“Yes, sir.” The reply was brief, and Charissa did not turn her head.
Jeff tried several more times to make conversation, but the girl answered in monosyllables. He finally pulled up to the house and drove around to the backyard. Charles Menton, the gardener, ran across the yard to take the horses. “You want me to unhitch the team, Doctor?”
“Yes, I suppose so, Charles.” Jeff jumped out and walked around the buggy. Charissa had stepped out and stood next to it. “Charles, this is Charissa.”
“How do you do, Miss Charissa?” Charles said. “It’s fine to meet you.”
The black man seemed friendly, but her guard was up. “Hello.”
“Come on inside. Charles, you might grain those horses.”
“Yes, sir, I’ll do that.”
Jeff strode to the back door, and when he stepped inside, he found the housekeeper waiting. “Hello, Rose. You have another mouth to feed. This is Charissa.”
“Hello, Charissa.”
“She’ll be staying for a few days. Which room would you suggest?”
“The second door on the right when you get upstairs.”
“Come along, Charissa,” Jeff said. “I’ll show it to you.”
Charissa followed without a word. The house was impressive. It was not as fine as the one she had been living in, but it was obviously expensive. As they walked up the stairs, Jeff explained, “This is Dr. Debakky’s home, but he’s working at his office now.”
“You don’t live here, sir?”
“No, I live in St. Louis with my father. We’ll be going there day after tomorrow by ship.”
He opened the door and stood back, and Charissa, unaccustomed to courtesies, did not know what to do. She was trained not to walk before white people, but he said, “Go on in. See if you like it.”
She entered the room, which had a high ceiling and cream-colored wallpaper with dancing figures on it. The carpet under her feet was a deep maroon, and the furniture was gleaming mahogany. Sunlight flowed through two tall windows. Charissa stood at the doorway, holding her possessions, not knowing what to do.
Jeff saw that the girl was apprehensive and said, “You’d better open these windows. It’s going to be warm tonight. It’s getting hot for May.” He then said, “Make yourself at home here, Charissa. Dr. Debakky will be back after a while. I want you to meet him at supper.”
“Dr. Whitman,” Charissa said, “I have to tell you something.”
“Of course. What is it?”
Charissa had to tilt her head back to look up at him, and she studied him for a moment. He was not a handsome man, but his features showed strength. Though she had planned her speech, her voice was flat as she said, “I belong to you now, sir, and I will do any work that you ask me to do.” She paused, and then her eyelids dropped until her eyes were nearly hidden. Her throat was tight, and she had difficulty adding, “I’ll do any work you want, no matter how hard, and I’ll never complain. But if you touch me, I’ll kill you if I can, even if I die for it!”
Her words shocked Jeff. He had no idea what sort of life she had led. He did not speak for a moment, but then he shook his head and said quietly, “I don’t force myself on women, Charissa.”
“I’ve heard that before, sir.”
Jefferson Whitman suddenly felt compassion for the girl. She had no defense, none whatsoever, but was at the mercy of those with greater power. “You haven’t heard it from me, Charissa,” he said quietly. “But I understand your fears. All I ask is that you give me and my father a chance to show you how we feel about things like this. I’ll see you later tonight when Dr. Debakky gets back.”
He turned and left the room, and suddenly Charissa’s knees felt weak. She had planned her declaration and fully expected to be beaten for it. But she had seen nothing like anger in the tall man’s eyes. She went over to one of the windows, opened it, and sat down in the chair opposite it. Leaning forward, she put her head down and placed her palms over her eyes. She was trembling, but she could not pray, because she did not believe in God. Yet just sitting silently, she began to gather her courage. We will see what you are like, Dr. Whitman, you and your father, she thought.
