Heart of Glass

by Jill Marie Landis

  “Your parents once assured me that I was always welcome at Belle Fleuve.”

  “My parents are dead.”

  “Which is a blessing. If they were here, they would be appalled by your appearance and rude behavior. Since you are obviously not yourself, I’m going to forgive you for such odious conduct. I will see you again tomorrow. Perhaps then we’ll have time to go over the plans.”

  “You will leave now!” he bellowed.

  She smiled her irksome smile again and he noticed a dimple in her left cheek.

  “I’m sorry, Colin, but I’m not going anywhere until you are capable of throwing me out yourself.”

  Stubborn, bullheaded …”

  Kate muttered to herself as she hurried back to the carriage. The sight of Colin had been an appalling shock to say the least. Had she passed him on the street she would have never recognized him given his current state of deterioration. She’d longed to see him for years and he hadn’t even recognized her. There was no denying his confusion. She certainly hadn’t expected him to hold her in the same regard she held him, but she had expected him to show some enthusiasm simply because of her past connection to his family.

  The horrific reunion was a not-so-gentle reminder that she’d never been more than a visitor here.

  Certainly some terrible fate had befallen him. His face drained of color every time he moved. His skin was jaundiced, and deep shadows haunted his dark Creole eyes. His curly hair hung past his shoulders. His thick dark beard emphasized the hollows beneath his eyes.

  Thankfully, guarding against flying objects had kept her from crying out at the sight of him.

  The rain squall that had started before she entered the garçonnière had been short-lived. To the west, the sky already showed a hint of blue, though overhead, gray clouds still threatened. Surely tomorrow would be brighter. Kate anchored a smile on her face. No need to let Myra know they were definitely not welcome.

  But if Kate had been one to take no for an answer, she would have never completed her architectural training. Her heart was set on restoring Belle Fleuve, not only because the place held so many memories, but as a showcase for her talent. She wasn’t going to give up without a fight.

  She nodded to the waiting driver. When he opened the door, she saw Myra hadn’t budged.

  “Well? Is he crazy?”

  “No,” Kate said. “But he’s not well. In fact, he’s in such desperate need that I’ve decided we must stay on.”

  “Here?”

  Kate’s mind was racing. “We’ll walk to the house while the driver pulls the carriage around to the back door. Once we take inventory, you can return to town for supplies and our things.”

  “I wouldn’t be back until tomorrow night at the very earliest. I can’t leave you here all alone.”

  “You can and you will. I’ll be just fine.”

  “Who was that woman? The redhead who walked out just before you walked in?”

  “I have no idea.” The strong scent of the woman’s perfume had lingered in the air in the garçonnière, mingling with the smell of the stale food on Colin’s tray.

  “A common strumpet, if you ask me.” Myra wrinkled her nose.

  “She’s of no concern.” Did she come here often? What was that woman to Colin?

  “So he’s really not a maniac?” Myra worried the notion like a dog with a bone.

  Kate paused for a bit too long. How much should she tell her companion?

  Myra’s eyes widened. “He is insane then?”

  “No, he is most certainly not. He’s … he’s injured and apparently can’t or won’t walk. There was a tray of half-eaten food but he doesn’t appear capable of cooking for himself. Not in the garçonnière at least. If someone is preparing his meals, then that someone has to be nearby and can tell us more.”

  “Was he injured in the war?”

  “I don’t know. I think more recently.”

  After Myra stepped out, Kate asked the driver to pull the carriage around to the back door. Myra continued to stare at the garçonnière until they started down the path to the main house.

  Myra observed, “‘Tis a real shame Mrs. Delany’s gardens are in ruins. I always loved her roses.”

  And Colin is in ruins. Can I save him? Kate wondered.

  The garden, formally laid out in the French parterre style, was overgrown with weeds. The ground was uneven where holes had been dug, seemingly at random, and poorly refilled. Hedgerows were altogether missing in places. The roses Colin’s mother once prized were in dire need of pruning, struggling valiantly against the weeds.

  Kate focused on the back of the main house. Many of the lacquered window shutters were missing. Bits of peeling paint clung to those that remained. Two of the back steps had rotted away.

