excerpt from "Paradoxes"

    Tempest~Ship of fools or ship of dreams, Madeleine wondered to herself as she nervously waited her turn to board.  Would this voyage be the new start she hoped for or would it be yet one more dangerous decision she’d been forced to make in order to preserve her freedom?  Did her freedom matter anymore now that her child lay dead and interred in that forlorn cemetery outside of town?  Sometimes Madeleine found herself remembering, in the finest of detail, the pale whiskers of winter grass that were so brittle when the mourners approached her that morning of the funeral.  She remembered, in crystalline clarity, the early morning sun gilding the edges of the monuments with the cold gold of morning.  No one should have to bury their child.  With a resolution she didn’t appreciate she brushed a tear away where it welled up and threatened to run down her cheek.  Crying will get you nowhere!
    New Orleans sat quietly under the early sun as Madeleine Astor stood on the dock, scuffing her slipper in the dust.  She looked up at the tall mast on the clipper ship she was soon to board, a growing sense of amazement crowding the normal suspicious train of thought she always had when out in public and out of her normal element.  The ship is nothing short of beautiful, she thought to herself as she waited to tender her ticket and get aboard.  The hull of the Tempest was painted a deep, mysterious blue, the railing running bow to stern was inky black and about a foot below the railing was a glittering stripe of bright gold.  She hadn’t been prepared for the true size of the ship either; Madeleine was shocked to see how big she really was as she sat quietly at anchor amid smaller brigs, slow coastal packet ships and across the harbor one other four-masted ship.  She flinched at a sharp noise nearby; furtively snuck glances right and left, sighed deeply then made her way toward the gangplank and the smiling steward waiting there.  The air smelled much cleaner here than deep in town where rotting vegetation, dust, urine and manure all joined forces to assault the nose with every breath one took.  Madeleine took it as an omen that the voyage was going to be a positive change in her life.  The weather during the past week had been so tumultuous, heavy black clouds rolling through town, pelting New Orleans with hard rains and capricious and occasionally dangerous winds.  Today though; sailing day dawned clear and calm.  It was almost as if New Orleans was saying good-bye to her and wishing her well.  She drew a deep breath, glanced once over her shoulder to take a last look at the place she’d called home for some time and where her child lay buried in a small grave.  As one of the crew escorted her below decks to her small cabin, she completely missed the old man slouching into the wall of the warehouse nearby.
    Wordless he watched her from a shadowy spot against the rough sagging wall of the waterfront warehouse, knowing that although her eyes touched him they traveled on and she remained unaware of his perusal.  He looked down at the greasy stub of cigar between his fingers, his mouth opened in a bitter gash and he jammed the stub between yellowed teeth and fumbled for a match.  Almost against his will he remembered that there had been a time when he could have afforded to buy his own fine hand-rolled cigars.  Now he was relegated to picking up other peoples discards from the dirt of the streets.  A week’s growth of dull gray beard dusted his face; there had been a time when he’d had a full gleaming beard of black and he’d cut a handsome path wherever he went, but now he looked like any number of homeless, broken old men and he hated it.  He hated her, for in his twisted mind she was the cause of all his misfortune and she owed him for all his losses.  Looking past the stub of cigar he saw the toe of his worn boot as he scuffed it in the dirt.  The sole of his right boot had a huge hole where the heel had been, he’d stepped down hard on a pebble earlier that morning in his haste to follow her and it still hurt.  The leather at the toe of his left boot was curling away from the sole and it let sand and dirt get into the boot when he walked.  Both his feet hurt and that too was all her fault.  Oh, yes!  She owed him big.
    Madeleine’s self protective instincts had been honed by years as a fugitive and she knew she was being watched.  As she disappeared down the hatch she cast one more look at the docks, half expecting to see Michael Delacourt there as his attention had seemed to be the major source of those feelings.  She didn’t see him anywhere and sighed heavily, chanting over and over to herself “you’re just being too fearful, there’s no one there…there’s no one there…”  The cabin she’d been fortunate enough to be able to book at such a late date was a very small one, but Madeleine felt safe and comforted by the closeness of the walls and the smallness of the space she would call her own for the next three months.  There was ample evidence of good care; the dark paneling was waxed to a satiny sheen, the narrow berth clean, and the floor immaculate.  Her two trunks had beaten her to the cabin and sat jammed in a corner.  Slowly she sank to the edge of the berth and slumped over, her face in her hands.  Michael Delacourt’s attention had been far too direct and far too relentless in spite of their confrontation at Lael’s funeral.  He’d alternated between flattering her and offending her and she constantly wondered why he didn’t just go ahead and haul her in to the authorities, why he continued to watch her and her shop across the street from his hotel.  It was almost like being a mouse in the grip of a well fed cat; one which relished playing with and terrifying its prey but had no intention of dispatching too soon.  Well!  I fixed you!  You’ll not know I’m gone till the ship’s well out into the Gulf.  Then you may very well not find out I’m on it for quite some time…if ever.
    Just as the old man, the watcher, was readying himself to melt away into the streets of New Orleans however, his attention was caught by the arrival of a carriage and a large dray behind it.  A tall broad-shouldered man alighted from the carriage and motioned workers over to him where he quite obviously directed them to off-load the dray.  The old man’s interest picked up once more and he leaned back against the warehouse wall to watch a little longer.  It was none other than Michael Delacourt; the man who had been staying in the hotel across the street from her shop…this man was the one who was so interested in her.  And he was wealthy beyond the dreams of avarice!
    Quickly making up his mind to let the ship sail with her on it, the old man turned and left the docks.  A cruel smile slowly moved across his features as he noiselessly made his way back through trash filled alleys and side streets.  Just when did he consciously recognize that he liked hurting people?  He shuffled along, hands jammed in his pockets, head down, cigar gripped between seamed lips.  How long had it taken him to graduate from the small random snipes and jabs to planned assaults?  When had he come to recognize and anticipate that delectable frisson of excitement; that intense physical pleasure he felt when his control of another resulted in their pain?  He wasn’t sure any more, he’d lived with the daydreams for so long now they seemed like a part of him that couldn’t be exorcised even if he’d chosen to try…and he hadn’t tried; ever.  An errant gust of hot humid air threatened to blow his limp and filthy slouch hat off his head and he had to jam it down further on his head as he walked.  Again, his mouth twisted in a semblance of a smile as he continued on with his own plans.