Summary:  While waiting for Ben to come home, Marie reflects on her past and what her fate might have been had she not met him.
Rating:  PG13  (12,975 words)

Reflections

            Hoss Cartwright pressed his nose against the cold windowpane, his reflection stared back at him and he had to lean closer to peer out into the darkness.

“You figure Pa’ll be home pretty soon, Ma?”  He asked, turning to look back into the room where his mother and brothers were sitting.

Marie Cartwright looked up from her sewing and smiled.  “He’ll be here soon enough and he’ll expect your homework to be done.  Now come back and sit down with Adam and get it finished.”

Hoss groaned.  The last thing he wanted to do was homework.  “Ma, I…”

“Now, Erik.”  Marie said, sternly.

“Yes’m, I’m comin;’”  Hoss reluctantly let the drapes fall back into place and moved slowly to the dining room table.  He pulled out his chair and sat down with a heavy sigh.

His older brother, glanced up from his book and grinned.  Hoss had no love of books.

Marie watched until she saw that both sons were working then turned her attention to her youngest.  Four-year-old Joseph was building blocks on the floor by her feet, in front of the fire.  His small face was screwed up in concentration as he piled his wooden blocks into towers and castles.  It was the first time all day that he had been quiet and she had no intention of disturbing him, but she did smile down on his curly head.

She allowed the silence to continue until she saw Adam close his books and lean back to stretch.

“All finished?” she asked.

Adam relaxed and nodded,  “Uh huh, for tonight anyway.”  He glanced across at Hoss.  His brother had spent the past ten minutes chewing the end of his pencil.  “Need some help?”  he asked, quietly.

Hoss looked up and nodded,  “I can’t do these dadblamed sums.”  Then he remembered his stepmother was listening and blushed.  “Well I cain’t.”

Marie tried to stay stern but his pathetic expression made her take pity on him.  “Very well, Adam may help.”

Hoss’ face registered relief and gratitude, as he pushed the book at his brother.

“I said, help, Hoss. That doesn’t mean he does the work for you.”

Adam shrugged and pushed the book back at his younger brother.  He then got up and walked around the table to lean over Hoss’ shoulder.  At sixteen, Adam was already tall and beginning to fill out from the lanky boy he had been a year ago.  The hard work of the ranch, combined with good food, were developing his muscles.  As he leaned over his younger brother, it was clear that he’d have to keep growing fast. For while he still held a slight advantage over his younger brother, Hoss was already almost the same height and showing promise to be good deal broader.  Adam tapped the pencil a couple of times as he read the questions.  “That one’s wrong, its forty-five not forty-one. See, here’s your mistake, you didn’t carry two over.”

“Carry it to where?”  Hoss grunted.

Adam sighed.  At his great age, this simple division was beneath him.   “You gotta divide two hundred and twenty five by five so you put it like this,” he sketched a quick sum on the sheet, “five into twenty two is four and two over, so you put down four at the bottom, carry the two and put it here”  he pointed with the pencil, “then say five into twenty five is five and put that down and the answer is forty-five.”

Hoss frowned.

“Do you see?”  Adam asked.

Hoss put on what he considered to be an innocent expression.  “I ain’t sure, Adam.  Could you show me again with this here one.”  He pointed to a more difficult sum further down the page.

Adam grinned.  “Sure, I …”

“You finish them yourself, Hoss.  Adam’s shown you how.”  Marie interrupted.

Her words were almost drowned out by a crash as Little Joe’s tower collapsed and he squealed with delight as the bricks scattered across the room.

Adam shrugged at Hoss and walked over to kneel down by his youngest brother and began to rebuild the tower.  Joe watched for a minute then pushed a foot out and sent the tower toppling, his shrieks almost deafening.  Marie allowed this to happen twice more before interfering.

“That’s enough, Adam.  He’ll get too excited to sleep.”

Adam began to stack the bricks back into their box.  “Sorry, little buddy but your Mama says its time for bed.”

Marie half expected a tantrum but Adam’s next words headed off that problem.

“I’ll tell you that story I promised.”

Joe nodded and handed his brother the bricks.  “One about the sterpen’?”

“Serpent, Joe.”  Adam corrected.

Marie looked up in concern.  “I don’t know if that sort of story is wise, Adam.”

Adam put the last brick in place and closed the box.  “It’s not a real scary story.  Just an old Indian legend.”

Marie wasn’t entirely convinced but she and Adam had been getting along much better and she didn’t want to spoil that with an argument.

“You coming to listen?”  Adam called to Hoss.

Hoss looked appealingly at Marie.  She couldn’t resist the pathetic expression and nodded.  “Let me get Little Joe ready for bed and Adam can read here by the fire and we’ll all listen.”  She figured that this was one way to avoid Joe’s nightmares if his older brother had been economical with the truth.  Adam would be less likely to enhance the story if she was listening.  Sometimes his monster sounds and strange voices, while making the story interesting, were a little too graphic for his baby brother.  There had been too many nights lately when Joe had disturbed her sleep.

Half an hour later Joe was settled in his mother’s arms by the fire, while Hoss sat at her feet.  Adam’s voice was deep and soothing as he told, a toned down version of the tale of the serpent, which lived in Pyramid Lake.  By the time the story was finished Joe’s eyelids had closed.

Adam reached over and took the sleeping child from Marie.  “I’ll take him up to bed.”  He said, softly.

Marie nodded, “Time for you to go too, Hoss.”

Hoss’ protest was quiet but heartfelt.  “I wanna stay up to see Pa.”

“Not tonight, he maybe very late.”

“He said he was gonna call by Mr. Hanson’s to talk about selling him some of our pigs.  I bet Mrs Hanson, talked him into supper.”  Adam said.

Marie smiled, “Yes, I expect that’s it.  He might be another hour or more.”

Hoss grumbled a little but Adam’s promise of another story persuaded him.

Marie watched the boys go upstairs with affection.  It had been a perfect evening.  No quarrels or tantrums, all the chores done and even the homework pretty much finished without too much trouble.  She got up from her chair and wandered to the window, drawing back the heavy red drapes she looked out into the yard.  All was quiet and her silent reflection stared back at her.  She reached up and patted her hair into place.  She didn’t look too bad for a woman approaching thirty, she decided.  She was a lucky woman, three fine sons and a wonderful husband; the ranch was prospering and Ben promised her the world.  Things could have been so very different.  Her mind wandered as she waited for her man to come home, the picture staring back at her changed.

******

The young girl twirled and watched her reflection in the shop window respond.  The skirt looked fine in the glass but in reality it was becoming dirty and torn.  She pulled her black wool shawl more tightly around her shoulders, her thin blouse not giving much protection from the breeze, which had sprung up.  Above her the clouds were darkening and a storm was imminent.  She must get to shelter, and her room, while not luxurious, was at least dry.  A few minutes later as the raindrops began to fall she pushed open her door and gratefully closed it behind her.  A piece of paper on the floor caught her attention.  She bent to retrieve it and shuddered.  Her rent was two weeks overdue and her landlord was threatening eviction in five days unless she paid.  Paid with what she didn’t know.  Today she had lost her job as a kitchen maid.  She had hoped that she would be permitted to move into the big house where she had been working but a dropped and broken dish had put an end to that idea and her job. 

