Damita felt the strength of Yancy’s hands. She saw in his face a fierce determination and an honesty that made her whisper, “Yes, if you say so, Yancy, I’ll believe it.”
He smiled and released her and said, “Just leave it to me.”
The October dawn brought chilling winds. Jeff shivered despite his bravado and said to Yancy, “I should have worn a heavier coat. I’m shaking, but it’s not because I’m afraid.”
“Aren’t you?”
“To be truthful, Yancy, I am. I’m scared to death.”
“Remember that the next time. This is foolishness. You can still get out of it by simply offering the man an apology.”
“I won’t do that.”
Yancy sighed. “I knew you wouldn’t. Well, you stay here. I’ll go arrange the pistols. I’m glad it’s pistols instead of swords.”
“Why?”
“It’s much safer. Remember what I told you now: Turn sideways. Gives him less to shoot at.” He marched over and met Lewis’s second, a tall, cadaverous-looking man named French. “I suppose we may place our men.”
“Yes, I think all is well.” He opened up the case he carried and said, “You may choose either one of these.”
“It doesn’t matter. I’d like to load them.”
“Of course,” French said, but his eyes were doubtful. He watched carefully as Devereaux loaded the pistols, putting in the powder, the balls, and the small wads that kept the balls from rolling out. “You have done this before, sir,” French noted.
“More often than I’d like to think about. Is this satisfactory?”
“Yes.”
“I’ll take this one, then, for my man. Are we ready?”
“Yes, I think so.”
Yancy walked back and handed Jeff the pistol. “It’s cocked, ready to fire.”
Jeff nodded as he took the pistol. “What happens now?”
“We’ll meet, and there’ll be talk of a last chance to apologize.”
“I won’t do it,” Jeff said again.
“Of course you won’t. You’re too smart for that. You’d rather die than admit you’re wrong. Come along.”
The two combatants and their seconds met. French said, “An apology would be accepted, sir.”
“You won’t get it!” Jeff said stubbornly.
Lewis smiled. “You would be wise, Doctor. This is not your game.”
“I won’t do it! You were wrong, and I was right to stop you.”
“I suppose we’re ready, then,” Yancy said.
The seconds arranged the men back-to-back, and French said, “Each of you will take ten steps as I count. You will turn and fire as you will. Is that satisfactory, Mr. Devereaux?”
“Perfectly.”
Yancy stepped back alongside French. French’s voice rang out, “Are you ready? Then, one—two—three—”
Yancy watched as the two men paced slowly away from each other. By George, the doctor’s an awkward fellow, but he’s got nerve. I’ll say that for him. For his first time out, he’s holding up well.
“Eight—nine—ten!”
Both men turned, and the shots were instantaneous. Both dropped their arms, and French exclaimed, “Missed! They both missed!”
“That’s all,” Yancy said. He walked forward and motioned the two men together. “Your honor is now satisfied.”
“The doctor may feel that another shot is necessary,” Lewis said.
“I thought you were more acquainted with the dueling code,” Yancy said. “If you want satisfaction, sir, I am here to give it to you, sword or pistol.”
Lewis Depard sucked in his breath, as Yancy suddenly appeared much larger than he remembered. He had never refused and was about to accept when French said, “You are entirely right, Mr. Devereaux. Lewis, be sensible, man! You’re wrong.”
Lewis dropped his eyes. “You’re right. I apologize.”
“Good enough,” Devereaux said. He said to Jeff, “Come along. Let’s get away from here, Doctor.”
As they were walking, Jeff commented, “I understand how I missed, but I thought he was a dead shot.”
“Even dead shots miss sometimes. Try to remember what you learned from this.”
“I will never forget it. I thought I was a dead man.”
At Yancy’s house, Damita was incredulous. “You mean they both shot and both missed?”
“That’s what everybody says.”
“But Lewis never misses.” She stared at Yancy and saw that he was trying not to laugh. “What’s going on?” she demanded. “They could have been killed.”