Chapter twelve
When she woke the next morning, Charissa stared around her wildly, not knowing where she was. The large room, the beautifully papered walls, and the exquisite furniture—none of it seemed familiar. Then she sat up and remembered. She recalled how she had been able to take a bath the previous night in hot water the housekeeper brought. She had luxuriated in the large tub, trying each of the fancy soaps that the woman called Rose had provided. Now, as she threw the covers back, she realized she would have to wear her only other dress—a raggedy slave garment. She slipped into it and her shoes, and then looked in the mirror mounted behind a finely finished dresser. She had a comb and brush, well worn, that she had found in a dump, and she brushed her glossy black hair. It had a slight wave to it and fell beneath her shoulders. She tied it with a piece of ribbon and went to look out the window.
Just outside, sparrows were fighting over something, tumbling, and for a moment the scene brought a smile to her lips. If birds can’t even get along, how can human beings? A knock at the door startled her. Turning quickly, she went to the door, opened it, and saw Rose.
The woman was smiling and said, “Why don’t you come down to breakfast, Charissa? It’s all ready.”
“Yes, ma’am.” Charissa stepped outside and followed the woman down the stairs. She asked, “Do you belong to the doctor who owns this house?”
“No, the doctor freed my husband and me. My husband died only last year.”
Charissa had never heard of such a thing. “You mean, he just set you free instead of selling you?”
“That’s right. Dr. Debakky is a fine man. I’ll never cease being grateful to him.”
Charissa followed Rose down the stairs and through the hallway, turning into a room at the back of the house. When she stepped inside, she saw Dr. Whitman seated at a large dining table with another man. Two more places were set across from him, but she did not notice them.
“Come in, Charissa. I hope you slept well.” Both men stood.
Charissa was stunned. “Yes, sir. I did.”
“This is Dr. Debakky. Elmo, this is Charissa Desjardin.”
“I’m glad to know you, Miss Charissa,” Debakky said with a smile. “I hope you’re hungry. Sit down. Dr. Whitman and I have been waiting for you.”
Charissa could not understand what the man meant. Sit down with two white men? She had never done such a thing. Always she had eaten in the kitchen or wherever the slaves were assigned. She blinked and did not move. Rose pulled out her chair. “You sit right down here, Charissa, and I’ll sit beside you.”
Dumbly Charissa sat and stared at the fine china plate and the silver before her. She could not say a word, but Dr. Debakky said, “Why don’t you ask the blessing, Jeff?”
“Sure will. Lord, we thank You for this food. We thank You for every blessing You’ve given us. Bless this house. Bless Miss Rose and Miss Charissa, and bless us as we serve You this day. In Jesus’ name, amen.”
“Here, have some of these eggs, Charissa,” Rose said. “And this ham is very tasty.”
Charissa kept her hands beneath the table as Rose filled her plate. A young girl came in, no older than herself, with a silver tray and coffee urn.
“Mary, give us all some of that good coffee,” Rose said. “Do you like coffee, Charissa?”
“Yes, ma’am.” Charissa was glad when the two men began talking about the yellow fever epidemic. She did not understand most of their terms, and she was terribly self-conscious. She watched Rose covertly and picked up her fork when she did. She found she was ravenous and ate everything on her plate. Then Rose passed her some jelly and freshly baked buns. She ate these, too, and just as she was finishing, Dr. Debakky said, “I hate to leave good company, but I’ve got to start my rounds. Jeff, you’re going to join me later?”
“
Yes, I will.”
Debakky said, “Good to have you with us, Miss Charissa. I’ll be seeing you later.”
Rose stood and began to help the girl named Mary clear the dishes. Charissa sat with her eyes down, unsure what she should do next. Finally, she looked up and saw that Whitman was sipping his coffee. When she met his eyes, he said, “We’ll be leaving for St. Louis tomorrow, Charissa. Today I want us to go do a little shopping.”
“Yes, sir.”
She waited, but the doctor said only, “I’m ready if you are.”
“Yes, sir, I’m ready.”
She followed Jeff out of the house and climbed into the carriage beside him. He spoke to the horses, and as they moved out of the back and down the narrow passageway that led to the street, he said, “Just beginning to learn my way around the city. Have you ever gone shopping here with Miss Damita?”
“Yes, sir, I have.”
“Good. Then you direct me, and we’ll go to the places that have shops that sell clothes. All right?”
Charissa nodded, then said, “You go right down over on Rampart Street. There are some fine shops there.”
