Bayou Baby (12 page)

Dressed in Rosaline’s wine-colored gown of crushed velvet, a black cloak thrown over her shoulders and head to ward off the chill of the night air, Rowan left Rosaline’s bedroom. She walked through the main rooms of the house with her head down, although only a few men lounged about the rooms with drinks in hand. She didn’t see any women, and the men paid her little attention as she strode through, as Rosaline would. As she walked through the front door, Rowan risked holding her head high. If she had caught anyone’s eye, they’d have seen the ruse.

As Rowan walked down the steps, she glanced back, catching her reflection in the glass panes that flanked the doors, and realized anyone who discovered she wasn’t Rosaline would’ve stayed away. In the shadows of the hood, Rowan’s lilac colored eyes glowed with a strange light. She didn’t have time to examine herself closely, deciding she didn’t see what she thought she saw. It was a trick of the moonlight, or the fevered hallucinations of a girl who’d just murdered three people.

Rowan stepped out into the night and walked down the lane to the road. She didn’t pause to look around, nor to catch her breath.

Hailing the coachmen at the gates, she was careful to avert her face from his view.

“We must go,” she said, her voice disguised in a whisper. If the man knew she wasn’t Rosaline, he didn’t mention it. He pulled the carriage around and opened the door for her.

Rowan climbed inside and removed the hood. She gave him his instructions and he pulled away. As she jostled through the silent streets, staring at the darkened homes with windows that looked like dark eyes staring back at her, she began to feel more like herself again. Just a hint of the warmth that overtook her when she slit Rosaline’s throat remained. She felt the sticky warm liquid spill over her hands once more, smelled the sweetness of it, and she smiled to herself.

“One down…” she murmured to the darkness.

The carriage came to a halt and the driver jumped down. Rowan pulled the hood up again and let him help her to the street. It was difficult to move around in the fancy gown, but she was beginning to get used to it.

“You never saw me,” she told him.

The man stared at her a moment, as though caught in her gaze. “No ma’am, never saw you.” He parroted before turning to climb the carriage once more.

Rowan didn’t wait for him to leave; she left the street, struggled through the thick brush and then stepped down the bank to the pirogue she was relieved to find waiting for her. Henri had remembered. Hiking the gown up as best she could, Rowan climbed into the small boat. How anyone wore this fussy mess every day was a mystery. Give her a simple cotton dress any day over this concoction.

The swamp at night was black as pitch; the only light on a clear night came from the moon and stars reflecting off the water. Now and then, she heard a rustling in the trees or the gentle lapping of water but little else. Rowan poled down the river, gaze ahead, watchful for fallen logs or crafty gators. A bullfrog called in the distance and a heartbeat later received his mate’s reply. Rowan’s arms burned from the flurry of activity leading up to her escape. It felt as though she poled miles of river when she saw the light of Jolene’s shack, though she knew it was not more than a couple miles from town. A single flame burned on the porch. Jolene left the candle lit every night so that anyone looking for her would know where to go. She didn’t take visitors anymore, but Rowan supposed old habits die hard.

Pulling up to the bank, Rowan steeled herself for the meeting that lay ahead. Rage bubbled in her chest, pressing against her ribs, threatening to burst and spill out. Now that she’d let the floodgates open, her anger wouldn’t be sated. This was all her mama’s fault. From laying with the devil to selling her to him, Mama was the cause for everything Rowan had endured. The flame burning bright confirmed it wasn’t too late to exact revenge.

“Hello? Mama, are you there?” Rowan called, a tremor in her voice.

Movement in the shack and the shuffling of her mama’s feet as she climbed the steps to the rickety porch. The night grew still, not even the sound of a cricket disturbed the damp air. She listened to her mother’s footsteps moving toward the door. Slow, hesitant, as though she knew what was about to happen.

“Rowan?” Jolene’s voice was a whisper, scratchy and dry. She peered through the screen. “What are you doing here?”

“I live here. Are you going to let me in?”

