East of Orleans

by Renee' Irvin

  “Yes ma’am.”

  Lettie folded her arms and paced the room; she shot Isabella a quick glance. “I don’t expect you to be perfect, but I do expect you to work and work hard. The globes on the lights will be taken off and washed once a week.” She paused. “I’d better never catch you trying to wash the globes without taking them down.” Lettie looked away. “If you can’t reach them, then I suppose Charlie or Jesse can lend you a hand. That is, if you can keep that nig,uh, boy quiet long enough.”

  Nell entered the room. Her eyes locked with Lettie’s. “There ain’t no point in your bothering Red. He has enough to keep him busy. When those Yankees piled in here after the war, they drug one no good carpetbagger after another, and then us real Savannahians had to pull the weight of us all.” Lettie gazed at Isabella with a curious eye. “You reckon that child’s father will ever come for you?”

  “No, that ain’t never gonna happen,” Isabella said, lowering her eyes.

  Lettie shook her head with turned down lips. “It would be the respectable thing.” She took a step closer to Isabella and narrowed her eyes. “It ain’t no half-breed baby, is it? Ain’t nothing worse.” Nell looked at Isabella with a tender expression and then shot Lettie a hard look.

  “I told you no!” said Isabella. Nell shook her head and smiled at Isabella. Lettie shrugged her shoulders and continued to pace. “As I said, no need for you to bother Red. He’ll take time off from the plantation house twice a week and come over here to relieve Charlie. I’ll tell you now, Red’s a talker; don’t talk to him ‘cause if you do, you’ll just be hindering him. You’re better off minding your own business and tending to your chores.” Lettie looked at Nell for a long moment. “Ain’t that right, Nellie? Nell knows we’ve had to keep some of the girls in line.” Lettie placed her hand on her hip and stared at Nell, then took a paper fan out of her apron pocket and fanned herself. She looked at Isabella. “Don’t distract the men folks. Let them do their work and you do yours. If an old sea captain pays you a little attention, be nice to him. That ain’t gonna hurt a thing.” Nell rolled her eyes. Lettie continued with a demanding tone. “It will be your job to make sure that the linens are kept clean. The windows are very important. I have the cleanest windows on Riverstreet. I never want to walk past our windows and see that they do not sparkle. Do you hear me?”

  “Yes ma’am,” Isabella said in a low voice.

  “Child, I did not hear you. When I ask you a question, you respect me, you hear? Don’t you get smart or you’ll find yourself on the street.” Lettie crossed the room and pointed her finger in Isabella’s face. “You understand what I’m telling you?”

  “ I do understand,” Isabella said as tears filled her eyes. Lettie turned and left the room.

  “You poor thing,” Nell said her voice sympathetic. Nell removed a handkerchief from her pocket and handed it to Isabella. She leaned across the bed and patted Isabella’s cheek. “She’s mad.”

  “What do you mean?” Isabella asked. Nell walked over to the window and tossed her head back. She pushed limp curls away from her face. She leaned against the sill and stared out the window. The breeze from the Savannah River blew her red hair away from her face. “Is she crazy?” Isabella whispered.

  Nell raised her chin and turned to face Isabella. “Yes, Lettie is as crazy as crazy can be, and don’t you ever forget that.” Nell glanced away. Then back at Isabella. “The day’s a-wastin.’ How ‘bout you get up, get yourself dressed, we’ll go downstairs and meet Charlie. You’ll like him, he’s a good fellow.” Nell smiled, and her eyes twinkled. “But stay away from Red. He can fool you. Sometimes he seems like a good fellow, but let me warn you, there ain’t a thing good about Red. He does not lend anyone a hand unless he’s getting a lot more than he’s giving.”

  “Didn’t Lettie say that he only comes in here about twice a week?”

  “Yeah, that’s what she says.” Nell held a steady gaze on Isabella. “A pretty young thing like you, you can bet Red will be here more than twice a week. In the mornings, he ain’t too bad. He still has a hangover. He’ll walk around not saying much and he’ll have Charlie fix him a couple of pots of black coffee. From four o’clock on, you have to watch him. He starts to drink and that’s when he goes wild.”