“No, they couldn’t.”
“What do you mean? Men get killed all the time in these foolish duels.”
“Not when I handle it.”
Damita knew that Devereaux had a sense of humor. “What did you do, Yancy?”
“What did I do? I took some dough, and I rolled it up into little balls about the size that a pistol takes. I cooked them in the oven and then coated them with oil. When I loaded the guns, I palmed the real musket balls, and put toast in. It was a pretty neat piece of work, Damita. Lewis’s second was watching me like a hawk, but I’m a very shifty fellow.”
Damita stared at him, and he broke out laughing. “They shot each other with toast!”
Relief washed through Damita. Without knowing she did it, she reached out and put her hand on his chest. He covered it, she began to smile, and then she began to laugh heartily. “Oh, that’s so funny!”
“You must never tell anybody about this. The fools would try to kill each other again.”
“I won’t. But, Yancy, I didn’t know you were so clever.”
“Oh, I’m a slippery man. One time back in Shreveport—” At that moment a servant entered the room and said, “There’s a man to see you, Miss Madariaga.” She turned and saw Charles Devere, her family’s butler, come in, his face stiff and pale.
“What is it, Charles?” she said.
“It’s your father. He’s ill. You must come home at once.”
“What is it?”
“I think it’s his heart.”
“Is the doctor there?”
“I went for Dr. Debakky and Dr. Whitman. They should be there by now.”
Damita started to follow Charles out of the room, but at the last minute, she turned and said, “Thank you for helping, Yancy.”
“I hope your father’s all right.”
“Thank you,” she whispered, but her eyes were filled with terror.
Chapter sixteen
As soon as Damita stepped inside the house, she met her mother. She was weeping.
“What happened, Mama?”
“Oh, Damita, he just gasped and fell over. I’m so afraid.”
“Where are the doctors?”
“They are both with him. They’ll be out in a few minutes.”
“Come and sit down, Mama.” Damita led her into the parlor and sat beside her on the sofa.
“He had just come in from the city,” Elena said, her voice quavering. “We were in the drawing room, talking about repairs for the house, and he seemed perfectly normal. Suddenly, he grabbed his chest. He had the most awful look on his face, Damita. It was as if someone had shot him! He fell, and I could tell he was in terrible pain.”
“Did he say anything?”
“He whispered to get the doctor, so we put him in bed, and then I sent Charles.”
“But have the doctors said anything? Have they been out?”
“Dr. Whitman said that it looked very serious, but he said there was always hope. Oh, Damita, what would we do without your father?”
Damita suddenly realized the enormity of what was happening. She knew her father was not the wisest of men, but he was always available when she had any needs. He loved his family better than anything on earth. A great emptiness filled her, and the fear tasted like brass in her mouth.
The two tried to comfort each other while they waited for word from the doctors. When they heard the sound of a door closing, they s
tood up. Jeff Whitman and Elmo Debakky appeared.
“Doctor, what is it? Is he all right?” Elena asked.
Debakky spoke for the two of them. His face was very serious. “I’m afraid we must prepare ourselves for the worst, Señora Madariaga.”
“Oh, no, don’t say that! There’s got to be something you can do!”
“In cases like this, we doctors are almost helpless,” Debakky said. “Dr. Whitman tells me he’s had symptoms recently.”
“Yes, he complained about his chest and numbness, but he wouldn’t see a doctor. You remember, Dr. Whitman.”
“Yes, I do. I wish he had come, but even that might not have helped. We just don’t know.”
Jeff was watching Damita and saw how pale her face was, and suddenly she began to collapse. “Damita!” He helped her over to the couch, and she sat down. “Just lower your head,” he said.
In a minute, Damita straightened up, and her face showed a little more color. “Can I see him, Jeff?”
“It will do no harm. As a matter of fact, I think it would be wise if both of you went to see him.” He looked at Debakky, who nodded.
