The Exiles (28 page)
It occurred to Neville that Broussard might take the boats before they returned. He reached into his billfold again and withdrew some notes. “You can hold this for a deposit,” he said. “If we don’t come back, the boats are paid for.”
Broussard nodded. “If you must go, you be quick and careful.
Tubberville has a quick anger, and he sometimes shoots to scare people off. Not to kill. Just to turn them back.”
Yves touched the pistol at his waist and said, “I hope it doesn’t come to that.”
“You will not see him to shoot at him. He is invisible in the swamp. You go now. And may the good God go with you.”
The three turned and began their trek down the path. It was hard to follow, as if it were traveled infrequently. Yves went first, followed by Chantel, while Neville brought up the rear. They stopped from time to time to consult the map, and more than once they heard splashing in the swamp.
“I hope those alligators don’t come out after us. They’re vicious beasts,” Yves muttered.
The trail wound in a circular fashion, and once they heard a panther scream faintly and far away. More than once it seemed they were completely lost, but always the map mentioned some landmark that got them back on track.
Suddenly Yves halted. “Look, there’s a cabin up there.”
The other two hurried forward to stand beside him, where they could see the outline of a cabin on the border of a fingerling of water. Out beyond it there was the white of egrets, and smoke was curling up out of the chimney.
“Somebody’s there,” Yves muttered. “Do we just go right in?”
“I think we have to,” Chantel said.
“What do we tell them?” Yves demanded. “You can’t just barge in there and say, ‘We’ve come to take your daughter.’”
“That’s right,” Neville said. “We’d better think about it.”
“How about this. Let’s tell them I’m a painter and I’m interested in finding a place to paint in the swamps.”
“I don’t know. If you start out by lying to them, it may get us in trouble,” Neville said.
“It’s true enough,” Yves replied. “I could get some great paintings out here.”
“Let’s just see how it develops.”
Chantel was fraught with uncertainty as they moved forward. What would they say to whoever was in the cabin? All the descriptions they had had of Simon Tubberville were of a man who would be dangerous to cross. She did not like the idea of deceiving him, but as Yves said, what could they say to the people?
The three had gotten only halfway across the clearing when a woman stepped out. She had a rifle in her hand and raised it, finger on the trigger, although not pointed directly at them.
“Hello,” Yves called out quickly. “My name is Yves Gaspard. My friends and I are a little bit confused.”
The woman lowered the rifle. She was short and heavily built, with eyes that were dark with suspicion. “Who are you and what do you want?” she said.
They moved closer, all of them keeping an eye on the rifle. Yves boldly said, “I am a painter, madame. I am looking for a place in the swamp to paint things such as the birds and the animals and the setting.”
As Yves was keeping the woman’s attention, a movement caught Chantel’s eyes. She turned her head only slightly and then, without preamble, the girl that she had seen in the streets of New Orleans stepped out. It was the same girl, no doubt about that! Chantel studied her carefully, and her heart suddenly filled as she saw the features so much like her own mother’s. The child’s hair was dirty and entangled, but it was the same strawberry blonde color, and there was no mistaking those eyes. She heard Neville clear his throat and turned to see him watching her. She nodded slightly but did not know what to do.
Neville said, “I wonder if you could feed us? We would be glad to pay.” He reached into his pocket, pulled some gold coins out, and jangled them.
The woman stared at him and said, “It will not be much.”
“Anything will be fine with us,” Neville said. “We’re very hungry.”
The woman moved inside the house. It was filled with the smell of cooking food. The girl followed them in, and the woman said, “Get something for them to eat from, Jeanne.”
“Yes, Mama.”
The three visitors sat down, all of them watching the girl rather furtively. This was the object of their quest, but how were they to get her out of this place?
The food came, and when it was put before them, the men began to eat. Chantel took a bite or two, but could not have told what she was eating. Her attention was all on the girl who was standing up, watching them out of her strange violet eyes.
“Your name is Jeanne?”
She nodded.
The woman had stepped outside for something, and Chantel said, “I am glad to meet you. My name is Chantel.”
The girl was shy as a wild rabbit. She lowered her head and could not speak.
