The Grand Masquerade (The Bold Women Series Book 4) (3 page)

Sydnee plugged her nose and dropped back into the water and then lathered and scrubbed her scalp vigorously. When she was done, she scrubbed her blood-soaked shift in the creek, putting the damp garment back on when she crawled out. The moisture would keep her cool until it dried. She tied several rags between her legs to catch the blood still running from childbirth and started back along the creek toward home.

It was getting dark now, and the bugs were getting thick. She hurried back to the shed, eager to rest again, at least for a while before her father returned. She could feel the energy draining from her body with every step she took.

When she pulled open the door of the shed, Margarite was looking at her with the same faint smile on her lips.

“Papa is still not back,” Sydnee said. “I am going to try to sleep again.”

No response.

Sydnee looked at Margarite. The woman did not move. She did not blink, the smile frozen on her face. Sydnee’s lips parted, and she stared. Margarite was gone. Dropping to her knees, she sobbed, “
Non, non
! How can I go on without you,
ma Mere
?” she cried.

Sobs wracked her body for what seemed like hours, and when she looked up at last, she realized that Margarite died the moment she stepped out of the shed. They joined eyes
and
souls at that moment.

Something caught Sydnee’s attention, and she looked up in the corner. It was the wind chimes jingling in the corner of the room. Margarite was saying goodbye.

Chapter 4

Victor Sauveterre returned after dark, shortly after Sydnee finished washing and sprinkling Margarite’s body with oils. He entered the shed as she was starting to wrap her. His huge frame filled the door. “Jesus Christ, she’s dead?” he asked.

Sydnee looked up into his heavily-freckled porcine face and nodded.

Sauveterre threw his hands up, exclaiming loudly, “Well, that figures. Now I’m out a nigger!”

Sydnee dropped her head, afraid to aggravate him further. She buried her hands in the pockets of her blue smock.

“God damn it, she stinks. Get me a lantern. I’ll find a spade.”

Even though it was dark, the sultry weather made it imperative they bury Margarite immediately. Her father chose a site behind the shed for a shallow grave. When he finished the hole, he returned to the shed drenched in perspiration. His broadcloth trousers were covered in dirt, and his shirt clung to his meaty flesh.

“Well, help me,” he demanded, taking Margarite’s upper body.

Sydnee reached down and took the feet, staggering from the weight. As she walked, she could feel a rush of blood soaking the rags between her thighs. They carried the body to the back of the shed where the lantern cast an eerie golden glow under the trees.

A pain shot through Sydnee’s abdomen. She dropped Margarite’s feet and doubled over, but she did not make a sound.

“Oh, Christ!” her father grumbled. “I’ll do it myself.”

He pushed Sydnee out of the way and hoisted the corpse over his shoulder. Before she could protest, he had thrown Margarite into the grave like a sack of rotten potatoes.

A man’s voice called from the cabin, “Is anybody here?”

A customer was at the cabin. Wiping his hands on his pants, Sauveterre ordered, “You do the rest.”

He yanked an earthenware flask out of his pocket, threw his head back and emptied the contents down his throat. Wiping his mouth on his sleeve, he called; “Coming!” and then turned up the path.

Sydnee watched him disappear into the darkness, relieved that he was gone. She wanted to be alone to say farewell to Margarite. She bent down, tossed the first bit of earth into the grave asking St. Christopher to guide Margarite safely to the other side. Then slowly and reluctantly, she picked up the spade and started to fill the grave

*                 *              *

Sydnee could hear men talking and laughing with her father late into the night. The customers came just in the nick of time, saving her from one of her father’s tirades. He would have ranted all night long about the loss of a slave and how bad luck only happened to him.

Sydnee understood that he was worried. She was all that he had left, and she wasn’t much. He never recovered from the death of her mother, and then The Devil’s Backbone fell onto hard times, and now the death of Margarite. It was a lot for him to bear.

Sydnee tossed the blood and urine soaked blanket outside and put a clean blanket on Margarite’s bed. At last she could drop down, exhausted from the grief and sorrow of the day. She knew that sleep would not come easily, but she had to try.

The spirits blessed Sydnee at last with some rest, but after a few hours she was awakened again with a jolt. “Girl, get up here!”

Sydnee sat up, her heart hammering.

“Girl!”