Damita and her mother entered the room where Alfredo lay. The two doctors stood silently at the doorway. Elena went to one side of the bed and Damita to the other. Damita could hardly speak for the tightness in her throat. Her father was lying absolutely still, his hands crossed over his chest. His face was rigid and pale. She thought for one awful moment that he was dead, but then his eyelids fluttered, and she cried, “Papa! Can you hear me?”
The answer was very faint. “Yes, daughter.”
Elena took his hand. “You must be quiet. You are very ill, Alfredo.”
From where he stood, Jeff could see Damita’s face. He had seen it often express joy and excitement, but now he saw only grief. Poor girl. She’s never had any real problems, and now she’s going to have to learn to cope without her father. He glanced at Debakky and shook his head.
Damita leaned close to her father as he began to whisper, “I regret not—”
“What is it, Papa? Don’t worry about anything. You’ll be all right.”
Alfredo knew better. There was terror in his eyes, and both Elena and Damita could see it. “Don’t worry, Papa. You’ll get well.”
“No, I’m dying. I wish I had served God better than I did.”
“You’ve been such a good man. Always good to us,” Elena whispered.
“But I have not served God as I should.”
The dying man’s voice grew weaker. He took Damita’s hand and said to his wife and daughter, “Serve God.”
The two sobbed. With his last bit of strength, Alfredo Madariaga said, “Elena, I have loved you.” She leaned over and kissed him, and then he turned his eyes on Damita. “Daughter,” he said, “take care of your mother. She needs you.”
Jeff wanted to speak up and pray for the man, but it was too late. He saw a sudden stiffness, and Alfredo’s body arched, then relaxed in a terrible and sudden looseness.
“Papa, don’t die! Don’t leave us!” Damita cried, falling over the body.
Debakky took Elena by the arm and whispered, “He’s gone, my dear Señora Madariaga.”
Jeff pulled the young girl from the bed. “Come, Damita,” he whispered. “There’s nothing more you can do for him.”
Damita turned to him blindly and threw herself against him. He put his arms around her protectively. “Oh, Jeff,” she wept, “we’ve lost him!”
Jeff Whitman could say nothing.
Her father’s death struck Damita harder than she could have imagined. As a matter of fact, she had never given a thought to the death of a member of her family. And when it came, it brought her to a state of nervousness and loss she was powerless to fight.
On a cloudy Thursday afternoon, she went to visit her father’s tomb. She wore a black cloak with a bonnet covered with black crepe. As she passed through the tombs, she was aware that other mourners had come to visit loved ones’ graves. Many of the burial sites were graced with funerary ornaments, some of them flower emblems fashioned of wire, beads, and glass, which were called immortelles.
When Damita reached the grave, she began to arrange the immortelles on the tomb, which was already ornately decorated. Then she leaned against the tomb and pressed her face to the cool marble. She was given easily to tears since the loss of her father, and now she wiped them away and whispered, “Oh, Papa, why did you leave us?” She finally rose and left. The immortelles that adorned the tomb of Alfredo Madariaga caught the late afternoon sun and made a gay appearance, in stark contrast to the tombstones surrounding it.
“Damita, Mr. Pennington is here.”
Damita looked up from where she sat in the parlor. She had been reading, and her mother had entered abruptly. “Mr. Pennington? Who’s he?”
“The man from the bank.”
“Oh, yes, I remember.” Damita stood. “What does he want, Mama?”
“I don’t know, but we’ll have to talk to him.”
“All right. Where is he?”
“In your father’s study.”
The women left the drawing room and walked down the hall. When they entered the study, Mr. Pennington rose quickly to greet them. Both women nodded and noticed that he seemed rather nervous. “Won’t you sit down, Mr. Pennington?” Elena said.
“Thank you, Señora. I believe I will.” Pennington took his seat and cleared his throat.
As she looked at him, Damita remembered that she had seen him when she had gone with her father to the bank. She also remembered that he had come to the house one time, but she didn’t know why. His obvious apprehension made her ask, “Is there something wrong, Mr. Pennington?”
