Read Online Heaven in a Wildflower by Patricia Hagan - Free Book Online
Authors: Patricia Hagan
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fired back, “and you should be grateful I’d even consider making you such an offer.”
“And flattered you thought I was a good enough stud to keep you serviced in privacy, so you could play the role of vestal virgin for the blue-blooded beaux your family approves of. You never had any intention of marrying me.”
Her lips curled back in a snarl of contempt as she pushed her face against his, demanding, “And what else would a dirty Cajun be good for? Do you think I’d actually want to marry a swamp rat? That’s all you are, you know, you and all your people. You were run out of your own country, because you weren’t wanted, and you’ve bred with the Negroes and the Indians, and—”
“And hypocritical young girls who masquerade as prim and proper ladies by day and romp like wild, wanton whores by night.” Disgusted, he shoved her harder than intended.
She fell, yelping with pain as she hit the floor, scraping her elbows. “You’ll be sorry, you dirty bastard!”
Her hysterical cries had rung out in the stillness of the dawn as he ran from the gazebo.
Brett shook his head viciously to clear away the painful cobwebs from the past.
Margette had been right.
He had been sorry.
Very sorry, indeed.
Her screams had brought everyone in the house running to see what was going on. She said he had tried to rape her, and he figured the only thing that had saved him from being hunted down and lynched was the question of what she was doing out in the gazebo at such an hour.
Margette’s indiscretion, however, had not excused his daring to cross the invisible, forbidden line.
That same day, Haskill Laubache had sent a foreman to the field to summon both Brett and his father to his office.
Grim-faced and obviously fighting to keep from lunging at Brett, Laubache choked out the edict that if either of them were ever seen on his land again, they’d be shot on sight.
Leo went into a rage, for he’d known nothing of his son’s involvement with Haskill’s daughter. His job paid more than any he’d ever had before, and the working conditions were superior to other plantations. He begged Haskill to keep him on and make Brett leave, but Haskill stonily refused.
That night, with his mother begging him to stop, Leo had beaten Brett mercilessly.
Brett hadn’t lifted a hand to his father, but as he lay on the floor, battered and bloody, he swore out loud he’d never take a licking from him again. “And don’t worry,” he said, spitting blood. “I’m getting out. And I won’t be back.”
Brett grimaced to think how he’d kept at least a part of his vow. The very next morning, he had left to wander for nearly a year before winding up in Massachusetts to sign on with a whaler ship. Whale oil for lamps was in great demand, and the idea of traveling around the world was intriguing. So, for the next three years he found himself sailing the Pacific and Indian Oceans and on into the Arctic Ocean and Bering Strait.
When at last he had returned to America, he wanted to see his mother. He’d never enjoyed a good relationship with his father, but always, he had loved her.
Making his way back to Mississippi and the Black Bayou, he discovered his parents had moved. He kept on searching and finally traced them to Louisiana and Bayou Perot, just in time for his mother’s funeral.
His father had dispassionately described her last months. He had taken her to a hospital in New Orleans, where they could do nothing to ease her suffering from some strange malady. When she finally died, Leo couldn’t even pay for her casket. Brett hadn’t saved anything from his earnings at sea. He’d had no reason, instead throwing his money away in every port they came to, on whiskey and women. But he made up his mind to honor his mother’s memory by paying all her bills.
He laid aside the jug of wine, too restless to sit still any longer. He wanted to walk the forest as darkness closed in, to try to escape the invisible clutches of the
“And flattered you thought I was a good enough stud to keep you serviced in privacy, so you could play the role of vestal virgin for the blue-blooded beaux your family approves of. You never had any intention of marrying me.”
Her lips curled back in a snarl of contempt as she pushed her face against his, demanding, “And what else would a dirty Cajun be good for? Do you think I’d actually want to marry a swamp rat? That’s all you are, you know, you and all your people. You were run out of your own country, because you weren’t wanted, and you’ve bred with the Negroes and the Indians, and—”
“And hypocritical young girls who masquerade as prim and proper ladies by day and romp like wild, wanton whores by night.” Disgusted, he shoved her harder than intended.
She fell, yelping with pain as she hit the floor, scraping her elbows. “You’ll be sorry, you dirty bastard!”
Her hysterical cries had rung out in the stillness of the dawn as he ran from the gazebo.
Brett shook his head viciously to clear away the painful cobwebs from the past.
Margette had been right.
He had been sorry.
Very sorry, indeed.
Her screams had brought everyone in the house running to see what was going on. She said he had tried to rape her, and he figured the only thing that had saved him from being hunted down and lynched was the question of what she was doing out in the gazebo at such an hour.
Margette’s indiscretion, however, had not excused his daring to cross the invisible, forbidden line.
That same day, Haskill Laubache had sent a foreman to the field to summon both Brett and his father to his office.
Grim-faced and obviously fighting to keep from lunging at Brett, Laubache choked out the edict that if either of them were ever seen on his land again, they’d be shot on sight.
Leo went into a rage, for he’d known nothing of his son’s involvement with Haskill’s daughter. His job paid more than any he’d ever had before, and the working conditions were superior to other plantations. He begged Haskill to keep him on and make Brett leave, but Haskill stonily refused.
That night, with his mother begging him to stop, Leo had beaten Brett mercilessly.
Brett hadn’t lifted a hand to his father, but as he lay on the floor, battered and bloody, he swore out loud he’d never take a licking from him again. “And don’t worry,” he said, spitting blood. “I’m getting out. And I won’t be back.”
Brett grimaced to think how he’d kept at least a part of his vow. The very next morning, he had left to wander for nearly a year before winding up in Massachusetts to sign on with a whaler ship. Whale oil for lamps was in great demand, and the idea of traveling around the world was intriguing. So, for the next three years he found himself sailing the Pacific and Indian Oceans and on into the Arctic Ocean and Bering Strait.
When at last he had returned to America, he wanted to see his mother. He’d never enjoyed a good relationship with his father, but always, he had loved her.
Making his way back to Mississippi and the Black Bayou, he discovered his parents had moved. He kept on searching and finally traced them to Louisiana and Bayou Perot, just in time for his mother’s funeral.
His father had dispassionately described her last months. He had taken her to a hospital in New Orleans, where they could do nothing to ease her suffering from some strange malady. When she finally died, Leo couldn’t even pay for her casket. Brett hadn’t saved anything from his earnings at sea. He’d had no reason, instead throwing his money away in every port they came to, on whiskey and women. But he made up his mind to honor his mother’s memory by paying all her bills.
He laid aside the jug of wine, too restless to sit still any longer. He wanted to walk the forest as darkness closed in, to try to escape the invisible clutches of the
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