It was ever so large, roomy as could be, the walls covered with pale white wallpaper printed with tiny blue and purple flowers. The floor was polished to a high golden sheen, a gray and purple rug covering much of it, and fancy white curtains hung at the window. The bed had a blue silk counterpane, and the dressing table and wardrobe were of glossy white wood. I studied everything in wonder. Imagine sleeping on a bed as big and comfortable-looking as that one. Imagine sitting at such a grand dressing table, looking at yourself in such a silvery mirror. I could hardly believe such luxury existed.
Was it only yesterday morning that I had awakened in my shabby attic room, numb with grief over Ma and full of dread about Clem? So much had happened in the past two days. I already felt like a different person. I was beginning a whole new life, and I must never look back. I must always move forward. I was a swamp girl, I couldn’t deny that, and although I could read some and print my name, I knew I was ignorant. There was so much to learn, so much, but I was going to learn, and I was going to make something of myself. One day I would walk into a place like this with my head held high, and people wouldn’t stare, people wouldn’t whisper or struggle to hide their distaste. One day I would fit right in with those elegantly attired folk downstairs, I vowed, and no one would ever suspect that I grew up in the swamp.
A plump, cheerful maid not much older than I brought my bath a few minutes later. First she brought the white tin tub, with little blue and green flowers painted on the sides, and then she returned with buckets of steaming hot water. The tub filled, she dumped some funny-looking oil into the water, grinned at me, and returned a few moments later with big, fluffy white towels and a clever little tray with sponge, a white washcloth and a tiny basket of soap. She told me to have a nice wash and then departed, leaving me alone once again. I looked at the tub of water with a skeptical eye. Although I would never have admitted it to a soul, I had never bathed in a tub before. When I was a very little girl I had sometimes bathed in the big wooden rain barrel behind the house, but all of my other bathing had been done in the pond. The tub looked mighty small to me. Did you sit up in it? Yes, there was a little seat built right in, I saw, real low so you’d be submerged to your shoulders.
Hesitantly, I dipped my hand into the water. It was wonderfully warm, and the oil she had dumped into it made it as soft as silk. A delicious fragrance wafted the air, like lilacs, I thought. Quickly I undressed and climbed into the tub, and the silky water seemed to caress me all over. I arched my back in pleasure, slipping farther down into the tub and reaching for the sponge and a piece of soap on the tray beside the tub. The soap was scented with lilacs as well, and it made a gloriously thick lather. What luxury this was. What bliss. I felt exactly like a queen. I might just spend the rest of the evening here in the tub, I thought, but half an hour later I finally climbed out and wrapped myself in one of the big towels, glowing all over.
I looked at my tattered pink dress and the soiled white petticoat with disdain. There was no way I was going to go back downstairs to dine wearing them. I was growing extremely hungry, true, but it wouldn’t hurt me to miss a meal. I might miss a number of them in days to come, I admitted to myself, at least until I found work, but I was tough. I doubted it would kill me. A knock on the door startled me. I cautiously opened it a crack to see the plump maid’s skirt and feet. The rest of her was hidden by the stack of boxes she was carrying in her arms. She edged carefully into the room and, sighing heavily, put the boxes down on the bed. They were lovely boxes, glossy white with thin golden stripes. The maid grinned.
“The gentleman sent ’em,” she informed me, “though I’ve no idea where he got ’em. There idn’t no shops open at this hour. Idn’t none around here packs things in such fancy boxes.”
“Really?”
“Beats me,” she said. “Oh, by the way, I brung you a brush and a comb to use. I noticed you didn’t have none.”
“Why—thank you.”
“The gentleman, he gave me a great big tip and told me to be sure and take extra good care of you. You need anything else, just let me know.”
