Authors: Jill Marie Landis
“I understand, but I’m going with you. You’ll not face him alone.”
She nodded. “Thank you.” He started for the door. She stopped him. “Tom?”
“Yes?”
“This is impossible, you know. I’m not the one.”
“We’ll see, won’t we?”
H
e apologized for the state of his apartment. Maddie didn’t know why. The place was larger than her cabin and he lived there all alone. On the second floor of a building with a lovely walled garden, light poured through double-glass doors that opened out onto a balcony that overlooked the street below. The apartment mirrored the man himself; well kept, organized, with few personal touches to give any hint as to the nature of the person dwelling there.
He found lodging for her with his landlady, Mrs. Matthews. The woman was more than happy to have her stay in her spare room. Tom went to make arrangements for their journey and left Maddie uncomfortably settled with the talkative widow. She pretended to listen to a stream of idle chatter while sipping café au lait.
An hour later, there came a knock on the door and Mrs. Matthews ushered in an elegantly dressed woman accompanied by a young mulatto girl in her teens carrying large bundles wrapped in muslin.
Mrs. Matthews smiled and looked over at Maddie with new regard. “Miss Grande, this is Madame Bouchard.” Mrs. Matthews’s excitement was more than evident. “She is
the
most well-known seamstress in New Orleans.”
The lean, sophisticated woman in a lovely pearl-gray gown gave a slight bow and spoke in a pretty French accent. “I am here to help
you with your travel wardrobe, mademoiselle.” She turned to Mrs. Matthews. “You have a room we can use, I suppose?”
Mrs. Matthews led the way as Maddie followed the short procession down the hall. Her concern grew with every step. The moment the bedroom door closed, the young girl began pulling an assortment of expensive gowns out of muslin bags.
“I’m afraid there’s been some mistake,” Maddie began. “I can’t afford any of these things, madame.” She glanced back and forth from the seamstress to the gowns. Any other woman would be captivated by the pile of fine fabrics and ruffles in raspberry, navy, and a stunning emerald-green wool. Maddie worried.
Madame Bouchard was in the process of shaking out the emerald piece, a hip-length hooded cape with silk frogs for closure. She handed the cape to her assistant.
“Let’s not speak of money, mademoiselle. Mr. Abbott assured me that he wants you to have the best, and so only the best is what I have brought with me. Such short notice, though. I’m afraid you will have to choose from ready-made things.” She leaned closer and lowered her voice secretively. “Lucky for all of us that the woman who contracted these items is close to your height and measurements. She will never know that I remade her order.”
“But …”
“Non, non.
Remove your blouse and skirt, mademoiselle. We both know they have seen better days. Besides, Mr. Abbott is anxious to begin the journey tomorrow. To Texas, is it? We’ve no time to waste.”
Maddie stood her ground.
“My things are perfectly suitable, madame.”
Madame Bouchard’s gaze took in Maddie’s black skirt and white blouse. She stepped closer and met Maddie’s level gaze, her accent suddenly gone.
“Look, Miss Grande, we both know your things may be serviceable for doing housework or however else you are accustomed to spending your time. But they are not at all suitable for traveling
across the country in the company of a gentleman like Mr. Abbott. Not at all. I think you would do well to choose all of the garments I’ve brought along today if for no other reason than
not
to embarrass him.”
Maddie doubted her appearance would embarrass Tom Abbott. When he’d boarded the riverboat with her and Penelope, he wasn’t in the least embarrassed to be seen with them and they had all been the worse for wear.
No, she knew exactly what his intentions were. He wanted her to eradicate the image of Maddie Grande before he introduced her to her
supposed
sister.
Maddie thought about walking out of the room, but Madame Bouchard remained insistent, waiting impatiently for her to undress. Her assistant was close to tears. It wasn’t the seamstress’s fault that Tom wanted her to appear more presentable. The woman was only trying to do her job.
Maddie sighed and began to unbutton her blouse, instantly drawn into a flurry of fittings as the seamstress and her assistant marked and pinned the clothing for immediate alteration. She chose two demitrained skirts suitable for travel with matching spencerwaist blouses. Nothing with tiers of ruffles or sculpted bows would do. The plainer the better, she insisted. The seamstress tried to talk her into more. Maddie refused. The items she chose only needed hemming.
