The Grand Masquerade (The Bold Women Series Book 4) (30 page)

“I have a friend in Memphis who could help us. He could certainly lend us the fare for the rest of the way,” Sydnee stated.

“Memphis is a long way!” Fletcher exclaimed, but after a moment’s consideration, he sighed and said, “Very well, there is little choice. We will travel overland until we can hire a flat boat.”

“It will be a long walk, but we can do it,” Sydnee said. “People have walked The Trace for years with children.”

“This is going to be difficult.”

Sydnee put her fist to her lips, thinking. “We will need supplies. It is a stroke of luck that we have hundreds of outfitters here in St. Louis for overland travel.”

“Until we get organized, we need to hide them somewhere,” Fletcher said, looking up and down the block. “A warehouse or a school.”

“What about a church?”

“That’s it!”

After making a few inquiries, they found that they were not far from The Basilica of St. Louis, a large cathedral by the river with an imposing spire and four huge stone pillars at the entrance. Sydnee and Fletcher rushed the children inside and sat them down in the pews. After quieting them, Sydnee counted heads while Fletcher tended a skinned knee.

“I will go out to get the supplies we need for the journey,” she said stepping up beside him.

He nodded, patted the boy on the head and stood up. He stuffed a wad of bills into her hand and added, “Hurry.”

When Sydnee turned to go, he caught her arm and whispered, “Buy rifles for us.”

She nodded and dashed out onto the street, afraid she would see the man from The Trace again, but he was nowhere in sight. Squaring her shoulders, she pushed on. It did not take long to find an outfitter and after inspecting several packages she bought fifteen knapsacks suitable for people traveling on foot, complete with supplies. She also purchased food and two rifles. Sydnee and a clerk from the outfitters hauled everything in a wagon and unloaded it outside the church.

“Has anyone been in the church?” she asked Fletcher as he helped her haul the packs inside.

He shook his head. “Only a few old ladies came in to light candles.”

“Good,” she said as she opened a large burlap bag and began to pass out bread, apples, and cheese to the orphans.

“Eat quickly now, children, and you must be quiet,” she said.

Locke went outside to inspect the rifles and then left to make inquiries about trails to the south. It turned out there was only one which followed the Mississippi to St. Genevieve, and there they could hire a flatboat.

“It should be quiet along there,” he said. “Most of the traffic is steam travel now on the river.”

Fletcher took a bite of an apple and looked down at the children’s feet. Many of them had no shoes. “Look there,” he said with a scowl. “They cannot walk any distance barefoot.”

Sydnee shook her head. “That’s not true. If you have gone barefoot your whole life, shoes are worse. I walked to Natchez barefoot.”

Fletcher stopped chewing and looked at her. There were so many things that he did not know or understand about Sydnee. “I must fetch my medical bag. Is there anything you need from the hotel?” he asked.

“No, leave my things. There were just a few useless gowns anyway. By the way, I just purchased some clothes for overland travel for all of us,” she said, picking up one of the packs and pulling out some garments. “They are a bit worn but more suitable than what we are wearing now.” She tossed him a pair of cotton duck trousers, a dark red shirt and a black vest.

Fletcher took the clothes and left. He changed at the hotel, settled the bill and returned to the church with his medical bag. Sydnee had changed by that time too. She was dressed in a faded, yellow print gown.

“Very well, let’s go,” Fletcher said. “We still have several hours of daylight left.”

The surrounding area of St. Louis became rural quickly, and at last Sydnee and Fletcher could relax. They followed a wooded trail along the shore. They walked in a line with Fletcher in the front and Sydnee in the back. They would alternate with the older children carrying either packs or toddlers because no one could ever manage both. Just about everyone who could walk carried something.

Sydnee observed a few abandoned stands along the way, but the trail was nothing compared to the Natchez Trace. It was obvious this thoroughfare had not been as heavily traveled.

After several hours of walking they stopped to rest on the shore of the river in the breeze away from the bugs. Sydnee and Fletcher knew that the children were anxious to know where they were going. In their haste to escape St. Louis, there had been no time for explanations. Everyone sat down on the sand or rocks looking up expectantly at Fletcher and Sydnee while the older children kept an eye on the toddlers.

For the first time, Sydnee was able to look at each one of the orphans individually. There were thirty-two children in all.  Eight of them were girls around the age eleven, and they were of great help. They carried the infants and toddlers, helped with food and with discipline. There was only one older boy in the group, about the age of twelve, who was passed over by the customers because he was blind in one eye and had a paralyzed right hand. The younger children were a mix of ages including two infants.

