Passion's Joy (5 page)

Tears of intense relief and fear blinded her along with the wind, and it was four or five miles later before she swallowed her frightened panic and attempted to gain control of the reins. Libertine's fear could have easily fueled another five miles, and mastering it proved a hard struggle. She finally grasped the reins, and with a hard tug of all her strength, she called, "Whoa, whoa! Easy girl... easy...." Libertine gradually slowed to a quick trot, and Joy dug tight with her knees,

matching her movement to her horse's with the skill of a seasoned rider. Once she had full control, she came to a complete stop to take stock of her situation.

No one chased her, though as she wiped her tears and drew her first even breath, she found herself the recipient of more than one interested stare. She was dangerously close to the marketplace. A tall woman, with a huge basket of apples on her head and two wide-eyed children hanging on her apron string, watched warily from off the road where she had obviously retreated to in fear of life and limb. An old Cajun fisherman stood nearby with the same expression, and from down the road she caught sight of a band of seamen approaching.

She slipped from Libertine's back and led her into the safety of the forest as her mind raced over the situation. As soon as that pirate man roused the bounty hunters, the whole world would be looking for her, an old peddler and a tall, strong, young Negro. Hopefully, by this point, Sammy and the Reverend would have gotten the passengers off, hidden the cart and changed back into their respectable unassuming selves. They would probably be riding the bays back at this very moment to fetch her. She must warn them still, for if the bounty hunters were released prematurely, as no doubt they would be—it would not be safe to return until dark, even minus their disguises. Then too, there was no telling what that pirate man would do once he had the real story.

Joy clutched her sides tightly, trying to quiet the rage of her emotions long enough to think.

What to do? The trouble was that he—that pirate man—stood between her and Sammy and the Reverend.

The large, blue eyes darted over the surrounding forest. The only option was to ride Libertine south on a back trail and avoid him. Then she'd head back on to the road a couple of miles south of where he had held her—as close as she dared—and keep on south, praying she ran into her comrades as they were riding north to fetch her. It was the best she could think to do, and if it didn't work, if she could not find them to give warning, she'd simply hide in the forest until it was safe to return home.

If Joshua ever heard of this one ..

With a little effort she found the back road through the forest that paralleled the main road.

She pushed Libertine to a trot, keeping her head down now to avoid the overhanging vines, branches and occasional blankets of moss. The path cut a narrow line through the dense brush, following a stream off and on.

She had traveled a good distance when, quite suddenly, the path opened to the familiar clearing, and just as panic coursed through her small frame, causing Libertine to lift to the air in response, she saw that no one remained.

The pirate man was gone! As were the two bound and tied bounty hunters! Her gaze flew to where her pistol had fallen, but that too was gone. All that remained was an imagined terror, and the tension of this brought a sudden kick of heels to her mount. Horse and rider flew onto the main road once again.

A midday sun lifted over the zenith as she kept Libertine at a fast lope, once again letting the landscape fly past her. A familiar bundle of clouds waited on the far horizon, stopping to gather strength for an evening battle to capture the springtime sky and saturate the land with a triumphant rain. Never far from sight, the great river flowed lazily south, adding the illusion of greater speed to her flight. The warm wind splashed her face, drying the nervous moisture as it appeared.

A few wanderers spiced the road here and there: passersby, more fishermen, a few farmers who worked the rich farmland surrounding Carlisle, the farmers' Negroes and the Cajun people.

She slowed a little with each encounter, half expecting arms to be raised with voices crying: "There she is! Catch her!" No such alarm sounded though. She seemed to solicit nothing more than a curious stare or two.

There was no sign of her comrades, and she stopped about a mile out of Carlisle, as close as she would dare. She'd have to wait. She reined Libertine to the side and fixed an anxious stare down the deserted road.

She waited and waited.

A carriage rounded the bend in the distance, and as it drew nearer, she recognized the familiar faces of the Baxter family of Rose Hill. The driver was Hark, an elderly Negro, affable and friendly, but one of the many house servants of whom Sammy warned, "That man ever suspects what's goin' down 'round his nose at these sermons, he a gonna run right straight for the massa and drop to his knees, all a blabberin'."

