“Good evening, Father,” said Gabriel. “May we ask a favor of you?”
The priest appeared frail in the folds of his long brown cassock, which was bound with a thick cord around his waist. His long nose and thin white hair and face narrowing to the point of his chin might have been severe except for his warm eyes and easy smile. “Yes, of course.” He glanced from Gabriel to Lottie and back to Gabriel. “But I am on my way to visit a family whose child is ill. Depending on the nature of your favor, we may need to meet tomorrow.”
Gabriel started to explain. “The favor is not for the two of us, except that—”
“I promised someone I would place something in the collection box, and the cathedral is locked,” Lottie blurted. “I apologize for interrupting, but we do not want to delay your visit.”
“Your understanding is appreciated. I am happy to help. If you would just give me what you needed to place, I will be sure that it is done.”
Lottie’s hand closed over the note. “But I promised I would do it myself.”
Father François looked more amused than annoyed. “I can be trusted with your friend’s donation.”
“It’s…it’s not exactly a donation, and it has to be there tonight.”
“In that case, you must trust me.” He waited as a couple strolled by, exchanged greetings, and walked on. “I am not a stranger to these unusual donations.”
Lottie looked at Gabriel. “Yes. I trust him,” he told her.
Her hand trembled as she drew the note out of her pocket and placed it in Father’s outstretched hand. He closed his fingers over the paper and tucked it into one of the folds of his cassock. Two lives. Lottie shuddered. Oh, please God, let me not have trusted in vain.
“I open the collection box daily. That paper was meant for me,” said Father François. He clasped her still-shaking hands. “You do not need to fear. They will be safe.”
Chapter Thirty
...........................
Lottie came down to breakfast and waited for one of her grandparents to question her about the night before, since they had arrived home first. The sour expression on her grandmother’s face when she saw them concerned Lottie more for Agnes than for herself.
After announcing “Good morning” in her cheeriest of voices, Lottie poured herself coffee from the breakfront and took her seat at the table. She filled her bowl with grits and made a small crater in the middle, which she filled with a pat of molded butter that melted into a creamy yellow pool. She stirred the melted butter into her grits and added a slice of ham to her plate.
“We were quite surprised not to find you home last night after you declined our invitation to join us on the levee,” said her grandmother, who looked at her husband and then at her granddaughter after the declaration.
She didn’t ask the “where” question, which meant she had probably already spoken to Agnes. Lottie was sure Agnes would have told her grandmother the truth; she just wasn’t sure how much of it. But years of being the subject of Grand-mère’s inquisitions had taught her how to play this game. Lottie cut her ham and said, with the matter-of-factness of Madame Dumas, “Oh, I’m sure that did come as a surprise,” and continued to eat.
Grand-père coughed several times into his napkin, and Grandmère’s coffee cup stopped, for a moment, midway to the saucer.
Her grandmother cleared her throat. “Charlotte, whatever do you mean?”
“Paul will be here again tonight, so it’s obvious who the clear choice is. I want to know why. Why Paul Bastion? And please, please be honest with me. This city is too small to keep secrets.”
“I don’t know how you expect us to address this question when your grandfather and I have not been given time to discuss it.”
The message Grand-mère transmitted was as loud as a steamboat’s whistle. She didn’t want Lottie to know the answer, or at least there was part of it she wanted to protect, but she couldn’t without speaking to Grand-père first.
“Are you telling me that my grandparents have selected someone without knowing why? Or do you mean you cannot tell me without speaking to one another first?” Lottie’s feigned astonishment signaled that she didn’t believe her own questions.
“Marie, she has a right to know. The first people she should hear it from is us, not from gossip. Certainly not from Paul himself.”
“I still do not believe this is the time. It is only Paul’s second visit. There may not be more, and then whatever the reason, it is no longer even significant.”
“We both know, short of a miracle, one part of that will not change. I am going to tell her,” Grand-père said.
