Clockwork Souls by Phyllis Irene Radford, Brenda W. Clough

value of a soul, no matter where it
resided.
    “Bien . I will help you,” Marie said.

    Instead of returning home, Marie extended her visit
indefinitely. She and Philomène leased a house in the neighborhood where
Dominic and Mignon shared a home. Marie wrote her letter to Anthony Ramsey and
anxiously awaited a reply.
    Dominic spent his days attempting to find more officers for
the would-be regiment. Marie and Philomène assisted Mignon, who had a
successful business making gloves.
    On fine days, Marie sallied forth with her basket and
Philomène’s escort to see what she might find in the marketplace, and to learn
what listening might tell her. She collected what she could of items she kept
in store back at home. These were most often to be found at the markets where
the colored populations traded. On these excursions she left her Parisian
bonnet at home and wore her traditional headscarf, tied in the distinctive
seven-pointed style that informed the knowledgeable of her status as a
priestess of voudon. This, along with her interest in such things as certain
herbs and fabrics, and rarer curiosities such as beads of colored glass and the
bones of small animals, evoked speculative glances. She found no one openly
selling charms on the market, and soon she began to receive low-voiced
inquiries. Thus, she resumed her own trade in a place where she had never
imagined practicing it, amidst the northern Protestants.
    She missed her home and her children. She missed her snake
as well, but this cold climate would be uncomfortable for a python, and she
entertained no thoughts of sending for the creature she had left in Heloïse’s
care. She had with her a shed skin of Zombi’s, which she had kept supple
through the years by applications of a special oil of her own concocting. Zombi
herself was long gone.
    One February day, when the stale snow lay in drifts along
the streets, she and Philomène returned from the market to find a note from
Mignon wedged into their door, urging them to come at once to her and Dominic’s
house. They set off at once, not bothering to go in, for the hour was late and
daylight would soon fade.
    The Dubois’s house was painted blue with white trim. Yemaya’s
colors, Marie thought whenever she saw them, and paid silent honor to the Queen
of the Sea.
    Mignon and Dominic had a visitor: a tall, portly white man
with red hair and beard, the latter well-trimmed and liberally sprinkled with
white. He was seated on the divan in the front parlor, talking with Dominic,
and turned a mildly curious and startlingly blue eye toward Marie and
Philomène, but did not rise when they entered.
    Dominic stood, and greeted them with a bow. “Madame Paris,
Mademoiselle, allow me to introduce you to Mr. Daniel Malcomb.”
    Marie acknowledged the visitor with a nod. “Mr. Malcomb.”
    “Soon to be Colonel Malcomb, eh, Dubois?” Malcomb chuckled,
seeming pleased with himself. He looked Marie up and down. “French, are you?”
    “Creole,” Marie said, not feeling that this man deserved—nor
indeed, desired—any further explanation. She bristled as his blue gaze lingered
momentarily upon Philomène, but then he turned his attention back to Dominic.
    “Well, I’ll leave you to manage the details,” he said. “I
can round up one or two fellows to help. I’ve got a man in mind for
quartermaster. See if you can find a few well-bred men for the regimental
officers. Those fellows you’ve got . . . well, they’ll do for
company commanders.”
    Dominic bowed, though he did not smile. “Madame Paris knows
a gentleman who may be willing to join us. She has written to him.”
    “Has she? Very good, very good.”
    He did not exhibit much confidence in Marie’s connections,
as he took his leave. While Dominic showed him out, Mignon invited Marie and
Philomène to take his place on the divan.
    “And so that is to be your colonel?” Marie asked when
Dominic returned.
    “We have no choice,” Dominic said, though