“You’re going with Lewis?”
“Yes.”
“What does Dr. Jefferson Whitman say about that?”
“I haven’t told him yet.”
“He won’t like it. He’s very possessive.”
Charissa gave Debakky a strange look. “I know. He’s very possessive of his ‘baby sister.’”
“He loves you a great deal.”
“Yes,” Charissa answered flatly, “I know all about that.”
Debakky was a shrewd man. The pair had not been in his house for a week before he had discovered that Charissa was in love with Jeff. He had watched to see if the young doctor returned her affections, but he saw nothing but the love a man would give his sister.
Jeff entered, resplendent in a suit of new clothes that actually fit him. Debakky had taken him to his own tailor, and Jeff looked well indeed. “You’re going out, Charissa?”
“Lewis is taking me to the Creole Ball.”
Both Debakky and Charissa saw Jeff ’s face change. He looked reproachful and said, “I don’t really care for that fellow. I wish you wouldn’t go out with him.”
Charissa could not restrain herself. “You’ve gone out with Damita Madariaga three times in the last two weeks! I’d rather you didn’t go out with her.”
“That’s different.”
“How?”
Jeff merely pursed his lips.
Charissa looked at Elmo with discouragement in her face. “How can you argue with a man who gives you an answer like that?”
As she walked down the hall and into the parlor, Elmo said, “I think you’re fighting a losing battle there, old boy.”
“What does she see in the fellow?”
“Aside from the fact that he’s witty, charming, handsome, and rich, I can’t see a thing to attract a woman.”
“He’s a womanizer.”
“I have no doubt he is. He’s quite a swordsman, too, and a fine pistol shot. I think he spends most of his time getting ready for the duels that he intends to provoke.”
“He’s a fool!”
“New Orleans is full of fools, and so is the world, I suppose. Are you taking Damita tonight?”
“I didn’t know that Lewis Depard would be taking Charissa, or I wouldn’t have agreed to go.”
Debakky started to say something but stopped. He shook his head, looked sadly at Jeff, and turned away without word.
What’s the matter with him? Jeff wondered. He’s a smart man. He should see how wrong it is for Charissa to spend time with Depard. He stood irresolutely for a moment, considering whether to try to persuade Charissa to stay home, but he knew that was hopeless. Instead, he left the house and headed for the ball, thinking, Sometimes I wish we had never come to this place.
As he climbed into the carriage, he thought about how his life had changed in such a short time. Mostly he thought about Damita. She seemed far out of his sphere; handsome young men of wealth courted her constantly. He was intensely jealous of Lewis Depard and said suddenly, “I wish the fellow would fall off a building and break both of his legs! That would stop his dancing and his dueling and his chasing women. Get up, horse!”
Alfredo strolled along the aisles of the cotton exchange, stopping from time to time to speak with the men who were the heart of New Orleans economy. Cotton was king in the South, and in New Orleans more than anywhere else. Most of the cotton grown in the southern United States found its way in the form of huge bales to New Orleans. Much of that went to England, but ships bore it all over the world.
The air was filled with talking, shouting, and laughter as Madariaga moved along. Almost every man, it seemed, smoked cigars, and the air was hazy. Madariaga removed one from his own pocket, bit off the end, lit it, and took a puff. He did not visit this section often, but he had wanted to see the agent about the world market. October was upon them, and the cotton was stacked up in bales on the wharf until it looked like a huge fortress. Madariaga had held on to his, hoping the price would rise, but to his dismay it had fallen. When the world agent reported this, the news had crushed Madariaga. Worry had become almost habitual with him; his debts were large, and everything depended upon the crops. He was one of many aristocrats in the area who rose or fell according to the price of cotton. No one knew exactly how this price was determined, and sometimes Alfredo thought that some small group of men simply decided, on the flip of a coin, what to do with it.
Puffing on his cigar, Alfredo was about to leave when he glanced into one of the offices and stopped abruptly. “Well, upon my soul!” he exclaimed and entered the office. “My dear friend! What are you doing here? I didn’t know you were employed in New Orleans.”
