could still see and smell the blood and didn’t know a human body held that much.  Some of it had to be from the young English Captain, but the rest was from her mother.   The man had taken her mother’s knife, and turned it back on her over and over again. 

Josef acted first and hit the man with his mother’s big black skillet, but Marguerite grabbed the knife, slippery with blood, and stabbed the man in the leg.  She did not know if she killed him or not, but she wanted to.  Josef took the knife from her and plunged it into the man’s heart, just as the man was grabbing for Marguerite’s throat.  When the man’s friends came to take him back to his ship, they yelled bloody murder and called down the street for help.  Now she and her brother were in this stinking cell, covered in their mother’s dried blood, and swallowing their own nauseating fear.

Marguerite’s mother brought angry men home to ‘heal’ them. This was part of Marguerite’s life.  The only life she knew and it wasn’t strange to her, just different from what other mothers did.  Her friends on the street tried to tell her it was not right, but those friends’ mothers took men to their beds for money.  Marguerite knew that was not right.  What her mother did was an act of kindness… Josef told her that. She remembered being very small and seeing a small portrait of her sister, Anna Marie and wondering where she was.  Her mother couldn’t talk about the little girl without crying.

Papa Maurice sat her on his lap one day while her mother was out, and told her the story of her beautiful sister and the tragedy of her death.  He told her how unhappy her mother was until she and Josef came along.  He wanted them to know that the two of them had saved her life.  Marguerite’s father died before she knew him.  Papa Maurice said he was a fine man who loved her and Josef very much, but the only father Marguerite knew was her Papa Maurice.  He was a handsome Sea Captain who showed up unannounced three or four times a year, and sometimes stayed for weeks.  He brought them big hugs and kisses, with gifts from faraway places, and books with wonderful stories that he taught them to read.  There were other men in her mother’s past, who came to visit, but Papa Maurice was different; he belonged in the small house with the little family.  It felt like home when he was at home.

Once, he had a terrible row with her mother about the dangers of taking up with bad, angry men, and he left without saying good-bye.  She and Josef would not speak to their mother for days for causing Papa Maurice to leave.  But when he returned, he was angry with them for not showing their mother the respect she deserved,  and gave them stern lectures on how to treat their mother… they never did it again. Sometimes when she and Josef were in trouble they would go to the harbor and watch and pray for his ship, as their mother was never allowed to spank them when he was in port.  It would make their mother mad as hell, but Papa Maurice stayed true to his word, as they knew he would.

Her mind went back to the cell in Port-au-Prince, she remembered crying and praying for him to come, and how sad he would be to come home to find his little family dead. She wanted to sit on his big lap, bury her face in the smell of his shirt, and hold the match while he lighted his cigar. 

Josef loved to watch him shave and was allowed to fill the shaving brush with the sweet smelling soap their mother made.  Those days were gone, and Josef told her she would have to be brave and wait for the miracle he saw coming.  She wished with all her being she could feel as calm as Josef, but she heard his tears at night.  She knew most of his bravery was for her.

The hammers stopped and she and Josef ran to the window.  The horrible thing was finished.  The smell of new wood was making her sick.  The two children stood entranced by fear, looking out of the window at the two little ropes hanging from the new structure.

Marguerite, these ten years later, could still hear his boots running on the old tile floors of the jail, and smell the cigar in his coat before the door was opened, and Papa Maurice ran into the cell grabbing his children.  He picked her up in his arms and bent to let Josef climb onto his back;  suddenly they were out of the old jail rushing down the street; his men on either side, swords drawn and ready to kill anyone trying to stop them.  These men would follow their Captain to hell if it came to that.  Marguerite peaked  from his shirt in time to see he was running toward the harbor.  Josef jumped down and ran ahead of him.  The dingy was dipping and swaying in the water as if calling them to hurry. They reached the boat and jumped in, and the men rowed with all their strength back toward the ship.  Even though they were in the little boat, Marguerite wouldn’t let go of his neck, and he didn’t expect her to.  Josef was sitting so close to his papa they could have been joined at the hip.  Papa Maurice still looked stern and Marguerite buried her face back in his shirt, knowing they weren’t safe yet.  She didn’t care now, as long as she could hold onto him, nothing bad would ever happen to her again.  She wanted desperately to ask about her mother, but was terrified of the answer.  Crying gently into his shirt she listened as Maurice bent his head to their ears and said.

“Your mother is safe and getting well.  She’ll be in hospital for a few days, but she loves you and she’ll be fine.  The bad man’s dead and she’s not blamed.  She tried to take the blame, but they didn’t believe her.”  He was staring into their upturned faces to make sure they understood him. He got to the ship and carried her up the ladder.  His men were bringing up the children’s belongings and putting them in the bunks they had prepared for them.  She never knew how he had known to come and find them, nor how he had found her mother, but that magic was part of him and his store house of powerful gris-gris.  That was her Papa Maurice, and she loved him with everything in her young soul.

Marguerite sat close to Josef in the old barn and listened to his comforting words.  His sister needed to know, Tanti ‘Tine was doing her best to help them, and was sorry she had caused them grief.  Josef explained that it was his fault for not remembering Papa Maurice’s letter, but they were safe and Pierre would never allow them to stay as slaves.

  She was trying to relax and lose some of her lingering fear. In the Cabildo in New Orleans, she had no idea where Josef was and Papa Maurice was out to sea for months. She had seen more sorrow and fear in her fifteen years than most people see in forever.  She wanted to go with papa on this trip and see her mother, but he had asked that they stay and look after his young wife.  Of course they agreed.  She still hoped her mother would give up healing young men and move to New Orleans; they could all be a family again, but now that he had married Celestine that would never happen. 