            She sank down into the one comfortable chair and sighed.  She didn’t have to be in this predicament.  She could have stayed in the convent.  Living there as a child after her parents died had been safe; food to eat, a good education, a warm bed and love. But, and it was a big but, once she had reached fifteen a few months back, staying meant entering the order and somehow she couldn’t see herself as a nun;  her sunny nature under a nun’s habit, her every move and word watched and prayers all day.  She wanted to live life to the full.  She snorted as she got up to prepare some vegetables for her supper.  Live life to the full, well, she was certainly doing that; a hovel to live in, leftover vegetables from the market for supper and hard work waiting on rich people.  She didn’t mind the hard work, but she did envy the women who had come to her employer’s house in rich satins and silks with such vibrant colors, and their laughter as they talked about parties and balls.  No use wishing, she had chosen this path and she had to make the best of it.  Tomorrow she would have to look for work and new and even cheaper lodgings. 

            The job she found was as a junior seamstress in a dressmaker’s, nicer work but poorly paid and the cheaper lodgings were in a run down area called the Flats.  Built on the mud of the estuary it was cold and damp or hot and sweaty depending on the season.  Fevers ran through the inhabitants in summer and rats bothered them in all weathers.  One damp room and still she could barely pay her rent. There was one plus, her neighbor Francine was kind to her.  She was perhaps two or three years older than Marie with a baby and she was happy to pay Marie a small sum to mind the child in the evenings when she was working.  Marie had asked if she was a widow and Francine had laughed, but not answered.  Francine only talked of what she would do when she was rich.  A rich man was going to come to the Flats and sweep her off her feet.  Marie very much doubted that anyone rich would visit the Flats; sailors maybe, who seemed to frequent the bars, and tramps and thieves were all she saw.  The money Francine paid her came in handy and Marie loved children, even if the baby was nearly always asleep. Francine always seemed to have enough money and she wore bright clothes with no mends or patches, but she put her clothes first, such beautiful clothes but to Marie’s convent bred mind a little too daring. Her rooms were no better than Marie’s. The older girl had told her that she worked on the docks but Marie couldn’t imagine what she did there that earned her so much money.  The docks hardly worked at night.  Marie had walked there once during the daytime and it seemed to be full of sailors and men lifting heavy crates, hardly a job for a woman.  Maybe Francine worked in one of the bars.  Marie shuddered at the thought, she had seen fights and drunks in her daytime walk how much worse it must be at night. 

            Marie wandered from the window to the warmth of the fire.  The dressmaker’s had provided material for clothes.  It wasn’t good business to have her girl in rags, but the food had still been hard to come by.  She had existed in this way for several months until a chance meeting had shown her a way out, a way, which had seemed so simple at the time. How naive she had been then.  How innocent to think that Francine was just a nice girl serving in a waterfront bar.  She knew better now.

“Why it’s little Marie, is it not?”  A pleasant voice stopped her on the street as she made her way home.  “You are far from the convent, my child.  Let me escort you home.”

            Marie turned to see who the owner of the voice was.  “Oncle Charle!”  she exclaimed.  Her voice full of surprise.  Her mother’s brother, Charle, was someone she had seen rarely in childhood and even less since the death of her parents.  Her father had been a merchant, not good enough for her mother’s rich family.  When her parents had died of fever, Oncle Charle and Tante Marguerite had become her guardians but they had not taken her in, they had paid the convent for her keep instead.

            “It is… good… good to see you…”  she stuttered.  “I am no longer at the convent.  I am past fifteen and…”  she let the sentence drift away at his disapproving look.

            “We planned for you to become a novice.  Your aunt and I would have made the donation required.  Why did you not ask them to contact us?”

            Marie wilted under his stern gaze, “I did… did not want to bother you.  You have been so kind since Mama and Papa died.” It did not occur to her that Charle, as her guardian, would have taken control of all her father’s assets until she reached twenty-one; money that was rightfully hers.  I have a job at a dressmaker’s and I am managing fine.” She lied.

            “A dressmaker’s?  That is no place for my sister’s child.  He reached in his pocket and Marie quite expected him to hand her money.  Oncle Charle had always handed mother money when he visited.  Instead he drew a small white card from his pocket book and handed it to her.  “Your cousin Edouard is the owner of this place, he will find you more suitable work.”

            Marie took the card and stared at it, Edouard Darcy, it read, Furs and Silks.  What did that mean? 

            Her uncle saw her puzzled frown, “He imports fine fabrics from the Orient and exports furs.  He also has one of the finest establishments for fashionable women in all of New Orleans.”

            Marie almost smiled.  Her cousin was a dressmaker or at least he owned one.  Her father had always had a knack of getting at the root of things and she guessed she had inherited it.  Call things as they were he had always said.  She had also heard him telling her mother that Oncle Charle must always dress things up and put on airs.  She understood what he had meant now.  Papa had not been so very different from his brother-in-law, he had just been more honest about it.

Marie chuckled to herself.  Innocent she surely had been, or she would have known that her father’s store must have fetched money when it was sold.  She would have questioned where that money had gone.  She knew now that Charle had taken her money and used it to cover his own debts.  She would have also wondered at his motives in placing her with Edouard.  Marry her off to some young man as innocent as she was and no one would question him about his brother-in-laws assets.  Keep her in his sight too, so that if she became curious he could stop the questions before they had uncovered anything.  She had gone to the address on the card and within days she was working for her cousin in his furs warehouse but that hadn’t lasted long.  Within months of her sixteenth birthday her cousin had found other work for her.

“A pretty girl like you shouldn’t be hiding away in a warehouse, cataloguing fabrics, she should be wearing them.”  Edouard had accosted her one day in the office and placing a slim well manicured hand beneath her chin had surveyed her from all angles. “I have a much nicer place for you to work.”

            If Marie had been wiser in the ways of the world she would have been suspicious of his interest in her beauty.  He was after all a cousin.  But she trusted everyone and believed he was helping her out of kindness.

            Now thirteen years older and a whole lifetime wiser, Marie could recall his leering expression and eyes that had crawled all over her.  She remembered the same feelings on her first day in her new work place.  Standing on the steps of an imposing house in the French Quarter of the city she had almost turned and fled.  Maybe she should have done.

“Come inside, my dear.”  Eduoard had answered her knock on the door.  “It’s early yet but there are a few patrons I wish you to meet.  Ah, but first we must find you more suitable clothes.”

            Marie was twice surprised; first because it was past midday and yet Eduoard called it early and second because she had worn her best dress, one made with fabrics from his own warehouse.  She followed him into a spacious hallway and then through an ornate doorway into a small anteroom.  He pulled on a thick red rope and a bell echoed somewhere away in the house.  Within minutes a girl, a little older than herself came to answer his call.  She was dressed in yellow silk in a style much as Francine wore but altogether much richer and fashionable.

             “Louise, this is my cousin, Marie.  Can we find her something pretty to wear, she will be joining us as a hostess.”  Eduoard held out his hand to introduce them.

            The girl’s smile turned to a frown and she ignored Marie’s outstretched hand.  “She is small, but maybe we have something.  Come!” she commanded.

