Sandra Hill - [Creole] (32 page)

From his vantage point directly behind Harriet, Etienne thought there were some advantages to being blind. Like a full-blown view of the curve of her bottom every single damn time she twirled her hips. He was thinking about asking her to give him a demonstration later…wearing only her panty hose…and maybe the leopard-print chemise. Yep, that would be a sight to stir a man’s blood. Not that his blood wasn’t already boiling. In fact, it had been on a slow simmer since he’d entered a certain train compartment about two weeks ago.

Several of the other women came closer, and Harriet soon enticed them to try the hula hoops. Some of the younger men tried them also. Soon the small clearing rang with the giggles of young and old alike.

Reverend Lezzer squinted uncertainly at all the shenan
igans. “I don’t know if this is quite respectable.”

“Oh, pooh, Nebbie,” his wife responded. “The good Lord never said jolliment was a sin.” So,
Nebbie
joined them, too.

Harriet came over and sank down beside him, smiling. “It’s amazing how little it takes to entertain kids. In my time, parents buy children all kinds of expensive toys. And one of the all-time best inventions was the hula hoop. The man who thought it up first made a fortune.”

That seemed hardly credible but he didn’t argue. He was enjoying her close proximity too much. “I think we should go take a bath,” he suggested suddenly. “Cain said there’s a secluded spot downstream a bit.”

She gave him a sidelong glance of disbelief. “Together?”

“Well, of course. Being blind and all, I could hardly make my way there alone.”

She laughed. “You’re incorrigible.” While laughing, she knocked against his arm and a little of his coffee spilled into the dust. “That looks just like a Rorschach ink-blot design.”

“A what?”

“Rorschach. It’s a psychological test that determines certain intellectual and emotional factors.”

All Etienne saw was a wet spot in the shape of a circle.

“For example, what do you see there? Say the first thing that comes into your mind.”

“Breast.”

She clucked her disapproval.

“How about this?” She took his cup and drizzled another spot on the ground, this time in the shape of a square.

“Buttocks.”

“Etienne! Be serious.”

“I am. What do I get if I pass this test? A bath?”

“There is no passing or failing of this test. Look at this one.” Now she dribbled a wobbly triangle.

He grinned and stared meaningfully at her lap…more specifically, the joining of her thighs.

“You’re teasing me. Let’s try another test. This is called word association. I’ll say a number of words, and you say the first thing that comes into your head. Do you understand?”

He didn’t. “Sure.”

“Bed.”

“Nipple.”

She frowned. “House.”

“Bed.”

The frown disappeared. “Wet.”

“Kiss.”

The frown was back. “Animal.”

“Cock.”

“Oh, you!”

“Keep going, this is fun. I think I would make a good psychologist.”

“Cotton.”

“Sex.”

“Give me a break, Etienne. There’s no way you could associate cotton with sex.”

“Yes, there is. Cotton sheets on a bed where two naked bodies are—”

“I give up,” she said, shaking her head at him.

“Guess that means I’m the winner.” Making sure no one was watching, he lowered his spectacles a mite and peered up at her, wiggling his eyebrows. “Want to come to my blanket tonight and ogle me while I take off my spectacles?”

She
tsk-tsked
him. “Rascal to the end, aren’t you?”

“Only for you, darlin’.”

Saralee walked up hesitantly then, her three pitiful rag dolls clutched in her arms. The braids Harriet had plaited for her that morning were half undone, and there were dirt smudges on her cheeks. She was the spitting image of him at that age.

As an Indian maiden, Saralee wore a leather thong around her forehead with a bedraggled black feather, which he assumed came from Harriet’s harlot fan. He hoped Harriet hadn’t gotten rid of all her feathers; he had another fantasy in mind for the future. Saralee also wore a leather belt with a scabbard for a small knife, and around her neck was a strand of chinaberry beads. When they’d asked her days ago to play along with their “game” of pretending to be a blind man with his wife and child, Saralee had had no trouble falling into the role-playing.