“I’m afraid there is,” Pennington answered. He seemed to struggle to find words.
“What is it, sir? You seem troubled,” Elena asked.
“This is a most distressing errand for me, ladies. Your father and I did business together for many years, and I know that he never burdened you with financial matters.”
“No, he didn’t. He took care of those himself,” Elena said.
Pennington shook his shoulders slightly, then straightened up. He opened a large case he had brought with him. “I’ve brought here quite a few papers. They’re complicated, and I think you might do well to turn all this over to your attorney.”
“What are those papers, Mr. Pennington?” Damita asked.
“These are records of your family’s dealings with our bank. I’m sorry to tell you that they are in very poor condition. Your business affairs, that is.”
Something seemed to close around Damita’s heart then, and she saw that her mother was worried also. “Father mentioned more than once the loans that he had from the bank, but we’ve tried to help by cutting back on expenses. You remember that we sold off some of the slaves.”
“Yes, I have that record here, but I’m afraid that the situation has grown even more critical.”
Elena swallowed hard. “Can you explain it in simple terms, Mr. Pennington?”
Pennington ran his hand over the leather case that held the papers. Looking down, he said, “I’m afraid you are facing bankruptcy.”
“Bankruptcy!” both women exclaimed. “Surely not!” Elena said.
“I’m afraid so. The papers are all here, and as I say, I think you should have your lawyer examine them. I’ve gone over them myself, Señora Madariaga. I realize this is a terrible time to tell you this, but even if your husband had lived, this meeting would have taken place.”
“What does it all mean?” Damita asked in a whisper.
Pennington shook his head. “Your attorney will go over the figures, and he will tell you that this town house and the plantation will have to be sold.”
“No, that can’t be possible!” Damita cried. “Surely some arrangement can be made.”
“I’ve explored every alternative, Miss Madariaga. Your father was an honest man and a good man, and I’ve done the best I could for him. As a matte
r of fact, for years I’ve tried to get him to further economize, but he was hopeful that cotton prices would rise again. Unfortunately, the price of cotton has plummeted and stayed low, and all of these notes, some of them ten years old, are now due. You understand, it’s not my decision. My board instructs me.”
Elena cried, “But where will we live? What will we live on?”
“I will work with your attorney to try to realize enough money from the sale to set up a fund. It will be very small, but at least it will be something—enough for you to rent a small place and cover the necessities.”
Pennington saw that both women were devastated. “I’m so sorry,” he said. “I will leave these papers with you. Contact your attorney and have him come to the bank, and we will do the best we can for you. I’m so very sorry.” Pennington picked up his hat from a chair and hurried out.
Damita looked at her mother and saw that she was helpless. Her mother had always been totally unaware of anything related to business, but then, so had Damita. Elena was trembling, and Damita put her arms around her and said, “Don’t worry, Mother.”
“But, Damita, what will we do?”
Damita said as strongly as she could, “We will find some way to save the plantation. There must be a way, and you and I will find it.”
The young doctor stirred the food on his plate but didn’t eat it. Charissa startled him when she asked, “What’s wrong with you, Jeff?”
Looking up from across the table, he saw that both Charissa and Elmo were watching him. “I guess I’m off my feed a little.”
“You have been for weeks now,” Elmo said. “Is it physical?”
“Oh, no, I’m healthy as a horse.”
Charissa exchanged glances with Elmo, and she said, “Both of us have been worried about you.”
Jefferson Whitman was not a man who shared his problems easily, but he put his fork down and shoved his plate back. “I’m worried about the Madariagas,” he said.
“What’s their position?” Elmo asked. “I’ve heard that they are financially strapped.”
“It’s worse than that, Elmo. They’re destitute.”
“I can’t understand that,” Charissa marveled. “I always thought they were rich.”
The Creole Historical Romance 4-In-1 Bundle Page 44
