Love Story on Canal

by Angela Lee

  Always driven, when Fin decided he wanted something, he kept at it until it was achieved. Under his leadership the bud of his father’s small shipping business had grown into one of the most lucrative fleets on the Mississippi. Now intent on politics, his bid for City Council was well within reach.

  Usually, his ambitions were carefully planned. He would decide on a goal and design a strategy to attain it. Women, on the other hand, had always come easily to him, Fin had never really had to employ his strategy skills in that arena.

  Panacea Fontenot was proving to be the exception.

  As she walked past, he tasted vanilla on the air in her wake. No wonder the child had gone with her so easily. No wonder Fin turned to follow her as well. The lovely lady smelled of the heavenly pralines she offered. He could think of nothing more erotic than tasting those pralines from her fingertips, perhaps her mouth. Would she taste of sweet heavenly candy everywhere?

  Blood raced to his groin as he thought of her laid out naked across his bed, her beautiful mahogany locks draping over the clean white linen of his pillow. Christ. He was in the middle of the damned street. In the middle of the damned day. Rock hard and following this woman home uninvited.

  This was not done. Even he knew to cut line.

  He adjusted himself but knew it was a lost cause as his gaze tracked the distinctly feminine sway of her hips as she walked. Her skirts lacked the extensive flounces that other women preferred. He loved that she chose petticoats over the popular crinoline hoop skirts. He’d bet that she only wore a single petticoat at that, with barely a bustle at the back. The smooth lines of fabric that cascaded from her waist led a man to think of the rounded curve of her backside and the smooth lines of her legs.

  As if he had said his thoughts aloud the lovely miss threw a quizzical look over her shoulder, a pucker formed between her brows in a perturbed manner. She increased her speed almost as if she was running from him.

  “Mademoiselle Fontenot, I thought I might escort you and your charge to your destination.”

  “That’s kind but absolutely unnecessary. Good day, Mr. Weathers.”

  He increased his gait and easily strode to her side, “You seem to have a propensity for walking into tenable situations. This far south of Royal is not the safest locale. Perhaps I might be able to get you home without any further delay.”

  She frowned. He leaned closer whispering, “Besides, belle, you did promise me a reward. I plan to collect,” his words teased her; he could tell. She chewed the corner of her lip and her eyes danced with amusement. She was not immune to his flirtation though she tried to be.

  She nodded her assent and they continued to walk. As they passed the grocer’s on Dauphine two mulatto women walking past smiled and greeted Mademoiselle Fontenot by name. She replied in kind and continued.

  What he enjoyed most, he realized, was how much she fought against her own attraction to him. This was no girl playing hard to get, hoping that by doing so she would get the hook in deeper. Nor was she unaware of his interest. She did not seem afraid of him or men in general. No. This woman recognized their mutual attraction and simply chose not to encourage a romance of any sort.

  Why he was literally chasing her was a complete mystery, even to himself.

  Ten minutes later the trio reached her father’s office. The boy, Tom, had opened the gate and made his way to the business entrance, bypassing the residential door with some familiarity. Everything about the way Pan interacted with this child was natural, confirming that they were not strangers, though she seemed intent on the facade.

  Entering the clinic, Tom immediately headed toward the rear of the building where, in most New Orleans homes, the kitchens would be. Pan reached for him and said, “Tom, I said I wanted to look at that ear first.” The lady deposited her gloves, satchel and hat on a desk at the front. As she opened her bag, the distinct odor of seafood flooded his senses.

  “Thunder,” she muttered under her breath. She pulled out a white wrapped package, the source of the smell.

  “Tom run this to cook first. Let her decide if its usable,” she said taking a hesitant sniff inside of her leather satchel. “Oh. I hope this will air.” Not likely.

  Fin followed her into an exam room; Tom raced in behind them and nearly leaped onto the exam table. The boy’s youthful energy quickly faded as he watched Pan sort through her tools. “If it’s bad will you cut me and let the leeches climb in my skin?”

