Love Me, Marietta

by Jennifer Wilde

  “I might just go out myself this afternoon,” he said as I started toward the door.

  I whirled around, giving him a look that should have reduced him to ashes. “You’re not leaving this house!” I ordered.

  “You’re the one who says I’m perfectly fit. I’ve been doing exercises for the past week. Sit-ups. Push-ups. Secretly. Didn’t want you and Mandy yelling at me.”

  “Damn you, Jeremy, I—”

  “I’m getting fed up with this room, this bed. I feel perfectly well enough for a little outing. It’d do me good. Fresh air. Sunshine.”

  “Not a chance,” I said. “Not for another week at least.”

  He scowled, a rebellious look in those vivid blue eyes. Mandy stepped into the room at that point, carrying a tray heavily laden with pork chops, applesauce, broccoli and flaky popovcrs. She set the tray down on the bedside table and smiled at him, a tender, maternal smile that would have melted the heart of Attila the Hun. Jeremy smiled, too, basking in her loving attention. I sighed and shook my head.

  “Watch him, Mandy,” I warned. “He’s getting feisty.”

  “Don’t you worry none, Miz Marietta. I’se goin’ to keep an eye on him. He’s goin’ to eat all this lunch, an’ then he’s goin’ to take a nice nap. You run on an’ get them dresses made.”

  I left, vastly irritated. He wouldn’t dare go out, I told myself. He wouldn’t dare defy me. He wasn’t nearly strong enough to go jaunting about the city yet, and he knew it. He had merely wanted to rile me, something he delighted in doing. At any rate, Mandy would look after him. I smiled ruefully. Mandy would look after him, yes, but the rogue had already wrapped her around his little finger. She was completely under the spell of that infuriating charm. She treated him like a frisky, cuddly, thoroughly engaging puppy, her eyes lighting up whenever she was near him, a broad smile on her lips as she hurried to do his bidding. Mandy was, after all, female, and she would gladly face a firing squad for him.

  I moved briskly down the street, still seething. Sunlight sparkled on the cobbles and the sky was a glorious, cloudless blue. Carriages and carts rumbled past. Brightly clad pedestrians crowded the pavements, men bustling about with an air of self-importance, women in silks chattering like merry magpies as they returned from shopping, servants carrying packages, Negro women with baskets of fruit balanced on their heads. The quarantine had been lifted over a week ago, the fever epidemic was over, and New Orleans wore a festive air, dreary gray shrouds replaced by gaudy, brilliant trappings that dazzled the eye. The air seemed to be charged with a new vitality now that the ordeal was behind us.

  A wagon stood in front of Lucille’s shop. Three husky men were busily carrying heavy bolts of cloth through the opened door, and a shabbily dressed boy with a bucket of soap and water was cleaning the windows. Shrill, agitated voices split the air. I entered the shop to find one of Lucille’s assistants in tears and Lucille herself arguing vociferously with a plump, middle-aged woman in purple taffeta who clutched a bolt of ivory lace to her breast and shook her head adamantly, black ringlets dancing, bright pink spots blazing on her chubby cheeks.

  “Out of the question!” Lucille shrieked. “I told you. I have a very important order to complete, an entire wardrobe. I can’t possibly do your dress for another two weeks, and then I wouldn’t dream of using that dreadful lace! I don’t know where you got it, Madame Roland, but it’s cheap, cheap, cheap, will fall apart in less than a year. I use my own material, you know that! Will you shut up!” she snapped at her sobbing assistant. “Take these men to the storeroom, show them where to put the cloth—”

  “I’m one of your very best customers!” the plump woman yelled. “If you can’t come to my aid in a time of need—”

  “Need! You don’t need an ivory lace dress. If you had any sense you’d wear nothing but black!”

  “Well! I’ve never been so insulted in—”

  “What is this!” Lucille cried, grabbing one of the men by the shoulder. “I said plum velvet. This is puce! You take it straight back to the warehouse and tell those idiots that if they can’t deliver what I order they can find a new customer to rob! Mon Dieu! C’est too bloody much!”

  She rolled her eyes heavenward and flapped her hands in the air. When the man started to argue with her she shooed him away and reached for smelling salts and then saw me standing just inside the doorway.

