Ashes in the Wind (11 page)

Furtively, Jacques slipped the knife out of sight, but the black made no attempt to release his captive. Alaina’s arms had grown numb beneath his merciless grip, and the bucket slipped from stiffening fingers and clanged to the floor, rattling noisily as it rolled away.

Cole halted a short pace away. “Put the boy down,” he demanded and gestured to the black. “If there is a need, I will discipline him.” The giant man only stared at him, and the captain sharpened his voice. “Put him down, I say!”

As the Negro made no move to obey, Cole lifted the flap of his holster and laid his hand on the butt of his pistol before Jacques spoke to the black in a tongue unknown to Alaina. The giant smiled and spread his arms wide, spilling her to the floor. A grunt of pain was jolted from her, and she sat where she landed, gasping for breath.

Jacques’s eyes suddenly narrowed as he looked at her more closely. “I know you from the riverboat!” he snarled. “You build a great debt to me. Next time I collect all that is due, eh?”

As Alaina struggled to rise, Jacques peeled back the sodden jacket from his shoulder and whirled angrily to the captain. “You see?” He gestured to a blood-soaked sleeve. “I am wounded. I came here for a doctor, and this little—many-fathered snipe—!”

Her jaw squared ominously, Alaina drew back a fist and lunged forward, but Cole grabbed a handful of her britches, drawing a yelp from her as he caught some bruised buttock as well. Despite her struggles to get free, he dragged her back, still holding her firm.

Warily eyeing the irate youth, Jacques continued, “He attack me with the mop and bucket!” He scraped disgustedly at his befouled brocade vest. “Look! My clothes! They are ruined!”

Alaina snorted, snatching her backside free of Cole’s restraint and tossed both men a glare. “He needed a washing.”

“That whelp will pay!” railed Jacques, stepping menacingly toward Alaina.

Cole moved between the two and caught the man’s arm as he tried to reach for the youth. “I doubt the boy can afford your kerchief, let alone the rest. He will be disciplined, rest assured.”

Alaina glared as Cole snapped, “You’re here to clean up messes, not make them.”

“That’s just what I was a-doing when this jackass stomped in from the barnyard. That lame-brained mule ain’t never been taught to wipe his feet.”

Cole’s quick glance about the hall allowed him some understanding of the youth’s irritation, yet it was a doctor’s duty to tend the wounded. He gave the small Frenchman no chance to argue further. “Let me look at that.” He plucked at the bloody sleeve and briefly examined the injury before he peered down at the man curiously. “This looks like a saber cut. How did you get it?”

“Bah!” Jacques threw up his good hand. “I took a house in the country for payment of a debt. The sheriff, he is a city man. He would not serve the papers, so I do it myself. Huh, Madame Hawthorne! She is crazy ol’ woman! She would not take them. She hid a sword behind her skirt, and when I try to give the papers so”—he stuck out his wounded hand indignantly—“she take a swing at me. Zing!” He laughed derisively. “Now the sheriff will have to arrest her. I show that old lady, eh?”

“You blackhearted—!” Alaina cried hotly, but a sharp glare from Cole silenced her. She sulked, glowering at his back.

“I was just leaving,” Cole announced brusquely.
“But I suppose I can delay a moment.” He half turned to the urchin and promised direly, “I’ll talk to you later. Now get this mess cleaned up.”

Alaina bristled like an enraged porcupine. She snatched up her mop and with eyes narrowed watched the captain escort Jacques down the hall. The black followed them, tossing a wide grin back at her.

“We’ll clean that and put some carbolic on it.” Cole’s comment drifted back. “It’s not deep. A simple compress should do.”

Alaina’s work was done in a rush, and the tools put hurriedly away. She had no mind to wait for further castigation but grabbed her hat and hurried on her way. Captain Latimer had threatened her much too often. This time he might just carry out his promise.