Fletcher and Sydnee called for everyone’s attention. “Children, I want you to know that you are safe now,” Fletcher announced. He paused while Sydnee translated into French. Some of the children spoke English, others did not. Fletcher had been learning French, but his skills were limited. “We are taking you home, and we will try to find someone kind to take care of you. We want you to be safe and well cared for. If you are wondering, my name is Dr. Locke, and this is Mademoiselle Sauveterre. Her name means ‘safe haven’.”

Sydnee looked at him with surprise.

He muttered, “You’re not the only one who knows French.”

It pleased her.

“We are going to be walking during the day,” he continued. “And sleeping at night under the stars for many nights. But do not worry, you will always have enough to eat, and we will keep you safe.”

Looking at Sydnee, he asked, “What do you want to say?”

“This will be a long journey, and we will eventually be taking a boat,” she added. “You will get tired, but we all must stay strong and help each other.”

The toddlers were growing restless and starting to squirm. “We will walk until it gets dark tonight and then camp outside,” she said in closing.

Fletcher put his felt hat on, slung a rifle over his shoulder and picked up the heaviest pack as Sydnee dropped to the rear of the line to make sure there were no stragglers. One of the girls helped her strap a toddler onto her back with a large scarf, and Sydnee slung a rifle over her shoulder. She hunted only minimally on The Trace for rabbits and squirrels before her father lost the shotgun gambling, but she would not hesitate to use the weapon if necessary.

At sunset they stopped at a clearing by the river where, once again, the breeze would sweep the bugs away. They built a fire and cooked side pork, potatoes and some collard greens. They were amazed at how much the children ate.

“I hope they slow down or we will be boiling bark,” Sydnee said.

“Right now they are panicked about food. When they see they are getting enough to eat regularly, they will slow down.”

“Really?” she said, feeling relieved.

“Actually I’m not sure. Did I sound convincing?”

Sydnee rolled her eyes and laughed. “Let’s pretend you know what you are talking about.”

Before the sun set they tied their food in the trees and distributed bedrolls pairing older children with younger children for the night. Everyone was near the fire for safety and warmth, and they stretched two large tarps between trees for shelter in case it rained.

It was late before the last child was settled for the night. Sydnee sat down by the fire. She was still on edge even though she was exhausted. Fletcher came out of the shadows to join her. He took his hat off and sat down cross-legged beside her. “It’s hard to believe all of this, isn’t it?”

“My head is spinning. So much has happened.”

They were silent for a moment watching the blaze send sparks high into the sky.

“You have more experience with overland travel than I,” he said. “Given the distance, how many days walk is it to Cairo, if there is not a flatboat for hire in St. Genevieve?”

“With this group? Longer than normal. Probably five or six days.”

Fletcher nodded. “Keep your rifle by your side all night. Do you know how to shoot?”

“Not really. I hunted a bit on The Trace, but I am not afraid to use it.”

“Good, now get some rest,” he said standing up stiffly and retiring to his bedroll.

*                    *                  *

The following morning after breakfast, they set out again promptly, and by late afternoon of the third day they were in St. Genevieve. They inquired about a flatboat, but there was nothing available, so they bought more food and pushed on for Cairo. They put as many miles behind them as possible, but it was slow going. They had to stop every half hour to have the children line up for a head count, to change rags on the bottoms of the infants, and allow the other children to go behind the trees to relieve themselves.

Fletcher was constantly attending to bruises, skinned knees or bee stings. A few of the children had persistent coughs which caused him to get up at night. At last he listened to the Hoodoo remedies that Sydnee suggested and started using them. She had a bag full of herbs, bark, and plants which she had collected along the trail, and he watched her grind powders and boil leaves to make healing teas and balms. Eventually he started doing it himself.

Although most of time the children trudged along in line obediently, sudden bursts of energy would flood them, and they would skip, run, or dash in and out of the brush playing tag. Boys frequently had sword fights with sticks, and on one occasion a child poked himself in the eye. Alarmed, Sydnee put her fingers to her lips to whistle for Fletcher. When he heard her, he ran back quickly. The child was unhurt and when Fletcher finished the examination, he looked at Sydnee and said, “Good lord, was that you who whistled?”

“Yes.”