Yancy Devereaux rose from the desk and smiled wryly. “It’s not by choice, sir, I assure you.”
Madariaga asked, “What’s happened? I thought you had bought a ship and gone into business in Savannah.”
“Come in and sit down. It’s a long, sad story.”
Madariaga saw lines of fatigue around the man’s mouth, and he sensed a lackluster spirit in him that he had not seen before.
“I did buy half-interest in a ship with a friend. He was a good man. He was going to be the captain; I would do the work on shore, getting cargoes. Never go into that business, Alfredo.”
“What happened?”
“The ship went down off the coast of Africa, loaded with cotton. A hurricane hit it and we lost all hands. Also lost was every penny I had in the world.”
“Oh, that’s frightful, Yancy! I’m so sorry to hear it. Do you need any help?” Madariaga put his hand in his pocket, but Yancy put up his hand.
“No, I’m all right. I’m not likely to starve.”
Alfredo was relieved; he had little to share. “How long have you been here?”
“Oh, about a month. It’s just a job. I’ve decided to leave New Orleans.”
Madariaga was grieved. He had never ceased to be grateful to Yancy for saving his daughter, and he said, “Perhaps I could introduce you to someone who might help you find a better position.”
“No, but thank you for your offer. I’m going back to Shreveport. I know quite a few people there. I shouldn’t have too much trouble finding something to do.”
The two men talked briefly, and when Alfredo stood to leave, he shook Yancy’s hand. “Why don’t you come out and visit the family? They’d be so glad to see you.”
“I will, if I don’t leave right away.”
“Don’t leave until you come at least once. Our family owes you a great deal.”
Alfredo left the cotton exchange feeling concerned. He thought about Yancy Devereaux all the way home, and when he arrived, he found that Jeff Whitman had arrived to take Damita to a ball. He greeted him absently, then turned to Damita. “I had quite a shock today, daughter.”
“What was it, Papa?”
“At the cotton exchange, I ran into Yancy Devereaux.”
Damita looked shocked herself. “I didn’t know he was in New Orleans.”
“It really troubles me.” He told of Yancy’s misadventures and shook his head. “Our family is in his debt. You wouldn’t be with us, Damita, if it weren’t for him.”
“That’s true enough. I’m so sorry to hear it.”
Jeff listened quietly, standing off to one side, since it seemed to be family business. He watched Alfredo, and he noticed that the older man was rubbing his chest and flexing the fingers on his left hand. This was an alarming sign. “Are you having a problem in your chest, Mr. Madariaga?”
“Oh, probably just indigestion.”
“What about your hand?”
Madariaga held up his hand and made a fist. “Oh, it’s nothing. Just a little numbness in my fingers now and then.” He shook his head and said, “Now, don’t start trying to doctor me. I’m all right.”
Damita looked worried. “You really should let Jeff look you over, Papa.”
“Yes, we’ll have to do that sometime.” He turned to go but said, “I’m worried about Yancy. I�
�m going to see if I can find something for him to do.”
As soon as her father left, Damita asked, “What do you think is wrong with Papa?”
“Probably nothing. You know how doctors are. We spend all of our time listening to symptoms. Sometimes we begin to see them when they’re not there.”
Damita knew that Jeff was being evasive. “Tell me the truth. I want to know.”
“Probably nothing, but I wish he would come in and let Debakky examine him. He has some very mild symptoms that could mean a heart problem.”
“Is it dangerous?”
“Oh, I’ve seen men who take care of themselves live many years with heart problems. Most of them even live longer than people without heart conditions, because they take better care of themselves.”
“But not always?”
“Not always. Sometimes they go very suddenly.” He reached out and took Damita’s hand, something he rarely did. “I think you should try to persuade him to come into the office. Debakky has a great deal of experience in this sort of thing, much more than I have.”
“I’ll talk to him, Jeff.”
