She wanted to thank them.
A quick survey of the large kitchen proved she was alone.
Whoever helped with the fire must not want to be thanked. Still, she couldn’t have strangers coming and going without her leave. She strode outside, circled the house and took careful note of every open space.
Nothing. How is that possible?
As Grace re-entered the kitchen, a huge ball of soot dashed out of the keeping room and stopped to cower under the large butcher block table.
She closed the distance and peered beneath the table. The sooty ball had shiny green eyes. The large tufted ears twitched. It hissed, revealing an impressive set of upper and lower fangs. It was the cat from the keeping room.
“Don’t worry puss. I won’t hurt you.”
Grace made breakfast, ignoring the cat and the state of the kitchen alike. Fire cleanup could come later. She pulled the lone useable stool up to the end of the table farthest from the large feline. Sitting down to a plate of ham and eggs, she cut a small piece of ham and placed it on the floor.
The cat yowled.
Grace continued to ignore it, gulping black coffee in between bites. Fighting a fire first thing in the morning created an appetite. Her hand began to shake so much she was forced to put down her cup. Chills shivered her spine, and Grace wrapped her arms around herself in an effort to stem the cold, creeping dread.
Smoke had been her strongest memory of that long ago blaze. The one that killed her parents. She’d been spirited away by a family friend, though she could not remember who. So unlike this morning, she had not experienced the heat and the deadly threat of sparks, but the smoke. She could smell it, even over the scent of her coffee. She didn’t need the fire to remind her of how vulnerable she was, nor of the deep losses she’d suffered. How did this fire play into that? Was someone trying to kill her, or wreck her plans? Or perhaps she simply did not bank the coals well enough.
That had to be it. No imaginary enemies were out to kill her. She’d no need for despair. She’d simply been careless. Carelessness brought on by exhaustion and the lingering fears she’d carried from Boston.Yes, I’m at fault. From now on I must pay closer attention to what I do.
She glanced at the ham on the floor. It remained exactly where she’d placed it, but a quick look beneath the table revealed the cat creeping forward.
Grace took her dishes to the sink then filled a saucer with water. She turned, intending to put the saucer beside the ham, but the ham had disappeared. The cat too had vanished.
“Well, fine. Don’t keep me company. I’ll put this water down near the table where you can find it when you need it.”
The cat would come or not as it chose. She spent her morning tending the horses, then cleaning up the mess from the fire. With too little time left to start one of the many repairs on her list, she decided to fill her afternoon with a second ride to the village. Grace needed to re-stock her larder and arrange for the delivery of the icebox and mattress she’d ordered as well as regular deliveries of ice. She needed a large number of items, so she would take the pack horse, as well.
Chapter Six
December 03, 1911 Waxing Gibbous
On the road to Duval Point village
Luc, drifted slightly above Grace as she rode. His curse usually tied him to theOnly Loveand a mile-wide surrounding area. He’d learned, however, that he could go farther, if need be. There were limits. The farther or longer he strayed, the more effort required, and the more pain he suffered.
Existing in two worlds wasn’t easy. His curse was governed by the moon. Thus, his body, mind, and spirit were in near constant flux. Being pulled one way or another, like the tides. Every human being experienced pain, but most of those pains were temporary or emotional. He was human so he suffered those. However, for the most part he existed in an alien world. That world, because of the moon tore at his entire being minute by minute. The only relief was the ebb and flow of greater or lesser pain. On the ebb—from the new moon to the full moon, the curse tore in slow methodical pulses head to toe and back. On the flow, each pulse built on the last so that by the new moon he felt nothing but pain, like being ripped into a thousand pieces and scattered to the winds.
Given that his pain was near constant, a large increase—like that caused by traveling too far for too long—could force him back to his ship. Nonetheless, he’d been to Duval Point before. Hovering over water, even at a distance from theOnly Lovelessened the pain to a minor degree. His usual route followed the bayou. However, because he wanted to be close to Grace that was not possible.
He accompanied Grace today, because he feared she was in danger. That fire had been no accident. Someone was trying to hurt or frighten her. Luc was determined to learn who, and why.
Duval Point wasn’t much more than three buildings and a crossroad near the edge of a lake that fed into the bayou. One establishment bore a sign stating Emporium of Groceries, Sundries and Fine Cloth. Opposite that stood a post office. The third structure, sitting catty-cornered from the Emporium and larger than the other buildings, had no sign. A covered porch ran the entire front of thepremises, where several men sat in rocking chairs. The edifice also had a dock that stretched into the lake for a good twenty feet. A variety of pirogues, rowboats and canoes were tied up at the dock. The unidentified structure was a tavern with a few rooms for rent. The owner was a cur, and it wasn’t a place for any lady. Luc hoped Grace was smart enough to stay away.
Reining to a stop in front of the Emporium, she let the horses drink their fill at the public trough before hitching them to a rail.
Luc entered the store on her heels. Closed doors were only a problem for him during the few nights every month when the moon was full.
A tall man with thinning gray hair and a paunch, the grocer was busy with another customer, so Grace wandered the aisles, checking the products offered for purchase.
The corner of Luc’s eye caught the customer leaving but another man entered. This shopper was slightly younger than the grocer and still physically fit. The fellow used entirely too much hair pomade and drowned himself in cheap cologne.
The odor made Luc’s nose twitch, despite his state as a spirit.
“Hullo, DeLille,” the man said.