Papa asked her to love Celestine and she would try.  She would certainly try.  She would do anything for him.  He was her father and if he wanted her to mend his socks and launder  his shirts and smalls, she would do it.  Daughters in her world did those things for their papas.  But in the Cabildo, she knew he was not coming and never would. Sitting alone in the dank, rat infested place, she had begun to think the God he taught them to love must have a reason for calling her home to heaven.  She had seen the Ursulines in their gardens and she wondered what it would be like to be one.  She always liked helping people, especially young mothers with their children.  She loved children and thought of having many, but first Papa Maurice would have to find her a husband and set them up in a safe place away from the bad laws that kept she and Josef captive.  She thought she would never know about having children now, she would have to wait and see if God would let her attend to baby angels in heaven.   Heaven was a wonderful place; she could see her sister, Anna Marie and her real father, and wait for her mother and Josef and Papa Maurice to follow. She discovered this heaven on the big ship during rolling storms that wouldn’t stop, and nights passing pirate ships on the horizon waiting to attack.

 Papa Maurice always out maneuvered the deadly pirates, and flew flags of all nations to disguise his ship from the enemies that waited to slit a little girl’s throat.  He knew each of the dangerous ships, and which would attack which flag.  He was not a Captain to take his cargo lightly, and was probably why he was sought by the wealthiest merchants to carry their goods.

She came out of her memories of Papa Maurice as she was leaning against Josef’s big shoulder.  She went back in her mind and remembered hearing the soft fluff…fluff…fluff  as the heavy, dusty, black hems of two nuns walked up to the cell door.  The guards said something to the two nuns and left them alone. One pulled a knife from her habit and slid it into the lock, and after a few twists and turns the big door came open and Celestine held her in her arms, putting a hidden habit from her skirts over her head and down around her slim body.  The Reverend Mother placed a wimple over her head and pinned it under her hair.  There was a strange veil  over her face, and she was being walked, calmly out of the jail and into the sun.  She was walked calmly up to the convent and around back. Celestine mounted her horse; reached down for Marguerite and helped her up onto the saddle in front of her. 

Celestine rode up rue du Quai                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                               and traveled along the curving river until she got to River Road.  Marguerite didn’t even ask about leaving the Reverend Mother behind in the jail cell. They rode until Marguerite was feeling sick at her stomach from the fear of being in jail, and the strange escape; plus the rocking of the horse’s big muscles. It seemed like forever, and it was getting dark as she saw a drive up ahead.  There were horse’s hooves behind them and Celestine pushed her horse faster until they turned into the drive. Marguerite saw Josef climbing down from a big water tank, and running toward them.  She was handed down from the horse into Josef’s arms as Pierre rode up beside them. He rushed them into the house and up to the third floor and ran back down to Celestine.

The very same day she and Josef were shipped off to a place called Natchez.  It would be safe, but she had to act as Letty’s nurse, and Josef would work with the horses. She missed her mother and Papa Maurice, but was glad to be safe again… and she had Josef.

They would have to stay until it was safe.  Letty was just learning to walk and each day Marguerite took her along the levee, pointing to the different boats and what they were hauling, and how fast they could go.  Letty loved the big river, but was afraid of the water.  Marguerite was falling in love with Colette.  Colette taught her how to do her hair and make the curls that looked like God himself made them.  She sure as hell didn’t like being treated like a slave by Pierre’s parents, but she would rather this than the dank rat infested cell in New Orleans.

Colette was worried about Celestine and Pierre; she wanted to go home, but she had to wait for him to come to Natchez.  If that didn’t happen, Marguerite had asked Collette if she and Josef would actually become  slaves.  Colette did not know what would happen to them, they had already stayed longer than planned and she didn’t like the way M. and Mme. David expected things of Maurice’s children.  

Marguerite had to take care of Letty as well as do laundry and kitchen work.  She was sleeping on a cot in Letty’s room, up at dawn with the baby, and not in bed until late at night.  Still, it wasn’t jail, and there was no hangman’s noose waiting for her.  She sure wished there was a happy middle ground. In the beginning of the second week, Colette called from the front of the big house and ran down to the levee.  Pierre and Maurice stood like bastions of strength on the deck of the keelboat as it pulled into the pier on the big river and the men stepped onto the levee.

Marguerite screamed for Josef, and jumped up and down with Letty.  She hadn’t been this glad to see him since he rescued them in Port-au-Prince.  She knew he would come; she had wished on it, prayed on it and looked forward to it. 

Papa Maurice ran toward her with the biggest smile she had ever seen.  She and Letty ran up to him and he picked them both up and swung them around until Letty screamed with joy at seeing her Papa.  Josef ran from the stables calling his name.

“Papa Maurice, you’re here.”  He stood back looking contrite and a little ashamed.

“What’s wrong, son, what’ve you done?”  Maurice knew when Josef had been into mischief, he could never hide his shame.

“I forgot to give Madame your letter. I forgot you gave it to me. I almost got Marguerite hanged.”  He was about to tear up.

“Don’t blame yourself, son, I take the blame here.”  He reached over, grabbed him to his big chest and gave him a hug so strong Josef thought he was being burped.

Maurice’s strange little family was together and safe.  He could leave on the long voyage and only worry himself to death over the health of his wife, and thank God, not the imprisonment of his children.  He really should stop calling them children, they were grown… Josef was almost an adult and big as an ox. Marguerite was holding her papa around the waist and trying to walk at the same time, and he wouldn’t dislodge her for anything in the world. 

M. and Mme. David were giving him a strange, horrified look from the front gallery, but he could give a rat’s ass.  He loved being a papa.

