Love Finds You in New Orleans, LA

by Christa Allan

  When he reached to place his hands on Lottie’s shoulders, she took a step back. “Please, don’t. Don’t touch me,” she whispered.

  “I can’t believe you said that to me. Do you think me capable of hurting you?”

  “Yes. You hurt me every time you touch me. Every time, it reminds me of what I won’t have. What I cannot have,” she said. “The person I am with you will not survive the future other people have charted for me. Yet I don’t want to be that other person when we are together.”

  “I don’t want you to be her either.” He turned and nodded to the couple that passed slowly, their curiosity evident in their unapologetic stares. “We can’t continue having these discussions in alleys.”

  Lottie did find some humor in that. “Where we talk will not change the what. It will not change who we are in this world.”

  “And that’s exactly why,” he said as he picked up the basket and books again, “we need to. Being in this world doesn’t mean we need to be of it.”

  “All we need is our own underground railroad,” said Lottie.

  * * * * *

  Clement stared at the sheet of foolscap in front of him with the wonder of a child on Christmas Day.

  “Clement,” he said as if meeting himself for the first time. “Miz Lottie, I’s most fifty, and I never think I write my own name.”

  Lottie turned away lest Clement see her squeeze her eyes together to forestall tears. These men and women struggling to learn, knowing it could mean their lives, humbled her. One day, leaving after the lessons, Gabriel had remarked, “I’m a grandparent and a parent away from sitting on the other side of the table in that room.” Lottie didn’t grasp the enormity of that statement until today. And she would never know it in the way Gabriel felt it.

  Clement, Anna, and Percy practiced their names one more time before they had to leave. Across the room, three men and Gabriel sat in a circle holding Bibles and taking turns reading a line from the Gospel of Matthew. When they finished, each man would tear out a page and take it with him. At first, Sister Mary Catherine was appalled to discover Gabriel ripping Bibles apart. But when he explained that one thin sheet was easy to carry, easy to hide, and easy to dispose of if necessary, she quickly changed her mind. “I think God would certainly approve of sending His Word out, even if it means one page at a time,” said Sister.

  Anna, who finished writing her name first, leaned over, tapped Lottie’s arm. “I needs a favor. Can you help?” she whispered. “I needs some writin’.”

  Why was she being so secretive about wanting something written? Whatever it was, helping her by putting words on paper was easy. “What do you need me to write?” Lottie pulled two sheets of paper from the stack in front of her.

  Clement and Percy looked up from their papers to one another and then to Anna. She stared back at them, and they went right back to their writing.

  “Miz Lottie, you need not raise the dead when you talk.” She closed her eyes as if she could see what Lottie needed to write. “Here what you say: ‘Marcus and Jeremiah gots their tickets.’”

  Lottie omitted the s and would explain that to Anna at another lesson. She printed the sentence neatly, folded the paper in fours, and handed it to Anna.

  Anna pushed her hand back, “No, Miz Lottie, I needs you to gets it somewhere.”

  Whatever Lottie’s expression was at that point, it amused Anna, who patted her hand and said, “It be fine. I trust you.”

  She glanced at the two men across from them, who must have written their names five times by then but diligently kept printing. “What is it?”

  “All you gotta do is put it in the collection box at the Cathlik church.”

  Lottie felt herself breathe again. “Oh, Anna, that is easily handled.”

  “No. It gotta be there tonight, else it won’t need to be there at all.”

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  ...........................

  “When are we going to talk?” Gabriel was going to use guilt to hold Lottie to the gate and pray it would work. He did not know how much longer he could look into her eyes, chart her cheekbones and her lips, and not want to feel her soft cheeks brush against the palms of his hands as he gently brought her face to meet his.

  Then again, he understood that reality with Lottie might never exist, because the only way they could be together would require them to be apart from everyone they knew. People who loved one another should not have to abandon the people who loved them. But all of it was supposition without his knowing Lottie’s feelings and resolve, neither of which appeared to be important as he waited for her answer.

