Bayou Baby (16 page)

Henri turned to glare. “Wonderful. To think, I felt guilty about hurting you.”

Rowan didn’t answer. Her heart did a funny flip at his reference to the night that seemed to happen so long ago.

Henri refused to allow either of the women to pole the pirogue, although Rowan felt she would do a better job. She allowed him to navigate the narrow canal as they crept deeper into the swamp. They said little. Rowan forced her fear aside and looked for signs of life along the banks.

Justine sighed now and then, but said nothing. Rowan began to doubt Mama Gator’s certainty that the runaway slaves still hid in the trees beyond the river. If they were there, she couldn’t see any evidence of their presence. Mama Gator said they had lookouts close to the river to ensure no one came in who was not welcome, but no one had accosted them, and she saw nothing but trees and grass. Even the gators were strangely absent from this portion of the swamp.

Henri pulled the pole in, allowing the pirogue to float aimlessly as he scanned the banks. “Are you sure about this place?”

“They may have moved.”

“So you have no idea how to find them? Please tell me you at least know what to look for.”

Rowan frowned and looked away from him. “I’ll know it when I see it.”

“And you’re sure they can be trusted? No one knows they’ve run off?”

“Of course their owners know. They’re runaway slaves, Henri. Mama Gator called them Maroons. While I don’t know any of them personally, I know they’re out here somewhere. They have nowhere else to go. Trying to board a boat or travel the main roads would see them captured and possibly killed. And as you should know, a safe place to hide is hard to find. It makes sense they’d ensure no one could find them easily.”

“Tres bien.
We are not only hunted by Lucien, but now you’ve gotten us lost in the swamp at night.”

“We’re not lost.”

“And if the law finds us with the runaways? What then?”

“The law doesn’t know about them. Well, they know they’ve run off, but Mama Gator said the authorities believe many have gone back to their homelands.”

“Perhaps they have gone back, or they’ve been captured, and Mama Gator has told you a bunch of fairy tales.”

Rowan stood, causing the boat to sway. Justine gripped the sides, eyes wide. Turning to peer into the growing darkness, Rowan searched for a shadow, a break in the foliage, anything to give her an indication of someone waiting out there.

“What do you see?” Justine asked.

“Nothing yet.”

“Yet?”

Rowan sighed. “I know they’re watching us, I just can’t see them. Eventually one of them will move or do something to give themselves away.”

“Like shoot an arrow in our backs?” Henri eyed the banks warily.

Rowan glared back at him. “They aren’t Indians you fool.” He was absurd. Arrows indeed. “They don’t wish to harm anyone. They only want to be left alone to live in peace, to be free.”

“Seems a warm bed and food in one’s belly would be a damn sight better than living out here. So they have to work in return for that comfort, it’s not as though the rest of us don’t have to do the same.”

Rowan couldn’t believe her ears. Was he actually comparing the life of an owned slave to that of himself, a rich man, a
white
man?

“Henri, are you telling me you’ve worked from dawn until dusk in the cotton fields? You’ve worked alongside your children picking cotton until your fingers were raw? You’ve received the bite of the whip for not working fast enough? Or you’ve been assaulted by the plantation owner because you’re unlucky enough to be pretty? You’ve had to raise fatherless children because your husband died while working in the tobacco fields, after receiving one beating too many? Oh that’s right, you don’t have children and none of that has ever happened to you.”

“You’re being a bit dramatic, my dear.”

“Am I?” Rowan turned away from him.

He had no idea what the life of a slave was like. Mama Gator had told her horror stories of her childhood. Slavery in all forms was an awful thing. To own another human being wasn’t natural. The people imprisoned in New Orleans’ plantations were often abused and neglected. They couldn’t come and go as they pleased, weren’t allowed to marry and have children unless their master gave them permission. If they did, their children were born into slavery as well. Some were torn from their mamas’ arms to be sold as soon as they were old enough to work. While the laws slowly changed, allowing white men to free slaves as they chose, occasionally allowing a black man who arrived free to remain so, they hadn’t changed so much that these people felt safe, or even marginally equal to their white counterparts. Rowan wondered at Henri’s make believe world where it was okay for one to judge another based on his skin so long as he provided that man with food and shelter.

She opened her mouth to tell him what an arrogant prick he was, when she spotted movement on the banks. Her heart fluttered. Praying this was what they were looking for and not someone searching for them instead, she raised a hand.

Henri grabbed her arm, his gaze darting to the trees. “What the hell are you doing? You don’t even know who’s out there.”

“I’m hoping it is one of the
Maroons,
and we will have some food in our bellies and a soft place to sleep tonight.”

Rowan watched as a figure emerged from the trees, a man. He was tall and dark, with tattered clothes hanging from his thin frame. He stared at them with no expression. She couldn’t tell if they would be welcomed or not.

“Hello?” Rowan called.

Henri snorted in disgust.

“Mama Gator, Celestine, told me I might find shelter with you. Please, may we come ashore?”

The man’s head tilted at Mama Gator’s name. He seemed to ponder her words, a frown marring his features.

Henri stopped poling and moved beside Rowan to whisper in her ear. “I don’t like this. He looks shifty.”

“I’m sure they all look shifty to you, rich boy.”

Henri didn’t reply, she could feel the heat of his stare but kept her gaze on the tall man standing on the bank.

He gave a small nod. She wasn’t sure if she’d imagined it at first, but he backed away and waited. She turned to Henri. “It’s okay. Let’s go.”

“You read minds now? You can tell he won’t put a knife into us as soon as we set foot on the bank?”

“He won’t.” Rowan smiled. She doubted Henri would do anything to offend these people enough to earn such an attack from them. He would more likely just keep his mouth shut or whine about the conditions he was being forced to live in. He would have little else to say to a slave.