            Marie glanced nervously at her cousin, who nodded.  “Go with Louise she will dress you and give you instruction on your duties.” 

            Marie had never forgotten the shocks of the next few hours.  The dress Louise provided was a beautiful emerald green silk with decoration of lace around the elbow length sleeves and the scooped and very low neckline and lace, which Marie tried to arrange to cover herself, and Louise insisted on re-arranging to show as much neck and bust as possible.

            “You are here to entertain the gentlemen as they drink and play the tables.  They expect to see something beautiful.”  The older girl sneered at her.  Louise herself was showing plenty of creamy flesh but she wasn’t nearly as pretty as Marie.  “You will need to let your hair down and brush it over your shoulder too.”  She snapped, losing patience with this timid girl.

            “Ah, Louise, you must be gentle with our new hostess, she has much to learn.  She was not brought up in the clubs as you were.”

            Marie turned to see a much older woman watching them from the doorway. Only her good manners stopped her from gasping.  This woman was large, grossly over weight, and at least fifty but she was dressed in the same style as Louise.  Her more than ample bosom practically spilling over the neckline, if one could call it that, of a vivid pink dress.  He throat, ears, fingers and wrists were weighed down with gold jewelery set with an array of precious stones, none of which matched but all of which looked expensive.  Her hair was no color Marie had ever seen before, and it’s red tones clashed horribly with the dress and her face was stiff with makeup, her lips a color that almost matched her hair but not quite..  In other circumstances Marie would have laughed, the woman looked so incongruous, but here she was too nervous to do anything but swallow hard and avert her eyes.

            “I am Madame Colette, Louise looks after our club hostesses but who knows maybe in time you will come to work for me in the private rooms.  Monsieur Eduoard has said you will work as a hostess for now and Louise will begin by showing you the club while it is still early, later it will be too busy for you to do anything but work.” 

            Marie wasn’t sure what a hostess was supposed to do, or what private rooms were for, but every step in this strange place was making her wish she had remained at the warehouse. Madame Colette disappeared through a heavy mahogany door and Louise ushered Marie into the hallway again.  “Here one of the girls greets all our gentlemen, you will not need to do that until you have been here for several months, it takes skill to know what each of our gentlemen like.  But you maybe asked to help by taking coats and hats and brushing them down ready for when their owner leaves.”

 She swept on to a salon with beautiful drapes and ornate decoration on the walls and ceiling.  Marie glanced at some of the paintings and then quickly looked away again.  Each one showed a woman naked or draped only in some fine fabric, not the sort of painting she had ever seen before. 

            Louise saw her blush and smiled, “We have paintings by some fine French artists, do we not?  Not the sort of thing you had in your convent.  These are the gaming tables,” she waved her hand at several round tables covered in green and then at others which had strange markings and numbers on them.”  You will learn how to play all the games we offer and assist at the tables when required.  But that can come later.  For tonight you will be serving drinks.  You will take the orders from the tables and collect the money and then serve the drinks.  Anton our bartender will help you if you find it hard to remember all the orders.  Remember to smile at the gentlemen and if they want to talk then you may sit and entertain them as long as no one is waiting for drinks.  There are several other girls so you may find that if it is quiet you can learn the games as you talk.” 

            “But what do I talk about?” Marie asked, puzzled.

            “You are well educated.  Edouard brought you here for that reason.  You talk about whatever is their pleasure, but nothing too serious and never about their business unless they wish it.  Keep conversations light and always make sure their glasses are full and they can play at the tables whenever they wish.  On some evenings we have music and the gentlemen may wish to dance with you.  They pay for that privilege and you will receive a small percentage if you are popular.”

And so had started her new life.  She had served drinks, talked, learn the games of chance and sometimes danced with the clientele.  In time she had begun to enjoy her new work, it was not onerous and socializing with handsome young men and rich old ones was pleasant for the most part.  She had been working there for a few months when she had been introduced to a man who was to change her life.  She remembered her introduction to M. Marius D’Angerville with affection.

It was a busy Saturday night and she had been serving drinks for several hours when in her haste she tilted a whole tray of glasses as she passed one of the poker tables.  In horror she watched as four glasses of the best champagne and two glasses of Napoleon brandy slid, as if in slow motion, into the lap of a distinguished looking gray haired man. Edouard had been there almost immediately.

            “You careless girl, look what you have done.”  He shouted.  “I am so sorry Marius, I will pay for your clothes to be cleaned and all your drinks for the rest of the evening are on the house.”  He helped the older man to his feet and began brushing him down.

            Marius pushed away Edouard’s hands and looked up at Marie with a twinkle in his eye.  “It was not her fault Darcy, I must have pushed my chair back.  There is no harm done and I will pay for the drinks I caused her to spill.  That is, of course, if she will come sit with me and bring me luck.”

            Marie was too surprised to argue; she knew that the accident had been all her fault because she was in a hurry, the chair had not moved.  Within minutes she found herself sipping champagne beside this unusual man.  He was not tall or broad in the shoulder, but there was something in his manner that made others listen and something in his gently probing questions that made her talk.  In between poker hands, most of which he won, he encouraged her to tell of her life and how she had come to be working here.

            “Then you do not live here at the club?”  He asked, when she mentioned her home on the Flats.

            “No I have rooms in a…”  she found it hard to describe the narrow alleys and squares on the docks, but he seemed to understand.

            “That is good, my dear.  Keep your own home, do not allow Edouard to persuade you to take rooms here.”

            She had been contemplating asking Edouard just that and, if he had offered her rooms here, she would have jumped at the chance.  She had never been into the upstairs rooms, where some of the girls and Madame Colette lived, but if they were half as nice as the salons then they would be magnificent.  She was about to question him further on why she should not accept if her cousin offered, when the next poker hand was dealt and she had to remain quiet.  By the time it was over the subject had changed and the men were discussing politics.      

            Marius became a friend; he always looked for her whenever he came to the club and when he found out that she knew little of the city he escorted her on walks.  She had discovered that he was a fencing master and with just a little persuasion he taught her how to handle an epee.  Those summer months were some of the happiest of her life; made even happier when Marius introduced her to the man who would become her husband.  Jean de Marigny was a few years older than she, but his boyish good looks and his air of innocence made him seem younger.  He came to the club with friends and she noticed that he was always the butt of their jokes; the one who paid for drinks, the one who was teased, the one who ran errands. 

Marie settled herself more comfortably by the fire, as always, in the warmth and safety of this room she could conjure up pictures that would have distressed her anywhere else.  In fact for years had distressed her and given her nightmares.

Jean was not as she had at first thought, not the charming young man, but a man manipulated by his mother, a man who could not make a decision if his life depended on it. 

            “He is a rich man, my dear, or will be when the old lady dies.  Do not let him slip away.  He likes you, be nice to him, but not too nice and you will secure a rich husband.”  Edouard had whispered to her one evening.

            Marie wasn’t sure she wanted a rich husband, she wanted love and romance like the ladies in the novels she had read in secret at the convent.  Then she would return to her damp, drafty room and a rich husband didn’t seem so bad after all.  Francine was fascinated by her life at the club and pestered her to ask her cousin if there was an opening for her.  She was a good friend and Marie did introduce her to Edouard but no job was forthcoming.

