Love Finds You in New Orleans, LA

by Christa Allan

  * * * * *

  This time Lottie didn’t need to rattle the doors of the cathedral. She stepped into the alcove and let her eyes adjust from the glaring sun to the dim light. A few people were scattered about. Some were on the kneelers with bowed heads. The others, she noticed as she quietly walked past, sat with their rosary beads, their lips moving in silent prayer.

  Not seeing Father François at the altar, Lottie suddenly realized she had assumed he would be in the church, and she had no idea where to find him if he wasn’t. She remembered Gabriel saying he lived behind the cathedral, and she hoped she could find the place. Agnes was in the last pew, kneeling and praying, probably with one eye open to track her. Lottie sat in the first pew, scanning the front of the church and the alcoves nearby. Still no sign of Father. She couldn’t sit here all day. Actually, she could. It was Agnes who couldn’t. Lottie thought she might be able to convince Agnes of that if she needed to do so.

  She pushed her fifteen yards of fabric off the pew and on to the kneeler. This had to work. Show me, please, how to save this family. Except Paul couldn’t know she was involved. She had to protect her grandparents. Without that sale, they would lose everything. As long as they had the money they needed, she would deal with the rest later. God, Agnes said You always find a way.

  Lottie didn’t know how long she knelt there, only that she could feel the seams of her petticoats pushing into her knees. She looked up when she heard doors opening and closing. The confessional. Father François had been there. It had looked like a large closet, and she had not even noticed it. He passed close enough for her to reach out and tug the sleeve of his cassock.

  “Father,” she whispered, “I need to speak to you. It’s important.”

  He looked at her, she could tell, not remembering her.

  “I gave you the note for the collection box.”

  “Ah, yes.” He scanned the church then told her to meet him in the confessional, as there was no one else waiting.

  She stood, and Agnes had her in her sights just as Lottie had hoped. She pointed to the confessional. If Agnes had looked up and not seen her, the church might have become a great deal less solemn. Agnes nodded and smiled, probably thinking Lottie was making her confession. She’d explain later.

  Father François entered through one door and Lottie the other. He sat in his space; she knelt in hers. Only the outline of his profile could be seen through the small woven cane screen separating them.

  “How can I help you?” he said softly.

  Lottie explained enough for him to know that a family was about to be torn apart and sold to pay a gambling debt. “I thought, Father, if you contacted the person you pass the notes on to, this family could be helped.”

  “Without more information, I can do little.”

  “What do you need?” It shouldn’t be that difficult to find out their names. The challenge would be knowing Paul’s plan. Maybe she needed to leave that part up to God.

  “There is another way,” Father said. “Many of the slaves congregate in Congo Square on Sunday. Can you get word to them to look for a gentleman wearing a red-and-black cravat? They need to be there by noon. I will tell the gentleman to be prepared to meet a man, his wife, a son, and a daughter. Correct?”

  Lottie nodded then realized he couldn’t see her doing that. “Yes, Father. Thank you. Bless you.”

  “Please make sure they know they cannot be late, for there is a schedule. And if they cannot be there or you cannot contact them, you must tell me as soon as possible. Four other people might be waiting to take their place.”

  “Yes, Father. I understand. Thank you.”

  “God be with you and with them.”

  Lottie wanted to run down the aisle to Agnes, she felt so relieved. She had no idea how she would pass the information on to the family, but she trusted that all she had to do was trust.

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  ...........................

  That night as she lay in bed, Lottie considered how to make this plan work. Earlier, she thought she had the problem solved. She would write a note and find someone to pass it on. But it was unlikely they would be able to read, and she couldn’t take that chance. Lottie would eventually be invited to the Bastion home, but not until after the formal engagement. Ruthie had heard rumors, and she might know them, but her baby could be delivered any day and Lottie refused to risk involving her. As much as she might have liked to have an excuse to talk to him, she didn’t think Gabriel would know Paul’s slaves.