  “My dear! I’m surrounded by idiots. You’re early. This place is a madhouse! Marie wants the day off so she can meet her butcher boyfriend for an afternoon tryst, and Madame Roland wants a lace ball gown for next Tuesday, and these men have only brought half of what I ordered!”

  “I’ll never step foot in this shop again!” Madame Roland screamed.

  “That’s fine with me, Fatty! I’ve never liked dressing you in the first place. You make my finest creations look like something a scrub woman would wear! Out! Out! Go eat another pound of pralines!”

  Cheeks flaming, Madame Roland marched out of the shop in a wild flurry of purple taffeta. One of the men handed Lucille a receipt to sign, and she studied it with narrow eyes, marked through four items, jotted notes beside the lines and then scribbled her name. The men left hurriedly. Marie came out of the back room, wiping her eyes. Outside, the boy leisurely swabbed the windows with soapy water.

  “This hasn’t been one of my better days,” Lucille sighed, putting on a martyred expression. “The shop was closed for so long, and now everyone wants everything at once. I only have two hands and no one I can depend on. Stop sniveling. Marie! You can meet him tonight, and he’ll appreciate you all the more for waiting.”

  “He’s not a butcher! He’s a fine young man and his father just happens to sell meat and—”

  “Where’s Camille?” Lucille interrupted.

  “She’s in the fitting room, getting out Miss Danver’s gown and pinning up the hem.”

  “Stop her at once! I’ll do Miss Danver’s hem. Camille knows this is a very special order! I never had problems like these when I was sewing for Pompadour,” she confided. “Jeanne gave me my own apartment in Versailles to work in, such gilt, such crystal chandeliers! A far cry from what I had at the Devereaux plantation, I can assure you.”

  “Oh?” I said patiently.

  “Can you believe it, my dear they expected me to stay in the attic! A horrible, stuffy little room not fit for a scullery maid. They begged me to come and I went through hell in that wretched rowboat, going through swamps you wouldn’t believe, and I expected to be treated like a guest. I was stuck up there like a common servant, sewing by the light of a single candle till all hours of the morning. I had no choice, my dear, but when it was finally safe to leave I gave them all a piece of my mind!”

  I shook my head in pretended sympathy. Lucille sighed wearily.

  “Everyone’s giving balls now that the fever’s over. I’ve never had so many orders—the city’s gone pleasure mad and all the women expect me to dress them. I’ve given you top priority, my dear. It’s been quite an ordeal, but I think everything will be ready on time. I’ve been working night and day, and I must say, my dear, I think I’ve outdone myself.”

  I gave her an appreciative smile. Lucille might go on and on about giving me such preferential treatment, but in fact, I was paying her three times what I would ordinarily have paid in order to have the new wardrobe prepared in such a short time. At those prices the engaging old fraud could afford to work night and day.

  “Come on into the fitting room, my dear. You’re going to be enchanted when you see the gown. We’ll have some champagne, and I’ll do up the hem and make a few adjustments—I’m still not satisfied with the bodice. You must tell me all about that devilishly handsome Jeremy Bond. I’ve never been as surprised as I was when I learned you were living with him.”

  Groaning inwardly, I followed her into the fitting room and, stepping behind the screen, began to undress. I had been extremely guarded in what I had told Lucille, merely informing her that Derek and I had been separat
ed, that I was sharing an apartment with Jeremy prior to leaving for England. She was an inveterate gossip, voraciously consuming any scrap of information about the private lives of her customers and embellishing lavishly in the retelling. I knew better than to give her any but the sketchiest details.

  Lucille handed me the exquisite pale gold tulle petticoat, and I slipped it on, stepping from behind the screen just as the much put-upon Marie entered with a bottle of chilled champagne and two elegant crystal glasses. Camille, an unfortunately pudgy girl with large, rough hands opened the bottle and poured the sparkling beverage, and then Lucille shooed them both out of the room. I took a sip and set the glass down.

  “I don’t know what I’m going to do with those girls,” Lucille complained. “Marie thinks of nothing but bedrooms, and Camille, alas, stumbles about like a dimwit. I suppose I’m lucky to have anyone working for me in this wretchedly backward city. Things just aren’t the way they were in Paris.”