It was her father roaring for her. Sydnee stumbled to her feet. Bursting out the shed door, she ran up the path in the rain, splashing mud everywhere. The dogs scrambled out from under the shed and followed.

Lamplight glowed inside the cabin, and she saw two donkeys tied up in front. She ran up the steps and stopped, quickly realizing that her father and the customers were there on the porch. Her father was in his rocker; one customer was in a chair with his leg slung over the arm, and the other leaned on the porch railing, swinging a leg and paring his nails. All of their faces were in the shadows.

“These here men would like some company tonight,” her father said, wiping his mouth with his sleeve. He passed a jug to the man in the chair next to him.

Sydnee stood before them panting. Her hair was wet and plastered to her head, and her smock was soaked. She felt their eyes on her and heard the rain running off the roof of the porch.

“Well,” her father said in a businesslike tone while he rocked. “Who wants to go first?” 

There was a bright glow from the pipe of the customer as he drew smoke, looking at Sydnee.

Sydnee was scared. She knew the pain would be too much to bear so shortly after childbirth.

The man sitting on the railing quit paring his nails, slipped his penny knife into his pocket and stood up. “I’ll go first,” he said in a husky voice.

Looking at her father frantically, Sydnee blurted, “Papa, you forget, it was just yesterday I delivered a baby.”

Silence. The only sound was rain spattering on the ground.

The man looked at Victor and drawled, “You said she was fresh as the mornin’ dew.”

Sauveterre sputtered, “But--”

The other customer stood up, put on his hat and announced, “Come on, Rufus. Let’s go to Shoat’s. He’s got girls.”

“No, no,” pleaded Sauveterre, jumping to his feet. “My girl is fine and dandy and ready for some slap and tickle. She’s just a little shy. That’s all.”

The men mounted their donkeys with Sauveterre at their heels. “There’s no call to leave,” he pleaded.

They kicked their donkeys and headed up The Trace in the pouring rain.

Sauveterre watched them leave, and then whirled around, back-handing Sydnee. The force of the blow sent her staggering.

“You had to open your goddamned mouth!” he barked.

Panting, he looked at the men leaving and then started into the cabin. Changing his mind, he marched back down the steps and slapped her again, this time even harder. “I’ll teach you,” he snarled.

She toppled a few steps backward again and covered her head with her arms. Grabbing her hair, he drew back and slapped her again and again, following her down the path as she retreated.

Suddenly he exclaimed, “What the--”

Baloo and Atlantis leaped of the woods and charged him.

Sauveterre had forgotten. He had always given beatings inside the cabin to avoid the dogs. Baloo was the first to reach him. The massive dog took a running jump and toppled Sauveterre over into the mud. Next Atlantis was upon him, clamping onto his throat and thrashing back and forth, snarling and tearing at the arteries of his neck. Baloo ripped at his groin, and legs.

Sydnee was stunned. She screamed for the dogs to retreat, but in their fury, they did not hear her.

Somehow Sauveterre kicked off Baloo and struggled to his feet. Atlantis was harder to dislodge. She continued to dangle from his neck, like a huge goiter. He tried to free himself by clawing at her jaws and swinging her around, but it was no use. The ancestral memory of her breed was at work, and she hung on tenaciously. Blood was soaking his pants and running down his neck.

Baloo began tearing at his legs again. The snarling of the dogs rose to a crescendo. Sydnee rushed forward to help, but her father swung Atlantis around and smashed her in the face with the dog. She tumbled back onto the ground, hitting her head on a rock. The last thing she saw before she blacked out was Vivian watching the attack passively from a tree. For the first time in her life, the crow seemed to approve of the dog’s behavior.

*                    *                    *

The sun was up when Sydnee recovered consciousness. She was covered with dried mud, and her head throbbed. Vivian, ever vigilant, remained in the tree watching over her. It took a moment to sweep the cobwebs from her mind, but then she remembered.

She looked around frantically for her father. There was blood on the ground and shredded garments everywhere, but no trace of the man. The dogs were missing too.

Maybe Papa got away. Maybe he is up at the cabin.

Sydnee staggered toward the shack and then stopped. There was a trail of blood on a path of crushed weeds as if something heavy had been dragged into the woods. Her eyes followed the path. At the edge of the tree line, she saw feet.

Her legs turned to jelly, and her palms began to perspire. She could see from a distance that her father had on only one boot. The other foot was bare and bent at an unusual angle. He was on his back, and his pants were shredded.

