Creole Fires (44 page)

“Thank you, Captain.” Nicki extended a small hand and the barrel-chested man shook it briefly.

“Why don’t we sit down?” he suggested. They took a seat on a small walnut settee that rested back to back with another one just like it.

“Will your wife be traveling with us?” Nicki asked, noticing the thin gold band on his third left finger.

“My wife is staying with her sister here in Galveston. She’s expecting a child in a few months. Had a little trouble with the last one, so we’re playing it safe this time.”

“I see.” Nicki fiddled nervously with the sash of her brown wool dress. Standing not far away, Ram leaned a beefy shoulder against the wall beside a huge brick fireplace draped with holly. At Nicki’s insistence, they had supped together on a meal of beefsteak, corn, mashed potatoes and gravy in the tiny little hotel dining room, where Ram’s thick frame and Oriental features had caused quite a stir.

“What about the others?” Nicki asked. “Surely there are women besides myself who have come?”

“There are six of you in all,” the captain said. “You’ll be meeting them tomorrow in front of the hotel, when you choose the man you will marry.”

“How … how will it be done?”

“We plan to draw names from a hat. Whichever woman’s name comes up first will get first choice and so on down the line.”

“That … seems fair.”

Captain Mercer flashed her a sympathetic glance. “With your looks, you could probably go out tonight and find yourself a husband—if that’s what you want to do.”

Nicki’s stomach rolled over. “No,” she said softly. “I’ll take my chances along with the rest of the women. At least these men are set on building a home and raising a family.”

“They’re all hard workers, I can vouch for that. Maybe not the best looking or the most educated, but whoever you wind up with will be good to you. Too few women in these parts for a man to risk losing the one he’s got.”

Nicki smiled half-heartedly, and Raymond Mercer stood up. “Well, I’d best be going. Lots to do before we leave tomorrow.”

“Thank you for explaining, Captain. I appreciate your kindness.”

“My pleasure, ma’am.” Captain Mercer settled his flat-crowned hat on his head, touched the brim in farewell, and turned to leave.

Ram walked up as he left. “Are you sure this is what you want?”

“I’m sure of very little these days, Ram. But I’ve made my decision. I’m going through with it.”

Nicki lay awake for most of the night. Tomorrow everything she had ever known in life would change. Even Ram would be left behind as she headed into the Texas wilderness with a man she had only just met. A man who would expect her to cleave to him from the moment she spoke the marriage vows.

Nicki swallowed hard. She’d known only one man’s touch. Alex could stir her just by a look, a softly spoken word, the brush of a finger across her cheek. What would it be like to lie with a stranger? Would he be gentle or cruel? Would she find him repulsive or be able to submit without having to steel herself against her own emotions?

Nicki’s eyes filled with tears. Tonight she would allow them to fall for the very last time. Her husband would not see them. The pain was for her alone to bear. Whatever it took, she would make him happy, and she prayed one day he might make her happy too.

Nicki hugged the thin feather pillow, pretending it was Alex, remembering the way he had held her, his softly spoken words of love. Tomorrow, she vowed, her regrets would end, along with her tormenting thoughts of the man she had left behind. She would blot him from her mind just as surely as she had the screams she’d heard in the darkness of the prison.

Nicki swallowed the ache that closed her throat, and hugged the pillow tighter. Why couldn’t things have been different? Why hadn’t he loved her enough?

The tears came in force then. For the man she had
loved and lost. For Alexandre’s child, who was as lost to her as he. She indulged in them, allowing them to fall until they soaked through the thin cotton sheet, using them as a final means of release.

Tomorrow she would begin a new life, she vowed. Somewhere in the night she would find the courage to face it.

“Good mornin’, ma’am.”

“Good morning, Captain Mercer.” The barrel-chested man studied her face, noting, she was sure, the blue-gray smudges beneath her eyes, the sallow look to her cheeks that her wan smile could not disguise.

The streets of Galveston seemed quieter today, the blustery cold having finally driven most of the residents indoors. Flat gray clouds blotted the sun and a biting wind whipped the folds of the thick woolen cloak Nicki wore. Though several heavy wagons laden with freight and building supplies rolled past, most of the activity remained at the docks with the constant arrival of ships.

Nicki let Captain Mercer lead her along the boardwalk past an Indian woman with her small child in tow, toward a group of women gathered not far from the front door of the hotel.