“Miss Damita buys a lot of her dresses in there. I don’t think they have clothes for gentlemen.” Charissa had directed Jeff to a line of stores. He pulled up in front of one, and the two had gotten down. Now she stood uncertainly, not knowing if he expected her to accompany him or not. She had assumed that he was buying for himself.
“We’ll try this one right here.” Jeff walked to the door, opened it, and held it for her.
Once again, Charissa did not know how to react. Her face grew warm, and she ducked her head and slipped through the door, murmuring, “Thank you, sir.”
When they were inside, an older woman with silver hair, dark brown eyes, and a friendly face approached. “May I help you, sir?”
“Indeed you might. This young lady needs to be completely outfitted: dresses, undergarments, nightgowns, shoes, hats. At least one very nice outfit suitable for going to church. Day dresses—well, I’ll leave it all to you.”
The clerk’s face did not change. She assumed at once that this tall man had taken the young woman for his mistress. This was a common occurrence in New Orleans, and she had fulfilled requests like this before. “Yes, sir, I will see to it.”
“Charissa, I’ll come back in about an hour. I’ll expect to see you wearing something very nice. Oh, I’ll need some luggage. A small trunk for the new clothes, and perhaps an overnight bag. Where might I find those?”
“Tyrone’s, right across the street, has some very nice things.”
“Thank you very much.”
The next hour was like a dream to Charissa Desjardin. She had never bought anything in her life, never tried on dresses in a shop. The woman, who said her name was Mrs. Williams, was tactful. She took Charissa to a back room to try on fresh undergarments without commenting on the ragged quality of the ones she wore. Charissa, of course, had helped Damita dress and knew what a lady would wear, but never had she imagined wearing such fuss and finery herself. She tried on several dresses and surprised both herself and Mrs. Williams by having very definite tastes, refusing some dresses and liking others immediately.
The hour passed quickly, and Charissa put on one of the new dresses. It was made out of a light-blue cotton percale with a tight-fitting bodice and short, puffy sleeves; white and pink embroidery decorated the front and the hem. A white ribbon tied around the waist. To complete the outfit, she wore a pair of pink satin shoes and a bonnet with white feathers.
Mrs. Williams joined her at the mirror. “You look beautiful, my dear. Dr. Whitman is here.”
Charissa found Whitman waiting near the door. His eyes opened wide, and she saw admiration in them.
“Why, you look very nice, Charissa! You pick that out yourself?”
“She certainly did,” Mrs. Williams said. “She has fine taste, and she’s a perfect size. The dresses fit exquisitely.”
“I brought the luggage, so if we can pack these in there, we’ll be ready to go.”
Mrs. Williams neatly packed the clothing in the small trunk. Then Whitman asked, “How much will it be, Mrs. Williams?”
Mrs. Williams named the price, and Charissa gasped with dismay. She looked at Dr. Whitman, expecting him to protest, but he simply said, “That sounds fair enough.” He took out a leather billfold and paid for the clothes.
Mrs. Williams asked, “What shall I do with your old things?”
“Throw them away,” Dr. Whitman said, then turned to Charissa. “Are you ready?” He picked up the trunk, and she moved quickly to open the door for him. He put the trunk in the carriage, then turned, saying, “You’ll need other things.”
“What, Dr. Whitman?”
“Things that women use. Special soaps, I suppose, or makeup.”
Everything seemed unreal. Without a word, she followed as he strode to another store she had visited with Damita. Dr. Whitman instructed her to select all the items she needed—and not to worry about the prices. He then said, “I’ll be back in a few minutes to pay for them.”
Twenty minutes later, they had purchased everything. “We’ll put all these in the small suitcase,” he said, carrying the packages to the carriage. Once he’d packed the parcels, he turned and held out his hand.
Charissa stared at him, wondering what he wanted. “Yes, sir, what is it?”
“I was just going to help you into the buggy,” Whitman said, surprised. “That’s what gentlemen are supposed to do, isn’t it?”
