Allegiance Page 8

  Thomas Hart Benton's eyebrows shot up. “Why, I'm at your service anytime. You can find me at the St. Charles Hotel. Wednesday morning?"

  "Yes, perfect. Thank you, sir. And it was a pleasure to meet you."

  "Not at all. The pleasure was mine."

  Tyler smiled quizzically at her as he led her away. “You like to get to the heart of things directly, don't you?"

  "People were waiting to speak to him. I feared I might not have a chance—"

  "Quite right. Would you permit me to escort you to see him next Wednesday?"

  "You're most kind. Thank you.” To hide her relief, she glanced away. “Did you say Senator Christy would be here, too?"

  He shook his head. “Unfortunately, his plans changed for tonight. I'll speak to him for you, if you like."

  "I can't tell you how much I appreciate your efforts, Major O'Donnell."

  "It's Tyler, remember? And you're most welcome."

  After receiving glasses of wine at the refreshment table, she and Tyler found their seats. Soon, the master of ceremonies appeared on stage to introduce the play. The next two hours sped by in a fanciful blur of colorful scenery and costumes made all the more dramatic by choruses and duets and orchestra music. A poignant love story unfolded to wring Amy's heart. She visited another world, one full of grace and beauty and gentle people with tender feelings—none with a problem so bad that a neat solution couldn't be found in a song. When the final curtain dropped, she sat dazed, reluctant to give up the fantasy.

  Tyler smiled, watching her, and sat quietly until she finally rose to follow the stragglers from the theater. In the lobby, he adjusted the lace shawl about her shoulders. “Did you enjoy the show, Miss Amy?"

  Suddenly, she was on the verge of tears, because he could just as well be the hero, and she could play the heroine, and the world really could be a beautiful place—why not? She swallowed the lump in her throat. “It was so lovely, Tyler. Thank you for sharing it with me."

  And then she was out in the chill night air with the wobbly planks across the sucking mud, and ugly faces goggling at her from the dark. Men wearing red shirts and caps made from the hides of small furry animals slopped along the street. Raucous voices shouted challenges and sang bawdy lyrics.

  "Riverboat men!” Tyler's tone expressed disgust. “Keep walking; don't look at them.” He fairly dragged her along the boardwalk, slipping his arm around her waist and half carrying her across the worst places. Others who had attended the play dispersed in rapid fashion, quickly disappearing into their conveyances and whipping their horses into motion.

  Behind them, a woman's shrill voice raised in panic. “Satan's kingdom is come up before me! Oh, the wickedness of this place! Pray for me in this heathen land!"

  Amy was surprised to see Mrs. Abernathy from the Missouri Belle scampering along the planks ahead of her husband. The band of men from upriver tromped in the mud alongside, laughing and offering her a drink from their jugs.

  Tyler almost threw Amy inside the carriage, then faced the street with his pistol in hand. He held the carriage door open for the fleeing Abernathys. “Come with us!"

  "Oh, thank you, thank you! You're a godsend.” Mrs. Abernathy plumped down opposite Amy and pressed a hand to her heaving bosom. Even before they were all settled, the driver cracked his whip and urged the horses forward.

  One riverboat man jumped aboard and rode the carriage half a block, his elbow clamped inside the window. He hooted and hollered like a kid showing off, then stuck his face into the window and grinned. “I wouldn't harm no American. Now if you was a stinkin’ Frenchie, I might have me some fun!” His eye lit on Amy and he whistled his appreciation. “My, oh, my! Ain't you sweet!"

  His pals called to him, but he shouted back, “You go on, now. I mighta fell in love here!"

  Tyler gave the elbow a good rap with the butt of his pistol and the rowdy fellow disappeared from the window. There followed an outburst of crimson oaths which faded with distance. The horses found more solid footing and increased their speed.

  When they had gone several blocks, Tyler asked Mr. Abernathy where he wanted to go.

  "Take us to the St. Charles Hotel, if you please. We would be deeply grateful."

  Mrs. Abernathy peered at Amy with squinty eyes. “You two were on the steamboat, weren't you?"

  Amy nodded without replying.

