Sandra Hill - [Creole] (26 page)

Those last words sounded like a death knell to Harriet, and she wasn’t sure why. First of all, she had no intention of letting Etienne abandon her at the plantation in three days. Second, she’d known all along that she and Etienne would have to part when she returned to the future.

So why did she feel as if her heart were breaking?

Because she loved the jerk, of course.

Besides, she hadn’t had a chance to help Etienne yet. Although she’d set up a reconciliation between father and daughter, she hadn’t begun to use her psychological skills to cure Etienne of his postprison syndrome. And she was sure she could alleviate his migraine headaches. Until he was healed both physically and mentally, her job here wouldn’t be completed.

Well, goodness, she was one of the most competent professionals in her field. Therapy for Etienne should be a snap, given the seven-plus weeks she had left till the Illinois Central railroad bridge was completed.

With a plan in mind, Harriet felt better.

Setting her tape recorder and notebook aside, she scooted over to the middle of the bed. She was wearing only the leopard-print nightie and panties with one of Etienne’s old shirts for a robe. The tails reached all the way to her knees.

She sat cross-legged, facing the little girl, who was also
cross-legged in her long, sleeveless chemise. “Saralee, honey, how about you and I play a game with your dolls?”

Saralee shimmied backward slightly and stammered out, “I doan…doan wanna play a game.”

“Don’t be frightened, sweetheart. I used to play with dolls all the time when I was your age. Barbie dolls.”

“Ba-Barbie?”

“Yes. Barbie and Ken. They were horrible, gender-stereotyping dolls,” Harriet started to say, but saw the confusion on the little girl’s face. “But that’s another story. My favorite of all my Barbie dolls was the princess one. Maybe this doll of yours could be Princess Maralee.” She picked up the one with the long black hair. “And that one over there could be the King—Princess Maralee’s father. King…uh, Toadienne.” She pointed to the male rag doll.

Still unconvinced, Saralee clutched the remaining two dolls to her chest protectively, unsure of Harriet’s intentions.

“And who could the other doll be?” Harriet pretended to be thinking hard, tapping her chin. “I know,” she said brightly. “That could be the fairy queen who comes to visit from another land. Queen Merry-Hat.”

Saralee giggled.

“The fairy queen would be Saralee’s friend.”

She turned big blue eyes—like Etienne’s—on her with such open yearning that Harriet’s maternal instincts went into overdrive. Saralee wouldn’t be the only one hurt by the eventual separation.

“Do you want to play?” Harriet asked, reaching out slowly, so as not to alarm the child, and cupping her downy cheek.

Saralee leaned into her hand, obviously starving for tactile affection. Then she nodded her agreement.

“Once upon a time there was a magic kingdom,” Harriet began, “but it was like no other place in the whole world. Because here the subjects were splendid creatures. Dainty butterflies and fierce alligators. Three-legged chickens—
Harriet had actually seen one of those today—and wild hawks. Kitty cats and scary wolves. Smelly skunks and snapping turtles.”

“Were thar puppy dawgs?” Saralee asked tentatively, still not sure she wanted to play this game.

“Absolutely! Lots of puppies. All kinds.” Then Harriet thought of something. “Do you have a dog?”

Saralee shook her head.

“Why not?”

“Blossom says a dog is too much botheration.” Then she had second thoughts about criticizing the old cook, who was no doubt very good to her. “Blossom is old. She cain’t hardly chase no puppies ’round. Spec’ly ones that makes puddles in the house.”

“Well, this princess had oodles of puppies.”

“Oodles?” she sighed.

“And they never made puddles in her house because they were such good and loyal subjects.”

“Did the princess have jewels and crowns?”

“Well, of course. What kind of princess would she be without those? But in this land all the jewels grew on trees and bushes. And they were all colors and all sizes.”

“Flowers!” Saralee guessed, hopping up and down on the mattress with excitement. “And I know what her crown was, too. A May crown of blossoms.”

“Yes! How clever you are, Saralee. But let me tell you more. This very special princess lived in a splendid house in this magic kingdom called Noir in the land of Bayou. She had many friends and loyal subjects. She had everything a princess could have except one thing, which made her very unhappy. Do you know what that was, Saralee?”

