Chapter Sixteen:Thunder Storm

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Crystal woke with a shout that was drowned in a clap of thunder as rain poured down upon Oak Alley, yet again. The small respite of yesterday apparently natures way of mocking the people of New Orleans. Closing her eyes tightly, she tried to fight off the images of her dream, but Joseph’s dead and ripped body pressed on her lids and demanded attention.

“No,” she moaned quietly, burying her head in her hands as fresh tear spilled from her red and swollen eyes. The dream refused to let her rest. Throughout the night she had wrestled against it. The frightening sorrow of the dream always winning out. She was left panting and crying in her bed. She couldn’t take it. Joseph couldn’t be dead. Yet, there had been so much blood; how could he survive?

A slash of lightening split the sky. Brightening up her dark room even through the small cracks in the heavy drapes. Her bedroom was gloomy in the faint afternoon light, the air thick and damp, filled with the smell of sickness and medicine. Everything was cold and she found no comfort in the familiar surroundings. Liza slept soundly in a rocker next to the banked fire. Her mouth hung open as she snored. The poor dear hadn’t slept the entire night because of Crystal’s constant awakening and outbursts in her sleep. Now even the thunder couldn’t wake the weary nursemaid.

There was a sudden pounding at the door. Excited voices bickered momentarily on the other side before the door was thrown open and her two younger sisters burst in. Before Crystal had time to warn them against it, they jumped onto the bed. The force sent a ripple through the mattress that shifted the delicate position she had found. The movement caused a sharp pain to rip through Crystal’s side and cut off her next breath. The endless throbbing of her head exploded into an excruciating stab in her forehead. She fought back the stinging tears.

“Oh my goodness, Crystal. We’re so sorry” Dawn cupped her hand over her mouth in horror, all excitement forgotten. “We– I forgot. Are you all right?”

There was a long pause as Crystal sucked in air between her teeth. The pain slowly subsided to the dull ache it had become after all the laudanum she had been dosed with.

“Crystal?” Christy whispered, watching her uncertainly as she chewed on her fingernails.

“I . . . I’m alright,” Crystal groaned unconvincingly, staring at the ceiling.

Dawn inched forward and brushed strands of dark hair from Crystal’s face. “Are you sure?”

Crystal nodded, closing her eyes again and soaking up the feeling of Dawn’s cool hand stroking her heated face. She was so tired, and yet she had been sleeping since yesterday evening. As soon as she and Rose had arrived at the hospital Father was called for and they had returned home in the back of an ambulance cart with him and immediately put to bed. They had been critically watched by every soul in the house over the hours. There was little chance for explanation and the de la Chaise’s only knew what the police had told them. Crystal had been informed by her mother this morning that Charles had stopped by to check on her. Though hadn’t wished to wake her, which Crystal was grateful for. According to Mrs. de la Chaise, he had appeared worn and the news of his father’s gruesome death had hit him and his mother very hard. This surprised Crystal to a small degree, Charles had never been very fond of his father, at least not that she could tell. Papa Marginy’s traveling had obviously been a sore subject for Charles since she had known him.

Thinking of Papa Marginy was another thing that caused a stinging in Crystal’s eyes. She had only just begun getting to know him and now he was gone. If Eleanor was feeling anywhere near the pain that she was feeling over Joseph, Crystal didn’t envy the newly made widow one bit.

“Crystal, you won’t believe it,” Christy whispered.

It was with effort that Crystal opened her eyes and looked at her sister. “What’s happened?” she asked wearily.

Dawn handed her the folded front page of The Picayune that she had been holding tightly in her fist. Crystal took it and tried to lift herself up in to a sitting position but slumped back onto the bed. Her breath came in short gasps.

“Here.” Dawn got to one side of her older sister and gestured for Christy to get on the other. Together they carefully lifted her up onto the pillows piled against the headboard. Even the gentle movement caused Crystal pain. Stifling a cry, she waited for her body to stop hurting before lifting the paper to study. Dawn stood, and going to the window, pulled back the curtains, the dim light was barely enough to illuminate the black and white page, but Crystal was able to read the headlines: POLICE RAID MARGARET’S MANOR!, the bold letters stated. Squinting, Crystal devoured the information.





