The Willows (51 page)

“
Come quick,” another
servant shouted from the doorway. “That far levee is going to break
again.”

Swearing, Michael went running, the
decision taken from his hands. That was his life, one crisis after
another, all boiling down to a matter of which demanded his
attention first.

Like it or not, talking to Gwen would
have to wait.

***

Jervis watched the other to survey the
cabin. “Are you sure this is the place?” He whispered to
Morteau.

“
Of course, it’s Michael’s
cabin,” Lance whispered back. “Boys describe it right down to the
swing on the porch.”

Jervis nodded, still uneasy.
Understandable, at this late hour, that the place would be dark and
quiet, but somehow, he’d expected Michael the put up more of a
fight. It seemed out of character for the man to keep sleeping,
oblivious to the danger is the prowled closer. Too easy, too
lucky.

Jervis shook off his doubt. He was
looking for problems where there were none. From that chimney,
still warm from the night’s fire, the aroma of fried fish, it was
clear someone was in the cabin. Michael must have gone to bed,
expecting Gwen to return in the morning.

Jervis felt a twinge of guilt,
momentary recognizing that they’ve meant to do here crossed over
the line of human decency. But his anger did not stop
him.

“
Do it,” he said to Lance,
nodding at the torch in his hand. “Burn the damn place and be done
with it.”

***

Gwen left the room where her father’s
body lay, feeling more wary than she could ever imagine. Throughout
the night, she and Edith had made the necessary arrangements for
his burial, but with the sun now rising, Gwen kept thinking about
getting back to poor Jude and Patrick, alone in the swamp. They
must be wondering what had happened.

Daddy, she thought with a catch in her
throat. It was still hard to believe he was actually
gone.

She thought of the letter she carried.
It had made her cry, reading the words he’d been unable to say to
her face. All these years, father and held his emotions inside him,
trapped any lonely, bitter shell. If only he could have told her
that he no longer blame her for mother’s death while he was still
alive. If only she known his anger was directed at
himself.

He and mother had argue that night,
too, it he’d written he’d been riding in from town as Gwen stormed
off. Drinking and belligerent, he accused Amanda of overzealousness
and blocking Gwen’s marriage. Angrily, she flung back at him saying
she wanted to spare her daughter from making her mistake. No sense
in them both marrying the wrong man.

He had order her out of the house, and
was the last time he had seen her. Every day since had been a
living hell of guilt and regret, daddy had told her in his letter,
his drinking and disregard for the Willows became a self-inflicting
punishment. It wasn’t until Gwen returned from Boston, looking at
him with a face so like her mother’s, that he felt a purpose.
Seeing at last a way to redeem himself, by keeping her mom owners
wish and preventing her from marrying a Lance.

Amanda had been right, he’d written.
Lance was like himself, vain and self-absorbed and drinking. His
Gwen needed a strong man, one who gaze into her eyes and solve all
her problems. It had taken but one glance, the day of the
tournament, to know that Michael was that man.

Having little to leave her but his own
mistakes and his faith in her ability to learn from them, daddy had
advised her to get far away from Lance and never trust her uncle.
The man had fortified all rights to family comfort long ago, he’d
added cryptically, though that was a matter he meant to settle with
his brother himself.

As for his little girl, he wanted Gwen
to know that he loved her and always would. Don’t end up like me,
he finished off, never let pride stand in the way of your
happiness. Don’t clutter your life with things that truly don’t
matter. Go to Michael and build a future together.

Thinking of his words, Gwen saw how
close she come to repeating her father’s mistake. In his own way,
Michael had been asking for reassurance, a commitment, but she’d
been so preoccupied with getting him what she thought he wanted,
she hadn’t heard his plea. All she’d ever wanted was her father to
was just once say he loved her; maybe that was all Michael had
wanted from her.

Why had she never said the words? Did
she think that by not saying them, by hiding in a hoarding them,
she could protect herself from her? Look at all the good times
father had lost, being miserably with his emotions. If she didn’t
want to end up like him, she must go to Michael. At this moment,
nothing mattered more than telling him how she felt.

Making plans in her head, she hurried
to the stairs together the boys from her room, only to have the
front door burst open behind her. She spun to find her uncle,
Lance, and a dirty, desperate looking man. The trio we into the
hallway, hopelessly drunk.

They sobered somewhat when they saw
her. “Gwen, honey, you look like you’ve just seen a ghost.” Uncle
said, recovering first. “Whatever can have you up and dress so
early? Why, you look like an apparition yourself.” He turned to his
comrades, receiving the chuckles he expected.

“
It’s father. He passed away
in the night.”

“
No!” Jervis grab her by the
shoulder, but it wasn’t grief that had him shaking her. “He can’t
be dead yet. I’ve worked too hard for it all…”

Whether it was her wide eyes that
halted him, or his own his sense of decency making a bad
appearance, he let the words trail off, even as his hands dropped.
“When?”

“
Around midnight. We looked
for you, Edith and I, and we couldn’t find you, we sent for Mr.
Tillman instead.”

“
Tillman’s here?”

Gwen pointed down the hallway. “He is
going over papers in father’s study.”

Uncle marched off, sparing no word of
condolence, nor even her grant. In contrast, Lance couldn’t wait to
console her. “My poor darling, how awful this must be for you,” he
said, reaching out for her.

She put up her hands to keep them at a
distance, making for a rather awkward hug. When he would tighten
it, she pushed him away. “You smell like alcohol and
smoke.”

Broke away then, exchanging the Lance
with other man. “We, have been out burning cane. My friend here has
a place up river.”

