Allegiance Page 6

  Henri sat down across from her and sipped his wine, his gaze lingering on her face. “I am happy you are here, Mam'selle Baker."

  "You may call me Amy. I feel I almost know you."

  A slow smile spread across his face. “Amy. Aimé. Means ‘loved'. You welcome to stay, and I hope it is long time."

  The tension dissolved from her neck and shoulders as she settled deeper into her chair, drinking the wine and wondering whether he had any idea how much she needed this sanctuary. Warmed by his concern and his friendly chatter, she forgot her caution and accepted a second glass of wine. It seemed to quench a deep thirst. The fearsome images of Jeb in chains, the decimated inheritance, and the threats Jackrabbit Jones had made, dwindled to a medium-sized irritation, and the relief made her dizzy.

  She took a long drink of the wine and licked her lips. “So, Henri, tell me how business goes these days."

  He shook his head. “Awful! Terrible! If I don't sell something soon, I go back to skinning them muskrats. I'm a pretty fast knife, me."

  She waved a finger at him. “Now, Henri. Papa said you always complain about business. Didn't you tell him it was bad luck to count your blessings?"

  Henri flashed his white teeth in a broad grin. “I tell you, them coons and otters, they so thick in the marsh, they shove each other into traps. But not my traps. I cannot catch them."

  She laughed. “He also said you don't do any trapping anymore. You have a gift for trade, and you could make money selling Bibles to Jean Lafitte's pirates."

  "Ah, he stretch the truth, that Royal Baker."

  "If you weren't clever you wouldn't have been able to trade up from a houseboat on the bayou to a beautiful house like this."

  "Ma chèrie. You plenty smart, maybe, like your father.” His expression sobered. “A shame about him. I had a plan to make him very rich."

  Amy almost forgot to breathe, waiting for Henri to explain, but he merely sighed and sipped his wine. For the first time since she'd arrived, he lapsed into silence. It should have been an open door for discussing money, investments, and credit for another expedition, but the subject was dying before it got a start.

  She leaned forward in the chair. “Tell me more, Henri. How did you plan to make Papa rich?"

  He shook his head. “How can we talk? Our insides are empty. Sadie!"

  Amy frowned into her glass, aching to tell him about Jeb's trouble and to beg his advice about how she might survive on her own, but she would have to wait until the time was right.

  The black woman trudged up the stairs and entered with Amy's heavy chest in her arms. Amy's mouth dropped open in amazement at the apparent ease with which she handled it.

  Henri didn't seem surprised by the feat of strength. “Take them to the blue room, Sadie. She be staying awhile."

  Sadie's lips curved briefly into what might have been a smile, then relaxed into the grumpy expression that seemed to come more naturally. “I hope you brung your appetite ‘cause I been cooking the whole day long.” She crossed the room and elbowed her way through a door with her load.

  Henri called after her, “Now, Sadie, we both been cooking. So bring out the gumbo before it spoils.” He grinned and winked at Amy.

  The fare, when it was served, consisted of a spicy blend of seafood, onions, tomatoes, and other unidentifiable ingredients which Amy found delicious, accompanied by wine and hot crusty bread. She tried once, during the meal, to bring up the topic of Henri's business arrangements with her father, but he merely eyed her unfinished plate and said, “You're not good started yet, so save room for raisin pie.” Then he continued munching his food as though he could digest only one thing at a time.

  After supper, he led her through an archway to the drawing room, and Sadie followed with a steaming pot of coffee. Amy glanced around with appreciation for the European style. The furniture had smooth curves and gilded edges; swags of brocade softened the walls. Henri directed Amy to a pink, velvet-covered sofa, while he took an upholstered chair set at right angles to it. The black woman served cups of thick, aromatic brew.

  "Now we talk.” Henri rested his elbows on his knees and steepled his fingers with frowning concentration. “In the letter you say somebody shoot your father. You say a brawl? An accident? What?"

  Amy realized, suddenly, that Henri needed to lay his good friend to rest before he could feel comfortable discussing business. Reluctantly, she faced the memory. “A stray bullet hit him. In the back."