"Celestine, The House on rue du Maine" Chapters 11 & 12 (R rated) www.bertijud.blogspot.com

Chapter Eleven

Celestine did not stop until she was riding into the long drive up the River Road.  Mother Superior sent Ste. Mary Clarisse to tell Pierre to go home right away, he was needed, and Ste. Mary Clarisse stayed and closed up the house on rue du Maine.  Pierre was only ten minutes behind Celestine, and wondered what the hell had transpired for him to go home so fast.  Was he going to have to hide Celestine also?  He saw her horse turning into his drive and Josef running to meet her.  She was not alone, but had a nun with her.  He caught up to them as she dismounted and reached up for Marguerite.  The young girl was crying as Josef grabbed his sister and crushed her to him.  Pierre marveled at this woman who had been his Captain’s shy, sweet wife only a few hours before. She was getting out of a nun’s habit and taking her horse around to the stables.  What the hell had turned the world around?  When had women started playing Robin Hood, and nuns wielded knives? Pierre caught up with her at the stables.

“Do I dare ask?”  He was looking for the horns that surely protruded from her soft curls.

“Easy as stealing eggs from a hen’s nest, rush in, grab Marguerite, and rush out. What?  Being a hero is fun, nez pa?  Men.”  She had begun to laugh, but stopped and fell into Pierre’s arms shaking all over, and let the tears release the fear she had been hiding.  She was holding on for dear life to this friend with the strong arms, and gentle nature.  Why couldn’t all men be like her Maurice and Pierre?

“You’re safe now, my darling.  Shhh.  You were very brave, and now you’re safe.  Pierre is never going to let you do that again.  Understand?  Do you understand, Celestine?” He was looking into her face with his stern eyes telling her how dangerous her mission was and how foolish she was to have done it alone.

“Do you have any idea what Maurice would do to me if anything happened to you?” She had to admit, she had not thought of that.

“I couldn’t help it, Pierre. I couldn’t take a chance on his going to jail or losing his little girl.”  She knew she would have to do it again if it kept her husband out of trouble. And she might if they could not safely hide Marguerite and Josef.

“Oh, Celestine, my darling, are you all right?”  It was Colette running into the stable and upsetting the horses. 

“Marguerite told me what you and Mother Superior did for her.”  She grabbed her friend from Pierre, and walked with her back to the house. 

Pierre watched the two women walk back to the house ignoring his very exsistance; he felt like a stud horse with no mare.  Women, love us up, take what we have to offer, then leave us out to pasture.

Celestine knew what she had to do.  She would dress and drive back into town as if nothing had taken place.  She had to make this right. With the whole Parish looking for them, they would surely be found.  The whole country was brilliant at catching runaway slaves, it had become an art form, and there were people who made their living doing it, charging large sums of money for the pleasure of the deed, and sadly, usually got the terrified people they sought.  She had no good place to hide these two.  This was one mistake Maurice was going to have to rectify before she took anymore of the blame.  Once more she forgot she had Pierre on her side. The same day, he sent his wife and child and two young “slaves”; gifts for his parents up the river to his parent’s home in Natchez on the Mississippi.  Letty was almost a year old and had not spent much time with her grandparents, and her visit would be a wonderful gift for Pierre’s parents.  Colette would be too worried about him and Celestine to do anything but sit on the long porch, and shred her expensive handkerchiefs.

Celestine went back to the city, opened the house and waited five days before going back to see M. Dubonnet.  The house had been searched twice, but of course, no one was found.  It was an ongoing investigation and as such M. Dubonnet almost fainted watching her glide into his office as if nothing had happened.

“What are you doing here, Mme. Dubois?”  He bent to whisper in her direction.

“I’m here to inform you of the death of two of my slaves.  They escaped and were found in the bayou down in Barataria.  I’ve had them buried down there and I’d like two death certificates drawn up if you wouldn’t mind, Monsieur.”

“This will never work, Madame.  There are too many people looking for them. They’ve been at the convent every day since the girl escaped.”

“Then they should’ve looked elsewhere, and found them before they drowned in the swamp like animals, Monsieur.” 

She was holding steady as only Celestine could and not about to change course.

“I don’t wish to charge anyone with their deaths. I’d like it to be quietly recorded in the court, and I wish to hear no more of it.  Once my husband returns he can go to the proper authorities.  This is a man’s business and I’m just an uneducated woman trying to do the right thing.”  She looked up at Dubonnet with cold steel blue eyes that threatened to cut his throat if her request was not granted.

“I’ll draw up the papers, Mme. Dubois.  I must warn you, there’ll be officers wanting to examine these graves.”  He looked to see a reaction but got only a lovely smile instead.

“Of course, M. Dubonnet.  I’ll be glad to escort them myself as I have a map where I was told their graves can be found.”

She left his office and walked back home.  What the hell would she do if asked to present graves and bodies?  She had not been home two hours when she heard the cries on the street that the young murdering slaves, had been found dead in the swamps of Barataria.  Another hour brought the constable to her gate.  He had an entourage and wanted to see for himself the graves and bodies.  Celestine went upstairs and dressed in her traveling clothes and met them back in the courtyard.  She was not a liar, and this her first big lie was so huge, she had said prayers, and rosaries, and then, given it over to God.  The children were in His hands at this point and should be safely in Natchez.  She had done all she knew how.  She knew the trip to the non-existent graves would take two days on a small boat, and she had to pack and pray.  She wondered if praying for a lie was a sin.

She was sitting in the front of the little boat using every brain cell she could muster to invent her next lie.  She was actually surprised they had believed her thus far.

Pierre was told of her excursion when he went to the house to check on her.  Neighbors on either side were anxious to tell him of the deaths, and her trip to show the men where to find the bones.

Oh, damn.  What have Colette and I done getting Maurice involved with this crazy woman?

He paid a visit to M. Dubonnet and found the gossip was true, and he should set off at once.  Pierre knew he could go faster than the boat full of men, if he hired a piroque and went alone, but they had a half day’s head start.

