East of Orleans

by Renee' Irvin

  The one thing that did cheer her up was that she wore a scarlet red dress that Granny had made her for her sixteenth birthday. Tom had given her a pair of garnet earrings that he purchased from the money the paper paid him. Her hair fell in loose ringlets, tied halfway back in a bow with the silk ribbon that Livie and Henry had brought her from Atlanta.

  Isabella paced the lobby of the bank while her mama and granny met with Rollins Hartwell in his office.

  It wasn’t long before Isabella could not stand the sight of another farmer walking into the bank. They all came and went the same way.

  They entered with a defeated look and left with calloused hands plunged deep into their overall pockets. She wondered how many tired, desperate farmers the Hartwells had cheated out of their farms that day.

  She stood up and strolled across the beautifully waxed pine floors of the bank. She studied the elegant oil paintings of the two previous stern-looking bank presidents. Isabella had had enough of the bank and its former occupants. She had to get out of there.

  Isabella walked outside and went down the street, looking through store windows until she came to the ornate glass window of Mrs. Scarborough’s Millinery Shoppe. In the middle of the store window was a fabulous turquoise bonnet with alluring ostrich plumes, begging her to come inside. She opened the door and peeked in--- flowers and ribbons decorated the whole place.

  “May I help you, dear?” Chirped the saleslady. Isabella jumped.

  “No, no, ma’am, I just came inside to see all your beautiful hats.” Isabella’s violet-blue eyes sparkled as she gazed at one hat after another.

  The tall, slender saleslady smiled. “That’s fine, dear. My name is Ellen Scarborough. If you need assistance, just call me. I’ll be in the back for a few minutes.”

  Isabella gave a quick nod. “Thank you ma’am.” On a large oak display case, was a cranberry glass bowl with fluted edges. The bowl held an abundance of ostrich plumes in every fashionable color. Isabella never knew so many colors existed. She soon discovered that she could never own even a single plume; each one cost five dollars. A late edition of Designer Magazine lay on the counter and was opened to an article on the world-renowned French hat designer, Francoise Lamphere. The title was Chapeaux the Rage of Spring! Oh, to own one, she thought. She turned the pages of the magazine and saw a fabulous array of fine winter hats trimmed with lavish millinery birds, ostrich plumes, feathers, wings, and composite birds.

  Her eyes circled around the shop until they stopped at one hat. Her heart stopped, too. If she were to own a single hat, it would be the rose one with long velvet silk ties, wine-colored ostrich plumes and a tiny parade of pink roses.

  Isabella glanced to the side to see if anyone could see her. There was no one in sight.

  Mrs. Scarborough was still in the back. Isabella decided it was time to try on that hat. She stood in front of the cherub-embellished gilt mirror and gingerly placed the hat on her head. She turned from front to back and then sideways, admiring herself over and over again.

  She sniffed and detected a strong, sweet smell that had entered the air. She whipped around to see where the smell came from, and bumped right into a well-dressed man with a curious look on his face. Jules McGinnis stared at her as if she were naked.

  His eyes were blue, like the ocean and deep enough to drown the thoughts of a young girl. Isabella had never seen eyes like his before. She thought a man with eyes like that must have many secrets. His face was rugged and handsome, but in a dangerous sort of way.

  “A young lady of such beauty should own the hat she most desires,” Jules said. Isabella swirled around with the bonnet still high on her head. She turned so fast that she almost knocked over Mrs. Scarborough’s entire display. Quickly, she removed the bonnet.

  “My dear, leave it be. That bonnet will never be more appreciated than where it sits now,” Jules said with an arrogant smile.

  Isabella could feel the heat rise in her face. She ran her fingers through her hair, looking into the stranger’s eyes.

  “Sir, I appreciate your kindness, however, I neither have the money nor the intent to purchase the hat.”

  He stared at her for a long moment. “Money, my dear, is not a problem; intent,on the other hand, can be changed in an instant.”

  Isabella wondered if she had provoked this man in some way. She smoothed her hair with her hand. His brazenness shocked her. The nerve of him, she thought.

  She wondered if she wore a scarlet letter, if he knew about what had happened to her. Of course not, how could he know? She wanted to tell him what she thought of him, but she held her tongue.

