Lorenzo and the Turncoat (2 page)

Lorenzo carried the tray to their usual eating spot, a table for two beneath the cypress tree in the backyard. He and Eugenie had fallen into a comfortable routine. In the morning, Lorenzo tended patients at King's Hospital,
visited Eugenie for lunch, and spent the afternoon at the office he shared with an elderly physician.

Lorenzo had become a fixture at Colonel Gálvez's house. Servants knew to unlock the back gate at precisely twelve o'clock so he wouldn't have to come through the front door and disturb the household.

Lorenzo sat down in a wrought-iron chair, grabbed a roll, and bit into it. Good manners suggested that he wait for his fiancée, but a man could starve to death in the meantime. Eugenie's idea of time differed from his. One minute often stretched to five.

A muggy stillness hovered over the city. Blackish-green clouds edged the southern horizon, but the rest of the sky remained a cloudless bright blue.

It was perfect hurricane weather.

Eugenie came down the back steps, looking elegant in a dark blue dress. Pearl-encrusted combs, Lorenzo's gift on her last birthday, her eighteenth, held reddish-gold hair in a tight bun. A small gold cross hung around her neck.

Lorenzo stood and walked toward her. A knot came to his throat every time he saw her. He loved this woman with all his heart.

Standing on tiptoe, she stretched to kiss him. At 5'11” Lorenzo towered over her by nearly five inches.

They shared a kiss. It had been a long romance, spanning three years. Military duty had caused several lengthy separations, but in two days, they would finally wed.

He studied her face. She looked pale and drawn. Her bright green eyes had lost their luster. He laid the back of his hand against her forehead. “How do you feel?”

She swatted it away. “I feel fine. Stop being a doctor.”

Her temperature seemed normal. Still, he worried. Last winter, smallpox had swept through the city, forcing Colonel Gálvez to quarantine the sick across the river on
the west bank. Summers were an even more dangerous time, when the heat made New Orleans a breeding ground for disease.

Lorenzo ushered Eugenie to a seat, then sat opposite her.

She bowed her head, traced the sign of the cross, and folded her hands.

He did likewise and listened while Eugenie said grace. She was far more religious than he, although they had both been raised Catholic. Eugenie believed that everything happened for a purpose. Lorenzo wasn't so sure.

She ladled the gazpacho into a bowl and set it in front of him while he poured them each a glass of water.

“Will you see patients after lunch?” she asked.

He nodded. “I have three scheduled. It looks like word is getting out about my practice.” He grinned. “Of course, it helps that I speak English and Spanish. Both the Americans and the Spanish come to me.”

“Just make sure your patients aren't British.”

“Hey! Some of my best friends are British.” Lorenzo tried to sound offended. “What if I were to tell you a redcoat once saved my life?”

“I'd thank him and tell him to get going before I kicked him in the …”

“Eugenie!”

“Shins! What did you think I was going to say?” Lorenzo laughed out loud. He knew she hated the British, and for good reason. They had burned down her father's home in Canada because he had refused to pledge allegiance to the king of England. Her father had passed hatred for the British on to his daughter.

To turn the subject to something more pleasant, Lorenzo asked, “What are your plans for this afternoon?”

“I'm going to church with Colonel Gálvez to talk over a few last minute wedding details with the priest.”

Colonel Gálvez was like a father to Eugenie and would give the bride away. He even called her
m'ija
, my daughter, the Spanish term of endearment. Soon after arriving in New Orleans, he had arrested her for picking his pocket. When he learned that her family was dead and she was living alone on the streets, he found her a position as a maid in the Widow De Saint Maxent's household.

“When do you think you'll be back?” Lorenzo asked.

“I'm not sure.”

“We've been invited to a party, you know. It starts at seven.”

“I'll be back in plenty of time to get ready.”

Lorenzo rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “Of course, I could go without you, it being one of my last nights as a bachelor.”

Eugenie slapped him playfully on the arm.

A far-off rumbling made him glance over his shoulder.

A month earlier, a hurricane had threatened the city, sending people scurrying into St. Louis Church where they prayed and lit candles. It had worked. The hurricane spent itself soon after making landfall and passed through the city without much damage. Today, the horizon darkened the same way.

“What's wrong, Lorenzo?” Eugenie asked.

“It looks like a hurricane is brewing in the gulf.”

“We've already had one this year. New Orleans never gets two in one season.”

“Hurricanes are like women. You never know what they'll do next.”

Eugenie mumbled something in French that Lorenzo didn't catch. He was reasonably sure he didn't want to know what she had said.

“The gazpacho is delicious,” he said. “Did you make this?”

“
Mon cher!
” she exclaimed in exasperation. “I told you Madame De Gálvez showed me how to make it yesterday.”

“Oh, right.”

Eugenie sighed. “You don't pay attention to half of what I say.”

“That means we'll have a successful marriage.”

She rested her chin on her fist and leaned forward. “Where did you get that idea?”

“From the colonel.”

She laughed. “You're taking advice from a man who's been married less than two years?”

“Who better?”

Lorenzo suddenly noticed that Eugenie was toying with her food, pushing bits of salad about the plate. “Eat,” he said, frowning at her.

“I'm not hungry.”

“Eat,” he repeated. “Humor me.”

She stabbed a forkful of salad and crammed it in her mouth. “Happy?” she mumbled around the food.

“Ecstatic. Eat more.”

The back door squeaked open and Colonel Gálvez, the Governor-General and most powerful man in the Louisiana Territory, headed toward them.

Robert Hawthorne scrambled up a levy and waved good-bye to the sailor who had rowed him to the Spanish side of Lake Pontchartrain. At his back, the
West Florida
, the British warship that had transported him from Mobile, patrolled the twenty-four mile expanse of water.

