Gaius carried a macoute strapped over his shoulder. He had brought it from the islands so many years ago, and he kept it always within reach. Within the satchel made of leaves of the bourbon palm, he carried a small vial of eau sirop, a garde, and paquett... as well as Jesu. The head of the scrawny old chicken stuck out through the macoute flap as she looked out upon the world with frighteningly intelligent eyes.

Numerous boats lined up along the docks, stageplanks securing them to the piers that teemed with shouting, whistling, singing roustabouts loading freight: feed, flour, sugar, and other supplies for the plantations up and down the river. They sang as they lifted: Ol' roustabouts ain't got no home. Makes his livin' wid his shoulder bone!

One boat in particular caught her eye, especially handsome, with lofty smokestacks with lacy iron feathers decorating the top. Her name was scrawled boldly in gold leaf upon the side of her wheelhouse: THE SASSAFRAS.

Other boats floated by; their enormous stern wheels churned the placid water. Clouds of black smoke billowed upward from their tall smokestacks, some rising nearly fifty feet tall, tainting the air with an acrid stench that made Juliette's eyes burn and her stomach queasy. With a puff of steam and deep bells ringing that caused Snapper to flick his big ears in annoyance, the boats disappeared around the bend of the broad river.

Women in outrageously fancy dresses and coiffed hair beneath their frilly bonnets congregated along the banquettes. Juliette thought them like flocks of peacocks with their colorful plumes spread. They laughed as they conversed, sharing secrets that only the vapid minded would find interesting and amusing- mindless gossip and chitchat- no doubt most of it was about her. From behind their ornate fans, the women, young and old, flirted outrageously at the suited fancy men who paused to compliment them on their attire. Mothers hovered, concerned for their precious daughters' reputations should one of the dandies presume too much.

Little by little, however, the titter of conversation and laughter began to fade as they saw her.

One by one they turned, their expressions a mixture of curiosity and contemplation. They knew her, of course. Her reputation, and her mother's, preceded her. The fact that she straddled an old mule, her robin's-egg blue taffeta skirt hiked above her knees, wouldn't help. Nor did she wear a pretty bonnet. Not that she would even if she had owned one, of course. Then, of course, there were her companions: India had lapsed into a low chant to ward off evil thoughts and Jesu had scrambled from the macoute and perched on Gaius's shoulder.

Still, Juliette gave the curious gawkers barely a glance. Instead, her gaze swept the long streets and banquettes, heart beat rising as she narrowed her eyes against the sun reflecting off the rutted and hard-packed earth and the storefront windows. From the river came the excited chatter of the market hawkers lining the wharves. The stink of the water and fish and tobacco as well as the chickens and pigs and cattle in pens near the river felt overwhelming, forcing her to cover her nose with her cambric as she searched.

Where was he?

She focused harder on the dozens of men moving up and down the docks, loading and unloading the big boats- some flat that were used to transport cotton bales down river during harvest, others multileveled with gingerbread ornamentation and brightly painted smokestacks and banners so they looked like floating carnivals.

Chantz. Where was he?

And what would she do if she saw him?

Ironic that the thought of him left her trembling, yet she could ride so easily down the street of Baton Rouge shamelessly straddling a mule, defying decorum, and care little that the pretty women were no doubt laughing behind their gloved hands and painted fans at her.

And the men, of course...

Ha! She knew what they imagined, especially the older ones who could clearly remember her mother.

They stepped from their businesses, some wearing long white aprons and others smoking fat cigars, leaned against the doorposts, arms crossed over their chests, and watched, expressionless, as she rode by. Her cheeks warming and her stomach fluttering, Juliette told herself that it was because of the intense afternoon sun and not because she imagined she knew what thoughts toyed with their memories.

At last, they stopped at the Mercantile. As India slid her girth off the rump of the mule, Jasper lifted his dark hands up and clasped her around the waist as she dismounted and set her lightly on her feet. Up and down the banquettes people moved closer, shoulder to shoulder, some of them.

Lured by the aroma of coffee, she entered the dark and dusty Mercantile. A young boy stopped his sweeping and stared at her while a woman with light bronze skin and wearing a brown satin dress cut daringly low sat at one of several linen-draped tables in the corner near a window overlooking the river.

As Juliette's eyes grew accustomed to the darker interior, the woman put down her demitasse and regarded her with a half-smile. She wore a hat on her head with a large feather swagging over her shoulder. The brown tips on the feather perfectly matched her dress.

A short bald man behind a counter peered at Juliette through his round spectacles. "May I help you?" he asked.

Indeed. She wondered what she was doing here, considering she hadn't so much as a penny to purchase coffee or any of the other goods lining the walls and tables. Again, the heat of discomposure and frustration rose to her cheeks as she wondered if there was anything on her person that she could trade for a solitary cup of coffee.

"The mademoiselle will have a coffee, I think," the dark woman said.

"No," she responded almost frantically- too frantically, she realized too late.

"My pleasure, of course," the woman hastened to add. With a graceful motion of her bejeweled hand, she pointed to the chair opposite her. "I've been eager to meet you, Miss Broussard."