            “Do not bring her here again.”  He had thundered, when Francine left.  “She is not of the sort we wish to employ.”

            Marie had knocked on her friend’s door that night to offer an apology, but Francine would have none of it.  “It is not your fault cherie.  He is an ignorant pig, he refused to allow me to take the baby with me. I would not wish to work in his club, do you know he takes all of his girls’ earnings and just pays them a wage?  Then she had stopped and raised an eyebrow, of course you do not know, you never go upstairs, do you?

            Marie had agreed that she did not, but for hours after she had puzzled on Francine’s word,  finally settling on the explanation that her cousin must take the wages of the girls who lived on the premises to cover their rent and then pay them the difference. 

            “If you need to do that sort of work then come to me, I will see that you are looked after and for half that price.”

            Marie shook her head, she did not understand what Francine meant.

            “Never mind, come we will share the fish I have for supper.  I did well today.”

Marie tucked her feet under her and stared into the fire.  She had never asked enough questions, never doubted anyone.  But how that had changed after Jean.  Jean continued to seek her out.  He seemed to like her strong character and he deferred to her.  He listened to her advice on which furs to buy and what the ladies were wearing this season.  He even took her to his warehouse to see the magnificent furs he had bought and gave her a beaver hat and wrap as a present.  She had stroked it lovingly and he had asked if she liked it.        

            “It’s beautiful, but I was thinking of the poor beaver.  It must be terrible to be hunted and killed for such a purpose.”

            Jean laughed, “You funny child, we need furs to keep us warm and think how beautiful you will look wearing it.  Besides I need furs to make me wealthy so I can buy you all the things you want.”

            “To keep us warm in New Orleans?”  she queried.  “Why, it is so hot, I need no wrap at all.”

            “Then I will buy you diamonds.” He had replied.  “Ice to keep you cool.”  He had taken her hand and slipped a ring on her finger, large and garish with diamonds and rubies, it weighed her finger down and felt uncomfortable.  “See you will marry me and want for nothing.  I will take you to meet my mother and we will arrange a date for our wedding, yes?”

             Jean, the man she had married for security and affection and had grown to love.             Looking back, Marie couldn’t recall if she had ever accepted his proposal, she supposed she must have done for within the week she was dressed in the finest satin and standing in Madame de Marigny’s parlor.

“Mama, may I present Marie D’Oliviera, we are engaged to be married and we seek your blessing.”

            The old lady rose to her feet and barely touched Marie’s outstretched hand, before seating herself again.  “You are indeed beautiful, my dear.  Are you from a New Orleans family?”  She made no indication that Marie should sit but Jean led her to a hard upright sofa with wooden arms.

            “My father was a merchant in the city.”  Marie replied, trying not to fidget on the uncomfortable seat.

            “The old woman’s lip curled, “Ah, trade.” She muttered, “And your mother, was she from a French family too?”

            “Oh, yes, my mother was Helene D’Arcy, my grandfather owned a plantation but my Oncle Charle sold it when he inherited it and he moved to the city.”  Marie said, eagerly; wanting this woman to think well of her family.  It was only afterwards she wondered why she had played their game.

            Madame de Marigny frowned. For the next two hours the old lady asked many pointed questions, disguised as gentle enquiries and when Marie eventually rose to follow the maid to collect her wrap she felt as if she had been accepted.  That was until she overheard the conversation between Jean and his mother as she came back to the parlor.

            “You cannot expect me to give my blessing to such a union.  Her father was nothing more than a merchant and not a very successful one at that.  And the D’Arcy’s are simply not received in good company.  Her grandfather was caught with a young girl in less than savory circumstances and when the father called him out, he shot him.  Her Oncle is known to cheat on the fur exchanges and that cousin of hers runs a house of ill repute.  I will not have it Jean, you will get rid of her immediately.”

            “But Mama, none of that is Marie’s fault.  What was her grandfather supposed to do, allow himself to be shot?”

            “If he had half an ounce of decency, then yes.  The girl was ruined.”

            “You have no proof that Charle D’Arcy, cheats, you just don’t like him because his company is more successful than yours.  Father was not such a good businessman and D’Arcy exploited that, as for Edouard he is a roué, but then I am not marrying her cousin.”

            “Jean, my dear, she works in that … that house!”

            “Mama, she is a hostess in the club, nothing more and she does that because her Oncle stole all her father’s money and left her with nothing.”

            “You are a fool, my son.  Listen to me and get rid of her, she is not for you.”

            Marie waited for Jean to disagree with the old lady, but there was only silence.

Now, many years later she realized that Jean had been as strong as he dared.  He never disagreed with his mother for long and he had, in this instance, gone as far as to defy the old lady and marry her.  It was totally out of character.  To begin with the marriage had been fun.  Jean showered her with gifts and spoiled her like a little child.  The only shadow had been his visits to his mother.  After a visit, to which Marie was never invited, he would be depressed and would quote his mother constantly.  The old lady threatened to cut him off without a penny and most of Jean’s money came from her.   He worked in her company and, although it would be his when she died, he had no say in the running of it.  But for the most part Marie was happy. They had a little house with a courtyard and Marie grew roses and bougainvillea on its walls.  She had a horse which she adored and rode recklessly all over the city and she was loved.  Life was perfect.

She was remembering the moment when she knew she was expecting a child and how she longed to tell Jean, but he had not come home, when an older son re-appeared.

“Both sound asleep.”  Adam grinned.  “You finding pictures in the fire?” he nodded toward the leaping flames.

Marie smiled up at him.  Goodness he was growing tall, and so handsome.  “Not exactly, I was remembering New Orleans.”

Adam seated himself on the heavy table and rested his chin in his hands.  “Do you miss the city?”

“Sometimes, but not all my memories are good.” She said, softly.

Adam watched her face with the firelight flickering on it and making her hair shine.  Sometimes his feelings for her were confused. She was so beautiful and not that much older than he.  Her mouth had smiled but her eyes were sad.  He wasn’t a child anymore and mixed with his feelings were half heard conversations and mysterious happenings around the time of his father’s marriage.  The things he had overheard had formed into a picture that he only half believed.  Should he ask, indeed could he form the right questions?  How did one ask a stepmother if her past was something to be hidden, something of which she was ashamed, a scandal that could destroy them all.

“Do you ever think of Jean?”  he began.

Marie’s head shot up and then she calmed herself, what did the boy know?  He had been just a child when Jean had worked here.  A gentle smile replaced the shocked expression, he wasn’t much more now.

“Of course, I loved him very much.  I do not forget him and your father does not forget your mother.  They were our first loves.”

“Then why did he leave you?”  Adam’s question was as blunt as any sixteen-year-old can be.

“It is a long story.” She smiled at him and touched his hand.  “I was about your age and Jean was a much older man,” her eyes twinkled, “he was all of twenty.  “I was too young to see anything but a way out of poverty with a man I loved.  I failed to see that Jean was more immature than I was.  He couldn’t exist without his mother,” she raised an eyebrow,” and his mother hated me.”

“But why would anyone hate you?  She didn’t even know you.”

“Ah, but one doesn’t have to know a person to hate them, do they, Adam?” she smiled.

He caught her meaning immediately and remembered the early days of their relationship.  He blushed to the tips of ears.  “No, I guess not.”

