by Dickie Erman
The Doctor sensed an opportunity. Nothing to do with Gabe’s well-being, mind you. He slowly stood up, put his hands on his hips, and turned to Trent.
“I got some medicine I can try. I was at a medical conference a few months ago in Atlanta” he lied. “Some of the best doctors around. Met many of ‘em. There’s no guarantee, but it’s had some success in Europe and it’s possible it could reduce the inflammation and start the healing process. Hate to have to take it off. You’d lose a strong worker”.
The Doctor knew full well that his ‘medicine’ was no different than the slippery elm salve that the women had been applying. The only modification was that he’d ground the inner bark into a fine powder and then boiled it with water. His medical treatment would simply be to soak a cloth into this ‘tea’ and then wrap it around the wound. He knew damn well it wouldn’t work and that Gabe’s leg would have to be amputated.
“We’ll have to leave it on overnight, and take another look in the mornin’” he told the Colonel, congratulating himself on both his deception and maneuvering to stay the night as Trent’s guest.
“And, it’s not cheap. The properties of this medicine contain large amounts of mucilage and calcium oxalate. Rare ingredients, indeed”. He was exceedingly impressed with himself. The Doctor rarely read, let alone a medical text, but had come across a pamphlet on this very subject one afternoon while waiting his turn for a bi-monthly haircut.
“Of course, of course” Trent replied, as they stepped out of the cabin. “I don’t want to lose Gabe. He’s one of my best workers and, like I said, he’s been around a long time. He knows every job there is and handles the other slaves as well. Yes, let’s try everything you can, Doctor”.
“Well” the Doctor gave a pregnant pause as he scanned the vast property, finally resting his eyes on the mansion.
“Of course, of course” Trent said, remembering his manners. “You must spend the night. I shall introduce you to Mrs. Winters, and give you a tour of our home. You will be more than comfortable”.
“That’s very kind of you, but I obviously didn’t bring a change of clothes. Thought I’d only be here a couple of hours” the Doctor noted, again so impressed at the ease in which he was manipulating the Colonel.
“Completely understandable. We’ll be entertaining guests tonight. Delicious food, delightful liqueurs, cigars, and charming conversation. I’ll have Mrs. Winters bring you some of my dining clothes. We’re not exactly the same size, but I’m sure we can come close.
“Mr. Tolivar, please take the good Doctor to the house and introduce him to Mrs. Winters. I’ll be there shortly”.
“Yes sir” Tolivar replied. “Please follow me, Doctor”.
As the two walked beyond Trent’s earshot, Tolivar whispered, “Told you so”.
“Why, yes you did” the Doctor said. “I could get used to this”.
10
A MANA KNOCKED SOFTLY on the guest room door where the Doctor was to spend the night.
“Come in”.
“Yes sir” as she slowly opened the door. The Doctor stood butt naked next to the mirror where he was combing his hair, having just finished his first bath in over a week.
“Whatcha got there?” he asked, staring at Amana and deceiving himself that she found him attractive.
“Um, des da clothes dat Misses Winters give me to bring you” she replied, staring at the floor to avoid seeing his fat torso. His grotesque physique made his vulgar aura nearly palpable. Her only desire was to leave the room as quickly as possible.
“Well, bring them here” he ordered. He smiled a lecherous grin, beginning to convince himself that she found him desirable. “Let me see whatcha got”.
“Hmm” he muttered, as he separated the shirt, vest, pants, and socks from Amana’s hands. “Not as fine a’ clothes as I’m used to, but they’ll have to do” vainly trying to impress her. He knew that he’d never worn such quality garments in his life and, unless he could manipulate Trent to pay him on a regular basis, probably never would again.
“Yes, I guess they’ll have to do. Say, are you the one who fixed my hot bath?” trying to stall her from leaving abruptly.
“No sir. That was Sadie”.
“Who’s Sadie?”
“Sadie’s ‘da other house nigg … I means, servant” she answered, chastising herself for talking like a common field slave. At the same time, a spark of confidence lit as she began to realize that she was learning how to act and speak in her new, although intimidating, surroundings.