Juliette looked back at the man. He rewarded her with a sharp nod then turned to retrieve a cup and saucer from a shelf behind the counter.

As she moved through the store, India, Jasper, and Gaius settled onto shaded benches on the banquette. Lapsing into their island dialect, they murmured among themselves as they watched the traffic move along the street- normal again since Juliette had entered the building and was out of sight. Jesu strutted into the store, cocking her head to one side as she watched Juliette between pecking insects from the floor.

As Juliette moved closer, she could see the woman was extraordinarily lovely, reminding her of Liza- rich brown hair and eyes dark as the coffee she was drinking. Suddenly the merchant moved to her side, drawing the chair back and placing the demitasse on the table. His expression appeared slightly dazed as he stared into her eyes.

"You should close your mouth, Baxter, before you swallow a fly." The woman gave a husky laugh, causing Baxter's cheeks to color.

"I beg your pardon," he declared, then dried his sweating hands on his apron. "But for a moment..."

"She's much like her mama, oui?" The woman's head fell back and she laughed again. The peacock feather brushed her shoulder.

"Yes." Baxter smiled, relieving the tension that had momentarily stiffened Juliette's back. "Extraordinary. Your mother was a frequent customer. Yes, yes, she stopped here often. Sat right here, as a matter of fact. She enjoyed peppermint with her coffee. Would you care for one?"

Her gaze shifted to the glass container of colored candy sticks. How many years since last savoring the hot and sweet bite of peppermint? Her mouth watered and her stomach rumbled. Suddenly she detected every delicious aroma around her. She felt dizzied by them.

Baxter's smile widened. "You always enjoyed the pink the best, though your mother always assured you that there is no difference in flavor. Please. It will be my pleasure."

As he hurried toward the candy, the woman reached for her demitasse. "As I recall he became as flustered over your mama. Then again, so did every other man in Baton Rouge. My name is Virginia, by the way. It's a pleasure to meet you at last."

The coffee was thick and black and so hot it burned her tongue. Ah, but it was delicious. Her eyes closed in pleasure. Even the mention of her mother could not spoil her enjoyment of the drink. Then she realized that she rarely became displeased any longer by thoughts of her mother.

"I understand you've moved into Belle Jarod," Virginia said, then blew on her coffee to cool it.

"Yes."

"How are you surviving?"

"Well enough."

"You have your mother's tenacity."

"I suppose that's a compliment?" She hesitantly returned her smile.

"Of course. Your mother was highly regarded in Baton Rouge."

A frown crossed her brow and Juliette focused harder on her coffee.

"Does that surprise you?" Virginia asked, tipping her head slightly to one side as she regarded her.

"That depends by what you mean. In what way did they 'highly regard' her?"

Virginia relaxed against the high back of her chair. There was a choker around her long neck- a black velvet ribbon with a cameo of ivory and onyx.

Pulling a lace-edge cambric kerchief from between her full breasts, she pressed it to her cheeks as she watched Juliette sip the hot coffee. "There are a great many people in this town who are grateful to your mama for numerous reasons. She had a sharp mind for business."

Her lips curving sensually, she looked up at Baxter as he placed a demisaucer with pink peppermint sticks on the table. "Take Baxter," Virginia purred, her eyelids growing heavy. "I'm certain he'll tell you that it's thanks to Maureen that he enjoys the profits of this pleasant cafe. Oui?"

"Yes." He nodded. "Oh yes."

"Before there was no dignified place, other than La Madeleine, to enjoy this splendid brew." Lifting one eyebrow, she added, "Would you care to hear how Baxter's Cafe came to be, Juliette?"

She nodded and reached for the candy stick, eased it into the coffee and stirred. Jesu pecked around her feet and made low noises that sounded disconcertingly human. She tried to nudge the koklo away with her foot.

"I was twelve at the time," Virginia began, her voice soft and distant. "I arrived here from N'awlins with my mama who was very ill. It was December and cold and raining. I wanted a cup of chocolate. But mostly I wanted my mama out of the weather."

She lifted the cup to her lips, and her eyes drifted closed as the steam curled around her features. "She took me into yonda hotel. We sat at a table near the fireplace- the first warmth we had felt since leavin' N'awlins."

Virginia placed her demitasse on the saucer, stared into it a long moment before raising her gaze back to Juliette's. "We were asked to leave, of course. People of color are not allowed in such dignified establishments as La Madeleine.

"There was a beautiful young woman sitting at a table, close enough to overhear the exchange between my sick mama and the proprietor of the hotel. As I recall, she had just been served her meal. To this day I can still feel the ache of hunger in my stomach when I think of that food- hot bread and thick meat with sauce and peas with a goodly slab of butter melting atop it. She turned her head and looked at me and I recall thinking that I ain't ever seen eyes like that, green as a cane field in August.

"She smiled at me- so perty and sweet I forgot about my hurting belly and even the look of distress on my mama's face. She put down her fork and carefully folded her monogrammed napkin and placed it aside her plate. Then she stood and in a voice that cut through the room like a knife blade declared that she would not patronize an establishment that would put out a sick woman and a hungry child.

