It was decided not to remain much longer in New Orleans, and she planned to enjoy her remaining time in the city to the fullest. She was not going to brood. Time would solve everything.
The French Market, off Decatur Street near the banks of the Mississippi River, made the greatest impression on Elizabeth during her excursions with Nathan. Never having been allowed to take a hand with the domestic details of Three Elms, she found the noisy marketplace a whole new world. On one warm muggy morning, accompanied only by Mary, Elizabeth, wide-eyed with amazement, watched with keen interest the ever-changing kaleidoscope of movement and color, her ears assaulted by an incredible variety of sounds.
A dozen different languages were being shouted on every side—French, Spanish, English, Negroes crying out in their French patois and the "gombo," and various Indian dialects rising and falling in the warm air. Vivid parrots in small wooden cages screamed continually; monkeys offered by itinerant vendors jabbered incessantly; geese, chickens, and ducks added their clucks and gobbles; and over all there was the clear carrying song of tiny yellow canaries.
Indian squaws, wrapped in bright, gaudily designed blankets, had rows of baskets, pottery, and gaily colored beads for sale. An old Negro woman wearing a blue calico dress dispensed cups of freshly made coffee from a little street stand, chanting, "Cafe noir!" and "Cafe au lait!" as she did so. Farther down, a fat Choctaw Indian squaw sat stoically at the curb offering gumbo file, and other herbs and roots. A tall Negress, her skin gleaming like ebony, draped in a starched white apron, her head wrapped in a tignon, sold cakes and molasses. Along an arcade of heavy pillars, Elizabeth and Mary inspected fish with gray-blue bodies glistening in the sun, wriggling crawfish, crabs with clicking claws, and heaps of fresh brown eggs, wrapped in silvery green moss. At the fruit-and-vegetable section, both women were astonished by the variety to be found—strawberries, bananas, prickly pineapples, luscious Japanese plums, okra, corn, thin-skinned onions, and strange exotic vegetables that Elizabeth had never seen before, all lying side by side in tempting haphazard rows. Flower dealers seemed to be everywhere, and here and there were stalls offering cheap jewelry and singing mockingbirds. In astonishment and curiosity, Elizabeth stared at a trussed-up alligator offered for sale. Whatever, she thought, would one do with it?
Bemused, feeling as if she had stumbled into an exotic place found only in imagination, Elizabeth made her way through the various sections, unaware of the fact that she herself possessed the ability to spark more than one gentleman's imagination. She was dressed this morning in a gown of soft rose silk that emphasized the tiny waist and fell in graceful folds to her flat-heeled slippers. Carrying a parasol of India muslin embroidered with a beautiful feather-stitched border, her hands clothed in rose-colored gloves, she presented an entrancing picture. Between the parasol and the Cabriolet bonnet of white silk gauze straw she was wearing, it was hard to see her face, but that didn't stop several gentlemen from making discreet maneuvers in an attempt to do just that. The reward was worth the effort—breathtakingly lovely violet eyes stared innocently out from an enchanting face framed by unruly silvery curls.
Oblivious of the languishing glances sent her way by many an eager young Creole gentleman, Elizabeth was examining a finely wrought cameo brooch when a startling familiar voice rang out.
"Beth! Beth Selby, is that you, honey?"
At the sound of that dear voice, Elizabeth whirled around, the soft coral mouth curving into a happy smile. "Stella! Oh, do tell me I am not dreaming this! How simply grand to see you, but whatever are you doing here?"
"I might ask you the same! I couldn't believe my eyes when I saw you just now," Stella returned, as she swept up to where Elizabeth stood.
Stella hadn't changed very much, Elizabeth observed affectionately as she stared at her friend from the days of Mrs. Finche's Seminary for Young Ladies. Tall, with a commanding presence and dark eyes that danced under finely arched eyebrows, Stella Valdez was just as Elizabeth remembered. It was true she was no longer dressed in the dreadful school uniform, but the warm smile on the generous mouth was the same and the husky voice with its slight, slow drawl was dearly familiar. They openly assessed each other, Elizabeth still in awe of Stella. Her friend looked stunning in the fashionably styled bonnet of jonquil yellow silk that sat rakishly on the shining black hair and the turquoise-and-yellow-figured gown she wore. It was an eye-catching combination, but then Stella had always liked color and had detested a fashion that insisted pale, insipid shades be worn, Elizabeth thought with a smile.
