Creole Hearts

by Toombs, Jane

  When she returned to Lac Belle, Madelaine couldn't dislodge the idea of a costume. At my age, she chided herself, I shouldn't be thinking of dancing in masked parades.

  But why not? Who would know?

  She stood up and examined herself in the pier glass. Her chin was still firm, she looked younger than she was, with scarcely any grey in her hair. As for her figure, her waist was slim, her breasts didn't sag. Masked, no one would guess she was Madelaine La Branche.

  Shrove Tuesday, Fat Tuesday, Mardi Gras. A time to be merry, to celebrate, for penitence followed, days of sorrow.

  Ninette's singing echoed in her mind. "Dance, dance the Calinda! Boujoum, boujoum!"

  She'd stay in the townhouse, it would be easy to return there after the celebrating. And she would wear—what? The fashion called for leg of mutton or puffed sleeves, waists that dipped to a vee and bell shaped shirts held out with multiple petticoats.

  If she went back to her own girlhood, though, she might dress as the Empress Josephine in the empire style with its high waist. A fur trimmed short spencer, open in front to show decolletage, but long sleeved against the coolness of the evening, could be made of velvet in a contrasting color to the gown. She had the sapphire and diamond tiara, Guy's gift from Paris that she'd never worn. Now she would—to dance in the streets.

  Madelaine smiled.

  She woke early on Fat Tuesday, hearing a peddler calling in the streets.

  Oyster man! Oyster man!

  Get your fresh oysters from the oyster man.

  Bring out your pitcher, bring out your can.

  Get your nice fresh oysters from the oyster man.

  Quite like the old days, staying in the townhouse, excited about Guy taking her to a public ball, she and Annette Louise giggling over the glances of the young blades.

  Annette Louise was a plump matron now, Gabe was grown—old enough almost to be the father of his mother's younger children, Nicolas' son and daughter, Philippe and Lisette.

  Gabe was a handsome and accomplished young man. She'd see that Cecile met him, no matter what Guy thought. After all, Gabe was a Davion, not a Roulleaux, even if his mother had married one.

  Odalie was ailing, some days she couldn't rise from her bed, but she insisted she'd live long enough to meet Cecile, for of all the servants, only Odalie knew what had taken Madelaine to France.

  "I be seeing that little girl, nobody putting me in no oven till I do see Cecile."

  "You'll live long enough to see her married, Odalie," Madelaine assured the old woman. "And you're not going into an oven."

  Odalie was referring to the double brick vaults in the cemeteries where poor people could rent an upper vault for the remains of their loved ones, then when the time ran out, the bones were removed and put into a common, lower vault and the upper again rented.

  "You're going to have a vault all your own, like old Louis has," Madelaine went on. "Do you think I'd put you in an oven?"

  "No, you be my own, I be raising you up, you don't do that to me."

  Madelaine had taken Josefina with her to the town house, since Odalie wasn't well enough to stand the short ride from the lake to the city. Josefina approved of Madelaine's notion to dance in the carnival parade, helping her dress and arranging the tiara in her hair with almost as much excitement as Madelaine felt.

  When Madelaine fixed the blue velvet mask over her face, Josefina clapped her hands e a young girl.

  "You don't look like anybody I knows," Josefina said. "All the gentlemen be wondering where the pretty woman come from."

  "I don't intend to tell them," Madelaine said, buoyed by Josefina's enthusiasm. "I'll be like Cinderella and disappear at midnight."

  But when she ventured out of the courtyard, she hesitated on the banquette, suddenly feeling very much alone and unprotected in the dusk. Should she have gone out into the parading earlier, while the sun still shone? That's when the children were out, she might have seen Ninette. Madelaine almost laughed out loud at her fears. She wasn't dressed like the Empress

  Josephine to dance with the children, why not admit it? Maybe she was being foolish, but she wanted something to come of this escapade. Exactly what, she didn't allow herself to speculate over.

  As long as she was masked and costumed she'd at least take a look at the procession--but

  Madelaine found it impossible to be an observer. As she neared the undulating line of paraders hands reached out and pulled her into the procession.