Celestine was becoming more worried by the hour.  What would they do to her?  Would she be jailed?  That would be a nice homecoming for her husband.  Would they hang her?  No, Pierre and M. Dubonnet would never let that happen. Would they?  Both men were exasperated over her mistake, and this latest lie would not make them happier.

They were in the morning of their second day when another boat approached from the south.  There were three men in the boat, two looking like the men she had grown to know and hate mounting her mama in the little crib back on the rue du Quai.  Maybe she had come full circle.  But, if they meant to do mischief, the men in her boat could do some damage also.

Chapter Twelve

Jean Laffite had been told about the little blonde haired woman, the wife of a Sea Captain who rescued a young slave from the gallows almost single handedly a week before.  He was new to this territory… were there more beautiful women like her, ready to cut a man’s throat for pleasure?  He looked in the boat coming down the Bayou and saw the most beautiful young woman he had ever seen.  She was an angel with a halo of blonde curls escaping her hood, with skin like warm milk to a Tomcat.  Surely this was not the very one who had ridden into town in men’s clothes and attacked the twenty jailors at the Cabildo?  What a treasure!  He was not usually envious of another man, but this was a woman he would love to know… without her husband.  What the hell is she doing on my bayou, and how can I keep her here?

The men pulled up alongside the boat holding Celestine.

“Bonjour, Monsieur.” Lafitte said to the guards. “What brings you down my way?”  Celestine looked over at the dangerously handsome man dressed in black.  He was not at all like his men.  He was classically handsome, with a large black mustache, black curly hair and bright hazel eyes.  His broad shoulders and muscular legs had the stance of the open sea about him… this debonair man would be at home on a ship or in a fine drawing room and was definitely a man to be noticed.

“We’re looking for the graves of two young slaves.  Mme. Dubois says they are buried around here.  She says they were drowned and buried in these swamps, and she’s here to show us where.”

“No need, Monsieur.  I buried them myself, but alas, I’m sorry to say Mme. Dubois, the graves I chose were too shallow, and the gators ate both bodies.”  He looked at his men who both shook their heads sadly and removed their dirty hats to show faux respect of the dead.

“I asked you to be respectful and give them a decent burial, how could you let this happen, Monsieur... ?”  She realized too late, she did not know the handsome man’s name so she left it at that. She had heard of a pirate moving into the area, but had no idea this would be he.

“Monsieur  what, Mme. Dubois?”  It was the guard asking her the question, and looking intently to her waiting for an answer..

“Don’t be ridiculous, Jean Laffite and Captain Dubois go way back.  Don’t we, my pet?”  He was bowing and giving her a darkly handsome, and very sensual smile. She caught her breath at the beauty of his hazel eyes with the long black lashes.

“Of course... Jean.  I’m sorry I accused you.  You’re right, of course, I should’ve known, the swamp wasn’t suitable.”

She smiled at the man and relaxed into the smile he gave back, she was on a sinking swamp with this lie.  For a woman who never lied, it was coming quite naturally to her… and quite often.

“You must stay for the night, Madame. My men will take you back in the morning.  We have so much to talk about.  How is your dear husband?”

“He’s fine... Jean.  He’s in Haiti at present.”  Why had she not said he would be sailing into port any moment?  Now this pirate knew her husband was not going to be home anytime soon.  She was doing it again, speaking before thinking.

“Give me your hand, my pet; we don’t want the gators to see you as dinner.”  She had no choice, as he could give her over to her lie at any second if he so chose.  As she reached to take his hand, she felt to see if her knife was still hidden in the little sheath sewn to the bone in her corset under her arm.  It was snuggly safe and waiting.

“I’m taking your word for this, Laffite.  If you say the slaves are dead, then I believe you.  You have no reason to lie about this.”

“Of course not, Monsieur.  What do I care if the gators eat a couple of lost souls?”  He looked at Celestine’s eyes turning dark and angry.

“Sorry, my pet, just having a laugh with the officer.”

Pierre had seen the exchange from a distance and wondered what the hell had transpired.  He would catch up to them soon… he may not be able to save her, but he could die trying.  If he knew this waif, Celestine, she still had her knife, and the pirates had better beware for their own safety.

Maurice received Dubonnet’s packet and headed back to New Orleans the same day.  It was his fault, he knew his wife didn’t believe in keeping slaves, and without his introduction, what was she to think?  It had never crossed his mind she would try to free them before he returned. He had been headed back for five days and was making better time coming back than he expected.  Anna asked him to leave the day he arrived, no she commanded him; as she knew her children were in danger. If anything happened to the children he would never forgive himself for not telling Celestine to protect them.  He thought he had… had Josef not given her his letter?  Why had Pierre not stopped her? He had finally reached the mouth of the Mississippi, and stopped a fishing boat to inquire of news of New Orleans.  If the worst had happened he would be a sitting duck, sailing into the harbor to be arrested, and then he couldn’t help anyone.  The fishermen only knew that the two young slaves had been killed in the swamp, and eaten by the alligators.  Jean Laffite had buried them himself. 

There must be some horrible mistake, why would Josef and Marguerite be down this far in the first place. He could not let it rest.  He had to see for himself. He put Le Celestine at anchor and took the dingy into the bayous.  He knew there was a mistake, there had to be a mistake.  Anna would never forgive him, and he could not stand her losing another child; especially since it was his fault and his alone.  He didn’t want to think about losing them either.  They had been with him ten years, on sea voyages and land, and before that they were the only family he knew.  Marguerite was only a baby when her father died, and Josef was a toddler.  He taught them to read, write, do arithmetic, as much history as he knew himself, and the sailors taught them how to read the stars and use a sextant, and other instruments of the sea.  They worked as his ‘servants’ because they wanted to pull their weight, and there was no other reason for a white Sea Captain to travel with two young people of color around the Atlantic. They kept in touch with their mother and wrote to her daily. Whenever they reached a port, there would be packets of letters going to Anna, and was the only thing keeping her sane.  Maurice made it possible for her to spend time with them on the safety of his ship when they were in port. It had worked out as well as could be expected.  He left them in New Orleans this time so they could help Celestine, and she could watch out for them.  His stupidity may have caused their deaths, and he would not rest until he knew for sure.

