A Twisted Ladder by Rhodi Hawk Page B

the workers ate their breakfast, toted in again by Francois and his cart. He discreetly informed Rémi that the Terrefleurs levee was still in no danger, and that all was well at home. Rémi nodded, but silently cursed the Chapmans for not having reinforced the Crow’s Landing levee. The water level had risen seven inches during the night as the rain continued to fall.
    A few of the workers trudged back to the heap and resumed filling and hauling sandbags. Rémi joined them, working with verve, trying to appear confident. And yet he was on the verge of admitting defeat: With the water continuing to rise, they had little chance of laying enough sandbags to maintain the levee. Already, water streamed from leaks in the weaker joints. Should the levee burst while they were toiling, men could drown. Some of the workers were casting around with anxious eyes, and men from Terrefleurs whispered to each other with wary faces as they stacked the leaden bags.
    Jacob Chapman glowered at them and strode to his horse, withdrawing his shotgun. He cocked the weapon, circling the workers.
    “You boys better not be thinking about runnin off,” Jacob said, and focused a hard stare at the men who had been whispering. “You just keep layin those sandbags and do as you’re told.”
    Rémi stalked to where Jacob stood and gripped the shotgun. He leaned his face in close.
    “Put that away!”
    Jacob’s harsh expression flashed in a burst of lightning, purple veins bulging at his neck. Rémi glared at him. They stared nose to nose while the thunder crackled and the rain streamed over their faces. Jacob’s lips were curled in what was surely a precursor to a fight, and Rémi was ready for—even looking forward to—whatever might come.
    But suddenly Jacob relented. He slumped, returning the shotgun to his pack, and leaned against his mount with his head lowered.
    Rémi regarded the workers. He breathed heavily against his own fury in the wet air, sorry that Jacob had backed down even though he knew a fight would cause more woe than it was worth. He joined his brother-in-law beside the horse.
    “I’m sorry, Rémi,” Jacob said. “It’s just that in Kentucky . . .”
    “This is not Kentucky! Where is your father?”
    Jacob sighed and squinted in the direction of the river. The sound of moving water was all around them.
    “He’s with my mother and little sister, down at the train station. They’re gonna try to get to higher ground.”
    Rémi flushed. “At the train station! While his friends and neighbors are trying to save his homestead!”
    Jacob lowered his head to a sulk. Rémi’s fist was balled, longing to connect with Jacob’s cheekbone. But he held steady and instead released a rueful laugh, and put his hand on his brother-in-law’s shoulder.
    “It does not really matter,
mon frère
, because this levee will not hold. We must get these men away from here.”
    Jacob closed his mouth and opened it again, but did not speak. Rain dripped from his hat and thickened to drowsy beads at his nose. He drew in a breath and dipped his chin once. Rémi squeezed his shoulder, then returned to the group.
    “Allons, c’est fini.”
Rémi told his men.
    Many of the workers from Glory and the other plantations did not speak French, but they recognized the content of Rémi’s words, and responded by whisking blankets, tools, and other supplies into the cart. Francois loaded it with the Terrefleurs workers, and they headed back down the sodden road toward home. The sheriff set out on horseback to evacuate people from nearby plantations, and Jacob turned in the direction of the Glory main house. Men from other plantations dispersed, too, moving rapidly along the high ground.
    And then the levee broke.
    Rémi and four of the Glory men were still standing by. A small gush of water burst from the lower weave of earth and board, and the men erupted with shouts of alarm. Rémi grabbed the reins of his horse and pulled her up the hill as the