Moontide Embrace (Historical Romance) (4 page)

"I must return home at once," Liberty said, coming to her feet. Slipping out of the borrowed robe, she pulled
her gray gown over her head. "May I help you clean up?"
she asked, stacking the dishes together.

"No, it is your birthday. I will give you a present, Liberty Boudreaux. It was given to me by someone
special many years ago when I was young and beautiful.
It has brought good luck to me; perhaps it will do the same for you as well."

Liberty watched the old woman take a bright red tin
from the mantel and remove an object wrapped in blue
paper. She held her breath as Zippora handed her a ring
on which was set a huge pearl surrounded by several
diamonds.

"It is beautiful," Liberty exclaimed. "But surely you do
not mean for me to take it?"

"That is my intention."

"I could never accept this ring from you. It is much too
valuable," Liberty said, holding the ring out to the old
woman.

"Nonsense. It is mine to give, and I want you to accept
it as a token for saving my grandson from the slavers. You will take it to please me."

"I could not."

Zippora took the ring and pushed it onto Liberty's
finger. "My daughter is long dead, and my grandson will
never have any use for this ring. I will like knowing it is
on your finger."

"But why me?"

"I told you before, I have been watching you for a long
time and I like what I have seen."

On a sudden impulse, Liberty took the old woman's hand. "If it is your wish, I shall wear it for you. But should the time come when you want it back, you have only to say so."

"It is yours to keep. I will not want it back."

"Tell me who gave you the ring?" Liberty asked. The old woman had started to wash the dishes, so Liberty picked up a drying cloth and began to wipe them and
stack them on the table. Zippora's eyes clouded over for a
moment and then took on a soft glow, as if she were
remembering something wonderful out of her past.

"It was long ago. The young gentleman who gave me
the ring was named Beau Antoine. I grew up as a slave on
his family's plantation in Haiti. He was handsome and
dashing, and I fell in love with him." Zippora's eyes closed for a moment, as if she were remembering a particular incident from long ago.

"Did he love you also?" Liberty asked.

"Oui.
You see I was very beautiful. I had been trained
as a lady's maid and could speak French very well. It was
my job to teach' the niceties to Beau's two sisters."

"What happened?"

"Beau and I were so deeply in love that we became
reckless. It wasn't long until his father found out about us and called me to him. He was a cold, hard man. I will not
tell you what transpired that day, except to say I was
beaten and sold to a slaver. My destination was not to be
revealed lest Beau try to find me."

Liberty wiped the tears from her eyes. "How very sad."

The old woman's eyes clouded over once more. "Indeed it was sad. I could never cross into Beau's world, and he
could never come into mine. Our love was doomed from
the first. The black and white worlds can never merge. I
found that out the hard way."

"What happened?"

"I was sent to New Orleans. To this day I can still feel
the heartbreak of that time. I was so desperate for my love that I became ill. I wanted only to die."

Liberty's eyes blurred with tears. "Did you ever see Beau again?"

"Oui,
but I wish I had not. For it cost him his life.
Somehow my love found out where I had been sent, and
he came to me. He bought my freedom and set me up in a house in New Orleans. Knowing that we could never find a priest to marry us, we entered a church late one
night and exchanged our pledges to one another. I was as
much Beau's wife as if we had been married by a holy man. But everyone thought I was his mistress, and this was acceptable to them. We were so happy when our daughter was born."

"That would have been Reuben's mother."

"Oui.
Marie was our delight. She was light in color, like
her father. Our little house was a sanctuary away from the
world, and I was very happy. But I always feared Beau
would one day be forced to leave me. I never dreamed it
would be under such tragic circumstances."

Liberty held her breath as she became caught up in
Zippora's tragic tale. "How did he leave you?"

Zippora leaned against the table and stared at the
young girl as if not really seeing her. "Beau's father found
us. He demanded that Beau return to Haiti at once, but Beau refused. It is my belief that his father hired a man
to kill me, but the man misfired and shot Beau instead."
The old woman's voice trembled. "As my love lay dying in
a pool of blood, he made me promise that I would flee with our daughter. He knew his father was a vengeful
man and would try to have us killed. I changed my name
and hid out for many years. After the money Beau had
given me was gone, I had a difficult time feeding my
daughter."

