Catalina's Caress (11 page)

❧

Charles reached out a hand to help Charlotte down from the carriage. The night had been exceptionally pleasant, but of course he had always enjoyed Charlotte's company. He walked to the door with her and was more than surprised when she invited him in.

"Come and have a last glass of brandy, Charles. If Cat is awake I would like you to talk with her. Maybe you can discern what her plans might be. A warning from you about how dangerous Marc Copeland and Travis Sherman could be, might change her plans."

"I would be more than pleased." Charles smiled.

Once inside, Charlotte led the way to the study where a fire still burned low in the fireplace. Not wanting to waken the servants she poured Charles's brandy herself.

"Do sit down. I will go up and see if Cat's awake," she said.

Charles sat before the fire, thinking how warm and comfortable this house seemed in comparison to his empty one. But Charlotte had always had a way of brightening a room. He knew the touches of beauty in this house were not due to the objects but to her.

Charlotte climbed the stairs slowly, her mind dwelling on her annoying inability to place an authentic name to Marc Copeland's face. But she was determined to keep Catalina from playing into his hands. Eventually the name would come to her.

At Catalina's door she knocked ... waited ... knocked again. Sure that Catalina must be sound asleep she then opened the door and stepped into the dark room.

In as familiar a room as this she needed no light to find her way to the bed. She reached out a hand to gently waken Catalina—and found the bed empty.

For a moment shock held her immobile, then she moved swiftly across the room to light the lamp. Its bright glow confirmed her worst thoughts. The bed had not been slept in, and the white rectangular envelope that lay against the pillow brought a soft sound of dismay from Charlotte.

She tore the envelope open and read rapidly. Then she rushed to the door and hurried down the stairs.

Charles saw the alarm on her face the moment she entered the room. He quickly rose to his feet.

"Charlotte?"

"She's gone!"

"Gone ... where?"

Charlotte didn't want to waste words. She handed him the letter and he read it rapidly.

"Charlotte, get your cloak," he said firmly. "My carriage is still outside. If we hurry we may be able to intercept her before the
Belle
has a chance to leave."

"Oh, that foolish and impatient child!" Charlotte said angrily. "To have been so blinded by her fears as to board that boat without anyone to depend on should she run into trouble."

"But she's gone with Travis Sherman. Surely if she has done that she must feel she can trust him."

"Charles," Charlotte said coldly, "if she were not so blinded by Marc Copeland, she could see that Travis Sherman is a man with his own purposes. She stands between two very dangerous men."

"Then let us hurry."

Despite the fact that the carriage rattled through the New Orleans streets at an alarming rate of speed, they arrived at the dock just in time to see the lights of the
Southern Belle
recede into the distance.

S
eth struggled against the thick heavy blackness that seemed to be choking off his air by settling on his chest. He gasped, groaned, and tried to surface to consciousness. His eyes did flutter half-open, but he could perceive only blurred faces that seemed to waver in and out of focus.

He heard voices but they seemed to be hollow, like echoes coming through a long tunnel. Rivulets of pain channeled through his entire body, and to make bad matters worse, his extremities felt weighted. He gurgled some sounds he meant to be words, and when he did, someone came to bend over him.

He concentrated hard, and when he did, a face wavered into view. He could see a young freckled-faced boy, but he could not hear what he was saying. Funny, he thought. It's funny when you see someone's lips moving and no sound comes. He tried to laugh, but it came out a bubbling soundless gurgle.

Seth lay on a plank bed padded by two ragged blankets, and he was covered by two more that were just as worn.

The young face that had bent to listen to his jumbled effort to talk furrowed in a scowl of worry.

"He's mumblin' sumthin', Grandpa, but I can't understand what he's sayin'. Do you really think he's goin' to be all right? He sure looked near dead to me when we dragged him outta the water."

"Now, Jake, dont go gettin' upset. I told you he's goin' to be fine. He just needs some more time. He was banged up pretty bad, and I've a hunch he didn't just jump into the old Miss on purpose."

"He hasn't been able to eat for three days, Grandpa. Will he die?"

"You just keep shovin' my tonic down him, Jake, and I can guarantee you, he'll be coming around. Give him lots of water too, and some soup if he'll swallow it."

"'Pears to me he's had enough water." Jake laughed. "And that tonic of yours sure smells like whiskey to me."

"Don't get smart, mite." Benjamin Barde laughed. "Or I might just have to swat your rump for you."

Jake laughed softly, but obediently went to a small cupboard and removed a small squat brown bottle with a cork in it. Picking up a small cup from a nearby table, the lad poured an inch or two of liquid into it, then set the bottle aside and went to Seth's side.

Seth's head was lifted gently, and the cup was placed to his lips. When the liquid passed through them he sputtered, coughed, then groaned something unintelligible.

It was several hours later when Seth opened his eyes again. This time, although his vision was fuzzy, the details of his environment swam into view, and he was aware first that the room he was in seemed to be rocking back and forth. After quite some time he realized that he was on a boat.

With this thought, the memory of what had happened surfaced. He had regained consciousness only to find himself arching through the air while the muddy waters of the Mississippi were coming up to meet him.

He had felt the water close over him, and when the tremendous current tore at his body, for the first time in his life he had known real fear. He sensed that he was about to die; then the drive for self-preservation won out and he began to fight. But he had lost blood and strength, and slowly the river began to win.

His last thoughts were almost calm. He thought that Cat would never have to battle for him again .. . and that he loved her.

❧

The boat had been on its way to the gulf for fish when Jake had spotted Seth and called out to the old man.

"There's someone in the water."

"Where?"

"Over there. See him? He just went under again... there! There! Look!"

The boat was maneuvered to Seth's side, and he was laboriously dragged on board, more dead than alive.