After a pause, the door opened.

Jolene had shrunk to a withered old shell in the weeks Rowan had been gone. The beautiful temptress of years before was long gone. She looked as old and as feeble as Mama Gator.

“Where did you get that gown?”

Rowan stepped passed her. “You said Rosaline would look after me and she did.”

“I don’t understand. Rowan, you shouldn’t be here.” Jolene closed the door and trailed after her. Rowan searched the small rooms before turning to look at her mother.

“Why not? I’m a free woman.”

“But you’re not, I—” Jolene stopped and pressed her fingers to her lips. “What have you done child?”

“What I had to. Do you know what I’ve been through? Can you imagine the things they made me do?”

Jolene took a step back. “I didn’t know Lucien would be involved. If I had, I’d never have made the deal with Rosaline. I didn’t want you to be hurt.”

“You didn’t? But you knew you were selling me as a slave. You also knew how a slave would be treated.”

“No, Rosaline promised—”

“Rosaline was a whore, Mama. You know a whore can’t be trusted.” Rowan paced the room.

Jolene shook her head. “What do you mean, ‘Rosaline
was
a whore’?”

“I mean past tense, as in she is no longer.”

“What have you done?”

“I made her pay for her sins. Don’t look so shocked, Mama. I’m the product of my environment, am I not?”

“You—you killed her?”

Rowan nodded. “I took a knife and put it to her throat. Then I cut her wretched flesh and I watched the blood flow over my hands.”

“No…”

“Afterward, I held her as the last breath left her body, and then I cut her again just to make sure she was dead.”

“No. No, Rowan, you didn’t. Please tell me you didn’t.”

“Oh yes, I did, and I have much more to do. I think dear old Papa has to pay for his sins as well.”

“You can’t, child. It’s too dangerous.”

“I’m not foolish enough to believe it’ll be as simple as cutting his throat. His death will take time and planning. It won’t be as merciful or as quick as Rosaline’s.”

Jolene gasped for air, clutching her hands to her chest. She hit her knees and crawled toward the bedroom. Rowan watched her struggle but didn’t raise a finger to help her. She would die anyway. Why not tonight? The thought crept in her brain, startling her at first, but then it took hold.
Yes, why not?

“Rowan, help me into bed, I must rest.”

“Why should I help you?”

“Please, no matter what I am your mother. I did what I thought was right.” Her words were no more than a whisper, coming short pants as she crawled across the floor.

“Yes, you did. I’m sorry Mama, I am ungrateful. Here, let me help you.” Rowan lifted her mother onto the bed. Taking a pillow from behind Jolene’s head, Rowan fluffed it with a smile. “How’s that now? Comfy?”

“I need the pillow; it helps me to sit so I can breathe.”

“This pillow?” Rowan held it up and Jolene nodded, her face graying as she tried desperately to draw a breath. “Take it then.”

Jolene’s muffled cry as Rowan placed the pillow over her face was drowned out by Rowan’s laughter. She thrashed weakly, but after a few moments, she became still, and Rowan’s laughter turned to tears.

She removed the pillow and stared down into her mother’s face. Jolene’s eyes were wide and her mouth open, as though still trying to draw a breath. Rowan closed her eyes and sighed.

“I’ll miss you, no matter what you did. I loved you, Mama.”

Rowan dropped the pillow and then searched the shack, gathering odds and ends in a small bag.

She covered her mother in the old quilt that Rowan herself had lain under for many years. It surprised her to realize she had no remorse, no sadness. Jolene was gone and Rowan felt nothing. She lit a match and touched it to the bed, a flame sputtered and caught, the dry fabric igniting. Rowan paused to stare at it for a moment then moved to the kitchen. She touched another lit match to the threadbare curtain that hung on the tiny window and watched as it went up in brightly colored flames. Taking the oilcan her mama kept to light the stove when it was damp, Rowan poured it across the floor on her way out.

