black-bayou-witch-tales-a-paranormal-historical-series-set-in-louisiana

A Paranormal Historical Book Series Set In Louisiana

Black Bayou Witch Tales by Lori Beasley Bradley

Series Excerpt

Angelique came back into the kitchen carrying a small leather pouch dangling heavily from a drawstring and holding the rolled parchments that were the birth certifications for herself, her mother, and her uncles.

She lifted the pouch and said with feigned relief in her voice, “It seems Maman had enough squirreled away to cover our little problem.” She also held up the documents “I suppose these will have to be witnessed by someone. Should we get Pere Ambrose to go with us to do that? I do not think anyone would question him, our priest, as a witness to this transaction. Do you?”

Shit, this little bitch thinks of everything. It must come from her white blood. No pureblood Negress would be this smart.

“No, Miss Angelique,” he stammered. “We don’t need to bother the Father with this. My signature and the signatures of the Magistrates there will be enough.”

Angelique gave a derisive snort. “You think any of those fools can even sign his name?”

Constable Martine gave a little laugh as he took the roll of documents from her hand and put them into his coat pocket. You’re a high-minded little bitch, aren’t you? You think you can make fun of hard-working white men, but you’re gonna get yours. He followed her out the kitchen door into the bright sunlight over the garden. Yes, you are sure gonna to get yours, and I’m gonna get mine.

They walked in silence back to the clearing where the slave catchers held their prey. The three men were slouched on the ground by another cypress passing around a small jug of what Angelique assumed was strong drink.

When he saw them coming, the blonde ruffian, who seemed to be the leader of this little group, stood. “Well, Missy, you come up with what you need to buy your way out of this little situation, or is the constable bringin’ you back here to be our little prisoner?” He kicked at the big man’s booted foot and laughed.

The constable cleared his throat and pulled the papers out of his pocket. “No, sir, Miss Angelique has everything she needs to comply with your demands.”

The man looked puzzled. “She got the money? But I thought—” The constable cut him off in mid-sentence.

“Yes, she’s got your bounty and the necessary papers.”

“OK then,” the blonde leader continued, looking over to Angelique, “Let’s see the color of your money, missy.” He walked over to the constable, and they began speaking together in low whispers.

Angelique handed the filthy blonde man the leather pouch. The man looked impressed with the weight of it and pulled the drawstrings open. He poured the contents onto the ground in front of him and his friends. She heard one of the other men gasp at the sight of the silver and gold coins.

“Would you mind counting it please?” Angelique asked as politely as possible. “I don’t want there to be any question about whether the correct amount was delivered.” This seemed to take the blonde man by surprise, and Angelique wondered if the idiot could even count past his ten fingers.

“The largest gold pieces are worth twenty dollars each, and the larger silver coins are ten-dollar pieces. The smaller gold ones are two-and-a-half-dollar pieces,” Angelique offered, assuming the man was ignorant of the value of the old coins that had been left to her by Maman.

The man shuffled through the coins for a few minutes, separating them into individual matching piles. After a few minutes, he looked up at her and grunted, “Well, it all seems to be here.” He looked over to the constable. “Give me those papers and I’ll sign ‘em.”

Constable Martine put the parchments into the man’s grimy hands. He unrolled the official documents, took the quill and ink from one of his partners, and scrawled his name at the bottom of the parchments where the constable indicated. When the three documents were signed, he handed them back to the constable and returned to the glittering coins on the ground in front of him. The other two men had moved closer, almost slobbering over the small piles of coins. The blonde lout scooped up the coins, returned them to their leather pouch, and tucked it into his ragged coat.

When he had secured the pouch, he stood and pointed toward the men tied around the tree on the other side of the clearing. “LaRue, go get the young lady her uncle.” He kicked at the big man. “Be quick about it, man!”

The big man got up with the other man, and they lumbered toward the men tied around the tree. Angelique moved to follow, but the constable stopped her. “They’ll bring him over. You should take him home to Lucian’s so Callie Ann can attend to his wounds.”

When Augustine was pushed to her by the big man, Angelique took his hand, and they headed down the path toward town as quickly as Augustine could move. She was clutching the signed documents that the constable had returned to her in her free hand as they walked.

Augustine saw them and grunted, “You might as well just throw those away, cherie, and they don’t mean shit to those men.”

Angelique looked at him, confused. Her uncle continued, “They were speaking in French, although very bad French, but they didn’t think we’d understand it.” He coughed then continued, “Those men are here to pick up every black man, woman, and child in St Martinsville and take them back to Mississippi and Alabama to be sold on the block as runaways. The good constable there arranged the whole thing with the magistrates.”

“But they can’t do that!” Angelique exclaimed indignantly. “We are all freeborn men and women!”

“Makes no difference now, cherie, they can come into Louisiana and collect all of us and put us on the block like any other black in any of the States now. We all have to have masters if we are going to be in any of the slave States. They are planning to raid the town tonight and gather up everyone. They’ve got others coming in from the east.”

A shiver of fear ran through her bones like ice. “We’ve got to warn the others and run!”

Augustine just shook his head sadly. “Cherie, where would we run?”

Angelique thought for a moment, then it came to her. “The Texas Territory! It is wild, yes, and there are Indians and such, but at least it is still free.” She pushed at her uncle. “Go get Lucian, Callie Ann, and the children into wagons and head for Texas. It is only a few days’ ride from here to the border, and you will all be free!”

“Texas,” he snorted and winced with pain. “Texas is going to be full of whites soon enough, and where there are whites, the black man is nothing more than chattel to be bought and sold at will.”

“Then go to the Ishak!” It was the name the Attakapan people called themselves. In the Choctaw language, it meant ‘the people.’ The Attakapans were a part of the Choctaw nation but made their homes in the swamps rather than the forests further north. “You can all live among the Ishak and be free. The whites won’t venture into their territory. They still think the Ishak are cannibals!”

“Perhaps you are right, cherie,” her uncle admitted. “Augustine plans to marry into the tribe. We will be safer with the Ishak than any other place. What of you, cherie? We cannot leave you here! Ma Mere would haunt us ‘til our dying day if we left you to this rabble.”

She looked at her uncle in desperation and resolution. “I’m going to head into New Orleans and get passage on a ship to France. Maman always said that I was light enough to pass for white and that I should go to Paris away from this slavery and bigotry.” She hugged her uncle and pushed him toward his house. “Go now, Augustine, get our family out of this place!”

“No, cherie, you cannot go to France. That Napoleon Bonaparte has reinstated slavery in France and all her territories!” He looked at her and sighed. “This Napoleon and his empress from Martinique need the income from the sugar plantations on Martinique and the other islands to support his wars, and the plantations need slaves to work the fields as free labor to keep their profits high. You cannot go to Paris.”