A bit of indignation still showed in Alaina’s tight lips when she arrived at the Craighughs’. With more energy than was warranted, even for one so petite, she slammed the kitchen door and ignored the windowpanes that rattled threateningly in their wood casings. She was hardly in the mood to exchange banalities with Roberta, but since their argument her cousin had made it a habit to wait near the back entrance for her. With Angus at the store and Leala frequently helping him, Roberta had nothing more than trivia to occupy her. She rose late, whiled away the hours attending to her person and long before the dinner-hour, began to dress with exacting care. By the time Alaina arrived home every strand of hair had been artfully curled, the long white fingers carefully manicured, and a fresh and pretty gown donned. It was no different this early afternoon.

“I declare, Al.” Roberta had begun to enjoy using the masculine sobriquet. “I never know if it’s you or some errand boy coming to the back door. You do play your part so well!”

“Yeah! And I’m gonna take to toting me a gun, too!” the younger woman retorted with virulence. The boyish slang only added emphasis to her wrath. “Jes’ might kill me a few polecats afo’ I’m done.”

Roberta was momentarily stunned into speechlessness. It was Dulcie who quickly turned from the hearth where she had been stirring a squirrel stew and demanded, “Whad yo’ gone and done now, chile? Ain’ yo’ in ‘nuff trouble widout killing yo’self some Yankee critter?”

Alaina kicked off the heavy boots and sent them sliding across the brick floor toward the pantry. “I’ve been mauled, bruised, and threatened. I’ve spent the morning on my knees scrubbing floors, only to have some dirty, sneaking river rat go traipsing across it. Got my backside abused and manhandled by that long-legged Yankee—”

Roberta gasped, truly scandalized.

“He’s li’ble to be the first one I punctuate!” Alaina warned, wagging her finger toward Roberta. “Just you watch. And then I’m going to take my gun to that reprobate Jacques DuBonné, and make him crawl on his belly all the way back to Mrs. Hawthorne’s so that lady can finish what she started!”

Roberta was aghast. She had never seen her cousin in such a temper. “Alaina! What has gotten into you?”

“Righteous anger, that’s what’s gotten into me! Righteous! Do you know what that means,
Roberta?” She advanced on her cousin, her jaw squared dangerously. Mumbling incoherently and shaking her head, Roberta stumbled back into a ladder-back chair where, with jaw aslack, she stared agog into those blazing gray eyes.

“It means I have just cause!” Alaina railed at her quivering cousin, then she straightened, almost calmly, and strode arrogantly about the kitchen. She threw up a hand dramatically. “Just cause! Yes! I can plead that at my trial!”

“Whad trial is dat?” Dulcie squawked, planting her hands firmly on her broad hips and thrusting out her jaw. “Whad yo’ gone and done, Miz Alaina? Yo’ tell me right now!”

“Nothing, yet,” Alaina replied smugly. She took a peeled turnip and bit into it, then gestured with the vegetable, chewed, and waited until she had cleared her throat before she continued. “But. I’m going to do something. Before I’m through, Jacques DuBonné”—she spit the name out with loathing—“is going to wish he’d never laid eyes on Mrs. Hawthorne.”

“You mean that old woman who comes to Daddy’s store?” Roberta questioned uneasily.

Alaina’s attention perked. “You know her?”

“Well, she doesn’t come in that often when I’m there,” Roberta hedged, not quite sure just how much she should tell Alaina. After all, her cousin might well jeopardize what seemed to be a most promising relationship with Cole.

“But you know where she lives,” Alaina pressed.

“Not exactly.” Roberta shrugged lamely. “Out north on the old river road somewhere, I think—”

The girl strode to her boots and snatched them on. “I’ll find out where if it takes me all night!”

“Now, Lainie, don’t! Don’t do anything foolish!” pleaded her cousin fearfully.

The girl slapped the floppy hat on her head and grinned, showing small, sparkling white teeth. “That all depends on what you call foolish, Robbie. I guess I jes’ don’t consider shooting a few blackhearted varmints foolishness.” She shrugged nonchalantly. “It all depends on them.”

