Free Ever My Love: A Saga of Slavery and Deliverance (The Plantation Series Book 2) by Gretchen Craig

was
bearable on one of the big steamers where he could stand on an upper deck and
contemplate the water from a distance, but he’d always hated the little boats,
the ones where the lap of the water came up to the very oarlocks. He knew it
was irrational. He swam happily enough, but that was only in the sleepy bayous
or along the river sheltered by a sandbank. Crossing the shifting currents in a
boat this small, in the dark – he broke out in a cold sweat.
    He tried to think of other things. Not Simone. He’d be in no
state to help anyone if he let his heart loose now. His future. That was a
conundrum to occupy his mind. If he wanted to make money, he needed to minister
to the wealthy clients in New Orleans in the winter and on their plantations in
the summertime. Would the white planters accept him? He was nearly white, but
he made no attempt to pass. He wished to be accepted for what he was, an
octoroon, a free man of Louisiana, a doctor.
    Gabriel cursed the fog hanging over the river, though a
better sight of the black water would do nothing for his nerves. The air hung
heavy with the scents of wood smoke, fecund bayous, rot and rampant growth.
    The four slaves pulled across the current at a slant.
Marcel’s face caught hardly enough moonlight to show his features, and he too
sat in silence.
    It might be, Gabriel continued his line of thought, that he
would have a lucrative practice tending to the ailments of the other free
coloreds only. It was a growing population, and some of them were quite well
off. Furthermore, in the political climate of the times, if he came to be known
as a slave healer, it would no doubt affect his reputation, and his empty
purse. Yet here he risked crossing the treacherous currents of the Mississippi
River in the dark to treat a slave.
    But of course there was no question he would treat slaves. A
child, Marcel had said. How did Adam Johnston justify keeping dogs like that,
ones that would attack a small child?
    A drifting log caught the boat broadside. Gabriel gasped and
grabbed hold of the gunwale, wishing it were daylight so they could at least
see where they were going. Finally the perfume of magnolias wafted across the
water and the light on the Johnston dock beckoned them.
    Ashore, Gabriel and Marcel followed the lantern past the big
house and through the pecan orchard. As they approached the quarters, Gabriel’s
spirits sank. Any slave quarters, no matter how “good,” overwhelmed him with
the poverty of hope and opportunity. He felt sympathy for the slaves, yes --
and always, that nagging guilt, and fear: it might have been him living here.
    Marcel led the way into the cabin, he and Gabriel both
ducking their heads to enter. Marianne Johnston sat dozing. Everyone else in
the cabin slept, too, even the child. Marcel touched Marianne’s shoulder and
she roused with a start.
    “I’ve returned,” Marcel said in a low voice. “The doctor is
with me.”
    Gabriel made his bow absently as Marianne greeted him. His
eyes were already on the little girl.
    He turned to the man with the lantern, who was about to
leave them, and said, “I’ll need that light.”
    “It’s the wound in her abdomen that most concerns me, Dr.
Chamard,” Miss Johnston said.
    Gabriel lifted the loose bandage and held the lantern close.
Sylvie did not stir, though her mother stared at the doctor with hope in her
eyes.
    He placed his palm over the wound with a gentle hand. Then
he palpated the surrounding area, probing, his fingers sensing what his eyes
could not. Many, perhaps most, of his colleagues did not indulge in the laying
on of hands to make their diagnoses. Gabriel, however, had been trained by the
most progressive doctors in Europe; there was much to be learned through touch.
Next he felt the other bites, comparing the heat in them with the heat of the
punctures just to the side of her navel. Sylvie whimpered in her sleep.
    “What have you given her?” he asked.
    Marianne detailed all she had done,