East of Orleans

by Renee' Irvin

  “Is she dead?”

  “I don’t know,” shrugged Jacqueline. “She abandoned me when I was five and I never saw or heard from her again.” Jacqueline turned back around toward the park. “It’s beautiful, isn’t it? I like it most this time of day.”

  “Why?”

  “Do you believe in spirits?” asked Jacqueline.

  “Not really. Do you?”

  “Yes, I believe the dead and the living cross paths at night. There is sanctity about the park at night that is not there during the day. Maybe that’s why Captain Blun walks in the night. Perhaps that is when he can touch the souls of his dead soldiers.”

  Patrick moved close behind her and pulled her into him. He held Jacqueline against his body, his arms wrapped around her. She closed her eyes and felt the breeze from the river blowing in across the water. Patrick kissed Jacqueline on her face, around her ear and down her neck.

  “How many times are you going to do that?” Jacqueline giggled.

  “As many times as you will let me.” Patrick picked up the whiskey decanter, took Jacqueline’s hand and moved back inside. Patrick poured himself another glass of whiskey and another for Jacqueline. They were now both more relaxed. He kissed her with intense passion. She saw the challenge in his eyes.

  Jacqueline put the music of Debussy on the phonograph. She led Patrick to the fire-lit room of her bed. He removed her clothes while she unbuttoned his shirt. His trousers hit the floor and Patrick pulled Jacqueline under him as the moonlight filtered through the shutters. As Debussy played and the sound of an occasional carriage could be heard below on the cobblestone street, she came to him with an emotion she had never before felt.

  As they rolled over one another in the height of seduction, their bodies hungered for more. Patrick released himself to her when she dug her nails into the flesh of his arms and cried out in ecstasy.

  As the night closed in around them, the only light that could be seen from the street was the flicker of a single candelabra dripping yellow melted wax. Patrick slept with Jacqueline cradled in his arms, her head upon his chest.

  “Boy, you’re a dead man,” were the first words Patrick O’Brien heard the next morning. Patrick started to move, but he hesitated when he felt the sharp blade of a knife at his throat. He looked up into the face of Jules McGinnis.

  Jacqueline opened her eyes wide with terror. Jules’s face was only inches from hers.

  “You think I should kill him?” Jules said as he pulled a naked Jacqueline from the bed by her long black hair. Jules raised his hand and slapped her across the room, knocking a mahogany fern planter to the floor.

  Jules’s eyes darted to Patrick. “She‘s the best, isn’t she? She was the most prized whore east of Orleans. I took her out of a house in Norcross. I guess she hadn’t told you about that yet. How bout the opium that she keeps in that wooden box? Has she let you in on that little secret?” Jacqueline began crying hysterically. “Jules, please, stop--.”

  Priscilla, her maid, had been off the day before and she had just walked through the front door when she heard Jacqueline’s screams. Priscilla ran upstairs to behold the most frightening scene she’d ever seen. “Oh Lord, what in dis world? Mister Jules, put dat knife down! Please don’t go and kill somebody. Mister Jules, please!”

  “Priscilla, get the hell on downstairs!” Jules shouted. While Jules’ attention was on Priscilla, Patrick leaned over to grab his pistol which was on the night table. He stood up and pointed the gun at Jules.

  Patrick’s dark eyes searched Jules’s face, showing no emotion. “Throw that knife over on the bed, and then move away from her. If you make one move that I don’t tell you to, I’m gonna blow your head off.”

  Jules stepped forward; he hesitated and then lunged at Patrick. Jules beat Patrick on the head with his fist. Patrick freed his arm from beneath Jules, placed the pistol in Jules’s side, and pulled back the trigger. “Now who’s the dead man?” There was a click and then silence.

  Patrick turned his head and looked at Jacqueline’s bare feet. The gun did not go off. The only splatter of blood was his own where Jules had cut a gash in his head. Jules reached for the pistol and wrestled it out of Patrick’s hands. Jacqueline screamed and her black cat jumped on top of Jules and bit him. Jules grabbed the gun, aimed it at the cat and shot. This time the gun went off.

  Jacqueline stood up and screamed, “Oh my God, what have you done?” She ran over to the twisted torso of the cat, knelt down and cried over its limp body. “I hate you!” Jacqueline shrieked at Jules.

