Love Finds You in New Orleans, LA

by Christa Allan

  “Would it matter? I understand. I don’t like it, but I understand.”

  “It’s not the final piece of rice. Not yet,” Rosette said as she hugged her son.

  * * * * *

  Gabriel fell asleep, but he found it impossible to stay asleep. He created one scenario after another, but tonight they all ended the same way. He and Lottie could share a life together.

  When he woke in that hazy time between night and day, he decided to dress and go to the café early. He could surprise Rosette, and perhaps even Joseph, by nailing a few boards together without the nail pointing east or west or getting bent on top. Years of education, and yet he struggled with a hammer and nail. He found leftover French bread wrapped in a towel on the dining room table. Gabriel tore off a sizable chunk to eat along the way.

  He had forgotten what it was like to witness the city waking up. Not that he could see much from his room when he’d wake up early to study. But he could see enough that the lights from the candles of the early risers tracked their movements through their houses. Other times, like this morning, he would see a few lights extinguished from those staying too late at Vincent’s or the gambling house or the guzzle shops. The last ones presented the most trouble, with their sloppy walking and penchant for disposing of their stomach contents wherever and whenever necessary.

  He had time to walk past his father’s office, though he knew the man wouldn’t be there. Jean Noel probably didn’t arrive until after his servants brought home breakfast or the makings of it from the French Market. With the exception of returning home from the clothiers that day, Gabriel avoided the street as much as possible. Never during the day could he simply stand in front to peer through the plate-glass window inscribed with Mounier and Hart, whether people recognized him as Jean Noel’s son or not. Gabriel didn’t know if his own father would recognize the man he had become. This morning, when he reached his father’s door, it wasn’t Jean Noel that came to mind. It was Joseph Joubert. In the brief time he’d known Joseph, the man brought him on jobs, showed him the particulars of drafting, and included him in his business at every opportunity. He had been honest with Gabriel when Gabriel confronted him about being away. He adored Alcee, and he loved his mother. What more could Gabriel ask for in a father? Nothing.

  Jean Noel would have always been half a father, but Gabriel didn’t want just half a relationship. It wasn’t as if his father never cared about him. He remembered times his father read to him, played kickball with him…even paid for his new wardrobe several weeks ago. If Rosette had not asked him to leave, would he have been able to be two fathers? Jean Noel respected his mother’s wish, and for that, he respected his father. Gabriel could let go now.

  Closer to the river, he could hear the whistles of the incoming boats sounding as if they needed to wake up, their usual robust blarings now long groans. As the sun raised the thick, moist velvet curtain of darkness, figures that seemed like shadows emerged from doorways and carriages. The servants headed to the French Market; dock workers and merchants moved through the city. And this particular morning, Gabriel was one of them, and he prayed he would not wake and find it all a dream.

  He did surprise Rosette when she arrived at the café that morning. His frock coat, folded in half, made a pillow of sorts over his crossed arms, and he was sound asleep.

  * * * * *

  “Have you contacted André yet?” Nathalie was counting the inventory of plates and cups so they could place an order for more when the addition was ready.

  Gabriel scraped a new cone of sugar into several little hills of granules. “André?”

  “Remember, yesterday you were forging a trail to Paris, leaving the city behind?” She stuck the pencil into a fold of her tignon.

  “Yes, I remember that.” He already sounded defensive.

  “You had another change of heart overnight?”

  He returned the cone to the sugar box and handed Nathalie the key. “And if I did? You seem upset. Is it because I may stay here? Or is it because I may not?”

  “Did what I tell you yesterday have anything to do with your sudden reversal?”

  He hesitated, and for Nathalie that was as good as a response. She narrowed her eyes and stared. He wondered if she might be trying to read his mind. “What are you thinking?”

  “That you’re hiding something.” She wagged a finger at him. “You know I’ll find out. I always do.”

  Gabriel wanted to tell her that he hoped she did find out, because that would mean he would be with Lottie.