Celestine was in… way over her head.  She may be a street rat, but she was in the company of a pirate for God’s sake; and not just any pirate, Pierre told her he was known as the Terror of the Gulf, and you do not get a nickname like that by being a friendly uncle… and she owed the dangerous man a huge favor.  He was smitten with her, and she could not help but to be flattered by it.  He was the perfect host to Pierre and herself, and kept them in his compound for two days.  Pierre was trying to stay brave, and she knew if push came to shove, he would die protecting her, and she sure didn’t want to leave Colette a widow to raise Letty alone.  Celestine looked over at Pierre’s bravery and thought he seemed more like a brave mouse in an owl’s nest than the seasoned sailor he was.  Whatever happened she would tell Colette of his bravery under pressure.  Celestine had gotten them both in this mess, and she needed to get them out.  The children would be safe until she could get back, and have their names officially changed, and new papers drawn up, but they would not be slave papers; they would be official adoption papers.

 Meanwhile, she needed this handsome pirate’s protection.  His dark good looks and beautiful eyes would turn her head if she were not so in love with her husband. This was a man to be reckoned with in any situation. Celestine was discovering that a dangerous man with beautiful eyes and gentle manners was a sweet challenge to a woman’s affections... and lust. Asking for protection for Marguerite and Josef until her husband came home would be another big favor, but she had no choice.

After dinner the men all disappeared except for Pierre and Jean.  Pierre would not leave her alone with this man; at least she hoped, but not for the reason Pierre suspected. She was on dangerous ground here with her newly awakened power over and appreciation of men, and was not as comfortable as she should be in this particular situation. She thought of playing the damsel in distress to the pirate, but he had regaled his men at dinner both nights with her exploits at saving the girl single handedly from the gallows.

“Come, my pet, walk with me in the moonlight.”  Your friend can watch from the gallery. He wouldn’t be much help if I intended you harm, nez  pa?”

“Don’t underestimate him, sir. He’s very brave, and owes my husband many favors.”  Surely that did not sound as simpleminded to him as it did to her.

“You’re the brave one, my pet.  Tell me, why’d you come into my world if you thought you’d be in danger? Does danger amuse you?”

“Of course, Capt. Laffite, why else would I be walking in the moonlight with such a handsome, dangerous man as yourself?”  Woe, I’m alluring now.  Yes sir; I’ll have him eating out of my hand in no time at all.

The big pirate turned to her, put an arm around her waist, and pulled her so close she could feel his response to her flirting. He kissed her deeply and found her tongue a willing partner before she could take a breath.

“Do not toy with me, Madame. I can be a generous lover or a very dangerous adversary… or, I can be your friend. Which would you prefer?” He released her and stood back. His look told her he was deadly serious.

I’m in such trouble here, oh damn; what have I done?  She turned to see if Pierre had seen the kiss, but he was looking at something coming up the bayou.

“Capt. Laffite?”  She had another idea.

“You were calling me Jean at dinner, why am I now Capt. Laffite?” He was enjoying this much more than she.

“Jean... I’m only a simple woman in a man’s world, and I need someone intelligent and powerful like yourself...” He was laughing before she could finish her sentence.

“Take the knife out of that… oh, so beautiful bosom, and we can discuss your frailty, my pet.” He whispered a bit too closely to her face.  His desire was growing and making her nervous as hell.  She was realizing too late she was just a few sweet words away from being seduced…  by a master of the art.  She had no idea he could see the knife, obviously he had been looking closer than she cared. Oh my God, he felt it when he kissed me.

He ran his hand over her breast and felt the silky soft skin, and felt her shudder as he reached into her dress around the short stays and pulled out the knife. His eyes were still laughing at her when they both heard the dark voice coming from the Bayou.

“Is there something in my wife’s dress that interests you, Captain Laffite?”  Maurice was standing; hand on sword waiting to draw, his blue eyes dark with anger.  The two men on either side of him were prepared to die defending their Captain and his wife.

Pierre came down from the gallery.

“Hold back, Maurice, Laffite is displaying bad manners, not a threat.  He’s the hero here. He helped us lie to the authorities and rescue Marguerite and Josef from certain death.”

“Are they safe?”

“Yes, they’re safe at my place in Natchez.” Putting your hand down a woman’s bosom in front of her husband was far more than bad manners, but Pierre knew how many men were in, and around, these palmettos waiting to spring at Laffite’s command.

Maurice read Pierre’s intentions and stepped back.

“Pierre get my wife’s cloak, we’re leaving.”  Pierre ran back to the gallery to get the cloak and satchel she left on the gallery.

Maurice walked over, picked up his wife and put her over his shoulder. Riding on his shoulder, she put out her hand, frowned, snapped her fingers twice, and Laffite threw her knife which she caught in mid-air.

It was amazing how brave she could be on top of her husband’s big shoulder.  She gave Laffite her best smiling ‘thank you’.  She would not forget the part about ‘dangerous adversary’, and she did not know if she would need his kindness again.  They could hear his laughter all the way back to the dingy. Maurice got to the dingy, sat her down and gave the order to go back to the ship.

“Maurice, I...”

“Don’t speak, wife.”  He was murderously angry, and the pirate’s laugh bellowing from the swamp made him want to kill.

“Maurice, may I just say...” Maurice turned to Pierre and the young man had not seen his Captain this angry since he had the man flogged for raping Pierre years ago.

“But, husband...”  Pierre was desperately motioning for Celestine to be quiet.