  She tapped one hand on the basket and kept an eye on her house as if she expected someone to walk out. “I don’t know. Do we need to decide right now? Grand-mère barely tolerates these trips to the homes each Sunday. The idea of us sitting alone somewhere, for all the city to see, would be such a severe violation of social etiquette that the marriage contract might be jeopardized. I’m surprised no one has reported us being in Woodlief’s together.”

  “Together? There were at least a dozen other people in the shop. We were all ‘together,’ for that matter. Are you suggesting we breached social etiquette merely by being in the same place at the same time?”

  “You know my grandmother would not see it that way.” Lottie continued to fidget.

  “You have been distracted since we left the home. Why?”

  “This day…you have no idea.” Lottie tried to explain. “I promise I will find a way and a time for us to talk.”

  Gabriel left, but Lottie’s behavior continued to concern him.

  * * * * *

  Lottie hurried inside, hoping Agnes or Abram would be able to accompany her to the church that night. The longer she spoke to Gabriel, the more difficult it became not to tell him about the favor Anna asked of her. If she included him, he would have wanted to walk with her. And if that happened, her grandmother would want the reason she and Gabriel needed to be at the church, together, and on and on and on.

  She didn’t see Agnes or her grandparents, but she heard music coming from the parlor. Removing her cape, gloves, and bonnet and leaving them on the dining table, she inched open the concealed doors between the two rooms. Her grandmother sat at the pianoforte and either ignored or did not hear the doors scraping open, because she continued playing. Grand-père played marble solitaire at the game table and quietly motioned Lottie over. He pulled out the chair next to him from the table and continued playing. He was four marbles away from winning and having just one single stone at the center of the mahogany board.

  The three of them resembled a colored sketch in the Lady’s Book by Louis Godey. Lottie marveled finding them looking so…so content. She had not seen her grandmother at the pianoforte for a long time. Maybe this was what she did when Lottie wasn’t here. But why? With her eyes closed and her fingers moving on the keys, her grandmother’s severe features softened. Like she did in the dressmaker’s shop, Lottie glimpsed her not as a grandmother, but as a woman. But she braced herself for the inevitable crack in the facade. When the song ended, so would the emotions of the woman who played it.

  When her grandmother played the last note, Lottie followed her grandfather’s lead and applauded, with gentility, of course.

  “That was lovely,” her grandfather said. “And look”—he pointed to the board—“I have successfully completed my game.” He stood and bowed. “Please, no ovation.”

  “You should play more often. Grand-père was right. It was beautiful,” Lottie told her.

  “Thank you, Charlotte,” her grandmother said, and a smile almost broke through. “How was your visit?”

  If Lottie could have squirmed as she sat in the upholstered chair, ten yards of fabric and four petticoats swelling over her, her grand-parents might have witnessed her body shift. She couldn’t reveal what she and Gabriel did in addition to being with the children, because she truly would be risking lives. But, still, she felt uncomfortable accounting for
only half the time she and Gabriel were there.

  “It’s rewarding. Every week we’re able to read to the children and play games with them, and they are truly appreciative of our time there.” As she spoke, she realized not only that Grand-mère never asked, but she was hearing her own words for the first time. “At first, I thought I went to help them because I—we—had the means to provide food and clothes. Now, I think we’re helping each other. When I look at those little girls, I know I could have been one of them except for the two of you. Having sapphire ear bobs or new gowns every season or a summer home can’t buy a family or faith.”

  “Genevieve Charlotte, I do believe you’ve matured into a strong young woman right before our eyes.” Grand-père kissed Lottie’s forehead. “You are a treasure.”

  “Thank you, PaPa,” Lottie whispered. Tonight’s letter to her parents would preserve this time for the rest of her life.

  Lottie thought about this morning and Madame Dumas telling her to ask her grandparents about Paul. But she could not spoil this rare moment she had with them. Paul was not going to disappear before tomorrow. She could ask them before his visit. It would provide new information for her to think about while the four of them sweltered in silence.