  The plump woman glanced from her to Tyler and back again, her lips pursing. “You were in some sort of trouble, you and your brother. Did you get that all sorted out?"

  Mr. Abernathy frowned at his wife. “Now, Hedda, don't be prying into these folks’ affairs. They were very good to rescue us from those ruffians back there. Don't repay them with rudeness."

  Mrs. Abernathy fell silent, but her beady eyes studied Amy speculatively.

  * * * *

  After their extra guests were deposited at the St. Charles, Amy relaxed. The remainder of the way was uneventful, and too soon the carriage pulled to a stop in front of Dubois’ home. Amy laid a hand on Tyler's arm. “Thank you for a wonderful evening. I enjoyed myself."

  "I'm sorry if those hooligans frightened you."

  "Hard liquor turns grown men into mischievous boys. I doubt they meant us any harm."

  "Those mischievous boys have been responsible for a lot of crime in New Orleans. I'm told they like to burn down city blocks for fun and loot the shops on the Old Square. They particularly like to harass the Creoles, but no one is safe, especially a woman."

  "I felt safe with you."

  His expression softened as he took her hand in his. “You make a man feel protective, Miss Amy. I'd hate to see anything happen to you.” He kissed her finger tips.

  She wondered if that was why women's gloves were cut off below the knuckles—so men could brush their lips across bare fingers. His warm breath stirred her senses. She had the urge to press close to him, to share his breath and taste his lips. The thought shocked her as soon as it crossed her mind. It was a foreign thought; she'd never had a temptation like it before. She remembered the callow youths and the older men who had vied for her attentions in St. Louis. She had difficulty comparing them to Tyler O'Donnell.

  The carriage lamps tinted his face with a ruddy glow. “I'll see you on Wednesday.” He didn't release her fingers, but gently massaged them between his own, an idle gesture.

  "I look forward to it.” Her heart swelled. Did he feel the same way she did? Was he responding to the closeness, the desire to touch? She thought about removing her gloves and stroking the side of his face, or running her fingers through his thick golden hair. What would he do? Would it shatter his unfailing self-assurance, ruffle his stately calm? “After we visit Senator Benton, perhaps we could take a ride out along the river. I'd like to see some of the plantation houses. I'll bring a picnic."

  "Sounds wonderful. Let's plan on it.” His expression grew thoughtful. “I just hope Benton can do something for you. He might have little influence in Louisiana."

  "But he might know someone who has more influence."

  Tyler nodded agreement.

  She searched his face. “Do you think I'm presumptuous to go to the great Thomas Hart Benton with my problems?"

  "Lord, no. Who do you have to be?” He gave her fingers a squeeze. “I just hope you're worrying for nothing. I can't see why the law would hold your brother for long. He'll be out and about before you know it."

  "I pray you're right.” She felt a sense of loss as he released her hand. “There's something else I wanted to ask you."

  He raised his brows in silent inquiry.

  "About that proposition you made to Jeb yesterday aboard the steamboat..."

  A puzzled frown touched his brows, then cleared. “It seems ages ago."

  "Doesn't it?"

  "Don't worry, it doesn't matter anymore.” He pulled his watch from an inner pocket, and squinted at it in the dim light, turning it this way and that.

  "I deeply regret that you didn't get what you needed from us. The
Baker family has always been known for keeping their word—"

  "Please, don't let it trouble you another moment. It wasn't your fault. I beg you to forgive me, but I must go. I promised Senator Christy I'd relieve him at midnight. He's been at the general's bedside all evening."

  "But, of course. Don't feel you must impose on him about my brother's problem. He'll be too busy."

  "Nonsense.” Tyler opened the carriage door, stepped down, then reached up to assist her. “No one could help Jeb more than Bill Christy. Louisiana is his home state, after all."

  Chapter 8

  "I'm sorry about your friend, Major,” said Bill Christy. “But I'm afraid he's on his own."

  "You can do nothing for him?” Tyler followed the Senator through a gate in the fence and out into a small meadow. Heat waves shimmered over the grass as the morning dew turned to vapor.