She placed the brush and comb on the dressing table, gave me another merry grin and left. Still wrapped in the towel, I opened one of the boxes and gave a little gasp when I saw the beige silk petticoat. It was absolutely sumptuous, resting in a nest of soft, thin paper that made a crinkling noise when I lifted it out of the box. I held the garment up, and the cloth rustled softly, shimmering in the candlelight. A real silk petticoat. I couldn’t believe it. My hands trembled as I opened the other boxes. There were silk stockings as frail as cobwebs, two beige lace garters, a pair of pale orange kidskin slippers with elegant high heels. The dress I discovered in the largest box was beige linen, with gold and orange and deep tan stripes, the cloth thin and as fine as silk. The last box contained a fancy parasol of the same striped linen, the thin, delicate handle of polished golden wood.
I couldn’t hold back the tears that brimmed over my lashes. They streamed down my cheeks, and I made no effort to restrain them. I sat down on the bed, surrounded by all my new finery, my heart so full of gratitude and happiness, I felt it might actually burst. What a wonderful man he was, so kind, so considerate, so thoughtful. If … if he had the least hankerin’ to pop my cherry, I vowed I would let him. Not just because he had given me the clothes, but because I was, already, genuinely fond of him. He was big and virile and ever so refined, and he gave me a cozy, secure feeling. It wasn’t that pleasant, itchy feeling like I had in the dream, like warm, sweet honey flowing in my veins, but it was nice just the same. I owed him so much, and I was quite prepared to pay my debt.
Wiping the tears away, I stood up, feeling much better now, feeling cheerful and buoyant. I had just started my new life, and already I had shoes and a beautiful dress and petticoat and my very own parasol, and I had a handsome and charming new friend who might become more than a friend. Smiling, I wadded the old pink dress and ragged petticoat into a ball and dumped them into the pretty white wastebasket beside the dressing table. They symbolized the past, and the past was behind me, the future awaiting. As I reached for the stockings, I was convinced the future was going to be glorious indeed.
The silk stockings felt heavenly on my legs, clinging to and caressing every inch of my skin, and it was strange wearing garters. I had never worn them before. The petticoat was just a little snug at the waist, and the bodice was cut daringly low, barely concealing my nipples. The skirt was very, very full, swelling out in luxuriant folds that swirled and rustled as I moved. The shoes were a bit tight, too, but the kidskin was soft and pliant, and it didn’t bother me. Took me a few minutes to get used to the high heels. You had to walk just a bit slower, and you had to adjust your balance, back arched slightly, breasts quite prominent. Almost popped out of my new petticoat several times before I finally got the hang of it.
The linen dress was sumptuous. It had small puffed sleeves worn off the shoulder and a heart-shaped neckline almost as low as the petticoat. It, too, was snug at the waist, not a proper fit but not at all uncomfortable, and the exquisite skirt belled out over the petticoat, sweeping to the floor in splendor. The creamy beige with its gold and orange and deep tan stripes seemed to make my skin a darker, creamier tan, and there was quite a lot of skin exposed. What if I sneezed? Did fashionable ladies really go around showing so much bosom?
I stepped over to the mirror, examining myself with some amazement. After combing and a thorough brushing, my hair fell to my shoulders in rich, lustrous honey-blond waves aglow with golden-brown highlights, and my hazel eyes seemed to sparkle. My cheekbones were still too high, my mouth too full and too pink, but I looked … I looked different. I didn’t look like Dana. I looked like a fine lady. Reaching for the parasol, I opened it and rested the handle on my shoulder, twirling it around. No one would ever guess I came from the swamp if they saw me now. They’d think I was as swell as could be, a real aristocrat on my way to take tea with the other blue bloods.
I was sti
ll admiring the stranger in the mirror when I heard someone knocking on the door. I opened it with a gracious smile, the parasol still propped on my shoulder. Julian stood there in the hallway, clean and brushed and looking magnificent in shiny brown boots and tobacco-brown breeches and frock coat. His waistcoat was white satin, embroidered with tiny brown fleurs-de-lis, and a white silk cravat was folded neatly at his neck. I continued to smile, waiting for him to say something, but he just stared at me in consternation.
“It’s eight o’clock on the dot,” I said cheerfully, “and, as you can see, I’m all ready.”
“I see,” he said.
“You don’t like the dress?”
“It’s—uh—hardly the thing I would chose for a seventeen-year-old girl, but I didn’t have much choice in the matter. Do you think you might pull it up a few inches?”