  Jules pushed his broad tanned hand into his trouser pocket and plucked out a roll of money the likes of which Isabella had never seen.

  She thought that he must be from some exotic place like New Orleans. She had heard tales about people from New Orleans, but she had never met one. He looked like a riverboat gambler. Of course, she had never known a riverboat gambler. Tom had told her stories about such men. Maybe he was a riverboat gambler on the Chattahoochee.

  Isabella straightened her back and placed her hands on her hips. She looked up at Jules, narrowed her eyes and leaned forward.

  “Sir, you must not have heard what I said. I have no money to buy that hat.” She then fixed a direct stare on him. “And as for my intent, it is not easily swayed---” She turned and placed the hat back on Miss Scarborough’s millinery stand.

  At that moment, Mrs. Scarborough appeared from the back. She had a cup of hot tea in one hand, a sugar cookie in the other and an amused expression on her face. Mrs. Scarborough ate the last bite of the cookie and pretended that she did not hear their conversation.

  She put down her teacup, and disappeared into the stock room. A moment later, she returned holding a shockingly beautiful scarlet silk hat. It was the most exquisite hat Isabella had ever seen; the rose velvet one paled in comparison.

  Isabella watched as Mrs. Scarborough showed the hat to the stranger.

  “Jules, I apologize that it took so long for the bonnet to arrive. As you know, I had it shipped from Paris, and well, you know sometimes we have no control over these things.”

  Jules smiled and nodded.

  “Box it, Mildred, please. Do not worry about the delay. I’m certain the bonnet will make my…” Jules glanced at Isabella, “niece, very happy.”

  Mrs. Scarborough raised one eyebrow and left to put the hat in the best box she had.

  When she was out of sight, Jules turned to Isabella. “Little lady, I don’t believe we’ve met.”

  Isabella walked past Jules. “No sir, I’m certain we have not.”

  “Where are you from? Can I assume that you’re visiting from Atlanta?”

  “You can assume anything you want, but that don’t make it so.” Jules stood with his legs apart and a slow grin spread across his face. He liked her bold, sassy attitude.

  “Can I at least ask what your name is, little lady?”

  Isabella’s eyes flashed. “If you will quit calling me little lady, I just might tell you, but I ain’t gonna tell you anything as long as you stand there with your eyes fixed on me like a wolf.”

  Jules laughed. “Okay, it’s a deal. Now tell me your name?”

  “Isabella, Isabella Grace.”

  Jules narrowed his eyes and removed a cigar from the pocket of his vest. “Little lady, that’s about as pretty a name as I ever heard. What is your last name?”

  Isabella stared annoyingly at Jules. “I told you that if you called me little lady one more time, I was not going to answer another one of your questions. And I ain’t!” With that, she ran out of Mrs. Scarborough’s Millinery Shoppe.

  Jules stood at the window and laughed as he watched Isabella hurry down the dirt street. He shook his head. “That’s about as fiery a little gal as I ever seen. Some poor boy is sure gonna need help holding onto her.”

  Isabella ran so hard that she tore the hem of her dress, catching it on the brick sidewalk. As soon as
she got to the bank, she saw her mama and granny in the lobby.

  Granny stood firm, shaking her finger in Mr. Hartwell’s face. She could hear Mr. Hartwell’s voice and suddenly wished that she had stayed away longer. She stared through the bank’s large window and saw her mama looking distraught. Granny looked deranged.

  “Ladies, if there was any other way, I would love to help you, you know that. Don’t you, Lila?” Lila looked around the lobby.

  “But you ladies got to realize the board will not allow me to wait any longer. Don’t think I have not worried myself sick about this. You both know how I felt about Miles.” Lila’s eyes misted with tears. Rollins rubbed his temple and exhaled. “I tell you what; I’ll give you thirty days to pay the interest on the mortgage. That should give you time to come up with a solution of some sort. But that’s all I can do. After the thirty days, well, I’m sorry to say the bank will have to foreclose.”

  Granny’s eyes flashed hatred at Rollins Hartwell.