She threw the can on the porch and backed down the path toward the river. To Rowan, it seemed a perfect farewell. Jolene wouldn’t have wanted anyone to see her like that.

Rowan climbed into the little boat and then pushed away from the bank. Flames stole toward the treetops like lovers dancing in the darkness, twirling, bending, melding into each other. A few trees smoldered here and there, but they were far too damp to ignite. The bitter smell of the flames devouring the spidery branches tickled her nose. She watched as she floated away from the shack, her home. She truly had nothing left, which was exactly how she wanted it.

***

Finding Mama Gator’s shack in the dark was a challenge. Rowan squinted to make out the shapes on the bank, almost missing Charles. She hoped Henri had been able to find it. He’d only followed her there a couple of times.

She pulled the boat up the bank, and then hid it from view. When she turned to feel her way down the path, her foot caught a root. She careened forward, tried to right herself, but ended up on her back, the air rushing out of her lungs in a grunt. So much for a grand entrance. She scrambled to her feet. Her eyes now adjusting to the darkness, Rowan could make out another boat: Henri’s.

Rowan picked her way through the brush, wincing as small rocks pierced her bare feet. Now and then, branches snagged her cloak. Rowan ignored them, as she stumbled toward Mama Gator’s shack. A tiny flame was the only indication that it was there. She let out a sigh. They should have known better than to light the lamp.

As she moved closer, Henri stepped out of the shadows of the porch, an oil lamp in his hand. Rowan wanted to throttle him for his stupidity.

“Henri, go inside or put that light out.”

He did neither. “What took you so long?”

“I had a few errands.”

“We could smell smoke. Is there a fire down river?”

“Yes,” she passed him and went into the shack.

Justine looked up from the pot she’d been stirring.

Rowan turned to Henri. “Cooking? They’ll see the smoke once the sun rises. Put it out.”

“How will they know where to come?” Justine stood and wiped her hands on her skirt. “We stopped twice and had to turn around before we found the right spot.”

“Lucien found it once and he’ll do it again if we make it easy for him. Mama Gator never made a fire if she thought someone was looking for her, and she never used these lamps if she could avoid it.”

Rowan doused the lamp and the room went dark. The only light came from the coals beneath Justine’s bubbling pot. She took the bucket of water next to the hearth and dumped it over them, throwing them into total darkness.

Henri snorted from somewhere across the small room. “Don’t you think you’re being a bit ridiculous? Lucien won’t be back until tomorrow evening. You’re safe until then.”

“He’ll be back. Someone will send for him.”

“You really did it.” Justine gasped as Rowan pushed past her to the shelves that lined the wall.

She grabbed a small candle and felt around for the matches that were always close by. “Who moved the matches?”

“I had to light the lamp.” Henri passed them to her.

She lit the candle and the small flame gave off a dim glow. She set it on the small table next to the door and turned to Henri and Justine.

“That is all the light we need. It can’t be seen unless they’re right at the door. You should get some rest. We’ll be leaving tomorrow.”

Justine dropped the spoon into the pot and turned, arms akimbo. “Are you crazy? We can’t go anywhere; they’ll be looking for us.”

“Exactly, and believe me, they won’t stop until they find us. Henri, you could go home. They won’t suspect you as long as you stay in town. Do whatever it is you do when you’re not helping a couple of whores escape their prison.”

Henri shook his head. “Lucien is smarter than that. He’ll know.”

“If you just act normal, he’ll believe I had help from another worthless little slut, or I corrupted her with my magic. He won’t even consider you.”

“I’m not leaving you.”

“It’s your choice, but I think you’re being silly. Justine and I will do just fine on our own. We got ourselves out of Rosaline’s without your help, and we can get away from here alone as well.”

Justine touched her arm. “We need help. Henri has money and places for us to go. We have nothing.”

“We have ourselves. It’s all I’ve ever had and it’s all I’ll ever need. Henri can take you somewhere safe if that’s what you want. I’m not going too far until I’ve finished what I started.”