Underground Captive (5 page)

Underground Captive
             
             
             
             
             
             
             
             
             
15

    
             
Inside, Nicki found the small dwelling meticulously clean.  Her gaze fell on the corner where the rations should have been.  Behind the wooden table and two chairs sat barely enough food to feed a child. 
What do they do with their food
?  She glanced down at the occupied straw mattress, all thoughts of the small supply of food escaping her.  The babe lay in the crook of her mother's arm, sleeping peacefully.

    
             
A surge of tenderness shot through Nicki.  How could Betsy sleep with such precious, new life beside her? 

    
             
"Come on, mam'zelle," Odessa whispered.  "There's thirteen more bebes to see.  I'm sure one is woke, him."

    
             
Nicki followed Odessa out of the door and down the steps.  The first three cabins she visited filled her with thoughts of the small lives she saw, thinking they were beautiful, even in their blackness.  If a black baby were raised the same way as a white baby, would it be just as intelligent?  Perhaps, under the right circumstances, maybe a black baby
was
capable of learning.  It was a radical idea, but one not without merit.

   
             
Her thoughts took an increasingly dark turn, however, as she visited more of the cabins and saw less and less food.

    
             
"Odessa, have you noticed the scarcity of the food?" she asked, her anger rising as she and the slave woman departed the eighth cabin.

    
             
"I be blind not to see, mam'zelle, because a lot of the cabins are like that.  I wonda what Masta Charles thinkin', me."

Underground Captive
             
             
             
             
             
             
             
             
             
15

    
             
"So do I," Nicki sneered, losing some of her interest in visiting the new additions to the slave quarters.  Instead, she went into the cabins to inspect the food.
             
All of the cabins were well scrubbed and fresh smelling, but the food was skimpy in most of them.

    
             
"Why is this?"  Her brittle words bit into air, the tension as thick as cane syrup.

    
             
Nervously clasping their hands, people looked wide-eyed from one to the other.  The older Negroes were reluctant to talk.  However, the youngsters had no such problem.  They gathered around, eager to speak.

"Masta Williams," blurted one little boy.

"Hesh, Elmo!  Jus' hesh up!" an old man admonished.

    
             
The little boy went behind the old man and took his hand.  No one said anything else.

    
             
Nicki turned to Odessa.  "Don't breathe a word of this to my PaPa until I find out what has happened."

    
             
Storming down the pathway, Nicki hurriedly went back to the blacksmith's shop.  Untethering Nur, she flung herself into the saddle.  Turning her horse abruptly, she went back through the cane fields where she had seen the overseer.  He wasn't there.

    
             
"Masta Williams?  He don' gone ta da river road ta stretch his hoss's laigs," a female slave informed Nicki, wiping sweat from her brow with the back of her hand.

Nicki nodded and headed in that direction.  When she reached

the road, she looked around and  saw no sign of him.

Underground Captive
             
             
             
             
             
             
             
             
             
15

    
             
She guided her horse off the road and trotted him along the levee, loving the feel of the wind against her cheeks, enjoying the beauty of Crescent Wood and missing her brother terribly.  He loved the land’s beauty as much as she did, and often enjoyed it as they raced along the levee where streams of Spanish moss trailed from the great oaks, swaying in the breeze.  Close to the banks, the willows dipped to kiss the water's surface.  Far on the river's horizon a paddle-wheeler left a boiling white foam in its wake.  The boats always reminded her of little toys in a pond, trailing a white stream of soap bubbles.  She sat in the saddle, drinking in the surrounding beauty, and forgot entirely the reason she was there.  The sound of the overseer's voice quickly reminded her.

    
             
"Miss Nicollette, ma'am.  Fine day for riding."

    
             
"
Monsieur
Williams!"  Nicollette ignored his attempt at small talk.  "I have just left the slave quarters.  I know my father provides enough food for them, yet there's barely enough food on the shelves to last a day.  Why is that?"

    
             
"Why, there's no telling what them Blacks do with the food they get."

    
             
"
Monsieur
Williams, you will take me to your quarters, now!"  Though his abrupt change sent a tremor of fear through her, she stood her ground.

    
             
"You don't want to go there, missy,” he told her in slow, measured tones.  “Now, why don't you just run along to where you were going and leave the nigras to me."  He took a menacing step toward her.

    
             
"You insolent pig!  How dare you speak to me in that manner!"  Her anger overtook her fear.  She stood in the stirrups and delivered a blow across his face with her riding crop.

Underground Captive
             
             
             
             
             
             
             
             
             
15

    
             
Williams howled in pain as the force of the blow opened a huge gash.  He grabbed the side of his face.  "You uppity wench!  I'll teach you to hit me!"

    
             
He grabbed Nicki by the arm and pulled her from Nur before she had time to escape.

    
             
Falling to the ground and landing on her rear end with a loud thud, Nicki screamed.  The momentum of her fall loosened Williams's hold on her.  Seizing her chance, she broke free.  Rubbing her backside with one hand as she got up, she swung the crop again with the other, catching him across the bridge of his nose, opening it up.

    
             
"I'll kill you, you little bitch!  I'll kill you!"  Williams screamed, starting towards her, blood dripping from his face, no match for her quick litheness. 

    
             
Nicki raised her slender leg and kicked him in the crotch, one final indignity.  He crumpled in a heap, moaning and groaning.

    
             
Scrambling to get back on her horse, booming laughter suddenly filled the air.

    
             
"Bravo,
Mademoiselle
Duplantier.  I couldn't have done it better."

The rich mellowness of that unmistakable voice stopped her.  Her head snapped up and she found Jared Fleming staring at her.

    
             
"How...how long have you been there?" she asked between breaths.

    
             
"Since ye opened yer erstwhile overseer's nose with yer riding crop,
mademoiselle
." 