Damita did not enjoy the ball. She was preoccupied with thoughts of her father and his symptoms. When she saw Yancy Devereaux standing against a wall, drinking out of a crystal glass, she was startled. But she walked over, and when he saw her, he put the glass down and smiled.
“Damita, it’s good to see you.”
“It’s good to see you, too. I didn’t know you were in New Orleans until today. Papa told me he saw you at the cotton exchange.”
“Oh, how the mighty are fallen. Did he tell you about my bad luck?”
“Yes. I’m so sorry.”
“Oh, it doesn’t matter. I’ve got my health, and I’ll be able to recoup.”
Damita saw that Yancy was tired, and despite his words, he was not as optimistic as he tried to sound. She recalled their last meeting and asked abruptly, “Do you ever think of when the ship sank?”
“Certainly! How could I forget that?” He considered her expression, then said, “We nearly died. I still can’t see how we survived. As a matter of fact, I’ve had bad dreams about it.”
Damita eyes grew wide. “I have, too.”
“But we did survive. I’ve never been very religious, but I’ve thanked God many times for saving us.”
“I didn’t behave well to you at all the last time we met, Yancy. I’m sorry.”
“Nothing to be sorry about. It was a tough time.”
Damita had never forgotten how she had offered herself to him—and how he had spurned her. She looked into his eyes and whispered, “I was very foolish. I’ve never stopped being ashamed of—” She could not finish and dropped her eyes.
“Don’t even think about it, Damita. Under stress, we all behave abnormally.” He saw that she was troubled and asked cheerfully, “Would you like to dance?”
“Very much.”
The two whirled out on the floor, and Damita tried, as tactfully as she could, to find out what Yancy’s prospects were. He shrugged off her questions, saying, “I’ll find something. I always do. Maybe I’ll become a Mississippi riverboat gambler. All you need is a fancy vest, lots of hair oil, and the ability to cheat at cards.”
Damita laughed, but then she shook her head, saying, “My father would like to help you.”
“He said so, but I’m a big boy now, Damita.”
She did not speak for a time. Being near him again turned her thoughts to those few days on the ship, and she said, “I’ve thought so often about the McCains. I can’t get them out of my mind.”
“I think about them, too. You know, as long as we remember them, they’re still here, Damita.”
She looked at him with surprise. “What do you mean?”
“I mean that as long as people think about us, and talk about us, we still exist somehow. I remember them so well. I think they were more in love than any couple I’ve ever seen.”
“I know. She told me one day me how much she loved him. She said she was afraid she idolized him, which bothered her a little. That surprised me. I didn’t know a woman could love a man too much.”
He smiled. “I don’t think one can.”
The dance ended, and the pair walked to the refreshment table. Damita asked, “Did you know that Charissa is in New Orleans?”
“No. What’s she doing here?” He listened as she spoke of the change that had taken place in Charissa’s life. “It’s really quite miraculous,” Damita said. “She’s over there, dancing with Lewis Depard.”
Yancy said, “Who’s the tall fellow there? He looks as if he’d like to break her partner’s back.”
“Dr. Jeff Whitman. In a way, he’s responsible for her, I understand. His adopted father was really Charissa’s father. It’s all rather confused.”
The two were watching, and Yancy said, “That looks like trouble, Damita.”
Jeff had approached Lewis Depard and said something to him. Depard’s face was flushed, and clearly a quarrel was brewing.
“Come on. Lewis challenges everybody. I’ll have to try to stop him.”
Yancy followed Damita and saw that, indeed, both men were angry.
“I resent your words, Dr. Whitman, and I must take exception to them.”
“Take whatever exception you want to, Depard, but you are going to be respectful of my sister.”
“Jeff, he didn’t mean anything,” Charissa protested.
“I think he did,” Depard said. He had been drinking. “I’m afraid I will have to ask for satisfaction.”
“No, Lewis, don’t say that!” Damita said. She took his arm. “Come away. It’s all right.”
“No, it’s not all right. I’ve been insulted!”
Charissa said to Jeff, “If you just tell him you’re sorry, that’s all that is necessary.”
