Faye Longchamp 01 - Artifacts

is in the peculiar position of being far better bred & educated than the few eligible young men in the area, yet they find her unsuitable because of her Creek blood. Susan has never once suggested that Mariah might marry a Creek man, but I see it in her eyes & there is contempt there, too. I cannot justify my preference for a White husband for Mariah. I wager there is no justification, but I desire it anyway. God has provided well for me in this life—I can only hope that He is as bountifull with my Daughter.
    I have always believed in Divine Providence, because I was taught to believe in it. A fine man, educated & polish’d, knock’d at my door two weeks past, asking water for his horses & his servants. His name is Henri LaFourche & he says he is a Natural Scientist, who has come with a group of men to map the rivers & creeks in this Wilderness, while cataloguing the wilde beasts here. They seemed disappointed to see us, for I think they thought to find the land desolate of Humanity. Perhaps they forgot that the Indians live here & have done so for time out of mind.
    I invited Henri LaFourche & his men to stay with us. I did not consult Susan before offering the invitation, but I knew without looking at her that she wish’d I had not. I do not comprehend her attitude. Hospitality is the unwritten Law in these wilde lands, for one who refuses to shelter a Stranger might someday find himself without shelter. Providence tends to repay a man in the coin that he hands to others.
    After each meal, Susan persists in enumerating every bite that Henri and his men have consumed. Their rate of consumption is indeed prodigious, but there are weightier matters afoot. Henri and Mariah leave each morning on long walks with the ostensible purpose of furthering Henri’s knowledge of this Wilderness. He could have no better tutor than my Daughter.
    No fool would believe that Nature is Henri’s only interest. I too was once a young man, & I am not blind. Susan says his intentions are dishonourable, but her Prejudice against Henri is plain. “I have heard what he says to his men about her,” she says, but she will not repeat what she has overheard. She only says, “He does not hide his words from me as he does from you. It does not occur to him that a Savage might speak French.”
    But Susan is wrong, and tonight she will know it. Henri Lafourche, a cultured & educated Gentleman, has asked for a private audience with me after the women are abed. Our Blessed Lord’s Providence has provided Mariah with a Husband who is almost good enough for her.

Chapter 7
    Faye moved around Wally’s Marina as if she owned the place. She didn’t, but her friend Wally did, and praise the Lord for that. He gave her a place to park her car when she was on Joyeuse and a place to tie her boat when she was ashore, and refused any payment other than her friendship—and the occasional jar of green tomato pickle made by her grandmother’s recipe.
    In gratitude, Faye had given him the use of an old tabby storehouse on her island, so he would have a place to keep the house goods salvaged from his divorce. It had been years, yet he’d never come back for them. Still, keeping Wally’s stuff was the least she could do, considering what he did for her. Faye had a half-million other household projects to do before she renovated Wally’s shed and she didn’t need it to store surplus possessions. She didn’t have any.
    “Damn, Faye,” Wally bellowed as he emerged from the men’s room. “I didn’t think you knew what pantyhose were, and here you are filling out a pair so nice. And lipstick does great things for those lips. Shit.”
    Faye blew him a kiss with the lips in question and said, “I didn’t think you’d be awake yet. It isn’t noon.”
    “An emergency rousted me out of bed. Beer’s hell on the kidneys. Did you ride all the way over here in the skiff? Dressed like that?”
    “Nope. I brought the Gopher . I gotta give it a shakedown cruise now and then.”
    He grabbed her hand. “No nail polish? I guess they don’t make any that’ll hold up while you’re scratching around in the sand. At least you washed the dirt out from under your nails.”
    Faye gave a worried glance over her shoulder, but Wally squeezed her hand. “Forget about it, Faye. Ain’t nobody in the room but us. You know I wouldn’t tell your secrets.”
    Other than Joe, Wally was the only person who knew the particulars about where Faye lived and what she did for