Bayou Baby (20 page)

“I’m telling you she’s sick.” Justine poked at the fire.

“She’s pregnant and malnourished. It’s natural she’d be a little temperamental.” Henri didn’t want to admit his fear. If he did, then it might be real and he didn’t want Rowan to endure any more than she already had. If he hadn’t given into Jolene’s harebrained idea, or if he’dried to win Rowan rather than force himself on her—if he’d been man enough to take her away… marry her even, maybe then they wouldn’t be sitting where they did now. Rowan would never have gone to Rosaline’s, and he would have her adoration, or at the very least, her gratitude and not her venom.

“No, it’s something else,” Justine said. “I mean it Henri, the way she looked at me today, something’s missing inside of her. Something important. And those headaches aren’t normal.”

“Women get ill when they carry a child. My mother lost three and she was sick with all of them. She said she suffered with me too. It’s nature.”

“No. This is different. When we were at the camp, she changed her dress in front of me once and I saw these marks on her—”

“She’s been tortured.”

Justine sighed and turned to face him, eyes pleading. Henri didn’t want her to say another word about it. She continued anyway. “No, these were sores, like her skin had been burned or something. She covered herself when I mentioned it, but she didn’t explain.”

“Of course she didn’t. Would you want to tell anyone about what they did to you if it had been you in her shoes? Of course not.”

“Fine, you live in your make believe world. While you do, she will suffer and maybe die because we did nothing to help her. She’s sick. I know it. What if she’s contagious?”

Her accusing glare surprised Henri. Justine didn’t attack anyone. That she felt strongly enough to do so meant she believed what she told him. While he knew something was wrong with Rowan, Henri doubted she’d die from it. She needed rest and proper food. Nothing more.

“What do you think it is? Why is she so sick?” he asked.

Justine looked down at her hands. “At Rosaline’s I saw girls like Rowan. They complained of cramps, headaches, some of them even developed fevers. I don’t know about the sores, but I know that many of them left and never returned. The ones who did were just a shadow of themselves, never quite right. One girl went completely mad. Rosaline kept her for the men who liked to use women roughly.”

She shuddered. Henri put his arm around her shoulders. Justine rested her head on his chest. She had seen as much hardship as Rowan. He forgot sometimes because her nature was so soft and gentle. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be. You did nothing to me. I know you made a mistake with Rowan, but you’ve proven it was just that. A mistake. I think if she were well, she’d see what you really are.”

“What is that?” He held his breath as she trailed her fingers over his thigh.

“A good man.”

Henri wanted to believe he was good, had believed it until that night with Rowan. Now he wondered. If not for him…

“I want to be a good person,” he said.

“You were misguided, maybe a little selfish, but I believe you never meant to hurt her.”

Henri closed his eyes. She didn’t understand. He
did
want to hurt Rowan. He wanted to punish her for not wanting him, for not seeing that he cared for her. When he’d forced himself on her that night, he’d enjoyed her tears. It wasn’t until much later that guilt burned his gut, forcing him to see what a terrible error he’d made. You couldn’t force a woman like Rowan to do anything. His selfishness had cost him the one thing he wanted most in this world: Rowan.

“Thank you for believing in me, but you’re wrong,” he said. “I did something unforgivable. I know she’ll never care for me as she once did, but I won’t walk away from my child.”

Justine looked up at him. Her eyes, the color of the brandy his father liked to drink, were moist. “What if it’s Lucien’s?”

“I’d rather not know, because I intend to look after it no matter what. I owe her that much.”

“Me too.”

Henri frowned. “You’ve done nothing to hurt Rowan.”

“I don’t owe her in the same way you do, but she got me out of that place. No matter what I think of her actions, she did what I’d never have done on my own. And it means I can stay with you, so…”

She looked at his mouth and moved her hand further up his thigh. Henri felt himself harden and wished he had more sense, but he was used to having his needs met. These past weeks, he’d denied himself more than any sane man could bear, and he wanted nothing more than to bury himself in Justine and forget Rowan and the whole mess.

