More about the novel:

A scandalous Parisian aristocrat. An enslaved girl with voodoo skills. A French widow with a dark secret. A free woman of color from Cuba. A criminal with an agenda. A shy country girl from rural France. And twelve Ursuline nuns. Together they cross the ocean in a six-month voyage to La Nouvelle Orleàns,
France’s outpost in their colony at America’s South shores. The year is 1727.

Regardless of the color of their skin or their social class, the Ursulines educate them at their school. They find safety at the convent but not outside of it where they face and commit crimes and endure trials as their lives are intertwined and their pasts are revealed. “Casket Girls” is a story of female empowerment in an era where women could only dream about some sense of equality. It is also a tale of opposites – Catholicism and Voodoo, nuns and prostitutes, pirates and smugglers, tragedy and redemption and most of all survival – that came together in this mysterious place called New Orleans.

Read an excerpt below:

Casket Girls
By Elisabeth Sereda
In hard cover, paperback and E-book
Paperback ISBN: 9781665760553
Hardback ISBN: 9781665760577
Available at https://www.archwaypublishing.com/en/bookstore
CONTACT: readers@elisabethsereda.com
Instagram: @elisabethsereda_official, @casketgirlsbook
TikTok: @elisabethsereda

EXCERPT from “Casket Girls”

Florence breathed a sigh of relief. Her plan had worked. She had feigned exhaustion, and the others had taken off without her. The remaining sailors were preoccupied with replacing ropes and fixing minor damage, and she was undisturbed. A few more of Madame LaCour’s gold coins had made
their way into Florence’s casket.

Like any visitor to the island, the woman was drawn to the stands with their overflowing wares. Jean watched her enter the market. He stood a short distance away as she picked up a silver bracelet from a local craftsman. When the man told her the price she put it back down.
Ah oui, she is certainly not a wealthy woman.

Jean Bèranger saw the craftsman turn to help another customer. Within the glimpse of an eye the woman picked up the bracelet, slipped it into her corsage and strolled away with leisure. Jean had seen a lot in his life, but this here surprised even the worldly man he considered himself to be.
There was not one moment’s hesitation in the woman’s deed. She was not new at this.
Florence smiled broadly as she disappeared into the crowds. She turned a corner into a narrow street and bumped into a man.

“Excusé moi.” She said and tried to pass, but the stranger would not let her. He had a dark beard and wore a black leather vest over a white shirt despite the heat.
“Monsieur, s’il vous plait …”
The stranger towered over her, broad shouldered, his arms stretched out to the sides, his hands against the walls of the buildings. His dark, fiery eyes bore into her as he slowly put his hand over the fabric of her dress between her breasts. She jumped back:
“Monsieur, I’m not a prostitute!”
“Non, Mademoiselle, you are a thief.”
It was time to run. She ducked under his arm, but he grabbed her. She struggled. He had his arm wrapped around her waist, holding her close.
“A very good thief …”

Florence stopped moving. Was this stranger paying her a compliment?
Jean Bèranger let go of her, knowing she would not try to run now, judging from the curious look on her face.
“Hand it over” he commanded.
She reached into her corsage, his eyes following her move. She pulled out the bracelet but did not give it to him:
“Don’t touch it.” He snagged it from her, held it up against the sun. Then he bit into it:
“Not worth much.” He slowly slipped it back into her corsage. His hand lingered. She slapped him. He laughed.
“Pleasure to make your acquaintance, Mademoiselle …”
“Florence.” She was intrigued by him but determined not to show it.
“I could use someone as crafty as you, Mademoiselle Florence …”
This man is not going to hand me over to the police! He is a forçat, a criminal himself!
“I do not make my living here, Monsieur …”
“Jean.”
“Monsieur Jean … I am on a journey to the colony of Louisiana; we are continuing in the morning.”
Continuing?! So, she is a passenger …

There was only one ship leaving for Louisiana the next day the port master had told him, and only one in the harbor large enough for such a voyage. Anger flashed across his face as he suddenly connected all this information. They had been fooled. The Gironde was a passenger vessel after all.And this woman, Florence, was not the only female on board he guessed. He was determined to get to the bottom of this.
“We should meet this evening to discuss our further business dealings. That is unless you prefer that I fetch the shop keeper you stole from.”
It was not an empty threat. He would not hand her to the police himself, given his occupation. He would let the shop keeper do it for him.
I must get out of this predicament.

Florence was a believer in truth when truth was the best option to escape a difficult situation.
“Monsieur, this evening I am to attend a soirée at a merchant’s house. We are traveling under the care of ordained women of the Ursulines and getting out of joining them at this gathering is not possible.”
Jean could barely conceal his growing anger.
Ursulines? They had been beaten into retreat by nuns?! How?!
“Well, then I will find a way to secure an invitation and see you there. What is the host’s name?”
“I don’t know, only that he is to join us on the ship tomorrow with all his servants.”
Jean had no doubt that she really did not know the man’s identity, but this was not hard to find out; not that many merchants would have booked the voyage to Louisiana. He bowed.
“I shall see you tonight.”