The girl stuck a thumb in her mouth.

“Well, one day a royal visitor came to see Princess Maralee. Her name was Queen Merry-Hat because she wore a funny hat like a wizard. Queen Merry-Hat had special powers that came from the fairy dust she kept in her magic hat.”

“Could we…could we make a hat like that tomorrow?”

“Sure thing, honey. Now, back to the story. Queen Merry-Hat saw that Princess Maralee was sad and she told her that she could have a teensy pinch of her fairy dust. And that would entitle her to one wish, and one wish only.”

“Ooooh! What did the princess wish for?”

“Well, at first, Princess Maralee couldn’t make up her mind. Should she wish for real jewels? Or a boat? Or twenty wagons full of candy? Or a swing? Or a puppy? Or a million gowns?”

Saralee laughed merrily.

“The princess just couldn’t decide. So Queen Merry-Hat told her that she knew a story that might help. It seems there once was a brave knight in the land of Noir…King Toadienne. He was called Toadienne because he liked to play with the slimy critters when he was a boy and because sometimes he even acted like one.”

“I lak to play with toads sometimes,” Saralee offered defensively.

It probably runs in the genes
. “Yes, well, one day the brave Toadienne went off to war, and never came back. He became lost, you see. Worst of all, he never knew that his wife, Queen Vera, gave birth to his most precious little girl, Maralee.” Harriet figured it would be only a little fib to imply that Etienne married Saralee’s mother. “Even when he wandered back to his kingdom on occasion, he didn’t know the little girl was his.”

“Someone should ha’ told ’im,” Saralee cried.

“Well, they did, but Toadienne had lived among toads for so long that he got warts on his brain. He didn’t believe them. Maybe he was afraid.”

“Afraid? Of the princess?” Saralee looked horrified.

“Maybe he was afraid that she wouldn’t like him.”

“Maybe the princess was afraid he wouldn’t lak her either.”

Harriet could barely restrain herself from hugging the
sweet girl and assuring her that she was very likeable. “For days and days, then weeks and weeks, years and years, the princess couldn’t make up her mind. What should her wish be?”

“I know, I know,” Saralee exclaimed.

“Really? What do you think the little princess wished for?”

Saralee paused dramatically, then whooped, “Her papa.”

Etienne pressed his forehead against the wall in the corridor outside the bedchamber. He’d come to talk to Saralee…perhaps to get to know his daughter a little better.

The only light in the dark hall came from a lantern he’d set on the stand next to him and from the oil lamps on either side of the tester bed that shone through the open doorway.

He felt so damn guilty.

Saralee feared that he wouldn’t like her.

What did “like” have to do with it? Love should be unconditional. Wasn’t that the biggest wall separating him and his father all these years?

When Etienne had defied his father back in 1861 and left Oxford to join in the fray that was to become the Civil War, his father had been upset. He’d claimed that one of the most important reasons he’d left the South was to spare himself and his son from participating in what was doomed to be a hopeless cause.

But Etienne had been twenty-two at the time, and thought he knew everything. While in California to inform his father of his decision, Etienne had run into Lafe Baker, who was starting up the National Detective Agency, soon to become the Secret Service. Lafe, “the Spymaster,” had talked Etienne into working for the Union army through covert operations as a double agent.

The most effective spies had to be trained in the nuances of language, customs and manners of the enemy forces, right down to eating habits, dress and personality traits.
Etienne already had those assets, being a Southerner by birth, Creole by appearance, speaking with a Southern drawl, fluent in English, French and Spanish, having a knowledge of Confederate geography, not to mention being daring and highly intelligent. Most important, he had to be willing, at all costs, to keep his work secret.

The last time Etienne had seen his father, Etienne had been wearing the uniform of a Rebel captain. He would never, ever forget his father’s last words. “You are not my son. From this day forth, you are not my son.”

“Papa,” he’d pleaded.

“Take off that uniform, Etienne. All your life, you’ve been a wild child. Stubborn, willful, careless. But this…this is too much. For God’s sake, how could you? How could you?”

Shouldn’t his father have had faith in him? Hadn’t he known him well enough to believe in his integrity? Did he truly think he would fight on the side that wanted to put his best friends, Cain and Abel, in chains? Most important, regardless of what he did, shouldn’t his father have loved him unconditionally?

