The noise from the inn downstairs rose up to the third floor and seemed to fill the room. There were shouts, curses, laughter, and music of a sort. Leonie could even hear the words of some of the coarse songs. She had bathed as well as she could and gotten into bed, but not before she had knelt beside her bed and asked God to protect her.
As she lay there, suddenly the bed bounced as Louis leaped upon it in the light way that cats had. She nuzzled up against his purring, and soon she could feel the heat from his body. It was nice to have a warm cat on cold winter nights, but the little room was stifling in the summer heat with only the window for fresh air. Nevertheless, Leonie was glad to have Louis close at hand. She reached over and stroked his silky fur, and he purred loudly and kneaded the blanket with his claws, occasionally touching her skin.
“That hurts, Louis. Be easy,” she whispered. She closed her eyes and tried not to listen to the noise from downstairs. Finally when Louis dropped off to sleep with a steady purr, she found herself exhausted. She dreaded to waking the next day, for she knew that this life was not going to be pleasant. When she drifted off, she prayed a final prayer to God that He would watch over her and keep her safe from all harm.
Chapter four
A sense of despair gripped Leonie as she straightened up with a grimace, putting her hands on the small of her back. She arched her body backwards and felt her stiff muscles protest. She was exhausted, as she was every day, for the work at the inn had been far worse than anything she could have imagined. She worked from dawn to dark cleaning, washing soiled bedding, emptying the chamber pots, scrubbing the greasy dishes, and helping Gemma, the cook, prepare the meals.
As she walked downstairs, the morning light barely penetrated the grimy windows, and Leonie stared at them doggedly. She had been commanded to wash them all, every window in the inn, that day. First she had to scrub the floor in one of the guests’ rooms.
Slowly she got her bucket, wash water, soap, and a rag and began to scrub the floor, which was filthy as usual. She sometimes wondered if human beings or pigs kept the rooms there; no one ever made the slightest attempt to keep his or her room clean. Evidently the man who lived in this room was worse than usual. The floor was littered with cigar butts, beer that had soaked into the ragged carpet, and every sort of smelly garbage imaginable.
With a sigh Leonie remembered the convent and how clean and neat everything had been. It was the only life she had known, and the relentless grime of the inn was a continual drag upon her spirit.
Wearily she scrubbed the floor and for that one moment wished desperately that she was back in the convent. Involuntarily a prayer rose deep in her breast, and although she did not speak it, it was an effectual cry: “Oh, God, help me to survive this nasty, dirty place!”
“Stop your lagging there, girl!”
Madam Millard had suddenly appeared in the doorway, her eyes angry and her lips drawn tight. “You’re going to have to work harder. Do you hear me?”
“Yes, Madam, I hear you.”
“Mind what I say then. Hurry up with that room. I want you to go down and help muck out the stable.”
Before she could think, Leonie responded, “Why, that’s not a maid’s job!”
Madam Millard seemed to explode with fury. Her eyes seemed to be flickering points of fire. “What did you say?” she screamed. “Don’t you talk back to me! You’ll do anything I tell you to!” She advanced quickly and stood over Leonie, who had not risen from her knees. Profanity and anger mingled in her screams, and she drew her hand back suddenly and struck Leonie. The blow caught her on the cheek, and Leonie nearly fell prostrate from the force of it. “You’ll get some more of that if you don’t do what I tell you. Now hurry up!”
Leonie was a meek young woman, milder by far than most, but the blow did something to her. An overwhelming desire to get away from the place seemed to mushroom inside her breast. She got to her feet slowly and stared at the doorway from which Madam Millard had disappeared. Anger was such a rare thing with her, but the place had become intolerable. It was not only Madam’s cruelty—Gaspar Millard’s constant pursuit was even worse. He was always finding some way to put his hands on her, and Gemma’s warning had proved true. Once he had trapped her in her room when Madam was gone to market, and Leonie had barely managed to squeeze by and flee downstairs to the kitchen.