Before she left the house, Alaina went to the armoire in her room and lifted out her father’s army pistol. None of the Craighughs knew she had it. She had carried it into the house in her valise the first day she arrived. It was a long-barreled Colt .44 that was almost too heavy for her, but she knew how to use it, and with accuracy. She tucked it carefully within her leather pouch and pulled the strap over her head and arm. Despite her threats, it was not in her plan to use the weapon but—just in case—she added the powder flask, caps, and ball box to the pouch. It gave her a sense of assurance to feel the weight of the piece solidly against her hip.

It was more than an hour after Alaina dragged Ol’ Tar out of the stables and rode off on his back that Roberta faced Cole Latimer across the threshold of the Craighugh home.

“Why, Captain Latimer,” Roberta beamed, having fully recovered from Alaina’s tirade. “I thought for sure you had forgotten about little ol’ me.”

“I’m afraid this is not a social call, Roberta,” he stated as gently as possible. “I would like to see Al, if he is here.”

“Al?” Roberta was crushed. She had thought that Alaina, disguised as a boy, could give her no competition in her efforts to win Cole, but she had not reckoned that this warring animosity between the two would draw Cole’s attention away from her. She covered her irritation with a winsome pout and coyly fluttered her lashes. “Why, Captain, you mean to tell me that all you came for was to see that runty little boy. And here I was thinking you had come calling on me. I’m dreadfully put out.”

“I’m sorry,” Cole said apologetically, “but the boy threw a bucket of dirty water over a wounded man today at the hospital.” Roberta’s gasp of horror was genuine. “What I have to say to Al won’t take long. May I speak to him?”

“Why, Al’s not here, Captain.” Roberta smiled hesitantly. “He was, but he left some time ago.”

“Did he say where he was going? I must get this straightened out before he comes to work Monday. I can’t allow anything like this to happen again.”

Roberta pondered a brief moment whether it was better to claim her own innocence and tell all, just in case Alaina really carried out her threats, or appear ignorant of the girl’s whereabouts. The trouble with lying was that it might get back to Cole.

“I tell you, Captain, that boy was in such a temper.” Roberta wavered in her telling when she thought of what Alaina’s reaction might be, but bravely proceeded. “He plumb scared the life out of me and Dulcie. Why, he was a-threatenin’ to shoot some varmint named Jacques, and I’ll swear to it, he went off looking for trouble.”

Despite himself, Cole felt responsible for the boy. “Which way did he go?”

“Why, off down the river road.” Roberta stepped out onto the gallery and lifted her arm in the same direction Alaina had taken. “You go down there about a mile, then turn north a mile or two. You can’t miss it. A big old board house with a steep roof and only a single porch across the front. It has an iron hitching post like a black boy with a ring in his hand.”

Cole was about to turn away when she laid a restraining hand on his arm. “You will be careful, won’t you, Captain? Al is a pretty good shot, and he did mention he was thinking of putting a hole through you.”

“Hot-headed little scamp!” Cole muttered beneath his breath. Jacques had said that he intended to return to Mrs. Hawthorne’s with the sheriff. It would be just like Al to get into more trouble than he could handle.

T
HE
rain had stopped much earlier, but had left the streets and dirt roads a muddy hazard. The shuffling gait of Ol’ Tar kicked up clods of mud and only nibbled at the miles, much to Alaina’s festering impatience. She was not in the mood to contend with the nag’s single-minded determination to return to the stable, though her angry prodding gained her little more than sporadic jolts of a knock-kneed canter, and she applied the smart taste of a heavy willow switch to his scarred hindquarters in hopes of speeding him on his way. The worst of her fears was realized as she came toward the end of the muddy lane. Tall shrubs allowed only a glimpse of the steeply pitched roof of the Hawthorne house, but afforded a clear view beneath the overhanging limbs of the massive oaks that bordered the road. Two empty carriages waited there, one a fancy landau, the other a plain buckboard. Alaina could only surmise that Jacques had arrived ahead of her and possibly, as he had threatened, with the sheriff.

