Revelation: Foundations laid, optimistic
possibilities.
Jean Lafitte’s business venture in New Orleans, begun in 1809, was designated as that of a blacksmith, but everyone knew it was a front for the lucrative smuggling of slaves and captured merchandise.
Peter often came into the city to work at the smithy, for it was also the perfect spot for barrel making. Containers were always needed. Sturdy, tightly sealed barrels, casks, and kegs were used for essentials: sugar, beer, wine, rum, and brandy. Also, for ships going out to sea, the barrels held preserved salt meat, cabbage, biscuits, and water.
Peter was also appreciative that the perfect place for applying his carpenter’s skills by day was also close to Millie’s brothel, where he delighted in applying different skills at night.
He liked making Millie happy. He found that she really enjoyed having the back of her neck softly kissed while, at the same time, he stroked the curve in her waist. Not rushing (although at times he wanted to), he kissed and nibbled her knees, then worked his way back up to licking her ears. He talked to her throughout all the caresses, complimenting her beautiful body. And he always made sure of her ultimate sexual pleasure first before achieving his.
Although he assumed it was just business to her, his visits were special to him.
In fact, however, Millie looked forward to Peter’s visits, which were becoming more and more frequent, and she did not conceal her delight when he came through her doorway this evening. He was wet from a late summer rain, but she helped him remove his bandanna, striped shirt, and pants and hung them over the drying stand, where they would stay until morning.
After a long soak in her tub and a brisk rubdown with fleecy towels, Millie wanted to make sure Peter was comfortable in her bed.
“Time for a back rub!” she said.
Peter sighed with pleasure as he turned over on his stomach. “Thank you, Millie! I am a little sore from today’s work.”
As Millie proceeded with strong strokes going up from his pelvis on both sides of Peter’s spine, she said, “Pete, I love it that you always make me feel so special. I do believe you are my very favorite, um, boyfriend!”
“Well, you’re my favorite girl, Millie! Actually, you’re my only girl. Mmm. That feels so good!”
As Millie worked her thumbs in small, deep circles around his shoulder blades and moved up to the base of his head, she said, “Your muscles are really tight, Pete. What’s making you so sore?”
“Making lots of barrels. Seems the rumors we’ve heard are true. My countrymen plan to capture New Orleans, which is very important to Louisiana’s economy. I think they want to keep this territory for themselves, or maybe return it to the Spanish.”
“That’s horrible, Pete!” Millie cried indignantly. “But wait . . .” She suddenly stopped the massage, sat up, and crossed her arms.
“What’s wrong?”
“Your ‘countrymen’? Just whose side are you on?”
“I would guess I’m on your bad side now, Millie, with that remark. I should have said ‘my former countrymen’!”
“Well, that’s better.” With her fists, she began softly pummeling his backside. “And how do you know the rumors are true?”
“Well, just a few days ago, some Royal Navy officers from the brig Sophie stopped to visit Jean Lafitte at Grand Terre,” said Peter. “They had a letter from Colonel Nicholls giving Lafitte a choice: either we Baratarians can help them invade Louisiana by guiding them through the swamps and assisting them in attacking the city, or the British will destroy us because of our privateering enterprises against their ships.”
“So they want to use Barataria as a point of invasion? They’d be coming at us from all of the swamps?”
“Right. And they’d use our boats and ships, as well as our gunners and fighters. They also offered Lafitte thirty thousand pounds to help them.”
“Thirty thousand pounds!” exclaimed Millie. “Is he going to do it? Help the British?”
“We’ve been discussing the offer for several days now. The money is very tempting, but I don’t think Lafitte is keen on the terms,” answered Peter. “He’s a slaver; plus, he would have to stop smuggling and give up all his ships to the British. Then what would he do? I can’t see him becoming a farmer.”
“That’s for sure!” Millie said with a laugh. She stopped her patting, stretched out beside him, crooked her arm, and held her head up with her right hand.
Peter rolled over on his left side, mirroring her position. “No, he really thinks of himself as an American; Louisiana is where he’s made his fortune, and he wants to continue his livelihood here.”
“Even though Governor Claiborne incarcerated his brother Pierre in that wretched calaboose and would love to put Jean away, too?” asked Millie.
“Fair point,” agreed Peter. “But aside from the governor, Lafitte does have political friends in high places. In fact, I suspect Pierre will not be locked up much longer.”
“But back to the British bribe—the Baratarians are preparing for battle?” asked Millie.
“Yes. Some time ago, they began stockpiling flints, gunpowder, cannonballs, and, of course, cannons, so we’re ready for whatever happens. As far as the British ‘offer’ is concerned, Lafitte told them that he needed a couple of weeks to think about it.”
“So, you are all discussing it?”
“Yes. It’s a lot of money, and we’d be battling the Royal Navy. On the other hand . . . But, Millie, you must not tell anyone about this!”
“It’s very exciting, your life, Pete. And I do worry about you, especially if you get involved in warfare.”
“Truly?”
“Why, of course, Pete! And I think you know that. Now, turn over so I can finish your back rub.”
Peter saluted her, with a frown on his face. “Are you sure you’re finished on this side, ma’am?”