“Do you go out of the bayou very often, Jeanne?” Chantel asked.
“To Baton Rouge—and once to New Orleans. That was not long ago.”
Chantel longed to go to the girl and take her in her arms and cry out her true name. She sat there trying desperately to think of a plan, but nothing came to her.
The woman entered the room abruptly. “You have to go now,” she said. “My husband does not like people coming here, and it will be dark soon.”
“That’s right,” Yves said quickly, getting to his feet.
Chantel rose and went outside the cabin. She turned at the door and saw that the girl was watching her, her enormous violet eyes dominating her face. The impulse to cry her name was almost unbearable, but she clamped her lips together and turned. Neville followed her, and the three moved down toward the trail. They had not gone more than a dozen steps when a harsh voice halted them dead in their tracks.
“What are you doing here? What’s your business?”
The man that Chantel had seen in New Orleans stood off to one side of the path. He had a rifle in his hands and a pistol stuck into his belt. His eyes were fierce, and his face was half concealed behind a grisly beard. Although he was rather short, he was obviously tremendously strong, and his countenance was forbidding.
Yves started to say, “We were looking through the bayou for—”
Chantel interrupted him. “We want to talk to you, sir, about the girl who is living with you.”
Instantly the man turned toward her. “My daughter?”
Chantel hesitated, and then she said simply, “I do not think she is your daughter. I think she is my sister.”
The man’s face grew crimson. He lifted the rifle and aimed it straight at Chantel. “Get out of here! If you come back, I will kill you! She is my daughter! Do you hear?”
“Come along, Chantel.” Neville’s voice was tense, and he gripped Chantel’s arm and practically pulled her away. When they got to the place where the path disappeared into the thickness of the huge cypress trees, Chantel turned. She saw Tubberville standing there glaring at them fiercely, and beyond him she saw Veronique standing in the doorway, her eyes filled with fear.
There was nothing to be done. She stumbled down the path, and Neville held her arm, saying, “It’s all right. We found her. God will make a way to bring her out of here.”
Chantel turned her head, and Yves said urgently, “God will have to do it. That’s a rough fellow there. Come along. We’ve barely got time to get back to the boats before dark.”
They hurried through the falling gloom, and when they knew they were safe and the boats within reach, Yves spoke to Neville. “You’re a lawyer. Is there any way to get that girl from him legally?”
“It would be hard. I think they probably found her and took her for their own, but there’s no proof or evidence. A court of law always gives preference to the parents, and that’s what they’re going to claim they are.”
Yves dropped his head and studied the ground for a moment. Then he said, “Then you’ll have to kill Tubberville. He will never let her go. You saw that, didn’t you?”
Chantel listened, and her heart cried out for an answer. But as they all climbed into the boats, she was filled with doubt and uncertainty. Silently she prayed,
Oh, God, we need a miracle!
From somewhere far off came a hoarse bellow. Yves straightened up and demanded, “What’s that?”
“Just a bull gator.” Chantel had heard the sound so often in the bayou bordering Fontaine Maison that she was not disturbed. She slapped at a mosquito making a meal on her arm and looked over at Neville. He was sitting on the porch of the Broussards’ small cabin, leaning back against the pillar that held the roof up. “Isn’t there anything we can do legally, Neville?”
“I don’t think so.” Neville had been quiet all the way back from the Tubberville house and had suggested they go back to Baton Rouge. Chantel had absolutely refused, so the three of them had taken another meal from Mrs. Broussard and now were sitting outside, where the smells of the bayou were rich and thick.
Yves said, “But if the girl is not their daughter, how can they keep her?”
“As I’ve said, we don’t have any evidence, Yves. Not a shred. The Tubbervilles aren’t about to admit that they found the girl.”
Chantel got up and walked over to the edge of the porch. She leaned wearily against the support, which was made of hewn cypress, and peered into the bayou in the direction of the Tubberville cabin. A bitterness rose in her, and she said with desperation, “But we’ve got to do something! We can’t leave my sister there.”
A silence followed her proclamation, and then Yves said, “We could kidnap her.”