Alaina turned Tar off the lane and slid from his bony back. She left her boots beside the bush where she tethered him and, feeling the coolness of the wet grass beneath her bare feet, made a furtive approach along the tall hedge until she could view the front
yard through the tangled growth of a wisteria vine. Her eyes readily found Jacques DuBonné, and she noted with a certain satisfaction that he had delayed long enough to effect a complete change of clothes. The enormous black was present, lolling indolently against the far side of the fancy carriage, and another man, almost as big, stood near Jacques at the foot of the front steps.

Facing them off near the edge of the long, raised porch was a tall, white-haired woman of sixty years or more. She bore herself proudly, with a firm, almost haughty demeanor, while she rested her crossed hand in imperious grace upon the hilt of a downward-thrust, brightly gleaming saber. The unspoken challenge was clear; she’d use the sword if there came a need.

Alaina ran along the bushes until she could slip through a break to the back of the house. Rounding the structure, she stopped to choose the best vantage point. A few low shrubs grew alongside the house, and she crouched behind their cover where she would miss no word of the exchange.

Jacques was waving his arm wildly and demanding some show of action from the sheriff. “I tell you I have the paper that say I purchase thees property from the bank!” he declared, withdrawing a packet from inside his coat, and, snapping the back of his fingers sharply against them, ranted on. “I have it all here, Sheriff. Now, I insist you arrest thees woman!”

The slow, pondering deliberation of the law officer seemed to infuriate the smaller man, for when the sheriff only stared at him, leisurely
mouthing a cud of tobacco, the Frenchman railed, “Will you do something?”

“Well now,” the sheriff drawled. “I’ve been trying to hear what this old lady has to say for herself, but you just ain’t giving her much chance, Mr. Bonny.”

“
DuBonné
!” Jacques corrected irately. “And what you think she to say, Sheriff, that will discount this?” He shook the packet beneath the other man’s nose. “I demand you do the thing, or I am forced to highest authority.”

The sheriff grumbled and, peevishly tugging his hat off, stepped closer to the long porch where the woman stood.

“Ma’m, I’m sorry, but I have my duty, just like the man said.”

“Of course, Sheriff,” the woman replied in a firm, but oddly pleasant rasping voice. “But I wonder if Mister DuBonné has made you aware of my skill with my husband’s sword. As yet, I haven’t had a chance to use it on a gentleman of the law.”

“Ma’m,” he shook his head sadly, “I sure would prefer it if you’d just come along peacefullike.”

The aged chin raised proudly. “I must respectfully decline, of course. I knew your mother well, Sheriff Bascombe. She was a fine woman.” Mrs. Hawthorne paused for effect, then twisted the well-set prod with vicious intent. “Were she alive today, I’m sure she would be highly distraught if she learned that you dispossessed me without due cause or course.”

“Well—uh, ma’m—I—I—” The sheriff stuttered into silence, and his face went red.

“You must enforce the law!” Jacques cried, striding forward a short space. “I have pay the good
money to the bank for thees place! I will not be denied! Arrest the old hag!”

“The debt you rave about, young man, was paid a good six months ago,” Mrs. Hawthorne doughtily informed him. “I have a receipt—”

“Receipt, bah!” Jacques said. “You have declare the existence of such a paper, but I ‘ave seen no such proof.”

The woman continued calmly, as if she had not been interrupted. “A letter of receipt, duly witnessed, from the bank.”

“It doesn’t exist!” Jacques exclaimed as he dared to step nearer.

Mrs. Hawthorne smiled ruefully. “In either case, sir, you will be a bit more frayed if you set a foot on that step.”

Shaking his head irascibly, Jacques muttered a few unintelligible words. They meant nothing to the sheriff and Mrs. Hawthorne, but they struck a cord in Alaina’s memory of the moment just before the black released her, when Jacques had uttered a similar-sounding verbiage. And as before, the black was moving on command—sidling to one side behind the carriages to where he could take the woman by surprise. Digging into her pouch, Alaina quickly withdrew her father’s pistol and, with trembling fingers, checked the loading and slipped fresh caps into place.

