The Willows (26 page)

Just as her stomach made a sound,
Jeffrey gestured her to the nearest chair. Smiling, he pulled it
back for her, and when she was seated, took the chair directly
opposite. Watching this, the children looked ready to protests, but
aside from the glares they gave Gwen, they can’t their displeasure
to themselves. They, to, just took their seats.

“
You are not going to eat
with those filthy hands?” Gwen protest as Jude reached for the
pot.

The child pulled back his hands, looked
at them guiltily, and then swiftly recovered his hostility. “Ain’t
nothing wrong with good, clean honest mud.”

“
Jude.” Jeffrey I the child
disappointedly. “Go now, washed up, all of you.”

After the boys ran out, Gwen and gave
Jeffrey a smile. “They don’t like me much,” he said unnecessarily.
“I, don’t know a lot about children. I haven’t been around them
much.”

He nodded. “They look, they see the
haughty lady. It takes time to discover the person underneath.”
Leaning over, he lifted the lid off the pot.

As the aroma drifted toward Gwen, she
became so entranced by it, she forgot everything else. “Amazing,
what kind of gumbo is it?’ She asked, as if it mattered. He can
offer her shoe leather, she would happily eat it.

Grinning, he poured some into her bowl.
“A bit of this, a bit of that, mostly crab and shrimp. And for the
children, I sprinkled file on top.”

As if on cue, they filed back to the
table, each managing to show Gwen how much they resented her
presence before taking their seats. Jude, she notice, hadn’t done
much to clean his hands, but Gwen decided to ignore him. What did
she care, if the child got sick?

None to patiently, she waited while
Jeffrey served the others, introducing each child as he served
them. “This fine boy, he is Patrick,” he said, handing able to the
one who looked most like Michael. “He is the dreamer, yes? The
poet.”

The boy blushed, clearly embarrassed
either description. Taking momentary pity on him, Gwen would have
told him that Michael had been a dreamer at his age, too, but
Jeffrey went on to Jude. “This one will be the death of us,” said
with an indulgent smile. “Always getting into mischief and taking
the others along. Too curious, and far too proud, our Jude
is.”

Unlike Patrick, Jude
preened.

“
And these two,” Jeffrey
went on, “are the twins. Hard to tell which is Peter and which is
Paul. I think they’d be like in confusing this old man,
no?”

Grinning proudly, the twins also bore a
resemblance to Michael, though she could never remember him having
such sparkle in his eyes. It wouldn’t be hard for Jude to leave
that pair into mischief.

“
And Christopher, he is the
baby.” With his golden brown curls and sweet round face, the boy
looked like a little cherub. Remembering how eager he had been to
help her, even if only for the promise of taffy, Gwen decided that
of them all, she might just be able to tolerate this little
boy.

Setting the ball down before him,
Jeffrey gave their ages-Patrick, 11, Jude next at 10, the twins 8,
and Christopher just turned 6.

Looking at the dirty faces, so close in
age, there was no need to ask what became of their mother. The poor
woman hadn’t run off screaming, a life spent in perpetual
childbirth must have killed her. Either way she had all Gwen’s
sympathy.

“
Mother chose the names of
saints for us,” Christopher said brightly as he offered a slice of
bread. “She wanted to protect us from Papa’s evil.”

Gwen found it hard to hide her shock.
She resisted the bad things Lance and told her about Michael, but
here were his own children, so matter-of-factly calling him evil.
The boys’ mother felt the needed protection from their own father
was the most damning fact of all. No wonder they hopped to
attention at Michael’s every order; they were afraid to define
him.

“
And me,” Jeffrey said, as
if Christopher had just commented on the weather, “I am Jeffrey, a
neighbor. Everyone just calls me Jeff.”

“
A neighbor?” Gwen asked,
finding it hard to keep up with the shifting conversation. “I
thought you were the boys’ grandfather.”

