woman I hold dear?”
“You said it, St. Cyr, not I,” came Marcel’s emotional reply. Turning on his heel he left the cabin to grieve in private for the flaxen-haired, violet-eyed woman who had come to mean more to him than he could ever imagine. Fate had intervened and taken an innocent life instead of the one he had intended. No woman had ever made such an impression on him in such a short time as Gabrielle St. Cyr!
Philippe would not allow Mercier to set a course directly for New Orleans even though it was determined that they were within one day of that city. Instead, he ordered the ship about to begin a crisscross pattern to cover the area where Gabby might have gone overboard. It was a gamble, albeit one that did not pay off. For three days the Windward covered a large portion of the Gulf of Mexico just below the mouth of the Mississippi while the entire crew focused eyes upon socres of tiny uninhabited islands and cays where Gabby might have been washed ashore. It was a hopeless task. No one knew for certain their position at the time she had disappeared. There were no witnesses at all to her heroic deed. Philippe, still weak from his head wound, stood from sunset till sundown at the ship’s rail, endlessly scanning the sea and jewel-like islands dotting the horizon.
Finally, all hope gone of finding Gabby alive, they abandoned the search and entered the Mississippi River for the 107 mile journey to New Orleans. Philippe still had a mission to complete, but nothing could purge from his mind the memory of that silver filly, with hair like moonbeams come to life, he had tried to tame… and failed.
Shortly after Captain Giscard’s death Marcel had been apprised of their destination by Philippe. He had displayed great surprise and anger at being diverted from his passage to Martinique but Philippe had not been taken in by his performance. He could not help but suspect that the man he hated was somehow involved in the accidents that had plagued him since starting on this mission.
Now, as they entered the Mississippi, Marcel brooded silently, casting furtive glances at Philippe who seemed unaware of anything save his own abject misery. It would be easy to lose himself in the crowd once the Windward docked, he surmised. He hadn’t succeeded in doing what he set out to do but there was still a remote possibility he might still be able to complete the task and turn failure into success. Much depended on his leaving the ship quickly after it docked and working out the necessary arrangements before Philippe set out to report to General Jackson.
Marcel hurried down the gangplank and disappeared into the streets crowded with longshoremen and military men as soon as the Windward had been secured to the pier jutting out into the river. Philippe paid him no heed as he, too, prepared for his own departure ashore.
Only after giving Mcrcier instructions concerning the repair of the Windward did Philippe retrieve the packet lying at the bottom of Gabby’s trunk. At the sight of her clothing Philippe nearly lost control of his emotions and had to force himself to leave the cabin where reminders of her were everywhere. Slipping the packet into an inner pocket of his jacket he walked woodenly from the ship onto the levee. Everywhere he looked he saw evidence of a city under or about to be under siege. Large stockpiles of arms and food supplies dotted the wharves and streets around the levee. Even the people themselves appeared in turmoil. Philippe walked the short distance to the Place d’Arms, later to be renamed Jackson Square, where he knew General Jackson established headquarters while in the city. If the large number of American soldiers in the city were any indication, then he would assume General Jackson was preparing to defend New Orleans against full-scale British attack. Crossing the street to enter the Place d’Arms, Philippe was suddenly aware of danger, sniffing it out like a hound dog. A loud clatter called his
“You said it, St. Cyr, not I,” came Marcel’s emotional reply. Turning on his heel he left the cabin to grieve in private for the flaxen-haired, violet-eyed woman who had come to mean more to him than he could ever imagine. Fate had intervened and taken an innocent life instead of the one he had intended. No woman had ever made such an impression on him in such a short time as Gabrielle St. Cyr!
Philippe would not allow Mercier to set a course directly for New Orleans even though it was determined that they were within one day of that city. Instead, he ordered the ship about to begin a crisscross pattern to cover the area where Gabby might have gone overboard. It was a gamble, albeit one that did not pay off. For three days the Windward covered a large portion of the Gulf of Mexico just below the mouth of the Mississippi while the entire crew focused eyes upon socres of tiny uninhabited islands and cays where Gabby might have been washed ashore. It was a hopeless task. No one knew for certain their position at the time she had disappeared. There were no witnesses at all to her heroic deed. Philippe, still weak from his head wound, stood from sunset till sundown at the ship’s rail, endlessly scanning the sea and jewel-like islands dotting the horizon.
Finally, all hope gone of finding Gabby alive, they abandoned the search and entered the Mississippi River for the 107 mile journey to New Orleans. Philippe still had a mission to complete, but nothing could purge from his mind the memory of that silver filly, with hair like moonbeams come to life, he had tried to tame… and failed.
Shortly after Captain Giscard’s death Marcel had been apprised of their destination by Philippe. He had displayed great surprise and anger at being diverted from his passage to Martinique but Philippe had not been taken in by his performance. He could not help but suspect that the man he hated was somehow involved in the accidents that had plagued him since starting on this mission.
Now, as they entered the Mississippi, Marcel brooded silently, casting furtive glances at Philippe who seemed unaware of anything save his own abject misery. It would be easy to lose himself in the crowd once the Windward docked, he surmised. He hadn’t succeeded in doing what he set out to do but there was still a remote possibility he might still be able to complete the task and turn failure into success. Much depended on his leaving the ship quickly after it docked and working out the necessary arrangements before Philippe set out to report to General Jackson.
Marcel hurried down the gangplank and disappeared into the streets crowded with longshoremen and military men as soon as the Windward had been secured to the pier jutting out into the river. Philippe paid him no heed as he, too, prepared for his own departure ashore.
Only after giving Mcrcier instructions concerning the repair of the Windward did Philippe retrieve the packet lying at the bottom of Gabby’s trunk. At the sight of her clothing Philippe nearly lost control of his emotions and had to force himself to leave the cabin where reminders of her were everywhere. Slipping the packet into an inner pocket of his jacket he walked woodenly from the ship onto the levee. Everywhere he looked he saw evidence of a city under or about to be under siege. Large stockpiles of arms and food supplies dotted the wharves and streets around the levee. Even the people themselves appeared in turmoil. Philippe walked the short distance to the Place d’Arms, later to be renamed Jackson Square, where he knew General Jackson established headquarters while in the city. If the large number of American soldiers in the city were any indication, then he would assume General Jackson was preparing to defend New Orleans against full-scale British attack. Crossing the street to enter the Place d’Arms, Philippe was suddenly aware of danger, sniffing it out like a hound dog. A loud clatter called his
Similar Books