Now tears formed in Leonie’s eyes, and she returned to scrubbing the floor. She had nowhere to go except the convent, and she knew that there was really no place for her there.
She had almost finished the room when suddenly a shadow fell across her, and she turned to see a tall, bulky man standing there framed in the doorway. Startled, she said, “I’m through with the room, sir.”
“Why, don’t be in a hurry.” The speaker was a blunt-faced individual with twisted lower lips as if he had tasted something sour. There was an unhealthy look about him, and he advanced toward Leonie, saying, “You don’t have to worry about the room, a pretty little thing like you.”
Instantly Leonie was on her guard. The male guests at the White Horse Inn took it for granted that a young female servant was there for their convenience. She dropped the rag and attempted to move around him, but he grabbed her arm with his hand and put his other around her shoulder.
“Please, sir, let me go.”
“Not a chance.”
Leonie wrenched her arm away, and the unexpected suddenness of it caught him off guard. The man moved quickly enough, however, and put himself in the doorway. “You can’t run anywhere,” he said, smiling dreadfully. “Come on now. Be nice to a chap, can’t you?”
Leonie wished desperately that she had kept the knife that Gemma tried to get her to carry, but she hadn’t. There was no weapon available, though her eyes searched frantically around the room. The big man stepped forward, and as he did, Leonie took the only thing close at hand: the full chamber. With one swift move she bent over, picked up the chamber pot, and without even thinking, dashed the contents of it into the face of the big man.
He let out a wild scream, clawing at his face, and as he did, Leonie ran out of the room. She ran lightly, hearing his cursing and knowing that it meant trouble for her.
The trouble came in the form of Madam Millard’s visiting her in the attic and screaming as usual. “What do you mean, soiling a guest like that?”
“He was trying to put his hands on me. I was afraid of him.”
“Well, you’ve done it now. He left, and I can’t say as I blame him. But you’re not as good as you make out to be!” Madam Millard screamed and cried and shouted, and all Leonie could do was stand and listen.
“Let me tell you this. He’s left his room, a good lodger. Paid every week. And the cost of his room comes out of your wages until we get another lodger.”
Suddenly Leonie knew she could not stand the place any longer. “I won’t stay if you do that.”
Madam Millard stared at the girl in disbelief. She was accustomed to being obeyed—she ruled by fear. “You’ll do whatever I say!”
“No, I won’t! It wasn’t my fault.”
“What’s going on here?”
Gaspar Millard had come up the stairs and was staring at the two women. “What are you shouting about, my dear?” He listened while she told him the story, and he said, “Well, after all, it wasn’t so bad.”
“Not for you. You’d do anything to get a young girl to stay here, but she’s not staying,” Madam hissed in a sudden reversal. “I’ve had enough of your ways!” she shouted at Leonie. “Get your things and get out of this place now!”
“Now, my dear, don’t be hasty.”
But Madam Millard was out of control. She fumbled in the pocket of her apron, pulled out some bills and peeled off a few and threw them on the floor. “There’s your pay! Be out of this place in ten minutes!”
Gaspar Millard gave his wife a desperate glance. “But my dear, who will do the work?”
“You’ll do it until you find somebody else!” Turning back t
o Leonie she shouted, “Now you leave!”
The two left, and Leonie, who was trembling so badly she could barely stand, knew that there was no choice. Quickly she dragged her chest out and began throwing her belongings in it. It did not take long, and she closed it and then pulled the basket out and went at once to Louis, who was lying on her bed, alarm showing in his round, golden eyes. “Come on, Louis, we’ve got to go.”
Louis was agreeable enough. He was almost limp as she put him in the basket, and she was glad he didn’t protest. Putting on her cloak and bonnet, Leonie went down the stairs. From the back of the inn she could hear Madam Millard screaming and her husband trying to talk and failing.
Stepping outside, she looked desperately down the street. A cab pulled by a large, gray horse was coming down the street, and she shouted, “Please, can you help me?”