Justine touched his cheek. He turned into her hand, kissing the palm. She pulled his face to hers. Their lips met and Henri groaned. Why did he feel such guilt over something he was entitled to? Justine was willing. Rowan hated him anyway.

“This is a terrible idea,” he said against her lips.

“What’s one more bad decision?”

He pushed Justine onto her back. She opened her mouth and he deepened their kiss. As he ran his hand over her body, he marveled at how small and fragile she felt. Justine arched her hips, pressing into his erection as she flicked her tongue over his mouth.

“Please, Henri, love me,” she said. “I want to feel you, just one more time.”

He slid a hand under her dress, startled to find her naked beneath the thin cotton. “You have no undergarments?”

“I left them at the camp,” she fumbled with his pants. “Please, Henri.”

“I have a feeling I’ll regret this.” He opened his pants. “But as you said, what’s one more?”

***

Rowan sat up in the bed, disoriented for a moment. She gazed at the dark room, wondering where she was. She heard noises outside; Henri’s voice talking to someone. And then she remembered she had lain down to rest. Henri and Justine must have gone outside to give her the quiet she needed.

Stretching, she winced at the pain still burning in her belly. Despite what she’d told them, Rowan feared she really was sick. The sores had healed, but her body ached and her thoughts seemed muddled. Nothing as bad as earlier that day, although she couldn’t quite remember what she’d said to Justine. She recalled the girl’s stricken face and then Henri’s voice and she knew she’d been angry with Justine, but didn’t know why.

Standing, she cursed the baby for making her body grow clumsy and awkward as her belly expanded. Rowan walked to the little door adjacent to the bed. It creaked as she opened it and walked outside. She only managed to cover a few feet of ground before she stopped.

In a small clearing between the slave shacks was a fire. Next to it, Henri lay atop Justine’s small frame. The firelight danced over his skin, creating shadows that seemed to taunt her, laughing at her humiliation. Stifling the sob that leapt to her throat, Rowan turned and ran toward the road. She didn’t need Henri Fontaine. Rowan Maynor didn’t need anyone.

Despite this fact, her breath came in short gasps as she ran until she reached the end of the property. Collapsing to her knees in the tall grass, Rowan hiccupped and sobbed. She hadn’t wanted Henri, so this jealousy, this hurt, didn’t make sense. Taking a deep breath, she wiped her face and stared at the road. She had nowhere to go. Town meant Lucien, and she wasn’t ready to see him yet. She couldn’t go home even if she wanted to. Or could she?

She stood and turned back toward the tall trees lining the bayou. Something inside drew her home, although she knew she’d find nothing but charred ruins. Rowan needed to be close to her mother, to clear her head and figure out what she needed to do. Henri and Justine had each other, and they’d both voiced their opinions about her choices many times. They couldn’t understand her need for vengeance. Of course, neither of them had endured what she had, so they couldn’t possibly know the fire that burned inside of her.

Stumbling blindly through the thick foliage near the banks of the bayou, Rowan swatted at mosquitoes and flicked spiders from her tattered dress. She walked toward where they’d moored the boat. She’d need it if she hoped to go further. The mud seeped between her bare toes, cool and gritty. Across the swamp, crickets chirped and she heard a splash, small, but enough to force her to move up the bank just a little.

Rowan heard Henri and Justine above her. Henri shouted once, and Justine’s voice sounded shrill, excited. They must have discovered her empty bed. Rowan smiled, bitterness coiling in her chest, and hurried to the boat that lay just above the water line in the tall grass, its round rutted bottom outlined in the moonlight.

