Destiny's Magic Read Online Free

between there and St. Francisville. He might not be strong enough to leave Black-eyed Susan alone.

    â€œThat was close,” Susan said to herself in the privacy of Pippin’s small, borrowed stateroom, where she drew the mosquito net aside to tuck him in the narrow bed. The contradictions of her upbringing compelled her to say a silent prayer of thanks, both to God and the hoodoo deity Mama Loa.
    â€œStay with me, Susan. I mean Momma.”
    â€œOf course, dumpling.” She had no burning desire to proceed to her assigned room abutting the irritable captain’s quarters. Nor did she wish to duck outside when the Yankee Princess began to steam toward the secluded cove, for Burke O’Brien was stomping up and down the outer deck.
    His aggravation drowned steam-whistle honks—not to mention filling Susan’s ears—as the freighter glided along the water on her southbound course in the tangles and turns of the river.
    At one point he threatened to make some hapless boatman “swab the heads” for “letting women traipse up the gangplank.”
    She felt guilty for bringing trouble. Another emotion arose—disappointment. He was a far cry from the half-clothed, firelight-etched dancer who beguiled her from afar during the Mardi Gras season of 1866.
    Moreover, he had relented. She and Pippin were on their way to freedom. They would not set foot on land until reaching the Crescent City. And then . . . and then on to England, where she would climb from a total fall from grace.
    First she must collect money that waited in New Orleans.
    â€œMomma, that cap’n is sure crabby,” Pippin said, his voice sleepy from the late hour.
    â€œIs that any way to speak of our savior?” She tapped his freckled nose. “Go to sleep, dumpling.”
    She then studied the black that tainted a corner of Pippin’s mouth. This discoloration was the good sort, having come from a licorice stick given to him by the ship’s cook. Would that Pippin’s life could have been licorice and full bellies!
    Abandoned as a toddler by his father, the boy spent most of his life in an Iowa orphanage. His insect of a mother plucked him out, only to dump him at the Best Ever Traveling Show. But Orson Paget showed no interest in taking up where he’d left off as a father or as Angela Paget’s husband.
    â€œI’ve got a new wife,” he’d lied.
    Amoral Orson hadn’t bothered to divorce before asking Susan to become his bride. The soothsayer Carmelita told her the truth just before the mockery of a marriage would have taken place last October. But there had been no escaping the brute.
    It had been but twelve weeks before that Pippin became the light of Susan’s life. Always—always!—she’d wanted a baby, or several, but she got a child. No matter. At last she had someone to love who neither ignored her nor treated her harshly.
    And at last, tonight, she’d protected young Pippin from yet another beating.
    â€œMomma? Can I let Snooky out?”
    â€œI think not. The least we can do is make the journey to New Orleans as pleasant as possible.”
    â€œNew Orleans?” Pippin said with boyish astonishment. “The cap’n said he’s gonna leave us in St. Something-or-other.”
    â€œHe’ll change his mind.”
    St. Francisville, in a direct line to New Orleans, lay too close to Natchez. Too near Orson. Without delay she had to reach New Orleans. Furthermore, Susan wouldn’t expose Miss O’Brien, or the Louisiana O’Briens, to the trapeze artist’s wrath, should he track them down.
    Burke O’Brien seemed more than capable of dealing with any sort of trouble. But what about that strange interchange between nephew and aunt, the one concerning “tie in with a married woman” and “prospective bride”? Then there was “trick” and those strange allusions to a lamp. He hadn’t dealt well on