The Seven Sapphires of Mardi Gras (3 page)

Choking down a wave of bitterness, I had forced myself to read the letter from Raymond Dereux. “My gentle, sweet daughter,” he wrote. “ ‘I have made such a terrible mistake. So much time lost between us. Can I ever repair the damage? You must come to Iberville. Please! Do not delay one more day, one more hour.’ ” I had read the words with irony, filled with anger for the man who had forgiven too late. By the time his letter reached me, May Dereux Moreland had been buried a week.

Grandfather died shortly after my mother. Perhaps he had died of his own grief, his own heartache. With his passing, the family home of Evangeline had become mine. When I received Uncle Edward’s invitation to visit Iberville, I packed my bags at once. I felt that Mother would have wanted me to go there, to be reunited with the family she had lost. She had made me believe that my own destiny, whatever it might be, was linked with Evangeline and her beloved South.

“Dereux ... The name does have a familiar ring. Doesn’t it, Madeline?”

“Then maybe you’ve heard of Royal Oaks?” Royal Oaks was Uncle Edward’s place, where I would stay until I could see to restoring the house.

Again the ladies shook their heads. “The names keep changing. So many of the old places were either destroyed or abandoned during the war. And carpetbaggers have been moving in like vultures. But I’ve heard there are still a few of the old plantations left along the bayou. Royal Oaks might be one of them.” Mattie gave a heavy sigh. “I’m sorry I can’t help you much. Iberville’s just down the river, but it could be in Africa for all we’ve been there.”

An odd look passed over Madeline’s face. “Iberville’s an out-of-the-way sort of place. Not overly pleasant, if you don’t mind my saying so. Its very location invites hurricanes, and the swamps virtually breed yellow fever.”

City talk, I thought, trying to laugh off my growing sense of apprehension. Mother’s South had been full of magnolia-scented walks and moonlit nights, not sickness and violent storms.

“They practice voodoo in the swamps” Madeline said in a hushed tone. “Have you ever heard of Marie Laveau? The Queen of the Voodoos? Well, some say she’s dead, but others swear she lives out there. Some have seen her dancing in the swamps, and they swear that she still looks just like a young girl, even though she’d be over a hundred years old now.”

“There’s not only witchcraft and voodoo in the swamps, but there are murderers also,” pointed out the more practical Mattie.

“And ghosts” added Madeline with a little shiver. “They say the ghost of Lafitte the Pirate still haunts the bayou, guarding his hidden treasure.”

“Oh, be still, Madeline. The girl doesn’t want to hear your prattling about ghosts. Spirits and witchcraft aren’t real—but cold-blooded killers are. Remember that man who killed his wife—”

“Nevertheless, I feel it’s my duty to warn her about the voodoo people,” Madeline interrupted. “The voodoos have strange powers. It doesn’t pay to get them mad at you.”

“Oh, don’t talk nonsense, Madeline!” Mattie scolded.

“I’m serious! There’s no end to the harm they can cause. Why, for no reason at all they’ll make a doll of your likeness and stick pins in it!”

I almost laughed at the seriousness of her tone. But then a feeling like a cold wind drifted over me. The voodoo man had climbed down the stairs that led out to the railing and entered the room. He had been out there, too! Since I had not seen him, he must have been on the other side of the boat. But what had he been doing out there? Had he been looking for me?

I scolded myself for being too fanciful. He could not be following me! His boarding the same boat as I had taken from New Orleans was only a strange coincidence.

Unnoticed by the ladies, he passed behind us, moving silently, motionlessly as an apparition, until I could see only the bare outline of his robes in the shadows near the cargo hold.

Mattie steered the talk back to the murder—determined to tell her tale. “It was—Let’s see—it Would be close to a year ago now that this young man killed his wife. It had something to do with a fire—”

“Yes, I remember now!” Madeline broke in, her eyes shining. “They say he started a fire in her room during a masquerade ball. Burned her to death.”

“And, what’s more, it was their wedding day!” Mattie added with growing outrage.

A frown creased Madeline’s forehead. “But, Sister, didn’t the courts find him innocent?”

“They couldn’t find enough evidence to convict him” she admitted reluctantly, “but there’s no doubt in my mind that he was guilty.”

“But they say he loved her so! How could he have done something like that to his own wife?”