  “What do you mean the bank will foreclose? Hartwell, you old buzzard, you are the one foreclosing, not the bank! You think nobody knows that you have stolen from all the poor people in the valley? Huh? Think again, Hartwell!” Granny raised her black beaded drawstring bag and slammed it against Rollins Hartwell’s head. He yelped and began rubbing his head.

  Isabella ran into the bank and grabbed Granny’s arm. “Granny what in this world!” Isabella pulled on Granny’s hands and hips.

  “You apologize to Mr. Hartwell, you hear?” Isabella looked over at her mother. “Mama, take Granny outside for a walk.” Lila looked at Isabella with empty eyes and then took Granny by the hand.

  Isabella turned to Rollins Hartwell, still rubbing the side of his head from the direct hit. She spoke with a throat full of emotion. “Mr. Hartwell, you know we are all alone and I appreciate your helping us, but you must know how hard this is for Granny.” Isabella pulled Granny toward her. “Come on, Granny, let’s go.”

  Isabella opened the bank door and stepped outside. She looked at her mother. “What in the name of the Lord--! Mama, you know you cannot let Granny slug Mister Hartwell anytime she feels like it. We gotta keep quiet until we find a way out of this mess.”

  Lila seemed oblivious to all that was around her as she stared into the distance.

  Isabella started down the bank steps and with one hand shielding her eyes from the blazing sun.

  In the distance, she saw a young Negro boy running down the street, as though a tiger was chasing him. With a package under one arm, he yanked at his loose suspenders with the other. The boy ran straight up to Isabella, and by the time he reached her, he was gasping for air. He laid the large package at her feet as he said, “You Miz Isabella Grace?” His eyes were dark and quick. He had a strong jaw and a handsome face.

  “For heaven’s sake--” said Granny as she looked at him with curious eyes.

  She took hold of the horse’s bridle and looked the boy up and down. “Boy, your mama ain’t got any soap?”

  “Ain’t got no ma, just me. I worked on the railroad for a while and then came back here a couple of months ago when my pa took sick.”

  Granny moved closer to him and from her expression, you could tell that she was concerned. “He’s doing better now, son?”

  “Yessum he is. He’s dead.”

  Granny gave him a quizzical look. “How old are you, boy?”

  “I ain’t no boy, I’ll be nineteen next week.” He flashed a warm smile. “My name’s Jesse; pleased to meet you.”

  Isabella smiled and spun around. “My name’s Isabella, Isabella McCoy, Jesse. This is my mama, Lila McCoy, and my granny.”

  Jesse tapped his foot and they noticed something in his right trouser pocket. He saw three sets of eyes staring at his trouser pocket. He shook his head and laughed, then removed the object from his pocket. All three women jumped back.

  “Scared yawl, didn’t I? Bet yawl thought I had a pistol.” He waved his harmonica at the women.

  Isabella narrowed her eyes and placed her hands on her hips. “You better never scare us like that again. Can you play that thing, Jesse?” Isabella noticed his long brown toes peeping through the end of his shoes.

  “The shoes, they belonged to my pa. He gave’em to me before he passed.”

  Jesse sat down on the curb and put the harmonica to his mouth. His eyes were squeezed shut as he threw his head back and burst into a rambunctious harmonica melody.

  Lila looked around, hoping that not a soul from the Baptist Church was watching. Isabella smiled and watched Jesse’s long fingers slide up and down the harmonica.

  Granny said, “We are a people of the Lord, but your music is so beautiful it could be played on the Sabbath.”

  “Thank you. I’d better hurry on and get to the woods,” Jesse said, scrambling to his feet.

  “Where exactly is that?” Lila asked.

  “Mr. Rollins Hartwell; he let me stay in the old house my daddy lived in. That is until he gets it sold. I work for him; plow his fields and sometimes I do some work for Mister Jules McGinnis, just like dis morning when I went to see Mrs. Scarborough ‘bout some chores her husband needed done.”

  “Mister McGinnis saw me and asked me to find Miss Isabella and take her this package.” Three sets of eyes turned to Isabella and then to the package that lay at her feet. Isabella began to untie the card on the package. Her eyes grew big and she thought, Oh my God, Jules McGinnis! She pulled the pink string ribbon and released the package.