The driver, a small man in his late sixties with bright blue eyes, pulled the horse up at once. Snatching his hat off, he said, “Why, of course I can, miss.” He was bald as an egg, but he had almost as much facial growth as he would have had on his head. His mustache was fierce, and he tugged at it proudly, saying, “Where can I take you?”
“Please, could you get my chest? It’s upstairs in the inn there.”
“You just show me, Miss.”
Five minutes later, after the cab driver had gone upstairs and brought the case down and placed it in the back of his vehicle, he turned and looked at her. He was birdlike in his motions, and his eyes were avian, too, sharp and moving quickly. “Where can I take you?”
At that moment Leonie realized she had absolutely no idea where she might go. “I don’t know,” she said.
“You don’t know? That’s strange. I’ve got to take you someplace.”
“I’ve got to find a place to stay, and I’ve got to find a job.”
“Well, that’s two pretty tall orders. Which shall we do first?”
Leonie was weak. The scene had unnerved her, and the cab driver saw her distress. “Look, you get in,” he said, “and we’ll just get away from here. Then we’ll talk about it, all right?”
“Yes. Let’s do that.”
The cab driver helped her in and asked, “What’s in the basket?”
“My cat.”
“Oh, I like cats myself. By the way, my name’s Jean Larue.”
“I’m glad to know you, Mr. Larue. My name is Leonie.”
Larue jumped into the seat with a sprightly motion and said, “Get up, Caesar,” and the horse began ambling down the street. He drove for a block before he said, “What kind of job would you be lookin’ for now?”
“I was a serving woman at the inn.”
Larue turned back to stare at her. “A serving woman, is it? Well, that was pretty rough. The White Horse Inn ain’t no place for young ladies, I’d say.”
“It was terrible.”
“What about your family?”
“I—I don’t have any family, Mr. Larue.”
“Oh, I’m old enough to be your grandfather. You can call me Jean. Everybody does. No family at all?”
“No. None at all.”
“What about friends then?”
Suddenly the words came pouring out of Leonie. She found herself telling Jean all about her life, how she had never done anything but live at the convent and how cruel her life had been at the White Horse Inn. “I just couldn’t stand it anymore, Jean.”
“I should think not. Well,” he said, “the good Lord has a place for you. He feeds the sparrows, don’t He? And we’re worth more than sparrows. That’s what the Good Book said.”
“The Good Book? Which Book is that?”
“Why, the Bible, Miss!”
“Oh yes, it does say that!”
“Well, you believe the Bible, don’t you?”
“Yes, indeed!”
“I’d think so.” Jean Larue nodded vigorously. “Now, why don’t we just ask the Lord to open up a door for you?”
Leonie stared at the small man, not understanding his meaning. “You mean—pray right now?”
“You got a need right now, don’t you?”
“Well, yes, but . . .” All of Leonie’s praying had been one of two kinds: either a formal prayer she memorized and spoke by rote in public or the prayers in which she bared her heart to the Lord, which she always said in the privacy of her room. The idea of praying for a specific thing in the presence of another person was uncomfortable to her. “I don’t know how to pray like that.”
“Don’t know how? Let me teach you.” Larue looked up into heaven as if he expected to see the Lord leaning over one of the black iron balconies that lined the houses. “Lord,” he said, “this young woman has a need. She needs a job and a place to stay. Now, Lord, You know that I don’t know anything about either one of those, but You know all about both of them. So I’m asking You right now to do what You promise. Give this young woman a place to work and a place to stay, and I’m asking it in the name of Jesus because, Lord, I know You can’t refuse a prayer in that name. Amen.”
Jean turned to her and broke into a smile. “There. That’s done now.”
Leonie was a bit dazed. It was so foreign to her experience that she could not speak for a moment. Finally she said, “Thank you, Jean.”
“Now I know what you’re thinkin’.”
“How could you know that?”
Larue tapped his head and grinned at her broadly. “I’m not a mind reader, but it’s what we all think when we’ve asked God for something. As soon as we ask it, the devil comes and says, ‘Well, you don’t think you’ll get it, do you?’”
