Prologue

Prairieville, Louisiana

1867

Carrie rested her head against the cool glass of the front window. It was dark outside and had been for a good while. Hugh sometimes worked late during the busy season, but there was rarely a reason for an accountant to work late in August. Certainly not in Prairieville, Louisiana. Maybe in a big city like Baton Rouge or New Orleans there might have been, but neither Carrie nor Hugh had any desire to go to a place like that. They liked their small town, in the middle of Cajun country, and never had the desire to live anywhere else.

The moonlight reflected her image back to her in the window, although the old glass made her appear a bit like a ghost. Her strawberry-blonde hair was starting to come loose from its proper restraints at such a late hour, but it just emphasized the heart-like shape of her face. She’d never been very tall, and a passer-by could be forgiven if they thought she was a child in the window.

A dog barked in the distance, and Carrie shuddered. The war had ended only two years earlier. Louisiana had been spared the brunt of it, as the Union had occupied the state early on, but violence still found them as they tried to reintegrate into the Union. Most of it happened in the bigger cities, but the rest of the state wasn’t immune.

Her younger daughter, nine-year-old Lela, shuffled into the room. Her pale eyes reflected the light of the full moon from the window, making her look almost ghostly. “Mama? When will Papa be home?”

Carrie bit her lip and smoothed the front of her skirt. “Well, sweetheart, I’m sure he’ll be home soon. How are you getting on with your needlework?”

Lela looked away. “Fine. I’m almost done with that shirt I was making for Papa. I was working on it until I couldn’t see any more.”

Carrie made herself smile. “Well, that’s a good thing, isn’t it? You wouldn’t want to accidentally hem the neckline shut.”

Lela giggled, which had been Carrie’s goal. “No, Mama. That wouldn’t be good at all.”

“Why don’t you and Frieda head up to bed, muffin? It’s late, and there will be plenty of work for us to do tomorrow.”

“Okay, Mama.” Lela smiled up at her, but then she paused. “Mama, the bad men aren’t going to get Papa, are they?”

Carrie stroked her daughter’s hair and hoped the little girl couldn’t feel how it trembled. She didn’t have to ask who the bad men might be. There were many options to choose from, but in the end, they were all the same. Whether it was the thousands of Confederate deserters hiding in the parish, or the violent anti-Unionists willing to kill anyone they suspected of supporting change, or even Federal soldiers helping themselves to anything they saw that caught their eye, the end was always the same. Bloodshed, and a lot of it.

“I don’t think so. Your Papa has the good sense to stay away from anything that might put him in harm’s way. He loves you and Frieda too much to risk it.”

“Thank you, Mama.” Lela kissed her cheek and scurried up the stairs, where her big sister doubtless already waited. Frieda, fifteen, was too sensible to be anywhere else at that late hour.

Carrie went back to the window and gripped the locket at her throat. The fine scrollwork on the front was as familiar to her as her own hand. The face inside, in miniature form, was more familiar to her than her own, and far more dear. She didn’t want to think that the upheaval of the past few years would have touched her beloved husband, but she couldn’t discount the possibility either.

She grabbed her Colt revolver, the one she’d practiced with at Hugh’s insistence, once the dangers became known, and slipped next door. Her neighbor, Mrs. Plank, was a sweet, older Cajun woman who had taught Carrie how to shoot. She would be a good guardian for the girls.

When Carrie explained herself, Mrs. Plank was more than happy to watch over the girls, though she had some reservations about Carrie going out to search for her husband. “There’s something foul in the air tonight, and I don’t like the way the wind is blowing. I don’t want you running into the same kind of trouble as him, Cher.”

Carrie blushed. “Thanks, Mrs. Plank. I just can’t spend another minute without knowing.”

“You take care of yourself.”

Carrie hurried down the street, alert to every sound.

She encountered no trouble on her way to Hugh’s office, although she thought she saw the occasional glittery eyes of an alligator follow her in the moonlight. She knew well enough to stay on the road and out of the swamps. Plenty of people from out of town, the people stirring up all the trouble, had made that mistake.

Carrie was from out of town herself, but she’d listened when Hugh brought her from the bayous around Houston. After all that time, she’d all but become native.

Hugh’s office building was dark and locked up tight. She frowned, a pit forming in her gut, and walked further into town. There was one more place she could look, and that was the saloon. She didn’t much like to go into the saloon. It wasn’t a place for decent women. Still, Hugh sometimes had business meetings in there. If he was there having a meeting, she would at least know he wasn’t lying in a ditch somewhere.

