Diane T. Ashley

by Jasmine

  Dorcas’s hand was so small in hers. Would the five-year-old, the youngest of her students, be able to keep up? She was not much older than Amaryllis. Her little legs would not be able to keep up, especially if they had to run for cover. Picking the child up, she settled Dorcas on her hip, glanced around the schoolhouse one last time, and stepped through the doorway.

  The heat from the fire was noticeable, but a quick glance around did not reveal the hungry lick of flames. Gray smoke and blackened cinders filled the air, obscuring everything. With her hearing stretched to its limit, she thought she caught the snap and crackle of the fire behind them, on the far side of the cabin. “Follow the path to the big house.”

  She could barely see Abraham and Zipporah some five yards ahead. James had picked up Mary, but Charity and Bobby were walking hand-in-hand directly in front of her. Dorcas cried against her shoulder as they picked their way down the path. The walk to her home only took a couple of minutes each afternoon, but today the distance seemed to stretch out endlessly ahead of them, as though they were caught in a nightmare. Finally they topped the rise between the big house and the cabin. The smoke had not yet reached this far, and Camellia breathed a sigh of relief as they half-ran, half-marched forward.

  When they reached the front lawn, she saw Aunt Dahlia rocking in one of the chairs scattered across the front porch, Amaryllis in her lap. Camellia rushed up the steps toward them. “What’s happened?”

  “Thank goodness you’re safe,” Aunt Dahlia’s voice squeaked. She cleared her throat before continuing. “Someone came to the house a few minutes ago and said the back field is burning. Jonah and your uncle Phillip have gone to see what can be done.”

  At least it wasn’t harvest time. Perhaps some of the crops would survive. Camellia set Dorcas on her feet. “I have to go help them.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous.” Aunt Dahlia stopped rocking. “You mustn’t forget you’re a lady. Besides, you’re needed here. Who do you expect to keep watch over all of these children you insist on coddling?”

  “Charity and Zipporah can watch them.” Camellia ignored her aunt’s complaint and waved the older boys toward her. She loved her aunt, but they seemed to disagree on many things these days, including the necessity of educating the sharecroppers’ children. She was beginning to fully understand why Aunt Dahlia and Lily had never gotten along. “I’ll go see what I can do to help control the damage.”

  With an expression as sour as buttermilk, Aunt Dahlia shook her head and began rocking once more. “You grow more like your sister with each passing day.”

  “Thank you for that compliment.” Without waiting for a reply, Camellia turned and headed back the way she had come. When she topped the rise between the house and the woods, her heart launched itself upward into her throat. The schoolhouse cabin was ablaze. If she and the children hadn’t left right away, they might be caught in that conflagration now.

  She started running toward the springhouse to help with the bucket brigade that she prayed was already channeling water to douse the hungry flames. If they didn’t get it stopped soon, her family might lose everything.

  Jasmine wandered through the exquisite rooms in the Cartiers’ impressive mansion on Prytania Street in the Garden District. She had not seen David since they arrived yesterday evening. He had not joined her and the Cartiers for breakfast, and he had been absent during lunch.

  Dr. Cartier, one of the most renowned surgeons in the city, had gone to the hospital to see some patients after lunch. Sarah had told her he would probably not return before nightfall, when they would all go to dinner at a popular restaurant. She had also promised to take Jasmine shopping in an hour or two, as soon as she finished meeting with the housekeeper about menus for the next few days.

  All of which meant that Jasmine was bored. She should have stayed in Natchez. In fact, now she couldn’t remember why she’d let Lily talk her into coming. The exciting city outside the Cartiers’ front door might as well be a thousand miles away for all the good it did her. Could she go for a walk on her own? Do a little shopping? No. Lily had insisted she not be allowed out of the Cartiers’ home without an escort.

  Jasmine kicked her skirt out in front of her, her feeling of misuse growing with every moment. When would she ever get to do what she wanted to do? She was stuck in a world between—too young to venture forth alone or to be included in whatever business it was that had Lily so distracted and far too old to take part in the childish world of her nephews and niece. She needed a companion. Someone who had similar interests. A partner in adventure. Someone like David Foster.

