The Grand Masquerade (The Bold Women Series Book 4) (37 page)

The class practiced again for a while, walking around the room carefully, and then Madame Picard announced, “That is enough for today. Please stack your books on the table and line up. There is someone here that would like to meet you. Let’s use our best manners please.”

The students lined up with Justine at the end. Fletcher noticed one of the boys nudge her and she nudged him back flirtatiously.

“Mademoiselle Sauveterre, Dr. Locke,” Madame Picard said. “I would like to present my students,” and she went down the line introducing them all. The boys stepped forward and bowed, and the girls curtsied.

Although Sydnee greeted each young person, her eyes always returned to Justine who seemed to be having trouble paying attention. She was more interested in looking out the window. When her name was called, she jumped forward as if surprised and curtsied.

“Thank you, class. Now please select a book and read quietly until I return.”

Sydnee noticed Justine take a book and sit in the window, stealing glances outside, unaware of how closely she was being observed.

Affection welled up in Sydnee as she watched the girl. She understood her. She knew how she felt. She longed to be outside, near the birds, the trees, and the sky. Sydnee longed to tell her everything about the wonders of the world and open her heart to the spirits so she could hear them whispering to her in the rain, the trees, and in the wind.

Madame Picard joined them in the doorway and looked over at Justine. “She looks like you,” she said gently.

“She does,” Fletcher added. “She has your eyes.”

Sydnee nodded still watching the girl.

Ninon added, “But her character is quite different. You were timid and withdrawn. Justine is gregarious and sometimes even wild.”

“I’m glad. She has spirit,” Sydnee said.

“Shall I call her over?” Madame Picard asked.

Sydnee shook her head. “Thank you, Madame but no. Someday I will return. Justine needs to keep her innocence as long as possible.”

They knew that Sydnee was referring to her own lost childhood.

“
Au revoir
,” she said, taking Ninon’s hand.

“
Au revoir
, my dear friend.”

Chapter 32

The next day they set out to find the other children. Fletcher and Sydnee dressed in simple clothing and hired a wagon from a livery in St. Louis. They had three locations to visit all of which were across the river in Illinois. They had to take a ferry and then travel out into the country.

The first home was nothing more than a run-down shack on the river with uncultivated fields. It reminded Sydnee of an abandoned stand on The Trace. The roof was full of holes, the porch was sagging, and there were rags hanging in the windows. It overlooked the Mississippi and was surrounded by trees and thick foliage. A grizzly old man sat on the front steps with flies buzzing around him. His eyes narrowed when the wagon pulled up, and he laid a shot gun across his lap.

Fletcher did not want Sydnee to accompany him so she stayed in the wagon, holding her breath. He jumped down and strode across the yard with a ledger in his hand. He did not approach cautiously or politely. The nearer he came to the porch, the wider the old man’s eyes became. By the time Fletcher was in front of him, he was on his feet backing up toward the door of the house.

Fletcher opened the ledger and barked, “Are you Clay McCoy?”

“I am,” the man replied, tightening the grip on his rifle.

“On October 8th, 1842, did you give money in exchange for a boy named Andrew Greely?”

The man frowned and said, “I did.”

“Where is he?”

“Why you wanna know?”

“Where is he?” Fletcher snarled, taking a step forward.

“Out back.”

With a scowl, Fletcher snapped the book shut, turned and walked to the back of the shack. He ran his eyes across the fields and saw no one. He looked in the shed and in the chicken coup. There was no one. He walked around the wood pile and came back, seeing no boy. At last he walked behind the outhouse and there he saw it. It was a grave, a fresh mound of dirt with no headstone.

Fletcher stared at it thunderstruck. This child never had a chance. This nine-year-old boy had been nothing more than a commodity, a tool, a beast of burden and like the slaves when he was used up, he was thrown away.

Enraged, Fletcher started back to the front of the house. When Sydnee saw the fury on his face, she jumped down from the wagon. He was headed straight for the old man. McCoy raised his rifle, but Sydnee jumped in front of Locke. “No, Fletcher. You will
not
!”

Fletcher grabbed her arms ready to push her aside, but she was stronger than he realized. He struggled with her and yelled, “You son of a bitch! You killed him!”

“It war not me. It war the fever. I cared about that youngin’!”

“Liar!” Fletcher spat. “You couldn’t even give him a godammed headstone.”

With all her strength, Sydnee pushed Fletcher back toward the wagon, digging her feet into the dirt and pushing.

“Git off my land!” the old man called in a shaky voice.