The negro was almost even with the end of the porch now and was stealthily working his way around the sheriff’s buggy while Jacques continued to argue with the woman. Alaina stepped out from behind the bushes, bracing her small feet wide apart
and squared her sights on the black’s wide chest with both hands clutching the handle of the pistol, then carefully drew back the hammer. The black froze as he heard the double click and slowly searched with his eyes until he saw the threat. True worry furrowed the broad, glistening brow and tiny beads of sweat stood out as he gaped at the thin lad and the huge pistol.

Alaina gestured with the gun, and the black carefully complied, stepping sideways toward the others as she moved forward. Jacques, at first seeing nothing more than his servant’s return, irately spouted several more commands in the tongue of unknown origin. Then the ragged lad came into sight, and he sputtered into gawking silence.

“
You
!” He regained his voice with force.

The sheriff whirled, and Al calmly nodded a greeting.

“Aftahnoon, y’all.”

“What’s the meaning of this?” barked the sheriff. “Put down that gun, boy, before you hurt somebody.”

“Might at that”—Al puckered her lips thoughtfully—“if’n y’all don’t back up a ways from the porch and give Miz Hawthorne a breathing space.”

Jacques hastily followed the youth’s directions, having already tasted of that one’s contrariness. But the sheriff ignored the scruffy sprite and lifted a foot to place it on the lowest step.

“Now, Mrs. Hawthorne—”

The report of the pistol numbed the ears, and a large splinter flew from the plank beneath his foot, leaving a wide gash of fresh wood. The sheriff stumbled back a few steps as the pistol was immediately
recocked, and the black halted in a forward stride when it again took his chest as a point of aim. The negro obligingly lowered his foot and relaxed, while the sheriff gaped at the lad, well assured that the youth had lost his mind. Then his face darkened, and furiously shaking a fist, he railed, “You little half-witted bindlestiff! I’ll break that pistol over your backside before I throw you in jail! I’m an officer of the law and—!”

His words were cut short by a shout and the thundering approach of horse’s hooves. Horse and rider came toward them, and much in the manner of a flamboyant calvary officer, Captain Latimer swung off his still-prancing roan.

“What goes on here?” he demanded as he looped the reins through the ring of the iron hitching post. Dragging off his gauntlets, he strode forward, taking in the scene that greeted him.

“Well now, I just don’t see where that it’s any of your business, mister.” The sheriff spat a stream of black juice onto the cyrass and peered at the Yankee with a less than grateful frown.

Cole tucked the gauntlets beneath his belt and casually rested a hand on his holster. “May I remind you, sir, that the entire occupied area is under martial law. By definition, that suspends all civil authority and affairs. You can be held responsible for what transpires under your offices without the approval of the military governor.”

The sheriff swore softly beneath the prodding of his memory and gestured toward the lad. “I came out here to do my duty as an officer of the law and that young whelp took a shot at me.”

Alaina shrugged innocently as the captain turned and raised a brow at her. “I coulda shot him clean through if’n I’da wanted to.” She gestured toward the black with the gun. “Coulda shot him, too, while he was a trying to sneak up behind that po’ woman.”

“Al, put that gun down,” Cole commanded.

Undismayed, Alaina laid the still-cocked pistol on the porch and rested an elbow on the planks without removing her hand more than a few inches from the well-worn grip. For the moment at least, she’d let him handle the situation.

“I repeat!” Cole remonstrated, facing the others. “Just what is going on here?”

Jacques burst out in a rush of outraged explanations. “That old woman, she don’t pay her debt. The bank put the house up for sale. I bought it! Here are the papers! All legal!”

“Do you mind if I look at those?” Cole asked.

“You will see,” Jacques handed them over with open satisfaction.

After a moment of studying the documents, Cole glanced up at the old woman. “What do you have to say about this?”

“I pay my debts,” Mrs. Hawthorne informed him loftily. “All of them. I have a receipt!”

“Bah!” Jacques snorted. “She say she has such a paper, but nothing has been seen of it!”