    
             
"You...you...you let me get manhandled without coming to my rescue?" Nicki asked with raging indignation.

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17

    
             
Jared looked at the bleeding man, still writhing on the ground like a snake in a pond. "It looks to me like Williams was the one who was...shall we say...
lady
-handled?"  He stared down at her from his mount.  "What's the problem here,
mademoiselle
?"

    
             
Her eyes met his and held them, changing the air from the thick tension of adversaries to smoldering tension of lovers.

    
             
"M-
Monsieur
, I think the overseer has been stealing the slaves's rations."

"Stealing the slaves's rations?" Jared echoed, hard and cold.

             
"
Oui
,
Monsieur
."

"And ye confronted him?"

Nicki nodded.

    
             
His eyes softened.  "Ye should have gone to yer father.  Ye could have been hurt."
             

"What are you doing here,
Monsieur
Fleming?"

"Yer father invited me."

    
             
"Why didn't you tell me in the carriage you knew my father?"

"Ye didn't ask," Jared retorted.

"
Non,
Monsieur
, I didn't," she agreed with a weak smile.

    
             
Jared sat astride his handsome, golden steed.  The horse's shiny coat glistened and complimented Jared's proud stature.  His thigh muscles, straining against black breeches, vied for recognition with his broad shoulders.  His wind-tousled, coppery hair gleamed in the bright sun.

    
             
"I know you wouldn't have allowed
Monsieur
Monster to hurt me."

Staring down into her eyes, Jared swallowed hard.  "Nay, Nicollette," he

hoarsely assured her as he dismounted.  "I wouldn't allow anyone to hurt ye."

    
             
The cadence of his voice as he spoke her name caused a wicked rush of fire to burst through her.  "
Merci
,
Monsieur
Fleming," she whispered,

    
             
He moved closer, touching the side of her cheek with a tenderness that surprised Nicki.  Drawing her into his arms, he bent his head and found her mouth.

    
             
Her lips were warm, soft, and trembling.  He explored her mouth as she received his probing tongue hesitantly.  Without warning, she pulled away from him.

    
             
Nicki's knees weakened.  This had been her first kiss and her flesh was seared by the feel of his lips against her own.  Blushing, she met his gaze.

"Why did ye pull away from me, Nicollette?"

"This is improper.  We mustn’t do this.  You...you take too many liberties."

    
             
"Not nearly enough."  Raising her chin with the crook of his finger, Jared

brought his lips firmly down to her own.

    
             
"
Non
--" she began, seeing him as the enemy and struggling to free herself when his arms encircled her waist.  Her words were lost as his mouth covered hers.  His arms, strong and possessive around her, held her like a vise.  He pressed his lips to hers, thrusting his tongue into her tender recesses.

    
             
Jared forgot that this was Ricard Duplantier's sister.  He forgot his plan to use her in his revenge for his wife's murder.  Her innocence awakened a feeling in him that he didn't want to name.  Blood pounded in his brain.  Desire flared and burned a path to his loins.

    
             
Nicki struggled, alternately clawing at his heavily muscled arms and punching his wide chest.  She cried out against his mouth in desperation when she realized her attempts to free herself were futile.

    
             
The understanding that she was trying to free herself from his hold slowly dawned on him.  Abruptly, he released her.

    
             
"You bastard," she spat, her eyes seething with anger.  And aye, desire.

    
             
She stepped back from him, and a crack, like the sound of a whip, echoed across his face as the palm of her hand connected to his jawbone with the full force of her fury.

    
             
Jared reached for her, opening his mouth to speak.  King George, his golden palomino, suddenly whinnied and reared.

Williams dropped the gun.  He looked up in terror at the steed whose nostrils flared and whose wide eyes marked him for death.

Nicollette screamed.

    
             
Jared pushed her aside and commanded King George to back away.  The horse dropped his forelegs and moved away from Williams. 

    
             
"Good boy, Georgie, good boy."  Jared stroked the horse's face.  He’d trained King George to alert him to danger.   He went to where Williams sat cowering on the ground.  Grabbing the big man by his collar, he yanked him up.  "
Mademoiselle
Duplantier suspects ye're stealing the slaves's rations, Williams.  I frown on that.  I also frown on garbage like ye insulting ladies.  But mostly I frown on being used for target practice.  Only the presence of
Mademoiselle
Duplantier allows ye to leave this place alive.  Now get moving.  Ye have some explaining to do to
Monsieur
Duplantier."

Nicollette observed Jared with admiration and confusion.  The corded

muscles of his neck strained and stretched in one long, sensuous line from his broad chest all the way to his well-developed legs and thighs, their shape and power defined through his breeches. 

From the sight of him, the raw and primitive strength he displayed, he could’ve lifted Williams with ease.  Anger yielded this definitive display of unconscious muscles, however, rather than the strain of the man's weight.

    
             
She shouldn't have slapped him.  But he didn't have a right to take such liberties without getting to know her first.  She wouldn't mention it or apologize for it.  If they ever kissed again,
she
would initiate it, not him.

3

    
             
Blanche Duplantier Sonnier reclined on a swing on the broad veranda, sipping coffee.  "Am I to assume that you have orchestrated this meeting with Jared Fleming?"

    
             
"
Oui
."  Charles smiled, shame-faced.  He sat across from his sister at the outside wicker dining table, close to the steps.  "I'm compelled to find a suitor for Nicki."

    
             
Blanche raised her eyebrows in question.  "Compelled?  By what or whom?"

    
             
"By Nicki's waywardness.  Do you know she spent an entire week in New Orleans, unchaperoned and in the midst of yellow fever season, upon her return from New York?"

"I realize since you lost Marie-Claude to the '53 epidemic you want us to take extra precautions.  I'm sure Nicki--"