“Sit down, Saralee.” Etienne urged, making room for her on the ground between him and Harriet. The other children and adults began to move off to their own wagons and campfires.

Saralee’s lower lip trembled, but she did as she was told. A brave little soul, he thought.

Harriet remained quiet during this interchange. Etienne impressed her with a surprising sensitivity and endearing clumsiness as he tried to draw his daughter out of her shell.

“Would you like me to tell you some tales my stepmother told me when I was your age? She was a great storyteller.”

Saralee shook her head. “Tell me ’bout Selene. Is she my grandmother?”

Etienne took off his glasses and rubbed the bridge of his nose. He didn’t talk about his family
…ever
. Harriet saw the effort it took for him to unstiffen and answer in a civil tone. “Yes, she’s your grandmother.”

“Where is she?”

Etienne’s jaw worked. “California.”

“Blossom says she’s beautiful.”

Etienne’s lips turned up at the edges. “Very beautiful.”

“And my grandfather? Does he live in California, too?”

Etienne nodded, the stiffness back in his jaw and a bleakness in his eyes. He hadn’t put his glasses back on.

“Will I ever meet them?”

Etienne closed his eyes for a brief moment, then looked
directly at Saralee. “I don’t know, sweetie. I don’t know.”

His honesty seemed to satisfy Saralee. But then the very perceptive little girl asked, “Do you ever miss your papa? You looked sad when I asked ’bout him. Sometimes I miss having a mama and papa so bad.”

Staggered, Etienne glanced at Harriet for help, but before she could intervene, Saralee added the zinger. “Do you wanna hug one of my dolls? Sometimes, when I’m sad, it helps.”

He groaned. “Saralee, I’d love to hug one of your dolls. But more than anything, I’d like a hug from my own little girl.”

Saralee’s eyes went big as saucers before she leaped into his arms, dolls flying. She held on tight around his neck as Etienne rocked her back and forth, eyes closed. “Shhh, now, Saralee. You don’t have to be sad anymore. Shhh! Papa’s here. Shhh!”

For a long time, Saralee clung fiercely to Etienne, afraid the magic moment would disappear if she didn’t hang on for dear life. Little by little, she relaxed as Etienne whispered to her of all the things he would show her when they got home to Bayou Noir…a secret bayou glen, an alligator’s nest, the best place to pick wild berries, the best method of fishing. On and on he went till Saralee fell asleep in his arms. And then it was Etienne who held on tight, not wanting to relinquish his precious daughter.

Finally, he lifted his lids, his eyes locking with Harriet’s. She’d been weeping silently. He didn’t question her tears. Instead, he put a free hand around the nape of her neck, pulling her closer.

Laying his lips softly against hers, he kissed her. A heart-and-soul kiss. A featherlight gesture that reached into her essence and with its gentleness shredded everything that was Harriet Ginoza. Nothing that came before this kiss mattered. Nothing. This kiss represented all that she, or any woman, could ever want from life.

Etienne was her soul mate, and she’d be a fool to let him go.

The next day, they crossed the Texas border into Devil’s Junction, where the Babylons prepared to part company with Reverend Frogash, heading in another direction. In a flurry of good-byes and promises to keep in touch, the Babylons rode off.

That was when they realized that Saralee was missing.

Frantically, they searched the town, asked every passerby they saw for news of the child. They even followed after the Babylons to see if she’d inadvertently gotten mixed in their group. Nothing. Lance whimpered at Harriet’s feet, rubbing against her leg. And Harriet knew that Saralee would never have left without her dog.

With a speed born of years of experience, Etienne dropped his disguise and strapped on his gun belts. Cain did likewise. They walked briskly out of the livery stable, where they’d just boarded their wagons and horses. The two fresh riding horses Etienne and Cain had rented stood saddled and waiting.

“What is it?” Harriet asked Etienne. His eyes glittered
with fury. She wasn’t sure if it was directed at himself or her for bringing Saralee into this danger.