Charissa flushed. She had seen this courtesy many times, but no one had ever extended it to her. She reached out, her face burning, and felt his big hand close about hers. She stepped up into the buggy, and he released her at once. “Thank you, sir.”
“You’re very welcome.” He climbed into his seat. “Now, it’s time we got a bite to eat. Let’s go home and see what Rose can stir up for us. This shopping is hard work.”
“Dr. Whitman—”
“Yes, what is it?”
“I don’t understand. Why are you doing all this for me?” She knew well enough the history of men who took mulatto and quadroon girls and made them their mistresses. She wanted no misunderstanding. “I appreciate all of it, but I hope you don’t think that I—” She could not say any more but looked at him squarely.
Jeff Whitman shook his head. “Don’t worry. You don’t ever have to worry about me—or my father—bothering you in any way, Charissa. I swear it on my honor. Do you believe me?”
Suddenly, Charissa Desjardin knew that she had met a man who was truthful. His warm brown eyes were mild, and she saw in them honesty and strength. He sat loosely, almost disjointedly, beside her, a taller man than she had never met before.
“Yes, sir, I believe you.”
“Good. Then we won’t have to talk about that anymore. Get up, boys. Let’s get home.”
The engines of the Miranda began to shake, and Charissa was fascinated by the big paddle wheels on each side of the vessel beginning to churn the water. She had never been on a boat before, although she had often watched them making their way up and down the river.
“Come along. We’ll find where we’re going to stay.”
Charissa glanced at Whitman and followed him along the deck. He asked one of the stewards for directions, then led her to a corridor. He quickly located the assigned cabin, opened the door, and stepped back. “This is it, I suppose.”
Charissa stepped in and looked around. It was a small room, but there was a set of bunk beds, one chair, and a small washstand.
He saw her eyes go to the beds and said, “My room ought to be right next door. Why don’t you get settled in? Then, I always like to go up in the front of the boat and watch as we travel. We’ve got a long way to go—all the way to St. Louis.”
“Yes, sir.”
“I’m anxious for you to get home and meet my father.”
“You have no other family?”
“No, it’s just the two of us.”
“You tell me he’s been ill for a while?”
“Yes, I’m concerned about him.” A frown darkened Jeff Whitman’s face. “He’s been very good to me.”
Charissa wanted to question him further, but he left, saying, “I’m going up to the front. When you’re ready, come on up, and we’ll do some sightseeing.”
They had left the Debakky house that morning, and Dr. Debakky had warmly bid Charissa to come back for a visit. He had shaken hands with her, which gave her quite a shock. Now, as she stood in the small stateroom, she felt a sense of joy. Can it be true that my new master is truly kind and decent? she thought. He’s been so good to me, and he even gave me my own cabin on the ship!
She left the stateroom and found Whitman leaning on the rail of the deck. He talked about steamboats and Charissa, delighted, watched the shore disappear. The ship paddled to the middle of the channel, where the wind blew more strongly. The breeze blew off her small hat, and she grabbed for it. Whitman was quicker than she. He chased it down, snatched it up, and strode back, saying, “I think you have to pin these things on.”
“Yes. I didn’t do a very good job.”
Whitman smiled down at her. “Women have more trouble keeping themselves pulled together than men. Ladies are always having to arrange things.”
“Don’t call me a lady, please, Dr. Whitman. I’m not a lady.”
Whitman’s face grew serious. “You are a lady,” he said. “You’ve had a hard time, Charissa, but things are going to be different now. You’re in a new world.”
“Who sent you to get me? And why does he want to help me? Why did he want to help me and my mother?”
“I can’t tell you that now, Charissa, but I will say this. You shouldn’t worry about the one who sent me. He means nothing but good for you. Please let me ask you one favor.”
“Yes, sir, what is it?”
“Let’s just have a nice trip on the Miranda.We’ll enjoy the scenery. We’ll eat in the fine dining room. We may even get off at a few ports when the boat stops and do a little exploring. But please, don’t ask me any more about why I came looking for you. You’ll know soon enough, I think. Will that be all right?”
The Creole Historical Romance 4-In-1 Bundle Page 39
