Heart of Stone (28 page)

As soon as Hattie sat down there was a general buzz of
conversation around the room until Brand demanded everyone’s attention again.

“What Hattie said so well is true. There’s no shame in surviving. We learn from our trials. It’s not how you start out in life, it’s how you finish that counts. Laura Foster has learned more than most of you will ever know about hardship and struggle. I thought so before and now, after all I’ve heard today, I know she’s the better for it. You’ve put your trust in me as your minister for nearly four years now. I’ve fallen in love with a woman who has proven again and again that she’s good and kind and true. If I thought loving her was wrong, if I thought for a moment that she wouldn’t be the kind of mother my children deserve or the kind of wife I need beside me as I strive to lead a congregation, then I wouldn’t have asked her to marry me.

“It’s up to the Lord to forgive Laura Foster, just as it’s up to Him to forgive all of us our past sins. It’s up to you to believe in His infinite wisdom and forgive Laura and me our past sins, just as He does. That’s all I can ask of you.”

Before anyone else could respond, the rancher who had been so upset earlier was on his feet again.

“I know what’s right,” he said. “I’m resigning from the board and taking my family and my contributions elsewhere. Anyone who agrees with me is welcome to come with me.”

The woman beside him stood up and together they worked their way out of their pew and went out the side door.

Except for a few whispers here and there, the room was silent. Everyone was watchful, expectant, as they held a collective breath and waited to see who would leave next.

Brand braced both hands on the lectern.

“I would like to thank all of you who spoke up on Laura’s behalf. I’m moved and grateful for your show of support.”

His gaze swept the room again and suddenly stopped on Laura. She knew the moment he had seen her; his smile lit up his face.

“For those of you who have never met Laura Foster,” Brand said, “I’d like to introduce my fiancée.”

When he motioned her to come forward and all heads turned her way, she found she couldn’t take a step.

Reverend Lockwood came to her rescue. “At your service, Mrs. Foster.” He gallantly offered his arm.

“Thank you,” she whispered.

“Ready?”

Laura turned toward the front of the church where Brand was waiting for her. Her heart slowed to an even, steady beat as she smiled back at him.

“I’m ready.” She slipped her hand into Reverend Lockwood’s arm and he escorted her up the aisle toward the promise of forever.

J
anie, please. Stand still.” Laura sighed with frustration as she tried to anchor one more hairpin and put the final touches on Janie’s hair. “If you insist on wiggling around that way, this entire right side of curls is going to tumble down, and we haven’t time to start over. We’re already running late.”

Laura glanced around her suite, which was in complete upheaval. She shook her head, wondering if she would ever get used to such confusion.

Janie was seated on the low, padded stool in front of the dressing table, pulling out the stoppers on one after another of Laura’s collection of crystal perfume bottles.

“May I wear some, Laura? Please?”

“Only if you sit still for one more minute, and then only a dab.”

“I’ll sit still,” Janie promised. A second later, she said, “Uh-oh.”

By now, Laura knew nothing good happened whenever one of the children said uh-oh. She took her eyes off of Janie long enough to survey the room. On the opposite side of her lovely, hand-carved bed—now littered with petticoats, socks, hats, and Brand’s best black coat—Sam stood near the bedside table stuffing a chocolate bonbon into his mouth.

“Sam McCormick, please put the lid back on that candy dish and come over here.”

He mumbled something unintelligible around a mouthful of chocolate.

“If you drip one bit of that on your clean shirtfront, you will not be allowed to carry the ring,” Laura warned.

“Bu—”

“Close your mouth, please. Your father will be so disappointed if you ruin your new clothes.”

Janie tried to turn around to see what he was doing. Laura held her still.

It didn’t keep the little girl from talking.

“This is the most important day of our lives, Sam. If you don’t behave, Laura might change her mind and tell Papa she won’t marry him.”

When she saw that Janie was about to cry, Laura quickly chose a light, floral-scented perfume and dabbed just a hint behind Janie’s ears.

“There you go,” she said. “You look pretty as a picture, Janie. Now sit on the edge of the bed and don’t move. You, too, Sam. Sit beside your sister.”

Janie skipped over to the bed. “Are you going to have the vapors, Laura? Amelia says sometimes brides have the vapors. She sells a lot of her nerve tonic to women who are getting married.”

“I don’t have time for vapors,” Laura assured her.

It was her wedding day and she hadn’t even had time for more than a cursory glance in the mirror since breakfast, and yet she felt blessed. She dabbed a bit of perfume on herself and decided that was the best she could do.