  There was only one person who truly knew Paul Bastion well enough to know the answer. Paul’s placée. But could she be trusted? Lottie didn’t know who she was, how to find her, or what she even looked like. Gabriel knew about her, but that didn’t mean he knew her. And then she realized the answer. Of course. Justine. She could ask Isabelle. The Dumas family was a shrimp net that information flowed through. All the little shrimp escaped, but not the big ones. And Paul was like one of those huge crabs trapped in the net, in the wrong place at the wrong time.

  The next morning, Lottie scrambled out of bed. She had to be at the Dumases’ early, before Justine set off on another one of those lessons or lunch or whatever she occupied her days with lately. By the time Agnes came to wake her, Lottie was dressed and ready to leave.

  “Where you going? Ain’t nothing happenin’ dis early dat you gotta git to except breakfast down the stairs.”

  “I am just going to Justine’s house, and I do not need you to chaperone me four houses away. I will be back soon.” Lottie headed out the door before Agnes or her grandparents could find a reason why she shouldn’t.

  * * * * *

  Lottie was pouring herself a cup of coffee when her grandparents came in for breakfast.

  “My, you seem quite energetic this morning, my p’tit. You must be feeling better,” her grandfather said as he came over to pour his own cup. He kissed her on the top of her head. “It’s good to see you smile.”

  She kissed him on the cheek. “Yes, and it is going to be a wonderful day.”

  Her plan was coming together. When she had knocked on the Dumases’ door, Isabelle opened it. As God would have it, Ruthie was in labor and Isabelle had come to help. Lottie didn’t elaborate. She asked Isabelle if she could find out the name of Paul’s placée and where she lived. Isabelle didn’t flinch when Lottie said she needed the information today. And she didn’t ask questions. “I have no idea when this baby will decide to let go of Ruthie, so can you come back after lunch? François will be home then, and he’s not yet left for the office. He can track this information down between now and then. Men gossip too, but their gossip is always much more reliable.”

  By lunch, Ruthie had a son who overcame the indignity of being delivered of his mother when he learned that the same body that housed him could also feed him. Isabelle was his self-declared grandmother, already quibbling about his name. Ruthie wanted Isaac because it reminded her of Isabelle’s name. Isabelle thought he should be Laurent Junior. Madame Dumas settled the argument. “Laurent, when you decide on a name for your son, and we hope it is soon, please inform us.”

  And not long after that, François came home with the name Serafina Lividaus and an address.

  * * * * *

  Lottie selected a muted-green polished cotton gown with velvet cuffs on the long sleeves and panels in the skirt, only slightly off the shoulders and absent the fripperies she detested that cluttered and ruined dresses. If she flaunted herself, she seemed desperate. If she showed up in a dowdy gown, she appeared unmannered. She wanted Serafina to be attentive to what she said, not what she wore.

  Who could she trust to deliver her there? Suellen and cooking occupied Agnes. Abram was the only logical choice because, though she loved Justine, she talked too much and couldn’t be trusted. She wouldn’t need to stay long. Serafina was going to help or not, and Lottie knew the risk was high that she might confess everything to Paul to win his favor. She knew not to underestimate the education, etiq
uette, or insight of a placée. But if Serafina possessed all those things and Paul did not show her a different face, which she doubted he would because he lacked the discipline to do so, then in her heart Serafina knew who he really was.

  Usually, early evening marked the time to enjoy being outdoors, so Lottie had time. Her grandparents had been invited to play cards. She found Abram, asked him to take her, and told him that what she had to do was so important, she couldn’t tell him, and she needed him not to say anything either. “I’m not saying you will never be able to talk about this. Just not until the time is right.”

  She checked her hair in the mirror. Her pearl studs were simple but elegant. Her gold cross fell perfectly above the top of her gown. Lottie was ready to meet her future husband’s mistress.

  Once in the carriage, Lottie questioned what she was doing, but only long enough to convince herself she’d made the right decision. The closed curtains, the cool quiet, and the gentle sway of the wagon with the clipclopping of the horses’ hooves against the cobblestones almost rocked her to sleep. Some time later, the slight jolt told Lottie they’d arrived. She peeked around the curtain to see the house. The Creole cottage had been painted a celery green. Lottie congratulated herself on her gown selection.