Stella was a handsome young woman rather than a pretty one—her mouth was a trifle too wide, her nose bordered on the masculine, and she had a surprisingly square jawline. But she possessed something far more enduring than a chocolate-box beauty—a loyal and caring nature and a spirited, outgoing personality. Stella was also intuitive and, as the two of them stood talking, eagerly exchanging anecdotes, she noted the faint shadows in the violet-blue eyes and the hint of reserve when Elizabeth spoke of her marriage and her husband.
Realizing that the French Market area was no place to hold the private conversation she wished, Stella dismissed Mary and whisked Elizabeth away to an elegant house on Esplanade Avenue where she was visiting relatives. Some minutes later they were seated in a flagstone courtyard, a fountain gurgling merrily in the center and a Negro servant serving them strong black coffee in delicate china cups.
The servant departed and Stella allowed Elizabeth time to swallow a few sips of the chicory-flavored brew before she asked casually, "My dear, are you truly happy? I do not mean to pry, but, when I remember my own honeymoon just a year ago, you do not radiate the happiness I would expect."
"Oh, Stella! Trust you to put your finger on the very problem!" Elizabeth exclaimed ruefully. "You always did know when something was preying on my mind."
Her dark eyes kind and encouraging, Stella prompted, "Well, then, honey, tell me about it."
"I can't! It isn't that I don't want to," Elizabeth confessed.
Regarding the troubled young features across from her, Stella said, "Sometimes the first few months are difficult, I understand. Especially if you didn't know each other very well before you married." Smiling, she added, "I've known Juan Rodriguez all my life, and I've known for almost that long that I wanted to marry him. That might be why during our first months of marriage we had few adjustments to make. Perhaps as you get to know your Nathan better you'll find him not so much of a stranger."
Blinking back a sudden surprising rush of tears, Elizabeth murmured, "My marriage is nothing like I expected. Nathan and I can't..." She stopped, embarrassed and unwilling to spill her troubles to the first friendly ear—even if the friendly ear belonged to her dear Stella.
Stella gave her no time to have second thoughts and prompted, "You and Nathan can't what, honey? Don't you think you ought to tell me the truth? Suppose you relax in that chair and drink your coffee and tell Madre Stella all about it, hmmm?"
Elizabeth hesitated, wanting to pour out the entire story and yet determined not to betray Nathan. Stella, she was certain, would understand, but would Nathan, if he ever discovered she had discussed such an intimate detail of their marriage? She rather thought not, and, knowing how she would feel if he were to talk about it with someone else, she decided it would be best not to unburden her problems to Stella.
Stella was a difficult person to fob off with lame excuses, and it was only when Elizabeth mentioned the trust her father had set up and how mortified Nathan had been that Stella's probing stopped. "So that's it!" Stella said triumphantly. "You silly little goose! That's nothing to be worried about. Your father was only protecting your interests, and, while I'm certain that your husband was displeased by it, what man wouldn't be? I'm positive that in time his resentment will fade and neither of you will give it any thought." An unwelcome idea occurred to Stella and she asked anxiously, "Nathan does not hold it against you, does he? I mean, he is not ugly to you about it?"
"Absolutely n
ot!" Elizabeth exclaimed in honest astonishment. "He is all that is kind to me."
"Well then, my dear, you stop worrying and settle down and enjoy being married."
Eager to change the subject, Elizabeth said, "Enough of my nonsense. Tell me, how long are you to be here in New Orleans?"
Stella pulled a face. "We leave day after tomorrow for Santa Fe. Don't look so sad, my dear, I intend to spend as much time as possible with you until we do leave. If only we had met earlier or we had known the other was going to be here—just think of the cozy chats we could have enjoyed."
"Oh, no! To think we will have such a short time together."
"We have all this afternoon, as well as tomorrow. And remember... at least we are on the same continent. I am certain we can arrange to meet now and then either in Natchez or Santa Fe." A twinkle in her eye, Stella added, "I would much prefer it to be Natchez. I have heard it is a wickedly exciting city—especially 'Under the Hill.'"
