Creole Hearts (26 page)

“Wait, stop, someone’s down!” she cried, but none paid heed.

She grabbed the woman’s arm and, with effort, turned her onto her side, Blood smeared her face and mask. Madelaine wasn’t sure she breathed.

“
Nom de Dieu
!” Madeline shouted at the top of her voice. “A woman is hurt!”

No one came to help her, though the crowd pressed close enough to jostle her as she stood over the fallen woman. Frantically, Madelaine bent and took hold of both the woman’s wrists and pulled her to the wall of a building. There was an ugly gash across the unconscious victim's cheek.

"Help!" Madelaine cried. She put two fingers into her mouth and whistled piercingly.

Faces turned her way.

"I need a doctor," she cried. "Send a doctor. A woman's hurt."

Nobody offered a hand, though they couldn't miss seeing the helpless figure at her feet. How was it possible such a thing could happen? Weren't these her own people, Creoles? Why didn't anyone help her?

Madelaine didn't know how long she crouched over the bleeding woman before she slipped into a numbed lethargy, rousing only now and then to call for help, for a doctor.

It seemed an eternity until, like a miracle, she saw the crowd parting before her like the Red Sea at Moses' command. A man on a horse rode through and stopped in front of her.

He slid from the saddle and knelt beside the unconscious woman. He wasn't in costume and wore a wide brimmed hat.

"I'm a doctor," he said.

"Thank
le bon Dieu
someone sent you," she gasped.

"What happened?" he asked, his fingers gently examining the injury to the woman's face.

"I don't know. She fell down. I saw a man step on her."

He bent over the woman. Madelaine leaned back, easing her cramped muscles.

"I'm going to put her on the horse," he said, "for I've got to get her out of here." He spoke French with an accent, Madelaine noticed wearily.

"If you'll let me help you up first so you can hold her—I'm sorry about the saddle, I'm afraid you'll have to sit astride—I'll lead the horse."

Madelaine looked straight at him for the first time. She lifted her mask to be certain of what she saw because she couldn’t believe her eyes.

Beneath the hat was red hair tinged with gray. Blue eyes stared back at her.

“John Kellogg!” she cried.

Chapter 26

Madelaine stared into her vanity mirror with dissatisfaction. Was it only yesterday she'd thought she looked youthful? Josefina, arranging Madelaine's hair, shook her head.

"I like to never seen such goings on," she said. "That lady's husband and all."

"I'm glad she wasn't seriously hurt," Madelaine said.

"She be carrying a scar down her face, be reminding her for a long time. Fighting ain't worth getting scarred."

"It was the crowd," Madelaine said. "Most everyone was having a good time and so nobody noticed if one or two people were in trouble."

"I heard him say she be running off from him, that's what, because he don't be wanting to dance no more in Mardi Gras, cause he be wanting to go home."

"Well, she's safe now," Madelaine said, tired of the conversation.

John Kellogg had brought the woman she'd rescued to the La Branche townhouse. Once she'd roused enough to. tell him her name, he'd summoned her husband, who'd taken his wife home.

"And the
Americain
doctor be back in New Orleans," Josefina went on. "Sure be strange, what can happen."

It hadn't seemed strange at all to see John once more. His auburn hair was streaked with grey and there were lines in his face that hadn't been there fifteen years ago, but he looked much the same. How very different she must look to him, Madelaine thought. She leaned forward and examined her face.

Josefina caught her eye. "Must be he coming here again, that doctor," she said.

Madelaine flushed, immediately angry at herself for doing so, annoyed that it mattered so much how she looked to John.

"Dr. Kellogg will be here for dinner," she said sharply.

This is ridiculous, Madelaine told herself in the early afternoon as she wandered from one room to another, making certain everything was perfect. You've been nervous and jumpy all day, like a young girl waiting for her first suitor. Didn't he hesitate before he said yes to your dinner invitation? He's coming out of courtesy, nothing more.

There'd been no time to exchange confidences last night. She only knew that John was in New Orleans. He could be married, his wife somewhere else, he could have a dozen children. She mustn't behave like a silly child.

John arrived after dusk, wearing a long broadcloth coat over a sapphire blue vest. She thought he looked handsome and distinguished. She'd changed her gown three times, finally settling for an off the shoulder gold satin with puffed sleeves and a beribboned belled skirt. Now she wondered if she should have dressed more simply.