  “I’ll give you a minute to dress. I brought you a tray of breakfast and I sat it outside your door. I’ll bring it in. I hope you like poached eggs and grits.”

  “I’m starved. I haven’t eaten since yesterday. Thank you.”

  “I’ll be back in an hour.” Nell tilted her head and smiled.

  When she had brought the tray of food to Isabella and then left, Isabella stared at the eggs and grits, started to eat, and let her tears fall to the food.

  “Charlie, this is Isabella, Isabella McCoy,” Nell said. Charlie surveyed the bar crowd, rubbed his head and said, “Isabella McCoy?” He winked at Nell. Nell broke into a wide grin, leaned over, and gave Charlie a soft kiss on the cheek. “It’s been a day.” Charlie murmured, pouring himself a mug of black coffee.

  A loud ruckus entered the saloon. Isabella’s eyes grew big.

  Charlie looked over his shoulder and said, “Red’s done talked them boys’ into sipping a little of his apple brandy.” He shook his head and laughed.

  Jesse stepped out of the kitchen, opened the barroom door and leaned halfway in. “They out there all right, Mister Charlie, they shure enough is.” Jesse paused and listened; he heard a familiar tune. “Mister Red and them Yankee fellows are intoxicated and singing Swing Low Sweet Chariot.”

  “Yankee fellows, how do you know?” asked Charlie.

  Jesse raised his brows and said, “Cause they ain’t no Rebel boys act like that after a little bit of apple brandy.”

  “Afternoon!” A bearded, burly, red-haired man shouted. He caught Isabella’s eyes as he burst through the swinging wooden doors. Jesse leaned into Isabella, assuring her that she would be fine. Isabella stood still. She observed the large man’s pants down around his hips. He walked bow-legged and when the light from the gas chandelier shadowed his face, she realized that his teeth were rotten and black.

  “He looks like a leprechaun,” Isabella whispered to Jesse.

  “Leprechauns got rotten teeth like that?” asked Jesse.

  “Will somebody at least say something?” Red yelled. “You all look as dismal as the Captain of the Pulaski, right before it sank! This is an Irish saloon, not a damn funeral parlor!” He scratched under his arm like an ape.

  “Oh, my god!” Whispered Isabella.

  “What---what you see?” Asked Jesse.

  “His eye, it’s gone. He’s only got one eye,” whispered Isabella.

  “He shure do got one eye. Wonder what happened? He looks like a pirate.”

  Isabella and Jesse glanced at each other.

  Charlie poured Red a cup of coffee and sat it on the bar. Red’s stubby fingers moved anxiously around the cup while his hand shook. He slurped down the black coffee and lifted his eyes to Isabella and Jesse.

  “Who’s the girl? She resembles a church woman.” Red’s eyes moved down Isabella’s body. Charlie bent down, removed a worn gray cap from under the bar, and put it on his head. Red smiled and glanced at Charlie.

  The muscles in Charlie’s arms grew tight; he curled his bottom lip and smiled. “We lost that war, remember? You plan on whipping some Yankee ass this afternoon?”

  “Hell, ain’t somebody gonna introduce me to the girl?” Red asked.

  “This is Isabella McCoy, Lettie’s cousin,” said Charlie.

  “Ah, the lass from north Georgia.” Red’s eyes shifted to Jesse. “She bring her colored boy with her?” Charlie raised his eyes from drying a bar glass and smirked. Red’s eyes roved to Jesse. “Where’s he sleeping?”

  “He’s bunked in the storage room off the kitchen,” said Charlie.

  Red thumped his fingers on top of the bar; his head came up. “Let’s drink to the lass from North Georgia!” Red said as he circled the bar. “B
eer for everyone!” Charlie began to fill beer mugs and slide them across the bar.

  Isabella felt a warm hand on her arm. “C’mon sugar, let’s go out onto Riverstreet and get away from Red and his ale. Are you okay?” asked Nell.

  “Yes, ma’am, I’m fine.”

  At that point the music started. Red sat down at the piano and began to play an Irish tune. Dozens of men seemed to pile into the tavern; Red slurped his ale and continued to play. Isabella’s eyes searched for Jesse as she was going out the door. Jesse had a broom in his hand and nodded for her to go on.