She looked at his friend. His ragged
close it on black hair made a hard to believe he don’t anything,
much less a plantation. “Burning cane? Isn’t it a bit early in the
season?” She asked.

“
It has been chillier up
River. I feared an early frost.” Lance said at the other man, then
turned to Gwen. “All that matters, Gwen darling, I’m here for you
now, and here to stay always.”

His use of the word annoyed her.
Michael was right, it was a tall order, a promise that should never
have tossed out casually.

“
Are you here for me? Or the
Willows?” She asked.

He stared at her, momentarily confused.
“Why are you being so difficult? I love you, darling’”

“
Lance, we have been through
this. I am told you, I am married.”

He looked back, exchanging another
smile with the stranger. “And I told you, the man used you, honey.
When he found there was no money to get out of you, he took off
without looking back. You got no proof you were married. No
license. Heck, you’ve got nothing to stop the whispers. Nothing
except me.”

He looked so smug and sure of himself,
Gwen might have given in a few short weeks ago, but Michael, the
children, and even her father had helped her learn to take charge
of her life, make her own decisions, right or wrong. She turned to
go.

You reached out for her, “don’t you
dare walk away. We belong together, you and I.”

She ignored him, climbing the stairs to
the boys.

“
You can’t walk away from
me. Did you think your men folk would ever let you live in a crappy
cabin? Mark my words, you will be sorry-“

She heard her uncle returned to warn
Lance to be quiet, but Gwen didn’t spare then make the Lance. She
closed the chapter in her life, and was anxious to get on with the
next one

Her anxiety deep in when she reached
her room and found it empty. Standing in the hallway, wondering
where to look for the boys, or worries about Jude and Patrick
escalated.

“
Gwen.”

Hearing aid his to her right, she
checked the curtains. To her elite, she found the three boys. “What
are you doing?”

Peter put a finger to his lips, then
whispered. “Is he gone? That Lance?”

“
I don’t know.
Why?”

“
Were scared Gwen,” Paul
explained. “He said he was your friend, but what is he doing with
our father?”

The man with her uncle and Lance, the
one who made her feel uneasy, was Jacques Morteau?

“
I am scared, Gwen,”
Christopher cried. “I told that Lance how to find the
cabin.”

Realization slammed into her-Lance
talking to the boys, the smell of smoke on his close, his threats
that she’d soon be sorry

“
My God!” She cried, not
holding back her voice. “We’ve got to get back to the
swamp.”

Down the stairs, the stranger looked at
Gwen.

“
Lance, we need to
talk.”

“
It’s in your best interest.
If you want that woman.”

“
Gwen?”

“
Yes. She’s gone. Taken my
boys. You better get Jervis and come quick, if you don’t want them
to get away for good.”

***

Michael placed the last of the bags on
the levee, praying it would hold back the river, at least until the
next rain.

Inhaling deeply, he noticed the scent
of smoke in the air. “Hey, Casper,” he called to the servant. “Do
you smell something burning?”

“
Been smelling it all night.
Lucas, he sought it comes down from the Bayou.”

Michael tried to deny his uneasiness,
but the more he told himself he was crazy, too ignore his fears and
go on with his work, the more his anxiety mushroom. If he were
wrong in his worries, he’d have wasted hours, but if he is he were
right…

This was his family, dammit. Harvest or
not, he had to get back to the cabin.

***

Smelling smoke as the polled closer,
Gwen increasingly ill. Please be all right, she prayed, picturing
Jude and Patrick huddled in their beds, waking to a fire the
cutting control.

She took the pole from Peter,
determined to make the bow go faster. She used every ounce of
energy she owned, but each inch past grew longer, and with each
foot, the scent grew stronger until the burnt remains showed in
their view.

“
Patrick!” He cried out,
jumping from the boat to run up to the bank. “Jude, oh dear God,
where are you?”

There was no answer, the rubble lay
silent. The boys followed more slowly, the horror in their eyes
showing her shock as they gasped at the remains.

Looking through the remains Gwen saw
the locket, alone and abandon on the ground. Syncing to her knees,
she continued to stare, unable to touch it as the memories
overwhelmed her. “Damn you, Lance, where was the need for this?”
She cursed him in tears. “They were innocent children.”

As if in answer, she heard his voice,
approaching from down the Bayou. His voice was raised in arguments
with another.

“
its father” the boy said in
unison.

Scrambling up, she gather them close.
Not about to let Lance finish what he is started, she searched
around them. “Boys, quick, where can we hide?”

“
The fortress.”

***

Jervis watch Lance jump from the boat
to go scurrying after Gwen, Morteau and the men he brought from the
tavern trailing at his heels. Tired, Jervis wondered why he’d come
along, other than the fact they can no longer bear to be in his
brother’s house. Damn that John, even in death, his brother had
managed to get the best of him

Five minutes with the lawyer had taught
Jervis that he would get nothing out of John’s will. All he’d been
left was with Amanda’s glove, with the warning that Tillman had a
letter for the local authorities should Jervis fail to leave the
Willows forever.

Had John known all along what happened
to his wife? Or had he just let Jervis run things merely to give
him the rope which to hang himself on? John had to be watching
carefully to have found that glove.

Looking at the nearly full bottle of
medicine he had taken from his brother’s bedside, Jervis wondered
if any of it mattered now. Whatever he did, the fact remained; he
was now completely ruined.

Sighing, he went to a log on the far
bank, where Lance and his friends couldn’t see him. He didn’t know
how much of the medicine it would take to kill a man, but he aimed
to find out.