“One more word, wife and I’ll throw you overboard, and the alligators may have their way with you.”  That was rude.  She would not tolerate rudeness.

“How dare you, sir?”  She had enough. She stood up…

With one flick of his big hand and arm he tilted the dingy fast and hard and she flew over the side of the boat into the bayou.  Pierre went in after her.

“Maurice, help me! Get me out of here.”  She was holding on to Pierre and trying to reach the boat before an alligator could come and get her.

“Keep talking wife; it’s a long swim to New Orleans, but you already know that, don’t you?  You’ve recently made the trip before.”  He turned back to the bow, and kept his eyes straight ahead.

Pierre and the men fished her out of the water and covered her with her cloak.  She was not even going to say ‘thank you’ to the men.  She had her swamp bath for the evening. She saw the masts of the Le Celestine and knew he would be wishing he could change the name now, for sure.  They came along side and Maurice went to the back of the dingy, put her over his shoulder again, and climbed the ladder back onto the deck of the great ship.

Celestine could not stop her tears; she hated being treated like a bad child.  She did not like her handsome husband mad at her, and she certainly did not like being humiliated in front of the whole crew.

“Robert, prepare my wife a cool bath, please.” He took her into his cabin and dropped her on the rug.

“Don’t move. I don’t want my cabin smelling like the swamp. It’s bad enough that I have swamp on my clean coat.”

He poured himself a brandy and sat down in his big chair behind his desk.

“It’s not my fault. I didn’t know about the children and you should’ve told me.”

“You think that’s why I’m so angry?” His eyes were dangerous but finding dark humor in what she was saying. She was becoming frightened, again.  She felt for her knife.

“Isn’t it?”

“You allowed that man to put his hand down your dress.”

“I couldn’t stop him.  What was I to do, fight him off in the middle of a swamp, and have his men kill me and Pierre both? If that’s why you’re angry, then you’d better direct the anger toward him and not me.”

Maurice looked over at her and was deadly quiet for a moment.

“I saw your eyes, Celestine.”

“What?”

He surprised himself at his anger and the depth of his fear. He had not felt such fear since his days with Anna when he was young and stupid with hate.

“You enjoyed it. You enjoyed the man’s hand on your breast.” His voice cracked just enough to make him want to leave the cabin. He finished his brandy, threw the glass against the wall, and walked out onto the deck.

She wanted to scream obscenities at him, scratch his face, and cut him with her knife, but she could not.  She had indeed enjoyed it, and to her unbearable sorrow; her husband, the love of her life, the reason for her happiness was witness to it, and was hurt by it. Thank God he hadn’t seen the kiss.

Her bath was set up in the cabin and she went into it sore from being pulled from the swamp; stinking like the swamp, and wondering what the hell happened to her in the swamp.  She let the clove soap melt her tension and ease her sore muscles.  She dried herself, put on one of her husband’s nightshirts and got into bed.  She rolled over and sobbed herself to sleep.

Maurice found Pierre and sat down with him.  He wanted to know what happened with the children and legally where they stood.  Pierre told him everything. He told how Celestine was angry about finding he owned ‘slaves’ and how she had come to him for advice, but only after she had mistakenly gone to Dubonnet.  Then he told of her getting Marguerite out of jail and riding with her all the way up river.  He told of her calmly going back to New Orleans, and waiting a decent time, before notifying Dubonnet of the ‘death’ of both ‘slaves’.  Finally, he told of her going alone into the bayous with the authorities, and how Jean Laffite lied to save her and the children.  He also told him about the rat and how dangerous his wife could be with a knife.  Finally that cut through to Maurice and he laughed in spite of his anger.

“My little wife scare you, did she?”  The look on Pierre’s face said it all.  Maurice could believe his little wife in men’s clothing wielding a knife dangerously. He still had the scar from the knife under his chin.  His desire for her was growing in spite of the fear of what he had just seen on the bayou.

“Tell me honestly, Maurice.  If a beautiful woman, not your wife, put her hand down your breeches, would you not enjoy the moment?  Honestly, mon ami. Would it make you think less of your wife or desire her less?”

Maurice stood smoking his cigar by the railing looking out at the river.  Pierre hit a nerve with his friend, after all had he not just been with his mistress in Port-au-Prince?  Maurice remembered his thoughts of Anna, and how his love for her could never compare with what he felt for his wife.  He could even make love to Anna, and still desire and think of Celestine during the act.

“Yes, I’d enjoy it and no, I’d not desire Celestine any less.”

Maurice walked over and clapped a hand on Pierre’s shoulder.

“Thanks, my friend.  I owe you for protecting my wife and family. I’ll do my best to keep her from getting you killed in the future.”  Both men laughed at how true the statement could be.

He walked back in to his cabin.  His wife was asleep with red eyelids and puffy cheeks from crying;  gently hiccoughing in her sleep. Could a man love a woman anymore?  She looks so tiny in that big nightshirt cuddled into the pillows. God, I’ll give up Anna, just don’t make me have to compete with that bloody pirate.

He got undressed and got in bed.  He put his arm under her neck and she snuggled close to him and buried her face in his chest.  She woke and looked at his face, gently hiccoughing still.

“Don’t let it happen again, wife, and certainly not with that damned pirate.”  He took her in his arms and kissed her.  She opened her mouth and hiccoughed into his kiss.

“I love you, husband.  Let me pleasure you.”

“Will it get Laffite out of your head?”

“Who?”  She pulled him down and took his mouth in hers. 

“Pleasure me, wife.”  He lay back and thanked God for this woman, once again.  She sat up, got on top of him and opened her legs.  She let him in slowly until she could feel him touch her core.  She cinched him in and nestled herself around him and remembered how much she liked having sex with this man.  He tried not to spend too soon, but she felt so wonderful, and the idea that she preferred him over the handsome pirate, made him crazy with lust and desire, and he couldn’t hold it any longer. They slept for what seemed like days.