  As Nell led Isabella down the narrow cobblestone street, hawkers, children and dogs seemed to wedge in between them. People passed in steady streams. Nell pulled Isabella so fast that she felt rammed up against a rock wall. Finally, Nell lowered her hand. She leaned into Isabella and said, “The shop we are about to visit is Mrs. Kate O’Brien’s bakery. Mrs. Kate and her family have been here in Savannah for as long as I can remember. Like everybody in this town, Kate has a story. Her father raised her. Seems that her mother ran off with some sea captain and she never came back.”

  Isabella was intensely curious about everything. She hopped and ran beside Nell slowing long enough to peek inside one open shop door after another.

  Nell looked off to the side at the river and then back to Isabella again. “They say that when Kate’s father died of yellow fever that it just about killed her. However, most everyone around here at one time or another has seen Kate down here on the riverfront; standing, staring, far into the distance. It’s rumored that she’s hoping that her mother is somewhere out there.” Nell moved to one side of the tabby walk, allowing a Negro woman with an arm full of baskets to pass.

  “That’s sad. Do you think that her mother will ever come back?”

  Nell turned with a surprised face. “Heavens no, her mother is long ago dead.”

  “And she still goes down to the river and looks for her; why?” Nell and Isabella’s eyes met.

  “I guess she has dreamed so long that she will return for her that she believes she will,” Nell said, shrugging her shoulders.

  Isabella passed men with folded newspapers under their arms; the street was full of life. “So what happened to Kate?” asked Isabella.

  “Kate was seventeen when she married Mr. O’Brien, who was an established Savannah banker. He was in his thirties and every single woman in town kept Jim Blackstone busy putting new heels on their shoes.”

  “Why was that?”

  “They wore them out as well as the tabby street in front of Mr. O’Brien’s house carrying him one blackberry cobbler after another; that was his favorite.” Nell took Isabella’s hand. “Let’s cross the street. The boats are coming in. It’s a beautiful afternoon.” Nell curled her bottom lip. “Everybody knew it was a futile effort. There wasn’t no woman ever gonna catch Mr. O’Brien, that is, until--”

  “Until what?”

  “Until Kate.” Nell glanced at Isabella and smiled.

  “Nell, darling, what a nice surprise!” The merry woman rubbed a streak of flour off her cheek. “My word, you look prettier every time I see you.”

  “Whisper that in Charlie’s ear, will you, Kate?”

  “I’ll do no such thing; he knows as much, dear, his eyes sparkle when he looks at you.” Kate wiped the sweat from her shiny face with one hand as she removed her apron with the other. She walked over and peeped inside the stove at a rack of blackberry pies, and then she washed her hands off and dried them on her apron. Kate smiled. “Would you girls like a cold glass of tea?” Kate’s eyes darted from Nell to Isabella. Her eyes stopped at Isabella. “How are you dear? I don’t believe we’ve met.”

  “No, you haven’t, this is Isabella McCoy,” said Nell.

  Kate leaned into Isabella and met her eyes. “Of course, you are.” Kate turned to Nell. “You told me that she was coming, but you never told me that she was such a beauty. It’s a good thing Patrick’s not here.” Kate clasped her hands together and smiled. “Oh, my dear, Patrick’s my son. I know how he would feel about you. He would like you, yes, he would.”

  Nell smirked and shook her head. “Patrick likes all the pretty young girls.”

  Kate’s smile left her face. “You’re right, but not in the way he would like Isabella. I can see she’s special.” A curious smile spread across Kate’s face. “Where are you from, dear?”

  “Shakerag.”

  “Shakerag? I don’t believe I’ve heard of Shakerag; where is it located?”

  “It’s just a little place that sits next to the Chattahoochee in north Georgia.” Kate looked at Isabella and saw tears forming in her eyes.

  “Oh child, what’s wrong?” Kate said softly. Nell looked at Kate hard for a long moment and then walked over to the door. Kate immediately wrapped her arm around Isabella and walked her into the kitchen. “My husband has family from north Georgia. I’m sure that he would love to visit with you.” Kate touched the side of Isabella’s cheek, smiled and held her gaze for a moment. “Would you like that? Will you come for dinner one night?”

