Love Story on Canal

by Angela Lee

  Technically, the men had been returned to New Orleans from wherever they had been captured as a part of a prisoner trade. Released prisoners of war were allowed to live at home or in a parole camp while still receiving wages, food and care. The condition of prisoner trade was that parolees were not allowed to return to battle, at least not for their original side. New Orleans had been occupied by the Union upon the paroled men’s return and they were again treated as prisoners. It was not even common knowledge that the men were held in the Customs House.

  Pan knew that crime was a serious issue in these poorer areas of the city, that some of the people she would interact with would have nefarious backgrounds. The same way she prepared for her Customs House visits, she tucked away the knowledge and fear she should have and dared herself each time to do it. She had always liked adventure, had never backed down from a dare, but until living in New Orleans she had never flirted with danger this closely.

  “Good afternoon. I was hoping to find Mr. Ian Byrne. Would that be you?” she asked the grocer behind the counter. The smell of fish was overpowering in the small and unusually cold shop.

  The grocer wiped his hands on a filthy apron before crossing his heavily muscled arms across his chest. “No, sweetheart. Byrne rents a room upstairs. Number Twelve. Probably working the drains right now. His missus is probably home, though. Stairs are in the back.” He eyed Pan curiously before nodding toward a darkened hallway behind him.

  “Thank you. I wonder if I might purchase, um,” she scanned the signs plastering the wall, “two pounds of your fresh white shrimp.” She paid and waited as he wrapped the fresh shrimp in old newsprint. She tucked the wrapped shellfish under her arm and thanked him before moving to the hallway and up the poorly lit stairs.

  The woman who answered the door of apartment twelve looked younger than Pan. She was plain with mousy brown hair. Deep circles shadowed her eyes and her skin was sallow. The newborn she held made it clear that the strains of motherhood were taking a toll. Behind her a toddler was crying on the floor.

  Pan gave a friendly smile, “Mrs. Byrne? I came to speak with your husband,”

  “He’s working. Who are you?” the woman asked without much interest.

  “I came to bring him a message about his brother. Will he be home soon?” Pan looked past the tired woman into the small apartment behind her.

  Mrs. Byrne frowned. “Most likely. How do you know Mick?”

  “I should really tell your husband first. Would it be alright if I waited inside for him?” The woman gave an apathetic shrug and turned back into the home leaving Pan to follow.

  It looked to be an efficiency apartment. A small table sat in the corner by a stove. Mrs. Byrne indicated with a wave that Pan should seat herself in one of the chairs. Before she could sit, the door opened, and a tall, brawny man walked into the room. The toddler on the floor clapped his hands in delight and even the lethargic mother perked up at the man’s arrival.

  Mr. Byrne dropped to his knees in front of his son. He asked him some silly questions and planted a kiss on the boy’s head before standing up and turning to his wife. Pan averted her eyes in embarrassment as Byrne kissed his wife. Peeking back, she saw that he had also noticed Mrs. Byrne’s exhaustion. He took the baby from his wife and sent her to the bed in the corner, despite her reluctance.

  Byrne approached Pan with the baby in one arm. “Name’s Ian, my wife says you are here about Mickey.” Pan extended her hand to shake and he eyed it a moment but gave it a firm shake anyway.

  “My name is Pan Fontenot. Your brother asked me to bring you word that he is alive. He is being held prisoner by the Union,” she repeated the words she had spoken to each family she had met.

  “Who are you that you would bring messages from a prisoner?” Ian said skeptically.

  “I’m a physician. I try to help the prisoners when I can.”

  “Physician?” He eyed her again but said nothing of her gender, “Where is he?”

  “For his safety, and mine, I cannot say.”

  “Is he hurt?” The man’s jaw had set and a vein along his temple was visibly pulsing.

  “He is malnourished as are all of the prisoners. I treated him for an infection as well. But he is healthy enough.”

  “When will he be coming home?” Byrne clenched and unclenched his hands.

  “I don’t know any of that. And I must ask that you not pursue it. I am only here today to give you hope that he is alive and may come home. I ask that you not share this with anyone, for your brother’s sake.”

