“Why, of course. You could have gotten killed—I don’t care what you say.”
“But you were really afraid for me. I find that hard to believe.”
“Why should you?”
“Why, we have done little but fight since we met.”
“I know. But I owe you so much. You saved my life once, and now you’ve saved my home and my family.” She turned to face him fully. “You’ll never know how much gratitude I have for you.”
He said, “We’re good friends, then?”
“Yes,” she said, smiling. “Very good friends.”
“Don’t you think good friends should express their feelings in a more tangible way? Something more than just words.”
Damita felt the fear and the tension leaving her. She decided to play along with Yancy’s unpredictable sense of humor. “What did you have in mind, sir?”
“Something like this.” Yancy put his arms around her and drew her close. Then he bent his head and kissed her.
Damita returned his kiss. His lips were firm on hers, and his arms pulled her near him with strength. Something timeless brushed them both at that moment, and it somehow frightened Damita. Yet she held the kiss longer than she had intended.
He broke away first and said huskily, “You are all woman, Damita!”
“You make me afraid, Yancy.”
“Afraid of me? You shouldn’t be. You should know that by now.”
“I don’t trust—” She could not finish.
“You don’t trust me, Damita?”
She laughed, reached up, and put her hand on his cheek. “No, I don’t trust myself. Take me home, Yancy.”
He laughed then and turned, speaking to the horses. “Get up, boys. This lady doesn’t trust herself.”
The horses picked up the pace, and Damita sat so close beside Yancy that she could feel the warmth of his body, and from time to time she stole a glance at him. She had never known a man like this. As they moved along under the bright moon, she could not help but wonder how she would handle him in the days to come.
Chapter twenty-two
As Damita Madariaga walked along the path that led from the back of the house to the line of cabins, she was carrying a heavy tray covered by a white cloth, and her arms ached from the weight of it. For some reason she thought of a passage in the Bible about Moses, who held up his hands until they grew weary, and then Aaron had to support them. Wish I had him here to help me, she thought grimly. I’m going to drop this.
The cabins were built in a double line, facing each other, and in the center a woman was boiling clothes in a huge iron pot, poking them with a stick. Damita said as she hurried by, “Hello, Matilda.”
“Hello, Miss. Kin I hep you with that?”
“No, thanks. It’s food for Hetty’s family. Is she any better?”
“No, ma’am, not that I kin tell. But I’m watchin’ her, and I keep checkin’ on the kids.”
Stopping in front of the last whitewashed cabin, Damita stepped through the open door. The window at the side threw a beam of pale sunlight across the floor and on the bed, where a woman lay. Damita put the tray down and glanced at Hetty’s three children, sitting on the floor and watching her with big eyes. The youngest was no more than a year and a half old. “Hello,” she said. “How are you today?” She got no answer, but then, the children rarely spoke to her. She turned and greeted Hetty. “Are you feeling any better?”
“Yes, ma’am, I believe I am.”
“I brought you something for supper tonight. I brought some extra, too, so it should be enough for tomorrow’s meals.”
“Miss Damita, you is powerful good to take care of us like this.”
“I just want to see you get well, Hetty. Can I do anything else for you?”
“We hain’t got no water, ma’am. I’d get it myself, but I’s powerful feeble.”
“I’ll take care of that.”
Damita picked up the bucket, walked down the pathway to where a well with a stone curbing served the slave population, and filled the bucket. Once back inside the cabin, she filled the pitcher and then left the rest in the bucket on the table. “There you are, Hetty.” She stood over the woman. “I’ll come back to check on you tomorrow.”
“Thank you kindly, Miss.”
Outside the cabin, Damita blinked at the fading sunlight. The sun was sinking like a huge ball in the west, and for one moment she watched it, then turned and walked back down toward the house.
As she crossed the grounds, she heard the familiar noises of the plantation. She recognized the sound of an ax biting into a tree, and to her right, men’s voices shouted from an open field. She could not make out the words, but she saw one of the slaves plowing in the field calling out to another one.
