Chapter Eleven #2
“A mystery man? I beg your pardon, but what are you talking about?” Did she know how right she was? He schooled his expression to show surprise, and concern. Not to ask would be insensitive, suspicious or both.
Grace enumerated for him the various inexplicable events. “I feel like I’m caught in a bog. I must be losing my mind.”
“I disagree. However, isolation can cause the mind to play tricks. You need some company. Frequent company to keep you grounded mentally.”
“I may get that sooner than I like,” she sighed.
“Oh? Why do you say so?” Luc leaned in, as if she was about to impart a secret and he needed to be close to catch it.
“I mentioned that someone unknown is finishing all the repairs I start. That’s making the restoration of the house go faster than I planned. I’m approaching the point where I will have to hire others to do the work.” She worried her lower lip.
“I’m familiar with many of the locals. If you need a disinterested opinion on a new hire or acquaintance, I am at your service.” He leaned back on his elbows.
“Then perhaps you know of a good plumber and a reliable land manager with a crew,” Grace said.
“Those are interesting choices.”
“I’ll need the plumber to install pipes, valves, spigots, and pumps for running water in the house.” The more mundane topic soothed some of those underlying emotions, and she calmed.
“You intend to be very modern.” Luc lifted his chin and straightened up.
“I can afford some luxuries, and I see no reason not to have them.” She picked idly at a loose splinter of the wooden dock.
“Sometime in the future, I may have the house wired for electric lights and install a telephone. However, the plumbing needs to come first. I’m weary of hauling water for a bath. ”
“And the land manager?” he asked.
“Once I finish work on the house, or perhaps even before, I want to make Sweet Dreams a working sugar farm.” She found and held his gaze.
The action of a woman determined on a course of action. Others might question the abilities of a lone woman. Luc knew better. No one fought the kinds of emotions she hid who was neither determined nor capable.
“Do you intend to raise sugar cane or beetroot?”
“My, you are well informed.” Grace’s gaze sharpened, and she cocked her head to one side, as if to see him clearer.
“Napoleon began the beetroot sugar industry in France, because he did not want to enrich English coffers by purchasing their imported cane sugar.”
“I had no idea. Are you an aficionado of history?” Her countenance revealed that he’d impressed her.
Luc liked it. “You could say we have that interest in common.”
“I don’t suppose you know of a good source for local antiques? I’d like to furnish the house in antebellum style.”
“I might have a few contacts. I’ll let you know the next time we meet.”
She glanced at the sky. “Good heavens. The moon is about to set, and I’ve yet to get any rest.”
“Then I shall wish you goodnight.”
He stood, then helped her up. They walked in silence to the end of the dock.
“I enjoyed talking with you tonight, Luc.” She couldn’t look him in the eye. How odd that she should be shy about this when she’d stood strong against so much else.
“I enjoyed our time as well, Grace.”
“Will you come to visit again? You said you work late, so perhaps we could have a late dinner?”
Did she hope he would? Luc probed her emotions more deeply but they were too agitated for him to be certain of anything new.
He shook his head. “You honor me with that invitation. However, it may be a month or more before I can return.” Luc had a number of questions that required answers. Answers which Grace could not provide and which would take him some distance from the Only Love.
Her shoulders slumped a tad. Her gaze dropped to the ground.
Her earlier empathy had led him to think they’d moved beyond her emotional shields. Presumptuous of me, since tonight was only our second real conversation.
“Maybe you could send me a note or a…a letter, letting me know when you’d be available?” she whispered, hesitantly.
The request had been difficult for her.
He couldn’t resist. He lifted her chin with the crook of his finger. “I will definitely notify you, Grace Thibodaux.” He brushed his lips across her cheek in a brotherly fashion. Then he offered his elbow. “May I escort you home?”
She smiled.
He felt surrounded by all the stars in the sky.
Will I ever get used to that smile?
Would he ever be able to forget?
“Of course, kind sir.”
Luc retrieved the lantern, as they walked past, handing it to her when they got to her door.
“Won’t you need it to see your way back?” she asked.
“No, I’ve good night vision. I’ll be better off without it.”
Grace shrugged one shoulder. “If you say so. Goodnight, Luc, it was a pleasure to meet you. I…I’m sorry about threatening you when we first met.”
“I’m delighted you decided not to act on the threat.” He pulled his forelock, as he would have when he lived in Ireland and some great noble passed him by. Instinct told him, Grace was more noble than most men and women he’d encountered, with or without a title.
***
Luc drifted away to Boston first. The journey wasn’t difficult, but with every mile his body felt more torn and shredded.
This great a distance intensified the pain more than any living being could survive.Then he had more difficulty locating the offices of the newspapers being published in the previous year.
His head throbbed and knives sliced his entire body.
When he’d docked in Boston a century ago, the papers he’d read were chiefly the Centinel and the Patriot.
How long ago those names had disappeared, he’d no clue.
Eventually, he discovered the current popular periodicals were the Globe, the Post, the Herald and the Journal.
