Faye Longchamp 01 - Artifacts

negotiations with talk of an insulting horse trade.
    I watch’d stupidly as he rose from his chair, gestured at the ruby ring, and said, “Ten days’ room and board for me & for my men. Here is your payment.” Then Henri LaFourche walk’d out of my house & out of my Daughter’s life.
    Last week was consumed by a walk to Mr. Gottlieb’s trading post. ’Twould have been easier on my rheumatism to ride, but the blackguard LaFourche left me short on horseflesh. Wisdom required that I save my remaining Horse to pull an overloaded wagon on a long journey. I fear she was not bred for it.
    Mr. Gottlieb was as excitable as ever, but this time with Cause, for a letter had come for Mariah, who never received mail in her life. He was anxious for me to open the letter so he could read it. I did not let him; I’d not have considered reading it myself, but the address was in the blackguard’s hand. My actions that day depended on Henri LaFourche. There was no help for it. I open’d my Daughter’s most private correspondence.
    LaFourche begged pardon for his hasty departure & offer’d a miniature self-portrait as a memento. It flutter’d to the dirt. I would have ground it under my heel, but it was and is Mariah’s. She may do with it as she pleases. The ruby ring, however, he gave to me. I have disposed of it as profitably as I could in order to provide for LaFourche’s other memento. Mariah carries his Child.
    Our possessions are loaded on the wagon & we are camp’d by a clear shallow stream. If the value of a homestead can be measured in sweat, then we are leaving behind a great estate indeed. Here in West Florida, a man can work up a sweat while eating his Christmas dinner, yet in such a climate, Susan and I forced the Earth to feed us. We are older now, but we are wiser too, so I suppose we can do it again.
    LaFourche’s ruby ring brought a fine price, as did our home & land. With the proceeds I have purchas’d a large piece of property—a Gulf Island, in fact—that will provide us with a livelihood & will someday be an inheritance more suitable for Mariah’s child than our humble farm. It is fitting that LaFourche’s ruby ring provides a future for his Heir, since he himself does not chuse to do so. Were I Mariah, I would sell the blackguard’s portrait and add the proceeds to the Child’s estate, even if it were worth no more than the paper it is drawn on.
    Purchasing an uninhabited Island has the added benefit of giving Mariah a place to hide. Should she one day decide to move back to more populated Lands, her claims to Widowhood will be quite plausible, as there will be no witness to verify a wedding or its lack. After a time, even the Child’s birth date will be arguable. Our exile need not be permanent. Yet, I find myself stimulated by the challenge of starting again, & I am not alone. Last night, my Susan took my hand as we lay side by side in our bed. Today as our wagon wheels stirred sandy dust & the branches of live oaks met in a canopy over our heads, she look’d into my eyes and smiled.

Chapter 10
    Faye scrambled up the stepladder through the trapdoor and, once through, hauled the ladder up after her. She pulled the door closed, knowing that the enslaved craftsmen who built Joyeuse had fashioned it so well that, despite decades of neglect, it fit snugly and invisibly into its opening. A guest, invited or not, could roam the top floor of her house at will and never suspect that she was lurking above them in the cupola.
    The tax inspector was willing to work on Saturday, which did not suggest that Faye could expect any mercy from that quarter. The inspector would arrive any moment to decide whether she should pay taxes on an undeveloped, uninhabited island, or on a twelve-thousand-square-foot island mansion. This day was bound to come. Now she would see whether she had planned for it successfully.
    Her morning had been spent smashing each windowpane that wasn’t original to the house, being careful to do it from the outside in, so that shards of glass scattered convincingly across the floor. Her roof was absolutely tight, but she’d painted spreading brown stains across the ceiling in several areas. Damp blankets festered under the ceiling stains and inside the broken windows.
    Faye had removed pins from selected hinges, allowing shutters, casement windows, even the front door, to hang askew. Finally, she loaded her camp stove, generator, and personal items in a wheelbarrow and carted