  As they passed the kitchen, an outbuilding close to the main structure, Kate saw someone through the window. Since her last visit a few months ago, a vegetable garden had been planted behind the kitchen and another near the first dwelling in a row of former slave cabins.

  Kate knocked on the kitchen door and, to her delight, a former slave named Eugenie, who had been the Delanys’ cook before the war, answered.

  “My stars if it ain’t little Katie Keene.” The tall, slender woman in her early fifties was all smiles.

  “I go by Kate now.” She indicated her companion. “You remember Myra O’Hara?”

  “Your nanny? Why, sure I ‘member her. Welcome, Miss Myra.” Eugenie ushered them both inside the kitchen and her expression darkened. “You seen Mr. Colin yet?”

  Kate nodded. “Just now, unfortunately. I wish I could say he was even half as happy to see me as you are.”

  Eugenie shook her head. Worry emphasized lines the years had added to her thin face. She crossed her long arms at her waist. “I can’t believe you even got past the door. He’s not himself anymore, that’s for certain.”

  Myra sniffed.

  Kate tried to replace the image of Colin now with the memory she’d carried in her heart for so long. She imagined him in the doorway of the garçonnière, smiling down at her, handing her a rose. Surely that Colin was still inside him somewhere.

  Eugenie interrupted her thoughts.

  “Come have a seat, ladies.”

  Kate took in the huge hearth and fireplace, the battered and blackened pots and pans hanging from hooks along the mantle. A tea kettle was steaming on the stove in the corner. Eugenie was waving them over to the table and chairs in the center of the room.

  “You two sit and I’ll fix you up with some hot chicory and biscuits. Sorry I don’t have any coffee. We been makin’ due with chicory since the war.”

  As Eugenie puttered, Kate quickly explained that, having seen Colin, she had decided to stay to help him. Taking in the bare kitchen shelves she was glad she’d come.

  “You’re the answer to my prayers, Miss Kate. Since Mr. Colin got back he seems to be gettin’ worse instead of better. There’s nobody livin’ in the house. No reason you can’t stay on for a while,” Eugenie said. “The place is in need of a good cleaning. Ain’t much in there from the old days, but Simon and I can fix up pallets for you and Miss Myra. Havin’ you here might do Mr. Colin a world of good.”

  After what just happened? Kate doubted it.

  “I heard your daddy died and Captain’s Landin’ got sold a while back. You been living in New Orleans all this time, Miss Kate?”

  “Papa sent me away with Myra when the war started. We lived in Boston and then Ireland and didn’t come back until just before Father died four years ago. Mother sold the plantation and went off to Europe. Myra and I had been living in her townhouse, but a few weeks ago she sent word she married an Italian count and wanted the townhouse sold. So we’ve been living in a suite at the St. Charles Hotel.”

  It was like Nola Keene to simply send a letter and expect things to get done. The woman had had a battery of accountants, lawyers, and slaves to do her bidding most of her life. Kate had never been close enough to Nola to have t
o dance to her tune very often. That lack of love was something she didn’t like to ponder.

  “I’ve come out here a few times over the years and have never seen any signs of life before,” Kate said.

  “My husband, Simon, and I only been back ‘bout three months now. Soon as the war ended we took off. We traveled ‘round lookin’ for work and tried to find our son, Mica. He disappeared when he drove Miss Marie upriver to her French cousin’s place durin’ the war.”

  “You never found him?”

  Eugenie’s eyes glistened. “Never did. We went up to Cleveland to look for work, but we couldn’t find any there either so we came back. We never knew any other life but the one we had here. Figured if no one was around, we’d stay on here until we got thrown out. About a month ago, Mr. Colin come ridin’ in. Could barely sit the saddle. He refused to stay in the house so we scrounged up what furniture we could find and set up the garçonnière for him. He’s been there ever since and I been cookin’ for him.”

  Eugenie served steaming chicory and heavenly biscuits slathered with butter. Kate’s mouth watered before she took the first bite. Eugenie hovered over them and finally, at Kate’s insistence, sat down.