Sam had finally swallowed the chocolate. He was eyeing the candy dish from the edge of the bed.

Janie ran her hand over her ruffled purple skirt. “I heard Aunt Charity say it was a shame you and Papa can’t go on a honeymoon, Laura.”

“What’s a honeymoon?” Sam flopped onto his back.

“Everyone knows that, silly.” Janie spit on her fingers and shined the toe of her shoe.

Laura paused in the middle of brushing lint and cat fur off of Brand’s black coat and stared at Janie. “And exactly what do you think a honeymoon is, young lady?”

“It’s when two people get married and go outside to look at the moon and call each other ‘honey.’”

Laura bit her lips together and concentrated on the coat brush.

Just then, Charity came rushing into the room.

“John is downstairs waiting to start the ceremony,” she told Laura. “And Brand is afraid you’re going to call off the wedding.”

“She might be having the vapors,” Sam informed him.

“She said she doesn’t have time for vapors.” Janie reminded him.

“Why don’t you two go downstairs and keep Reverend Lockwood company?” Charity suggested. As they went running out of the room, she turned to Laura. “Brand sent me up here for his coat.”

“Tell him I’m almost ready.”

“You’re still in your dressing gown.”

“It’ll just take a minute to change.” Laura handed the coat to Charity and had to laugh. “I hope your wedding day is calmer than mine.”

“I can’t believe that in a month I’ll be married too.” Charity’s cheeks took on a rosy glow. “Who would have guessed?”

“Reverend Lockwood is a lucky man.”

“I’m so happy he wants to stay in Texas. We’ll still be near all of you.”

“I hope so. Is Jesse ready?” Laura walked over to the closet where the gown she’d chosen hung waiting for her to slip into.

“He’s with Brand. He refused to wear the suit you bought him.”

“It was worth a try. Perhaps it will fit Richard.”

With the rest of the McCormicks moving into her home, Laura had assured Jesse he was welcome too. He’d only had to take one
look at Sam and Janie as they thundered up the stairs armed with their toys and books, bickering about who would get which room.

“Thanks for the offer, but I’m just fine out in the carriage house. There’s a lock on the door.”

As she slipped into her dress, Laura reflected on the turn her life had taken. In the two weeks since their engagement became official, her precious routine had been turned upside down. Her days were hectic and unpredictable, and yet she loved every minute of them. There were still people who avoided speaking to her on the street, but most of the citizens of Glory had closed rank around her, including Harrison Barker, whose mother had threatened to “box his ears” if he didn’t apologize.

She still worried what the children would think when they found out about her past, as they were bound to someday. She prayed that she’d be given the words to explain and she knew Brand would be at her side when she did.

Charity picked up Brand’s coat and headed for the door. “I’ll get this to Brand. Unless there’s anything else you need?”

Just then Brand himself called out from the hallway, “Are you ready, Laura?”

Charity handed him the coat on her way out while Laura scrambled to cover her dress with her robe. A second later, she found Brand smiling down into her eyes.

“Everyone’s ready, but I can’t guarantee how long they’ll be able to wait. Sam’s eyeing the frosting on the cake. Are you getting cold feet?”

“I’ll be ready in five minutes.”

He took out his watch and checked the time. “You said that five minutes ago.”

She held out her hand for his coat, then held it for him while he slipped it on. When he turned around, she was reaching for a stray piece of lint on his lapel. Instead he drew her into his arms for a kiss.

“I think you’re supposed to save that for after the wedding,” she whispered.

“One little kiss won’t hurt.”

“It’s not going to help. Is everyone here?”

He nodded. “I think so. Harrison and his mother just arrived, which is actually why I came up here.”

“They aren’t making trouble are they?”

“Not at all.” He reached into the back of his waistband and pulled out a letter.

“Harrison brought this for you. I hesitated giving it to you, in case it’s bad news, but there’s a fifty-fifty chance it’s the news you’ve been waiting for.” He handed it over.

She immediately recognized Tom Abbot’s clear, bold handwriting.

“Take your time,” he said, kissing her again. “You’ve got four minutes.”

“Send Anna up to fasten up my gown, would you, please?”

“Of course.” He was almost out the door when he paused and turned around. “Remind her that will be my job from now on, would you?”

“Go.” She tried not to blush as she pointed toward the door.

Once he left the room, she went to the bed and sat down. She held the letter on her lap unopened and took a deep breath.