He explained about the financial panic in 1837, how land prices had become inflated, people bought on speculation, and the bottom fell out. “People all over the country suffered, so we weren’t the only ones hit hard by this. Your grandmother and I lost a significant amount of money, but we managed to hold onto this house and certain comforts to which we had become accustomed. Having a real-estate business was a nightmare. Land was overvalued and then, after the panic, wasn’t worth half as much, but people borrowed on the inflated price.”
“So even if you sold the property, you still owed the bank?”
“Exactly. Over the past four years, we found ways to muddle through. Then the yellow fever hit the city, and we had to climb out of that hole.”
“Grand-père, I truly do not mean to be disrespectful, but I’m not understanding how Paul or his family is important.”
“Sometimes your grandfather finds it difficult to simply state the facts. The truth is, we are on the verge of losing almost everything. Even Agnes and Abram. We have mortgaged our home and sold every piece of land except for one. It is a large swath of riverfront property. By the grace of God, we have been able to keep it.”
“But you spent so much money on gowns and my party. Why didn’t you just tell me then?”
“We saved some money by having you share some of your classes; then we finally had to discontinue them. But a family with our background must have their daughter or, in our case, granddaughter, make a debut.”
Grand-père continued, “Girls bring a dowry into the marriage, most often cash. That would not be possible for your grandmother and me. All we own is that one piece of land, and it would only be valuable to a person who truly wanted it. As your dowry, it would be a gift to the man marrying you. But we need a portion of that money to pull ourselves out of trouble.
“So, why Paul? His family wants that land for warehouses for their cotton, and they have shipbuilding plans. Other families were interested, but not nearly to the extent of the Bastions. The weekend of the plantation party, his father agreed to an option to buy the land, for which he has already paid. Then, as part of the wedding settlement, he will purchase the land and I will retain a sufficient share so as not to lose our home.”
Lottie gave herself time to assemble the pieces of information into a frame, and when she did, the picture shocked her. All these weeks, she had tried to create meaning, understanding, from the wrong picture. She had been looking at herself. But it wasn’t about her. It was about a piece of riverfront property. She couldn’t help but laugh at her own foolishness and naïveté. What a couillonne.
* * * * *
Henri arrived, unannounced as usual, for Paul Bastion’s second visit. Paul entered through the front door. Henri found a sliver of space to squeeze through in the open French doors of the dining room, and they both entered the parlor at the same time. Henri wasted no time in finding the woman he came to see and conquered thirteen yards and five feet of crimson velvet to claim her.
Paul cut a wide circle around Lottie on his way to the corner of the room and stared at the cat like he were a carcass. Henri seemed to understand and returned the glare then yawned before settling into his lounging position. Lottie suspected Paul would have yawned as well, given the opportunity.
Her grandparents were not yet in the room, so Lottie was unsure of the protocol in this situati
on. She had no recollection of Miss Leslie having a chapter on lap cats and courting etiquette, but she was certain it would be improper to abandon her guest in the parlor. She was equally certain that Grand-mère’s expression when she entered would be one she hoped she could burn into her brain and access whenever she needed to laugh.
“Is it yours? The cat?” Paul’s tone clearly indicated he hoped not, as he brushed the sleeves of his black frockcoat.
“No. I don’t think he belongs to anyone in particular. He simply shows up,” Lottie said, scratching behind Henri’s ears. “Sometimes he follows Madame Margaret Haguarty, the milk lady.” But Paul had lost eye contact after the word “no.”
“Good. I do not understand why anyone would want an animal in the house. It is entirely unsanitary.”
Lottie wanted to say that not every animal in a house was four-legged but settled instead for, “I see.” She heard a rustling of skirts and knew that her grandparents, entering from the dining room, would only see Paul and the waterfall of curls Agnes had arranged at the back of Lottie’s head.
The polite greetings ended, and Lottie prepared her brain to imprint her grandmother’s expression when she saw Henri in her lap, who was now amusing himself by batting the lace on Lottie’s cuffs when she moved her hands.
