The petite redhead pushed her booted feet off the ground while pulling back on the ropes, swinging back and forth. She tilted her head back and squinted in the sunlight that peeked through the branches. "His name's Harold Raum. He's British," Vivienne told her brother about one of the many guests she'd checked into The Seraphine when she'd accompanied her mother. "He's an Egyptologist!"
"A what?"
"An Egyptologist," Vivienne spoke slowly, carefully enunciating the unfamiliar term. "Mr. Raum studies all aspects of ancient Egypt. He's seen the pyramids and the Sphinx, Alexandre!"
Alexandre puffed out an unenthusiastic sigh as his sister passionately rambled.
"He's never been to New Orleans before. His wife wanted to come for Mardi Gras then they're traveling to California then Paris and then to Egypt."
"I don't care, Vivi!" he snapped, abruptly leaping out of the swing.
She indignantly pursed her lips, glaring at her brother's back. "You've turned ten, and you've become ornerier than Pépère!" Vivienne yelled as the door slammed. She leaned forward while she dragged her boot tips through the dirt. She marched into the house and into the office, unceremoniously flopping into the banker's chair at her daddy's executive desk.
"What's the matter?" Kitty asked, glancing up from her bookkeeping. She'd hoped for a small amount of peace since Josephine and Lark were napping.
"Alexandre," the little girl muttered. "What's wrong with him?" she wondered aloud. Her brother had called their daddy 'Marshal' at breakfast, and he'd offered an icy goodbye to their mother when leaving for The Seraphine. She'd found it strange that her parents had tolerated her twin's peculiar behavior. "He won't tell me, Maman," she uttered, trying to hide her alarm. Her brother always confided in her.
"Honey…"
"Are you going to tell her?" Alexandre stomped into the office, rounding on his mother's desk. "Or are you gonna keep lying to her?"
"Alexandre Matthieu," Kitty reprimanded. "You get ahold of yourself right this minute. You walk out of this office, and go straight to your room."
"No."
Vivienne's eyes widened. Her brother never defied their mother.
Kitty stared at her troubled boy, reminding herself that his world had been completely dismantled just several hours ago. "Alexandre, I will be up in a minute to speak with you."
"I won't go until you tell Vivi the truth!"
"I will give you to the count of three…"
"Tell her!" he demanded, clenching his jaw, feeling his anger rising. Alexandre felt as if his veins would burst from the outrage coursing through him. "Tell her the Marshal is our real father! Tell her how we were in your belly, and he didn't know. Tell her how we're…" he paused, deciding whether or not to use a word he'd overheard during a conversation his grandfather had with a neighbor. "…we're bastards 'cause you were with child and didn't have a husband! Tell her!"
Tears sprang to his eyes as his mother's palm slapped his face. He cupped his stinging cheek, instantly regretting what he'd said, staring into his mother's eyes. He'd never seen such fury or agony in her sapphire orbs. "Maman, I—"
"You've said enough," she croaked, swallowing her tears. She'd never struck Alexandre before. She'd never had cause.
Vivienne stared at her twin then at her mother with her mouth ajar. "Maman?" she whispered as her whole body began to tremble.
Alexandre looked at his distressed sister and swallowed hard, realizing the damage he'd caused. He bolted out of the office, running straight into a six-foot seven-inch wall.
Matt gripped his son's arm, jerking him into the office. "Alexandre Matthieu, apologize," he ordered through gritted teeth.
"Matt, let him go," Kitty implored. "He's upset and hurt."
"Apologize to your maman right now."
"I'm sorry, Maman."
"Do you know what you're sorry for? You never speak to her that way. You don't take your anger out on your maman. If you wanna be angry at someone, you be angry with me, Son."
"But she didn't tell you! Maman didn't tell you! She's a liar! She lied to you! She lied to Papa, too!"
"Alexandre," Matt growled, tightening his grip on the boy's upper arm, wondering how his young mind had warped what he'd been told. "She's not a liar! She tried to tell me. I didn't listen to her."