“What!” Neville swiveled around and stared at Yves. “Are you crazy? We’d all wind up in jail.”
“This thing is not right. I don’t care what the law says,” Yves said defiantly. “I say we go back and hide in the woods, and when we see the fellow leave, we go in and take the girl. We get away and dare him to come and get her. He doesn’t know our names. How would he find us?”
“We can’t do it, Yves,” Chantel said.
“Why can’t we? You want your sister back. I don’t see any other way to get her.”
“There has to be a way!” Chantel exclaimed. Turning to Neville, she said, “I don’t know anything about the law, but in a case like this there must be something.”
“Louisiana is under the Napoleonic law. It’s the only state that is,” Neville said. “It’s a strange sort of code, and lawyers coming in go crazy at first. But I’m telling you that there’s nothing in it that will allow us to go in and take a child away from a family. Imagine what would happen if you had a child and someone came in and took him away.”
“But this is different. She’s my sister.”
“I think you’re right, but how can we prove it? If I went to a judge with this kind of story to get a court order, why, he’d laugh me out of his office.”
From inside the house, they could hear the laughter and chatter of the Broussards’ six small children. Neville had been quiet, searching his mind desperately to find a solution, but he knew the law well enough to realize that the door of legal methods was closed. “We’ll just have to pray that God will open up a door.”
Yves laughed shortly. “I know what that means.”
“What does it mean?” Chantel said quickly.
“It means Neville has given up. Doesn’t it, Neville?”
“Not at all. Well, perhaps, it means I’ve given up on any human solutions. But God can do all things.”
“I agree with that, of course, but God helps those who help themselves.”
“I don’t think that’s quite right.”
“It’s in the Bible, isn’t it?”
“No, I don’t think so. I believe it’s in
Aesop’s Fables.”
Chantel said, “But I can see what Yves is saying. Surely God expects us to do something.”
“I am sure He does at times, but I don’t think that He wants us to break the law to get your sister back. I do believe that if we ask Him, He will show us a way.”
Yves suddenly stood up. “I’m tired,” he said. “It’s bed for me.”
“Good night,” Chantel said. She waited until he had gone into the cabin. The Broussards had fixed beds for the men in the loft. Chantel would sleep on the floor in the main room of the cabin.
Neville waited for Chantel to speak, and when she did not, he said, “I’m sorry I haven’t been more help.”
“Oh, don’t say that, Neville! I wouldn’t have gotten this far if it weren’t for you.” She hesitated and then said, “I want to tell you what happened to me.” She quickly related her experience of calling on God, and when she finished, she said, “I don’t know what happened to me in my spirit or in my heart, but I know that I feel so different. I know God has spoken to me. I just don’t know what it all means.”
“I think it means God has come into your heart. I think you were converted.”
“I don’t know that word.”
“It’s simply another way of saying that you’re not under the bondage of sin anymore. You asked God to forgive you in the name of Jesus, and He did.”
“I hope so. I need God’s forgiveness.”
“We all do.” He smiled at her, saying, “I’m so happy for you!”
The two sat until the sounds within the cabin grew quiet. The door opened, and Broussard stepped outside. “Your bed is ready, miss. It’s not much, but it’s the best we have.”
“Thank you, Mr. Broussard.”
The inside of the cabin was murky, but Broussard said, “We leave this lamp on to give you a little light. Good night.” He left to go to the rear of the house.
Before Neville went to the loft, he reached out and put his hands on Chantel’s shoulders. Turning her to face him, he said, “God is able. We’ll get her back for you.”
“Do you really believe that, Neville?”
“Yes, I do.” He leaned forward and kissed her on the cheek, then without another word turned and moved up to the loft.
Lying down on the quilts that Mrs. Broussard had provided, Chantel touched the place where Neville had kissed her. “Good night,” she whispered and then tried to sleep.
“Wake up, Chantel.”
Chantel came awake instantly. She had slept no more than three hours, for she could not help going over and over in her mind ways to get her Veronique back. Now she sat up abruptly and saw Neville standing over her. “What is it?” she said.
Neville held out a piece of paper. “It’s Yves. He’s gone to get Veronique.”