"You probably know more about it than I do. Nathan doesn't speak of it very often, and I haven't been able to discover much myself. Don't you like Santa Fe?"
"Of course I do. But Santa Fe is little better than a frontier town—Comanches still raid on our doorstep, and the only excitement is in the spring when the caravans of traders arrive. We have many attractions, but I am sure that they cannot compare with Natchez."
"I see," Elizabeth said, thinking it would be far more thrilling to be in a frontier town than a cosmopolitan city like Natchez.
"No, you don't, honey," Stella contradicted. "You are still as romantic and full of dreams as you were at Mrs. Finche's. I can see that you think the frontier would be an adventure beyond belief. Believe me, it isn't. The first time you came face to face with a war party of Comanches, you would wish you had never left the safety of the civilized world. I am used to it, despite those three years in England. I grew up out there and I know it—but you, you, my sweet, make it into a dream world."
Guiltily Elizabeth acknowledged it, and the conversation wandered onto other subjects. It was the most pleasurable afternoon Elizabeth had spent in weeks, and both women were so busy bringing the other up to date that neither noticed the lengthening shadows. Elizabeth didn't have a great deal to say about herself, but Stella certainly did. She rattled happily on, unaware that her stories of life in the old Spanish province of Nuevo Mejico, or New Mexico as it was now called, fired up Elizabeth's vivid imagination and instilled in her a burning desire to one day see for herself this wild untamed land. The terrifying stories of raiding Comanches struck an oddly responsive chord within Elizabeth, and she was for a brief moment reminded of those strange dreams that had plagued her on the journey to New Orleans.
It was only when Stella's husband Juan strolled out into the courtyard that the reminiscences were stemmed. Under the cover of the introductions, Elizabeth summed him up, and she could see exactly how the slim, reserved Spaniard would appeal to the more vivacious Stella.
Unlike Stella, who was only half Spanish herself, Juan was pure Castilian Spanish, from the thick dark hair to the formal bow he gave Elizabeth. He was not much taller than his wife, nor at first glance did he appear a handsome man. It was only when one looked into the lustrous black eyes and caught the flicker of amusement that danced there, or noticed the curve of his mouth, that his very real attractiveness was apparent. There was a warm familiarity between him and his wife, and Elizabeth was left in little doubt that here were a man and woman who were deeply in love. It pleased her and intensified her wish that she and Nathan could share the same kind of relationship.
Juan knew all about Stella's schoolgirl friendship with Elizabeth Selby, and he greeted her warmly and with pleasure. At first Elizabeth was in awe of this polished, courteous stranger, but under Juan's subtle charm she found herself relaxing, and in a very few minutes she was chatting away with him as if he were an old acquaintance. The conversation was general until Juan asked with more than mere politeness, "Is it possible for you and your husband to dine with us this evening? I realize that it is an impromptu invitation, but our time here is so short, and I know Stella will want to spend practically every waking moment with you until we leave." A twinkle in the black eyes, he added, "And I myself have no objection to having another lovely lady to grace my table."
Stella eagerly chimed in with her own invitation, and it was only after Elizabeth had consented to send a note back to the hotel to inquire if Nathan would be agreeable that Stella clapped her hands over her mouth and said with dismay, "The Costa soiree is this evening, have you forgotten?"
Smilingly, Juan shook his head. "No, querida, I have not forgotten, but a note of explanation to our hostess will, I am sure, elicit an invitation for the Ridgeways to attend with us."
"Oh, no!" Elizabeth murmured, "I could not force myself on strangers that way. It would be horridly impolite."
"Nonsense!" Stella contradicted. "Margarita Costa would like nothing better than to meet an old friend of mine. She is not the least haughty. In fact, she is the most amiable person I know; she is too lazy to be otherwise. Her husband is exactly the same, and they would never forgive us if we did not see that they knew you were here. Come now, do say you will dine with us and attend the ball afterward. Do!"
"But won't the people you are staying with mind?" Elizabeth hedged.