  “Perhaps. If you don’t sit very still,” the lady answered in a cryptic voice and then flashed the boy a brilliant smile and a wink. Pan had collected a few small instruments and was washing her hands in a small basin. “Alright, Tom. Nothing I am about to do should hurt. Understand? Nothing to be afraid of. No leeches.”

  Fin silently cussed himself for being an ass. He was jealous of this boy; jealous that Pan’s gorgeous smile had been for the child and not himself. Jealous that her sole attention was intent on the boy. Without consulting her father, the lady proceeded in examining Tom. She explained each procedure before completing it methodically. Obviously in her element, her usual nervous energy was absent as she went about seeing to the child’s health and welfare.

  Perfectly placed medical instruments lined the office counters. As Fin explored, he read some of her father’s accolades framed and mounted on the wall. His eyes focused on a large frame in the center. He read and reread the words three times, tracing them once with his finger. “Dr. Fontenot?”

  “Yes?” the lady responded absently as she used a small mirror to investigate the boy’s ear. When he said nothing further, she looked up in question. Fin’s finger still the traced the line he silently reread for the fourth time.

  “You are a doctor.”

  She straightened, putting down the mirror and turned toward him. Her head tilted as if she was uncertain where the conversation would lead. “Well… Yes. I am.”

  Few things ever really surprised Fin. He was steady, usually took heavy blows with a level head. But this woman. She was brilliant, this woman, and everything about her jarred him. He looked over at her, his voice still quiet, “You didn’t tell me.”

  She held her hand out and waved it slowly as if showing him the space, “We are in a doctor’s office, I am treating a patient. Is it so absurd that I am a physician?”

  Her clipped tone told him that he had hit a nerve, “This is your father’s clinic. I knew you assisted him; I just didn’t realize. It is not absurd that that you are a physician, but it is unique. And still, you didn’t tell me.”

  Pan shrugged, “I don’t make it a point to announce it to people. It has yet to have been relevant to any conversation we have had.”

  When he said nothing further, she returned her attention to her patient, “Tom, does your ear, this one, hurt?” Tom nodded. “When I look inside it, I see some messy business. I’m going to flush it with a medicinal rinse. After a little bit you are going to feel so much better. Maybe a little dizzy.”

  “Dr. Pan, before you I never heard of a lady doctor,” Tom said.

  “That’s because there aren’t very many. Most are Yankees,” she answered matter of fact.

  “Dr. Pan,” Fin repeated quietly to himself with a shake of his head. Another person who had the privilege of calling her by a nickname.

  “I thought doctoring is man work. Ladies are supposed to make dinner, clean the house, take care of the babies,” the boy continued.

  “Tom who do you think knows more about having babies, men or women?” she asked.

  The boy guffawed, “Well, gaw! Ladies! They have the babies.”

  Pan pressed, “And when you’re sick, who takes care of you?”

  “Well you. And the sisters. Before that, Mama,” he answered seriously.

  “Right. Since women already know more than men about having babies and taking care of folks when they are sick, doesn’t it make sense for them to be doctors?” She made her case simple. Even the boy believed in her cause.

  “Yes, Dr. Pan.�
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  She gave Tom a brilliant smile. Again. “Well then, off you go. Tell Cook I said you could have two pralines for your dessert,” she said offering a hand to the boy as he slid from the table.

  Fin quietly watched the two interact, “You knew the boy before today.”

  “Yes, he helps me with some of my errands,” she replied over her shoulder as she washed her hands in the basin.

  “Errands that take you outside the Vieux Carre?” She nodded as she continued cleaning and putting her instruments away and offered no further explanation.

  She looked at Fin and asked, “Mr. Weathers, would you like to come up for a cup of coffee? I believe I owe you a praline.”

  Chapter Seventeen

  Dr. Charles Fontenot’s voice boomed from the hall outside the parlor. “Pancy has a visitor, eh? Harper, you mean. Saw him at the Medical Board meetings, I told you. I guessed he would start calling when the roses arrived.”

  Fin arched an eyebrow. Pan looked mortified, as if she silently wished that she had never invited him up for coffee. Her father’s voice continued from the hall, “Not Harper then? The one that sent the buttercups, is it?”