  Where was he when she needed him? Jasmine bit her bottom lip. Dare she send a note to him? Housed in the garçonnière, he had a separate entrance that allowed him privacy. It was an odd arrangement outside of Louisiana but one that many families of either Creole or Cajun heritage adopted, from the wealthy members of society to the middle-class businessmen.

  Infused with a sense of purpose, she headed to the back parlor where she thought she’d seen a writing desk. Sarah wouldn’t mind if she used a piece of stationery. But as she drew nearer, another problem occurred to Jasmine. What would she say? Could she plead with him to rescue her from inactivity? Would he understand? Come to her rescue? Or would he ignore the note altogether?

  Jasmine turned around and walked toward the foyer. She couldn’t do it. She would simply have to hold onto her patience a little while longer. Perhaps Sarah would be done before long.

  The open door of Dr. Cartier’s library drew her attention. She slipped inside, her interest piqued by the walls of floor-to-ceiling bookshelves. They were crammed with every manner of reading material. She moved to the nearest one and began perusing titles. The arrangement seemed to reflect Sarah’s haphazard personality more than her staid husband’s. Medical books rubbed shoulders with Beadle’s dime novels. Classical literature was shelved with books on animal husbandry and at least one tome on popular architectural styles. Shaking her head at the chaotic arrangement, Jasmine selected a dime novel. Aunt Dahlia would have a fit if she knew. But Aunt Dahlia was in Natchez.

  She was so engrossed in the description of western frontier life that she didn’t hear Sarah calling for her at first. Closing the salmon-colored cover, she slipped the book back onto the shelf and hurried into the hallway.

  “There you are.” Sarah skipped down the stairs as though she and Magnolia were the same age. Her dress for the afternoon was a bright concoction of white satin under a layer of yellow tulle. Blue organza flowers scattered across the skirt matched the ribbons laced through her cosmopolitan hairstyle. “I have been looking for you all over. Are you ready for our outing? I thought you would enjoy a drive to Place Gravier. It’s a park named for Jean Gravier, who donated the land.”

  Jasmine immediately forgot her woes as excitement filled her. She didn’t care where they went as long as she was no longer trapped inside. “Yes, I would adore an outing.”

  Although Sarah was wearing a dashing hat with a tall crown, she was several inches shorter than Jasmine. But that didn’t stop her from patting Jasmine’s cheek with a gloved hand. “Poor dear. I’ve been ignoring you, non?”

  The older woman clucked her tongue and shook her head, putting her hat in danger of toppling from its lofty heights. “I promise to make it up to you.”

  Like a leaf caught in a swift current, Jasmine followed Sarah across the foyer. She might have little control over her destination, but it was bound to be an exciting ride.

  A cabriolet stood outside the front door, its hood folded back so the two ladies would have a wide view during their drive. Jasmine cast a doubtful glance at her hostess’s hat, wondering if it would survive the buffeting of a brisk drive. But as it turned out, she need not have worried. Sarah Cartier might be a whirlwind when it came to her duties as a hostess, but she drove her carriage with all the deliberate speed of a tortoise. Their vehicle crept down the street, earning rude comments from one or two of the drivers stuck behind them. By the
time they turned into the park, Jasmine’s ears burned with embarrassment.

  “I don’t know why everyone is in such a hurry.” Sarah flourished the whip in her hand but did not direct it toward their horse. “I believe all this rushing about is why people grow ill during warm months. Poor Kenneth is so overworked from April until October that I worry about his health.”

  Jasmine nodded, her head swiveling back and forth to take in the sights. Ladies and gentlemen strolled about the shady paths of the park or rested on benches. A young girl in a rough cotton shift exhorted gentlemen to purchase flowers from her basket for the women they escorted. A young fellow was being tugged down the path by a large dog on a leash, his arm extended to a degree that made Jasmine wince in sympathy.

  A desultory breeze ruffled the leaves on the oak trees and teased Jasmine’s collar. “Do you drive here every day?”

  “Oh no.” Sarah’s mouth formed a perfect O when she spoke.

  Jasmine wanted to imitate the gesture but managed to restrain herself. She filed away the expression for future use. She had read an article the other day about how the most successful actors studied people to learn how to portray emotions on the stage. She had determined immediately to adopt the habit as she could see the benefits to be derived from it.

