Louisiana History Collection - Part 1 Read Free Page A

kittens, and the practiced seductions of older widows to know that he was far from unattractive to women. His surprise and displeasure was so great that it was difficult to maintain the expression of implacable indifference suited to the occasion. That the attack was so unexpected must be his excuse. It was not every day that a Frenchwoman saw fit to fling the most deadly of insults at the head of a Natchez of the ruling Sun class.
    Elise caught the flare of angry interest, quickly suppressed, in the half-breed’s eyes. A wave of hot color sprang to her face as she realized what she had done. The lowest rank of Natchez, the common people who did the dirtiest work, were called Stinkards and by inference she had applied just that name to Reynaud Chavalier. She had not meant it, had not intended that he should hear her, still she would not disavow her words. Holding his gaze, her heart beating with heavy, sickening thuds, she lifted her chin in defiance.
    Reynaud studied the pure oval of her face, the sensitive mouth, the direct amber eyes with faint shadows of vulnerability in their rust-flecked depths. Something in his chest tightened and he felt the sudden warm rush of the blood along his veins. Still, neither a warrior nor a gentleman crossed swords with a woman. Swinging around once more, Reynaud strode from the room, but as he let himself out of the commandant’s house he was frowning.
    The evening had come to an abrupt end after that, of course. The commandant had stormed from the house to curse and kick at his trussed-up sentries. His guests, alarmed and yet at a loss as to what to think about the warning or what to do if Chepart would not act, had talked together in low voices while servants ran to bring them their wraps. Their host, profuse in his apologies and snide in his comments concerning Chavalier and the Natchez, had returned in time to see them off to their homes. He himself would go at once to the Natchez to look into this matter. He could promise them that he would be met with drink and feasting and all manner of merriment. They need not be concerned. The Great Sun was wily; there was no doubt that this talk of an attack was only an attempt to frighten the French, to prevent the takeover of their village. It would do them no good; this he, Chepart, would also promise.
    Elise had left with the Doucets. There had been no opportunity to speak to Chepart concerning her barn, and so great was her distaste for the man after his display of choler and bad manners that she did not feel she could have taken advantage of it in any case.
    She did not forget, however. She was up early the next morning. She put on her well-worn habit of hunter’s green velvet and ate a quick breakfast in the kitchen while she instructed the African woman who saw to the house in her tasks for the day. Carrying her broad-brimmed cavalier’s hat, she strode out to the small shed that served as a stable and barn. Her African man-of-all-work, Claude, was there. She talked with him about cleaning out the shed and making a dung heap for use on the fields in the spring, then went with him to show where she wanted him to start clearing the trees and brush from the site of the new barn. They looked at a cow that was due to drop her calf in late winter and discussed the possibility of trading milk and butter for some of the bantam chickens the Doucets were raising. As they turned toward the stable shed where Claude would saddle her mare, she paused to look around her, her chest swelling with pride at the sight of her well-kept arpents, four hundred in number, ten wide and forty deep. The land was solid, unchanging. It would never betray you, never hurt you. Here was something to love.
    It was well after sunrise, nearly half-past eight by Elise’s reckoning, when she mounted her mare. If she rode toward the fort, she should be able to see the commandant as he was leaving his house, before he barricaded himself in his office inside the stockade. It