  Now, sitting in the parlor, Fin noted the vase of vibrant, multicolored flowers near the window, definitely not roses. The glossy flowers reminded him of the skirts of a woman’s ballgown, round with layers upon layers beneath.

  Pan tracked his glance. She said softly, “A unique choice, buttercups. Most men send roses or carnations.”

  “So, I heard.” Who was Harper that sent the roses? “Buttercups? I thought I had sent…” he faltered having forgotten the name. He was certain it wasn’t buttercups. Had the wrong flowers been sent? Or were the buttercups from yet another admirer? What were buttercups a symbol for in floral language?

  From outside the room her parents continued to converse. “He’s Irish that one, I think. Politician.” Madam Fontenot’s responses to her husband’s words were too soft to hear.

  “Ranunculus?” Panacea offered with a laugh. “You did. Buttercups are another name,” she said before taking a sip. He watched as she closed her eyes in appreciation of the deep, chicory coffee she had poured. Her pink tongue slid out to lick away any remaining drips from her lips. Her lovely throat worked as the warm drink slid down. The politician shifted in his seat unable to tear his eyes from her mouth.

  Another sip. Holy hell. “Right. Would you have preferred roses? They are not yellow,” he stammered. Fin was typically an easy conversationalist. Just now, he found his thoughts scattered. Perhaps if the woman would stop drinking that coffee so damned erotically.

  Pan offered a shy, dimpled smile. “They are most commonly found in yellow; I suppose. And I do like roses. But I prefer your buttercups.” She preferred his buttercups to Harpers’ roses. Her gold eyes flickered mischievously as she added, “They are charming. Dazzling even.” I am dazzled by your charms. She understood.

  She turned her softened, honeyed gaze at him and smiled, then added softly, “I love them. Thank you.”

  He nodded, once more feeling off kilter by a mere look from this woman. Fin cleared his throat interrupting her moment of coffee bliss and changed the subject, “Does anyone know of your medical degree?”

  She frowned, “It’s not a secret. I choose not to discuss it because it is not well received, especially in the south. As Tom said, most people don’t know there can be female doctors or women in the medical profession at all. Surgeons on the battlefield are refusing to accept aid from female nurses. On the battlefield! Indeed, the first female doctor was admitted to medical school as a joke. The school allowed the students, all male, to vote on her admission. They thought it a big gas to vote her in. My parents are newly re-established in New Orleans. I have no wish to impede my father’s success or jeopardize my mother’s place in society.”

  He tried to keep his voice level so that she would not be offended but Fin could not refrain from saying, “I cannot believe your family would hide your accomplishment.”

  “That’s not the case at all. My degree is on display for all to see placed there by my mother. She will not let me take it down. On rounds, my father refers to me as his partner, Dr. Fontenot. If he had his way, he would always introduce me as his daughter, Dr. Fontenot.”

  “Why do you understate it, then? Why do you not allow the introduction? Why go to medical school and do the work of a physician and not acknowledge your achievement?” He shook his head.

  “It is complicated. I attended Syracuse with a different plan for my life. Circumstances changed and now I am here. Any literate patient with eyes can read my title, and all others can hear my father’s address; but it wouldn’t matter. It’s easier to allow people to believe what they choose rather than argue the truth. Most assume that I am an eccentric spinster who assists her father with his doctoring. Some may go so far as to believe me a nurse,” Pan shrugged as if to dismiss the idea.

  “Why does it matter what anyone would think? Creoles, Southerners even, might not be accepting but neither would every Yank. How different could your plans have been?” He watched her face shroud in sadness. Had she lost a sweetheart in the war? Had he been a doctor, as well?

  Pan gave him a wry look, “Mr. Weathers, as a politician you should understand better than most. That degree and that title, to some people, would be no more important than another young lady’s needlepoint or watercolors. A hobby. More expensive, albeit more practical, than needlepoint or painting, but still a hobby. But others would find a female doctor offensive, and they would shun her family for allowing such progressiveness,” she stated with a sigh.

