Free Evermore: A Saga of Slavery and Deliverance (The Plantation Series Book 3) by Gretchen Craig Page A

and their boys. He
left Sherman’s mansion with a clear understanding of the South’s precarious
position. As long as the Confederacy could replenish itself with cotton, wheat,
and beef, she’d be able to resist the North indefinitely. However, the Union
would put everything it had into gaining control of the Mississippi, cutting
the South off from essential supplies. Even more immediately, Butler planned to
seize all the cotton and cane crops of Louisiana, enriching the North and deplenishing the South.
    Alfred Mouton was already positioning his forces west of New
Orleans to hold Bayou Lafourche. The other, equally crucial imperative was to hold
the Yanks back from the Red River. God help us, Marcel thought. They had fewer
than half the men Butler would send against them. But they knew these swamps,
they knew the bayous. They’d outmaneuver the Yanks.
    The rain held off, and Marcel decided to walk to Cleo’s
street. He needed to rid himself of the smoke he’d been inhaling the last two
hours and prepare himself for the inevitable scene with Nicolette.
    The last year and more, his baby sister had made it clear
she thought him a knave or worse for supporting secession. But then she was
blind to all nuance in the matter. When she learned he was leaving to join the
Rebel forces, she would be mean as an old brood sow.
    A vine of red roses arched over the bright blue door of
Cleo’s house, the scent as welcoming as Cleo herself. Marcel used the boot
scraper, then tapped the door with his cane.
    A moment later, Cleo answered the door, wiping her hands on
her apron. “You’ve come in good time! Nicolette just made a batch of pralines,
and I’ve been grinding coffee beans.”
    Marcel kissed her cheek. “I need coffee and pralines, I
surely do.”
    He settled onto the settee and stretched his legs out. Cleo
shook out her apron and folded it over a chair back. “We didn’t think to see
you again this week. What are you up to?”
    “Manly things, Cleo.” He deepened his voice. “Riding bulls,
toting barges, tearing trees up by the roots.”
    “Ah. I’m glad to see you using that fine education your
father paid for.”
    Marcel sat up and leaned forward. He needed Cleo, his second
mother, to understand what he was about to do. To forgive him. “Cleo. Tell me
the truth. Do you believe this war is being fought to maintain slavery?”
    Cleo looked at her hands a moment. When she raised her eyes
to his, Marcel stopped his breath.
    “Isn’t it?”
    A pang darted through his chest. Cleo’s eyes were not angry,
not even bitter, but she looked at him with such sadness.
    “It’s so much more complicated than that, Cleo --”
    Nicolette’s footsteps. They’d talk of it later.
    Nicolette smiled, for which Marcel was grateful. When Nikki
smiled, the world was a fine place. She played mother, pouring coffee, plopping
sugar lumps and dribbling cream into the cups. She was in a fine mood, full of
gossip and deviltry.
    Marcel balanced a plate of pralines on his knee. The aroma of
the strong dark brew, the creamy perfection of the pralines like sugared silk
on his tongue – always a pleasure to be in Cleo’s house. Such wonderful
company, these two, Marcel thought sadly even as he laughed and talked. Such
happy times in this parlor. How long would it be before he sat with them again?
And would he be welcome, once he’d put on the uniform?
    He couldn’t put it off any longer. He set the pralines on
the table and wiped the sugary crumbs off his pants leg.
    “I’m really here to tell you good-bye. For a while,” he
said.
    “You’re going home?” Cleo said. “Your father will be
pleased.”
    “Only for a day. The next morning, I’m riding out to join
the Confederate forces on the Lafourche.”
    The room was silent except for the ticking of his pocket
watch and the pulse in his ears.
    “My dear Marcel.” Cleo gazed at him lovingly with her
beautiful brown eyes. “I am sorry you will be in harm’s way. You know that.