Early this morning of July 12, 1846, police surrounded the mansion on Royal Street known as ‘Margaret’s Manor.’ A house infamous for the ill-bred ladies who work for Madame Margaret Gates. They received a tip-off of the location through a source closely connected to the tragedy yesterday. Mr. Charles de Marginy de Mandeville (Son of recently deceased Pierre de Marginy de Mandeville) claims suspicion led him to the hideout of the notorious gang known as ‘The Clan.’

The raid began at dawn, and by 6 o’clock a dozen of Theodore Riley’s closest members were apprehended by the authorities. They were carted off to the parish prison by Chief of Police, Samuel Bedford, where they will await trial for the heinous crimes they are convicted of. Judge Bernard Dreaux is expected to condemn them to lynching. As is befitting the punishment of all murderers.

Though Theodore Riley has once again escaped capture, the police have issued a manhunt throughout New Orleans–





Crystal dropped the newspaper as if it had burst into flame. She felt her heart plummet to her stomach and begin pounding uncontrollably in its newfound position. The image of Joseph being hanged flashed across her mind and she felt sick. How would he be able to escape a police raid with a bullet wound in his chest? Unless he’s dead, her conscious reminded her cruelly. He will be soon if he isn’t already.

“Is everything alright?” Christy asked with concern.

“Don’t cry, Crystal,” Dawn admonished gently, snatching up the paper from the bed. “This is good news.” She gestured to the rough sketch of one of the bank robbers on the front page. “This is the man that killed Mr. de Marginy.”

Crystal stared at the drawing through her tears, knowing it to be true. The man who shot Papa Marginy in cold blood and then turned his gun on her. But he had never fired, she had turned to Joseph and seen his handsome tan face turn ghost white in a matter of moments. Yet she had never seen who shot him. She had been too distracted by the sudden flow of blood from his chest.

She pushed the paper that Dawn held out to her away. She couldn’t take this anymore. She felt faint and wanted to be alone. She wasn’t sure how long she could hold up this wall of emotions against her sisters concerned looks. They would never understand why this news upset her.

“What’s wrong, Crystal?” Christy asked. “We thought you’d be happy about this.”

“I am happy,” she assured them, even as a sob caught in her throat. “This is good news, I’m just – just tired.”

“Alright, Christy, lets go.” Dawn slide off the high bed and placed The Picayune on the bedside table. Then gestured for her little sister to follow her to the door.

“Wait,” Crystal called quietly. “Is Rose alright?”

Dawn and Christy exchanged looks before Dawn addressed her. “Y–yes, she’s fine. Sleeping right now is all.”

Crystal nodded, though something in Dawn’s expression as she and Christy left her bedroom told her there was definitely something wrong with their sister. Crystal laid flat on her back stared at the ceiling as tears trickled out the corners of her eyes, and sobs left her gasping for breath. She grabbed a pillow and smashed it over her head, for a moment considering suffocating herself just to get away from the ripping pain in her heart. She felt trapped, alone, and helpless. Her mind raced in all directions. She could talk to William and get Joseph pardoned. She could sell every valuable thing she owned to get him out. She could beg for his life in the Place d’Armes as he was brought out to be hanged. Every thought was completely insane, but she wasn’t quite sure she was sane anymore. This was all Joseph’s fault after all. If he had only let her help him as she asked. But what was she saying? It was all her fault. She should have stayed with him, protected him, even if she had no idea how to do it.

She was shaking now, unable to breathe as tears choked her. She dragged herself up from the bed, ignoring the searing pain in her side. She had to get to him, somehow. Grabbing onto the bedpost, she wavered on her feet and studied the distance to her wardrobe. She had to get dressed and go down to the prison. They would let him out if she asked nicely. You could get anything by being polite, Mother always said. One step. Why was the room getting so blurry? She tried to wipe her eyes but the fuzziness didn’t go away. Two steps. Was there a slant in the floor that she had never noticed before? Three steps. Had her crying been that loud, to wake Liza? Four steps. Who was shouting her name? Why was it getting so dark . . . ?

*******

Thunder . . . roaring like a beast ready to devour. Followed quickly by a shot of lightening that lit the sky and the confines of her bedroom. Then left the world in utter darkness so quickly that the flash might have been imagined. Yet this wasn’t what woke Crystal out of her sleep, nor was it the dream that was now a common night terror. It was a feeling. A feeling that she was no longer the only one in the room. She pulled herself into a sitting position, and shoved back her tangled hair. She searched the deep shadows of her bedchamber, wondering momentarily how she had gotten back in her bed and if it was still the same day. She glanced at her bedside table and saw the newspaper still resting where Dawn had left it. The last thing she remembered was Liza running towards her. Now her maid was deeply asleep on her cot across the room, her snores barely audible. Rain crashed down upon the plantation with fury, and Crystal wondered if it had been storming since that afternoon. The wind howled through the trees, moaning its anger, interrupted once in a while by another grumble from the sky.