  Isabella nodded.

  Nell gave Kate an impatient look. “Kate, it’s getting kind of late and I wanted to introduce Isabella to the rest of the people on the street. Can we visit with you tomorrow?”

  Kate wrapped her apron around her waist and said, “Oh yes, I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  They spent the remainder of the afternoon knocking on doors and being introduced to numerous shopkeepers. There was Mr. Jackson, the barber; he quit clipping just long enough to glance over his shoulder and smile. He did not miss a single detail and then returned to snipping and clipping as fast as he was talking. Cotton and politics seemed to be the conversation that dominated the barbershop, and more often than not, they were closely related.

  Mrs. Davenport was the local seamstress. Isabella thought she had a mean looking face that reminded her of Eliza Hartwell.

  Nell pulled Isabella by the hand into the toyshop of Louisa DeFore. Mrs. DeFore’s shop was at the end of Riverstreet. Isabella glanced around at the vast array of imported dolls and toys. They all seemed to shout silently for Isabella to pick them up. There was a brown mohair monkey with tight shut eyes that made him appear to be asleep.

  Nell ran over to one monkey and wound the elaborate brass key on its back. “This one is my favorite; I’ve begged Charlie to buy him for me. Watch this!”

  Isabella laughed as she watched the monkey march across the waxed wooden floor, rhythmically clapping his cymbals together, wishing she could take the monkey with her.

  Every afternoon Isabella strolled through Forsyth Park, carefully making her way past the poets and artist that were impressing each other with their tales of having studied in Paris. Often while sitting for her own portrait, Isabella could hear the pleading cries from auctioneers at the Cotton Exchange up on Bay Street. The park introduced her, in one way or another, to the elite and the ill mannered which, more often than not, were one and the same.

  Isabella’s day at McGillivrarys started early and ended late. She worked hard alongside Charlie, washing glasses, cleaning and clearing the bar, stacking dishes on pub tables, and of course, washing the windows and linens.

  Often Isabella would look up to find Nell smiling sadly at her and then Nell would take over. Late at night, Isabella would read letters from Mama and Granny. She would read them by the flicker of a single candle and then she would put the letters in an old wooden trunk that she brought with her from home, which now sat at the foot of her bed. And before she blew out the candle, she would always think of Tom and then cry herself to sleep.

  At the invitation of Lettie, Isabella and Jesse rode out to the large plantation house on Sunday and had dinner with the McGillivrarys. “That nigra boy has courage to bring himself in here and sit down at my table,” Red said to Lettie.

  Isabella shot Jesse a quick glance as he pulled out her chair and seated her at the table. “Stay,” she whispered. Two pruned- face, long-legged Negro men
carved and served a baked ham. A slight mulatto woman with slumped shoulders came and went from the dining room with bowls of fried okra, sweet potatoes, corn, rice, cornbread and hot biscuits. Isabella noticed an old Negro man who stood in the corner of the room with military erectness.

  The house was huge. Isabella and Jesse roamed through the place and jumped at the sight of old slaves speaking in low tones, sitting out on the back porch. The war had been over for seventeen years, but the older Negroes, who had left the plantation years before had wandered back so their eyes could fall on the only place they had called home one last time before they died.

  The house had fallen in a state of disrepair. Floors creaked when they walked, crystal chandeliers were coated with dust. The library boasted rich mahogany walls as did the staircase and banisters. The torn and faded drapes were made of fine French silks and heavy velvet. They were taken down in the summer months when, Lettie explained, they had to put up the mosquito netting. This had been a common addition since the wrath of yellow fever.

  A few months later, Isabella received a letter from home. She unfolded the paper as the envelope fell to her lap and she began to read:

  18, February 1883

  My Dear Isabella,

  I hope this letter finds you well. I wish I could say that is the case here, but sadly, it is not. My heart is both heavy and fearful. Several children in the valley have come down with the fever. Last week Livie had to take little Henry to Duluth to see Dr. Mason. Little Henry is not thriving from the needle or the tonic that Dr. Mason gave him.