Free Lorenzo and the Turncoat by Lila Guzmán Page A

gaze fell to the cord binding Eugenie’s hands. Her eyes widened. She pulled her child away as if Eugenie were a mad dog.
    Hawthorne, taking Eugenie by the elbow, steered her into the trading post. He looked acutely uncomfortable, as if he wanted to say something, but couldn’t find the right words. “Put your hands out,” he said gruffly.
    Eugenie obeyed.
    He unfolded a pocketknife and sliced away her bonds.
    â€œThank you,” she said, rubbing her wrists, surprised by her sudden freedom.
    â€œDon’t abuse my generosity,” he growled. “If you misbehave, you will be tied up for the rest of the trip.”
    Hawthorne bought a mule and other supplies, including seven changes of clothes for himself and Eugenie.
    Fear zipped down her spine. Judging by the number of items he purchased, he intended to keep her prisoner for a long time.

Chapter Fifteen
    By late afternoon on her second day of captivity, Eugenie noticed a change in the landscape. Lovely meadows and woods replaced marshy land. They seemed to be at a higher elevation than before. An hour later, they splashed across a shallow river about fifty feet wide that emptied into the Mississippi.
    Two forts sat across from each other, one on the north shore, the other on the south.
    In a burst of understanding, Eugenie knew where they were. Manchac! Colonel Gálvez often complained about illegal smuggling that went on there.
    Bayou Manchac, sometimes called the Iberville River, separated the English colony of West Florida and the Spanish province of Louisiana. She had never been here, but she had seen it on a map. What the map had not shown was a narrow wooden footbridge connecting the Spanish fort to the British one. She supposed that it was difficult to live in isolation as these people did without becoming friends with the enemy.
    â€œYou are now officially in English territory, Madame,” Hawthorne said, grinning, his relief evident.
    Eugenie’s heart sank. Escape would be even more difficult now. She had learned a little English from Lorenzo but wished she knew more.
    Hawthorne suddenly drew rein. “A word of warning, Madame. I will introduce you as my wife, Marie Claire. Deviate one iota from that role and the bonds go back on.”
    â€œDo you really think you can get away with this?”
    â€œOf course. Marie Claire has never been in West Florida so no one knows what she looks like. If you tell anyone that you are Governor Gálvez’s wife, I will shake my head sadly and explain that you suffer delusions of grandeur.”
    After two days of travel, Eugenie was exhausted. All she wanted was to sleep. She felt like she was coming down with something and didn’t feel as mentally sharp as she should. She scratched her neck and wondered if she had poison ivy.
    â€œWhat’s wrong?” Hawthorne asked.
    â€œNothing.”
    He ducked his head to take a good look at her neck. “It looks like a sunburn. There’s an Indian village up the way. We’ll stop there and get something for that.”
    True to his word, they stopped at a trading post two miles above Manchac. It held the usual: bolts of cloth, sacks of flour, barrels of oil. On a high shelf were vials of medicine along with herbal bouquets.
    It reminded Eugenie of the medicine in Lorenzo’s office. She tried not to think about him because it made her sad.
    Hawthorne bought food and a jar of salve. He escorted Eugenie to the trading post porch where they sat on a bench and ate lunch. He bit into an apple.
    Eugenie chewed on beef jerky. She was barely able to swallow it.
    He watched her out of the corner of his eye. “Does your throat still hurt?”
    She nodded.
    He unscrewed the jar top. Using his index finger, he scooped out a vile-smelling substance.
    Eugenie shrank from him. “What’s that?”
    â€œAlligator grease.”
    She stayed his hand. “I’m not going to eat that.”
    Hawthorne chuckled.