“I don’t know about that, Fausti. I’d say you’re pretty damn good—you’ve taken me places without even moving me in the physical sense before.”
“All right,” I stopped her. “Open your eyes.”
She blinked a few times.
“Your chariot awaits,mia moglie.”
The horse whinnied, pulling back its lips and showing a mouthful of stained teeth. The driver smiled and tipped his top hat to us, about to get down from his seat to help Scarlett into the carriage.
I held a hand up, signaling that there wasn’t a need. He nodded once, and then got a good look at the woman in the red dress.
“Whoooooa,” he said.
I put a hand on her ass, helping her in, her gold heels glinting in the flaming porch light, and kept my eye on him.
“This is so romantic,” Scarlett said, her face flushed. “I’ve only done this once before.”
“With who?” I said, settling in next to her. Against the plush red-velvet the seats, the white-stained wood of the carriage was stark against the night.
She smiled and scooted in closer, her side my side, her hands my hands. The driver told Ruthie it was time to clickety clack, and then clicked his tongue to get her moving. We jerked before we moved forward.
“With Violet right before we got together,” she said, answering my question. “It was a spur-of-the moment decision. After we stopped at Café du Monde for beignets and café au lait, we ran across the street and found an available horse—or was it a mule?—and buggy in front of the St. Louis Cathedral.
“Our driver gave us a tour. He told us all about Pirates Alley, how pirates used to duel over lovers, and then gave us the general rich history ofNewOrleans.” She mimicked the rich, unique way it was said.
“On the trip back, another horse and buggy got scared by a car, and it took off. The carriage ended up swaying like a drunk on Decatur Street, and one of its wheels crashed into a parked car. There were splinters everywhere. That poor horse.”
“Ruthie has never run into a parked car, has she?” I said to the driver.
“Ahhh, no,” he said, keeping his face forward. “But I doubt that horse was frightened by a car either. These horses, even mules, are accustomed to sharing the road with wheels and legs alike. A car honks their horn at me, Ruthie honks back with her tail. It’d be my guess that a spirit got to that pony. Happens. Animals are more sensitive to that realm.”
“Ooooo,” Scarlett said, her voice starting out low and then rising. “Ghosts!”
“Enough of that,” I said. “Let’s stay in the land of the living.”
“No argument from me.” She smiled, but she attempted to scoot even closer.
Violet had recommended a ghost tour, but I vetoed it. Scarlett would be the one to meet with an old pirate, chatting him up and then finding out later that no one else had even seen him. Then somehow he’d end up challenging me to a dual for my wife’s honor. With Scarlett, stranger things had happened.
The night was hot, but it was still pleasant enough for a ride around the French Quarter in an open carriage. A few stars blazed overhead, and the air was thick with sweet scents, a combination of alcohol and some fragrant flower. Ruthie had her own smell, but it wasn’t unpleasant, only natural—chewed apples and fodder.
Gas lanterns flickered, their wicks undulating behind glass shields, their light illuminating the streets with an almost eerie glow. It danced over the old cobblestones as though they had been slicked with grease, and elongated shadows stretched and retracted in intervals.
Music was the same. It could be heard spilling out of bars and on street corners, loud when passing but echoing in the distance when we came to areas filled with chatter. An occasional laugh or two would ring in my ears, or one voice calling to another. The streets were packed tight with people.
Ruthie’s rhythm of click clack, click clack, the tapping of her hooves against the cobblestone, seemed to make its own song, one that fit into the history and scenery here much better than anything modern could.
Just the sight of the black iron poles that lined the sidewalks and the latticework on the balconies reversed the clocks by hundreds of years.
“Brando?”
“Hmm.”
I looked down at Scarlett at the same time she looked up at me. Her lashes were raven and long, her eyes reacting to the lantern light, causing every facet to shimmer—emeralds set against black velvet.
“If this was it,mio marito—” she lifted her mouth to mine, placing a soft kiss on my lips, and then rested her head against my chest “—this is all I’d want. You. Me. A rock. Andthis.”
I’d give her the world if she asked it of me, or die trying, but she never did. All of that andthiswas all she’d ever wanted. I kissed her again and then patted her side when Ruthie came to a stop in front of Arnaud’s.