  * * * * *

  Gabriel could not recall a time when he had seen his mother this angry.

  He walked into the house that evening to find a bawling Serafina on the sofa and his mother walking back and forth, her fingertips pressed against her temples and her face mottled. A barrage of unfamiliar French expressions, which meant they must have been highly volatile, filled every space she entered.

  “Eighteen years. You have just destroyed eighteen years. People’s lives are at stake here. What were you thinking?”

  Tonight Gabriel made sure to close the door without shaking the walls. “What happened?”

  Between his mother’s rants and Serafina’s hiccupping sobs, he pieced the story together. And after he did, he understood his mother’s fury.

  Thinking she would help the process along, Serafina had told Paul the truth about Lottie’s mother.

  “Why would he choose to marry a free woman of color when he already has me? I thought he would be so angry that he would call off the wedding,” Serafina said.

  But he didn’t.

  What he did tell her was that his intentions for the property he would get in the dowry had nothing to do with the warehouse his father wanted to build. He had to have that property because he spent too many nights at the racetrack and the gambling halls—and he wanted to build his own. Even a Bastion did not have unlimited privileges when it came to debt. He said the wedding might not even be soon enough, but he had some money in the bank. “I asked him why he needed money if he had some already. He told me his slaves were his money in the bank.”

  Now it was Gabriel’s turn to seethe. This lying, manipulative man was to marry Lottie?

  Serafina gulped some air. “But he said he loves me. That he’s only going through with this wedding for that land. He promised me he’s going to take care of me and his child.”

  “I want you to look at me when I say this so you will remember.” Rosette leaned toward Serafina and placed her hand on the woman’s arm. “If you believe that Paul Bastion has any intention of following through with what he says, then you are truly a couillonne. You and your child deserve more than this selfish—and that’s the kindest word I can use to describe him right now—man.”

  “I thought I was going to make it easier for everyone. I am not stupid. I know Paul, and once he settles his debts, he will be back in my house.” Serafina refused to believe otherwise.

  “Well, if he is, then keep him there. No one else wants him,” said Rosette as she opened the door for Serafina. “Your carriage is here.”

  After seeing her out, Rosette sat, her hands trembling as she reached for her coffee cup. She managed a sip by holding it with both hands.

  “Where are Joseph and Alcee?”

  “I sent your sister to her room. If I strangled Serafina, I didn’t want a witness.”

  Gabriel smiled. His mother did not.

  “I don’t care that Alcee heard, but I didn’t want Serafina to have a set of eyes that might show sympathy. As for Joseph, he had a meeting with clients. He said he would stop by tomorrow,” Rosette said.

  “I have heard people say ‘I am at a loss,’ and until now, I did not understand how someone could have nothing to say. What she did…” Gabriel sat, his head in his hands.

  Rosette set her coffee cup on the saucer without it clattering. She arranged her dress on the sofa, pulling the folds, smoothing. She was thinking, somehow working out the problem as she set everything around he
r in order. He had watched this so many times over the years that when he saw her begin the ritual, he waited.

  She folded one hand over the other on her lap. “This is what we are going to do. Tomorrow morning, you will go to Monsieur LeClerc’s office and tell him you need to speak to him privately. You will tell him what you know about how Paul plans to use the land and why. I promise you, the LeClercs do not want their legacy to be that they were the family who sold prime real estate for a gambling hall.”

  “You said ‘we.’ What are you going to do?”

  “I will pray.”

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  ...........................

  Rosette was right about Louis LeClerc.

  At first, he thought Gabriel wanted to discuss Joseph Joubert’s properties. Then, when Gabriel explained he was there to discuss information he had heard about Paul Bastion, Monsieur LeClerc closed the door to his office. After Gabriel told him about Paul’s gambling debts and his real intentions with the property, he ran his fingers over the top of his head and stared at the wall behind Gabriel.