She crossed the street and slipped into the saloon. Her eyes watered from all the tobacco smoke, and the stink of stale beer made her want to gag. Garish red paint marred the walls, not dimmed by years of smoke or dim lighting. Men from all walks of life filled the room, from the shabby bar to the stained walls. There didn’t seem to be as many serving girls at work tonight as there had been the few times she’d been in here before, and the customers were grumbling about it too.

A hand gripped her elbow. “Mrs. Blair? Come on outside. Rosie, can you bring Mrs. Blair a brandy?”

Carrie looked up at the bearded face of the saloon proprietor, Mr. Beranger. “I’m afraid I’m not a drinker, sir.” Her heart sped up. She knew Beranger well enough to greet him on the street or at church, but only that far. She didn’t know him well enough to want him putting his hands on her, especially with Hugh not being present.

“Trust me, Cher, you’ll need it.” He guided her back out onto the front porch, which was lit with oil lamps in addition to the generous full moon.

What was he hiding from her? His tone was kind enough, but why would he be putting a drink in her hands? It was too strange. A cold sweat broke out under her corset, along her spine.

The serving girl called Rosie, who wore a scarlet gown with a neckline that defied decency, emerged from the saloon with a full snifter of brandy. She pressed it into Carrie’s hand and murmured, “Désolée, Madame,” with a sympathetic gesture.

Carrie looked at Beranger. “What’s happening? Is my husband inside? Is he hurt?”

Beranger shook his head. “He ran off with one of my girls, Daisy, at around noon. I’m so sorry.”

The world fell away from Carrie. She was vaguely aware that Beranger was helping press the cup to her lips, but she didn’t taste anything. She must have turned and gotten down the steps somehow. Later, she would find dirt on her knees, and know she’d fallen. Her throat hurt from screams, or sobs, but she had no memory of it. She had no sense of how she walked home, and if a deserter, a soldier, or other malefactor attacked her she wouldn’t have reacted at all.

She fled to her room and sobbed until daylight. She had tried so hard to be a good wife to Hugh. She’d come to live in Louisiana for him, she’d given him children, she’d comforted him through every trial and even injuries sustained in war. What had she done to make him abandon her and his daughters?

The world wasn’t kind to abandoned wives, or to their children. Carrie knew that. She’d read all about the fates of women who’d driven their husbands away. They starved to death on the streets of big cities, like New York, working their fingers to the bone, in mills and factories that doubled as slaughterhouses, with an errant spark. Their children were forced into the same work or worse, dying before they had a chance to live.

When she’d first come to Louisiana, she’d been almost giddy with hope for the future. That same future loomed ahead, bleak and forbidding now.

She picked herself up and dried her face. She knew she must look terrible, but a splash of cool water from the basin would help with that. Hugh had abandoned her and their children, but she wouldn’t compound the girls’ loss. She brought them into the world. She had an obligation to keep them in it, to raise them. She was going to do it right from here on in, and she was going to protect them too. She would keep them from making the same mistakes she had.

She would ensure they didn’t have to depend on someone else for their lives, no matter what.

She started breakfast, and it was ready at the usual time when the girls roused themselves. They tumbled down the stairs in their usual noise and chatter but stopped suddenly when they walked into the kitchen and found Carrie alone.

“Mama, where’s Papa?” Frieda tilted her head to the side.

Carrie took a breath and hid her trembling hand behind her apron. “Your father won’t be coming home, I’m afraid. It will only be the three of us from now on.”

Frieda paled and staggered back, while Lela rushed to Carrie’s side. “How will we survive?”

“I don’t know yet.” Carrie petted Lela’s hair as she responded to her eldest. “We’ll probably have to make some changes. But whatever happens, we’ll do it together.” She reached out and took Frieda’s hand.

Chapter One

Prairieville, Louisiana

1870

Carrie flinched as Frieda’s voice hit a volume and pitch to shatter windows.

“The fact that Papa ran away from you doesn’t mean that all men are bad!” She slammed her hand down on the table. A teacup and saucer jumped from the vibration, falling to the floor and shattering. “I love Remy and he loves me. Just because you’re bitter and loveless doesn’t mean the rest of us have to be!”

Carrie took a deep breath and silently counted to five. “I’m not asking you to stay single for the rest of your life, join a convent, or anything like that, Frieda. I’m asking you to do two things. I’m asking you to wait to marry because you’re very young, only eighteen. And now I’m asking you to clean up the teacup you knocked off the table.”

Frieda stomped her foot. “I didn’t knock anything down and it’s your fault for leaving it there in the first place.” She marched up the stairs, her feet landing on each riser with enough force to crack them. Carrie flinched again when Frieda slammed her door.

She sighed and went to grab the broom. Her feet and back ached from work, but she couldn’t leave the broken china where the dog could step on it. She couldn’t help but resent Frieda for being so thoughtless of the dog she’d been so delighted to adopt. If she couldn’t care for a dog, what made her think she was ready for a husband and home of her own?