"You haven't changed at all," John told her. "Still young, still beautiful." He smiled. "And just as willful. I can't think what your brother was about, letting you parade alone in the Mardi Gras."

"Guy's in France." Madelaine looked down at her hands, lowering her voice. "He's gone to bring back Cecile. She—she's almost fifteen."

“Cecile?"

Madelaine raised her head to meet his glance. "My daughter. She's been raised there. Guy and I will present her in New Orleans as—as our
cousine
."

It was a relief to get the words out, to be able to say the truth to someone.

He nodded. "You've never married?"

"No."

"Nor have I."

"Will you be staying long in New Orleans?" she asked, hoping he couldn't see the pulse throbbing so rapidly in her neck.

"I've settled in Louisiana." He paused while Leroy entered with a decanter of wine and glasses, setting them down on a low table.

Madelaine nodded and Leroy left as silently as he'd come.

"Shall I?" John asked, tilting his head toward the wine.

"Please."

John poured a glass for Madelaine, then one for himself.

"Now that I'm finally retired from the army, I've begun a practice in Baton Rouge," he said. "I came to New Orleans to see old Dr. Goodreau—he's confined to bed these days. I was just down the street when word came that a lady in the parade needed help."

She leaned forward. "I couldn't believe it was you. It's been so long. I never dreamed I'd see you again."

"And how do you feel?"

Madelaine blinked. "I'm quite recovered from last night. Only a few bruises .. ."

"No. How do you feel about seeing me after all these years?" His gaze was intent. She'd forgotten how very blue his eyes were.

"I—I . . ." She touched her face, knowing the blood was rising to her cheeks. "I'm happy."

John stood, crossed to her and reached out. She put her hands in his and he pulled her to her feet.

"I've never stopped loving you," he said. "You drew me back to New Orleans, even though I promised myself I'd stay away."

Her breathing quickened. "John," she said. "Oh, John . . ."

His lips were warm against hers, his arms held her close and an almost forgotten desire flooded through her body. After a few moments he eased away enough to look down at her and she saw her own need reflected in his eyes. There was nothing in the world for her but John Kellogg.

Taking his hand, she led him up the stairs to her bedroom. When she bent to turn out the

lamp on the night table, he stopped her.

"I want to see you. I've waited a long time, Madelaine."

With her gaze fixed on him, she unfastened the back of her gown, stepped out of it, removed her petticoats, stockings and slippers. She saw him catch his breath, and suddenly she felt beautiful and desirable. She slipped under the bed covers as he undressed.

His body was firm and muscular—a young man's body. He got into the bed next to her and took her into his arms, and she sighed as his bare flesh warmed hers.

It had been so many years since John had held her, though it had never been like this. She trembled with the urgency of her desire for him.

He was gentle but insistent, caressing her into eager passion, controlling himself until she was wild with the need for him, until she arched to him, calling his name. Then he thrust within her, his abandon releasing her rapture. She clung to him, sobbing in fulfillment.

"Madelaine," he said later, "why do you weep?"

Tears in her eyes, she said, "I've never been so happy. Oh my love, my love ..."

"But you're crying."

"Because I love you. I loved you before, but I was too proud to let myself realize how much I needed you. You offered, but I—I couldn't go to you. I didn't understand then that a woman could love more than once."

She touched his face. "What a silly girl I was. So much time we could have spent together has been wasted."

"We'll waste no more." He held her to him again. "We'll marry as soon as possible. Why not tomorrow?"

Madelaine began to laugh at his impulsiveness, then sobered, remembering her brother.

"We must wait until Guy returns from France," she said.

John held her away. "Why?"

"Because he's my brother—the head of the family—and you must ask him for--"

"Madelaine! We aren't children, we're both over forty."

She bit her lip. "But I've never married, John. It's considered proper. Besides, I—I couldn't have the wedding without my brother here. Guy and I have been through so much together. Please understand."

"I don't understand." He sat up. "I can't understand. In one breath you tell me you've loved me for years and in the next you say you can't marry me unless Guy approves."

"It's only a matter of months before he'll be in New Orleans. We've waited all this time—surely we can wait a little longer. Besides—" she lowered her lashes—"isn't it possible to meet like this in the meantime?"

John got to his feet and began to pull on his clothes. "I asked you to be my wife, Madelaine, not my placee. A wife is what I want, what I need. Will you marry me and come with me to Baton Rouge or not?"

She sat up, clutching the bedclothes about her, chilled to the soul by his anger. "I—I can't until Guy..."