  Then, as if he had just realized he wasn’t alone in his office, Monsieur LeClerc grabbed the arms of his chair, stood, and reached his hand to shake Gabriel’s. “Thank you. Thank you very much. I trust this information will stay between us.”

  “Absolutely, sir.” As long as “us” included Serafina, Rosette, Gabriel, and, likely, Alcee.

  Lottie’s grandfather opened the door. “I don’t know how to repay you for this. I am very grateful.”

  Gabriel smiled. “We’ll think of something.”

  * * * * *

  Justine promised Lottie she’d be over after her Spanish lesson. Or maybe it was her art lesson. Her lessons required more and more of her time, so much so that Lottie told her she would start her own lessons and Justine could then schedule a time with her.

  Justine was almost fifteen minutes late. Lottie threw herself across her bed. Is this what her life was going to be like as the bored wife of a wealthy man? So little to do that a friend’s being late was a tragedy? She missed the life where she cared about other people. The children at the homes, the men and women she and Gabriel taught. Maybe Paul would let her build a home for orphans. She could name it after her parents. And then they would live happily ever after just like the fairy tales promised.

  “Lottie? I’m here. Where are you?”

  “I’m coming!” Lottie scrambled off her bed and practically trotted downstairs. “What took you so long?” She hugged Justine before she even had a chance to take off her cape and bonnet.

  “Gracious, Lottie. It hasn’t been that long since we’ve seen one another.” Justine pulled off her gloves. “Let’s see. Oh, I remember, that evening—”

  “Don’t say it. If I don’t hear it, I won’t think about it.”

  “Even I know that’s not true. You probably hear it in your own brain a dozen times a day.” Justine sniffed and pretended to squeeze her nose shut. “What is that horrid smell? It’s so bad it’s even in my mouth.”

  Lottie sniffed. “I must be getting used to it. I think it’s hair and linen. Agnes is teaching someone how to press clothes. Apparently there’s a big demand for slaves who can do that. People even pay them. Well, probably not everyone. It’s so much harder than I thought. And you have to be careful, else things burn and catch fire, and then there are ashes everywhere.”

  “I don’t need another lesson. Please tell me Agnes made coffee.” She pulled Lottie toward the dining room.

  “Not only that, but she made these little cakes, petits fours, and they’re covered in icing. If I have a cook, I’ve decided I’ll have her make extra desserts and I’ll bring them to Agnes.”

  “Well, perhaps it’s best you don’t start counting on cooks. Let’s get our coffee and cakes, and then I must catch you up on what I’ve heard about Paul.” Justine sampled one of the petits fours. “These are very good.”

  “Are these just rumors? Honestly, I can’t handle much more.”

  “Isabelle said François told her, and the last information he told her was right. You know my sister wouldn’t tolerate gossip. She insists that if two reliable sources agree, then it’s not gossip.”

  “Who’s the second person?” Lottie reached for a petit four before Justine swallowed the plate whole.

  “I don’t know. You can ask Isabelle the next time you see her. All she told me was Paul likes to gamble, but he hasn’t been winning. He owes so much money that he told someone he may have to sell a slave or two.”

  Lottie placed her half-eaten petit four on her plate. She felt as if her stomach had turned inside out. She was about to be violently ill at the thought of this despicable man touching her.

  “And,” Justine had more, “because I knew you would want to know, I asked Ruthie if she knew who worked for him. She told me there’s a family—the son may be seventeen or eighteen, and their daughter is ten. She’s already heard he might sell them together or separately. It just depends on the offers.”

  * * * * *

  Gabriel and Joseph were framing the exterior walls of the café addition when Nathalie walked over and asked to talk to Gabriel.

  “Go on,” said Joseph. “I can use a break.” He wiped his face and arms and went inside.

  “I don’t want to talk in the café. Can we walk across the street to the park?” Nathalie ducked out of the way of a carriage.