  Anna’s note—that was her priority. Her grandparents decided to walk along the levee after supper. She needed Agnes or Abram to walk with her to the church. Lottie headed to their living quarters. Please be home. Please be home. Please be home. She knocked as she opened the door, already knowing she would find two empty rooms, rooms so small that raising the latch would have stirred Agnes. Sections of the whitewashed plaster peeled away from the four walls, leaving exposed red bricks like sores around the room. A mint-green chenille spread stretched across Lottie’s castoff bed pushed against the far wall. The broken leg had been replaced with small boards nailed together and propped underneath to level the mattress. Opposite the bed was the small cypress armoire Lottie had had as a child. The only other furniture was a cane rocker, and next to it was a basket with quilting squares. Agnes called the other room their “necessary” room, because in it was a small fireplace used for warmth and for cooking, a two-burner stove, and their stand-up tub.

  A stone’s throw away, the LeClercs’ home had four times as many rooms as people who lived there. All that space wasted because, as Lottie was told, slaves did not sleep in the same house as their owners. “It’s just not proper,” her grandmother insisted any time Lottie would ask. The answer never changed. One day, still young enough to wear her dresses well above her ankles, Lottie raised her voice and declared, “It’s stupid.” It was another night of no supper. Grand-mère refused to allow her granddaughter to be known as uncultured.

  Lottie closed the door to their living quarters and laughed inwardly at the possibility of asking for Agnes and Abram as her wedding presents. With her new husband’s money, she could buy their freedom and they could live in a house she could pay Monsieur Joubert to build. That would make for a lively discussion at Paul’s next visit.

  As she walked through the courtyard, it occurred to Lottie that her grandparents’ leaving before Agnes arrived home actually worked out better for her delivering Anna’s note. After returning from their levee stroll, Lottie could casually mention having gone to the church. So, now her prayer was for Agnes and Abram to arrive later, to want what she did not want before. It was times like these when Lottie wondered how man was made in God’s image. Could God really be confused about what He should be praying for?

  * * * * *

  Lottie had started reading Mansfield Park, which she’d bought the week before with her grandfather, when her grandparents left. They invited her to join them, but she declined, telling them she was anxious to read the novel because she had heard so much about it. It was Gabriel who’d told her Alcee was reading it and he questioned whether she should, so, in truth, Lottie had been told a great deal about it. It just happened to be all from one person.

  She didn’t intend to lose herself in the book, but merely to distract herself from incessantly checking for any sign of Agnes. But then she discovered that Fanny, too, was essentially an orphan, cast off by her parents and living as a burden to her relatives. Lottie found herself reluctant to leave Fanny with her heartless aunt. Unlike Lottie, Fanny did not have a version of Agnes, someone who could comfort her. Thank You, God, for my always being able to rely on Agnes. And I really want not to have a different prayer tomorrow, so would You send her home soon?

  Agnes and Abram arrived an entire chapter later, and when Lottie spotted them walking through the porte cochère, she gathered her dress well above her ankles and dashed out to meet them.

  “Thank goodness you’re home,” she said and threw her arms around Agnes. “You too, Abram,” she added as she released Agnes.

  “Why you so happy I home?”

  Agnes’s suspicion shot right through those narrowed dark eyes of hers. She detected dishonesty like Henri detected milk, and neither one of them would discontinue their search until they found what they wanted.

  “Because I need to go to the church, my grandparents are strolling along the levee, I can’t go alone even though I am perfectly capable of it, so I need you to come with me.”

  “She talking faster den the wind kin blow,” Agnes said to Abram. “Lemme go put this down, and I be back.”

  “I got it. You go now ’fore it gets too late. Dem gaslamps be hanging soon,” said Abram as he took the bundle of what appeared to be clothes from Agnes.

  “Your grandparents know you going to the church? And fo’ what are you going? En you had better go inside for what-all you need. Out here, nothin’ coverin’ your arms.”