“Is Sadie as pretty as you?” he asked, still trying to squeeze out a flirtatious reaction.
“I don’t knows, sir. I’m just here ta do my work”. “Dirty old cracker” she thought. She despised his crudeness and disrespect.
“Well, maybe we’ll meet again” he said, as she hurriedly started toward the door. She then turned back around and said “Oh, by the ways, Misses Winters axed me to tell ‘ya to come down to da parlor as soon as you’s ready. She’s preparing for guests arrivin’”. Shen quickly shuffled out.
11
T HE PARLOR ROOM WAS one of kind. The centerpiece was the large fireplace, its firebox nearly six feet tall and ten feet wide. Imported Italian white marble outlined the facade, which rose to the twenty foot ceiling. Above the granite mantle were hand carved ivory sculptures of deer in various positions, standing, grazing and running.
The mosaic tables and stands were all ornately carved, some with the feet of lions and heads of eagles. The sitting furniture was all covered in the most costly Genoa velvet. More exquisite ivory adorned the many cabinets, and two magnificent clocks made of tortoiseshell with gold roman numerals ticked away.
The Doctor’s face lit up as he entered the room, filled with about ten couples, all dressed in the finest fashions of the rich and powerful.
“Well, well”, he thought to himself. “Now this fits my liking”.
“Doctor!” Trent motioned to him from a short distance away. He’d been chatting with Senator Jeb Harrison from Southern Louisiana and his wife, Caroline.
“My good Doctor” Trent greeted. He could see the Doctor was a fish out of water. Even with the clothes Collette had lent him, he still looked disheveled. His hair and fingernails too long, his paunch belly too extended.
Obviously, the Doctor thought otherwise. He drank in the ambiance. He savored the merriment and gaiety of this high society gathering of big wigs.
“Let me introduce you to some of our guests”. Trent grasped the Doctor’s arm and escorted him to where the Senator and Caroline were standing.
“Ah, Senator, allow me to introduce Doctor …” “Damn. What is his name?” Trent anguished inwardly. “I ought to know his last name after what we just went through with Gabe” he chided himself.
“Doctor Wesley. Jeremiah Wesley” the Doctor jumped in, as he reached out to shake the Senator’s hand, sensing the awkwardness of the Colonel having not remembered his name.
“Of course. Dr. Wesley” Trent said. “Senator Harrison, let me introduce Doctor Jeremiah Wesley. Doctor Wesley, this is Senator Jeb Harrison. Of course, you probably know of the Senator and his positions on various bills effecting your medical profession” he said.
“Yes. Senator Harrison. A pleasure to meet you” the Doctor replied, as he continued to vigorously shake Jeb’s hand. The Doctor’s exaggerated smile was leaving everyone, except him, feeling uncomfortable.
“Dr. Wesley’s been treating one of my field hands. Suffered an awful cut to his leg. But hopefully, the Doctor’s medicine will prove effective”.
“Yes. It’s a combination of mucilage and calcium oxalate, in high concentration, of course” he said, congratulating himself on his use of medical verbiage. Surely the Senator was impressed.
“Mucilage and calcium oxalate?” the Senator thought out loud. “Isn’t that the main ingredients derived from slippery elm? I only mention that because my brother-in-law travelled these parts some years ago with an Indian scout, who told him that th
e squaws applied that ointment to cure infections on open wounds”.
Small sweat beads appeared on the Doctor’s forehead.
“Well, that’s true. But the application of the medicine I use is in an entirely different and, may I add, concentrated form. You see, I attended at a medical conference a year or so ago in Atlanta, and …”.
“Gentlemen! Where are our manners?” Trent interrupted. He could see this wasn’t going well and it had been a mistake to let the Doctor into this social gathering for which it was now apparent he was totally unfit.
“Mrs. Harrison, please forgive me. I don’t know where my manners are. Of course, this is Dr. Wesley”.
The Doctor reached out his hand to shake. Caroline was inwardly disgusted with this man but, maintaining her Southern etiquette, simply smiled and nodded as she continued to grasp her fine silk shawl with both hands.
“Charmed, I’m sure”, was all she said.