  “I understand what you are saying, doctor. Do you need anything from us?” Byrne’s eyes were fierce, though his tone was calm.

  Pan shook her head, “Only your discretion. I will not bring a message back to him from you either, except to say that his message has been delivered. It’s the safest way,” she said with practiced firmness.

  Her eyes sought the woman on the bed. “Has your wife seen a physician? The baby?”

  “No ma’am. Midwife delivered the baby.” Byrne gave a sniff and wrinkled his nose. Pan realized the shrimp purchase was still tucked under her arm.

  “I’d like to take a look if I may,” she said as she bent to grab her bag, putting the package of shellfish inside.

  “What do you charge for your services?” The man was no longer paying attention to her but focussed on his resting wife.

  Pan considered that a moment. “Mr. Byrne, do you have any carpentry skills?” When he nodded, she continued, “Are you familiar with the St. Vincent’s Children’s Asylum on Louisa? There are some loose floorboards on the stairs and a few bedframes that need mending. Perhaps we could trade services?”

  He gave another look of surprise, “Aye, we can trade. Not sure it works much in your favor, doctor.” She smiled before moving on to her patients.

  Pan spent the next half hour in the Byrne’s home. She checked the toddler and baby first, giving the resting mother as much time as possible. Ian had moved to the kitchenette and was fixing his own bowl from the stewpot on the stove. His toddler son had made his way over and was happily sucking on a hunk of bread while seated on his father’s lap.

  Pan laid the baby in a wooden cradle and sat on the edge of the bed and quietly looked over Margaret Byrne. The sleeping woman stirred, and Pan explained who she was and what she was doing.

  “I’ve never heard of a woman doctor.”

  Pan made an unfeminine snort, “I hear that often. How have you been feeling?”

  “Just so tired. Weak. The baby always seems hungry.”

  “Mrs. Byrne, try to add garlic and ginger root to your stew pot. It will help with your fatigue, how tired you feel. It may help you produce more for the baby. I am leaving a packet of dried fennel. Steep it in hot water. Drink it like tea every night, it will help your milk production as well.” As if on cue, the infant began to wail. Pan helped Mrs. Byrne into a sitting position and her husband walked the baby over for his feeding.

  Pan spoke quietly as Ian walked her to the door, “Your wife needs to eat more to keep up her strength. I’ve told her some things to add to her diet.”

  “I’ll make sure she follows your instructions. I thank you,” the Irishman said with sincerity.

  “Mr. Byrne, I know that finding out about your brother might inspire some thoughts of vengeance. Please do not seek out justice. Anything you might do or say will only lead to suspicion as to where your information comes from. For the sake of your brother and all the other prisoners, please just hold fast to the knowledge that he is indeed alive. Let that be enough. Anything else may have consequences for the men or for your family.”

  “And for you,” Byrne said with a knowing look.

  “Yes, for me too. I’m no saint, Mr. Byrne. I have no ambition to be a martyr for this or any cause.” The two stared at one another until each agreed with a silent nod.

  “Why do you do this?” Byrne asked.

  “I don’t have an answer to that question, at least not one that w
ould provide any sort of clarity. I do it because I am able,” she smiled looking back into the apartment, “I’ll drop back by next week to check on the baby and your wife. I work with my father at his clinic on Bourbon. If you need me, for any reason, you can find me there. On Thursdays I am at the orphanage on Louisa.”

  Chapter Fifteen

  Pan left the Byrne’s residence and met with Tom at their appointed spot. She had sent him to order another dozen loaves from the bread woman Sister Therese had introduced her to. Though this visit had gone longer than intended, the boy was waiting as planned at the corner with a crusty slice of bread in his hand.

  “Everything settled?” Pan asked.

  “Yes, ma’am. I went to the grocer’s like you said and carried three loads to the baker’s house. She says she’ll have the loaves ready on Sunday for us. I’ll get them before we meet,” Tom said shoving the last of the bread in his mouth.

