Love Finds You in New Orleans, LA

by Christa Allan

  Gabriel dropped in the next grain, and it burst through to the top with just the right sizzle.

  When it was ready, it was obvious. He just had to wait for that one right moment.

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  ...........................

  March 1841

  Dear Mama and Papa,

  I have not written for days, and I am loath to write now, because I do not want to compose with my own hand how wretchedly miserable I am.

  Though I cooperated with all that my grandparents asked of me in the coming-out party, I allowed myself to nurture the dream of being with Gabriel. How very, very childish.

  It must be sufficient, for today, for me to reveal that there is no longer a future for me with Gabriel. I contemplated the possibilities, recognizing what having a life with Gabriel would mean. What we would both be required to sacrifice. I wonder now if I would have been as willing to leave if you were here instead of Grand-mère and Grand-père. Could I have endured, knowing the disappointment I would have caused you?

  But it matters not now. My grandparents need me to do what generations have done before me. Why did I ever think I could escape what was expected of me as the daughter of a wealthy Creole family whose name and status mattered in the city?

  Oh, what I would give to be poor.

  My love and affection,

  Genevieve Charlotte

  * * * * *

  Lottie tolerated Paul’s third visit. As validation of his utter disregard for her he displayed not a whit of consternation observing the shell of the woman soon to be his wife. If he noted that the dull-eyed, slack-faced young woman who arranged herself in the upholstered chair seemed to be different, it was not obvious in the careful examination of his fingernails or the continued straightening of his ascot.

  Before his sentence with her expired, he invited her and her grandparents to attend the opera with the Bastion family, who had a box at the opulent St. Charles theatre. The invitation was quite a coup for her grandmother, who was among the last of her friends to claim having viewed the lavishly appointed theatre. Grand-mère prated on about the chandelier, which even enticed Lottie to divert her attention long enough to hear its description. Made of over twenty-three thousand crystal prisms, the twelve-foot-high, thirty-foot-wide chandelier was lit by almost two hundred gas jets. Little wonder why the St. Charles cost over 350,000 dollars to construct.

  The discussion of Paul’s placée or her being with child no longer held any significance. Being a protector made him like most rich Creole men his age, so his having a left-handed marriage shocked no one. With Gabriel out of her life, Lottie now hoped that he wouldn’t dismiss his placée, when she did become Paul’s wife. It would relieve her of the burden of expecting or providing an emotional attachment. And perhaps a physical one as well.

  After Paul finally escaped, Lottie picked up Mansfield Park, opened the French doors of her bedroom, and sat outside to read. The same marchande who’d asked her to purchase a nosegay passed on the street, except this afternoon her tray held food, perhaps figs or nougats or the popcorn made with brown sugar. Only a few people traipsed back and forth. Most were probably napping or recovering from their afternoon meal. The Carnival days were approaching, though, and revelers leaving early, coming home late, and in all manner of inebriation and exhaustion would litter the streets.

  Lottie opened her novel to read about the loathsome Henry Crawford’s relentless pursuit of Fanny and was vexed by the arrogance of a man who sought to entertain himself by manipulating a woman’s affection and pretending to care about her. Was Paul’s one admirable quality his honesty in not pretending to care for Lottie? Or, perhaps, was that more evidence of his selfishness? She commended Fanny for refusing Mr. Crawford, as incomprehensible as the choice was to Fanny’s relations, and choosing instead to marry for love. Lottie closed the book with a sigh, wishing her own story could turn out as happily as Fanny’s.

  In the coming weeks, after Paul’s father and her grandfather negotiated the marriage contract, the formal engagement would be announced, which meant Paul could visit whenever he wanted. Lottie didn’t expect that to be often.

  She didn’t want to think about anything or anyone beyond that.

  * * * * *

  “I will absolutely die of boredom if you will not entertain me this evening,” said Nathalie as they closed the café. “Besides, like your mother, I am perplexed by this person who has inhabited your body all day. Though I do understand, because it is a perfectly hospitable one.” She grinned and then pouted when he didn’t respond. “Do you see what a problem you are?”

  Nathalie almost always amused Gabriel, as she did now, but she required a great deal of attention. She was not the person anyone would think to invite for a quiet stroll. A woman unafraid to express and sometimes demand what she wanted both terrified and outraged most men and even some women. Having known her since they were both too young to realize they straddled the world they lived in, Gabriel found her harmless. And he admired her determination, though she loved her mother, not to subject herself to quadroon balls, where she would be ogled by men and ultimately signed over to one who promised to care for her. Nathalie was her father’s daughter from his placée. His wife gave him sons. He refused to allow his only daughter to be parceled out on a dance floor. Fortunately for him and his daughter, he made money in the sugar industry faster than she could spend it. And that wealth enabled her to flaunt the conventions of society that expected so much and yet so little from women.

  “Can you postpone your death by one day?” He asked for no other reason than to put more time between his pain and the person he hoped he could be: the person who had learned to live without Lottie. Gabriel didn’t want Nathalie knocking down new walls.

  He set the last stool on top of the table so the floors could be mopped when Rosette opened in the morning. She had left early to pick up Alcee to be home in time to meet Joseph, who wanted to stake out the footprint for the addition to the house.

