Free Lorenzo and the Turncoat by Lila Guzmán

said mockingly. “One was an occupation and the other was … an occupation!”
    She sipped her tea and regarded him over the lip of the cup. “We have French Canadians, Germans, Canary Islanders, Americans, Irish, and free blacks living side by side in complete harmony. If that is what the Spanish do to a province, perhaps the world would be better off if it were all Spanish.”
    â€œAnd the fact that you are married to the Spanish governor of Louisiana makes you completely objective in the matter.”
    â€œHe’s a wonderful man. Very kind. Generous. The people of New Orleans adore him. Do you know that he sent flour to Pensacola when he heard the people had nothing to eat? He fed his enemy.” She drained her tea cup.
    â€œMore?”
    â€œSure.”

    Sure
. Not “yes, please” or “if you would be so kind.”
Sure
. There was something common about this woman. She used words and expressions he didn’t expect from an aristocrat’s wife. Perhaps she lacked refinement because she had been raised in a backwater colony.
    Hawthorne admired her passionate defense of Colonel Gálvez. Would his own wife do the same for him? Highly doubtful. He took a long look at Madame De Gálvez. She was heart-stoppingly beautiful. What a lucky man her husband was.
    He wanted to draw information from her, but he did not want to be obvious about it. He cast about for a subjectshe would welcome. “How long have you and Colonel Gálvez been married?”
    She hesitated. “A little over a year and a half.”
    â€œAnd he’s been governor for three years?”
    â€œActing governor.”
    â€œI stand corrected. How did you meet?”
    â€œAt a party soon after he arrived in New Orleans.”
    He put his hand to his chin in a purposefully thoughtful pose. “I know little of Spanish custom. Must members of the nobility have the king’s permission to marry?”
    Again, she hesitated. “Yes.”
    He wondered why the king had allowed a man of Gálvez’s importance to marry a provincial woman with little to offer. To be sure, her father was a wealthy merchant, but the Gálvez family was one of the richest in Spain and didn’t need her fortune.
    The clock on the wall chimed seven.
    â€œWe must be going,” he said, rising. He tied her hands and led her to the stable behind the inn. If all went well, they would reach his brother’s house on the morrow. He didn’t relish going there, for it would dredge up painful memories, but it was the best place to take Madame De Gálvez.

    They set out up the river road that angled toward the northwest. At a rock outcropping, they veered due north and took an Indian trail that ran through the woods.
    They traveled for hours.
    Eugenie looked for opportunities to escape, but they never materialized. Running into the forest wasn’t a good idea. Indians, wild animals, and poisonous snakes lived there. For the time being, she was safer with Hawthorne than on her own.
    She recalled something Lorenzo often said.
Better the devil you know than the one you don’t know
.
    Poor Lorenzo! Her heart ached to think about him. By now, he knew she was missing. He must be frantic.
    When the sun was directly overhead, Eugenie and Hawthorne stopped at a trading post. She looked around the settlement and hoped to see someone she knew, but did not. New people were constantly moving into Louisiana. A year earlier, pioneers from the Canary Islands had built a village they called Gálveztown near the West Florida border.
    Hawthorne dismounted and tied their horses to a hitching post. He helped Eugenie down.
    A woman sat on the front porch with a little boy on her lap and cleaned his face with a handkerchief. He looked about a year old, the same age as Colonel Gálvez’s daughter, Matilde.
    Eugenie smiled to think how many times she had wiped jam and grime from Matilde’s face.
    The mother’s