  Abram opened the door and helped her down, though by the time Lottie lifted the wrought-iron knocker, she believed she left her stomach in the carriage.

  * * * * *

  The home, as Lottie expected, was beautifully and elegantly furnished. To Serafina’s credit, she politely welcomed her in and asked the maid to bring tea.

  At first, the two women emotionally circled one another like two contenders who were each promised, by the same person, to win the battle against one another. They discovered they had nothing to fight over if Paul was the prize, because neither one of them wanted him.

  Serafina was an attractive young woman who wanted to make a life for herself and the child. It saddened Lottie that she might have to raise her child alone with precarious finances. But she was resilient.

  Paul himself had told Serafina about selling the slaves, so Lottie explained the plan to her. Where they needed to be, when, and to look for the red-and-black cravat. Serafina wrote the information in an elegant script on a small sheet of paper. “I promise to burn this after my housemaid Clarisse carries the information to them. But if I neglect one detail, it could be tragic.”

  “I suppose we could appreciate that our mutual dislike of the same man is ultimately going to save four lives,” said Lottie as she rose to leave.

  Serafina clasped Lottie’s hand in hers. “Yes, and it will save our lives as well.”

  * * * * *

  Rosette and Gabriel sat across from Louis LeClerc, his expansive mahogany desk bridging the space between them. Embellished with scrolls and brass lions’ heads, fanciful flourishes even circled the leather top of the ornate desk. Gabriel conjectured the furniture might have been selected by Madame LeClerc in an effort to display sophistication and wealth to impress clients. But her genteel husband wore it like an ill-fitted suit.

  Perhaps, though, Monsieur LeClerc’s shiftings in his chair and clasping and reclasping of his hands more reflected the discomfort of the impending conversation than the ostentation of his surroundings.

  “Monsieur LeClerc,” said Rosette, “you probably already know why I am here.”

  “Please call me Louis. And, yes, we both knew this day would come,” he replied. “I had not expected it to come this way.”

  “I understand. I cannot imagine how difficult this must be for you.” Rosette’s warm voice appeared to diffuse the tension etched across Monsieur LeClerc’s features.

  His solemn face cracked just the hint of a smile before it retreated into sadness again. “It is not nearly as difficult as hearing your granddaughter say that she will marry a man she does not care about, when there is one she does.” His eyes went to Gabriel. “And that she is marrying him to save us from financial ruin. Then, to turn around and have that very man attempt to blackmail me…it makes what we need to do seem easy in comparison.”

  “I am sorry, sir, about what you stand to lose. But I am happy knowing what you stand to gain,” said Gabriel.

  “As well as you, oui?” He looked first at Rosette, then at Gabriel.

  Gabriel nodded. “I hope.”

  “Another day for that discussion,” said Rosette, patting Gabriel’s hand. “I know none of us are certain how this will unfold, but I do want to be the one to give the letter to Charlotte.”

  “Of course. That is as it should be,” Louis said. “The rest…” He paused, cleared his throat, and looked at Rosette. “…will be in God’s hands.”

  “Yes, yes, it will,” said Rosette. “As it always has been.” She stood, reaching her hand out to Monsieur LeClerc, whose eyes seemed to be focused someplace only he could see. She held his hand between her own gloved ones. “You have raised your granddaughter well.”

  “I wish I could have been more of a grandfather to her. Perhaps soon I will have that opportunity.”

  As he and Rosette left the office, Gabriel turned and saw Lottie’s grandfather quickly brush the tears away from his eyes then open a ledger on his desk and begin to work.

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  ...........................

  Paul arrived at the LeClercs’ without his parents. “They asked me to give you their deepest apologies. My grandmother in Atlanta has taken ill, and we just received word this afternoon. Arrangements are being made for them to leave tonight.”