  She picked up the shimmering golden-brown brocade gown embroidered all over with gold and brown flowers and helped me into it. When she had finished fastening it in back, I stepped up onto the round ivory footstool. The gown had narrow, off-the-shoulder sleeves, a low, clinging bodice and a very full skirt that belled out gorgeously. Lucille finished her champagne and, grabbing a packet of pins, got down on her knees to work with the hem.

  “Any other customer would have insisted on rows of ruffles and fussy gold velvet bows, but you, my dear, have unerring taste. Simple, flowing lines, absolutely uncluttered. With cloth like this you don’t need anything else. I’m not going to tell you what I paid for it, but you’re getting it at a discount, my dear.”

  “I’m extremely grateful.”

  “Pompadour would have gone mad over this material, but then, of course, she couldn’t wear brown, even as rich a golden brown as this. Such magnificent embroidery! Jeanne could only wear the palest colors, you know, mauve, pale blue, light mint green. Anything more dramatic would have washed her out completely, and with her complexion—”

  Bending over, I reached for the glass of champagne I had set aside. I had the feeling I was going to need it. As Lucille continued to chatter about her most famous customer, I studied the gown in the full-length mirror on the wall across the room. It was indeed a sumptuous creation, the embroidered gold and dark brown silk flowers gleaming against the golden brown.

  “—such a delicious man!” Lucille was saying. “Every woman in New Orleans was after him, and you end up sharing his apartment. I do hope he’s quite recovered.”

  “He’s much better, Lucille.”

  “So fortunate you were there to nurse him! It must have been a dreadful ordeal for you, my dear.”

  “It wasn’t pleasant,” I said. “If Mandy hadn’t come along when she did, I couldn’t have saved him.”

  “Oh yes, that Negro woman. I believe you told me about her.”

  “She made mustard plasters and made medicine from roots and herbs, forced him to drink it. It was perfectly vile-smelling.”

  “I can imagine!”

  “She also made medicine from lemons and honey and vinegar. It was touch and go for a while, but—it’s over now.”

  “Turn to the left a bit, my dear. And now?”

  “Now I’m going to England to join Derek.”

  “Ah, the magnetic, brooding Mr. Hawke. I never understood exactly what happened, my dear. The two of you were going to England to be married, and then you show up back in New Orleans with Jeremy Bond.”

  “I told you, Lucille. We were separated.”

  “I see I see. A lovers’ quarrel.”

  “Something like that.”

  “And the dashing Jeremy Bond provided comfort and solace.”

  “I suppose you could say that.”

  “A little to the right now,” she directed, moving around on her knees. “He knows you’re still in love with Derek Hawke?”

  “He’s known from the first. I made no secret of it. Derek is the only man in the world I’ll ever love that way. The bond between us is stronger than time, stronger than distance. I love him with all my heart and soul, and he loves me. The day of our reunion will be the happiest day of my life, and we’ll never be Separated again.”

  Lucille finished pinning up the hem and got to her feet moving back to examine her handiwork. I finished my champagne and set the glass down. She tilted her head to one side, eyes narrowed, thin lips tight, and then she told me to turn around slowly.

  “Perfect!” she declared. “I’ll sew it up at once. I want to let out a couple of tucks in the bodice—how does it fit under the arms?”

  “It feels fine.”

  Lucille examined the bodice, frowned, nodded briskly and then moved back and poured herself another glass of champagne. I stepped behind the screen and removed the gown and petticoat. Lucille clapped for Camille and, when the girl appeared, told her to take the garments into the sewing room. I put on the violet and blue striped silk.

  “Love,” Lucille sighed. “It’s glorious, and you’ve certainly had your share, my dear. So many adventures! Women commit suicide over men like Jeremy Bond.”

  “The world is full of idiots.”

  “And you blithely abandon him to cross the ocean for another man.”

  “I’m not abandoning him,” I informed her, fastening up the dress. “He and I are merely—” I hesitated. “There’s nothing between us, Lucille. He came to my aid when I needed help. He’s being paid nicely.”

  Lucille’s shrewd eyes gleamed knowingly. “There’s nothing between you, yet you risk your life nursing him back to health.”