  His eyes widened. “How did it happen?"

  Henri deserved an explanation, she knew, but finding the words without dredging up the pain was a challenge. “A fight broke out in the tavern one night, and shots were fired. Two men died. One was my father."

  Her host stared, unblinking, at the floor. “A terrible thing. I love your father, Amy. This make me very sad."

  She rubbed her palms hard against her eyes to keep from crying. Heaven knew she'd wept enough tears.

  "Do you believe it was an accident?"

  "I don't know.” Amy had heard of the American Fur Company's reputation for eliminating competition, but she had no proof they had killed her father.

  After a long silence, he spoke again. “So, Jeb, he let you come to New Orleans alone?"

  "No ... Jeb came with me. We wanted to bring your share of profits and to buy more trade goods, as Papa meant to do.” She told him the miserable details of the gambling losses, the backfiring of her unfortunate plan to catch Jackrabbit in the act of cheating, the gunfight that followed, and Jeb's arrest.

  Henri kept shaking his head as his frown deepened. “This is too much. Too much! Jeb should not be in that place. There, they not like the Kaintock."

  "What do you mean?"

  "The American, he is too often the roughneck, arriviste, pig. In Lousian', he have few friends."

  "Henri, Louisiana is part of America now. We're all Americans here."

  He shrugged. “Your brother, he have a bad time in that place, I think.” He rose to pace the flowered carpet, his brow furrowed. He turned to look at her. “How much money you bring with you?"

  "I have Jackrabbit's table stakes, and there is the silver from Mexico. But that's yours. That is, if you'll accept it as payment on Papa's debt."

  He gazed at her in silence, chewing his lip.

  Summoning a bit of enthusiasm, she rose to her feet. “Where did Sadie put my things?"

  He gestured toward a door behind her.

  She entered a bedroom and located her luggage. Kneeling by the chest, she dug the key out of her reticule and opened the padlock. When she lifted the lid, the warm sheen of the silver gleamed in the lamplight. As Henri peered over her shoulder, she moved out of his way.

  First, he hefted one end of the chest, then he inspected a few pieces of a tea set and an ornate box filled with jewelry. He rocked back on his heels and nibbled his thumbnail. “How much? Never mind, I weigh him. Is pretty heavy.” He poked around a bit more, then straightened. “Yes, sure, I take it. The debt, she is paid."

  She wished he looked happier. “Well, all right. Good. Now, I have a big favor to ask of you. I need your help to free Jeb. If you will, I'll give you all the money I have on me."

  "On you?"

  "I have a few thousand dollars hidden.” She patted her bustle.

  He chuckled and shook his head. “You plenty smart all right."

  "Will you help?"

  Remorse gave his face a hound dog look. “Ah, ma chère. Better you save bribes for the commissioner. I have no power, me.” He reached for her hand and gave it a squeeze. “How can there be much trouble over such a small thing? A card dealer's hand with a hole in it is nobody's big worry. For a fact, gamblers are hated more than Americans here. In Police Court, remember this: wear a splendid dress and carry much money."

  Cold disappointment settled heavy inside her; she had hoped for an easier solution.

  He carried the chest to the drawing room, hefting it with less ease than Sadie had. He spread the trinkets out on
the carpet and knelt to study each piece.

  She reclined on the pink sofa, aching with weariness. The day seemed to have lasted an eternity. Yet, she felt she was running out of time. Her head whirled slowly, languidly. “Jeb and I were planning to go west in a few weeks. We have three new wagons to fill with trade goods. But first, we need to sell the furs in the warehouse ... No, wait.” She pressed her fingers against her temples. “First I have to get Jeb out of jail."

  Henri didn't speak for a few minutes, but remained on his knees toying with a small silver lamp. “Royal Baker and me, we work together long time."

  She sat up, willing herself to stay awake and alert. Somehow, she must salvage something from the wreck of the day. “Jeb and I would like to have the same arrangements with you that Papa had. You could send your merchandise with us to sell in Santa Fe. Would that work out for you, Henri?"

  "I don't know, chèrie. You are not experienced with the trade—"

  "Jeb has gone with Papa to Santa Fe. He's experienced."

