April 12, 1814
Bulma's hand worked the lace fan vigorously as she walked along the steps leading to the top deck of the Paradis. The sails snapped above her and a warm, muggy breeze blew back a few loose strands of aquamarine hair.
The bright sunlight was a contrast to the dark lower deck from which she had come. She could smell the land. Swamp grasses and rich black soil. It wasn't very different from her own home in Mobile. She had left only two days earlier and though she hated to admit it, she felt a bit of relief when they had pulled out of port. Leaving Mobile meant leaving behind her ex-fiancé, Yamcha.
They had been the perfect couple. Everyone said so. He came from a respected family in Savannah and was heir to his father's cotton plantation. Her father owned a successful shipping company. And besides all of that, she had loved him.
They were to be married that June. That is, until she caught him with another woman weeks earlier.
Of course he apologized; he begged and pleaded with her. Vowed that it would never ever happen again and she may have believed him.
Until a friend of hers, a girl she had known since childhood confessed to Bulma that she had slept with him too, as well as a few others.
That, of course, was too much. Bulma broke their engagement and firmly refused to hear anything he had to say to her. This enraged him.
One night he showed up at her door and tried to force himself on her. Luckily the servants had heard her scream and came to her rescue but not before she had the chance to smell the whiskey on his breath.
As two of the servants dragged him to a carriage to take him home he screamed obscenities back at her. Reminding her of things she knew all to well.
She was twenty-six years old and un-married. Most all of her friends had already been happily married for a few years and already had several children.
And here she was well on her way to being a spinster.
His words cut her to the bone. Yamcha never would have said such things to her if he hadn't been drunk. But drunk or sober didn't make them any less true.
She hadn't seen him after that incident. After he sobered up and realized what happened he was probably too embarrassed to come back around. He had most likely tucked tail and ran back to Savannah.
Bulma stopped her pacing and stood at the railing. The wide banks of the Mississippi river were filled with cypress trees. Their knotted roots stood in the muddy water with veils of Spanish moss swaying in their skeletal branches.
An alligator made a splash as he crawled into the water, his armored body disappearing into the placid water. A few passengers stood at the railing throwing biscuits to seagulls.
Yamcha wasn't the reason she left of course, although he was an incentive to. Her mind drifted back to the day she received the news of her father. Captain Briefs.
It had been roughly three months ago. Her father had left with his ship carrying cargo out of Mobile. While at sea his ship was stopped by a British vessel. The British officers came aboard Capt. Briefs' ship searched and seized the cargo.
When they checked the identification papers for the crew it was discovered that Capt. Briefs had been born in England.
He had come to America with his parents when he was a baby and was an American citizen.
The officers disregarded this and claimed that her father was a traitor to the crown; he was put in chains and taken onboard the British ship along with two other sailors who had also been born in Britain.
When the men came to inform her of her fathers capture Bulma went straight to the home of her father's attorney, Mr. Higgins. He was a very elderly man and close friend of the family.
Bulma begged and pleaded with him hysterically to do something. Of course he didn't have the power to do anything, when her said this Bulma had slumped to the floor weeping.
He comforted her as best he could and promised to do what he could. When she couldn't cry anymore she got up, thanked him and went directly home. There was business to be taken care of and she wasn't going to let her fathers' company die.
She was his only heir. Bulma's mother had died of a fever when she was only six months old. To Captain Briefs, she had been the love of his life; he remained a widower and raised Bulma by himself.
Being a wealthy man he had given her everything she could have ever wanted.
But he was now a prisoner and she had to do something.
Bulma reimbursed the merchants whose cargo had been stolen and with the help of her fathers' accountant and lawyer she took over the shipping company.
One day she received word from Mr. Higgins. He wanted her to meet him late that evening, alone. He had very important business to discuss. She was to meet him at his office.
Bulma went to him that night under the cover of darkness expecting just to see her old friend Mr. Higgins. When she stepped through the door of his office she was escorted to the back room by a man she had never seen before.
There at a table in the back sat Mr. Higgins with three strange men. One of them was dressed elegantly while the other two seemed very common.