"How did you live?"

"I made and sold baskets, as well as bottled herbs and spices and flowers on the streets of New Orleans. After a time I began to see that I could make money by reading
palms. The wealthy white ladies paid much to have me look into the future for them. And they began to ask me
for love potions and all kinds of charms. I was astounded
at how fast my reputation grew. It was considered in vogue to have one's future told by Madame Zippora."

Liberty didn't know at what moment her fear of the old woman had disappeared. She was so moved by the
tragic story, that her heart went out to the young lovers.
"When did you leave New Orleans to live in the swamps,
Zippora?"

The old woman took the drying cloth from Liberty and
hung it on a peg. "That was thirteen years ago. My
beautiful Marie was brutally attacked by two white, so-
called gentlemen, who were on a drunken spree. When I learned she was going to have a baby, I brought her here.
Reuben was born the night my daughter died. He is
simple-minded and cannot speak. None of my medicine
will cure him. But what my grandson lacks in intelligence, he was gifted with in his heart. He is of a kind and loving
nature. He is my joy in life. In him I see much of Beau."

"Oh, Zippora, what a lonely life you have lived. Have
you no friends?"

"No . . . but I have had the added joy of watching you
grow up. You cannot know how your presence has often
brightened up my loneliness. Just watching you with the
animals brought me pleasure. I dared not approach you, fearing you would be frightened and never return to the
swamp, and I would never see you again."

Liberty brushed a tear from her cheek. "May I come to
see you again?"

"Come whenever you want to, Liberty Boudreaux. You
will always find a welcome for you in this house. Come to
me and I will teach you the social graces that are lacking
in your education." Zippora pressed a bright red tin into
Liberty's hand. "This is another gift for you."

"What is it?"

"It is a special scent that I made for you several months
ago. I thought I might leave it for you to find in the swamp, but decided against it. You must use it to wash
your hair and put it in your bath. It is a scent that will be
distinctly you. No one else will ever match it."

"How can I thank you for your kindness?"

"There is no need to thank me. We are friends, you and
I, Liberty."

Liberty was having such a good time she was reluctant
to leave. "I must go now. Thank you for rescuing me, and
thank you for the lovely ring. I am glad you shared your
beautiful story with me."

Zippora turned toward the door and nodded. "Go, Liberty. You must be home before dark."

Liberty was almost light-hearted as she skipped down the path on the way to the bayou where she had left her skiff. Deep inside she knew that, after meeting Zippora, her life would never be the same. She had found a friend
in the most unexpected place. She could not wait to show
Bandera the wondrous ring the old voodoo woman had
given her.

3

Briar Oaks Plantation

The afternoon was hot and steamy as Liberty dragged
her boat up on the grassy slope and ran toward the stately, old plantation house. She was so accustomed to the house, that she did not notice the chipped and cracking paint on the barns and outbuildings, or the shutters and doors that needed repairing at the main house. As to the inside, many of the valuable paintings
and rugs had been discreetly sold, but even though the
furniture was in need of covering, there was still an elegance about the rooms, a hint of the bygone luxury
that had been enjoyed by long-dead Boudreaux ancestors.

Liberty saw an all too familiar buggy pull out of the
driveway, and she wrinkled her nose in distaste. She did not like Sebastian Montesquieu, who was becoming a
frequent visitor at Briar Oaks. Though he was not to Liberty's taste, her mother seemed to have singled him
out as a prospective husband for Liberty's sister, Bandera.
Sebastian was the nephew of Gustave Montesquieu, and
the only heir, to the vast Bend of the River Plantation.
Yet something about Sebastian made Liberty's skin crawl.
She did not know how Bandera could endure the thought
of having him as her husband.

Breathing a sigh of relief, she stepped behind a pine
tree and watched Sebastian depart. At least she would not
have to face him today. She hastily ran her fingers through her tangled curls, then tried to press the creases
out of her muddy gown by running her hands down the
skirt. She was glad that Zippora had mended the tear—it
hardly showed at all. If only she could make it to her
room without being discovered. Neither her mother nor
Bandera would have been pleased if Sebastian had seen her in this bedraggled condition.