"But you said you left New Orleans without knowin'…"
"It's my fault, Alexandre. Not hers. I told her there was nothin' she could say to make me stay in New Orleans. I was a fool. Your papa loved her, too. He wanted to be your father."
"Matt, you don't have to…" Kitty whispered, glancing at Vivienne. Her daughter was extraordinarily still except for the tears rolling down her freckled cheeks. She supposed her girl was in shock.
The big man jerked his head toward his wife, stunned that she wasn't standing up for herself or wanting him to. "What?! I don't have to tell the truth? Kitty, you did nothing wrong. I told you to marry Henri Broussard."
Vivienne's heart thudded in her chest as her head spun. "Maman, est-ce que le maréchal dit la verité?"
Kitty somberly dipped her head, taking her daughter by the hand. "Baby, come with me." She stopped at her husband, placing her hand on his shoulder, pleading with her eyes for him to be easy on Alexandre. She led Vivienne into the sunroom and closed the pocket doors, joining her on the velvet sofa. "You didn't deserve to find out that way. I'm so sorry," she whispered.
Vivienne parted her lips to speak but closed her mouth, falling into her mother's arms. Her heart sank lower and lower with each tear.
Kitty gathered Vivienne into her arms, kissing her auburn head as the child's sobs overtook her small frame. She took a deep breath, holding her heartsick daughter. "Vivi," she murmured, beginning to gently rock Vivienne just like she had when she was a baby. "You cry all you want."
"Ça ne peut…pas être vrai," she whimpered, wishing her mother would tell her it wasn't true. "Maman, ça ne…peut pas. Dis-moi, s'il vous plaît. Dis-moi que le maréchal n'est pas mon père. Maman, s'il vous plaît."
The older redhead felt as if she was in a living nightmare as her daughter begged her to tell her that Matt Dillon wasn't her father. "Je suis désolé, mais c'est vrai," Kitty murmured, smoothing her hand in circles on her back.
"Mais…papa," Vivienne croaked through her tears, crying harder as she remembered the Frenchman. She thought of the gentle way he'd kiss a scraped knee or elbow, how he'd curl up with her on her four-foot-tall bunny to read to her, and how he'd never minded she always ate the last bite of his pain perdu or stole a slice of bacon. "J'étais à lui."
"You were, Sweetheart. You were Henri Broussard's in every sense except one, but it didn't matter to him. It didn't matter one bit. His whole world revolved around you and your brother," she stroked her fingers through Vivienne's tresses, waiting for her to fully calm before she told her side of the story. Kitty let her head fall back into the cushion, closing her eyes as she hummed Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star to her little girl, remembering all the times Henri had used the tune to console Vivienne.
Vivienne abruptly pulled out of her mother's embrace and covered her ears. "Non!" she screamed as a fresh set of tears poured out of her eyes.
"Vivienne Serena! Wait!" Kitty called out to her, watching her frantically open the pocket doors to run out of the sunroom. She wiped her eyes and looked out the window, seeing her heartbroken daughter run to the security of the magnolia that had been a special place for her and her papa.
Her soul hurt. Vivienne felt like she wouldn't ever heal as she walked down Dryades Street. She momentarily stopped at the sound of thunder rumbling in the distance. The sky above her was endlessly gray and stormy, bleak and colorless like her world had become. She wasn't French. Her father wasn't Henri Broussard. Her twin had reached into her chest and torn her heart out.
A bolt of lightning cracked the sky, and a crash of thunder roared furiously, shaking her insides, reminding her she still had a heart. Vivienne shivered as the cold droplets fell onto her, soaking into the silk of her day dress.
In the bone-chilling downpour, she quickened her pace until she reached Saint Louis Cemetery Number One. Tears welled in her sapphire eyes as she gazed at the black granite and ionic columns of the Broussard mausoleum. She stepped inside, wandering down the steps. Silence surrounded her.
"Papa," she cried, dropping in front of his resting place, hugging the marble while wanting nothing more than him to comfort her.
The retired physician sat on the expansive front porch, nursing a lukewarm café au lait while rocking back and forth in the pine swing. He stared at the rain-soaked avenue, praying for his granddaughter's safe return. He knew Matt, Kitty, and Festus would search every mile of New Orleans until Vivienne was found. He lifted his head, setting his eyes on his anguished grandson while slowing the swing.