A slight scowl grew on the Doctor’s face. Alarmed that he might say something socially offensive, Trent quickly stepped in.
“Doctor” he said in an instructional tone. “Please help yourself to an adult beverage. There’s a splendid variety of, shall I say, ‘spirits’ that I’m sure you’ll find to your liking. Make sure you ask for ice. He motioned toward the table of liqueurs being staffed by two male servants.
The Doctor started to speak, but then caught himself. He sensed the Senator and Caroline saw through his facade, and didn’t want to risk losing future work with the Colonel.
“Lady, Gentlemen” he smiled as he temporarily bade farewell and turned his attention toward the booze.
“Sorry” Trent started to apologize to Jeb. “I needed a doctor to treat Gabe, one of my best slaves. It’s kind of an emergency, and I sent my overseer to N’awlins to fetch one. And this is what he returned with”.
“No need to explain” the Senator responded. “As you know, I don’t own any slaves, but I’m no stranger to sickness. I certainly understand when a doctor, any doctor, is sometimes needed”. Jeb treaded carefully. Trent knew full well that Jeb was as close to an abolitionist as a politician could be, particularly in the Deep South. He’d expressed his views on the legislative floor, but only to ‘suggest’ that slavery could be more regulated. He knew Louisiana wouldn’t abolish it altogether. Taking too hard a line would only serve to ‘abolish’ his political career.
“Senator” Trent respectfully began, just above a whisper. “I want you to know that, personally, I’m against slavery. I don’t like treating people as my personal property. But this is the South, and I run a sugar cane plantation. Without the blacks, I’d soon go out of business because you can’t compete with the other owners. This is business, and it must proceed on an equal footing with the others”.
“I understand that, Colonel. I truly do” Jeb replied. “And I’m not telling you anything you don’t already know. But the issue in the Northern states has been simmering for some time, and I’m quite concerned that before long, it’s going to boil over”.
“Boil over? As in war?”
Jeb looked around to ensure no one else was within ear shot. “As in war” he pronounced in a whisper. “I can’t predict when, but I can tell you that the North is in constant uproar over this, and I’m beginning to fear the worst”.
“War!” Trent declared. “If war is what they want then war is what they’ll get!” he brashly boasted. Trent was getting heated, now barely able to control his emotions. “The South would rather secede from the Union than capitulate to abolition. Southern men are honorable and brave, and would gladly fight to defend their rights”.
Jeb remained calm. “How interesting” he thought, “that the Colonel says he’s against slavery, then professes the South’s right to retain it. Money. It’s all about money”.
Trent could see that Jeb remained calm, a polished politician quite used to political argument. He regained his own composure.
“Well, Senator” he said. “Let’s put aside this political discussion for the time being. We’re among friends here, and it’s a time for merriment, not political discourse”.
“Of course, of course” Jeb agreed. “Besides, I could use a refill” as he showed Trent his near empty glass. “Say, how do you get ice to your plantation in the middle of August” he asked, as Trent led the way to the liquor table.
“It’s shipped by boat from one of several Northern states. Rhode Island, New York. Depending on availability, we sometimes have it shipped from Nova Scotia”.
Anticipating the next question, Trent said: “It’s wrapped in canvas and straw, lots of it, obviously, and then lowered to the very bottom of the cargo ship. It’s unloaded just outside our front door” referring to the banks of the Mississippi, a short walk from the mansion. “Amazingly, it arrives intact” he said, with a self-congratulatory smile as he swirled his drink to hear the sound of ice clinking together. “We then store it in a small room just off the kitchen”.
“Amazing” replied the Senator. “It must …” he stopped himself in mid-sentence, embarrassed that his question would sound crude or undignified.
“Yes” Trent said, both anticipating and appreciating the question. “It is expensive. July and August, I spend upwards of fifteen hundred dollars per week for this ice” he answered, without boast but simply as a matter of fact.
“But” he continued, “It’s worth it. I believe our guests thoroughly enjoy it. I know I do. Certainly not to boast, but we’ve done quite well here. Thanks in no small part to our servants” he whispered, referring back to their previous discussion.