The stunning green cloak with a gathered hood was by far her favorite. She insisted the cape was all she really needed. Her own clothing could be hidden beneath.
Madame Bouchard
tsked
and shook her head. Her heavy French accent had returned. “Take two more gowns, mademoiselle. Any other woman would take them all.”
“I am not any other woman, madame.”
Tom Abbott had offered her his heart and she’d refused it. She had no right to cause him considerable expense, even though this wild-goose chase to Texas was his idea.
Madame Bouchard and her assistant worked tirelessly and at the end of three hours pronounced the pieces ready.
“Now that I know your size, I will send over a night dress for you. Something in the finest cotton with a yoke and full sleeves.” Madame Bouchard looked well-satisfied as her assistant packed the more formal gowns Maddie had obstinately refused.
Maddie had never had one single article of clothing that was new, not even a simple nightgown. She found herself blushing, picturing Tom Abbott going over the receipts and discovering he had paid for a nightgown. She made a silent vow to pay him back no matter how long it took.
As soon as Madame Bouchard left, Maddie went straight to Mrs. Matthews. She set aside the shame of her illiteracy and explained that she needed the woman to kindly pen Tom’s name and address for her. She had no idea what might come, but at least she would know where to send payments to Tom when she had funds to spare.
Though she appeared curious, Mrs. Matthews obliged without question and handed Maddie a slip of paper with the information on it. Maddie carried it to her room and safely tucked it away.
T
om spent the afternoon wiring Alan Pinkerton and Laura Foster McCormick, then made plans for the trip. He procured tickets for the New Orleans Opelousas and Great Western Railroad departing for Braeshear City early the next morning. Located at the port on Berwick Bay, Braeshear was the end of the rail line across southern Louisiana. From there they would board a steamer headed for Galveston and, upon arrival, continue by train up to Dallas.
It was hard enough knowing he might never see Maddie again. Planning the journey, aware that he would be in her company across southern Louisiana and up the length of Texas, had him doubting his own sanity.
By the time he returned to his apartment, he was convinced that he was a masochist of the first order, but he couldn’t very well
send Maddie off by herself. Nor could he trust her to meet Laura McCormick on her own. He was prepared to escort her all the way to Glory even if it killed him.
What he wasn’t prepared for was her ire when he returned home and stopped in at Mrs. Matthews’s apartment. He could tell Maddie was furious the minute his landlady ushered him inside. At least Maddie waited until Mrs. Matthews excused herself before she turned on him.
“The seamstress you sent over arrived.” Maddie crossed the small parlor, keeping distance between them.
“She was accommodating, I hope? Did she have anything to your liking?”
“My liking? Everything she brought was to my liking, but all too terribly expensive. I tried to send her away —”
“Why?”
“Because I’m not some charity case, Tom. I am what I am. If this Laura Foster or McCormick — or whatever her name is — is so shallow that my appearance matters, or if it helps to persuade her I’m her sister, then she’s not someone I want to be related to. And if you are too embarrassed to travel with me the way I am — “ She held out the sides of her brown serge skirt and let it fall. “ — then I beg you let me go back to the bayou and forget this whole thing.”
He walked close enough to touch her, but didn’t.
“I don’t care what Mrs. McCormick thinks of your clothes.” Before she could walk away, he reached for her hand. She tried to tug free but he wouldn’t let go. He pulled her closer, lowered his voice. “You don’t know me very well if you think you would ever embarrass me. No matter what you were wearing.”
“But, Tom —”
“I thought you’d be pleased,” he said softly. “I thought all women liked new clothes. I didn’t mean to insult you, Maddie.”
He could see his reasoning surprised her. She stared into his eyes, searching for the truth. She must have found it, for he felt her relax.
“It will take me forever to repay you.”
“They’re gifts.”
“Gifts I can’t accept.”
“You willingly lived on stolen goods, no doubt, but you won’t accept gifts?”
“That’s a terrible thing to say.” She looked away and then admitted, “But it’s true.”
“I didn’t say it to hurt you.” He tried to pull her closer but she wouldn’t budge. “I wanted you to see that you are changing, Maddie. Whether you know it or not.”