She rushed toward the house, deciding to use the back
stairs. Automatically her eyes went to the bell tower as
silver tones vibrated in the breeze. Liberty always loved the sound of the bell when it tolled the beginning of the
workday or called the workers from the fields in the evening. She stopped momentarily to gauge the time by
the white marble sundial. Here, surrounded by the beauti
ful grounds of the proud old manor, people did not often
measure time by a clock, but rather by the rising and the
setting of the sun, the starting and the ending of the
workday. Here, the Boudreaux family had lived and died
for four generations. Like her father, Liberty loved this
land. It was her home—a part of her very life and soul. She was sorely grieved that it had fallen on hard times.

A grassy slope meandered down to the brown waters of
the Mississippi. The river's wide avenue was often crowded with barges filled with indigo, and the new
comer, sugar cane. The ageless waters flowed past lazy
bayous toward New Orleans, the heart and lifeblood of the Orleans Territory.

Huge oak trees and delicately scented magnolias domi
nated the air she breathed as Liberty moved past a pine
grove, glancing at the house where she had been born.
The south side of the red brick mansion was covered with
climbing ivy and wisteria, whereas a full-length veranda
ran the length of the front of the house and around the north side. Now, as always in the heat of the day, the green shutters were closed because Liberty's mother
claimed that the sun faded the already threadbare carpets.

Behind the house Liberty could see the whitewashed slave cabins, and beyond them, the rich meadowlands
where cattle grazed. Pride flowed through her veins like a
hearty tonic as she neared the house. She was so caught up in her warm feeling of tranquility that she forgot it had been her intention to use the back entrance to the house.

"Liberty, what you done to yourself,
ma chere!"
Oralee
chided, her hands on her hips, her black face drawn up in
a disapproving frown. "If your mother sees you looking like an urchin, she will skin you and me both."

Oralee was a tall
femme de couleur,
who spoke Haitian
French. She was the sovereign voice at Briar Oaks, but
though she ran the house with authority, she rarely chided
Liberty, who was her favorite.

"Get up the stairs at once before your mother learns you are home." Oralee swung her bandanna-wrapped head toward the stairs. "Get! And do not come down
until you are dressed to receive guests. M'sieu Montes
quieu will be returning for dinner."

"Again? Does he never dine at his own home?"

Oralee raised her hand and pointed up the stairs. Seeing the determined light in her eyes, Liberty lost no
time in bounding up those stairs. When she reached the
wide landing, she tiptoed past her mother's room, and
then dashed through her own bedroom door. Feeling safe, she leaned against the closed door, drawing in a deep sigh
of relief.

Suddenly her eyes were drawn to the window, and her
heart skipped a beat when she saw her mother staring at
her. Ursula was impatiently tapping the toe of her shoe, and her mouth was drawn up in anger.

"Where have you been, Liberty? What in God's name
have you done to yourself?"

Liberty swallowed a lump in her throat, knowing she
had again displeased her mother. "I took the boat into the
swamp,
Maman.
I would have been home sooner but—"

Ursula abruptly raised her hand. "Spare me the details of your mundane adventure. I swear, you will be the
death of me yet, Liberty. One can only guess what our
neighbors say about your unladylike conduct. You have
ever been a trial to me. Why can you not be more like your sister?"

Liberty ducked her head in shame. "I am sorry,
Ma
man.
I try to be good, honestly I do. I always seem to do
the wrong thing."

Ursula Boudreaux raised her dark brows in exasperation. Liberty looked so pathetic, with her woebegone
expression and the damp gown clinging to her slender
body, that her mother's heart softened. "Do not distress
yourself. I do not have the time to go into this with you at
the moment. Sebastian Montesquieu will be dining with
us tonight, and I want you to make a passable impression
on him. I will set your punishment at a later time."

Liberty was flooded with relief, for her mother would be so caught up in helping Bandera impress Sebastian
that she would soon forget her displeasure. This was the
way it always ended, her mother showing disapproval and
then letting the matter drop until Liberty disgraced herself again.

Sometimes Liberty wished her mother would punish
her, that at least would mean she was aware that Liberty
was alive. She would have liked to have told her
mother all that had happened today, but she feared her
mother would never again allow her to go into the swamps.