“The first lady of New Orleans,” he chuckled, shaking his head. Fletcher picked up the boy and swung him back in line. “Now you behave yourself,” he said to the child.

The little boy gave him a toothless grin.

Sydnee and Fletcher tried to remain tolerant of the children. The journey was arduous and sometimes there were arguments, but Fletcher and Sydnee knew they were all under great strain and needed to blow off steam, sometimes with fights, sometimes with play.

The next day they walked many miles and in the evening, they stopped at a stream on the other side of Perryville to bathe. Fletcher couldn’t stand seeing so many dirty children. It had been a hot day, and everyone was sticky with perspiration.

It was all Sydnee could do not to run and plunge into the water, drenching herself in the cool stream. Fletcher hung his rifle high in a tree and instructed the older children to undress the younger ones, wash them from head to toe and then scrub themselves and their clothing too.

Everyone was screaming, laughing and splashing in the cool water. After distributing soap, Sydnee stepped in, ankle deep, swinging a toddler back and forth between her knees. The little boy was laughing with delight as his feet dragged through the water. Several children plunged into the brook, others crossed the stream, balancing from one rock to the other. It was soothing to hear the rush of water and the laughter.

Fletcher sat down in the stream with an infant in his arms. He cupped water in his hand and drizzled it over the baby, and then gently eased the child down into the water, soaping its hair and body. The tiny girl smiled up at him, wiggling and kicking her chubby legs.

He looked across the stream at Sydnee. She had unpinned her hair and her tresses tumbled over her shoulders as she swung the toddler back and forth. When she looked up, Fletcher was staring at her.

The smile gradually dropped from her face, and she flushed. She drew up the corner of her mouth into a crooked smile and then looked away.

All afternoon the memory of Fletcher’s look stayed with her, and when she thought of him she flooded with pleasure. The next day he locked eyes with her again, but this time she stared back until one of the children began tugging on her skirt, and she had to drag her eyes away.

Sydnee told herself that she could not fall in love with this man. There was too much at stake, but she knew she was fighting a losing battle.

Chapter 28

The next few days, it rained and everyone was miserable. The children whined and clung to Sydnee’s skirts wanting to be carried, and Fletcher struggled desperately to keep the infants from getting chilled. Everyone was covered with mud from head to toe. They had to dry off their clothing by the fire before bed each night, and Sydnee strung rope between trees to dry bed rolls as well.

One evening when Sydnee was pulling the blankets from the line, she saw someone standing in the trees watching her. Instantly she recognized him, and her heart jumped into her throat. It was the man from The Trace. He glared at her, his eyes on fire and then disappeared into the shadows.

Paralyzed with fear, Sydnee was too stunned to scream and stared into the black depths of the woods. Swallowing hard, she looked around to see if anyone else had seen him, but everyone carried on as usual, chattering, arranging blankets, and changing clothes. She said nothing and returned to her work. She knew that she was tired and on edge, and she knew that it was improbable anyone had followed them this far down the Mississippi, but a deep fear nagged her. Had she really seen that monster, or was her mind playing tricks on her? Should she tell Fletcher, or would he put it down to fancy?

Rubbing her forehead, she told herself that she was delirious from fatigue and worry, but the rest of the night she slept little, constantly scanning the dark woods.

*                    *                    *

“Cairo? Oh, it’s only a day from here,” a grizzly traveler told Fletcher on the trail the next morning.”

Sydnee sighed with relief. They were almost there. Although she now believed the man she had seen in the woods was a figment of her imagination, she welcomed a flatboat voyage that would whisk them quickly downriver.

Late in the morning, they decided to bathe the children again in a creek and wash all their muddy clothing. Fletcher and David, the oldest boy, sat on the shore of the stream, working on a project. They were whittling something, and Sydnee saw Fletcher unfold a large handkerchief from his pack.

After lunch, the group walked for several more hours following the river. The sun was shining again and drying the earth. Everyone’s spirits were improving.

Late in the afternoon, Fletcher led them to a clearing by the Mississippi. He told them to rest because they would be pushing hard to get to Cairo by sunset. A breeze blew strongly off the river, and Sydnee brushed the hair from her face to watch an eagle coasting on the wind currents overhead.

Suddenly something white caught her eye. She put her hand up to shade her face and squinted. It was a kite, and Fletcher was running along the shore holding the string. It bobbed and stitched across the bright blue sky and when at last it was soaring high enough, he handed the string to David, who had been running along behind him. Since he only had the use of his left hand, Fletcher tied the string around his wrist, stepped back and let the boy fly the kite all by himself.