  Pan earned a small income from her work with her father. Dr. Fontenot had insisted that she be compensated for her efforts. Between that money and her pin money, Pan had been able to purchase supplies for her work at the prison and for the other indigent patients she had collected throughout the city. Though most, like Byrne, had offered to pay, Pan had refused whenever she could do so respectfully.

  She and Tom had finished their tasks for the day and were now progressing along Louisa Street toward the Vieux Carre. This was the second day the Irish boy was assisting her, and Pan was happy to realize that he was both helpful and good company. He was astute, leading her away from tenuous situations on the street and offering aid when Pan needed an extra set of hands.

  Pan sent Tom ahead to check if there were any new publications for sale. As she walked, Pan spied a group of boys, probably out pickpocketing for their dinner. They had targeted Mr. Jason Burns, the nephew of General Burns. Jason Burns was an officer in the Union army and had accompanied his older kin to New Orleans. He was easy to recognize because of the multitude of published editorials depicting his nefarious deeds.

  There was much speculation about the able-bodied military man who frequently strolled about out of uniform as a civilian. Suspicions that the nephew might be writing the general’s memoirs or acting as his personal physician floated amongst the community.

  The most popular (and likely) was that he was a wastrel, having bought his officer status with family money and his General uncle allowed him to behave as he wished. It was no secret that the Union commander’s nephew spent a considerable amount of time in local gaming halls and brothels. There were numerous stories of his bullying the local businesses by using his name and contacts.

  Currently, the band of children surrounded Burns begging for pennies. This was meant to distract as one child stealthily emptied the contents of the Northerner’s jacket pocket. The tall, gaunt gentleman waved the boys away in irritation and resumed his business at the newsstand. As the boys ran off, Burns realized their folly and reached for the lone boy still standing near. The officer now held the child by the shirt front, fury in his eyes, teeth bared in a snarl.

  “Stop this at once!” Pan cried, rushing forward. Burns had mistaken a terrified Tom for one of the pickpockets and had picked him up by the scruff.

  Pan began to scold the man for his boorish behavior but stopped herself and changed tactics. Burns was a brute. He would respond to her forceful tone with his own aggression directed at the boy he clutched. Pan spoke in her sweetest drawl, “Sir, he is but a child. I should hate to see him abused.”

  The man had a sheen of sweat across his brows and beaklike nose. He ignored her entreaty and muttered, “You’ll pay for this, boy.” Tom used his hands to cover the ear that would likely take the force of the blow as the angry man’s hand lifted to swing.

  Pan instinctively flung her body forward, hands outstretched to grab Burns’ arm back. His forearm rocked her chest with a thud, throwing her backwards. Rather than falling to the pavement behind her, she landed upright against a rock-solid wall of heat.

  Her breath caught as she felt large, sure hands firmly clasp her upper arms to stable her. Black onyx winked at her from the right. She knew that signet ring, knew the hand it belonged to, knew the solid chest she leaned into, and the man who owned all of it. His thumbs made subtle circular motions on her arms.

  Fin Weathers stood behind her, his body radiated warmth and she could feel the odd sensation of his chest vibrating against her back as if the man was growling.

  The general’s nephew must have truly been unaware of her presence. It was only as he had knocked her backwards that awareness seemed to dawn on the man. Looking first at her with irritated surprise, then to Weathers who was so furious that he literally vibrated with it. Burns released Tom who moved to stand in front of Pan. Even Tom seemed to be coming to her defense.

  Weather’s voice was quiet as he cut off the stammering military man, “Apologize to the lady.”

  Burns sneered but seemed to think better of whatever he planned to say, “Madame, I apologize. But indeed, you should not have interceded…”

  Her rescuer stepped around, blocking her completely though his fingers reached back, barely touching her skirt. His voice had dropped an octave, now definitely a predatory growl, “Are you faulting the lady for your actions?”

  Burns eyes flashed with fear but his response was sly, “Are you sure this is a fight you want to champion, Weathers? I was pick-pocketed. I was within my rights to thrash the little vermin.”