  “I usually have a coachman drive me to the park, but I wanted to show your pretty face to all of my friends.”

  An oncoming carriage drew even with them and stopped as the lady inside poked her driver with her parasol. “It’s nice to see you this afternoon, Sarah.”

  “Jasmine, I want you to meet one of my dearest friends, Madame Cécile LeBlanc.” Sarah turned to the lady in the other carriage. “Cécile, this is the youngest sister of my brother’s wife, Camellia, Miss Jasmine Anderson.”

  The other lady, dressed in a pink figured silk dress with short sleeves that exposed most of her upper arms, squinted toward Jasmine. “Enchanté, mademoiselle.”

  Jasmine was glad for Camellia’s insistence that she learn a few French phrases for just such social occasions. “Merci, madame. Comment allez-vous?”

  The other lady nodded her approval. “Je vais bien. I am well.” She looked at Sarah. “She is indeed beautiful and smart, too. Our poor debutantes will tear their flounces in despair.”

  Sarah beamed with pride as though she was personally responsible for Jasmine’s looks and behavior. “I have told you of their older sister who owns her own steamboat, Mrs. Lily Matthews.”

  Madame’s dark gaze studied Jasmine with interest. “Oui.”

  “Usually Jasmine stays with my parents when her family is in town, but I insisted she stay with me this time. I hope she will remain with us for a few weeks at least so we can attend some parties. You know how much these young girls enjoy dancing and flirting with handsome young men.”

  A protest trembled on the tip of her tongue. Camellia was the sister who enjoyed parties. She enjoyed every aspect of the social whirl—from selecting the invitations and hiring the orchestra to sipping lemonade and chatting with the other women about their new gowns. Jasmine could dance, but she got enough of parties at home. And the idea of spending a whole evening at a ball where she would know no one made her shudder. “I’m not certain what Lily’s plans are.”

  “I know.” Madame LeBlanc’s cocoa-colored eyes sparkled with excitement. “You should bring her to the theater this evening.”

  This sounded much more promising. Jasmine straightened her spine. “I’d love to see a play.”

  “But Kenneth and I didn’t purchase tickets for this season.” Sarah shook her head. “We find it such a crush, and the performances are sometimes too risqué for my tastes. I’m sorry, Jasmine. If I’d thought of it earlier, Kenneth might have been able to procure tickets for us, but I doubt there’s time now.”

  Disappointment filled Jasmine at Sarah’s admission. Her smile drooped in spite of her best efforts. A trip to the theater would have been a perfect way to spend the evening.

  “I have the solution.” Madame LeBlanc waved her hand like the magic wand of a fairy godmother. “Monsieur LeBlanc and I always purchase extra tickets, and we are not attending this evening. I will send them around to you, and then you will not have to disappoint your guest.”

  “I don’t know what to say.” Sarah’s voice was hesitant. “I will gladly purchase the tickets.”

  “Don’t be silly.”

  Jasmine’s excitement returned full force. Madame LeBlanc’s offer was almost too good to be true. Her hopeful gaze met Sarah’s.

  With a Gallic shrug, her hostess acquiesced. “Thank you, Cécile. You are very thoughtful.”

  Feeling like she could float on a cloud all the way back to the Cartiers’ home, Jasmine turned to Madame LeBlanc. It took her a moment to remember the way to say thank you in French. “Merci beaucoup.”

  “C’est ne rien, cher. Comment adorable. She is adorable, Sarah.” Madame LeBlanc prodded the coachman’s back once more to indicate she was ready to leave. As they pulled away, she leaned out of her carriage window. “In fact, I have an idea to arrange a special surprise for your young visitor. She will be aux anges.”

  Jasmine wondered what surprise Sarah’s friend was planning. Whatever it was, it could not compare with a night at the theater. Nothing could compare with a treat like that.

  Chapter Ten

  Les Fleurs

  The fire yielded slowly to their efforts. Someone along the line reported that the men had lit a backfire. Camellia knew of the idea to “fight fire with fire” even though it made little sense to her. Would the strategy work, or would it cause even more destruction? She lifted buckets of water until her arms felt wooden and her back ached worse than when she was expecting her child.

