although I'd hardly call it a 'big town.' "
"I'm gonna get there somehow and—and I guess I'll try to get some kind of job. I can cook real good—not as good as you—and I'm a dandy housekeeper. I can scrub floors and make beds and—there's not much I can't do around a house. Think one of them inns there might hire me?"
"It's possible," he allowed.
"I'll get a job and save all th' money I can, and then I'll go
to New Orleans and—and maybe I can find my ma's folks. I don't even know their name or anything about 'em, but somehow—somehow I'll find 'em, and maybe they'll take me in."
Julian Etienne made no comment. His eyes were grave, and I got the feeling he seriously doubted this would ever come about. If her family kicked Ma out and refused to have anything else to do with her, why would they have anything to do with her bastard eighteen years later? And how would I ever find them in the first place? I realized how improbable it all was, but I couldn't let myself have doubts. I ... I had to have some kind of purpose. I could feel salty tears welling up in my eyes again, and I staunchly held them back. I wasn't going to feel sorry for myself. I wasn't. I was going to be strong and I was going to make it.
"More coffee?" he asked.
I shook my head, handed him my empty cup and got to my feet.
"Thank you for—for all your kindness," I said. "If I hadn't run into you last night, I don't know what I'd have done. I—I guess I'd better be on my way now. I've got a lotta miles to—"
I cut myself short. My face went white. I heard heavy footsteps crashing through the swamp, accompanied by loud voices shouting back and forth. I recognized the voices. I began to tremble violendy, and for a moment I felt I might pass out. My knees shook. I reeled. Julian Etienne took hold of my shoulder with a firm hand, steadying me. I looked at him with desperate eyes, my heart pounding.
"It's—it's—" My voice was a mere croak. "They—"
"Relax, child," he said.
"It's them, and they're gonna—they're gonna—"
"No one's going to do anything to you you don't want them to do," he informed me. "No one is going to hurt you. Stay behind me, do you understand? Stay behind me, and don't say a word."
He calmly fetched his pistol and cocked it. The large, amiable man with those warm brown eyes and that gentle, humorous mouth suddenly changed into a completely different person. He was cool and calm and remote and as hard as granite, looked utterly confident, looked frighteningly intimidating, too. I cowered behind him as the voices and footsteps grew louder, came
nearer, and I gave a loud gasp as Clem came tearing into the clearing, Jake and Randy hot on his heels.
All three of them stopped when they saw Julian Etienne standing there so calmly with the pistol in his hand. Clem looked flushed, a soiled white bandage tied around his head. His boots were covered with mud, and his shirt was torn, one sleeve dangling at the shoulder. Jake and Randy were in little better condition, both of them disheveled and splattered with mud. Jake leered at me, his eyes full of greedy anticipation, and Randy smiled a lazy smile, extremely pleased with himself.
"I told-ja she'd head this way, Pa," he said. "I told-ja we'd find her if we just kept headin' west."
"I'm th' one who tracked 'er," Jake growled. "I'm th' one who spotted that patch-a pink skirt caught on th' branch."
"Shut up, both of you!" Clem thundered.
He looked at Julian and looked at the pistol, and there followed a moment of silence broken only by the distant cry of a bird and the buzzing of insects. I stood behind my protector, peeking around his broad back, my knees still weak and trembly. Clem's blue-black eyes were smoldering with anger, his mouth set in a determined line, but Julian's expression and the sight of the pistol made him cautious. So I didn't kill him, I thought. I wish I had. Oh God, how I wish I had.
"May I help you gentlemen?" Julian inquired.
His voice was cool,
"I'm gonna get there somehow and—and I guess I'll try to get some kind of job. I can cook real good—not as good as you—and I'm a dandy housekeeper. I can scrub floors and make beds and—there's not much I can't do around a house. Think one of them inns there might hire me?"
"It's possible," he allowed.
"I'll get a job and save all th' money I can, and then I'll go
to New Orleans and—and maybe I can find my ma's folks. I don't even know their name or anything about 'em, but somehow—somehow I'll find 'em, and maybe they'll take me in."
Julian Etienne made no comment. His eyes were grave, and I got the feeling he seriously doubted this would ever come about. If her family kicked Ma out and refused to have anything else to do with her, why would they have anything to do with her bastard eighteen years later? And how would I ever find them in the first place? I realized how improbable it all was, but I couldn't let myself have doubts. I ... I had to have some kind of purpose. I could feel salty tears welling up in my eyes again, and I staunchly held them back. I wasn't going to feel sorry for myself. I wasn't. I was going to be strong and I was going to make it.
"More coffee?" he asked.
I shook my head, handed him my empty cup and got to my feet.
"Thank you for—for all your kindness," I said. "If I hadn't run into you last night, I don't know what I'd have done. I—I guess I'd better be on my way now. I've got a lotta miles to—"
I cut myself short. My face went white. I heard heavy footsteps crashing through the swamp, accompanied by loud voices shouting back and forth. I recognized the voices. I began to tremble violendy, and for a moment I felt I might pass out. My knees shook. I reeled. Julian Etienne took hold of my shoulder with a firm hand, steadying me. I looked at him with desperate eyes, my heart pounding.
"It's—it's—" My voice was a mere croak. "They—"
"Relax, child," he said.
"It's them, and they're gonna—they're gonna—"
"No one's going to do anything to you you don't want them to do," he informed me. "No one is going to hurt you. Stay behind me, do you understand? Stay behind me, and don't say a word."
He calmly fetched his pistol and cocked it. The large, amiable man with those warm brown eyes and that gentle, humorous mouth suddenly changed into a completely different person. He was cool and calm and remote and as hard as granite, looked utterly confident, looked frighteningly intimidating, too. I cowered behind him as the voices and footsteps grew louder, came
nearer, and I gave a loud gasp as Clem came tearing into the clearing, Jake and Randy hot on his heels.
All three of them stopped when they saw Julian Etienne standing there so calmly with the pistol in his hand. Clem looked flushed, a soiled white bandage tied around his head. His boots were covered with mud, and his shirt was torn, one sleeve dangling at the shoulder. Jake and Randy were in little better condition, both of them disheveled and splattered with mud. Jake leered at me, his eyes full of greedy anticipation, and Randy smiled a lazy smile, extremely pleased with himself.
"I told-ja she'd head this way, Pa," he said. "I told-ja we'd find her if we just kept headin' west."
"I'm th' one who tracked 'er," Jake growled. "I'm th' one who spotted that patch-a pink skirt caught on th' branch."
"Shut up, both of you!" Clem thundered.
He looked at Julian and looked at the pistol, and there followed a moment of silence broken only by the distant cry of a bird and the buzzing of insects. I stood behind my protector, peeking around his broad back, my knees still weak and trembly. Clem's blue-black eyes were smoldering with anger, his mouth set in a determined line, but Julian's expression and the sight of the pistol made him cautious. So I didn't kill him, I thought. I wish I had. Oh God, how I wish I had.
"May I help you gentlemen?" Julian inquired.
His voice was cool,
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