Juan laughed. "No. My uncle and aunt are out of the city until tomorrow, and the house is ours to do with as we like tonight. Even if they were here, they would be delighted to finally meet Stella's 'Beth.' Your fame has preceded you, you know."
What else could she do but accept? And so with little more persuasion she wrote a brief note to Nathan, informing him of the invitation to dine and that they were to attend a soiree later in the evening. With the same servant that was to deliver Elizabeth's missive to Nathan, Stella sent off her note to Dona Margarita. Not a half hour later, the servant returned with the two replies—Dona Margarita demanding that Stella bring along her guests, and Nathan's regretful reply that he had already made other plans for the evening but had no objection to Elizabeth spending the evening with her friends. The thought of attending a soiree without him almost caused her to refuse, but Stella would have none of it.
"Don't be ridiculous, honey! Juan will enjoy escorting both of us, and there will be no impropriety attached. Now then, do not argue with me, because you know how angry it makes me." Stella finished with a teasing threat in her voice.
And that, Elizabeth thought with amusement, was that!
Chapter 4
At Stella's insistence, Elizabeth did not return to her hotel that evening. Another note was quickly dispatched to the hotel and in a short while Mary Eames appeared at the house on Esplanade Avenue with the clothing and various articles that were needed.
Dinner was more than pleasant, the rich spicy food of the Creole household tantalizing Elizabeth's palate. The main course, chicken duxelles—boned chicken breasts in a cream sauce with slivered toasted almonds—was the most delicious thing that Elizabeth had ever tasted, and she savored every bite. Dessert was a meltingly delicious orange creme brulee and light crepes filled with strawberry preserves that left her feeling as if she had just partaken of a meal prepared for the gods.
Replete and relaxed, all sense of reserve banished by Stella's warmth and Juan's unobtrusive charm, Elizabeth was eagerly looking forward to her first soiree.
"Your first soiree!" Stella had exclaimed earlier when Elizabeth had confessed it before dinner, as they had sat in the main salon sipping a dry sherry. "Well then, honey, we must hope that it is an evening that you will long remember. I'm certain that there are going to be several young men who remember you! You look like an angel."
It was true. Mary Eames, approving of the Rodriguezes and thinking it was time that her mistress made some friends of her own, had excelled herself in preparing Elizabeth for the ball tonight.
Wearing a fashionable gown of shot silk, the prismatic rose color interspersed with shades of bright lilac, Eliza
beth did indeed resemble an angel. An earthly angel, perhaps, for there was something unspiritual about the soft white shoulders above the rose lilac gown and the thrust of her small bosom rising from the lace-trimmed, low-cut bodice. The silver-blond hair had been parted on the forehead and turned up behind, the ends forming a cluster of curls, revealing Elizabeth's slender neck and delicate ears. Not satisfied with the effect, Mary had placed a band of woven gold thread set with small amethysts on the bright hair; it was the crowning touch to the flattering coiffure. But the maid had needed no skills to bring a sparkle to those violet eyes, nor had she needed to darken the slender arching golden-brown brows or the thick gold-tipped lashes. Her cheeks bloomed with a rosy blush and the full mouth needed no rouge to impart a ruby glow. She was scintillating with excitement, the wide eyes purple with anticipation and the silken-snowy skin gleaming like warm alabaster.
Like many another New Orleans family, guided by the lantern light of a servant they walked the few blocks to the Costa house. Elizabeth reveled in the soft, warm June night, her nostrils entranced by the faint scent of jasmine in the air.
"Hmmm. This is lovely," she said. "Is it like this all the time?"
"Unfortunately, no," Juan replied with a smile. "Too soon it will be the malaria season and most of the Creoles will desert the city for their country plantations. There are incessant rains in winter, but there is something magical about New Orleans that makes one love her in spite of her faults."
"Do you come here often?"
"Not as often as I would like," Stella murmured.
Juan shot her a glance. "You do not like Santa Fe?"
"You know that isn't true. I just wish we could visit New Orleans more often."
"Mmmm, I shall see what I can do about it," he teased.
"Don't be silly!" Stella protested. "I know, and so do you, that there is too much to be done on the rancho for us to be away often. I'm just thankful that you decided to come to New Orleans this year to see your business agent."
While Passion Sleeps Page 5