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Mr. Higgins motioned for her to sit.
"Bulma my dear. I have some very good news for you. It seems that you father is alive and being held on the British warship the navigator somewhere in the gulf of Mexico."
Bulma's eyes brightened with the news. It was possible that he was only a few miles from where she sat. She struggled to find words in her excitement.
"My father! Is there something that can be done? Could we negotiate his return?"
"Not likely." One of the men spoke. "I seriously doubt that they would be so obliging."
Bulma felt her heart sink. "Can't someone do something? We have a Navy can't they… or I could hire a crew!"
The men shook their heads.
"Why did you call me here to tell me this then? What good is it to know where my father is and not be able to do anything!?"
Mr. Higgins asked her to keep her voice down. Bulma grabbed the decanter from the table and poured herself a glass of bourbon, downing it in one draught and slamming the glass down on the table. She really didn't care about appearing a lady at the moment.
The well dressed gentleman smiled and refilled her glass. Bulma glared at him, how could he grin like that while she was so distraught?
"Ah but Mademoiselle, I may have a solution for you."
His voice was soft and lilting, southern but with a touch of French. He was Creole. She took the glass before her, this time sipping the whiskey.
"I'm listening."
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The Creole gentleman had been Monsieur Maurice Lasserre an attorney. He told her of his colleague in New Orleans. His colleague had connections with a man that could possibly get her father back.
But it had to remain very secret, Bulma was to go to New Orleans to meet with his "colleague" and negotiate. She was not to speak of her plans to anyone.
She would leave for New Orleans; Mr. Higgins would run the business in her absence. Everything was set.
And so, here she was now.
"Look!"
A young boy yelled excitedly. Bulma turned to see the towers of the cathedral over the tops of the cypresses. All of the passengers rushed to rails to see the city as it came into view.
Bulma went below to her cabin and began to pack her satchel. She had traveled very lightly, just a few necessities. She could buy anything she would need in New Orleans.
M. Lasserre had assured her that someone would meet her when she arrived at the docks and escort her to wherever she needed to go, he hadn't told her himself. Bulma thought all the secrecy was a little excessive but was willing to do whatever she had to to get her father back.
The boat docked with a thud. Everyone stopping at New Orleans was lined up by the gangplank. When Bulma stepped down onto the levee it took her a moment to get used to the land again.
Amid all the madness of the sailors and passengers and all the people rushing about the levee, Bulma pushed her way through the crowd and found a bench to sit and wait for her escort.
Eventually the crowd thinned and mostly disappeared. No one was left but the sailors tending to the ships, and her. She was beginning to wonder if it was all a sham.
But Mr. Higgins wouldn't do that to her, unless he had been fooled as well. Bulma fanned herself and attempted to fight off the waves of mosquitoes, to no avail.
The sun was beginning to set and the sky was changing from a powdery blue to a vivid purple and crimson. If someone didn't show in the next ten minutes she was going to find a hotel.
Just as Bulma stood to leave she noticed a woman about her age coming towards her. She was dressed simply in a blue skirt and cotton blouse. Her skin was the color of honey while her eyes and hair were black as coal. She was beautiful and a stark contrast to Bulma's ivory complexion, aquamarine hair and crystal blue eyes.
The woman stopped in front of Bulma. And spoke in accented English.
"Parle moi mademoiselle, are you Bulma?"
Bulma glanced down at the woman's bare feet then back up.
"Yes, I am Miss Bulma Briefs."
The woman smiled, and to Bulma's surprise, hugged her.
"My name is Chi-Chi. Follow me please."
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Let me clarify a few things you may not know.
Bulma is referring to the city of Mobile in what is now known as the state of Alabama. It is a city on the gulf of Mexico.
Savannah is an old city in Georgia.
And New Orleans is a city in Louisiana, (though I should hope you have heard of it ;)
And this story will be loosely base upon the privateer Jean Lafitte and take place around the war of 1812. It won't be historically accurate but interesting nonetheless. (I hope)
Any questions, please e-mail me. I will try and answer as best I can.
Oh, and please please please review!
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