Today was a new beginning. No matter what the Pinkerton had found, this was still the best day of her life.

She closed her eyes, thanked God for everything she had, for everything He had blessed her with already.

Then she picked up the letter and carefully broke the sealing wax.

The Pinkerton had written but two lines:

I believe I have found your sister, Megan. I will write again when I am certain.

A tear splashed on the page. She quickly wiped it away before it
smeared the ink. She refolded the letter and carried it to her dressing table where she slipped it into her decoupage stationery box.

Anna arrived as if on cue to fasten the row of buttons up the back of the dress.

“Congratulations, señora,” she said when she was finished. “We will see you downstairs.” She gave Laura a spontaneous hug before she hurried out of the room.

Laura took one last look in the mirror. She’d had Charity help her with an upswept hairstyle that morning. By now there were wayward curls popping out all over. She ignored them and concentrated on choosing a pair of simple earrings and a matching pearl necklace from her jewelry box. Staring back at her own reflection, she nodded. Good enough.

She started to leave the room, but stopped, clasped her hands together and closed her eyes.

“Thank You,” she whispered. “Thank You for everything.”

Beneath a crescent moon, a crudely built cabin rested on crooked cypress stilts planted in the chocolate brown water of the bayou. A dock lined the front. The back of the cabin touched the edge of marshland that was illusive at best. At its worst, it became a muddy bog.

A thousand eyes watched from the slowly moving water, tall reeds and rises; alligators, muskrats, mink, rats, deer, an occasional bear—silent denizens of the swamp. Like the human inhabitants, they existed here at the whim of the water and the storms that blew in without warning.

Fall had arrived. The muggy heat of summer was gone, tamed by cool air that drifted down from the north. Soon, hundreds of thousands of birds would flock south to the marsh to escape winter’s cold.

The bayou was a place of refuge for more than winged fowl. Humans, too, easily hid where back roads curled through dense overgrowth and gave way to miles of shallow, narrow waterways that crisscrossed the swamp.

Inside, the walls of the cabin were made of rough-hewn cypress planks lined with old newspapers. The silence of the night was broken only by tormented sounds as Maddie Grande whimpered her way through a recurring nightmare.

It was always the same, always terrifying. Maddie was a child again, running in mid-stride when the nightmare began. Her bare feet slapped the cobblestoned streets of New Orleans as she fought to keep up with the tall, lanky man in the lead. A blonde girl, not much taller than Maddie, tugged Maddie by the wrist.

All Maddie could see of the man was his back. His greasy dark hair hung beneath his wide brimmed black hat and his hunched shoulders. His coat was well worn, threadbare around cuffs that didn’t reach his wrists. It swayed loose from his shoulders, flapping as the three of them ran.

The other child, an inch taller, tightened her grip on Maddie’s wrist and whispered a warning, “Keep up. You can do it.”

Somehow Maddie knew that if she fell behind, a beating would be her swift reward. Like Mercury, fear fashioned wings on her feet.

The nightmare unfolded through a fog of time and forgotten memories that swirled around the man and the child leading Maddie along. The edges of the vision were blurred and tattered, like the stained pages of a book left too long in the rain. The streets they traversed were cool and damp, the air close and warm. The sounds and smells around them familiar.

New Orleans in early morning; street lamps were being extinguished as vendors at the French Market set up their wares and shouted to customers and each other in a patois of languages. Indians sold furs and herbs, farmers hawked fruits, vegetables, and spices. Hunters and butchers offered meats of every kind. Fishmongers promised a fresh catch and a bounty of seafood. There was always snow-white rice for sale, a staple in every home, along with Indian corn.

People of every hue crowded the stalls. Behind the scene, slaves hauled hogsheads loaded with tobacco, cotton, indigo, and cane to nearby ware-houses. No one noticed the ragtag trio fleeing past. Refreshment stands lined the blocks near the market. The smell of gumbo and fresh brewed coffee tainted the heavy, humid air.

Maddie, urged on by the blonde, kept running. Eventually, they reached an area where homes stood alongside businesses. Now and again she glimpsed cool, shaded courtyards through gateway grilles. She longed to stop and dip her hand into one of the trickling fountains, to take a sip of water. But she was not allowed to tarry. Air burned her lungs as she fought to keep up the breakneck pace. She had no doubt that the blonde girl would drag her body down the street if she stumbled and fell.