  "Who is she?" a man dressed as a court jester asked. "A queen, that's evident."

  "The Queen of Beauty," another suggested, catching her about the waist and swinging her in an improvised dance in and out of the crowd.

  "A toast to the Queen of Beauty," the first man said, lifting aloft a wine bottle.

  Many of the revelers carried glasses, and now held them out to be filled. A man offered his full glass to Madelaine and, in the spirit of the celebration, she took it graciously and sipped before handing it back.

  "Shouldn't beauty be for all?" a man dressed as an Indian asked. He swept Madelaine into his group, whirling her about before passing her on to the next man.

  At first she laughed, intoxicated by the gaiety and singing, stimulated by the dancing and being able to act as she pleased without anybody knowing her name. Everyone was masked, and she didn't recognize a single person in the crowd. If a man's hand strayed to her breast it was easy to slip away to someone else. There was no need to wax indignant, for it was no insult to Madelaine La Branche, but a tribute to the Queen of Beauty.

  But as the line, inching its way along, widened to fill the streets and spill up onto the banquettes, she found it harder to avoid unwelcome embraces, the press of so many bodies pinning her in place.

  "A kiss, Madame Beauty," a bewhiskered, berobed man demanded, thrusting his bearded face at hers, his lips wet and soft.

  She couldn't get away from him, all she could shift her face so his mouth was against her cheek instead of her lips. He kissed her neck, slobbering against her bare flesh. She felt her stomach churn in disgust.

  "Let me go!" she cried, her voice all but lost in the wild merriment.

  He paid no attention, plunging his hand into the low bodice of her gown to fondle her bare breasts.

  Madelaine screamed and he laughed. She struggled to free herself but he gripped her fast and the crowd hemmed her in.

  Why had she ventured into this madhouse alone?

  She beat at him with clenched fists, but he didn't seem to feel the blows as his breath came faster and he pressed her close to him, seeking her mouth again. She jerked her head away, catching sight of a cane held by the man next to her.

  Desperately, Madelaine grabbed at the cane, jerking it away from its owner. She knew the cane for what it was because Guy had one—indeed, every Creole man had once carried such a cane.

  A sword cane.

  She felt for the release lever. A sword would be of no use in this mass of people except in one way. As she pressed the release lever, she raised the cane into the air, tip pointing at the ground, hearing the snick of the steel sliding out of the wood. She brought it straight down as hard as she could.

  Madelaine felt the sharp sword point penetrate the leather of her tormentor's boot, into and through the flesh of the foot.

  He shrieked with pain, releasing her to grab at the cane.

  Madelaine dropped the cane and tunneled her way through the crowd, arriving disheveled and panting on the banquette, where the crush was less. She flattened herself against the front of a building, watching the torch lit scene with fear and apprehension.

  Would he try to come after her?

  Voices spoke to her, hands reached for her and she shrank away as much as she could, afraid each man would be another like the one she’d stabbed in the foot.

  “I want to go home,” she whispered. “Please, I just want to go home.”

  “Your crown is falling,” a voice said, She saw a Greek soldier. Automatically she reached up
and settled the tiara more firmly in place.

  “That’s right,” the man told her. “Come out and dance now, empress.”

  “No,” she said. “No!”

  But his hands were insistent, pulling her relentlessly back into the mob of merry makers, up one street and down another they swept, laughing, shouting. Her head pounded and her feet hurt from bruises made by those who stepped on her fragile slippers. The Greek soldier had long since vanished, now other hands caught at her and tried to swing her in dances made impossible by crush of people.

  She felt contaminated by so much handling, soiled as her gown was soiled by the dirt of the street.. She made a concentrated effort to break through to the edge on the procession, angrily using her elbows on resisting backs.

  Again she neared a banquette, stumbling up on to it. Next to her a woman tripped and fell face down onto the wood. Madelaine distinctly saw a man step on her.

  “Wait, stop, someone’s down!” she cried, but none paid heed.