“It’s simple,” Mattie explained. The poor devil must have gone mad! It was only because he came from such a fine family that they let him go free.” Mattie leaned over her sister to peer into my face. “Louise, dear, are you listening?”

My attention had wandered. It was not Mattie’s story of some crazed man who may or may not have killed his poor wife that made a cold chill creep into my very bones. I could feel the voodoo man’s penetrating eyes upon my back. “I’m sorry. You say they let him go free?”

“Yes, though he should have had the hangman’s noose for
what he did.”

“But he was such a nice-looking man. I’ve often wondered if he might have been telling the truth. He could have been innocent.”

“Nonsense! He was mad. Utterly, stark-raving mad.” Once more, Mattie crowded her sister out. “And now that he’s been freed, I hear he wanders the swamps like a madman. Why, our neighbor’s little maid actually met up with the fellow. She was working in a tiny inn and tavern near Iberville at the time. She said she was walking home late one night when this man grabbed her arm.”

“Black cloak, red silk scarf. Right away, she knew it was he! You see, he has this distinguishing mark—a tiny black spot in the corner of one eye. There’s some who call it a devil’s mark.”

“What happened? Did he harm the girl?” I asked.

“Only if nearly scaring someone to death can be considered harm. The poor child thought she was done for—especially when he peered closely into her eyes and she saw the dark spot. But then the strangest thing happened. Just like that, he released her. Calm as a gentleman discussing the weather he explained that he was sorry, he had taken her for his wife. Imagine! The wife he had killed! It gave her quite a scare. She left Iberville the very next day and came to Lafitte to work for our neighbor lady.”

“What an unusual story,” I commented.

“What was his name, Madeline? Do you remember?” Mattie prodded.

Madeline’s gentle face fell as the detail eluded her. “Why, the last name was some French name. But the first—Yes, I remember now! Nicholas, they called him. During his trial, the papers called him Mad Nicholas “

I was about to make some rueful comment when the steamboat whistle suddenly blew. The two ladies began to gather their belongings. “This is our stop, dear,” Madeline said, patting me on the hand. “Good luck to you.”

With a sense of loneliness, I climbed back out to the railing to watch the two ladies depart. My companions had made the stillness around me less pronounced. Alone, I was plagued with a thousand nagging doubts that their lively gossip had deflected.

The rain had stopped. I watched the rest of the passengers straggle off the boat. The young woman with the child followed the two ladies, the little boy crying bitterly at being awakened from his sound sleep. I watched wistfully as her family greeted them and hugged them close.

Again, I thought of Uncle Edward, his new wife, Lydia, and his daughter, Christine. A family I had never met. I could only hope that my own reception would be as warm and loving.

The three old veterans were the next to leave, followed by the Negro woman with her basket of fruit. I felt the slow pulse of movement beneath my feet, the bumpy turn of the paddlewheel as the boat once again moved away from the shore. Not one passenger had boarded. And the voodoo man—where was he? With a start, I realized I had not seen him leave the boat.

I felt a chill like the brush of spiderwebs creep up my arms and neck. Even before I turned, I could sense that the voodoo man was behind me. He moved to join me at the railing, where he stood tall and silent as some statue carved in rich mahogany. Fearing him, I had at first thought him ugly, but now I saw a certain magnificence to his proud bearing. But what did he want with me? Why didn’t he leave me alone?

Almost as if he could read my mind, his piercing eyes slid up and fastened themselves upon my face. I felt suddenly drained of energy.

He spoke. Fear blocked out the mumbled words, making them barely distinguishable. Something about darkness and a storm.

“A terrible storm,” he said again. “Spirits—evil spirits.” His voice was strangely soft and thick with some unusual accent. He began to weave slightly to and fro. Was he inebriated? Mad? An eerie chant now issued from his lips. I wanted to turn and run, but I was like some fly caught up in a deadly spider web. Had he bewitched me? My hands and feet refused to obey my commands, so I merely stood watching in silent horror as his eyes rolled heavenward, as if he were falling into some deep trance.

I don’t know how long I stood there, locked under the power of his frightening spell. His eyes closed in total concentration. The dark veins on the sides of his temples throbbed and tiny beads of dampness appeared upon the dark skin.