She watched her mother advance toward her. Ursula
Boudreaux owed her black hair and striking good looks to her Spanish blood. Her soft classic features set her apart from most other women. She had been married to
an impoverished young Spaniard in her youth, but he had
died of the flux shortly before Bandera was born, leaving
his young wife destitute. When Bandera was six years old,
Ursula had met and married Louis Boudreaux, and Lib
erty was the issue from their union.

"Get out of those wet clothes before you catch your
death," her mother scolded, brushing Liberty aside and
stepping out the door. "I'll send Oralee up with hot water
for your bath," she called over her shoulder, before
disappearing down the hallway.

Liberty wished she could tell someone about her excit
ing afternoon, about meeting Zippora. She glanced down
at the ring that sparkled on her finger. She would tell Bandera about her adventure!

She bolted out of her room, and paused before her
sister's bedroom. Hearing her mother's voice, she realized Ursula must have gone directly to Bandera's room. When Liberty heard her name spoken, she knew her mother and
sister were discussing her. She closed her eyes tightly, not
wanting to hear what was being said, and yet, she was unable to shut out their voices.

"I simply do not know what you are going to do about
Liberty,
Maman.
She is becoming a constant embarrass
ment to us all. Why do you not send her away to a school
for young ladies and see if they can smooth off the rough
edges? Something has got to be done . . . and soon. She
goes abroad heedless of her toilette. Even if she is a
homely little mouse, she would be more presentable if she
would take more time with her appearance."

Liberty backed away, but not before she heard her
mother's reply. "You should not speak unkindly of your
sister. Besides, Louis has forbidden me to punish her. He
says she is a lively child and I am not to crush her spirit."

"Papa indulges her too much in this folly. He does not
realize that Liberty is growing up. I wish he would treat
me more like he does Liberty. She is his little darling. He
would keep her in baby silk and pamper her shamelessly,
while he hardly knows I am alive."

"Do not say that. Your stepfather has been kind to you. Has he not been like a real father to you, Bandera?"

"I never receive imported silks, bonnets, and shoes like
all my friends. Sometimes I am embarrassed to appear in
public in my pathetic rags."

"Nonsense, you have lovely gowns. Louis is more than generous with you. Goodness knows he never denies you
when you ask for something."

Liberty could hear her sister's voice rise in volume. "We
are in dire straits. There is never enough money for me to
do the things my friends do."

"There, there,
ma chere.
You must not cry or your eyes
will be red. Your stepfather does the best he can. He cannot help it if the last five crops have failed. I have hopes that, in time, Briar Oaks will shine again."

"I do not have time to wait for that to happen —if it ever does. I am twenty-three. Most of my friends are
already married, and have children. I have wasted years
waiting for Sebastian to ask for my hand in marriage."

"It will be worth the wait. As his wife, you will be the
envy of all your friends. Think of the power you will have
as the mistress of Bend of the River Plantation."

"He had better offer soon. I do not intend to wait much longer."

"You were so sure he was getting close to asking you to
marry him."

"Oui,
but when? I suppose I should be grateful that I
am pretty and do not look like Liberty. When she comes
of age, she will have a difficult time getting someone of
worth to offer for her. She will have nothing but a dilapidated plantation, and no beauty to lure a man."

Liberty caught the spitefulness in her sister's voice, but
she did not hear her mother's reply. At the sound of
footsteps approaching the door, Liberty moved quickly to
the landing that led to the attic. Flattening herself against the wall, she waited until her mother passed before she
allowed the tears to fall down her cheeks. She knew she
was homely, but it hurt to hear it from her own mother
and sister. And her heart was breaking for the trouble she
caused her mother. Why could she not be a lady like Bandera? Why did she always have to displease her mother?

Liberty sat down on the steps and buried her head in
her lap. When she could cry no more, she dried her eyes
and stood up. Liberty was never one to bemoan that
which she could not change. She knew that no good ever
came from self-pity. She was ugly, and that was all there
was to it. She would accept that fact and learn to live with
it.

Liberty looked down at the pearl and diamond ring
Zippora had given her. Then she stood up and went to her sister's room because she still wanted to share the day's
adventure with someone. Perhaps Bandera would be im
pressed. Liberty rapped softly on the closed door, and waited until Bandera invited her in before turning the knob.