"It's my fault," Alexandre murmured, scooting onto the bench.
"It most certainly is," Doc rumbled. He didn't feel the need to sugarcoat. "I want you to listen to me, Alexandre. Your maman did what she thought was best for herself when she left Dodge City. Your father was a dang fool. He was committed to his badge, but your maman still loved him, even though at times that love endangered her life."
The ten-year-old stilled his movements, furrowing his brow. "What?"
"Alexandre, a United States Marshal has enemies. He didn't want anyone to know that he was in a relationship with Kitty, but it was the worst kept secret in Kansas. If a bad man or woman couldn't hurt Matt, well," he rubbed his fingers over his mouth, "they'd try to hurt Kitty to hurt him."
"Like Manon wanted to hurt her to hurt Papa?"
Doc slid his arm around the boy's shoulders. "Yes, like that," he tugged on his earlobe while clearing his throat. "As I was saying, a part of Kitty died each time she had to watch me dig a bullet out of Matt. That night of the freight office hold-up…she didn't stay to make sure he'd pull through. She set his bloody badge on my desk, turned, and walked out without a word. I patched your father up and went to your maman to let her know that he'd be alright. It wasn't an easy decision for her to leave him. I know you know some of the rest."
Alexandre drew in a breath while the rain pelted harder on the slate roof of the mansion. He subtly nodded.
"Do you understand why your daddy told her to marry Henri Broussard?"
"No."
"He did that because he loved her, Alexandre. It was his way of paying her back for all the sacrifices she'd made for him. He wanted her to have the life he couldn't give her," he explained.
"Why couldn't Marshal do that for her?"
"Matt believed he still had a job to do in Dodge. He wasn't ready to retire. He was never going to marry or have children with her as long as he wore that badge. He didn't want to risk making her a widow or leaving children without a father. He knew Henri Broussard wanted to marry her and would give her a home and babies."
"Pépère, when'd he know about me and Vivi?"
"He found out about the two of you when you were about six or seven-weeks-old. I was still in New Orleans when he came. I brought him here because he wanted to see the two of you. Henri allowed him to see you and Vivi, but he didn't want him seeing Kitty. Your father's a stubborn man. He saw your maman the next day, and he brought you and Vivi baby blankets," he lingered as the boy gasped in surprise. "Matt and Henri worked out an arrangement. Matt could come at Christmas and during the summer."
"He told me we picked blueberries, and I made him chase me in the rain."
Doc chuckled, recalling the time Alexandre had peeled out of his clothes and jumped into the horse trough. "That was the summer you and Vivi were two-and-a-half. Matt decided to stop visiting that summer. You won't understand why he decided to stop the visits until you're older, Alexandre. But, Son, I want you to know that his choices and your maman's decisions were always made with you and Vivi in the forefronts of their minds. They've always wanted the best for the two of you."
"But Maman chose wrong. Papa was killed."
"Alexandre, that choice wasn't wrong. Your papa being killed had nothing to do with Kitty marrying him. Look around, Son. You have a lovely home and parents who adore you. Don't forget Luc and Josie. They came from your maman marrying your papa."
"Choices are confusing," he decided, wrinkling his nose.
"That they are, Son. Sometimes, you make a choice, and you believe with all your heart that it's right at the time. Later on, you discover that choice maybe wasn't best. It might have been downright bad."
Alexandre sighed heavily and gazed down at his feet. "I made a bad choice today…with Vivi. Maman, too."
"You did," Doc agreed.
The boy rested his head on his grandfather's shoulder, looking up at him. "Pépère, do you think Vivi's alright?"
"I hope so, Son. I sure hope so…"
The girl jolted awake, sitting up in the fading light straining through the stained-glassed window. Her eyes and throat ached from the hours she'd spent crying. Her arm was numb from how she'd fallen asleep on the marble floor. Vivienne pushed herself to stand and dusted off her damp dress. She rested her hand on the marble, breathing in the zesty, green scent of the gardenias atop the casket. "Tu seras toujours mon père. Je t'aime, Papa," she hoarsely whispered, exiting the mausoleum.