But Etienne hadn’t had the freedom then to say those things to his father. And the years had only driven the rift wider.

Now, he thought, bringing himself back to the present…now his own child forced him to realize he was no better than his father. Saralee feared he wouldn’t like her, thought that was why he hadn’t wanted her all these years.

Shouldn’t a father love a child unconditionally, the way he’d wanted his father to love him?

Harriet had told him earlier that he needed to show Saralee that he loved her, and he’d responded that it was unreasonable to expect him to love her when he didn’t even know her.

The love between a parent and child should be given freely. From the heart, with no strings attached.

Etienne pulled away from the wall and straightened in
determination. That, at least, was one wrong in this misdirected life of his that he could correct. And it wouldn’t cost him anything…just a little love. He hoped he had some left.

Intending to go in to Saralee now, he hesitated when he heard Harriet moving about and saying, “Sweet dreams, princess.” Apparently, she’d just tucked the girl in for the night. The bed linens rustled as Saralee presumably squirmed around to get comfortable. Well, perhaps his talk could wait until the morning. Yes, it would give him time to get his emotions in order, to handle the situation in a carefully planned manner.

Planned? Oh, merde! The witch has got me making plans
.

“Can we make a wizard hat tomorrow?” Saralee asked Harriet.”

“Oh, I think so. I’ll be in the room next door if you need me, hon.” Harriet blew out the lamps and, seconds later, she was sashaying out toward him, closing the door partially on the already sleeping child. In fact, she sashayed right into him.

“Ooomph!”

Feeling good about all the progress she’d made with Saralee, Harriet hadn’t been paying attention when she barreled out into the hall—and slammed into the rock-hard wall of Etienne’s chest. He grabbed her upper arms to hold her upright.

“What are you doing here?” she snapped.
Spying on me, I suppose
.

“I came to talk to my daughter, and to get some reading material since I couldn’t sleep,” he replied, loosening his grip on her, then immediately wrapping his arms around her waist and backing her up against the wall. “I thought I’d borrow one of your books to read.” Before she could think, he had lifted her to tippy-toes, a position that seemed to be a favorite of his—chest to breast, hip to hip, groin to groin. It was fast becoming a favorite of hers, too.

“You came to talk to Saralee?” She was encouraged to know he was willing to make a first step.

“Um-hmm,” he murmured, up close to her lips.

She could smell his breath, redolent of cigars along with whiskey and peaches.
Peaches?

“Where did you get peaches?”

“The orchard,” he said, smiling. Then he nipped at her lower lip, forcing her to open for his kiss. “You smell like gardenias. Been taking another bath, I assume.”

When her lips parted with anticipation, he teased her with a flutter of a kiss. A butterfly kiss, softer than the fuzz on a peach. “You taste like peaches,” she breathed. “Peach kisses.”

“You should try them sometime.” He chuckled. “The peaches, I mean.”

“I thought we agreed not to do this anymore.” She groaned as Etienne moved himself against her and whispered sinful things in her ear. Intimate, wicked words insinuating what he would like to do with her.

“Darlin’, I don’t recollect agreein’ to anything. But then, I think my brain is melting from all this tree shakin’ you been doin’.”

“What tree shaking?”

“Harriet, I told you not to interfere in my life anymore. What were you doing in there with my daughter?”

“Therapy.”

“Therapy,” he repeated with disgust. “Another word for meddling.”

“Now, Etienne, you have to realize that psychologists use many analytical tools.”

He raised an eyebrow mockingly. “Like
Toadienne
?”

“Oh, well, that was just a role-playing game.”

“Hah? And this?” he added, drawing back to study her. “If wearing this cat garment isn’t tantamount to shakin’ my tree, nothing is.” He growled and drew the shirt off her shoulders so he could view her better.

She loved…she absolutely loved…the way Etienne’s
blue eyes turned dark and misty with passion when he gazed at her. She loved the feel of his heart thundering against hers with rising excitement.

When he kissed her this time, it was no peach-fuzz kiss. It was sweet and wet and sinfully delicious. Over and over he tasted her, and she tasted back.