The life of the plantation had come to mean a great deal to her since she had thrown herself into its operation. She thought of Hetty and felt a pang. I never would have even known Hetty was sick before. I wouldn’t have bothered to learn her name. The only slaves I knew were those who served in the house. Now, I know the names of every one of them and most of their problems, too.
She walked around the huge chestnut tree that sheltered a group of chickens, which clucked and fluttered at her approach. Damita considered how different life had been since Yancy had come. She no longer took everything for granted. Always before, when meals were put on the table, she never thought about where the eggs came from. Now she took a sense of pride in them; she often gathered them herself, and sometimes she even helped in the kitchen when Ernestine, the rotund cook, taught her the secrets and fine art of cooking.
She entered by the back door and paused for a moment, wondering what they would have for supper. She had made herself responsible for the menu, and she and Ernestine worked on it together. Her mother was not much help with this. She seemed to know nothing about domestic things. But she liked to suggest different meals.
Damita had started down the hall to find her, when Elena approached and said, “Mr. Depard is here, daughter.”
“Where is he, Mother?”
“He’s in the small parlor. He’s been telling me about his journey to Europe.”
When Damita stepped into the parlor, Lewis Depard was sitting on an old wooden chair, looking at a month-old newspaper. He stood and tossed the newspaper aside. “Oh, there you are, Damita.”
“Hello, Lewis. Have you been waiting long?”
“Not long.”
“I had to take some food to one of the slaves. She’s had some kind of sickness.”
Lewis Depard’s face changed slightly. “Do you have to do things like that?”
“I do now. Sit down, Lewis.”
Lewis took his seat and said, “It doesn’t seem right for you to have to work the way you do.”
“It hasn’t hurt me at all. As a matter of fact, I don’t mind it now. I did at first.” She saw that the idea was completely foreign to Lewis. He had never done a day’s work in his life, she supposed, and the idea of personally seeing to a sick slave was beyond his comprehension.
“Hetty’s a good woman and a hard worker, but she’s not able to take care of herself right now,” Damita explained. “Her husband is Big Jake. They have three children. I can never keep their names straight. One of them, I know, is Henry. Another is Mason, and one is Jeb.” She shook her head. “I was talking to Hetty yesterday. I’d never really talked to a slave before about anything personal. She told me how afraid she was that my father would match her with some man she hated. She had always favored Big Jake, and she was so happy when Papa put them together. I started thinking about how little they have in their lives, these slaves. Not much good.”
“I suppose that’s true.”
Damita saw that Lewis was hardly listening to a word. He was usually cheerful and smiling, but today he wore a sober expression. “Why do you look so serious, Lewis?”
“I’ve been doing a lot of thinking, Damita, and I’ve come to ask you to marry me.”
“Marry you! W
hy, Lewis, I’m surprised.”
“Why should you be?” he asked, eyebrows raised. “You know I’ve always intended to ask you.”
“You’ve pursued so many young women. I think sometimes you planned to romance the eligible young women in New Orleans in alphabetical order. You just worked down to me as a matter of course.”
Lewis walked over to the sofa and sat beside her. He took her hand and said, “Don’t be foolish, Damita. You think I have no feelings at all?”
For some reason, Damita could not take him seriously. “I think you have too many feelings, Lewis.”
Lewis reached over, pulled her to him, and kissed her. “I want us to get married. It’s time for me to settle down, and you don’t need to be doing all this work. We can live here, if you please. I’ll take over all the debts.”
Damita pulled away from his grasp. “Yancy’s doing well. We’ll be out of debt next year.”
Lewis frowned. “I know he’s a good manager. Maybe we could keep him on.”
“But I don’t love you, Lewis.”
Lewis paused. “You’re not still interested in that Whitman fellow, are you?”
Damita realized at that instant that Lewis Depard was really a shallow, selfish individual, despite his good looks and his money. He reminds me a whole lot of myself, she thought, as I used to be.