  She grabbed the woman’s arm and, with effort, turned her onto her side, Blood smeared her face and mask. Madelaine wasn’t sure she breathed.

  “Nom de Dieu!” Madeline shouted at the top of her voice. “A woman is hurt!”

  No one came to help her, though the crowd pressed close enough to jostle her as she stood over the fallen woman. Frantically, Madelaine bent and took hold of both the woman’s wrists and pulled her to the wall of a building. There was an ugly gash across the unconscious victim's cheek.

  "Help!" Madelaine cried. She put two fingers into her mouth and whistled piercingly.

  Faces turned her way.

  "I need a doctor," she cried. "Send a doctor. A woman's hurt."

  Nobody offered a hand, though they couldn't miss seeing the helpless figure at her feet. How was it possible such a thing could happen? Weren't these her own people, Creoles? Why didn't anyone help her?

  Madelaine didn't know how long she crouched over the bleeding woman before she slipped into a numbed lethargy, rousing only now and then to call for help, for a doctor.

  It seemed an eternity until, like a miracle, she saw the crowd parting before her like the Red Sea at Moses' command. A man on a horse rode through and stopped in front of her.

  He slid from the saddle and knelt beside the unconscious woman. He wasn't in costume and wore a wide brimmed hat.

  "I'm a doctor," he said.

  "Thank le bon Dieu someone sent you," she gasped.

  "What happened?" he asked, his fingers gently examining the injury to the woman's face.

  "I don't know. She fell down. I saw a man step on her."

  He bent over the woman. Madelaine leaned back, easing her cramped muscles.

  "I'm going to put her on the horse," he said, "for I've got to get her out of here." He spoke French with an accent, Madelaine noticed wearily.

  "If you'll let me help you up first so you can hold her—I'm sorry about the saddle, I'm afraid you'll have to sit astride—I'll lead the horse."

  Madelaine looked straight at him for the first time. She lifted her mask to be certain of what she saw because she couldn’t believe her eyes.

  Beneath the hat was red hair tinged with gray. Blue eyes stared back at her.

  “John Kellogg!” she cried.

  Chapter 26

  Madelaine stared into her vanity mirror with dissatisfaction. Was it only yesterday she'd thought she looked youthful? Josefina, arranging Madelaine's hair, shook her head.

  "I like to never seen such goings on," she said. "That lady's husband and all."

  "I'm glad she wasn't seriously hurt," Madelaine said.

  "She be carrying a scar down her face, be reminding her for a long time. Fighting ain't worth getting scarred."

  "It was the crowd," Madelaine said. "Most everyone was having a good time and so nobody noticed if one or two people were in trouble."

  "I heard him say she be running off from him, that's what, because he don't be wanting to dance no more in Mardi Gras, cause he be wanting to go home."

  "Well, she's safe now," Madelaine said, tired of the conversation.

  John Kellogg had brought the woman she'd rescued to the La Branche townhouse. Once she'd roused enough to. tell him her name, he'd summoned her husband, who'd taken his wife home.

  "And the Americain doctor be back in New Orleans," Josefina went on. "Sure be strange, what can happen."

  It hadn't seemed strange at all to see John once more. His auburn hair was streaked with grey and there were lines in his face that hadn't been there fifteen years ago, but he looked much the same. How very different she must look to him, Madelaine thought. She leaned forward and examined her face.

  Josefina caught her eye. "Must be he coming here again, that doctor," she said.

  Madelaine flushed, immediately angry at herself for doing so, annoyed that it mattered so much how she looked to John.

  "Dr. Kellogg will be here for dinner," she said sharply.

  This is ridiculous, Madelaine told herself in the early afternoon as she wandered from one room to another, making certain everything was perfect. You've been nervous and jumpy all day, like a young girl waiting for her first suitor. Didn't he hesitate before he said yes to your dinner invitation? He's coming out of courtesy, nothing more.

  There'd been no time to exchange confidences last night. She only knew that John was in New Orleans. He could be married, his wife somewhere else, he could have a dozen children. She mustn't behave like a silly child.