Leonie had to smile, for that had been her exact thought. “I believe you are a mind reader,” she said.
“No, not a bit of it, but you just begin to tell me now a little bit more about yourself.”
Leonie was at a loss but feeling desperate. She spoke briefly about the kind of work she had done, then said, “Really, aside from that the only thing I can do well is sew.”
“Ah, you’re a seamstress, are you?”
“Yes, I’m a very good seamstress.”
“Well then. We’ll go knocking on the door of every seamstress in New Orleans until we find the one God wants you to work for. There’s one right down the street here. I know nothing about it, but God knows all about her and all about you. We’ll try there first.”
Leonie had absolutely no confidence in asking for a job as a seamstress. It was true she was very skillful, but her experience at the inn had left her fearful and shaken. She thought about the tapestry that was packed in her chest and thought it might be good to take it inside any place she asked for work. Hope began to grow in her. Jean pulled up in front of a small building with the sign “Madam Belleau, Seamstress.”
Leonie said, “I’ve never done this before.”
“Well, you’re about to go your first time, then. Shall I go with you now?”
“No. I’ll go alone.” She got out of the carriage, and with Jean’s help, she opened the chest and pulled out the tapestry. It was not finished, but at least it showed the kind of work she could do. She walked inside the shop and was met by a short, fat woman who smiled at her, asking, “Can I help you?”
“Please, I need work. I’m a good seamstress.”
“Well, I’m sorry, Miss. I just don’t need anybody. This shop just about produces enough work for me.”
“I’m sorry to bother you.”
Leonie turned to go, but before she got to the door, the woman said, “Wait a minute! Not so fast.” When Leonie turned, she saw the woman was thinking.
“I know of another seamstress. She might need help.”
“Oh, please, could you give me her address?”
“It’s three blocks down the street to your right. It’s on the second floor. You’ll see the sign.”
“Three blocks to the right. Thank you so much.”
Leonie ran outside with a light in her eyes. “She didn’t need anybody, but she said there’s another seamstress that may n
eed help.”
“Did she now? Well, let’s be going to it.”
“It’s three blocks down the street and to the right.”
Leonie climbed up into the seat, holding the tapestry to her breast. Excitement flickered faintly in her, and she said nothing as they made their way along.
“Now then. Maybe this is just the place the good Lord wants you to stay, and He used that other woman. Ain’t it marvelous the way the good Lord arranges circumstances?”
“I suppose it is.”
“There’s no supposin’ to it,” Jean said, nodding vigorously. He drew the horse around the corner and at once pointed with his whip, which he never bothered to use. “There it is right there: ‘Madam Honore, Seamstress.’ You hop right in there, and I’ll stay out here and pray that you’ll get just what you ask for—the desires of your heart—a place to work and a place to stay. This could be the place to work anyway.”
“Thank you, Jean. I’ll be right back.” Jumping to the ground lightly, Leonie stepped quickly up the stairs. When she left the landing on the second floor, she saw that the entire floor, apparently, was made up into a dress shop. Models hung on frameworks, and the smell of cloth was strong in the air. She saw no one, so she called out, “Madam Honore?”
A door opened to her right at the back, and a woman emerged. “Yes, I am Madam Honore. Can I help you?”
“Madam Honore, I stopped down the street and was told that you might be able to use help.”
Madam Honore stepped forward. She was a small woman, almost petite, with silver hair and lines in her face. There were traces of earlier beauty there, however, and her eyes were kind. “It is true I do need some help, but I was hoping for an older, more experienced person.”
“Please, would you give me a chance? I’ll work very cheaply. Look. Here is a sample of what I can do.”
Madam Honore took the tapestry. She moved over to the light that came flooding through the window and ran her fingers over the material. “Why, this is fine work, child! But you understand we do dresses, not tapestries.”
The Creole Historical Romance 4-In-1 Bundle Page 81