“His mother worked hard to drive us apart and finally she succeeded. Jean believed what he saw and did not stop to question, so he ran away.  He came here and worked for your father, but then you know that.”

“He said things… I mean he …”  Adam blushed and stumbled for words.

“None of them were true, Adam.  You heard from him that a man was discovered in my bedroom, did you not?” she waited until Adam, red-face, acknowledge that he had heard that rumor.

“I was young and in love, I wanted no other but Jean.  His mother paid a man to creep into my room late at night.  She had already made sure that Jean was out drinking.  Jean came home and discovered this man. He didn’t wait for explanations. He was drunk and he wouldn’t listen to me.  He ran from the house and before I knew it he had gone from the city.  I never knew where, until your father came to me four years later and it was too late.”  She drifted away into her own thoughts again until Adam asked another question.

“What happened to you after he left you?  Where did you go, how did…” he stopped and his head dropped to his chest, embarrassed at what he had been about to ask and even more embarrassed that he thought he knew the answer.

Marie’s mouth twisted in a wry smile.  “Rumors are always more dangerous than the truth, Adam. Never judge someone until you have walked in their shoes.  Someday when you are older I will tell you my story but for now it is in the past.  Your father accepts and that is all I ask.”  She sat forward and smiled at him, “Now, shouldn’t you be heading for bed, you have school tomorrow.”

Adam nodded, his curiosity was aroused and he wanted to know so much more, but it was clear that Marie had told all she intended to for tonight.

Marie sighed as she watched her stepson climb the stairs to his room. Would it never end?  The boy had heard more than a few rumors that was certain, but was he ready to know the truth, and would she ever have to tell her own son to stop others imparting the knowledge of his mother’s past.  Ben said that he loved her and he had married her, and that was all anyone needed to know, but twice men had died to protect her honor.

She could still hear the scream echoing in her head.  Her scream as she realized that the man beside her was not Jean.  Jean was standing in the doorway the light from the hall spilling into the room and illuminating the bed.  She was sitting bolt upright, her nightdress low and revealing and her eyes wide with fear.  How could Jean not have seen her fear? How could he not have noticed that the stranger had only removed his shirt.  She must have woken when the front door had opened and closed and the intruder had not been quite ready for Jean’s arrival.  But her husband had not waited.  He had not confronted the man, he had not asked what was happening, he had just run.

            She remembered jumping from the bed and grabbing a heavy vase that stood near her dresser.  She had hurled this at the stranger and then reached for a pair of scissors.  The vase shattering near his head and then her frenzied attack had made the man retreat to the hallway.  She had got a glimpse of him in the light before he ran down the stairs and into the street, laughing.  The man had been laughing!

            It had taken a while for her heart beat to return to normal, but when it did she headed to the salon and poured herself a large measure of Jean’s best brandy.  She knew she had seen the trespasser somewhere before, but the memory wouldn’t come.  By morning the whole of the community seemed to know of the incident.  As she walked to the market, people whispered behind their hands, ladies stepped to avoid her and she felt their hostility.

            She had waited a few days for Jean to return but when he didn’t she put on her most sober dress and walked to the mansion of her mother-in-law. 

            “I only want to know if my husband is here?”  she asked for the fourth time.  The butler had obviously been given instructions not to admit her and was dancing about uncomfortably as she refused to move from the doorstep.

            “He is not here.” An imperious voice announced, “Do you expect him to stay in a city where he is made a laughing stock by his wife?”  Madame de Marigny had been standing just inside the library and now she stepped into the hallway.  “You are not welcome here, nor in any other decent house in New Orleans.  Get back to the slums from where you came.”

She had gone back to the little house and for a few days lived in blissful ignorance of what was to come.  The first demand for money from the landlord and no change in her purse and reality had hit her.  She was no better off than she had been before she married Jean, in fact it was worse for now she had no job and no respectable business would employ her. 

The logs in the great stone fireplace shifted and sparks jumped up into the chimney.  She moved to add another piece of wood to the fire and then sat back to watch the flames lick around it.  There was no escape for the log just as there had been no escape for her as the New Orleans community closed its ranks and left her an outsider.  She had struggled on for a few more weeks by selling items from the house then when all hope was gone, she had met Francine in the market.  She recalled her horror at Francine’s suggestion.  Oh, how naive she had been.

“Come work with me.  There are plenty of sailors on the waterfront who pay well for a night with a pretty girl.  I could share your house and we’d save on rent.  Men would pay a lot to come to a pretty house instead of an alley in the docks or my rooms.”  Francine had been eager to draw her in.

            “I couldn’t do that… it’s horrible.  How can you go with men you do not know.”  Marie had almost wept at the idea.

            Francine had shrugged, “You did it and not even for money, why not to earn a living.”

            “It’s not the same I was married to Jean and I loved him.”

            Francine had laughed, “But it was more fun with your lover, wasn’t it?  Anyway this is business, you don’t have feelings for them, It’s just a job and it pays well.”

            Marie had cried.  Even Francine believed that she had taken a lover. In desperation she had sought out her cousin Edouard and asked for her old job back. 

            “Of course cherie, I always need good hostesses come to the club on Thursday and we will find you a suitable position.”

            The suitable position turned out to be acting as a housemaid for Madame Colette.  It took only a few hours for Marie to discover the purpose of the upstairs rooms. It horrified her to learn that this was only one step up from the trade that Francine plied on the docks.  Her tasks including putting fresh linens on the beds, changing the towels and adding perfumes and oils to each room in case a massage was required.  She had protested that she wanted to work in the club salon and Edouard had shaken his head in pity.

             “I could not have one who might cause a scandal in my salon,” he had replied to her request.

            “But I have done nothing, Jean was mistaken.”

            Edouard raised one elegant eyebrow, “It is not what one does only what one is thought to have done that ruins a reputation and a marriage. Maybe in time people will forget and we can reconsider.  After all I am not asking you to take clients, merely to service the rooms” He laughed at his own joke.

            It was not long after her conversation that she was passing Madame de Marigny’s house on the way to her work.  She was late and in a hurry but as she passed she saw a man talking to her mother-in-law in the walled courtyard.  The iron gate was closed but she could see enough to know that the man was her cousin Edouard, now what business could he possibly have with her mother-in-law?  Probably buying furs, she reasoned, but why here and not at the warehouses, where he could see the merchandise?

            Marie slipped from her chair and knelt on the hearth, taking up the poker, she pushed it into the fire and raised a log to make it burn more brightly.  How could she have been so innocent?

The one bright light in her dark world was the occasional contact with Marius d’Angerville.  She had told her story to Marius and he had been outraged that such a thing could have taken place.  Quicker than her own brain, his had put two and two together and made the connection. 

            “Do you not see, ma Cherie?  Madame d’Marigny wanted Jean to leave you and she has succeeded.  Perhaps not quite in the way she hope; for she meant him to go back to her not to run from the city.”

            “No, I do not see.”  Marie was exasperated at Marius’s suggestion.  “How did she achieve this?”

            “She paid, my dear, she paid.”  Marius paced up and down his studio.  “Somehow she found a go between to get her a man who would break into your house and for Jean to find you in… a… shall we say compromising position.”