"Damn Guy!"

"John, please ..."

He grabbed his coat and turned toward the door. As he opened it he looked back, hesitating a moment.

"I won't be visiting New Orleans again," he said. "Goodbye, Madelaine." Then he was gone.

She stared at the closed door, unbelievingly.

"No," she whispered, tears rolling down her cheeks. John Kellogg didn't call on her again.

Spring passed, and summer. Then fall. The cane harvest was in before Guy arrived at Lac Belle with Cecile.

And with
Madame
Tanguy La Branche, his wife.

Madelaine was stunned.

"You're very welcome," she told Fabrienne, "but I had no idea my brother intended—that is, I didn't realize . . ." she broke off, staring at the elegant French woman, marvellously dressed in what Madelaine knew must be the very latest Paris fashions. She felt dowdy by comparison.

She resented her attention being taken by this astounding development for she wished to concentrate on her daughter, standing wide eyed beside Fabrienne, her quiet beauty eclipsed by the older woman.

"You're Cecile," Madelaine said.

Cecile's hazel eyes examined her. "I'm pleased to meet you
, Cousine
Madelaine," she said politely.

Did she look like Philippe? Madelaine couldn't see the resemblance except for the hazel eyes. Cecile did show a certain likeness to the little daughter of Annette Louise and Nicolas. A Roulleaux look?

"Cecile is a La Branche through and through,"
Guy said heartily. "Aren't you
,
'tite.”

Cecile flashed him a shy smile. "If you say so,
Cousine
Guy."

Guy patted her cheek, then put his arm about Fabrienne. "Here's my prize, Madelaine. I know you'll love her as I do."

"Of course," Madelaine murmured, not at all certain she'd manage such a thing.

"I shall put myself into your hands completely," Fabrienne told her, "as I learn to run Lac Belle properly. Vineyards I'm used to, but sugar cane I know nothing whatsoever about. Nor Negro slaves."

She means to become the mistress here in fact, Madelaine realized, taken aback. Senalda had never really managed the plantation house at La Belle, but this wife was different. Very much so.

"But all that can wait until I'm rested from the journey," Fabrienne went on. "Perhaps we can begin the day after tomorrow?"

Madelaine nodded. "I'm sorry to keep you standing about like this. It's the surprise." She led the way up the stairs, wondering how she'd tolerate another woman as mistress of Lac Belle, the house that had been hers ever since it was built

As the weeks passed, Fabrienne took over more and more. As she has a right to do, Madelaine reminded herself. She spent as much time as she could with Cecile, but the girl was reserved and shy with her, despite all of Madelaine's efforts to become better acquainted.

Fabrienne called Madelaine into the morning room late in January of 1833. "Please sit down," she said. "I think we must have a talk."

Madelaine did as she was asked,

"You should try not to overwhelm Cecile with attention as you do," Fabrienne told her. "I know how you must feel, but the child thinks of you as a stranger. And, I must remind you, as a
cousine."

Madelaine stared at her. Guy's told her, then, she thought, a tightness in her chest. I mustn't think of it as a betrayal, she's his wife, she has a right to know, I suppose.

"I didn't realize I was upsetting Cecile," she said.

"It's only natural for her to confide in me," Fabrienne said. "Cecile and I had a chance to become close aboard ship and, too, we're both French. She's a lovely girl—a tribute to the nuns who raised her."

Resentment knifed through Madelaine. I wanted to keep my daughter with me, she thought. Fabrienne makes it sound as though I abandoned her.

She lifted her chin and looked Fabrienne in the eye. "I imagine you've come to think of Cecile as your daughter," she said, "since you've never had children of your own. Perhaps that will change when you and Guy--"

"We will have no children," Fabrienne snapped, interrupting Madelaine.

She can't be more than forty, Madelaine thought. How is she so certain? "Be that as it may," she said, "everything at Lac Belle belongs to you by right of marriage. Everything except Cecile. If, as you say, she still feels insecure in New Orleans, I shan't push her."

"That's all I ask," Fabrienne said.

Madelaine didn't believe her, but murmured a polite leave taking and left the morning room. She has Guy, she has Lac Belle and now she wants Cecile too, Madelaine thought angrily.

"Looks like that little girl be a sweet child," Odalie said to Madelaine. "She come visit me, she be bringing sugar candy for me and talk so nice. You take care she don't do like you, be unhappy."

"Cecile isn't much like me," Madelaine said.