The Grand Masquerade (The Bold Women Series Book 4) Read Free Page B

access to the alcohol from a still in back of the cabin. Since it was one of her tasks to make “white lightning” for customers, she was around it constantly.
    Sydnee dropped her skirt full of turtles into a bucket of water and started toward the cabin to see if her father wanted breakfast.
    “He is gone to Buzzard Roost already,” Margarite called to her in French.
    Sydnee was relieved. Victor Sauveterre went to George Broussard’s stand frequently to play horseshoes and drink. Many days he was gone from sunrise until sunset.
    She turned and came over to help hang up clothes instead. Margarite put her wrinkled hand to Sydnee’s cheek and said, “Good morning, my leetle girl.”
    Sydnee murmured, “Are you well after last night?”
    Margarite shrugged her shoulders, not wishing to discuss the incident with the stranger. She changed the subject. “I picked an egg for my reading today.”
    Sydnee lowered her eyes and frowned.
    Margarite looked at her and dropped her arms from the clothes line. She continued in her French patois, “What is it?”
    Sydnee thrust her jaw open and strained to speak, but no words came. Mute until the age of nine, Sydnee had been speaking for only the past five years. When she at last spoke, Margarite was amazed at her mastery of both English and French. It was further confirmation that Sydnee had a fine mind.
    “Why don’t you want to do my reading?” Margarite pressed.
    “I-I am not good at egg readings,” Sydnee said in English, but she was lying. The truth was that she was afraid of what she might see in the woman’s future.
    Margarite narrowed her eyes. She knew that Sydnee was lying. At fourteen, the girl was the most proficient diviner she had ever known.
    “Well, I want you to try,” the old woman said, pursing her lips. She started to the back of the cabin toward the still. Sydnee knew that she was going to start drinking again.
    After pinning the last of her father’s shirts onto the line, Sydnee picked up a bucket and a knife and started down The Trace into the woods. When the creatures tried to follow she commanded them to stay back.
    She felt another tightening in her stomach as she trudged down the dirt road, bucket in hand, but she ignored the sensation. It was a fine summer morning, and she enjoyed her peaceful walk. Years ago, she would have met all sorts of people traveling this thoroughfare, but now it was unusual to see anyone. A meadow opened up on her right and Sydnee left the trail to cross the sun-drenched field of grass. She wiped the perspiration from her brow and slowly approached the hollow remains of an oak tree. Bees swarmed around the trunk, but Sydnee continued toward them.
    As she walked, she began to chant. The words and their meaning were unknown to her, but the bees seemed to be charmed into submission. The chant came to her from the spirits one day years ago. Gradually the bees landed on the trunk of the tree, mesmerized as if asleep, allowing her access to the hive. They looked like a large fur coat on the oak.
    Sydnee set the bucket down, still chanting, took the knife and shaved off a large hunk of honey comb. Dripping with liquid gold, she dropped the comb into the bucket. Leaning over and looking at the bees, she bowed once in gratitude and then backed away. She crossed the meadow, sucking the delicacy from her fingers.
    The first few times Sydnee tried to harvest honey, Margarite told her to use smoke to subdue the bees. Although an ancient technique for bee charming, she found it ineffective. She believed if she simply approached the colony, chanted the incantation and asked for permission, the bees would share their honey with her.
    Like with so many creatures, Sydnee had an uncanny ability to communicate with them. From an early age, Margarite taught her to respect and love all living things and to use the power of Hoodoo to do good deeds. Sydnee’s whole world revolved around this simple philosophy of living.
    Before she left the