She scanned the room a moment longer, then, deciding she was imagining things, she laid back down. A freezing cold hand clamped over her mouth.

“Don’t scream. I’m not gonna hurt you.”

The voice was young and halting, as if he couldn’t quite catch his breath. It sounded slightly familiar. She could see nothing but the blurry outline of a man. He smelled like a wet horse, and she could feel his hand shaking as he held her down, causing pain in her bruised jaw. Water from his soaking wet clothing seeped into her thin nightgown. She stared up at him terrified that the bank robbers had come to finish her off. Though his presence wasn’t menacing– more desperate. She struggled momentarily against him, but he shoved her down brutally, the bed sinking under the pressure. She clambered for breath and calm as she tried to push his hand away. When all else failed she went limp on the mattress and after a moment he released her.

“Who are you?” she whispered gasping. “Why are you here?”

“I came to ask for your help,” he whispered urgently. “Not for myself, but for someone you know.”

Crystal sucked in a breath, hope and real terror rising in her at once. “Whom do you speak of?”

“My brother, Joey Cross. He’s– he’s close to death. But I think you can help him.” Her heart lifted as another bolt of lightening flashed through the room. She saw the pleading in his expression and she was surprised. The one other time she had seen this man there had been no compassion for his brother in him whatsoever. Now he looked afraid.

Crystal pulled herself up from the bed and her attacker backed away to give her space. “So he’s not dead? Is he in prison?”

“No, though he’s one of the only ones. Me and Jeremy left Maggie’s place right before the raid to get him to you. But we saw the police and decided to wait until dark to come here. We brought him to a boarding house where he’d be safe. Jeremy’s with him now.”

Crystal slide her legs over the side of the bed and stood. Her limbs wobbling beneath her weight. “Take me to him,” she said, and her legs gave under her. She would have fallen if it were not for Michael’s arms swiftly catching her. “Sorry,” she murmured, the feel of Michael’s arms painfully familiar, although she had never felt them before.

“What happened to you?” Michael asked, letting her steady herself against him.

“Snake didn’t tell you?” she asked angrily. Her mind shifting to the image of that foul man.

“I– he– no, he didn’t.” She glanced up at the uneasy look Michael gave– not her– but her wounds. She knew her bruised face was nothing pretty to look at.

“Well, I don’t think we have time for details of your friends assault,” Crystal said, carefully

walking to her wardrobe.

“He’s not my friend,” he said, and she was surprised by the defensiveness of his tone. “I probably hate him more than you do. But you’re right, there’s no time for that.”

Crystal nodded stiffly, hanging on the door of her closet as she searched for something to throw on. She yanked out an old thick woolen dress and pulled it on over her nightgown. The lifting of her arms shot spasms down her side. She gratefully dropped into the armchair beside her and pulled on a pair of boots. Standing, she glanced at Liza’s heavily sleeping form and then grabbed her cloak from the wardrobe. She flipped it over her shoulders and turned to Michael who was watching her. Though the far away look in his eyes said he wasn’t seeing her at all.

The hospitality her mother had always taught her took over all reasoning for a moment and she thought to offer him one of the guest rooms. Along with some warm dry clothes and something to eat. He looked so gaunt and cold in the wet clothes that stuck to every inch of his lean figure. He seemed to be trying to restrain the shivering that racked his body, it did little good. However, this was a life or death situation and they didn’t have time for cordial receptions. Joseph was dying; this man had just broken into her house; even worse, her bedroom.

“How did you get in?” she asked regarding the room. The household was probably in their third dream by now. It was such a late hour, but it would be impossible to break in down stairs without a little noise and James de la Chaise was not a heavy sleeper.

“Through the window,” he said, gesturing towards the window that, she could now see, had traces of water around it. “I climbed one of those oaks and it wasn’t locked.”

Crystal nodded. “Did you come on a horse?”

“Yeah, he’s at the end of the road.”

“Good.” She moved to the door and felt the floor tipping beneath her. “I’ll take my horse. But–” She turned back toward Michael. “You may have to help me up.”