“Sir, I do not lie,” she informed him bluntly, raising an audacious brow. “And I do not cheat people either.”

“May I see the receipt you speak of?” Cole requested.

Mrs. Hawthorne gazed down at him coolly. “And why should I trust a Yankee, sir?”

A gleeful cackle from Al won the captain’s glare. “Now there be a woman what’s got a good head on her shoulders.”

Mrs. Hawthorne accepted the compliment with a gracious nod. “Thank you, child. I’ve often thought the same thing myself.”

Al gestured casually. “I guess as Yankees go, though, he’s fit to be trusted.” She caressed the handle of the pistol tenderly. “At least, as much as them other fellers.”

“I am beholden to your kindness, child, but I’m a bit confused. Perhaps I have cause to trust you, seeing that you stopped that black oaf, but why should I take your word?”

“Well, I ain’t a friend o’ that there fella,” Al nodded toward Jacques, “so I must be a friend of yours.”

“For some reason, that sounds reasonable to me,” Mrs. Hawthorne responded in wry amusement. She lifted the sword briefly toward Cole. “You know him that well?”

“Yeah, I know him.” The information came reluctantly. “He’s a sawbones at the Union Hospital.”

Faced with a choice, Mrs. Hawthorne paused a moment, then as if coming to a decision, she reached into the bodice of her dress and handed over a sheet of paper to Cole with a rueful comment. “Considering my age, I thought it was the safest place to hide it.”

“Yes, ma’m.” Cole won a private battle not to smile and unfolded the letter to study it for a few moments. “This seems to be well in order, sheriff,”
he commented, scanning it once more briefly. He half turned to the man. “Perhaps the bank is in error.”

“No!” Jacques shouted and shook his own papers. “I have purchased thees property!”

“If that be true, the bank owes you a reimbursement, sir, for Mrs. Hawthorne’s receipt seems well in order. It’s a statement that this property is free of debt and promises a clear deed. It is dated well before any of your papers.”

“Sheriff!” Cole turned, leaving Jacques to sputter into silence. “There seems to be adequate cause to believe an error has been made.”

“You damned right, Yankee!” Jacques spat venomously. “You and this filthy little bastard have made it! You have interfere with Jacques DuBonné.” The Frenchman clenched his fists in rage. “An’ Jacques, he promise your blue coat will be your death!”

The captain bent a chilly stare on the Cajun. “My usual task is protecting life, sir.” His voice was low and silky smooth, and even Alaina held her breath. “I could make an exception for special cases, however.”

Jacques struggled between his desire for revenge and a knowledge of the pure foolishness of any such attempt at this moment. Finally he controlled himself and retreated to his carriage.

“I will be at the bank when it opens Monday to clear thees thing,” he promised, bowing deeply, then jabbered to his man who mounted to the driver’s seat. “We will have some talk then, Monsieur le Capitaine.” He seated himself and, with a wave of his hand, signaled the black to take him from this scene of defeat.

Cole faced Sheriff Bascombe. “If Mrs. Hawthorne will permit, I shall present this paper to the bank some time next week and evoke an explanation and redress.”

“Make him sign fer the paper!” Al’s sharp nasal tones cut through the abating tension. “Make the cap’n sign a what-cha-ma-call-it thing, like you got from the bank.”

Cole turned sharply and met the impertinent stare. Almost gently he warned, “Don’t press me.”

Petulantly, Al leaned back against the porch. “You’d best give him the paper, Mrs. Hawthorne. That Jacques fella could jes’ come back after the cap’n is gone and take it for hisself.” Al shrugged. “It’ll be the safer thing to do.”

“Thank you for that bit of confidence,” Cole said with chiding mockery.

“ ‘Tain’t confidence in you,” Al objected tartly, “it’s jes’ a matter of choices.”

“I stand corrected.”

Cole glanced at the museful sheriff. Al never made anything easier, especially when it pertained to getting him out of trouble. “I’m sure as a gentleman of the law, Sheriff, you can understand that the boy was only trying to protect the lady’s rights. He meant no real harm.”