            “She does not mix with people who would do such a thing.”  Marie protested.

            “Ah, but she does.  D’Arcy for one.”

            “My cousin, Edouard?  Do not be so ridiculous, Marius.  He would not harm me.”

            Marius sniffed, “D’Arcy would do anything for money.  I am sorry to say this, my dear, but the D’Arcy family are not known for their honesty.  The old man killed more than most in the duel, and despite what you have been taught it is not always the righteous who win the duel.  Charle stole from his father and from his brother-in-law, yes…” he wagged a finger at her, “he stole from your father and he paid his gambling debts with your inheritance.”

            “But Oncle Charle always gave mother money when he visited.”

            “A pittance to show he was looking after his sister and to shame your father, it was no more.”

            “Edouard is the worst of a bad lot and he will bring you down.  I have no doubt that he was paid to find the man who ran from your bedroom.”

            Even listening to Marius’ explanations she refused to believe that her cousin was involved.  Of course, when challenged, Edouard had denied any involvement and a duel had been inevitable. Much to Marie’s dismay Marius had been injured in sword fight.  She gave thanks that Edouard had declared honor satisfied at first blood but she still blamed herself.  Marius was badly injured and he never walked well again. 

She shivered as she remembered running from the oaks, running to escape but there was no escape.  She could not bring herself to go back to the club and so after several weeks of near starvation, the worry for her unborn child became too great and she had sought out Francine.  The bright flames made the tears sparkle as they dried in long rivulets on her cheeks.  Francine and her daughter had moved in, and all through Marie’s pregnancy the money Francine earned while Marie minded her little girl, supported them both.  What would care for three, could never support four and with the baby still only a couple of months old Marie had been drawn into Francine’s world.

“I have fed you for six months without complaint, now you must help.” Francine stated baldly.  “We cannot live on what I earn.”

            “But what can I do?”  Marie cried, “Who will look after the children.”

            “Remember old Madame La Roche, she lived opposite us in the court?”

            Marie did remember.  The old woman reminded her of a wizened black crow and her son stole from the cargoes on the docks to keep them.

            “She will look after the children in the evenings while we work and you will have all day with your baby.”

            “No I couldn’t.  I won’t have my baby go to the Flats and I won’t work… I won’t do that.”

            Francine took hold of Marie’s arms and shook her.  “You have no choice.  No one will employ you, this is the only work for girls like us.  It pays well and with the house to bring them to, we will earn enough to feed us all.”

            Marie swallowed hard.  Francine was right there was no other way and she did owe her friend a debt for the time she had worked selflessly to care for them all. 

            Marie had never considered until now, that Francine had earned the money but it was Marie’s house that helped and Marie’s care of Francine’s daughter that allowed her to work at all.

Her first few days were a nightmare, she found it difficult to approach the sailors and even more difficult to bring them back to the house, when they accepted her terms.  She closed her eyes and her heart and told herself this was for Clay.

Finding clients meant walking the docks or spending time in the Flats.  Neither place was safe but she learned how to protect herself from rogues who would steal, whether it was her purse or her body. She never carried money and all the clients paid at the house.  She might have survived the drunks and thieves but the damp swamp air and the chill of the night were her companions and within a year she had succumbed to the fever. Within days Clay and Francine’s daughter had also fallen ill.  She remembered little of this time, knowing only that Francine nursed her and her little son and her own child as best she could for no doctor would visit, even supposing they could have afforded one.

            She remembered the dark days after she awoke from her fever to find that in desperation Francine had sought out Madame de Marigny.  The old lady had agreed to take the boy, her grandson, but refused all other help.  Marie knew that her friend had been doing her best but deep in her heart she had never forgiven Francine for allowing Clay to be taken by his grandmother.

Marie dressed carefully in her best dress and jacket and set a large floppy straw hat on her head and tied it with green ribbons.  She studied her reflection in the hall glass.  It would have to do.  She still felt as weak as a kitten but she had to get her son.  Every minute he spent with that woman was a minute too much.

            She walked across the city, resting each time there was a seat outside a store or a low wall beside a house.  It took over an hour reach the de Marigny mansion.  Her knock seemed to echo through the hallway beyond the door and she shivered even though the day was warm. 

            “I’d like to collect my son.”  She stated, boldly when the door was opened.

            The butler nodded to her and held the door open, “Wait here, I will call Madame.” He didn’t wait for an answer and didn’t offer her a seat.

            She was kept waiting for several minutes before the old lady came into the hall.  She was dressed in a somber gray with a cameo at her throat. 

            Marie spoke quickly before her courage deserted her, “It was most kind of you to look after Clay for me, but I am better now and I can look after him.  I’ve come to take him home.” She rushed it all out without a breath.

            The old lady’s face was white and still; her eyes never met those of her daughter-in-law.  “You cannot do that.” She said flatly, “The child was sickly, he died of the fever a few days after you’re…uh friend…brought him here.”

            Marie heard no more, as her legs gave way beneath her and she fainted on the stone steps.

Marie had no memory of the next hours.  She had come around on a bench beside the front door, even in her weak state there was no kindness from her mother-in-law.  After a few minutes the butler had assisted her to the street and left her there. She had arrived home after dark with no idea of where she had been or what she had done.  Her baby had been all she lived for, now there was nothing.  No part of Jean remained with her, there was no one to hope for, no one to dream for, just emptiness.  She knew that somehow Francine had helped through those first dark days and gradually she had returned to life; a life devoid of all real happiness.  She had replaced her soft, gentle character and warm laughter with a hard, brittle shell.  Outwardly she had recovered but she knew that until Ben had brought her here she had not really lived.

            “Ask him?”  Francine pleaded.  “We can’t go on like this, we barely make enough to eat when the weather is bad and there hasn’t been a decent ship in port for more than a month.”

            Marie paced up and down the kitchen and opened cupboards in the vain hope that there would be some food they had forgotten. “ If there are no clients for us, what makes you think there will be clients enough for two more girls at Edouard’s?”

            “Because he doesn’t deal in sailors.  The men at the club are business men, fur traders, bankers, the wealthy of New Orleans.”  Francine waved her hands in typical French fashion as she spoke.  Marie really was being obstinate.  Having found a nice house to live in and work from Francine had no intention of going back to the alleys and they needed money.

            “We would have to give a big part of our earnings to him.”  Marie faltered.

            “He takes it all and gives the girls an allowance.” Francine replied, baldly. “I checked.” At Marie’s questioning look she grinned.  “That’s how some work, others take a percentage.  Your high and mighty cousin thinks it makes the place look better if he employs hostesses and gives them a wage.  He can pretend that his hostesses just take care of his customers.  It’s funny when you think of it, everyone knows it’s a brothel and Colette is his Madame, but no one has the courage to say so.  He and Colette share the profits and the girls get a good place to work and wages… oh and sometimes a big tip from the client that Edouard doesn’t hear about. We can use those tips to keep the house and maybe for a little extra work on the side.  The girl I spoke to says your friend Marius used to pay extra, but of course he never goes there now.”

Marie sighed and sank into a chair, “I don’t believe…” she started, then sighed again.  “Oh, alright, I’ll ask him, but I won’t beg.”