  “I had no choice. He needed me.”

  “And he doesn’t need you now?” she asked as I stepped over to the mirror to adjust my sleeves.

  “The only thing Jeremy Bond needs at the moment is a swift kick.”

  “Ah! Something is there. I knew it!”

  “You’re quite mistaken,” I said haughtily irritated by her persistence. “When shall I return for the next fittings?”

  “All the other things should be ready for final fittings day after tomorrow, and, my dear, you know the black and white striped taffeta? I’ve found a pair of long red velvet gloves to go with it, and I’m making a hat as well, an enormous brim covered with black taffeta, lined with white, dripping with magnificent black and white plumes. One red velvet ribbon. My gift to you.”

  She hugged me impulsively, and it was impossible to stay irritated with her. She was a shrewd, mercenary, gossipy old fraud who probably had never so much as set eyes on Madame de Pompadour, but beneath that brittle, avaricious exterior was a genuine heart. Pompadour or no, Lucille was a superb artist, and I was grateful for all she’d done for me over the years. I returned her hug, had another glass of champagne with her and left the shop.

  Taking a shortcut through the market, I was pleased to see the thronging, bustling crowd, the vitality and color stronger than ever as housewives picked over mounds of bright red apples, vivid oranges, pale green pears and bargained over bins of shrimp and eels and silvery fish. Carts of flowers made splashes of vibrant color, and the smell of freshly baked bread and a hundred different spices perfumed the air. A strange, melancholy mood hung over me nevertheless, increasing as, leaving the market, I passed the building that once had housed Rawlins’ Place, the glittering gambling house where so many changes had taken place in my life. Memories of Jeff stirred as I moved on, the old grief returning. The past seemed to haunt me now that I was about to leave this city I had grown to love.

  I thought about Derek, something I hadn’t allowed myself to do during the past weeks. I had firmly put all thought of him out of my mind, concentrating on Jeremy, on making him well again, but now that that had been accomplished, I felt the impatience and anguish that had plagued me ever since I had learned he was still alive. I saw again that beloved, face with perfectly chiseled features, wide pink mouth set in a stern line, cheekbones broad and strong, gray eyes grim as he contemplated a lif
e of bitter disappointments. He had at last claimed the inheritance that had been wrested from him, at last he was living at Hawkehouse, but his victory was a hollow one, I knew, and little consolation for the loss of the woman he loved. Soon, my darling, I promised him silently, soon we will be together again and joy will fill those eyes and happiness will be ours after all these years.

  Opening the gate and crossing the courtyard. I banished the image from my mind, determined to concentrate on the present. That was the only way I could maintain my sanity. I would take each day at a time, and each day would bring me closer to that moment when his eyes met mine and his arms enfolded me and a flood of joy swept over us both. I opened the front door that still bore signs of the white cross, jagged marks where the paint had been scraped away. As I stepped into the foyer a wonderful smell wafted on the air. Mandy was baking another spice cake.

  She was taking it out of the oven as I entered the kitchen. Setting it on the drainboard to cool, she sighed wearily and ran a hand across her wrinkled brow, her back to me. Unaware of my presence, she reached into the cabinet and took down a jar of plum preserves.

  “Really, Mandy,” I said. “Another cake? You’re spoiling him dreadfully.”

  She turned around, startled.

  “Miz—Miz Marietta. I didn’t hear you come in. Did you get them pretty new dresses done?”

  “They’ll be finished in a few days. The cake looks delicious. You make all these things for Jeremy and I’m the one putting on weight.”

  “That ain’t so. Miz Marietta. You’se much too skinny.”

  She seemed nervous for some reason, and I noticed a worried look in her eyes. I asked her if something was wrong, and she hesitated, wiping her hands on her apron and looking anxiously about the room as though searching for something else to do that would allow her to avoid answering my question.

  “You—you’se goin’ to be real upset, Miz Marietta.”

  “He’s gone out, hasn’t he?”

  “I tried to stop him. ‘You ain’t strong enough yet. Mister Jeremy,’ I told him. ‘You ain’t got no business gallivantin’ around, get back in that bed.’ He grinned at me an’ said I was bein’ silly, said not to fuss over him like he was a baby.”