That had been three days ago. Three days of fever and a battle to stay alive.

Now Seth looked about him. He knew one thing immediately, whoever owned this particular boat had little or no money. To say the least it was rough, but another thing was clear. It was immaculately clean. Even the air in the small cramped cabin smelled clean.

Seth tried to rise, but his weakness made it impossible. He lay back against the pillow just as the door opened and an old man walked in.

"Well, boy, I see you finally woke up."

"Where ..." Seth began, but his voice grated like a frog's. He tried to clear it, and the words finally came out harsh and ragged. "Where am I?"

"On my boat."

Seth tried to laugh, but even that was difficult. "I had a feeling I was on a boat. Where is the boat?"

"On the ol' Miss." The old man chuckled. "Boy, don't you know where you was when you decided to take a midnight swim?"

"I know where I was, I'd like to know where I am. Besides I didn't take a 'swim' as you so politely put it. I was tossed in."

"Figures," the old man said, as he sat in a chair opposite Seth's bed. "You're lucky. The ol' Miss don't always spit up what's been tossed into her. Sometimes she just swallows it and nobody ever knows."

"I'm trying to remember how I got here."

"Jake spotted you."

"Jake... Oh, the boy who was helping you. I thought I saw a lad awhile ago. I'd like to thank him too."

The old man chuckled softly and folded his hands across the breadth of his stomach. Seth examined him. What he'd thought was fat had once been muscle over a very large frame. The man's brown eyes glowed with amusement, and though his face was seamed with years, he gave off an aura of vital health. His unkempt hair, white and long, was tied back in a queue.

"Yessir, Jake is the one responsible for draggin' you out of death's grip. Jake's quick and smart and kinda softhearted."

"Jake your son?"

"Nope. My grandchild. My boy's youngster."

"Then your son's here too?"

"My son's dead. There's only Jake and me."

"Well, I'd really like to thank Jake."

"Jake'll be comin' in a short while to look in on you. Been sorta anxious about your well-being. Probably be bringin' you some supper. You hungry?"

Seth laughed. "I feel like I haven't eaten for a month."

"Well, there's stew cookin' on deck. Jake'll be bringin' some."

"Good. I'd like to thank him properly. I owe him my life."

Again the old man chuckled and Seth felt a touch of annoyance, but he owed these people much too much to be annoyed at anything they might say or do. Before he could speak again, however, the door opened and a small figure came in, carrying a bowl he hoped fervently was food for him.

Seth knew immediately that this was the same youngster whose face had wavered in and out of his consciousness. He was small and the clothes he wore were overly large. Probably they had never been his. His face was half-shadowed by a large floppy-brimmed hat, but Seth could see the fine line of his jaw. Obviously, the lad was quite young for his chin seemed almost delicate, but he couldn't see enough of the boy's face to tell his age. The hands that held the bowl of food were fine boned and slender.

"Grandpa?"

"He's awake and doin' fine, Jake. Kind of anxious for that food though. 'Pears he's a mite hungry.''

The boy's smile was quick and sunny, and his movement to Seth's side was rapid.

"I've brought you some stew. Can you set up?"

"I'll try." Seth chuckled. "But I feel about as weak as a day-old puppy."

Jake and the old man helped Seth to a sitting position, bracing his back against the wall. Then the bowl of steaming stew was placed in his lap.

Seth felt, at that moment, that he had never tasted anything better in the finest restaurants in New Orleans.

While he ate he tried to see beneath the wide brim of the floppy hat Jake wore, but all he could catch in the glow of the single candle was mellow light reflected in wide, intelligent green eyes. Maybe, he thought, I can do something later to benefit the boy for saving my life. It looked to him like just about anything he could offer would benefit Jake in some way, even if he only got him some new clothes that fit.

"Now"—Seth spoke, though his mouth was filled with food—"can one of you please tell me where we are?"

"Well... from the way we been runnin'," Benjamin said thoughtfully, "I'd say we was about halfway to the gulf."

"That far from New Orleans! How long was I unconscious?"

"Little over three days, but it was more from fever than anythin'."

"Lord I didn't know I'd been out that long or that we were that far away. What's your name?"

"Benjamin Barde," the old man replied.

While he and Benjamin had been talking, Seth had noticed that young Jake's eyes had never left him. They were unreadable, but they seemed to absorb everything about him. He wondered if Jake had ever associated with other people.

"Jake," Benjamin said as he rose from his chair, "you'n I'll sleep on deck. Let's let this boy get some real sleep. Come mornin', he'll feel like gettin' out of bed. That'll be a better time to talk than now."

Jake rose obediently but silently, and when the old man moved to the door Seth was surprised to see that he kept himself between Jake and him. Seth found it a protective gesture.

After they left, Seth was surprised to find that he truly was exhausted. He rolled onto his side and fell asleep almost immediately.

On the deck of the boat, Benjamin and Jake spread out blankets and then lay near each other.

For several minutes it was silent except for the echo of night sounds from the shore and the lapping waves against the boat, now anchored for the night.

"Grandpa?"

The old man sighed as if he had known the questions that were coming.

"What?"

"He seems like a nice man. I'm glad we didn't let him drown."

"That's yet to be seen. You nor I don't know what kind of man he is. But them as throwed him in the river must not have thought him too nice."

"Even wet and dirty, his clothes were grand," Jake said wistfully.

"Can't judge a man that way either, Jake. Mind what I tell you and stay away from him 'til we find out a little more."

There was another prolonged silence before Jake sighed deeply, then turned away from the old man and drifted off to sleep.

Benjamin lay awake for a long time wondering if he had fished a lot of trouble out of the river... and if it wouldn't have been safer for Jake if he had been able to let the thrashing man slide beneath the water and out of their lives.