            Edouard had driven a hard bargain.  Francine had only been accepted once her child was given to an orphanage.  Marie had been heart broken all over again at the loss of another child, but Francine seemed to take it lightly.

“She will be better off without me.” She said as she handed the child over.

Marie cringed when she thought of the things he expected them to do in those upstairs rooms.  No longer could she choose which clients to take and which to refuse.  Francine had never known that Marie had been selective in what she offered.  Slowly, the two girls became popular with the upstairs clients.  Rich businessmen began to ask for them.  Colette dressed them better and gave them better rooms and the extra money grew.  Edouard allowed them to mix with the club regulars who gambled and drank there, as long as he kept a close eye on them.

Marie worked hard at being a pleasant and entertaining companion and over the months her duties changed until she spent most of her time serving drinks and making small talk with the rich patrons.  Francine did not have her education and so her work stayed mainly upstairs.  Marie’s clients for the upstairs rooms became rarer and more select and her life relaxed into a comfortable routine that her new hard shell could handle.  Marius continued to be her friend but he never came to the salon and he tried to persuade her to find other employment.

“You could work in a store or as a housekeeper,” he suggested, one day when she came for a fencing lesson.

            “You worry too much.  The work is not hard and I rarely use the upstairs rooms now.  I am a hostess and my duties are to encourage patrons to buy drinks and play cards.” She laughed, “Mostly to lose money to Edouard.”

            Marius sighed.  “You want a husband and children, Marie.  That will never come while you are known for what you do.”

            Marie’s expression changed to a black scowl, “I had a husband that is why I work where I do.” She snapped.  “And I had a child and New Orleans took him from me with the swamp fever.” Her voice dropped to a whisper, “I am not meant to be happy.”

            “Nonsense, every one deserves happiness, but you have to work at it.” Marius watched her draw off her gloves and waistcoat and reach for her cape.  She was as brittle as glass.  Her gaiety was on the surface with dark waters churning beneath.  She needed to be loved.  She barely noticed the small smile that came to his lips, if only he was forty years younger, her profession would not matter to him one wit.

Marie settled herself back in her husband’s chair to wait.  He would be here soon and these sad memories would be gone.  She was always happy when he was near.  He loved her unconditionally and that was something she had only dreamed of in those dark days in New Orleans.  She leaned back and closed her eyes and remembered the first time she had seen him.  He had told her later that she had almost run him down with her horse but that she could not recall.  The first encounter she recalled had been at the salon.  He had been with Marius and had tried to talk to her but she had brushed him aside.  She had been more than a little curious to see Marius in the salon after so long.  All business in New Orleans was conducted over gambling tables or dinner tables and it seemed this backwoodsman was there to sell his furs.  She chuckled to herself.  His dress had been smart but outdated and he stood out amongst the fashionable New Orleans business men.  He was also somber and serious and she tried never to be serious as it brought back too many memories.

He had eventually called on her to tell her of Jean’s death and she had managed to hide her distress under a cloak of anger.  She had loved Jean and to know that he had died still believing her to be unfaithful, hurt.  Of course, she reasoned now, she had been unfaithful, but not until he had forced her into that way of life.  Could she have made different choices?  Of course she could, with hindsight she could see that, but at the time it had seemed the only way.  At each crossroads she had made her choice and there was no one to blame but herself.

The next few weeks had been like something from a fairy tale.  They had spent hours together, walking the city, talking, sharing confidences over dinner, but not the one big thing that she knew could come between them.  Marius had persuaded Ben to take up the challenge of proving her innocent of the charges Madam De Marigny and Jean had laid at her door.  Marie was not sure it mattered anymore but to have this knight in shining armour fighting for her pushed all other thoughts from her head.

She watched as Marius and Ben danced a bizarre age old ritual that ended in a duel, or was it two or three.  Those days were confused.  Marius died protecting an honor of which she was no longer worthy. Even though Ben made Edouard confess to the plot to discredit her, deep down she knew that it no longer mattered to her.

She had hardly believed her hearing when Ben had asked her to marry him and come west.  Of course he knew she worked in a salon as a hostess, but the darker part of her past was hidden from him.  He had proved her innocent had he not?  Should she tell him or keep it a secret forever.  She might have known that secrets can rarely be kept once they are known by more than one person.   In Ben’s mind, at that time, her reputation was, if not spotless, then at least only a little risqué.  He knew nothing of her work in the upstairs rooms or that terrible period when she had worked the Flats.  She shivered as she remembered the night she had told him her story.  They had been making plans for a wedding and the trip west.  It had been a beautiful day marred only by an incident while they shopped. The evening was one of those warm, soft endings to the day when a glass of wine and good companionship led to confessions.  And hers had been some confession…

“What did that man want of you?” Ben asked.  “I was still completing my purchases and I didn’t hear what he said but I noticed you seemed afraid of him my love.”

            They were sitting on the verandah and the evening sun was dipping slowly in the west.

            “It was nothing.  He is someone I knew once a long time ago.”  Marie replied, turning her face away from him.

            Ben gently cupped her chin with his hand and turned her back toward him, “You are too young to have known anyone a long time ago,” he smiled.  “What is it that troubles you?”

            Marie stared down at her hands, “Ben, you do love me, don’t you?”

            He was momentarily surprised at her question.  “Don’t you know I do?  I love you more than you will ever know and there is nothing I wouldn’t do for you.”

            “Will you always love me, no matter what…?”

            “Of course, there is nothing that will end our love.”

            “Do you really mean that?  There is nothing I could say that would change how you felt about me?”

            He chuckled and pulled her close to him, “I love you and love can overcome anything.”

            “Even my past?”  She looked up into his eyes and saw only a faint surprise, nothing more.

            “Even your past.  I know your parents died when you were young and that your aunt and uncle put you into the convent. I know about Jean and why he left, I know you worked in the salon for Edouard.  Tell me what worries you so much.  Your past is past it cannot touch us now, we have a future together.”

            She pulled away from him and took a deep breath, “But it can touch us.  It has and will continue to do so.  That man today, he knows more than I have told you.  He is threatening to tell you and your sons and your friends if I do not pay him what he asks.”  She hesitated a moment, “I have paid him before but this time he wants more than I have.” 

            “Blackmail is an ugly crime, but it can be stopped by telling the story.  If there is no fear of revelation then there can be no threat.” He said, softly, “Can’t you tell me what is so horrible that you fear my hearing it?

            She gazed at him for a second then taking her courage in both hands she began her story.

            “I have not always worked for Edouard in the salon. Once I was a seamstress and I earned an honest living but it was not much and I lost my job.  You know my friend, Francine?…

            At the mention of the other woman’s name Ben’s heart plummeted, he had no doubt of Francine’s profession.  She was the sort of woman that was found every evening on the waterfront.  He held his breath and tried to keep his expression neutral as he nodded for her to continue.

            “She helped me a lot.  She cared for me when I had my baby and she even stayed when I got sick with the fever.  I owe her my life.” Her expression was defensive now.  Francine had been good to her and she would not condemn her friend and lay blame where there was none.

            “And what did she expect in return?”  Ben asked.

            “Nothing, she asked nothing.  We lived together in my house and I got her a job with Edouard, but that is not what I need to tell you.  It was… before… before we worked in the salon. Before that we worked for him in his upstairs rooms.” She watched his face and the sudden dawning of knowledge.