They sailed into New Orleans and he went to the house to get her some clothes to wear.  They walked together along the market, and bought food to have in the kitchen and she bought some peaches.  They picked the best shrimp and oysters, fresh onions, garlic, peppers, and sausage to make a wonderful gumbo.  He picked his favorite hot breads and she picked her favorite sweet cakes and they went back to the house.  The two of them made a feast fit for lovers and talked half the night.  He told her about the children and how he had been the only father they had ever known.  He finally told her about his past and saving his friends, Andy and John from the prison ship.  Then he told how Anna saved his life and his sanity and he finally told her about his life in the little house in Port-au-Prince.  This gave her the courage to open up and tell him about her life with her mama, and about the awful guilt she carried for not going to her as she was dying, asking for her.  She told her new husband it had haunted her for the last four years, and she could think of no way to ease her guilt. They held each other and felt the bond only a husband and wife can feel once they’ve cleared the air of old secrets.  They slept until the sun came in through the big French doors. Maurice wakened first and whispered in her ear.

“Open to me, wife and let me pleasure you.”  A morning request that Celestine wanted to hear for the rest of her days. She rolled onto her back and welcomed him between her legs thanking God the memory of her past life was dead.  He was her husband and would be welcomed in her center forever.  Suddenly, she pushed him off, jumped out of bed and went behind the screen. 

“Ah, morning calls.”  He said to the air.

Maurice must make decisions before going back out to sea.  He could not leave her and the children after what they had just been through.  He made the decision to take them with him on the long voyage. He would not tell her yet, but he would talk her into it.  If not, he would have to kidnap her, like the sailor he was; sling her over his shoulder; up the gangplank; hoist the sails and down the river to see the world… kidnapping.  It would be fun. He was smiling to himself picturing the whole event as he heard her retching behind the screen.  His little dove was sick.  If she had contacted something from the swamp he would never forgive himself. There were fevers and illness in the brackish water and he had thrown her in himself.  He heard her washing her mouth in the bowl and waited to see how she looked when she came back around.

“I’m hungry.  Husband, please bring me some of that cake from last night?  Please dear, I’m hungry and I think this baby might have a sweet tooth.”

He sat up in bed and sighed.  Well, his prayer was answered; he wanted her to be with child, but not so soon.  He could not take a pregnant wife on such a long voyage, especially a first time pregnancy; and he could not take the children, they would have to stay and help her. He got up and took her in his arms and looked down into her eyes.

“You knew I wanted you on this trip didn’t you?”

“Yes,”   She would not show him her disappointment.  She planned to ask him to take her and Marguerite and Josef, as she could not bear his being gone so long.

“I’m still hungry… and I didn’t plant this seed by myself, husband.  I believe it was your first entry into a little virgin, on a beautiful ship with a gorgeous name.”  He laughed as he walked out of the bedroom and down the stairs to the kitchen.  She felt her stomach to see if there was a mound, but she was flat as ever.

He finished in the kitchen and started back up the stairs.

“You won’t be able to walk around the house naked once the baby is here and the children are back.  You know that, right, husband?”

“Yes, wife, I know that.”  He got into bed and held the cake for her to come and take it from him.

“Why are you holding my cake over your head?”

“If you want it, come and get it.”  He put the plate on his stomach and gave her his best lecherous smile.  She reached over for one of the peaches, picked up her knife and peeled it; cut it in half and took out the pit. She shaved the rough edges around the nest where the pit lived until it was smooth and wet. She was remembering what Pierre told Collette.  The head of the cock is like a strangely shaped little fat heart.  Caress under the little indention in the heart with the tip of your tongue, and then take the head in your mouth and go from there.  She got into bed next to him and held it for him to take a small bite; then cupped it around his big erection until it was covered in the sweet juices and bits of fruit.  She moved the cake to the side table and went down to suck and lick the peach juice and bits off him.  She started with the tip of the heart, and slowly took the head in her mouth to lick the juice.  She then allowed the flavor to fill her mouth with saliva and she went all the way down until the spongy velvet head was touching the back of her throat and farther down.  She gently sucked the sweet juice coming back up and circled the head again and went back down for more juice that collected in the hair around his seed.  She could do this all day.  He smelled of fresh cloves and peaches and the scent was filling the room and making her dizzy. 

Maurice had women gift him this pleasure in his life, but this was different, he never felt anything like this, but he was worried where she learned it.  She kept going for what seemed like forever; the stickiness of the juice and the warmth of her mouth were driving him toward an explosive release.  He could not move or think, and he wanted her to do this forever, but he knew he couldn’t wait much longer.  He moved her head but she had gotten the peach again and started all over.   He tried to move her head away again and she only continued her mission.  He spent and went farther down her throat than he thought humanly possible, and she continued until he pulled her up to his kiss.  Her mouth tasted of seawater and peaches and he was dying with love for her. 

 Reality set in, and there were questions that had to be answered by this woman carrying his child. Where could she possibly have learned this?  She had been a virgin, he was there, he knew; he experienced it first hand, but a woman could be a virgin and still have done this before. The thought of his wife’s mouth going down on another man’s cock was raging inside of his head, and bringing up anger he no longer thought he harbored.  Lying next to him, she stretched and looked over to see his eyes changing with his mood.

“I knew it, damn it, I knew it.  I told Colette this would happen.  Don’t look at me like that, husband.”   She should have told him first, but she wanted it to be a surprise. She turned away from him.  She did not want him to see her cry again.

“Turn to me, wife.”  She turned back to him. Usually she loved it when he gave this little order, but at the moment, she loved nothing about him.