  “What if we just go to Lafayette Square? It’s not far, it’s a lovely evening, and you need the company of someone with a sense of humor.”

  Nathalie waited for his response. Her brown eyes, wide in anticipation, a delicate smile… She was beautiful. And yet, she wasn’t Charlotte. But perhaps that, too, could change.

  “You win. Let me not be responsible for your demise.”

  * * * * *

  Lafayette Square in the early evening hummed with children and their nannies, both relishing a few more precious minutes of playtime but for entirely different reasons. With the hanging of the gaslamps and the dusky glow of the moon, the humming ceased and the tempo ebbed and flowed based on the intensity of the latest political discussions, the scattered lone musician playing to the stars, and the couples who either whispered or softly squabbled.

  “I don’t want to talk about it,” Gabriel told Nathalie, though she had not broached the subject of Lottie at all. He didn’t want it lingering like an unwelcomed guest in the corners of their conversations.

  “Well, I’m not going to ask anything specifically about her. But I do want to tell you a story that my mother shared this past weekend.”

  Nathalie told him that her mother, her two aunts, and her grandmother went to Antoine’s for lunch on Saturday. One of her aunts pointed to a nearby table and said that one of the young women there reminded her of someone who once lived near her. “In fact,” Nathalie said, “my mother said Tante Louise used the words ‘startling’ about how much they resembled each another. My aunt told them she hadn’t seen the woman for years and heard rumors that she’d left the country, then rumors she’d died. She never found out for sure, but she would recognize Mignon anywhere.”

  Gabriel continued to gaze vacantly.

  “She was pointing to Charlotte,” Nathalie said.

  Gabriel shrugged. “Yes, that is an interesting story.”

  Nathalie tugged on the sleeve of his frock coat. “I’m not sure you’re unders
tanding what is truly interesting about this story. My tante Louise is not white. Neither was Mignon. They were both placées.”

  * * * * *

  Gabriel slammed the front door, the tremor pitching a ceramic vase from the mantel to the floor, which landed on the carpet next to the framed portrait of his grandmother that had slid down the wall.

  Rosette, her back to him, screamed for Joseph. Gabriel heard the hard scraping of wood against wood as Joseph pushed away from the table. His mother spun around, her hands cupped over her mouth. Shifting his eyes to the dining room, Gabriel saw a flash of relief on Joseph’s face as he realized who had walked into the house.

  “Tell me. Tell me what you know about Lottie’s mother.” The words came out in huffs of breath. He had run the entire way home. He hadn’t bothered to rent a hansom cab. He could outrun one, and he did.

  “What happened?” She looked him over as if expecting to find an open wound. “You need to calm yourself. Sit.” She patted the chair’s back and called to Joseph to bring Gabriel something to drink.

  “I don’t want to sit. I don’t want to drink.” He pulled off his frock coat and tossed it onto the sofa. Sweat still trickled down his back despite the cool night air. “I want the truth, and I know you have it. I can see it in your eyes.”

  Joseph handed him a glass, but Gabriel shook his head. “No, thank you. Not yet.” His mother had shown no confusion and no denial.

  “Not now, Gabriel. Please, not now.” Her voice was so low that he had to step closer to hear her. She was on the verge of crying. He heard it in her voice and saw it in her eyes, but he didn’t care. She could tell him through the tears.

  “It has to be now. I didn’t run here for you to tell me later.” Gabriel raised his voice with each word. Joseph moved a step in. She moved two steps back. Chess. They were playing a human game of chess.

  “You don’t understand. I can’t.”

  He hung his head. His hands were still clenched. He felt that if he opened them, his blood would stream out through his fingers and puddle at his feet. Nothing in his brain made sense. Then came the slow drag of a chair again and a voice.

  “Because of me. Because I’m here.”

  Serafina stood near Joseph, biting her lower lip, her head moving from Gabriel to his mother.

  Another pawn.

  * * * * *

  Gabriel sat, finally, wiped his face and neck with his ascot, and pushed the wet fringes of his hair off his forehead. He finished the orange water Joseph had prepared. Serafina, Joseph, Gabriel, even Alcee, who had dashed into the dining room, she told them later, because she thought a tree had fallen on the house—Rosette told them all.

  “Her name was Mignon DuFossat. I don’t need to describe her… just imagine Lottie’s face. Mignon and her mother had moved to the neighborhood sometime during the months I was pregnant, and since I spent almost all my time off my feet, we didn’t meet until after Gabriel was born.” She paused to look at her son. “You were actually the reason we met,” she said softly. “In addition to having more servants than I thought I needed, Jean Noel insisted on my having a nursemaid. She wanted to do everything for Gabriel. I almost had to beg to tend to my own child.”

  “Jean Noel was leaving one day, and I had bundled Gabriel for the stroller, intending to walk after he was gone. Zulime, the nursemaid, tried to walk out the door with the baby, and I wanted to strike her.” An assortment of soft laughter interrupted her. “No, really I did. I called Jean Noel’s name—he’d only taken a few steps—and told him I wanted to stroll my own child and Zulime wasn’t allowing it. Not knowing what a wench she had been the previous week, he told me he didn’t see any harm in letting her do that. It all ended with Zulime leaving with your father.”

