The Seven Sapphires of Mardi Gras Read Free Page A

person he had been waiting for had never come!
    Later, on the way to the carnival, had he been purposely following me? He might have seen me take off the brooch and put it in my purse. I remembered how he had brushed close by me at the flower stand when he gave me the rose. Could he have cut the strap and slipped the beaded bag from my arm then?
    I recalled my very first impression of Ian Winters. A gambler, my instincts had warned. Despite his helpfulness, his fashionable clothing, and charming manners, there was something about Ian Winters that I just didn’t trust.
    I checked my thoughts, feeling suddenly ashamed of myself. Here I was, entertaining the possibility that Ian Winters had stolen my purse. The same Ian Winters who had bought me a second boat ticket, not to mention the lovely rose. It seemed ungracious, to say the least. If not for him, I might still be stranded in New Orleans.
    Once more, I thought of the unsavory crowd, the frightening voodoo man. The way he had looked at me through the crowd still sent shivers of fear racing up and down my spine. It was as if somehow, in some uncanny way, he had recognized me. But that was impossible!
    Something compelled me to glance down below. Suddenly I saw him again! As if my thoughts had made him materialize, the voodoo man now stood upon the dock, close to where Ian Winters had been.
    His skin was dark and rich, the color of black coffee. The high cheekbones, the shining baldness of his well-formed head gave him the look of a carved mahogany statue. The wind whipped at the voluminous robes, making them flutter against his bony frame. A chill crept deep into my bones as he raised his eyes and looked up at me. It seemed a ghastly smile of recognition lit his face. I tried to move, but my frozen limbs resisted; it was as if he had me under the power of some evil spell. I could only stand motionless, my aching fingers stiff upon the railing as the voodoo man stepped forward to join the other passengers. He was boarding the Swamp Prince.
     

Chapter Two
     
    “You’d better go down below, miss,” the old captain warned as he passed by, the scent of his whiskey breath giving immediate credibility to Mrs. Harrington’s gossip. “It’s going to rain sure as you’re standing there “
    “I will. Thank you.”
    Wary of encountering the voodoo man, I had remained alone at the railing, watching until all traces of New Orleans were swallowed up by the misty gray shoreline.
    I shivered slightly in my long-sleeved dress, now dampened with spray from the river. A glance up at the sky told me that the captain was right. The afternoon sunlight had faded, taking with it the crisp, clear warmth. Clouds, dark and threatening, were gathering overhead. I would have to go down soon and join me others on the passenger deck.
    I took one last look at the unfamiliar world that surrounded me. How haunted, this native land of my mother’s. An ethereal shadow world where there were no crowded streets and restless carriages. Lush foliage mingled with heavy cypress along the water’s edge. Spanish moss draped the graceful tree branches, giving them a somber appearance, like a thousand veiled women in mourning, A droplet of rain fell upon my cheek.
    Steeling my courage, I found the stairway that led to the single deck that held cargo and passengers alike.
    Where was he? My eyes darted about the room, settling upon a dark form in the corner. An old colored woman, head nodding in sleep, sat upon the floor near the warmth of the boiler, a basket of fruit beside her. Beyond the sugar hogsheads and sacks of mail were rows of wooden benches where the rest of the few passengers huddled miserably together. The voodoo man was nowhere in sight, though. I had seen him board the boat. He could hardly have disappeared into thin air!
    Cautiously, I advanced and began to search for a place to sit. I counted only seven passengers on the benches. Nearest to me sat a young woman holding her child. Both were