“Lewis, I want us always to be friends, but please don’t speak of this again.”
Lewis sat silent and bewildered. He could not believe she was rejecting him. He had come as a matter of form, thinking all he had to do was say the words, but now his pride was hurt. “Well,” he said, getting up, “I think you’ll change your mind.”
“I won’t change my mind. Please don’t mention this again.”
“All right,” Lewis said, his face flushed. “I won’t. Good-bye, Damita.”
“Good-bye, Lewis. Thank you for the honor you’ve done me.”
Lewis stared at her, then whirled and walked out of the parlor. Damita heard the door slam and went to the window to watch him go. He mounted his big stallion, struck him with a whip, and shot off at full-speed.
“There goes my big chance,” Damita said, feeling more amused than anything else. “Go on, Lewis. Chase all the other young women—but leave me alone.” She turned to leave, but Elena entered. “Lewis left?”
“Yes.”
“Why didn’t he stay for supper?”
“I guess he wasn’t hungry, Mama.” Then she gave her mother a slight smile. “He came to ask me to marry him.”
Elena straightened up with astonishment. “He did! That’s fine!”
“It’s fine because I’m not having him.”
Elena Madariaga was not adapted to the hard way of life that her family now had to endure. Her brow wrinkled, and she said hurriedly, “Damita, you must think about that. Why, he could give you everything.”
“No, he couldn’t, Mama.”
“Certainly he could! He has enough money to buy a place in town and to make this place pay.”
“That’s not everything, Mama.”
Elena studied her daughter’s eyes, then shook her head. “You’ve always had a romantic streak in you, but I’m worried about the future.”
“We’ll be all right. Yancy will see us through.”
Elena sat down. This had come as a blow to her.
“It’ll be all right, Mama,” Damita said and sat down beside her. She put her arm around her mother and hugged her. “Yancy won’t let us down.”
Elena tried to smile. “I always thought you were more interested in Dr. Whitman, but he hasn’t been out for a while. Have you quarreled with him?”
“No, but I expect he’s very busy. The yellow fever’s spread again in New Orleans.”
“Mercy, I hope it doesn’t get out here. That’s one blessing of living outside of the city. We’re safe in the country.”
“I don’t think that’s exactly true. The Wilsons’ cook is down with what they think is yellow fever. They’re only three miles from here.”
“Don’t talk like that! I can’t bear to think about that awful sickness.”
“All right. I’ve got to go see about getting supper started. What would you like, Mama? Ernestine will teach me how to fix it for you.”
“I’m so tired, you could scrape it off with a stick,” Elmo Debakky moaned. He and Jeff Whitman had entered the house and now stood inside the foyer. They had both been working long hours to care for the yellow fever victims. The number of dead had risen throughout May, and it was still rising. Both of the men were depressed; they had lost fifty-nine patients that week. “There’s starting to be a panic over this epidemic,” Jeff said wearily. “People are leaving the city as fast as they can. I suppose they’re wise.”
Indeed, the population of New Orleans was leaving by the hundreds, on cart, wagon, horseback—any way they could flee. The very poor had to walk, leading their children by the hands and carrying what they could in their free arms. The streets were strangely quiet, for the cake sellers, the knife sharpeners, the fish peddlers stayed at home, frightened or sick. Slowly, the business of New Orleans was grinding to a halt, and even the bars, which were usually full to capacity at this time of the year, were deserted.
The two men filed into the kitchen, where Rose met them. “I fixed you something to eat,” she said.
“I’m not hungry,” Jeff said.
“Sit down and eat,” Debakky said firmly. “You have to keep your strength up.”
Jeff sat with Debakky and ate, but his thoughts were focused on how insidious the yellow fever was. It came on so gradually: just a little headache or just a slight chill. Then the body temperature began to rise, and very soon a fever struck. The patient’s eyes grew bloodshot, and he suffered tremendous thirst. Often a victim experienced a false recovery, followed by an even worse bout with the sickness. The victim’s face grew dark, blood oozed from his lips, gums, and nose, and he vomited a dark substance: the “black vomit” that was proof of the disease.