  The sun had passed its zenith when Jonah appeared, his face so grimy she almost didn’t recognize him.

  Camellia forgot her aches in the rush to check on him. “Are you okay? Is it over? Was anyone hurt?”

  He put an arm around her shoulders and hugged her close. “I’m fine.”

  Camellia broke free and filled a dipper with water from the spring.

  Jonah drank greedily before continuing. “We had some scary moments. We lost several cabins, and some of the crops were scorched, but we managed to dig a trench that enclosed the worst of the blaze. The bucket brigade and a backfire did the rest.”

  As long as he was safe, she didn’t much care about the rest of the estate. Crops could be replanted; houses could be rebuilt.

  “We need to send for the doctor.”

  Camellia took a mental inventory of her medical supplies to keep fear at bay. “Where are you hurt?”

  His smile reassured her. “I only have a few scrapes, but Amos was burned when a limb fell on him, and I’m sure we’ll have some other injuries to sort out before the day is over.”

  Nahum Shasta walked to where they stood. A brawny man with short-cropped hair, he was Abraham and Zipporah’s father and the new foreman. “Jonah, I’ve got something here you need to see.”

  “I’ll go back to the house and gather some things,” Camellia said. “Get anyone who’s hurt to come there.”

  He dropped a quick kiss on her cheek before they separated.

  Camellia passed along the information to the women before heading back to the main house. She gathered wheat flour to cover the cleaned burns, needle and thread for any cuts, soap and fresh water, and clean cotton strips for finishing.

  Jonah and Nahum brought in the first patient on a litter, and Camellia directed them upstairs to the guest wing.

  “Shouldn’t you wait for the doctor?” Aunt Dahlia stood at the parlor door. “I don’t think it’s a good idea to take men like that into the bosom of your family.”

  Camellia knew what her aunt meant. The man on the stretcher was black. She tried to remember that her aunt had been raised during a different time, but her temper flared. “He risked his life to help put out a fire threatening our home—the very room to which he is being carried. What would yo
u have me do? Leave him on the front lawn?”

  “I didn’t intend—” The glare Camellia tossed at her stopped Aunt Dahlia midsentence. She fell back a step, her eyes wide.

  Trying not to feel guilty for her harsh tone, Camellia sighed. “Please send the doctor up as soon as he arrives.”

  Aunt Dahlia nodded.

  Camellia climbed the steps and found that the men had transferred the patient to the bed.

  Nahum dipped his head as she moved toward the center of the room. “Your sheets may not come clean, Mrs. Thornton.”

  “Don’t worry about that.” She spared a smile for Nahum before turning to the man on the bed. “We’ll have him comfortable in no time.”

  Jonah and Nahum moved back as she investigated her patient.

  His wary eyes watched her with doubt. His chest and arms had been burned. Although not deep, the large area of burned skin concerned her.

  Camellia hoped the doctor would arrive soon. She could dress the wounds, but she had no laudanum to ease his pain. “What’s your name?”

  “Simeon.” His skin was the color of café au lait, his eyes hazel.

  “Well, Simeon, I want you to relax a little.” She reached for the bowl of clean water. “Have you ever been treated by a lady before?”

  The frown on his wide brow eased a little. “No, ma’am. ‘Cept for my ma when I was a little boy.”

  “My wife has a lot of experience.” Jonah stepped closer. “You’re in good hands.”

  “Yes, sir.” His gaze swiveled from Jonah back to her. “I’m sorry ’bout your bed, ma’am.”

  Camellia made a shushing noise as she continued her work. When she was satisfied that all dirt and debris had been removed, she sprinkled the wounds with flour. Then Jonah and Nahum helped Simeon sit up so she could wrap the cotton bandages around his chest.

  The doctor arrived as she was tying the final knot, his black bag held in one hand. Jonah and Nahum left them alone. She held her breath as the doctor inspected her work, prying at the edges of the bandages and grunting as he checked Simeon’s pulse and temperature. Finally he glanced up at her over the edge of his oval spectacles. “If you ever wish to work at my practice, Mrs. Thornton, you are more than welcome.”