As quietly as she could, Rowan pulled the boat to the edge of the water, flipping it over and feeling along the wet ground for the pole. Her hand wrapped around it, and she felt a tickling sensation over her knuckles. She paused, staring at the long brown reptile that traveled over her fingers, its yellow-banded tail curling around her arm. Her breath caught. The Cottonmouth rested for a moment with its tail around her wrist and its head along the length of the pole. Rowan’s muscles shook from the awkward position she sat frozen in; her arm outstretched, fingers loosely gripping the pole, and her knees slightly bent. Terrified to move, lest she irritate the venomous snake, known to strike without warning or reason, she whispered a little prayer.

The sour smell of decay wafted to her nose as a slight breeze rustled the trees, sending ripples over the water. The snake raised its head and Rowan swore it stared back at her.

“Please just go,” she whispered.

As though it understood, the Cottonmouth unwound its tail from her arm and slithered forward into the tall grass of the banks. Rowan relaxed, closing her eyes and laughing. She hated snakes, although Mama Gator forced her to handle the harmless varieties. Standing, she took a breath before dragging the pole to the boat. She eased it off the bank before climbing in. The water moved swiftly, although not as swift as the current further upstream. She struggled to keep the boat from drifting and the darkness made it difficult to see what might lie in front of her.

Chile, you need to come home.

Rowan startled at Mama Gator’s voice. Raising her head, she looked toward the heavens. Had she completely lost it?

Let de water take you home.

She poled the boat along, shaking her head. Maybe she needed more sleep. Hearing voices was not a good sign, not dead voices anyway. The river widened and Rowan recognized the expanse of water she approached.

Home.

Arms trembling, she pushed faster. Home is where she needed to be, even if the voice was a hallucination of her exhausted brain. She hadn’t been back since the night she said goodbye to her mother. The boat moved over the water, the old dock coming closer with every push of the pole. Rowan searched the tree line but saw little in the darkness. It would be no more than ashes now, a pile of nothing.

Still something in her heart urged her forward and she followed it. Snippets of conversation ran through her mind, along with visions of her mother’s tired eyes. Rowan felt the pillow in her hands, as her mother struggled for her life. She still felt no remorse. Jolene would never have wanted to live as a shell of herself, slowly dying from the illness that ate away at her body. Rowan had freed her. She had nothing to regret.

The front of the boat bumped against the dock and Rowan brought it around, tying the old frayed rope around the small hook on the side. She stepped out, pausing as the breeze carried the scent of the charred foliage to her. It burned her nose as she walked over the dock to the bank and up to where her home once stood.

Your father did this.

The words seemed to travel on the wind, but the voice went straight to her heart.

“Mama?”

If you let him live, then you’re as guilty as he is.

“I’m with child, Mama. I don’t know how much longer I can fight.”

You’re the only one who can make sure justice is done.

Rowan knelt on the damp earth, and stared up at the inky blue sky above. Tiny lights, stars, flickered around her, blurring as tears welled in her eyes. Not once had she allowed herself to doubt her ability to seek revenge, but now, alone in the darkness with nothing but a ghost for company, she wondered if she could accomplish what she set out to do. The baby moved, pushing against her ribs and Rowan placed a trembling hand over her rounded belly.

Ain’t no good ever come from revenge. Where it get me? I be dead and you be livin, chile. Take care of de babe, get outta de swamp, and leave dis place, leave dat man.

“Mama Gator?” Rowan’s head reeled. She had to be slipping. Spirits, dead people, did not talk to mortals. Hadn’t Mama Gator told her that many times? Ghosts did not speak to people. They certainly didn’t argue with each other.

I am your mother, I love you and I want what’s best for you. If you do not seek your revenge, then Lucien will win. My death will be for nothing.

“I’m sorry, Mama.”

You be a fool to listen to dat nonsense. Dis be your chance to be free. Take it.

Rowan sat for a moment, mulling over their words. She couldn’t just leave. Three of the five who hurt her still walked the streets, looking for another victim. If she counted Henri…

No!
Her mother’s voice shocked her, causing her heart to race, beating painfully against her chest.
Leave Henri alone. Go after Lucien. The rest don’t matter.