He nodded, acknowledging her weak state and followed her as she slowly and very quietly made her way through the house. Out on the back veranda they eyed the pouring rain. Michael shivered, obviously dreading venturing back into it. Nevertheless, Crystal lifted her cloak and together they braved the storm. Halfway to the stables she grabbed Michael’s arm to keep from falling. The rain had already penetrated her cloak and was seeping through her dress. Looking straight ahead was nearly impossible because of the onslaught of water thrashing their faces. The world was rocking back and forth under her feet and the stable seemed like a sanctuary against the monster storm. Michael saddled the horse Crystal indicated and helped her up onto it and then jumped up behind her so she could bring him to the road. At the end of the alley of trees Michael led the bay gelding from behind the giant oak and mounted him.

“We should hurry,” he shouted over the wind and rain. “I don’t know how long we have.”

“Where are we going?” she shouted back, her voice barely strong enough to be heard.

“Gallatin Street.”

He started down the road at a walk to keep the horses from slipping, and after a surprised moment Crystal followed.

*******

Though it was known that the French Quarter didn’t believe bedtime came until well after midnight, there was no more dreadful place than the two blocks between Ursuline Avenue and Barracks Street. Michael and Crystal entered this street of dingy buildings and broken cobblestones on foot, soaking wet and looking like part of the scenery after they had escaped the rain back on Canal. The city had seen its share of water as well, judging by the puddles that were knee deep in some places, and the debris of trash and tree limbs that scattered the street.

Michael insisted that bringing their horses anywhere near Gallatin would surely get the animals stolen and themselves killed, so walking had been the only option. Crystal realized why this part of the Vieux Carre was one of the most feared places in New Orleans. The only establishments were those of ill repute. Barrel-houses, dance-houses, bordellos, gin-mills and sailors’ boarding houses. Each brightly lit in the darkness of night, rowdy and roaring with life. Screams and raised voices were obviously common here. For no one turned to look or even glanced when such screeches filled the night. Though the lack of interest might have been because of everyone’s grief over being wet and sticky. Or their attention may have been focused on passerbyes, all of who looked lethal. There were hordes of harlots on every corner, sneak thieves, garroter’s openly carrying strangling cords, and footpads with slung shots looped about their wrists.

Michael held her arm tightly as they hurried down the street. Muttering to himself about how much attention she was bringing to them both. She could feel the eyes of everyone they passed upon her. Keeping her face concealed under her hood seemed to do little good. She saw Mike pull out his gun and cock it, holding it tightly at his side as he quickened their pace.

“Almost there,” he murmured and she could hear relief in his voice as he stared at a boarding house only three buildings down from them.

However, before they could make it there, Crystal heard the loud thwack of wood against bone and felt Michael collapse beside her just as a long cord circled her throat. Her scream and breath was cut off and she was pulled back into a solid mass of muscle and the sharp scent of unwashed body and sour whiskey. She pried at the rope around her neck but the bulky man only jerked it harder. She was barely aware of anything as the world began going dark. She heard scuffling in front of her and Mike cursing, though his slurred words seemed to be coming from under water. She gave a last attempt at fighting her captor, flailing her leg trying to get a good shot at him. But the lack of air was making her lightheaded. What a sad way to die. She thought as blackness surrounded her. Before the lights fully went out the cord dropped and she sagged to the ground. The world coming back into focus as she sucked in sweet air. Oxygen filled her deprived lungs and cleared her mind. She looked around and saw her attacker dead beside her. Michael was on his feet giving a last furious kick to one of the five now lifeless men that had tried to club him to death. He spit out mouthfuls of blood and wiped his bashed head with one sleeve to get the oozing scarlet from falling in his eyes.

Crystal jumped as she felt someone grab her arm. With wide eyes she turned and found the tall lanky frame of the man who had dragged Joseph from the bank towering over her. “Come on,” he said, pulling her to her feet. “I can fight six thugs but looking like you do I don’t think I could handle an entire street.” She gave him a quizzical look but posed no questions as she lifted her hood once more.

“What were you thinkin’ lettin’ her come down here like this anyhow, Mike?” said the man turning to address his friend.

Michael glanced at Crystal before hawking out another mouthful of blood. “I dunno, Jeremy. Wasn’t paying much attention when I was riding through the pouring rain, I guess,” he said sarcastically.