“Ladies,” the captain said by way of introduction, “I’d like you to meet Nicole St. Claire. Miss St. Claire, this is Isabelle Jarvis, Maria Gonzales, Eleanor Hoskins, and Priscilla Fontaine.”

“Hello,” Nicki replied. Apparently as nervous as she, each woman merely nodded or smiled, or repeated Nicki’s softly spoken greeting.

“I thought there was going to be six of us,” she said to the captain.

Mercer shrugged his shoulders. “So we had hoped. There’s a chance the last woman may still arrive, but we can’t afford to wait.”

Standing next to the women, a far larger group of men had gathered. A rough-looking band, some were dressed in buckskins while others wore homespun shirts and canvas breeches. Some were clean-shaven, some bearded, their long hair mussed by the wind. Others had made a gallant effort to look presentable, slicking down their locks with macassar oil and wearing starched white collars and clean white shirts. As the captain urged her nearer, the scent of lilac water seemed nearly overwhelming.

“You men gather round,” the captain said, and Nicki took several nerve-calming breaths. “Silas”—He pointed to a man in the crowd who grinned with anticipation—“you can draw out the names.”

Captain Mercer drew six slips of paper from the pocket of his shirt, stuffed the missing woman’s name back in, and dropped the other five in the crown of his upturned hat.

The man named Silas, a dark-haired, skinny little man with a tooth missing in front, drew them out one at a time and handed them to Raymond Mercer.

“Miss Jarvis, Miss Gonzalez, Miss St. Claire, Miss Fontaine, then Miss Hoskins. I’ll give you ladies a minute or two to look these fellas over, then I’ll expect an answer. The preacher will be here any minute, and we’ve got a long way to go before sundown.”

Nicki nervously wet her lips. The men shuffled their feet and looked expectantly across at the
women. Isabelle Jarvis, a beefy woman who looked to be about thirty, wasted no time.

“This’n’ll do,” she said, stepping up to a bulky man a few years her senior with a square jaw and a warm smile. When he doffed his sweat-stained hat and grinned, a hoot of approval rose up from the crowd.

“Matthew Springer,” the big man said to her, looking pleased. “I’d be honored, Miss Jarvis.” Another chorus of shouts arose from the men, and Isabelle Jarvis smiled. Nicki thought the woman had chosen well.

“Miss Gonzales?” the captain said.

“Sí, Señor
Mercer. I am ready.” Maria was a pretty, slender girl, young and dark with flashing black eyes. The men’s anticipation was obvious—though it was also obvious the girl was with child and quite some months along. “If he will have me, I choose the man on the end.” A short dark-skinned man of Maria’s same Mexican heritage stepped forward.

“I will make a good papa
por su niño,”
the small man said, and Maria’s brown-hued cheeks turned crimson. The Mexican proudly draped an arm around her shoulder and led her away.

All eyes swung to Nicole, who opened her mouth to speak, but couldn’t seem to find the words.

“Miss St. Claire?” the captain urged.

“I—I … the gentleman in the plaid flannel shirt.” With a hand that shook, she pointed to a man several years older than she who watched from behind two others. Tall and a bit too thin, but with a kind face and gentle blue eyes, he glanced at the man on each side of him, then down at his plaid flannel shirt. “Me?” he said, his eyes wide in disbelief.

Nicki just nodded. She had chosen the man who seemed the least threatening. Someone she hoped would treat her with kindness.

“Damned,” he said, “fancy that!” For a moment she wasn’t sure he was going to accept. Then he grinned and stepped forward. “I’m one lucky man, I can tell you gents that.” They all laughed, and several whispered teasing remarks behind their hands.

“Name’s Simon Stillwater, late of Tennessee. Pleased to meet you, ma’am.” Simon doffed his floppy-brimmed hat and extended a thin, raw-boned hand. It felt warm to the touch but a little bit damp. A hard knot formed in Nicki’s stomach.

While the captain finished his matchmaking for the other two women, Nicki let Simon lead her to a bench in front of Harbison’s General Store, just a little ways down the walk.

She sank down on the wooden seat gratefully, desperate for the chance to compose herself.

“I’ll take real good care a’ you, ma’am,” Simon was saying, his thin face serious.

It was all Nicki could do to concentrate on his words. “I’m sure you will, Simon.”