  “Yes, but what did you do with the old Nathalie when you inhabited her body? Did the voodoo curse finally work?” Gabriel dried his face, rolled down his sleeves, and picked up his vest that was hanging on a nail where he was framing.

  “Not today, Gabriel,” she snapped and opened her parasol.

  “When you are this serious, I feel a problem about to happen.” He helped her cross the boards laid over the foul gutters then unlatched the gate to enter the park. With the exception of a few nursemaids and an occasional reveler lost on the way home, the area was empty. The broad spans of St. Augustine grass had become squares of mostly mud sprinkled with patches of dry winter grass.

  “I’m afraid it already happened. I’m here because Serafina asked me to come. She didn’t think you or your mother could stand the sight of her, much less have her in your home.”

  “She told you?” It sounded like an accusation, not a question.

  “Of course she told me. We’ve been friends for years. Now, before you become spitting angry, keep in mind that I am the one who gave you the information that just might get you the life you want. She said for me to tell you that Paul and Monsieur LeClerc had a meeting. Lottie’s grandfather, as you know, because you’re likely the one who told him, knows about Paul using the land for a gambling hall. He wanted Paul and his father to sign a contract stating that it wouldn’t happen or else he wouldn’t sell him the land. Paul laughed and told Monsieur LeClerc that if he didn’t go through with the agreement, he would take an ad in The Bee if necessary, but he would make sure the entire city knew that Charlotte was not white. After he told her himself.”

  Gabriel’s anger could have fueled a ship. “This man is evil. He’s using a man’s granddaughter as bait to blackmail him. And that’s just part of it. You said Serafina’s your friend. Aren’t you afraid for her and her child?”

  “Not anymore. This wasn’t the only news he gave her. Paul told her that if he’s going to be with a free woman of color, no matter which direction he chose, he’d rather have one who isn’t with child.”

  * * * * *

  After Justine left, Lottie walked outside to find Agnes. She was consoling her “student,” a young woman close to Lottie’s age. Taller than Agnes and stick-thin, everything on her seemed long—her face, her neck, her legs and arms, even her fingers. From a few feet away, she resembled a spider that suddenly found itself on two legs. When she bent to heat the iron and moved back again, she moved like she was underwater. A pile of fabric near Agnes’s feet showed scorch marks, but Agnes continued to gently pat her back, saying, “Go
nna be all right, gonna be all right.”

  Lottie hated to interrupt but she didn’t want to wait. The one napkin on the board was taking an extraordinarily long time. She stood back a respectful distance and waved Agnes over when she caught her eye. “How much longer will you be working with her?”

  “Let’s see. ’Fore she’s good? Be a while. Couple months,” said Agnes, still watching her as she spoke.

  “No, Agnes. Today. Now. When will you be finished?”

  “Why? What you need?” A suspicious scowl was overtaking her face.

  “I need to go to the church, just for a little while.”

  Agnes shook her head. “I don’t even want to know why you needs to go to church so much lately. But if I tells you I can’t go with you and somethin’ happens, Jesus gonna be none too happy. Lemme tell Suellen she kin rest a bit. I be inside to git you.”

  “Thank you, Agnes,” Lottie said as she hugged her. “What am I going to do without you?”

  “I don’t want to know that either,” she said.

  Lottie figured Père François had to be involved somehow in these underground dealings, and if she could get word to him about Paul’s slaves, then he could help. There was still information she didn’t know, like when Paul planned to do anything or even the names of the people in the family he wanted to separate. She would have to figure out a way to get that information and soon. Going to Paul’s house was out of the question, and they weren’t going to see one another until the opera in two days.

  “You ready?” Agnes walked to the front door with a basket on her arm.

  “What’s that for?”

  “I might see something along the way I want. Never you mind. I’m going, ain’t I?” Agnes opened the door and waited while Lottie’s six-foot-wide flowered-muslin dress pushed through a four-foot-wide doorway.