  She blinked away the traces of whatever pain had surfaced and replied. “My plans involved a life independent of my parents so that any negative reception would not hinder my father’s work or mar my family’s reputation. Anyone associated with me risks tarnishing their reputation,” Fin noticed that she said the last with emphasis.

  Pan’s parents joined them at that point. Pan had sent Tom on his way before the curfew bell with treats from cook. Now in the Fontenot parlor, the four conversed about local politics for a few minutes before Fin begged his leave. Madam Fontenot suggested that Pan escort her guest down and show him the courtyard before he left. Fin paused at the unconventional suggestion, glancing at Panacea who had shot her mother a murderous look.

  As they walked down the stairs he couldn’t resist asking, “Your parents are unusual in their upbringing.”

  She groaned., “Indeed. My parents encouraged us to grow intellectually. Very untraditional. Of course, my sister and I received a classical education. We learned our catechism and French history and traditions. Still, as girls, we were never discouraged in any of our endeavors and were never forced to pursue a talent that did not interest us. I was able to read all of Papa’s medical books and follow him around while he saw patients.”

  The ringing church bell in the distance alerted them to the hour. Pan was escorting Fin through the side door that led to the inner courtyard in one direction and in the other to the street side carriage gate. Though they had entered through the office door, both silently agreeing not to encourage gossip should he to be noticed leaving. They walked through the brick covered alleyway toward the gate.

  “You’ll be out after curfew.” Pan said with concern.

  Fin smiled at that, “Not to worry. Burns considers me an ally. Most of his officers will know me.”

  “But not the soldiers,” she countered. “When we first arrived in New Orleans, I was nearly arrested.”

  Fin laughed until he realized that she was serious, “For being out after curfew?”

  She shook her head, “I crossed the barriers. I had some letters to post and had planned to walk the city a bit. I was told that the Customs House was where the post office was located.”

  “That was well before the war began. It’s the Union armory now and houses other Union offices. I cannot believe you were so misinformed.” She gave him an indecipherable look. Fin felt a re
turn of some of the protective fury he had felt earlier when he faced off with the younger Burns.

  “The soldiers that marched me to the general’s office made sure to let me know I was misinformed and that I was committing a crime,” she said without inflection.

  “What! They actually detained you?” Fin’s hackles were up. He was ready to defend her honor far too late.

  She held out a staying hand. “They barely touched me; I think they were terrified. Probably hadn’t arrested many young women from good families.” She sounded flip but her frown showed that the memory troubled her. “That General Burns is everything the papers make him out to be. Made me explain myself over and over as if he didn’t believe I was just looking for the post.”

  He reached out to cup her cheek and rubbed his thumb over the bottom lip that she chewed in habit. His other hand moved to still her fingers that nervously worked a slip of fabric. She looked up at him and her bright eyes held his.

  “Burns sent me on my way with a warning. He made those soldiers escort me home. They were gentle with me. Kind. I do not think they would behave in the same manner with you.”

  “I will be alright.” They were facing each other, his one hand cupping her cheek and the other holding her hand.

  Fin leaned in and fanned her full lips with his own, uncertain of how she might react. Rather than further the kiss, he continued to tease her with a gentle brushing of his mouth against hers. An electric charge jolted him when her palms found his chest and stroked up to his shoulders, over his biceps, and back to his chest.

  Fin groaned into her mouth, as he wrapped his arms around her and tugged her closer. His mouth ceased its light caress and deepened into a more passionate embrace. He tasted her plump lower lip before trailing his tongue along the seam of her mouth. Her lips parted in sweet welcome and his tongue plunged forward. Surprise led to a surge of pleasure as Pan’s tongue slid against his in its own exploration.

  He broke away from her mouth to kiss the tender skin along her jaw and down her neck. She arched into his kiss as if inviting his fingers to unbutton the top buttons of her blouse allowing him full access to the base of her neck and shoulders. He kissed and laved along her neckline feasting on her goddess vanilla scent as he had been wanting to do since their first meeting. Pan had wrapped her arms around his back beneath his jacket. Her fingertips skimmed his shoulder blades in a light caress. Every few seconds her breath would hitch, and the light caress became a delicious rake of her nails.