“I tried,” I told him. “This is as high as it goes.”
“Jesus,” he whispered. He shook his head, resigned. “When we get to the dining room, don’t you dare lean over,” he cautioned. “Not for anything. Damn Amelia! I should have known the treacherous wench would do something like this, but then I don’t suppose she has anything more conservative.”
“This is her dress?”
“I explained the situation to her, and Amelia generously contributed some of the things she had purchased for the trip—she hadn’t even taken them out of the boxes yet. Leave the parasol, child. Ladies rarely carry them inside.”
“Do—do I look bad?” I asked as we walked down the hall.
“You look quite fetching,” he informed me. “Of course, I’ll probably have to challenge every man in the room to a duel, but—Lord, how do I get into these situations?”
“I don’t have to eat,” I told him.
“Don’t get snappy,” he retorted.
The dining room downstairs was beautiful, all done in blue and gray, with a splendid crystal waterfall hanging from the ceiling and snowy white linen cloths on all the tables. The waterfall, Julian informed me, was called a “chandelier,” and I made a mental note of it. Almost all of the tables were occupied with elegantly attired people like those I had seen earlier. They all watched as Julian and I followed a man in a fancy black uniform to a table Julian had reserved for us. I saw Amelia sitting with a distinguished silver-haired gentleman even older than Julian. She was wearing a magnificent purple silk gown with black polka dots and a pair of long black gloves, and she was showing even more skin than I was. She gave Julian a friendly nod, the wry smile playing lightly on her lips. He scowled at her and muttered something very unflattering under his breath.
“That wasn’t very nice,” I said. “After all, she did give you the clothes for me.”
“Slut knew exactly what she was doing, too. She knew everyone in the place would see you in that dress and think I—assume you—” He cut himself short.
“Assume what?” I asked innocently.
“Never you mind,” he snapped.
Julian ordered for both of us from the large gold and white menus and, giving me a meaningful look, told the man we would do without wine tonight. While this was going on, I was busy feasting my eyes on the splendors of the room: the plush blue brocade curtains, the deep gray carpet with its tiny blue and purple flowers, the chandelier with its dozens and dozens of crystal pendants glittering with rainbow hues in the candlelight. Who would have thought such a palace existed so near the swamp? Julian told me the inn was merely adequate and hardly grand by any standards. I told him it still looked like a palace to me. He sighed and shook his head, looking rather testy, perhaps because of Amelia, perhaps because of all the attention I was getting.
There must have been two dozen men in the dining room, and all of them kept stealing glances at me. A dashing blond youth was sitting at a table across the room with a husky companion, both wearing handsome frock coats and cravats. The blond raised his glass to me, grinned and said something that caused his friend to chuckle. I had a pretty good idea what he had said. They had better manners and wore much better clothes, but they weren’t all that different from the louts in the swamp, I thought. Horny as could be. Always on the lookout for another piece of tail, and not just the young men either. Amelia’s gentleman friend was looking at me, too. She finally had to tap his wrist with her fan to get his attention back. I smiled to myself as our food arrived.
“Know the proper fork to use?” Julian inquired.
“I ain’t a—I’m not a savage,” I said airily. “Ma taught me proper table etiquette. Did-ja think I was goin’ to eat with my fingers?”
“Nothing would surprise me at this point.”
“Why are you being so nasty all of the sudden?”
“Am I being nasty?”
“Very,” I said. “I—I can’t help it if all the men are lookin’ at me. I can’t help it if—if this dress don’t meet with your approval.”
“Doesn’t meet with my approval,” he corrected.
“And I can’t help it if I—if I don’t always use the proper words or speak with a tony accent. Not all-a us had the advantage of a fancy education. Some of us had to—” My voice started to tremble.
“If you start bawling, I swear I’ll throttle you.”
“I ain—I’m not going to bawl!”
“Don’t,” he warned.
“I have feelin’s, too, you know.”
“Indeed?”
I longed to stab him with my fork.