When the man suddenly halted, surprising Maddie, she clasped her free hand to her side where a stitch ached like fire. Thankfully, it quickly passed and she was able to straighten. She stared up at the wooden planks in a huge door before them. It was anchored to a thick stucco wall.

The older girl turned, but the face of the blonde child who so protectively clung to her hand never fully materialized. In its place was nothing but a pale oval, a wavering, shadowy void where a face should be.

That faded, faceless image filled Maggie—not with fear—but with feelings of intense sorrow and loss.

The faceless girl slicked down Maddie’s hair and whispered, “I’ll watch out for you. No matter what.”

Maddie suffered through the same nightmare countless times.

Who was this child she mourned for? Why did the nightmare haunt her, even in the best of times?

There were those she mourned, those with faces she would never forget, whose memories were engraved upon her heart. She counted this unknown, faceless girl among them, though she didn’t know why.

The skeletal man, just as unidentifiable, gave a phlegmy cough before he raised his hand and lifted the wrought iron ring on the door knocker and let it fall. It hit the wooden door with the hollow, ominous ring of a final heartbeat.

As the door swung open, the man faded from the nightmare. Maddie’s hand tightened; she clung to the older girl’s, and together they stepped over the threshold and through the doorway. They walked slowly forward and the space around them narrowed to become a blood red hallway. Flames licked the amber glass globes of flickering gas lamps evenly spaced along the hall. The girls’ shadows wavered and danced over a decadently expensive textured wall covering.

Maddie’s heart began to pound frantically. Heavily scented perfume weighed on the close air in the hall. She heard the sound of a door open and close. Now and again there came a throaty laugh, a moan, a cry.

Another man, different from the first but just as indistinguishable, suddenly appeared and came slowly toward the girls. Maddie’s blood ran cold. He was as tall as the first but not lanky. His crooked top hat reminded her of a sooty stovepipe. The tails of his black coat flapped behind him as he strode forward.

Maddie was ever aware of the child beside her. She felt the other girl’s panic, felt her stiffen, heard her cry out. Suddenly, the older girl’s hand was torn away, their hold broken.

The faceless child shouted, “No!” and tried to grab Maddie. Her cries were abruptly ended by the sound of a slap that cracked on the air between them.

Without warning, the man in the black coat hoisted Maddie to his shoulder. Handled with no more reverence than a bag of rice, she dangled from his shoulder, staring down at the whirling patterns of the red and gold carpeted floor. Her head began to swim. As the stranger scuttled along the crimson lined hallway carrying her away, the other girl started screaming again and so did Maddie.

She kept on screaming as darkness closed around her. She screamed until suffocating shadows that seemed to go on forever choked out the light and everything faded away but the sound of her own voice.

Now, her muffled cries broke the stillness on the bayou and filled the small cabin. Startled awake, no longer a child, Maddie Grande sat up drenched in perspiration and stared into the dark void around her. With the screams echoing in her head, she swung her legs over the edge of the mattress stuffed with moss and set her bare feet on the rough floorboards. She rose and stood for a moment beside her narrow cot listening to the creaks and groans of the cabin as the water lapped around the pilings. It was a comforting, familiar sound.

She padded across the room to where a tall pottery crock stood on a crooked shelf nailed to the side wall. Staring out of a window above the shelf, she reached for a ladle, dipped fresh water from the crock, and brought the ladle to her lips.

Outside the window, a scant spoonful of moonlight filtered down through the tall cypress trees making a wall of deep green that appeared jet black in the darkness. Draped with gray Spanish moss, the ghost forest towered over the swamp.

Maddie stared past her reflection in the wavering glass and out into the darkness, acutely aware that she was alone in the cabin, alone in the swamp. Yet she had no fear. She’d survived on the streets of New Orleans for as long as she could recall. Out here on the bayou, most of what she feared was of nature, not of men.

Besides, she was not frightened of death anymore. She had already lost those she held most dear. She had nothing left to lose.

She sighed, listened to the barely audible sound of slow moving water. She reached out, pressed her palm against the cool glass. Her own image stared back at her, illusive in the muted light. Thick brown hair with barely a hint of a wave tumbled past her shoulders. Eyes of nearly the same color as her hair stared back. There was just enough moonlight to reveal the small scar that parted the end of her right brow. How it came to be there, she had no memory.

As she turned, intent on returning to her cot, she heard the scrape of a wooden pirogue against one of the piers. Relieved, she let go another sigh. The twins were back.