“Without them, none of this would be possible. The money generated from the sugar cane allows me to buy more land, more real estate, and other business ventures. It also allows me to, rather handsomely I think, contribute to your re-election campaigns, I might add”.
The Senator sheepishly grinned. “And for that” he replied, “I am eternally grateful.” He smiled as he held his glass to toast the Colonel’s generosity.
“Damn” Jeb mused to himself. “I chastise Trent for his hypocrisy of owning slaves, and yet here I am, a professed abolitionist, willingly accepting money from a slave owner”.
12
C AROLINE WAS AN ONLY CHILD. Born in San Francisco, her mother passed when she was nine. Her father, Frederick, was an immigrant from, well, Caroline never really knew. She always heard him say he was from the “Old Country”, and she believed it was somewhere near Russia. He had no formal education, but had learned to speak English, and could read and write some.
He owned a small general store near the outskirts of Chinatown, but always struggled to make ends meet. Caroline wasn’t deprived of any basic necessities, but her clothes were always purchased secondhand, and only when her current clothes became tattered beyond repair.
But in 1849, the California gold rush hit, and Frederick struck it rich. Not from gold, but from selling picks, pans, tents, and other equipment to miners who arrived from all over the world seeking their fortunes. He opened stores from San Francisco to Sacramento to Sutter Creek. In three years, he’d made enough money to retire and for he and Caroline to travel the globe, leaving his stores in the hands of honest managers who continued to operate them until the gold rush eventually shriveled.
She met Jeb when he was a representative in the State legislature, and saw in him great political promise. She was quite wealthy on her own, having inherited her father’s fortune. Now in her early forties, she still maintained a much younger appearance. She was feminine, shapely and petite, and had learned well how to present herself as a Southern belle.
“Shall we have some ‘fruit juice’”? Collette teasingly asked Caroline.
“Why, yes, I think we should” she replied, with a slight giggle. No respectable Southern belle would ever dare touch her lips to alcohol. Socially inconceivable. But, with some apricots, peaches, apples, really any fruit would do, a nice little libation could be created. Add a little flour and fermentation and, whalla! A de
licious fruit drink that packed a punch.
It was the little secret that wasn’t ever a real secret. All the gentlemen knew, and slightly encouraged it, as it made the women less inhibited, which clearly lent itself to more titillating conversation.
“Mmm …” Carolina mouthed.
“I know” Collette replied. “Isn’t it delicious?” She caught herself watching Caroline’s mouth as her slippery tongue sweep over her full lips, savoring the sweet taste of the liquor. She had radiant violet-blue eyes, and her golden hair was fashionably coiffed.
“Collette, it really is so nice to finally spend time with you. You and Trent must come to N’awlins and see our new home. Jeb and I purchased a lovely house near the river. You and I could go horseback riding through the trails. Oh, I just know you’d love it”.
“That would be wonderful” Collette replied. “It’s been awhile since I’ve been to the City. I’ve pretty much been planted here … at the plantation” she giggled at her unintended pun. “You’ve been just about everywhere”.
“Well, yes. I’ve travelled a lot. When Papa retired, we steamed to Europe and spent nearly a year there. You’ve never been?” she asked.
“No” Collette replied, disappointingly. “Trent’s been, but I’ve stayed mostly right here in Louisiana my whole life. Now, with all the work here at the plantation, it’ll be sometime before I could go, if ever”.
“What’s it like?” Collette asked as she took another sip. “I mean Paris”.
“Oh, nothing like you’ve ever seen. Their taste in clothes is beyond belief. Their wine, I mean ‘fruit drinks’” she giggled, “are simply to die for. And their lifestyle” Caroline’s voice got quieter. She leaned in to be closer. “The women there are very, shall I say, sexually uninhibited”.
“What do you mean?” Collette asked, starting to enjoy a little inebriation.
“Well, I visited many art museums there” Caroline continued. “Some of the most beautiful works in the world. And the artists. I mean, many artists paint nude scenes. But in Paris, they not only paint nudity, but they paint scenes involving women. I mean two women. It’s very common” she stated, matter of factly. “As I said, they’re quite liberated. They refer to it as a sort of ‘enlightenment’ philosophy”.