  “How was Colin injured?” Kate ventured to ask. “Did he say where he’s been since the war?”

  Eugenie shrugged and shook her head. “He’s in a bad way. Insists on takin’ too much laudanum, if you ask me. He told Simon that by the time the war ended he didn’t know anythin’ but soldierin’. With both his folks gone and Miss Amelie having run off with that no-account Johnny Reb deserter, Mr. Colin had nothin’ to come home to, so he signed up with the Union to fight the Indian wars out in West Texas.”

  “I had heard that much when I returned. Someone from his old regiment told a friend of a friend of mine he’d enlisted again.”

  Eugenie went on. “About a year ago, one of them savages shot an arrow clean through his ankle. Tore it near to pieces. It went putrid and he nearly died. It pains him so bad that he wishes they’d have taken his foot and ankle clean off.”

  Kate stared into the bitter chicory, trying to imagine the wealthy planter’s son she’d once known with nowhere to go, no choice but to reenlist and wear Union blue. The old Colin was a far cry from the shattered thirty-two-year-old holed up in the garçonnière.

  “He’s hurtin’ too much to walk, but I think he still ought to try ‘fore he can’t move at all. He ain’t left that room. Has me bring his food in and take it out but won’t let me tidy up.”

  Kate finished the tea and stood, thankful that she knew a little more than she had a few moments ago. She reached up and straightened her small hat, then smiled with far more confidence than she felt.

  “Who was that woman? The one with the red hair?”

  Pursing her lips, Eugenie shook her head in disgust. “That’s not the kind of woman you need to know anythin’ about, Miss Kate. She came here askin’ for Colin this afternoon. I tol’ her good luck, be my guest.”

  “He sent her packing and not too politely, I must say.”

  “Good.” Eugenie sniffed. “We don’t need her kind ‘round here.”

  Kate nodded. “Thank you, Eugenie, for the refreshment and the information. I suppose I should tell you that Colin wasn’t exactly happy when I told him I wasn’t leaving.”

  Eugenie laughed and shook her head.

  “He’s always in a wicked mood,” she warned. “But you don’t have to worry. He won’t be comin’ over to the house to throw you out anytime soon. That much is certain. For me it’s a blessin’ you’re here. I didn’t know what else to do for him.”

  Kate drew herself up. All of her hopes and dreams rested on a roll of architectural plans, dreams of restoring Belle Fleuve, and of seeing Colin again. She’d been given more than a chance to prove herself as an architect. It was up to her to help Colin find himself and be the man he used to be. The man she remembered.

  She wasn’t a shy, hesitant young girl anymore either. Gone was the cast-off orphan hiding in the shadows. Thanks to her adoptive parents, she was educated, well traveled, and independent. Before she was through here, Colin Delany would definitely have to take notice.

  “Helping Colin is the least I can do for Amelie,” she told Eugenie. “And for her parents, God rest their souls.”

  Eugenie smiled through forming tears. “Miss Kate, I know you’re gonna have Mr. Colin up and around real soon.”

  Relieved to have an ally, Kate smiled.

  “Thank you, Eugenie. Colin is going to have my help whether he wants it or not.”

  Gray skies cast Colin’s sanctuary into a gloom that matched his mood as he tried to forget the sight of the audacious young woman who had flounced out a few minutes earlier.

  The last time he’d seen Katie Keene was on the eve of the war. She had been silent as a shadow, a bookish thirteen-year-old with wren-brown hair and owlish blue eyes trapped behind overly large spectacles.

  He had no idea where or how she had weathered the war years, but from the look of her expensive getup and new boots, the Keenes had survived far better than the Delanys and Belle Fleuve.

  Slowly shifting positions, Colin gritted his teeth and cursed his injury. The incessant pain in his shattered ankle never diminished. The laudanum he’d just downed made it hard to recall Kate Keene’s explanation for her appearance. Something about restoring the house.

  With what? Was he supposed to pull money out of thin air?

  What he’d saved from his army pay was almost gone. On his way back he’d heard talk of federal troops being withdrawn and home rule restored to Louisiana. Once the carpetbaggers were out of office, the reinstated government would demand any current taxes he owed.