"The lady brought us to Baxter who invited us to sit at his own table. Your mama sat with us many times after that and, as far as I know, she never stepped foot in the hotel again.

"Maureen and my mama became very good friends over the next few months. She paid for burying my mama when she died.

"Child," Virginia said softly as she leaned toward Juliette. "No need to look so angry when I mention your mama. There are two sides to every story. Ask ten people what they think about a person and you get ten different opinions. You like peppamint. I don't. You sit here and share a demitasse with me and there are a dozen ladies yonda who will not. Don't make me crazy for not liking peppamint any more than it make you crazy for liking it. Understand, Juliette?"

As Juliette nodded and slid the peppermint into her mouth, Virginia narrowed her dark eyes in contemplation.

"You come to town looking for Chantz?"

She thought of lying. What good would it do? Some instinct told her that the woman sharing her company would recognize more clearly than she her excuses for coming to town.

"Heard what Tylor done," Virginia said. "Ever'one heard what Tylor done. Chantz got a lot of friends in this town. Best Tylor watch his back. He and Horace Carrin'ton and Boris Wilcox."

She touched her lip and for the first time Juliette noticed a cut there, just a slight one that was mostly healed except for a pinkish scar. When she spoke again her voice sounded low and thoughtful, with a razor edge of contempt that she had not voiced even when discussing La Madeleine.

"Some getting tired of them rough-shodding over folk. They liable to wake up some night with a knife at their throats."

Juliette's hand tightened around the hot demitasse; the steam wept against her palm, yet she could neither look away from the light in Virginia's eyes nor speak. Emotion closed in her throat and she could not swallow it.

Standing, the chair scraping the floor causing Jesu to scramble toward the door, Virginia reached for her parasol made of the same material as her dress. Her striking height made her even more beautiful as she appeared to float around the table.

Bending over Juliette's shoulder, Virginia whispered near her ear, "The man be worth fighting for. Man who risks a whupping to be with a lady gots to be feeling love whether he know it himself or not."

With that, she turned, murmured something to Baxter, then proceeded out of the store.

Only when she was gone did Juliette look around, up into Baxter's kind eyes.

"As I recall," he said, smiling. "At the time of your mother's unfortunate demise... I owed her money. Will you allow me to repay you with food?"

She looked toward the door again.

India craned to look around the doorpost into the store. Her smile beamed, and Juliette smiled back.

"Yes," she replied, and nodded. "Food will be fine."

Gaius slung the cotton sack of food stuffs- flour, salt, cheese, and coffee, a hock of sugared pork and a

small prized tin of tea- over his right shoulder, the macoute with Jesu over his left. Still, Juliette hung back. Flour and sugar and salt and such were very nice and greatly needed, but they were not the reason she came to town. And while there was a part of her heart that tingled with the awakening of admiration she was beginning to experience for her mother, the slow aching throb of disappointment remained.

Where was Chantz?

Why was he wasting his time working the river when his passion was for cane?

When her passion was for him?

"Who have we got here?"

Turning, she looked up into the countenance of a man with pale blue eyes and a complexion like wheat

paste. His blond hair was slicked back from his heavy brow, giving him a hooded, hawklike appearance.

Jasper and Gaius stepped back and diverted their gazes to the ground, less out of respect, Juliette suspected, than aversion. India, her heavy jowls aquiver, glared at him with a hatred hotter than the afternoon sun baking their shoulders. She did not step away, however, but placed herself at Juliette's side with her feet planted firmly apart. His lips thinned as he smiled and reached for her hand- gloveless, he noted with a hesitation and a lift of his oddly arched brows. His eyes narrowed as they appraised the roughness of her fingertips and the scabbed abrasions over her knuckles. Yet, he lifted her hand toward his lips as his discomposingly pale gaze shifted to hers.

"Mademoiselle Broussard, I assume?"

She slipped her hand from his and wiped it on her skirt. She'd heard enough about this man the last weeks to feel repulsion at his touch.

"Carrington." She stepped away. "Your reputation precedes you."

"Merci." He straightened.

"There's no reason to thank me, I assure you. 'Twasn't meant as a compliment."

His smile didn't falter. His eyes burned more brightly as he curved his soft white fingers around the

snakehead crook of his stepping cane. The eyes of the snake were faceted emeralds, the carved scales tipped with gold. She tried not to imagine that for what Carrington spent on such a frivolous object she could eat for a month... if not longer.

"I understand you've moved onto your father's estate. You're wasting your time, Miss Broussard. Belle Jarod is as dead and buried as her namesake. If you care to sell her-"

"Impossible. She's not yet mine to sell."

"Ah, yes. There is that little matter of age or marriage." His gaze slid down her body. "I wouldn't be opposed to assisting the matter along in one form or another."

"Considering Phyllis Buley is as we speak planning your wedding, I hardly believe you're in a position to contemplate other 'forms or another' regarding marriage."

"But you misunderstand me. I mean only to... shall we say, provide for you in a manner that would keep you comfortable until you're of age to sell the Belle to me."