The children dashed up and crowded around David, begging for a turn. “No, not now, this is David’s time,” Fletcher said, holding them back. “When we get home I will take you all out, and you will have a turn.”

David gazed up at the kite, grinning from ear to ear.

The children continued to whine and beg, so Sydnee told them firmly to pick berries until Dr. Locke said it was time to be on the road again.

At sunset, they arrived across the river from Cairo, Illinois, a small river town at the confluence of the Mississippi and Ohio rivers. On their side of the water there was only a small cluster of cabins with a few flatboats. Fletcher planned to approach someone in the morning about transportation.

That night, for the first time in a long time, Sydnee did not retire immediately. Instead she walked out to the fire to enjoy the quiet. Sitting down, she sighed and rolled her head back and forth to loosen the tight muscles in her neck, muscles that were sore from carrying packs and children.

“So tomorrow we travel by water,” Fletcher said walking up and sitting down as well.

“You couldn’t sleep either?” she asked.

“No, I was kept awake wondering if you know how to navigate a flatboat.”

She smiled. “Walking I know, river boating I do not.”

“Will you know if we are getting fleeced by a boatman?”

“Maybe,” she replied. “What worries me is keeping thirty-one children from falling overboard.”

Fletcher nodded. “Indeed, that will be a challenge. We will think of something. We always do.” He stood up and threw another log onto the fire. It exploded into sparks and golden flames. “I have been meaning to apologize to you about something,” he said.

Sydnee looked at him with surprise. “About what?”

“I have misjudged you. You are not--” and he hesitated. “You are not the spoiled, selfish woman I thought you were. In fact, I am the one who has been spoiled. I spent my entire youth oblivious to my good fortune, and my entire adult life scoffing at it. I condemned the privileged without first considering their character. I want to say thank you for changing my outlook.”

He leaned over and kissed her gently. Three of the girls on bedrolls behind them, jerked blankets over their heads and squealed with laughter.

Fletcher sighed and said, “Good night, Mademoiselles!”

But there was no reply, only more giggling.

*                    *                     *

The next morning, in their usual formation, they walked down the hill to the cluster of shacks by the shore. A blowsy woman in a low cut gown, put her hand on her hip and watched the group parade down the slope. She was well past her prime, but she had a broad good-natured face and generous smile. “Will ya look at that!” she called to a man down by the river.

He straightened up and shaded his eyes. He was of short stature, his frame was broad, and his arms were like sides of beef. He had black curly hair laced with gray which poked out of the top of his shirt.

“Well, I’ll be goddamned,” he muttered.

The group continued to wind their way down the hill. When they finally reached the shack, Locke took off his hat and introduced himself as the children gathered around the couple, staring up at them. Other residents of the hamlet stopped their chores to look at the unusual sight.

When Sydnee finally joined them, her jaw dropped. “Monsieur? Monsieur LaRoche?” she cried.

The man leaned forward and squinted at her.

“It’s Sydnee Sauveterre,” she said, touching her chest. “Victor Sauveterre’s daughter.”

“Huh?” he said, stepping back, looking her up and down. “You’re all grown up!” he roared.

Sydnee smiled and nodded.

“How is it you are way up here and with all these pixies?” he said as he shook her hand.

“We are taking them south to find homes.”

“On foot?”

“
Oui
.”

“You are very brave,” he chuckled.

“But now we wish to hire a flatboat to carry us to Memphis. Do you know of anyone?”

He scratched his head and looked at Madame LaRoche who raised her eyebrows. “I have a flatboat,” he said reluctantly. “But it is loaded with whisky and soon with produce.”

“
If
the farmer ever arrives,” his wife added.

“He is almost a week late,” LaRoche agreed, scratching his jaw.

Fletcher jumped forward. “We are prepared to offer you double what you would charge for the transport of produce.”

“Yes,” LaRoche said, looking at the children. “I will charge you double most certainly. Because produce doesn’t jump around, whine and cry. You think you can squeeze in around the whisky?”

Locke looked at the broadhorn and said, “We can.”

“It’s three days to Memphis,” LaRoche warned.

“These children have endured much worse,” Locke said. “But have you?”

LaRoche’s stomach jumped with silent laughter. He spit his tobacco juice and held out his hand for Locke to shake. “Done.”