  Why bring the house back to life just to lose it? It was hard enough living day to day; he was in no condition to worry about the future.

  He pictured the smiling, undeterred Miss Keene and her irritating stubbornness. Last time he’s seen her he’d been what? Seventeen? Wealthy and confident, he’d known who he was and what he was destined to become. His future as a prominent Louisiana planter was assured.

  He’d planned to go on a world tour after the war and had been sure he’d end up marrying someone stunningly beautiful, equally wealthy, and well connected. His Confederate uniform turned many lovely heads.

  They were all shocked when the war dragged on and on. Within a handful of years, his family, wealth, and future were gone. Now Kate Keene was back, a living reminder of everything he’d lost.

  She and Amelie had been constant companions. Their fathers had been close too; members of the Irish community descended from the first-wave immigrants who helped found New Orleans.

  Gil Keene was a wealthy banker who, along with his wife, Nola, preferred spending most of his time at a townhome in New Orleans rather than with Kate at their plantation, Captain’s Landing, which neighbored Belle Fleuve. They’d left Kate on her own so often she became a fixture here. Though she was always around, she’d been so unobtrusive he remembered little about her. A watchful, quiet child, she was always just there, easily overshadowed by his vivacious, lovely little sister.

  Colin rubbed his temple, attempting to ease a throbbing headache in his muddled head. When someone knocked at the door he yelled, “Go away, Miss Keene.”

  “It’s me, Mr. Colin. Come with your dinner.”

  Not Kate Keene, but Eugenie.

  “Come in, then.”

  The woman opened the door, carefully balancing a tray. She halted just inside and stared at the pieces of broken vase littering the floor. Eugenie shook her head and fussed as she set down the tray and then went back outside, returning with a washbowl that she placed on the table near Colin. She struck a match and carefully lit the oil lamp, then pulled a straight razor and scissors out of her apron pocket.

  Colin nodded toward the washbowl. “What’s all this?”

  “Thought since you have company you might like to shave and clean up a bit.”

  “You thought wrong. I told
Miss Keene to leave. She’s not wanted here.”

  “She’s not going.”

  “Tell her I’m flat broke, Eugenie. That ought to do it.”

  “Miss Kate don’t care nothing about your money. She was always welcome here before and she ought to be now. Why, your mamma and daddy would turn over in their graves if they heard you talk like that.”

  “Fortunately they can’t hear a thing.”

  “How you know they ain’t looking down from heaven right now?” She tested the water in the basin with her fingertips. “You want me to put this closer so as you can use it while it’s still warm?”

  “I want you to take it away.”

  There was no chance his parents were up in heaven looking down. Fourteen long years of fighting had convinced him there was no such place. Hell, yes. Heaven, no. God had stopped listening a long time ago.

  Eugenie sighed and started fussing with the cutlery and bowl on his tray.

  “You might change your mind,” she mumbled.

  “I will not change my mind about eating or shaving any more than I’ll change it about Miss Keene.”

  “Well, she’s staying. She sent her nanny back to town for their things.”

  “The woman still needs a nanny?”

  “Calls her a travelin’ companion now. Seems Katie’s daddy sent them up to Boston soon as the war broke out. They lived in Ireland and met a whole passel of Keene cousins. Myra’s kin is there too. Miss Katie studied up on how to make them house drawings like your daddy used to do.”

  “She’s an architect.” He still couldn’t believe it.

  “Just like your daddy. She been working on plans for this place for a long time now and promised to show them to me tomorrow. Mr. Colin, she’s spent years dreamin’ of putting Belle Fleuve back together again and—”

  “She’s got no right.”

  “But she’s got the heart. Never seen anything like the way her eyes light up when she talks of fixin’ up the place.”

  “She can go fix up her own place.”

  “The Keenes sold Captain’s Landing years ago. It never saw half the trials this place has seen; no Union soldiers running through the house tearin’ it all up or diggin’ up the gardens looking for buried loot.” Eugenie paused long enough to shake her head. “Not an ounce of respect for what wasn’t theirs.” She went to collect the broom and swept up the shards of vase.