“Just tell me what it is you knew, wife?”  He was waiting for an answer.  He wanted to kiss her again, and use the peach on her, but he had to know. She stared defiantly at him and aimed to wound.

“My friend, oh what was his name, something to do with ‘feet’. Remember him, the nice man from the bayou?” There, take that, my ass of a husband.

He was out of the bed, pacing and running his hand through his hair, and not getting the joke, until he looked back and saw her smirking at his jealousy.

“Why would you do that to me, Madame, why?  Are you out of your mind?”

“It amuses me.”  She knew it was a terrible thing to do, but if he was jealous of a lover or lovers who didn’t exist, then he deserved it.  What he saw in the swamp was hurtful, but had the last two days of making love not convinced him of her desire for him and only him? He grabbed his dressing gown, and walked angrily out of the room and onto the gallery.

“If you’re going to the kitchen, bring me another peach.”  She got up grabbed her wrapper and ran down after him. 

He was in the kitchen stirring the ashes in the big fire place to get coals to make coffee.  She could see he had never been teased this much and he was trying to be patient, but was more angry and confused, than amused. She went up behind him and put her arms around his waist.  She spoke as lovingly and softly as she felt at the moment.

“You cannot possibly believe that man does anything for me, husband. Not when I have you.  Don’t you know the power you have over me?  Is that it? You don’t know how much I desire you?  When you’re not here I have to keep from touching myself thinking of you.”

He didn’t answer her.  He was taking in everything she said and wanting to believe it so desperately.  Anna never joked like this, and his long relationship with her was the only thing he had to compare to his relationship with Celestine.  His women in the other ports would not dare try to make him jealous. He did not know how to handle it. 

“And, while we’re talking, do you want this baby or not?  You haven’t even said you’re glad?”

“Oh, wife, of course I want this baby.” He turned and took her in his arms. “I just didn’t think it’d be this soon. I wanted you to go with me and now you can’t. I have to leave you here in your confinement, and worry about you every damned day.”

“Why can’t I go? You know how to midwife and the sea air would be good for me.  We need to get Marguerite and Josef out of here until things calm down.”

“I only know how to midwife in emergencies, Celestine.  You need to be under the care of Dr. Pabon and the good sisters.  You need to eat right and not live in the stale cabin during bad storms.  It’s out of the question, so just keep still.” She took the cup of coffee he handed her.

“But...”

“Keep still, wife.”  She knew that tone well enough.  She loved when he called her wife, but when he said it in the mood he was in, it reminded her of stinky swamp water and rotting vegetation, and was a loud reminder oh her pledge to ‘obey’ in her wedding vows.

“I’m sorry, my love, I’ll do as you say.  Maurice, you have to know, I’ll always do as you ask, my love.”

“Then answer the first question you didn’t let me ask in the bedroom?”

She looked up at him, and decided she had better tell him the truth. She sat down at the table, defeated; her one try at mature romance and mystique squelched by her husband’s petty jealousy.

“Pierre taught Colette and she showed me on a banana.”  I hate telling my secrets, why couldn’t he just find me mysterious?

He stopped to let this sink in. He started laughing.  He picked up a banana off the table and handed it to her.

“Wife?  Each time you see this, please think of me while I’m gone.”  He was laughing so hard now he started coughing.

“Or do you need a bigger banana?”  He was still laughing.

“No, that one will do just fine… once I bite it in half.”  She turned and stomped back upstairs.  Why did men make nice things women did for them so hard to appreciate?  She turned and headed back downstairs, and walked into the kitchen.

“The next time Colette teaches me something, I may seek out a pirate and try it on him?”  He walked slowly over and took her in his arms again.

“You think he’ll want you now, fat and round with my seed growing in your belly?”  He was laughing at her again.

“Ooh, Husband.”  She pulled away and marched back upstairs.

Maurice picked up a peach and walked back to the bedroom.  He liked to eat a peach now and again himself.  The smell of peaches wafted through the bedroom for more than a day.  She had been stuffed with fruit, and cleaned out like a peach tart until her legs stuck together.  He had been licked and sucked and left limp and sticky with fruit juices. They were happy and the only thing they had to fear… fruit flies and hungry ants.

Chapter Thirteen

Sitting in a dark corner of the barn at the David’s plantation, Marguerite held on to her big brother and would not let go.  She understood they had to act as slaves in Natchez until Papa Maurice came for them, but she never wanted to be parted from Josef again.  Who was this little lady who caused her to be jailed and then saved her so heroically and why had Papa Maurice married her?   Marguerite had known gut-wrenching fear years ago in Port-au-Prince while she and Josef watched as the little gallows was being built outside their cell.  At the time, she was very young and wanted her mother, but Josef assured her God was not going to let them die.  Josef had powers like her mother that Marguerite counted on to save them, but watching the weapon of your death being built by big men and their hate, made her doubt her brother’s promises and bravery.  She wanted her mother, but they did not know if she was alive or dead in the little hospital where she was taken after the man stabbed her.  She could still see and smell the blood and didn’t know a human body held that much.  Some of it had to be from the young English Captain but the rest was from her mother.   The man had taken her mother’s knife and turned it back on her over and over again. 

Josef acted first and hit the man with his mother’s big black skillet, but Marguerite grabbed the knife, slippery with blood and stabbed the man in the leg.  She did not know if she killed him or not, but she wanted to.  Josef took the knife from her and plunged it into the man’s heart as he was grabbing for Marguerite’s throat.  When the man’s friends came to take him back to his ship, they yelled bloody murder and called down the street for help.  Now she and her brother were in this stinking cell covered in their mother’s dried blood and swallowing their own nauseating fear.

Marguerite’s mother brought angry men home to ‘heal’ them. This was part of Marguerite’s life.  The only life she knew and it wasn’t strange to her, just different from what other mothers did.  Her friends on the street tried 

"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.