"Oh no," she gasped, realizing the sun had set. Her eyes widened at the sound of footsteps coming toward her. Vivienne took off in a run, weaving in and out of above-ground graves. She ducked behind a large Greek Revival tomb to hide and get her bearings. She panted, stopping suddenly as she heard the stranger's footfalls coming to a halt then slowly retreating. Vivienne edged around the grave until her fingers brushed the inscription, Dumeny de Glapion. Her mind flooded with the terrifying tales of the man's domestic partner. She scrambled, running faster than she had before to get away from Marie Laveau's resting place.
The frightened girl tumbled onto the street, screaming as a hand latched onto her wrist. Her face twisted in revulsion from the foul smells assaulting her senses. She quickly realized he wasn't the kind of man to help her.
"What's the hurry?" The inebriated, burly man tugged her wrist harder, pulling her flush against him. He roughly forced his hand under her chin to get a good look at her face. His dirty hand palmed her freckled cheek as his lip curled in approval. "Aren't you a pretty lass?"
Vivienne shut her eyes tightly, listening to the Scotsman's thickly slurred indecent whisperings. She struggled against him, freeing her wrist from his grasp. She clawed his face and seized the opportunity to get away from him.
The angered Scotsman touched the blood on his cheek and swiftly thrust his arm forward, grabbing the girl's braids, ignoring her pained cry as he jerked her back to him. "You're gonna learn a lesson," he growled, wrenching her arm behind her back. He pushed her against the wall, breathing in her sweet scent while undoing his belt buckle.
Vivienne shut her eyes, screaming at the top of her lungs while wildly thrashing against him. She gasped at the thudding sound behind her and spun around, staring at a clean-shaven gentleman stylishly dressed in a double-breasted suit with a bowler hat and wingtip shoes. She caught her breath and gazed at the mountain of a man who'd rescued her. His almond-shaped eyes reminded her of hazelnuts, and his hair reminded her of licorice.
"Mademoiselle," the suave gentleman offered his hand to her. "Let's get you home. These streets are no place for a petite fille like you."
She took his extended hand and stepped around the unconscious Scotsman. Vivienne wrapped her arms around herself, shivering from both her frazzled nerves and the falling temperature. She sniffled while worriedly glancing at the prostrate, groaning man.
"It's over, petite fille," the Frenchman assured, guiding her a few feet away from her assaulter. He removed his tailored coat and placed it around her shoulders. "What's your name, Mademoiselle?"
"Viv…Vivienne…Broussard-Dillon," she stammered, pressing her nose into the woolen collar, breathing in the strong, smoky scent of tobacco that reminded her of her papa.
"Êtes-vous la fille d'Henri et Kathleen Broussard?" he asked.
"Oui," she murmured, lifting her head to look at her rescuer. Her sapphire eyes widened with alarm at the sight of the Scotsman rising to his feet. She had no time to warn the Frenchman as the hulking Scot barreled into him. As the two men collided into her, she lost her footing, falling backward onto the cold, wet ground. Her world turned pitch-dark.
"Dammit, Matt!" Kitty wailed as her husband tossed her over his shoulder. "I swear if you don't put me down! Matt! I need to find my little girl! Let go of me!"
"Kitty," he grumbled, struggling to keep a firm hold on her as he climbed the stone steps. He was soaked to the bone from the rainstorm.
"Let go of me, Matt! Vivi's still out there!" She imagined her daughter roaming the streets of New Orleans, alone and scared. Kitty didn't want to think about what could happen to her. She wished she hadn't left her alone even if she knew Vivienne needed the time by herself.
He placed her on the porch, bracing his palms on her shoulders before she could push past him. Matt met her enraged eyes as he gripped her. "Kitty, I'm gonna keep looking for our girl. You need to get outta those wet clothes before you catch your death of cold."
"I don't care if I do! She needs me, Matt," she sniffled, tucking her face into his chest as his arms encircled her.