He obviously hated that his mistake had been pointed out, though Crystal couldn’t see exactly what he was supposed to do. It wasn’t like she had marched down here in frills and lace. Though maybe if she had she would have blended in better with the other woman in the street who were decked out in gaudy jewelry and bright costumes. It seemed there would have been danger either way.

Jeremy shrugged at Mike’s reply and reloaded his gun. The nozzle was still smoking from when he’d fired moments before. The bullet having disappeared after slicing its way through her assailants head. She could feel small flecks of blood drying on her face and rubbed her raw throat. Why was she always getting herself in such dangerous situations?

“Let’s go.” Jeremy flipped his pistol closed and grabbed Crystal’s arm once more. “The longer we stand here the more people plotting our death.”

Michael nodded in agreement as he scooped up his fallen gun from the ground. They made their way cautiously to the boarding-house. Jeremy banged firmly on the door and they waited eyes and ears alert for anyone else willing to attempt killing them. Crystal glanced up at the old rotting house with unease. If Joseph was still alive he wouldn’t be for long in this hell they called Gallatin Street. The door finally opened and a gust of stale filth hit them in the face. Followed by a gruff female voice telling them to enter. Crystal hesitated on the threshold. She could hear boisterous voices, loud cursing, and bodies thudding against walls but was unable to see them. Jeremy pulled her inside and the door shut behind them. After a moment of being blind, Crystal sighed with relief when a candle was lit. the flame illuminated a room with a crumbling hearth and two broken chairs beside a table. The light also revealed the face of the innkeeper, a woman who may have been pretty in her youth. Her hair was now lank and colorless, falling around her pale face, her mouth was full of rotting teeth. She held up the candle to study them. “I charge extra for keeping women overnight,” she said eyeing Crystal. “Even if they’s ain’t mine.”

“Don’t worry, she wouldn’t stay here over night to save her life,” Jeremy said winking at Crystal. “See unlike you she doesn’t enjoy sleeping with fleas. I don’t know what’s wrong with her.”

The woman shrugged as if she couldn’t understand it either. Before she could say anything else the threesome hurried out of the room and into a short hall where a narrow staircase led up to the attic. Crystal stared up into more blackness, heavy snoring, moans and muffled shouting came to their ears. Jeremy was the first one up the stairs and Michael nodded at Crystal to precede him. She supposed it was the guest’s sleeping quarters that she entered, though it more resembled a filthy prison. There were bodies sprawled across every inch of space. Some asleep, others possibly dead. All smelling of urine or vomit. She couldn’t imagine why anyone would pay to stay here. You could only stand in the very center where the roof peeked. Jeremy took her hand to lead her across the sea of drunk men. Both of them bent over to keep from smacking their heads on the ceiling. They picked their way through the room, trying to avoid stepping on anyone. Though Crystal was sure she felt limp fingers under her heel. Jeremy crouched down in the very corner of the attic over a pile of blankets. She made it to his side and he pushed aside a lifeless body near them to make room for her to kneel down. From behind her Michael reached forward with a lit match. Dimly illuminating the heap before them. She had to choke down a yelp of surprise when Jeremy flipped back the cover. She stared in horror, she couldn’t quite tell who the gaunt, bruised and beaten man was. He was soaked with sweat and his clothes had been stripped away, the blanket was filthy and reeked of bodily fluid. She leaned forward and tried to hear his heart and found his skin was freezing cold under the perspiration. Dear God he hads a fever as well! The sound of his heart was so faint she wondered if she was imagining it. She put her ear to his mouth and felt the shallow wisps of his breath; tears stung her eyes.

“Joseph, I’m so glad you’re a live,” she whispered, shifting his head gently so he faced the light of the match in Mike’s hand. His face was swollen from the hits he’d received at the bank and she glanced down at his shirtless chest to see dirty strips of sheets rapped around him. The grime would surely infect the wound if they didn’t remove them soon. She felt his head and found a cut that had been quickly stitched with flimsy thread. This would also get infected if not cleaned regularly.

“We’ve got to get him out of here,” she said, glancing at Jeremy who seemed to be watching her reaction to the scene intensely.

“I know,” he said, just as the match went out and Michael began fumbling for another one. “But what are you gonna do with him?”

Crystal’s eyes widened in alarm. She hadn’t thought of that. What would she do with him? He wouldn’t exactly be a welcome guest at Oak Alley, and she had no skills in doctoring whatsoever. Where could she bring him?

*******

"Chapter Seventeen: The Cottage"