Sydnee and Sapphire LaRoche went into the cabin to cook sausage, biscuits and gravy while Dr. Locke and the children helped load the flatboat.

While they were eating, Fletcher asked Sydnee, “How do you know this man?”

“John is a Kaintuck who used to transport goods from Nashville downriver to New Orleans,” she said, wiping her mouth. “After unloading his goods, he would walk The Natchez Trace back to Nashville, and do it all over again. We would see him on the trail, two or three times a year. He comes from a long line of boatman. His grandfather was a voyageur in Canada.”

LaRoche’s craft was a mid-range flatboat. Constructed of green oak plank, it was fastened with wooden pins and caulked with pitch. Along the sides were sweeps for steering the craft. There was a pen for animal transport and a cabin for shelter. Sydnee and Fletcher planned on using these two structures to contain the small children. The cabin would be for sleeping, use of the pot and changing clothes. The pen would be for outside play and to contain the youngsters who could easily fall overboard. Just outside the cabin there was a sandbox fire pit for cooking, utensils, and a large cast iron pot for boiling water to wash dishes and do laundry.

Grady MacFarlane, LaRoche’s steersman would man one of the sweeps. He was an elderly Scot with a wiry frame, and a long tangled beard. Locke and David would help steer the flatboat as well.

The group left early that afternoon. The children were difficult to contain because they were so excited to be on the river. “Why are they so excited?” Sydnee asked one of the older girls. “You came up here on the river, didn’t you?”

“Yes, ma’am but we were locked down below with the slaves,” she said. “We never saw the light of day.”

Sydnee frowned and nodded. Every day she found out a little bit more about the hardships these children had endured at the hands of their abductors, and it sickened her.

When the sun set, they steered the flatboat to shore and camped. Sydnee was not sure how the two men would respond to having that many children onboard, but so far they seemed amused.

Sydnee had good memories of John LaRoche, remembering him as being good-natured and generous. His companion, Grady MacFarlane seemed equally amiable.

“MacFarlane don’t talk much,” John said. “But he works like a dog. He’s just like that boy of yours there,” he said pointing to David who was holding a lantern for Grady as he repaired the boat.

Sydnee nodded. “You would never know he only has one hand and is blind in one eye.”

“He’s got gumption. That there is a nice boy.”

The next day on the river, the children settled down at last. The novelty of flatboat travel was wearing off. Many of the orphans spent time sleeping and catching up on their rest after the long journey. Others spent quiet hours watching the river, fishing or listening to John LaRoche. He had hundreds of stories about his adventures on The Mississippi and The Trace. He had tales of river pirates, scalawags, and wild animals. Of all the children, David was the most attentive to these yarns. He seemed to idolize LaRoche, hanging onto every word and constantly asking him questions about navigating the Great River.

The leisure of riverboat travel over the three days also gave Dr. Locke time to examine the children thoroughly. At last he could attend to the illnesses that had plagued them from being starved and abused for so many weeks.

The weather could not have been better. The sun was out every day transforming the muddy Mississippi into a sparkling blue waterway alive with otters and heron, eagles and musk rats. There was also the traffic on the river to entertain them; canoes, keelboats, flatboats and an occasional paddle wheeler.

On the afternoon of the third day, a flatboat came up alongside them with a colorful flag and a boy on deck playing a fiddle. All the children strained to see. Upon closer inspection, Sydnee realized that it was a floating tavern and whore house. Women lounged on deck dressed in flashy, low-cut gowns with their skirts pulled up high above their knees. Three of the women wore nothing at all. Several burly river boatmen stood at the bar, lifting glasses and smoking cigars.

As the boat coasted up, the ladies called to LaRoche, MacFarlane and Locke, “Look lively, boys!”

“Are you thirsty?” one of the girls asked.

“How about a little slap and tickle?” another one said.

“No thank you, ladies,” LaRoche called back. “We have special cargo this time.”

When the women saw the children, they screamed with delight at the children. “Oh, looky there! Can they be any more goddamned precious?’”

“Hi honey!” one cooed.

“I got a baby at home just like you!” another said.

LaRoche laughed and waved them on their way. “Some other time, ladies!”

“Ohhh,” they said with pouting red lips. “See ya’ll later, pumpkins.”

The children stared at the whores wide-eyed as they coasted on ahead of them.

That night onshore after the children left to wash their supper dishes, MacFarlane asked LaRoche if they ever found the man who killed two of the whores from that flatboat a few days back.