Just as I felt enough strength returning to my limbs to move away, his long, bony hand snaked out and caught my arm. “The worst has passed” He looked at me and grinned, his large, uneven teeth making him appear even more sinister. “Oh, that is good!”

“I don’t understand any of this!” Near tears, trembling with fear, I glanced about desperately for another passenger, a cabin boy—anyone. But we were totally alone upon the railing, the stormy sky above making a perfect backdrop for this eerie performance.

His hand dropped from my arm. “I will watch over you “ he promised. The soft, lilting sound of his voice struck a chord of terror deep into my soul. What on earth could he mean? “Yes, I must watch “ he repeated. His voice seemed to still hang in the damp air long after he had turned and slipped back down the stairs that led to the passenger deck.

I don’t know how long I stood there alone at the railing staring out at the bleak shoreline. Gray mist hung in layers, partially cloaking the soft green patches of land that appeared and disappeared with every twist and turn of the river. The captain walked by, guiltily capping and pocketing a glass bottle filled with an amber liquid as he took sight of me. “We’ll be in Iberville soon,” he promised before I could muster enough courage to tell him of my strange encounter with the voodoo man.

Now I wouldn’t have to,
I decided. A distinct shoreline appeared, growing larger and larger until ghostlike, hazy shapes assumed the form of a narrow dock surrounded by small, rusted fishing boats and bobbing wooden crafts. Deckhands scurried upon the railing. The boat was preparing to dock.

This was Iberville—my destination. All I had to do was wait a few more minutes. Then I would be safely on shore watching this wretched little boat with its frightening passenger sail out of my life forever. I hoped that it was going far, far away.

A hand tapped my shoulder. I turned with a sense of dread. But it was only a skinny, dark-eyed cabin boy. “Iberville, ma’am. Captain says I’m to see to your luggage.”

Anxiously, I followed as the young man found my luggage and dutifully set the two trunks and hatbox out upon the empty wharf. Iberville. An eerie sensation gnawed at my stomach as I searched beyond the isolated dock for some sign of civilization. I saw only low, twisted underbrush and moss-covered trees. “Where is the town?”

He pointed to the lone road that wound like a narrow snake alongside the water, then turned sharply into the trees. “Iberville’s a couple miles down the way. You have someone to meet you, lady?”

“Yes, my uncle should be here soon.”

He nodded. “Good, ‘cause it looks like it’ll be raining cats an’ dogs soon.” With a look that betrayed his pity, he disappeared inside the boat.

I felt a sharp sting upon my cheek as a hungry mosquito buzzed about my head and lit upon my face. There were more mosquitoes to come. A veritable swarm of mosquitoes hummed a welcoming chorus from the nearby swamp. Alone, I studied my dismal surroundings, realizing with dismay that Iberville might be every bit as terrible as the two ladies had warned me it would be!

And where was Edward? Gusty wind tore at my skirts. I glanced overhead. Angry storm clouds had gathered force and lightning lit up the jagged sky directly above me.

Hastily, I stepped from the wharf, a deserted, rotting platform floating upon a soggy mass of marshland, onto a series of planks that led to drier ground. Through the splintered planks, I could see dark puddles of water. A light drizzle of rain began as, forced to desert my luggage except for the precious hatbox, I inched my way toward the road to see if Edward might be coming.

Behind me I heard the low tug of the ship’s whistle. The steamer was leaving shore. Footsteps echoed behind me upon the planks. Stiffly, I turned my head. In the darkness, I saw the tall shadow of the voodoo man walking the planks directly behind me.

My heart leaped to my throat at the sight of him. Why had he left the boat? Was this his intended stop or had he gotten off here because of me? I thought he had left with the boat, but he was still here, following me, stalking me. We were out here alone, miles from town. And I was afraid.

His footsteps pounded upon the wooden walk, then the sound disappeared as he reached the soft road. He was rapidly catching up with me, trying to overtake me. But why? I didn’t wait to find out.

Panic overcame me, and I ran.

Chapter Three

Breathlessly, I hurried toward the faint twinkling of lights in the distance. Iberville must lie ahead—and some measure of safety.

The sound behind me was eerie and unrecognizable, like the flutter of bat’s wings in the darkness. My first thought was that the voodoo man was attacking me—or casting some evil spell. Then the thunder of horses’ hooves were crashing through the cypress grove! A dark shape emerged, beating down the road with reckless speed. A carriage!