At last Fletcher stopped struggling and stood by the wagon, panting, never taking his eyes from McCoy. He straightened his coat and helped Sydnee into her seat. Crawling up beside her, he snapped the reins, and they left.

No words were exchanged as they traveled to the next residence. Although it was a several hour drive, they stopped only once by a stream to refresh the horse and to try to eat something, but neither of them were hungry.

By mid-afternoon they arrived at the next farm. This one was well-kept and appeared prosperous. The house was a white-washed two story dwelling with a tidy yard, flower garden, sturdy barn and several outbuildings. Sydnee noticed a curtain flutter in the window when they drove up, and a man in his middle years came out of the barn, wiping his hands on a rag.

“Ja?”
he said. The farmer was wearing a homespun shirt and trousers with suspenders. He ran his eyes over Fletcher as he jumped down from the wagon. Sydnee noticed several children and adults working in the fields and two girls taking turns churning butter.

Sydnee was on guard. She knew Fletcher had not yet recovered from his encounter with McCoy, and he was taut as a bowstring.

“Good afternoon. My name is Locke and--”

“You’re from England,” the farmer said with a grunt.

Fletcher raised an eyebrow, ignored his comment and opened the ledger. “Are you Carl Reichman?”

The man did not respond.

“You bought two orphans by the name of Hannah and Theobold Claus on August 29th of this year.”

“So?”

“They were stolen from the streets of New Orleans, and their families are looking for them. I am here to take them home.”

“You will
not
,” was the man’s terse reply.

“I will reimburse you what you paid for them,” Fletcher said, putting his hand in his jacket pocket.

The farmer turned his back on Fletcher, and started to walk away. He said over his shoulder, “They are not for sale.”

Sydnee tensed up.

“Mr. Reichman,” Fletcher called. “That sale was illegal. Now you can take my offer today and recover your expenses, or I will send the authorities out here to get them.”

The man stopped.

Fletcher continued, “I assure you there will be no compensation for your loss when
they
come.”

Reichman turned around. Narrowing his eyes he considered what Fletcher said and then walked back and held his hand out for payment. “I want to see the money.”

Fletcher jerked his head toward the field. “I want to see the children.”

The man whistled and called, “Claus twins, here now!” A boy about the age of eleven came running with a girl behind him who was a few years younger. They were extremely thin with dirty, dark hair and skin darkened from the summer sun.

“Are you Theobold?” Fletcher asked the boy. He looked up and nodded. “And is this your sister, Hannah?” Again the boy nodded. They both looked scared.

Fletcher pulled a wad of bills out of his pocket and stuffed it in the farmer’s hand. He lifted the children up next to Sydnee, climbed up beside her and snapped the reins. “One more to go,” he said as they pulled out of the yard.

“Could you really send the authorities out here?” Sydnee asked him.

“No,” Fletcher said with a chuckle. “But that bumpkin didn’t know that.”

The first thing they did was find a shady spot and give Hannah and Theobold something to eat. They made small talk with the children to put them at ease and explained to them that they were taking them home to their aunt and uncle in New Orleans. Gradually the children relaxed.

“You will be staying in a hotel and riding in a paddle wheeler. Will you like that, Theobold?” Sydnee asked.

“He likes to be called Theo,” Hannah said.

“Oh, very well, Theo,” she said smiling. “We have one more child to find today before we return to the hotel for the night.”

“In fact we are here now,” Fletcher said.

He turned the horse down a lane, but when they arrived at the homestead, it was abandoned. They asked a neighbor where the family had gone, and the woman said they had moved west.

Disappointed, Sydnee asked Fletcher, “So what now?”

Fletcher shrugged. “There is nothing we can do.”

The sun was setting as they crossed the river back to St. Louis on the ferry. “I want to stop briefly at St. Anne’s Home for Children tonight,” stated Fletcher.

“Yes, and then tomorrow let’s go home,” she said quietly. “We are all weary.”

It was dark by the time they reached the orphanage, but Sister Hortense had been expecting them. She welcomed them inside immediately. It was a large residence in the middle of town in bad need of repair. The dedicated nuns worked around the clock trying to feed and clothe the children and had little time for renovations. “We opened our doors recently,” Sister Hortense explained. “God will provide everything we need in time.”

The young nun explained their mission, introduced them to some of the children and listened as Fletcher explained their recent endeavor rescuing orphans.

“We need to eliminate this outrage,” Sister Hortense said. “I have witnessed these sales right here in the city.”