She was horrified. Loud gasp, hand over mouth, wide-eyed horrified. And episodes of chalk-white and strawberry-red flushing from her neck to her forehead.
“Charlotte, what is that creature… You must dispose of it immediately.” Grand-mère turned to Paul and covered him with effusive apologies before turning back to Lottie. “How did it—never mind. Please.” She waved her closed fan toward the back of the house. “Deliver it outside. Then have Agnes bring you fresh water for your hands.”
Grand-père guided her to a chair. “You look flushed. Calm yourself.”
“I waited for you so as not to be rude to Monsieur Bastion by leaving him solitary in the parlor. Of course I never intended for Henri to join us this afternoon,” said Lottie. She gently untangled her lace from Henri’s claws, else Grand-mère would need a fainting couch. Cradling Henri in her arms, she excused herself and walked to the gallery. “Thank you for making this more bearable,” she whispered, gently setting him down outside.
Agnes came from the kitchen, looked at Henri, then at Lottie, and said just low enough for Lottie to hear, “Now, you got to tell me that story later. Your grandmother done passed out?”
Lottie laughed. “No, unless she did after I left.”
“Come on. Let Agnes get all those Henri hairs off this gown. Then I’ll bring in the tea and coffee.”
“Take care of everything else,” Lottie said, sweeping her palms over the lap of her skirt. “Perfect.” She actually appreciated learning that Paul cared more about their land than he did about her. It freed her from attempting to win his favor. She knew what he thought of her. Nothing.
* * * * *
Justine and Lottie browsed through a collection of summer gloves in Maison’s while waiting for Isabelle and Madame Dumas to finish their impassioned discussion of damask versus cotton table napkins at the imported linens shop.
“Why didn’t you ask about Paul’s placée? I thought that would be most important,” Justine said as she held up a pair of delicate white-lace gloves.
“Lovely.” Lottie slipped her hand into one. It would have fit had her fingers been one knuckle shorter. She handed the glove back to Justine. “I almost asked. But Grand-mère has taught me well. If they do know, then what cause do they have for not revealing it?” Lottie shrugged her shoulders. “So I will hold it. I don’t doubt the time will come when it might be useful.”
“Red gloves, Justine? You will terrify your nieces and nephew, who will think your hands are bleeding.” Isabelle and her mother appeared, with Ruthie’s husband Laurent following and holding an assortment of boxes.
“In that case, I may indeed want to have a pair,” Justine said, turning her hands as if waving. “What do you think, Mother?”
“I think you and your sister behave like children, those red gloves are dreadful, people will think you a classless American wearing them, and Laurent is taking these packages home. Do you have any?”
“No. Lottie and I have nothing to add to your burden, Laurent.”
Tall and muscular, Laurent’s dark-honey skin, Romanesque nose, and square chin were not what people reacted to the first time they met him. His eyes were undeniably blue and an untold story. He never explained, and no one ever asked.
Laurent, probably not much older than Justine, responded, “Why, thank you, Miz Justine.”
“Why do you always speak that way to her?” Isabelle asked.
“Because she expects me to. I daresay it makes her more comfortable than my white voice.”
“You’re probably right,” Isabelle said. “Mother and I want to take the girls to Antoine’s for lunch. Would you pick us up from there in about two hours?”
“Certainly. And please forgive me, Mademoiselle LeClerc, for not greeting you sooner. I will see you ladies in two hours.”
As they left Maison’s, Justine said to Lottie, “And that’s exactly why you and Gabriel Girod need to abandon this idea that you could have a life together. Goodness, in whose world would you expect your children to live? He seems to spend more time with Nathalie. That’s the talk the two of you need to have. You just need to let him go.”
Lottie concentrated on Madame Dumas’s braided hair as she walked in front of them, afraid that if she looked at Justine, she might share with her exactly how she felt. She remembered what Laurent had said about Justine’s expectations. Another lesson learned. “Thank you for your advice,” she said.