  Christy hunched his shoulders and spread his hands in the southern gesture of futility. “The situation in New Orleans in touchy: the American contingency voted me into office; the Creoles tolerate me as long as I walk a straight line. If I interfere with the Police Commissioner's duty by championing certain Americans, I lose the battle."

  The man had a good point; Tyler couldn't argue with it. In silence, he matched his strides to Bill's as they crossed a small meadow and entered the trees on the other side. Spanish moss draped the arched limbs of the giant oaks like old forgotten laundry. Beyond lay the slaves’ cabins, each separated from the others by vegetable gardens.

  Bill glanced at him. “You said that Mr. Baker did commit a crime?"

  "I'm afraid so."

  "Well, there you have it."

  "It was self-defense, though, and it took place on board a steamboat. Perhaps that's beyond the jurisdiction of this parish.” He raised his eyebrows in a mute question. “Can you think of any obscure laws we can use?"

  Bill shook his head. “I wish I could help; I really do."

  Tyler tried to hide his disappointment. The senator had been a gracious and generous host; it wouldn't be right to tax his hospitality. “I wish I knew how to explain it to his sister. She has her mind set on getting him out of jail, and her feelings are running high—not that I blame her. The poor girl is on her own in an unfamiliar city."

  "Oh ... That's too bad."

  "She's probably lucky to have a roof over her head. You know anything about a man named Henri Dubois?"

  "Dubois? He's a businessman of sorts—buying and selling. Socially, I don't know. Cajuns have their own circles. Why?"

  "She's a guest in his house. I was just wondering."

  Bill grinned. “Perhaps she has tweaked your interest in more ways than one."

  "It's just that—Well, she's young and innocent. You know what I mean."

  "Of course, I do. I'll try to find out what's going on down at the station house for you—I can do that much, at least."

  Bill Christy made a cursory inspection of his slave compound, then circled back toward his house on the knoll. The sun caught the gleaming white balustrades gracing the two-story residence as it came into view.

  Christy turned to Tyler. “I've been wondering how you are doing with that business Andy mentioned in his letter—finding a source of arms for Houston's troops?"

  Tyler ran his hand through his hair. “It's turning out to be a challenge. I searched every shop in the French Quarter, but didn't find anything useful—a few old muskets we seized from the British during the war. What I need are some Kentucky long rifles, accurate up to 250 or 300 yards. I came across a few of those—damn few—but they had the fancy scrollwork and curlicues. I didn't want to pay that much.” He frowned. “I don't understand it. Don't they stock arms in New Orleans?"

  "Hell, yes, they stock arms here! More than anywhere else probably. It's those boys from all over the Union that want to play in the Texas War. They've been swarming through here, buying up weapons, then riding for the border yelling ‘Remember the Alamo!’”

  "Every damn rifle?” Tyler wondered if he had what it took to finish this mission.

  "I've been running into the same problem organizing the companies of volunteers Andy wants. I suggest you go out on Rue Girod near Cypress and ask around. Try South Liberty and Gallatin, too."

  "Tough part of town, isn't it?"

  "They call it The Swamp. Six blocks crowded with saloons, dance halls, gambling dens, and bordellos. We average six murders a week up there, and nothing can be done about it. It's so bad, the authorities are afraid to venture in."

  "And you want me to go there?"

  "They have more weapons per capita than anywhere else in the Union—I'd stake my life's work on it."

  "The underworld. I hadn't thought of that.” Tyler sighed, shaking his head. “Maybe we ought to just talk Houston into keeping the Mexican forces at bay with sticks and clubs. Just to keep things even, you understand."

  Bill didn't smile, but seemed to be absorbed in his line of thought. “Lots of smugglers around here hoard munitions for who knows what? They're better armed than the Garde de Ville. Those flatboat men hate Creoles, but I doubt you'll run into trouble."

  Tyler snorted in disbelief.

  "So they're ornery,” Bill admitted. “But what are you going to do?"

  Tyler considered and then eliminated the alternatives. “All right, I'll go to The Swamp. If I don't get back by dark, send bloodhounds."

  "I'd go with you, but somebody's got to stay with the general. Oh, and try Tchoupitoulas Street, also."