Wearing all the plume and finery of her class, Madame Baxter sat in the carriage. A plumper version of this lady, her young daughter Margaret sat alongside. Opposite them sat Clyde and Tom, the two youngest Baxter boys. Joy knew them all quite well. She had had tea at Rose Hill many times during the days when Joshua had been well enough to enjoy society. She had danced with both young men at various parties.

Joy pulled her mount farther into the forest, knowing they were far more likely to recognize Libertine than herself. The carriage passed in front, and Joy met Madame Baxter's unkind stare with her own: a perfect replica of the po' white trash look of scorn and antipathy toward their betters.

"Hmmph!” Madame Baxter seemed to ruffle her plumage. "This road gets worse each day.

The hoodlums begin to appear in alarming numbers—even worse than free darkies! You must remind me to mention it to your father."

Another time Joy might have laughed, but impending disaster, which she felt as a physical presence, left no room for the natural humor she normally found when confronting the startling duplicity of her life. All she felt was an ever-increasing anxiety as she returned at once to study the road.

Good Lord, where were they?

The answer came with a quick prayer for the Reverend's unlikely salvation. The only possible thing that could explain this wait was that the Reverend must be bent over his cups in some seedy tavern down the road, already inebriated, leaving her to stay perched in that tree for eternity.

Oh Sammy, how could you let him?

Sammy would have left him to fetch her, of course, but what would he do when he found her and the bounty hunters gone? Race home to see if she had made it safe? Yes! Yet when he found her not home, he would panic and a search would be on.

Realizing what must have happened, she turned her horse back, but Libertine had not kicked dust to the road before she heard the familiar voice from behind call, "Joy!"

"Sammy!" Relief once again swept through her in a wild rush, and she turned her mount back around and raced to him. Her relief was so tremendous that, as the two horses met, she fell from her seat and into the security of Sammy's strong arms.

Sammy, for his part, cast a quick glance in both directions before, holding her small weight with one arm, he pulled her and the mounts off the road. Only thing worse than nigger freein' was miscegenation—hanging would not be enough for a Negro caught in an embrace with a white girl.

"Sakes alive girl! What's a happened? I was just gonna get you—"

The story gushed out in bucketfuls of superlatives: Colossal size and Herculean strength, bigger than Sammy, meaner than a rabid dog and madder than a wet hen, as cold as New England

frost! The pirate man had become so huge in retrospect that all Sammy could think was either they were dealing with the very devil himself, or his girl's wits had finally collapsed under the great weight of God's work.

"Hold on, girl!" He finally grasped the point and placed a gentle finger on her lips to silence her. "You is paintin’ one fanciful picture. Ain't like you at all to fall apart on me," he gently scolded. "Now, slow down some to think on what we're gonna do."

The reprimand hurt coming from Sammy, whose complaints about anyone or anything were as rare as desert snow, but he was right. She must gather her wits to form a plan.

"The Reverend's down yonder in the Red Barn." "I knew it!"

"Ain't nothin' new 'bout the Reverend drinkin'. Now look here; I'll head back up the road and sees if’ n it's safe—"

"But what if there's a road block? What if they're already looking for you?" "Do I look anythin' like that ‘ole peddler's nigger?”

Nothing remained of the peddler's boy but Sammy's height and build. The Negro wig had been removed, and Sammy's large, dark head gleamed in the magnificence of its baldness. The powder used to lighten his skin had been washed away by a quick dip in the Mississippi, and now his skin shined as dark as night. He wore the well-cut, clean clothes, not just of a free darky, but of the tradesman he was. The Reverend Doddered's man stood well above reproach. Everyone knew that. Besides, he had pass papers folded neatly in his pocket. These alone would answer most any suspicion.

"No," she had to admit. "Though your size Sammy, and they did look at your teeth."

"I plan to keep my mouth shut tight as fox teeth on a rabbit's foot. Now, if ‘n I don' return in the hour, you can know it is safe. Still, when you head back, keep to the back roads, all right?"

She nodded.