She disposed of the shards in the privy and returned to the parlor. If only she could dispose of this unhealthy air between her and Frieda so easily! She would have understood if Frieda had acted out back when Hugh first left. Frieda had been her father’s darling, his pride and joy.

But she’d rallied and been a solid ally when Carrie found herself alone, taking magnificent care of Lela when Carrie had to get a job to support them all. She hadn’t complained once about the reduction in their lifestyle, either. It had only been this past year that Frieda’s dark side had come out.

Hot tears splashed down Carrie’s cheeks, and she sank down onto the camelback sofa. She was losing Frieda, and there was nothing she could do about it. Eventually the girl would just run off with that fiancé of hers and set herself up to wind up just like Carrie. As it was, she hadn’t listened to a word Carrie said in a year.

A soft cough alerted her to Lela’s quiet presence. She looked like Hugh, with her long, smooth dark hair and prominent cheekbones, but she was already growing into a steady, stable, reasonable person. Only twelve, she gave Carrie time to dry her eyes before stepping into the room.

“I talked to Frieda and told her to be nicer to you. I know she’s eager to get on with her life and everything, but she should take her time and be sure. You’re older than her, you’ve seen a lot more and done a lot more than she has, and she should learn from you.”

She held Beatrice, the tiny dog Carrie had gotten to help the girls with their loss, in her arms. Beatrice had been Frieda’s idea, but Lela had the better bond with her.

Carrie patted the dog’s little head. “That was kind of you, sweetheart. How was school today?”

“It was okay.” She glared at the door. “Pierre Comtois said something nasty about women whose husbands ran off, so I told him I’d feed him to a gator if he didn’t shut his face.”

Carrie struggled not to laugh. “Lela! That’s not very ladylike.” She’d had to harden herself against other people’s judgement over the past three years. After all, she knew how people were. She’d made the same judgements about herself, after all.

Some people had been kind. It was enough for her.

“Then I showed him the gator-tooth bracelet Mrs. Plank helped me make. He said sorry.” She nuzzled Beatrice for a moment. “I got dinner ready for us.”

Carrie beamed. “All by yourself?”

Lela nodded. “Frieda didn’t have to help me with the cookstove this time. I can manage it myself.” She twirled one of her braids. “Maybe I could get a job cooking?”

Carrie laughed a little. “You’re only twelve, my love. There are some twelve-year-olds that do have to get jobs, but I’m grateful that you’re not among them. You can focus on being a little girl for a while longer.”

She had worried about that, back when Hugh first left, but she’d been able to make changes and trim some expenses. She’d sold most of the wedding silverware and replaced it with plain old steel. The carpets had likewise been sold off; the family was fine with plain wood, and with the dog, that turned out to be for the best. Fine china, gold, anything they didn’t need had been done away with, and Carrie found they were happier for it. They still lived comfortably enough, if plainly, and both girls would be well set when they moved forward in life.

“Yes, Mama. I’ll get one if you need me to, though. I know you work hard for us.” She brushed a hand over Carrie’s flour-crusted sleeve.

“It doesn’t feel much like work when I come home to my girls. Besides, I like baking. It’s fun work, and easy enough to do.” It wasn’t a lie, at least the part about baking. She had always enjoyed baking. And she could probably have found a way to stay at home if they’d pared down their lifestyle even further.

The fact was, once Carrie got past the stigma of working outside the home, Carrie liked having her own source of income. Sometimes Mrs. Plank got after her about finding a new husband who could take care of her, but the fact was, there just weren’t very many men around. The war had done a number on them, and on their fortunes. Those who remained certainly weren’t jumping at the chance to take on another man’s daughters, who would be wanting husbands themselves soon enough. Not to mention a wife who hadn’t been good enough to keep the interest of one husband.

Lela passed her an envelope. “Mama, where’s Houston?”

Carrie looked at the address. She recognized her favorite aunt’s handwriting immediately, both in the way Aunt Tillie’s handwriting slanted toward the left, and in the way she applied more pressure to the beginning of each word. “Houston is a town in Texas, honey. It’s where I grew up.”

Lela blinked back at her. “I thought you were Cajun too, like Mrs. Plank.”

She laughed at her daughter. “Everyone likes to forget that parents were people before we had children. I was born and raised in Houston, but I came over to Prairieville when I married your Papa.”

“Wow, I can’t imagine you someplace like that. What’s it like there?”

Carrie sighed. “It’s different from here. And I’m sure it’s fairly different from what it was like when I was a girl, too. Back then, everything was about cotton and sugar. It was cotton fields as far as you could see, and everyone’s life was focused on just… cotton. I can only imagine it’s changed, on account of the war.”

