Spanish Serenade (28 page)

   Pilar's mind was on fire, her body dewed with moisture. There was nothing in the blackness of the night except the man who held her and the magic of their joining. She ached with fullness and her muscles quivered with the intensity of her need. His implacable rhythm sent her spiraling higher and higher into realms of feverish joy. She hovered, straining, clenching her hands on his shoulders while inside she felt the slow unfurling of her innermost self, the ultimate release of her being.

It came like the bursting of an internal dam, flowing in heated flood, carrying her with it on a tide of purest pleasure. Rising on its crest, she wrapped herself around him and took him with her, mightily striving, into oblivion.

Their bodies entwined, they lay as if they had been slain. Sleep overcame them while his hands were still entangled in the tarnished gold cloud of her hair.

They woke toward dawn and enjoyed each other again in slow, smooth communion. Their lips curved in smiles of gentle pleasure, though the light was a distraction. And as it grew brighter, pressing against the shutters, they used their lashes as shields for what lay hidden in their eyes.

13

IMMEDIATELY AFTER BREAKFAST on the following morning, Refugio and the other men went into the town of New Orleans. Their purpose was to seek the whereabouts of Don Esteban, to find out what kind of household he had established and where. At the same time, they would discover as much as possible about how the town was laid out and how it was policed, and how often the main streets were patrolled. All this could be important in what lay ahead.

The men had been gone no more than an hour when a message came from the colony's governor, Esteban Miro, ordering the widow Elguezabal and her guests to present themselves at the government house. The coastal vessel's captain had informed officialdom of their arrival. They must be questioned to determine if they were of suitable character to remain in Louisiana and had the means to settle any debts they might incur during their stay. If the examination was favorable, they would be issued a permit to remain for a specified period. It was a formality, but one that could not be omitted.

At Pilar's insistence, Doña Luisa sat down at once and wrote a note to the governor, setting a time when they would appear before him, subject to the governor's approval. It would not do to give the man reason to send soldiers after them. If Refugio did not care for the time the widow appointed for him, he could change it.

The band returned shortly before noon. New Orleans, they said, though it appeared to contain upward of six thousand souls, had the style of a French country village. It was a haphazard collection of dwellings of one and two stories, most of them of timber and bousillage, though there was a newer house here and there of plastered brick decorated with wrought iron imported from Spain and featuring arched doorways and enclosed courtyards. The residences were scattered over only half of the sixty-six blocks laid out for occupation within the palisaded town walls. They were, for the most part, to be found along the river or else set about the Plaza de Armas. It was on this square that the prison, or calabozo, and also the guardhouse were located, standing cheek by jowl with the church of St. Louis. On the other side of the church was the house of the Capuchin fathers, while the soldiers' barracks, built in a rather grand French baroque style, faced the square at right angles on either side.

New Orleans, like most tropical ports, was not known for being salubrious. There was a place outside the city walls called the Leper's Land where these unfortunates were isolated, and a Charity Hospital to take care of the many indigents who persisted in dying in the streets. These streets were standing in water because there were no drainage ditches, a possible contribution to the health problems. As additional drawbacks to public welfare, there was no arrangement for lighting the streets at night, no organized municipal services such as firefighting, and no regular patrols of the streets by police. At least two of these civic failures were seen by the band as possible benefits.

Don Esteban, they had discovered, had taken a house near that of the governor, on Chartres Street close to the square. His house was built in the French style, with the front door opening directly onto the street. The rooms used for entertaining were on the front and the bedchambers in the back, while the kitchen was a separate building lying at the rear edge of a large, open garden area. The whole was only lightly guarded; it was apparent the don did not expect visitors of a troublesome nature.

They had not been able to catch sight of Vicente, but they had heard a cook in the back calling out to a scullery lad, giving him the French form of that name. Casual conversation at a wine shop had gained the information that Don Esteban had a young bondsman who stood behind his chair at meals to serve him.

The order from the governor requesting their presence came as no surprise, for they had been warned by a shopkeeper about the need for a residency permit. They had heard that Governor Miro was a severe and exacting man, one who placed great store in rules and regulations and paternalistic gestures; on taking office he had proclaimed that the ladies of New Orleans must restrict the excessive ornament in their dress, and that women of color were forbidden jewelry and plumes and compelled to wear turbans known as tignons as a badge of their state. Answering such an official's questions might be awkward, but the danger of recognition was not high. The governor had served in this colonial outpost of Louisiana, in various capacities, for some years.

Still, with any luck, Refugio said, they would not have to trouble the governor for a permit. Doña Luisa must keep the appointment with him, but make the excuses of her guests. If she used her considerable charm, she could persuade the honored gentleman to accept another date for Refugio and his men. Before that date arrived, it was likely that their business in New Orleans would be concluded.

It would be interesting to know if Don Esteban had made Vicente's presence known to the governor on his arrival, and in what capacity. Perhaps Doña Luisa could inquire, delicately of course.

