Southern Seduction (30 page)

Travis opened his mouth to speak but nothing came out.
He closed his eyes, his heart aching with pain. Finally after a moment he managed to get out, “A blue gown.”

“Good God,” Leathers roared.
He shook his head in disbelief. “She has gone overboard. Man overboard!” Leathers bellowed, and then he turned and waved at the pilothouse. “Stop the engines!”

“What can we do?” Travis asked.
He felt completely helpless, his mind congested with doubts and fears wanted to do something. Anything. But what?

“We will go back a short way and look for her.
I’ll send out some skiffs,” Leathers said. He placed a hand on Travis’s shoulder. “We’ll find her, son. We’ll find her.”

By six that night, a crewman in one of the boats found a torn blue dress, but no sign of Brooke.

Travis stood looking at the wet garment at his feet. He felt as if his life had been sucked from him. Just when he had finally found the woman he wanted, she had been snatched from him. All that was left was an aching, empty hole in his chest where his heart had been.

“We cannot continue to search with darkness upon us.
” The captain rested his hand on Travis’s shoulder in a fruitless attempt to offer comfort. “I’m sorry,” Leathers said. “Your wife must have drowned.”

His grief overwhelming, Travis shook him away.

Leathers left Travis alone in his thoughts, muttered as he walked away, “But what I don’t understand is how she went overboard.”

Margaret, with Hesione in tow, arrived curious to see what was going on.
“Perhaps, she jumped,” Margaret suggested when she’d heard the explanation.

Travis swung around.
“My wife did not jump.”

Margaret wasn’t put off by his sharp tone.
“How do you know that, son? After all, you have only known the woman a few weeks. Perhaps she couldn’t fathom the thought of running a plantation.”

“Mother
,” Travis warned, a muscle was beginning to twitch in his jaw. “Brooke was afraid of nothing. She was not afraid of running the plantation, and she did not jump! She might have slipped on the wet decks, somebody could have shoved her, but she did not jump! And I never want to hear you say that again!”

“I know you are upset, son,” Margaret soothed.
“But in time --” She stopped when she saw a warning in his eyes.

Travis left his mother and went to find the captain.
Drawing in a ragged breath, he said, “Captain, I know this has cost you the race.”

“Not to worry.”
The captain threw up his hand. “No race is as important as a human life. There will be other races. I’m just sorry that we were not able to find your wife. She was a very beautiful woman, and we all liked her very much.”

“I will pack our things,” Travis said, “and take a skiff to shore so you can continue on with the trip.”
He raked his hand through his hair as he tried to think. He felt numb all over. “Will you see that our things are delivered back to Moss Grove?”

“Considered it done,” Leathers said with a handshake. Then he left Travis alone to grieve.

Travis hadn’t seen his mother and Hesione walked up behind him, so when he turned to leave he bump into them.

“You are leaving the boat?” Hesione asked.

“Yes. Maybe I will find something before I return to Moss Grove,” Travis said, turning his back and walking away.

“Well, I never!” Hesione said to Margaret.
“He hasn’t given us one thought. Can’t he see he’s better off without that woman? She ruined everything.”

Margaret slipped her arm around the girl.
“He’ll come around. Soon he will forget all about her. You just need to be patient, my dear, and everything will turn out as it should have done to begin with.”

Driven by the scant hope that Brooke might still be alive, Travis spent the next month searching for some sign that she had made it to shore.
All he found were dead ends.

Finally, as a last desperate measure, he commissioned an artist
to make several sketches with Brooke’s likeness. He had flyers offering a substantial reward posted in shops, the telegraph offices, and post offices up and down the river.

Travis knew it was doubtful that he would hear anything, but he was not ready to face the truth that the woman he loved was dead, and he would never see her again.

He could still picture her in his arms the last time he held her.

She had never begged for forgiveness because there was nothing to forgive. She had done what she had to, never blaming anyone for her fate. He was proud of her, he thought as he stroked her hair and let her cry.

Neither of them had said anything. This was a night of healing.

A little later, when she’d fallen asleep in exhausted slumber, Travis whispered, “I love you.”

Now he had lost her.

A
fter having exhausted all his recourses, and with a sad heart, he returned to Moss Grove.

Brooke could feel herself trying to float out of the comfortable mist she’d been drifting in.
She opened her eyes and wondered where she was. Nothing looked familiar. She tried to sit up, but she was so weak she couldn’t hold herself up, and the movement made her head hurt horribly. She fell back on the bed, groaning from sheer exhaustion.

“I t’ought you gonna sleep forever, de way you were goin’,” a woman said, her voice coming from across the room.
A moment later, wearing a concerned smile, she appeared next to the bed and looked down at Brooke. “What pretty eyes they are.”

Brooke blinked several times.
She tried to say something, but her throat was so dry the words wouldn’t come out.

“
Ah, you poor little t’ing, let me get you some water,” the nice woman said.

She came back a moment later with a cup.
The woman helped Brooke to sit up, then held the cup to her lips. The cool liquid soothed her parched throat.

“Thank you,” Brooke said.
“Why do I feel like a limp rag?”

The woman placed the cup on a small, brown table beside the bed
.  Brooke looked into her warm brown eyes. The stranger was a heavyset woman, perhaps middle-aged, with gray-streaked hair and a kind face. She smoked a corn-cob pipe.

“’Cause you been pretty sick.
Here, let me,” she said, placing her pipe in a tray. “I put a few pillows behind you so dat you can sit fo’ awhile. Then you be mo’ bettah.”