  “Good for you,” Joseph said, and he clapped a few times as if she had just won a prize fight.

  Rosette rewarded him with a smile. She continued, “In the meantime, Mignon heard the noise and came outside, and when I walked by her house, she introduced herself. Fawned over Gabriel, and became a fast friend after that. She hadn’t attended a ball yet, but she always had this notion that when she did, she would find someone she loved. I explained it didn’t work that way. She insisted it could. The first ball was a disaster. She caused all sorts of trouble when a man she didn’t like approached her mother. I think she turned over a table. Of course, he left. Her mother warned her if there was no contract at the second ball, she would sign her over to the asylum.”

  “Asylum? The insane asylum? Her mother didn’t mean that, did she?” Alcee asked.

  “I wouldn’t doubt it, but it didn’t matter. She met Charles LeClerc that night, and they were besotted with one another. We didn’t see each other as much after he built her house, but we still met enough for me to know he wasn’t a man she had to learn to love. I didn’t think it possible for her to be prettier than she already was, but if you could have seen her face when he walked into a room…like someone lit a thousand candles at one time. And when he looked at her…” She paused, as if she had to bring herself back from decades ago. “You almost had to turn away because you felt like an intruder.

  “They wanted to marry. I don’t need to say much more than the LeClercs thought him crazy, told him to come back when he was brought to his senses. They went to Paris, and they married there. Mignon and I exchanged a few letters, but you know how long it all takes. I had written her to tell her that her mother had died of the fever, and a few days later a letter came from her saying they were coming home. They wanted their daughter to meet her grandparents. She asked if I would meet them when they landed. They wanted to stay here, not just arrive unannounced on the LeClercs’ doorstep. Charles planned to go there first.”

  She looked at Gabriel, breathed deeply, and continued. “They didn’t know how bad the yellow fever was, and by the time I knew they were coming, it was too late to tell them. That year was so awful. Dead bodies everywhere. They couldn’t bury them fast enough. People tied stones to corpses and threw them into the river. Businesses were closed. Some of the more rank bodies were set on fire. If you went outside, ashes fell like black snow. The morning after they arrived, Charles complained of cramps. By the time we were able to find Dr. Clapp and have him come to the house, Charles’s hands and feet had already turned blue. Yet he would sweat and sweat. He wanted to see his parents. Dr. Clapp said only if he wanted to kill them should he go to them. He died that night. Mignon and I were terrified for our children. I knew Virgine was leaving to go to her protector’s house across the lake. She took Gabriel and Lottie with her. Mignon was so distraught, we had to pull her arms off Lottie. She covered her in kisses. Hours later she was still crying. Charles dead. Her daughter gone. She cried so much, she could barely breathe. At least that’s what I thought. She asked for paper and a quill. That’s when I knew. Mignon, of course, did as well. Charles’s body was not yet out of the house, and she was dying too.”

  Joseph handed her his handkerchief. Rosette dried her face, gathered herself, and began again.

  “She wrote a letter to Charlotte, and she made me promise not to give it to her until it was time. I remember screaming at her, ‘No. You give it to her. Get well. I don’t want to have to deliver this letter.’ She smiled. Can you believe it? She smiled at me. I told her I would raise Lottie if she wanted me to. She shook her head. Told me to bring Lottie to Charles’s parents. ‘Explain what happened. Tell them Charles and I loved each other, we were happy, but we wanted Lottie to know her family.’ And then she told me and told me and told me. She wanted to make sure I understood, and she made me promise that I would do what she asked me to do. She said, ‘Tell the LeClercs they are to raise Lottie as if she is white. She’ll be able to pass. The rest is up to them.’ I kept that promise.”

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  ...........................

  “Why haven’t you given her the letter? Her mother’s letter? This changes everything. You can’t withhold this from her.” Gabriel paced, circling
the dining room table.

  “You’re assuming the letter tells the whole story. I’m doing exactly what she asked me to do. She said I would know the right time. I don’t think this is it,” Rosette said.

  “She’s about to marry a man she doesn’t love. A man who would not marry her if he knew about her mother. I don’t understand what else you need. What if ‘not the right time’ turns into ‘too late’?”

  “This is my decision to make. A friend and her husband died in my house within a day of each other. And don’t forget that had Mignon accepted my offer, Lottie would be like a sister.”

  “I can forget that,” said Alcee.

  “I’m going to escort Serafina back to her house,” said Joseph, who turned to Serafina and noted, “It doesn’t seem they know we are still here anyway. I’ll return, and they will probably not even realize I left.”

  “May I join you? They don’t need me either,” said Alcee.

  “Wait!” Rosette stood as if about to call a meeting to order. “I never intended for Mignon’s story to be told this way. Please, please respect that and do not say anything. At least for now.”

  Alcee, Joseph, and Serafina all nodded their acceptance and left.

  Rosette stopped Gabriel mid-circle. “You are going to have to trust me. I have carried this for eighteen years. I am not going to risk ruining someone’s life. Do you understand?”