She whispered, “Keep yourself safe, Drake.”
“I’ll do my best.” They kissed, parted, and the two women slipped out the kitchen’s back door and into the night.
An hour later, the moon rose, and men began arriving to help Drake and Hugh defend the LeVeq home. A large contingent of Drake’s fellow soldiers from the Louisiana Native Guard appeared first, followed by Hugh’s man leading a mounted column of fifteen USCT veterans dressed in their uniforms. In twos and threes came armed freedmen, farmers, and men Drake had never met, one of whom explained his presence by telling Drake, “Miss Sable takes care of our kin. We came to take care of hers.”
Emotion clogged Drake’s throat.
By midnight, forty men, mounted and on foot, stood illuminated by torches in front of the house. Looking out at them, his heart swelled. They’d willingly put themselves in danger to aid his family and he’d be grateful for their presence for the rest of his life.
The men took up positions in front and back of the house, in the trees lining the road, and on the roof. Everyone was set when five more riders appeared. Leading them were Archer and Raimond. Drake had never been so happy to see them.
Archer dismounted while Rai stayed in the saddle.
“I just got back and was at the Christophe when Hugh’s man came,” Rai said. “I need to see to Sable and my children. We’ll talk after this is over.” He rode off, trailed by the three men.
Archer said gravely, “Thanks for sending word.”
Drake nodded. He and his defenders settled in to wait.
It didn’t take long. Supremacists often began their nightly assaults by chaotically blowing horns to rouse the victim from sleep and into terror. Drake, hearing the horns, smiled coldly. He didn’t know how many men were on the way, but they were more accustomed to riding down on defenseless families. They’d not be expecting forty-plus armed men, many of whom were battle-tested.
Moments later, ten men, faces hidden beneath old yam sacks, rode into view carrying torches and blowing their horns. Over the cacophony, a voice, amplified by a speaking trumpet, called out, “Drake LeVeq. Prepare to meet your maker.”
Descendants of pirate Dominic LeVeq did not give quarter when facing murderers. They didn’t negotiate, attempt to placate, or turn the other cheek. When the Defenders of the Cause spurred their horses towards his mother’s front porch, Drake yelled, “Fire!”
In the silent aftermath, the sacks were removed from the faces of the dead men lying in the muddy road so they could be identified. Torchlight revealed that nine of the ten were known locals, including Ennis Meachem, son of Liam Atwater’s overseer, Boyd. The tenth man wasn’t from Louisiana, but Drake recognized him instantly—First Lieutenant Josiah Merritt.
But it wasn’t a total victory. The rising wind carried the acrid smell of smoke and kerosene. Drake stilled and looked west. The sky was dull red. Although he was too far away to see the flames, he knew what it meant. Tamping down his emotions, he turned his attention to thanking the men before they rode away. He’d grieve his loss later.
The bodies of the dead were placed in the back of a wagon. Hugh would drive them into town. Drake didn’t know how the authorities would respond but there’d been soldiers of both races among his defenders. If he needed them to testify on his behalf, they would.
Before Hugh and his men took their leave, he and Drake shared a strong brotherly hug. “Thank you again,” Drake said sincerely. He’d be grieving more loss were it not for the big Tennessean’s help.
“You’re welcome. I’ll ride over tomorrow and we can talk about rebuilding.”
“Okay.”
As Hugh and his Heroes of America drove away, Drake looked over at Archer, who said solemnly, “Sorry about your place.”
“I knew it might happen. Better my place than here. Mama left the house in my care. Can you imagine how mad she’d be if I let it be burned down by a bunch of sack-wearingcochons?”
Archer snorted. “Let’s see if she has any cognac.”
Drake took one last somber look west and followed Archer inside.
At first light, he and Archer rode out to assess the damage. There wasn’t much left of the house he’d built with such devotion and care. The outer walls were a scorched jagged shell and he could see clear through what used to be the front parlor to the trees behind the house. The porch columns, the newly laid floors, the windows, the roof. All gone. He was thankful none of his workers lived on site so there’d been no loss of life. They reined their mounts around to the back. The wood on the kitchen was gone, leaving the blackened bricks intact. His work shed was a total loss, however. He dismounted and toed at the piles of still smoldering ash, unearthing a few of his tools: a pair of tongs, the partially melted head of his hammer. He glanced up into Archer’s grave face.
“You’ll rebuild,” his brother said.
And he would.
Hearing horses, he turned to see a mounted Raimond accompanied by a wagon driven by Sable. With her were Little Reba and Valinda. They got out and offered hugs and condolences.
Holding him tight, Val said, “So glad you’re okay.”
He looked down into her concerned face and admitted that having her near reduced some of his sadness.
Rai said, “Hugh’s man told me a bit on the ride from Archer’s. Fill me in on the rest.”