  John arrived after dusk, wearing a long broadcloth coat over a sapphire blue vest. She thought he looked handsome and distinguished. She'd changed her gown three times, finally settling for an off the shoulder gold satin with puffed sleeves and a beribboned belled skirt. Now she wondered if she should have dressed more simply.

  "You haven't changed at all," John told her. "Still young, still beautiful." He smiled. "And just as willful. I can't think what your brother was about, letting you parade alone in the Mardi Gras."

  "Guy's in France." Madelaine looked down at her hands, lowering her voice. "He's gone to bring back Cecile. She—she's almost fifteen."

  “Cecile?"

  Madelaine raised her head to meet his glance. "My daughter. She's been raised there. Guy and I will present her in New Orleans as—as our cousine."

  It was a relief to get the words out, to be able to say the truth to someone.

  He nodded. "You've never married?"

  "No."

  "Nor have I."

  "Will you be staying long in New Orleans?" she asked, hoping he couldn't see the pulse throbbing so rapidly in her neck.

  "I've settled in Louisiana." He paused while Leroy entered with a decanter of wine and glasses, setting them down on a low table.

  Madelaine nodded and Leroy left as silently as he'd come.

  "Shall I?" John asked, tilting his head toward the wine.

  "Please."

  John poured a glass for Madelaine, then one for himself.

  "Now that I'm finally retired from the army, I've begun a practice in Baton Rouge," he said. "I came to New Orleans to see old Dr. Goodreau—he's confined to bed these days. I was just down the street when word came that a lady in the parade needed help."

  She leaned forward. "I couldn't believe it was you. It's been so long. I never dreamed I'd see you again."

  "And how do you feel?"

  Madelaine blinked. "I'm quite recovered from last night. Only a few bruises .. ."

  "No. How do you feel about seeing me after all these years?" His gaze was intent. She'd forgotten how very blue his eyes were.

  "I—I . . ." She touched her face, knowing the blood was rising to her cheeks. "I'm happy."

  John stood, crossed to her and reached out. She put her hands in his and he pulled her to her feet.

  "I've never stopped loving you," he said. "You drew me back to New Orleans, even though I promised myself I'd stay away."

  Her breathing quickened. "John," she said. "Oh, John . . ."

&
nbsp; His lips were warm against hers, his arms held her close and an almost forgotten desire flooded through her body. After a few moments he eased away enough to look down at her and she saw her own need reflected in his eyes. There was nothing in the world for her but John Kellogg.

  Taking his hand, she led him up the stairs to her bedroom. When she bent to turn out the

  lamp on the night table, he stopped her.

  "I want to see you. I've waited a long time, Madelaine."

  With her gaze fixed on him, she unfastened the back of her gown, stepped out of it, removed her petticoats, stockings and slippers. She saw him catch his breath, and suddenly she felt beautiful and desirable. She slipped under the bed covers as he undressed.

  His body was firm and muscular—a young man's body. He got into the bed next to her and took her into his arms, and she sighed as his bare flesh warmed hers.

  It had been so many years since John had held her, though it had never been like this. She trembled with the urgency of her desire for him.

  He was gentle but insistent, caressing her into eager passion, controlling himself until she was wild with the need for him, until she arched to him, calling his name. Then he thrust within her, his abandon releasing her rapture. She clung to him, sobbing in fulfillment.

  "Madelaine," he said later, "why do you weep?"

  Tears in her eyes, she said, "I've never been so happy. Oh my love, my love ..."

  "But you're crying."

  "Because I love you. I loved you before, but I was too proud to let myself realize how much I needed you. You offered, but I—I couldn't go to you. I didn't understand then that a woman could love more than once."

  She touched his face. "What a silly girl I was. So much time we could have spent together has been wasted."

  "We'll waste no more." He held her to him again. "We'll marry as soon as possible. Why not tomorrow?"

  Madelaine began to laugh at his impulsiveness, then sobered, remembering her brother.

  "We must wait until Guy returns from France," she said.

  John held her away. "Why?"