“I won’t say any such fool thing. I’m not sorry.”
Both women urged the men to break off the fight. Yancy watched. He had seen Depard in action before. He took pride in his dueling ability, and Yancy knew that he would not be pacified.
“I’ll have my man call on you, Doctor. Even an American can’t refuse a challenge.”
“Send whomever you want!” Jeff was furious.
Depard bowed and walked away stiffly.
“You can’t fight him, Jeff,” Damita said.
“I’ll have to.”
“He’ll kill you,” Charissa said. “He’s already wounded several men.”
Yancy watched as the two women tried to calm the tall man, but it was hopeless. Jefferson Whitman was a stubborn fellow. If he had any sense, he would simply laugh at the man, as I did once.
As if reading his mind, Damita said, “Yancy, tell him how foolish it is.”
“Who is this?” Jeff demanded.
“Oh, I’m sorry. This is Mr. Yancy Devereaux.”
“You’re the man who saved Damita’s life,” Jeff said, relaxing at once.
“I was able to help her, but let me join my voices with these young ladies’. It would be senseless to fight a man like him. He’s not worth it.”
But all the arguments of the three could not turn Jeff from his plan, and he finally said, “Come along, Charissa, I’ll take you home.”
Damita watched him and Charissa walk away. “Yancy, do something! You know about things like this.”
“All right.” Yancy quickly caught up to the pair and said, “Dr. Whitman, it’s customary in duels to have a second. If you have no one else, I’ve had a little experience.”
“That’s generous of you, sir. I know nothing about duels.”
“Then let me take care of all the preliminaries.”
“Thank you very much.”
As Damita approached, Yancy leaned over and said, “Don’t worry. He’ll be all right.”
“How can you promise that?”
“As I said, I’ve had a little experience in things like this.”
Charissa had begged, pleaded, cajoled, but Jeff was adamant.
“I couldn’t let him insult you like that.”
“It wasn’t an insult, Jeff. He’s that way with all the women.”
“Then he needs to learn to have better manners with women.”
“Jeff, I can’t let you do it.”
“I have to.”
“Please! For my sake?” she asked desperately.
Jeff looked at her in surprise. “I couldn’t think of myself as a man if I refused a challenge like this.”
Charissa stared at him and shook her head. “Jeff, you’re being ridiculous.”
“I probably am. Most men are. But I’ll not tolerate his arrogance.”
Damita visited the cotton exchange and found Yancy in his office. He invited her in and closed the door, and she said, “We can’t do a thing with him, Yancy. He’s going to get killed.”
“Damita, I told you: No, he’s not.”
“How can you say that? Haven’t you heard what an expert Lewis is with a sword or a pistol?”
“Yes, I know all about that. I can’t say as I care for all this nonsense, but it’s become a way of life here among you Creoles.”
“I know it, and it’s awful!”
Indeed, New Orleans had produced a band of swaggering hotheads, who went about looking for excuses to fight duels. They had developed provoking fights into a fine art. They spoke constantly of their “honor” and demanded “satisfaction” at every opportunity. Manuals of dueling etiquette had been published, books about how one was to offend or to be offended. Those manuals decreed that a man must deliver insults according to rigid instructions; the insult might be verbal, or it might be just a flick of the glove in the face. Custom also fixed the places for dueling, usually in the outskirts of the city. Duelists and their audiences gathered regularly at a certain grove of trees outside New Orleans to watch the show.
Yancy saw that Damita was still worried, and he asked, “Do you love this man, Damita?”
“I don’t know, Yancy. He’s a good man. A fine doctor.”
“But do you love him?”
“No, I don’t,” she answered, shaking her head. “But I respect him. He’s a gentleman, Yancy, and I don’t want him to die.”
“Listen to me.” He held her by the shoulders. She saw that his face was serious, and a resolved light shone in his eyes. “I’ve offered to be his second. I promise you that nothing will happen. Will you believe that?”
The Creole Historical Romance 4-In-1 Bundle Page 43