Once Brooke was situated and comfortable, the woman offered her a piece of dry toast and a cup of water.
If she didn’t move her head much, at least the pain was bearable.

“W--what happened to me?” she asked.

“Dat’s a question we hope you tell us de answer to.”

“Us?”

“Me and my two boys. It was ’em who fished you out o’ de river. You was real lucky dat dey be fishin’ nearby when you hit de water.”

“Water?” Brooke frowned.
“Why was I in the water?”

“We t’ink somebody t’rew you off de big boat, chere.”

Brooke felt the panic build inside her and the thought of water made her very uneasy. “But why?”

“I’d say somebody was tryin’ to kill you, no.”

Brooke gasped.

“You remember not’ing at all,
den?”

Brooke shook her head.
“Nothing.”

“What’s you
r name?”

“It’s--it’s . . . I don’t know,” Brooke whispered.
She felt the screams of frustration at the back of her mind as she groped for something, anything about who she was. She stared at the kind lady beside her, wondering if she was supposed to know this woman.

Evidently, the woman sensed her confusion and panic, because she reached over and touched her arm.

“I don’t even know who you are,” she admitted.

“That be ‘cause we never been introduced.
My name is Penny Locoul. Take your hand an’ feel de back o’ your head,” Penny said gently.

Brooke did as she was told.
“It’s tender.”

“I bet it is, chere.
It’s probably de reason you can’t remember anyt’ing. Don’t you worry none. Your mem’ry will come back as soon as you mo’ bettah. You can stay wit’ us til’ it does.”

“Are you sure?”

“To be sure. We not ones to turn somebody away ‘cause they are down and out.” Penny shrugged. “’Sides, where you go? Me and my boys is river folks up from Nawlins.

“You on our houseboat right now.
We jus’ left St. Louis, heading back home. Maybe by de time we home, you will have remembered where your home is, chere. You don’t talk like folks from ‘round here,” Penny said as she shoved out of the chair.

“You mus’ be starvin’.
I’m goin’ to start fixin’ dinner. De boys should bring home a mess of fish. You can join us at de table ifen you feel like and I’ll get somet’ing fo dat empty belly.”

Brooke
knew she’d heard Penny’s accent before, but she just couldn’t place it as she fell asleep. She slept for an hour, having worn herself out from just a few minutes of talking.

Voices woke her.
Brooke opened her eyes to discover that the boys had returned home. Since the family apparently all lived in the same room, she could observe the young men as they cleaned the fish for their mother.

Étienne was the youngest, maybe seventeen, she guessed.
His sandy blond hair and blue eyes contrasted with his skin, burned brown from many days outdoors. Paul was not only older but taller by a foot. His hair was darker, but they shared the same color eyes, and they both spoke with an accent that she was certain she’d heard before.

By the time dinner was ready,
Brooke was famished. The aroma of warm food filled the small cabin, and her mouth watered in anticipation. She tried to get up, but she quickly realized that her legs were not strong enough to hold her.

“Wait jus
’ a minute, yes,” Étienne said. “You’re much too weak, chere. Come on, Paul. Let’s give her a hand.”

“I don’t know why I can’t stand,” Brooke said as the young men helped her to the table.
She could take steps but with difficulty. Her legs felt much too heavy.

“Problee ‘cause you been in bed fo’ so long,”
Penny told her. “Once you get your strength back, you be runnin’ ‘round like ever’body, yes.”

Brooke took her first bite of fish.
She chewed carefully, savoring each bite and thinking she’d never tasted anything so good. The fish was nicely flavored and succulent, and most of all, it warmed her. She was so hungry that she didn’t talk at all. She just listened to everyone else talking while she ate her fill.

Étienne glanced at her.
“You don’t like to talk, no?”

It was an effort to jerk her attention away from the plate, but she finally won the battle and placed her fork down.
“I guess I have been concentrating too much on the food. How rude of me.”

“After only eatin’ broth, I bet dat fish tastes real good,”
Penny commented.

“Yes, it does.
Did you catch these in the Mississippi?” she asked the boys.

“Nope,” Paul spoke up.
“Found a brook wit’ good fresh water instead of de muddy Mississippi.”

Brooke froze as she lifted her cup.
She stared at Paul.

“What’s wrong?” Paul asked.

“That’s my name.”

“What?”
Étienne chuckled. “Fish?”

Brooke laughed, too.
It made her head hurt, so she wished she hadn’t. “No, not fish. My name is Brooke.”

Penny
reached for the gray metal pitcher of water and refilled everyone’s cup. “Dat’s a good start. Mebee when you can tell us you surname name, we can find your home, yes?”

Paul poured
a small puddle of black-strap molasses onto his plate, then he ripped a biscuit apart. As he sopped up the molasses, he said, “Well, one thin’ we do know is you married, yes.”

Brooke frowned.
“How do you know that?”

“Leesten to you,” he said, like she had asked something silly.
He smiled. “’Cause you have on weddin’ rings. I’ve seen dat kind in Nawlins before. So the way I figure, dat’s where you from.” He scratched his head. “Only problem is, you don’t talk like nobody down dere.”

Glancing down at her left hand, Brooke saw not only her gold wedding ring, but also a twinkling red ruby.
Surely she should remember receiving something so beautiful. Why couldn’t she remember? Her husband must truly love her to given her something so valuable. Could it be possible that she might not
want
to remember anything?

“Can you tell me what you saw when you found me?” Brooke asked the boys.