  Lottie gathered her cape, making sure Anna’s note was still inside the pocket, her bonnet, and her gloves, and went to meet Agnes without one good excuse for why she needed to go.

  “Why is we going to that church if you comin’ out here with nothin’?”

  Lottie contemplated that the same mouth she’d used for prayers earlier should not be the one to use for lies. But she also had a responsibility to Anna and the two people whose names were on that paper. “I have something to place in the collection box. A friend asked me, and I promised I would do it for her.”

  “And your grandmother don’t say you kin do this tomorrow?”

  Agnes was not making this easy.

  “Well, no. But I can’t do it tomorrow. And I know Grand-mère would not mind, as long as I did not go alone.”

  “I know sure’s my feet on this banquette, parts of this story missing somewhere. ’Less you got gold in that pocket, don’t see why we gotta go now.” She performed one of her extravagant Agnes sighs and followed it with mumblings.

  Lottie walked to the central door of the cathedral, already feeling the weight of her promise lighten. She pulled the handle. Locked. She tried the other door. Locked. She tried the first door again. Locked. She pulled both handles. Still locked.

  “Don’t know why you ’spect church to be open at almost dark,” said Agnes.

  A rising tide of panic roiled through Lottie’s body. “Not now, Agnes. Please. Not now.” She buried her face in her hands, felt the warmth of her own breath, and willed herself to stay calm. The lives of two people, perhaps more, depended on her. Why didn’t Anna ask Gabriel to do this? Why hadn’t she asked Gabriel?

  “Somebody coming to help, honey,” Agnes said as she patted Lottie’s arm.

  Lottie looked up, and Agnes pointed behind her.

  Gabriel asked, “What are you doing?”

  “You don’t have to ask me as if I’m attempting to trespass,” snapped Lottie.

  “It appears that way to people passing by,” he said. “Good evening, Agnes.”

  That was when Lottie saw the stunning young woman from the opera waiting by the lamppost near the street. “What are you doing? How did you know I was here?”

  “If you are that angry to find me here, I can easily leave. I didn’t know you were here until Nathalie and
I left the café. And until we came closer, I didn’t realize the person shaking the church doors was you.” He took a step backward. “It seemed someone might need help. If I’m mistaken, I apologize.” He nodded toward Agnes. “Good to see you.”

  “Wait. I am sorry,” Lottie said. “I promised someone I would place something in the church collection box. It must go in tonight.”

  Gabriel appeared confused. “Tonight? Why does—”

  “Because it does. So can you help or not?”

  “Father lives behind the cathedral. We might find him there.”

  As much as she wanted to, Lottie did not ignore Nathalie as she passed. Although Nathalie would not have been surprised to not be greeted by Lottie. Generally, white women did not recognize free women of color on the street. But Lottie gave her a polite smile. Gabriel told Nathalie, “Please, if you don’t mind, wait. I will be back shortly.”

  Agnes stayed with Nathalie.

  As they walked around the cathedral, Gabriel said, “What is this about, really? No one needs to donate to the collection box that desperately.”

  Lottie hesitated, then removed the folded note from the pocket of her cape and showed it to him. “Anna said if this wasn’t in by tonight, tomorrow would be too late.”

  He scanned the paper. “Why didn’t you ask me to do this?”

  “To place a sheet of paper in a collection box did not seem so difficult or dangerous a task at the time. Besides,” said Lottie, taking the note back, “you obviously already had plans.” After seeing Gabriel tonight, Lottie decided their expected talk might veer in a different direction.

  “If you are referring to Nathalie, she was not a ‘plan,’” he said. “She happened to be in the café when I went there after leaving you this afternoon.”

  Happened to be? However limited Lottie’s personal romantic experience, she’d read a sufficient number of books to know that for women like Nathalie, coincidence required thoughtful planning.

  They turned the corner onto Orleans Street, and Father François’s sudden appearance saved Lottie from responding.