Hawthorne unfolded a map and got his bearings. New Orleans consisted of straight streets that intersected
at right angles to form neat squares. The city was nestled between Lake Pontchartrain and the Mississippi River. He pocketed the map and set out down a dirt lane that led to the city.

He stopped at a guardhouse on the north side of town.

Out stepped a soldier wearing a white coat with blue collar, cuffs, vest, and breeches. He straightened a black tricorne with a red cockade.

Hawthorne fished papers from his coat pocket.

The soldier glanced at them and motioned for him to pass. Apparently, a lone man posed no threat.

Hawthorne scanned New Orleans. Sadness swept through him to think that his cousin had died here. These buildings, these trees draped in Spanish moss, this sky were the last things poor Dunstan had seen.

Hawthorne headed toward the Mississippi River. He crossed Burgundy, Dauphine, and Bourbon Streets, memorizing every feature—a carpenter's shop, a bakery, a tailor shop, a wigmaker's, a blacksmith. Turning left on Royal Street, he happened upon two elegantly dressed girls about fourteen years old. Only their eyes showed behind unfurled fans.

Hawthorne bowed. “
Mesdemoiselles
,” he said in flawless French. “
Comment allez-vous aujourd'hui?
”

They giggled and curtseyed. In unison, they said, “
Bien
, monsieur.”

“Are you new to our city?” the taller girl asked.

“I have only just arrived.”

“Do you have friends and family in New Orleans?”

“No, I am completely alone.”

“Truly?” She trilled her Rs in a most delightful way instead of swallowing them in the French fashion.

Hawthorne assumed she was the daughter of one of the Spanish dons in charge of New Orleans.

This place had promise. What a shame he wasn't going to be in New Orleans long.

An old woman buying fruit from a nearby peddler snapped out something in Spanish.

The girls gave Hawthorne apologetic looks and hurried over to her. No doubt she would scold them for speaking to strange men in the street. He had heard that these people were overly protective of their daughters and would call you out for a duel before you could say Jack Robinson.

The girls and the old woman walked off. The tall girl glanced over her shoulder and winked.

He winked back and remembered what sailors on the warship had told him: For smuggling, go to Manchac. For fun, New Orleans.

Lorenzo sprang up from his chair at the colonel's approach. The habit of standing for a superior officer kicked in even though he was no longer in the military.

“
Señorita
,” the colonel said, sweeping his hat off his head and bowing low to Eugenie. “Your escort has arrived.”

“I have to fetch a few things.” She stood and headed inside.

Lorenzo pulled out a chair. “You might as well make yourself comfortable, sir. Eugenie has no concept of time.”

The colonel gave him a wry smile as he eased into a seat. “Ladies keep us waiting so we will remember how insignificant we are in the grand scheme of things. If we expect the pleasure of their company, we must be prepared to wait for them.” He reached into the bread basket for a roll. “Have you thought about the matter we discussed earlier?”

“Yes, sir, and the answer is still no.”

“What would it take to convince you?”

“Nothing short of an act of God.” Lorenzo folded his arms across his chest. “I like my life the way it is and see no reason to change it.”

The colonel nibbled on the roll. “Not so long ago, you relished fighting the British.”

“My priorities have changed. If the British were to attack New Orleans, I'd be among the first to defend it, but I see no need to join the Spanish army.”

“I know it looks like the city is secure, but I don't have enough men to fight off an attack.”

“You have five hundred regulars.”

“And three hundred of them are raw recruits who have never been trained or tested.”

“What about the militia? You have over a thousand of them.”

The colonel snorted. “Yes, but they are scattered all over Louisiana. If the British decided to attack, they would overrun us before I could get word to the militia.”

“Do you think that will happen?”

Gálvez looked grim. “It's only a matter of time. They can attack from all directions. From Mobile to the east. Baton Rouge to the west. From the north by crossing Lake Pontchartrain. From the south by sailing up the Mississippi.” The colonel leaned forward. “That's why I intend to attack them before they attack us.”

Stunned, Lorenzo could only stare at him. “Colonel, the king will have your head on a platter if you start a war.”

The colonel smiled knowingly. “The king declared war on Great Britain on June 21. I received advance warning from my uncle, but the British in Baton Rouge haven't heard the news yet. It is to our advantage to keep them in the dark for a little while longer.”

Sudden realization dawned on Lorenzo. “Those ships in the harbor aren't there to defend New Orleans! You're getting ready to attack the British!”

The colonel nodded. “I could sit here and wait for them to make a move or I could take the war to them. The best defense is a good offense. I've written to the minister of war in Madrid asking for funds and additional troops, but I've received no answer. Therefore, I've done my own recruiting.”

“That's why you've been pressing me to join the army?”

“I need experienced officers. My offer stands. A commission in the army at the rank of major.”

“I'll think about it.”

“Think about what?” Eugenie asked. She had returned wearing a bonnet that matched her blue dress. Over her arm, she carried a pocketbook.

The intensity in the colonel's expression suddenly dissolved. He rose, bowed, and gave her a disarming smile. “I am trying to entice your fiancé to join the Spanish army.”

Eugenie looked at him aghast. “I hope he told you ‘no.'”

The colonel's smile grew. “Not in so many words.”

“Stand firm, Lorenzo. Turn him down and be done with it.”

Gálvez clucked at her. “I'm wounded,
m'ija
.”

“I'm sure you are.”

The colonel aimed a finger at Lorenzo. “I'm losing my best spy because of you. Taking her place is the least you can do.”