“Briggs,” Etienne clipped out. “I knew he was a snake, but I didn’t think he’d strike so soon. Or in such an underhanded manner—kidnapping a child, for chrissake. He must be desperate.”

“You should have killed him three years ago when you had the chance,” Cain said. Both men were checking ammunition belts and adding rifles to their arsenal of weapons.

“We needed more evidence,” Etienne responded. “The hell with evidence now! If he harms Saralee in any way, I’ll kill him with my bare hands.”

Harriet was thoroughly confused. “Who is Briggs?”

“Brandon Briggs. The honorable U.S. Senator from Texas,” Etienne said with a sneer. “And the biggest thief in the country. He’s the man President Grant wanted to snare in this whole entrapment scenario. He’s the mastermind behind a network of government graft that covers every state. He got his start by working with us in the Secret Service in the early years of the war.”

“Does he live here in Devil’s Junction?”

Both men shook their heads.

“He has a ranch about three hours south of here, near Beaumont. The Double B,” Cain explained as he swung up onto the saddle of his horse.

“But…but where are you going now? And where’s my horse?” Harriet asked in alarm.

Etienne turned on her, jaw set stubbornly. “You’re staying here. No, Harriet, don’t argue. There’s no time. I want you to register at the hotel over there.” He pointed to the Empire, a three-story plank building fronting a board sidewalk that lined the entire main street. In fact, it was the only street.

“But—”

“No ‘buts,’ Harriet. I want your promise.”

She nodded.

He held her gaze for a long moment, measuring her sin
cerity. When satisfied, he went on, “If we’re not back by tomorrow evening, I want you to go to Galveston and board the steamboat for New Orleans. Go to Simone’s. If you don’t hear from me by the twenty-eighth, three weeks from now, I want you to hotfoot it to the train station and buy a ticket for that first train over the bridge to Chicago. And never look back.” He added that last with a hitch in his voice.

Never look back? As if that were possible!
“Are you crazy? I’m not leaving here till I know for sure that you’re either safe…or…or not safe.”

“Yes, you are, Harriet. I want your promise on this or else I’m gonna tie you to a bedpost in that hotel with orders for the proprietor to do as I say. Is that clear?”

Once again, she nodded. But she wasn’t happy about it. “What about Lance?”

Etienne blinked, obviously having forgotten the mutt. “Hold on to him for Saralee.”

“Shouldn’t I go to the sheriff, or something?”

“
No!
” they both exclaimed.

“Or wire Abel, or your father?”

“
No!
” they responded in unison.

Seeing that Etienne was about to mount the horse, Harriet panicked. “Etienne,” she pleaded.

This was it then. He was riding off and might never return. And he didn’t even seem to care. How could he be so heartless? Oh, she knew he was preoccupied with worry over Saralee. She was, too. But they might never see each other again. Ever.

“You are a gold-plated jerk.”

He arched one brow. “So you’ve said before.”

“Be careful,” she whispered. Tears were already welling in her eyes. She knew that he noticed and tried not to be touched.

He nodded.

“I love you, you know?”

He nodded again.

“Say something, dammit!”

He smiled. “If I come back…” he drawled.

If?
That word more than anything washed over Harriet like a cold premonition of doom.

“If I come back,” he started over again, forcing her chin up with a forefinger, “will you do me a favor?”

“Anything,” she said softly.

He laughed. “Now that has possibilities. Would you consider putting it in writing? Actually, what I was wondering was…if I come back, would you mind giving me a personal demonstration with that hula hoop, wearing your leopard-print chemise and those sinful panty hose?”

She tried to smile. “On one condition.”

He grinned at her…a lazy, rogue’s grin, which never reached his grim eyes. And he repeated her quick retort of moments ago, “Anything.”

“As long as you give me a demonstration wearing boots and a cowboy hat.”

“And what else?”

“That’s all. Oh, maybe spectacles, too.”