            He had half suspected her secret from the moment she mentioned Francine and the blackmail.  He hesitated for a moment but his love for her won out.  He cleared his throat and gently took her hand.  “That is in the past.  I said I loved you and I meant it.  I do not doubt that you were forced into earning a living anyway you could.  I already knew I was not the first, anymore than you are for me.  We will be gone from here in a few days and it will not matter.  This man cannot touch us in Utah.  We will be married and all that matters is the future.”

            Her frightened eyes sought his.  She needed to know he really meant it. “I do not care for myself, I have no reputation in New Orleans.  I am Creole and we have always been a persecuted people and then there are many who still believe Madame de Marigny’s lies despite the duel and the death of poor Marius.” She gripped his hands tightly, “Ben are you very sure.  I have a curse, everything I touch is ruined;  my husband, my poor baby, Marius… everything.  What if Simon follows us, what about your sons?  If your neighbors know what I was, it will hurt them.”

            “Sh…there is no such thing as a curse.  You have had a rough life but now we will build a future.  I will go and see this man.  Tell him that he is getting no money from us and maybe even inform the law.  Do not be afraid of him anymore.  I will take care of you.”  He kissed her gently then pulled her into a warmer embrace.

            She hugged him fiercely, knowing that still her story was not told.  “Simon La Roche, did not frequent Edouard’s.” she said slowly, keeping her face hidden from him.  “He lived near me before I married Jean.  His mother cared for my baby while I worked.”  She cleared her throat which felt as if it was closing up.

            “ After my baby died, I did not know what to do, Francine was my only friend.  I… I worked with her.  We returned to the Flats…” she felt him stiffen at her words, but she had to continue; she had to be sure. It was only when we could not earn enough from the sailors that we went to Edouard.”

            It seemed like a lifetime before he gently lifted her face to his and kissed her.  “It is in the past, my love. We will not talk of it again and I will deal with Simon La Roche.” 

            She recalled his kisses now, almost as if she could feel them all over again.  She glanced at the tall grandfather clock.  Soon he would be home.  How thankful she was that he had accepted her as she was and had brought her here.  They had been married in a small church near the convent with two strangers as witnesses.  Funny that she had married twice and both times it had been almost in secret.  The next few days had been frantic with preparations for leaving.  She had been worried at the reception her new stepsons would give her, but confident in her love for Ben and his for her.  Then Simon had accosted her again in the market as she shopped for fish for their evening meal.

“Do not think you can escape me, Marie.  I will tell this new husband of yours how we lay together and how I paid you for your services as did my friends.”  Simon spoke low and menacingly.

            “Marie shrugged off his hand, “I will not pay you Simon.  My husband knows of my past, all of it.  You can tell him what you will.”  Even as she spoke she was shaking, wishing this encounter would end.

            La Roche was surprised and it showed, he backed off a little then grasped her wrist and twisted it painfully.  “But will he tell his sons and his friends in this Utah he comes from.  Ah, yes, I have made some inquiries.  He is a big man where he lives; well thought of and important.  You bring me a thousand dollars tomorrow and we will say no more.  Meet me by the warehouse tomorrow evening at nine, that way you will not be seen and no one else need know your little secrets.”

She had forgotten her purchases and fled back to the little house and cried.  She might be married to Ben now, but he could still leave her as Jean had done.  It had been there that Ben found her when he came back from collecting the money for his furs.

“It’s all right, my love.  I’ll go and see this La Roche and settle things once and for all.  He gets no more money and he leaves you alone.”

Ben’s words had come back to haunt her many times since then.  He had come late into the night and told her that her worries were over.

            Not entirely convinced she had voiced her fears, Ben had a terrible temper at times and she feared from his look that this had been one of them.  “What happened?  Did he agree to say nothing?”

            “He can’t say anything anymore, he’s dead.”  Ben said bluntly. 

            Her hand went to her mouth as she gasped.  “Ben, what did you do?”

            He gently pulled her hand away from her lips and kissed it.  “No, I didn’t murder him.  I tried to persuade him to let us leave New Orleans in peace, but I did tell him no more money.  He got angry and threatened me and you.  We fought.  He pulled a knife and in the struggle I stabbed him.  He must have died in seconds.”

            Marie gripped his hand tightly, “But there are those who will say you killed him.”

            “My darling, there were three witnesses who agreed it was self-defence.  La Roche came at me, I had no choice but to defend myself.”

            Only partly satisfied, Marie mulled over his words before he left that he would settle things once and for all.  Had his temper got the better of him, was it really as clear as he said.  She knew that the New Orleans courts protected their own and La Roche was French and Ben not of their world.

It had taken only a few hours before Francine had called to say that the police were looking for him.  Despite the witnesses, there were those who said it was Ben’s knife that had been used, and that Ben was the aggressor.

“You must go to the police and tell them the truth” Marie begged.  “The courts are fair.  The witnesses will swear that it was self-defence.”

            Ben shook his head, “Then La Roche will have his revenge.  I will have to say why we fought and once I say it was because of blackmail, I will have to say what he knew. If I don’t there are others who will.  I know I am innocent.  I will make a statement and list the witnesses, I’m sure it will be enough.”

Ben had written the statement and gone to the salon to give it to Francine to give to the police.  Marie waited and waited but he did not come for more than an hour.  When he did he was worried and anxious to leave.

            “What is wrong?”  She asked.

            “I gave Francine the papers” he said, but she told me that there was a warrant out for my arrest and that a policeman called Le Duque is searching for me.  La Roche’s friends have put a price on my head; $500 dead or alive.  We have to leave New Orleans now.  I’ll go find horses for hire, be ready to leave when I return and take only the smallest amount of luggage.”

            Marie had packed in haste and then there was more waiting.  When Ben returned this time he was out of breath and as he helped her to gather her things and fix them to the saddle he kept looking over his shoulder.  “Le Duque found me as I went to the stables, he chased me but I lost him in the alleys.  We must be away now.  It is only a matter of time before he comes here.”

And so they had left New Orleans, her beautiful city and come here.  To begin with Ben had jumped at every shadow and suspected every stranger that arrived in town, but slowly he had recovered.  Finally,  Ben had got a lawyer friend to inquire and the news came back that Ben had been acquitted of any wrong doing and the death of La Roche was attributed to self-defense.  They could carry on their lives in peace.  It had felt so good to be free from her past.

Marie wandered to the window again and pulled aside the drapes once more.  Her sober reflection stared back at her.  It was over, her past would never come back to haunt her again.  No one here knew that she had been anything more than Jean’s widow.  Her son need never know how his mother had earned a living.  If she thought of her other little son sometimes with sadness that was to be expected but the rest of her life in New Orleans was gone forever.

Her face lit up with a beautiful smile.  She was whole again, it was not just her reflection in the window, but the solid image of a tall man on a buckskin horse.  Her other half was here to stand beside her.  The man who had rescued her and believed in her had come home.  She would never need to stare at a lonely reflection again.

With thanks to Anthony Lawrence, Leonard Heiderman and Oliver Crawford for the episodes “Marie My Love” and “The Stranger” on which this story is loosely based.