“Since we’re about to be hitched and all, would it be all right if I called you somethin’ besides ma’am?”

“Of course,” she said, but didn’t think to supply her name. Across the way, the bell above the church began to toll. Nicki slowly stood up, drawn to the sound that reminded her of the beautiful church bells in New Orleans.

“Are you all right, ma’am?” Simon asked, watching her drawn features, the glazed look in her eyes.

“I—I’m fine. I just need a minute or two alone.” Without waiting for his reply, Nicki started across the
dirt street, her skirts whipping around her legs in the biting winter wind. As she pulled open the heavy wooden church door, she glanced back to see Ram speaking with Simon, who was nodding his agreement to what were most likely Ram’s words of warning.

With a sad smile, Nicki realized she had come to depend on the big Turk’s gentle support almost as much as she had Alexandre’s strength and passion. She would miss him sorely.

Nicki felt a dry lump swell in her throat.
I will not cry
, she swore. I will not weep again.

Those days were behind her. She had come to the church to gather the strength and courage to go forward. Genuflecting, she settled herself on a hard wooden pew, then knelt and steepled her hands in prayer. Focusing her attention on the soft yellow glow of the candles burning beneath the altar at the front of the church, and the crucifix that gave comfort from above, she began to pray.

Nicki wasn’t sure how long she had been kneeling, she only knew her knees were beginning to ache and that Simon Stillwater should have come looking for her by now.

But it wasn’t Simon’s thin, reedy voice that broke the silence in the near-empty church. The words that drew her attention were spoken with depth and resonance and such warmth that her heart lurched at the beloved sound.

“You would rather marry a man you have never met than be mistress to the man you love ….”

Turning at the sound of Alex’s voice, she found him standing in the aisle beside her, more handsome than she remembered, even with the worry that creased
his brow and the weariness that haunted his masculine features.

“I prayed you would not come,” she whispered. “I believed this time you would understand and let me go.” Alex reached a hand toward her cheek, but she moved away.

“I could never let you go,” he said, his voice husky.

Coming to her feet, Nicki lifted her chin to look at him. It took every last ounce of will to say the words her heart begged her not to. “It is a matter of honor,” she said softly. “Without honor, there is nothing.”

“Yes …” he said. “So you have taught me.”

“Please, Alexandre … please don’t do this.” But Alex seemed not to hear. Instead he lowered his tall frame to one knee, unmindful of the dirt floor that soiled his trousers, or the distant God who watched them from above. Lifting her icy hand, he clasped it between his warm ones.

“Mademoiselle St. Claire, I love you desperately. The thought of living without you is unbearable. Would you do me the greatest of honors and become my wife?”

Nicki swayed against the hard wooden pew. When Alex raised her trembling fingers to his lips and kissed them, the tears in her eyes slipped down her cheeks.

“I would have asked you sooner,” he said when still she did not answer, “but I wanted to give Clarissa a chance to save face, and I was waiting for this.” From the pocket of his waistcoat, he withdrew a tiny velvet box and carefully flipped open the lid.

On a bed of gleaming white satin, a diamond ring glittered in the soft yellow glow of the candles. In the
center of the shimmering stones nestled a square-cut perfect aquamarine, exactly the color of Nicki’s eyes.

“Oh, Alex,” Nicki whispered, reaching out to him.

Alex pulled her into his arms. Holding her against his chest, he kissed the top of her head, grateful to God he had found her in time. “Marry me,” he said beside her ear, his fingers splayed in the soft copper hair at the nape of her neck. “Right here. Right now.”

Nicki clutched him tighter. He could hear her gentle weeping, hear her whispering his name over and over, as if the sound of it insured he was there.

“I love you, Alex,” she said, her pretty aqua eyes bright with tears. “So much, I thought I would die of it.” She planted small, soft kisses over his cheeks, down his throat, then kissed him full on the mouth. Alex groaned with the feel of it, knowing there had never been a touch so sweet, a breath so heady.

“Thank God I found you. I shouldn’t have waited to ask you. I caused us both such grief …. Can you ever forgive me?”

“I shouldn’t have doubted you. I should have had more faith in you.”

“I’ll always love you,
ma chère.
Never doubt me again.” He captured her lips in a warm, sweet kiss and Nicki clung to him, kissing him back with equal passion.