Free By the Bay by Barbara Bartholomew Page B

began to be less than well, they had felt a particular obligation to her daughter that had grown to a special closeness in each case.
    They gathered in the little cottage by the bay. Florence had brought a lunch of her special Mexican cooking of tacos and enchiladas and waited until everyone had eaten , including Christine, who seemed unusually light-hearted at this gathering. “This was,” she said, “the way it was when they were all growing up, or would have been if only Dorothea could be here.” She looked around, then frowned, “but where’s Jillian?”
    Maggie who was usually blunt nearly to the point of rudeness looked at her older sister. “She must be at the school teaching, Chris. You remember she’s a teacher now.”
    “Of course,” Chris snapped, “but it’s Saturday.”
    At the most unexpected times, Christine could be sharp as a tack.
    Everybody looked at Florence . The youngest, she had always been Chris’ special favorite. They thought she should be the one to tell.
    She decided to say it straight out. No use pussy-footing around and making Chris more anxious .  “Jillian isn’t here, Chris. She went off to be married.”
    Her sister’s blue eyes grew large. “Nonsense, she couldn’t get married without me there. Besides who would she marry? She hasn’t even got a boyfriend.”
    “We figure she does,” Shorty said. “He left a note saying they were  eloping and he was taking her to visit his mother and father.”
    “Actually he only said his family,” Florence corrected uncomfortably, “I’m not sure whether he has a mother and father alive.”
    “Everybody has a mother and father,” Connie argued.
    “Not necessarily still alive,” Maggie told her. “Jillian for instance has a live mother, but she never even knew Davis . . .”
    Chris’ scream was a mixture of anger and terror that stopped all speech. “Where is my baby?” she demanded in a shrill voice. “What have you done with my baby?”
    “She’s gone to be married,” Shorty said.
    “No, no, you don’t understand,” Chris insisted, tears streaming from her eyes. “He’s come back for us and he took her away. Davis came, and took my baby and left me behind.”
    By nightfall, Florence had no choice but to call the doctor to come by and give her something to calm her and allow her to sleep. Her other sisters, who had their own families to see to, left once Chris was quiet under sedation.
    After the café closed, Owen came by to spend the night on the living room couch while Florence slept on a pallet next to her sister’s bed. 
    When Chris awakened the next morning to a mild and sunny day, she demanded to be able to eat her breakfast in the back yard. Her concerns from the night before banished, she thanked Florence politely for looking after the ‘baby’ last night while she was unwell.
    She would be able to take care of Jillian herself today so Florence could go back to her work helping Owen at the café, she assured her sister as she ate her cereal and drank coffee and a glass of orange juice squeezed from the fruit of her own trees.
    She chattered happily about her baby as though the evening before had not occurred. Tired and worried, Florence could only hope that this comforting illusion remained with her sister long enough for all of them to have a rest.
    In the meantime, she would let the hired girls look after Chris for the day while she worked at the café and tried to figure out a way to make sure Jillian was all right.
    When she left for work Chris was humming a lullaby to the baby she assumed was sleeping in the extra bedroom.

 
    Chapter Thirteen
    By the time the Belle Fleur came into port in New Orleans, Jillian was improving on the initial training Owen had given her by being well on her way to being a fair shot with the pistol she now wore constantly at her side. Philippe saw to it that she carried a dagger as well, concealed under one pant leg, and had taught her a trick or two about defensive