Reluctantly she approached the body. Terror seized her as she leaned forward, pushing back the brush. One glimpse was all she needed to know that he was dead. The contents of her stomach rose into her mouth, and she retched. Sydnee was stunned. Everything happened so fast in the past few days that she was in shock. Her entire world had changed, and suddenly she was all alone.

Taking a deep breath, she waded through the weeds back to the cabin. She returned with a blanket, rolled her father onto it and then dragged him into the meadow.

Drenched with perspiration and nausea, Sydnee dug a hole. Several times she stopped and dropped to her knees panting, wondering why she felt no sorrow. She was burying her father, her own flesh and blood, but there were no tears. There was no despair. She felt nothing, except shame for not caring.

When she was almost done, she dropped the spade, put her hands on her hips and arched her back. She was trembling from exhaustion, and her head ached. Adding to her misery was the fact that her breasts had engorged with milk and were tender and sore.

Sydnee brushed the wet hair from her eyes and picked up the spade again. Something caught her eye. The dogs were watching her from the woods.

*                   *                   *

Sick and exhausted, Sydnee collapsed into bed that night. She decided to sleep in the shed inviting Baloo and Atlantis to join her. The dogs approached her cautiously, unsure of her feelings after the attack. They eased down stiffly beside her on the quilt, stealing furtive glances at her. It was not until she snuggled up beside them that they relaxed.

All night long she felt the presence of Margarite and her father. They were not at peace, and she could feel their restlessness. Sydnee could not find the rest she needed until late the next morning, and then she slept steadily for almost two days. It was a heavy, dreamless sleep while she healed from the tribulations. She rose only to eat, feed the dogs and relieve herself.

Late on the second night, the scream of a panther awakened her. The dogs were immediately on guard with their ears perked. The sound was not uncommon, but it always alarmed them. Sydnee listened outside for a long time, but all was quiet.

She stared at the ceiling considering her future. It was comforting to know that at least she had The Devil’s Backbone to fall back upon. She could feed herself off the land, and Vivian, Baloo and Atlantis provided the companionship she needed. She would never be hungry
or
lonely.

Nevertheless Margarite’s words nagged her. “Leave here. You are not listening to the spirits.”

Sydnee sat up and ran her fingers through her hair. Anxiety flooded her. “Why must I leave?” she blurted. “I have nowhere to go. I don’t understand, and I am scared, Margarite.”

Swallowing hard, she threw back the covers, retrieved an egg from the cupboard and then ladled water into the glass bowl on the altar. After sweeping the egg over her body, she cracked it quickly and dropped the white into the water.

Taking a deep breath, she prayed and watched. The egg white dropped slowly in a solid mass to the bottom of the bowl. Fragments of something began to unfold, but it was not clear to her yet what the egg was divining. She closed her eyes, asking the spirits for guidance. A sudden draft blew into the room as if someone opened a window. The wind chimes moved, and Sydnee’s hair blew.

She let her head roll back and closed her eyes. She was about to have a vision. The scene unfolded at last. Margarite and her father were arguing. Victor pushed the old woman backward, and she fell to the floor. She saw him yank the baby away from Margarite and walk out the door.

Now it was clear. What she dismissed as delirium the night she gave birth, had been true. She had actually witnessed her father taking her newborn.

Horror shot through her like a bolt of lightning. Her head snapped forward, and her eyes opened. She grabbed the roots of her hair and screamed. The dogs jumped to their feet, terrified.

Sydnee burst out of the shed and ran up the path toward the water. The sun was just rising over Plum Creek as she plunged into the water searching madly for the remains of her child. She traversed the stream, back and forth, up and down, searching the muddy bottom for the body of her little girl. At last she collapsed on the grassy bank and sobbed. In the end, she gained nothing except the revelation that her father had indeed been a monster.

*                       *                   *

By afternoon, a cold determination settled over Sydnee. She took what she needed from Margarite’s cupboard, rolled the crucifix and wind chimes into a blanket, and tied the bundle to a sturdy branch.

After putting food into packs and strapping them to the dog’s backs, she went into the Sauveterre cabin one last time. On her father’s bed, where she endured the groping of so many strangers, she started a fire and then stepped outside to watch. Smoke belched out of the window and then poured out the door. Flames climbed quickly up the brittle walls to the moss covered roof and climbed into the morning sky.