Rose hovered over the two men, urging them to eat more. “What can you do for these poor people?” she asked.
Debakky shook his head and said, “People are trying all sorts of crazy remedies. Some of them drink lime water.”
“That’s right. Some have even swallowed sulfur, and others put onions in their shoes,” Jeff murmured. “All useless, of course.”
“I’ve heard that some are being bled. Does that help any?”
“Of course not!” Debakky exclaimed. “It makes it worse.”
Jeff said, “I suppose Charissa has gone to bed.”
“Why, no, she hasn’t come home yet.”
Both men looked at Rose, surprised. “Hasn’t come home?” Jeff repeated. “She left the hospital at four o’clock. I made her go home to take a rest.”
“Why, I haven’t seen her, Dr. Whitman.”
“I suspect she’s gone to help at the church,” Jeff said heavily. “Quite a few of our members are down with this thing.”
“She can’t go on like this,” Rose said. “She’s a strong young woman, but she’s pushing herself too hard.”
Jeff did not even hear Rose. He sipped his tea, lost in his thoughts, then noticed Debakky rising to go to his room. Jeff bid him good night, stood, and walked into the parlor. He sat down in a plush leather chair and leaned his head back, weariness and ache in his bones. He didn’t intend to, but he dropped off to sleep.
He awakened with a start. He realized someone was coming through the front door. Scrambling to the foyer, he met Charissa. “Where have you been?”
“I stopped by the church, and Pastor Harris told me about the Johnson family. They’re all down and have no one to help. I felt I should go.”
“Is it yellow fever?”
“I’m afraid so—one of the children and Mrs. Johnson. Poor Mr. Johnson, he’s worried sick.”
Jeff listened as she described the situation and said, “I’ll go by tomorrow and see what I can do. Come along. I’ll bet
you haven’t eaten a bite.”
“No, I meant to stop, but I didn’t have time.”
“Rose has gone to bed, but I’ll scare up something.” He took her arm, and they walked down the hall together. “You sit down there,” he said when they entered the kitchen. He began to rattle around, gathering pots and pans, and Charissa smiled at him. The fine doctor was helpless in the kitchen, but he wanted to do it.
Once he had concocted a meal, he brought it to Charissa, sitting down across from her. She looked depleted, and he shook his head. “This is terrible, Charissa.”
“We’ll make it, Jefferson.”
For a time he was silent, and when he spoke, his words surprised her. “I think I made a mistake in coming to New Orleans. We should have stayed in St. Louis.”
“Why, are you unhappy here?”
Jeff shifted uneasily and ran his fingers through his thick hair. “I guess unsettled is a better word. Do you like it here, Charissa?”
“Not really. I always liked it better in St. Louis.”
“I’ll tell you what,” he said, and his eyes brightened. “When this epidemic quiets down, let’s go on a vacation.”
“A vacation! Where?”
“How about England? I’ve never been there, and I’ve always wanted to go.”
Charissa was astonished. He had been so caught up in his pursuit of Damita that he never thought about things such as vacations or traveling. But now he was plainly discouraged, and she felt compassion for him. At the same time, she felt a spark of hope. If he got away from Damita, perhaps he could think clearly. She’d make the worst wife in the world for him, but he can’t see that.
“That would be very nice.”
Jeff smiled. “Good! We’ll talk about it later. Now, you go to bed. You’re exhausted.”
Two days later, Charissa returned early from the hospital. Rose met her at the door and said, “We have a visitor. It’s Miss Madariaga. She’s here to see Dr. Whitman.”
“Did you tell her that he wouldn’t be back tonight?”
“No, I didn’t. I didn’t know it.”
“Thank you, Rose. I’ll talk to her.”
As soon as she entered the parlor, Charissa saw Damita sitting stiffly on the sofa. Something was wrong, Charissa knew, and when Damita rose, she asked, “What’s happened?”
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