  His eyes darkened with sympathy. “But Jeb is in jail."

  She didn't argue. She merely sank back on the sofa, her head swimming with exhaustion. She couldn't blame Henri—he was a business man. She knew he couldn't have gotten this far by placing his trust in beginners. On the other hand, she wondered how anyone ever proved himself in this world.

  Chapter 6

  The angels must have been busy elsewhere that night, because Amy awoke with a haze of nightmarish scenes reeling through her head. She flung back the stifling blankets and sat up, blinking away the image of black swamp water and Jeb thrashing among long-toothed alligators as she drifted out of reach in a tiny bark canoe. On an island stood Major O'Donnell, shooting at the alligators with his pistol.

  She rubbed her eyes, wondering what kind of night her brother had spent in jail. Had Henri been right when he predicted that Jeb would have a hard time there? In Louisiana, he'd said, Americans had few friends. They not like the Kaintock. The memory of his words sent a chill through her body.

  Poor Jeb! She had to rescue him—soon!

  Light pierced the gaps around the windows. She fought herself free of the mosquito gauze hanging from the bar overhead and left her bed to push the shutters open wide. She leaned out, craning her head one way and the other, eager to trade new sights and sounds for the ominous cobwebs her brain had accumulated overnight.

  Across the street, a maid on an upper balcony emptied a chamber pot into the gutter below, startling a gaunt dog nosing through the refuse. Offensive smells from the street sullied the air, while high above the open sewers, an elegant beauty and style rose to the sky on the filigree ironworks and flowering trees. Bells rang in the upper reaches, their bronze tones echoing through the narrow streets, over-lapping in layers of harmony. The sun-struck spires of a cathedral, like dazzling white arrows, pointed the way to heaven. La Nouvelle-Orléans.

  She dressed quickly in the only dress she had fit to wear. In the dim light, she could pretend it was not faded and practically worn to threads. It didn't matter—nothing mattered except seeing Jeb, making sure he was all right.

  She hurried downstairs to find Henri and arrange for a carriage ride.

  * * * *

  Major Tyler O'Donnell nodded off to sleep sitting upright in his chair. When his head fell back, he jerked awake, putting a painful kink in his neck. Garbled speech above his head roused him further. “What?"

  "I said, you really should retire to your bed, Major. You were up all night, and it's going on mid-morning. You must be exhausted."

  William Christy's parlor swam into focus, then the venerable senator himself standing over Tyler. He was a stocky man with a round face. His heavy brows were short and angled to give him a merry appearance under normal conditions. At the moment, however, they were pinched, rippling his forehead into lines of concern.

  Tyler knuckled his eyes. “How's the general?"

  "The doctors are still working on him. His ankle was badly shattered. They've been picking out splinters of bone all morning."

  "He hasn't spoken?” Senator Christy shook his head. “He's still unconscious. Doctor Kerr said there's a chance he'll never wake up. The wound's been festering for some time. His leg is twice normal size with red streaks—well, you saw it. He stands to lose the leg even if, by the Grace of God, he survives."

  Tyler's spirits plummeted. “Damn shame!"

  "Yes, it is.” The senator peered at him. “Look, why don't you get some sleep now? No sense in both of us waiting around here. You can take over again tonight around midnight if you want to. This vigil could be a long one."

  Tyler stretched his arms to ease the numbness of fatigue. “All right."

  "Are you hungry? How about a bite to eat before bed? The cook's got some beef roasting in the kitchen. We should be able to carve an edible slab off it."

  "I'd appreciate that. And I think I will rest a little later. But first I have a bit of unfinished business in town.” Tyler tested his stiff joints as he rose to his feet. “I'm most grateful for your hospitality, Senator."

  "Call me Bill or you won't be eating at my table. Anyway, it's not every day the President of the United States needs a favor."

  "Maybe not, but it's asking a lot to turn your home into a hospital and barracks."

  Bill Christy smiled. “Nonsense. Houston and I served together in the army. I hate to think how long ago. Anyway, I owe him this much."

