Passion's Joy (22 page)

Oh, how she thought and dreamt of Ram with the unceasing vigor of a young girl's first love, but for all of it, Sean explained Ram's avoidance of her with only those infuriating metaphors that forever strayed from her grasp. She had not seen Ram since that night. The morning after, Bart had appeared with her clothes and the happy news that Ram had caught up with the Reverend and Sammy, Jim Boy was put in a flatboat and brought safely to the ship and it was over. She didn't understand why Ram avoided her; her heart was burdened with it, and her diary was filled with alternate pages of sad guesses and wishful excuses.

Soon though, these things were only a backdrop for far more pressing events. Trouble grew and developed, finally shadowing their small dwelling like a dark cloud. She could not spare Ram, or indeed anyone, a thought. Joshua's health was worse still; Joy would not leave his side, not even as he slept, which seemed to be most of the time now. His shallow breathing continued to hold a raspy edge, and he no longer seemed to cough much. Doctor Morson began sidestepping her questions, leaving her only with the hope the bad period would end with recovery.

Joy thought of this as she watched his fitful rest, interrupted by those weak gasps for breath that one could no longer call a cough. She sat in a chair by his side. The dim light of a single lantern shone on an open book laying on her lap, though she could no more entertain herself with this favorite pastime than she could sing. Worry lined her brow as she stared anxiously at her loved one, thinking of the trouble mounting from another direction as well.

They were to be evicted in one week unless they came up with the three months' rent owed. Their landlord could afford no more excuses; his heart was hardened to their misfortune. They had no place to go, except to ask the charity of their friends, but even if they could take such a drastic position, they all agreed that to uproot Joshua at this time begged certain disaster. Besides this,

there was medicine and food to buy. The food they could afford was meager indeed, and most of it, Cory, Joy and the Reverend unanimously agreed, had to go to Sammy.

Two of the Reverend's scams failed! None of them could believe the ill-begotten luck of it! It seemed folks in the county were becoming suspicious of Reverend Doddered and his gambling. Gambling was the gentlemen's pastime of choice, especially among the French, and though a few ladies minded, most people accepted it as a fact that drinking went side by side with this famous pastime. However, once people realized the Reverend combined the two vices with excessive regularity—mercy, but in a man of the cloth!—they began to talk. Quietly at first, as Mr. Reginald Templeton merely mentioned what he observed the good Reverend Doddered doing on a protestant Sunday—and after such a fine sermon!—but he made this observation to his wife, who had the inclination and nature to pass it along at her bridge club. Then, just as the sterling silver of his reputation was tarnished, many men began to notice that gambling with the fast talking Reverend was as fruitful as betting on a lame horse.

The Reverend was not discouraged, or if he was, he didn't show it. "Oh hell and blazes—it was bound to happen sooner or later," he said as he discussed his plans to leave. "I've never stayed in one place long enough to find out. Don't worry darlin', all I got to do is head up fer the next parish, er... mayhaps the next one after that. I'll be back in time to shove the rent money in that greedy bastard's face. I promise."

So now the Reverend was gone. It seemed like weeks but—

Cory knocked softly and opened the door to step inside. As soon as Joy met her eyes, she knew something horrible had happened. She rose, and the two stepped outside. The fear and alarm in Cory's eyes said everything, and Joy almost didn't have to read the note just received at the door. The constable of Jefferson Parish got directly to the point: Two hundred dollars' bail or a seven year prison sentence after a week of public humiliation in the stocks. Immediate delivery or the sentence would be initiated no later than the first Monday next.

Tears filled Cory's eyes as Joy stared numbly at the note. Orleans Parish had banished the cruel injustice of the stockade many years ago, and it came as a shock to discover this low form of retribution existed elsewhere inner young progressive country. The bail must be got.

The bail might have been a thousand for the sum seemed that far from their reach. The back rent was due; the stables, pharmacist and practically every marketer in town was owed now. No further credit would be extended; they had not a penny. Mr. Farnsworth would never lend them two

hundred dollars. One might beg charity from friends in the form of shelter and food, this was difficult enough, but one simply could not ask for the sum of money the letter demanded. Three days ago, in an act of desperation, Joy had lifted a chicken and some apples from the marketplace, all of which went to Sammy. They were living day to day on the small fish Cory and she occasionally caught and potatoes, and there were only a dozen of those left.