  “But you were not within your rights to touch the lady.” Weather’s body was tense, rigid, radiating energy and heat. Pan was acutely aware of his fingers which had not ceased feathering her hip. The effect was making it hard to focus. As with each of their prior interactions she willed her heart to still its erratic pace. Heat swam at her cheeks and pooled in her southern regions. She gulped to force a calming breath.

  Pan feared that this scene was getting out of hand. Jason Burns may be a known scoundrel, but he was the nephew to the man in charge of the entire city. He was not an enemy that anyone, especially a local politician could afford.

  “What’s this then?” two uniformed Union patrols walked onto the scene. Both soldiers saluted Burns’ though he was out of uniform. She was relieved to see Corporal Madison was one of the two. He turned to her and asked, “Miss Fontenot are you alright? Can we be of assistance?” Fin’s focus moved from Burns to the soldier who had addressed Pan by name. His eyes had narrowed as he looked the other man over.

  Pan smiled at her chatty soldier friend, “Corporal, I am fine. There is no need for assistance.” Stepping sideways, out from behind the protection of her champion, she spoke firmly to Burns. “Sir, I accept your apology and request that you let the matter lie. You have given us both a sound thrashing as penance for the crime against you. However, I assure you that neither of us were responsible.”

  Burns gave a curt nod, tipped his hat and turned away shooting a last, nasty snarl at Tom before continuing down the walk.

  “Are you sure you are alright, Miss Fontenot?” Madison asked with concern.

  “I am alright, I assure you. Thank you for coming to my rescue,” Pan gave him a bright smile. The soldier seemed flustered a moment. Pan became aware that Fin had stepped closer. Madison gave her a last look before nodding and moving on.

  Pan turned to Tom and hugged him, “Are you alright?” She released him quickly, remembering that Fin was still there. Physician’s instinct took over and she moved the hand Tom used to cover one ear and peered closely inside. She nodded and gave him a wink, “Right. Well come on, young man. Cook has some gumbo on. Shrimp even.” The boy tilted his head and gave her a curious look.

  Pan raised her brows, leaned down, and stage whispered, “Don’t tell but I know where she hid the pralines.”

  “You’ll me give one?” Pan wasn’t certain if the boy’s skeptical tone was sincere or his attempt to play along.

  She nodded and added, “I’ll give you two. But you’ll have to let me look at
your ear.”

  “You already did,” the boy’s eyes shot to Fin before he continued, “Miss. So I get two pralines then.”

  “I need to look again, with a light. Won’t hurt. Come now, be brave,” she continued in her nonchalant manner, trying her best to seem natural about bringing a stray child home with her.

  Fin’s voice was still gruff from the altercation and tickled her ear, “A man never turns down a lady offering treats. Especially not a beautiful one.” Fin had spoken to the boy, but his eyes were locked on hers when Pan looked up. She could feel the heat return. Everywhere.

  He thought she was beautiful. Hearing it from him, she felt beautiful. She flashed him a full smile, “I believe I owe you a praline as well, sir. Thank you for coming to my aid.”

  “You are most welcome. I know that you are unfamiliar with New Orleans, mademoiselle. You should be aware that this is not a safe area for an unchaperoned woman.” His eyes continued to hold hers a moment longer before travelling to her lips and down her person. He sought her gaze again and asked quietly, “Are you unhurt?”

  “Indeed, I am well. Again, I thank you for your concern and your assistance.” She moved around, holding Tom’s hand and set a quick pace down the sidewalk.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Fin should have continued following Burns as he had been all day. Now presented with the possibility of spending time in lovely Pan’s presence, all thoughts of solving his shipping problems were pushed to the wayside.

  Fin had always carried himself with ease. Everything about him evoked a sense of purposed calm. From the moment in his childhood when he entered his mother’s family home, he was aware that he was different than his Creole family.

  His stern Irish sounding name seemed to announce that he was never fully part of the French family into which he was grouped. Though he had the dark coloring of his mother’s clan, he was cognizant that he was different from every other Creole.