  Inside it was a smaller box, with inscription written in gold: Maison Virot. She ripped open the top. She found nestled around generous layers of pink tissue a familiar, magnificent rose velvet bonnet.

  Isabella scooped out the bonnet and gently turned it over for closer inspection. The lining was inscribed in the most beautiful gold cursive that she had ever seen. In the middle of the lining was a gold crown with flowers and streamers of bows.

  She placed the bonnet on her head and a white envelope fell to the ground. Jesse bent down and handed the envelope to Isabella. She tore it open and pulled out a cream colored card. It read:

  My Dear Isabella,

  After seeing this lovely French bonnet tied around your beautiful face,

  I could not bear to think of it on another.

  Till we meet again…

  Jules McGinnis

  Lila removed a handkerchief from the pocket of her dress and patted the beads of perspiration on her face. Her temper flared. “Isabella Grace, what do you have to say for yourself?”

  “Don’t rush to judgment, Mama. I’m every bit as surprised as you are.”

  “You tell me now what this is all about. A man like Jules McGinnis…” she closed her eyes for a moment, opened them and touched Isabella’s face, “I would just die…”

  “Mama, listen to me! I did not even know his name until I bumped into him at Mrs. Scarborough’s millinery shop. He asked me my name and I told him Isabella Grace; I didn’t even tell him my last name.” She ran her hand through her hair. “I reckon trouble follows me wherever I go. Maybe I have bad written all over my face.” Isabella’s eyes filled with tears and Lila kissed her daughter’s forehead.

  “No, sweetheart, that is the craziest thing that I have ever heard you say; of course, you don’t have bad written across your face. You do not have a bad bone in your body. But a man like Jules McGinnis, I am afraid to say, ain’t a thing but bad.”

  With a stern face, Lila turned to Jesse. “Son, would you take this gift back to Mister McGinnis?”

  Isabella spun around.

  “Mama, no, please! Let me keep the hat! Please, it’s from Paris.”

  Granny turned to Lila. “For heaven’s sake, Lila, let the child keep the bonnet. What has she done wrong? If old McGinnis wants to make himself look big by buying Isabella that bonnet, let him. Besides, if he comes anywhere near her, I’ll shoot him! I swear to you I’ll fill his britches with buckshot!” With angry eyes, Granny leaned into Jesse.

  “Rolli
ns is a no-good, lying buzzard, meaner than a black snake. If Lila and Isabella are willing, we can keep you in chores for a while. Ain’t got no money, but we sure could use some help with the crops. We’re thinking ‘bout planting us some cotton. We can give you a place to sleep in the barn and three square meals.” Granny narrowed her eyes and hissed, “And I believe I can wash them clothes a little better.”

  Isabella smiled. “That’s awful kind, Granny.”

  Lila pushed her hands into her skirt pockets and looked defeated. “Lord help us.”

  Jesse’s face lit up. “Praise the Lord! My pa always say the Lord moves in mysterious ways and he shure done moved mysterious this afternoon. Thank you, Mrs. Lila, Miss Isabella, and thank you, Granny!” Isabella grinned and met Jesse’s gaze. Jesse untied the horse’s reins and jumped into the wagon. Isabella laid her head on Granny’s shoulder, while Lila stared into the thick woods that blanketed the Chattahoochee River.

  As Jesse maneuvered their old red wagon, the sun set across Shakerag Valley.

  Isabella held tight to her box with the hat that she couldn’t wait to wear one day.

  It was a crisp, crimson-shaded autumn dusk, when Jules McGinnis arrived in the parlor of Mae Patterson’s whorehouse. Jules had just poured himself a shot of whiskey when he swung around to the sound of Jacqueline’s crinkling skirts.

  Before she entered the room, she could smell the scent of his tobacco. She stood there with a provocative look, hands on her hips, ebony locks falling to her waist. She certainly belonged amidst the Napoleon urns, damask-draped pink marble columns, faded imported silks, heavily fringed pillows. A magnificent Baccarat crystal chandelier hung low in the center of the room, reflecting the fire and the colors of Sevres porcelain. One had to teeter around the room so carefully, to avoid knocking over a minute statue of Josephine herself.