He chuckled and the grin did reach his eyes for an instant. Leaning down, he brushed a quick kiss across her lips and murmured against her mouth, “It’s a deal, sweetheart.”

Then he was gone.

For once, Harriet obeyed Etienne’s orders. She stayed at the hotel, wringing her hands with worry, straying from her room only to eat in the hotel dining room or take Lance for a stroll down the town’s boardwalk. The exercise took about five minutes.

By the afternoon of the second day, she was a mass of jittery nerves, alternately weeping and praying. Lance slept through most of it.
The cad!

That was when Cain arrived with a dirty, distraught Saralee on the horse in front of him. And no Etienne. Harriet saw them from her second-story window, where she’d been
sitting vigil. Townspeople scurried out of sight and shopkeepers pulled down their shades and locked their doors.

Six armed men surrounded them, all wearing kerchief masks over their faces. Two of them accompanied a limping Cain into the hotel lobby, spurs jangling and guns out. A tear in the cloth of Cain’s trousers at thigh-level revealed a bloody bandage. He’d been shot.

Saralee rushed into her arms, sobbing profusely and burying her face in Harriet’s neck. “They took Papa,” Saralee whispered in a rush of words. “The bad men beat him
…bad….
Papa was crying…and they took him away.”

Crying? Etienne?
Harriet studied Cain’s demeanor, and she knew the situation was very grave.

One of Briggs’s two armed men motioned her toward a little sitting room off the lobby. Apparently they weren’t going to speak and provide any means of identification to any townspeople who might be eavesdropping. Within seconds, Harriet was informed by Cain of what had transpired.

Six of Briggs’s men had been killed, including Brisk and Franklin, the two men from the train, and Pope. Etienne was beaten to a pulp to get information on the gold shipment and just how much President Grant knew of their operation. Now he was incarcerated in a jail of sorts on Briggs’s property.

Etienne imprisoned again? Oh, Lord! After he’d said he’d never allow himself to be put in a prison ever again. But he’d done it for his daughter. He’d had no choice. Oh, Lord!

“What now?” Harriet asked, glaring at the two deliberately silent Rambos in cowboy boots who glared right back at her. Their dark eyes above the masks were cold and merciless.

“Saralee and I are going back to New Orleans by train with these men to hand over the gold. It should take two days.”

Saralee whimpered at the prospect of having to go anywhere else with these men.

“I thought the gold was—” She started to say “here in the livery stable,” then stopped herself.

Cain shook his head. “No, those really are Bibles in those crates. The real gold is back in New Orleans.”

That was news to her. “Can’t they get it themselves?”

Cain shook his head. “Gautier has instructions to turn the shipment over only to me or Etienne.”

Harriet realized that M. Gautier must also be in the government service.

“You’ll stay here at the hotel,” Cain went on quickly, “under guard, of course.”

“And when the gold is recovered?” Harriet asked with a shiver of foreboding.

“Saralee will be released,” Cain said flatly.

The message was clear. Saralee would be free, or at least they’d promised to release her. But the rest of them…Etienne, Cain and Harriet…would be killed.

“Why don’t they just kill us now?”

“Because if I alert the authorities at my end, they intend to take you to the Double B and torture you in front of Etienne. You and Saralee are their guarantees that neither I nor Etienne will try to escape or call for help.”

Harriet concluded, as Cain must have already, that there was no way these men were going to release Saralee. Even though she was a child, she’d seen and heard too much.

Harriet nodded her agreement. After much soothing of Saralee and convincing the Rambos that Saralee would be more docile if allowed to take her dog with her, Harriet handed her and Lance up to Cain’s arms. She shoved the dog’s basket at one of the men. Finally her eyes locked with Cain’s, and Harriet hoped that he understood that she wasn’t going to sit still and let anyone die.
No way!

Two men stayed behind to guard Harriet.

And guard her they did. She wasn’t permitted to leave her room for any reason. They brought her food. They emptied her chamber pot and brought fresh water. One of them
slept on the double bed beside her. The only privacy she was permitted—such as it was—was when she retreated behind a screen in her room.