All around us was the soft hum of polite conversation, the tinkle of crystal and china, the light clatter of silverware, but Julian and I ate in silence. The food was so delicious I quickly forgot his bad mood, eating with relish. We had hot turtle soup and a wonderful salad of lettuce and artichoke hearts, slices of tender pink ham, small new potatoes cooked in butter, tasty asparagus. There were hot rolls, too. I had three, buttering each generously. Best meal I ever had, no doubt about it, and it wasn’t even over yet. After the man cleared our places, he brought bowls of rice pudding with a thick, hot sweet sauce with raisins. Julian didn’t touch his, and I looked at it longingly after I had finished my own. He pushed it across the table to me, and it was soon gone, too.
“It was a lovely meal,” I said. “Thank you.”
“It was my pleasure. Coffee?”
“I don’t think I could hold any,” I replied.
“One cup,” he told the waiter.
The waiter poured Julian’s coffee and left, and Julian sipped it thoughtfully, his mind on something else. He might as well have been alone at the table, I thought resentfully. Amelia and her gentleman friend had departed some time ago, and the good-looking blond youth and his friend were just leaving. They were in their mid twenties, I judged, virile lads with the confident swagger of the well-to-do. Planters’ sons, probably. The blond nodded at me and gave me an exceedingly roguish smile as they left the room. Julian didn’t notice it. He was still lost in thought, and several minutes passed before he finally looked up and remembered my existence.
“Sorry,” he said. “I didn’t mean to be rude.”
“Do you often go off like that?”
“When I’m tired, when I have a lot on my mind. It’s been a very long day.”
“I—I guess I’ll start lookin’ for work tomorrow,” I said. “In a town as big as this one, I’m bound to find something.”
“I’m sure you will,” Julian said, “but I’m going to leave some money with you just the same, enough to keep you here at the inn for a couple of weeks.”
“You—you don’t have to do that,” I protested.
“I have a conscience,” he reminded me. “I couldn’t just leave you stranded with no funds.”
“You’re a—a very good man,” I said quietly.
“But nasty,” he added.
“Sometimes. I—I’ll miss you.”
“I imagine I’ll miss you, too,” he confessed. “This has been quite an adventure. It’s getting late, Dana,” he added. “I’d better take you back up to your room.”
<
br /> Julian signaled to the waiter, signed a slip of paper and then escorted me out of the room. Only a few people were in the lobby, the clerk behind his desk scribbling in a ledger, a middle-aged couple sitting on one of the sofas, talking quietly, the blond youth and his husky friend who, hovering over a giggling, flashily dressed young woman and playing her with persuasive words, didn’t notice us moving toward the stairs.
“What will you do now?” I asked Julian. “Go back home?”
He nodded. “Tomorrow, at noon, a boat leaves for New Orleans. I intend to be on it.”
“New Orleans? You live there?” I could hardly keep the excitement out of my voice.
“I live in a rather decrepit old house in the Quarter. The Etienne Mansion, it’s called, but I fear that’s a misnomer. It’s something of a landmark, one of the first houses built there, but the grandeur has long since disintegrated into crumbling brick and rusting wrought iron.”
Holding my elbow firmly, he led me up the stairs. My heart was palpitating rapidly.
“Take me with you,” I begged.
He looked nonplussed. “What?”
“Take me with you. To New Orleans. I’ve gotta get there, you see. That’s where my ma’s folks live. I told you about that last night, didn’t I? Didn’t I tell you I was plannin’ to go to New Orleans and find my ma’s folks? I originally planned to get a job and earn enough money to get me there, but—if you took me with you, I’d be way ahead.”
“Out of the question,” he said.
We reached the landing and started down the hall. I wasn’t about to accept defeat so easily.
“I’d work for you. You ain’t—aren’t married, and I’m sure you need a woman to look after you. I’d keep that decrep—that old house-a yours sparklin’, and I’d cook for you and take care of your things and—”
“I have an aunt who does all that,” he informed me. “Rather, she supervises the servants. My life is quite complicated enough as is without my taking on the responsibility of—of a headstrong and much too nubile young woman.”
They Call Her Dana Page 10