Lela glanced out the window and toyed with the hem of her apron. She didn’t like to think about the war, or its after-effects. Carrie could hardly blame her. She found it just as frightening. “I’m glad we’re safe here, then.”

Carrie opened the envelope. “We’ve all been fortunate so far. Let’s see what Aunt Tillie has to say, shall we?”

Lela sat down on the sofa beside her, and Beatrice snuggled up between them. Carrie opened the letter, and several large bills in federal currency fell out.

Lela gasped, and gathered the money up before Beatrice could take too much of an interest. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen this much money in one place in my life!”

Carrie chuckled. The sum was substantial, but not overwhelming. “My dear niece,” she read aloud. “I find I will be turning forty-five soon. Dear me, I cannot imagine how so many years have passed! While the past several years have been a challenge for so many across the South, I feel we are all owed some joy. With that in mind, I have chosen to throw a party to celebrate. I would be delighted if you and your wonderful children would be so kind as to join me. I have enclosed enough money for train tickets for you. Please do join me as soon as you can; I will value your help above all others in making this celebration happen. Your loving aunt, Matilda Hooper.”

Lela’s eyes sparkled. “Would we really take the train all the way to Texas? I’ve never been on a train before.”

Carrie hummed as her mind spun. She had once thought nothing of the journey between Houston and Prairieville, but the journey now seemed daunting and ill-advised. A boat might be cheaper, but the railroad would be safer. At least, she hoped it would be safer.

“It seems like a big risk right now.” She’d never taken a train anywhere, either. School wouldn’t be an issue, as it was close enough to the summer recess that it wouldn’t matter. And Carrie knew she wouldn’t have a problem taking some time away from the bakery. Summer was a slow time of year anyway.

Lela slumped. “Of course.”

A pang hit Carrie, somewhere in the chest. “Of course, the railroads have more protection. And Aunt Tillie’s place is very safe. She was never caught up in planting. She kept cattle and sheep, along with several other business interests.”

“She sounds rich.”

“She married well, and then she made some excellent choices after her husband died. I think you’ll like her.” Carrie hadn’t realized she’d made her choice, but she found she was content with it once she had.

Maybe a trip would clear the toxic air between Frieda and her. Maybe just getting away from the specter of the past, of everything that had gone wrong, would bring some kind of reconciliation.

And just maybe it would do Carrie some good to go back to where she’d come from. She had loved Louisiana, and it had become her home. Maybe if she could get back to the place where she’d once been so hopeful, she could find some shards of that hope once again.

She told Lela to go tell her sister to pack. After their earlier dispute, the news would probably be better received from Lela than from her. Then she got out a pen and her rarely-used stationary.

“My very dear Aunt Tillie, your letter could not have arrived at a better moment. Our family of three will be delighted to help prepare for your party, and to attend. Eighteen years is a long time to be apart from a place. I am sure Houston will have many changes to amaze and astound me. The change of scenery will be good for Frieda and Lela, too. I hope you will not be troubled by the presence of our small dog, Beatrice. She is a most devoted companion and protector to the girls and will help them as they adjust to such a different environment. We will depart without delay, as I have been parted from my dearest aunt for far too long! Your niece, Carrie Blair”

She stared at the letter for a long moment before preparing it to be sent. It would be a few days before she could go, of course. She had to warn her employer at the bakery and make arrangements with Mrs. Plank to keep an eye on the house. It was only a vacation. They would be coming back, however much she thought they would all benefit from the journey.

Their home was in Prairieville.

Soon enough, Frieda came storming down the stairs, followed by Lela. Her eyes were bloodshot, and her face streaked with tears. “I cannot believe you, Mama! You’re removing us three hundred miles away because you hate my fiancé that much?”

Carrie set the table. “I haven’t met the boy, Frieda, so I can’t like or dislike him. And we aren’t moving permanently. We’re taking a trip, to see family. That’s all. I can’t imagine we’d be gone for more than a few weeks. You’re more than welcome to write to him.

“Ugh!” Frieda flopped into her seat at the table. “You’re impossible. You know that.”

Carrie fetched the jambalaya Lela had prepared and brought it to the table. Lela took her seat across from Frieda, and Carrie sat at the head of the table. “His name is Remy Duguay, Mama. He’s a lawyer in Donaldsonville, working for his father.”

“Well, thank you, Lela, that’s more information than I’ve had for their entire courtship.” Carrie smiled at both of her daughters and ignored the way Frieda glared daggers at Lela.

Yes, this trip would be exactly what they needed to reconnect. Carrie was certain of it.