“
Me?” He chuckled. “I am
just Michael’s friend, though we go way back, back to when he was a
child himself. Taught the boy what he needs to know about the
Bayou, I did. And now, for him, I teach the children.”

For him. Gwen’s mind said with
confusion. Jeffrey conjured up a different image of Michael. It
forced her to wonder how a man who inspires such loyalty could be
completely evil.

Yet Lance insisted he was, and there
was the fear Michael inspired in his children and mustn’t forget
that he’d kidnapped her.

Jeffrey wash her face, no doubt seeing
her confusion. “Someday, if you want, I will be teaching you how to
get by in the Bayou, too.”

Inside, she recoiled. That much at
least was clear. She might like this gentle Cajun, but she hated
the swamp and had no intention of staying.

Not that she waited for her answer.
Turning to the boys, he nodded. “Go on, go ahead and
eat.”

Watching them gobble their gumbo, Gwen
forgot about Michael in the face of their bad manners. The children
might know about survival, but they knew nothing about how to
properly sit down to a meal. Sniffing with this dismay, she reached
for her soup spoon, finding a short what in utensil instead. She
hated wood; touching it gave her goosebumps. “I cannot use this,”
she blurted out. “I must have the proper silver.”

The children are at her with every new
discussed, while Jeffrey patiently explained that they were short
on tableware, but would Patrick go see what he could find? The boys
rose reluctantly to search his kitchen and returned with a
teaspoon. Thanking him primly, Gwen wiped it carefully on the
tablecloth, before taking her first taste of the gumbo.

It was sheer heaven. Not even her
servants had ever managed to cook shrimp this soft and succulent,
or blend her vegetables in such’s a savory stew. It was old Gwen
could do not to moan in pleasure.

No one spoke as they ate, except to ask
for seconds. Gwen normally stopped after one bowl, but she hold
hers up for a refill. Not only was the food delicious, she wasn’t
sure when, or if she would eat again.

The children have thirds, but Gwen knew
she’d burst if she took one more bite. Sitting down her spoon, she
was complementing Jeffrey on is cooking when she felt a tickle on
the top of her hand. Glancing down, she found a big ugly spider,
crawling across her fingers. With a shriek, she brushed it away and
jumped to her feet.

“
What, it’s only a daddy
longlegs,” Jude said with a derisive snort, lifting the insect by
the legs. “It can’t hardly hurt a fly.”

“
It could be she is not used
to spiders, no?” Jeffrey said with a smile before turning to Jude.
“So tell this old man, how’s the repairs to the house coming
along?”

In that collective silence, everyone
looked to Jude. Letting the spot ago, Jude grimaced. “The thing is,
we ain’t had time to get started.”

“
No?” Jeffrey stared each
boy. “Couldn’t it, that you been spending your time in the
swamp?”

“
We have to, Jeffrey,” Jude
hissed, frowning I Gwen as if reluctant to discuss this with an
enemy present. “You know that.”

He nodded. “I do, yes, we’ve can’t be
neglecting your chores. The roof must be mending, before I go to my
family.”

“
I forgot you are leaving,”
Patrick said softly, obviously distressed. “When will you
go?”

“
Soon. Worry not, I will
stop and first, yes?”

“
Are you going to see the
fortress?” Christopher asked Jeffrey as the old man rose to his
feet. “Jude’s got a-“

There was a thud, and the word out from
Christopher, as if he’d been hit. With a smile for both children,
Jeffrey said he was sorry, but his visit would have to wait for
another time. “There is not much light left in this day. I need to
be getting back home.”

Rising from the table, he told the boys
to do the dishes. “It was a pleasure, enjoying your company,” he
said, bowing at Gwen.

As he left out the door, Gwen realize
that she’d again been left alone with the children. She jumped up
and follow him outside. How she’d stop Jeffrey from going, she had
no idea, but she was not about to let the first friendly face she’d
seen all day.