There was much discussion over the luncheon table about ways and means of mounting the rescue. Baltasar was in favor of a full-scale frontal assault on the house, but the suggestion was set aside as being too dangerous for Vicente and too likely to cause official repercussions. Enrique wanted to sneak into the house by night, spiriting the boy away. The information gathered, however, seemed to indicate that Vicente was kept chained to the wall in the house at night. In addition, there was also a heavier guard posted at that time. Charro was for infiltrating the house, taking Don Esteban by surprise, perhaps at a meal where Vicente was serving. Refugio conceded the last as a possibility, but how, he asked, was it to be accomplished? How were they to approach the house without attracting the attention of Don Esteban's guards?

   “We could pose as street entertainers,” Enrique said, the words tentative. “We might beg the pleasure of playing for the don.”

“Or bribe soldiers for the use of their uniforms for a few hours,” Baltasar suggested. “Then we could demand to see Don Esteban's permit which everyone must have, claiming dangerous criminals had come into the colony by stealth.”

Isabel, sitting playing with her dessert of bread pudding in a brandy-pecan sauce, spoke under her breath. “It all sounds so dangerous, too dangerous.”

Refugio nodded at each suggestion but made no comment. His manner was withdrawn, as if his young brother's plight weighed heavily upon him. It almost appeared that his fear for Vicente made him reluctant to move with his usual decisiveness.

Silence crept in upon them. When Pilar spoke, her voice seemed loud. “Today, there was an old woman who came by the house here driving a cart. She was selling fresh greens for salads, and also herbs, parsley, and scallions, and something she called file for gumbo. When Doña Luisa's cook called out to her, the old woman drove her cart right up to the kitchen at the back of the house and stayed there drinking tafia for over an hour. She was only one of several who came by.”

Baltasar and Enrique glanced at her, then looked at each other with lifted brows, as if her words made no sense. Charro kept his gaze on his plate, where he was using a tine of his fork to turn a piece of bread into crumbs. Isabel looked receptive but puzzled.

Doña Luisa turned around in her chair to face Pilar. “Really, my dear,” she said, “I don't see—”

“Let her speak,” Refugio said, his gaze intent on Pilar's face.

“I only thought, that is, it seems to me that street vendors make themselves very free of households. They come and go at all hours, selling all manner of things, eggs and milk and vegetables, hotcakes and pies; they collect rags and sharpen knives and scissors and mend pans. Some of them carry their wares on trays, of course, but others drive carts that are quite large, large enough to hold a man, or two men.”

As she finished speaking, she met Refugio's gaze. He held it with his own for long seconds. A smile touched the firm curves of his mouth, then was gone. Speaking directly to her, he said, “This time, there is no crying babe for our use.”

“No,” she agreed, “but I might make a fine hag.”

“No.”

She had been afraid of his refusal. “Why not?” she asked with mutiny rising in her eyes. “I was able to help at Cordoba.”

“So you were, but this isn't Cordoba. Don Esteban will not give up Vicente easily, even if taken by surprise. It could be dangerous.”

“There was danger in Cordoba.”

“I remember it well, which is why I prefer not to have to divide my concern between you and my back. Or between you and Vicente.”

“I don't ask you to protect me!”

“But if you are there, I must.”

“Really, Pilar,” Doña Luisa said. “You should not be so bold. Let the men attend to this.”

“I have as much at stake as they!” she said in a brief aside.

“Not quite,” Refugio answered her. “Not yet. And I cannot allow there to be more.”

“So I am to do nothing? Do you think that after you have taken Vincente from Don Esteban by force, my stepfather will welcome me with open arms when I go to ask for my dowry?”

“We will undertake to relieve Don Esteban of your dowry as well as Vicente.”

“You're too kind. But I'm quite aware that gold will not be your first objective. Nor would I expect it to be. On the other hand, I could search for it while all of you are busy elsewhere.”

“Impossible.”

Charro cleared his throat. His face as he spoke was troubled but earnest. “Why should Pilar not come with us? She's proven her usefulness before.”

Refugio turned slowly to face the other man. His voice as he spoke was softly savage. “Because it's my will as your leader, and that is reason enough. Unless you would like to take my place.”

The silence was suddenly thick with unspoken warnings. Charro held his leader's gaze for long moments while the blood suffused his lean face. At last he looked away.

The difference between Refugio's tone to her and the one he used with Charro was an indication of his unusual forbearance toward her. She could not allow it to matter, however. She met the gray steel of his regard, her own gaze clear and steady though her blood thrummed in her veins and her hands were clenched on the arms of her chair. “You will understand, then,” she said, “if I make my own arrangements.”

“Before the arrival of the street vendor, of course?”

“It seems necessary.”

“Realizing that any visit from you will put Don Esteban on his guard, that it will jeopardize our assault on his house?”

“What of mine? I have no way to live without the money owed to me by Don Esteban.”

“You have been living for these many weeks without it.”

“On your sufferance,” she said tightly. “It can't last forever.”

“Can't it?”

She refused to answer the quiet question. “Anyway, it isn't just the money. The don has taken everything I had, my home, my way of life, as well as the ones I loved. I refuse to let him keep what he has gained by his cruelty. It's mine and I want it.”

“And you will put Vicente in danger to get it?” Refugio's voice was distant, immutable.

Down the table Isabel made a soft sound of distress, but no one else spoke or gave any sign that they noticed the disagreement. They avoided catching the eye of either Refugio or Pilar, and did their best to pretend that they were deaf.