  "Thanks for the advice—I think.” Tyler followed his host through the gate into the garden. “I wonder what I should wear ... Probably not my army uniform?"

  * * * *

  In furious silence, Amy rode beside Tyler in the rented buggy, heading for the levee. She was in no mood for a picnic after all. Following the disastrous meeting with Senator Benton, the ashes of defeat left a bitter taste in her mouth. What should have been a simple exercise of her rights—and Jeb's—had turned into a virtual crusade.

  The senator hadn't responded to her request for help as she'd hoped. All her life, people in St. Louis had breathed his name with respect and awe. In reality, he seemed so ordinary, so helpless. Worst of all, he'd acted like he didn't care what happened to Jeb at all.

  Tyler glanced over at her. “Are you all right?"

  "He's been the Senator of Missouri for almost fifteen years. I would think he'd treat his own better than this."

  His mustache twitched as though he curbed a smile. “I believe you impressed him."

  She didn't share his amusement. “I can't imagine how you could tell that."

  "I've never seen a public figure go speechless quite like he did."

  Her face grew hot remembering her impetuous behavior after Senator Benton had brushed aside her pleas for aid. “If your brother is innocent, as you say,” the man had said, “you have nothing to fear. Be patient, and it will all turn out fine."

  Affronted at receiving mere platitudes, she'd jumped to her feet. “How can you be so sure? If it's going so well, why am I not allowed to see him? If justice is running its course, what's an innocent man doing in the dungeon? I believe there's much to fear. And if a lawmaker can't make things right, who can?"

  She'd left the man spluttering in shock at her lack of womanly decorum. Tyler, in his gracious way, had terminated the visit and led her out into the bright sunshine. She was still shaking, but she didn't regret her words one bit.

  "Oh, Tyler. What shall I do? We live in a democracy, don't we? What recourse do we have when the courts themselves fail us?"

  "I don't know what to tell you. We expected too much, I guess. Senators stand up and make pretty speeches, but I suppose that's about all they do."

  "Who else do you know besides senators? There must be someone."

  "I haven't met the governor yet, but I think I can arrange it."

  "I would appreciate anything you can do.” His willingness to continue seeking redress surprised her. She was not accustomed to having a
nyone help fight her battles, and his support triggered within her a deep yearning for shelter from the storm of her disordered life. Tempting as it was to dump her troubles in his lap, she knew she must not foster unrealistic hopes that he would be there for the long haul. Men tended to promise the moon, then forget and wander off on their own pursuits.

  She sighed deeply. No, she dare not rely on Tyler. Ultimately, she would have to work her way out of her own predicaments.

  The carriage had begun the climb up the side of the levee. Over the water, a chorus of screaming gulls played a counter-point to the deep-throated horn of a freighter. The river level rode high above the saucer-shaped flats of the city, held back by the sheer willpower of the levee. Only the tops of countless masts could be seen from the city streets, but once on top of the mound, the precarious arrangement of the shifting roofline laying below—walls rising against walls, blue, warm pink and purple—prickled the hairs on the back of Amy's neck. It surely defied nature to build a city below the level of so much water, she thought. What if the Mississippi broke through and washed everything away?

  Her sudden change of fortune had left her with the same feeling of insecurity. Never had she carried a heavier burden of responsibility with so little hope of success. With Jeb out of reach, all decisions fell to her. What should she do about the furs in the warehouse? The freight wagons? The money she'd reclaimed from Jackrabbit Jones? A prudent woman would probably save all she could to provide for an uncertain future. But, oh, how she hated the thought of giving up the plan she and Jeb had of selling trade goods in Santa Fe. What if, heaven forbid, Jeb did not gain his release soon? She couldn't remain with Henri forever.

  A couple miles out of town, Tyler stopped the buggy near the river and helped her to alight. He spread a wide lap rug on the grass under a sweet gum tree for them to sit on, then Amy unpacked the cold chicken, bread and orange marmalade, pickled watermelon rind, a mixture of fruit juices to drink, and two pieces of sweet potato pie.

  "That looks wonderful. I'm starved.” Tyler removed his coat and settled down on the blanket.