Seeing him step into his boat,
something snapped in her brain, a fact she would never have
overlooked earlier had she not been so hungry.

The man had a boat–only means off this
wretched island.

“
Jeffrey, wait,” she called
out before he could shove off. He stood expectantly, his head
cocked to the side. Surely she could count on this kindly man’s
help. Once she explained her situation, appealed to his senses
shivery and decency, surely he would only happy to take her
home.

“
I need…” She pause a moment
as he frowned, for he seemed to be bracing himself for what she’d
say next, “that is, I wondered if you could take me to
Willows.

He shook his head, dismissing her
request. She forgotten in her desperation, they he and her
kidnapper were friends.

“
I know you want to be loyal
to Michael,” she told him, gathering up her dignity, “but surely
you can’t condone him keeping me prisoner. It’s illegal, what he’s
doing. If you don’t wish to go to jail with him, you must take me
home.”

“
You and he are married.
Before God and family, no?”

If one more person through that
ridiculous ceremony interface, she was going to spit. Frustrated
and angry, she stopped her foot. “I meant to ask nicely, but now I
am demanding you take me home this instant.”

He chuckled softly. “Michael warned me
about you. Said you like to play lord over people, order them here
and there, play the Queen, no?”

Gwen went on the defensive. “You don’t
understand,” he said, appealed to herself whimpering. “I need my
family and servants and all my familiar things about
me.”

“
Them children, they need
you, Gwen,” he said critically, nodding toward the
cabin.

Gwen snorted. “As far as I can see,
there is never been a more self-sufficient bunch. They can take
better care of themselves than I ever could.”

With a shrug, stuck the pull into the
mud and pushed off from shore. “Then maybe it’s you who needing
them, no?”

“
No!” She insisted as he
pulled away. How could he call those filthy, nasty brats children?
They were demons sent from hell to torment her. With a gulp, she
glanced to the cabin. There was nothing she could do to prevent
spending the night here with them, and then they’d made it clear
that they weren’t no happier than she was about the
situation.

The question was, what did they mean to
do about it?

***

Riding home from town, Jervis decided
he was well pleased with the day’s proceedings. Thus far, Michael
had yet to file his marriage license, but the minute he did, the
attorney would file an annulment. They could always claimed lack of
consummation, the lawyer had assured him. As long as Gwen didn’t
sleep or cohabitate with her new husband, her marriage was as good
as over.

Gwen’s marriage to Lance must take
place before his brother’s death, Jervis swore, even if he would
move mountains to get it.

No matter what it took, you would have
that trust fund–and the Willows along with it

***

Hands cradling his head, Michael lay on
the hard ground, his body exhausted stared at the star filled sky.
It was an incredible night, warm and seducing, a night made for
dreaming. Back in his youth, his mind would have danced with
dazzling images of wealth and recognition, as brilliant as the
distant stars twinkling above him.

But tonight, it was not the
constellations, or even his future that he saw in his mind. It was
the interior of that little cabin in the swamp.

Nor was it a scene of domestic
tranquility he pictured. Given the characters, what he imagine more
resembled a brawl. Too easily, he could see Gwen demanding the
children do something–fetch her food, pick up her discarded
clothing–while Jude lead the others into rebellion. The children
would give their new mother the fight of her life.

Not much he could do about it, though,
save hope that Jeffrey had, as he promised, to act as
arbitrator.

Still, Michael knew the old man
couldn’t stay forever, and they would impose more than enough as it
was. Like himself, Jeffrey had other, more pressing demands on his
time. For the time being, if Michael wanted a guardian for the
children, he would have to rely on Gwen.

That was the sole reason he’d taken the
woman, he told himself. He needed someone to watch over the
children, while Jeffrey went home to visit a dying family member.
If Gwen would just give him a month, maybe two at the most, Michael
would happily hand there on the wedding license and call the
marriage off. Hell, if she helped him and things worked out as he
hoped, he would be willing to consider all their debts
cancelled.