"I know, Honey. I'll search all night if I have to," he vowed, pressing his lips to her damp auburn hair as he smoothed his hand across the small of her back.
"Matthew," Festus warbled, jogging up the steps. "Miss Vivi wasn't at Octavia's place. She's a-gettin' her folks to look for Miss Vivi, too."
"Good. Festus, get on some dry clothes as quick as you can. Have a little supper and some coffee."
"Alright, Matthew," the hillman replied. "You ought t' do the same," he politely suggested.
Matt shook his head, listening to Kitty's muffled cries, feeling her press her face into his broad chest. He squinted as he saw two figures ambling side by side on the walkway. He breathed out a sigh of relief as he recognized his daughter's copper braids shining under the street lamp. He gingerly squeezed his wife's hip, whispering, "Kitty, she's here. Vivi's home."
She pulled away from him, gathering her skirt in her hands to run down the steps. "Vivienne!"
"Maman!" Vivienne shouted, pulling her hand out of her newfound acquaintance's large hand. She ignored the pain pounding in her skull while she rushed to her mother, meeting her halfway on the stone steps. "I'm sorry, Maman. Je suis désolé," she wrapped her arms around her, burying her face into her chest.
Kitty squeezed Vivienne to her, relishing the feel of having her precious girl in the security of her arms. "Baby, you had us all worried. Where were you?"
Vivienne tilted her head, looking up at her mother's face. "Please, don't be mad. I had to visit Papa. I had to go to him. I had to. I had to tell him that he'd always be my papa."
She held her child's face in her hands, stroking her freckled cheek, noticing the dried blood in Vivienne's hair. "I understand, Vivi. I'm not mad at you, Honey," she kissed her forehead as Matt approached.
Matt immediately noticed the crimson, crusty blood in his daughter's tresses and ear. "Vivi, what happened?" He kept his eyes on his daughter, raking over her disheveled copper braids and dirty dress as she broke into a mix of English and French to explain what had happened to her. He felt the tips of his ears burn with anger at the account involving the Scotsman, but he was thankful she had her mother's sand. "Sweetheart," he swallowed his emotions, "I'm glad you're home and safe," he offered a smile as Vivienne tilted her head to look at him.
"Ouch," Vivienne hissed as her mother's fingertips delicately caressed the crown of her head and nape.
"I'm sorry, Baby," Kitty soothed, showing her husband the fresh blood on her fingers.
Matt dipped his head, untroubled by the sight while he dug his handkerchief out of his pocket. He'd suffered enough injuries to the head to know that those wounds bled more than usual. "Vivi, Pépère needs to take a look at you." He gave Vivienne's shoulder a gentle squeeze before he headed to his daughter's champion.
"Monsieur," Matt cordially greeted. He'd learned to discern a Frenchman since making New Orleans his home. To him, the stranger's pretentiousness was as unmistakable as the smear of the Scotsman's blood on the blonde and brown tortoiseshell handle of the umbrella in his grasp.
"Archambeau. Casimir Archambeau," he extended his hand, noting the giant's firm shake.
"Matt Dillon. My wife and I thank you for bringing our daughter home. We're mighty grateful to you."
"You're welcome. It was no trouble," he stated, keeping his eyes on the redheads disappearing into the mansion.
The big man slid his hands into his pockets, glancing behind him. He knew Doc would be thoroughly examining Vivienne before Kitty managed to get her to the second floor. "From what Vivienne was telling her maman, it sounds like there was some trouble."
"Some men need to learn their place," Casimir said, locking his amber eyes onto the retired marshal's blue ones. "I wouldn't have forgiven myself if anything had happened to Henri Broussard's petite fille."
Matt arched his eyebrows, examining the stranger's expression and body language. "You knew Henri?"
"Oui. Henri and I grew up together. Bonne nuit, Monsieur Dillon," Archambeau politely tipped his hat. "You have matters to take care of, as do I."
Matt rested his hands on the iron gate, watching the Frenchman stroll down the sidewalk until he was out of sight. He couldn't shake the feeling that he needed to learn more about Casimir Archambeau.