  "We certainly appreciate—"

  "No, you're the one that's to be commended, Major. The president's lucky to have officers he can trust. When we get a chance to talk, I'd like to hear whatever you're at liberty to share."

  "Of course. Jackson said I didn't have to keep secrets from you."

  After the senator left the room, Tyler wandered down the hall to the closed door of General Houston's room. He didn't knock or attempt to open the door, but merely leaned a shoulder against the jamb, wishing he could do something to help. The murmur of voices and the clink of utensils reached his ears. If only there were more hopeful signs for the Texan hero. What a sad fate for a man who had jeopardized everything for his new republic—his wealth, his career as a lawyer, and now, even his life.

  During his stint in Black Hawk's War, Tyler had seen what infection could do to even a small harmless-looking wound. He remembered the stench of rotting flesh in the field hospital, the scream of a man under the doctor's knife. So often, when he'd visited the wounded men under his command, there'd been nothing to do but pray. Houston was battling a different enemy now than the one he'd vanquished at San Jacinto. Infection was silent, but more deadly than any of Santa Anna's troops. Tyler, swaying slightly on his feet, closed his eyes and prayed that the doctors were as good as their reputations and that Houston hadn't come all the way from the battleground in agony only to die in spite of everything.

  He took a deep breath and let it out slowly, thinking that, barring distractions, he could probably fall asleep right here standing up. But there were distractions. Not only his dread of Houston's imminent passing, but the haunting reminder that fortune had abandoned someone else in this unfamiliar city. A destitute young girl with her reputation in tatters was waging a different kind of battle for survival.

  Tyler straightened abruptly and headed down the hall, confident he was leaving Houston's life in the best possible hands. After requesting hot water to shave with, he hurried to his room to get cleaned up. He couldn't do anything more for the general, but he could keep his promise to Amy Victoria Baker.

  * * * *

  Amy drew herself up to her full height. “What do you mean, I can't see my brother?"

  The gendarme remained firm. “That's what I'm telling you, Mademoiselle. He is wild. Uncontrollable. We put him away by himself."

  "But why? I am his sister, and I have a right to speak with him."

  "I am sorry. No visitors.” The swarthy-faced officer turned away.

  Fuming, Amy sat down on a bench nearby to collect her thoughts. She
hadn't expected to be rebuffed. Surely wardens were obliged to allow family members to speak to prisoners. Henri had suggested bribery as a way to gain favors, but such unethical behavior repulsed her.

  What kind of night had her brother spent in jail? Had Henri been right when he predicted that Jeb would have a hard time there? In Louisiana, he'd said, Americans had few friends. They not like the Kaintock.

  The inside of the station house was hot, dank, and shadowy. To the left, oak railings flanked a high counter. To the right, beyond a thick wooden door set with iron bolts, muffled voices raised in protest, prisoners moaning for water, for food, for liberty.

  Sadie had refused to set one foot over the threshold. Indeed, it was dreadful, Amy admitted, no fit place for her brother. She couldn't bear to think of anyone with his wild, carefree spirit trapped in here.

  With renewed purpose, she charged the desk again, rapping with her parasol for attention. “Monsieur! When is his trial scheduled? It must be arranged as soon as possible."

  The gendarme sauntered toward her with a bored expression and leaned his forearms on the counter-top. He sighed audibly. “Mademoiselle?"

  "My brother and I have much business to do here in New Orleans before we are due back in St. Louis. This whole thing is a ridiculous bit of nonsense. The judge will recognize that and release Jeb as soon as he hears the story. Will he come to trial right away?"

  The man's smile was insolent. His gaze traveled downward over her worn frock like a familiar caress. “If we catered to every street girl looking for her man, we would have no law and order at all, now would we? Go back to your bagnio and do what you do best. I've got work to do."

  She gasped. “You are most offensive! I demand to speak to the man in charge. I am not leaving until I see my brother. If you think he raised a ruckus, you haven't seen what I can do!"

  "No need to climb over the counter, Mademoiselle. Come around through this little gate, and I'll find a cell for you, too.” His smile broadened. “I can be very accommodating."