So, what to do? They had no credit, no income, no job. That left one thing; they must sell something. Joy had already parted with the last of Joshua's books and pictures, receiving only a quarter of their value. Oh God, what else did they have worth at least two hundred dollars?

"What we gonna do?" Cory asked in a frightened whisper. She first tried to stop herself; but the sting of tears filled her eyes, and without a thought, she fell into Joy's arms for comfort.

Joy stood there trying to comfort Cory, and it was then that the image emerged in her mind. Her thoughts spun, approaching the oh so obvious solution, hesitantly at first, with trepidation and then with shock. Shock that it had not come to her before this time!

Twilight settled over the landscape as Joy led Libertine past the stables, barn, kitchen and cold house and finally into the circular tree-lined drive leading to the Baxter's plantation house. Shells cracked beneath Libertine's hooves. The garden was neat and well tended by a dozen hands at least. The magnificent manor, two stories high, shaped in a rectangle, plastered and white washed with attractive green trim, so clean, grand and large, stood as a monument to the wealth of the planter class. This did not escape her, as a growing numbness settled in her heart, one allowing her to proceed. She dismounted and slowly marched up the wide steps to the door. The brass knocker fell twice. She heard footsteps, and Saul, their house man, swung open the door to greet her with surprise.

"Why Miss Reubens!" He looked behind her into the growing dusk, searching for an escort. "Missus Baxter and Miss Baxter are away visitin'. Dey won't be back for a spell an—”

"I've come to call on Mr. Baxter," she said simply, finding it oddly difficult to say that

much.

"Ohhh! Dat's different, step right in, Miss Reubens."

The whole proceeding took precious few minutes, most of this was spent in a shaky plea for

cash rather than a bank statement. "Young lady, I simply cannot send you home with a purse holding this sum!"

"Please don't worry, sir," she whispered, just these few words cost her much. "Sammy's waiting outside and ... and he is very competent with a pistol, you know."

Mr. Baxter hesitated a moment, then reluctantly stood to withdraw his cash box from behind the doors of a lovely hand-carved cedar cabinet.

Joy painfully enumerated many conditions, none of these were negotiable, but thankfully, Mr. Baxter made no argument. His was by no means the best offer she'd ever received, but she knew how he treated his stock and knew he wanted Libertine only to breed. She could trust him to keep the promise never to race her. The last favor she asked was to see Libertine to the stables herself. Outside again, Joy took the reins and held the harness so tight it brought a dull ache up her arm. She would not cry. No matter what she would not cry.

Memories betrayed her though, spinning clear and vivid in her mind. She remembered the young thirteen-year-old girl presented with the green-broke colt on her birthday; she remembered crying then, somehow not able to stop. Of course, the Reverend had swindled the creature, but the owner had hardly cared. The ungainly beast was obviously an awkward thing: legs too long and shaky for its time, an ugly head size, an infuriating stubbornness to boot. She hadn’t known enough about horses to perceive those damning faults; she only saw the wonder of a beautiful creature who would give wings to her dreams. No one believed that she, ignorant and so small, could train such a wild horse, but she had and effortless, for Libertine knew from the start that she belonged to Joy and Joy alone, the young girl with the gentle touch and the beckoning call of her laughter.

Libertine gave wings to dreams...

Libertine sensed something amiss, and she tossed her head with agitation, neighing meanly as Joy led her into a clean stall. This was too much. The great horse bucked and reared, crying displeasure or for help, Joy did not know which, did not even wonder at how a creature could know what was happening. She didn't know anything but Libertine's pain, breaking through her numbness, bringing her own heartache rushing to the surface. She was suddenly clinging to Libertine's neck, and the great horse calmed and held still, as a hundred too many tears fell against the silken surface of her coat.

Libertine's frightened wails followed Joy onto the main road, and she walked over a mile before she realized her hands still covered her ears. She took a deep shaky breath, lifted her shawl over her head like a hood and slowly began home. Tears fell unheeded to the ground, where each step on the cold earth reminded her of whom she left behind.