He wished she realized she was not merely a thief unworthy of love. How long would it take for her to see that?
She raised her chin a notch and promised, “I’ll repay you.”
Her unwillingness to accept anything from him was irritating. “Don’t worry,” he said coolly. “Your sister will compensate me.”
It was a false promise. Maddie’s clothing was his gift to her.
“And if I’m not Megan Lane?”
“Consider the debt paid. I’ve always wanted to see Texas.”
It was a warm evening. The doors to the balcony were open. The splash of the fountain in the garden below drifted upstairs along with the scent of jasmine. He longed to pull her into his arms, to kiss her — but she’d made her wishes quite clear at the cabin. He let go of her hand.
“We leave at dawn tomorrow,” he said. “Right after we pay a visit to Terrance.”
She took a deep breath, steadied herself. “I’ll be ready.”
He wished he could say the same.
C
loseted alone in the small room where she would face Terrance, Maddie wished she hadn’t asked Tom to wait outside. Despite pleasant weather, the first floor of the old precinct building was cool and damp. When she heard the rattle and slide of chains in the hallway, a shiver ran down her spine. She knew it wasn’t from the cold.
Terrance walked in, shackled at the wrists and ankles. He balked when he saw her, pinned her with an ice-blue stare, then continued into the room. She saw the slight upward curl of his lip, knew that this meeting would not bode well for her. Unwilling to let him intimidate her, she sat up straighter and pressed her palms against her thighs beneath the table.
The guard with Terrance pulled out one of two empty chairs, and Terrance sat down opposite her. The guard stepped back. For a moment, she and Terrance exchanged a silent stare.
“Fine new clothes you’ve got on.” His voice was low and hoarse, but she heard the smirk in it. “You must be keepin’ that Pinkerton happy.”
There was nothing she could say to defend herself. Not anything he would understand anyway.
“What’d you come for?” he demanded. “To gloat?”
“I came to say good-bye.”
“Unless you know somethin’ I don’t, I’m not going anywhere.”
“I am. I’m going to Texas.”
“Texas?”
It was the first time she’d ever seen him this shocked. “What in blazes you gonna do in Texas?”
She shrugged. “Maybe start over.”
He snorted. “You’ll never change. We can’t change who we are any more than a gator can stand up and walk on two legs. You’ll see.”
Her gaze shifted to the empty chair beside him.
“Do you miss him?”
“Who?”
She knew he would show no emotion that he considered a weakness. Even she hadn’t really allowed herself to grieve over Lawrence. In the tribe people came and went. That’s the way it was.
“Lawrence. Do you miss him?”
“He was always too soft. Too slow. I had to do all the thinking for him.” Terrance shrugged. “Now I got less to worry about.”
She thought back to her first memory of the twins. It was night. Dexter had walked into the abandoned warehouse on Canal Street with a sobbing, identical four-year-old boy on each hip. She was seated on the floor with her back to the wall tossing dice with Betsy.
Betsy looked up expectedly. Until that night, Dexter had given all the new recruits into Betsy’s care, but this time he said, “Here you go, Madeline.” He lowered one of the terrified boys onto her lap. “Time you learned our initiation ritual.”
“Good luck, Maddie,” Betsy said. “You seen me do this often enough you know how. But if you need help, just ask.”
Maddie looked at the sobbing child on her lap and gave him a shake. “Hush,” she whispered in his ear. “No crying. It’s dangerous. Be still now.”
“I want my mama.” The boy’s breath caught. He shuddered and nestled close.
Maddie had watched and learned carefully. She was twelve, and
now it was time to prove herself to Dexter. She looked forward to his praise. Confident, she carried her twin to a rickety cupboard where Dexter kept a glass jar filled with hard candies. She popped one into the boy’s mouth, set him down, and then led him by the hand to one of four huge, intricately carved armoires positioned around the warehouse. She turned the key, opened the armoire, and indicated the empty space with a wave of her hand.
“Get in. You’ll be safe there.”
“I want my mama …” The terrified twin stared into the armoire and then up at Maddie. He grabbed hold of her skirt and wadded it into his grimy little fist.
She knelt before him, held his tear-stained face between her hands. “Listen to me and listen well. Your mama is dead. You have no one left in this world but us.”