"Now while you wait, you gotta head down to the Red Barn and pass warnin' to the Reverend. Try to sober him up some. You got any money to bribe the barman?" he asked checking his pockets. "What's wrong, Joy? You look like you’ve been struck with a bolt of lightning.”

"I can't go into the Red Barn! That place is filled with nothing but backwoodsmen, criminals and pirates. Why, I bet Lafitte himself would tread warily in that water, and Lord, Joshua would hit the ceiling if he ever found—"

"Somebody's got to warn the Reverend they is lookin' for him, and you be that somebody!

Lawd, I don' reckon I’m ever gonna understand white women, if’ n I live to be a hundred! Here you are, dressed like a boy, ridin' round on that horse like a boy, barefoot to boot and breakin' half the laws of the state by stealin' folks' coloreds, and yet your sensibilities is taxed by settin' foot in a tavern? Even if’ n it might mean savin' de ole man's life? Boy, if I didn' love you as my own, I—"

"Oh, very well!" she snapped, properly embarrassed by this verbal attack on her inconsistencies. The duel sense of propriety that Joshua had raised her to know would never amount to more than confusion.

"Okay, here's what to do. You wait outside the Red Barn after you warn the ole’ man. Hell, I ain't sayin' it's gonna do any good; the Reverend don’t care a passel of yams whose chasin' him, especially when he's drinkin', but seems to me we gotta at least warn him they are going to be out thar. So you run in there real quick like, an' come out to wait to hear from me. After an hour or so, you start wanderin' home and, like I said, keep to the back roads. If anythin's amiss, I'll high-tail back to warn you." He stared down at the anxiety in the pretty blue eyes. "Now what in tarnation's ailin' you, girl?"

"It's just that I—" She could still feel the ever so disturbing imprint and warmth of that hard muscled body, and she shivered. "Nothing. Just you take care and hurry. Oh, please do hurry!"

Sammy's hand reached down to affectionately brush her cheek, before winking. She smiled back, pretending to be reassured, and watched him once mount and ride off, disappearing down the road.

The ribald sounds of drunken merry-making and the noxious fumes of liquor greeted her well before she turned Libertine off the main road. True to its name, the Red Barn stood as an immense brick structure in the shape of a barn, lifted on huge thick stilts to protect the establishment from seasonal floods. Four large houses might be placed inside its walls, with room left over. A wood veranda circled round the front, and wide steps led to the front door, though no windows shed light in the devil's den. She noticed an impressive number of fine horses among the otherwise common stock, and this she took as proof that in these dark days pirates and criminals could afford the best.

After allowing Libertine a long drink, Joy tied the reins and took a deep breath to gather courage enough to march up the worn steps. Her pulse quickened, and the sounds grew louder with

each step, culminating in an assault on her sensibilities. With the final step, she went through the door.

The sheer size of the place overwhelmed her, making her feel both small and mercifully unnoticed. It was crowded. Hay covered the floor, soaking the odor of spilled drinks, food and other imagined substances she did not find it worthwhile to consider. Fifty or more tables and four times as many chairs cluttered the room in an apparent design of chaos.

Loud cheers and cat-calls rose from one corner of the room. On a table, its top covered with coins, two huge and red-faced men arm wrestled to the excited cries of the betters. Cards were being played at two other tables as well, though the vast majority of men contented themselves with mere talk and drink. She stepped quickly away from the door to escape notice, hay tickling her bare feet as she did so.

Then she saw them; the pirates they had seen pass on the road that morning were separated from the others by a respectful distance. The great blond leader sat prominently among the dangerous group. She searched for the Reverend; the sooner this was over, the better.

Kegs of ale, stacked in pyramid shapes, marked opposing ends of a long counter. Bottles of finer stuff were behind the bar. One sign insisted coin must be shown before serving, and another offered hard-boiled eggs, pone or apples for a penny. Two gruff looking men tended the bar. The place was

noticeably devoid of bar maids, indeed any female with less than four legs.

The Reverend sat right in the middle of the two opposing pyramids of kegs. His head lay in his arms on the counter. No doubt resting precariously on this side of oblivion, she thought as she started toward him.