“We are not always successful doing rescues,” Fletcher added. “The last house we visited was empty. They had gone west.”

Sister Hortense shook her head. “It is hard to believe, but many people abandon children on their way west. They want as little as possible encumbering them on their journey, including children. What is the child’s name?”

“Adele Toussard. She is only three.”

“No one here by that name,” she said sitting down at her desk.

“The people that purchased her were Charles and Louise Bertrand.”

“Well, let me see,” she said, opening a ledger.

She ran her finger down the first page and then flipped the leaf over and ran her finger down another row of names. “Yes!” she exclaimed. “Here she is! We know her as Adelaide.”

Sydnee gasped, and Fletcher heaved a sigh, slumping back in his chair. “I cannot believe it. We have found another.”

*                   *                     *

The next day they boarded
The Belle of St. Louis
bound for New Orleans. As usual Sydnee and Fletcher took separate staterooms. The twins stayed with Fletcher, and Sydnee took Adele. She spent most of the day chasing the toddler around the riverboat, making sure she did not climb the railings, topple into the water or fall down the stairs. Since the weather was cool she tried to stay inside, but the toddler’s attention span was short, and inevitably she would want to run outside on deck to explore.

By afternoon, Adele had worn herself out and fell asleep in Sydnee’s stateroom. Fletcher taught Hannah and Theo how to play checkers and then joined Sydnee on the deck to smoke.

“That child exhausts me,” Sydnee said, leaning on the railing.

“I will take a turn with her when she wakes up,” Fletcher said, lighting his cigar. He looked out along shore. It was early November and many of the leaves had dropped from the trees, but the sun was shining, and the sky was a bright blue.

Fletcher took a deep breath of the crisp autumn air. “For the first time in my life, I feel at peace. I seem to have found everything I have been looking for,” he said taking her hand and kissing it.

“I have too. I have so much to be thankful for,” Sydnee said, smiling. “I have found you
and
my daughter.”

“But I’m afraid you have lost your friends.”

“No, they will be with me always,” she said. Shaking her head, she added, “I have to admit I am glad the masquerade is over. I realize now there would never have been a happy ending. Keeping the secret almost killed Isabel. Revealing it, did kill D’anton.”

They were quiet a moment and Fletcher asked, “And Justine?”

“I will come back one day to meet her. When we are both ready.”

An elderly man dressed in evening attire, strolling on deck, paused and asked Fletcher, “Did you feel it, sir?”

“Feel what?” Fletcher said.

“The tremor?”

“What tremor?”

“When we were boarding in Cairo, the earth shook.”

Fletcher looked at Sydnee, and she shook her head. “No, we felt nothing here on the water, sir,” Fletcher replied. “Do you refer to a mild earthquake?”

“Yes. I am sure you think I am daft, but we do have tremors here,” the man said. “Thirty years ago there were massive quakes here.” Pointing his cane toward shore, he explained, “This whole area was devastated. The ground opened and cabins slid into the river. The town of New Madrid was obliterated, and the Mississippi ran backward.”

“Surely you jest,” Fletcher gasped.

“I do not. I was here,” the gentleman said. “One is never the same after witnessing the wrath of the Lord.”

“Indeed,” Fletcher said.

Puffing on his cigar, Fletcher watched the man walk away. “Have you ever heard of such a thing?”

Sydnee shook her head. “Hurricanes yes, earthquakes no,” was her reply.

*                    *                    *

The sun was starting to set as Fletcher and Sydnee took the children in to supper. Fletcher was weary from chasing Adele for hours so he tied her onto his back with a belt and carried her. The toddler was overjoyed. She was at everyone’s eye level and babbled and flirted with every passenger she encountered.

As they walked along the deck, the child put her chubby hand in the air and pointed. At the same time Hannah exclaimed, “Look up there. Look at the birds!” The sky was peppered with birds flying overhead, screeching and squawking wildly.

Fletcher cocked his head and listened to a rumbling in the distance. “Is that thunder?”

There was not a cloud in the sky, but the rumbling came closer, and it was growing in intensity. Sydnee saw the shoreline start to shake and then it rolled as if someone was turning under bedclothes. Then the river rose in a great black wave heaving the paddle wheeler to one side, throwing everyone off their feet. The children screamed in terror, but when they tried to stand up the riverboat lurched in the other direction, sliding everyone toward the railing. Sydnee fell face down and started to slide, catching a post in time before falling overboard. Fletcher fell onto the stairs and grabbed onto the railing.