  Lottie’s grandparents murmured their sympathies, though neither one of them seemed bothered at all to go to the opera without the elder Bastions. Wearing a creamy yellow gown edged in satin and paneled with hand-embroidered flowers in a thread a few shades darker, Lottie felt airy as her dress. Agnes told her it was a summer gown and she shouldn’t wear it, but Lottie didn’t care. Slowly, she was giving herself permission to be self-reliant. And the stronger she felt about that, the less her grandmother’s judgments or Paul’s detachment mattered.

  “Aren’t you wearing a cape?” Her grandmother handed her a black cape trimmed with fur at the hem and neck.

  Lottie handed it to Agnes. “No, thank you. I’m ready.”

  At intermission, an associate of Paul’s wandered over from where he and his family were sitting several boxes away. Arnstead, whose evening frock coat had likely been more comfortable quite a number of meals ago, must not have thought Lottie had anything above her neck, because his eyes didn’t once land there when Paul introduced her.

  “And so this is the fair Mademoiselle LeClerc.” He kissed her hand, and Lottie felt as if a garden snake crawled up her back. She wished now she had followed her grandparents for refreshments. The abundance of gas jets, while they made for a stunning display on everything that could sparkle, created heat that reminded Lottie of their outdoor kitchen. She had forgotten her fan, which deprived her of cooling herself and of something to fiddle with while she pretended to both delight in Paul’s company and ignore his conversation as women were supposed to do.

  She stood for a moment to ease the weight of sixteen yards of fabric in her lap and heard Paul tell Arnstead he was glad his parents had decided to leave tonight so his plans didn’t need to change. His friend said something unintelligible—more than likely unintelligent as well—but it ended with “…them darkies won’t suspect anything on a Saturday night.”

  Lottie was the only one in the box not laughing. Her mind raced, but her body refused to move. She had to get word to Père François to send someone to warn them. Where would they go? The church. Surely he would allow them to stay there. Serafina? No, she was too far away. But they couldn’t just leave, a black family wandering the streets of New Orleans on a Saturday night. She prayed her knees would not collapse under her from their incessant shaking. Smile sweetly, Lottie. “Excuse me, Monsieurs. May I just pass my little self along here? I am in dire need of fresh air.”

  “The air
is hardly ever fresh here,” said Paul. “Isn’t intermission almost over?”

  “Why, no. I have buckets of time to find some refreshments and maybe just a spot of air.” All those weeks of little conversation were an advantage. Paul didn’t seem confused by her cloyingly sweet and vapid dialogue. That’s who he thought he would be marrying. “You gentlemen just carry on. I am sure you have so many important things to talk about, they would probably bore me to tears.”

  “Probably? Not probably, certain. Certain to bore you to tears,” said Arnstead, and he and Paul shared yet another laugh at her expense.

  “I won’t be long.” She would have to remind herself to play that innocent game with Alcee, but now she had to make her way to Père François.

  She made it through the flock of people without seeing her grandparents. Several couples still strolled outside, so she walked as far as they walked to the end of the building and then stopped. She peered around as if she waited for someone, and when the couples wound their way back into the building, she stepped into the darkness where the hanging gaslamps wouldn’t drape her body in a hazy, gold light.

  A hire passed and she almost flagged it, but she had not brought her clutch. They were not known for providing free service even if the passenger wore Victorian lace. She had two blocks and then had to cross Canal Street. Young ladies pitter-pattering down St. Charles Avenue were not often seen, especially at night. Without a chaperone. The social etiquette sins became too numerous to count. By the time she picked up her skirts over her ankles so she could move faster, Lottie considered how she might spend the rest of her life as a social outcast.

  Canal Street didn’t have a canal, but it had mud, rocks, and unmentionable things, and she had stepped on or in them all. She had forgotten how wide the street was, and by the time she reached the other side, her corset refused to allow her more breaths. A few people asked if she needed help, and she gave a polite no because they wouldn’t want the real answer. Lottie’s side ached, and her shoes were useless. If she could break out of the prison of this corset, she might be able to make it. She could see the spires of the cathedral from where she was, their white tops piercing the night air. If only they were as close as they appeared.