Three miles later, after passing only one lone rider and two Cajun fishermen who gave her no notice, she heard the sound of riders coming from the north. The six mounted men were loud and boisterous, filled with the night's success and shenanigans, and more than one brandy cask was passed between them. With her head lowered in sadness, she never ventured a glance up, even as she stepped to the far side of the road to let them pass.

Ram reined his mount to a halt, and Seanessy stopped at his side while the five others stopped behind. Ram would not normally notice women on the road, especially as her face was lowered and hidden in the darkness. Anyone would assume that the woman was a serving wench or worse, a woman ruined long ago, stripped of virtue and caring so as to have nothing to lose by venturing a lonely walk on a deserted road.

Yet what alerted him was the very smallness of her waist, a close enough approximation of her height. "Seanessy, Seanessy," he chuckled meanly, "tell me it isn't her, not on this of all nights, out walking on this deserted road, alone when I'm feeling the devil's own—" Ram handed the brandy cask back and said with another laugh. "Well, you know what I'm feeling."

The familiar voice brought her eyes up, but they lowered quickly again. She felt a tremor of fear, yet nothing that could ride over the numbness in her heart. Her sadness was personal; she wanted only to be left alone with it.

Accepting the cask and after a long draught, Seanessy's laughter filled the night air, too. "My dear lord, while it is my life's single wish to serve you, I'm afraid that small lovely creature standing there inhibits my time honored duty. Alas, I can offer no assurance it is not she."

Laughing, Ram pressed his horse to her side, and without bothering to dismount, he leaned over and reached gloved hands around her waist, lifting her easily to his saddle. Unwilling or unable to look up, she stumbled ineptly through the start of a greeting. "Oh Ram ... I—" before her voice dropped with the effort.

His body tensed, stiffened, and with a previously unknown fear, he saw the tears in the dim light of the half-moon. A cold blade sliced quickly and too easily into his heart; the pain was searing as he brought her face up. He'd kill them, that was all. Whoever hurt her would pay, and it was all he could do to control his voice to ask, "Has someone hurt you?"

Seanessy was at his side, and he, too, felt every fiber of his body tense to await her answer. "No, no." She shook her head. "I'm fine. I—"

"Why then are you crying, sweetheart?''

His hand gently wiped her cheeks before returning to surround her as both hands gathered the reins to check his horse. Those arms, his nearness threatened her with a promise of comfort, and she struggled to control her tears. She shook her head again. "Oh, it's… nothing, really… I—" She bit her lip hard enough to draw blood, unable and unwilling to say more.

Something had broken her heart, and he would know what it was. "What are you doing out here alone? And where is that horse of yours?"

She stared up at him, alarmed. She could not venture the explanation, though her eyes dropped to the purse clutched tightly in her hands. Ram opened it to see the contents before he expelled a soft curse and brought her unresisting form against his chest.

"Who'd you sell her to?" he finally asked. "The Baxters down there?"

She nodded, and as though she needed to justify her choice, she whispered, "He promised me he'd never abuse her, or even put spurs to her, and that... that he would never race her."

Still holding her, he turned to Sean. "You will do me the favor?" "Ah." Sean smiled. "Of course. Should it be a slow death or merciful?” Ram sighed in exasperation. “You’re not to be killing anyone, Sean.”

“No? Oh, very well my lord! We’ll just leave him to suffer. Maybe cripple or blind him—” “Sean….” Ram said his friend’s name as a plea and warning both as he gently soothed Joy’s

cheek.

“The bastard certainly doesn’t deserve to profit from this!” “Just get me my prize…”

“If you insist, my lord,” Sean motioned to the men to follow as he rode off, dramatically

lamenting the passing of the day when they took justice into their own capable hands, melting it out in more meaningful and certainly swifter ways…

Lost to him in the warmth and comfort of his arms, Joy hardly listened to the conversation that did not concern her, much less the diminishing trail of Seanessy’s voice. "I'll take you home," Ram said, "and you will tell me what has happened to make you part with that creature you love so much."