Luc rested during the day, waiting until all lights were extinguished at night.
Then over the course of four days he spent the darkest hours finding and reading the articles about Grace’s trial.
The story was exactly as she’d described, yet somehow more horrifying for the vitriol of the articles about her.
Her fiancé was painted as a noble man who’d sacrificed his freedom and reputation for love.
Grace was scorned as haughtily indifferent to his plight caused by her evil accusations of criminal fraud.
The crime boss, who had brought the charges, had drawn a picture of a greedy, grasping opportunist taking advantage of her clients and her poor beleaguered fiancé.
The trial had lasted six months. The papers had decried the use of public funds to provide police protection for the defendant who was clearly guilty despite the trickery of her attorney who produced documents—no doubt forged—to prove his client’s innocence.
Loud journalistic protest greeted the acquittal verdict.
Several jurors had anonymously confessed they thought the defendant guilty as sin,’ but insufficient evidence had been presented to convict.
A few follow up articles announced the sale of the Alden Manse and evil Miss Thibodaux’s departure for places unknown.
The number of dissenting articles could be counted on one hand.
The names associated with those meant nothing to Luc.
By the end of four days, he was so weak from sustained pain he chose not to pursue further information.
He let the curse draw him back to the Only Love and rested for one day before setting out again.
Grace buried her emotional wounds in frenetic activity, and he regretted leaving her alone.
However, while knowing her past was helpful, he needed to understand the risks she faced at Sweet Dreams even more.
Taken separately, she’d handled each incident—the fire, the workers searching her house, the night time intruders and all quite well.
It did not seem as if she realized the events might be related.
However, Luc knew what she did not, that he was the probable cause of all the intrusions.
Someone, perhaps the same person or persons who had set the fire that murdered Grace’s parents, wanted the missing gris-gris.
Whoever that was, he feared the villain would remove every obstacle, and Grace stood in the way. Exactly how powerful was the gris gris?
Luc had always believed it could control him.
He’d lost it before he could be certain.
Thus, he headed one moonless night for New Orleans.
He drifted across roofs, descending to a narrow ally off Rue Richelieu.
The noisome detritus in the alley intensified his headache.
Finally, he found the purple and scarlet door to Mambo Ayezan’s home.
He stepped through the wall beside the door and found the mambo seated in an overstuffed chair.
Tchotchkes, crystals, Voodoo emblems, candles at an altar, and bright colors decorated every surface.
Small bleached bones dangled from satin ribbons strung along the ceiling.
“I wondered when you would visit me,” she remarked, her gaze focused on some handwork.
She paused long enough to point to a chair opposite hers. “Sit down, if you like.”
She was ensconced in a large upholstered chair, and pointed to a bare wooden stool to her right. Save for the colors her clothing appeared the same as the last time he saw her.
“Thank you.”
“You are not here for a social call.” The mambo spoke with a directness he appreciated.
“No.” He confirmed.
“I cannot tell you exactly who threatens Miz Thibodaux.” Mambo Ayezan said.
He shouldn’t be surprised that she knew his purpose. “What can you tell me?” Luc leaned forward.
“The evil that pursues your beloved is strong.”
He reared back, as if she’d struck him. “She is not my—”
Mambo Ayezan raised her head, one gray eyebrow lifted. “Do you want answers or not?”
“I’m sorry. Answers please.” He bowed his head briefly.
“As strong as the evil is, Miz Thibodaux’s protections are strong as well.”
“She is not Voodoo and may not…” He needed to warn the mambo of some new concerns.
“I lose patience with you mon zanmi maudit. You know the power of the Loa, the holy spirits, the power of faith and suggestion, even false suggestion. You live the power of the blood curse. Yet, you only now begin to recognize that the curse is not upon you alone,” the old woman scolded.
Her statements—accusations—built one on another, and dread with them. He’d never felt so afraid as he did in that moment. Not even when Mawu Anaisa had drawn her blade in the captain’s quarters on his ship.“Grace? She is cursed too?”
“She was not named,” Mambo Ayezan’s tone was meant to soothe.
It failed.
“But you said…” Concern kept him trying to explain.
“Foolish, foolish man. I thought you smarter, zanmi. You want to know how powerful is the gris gris that Mawu made. It is as powerful as the love you will one day earn from a heartless woman. Remember that, my friend.”
“I will remember.” His words were affirmative, but what the hell did she mean? Luc couldn’t ask. She’d only shush him again.
Mambo Ayezan sighed. “I mean, that power resides in the strongest bond. Now, leave. I am tired, and you have been away from your ship too long.” She waved a hand in dismissal.
He found himself staring into the deep dark of the bayou just beyond the rail of the Only Love.
If Mambo Ayezan was tired, he was bone weary. He should’ve rested more before going to see her. Had he been at his full strength, she might not have been able to dismiss him so easily. Nonetheless, she had. If he went back, she’d tell him nothing more—whether she could or not.