By the end of the fourth day, Harriet was running out of ideas. She’d tried cajolery. And bribery. Even seduction. Nothing worked. Time to use some of her modern psychological skills, Harriet decided. For the first time in her life, she questioned whether her expertise would be sufficient.

“Frank,” she said to her guard of the moment. She stood at the foot of the bed.

“What now?” he growled. The hardened, pockmarked man of about forty was lying on the bed, propped up by two pillows, watching her with lewd interest. Oh, he hadn’t made a move on her, but his eyes did. Frank fancied himself a ladies’ man. His graying hair and mustache were trimmed to perfection. His black jacket and trousers and white linen shirt were of better than average tailoring. “I’m not gonna release you for any reason, sweetheart. Not if you keep preachin’ all that mind mumbo jumbo till your voice runs out. Not to save my soul. Not for your money, which I reckon I’ll get soon anyways. And not for a quick poke, either, which I also reckon I’ll get soon. And I ’spect you’ll like it, too, honey. You look like a woman what enjoys a good poke from a real man.”

Harriet forced herself not to grimace with revulsion.

Okay, so he was a vain man, Harriet thought. Work on the man’s weakness. “Has anyone ever told you that you have beautiful eyes?” Harriet remarked, hoping that this brute would be susceptible to flattery.

“No.” he snorted with disbelief, but she could see that he was pleased.

“Really?” she said sweetly. “Let me see. Are they blue or gray? No, I see hints of violet in there, too.”

“Well, my mother did have right pretty eyes,” he conceded, allowing her to come closer than he had thus far. He widened his eyes for her perusal.

“They’re so pretty. The kind of eyes a lady could drown
in. Like mine. Lots of people say they could drown in my eyes. What do you think?”

Frank stared into her eyes. “Now that you mention it, they are mighty strange. Green, like a cat. They make me feel kinda funny.”

“Tired,” Harriet offered. “Some men say when they stare into my eyes, they feel so relaxed. Sleepy…sleepy…sleepy…”

Within minutes, Frank was zonked out.

Thank you, God!

The posthypnotic suggestion she gave Frank was to keep singing “Nobody Knows the Trouble I Seen” once he was awakened, and to refuse to come after her. Furthermore, he was to restrain his partner from coming after her, too. The sound of a door slamming would be the cue to come out of the trance.

Lord, she could lose her license for all these unethical uses of her hypnotherapy skills. Or would this be considered unethical? Well, it was a moot point, really.

Harriet worked quickly, binding Frank with the ties from the draperies, gagging him with a linen towel, then shoving him under the high bed, where she further incapacitated him by fastening his bound feet and hands to the top and bottom legs of the bed.

That done, Harriet took a deep breath and tried to slow her thundering heart. Charlie Mendel, the other guard, should be back soon. He’d gone down to the dining room to get their midday meal. Harriet was afraid to risk hypnotism again. So she waited behind the locked door for Charlie’s return, the wooden stock of an empty rifle raised high in the air.

“What the hell!” Charlie barely got out before Harriet slammed the stock down hard on his head, knocking him unconscious. She bound and gagged him the same as Frank.

Now what?

A plan. I need a plan
.

Soon after that, Harriet left the telegraph office, where
she’d sent wires to Abel in New Orleans, James Baptiste in California and Blossom at Bayou Noir. She was covering all her bases, hoping someone would respond.

An hour later, Harriet, whose riding skills left much to be desired, was riding astride a mare that the gape-mouthed livery stable owner had assured her was gentle. He was gape-mouthed because she wore her red harlot dress, covered only with a thin, black lace shawl. She’d tied her money in a pouch under her panty hose as she’d done before, but this time Harriet wore a gun belt on her hips, and she carried a rifle in the side scabbard of the saddle. Her briefcase was tied to the back. Harriet headed out of the city in the direction of the Double B, which the liveryman assured her she couldn’t miss if she kept riding south.