Justine smiled. “I just want to help.”
Chapter Thirty-One
...........................
“Rosette wants these awnings to come out from the building on three sides, but I think we’re going to have to remeasure that space next to the banquette. It doesn’t seem wide enough to accommodate what she wants. What do you think?” Joseph showed Gabriel the plans for the café addition and the drawing of the original footprint.
“I marked off the property lines yesterday, and I think I have an idea that might work,” said Gabriel. He and Joseph met to discuss a few changes his mother wanted to make, though Joseph warned him to expect changes to the changes. “It’s one part of this business that can keep a man awake at night. Just when you think you’ve nailed it down, up it comes again.” The more time Gabriel spent with Joseph, the more he admired and respected him. Since the day he accompanied Joseph to the LeClercs’ real-estate office, Gabriel had been impressed with his honesty.
Joseph seemed to value Gabriel’s opinion, telling him he had a good eye for detail and design. He began to include Gabriel in more of his work, but Gabriel’s first responsibility was to Rosette and he didn’t want to leave her, even when she assured him she’d be fine on her own. Recently, one of those “fine on her own” days proved to be busier than she had anticipated. But that day resulted in an outcome none of them anticipated.
Nathalie and Serafina were there for breakfast, and when Nathalie saw that Rosette could not handle her many customers, she put an apron over her new ecru velvet-and-silk gown, waited on customers, and worked in the kitchen frying or making coffee or warming milk or washing dishes. Her disarming personality compensated for what she didn’t know. When a table of six asked what they owed, Rosette said she cringed when she heard Nathalie say, “I have no idea. Why don’t you just pay what you think you should?” When she brought the money to Rosette, they had paid almost three times what Rosette would have charged. Nathalie said, “That means your prices are too low.”
By the end of the day, Nathalie’s feet throbbed and so did the three fingers she’d burned because, she explained, the only time she’d been around fire was to warm her hands. She joked that her dress was like giraffe skin because of the dark, scattered coffee splotches. And where there wasn’t coffe
e, there were patches and trails of powdered sugar. She refused to allow Rosette to pay her, but wanted to know when she could work again.
The evening Gabriel saw Lottie attempting to get into the cathedral, he and Rosette and Nathalie had met and set up a schedule that would free him to work more with Joseph. Nathalie still refused to be paid. “I don’t need the money, and if you pay me, then it’s”—she wrinkled her nose—“a job. I don’t want a job. Could you take the money you would pay me and give it away? I’d feel so much better if you did.”
The next day, Joseph joined the Girods for dinner. Gabriel told him and Rosette that Nathalie was the person he would have least expected to solve his problem.
“When God means for something to happen, He finds a way,” Rosette said…except that she was staring at Joseph and not Gabriel.
Gabriel wanted to ask if it meant that, if there was no way for something to happen, was that a sign God didn’t mean it to?
* * * * *
“Until I started working with you, a hardware store would never have been a place in which I would choose to spend time. But each shelf is one surprise after another,” remarked Gabriel as he picked through an assortment of latches, strap hinges, and pulls with handles at Armstrong’s Hardware.
“You might need to consider investing in a set of work clothes even for the days we aren’t at the job sites. Most of the stores do not cater to gentlemen dressed in their morning frock coats,” Joseph said, pointing to the accumulation of dust on the sleeves and vest of Gabriel’s coat.
“Old habits do not break easily. Your advice is well-taken, and I am certain Rosette will appreciate not having to beat my coats as if they are rugs.”
Joseph purchased five dozen hooks to secure batten doors and the same number of wrought-iron double ram’s horn hinges for French and paneled doors. He wrote down the address of the job site for the delivery and handed it to Armstrong. “Could you make sure these are delivered by tomorrow?”
Love Finds You in New Orleans, LA Page 20