She gave up going back to bed and fumbled with the oil lamp on the table in the middle of the room. It was one of the few pieces of furniture other than four mismatched wooden chairs and three cots. The golden glow from the lamp illuminated the interior, revealing the small, neatly kept side where Maddie slept. It was in stark contrast to the twins’ cots and
the littered floor around them. Their side was a jumbled lair where the two of them had nests of clothing, old pieces of traps, and things they were “due to fix” or things they had “found.”

She heard footfalls against the dock outside and turned as the door opened. Lawrence walked in first. His blond hair caught the light. The freckles that spattered his face were golden red in the lamplight. His eyes were blue, shadowed by heavy lids that gave him the appearance of a young man who was constantly drowsy. Lawrence had always been thought of as slow witted, most likely because he was so accustomed to letting his twin brother, Terrance, think for him. He was so adept at sleepwalking through life, Lawrence rarely needed to think at all.

He nodded to Maddie and headed straight for a brown and white jug full of white lightning on the shelf of foodstuff. He hooked his forefinger through the ring on the neck, lifted the cork, and took a swig. Smacking his lips after a long swallow, he finally turned and smiled at her.

But when he glanced back toward the open doorway, he wore a look of concern.

“What are you doing up, Maddie?” As if it were an afterthought, he took another swig from the jug and then set it in the middle of the table where Terrance would find it waiting.

She shrugged. She never talked about her nightmare. Her father never let her show any sign of weakness. Cowardice had always been ridiculed. Fears were not to be mentioned aloud, as if silence could wither them in their tracks.

She’d known the twins as brothers for as long as she could remember. Together, they worked the streets of New Orleans, growing up as street urchins in the back alleys. They knew how to pick pockets, work a crowd begging, how to steal anything that wasn’t nailed down. They ate from market stalls, slipping fruits and meats and baked goods into their grimy little hands without anyone being the wiser.

They’d been taught how to bite and scratch and escape the law and they embraced their lives of thievery even as they matured.

When Terrance decided they should move to the bayou she had welcomed the change. There was nothing left to keep her in the city. Nowhere she called home.

No one cared what she did or where she lived.

Where she lived? She almost laughed aloud at the idea. No one cared where she existed was more like it.

Lawrence shifted and turned away as he headed for his cot. He brushed
the shirts and pants off, ignoring them as they fell to the floor. The cot sagged as he sat down.

“Where’s Terrance?” She glanced toward the open door. If it was left gaping long enough, a rat as big as a housecat could slip inside.

He shrugged. “Tying up his pirogue, I guess. He’ll be along any minute.”

She knew better than to ask where they’d been or what they’d been doing for the past three days. Even if they would tell her, the less she knew the better.

“Are you hungry?” She asked.

“I can hold ‘til mornin’.” He looked as if he were about to bed down for the night when they heard Terrance’s footsteps. Maddie turned and watched the second twin walk in.

Shock hit her in a mighty wave when she noticed the bundle cradled in his arms. She gave a gasp when she saw two small feet shod in ankle-high black leather shoes dangling from beneath the frayed hem of a gray Confederate Army issue blanket. The war had been over for nigh on to eight years and the blanket had definitely seen better days.

“What have you done?” She whispered, tearing her gaze away from the bundled child to meet Terrance’s eyes.

His eyes, identical to his brother’s except that they were cool and emotionless, narrowed in defiance as he dared her to criticize him. Terrance was the schemer, the planner.

“I’m lookin’ out for our future, that’s what.” He shot a glance at his brother seated on the edge of his sagging cot. “That’s more than I can say for some around here.”

He carried the bundle over to Maddie’s cot and gently laid his burden down near the wall. He gave the blanket a slight tug downward and Maddie found herself staring at a beautiful little girl with a head full of coiled brown ringlets. She was sound asleep and wearing a fur-lined red cape worth more than everything in the ramshackle cabin put together.

A twinge squeezed Maddie’s heart. Unable to speak, she ached to reach out and touch the child’s porcelain cheek so badly that she had to fist her hands in the folds of her skirt.

“Why?” She turned on Terrance, afraid there was only one explanation for the child’s presence. “You’re not thinking of starting a new tribe—”

Lawrence laughed from across the room. Maddie and Terrance, locked in a battle of wills, ignored him.

“Those days are over, Terrance. They died with Dexter,” she whispered.

Dexter Grande was their leader, their father, keeper, guide, and judge.
He was the visionary, the glue who had held their tribe together, the one who “recruited” his band of children, the one who taught them to steal and how to survive on the streets.