Henri maneuvered the boat toward the bank. As they approached, two more figures emerged from the darkness. One was a man, slightly shorter than the first, and the other a boy. Rowan put him around twelve years old, his skin not much darker than her own, though covered in grime. He was probably the result of the owner’s visits with his mother. She smiled, hoping to appear friendly and harmless, but the three stared blankly back at her. So much for a warm welcome.

As they reached the bank, the men helped Justine and Rowan out of the boat. Still they did not speak.

Rowan began to wonder if they could speak English, when the boy moved to stand in front of her. “You say Mama Gator told you to come?” His voice was high, like a child’s, but his large brown eyes were wise and serious.

“Yes, she was my friend. She said I should come here if I needed to hide.”

“What you be hidin from?”

“Lucien Dumas.”

The three frowned as though sharing a single brain.

The boy’s eyes widened, his mouth closing in a thin line. “We don need dat trouble here. So,
pati.
You best move along.” The boy walked away.

Rowan looked to the men who shrugged and followed him.

“Wait!” She ran after them.

Justine and Henri stayed behind watching the exchange with worried frowns. Rowan felt irritation choke her.

“I told you to go,” the boy said firmly and continued to walk away.

“Please, you must help us,” Rowan touched the tall man’s sleeve.

He stopped.

“Mama Gator is gone. He—Lucien fed her to the gators. He will pay for that in time, but for now, I must hide or he’ll kill us all.”

The boy and the tall man stopped walking. The three of them looked at each other before the tall man spoke. “Celestine is dead?”

Tears burned her eyes but Rowan blinked them away. She would not show weakness again, not to anyone. “Yes, she was trying to protect me. They threw her into the river, and took me to Rosaline’s where they abused me terribly. I took care of Rosaline, but Lucien still walks free.”

“You don’t know what you ask of us,” the man said. “Many of us also be hiding from Monsieur Dumas, others die by his hand. We do not want to give him reason to seek us out if he has forgotten about us.”

“So you would turn me away because I have an enemy you fear? I was a slave just like you, though my skin is fairer and my eyes a different color. Like you, we have nowhere else to go. He would have killed me and my friend if we stayed.” She pointed at Justine who gave the man a shaky smile.

“Dis place is secret. I aim to keep it dat way.” The man turned to his friend and they whispered.

Henri sighed impatiently.

She turned to give him a warning look.

Rowan hoped they decided soon. She didn’t like standing on the bank so close to the gators. Even though they had seen none so far, they wouldn’t be far away.

The tall man turned back to Rowan. “We will let you come, listen to your tale. I don’t promise dat you can stay. I only say you can come and speak to de others. Perhaps we find a solution to your problem.”

“Oh thank you.” Rowan waved to Henri and Justine. “Get up here.”

Henri pulled Justine along with him and they followed the three men into the trees, where blackness enveloped them. Rowan smiled at Henri’s hand on her shoulder. He and Justine were used to having some sort of light, and had never ventured out into the blackness of the swamp as Rowan had done all her life. Henri cursed as he tripped over a root in the ground, falling against Rowan’s back. They both stiffened as he grabbed her waist to steady himself.

“Sorry,” he muttered, releasing her to take Justine’s hand.

Rowan turned back to the others. She’d felt his arm tighten just a fraction when she leaned into him. Why had women not taken over the world? They could lead the male population around by their pants if they chose.

“Are we close?” Henri whispered.

“How should I know?”

Henri snorted but she ignored him.

Ahead, a light flickered through the dense foliage, perhaps a fire. She’d seen enough fire for one day. The men gave no indication that they were nearing the camp. They didn’t even look back to make sure their charges were still with them. Rowan thought maybe they hoped they’d lost them.

“Is this it, Monsieur?” she asked the tall man.

“Please, call me Alique. I do not like to be called Monsieur,” he told her without turning. “My brother der is Louis and de boy, he is Reo.”

“Is Reo your son?”

“Does he look like my son?”

Rowan bit her lip at his tone. He sounded irritated and angry. Indeed Reo looked nothing like Alique who was as dark as chocolate, with eyes that matched his skin. Reo was pale, almost white, though his full lips and large eyes did resemble the men’s. How was she to know?

“Reo be my sister’s boy. She die before we escape.” He continued ahead, still not turning back to look at her.

“I’m sorry.”

“So am I,” Alique shrugged. “Der is nothing to be done about it. When Reo was born, we be lucky to escape wit him still breathing. My sister wisely told us to bring him here, before de master saw him.”

“Why?”

“Why?” Alique turned to look at her. His face twisted in a bitter smile. “Look at him. He be de image of de master. If he had lighter eyes, he be the image of his half-brother, de master’s heir, too.”

Rowan realized the problem that could arise then. If the slaves claimed the man fathered the boy, it was possible later he might have claim on some sort of inheritance. It didn’t happen often, but occasionally, in recent years, slaves were given freedom and more from the courts. Slaves who could pass as white received more consideration than they used to.

“He would kill a baby?” she asked.

“He killed de mother, why not de chile?”

“That isn’t allowed,” Rowan argued but stopped when he frowned. “I mean murder is murder, is it not?”

“You would think so, but some masters have more power den others.” He turned away once more. “You know how Monsieur Dumas be untouchable.”

Rowan nearly stumbled at his words. Reo was Lucien’s son? Her brother? “But Dumas has no children. His boy died years—”

“Soon after our escape, yes. I think de absence of an heir would only make Reo’s existence less palatable, not more.”

She shook her head, it didn’t matter. The boy was nothing to her, and she would not be responsible for another person. Reo had others to care for him.

“What are you to Dumas?” Alique asked.

Rowan looked up.