  Patrick lunged for Jules wrestling the knife from his hand. “I’ll cut you into a thousand pieces,” Patrick said.

  “Take her. She’s nothing but evil,” Jules said in a pained voice. “That woman has the devil in her.”

  “Then you must be the devil,” Patrick said. “Get the hell out!”

  “This is my goddamn house. You get the hell out, you sorry sonofabitch!”

  Patrick held the knife up above Jules’ head. “You’re a sick old man that’s done nothing but use her.”

  Jacqueline watched the two men, despair and horror etched on her face.

  “I’m leaving,” Jules said, “but I am not finished with either of you.” He glared at Jacqueline. “I’ll be back to put you in the street where you belong.” Jules walked out and slammed the door.

  Jacqueline hunched over the body of her lifeless cat. It had started to rain and the whole room was filled with darkness. She started to rock the cat and cry.

  Patrick walked over and knelt down beside Jacqueline. He whispered, “Listen to me. That was your past. This is your future. You have your whole future in front of you. Now, you quit crying on me. I don’t want you to worry. I will take care of you.” She glanced at him with tired eyes. Patrick took her face in his hands. “Are you afraid to be here by yourself?” Jacqueline nodded. “Okay, I’m gonna fix that. I’ll move in here with you. I will protect you, but you have to be strong. Can you do that for me?” Jacqueline nodded again. “You told me this house was in your name, is that true?”

  “Yes, it is.”

  “Okay, I’m gonna go to the courthouse and make sure. If he lied to you, then we will go somewhere else. And if he told the truth, then darling, you have yourself one fine house on Oglethorpe. That colored girl downstairs—does she work for you?”

  “Yes,” whispered Jacqueline, her eyes still wide with fear.

  “Do you trust her?”

  “Kind of.”

  “Kind of ain’t good enough. She’s gonna have to go. I’ll tell her to pack her things.”

  “No! Don’t, not now. I don’t want to be alone.” Jacqueline glanced down at the cat.

  “Okay, I’ll do what you say, for now anyway.”

  Patrick started to take the cat from Jacqueline’s lap. “I’m gonna take him outside and bury him in the backyard.”

  Jacqueline pulled the cat away from Patrick and rocked him in her arms. Patrick looked down and saw the cat open his eyes. He reached for the animal and saw that its leg was bleeding. “Hell, darling, this cat ain’t dead. Looks like the bullet just grazed his leg.” Jacqueline looked over, amazed at her cat. She began crying and hugged it. Patrick shook his head. “Take that cat and put some tonic on his leg. Then I want you to try to get some sleep. I’ll be back in a few hours. I want you asleep when I come back to this house.” Patrick helped Jacqueline up and started toward the door. He placed his hand on the doorknob and turned to look at her. “We will get through this. We’ve all sold ourselves in some way or another. Even them two biddies down the street. From this day on, I do not want you ever to think about any of those things again. Today starts a new life for you. Now smile for me.”

  Jacqueline managed a weak, tearful smile.

  “That’s my girl,” Patrick said, and with that, he was gone.

  The next morning, Jules McGinnis, with a defeated look on his face, sat at his desk waiting for Hoyt to come back from the docks. Jules had been up all night drin
king. He could hear the hawkers and Negroes loading bales of cotton on the docks. The door opened and Jules looked up, expecting to see Hoyt. Instead, standing in the doorway was Isabella McCoy.

  “Come on in!” Jules exclaimed.

  Isabella hesitated for a moment, and then walked to his desk. From Jules’s large window, she could see the girls from the convent running down to the river. Five minutes earlier, Isabella had felt so brave, but now she just wanted to turn around and run, but knew that she could not. It had taken her weeks to get up the courage to approach Jules. The last letter she had received from her mother told her that any day Rollins Hartwell was going to take their farm—the mortgage payments Tom had made were finished—and she knew that there was no more time. There was no other way.

  Jules reached under his desk and removed an unopened bottle of whiskey. He opened it and looked at Isabella. “Little lady, the cat got your tongue?” Isabella’s face flushed, but she held her temper. She glanced around the warehouse, eyeing a couple of fine Tester beds and boxes filled with expensive china.

  Jules poured himself a glass of whiskey. “Stored those things here during the war. My pa was here then and a few of the women in town begged him to store some of that stuff. Hell, before you knew it, this warehouse looked like a goddamned general store. Boxes packed with silver, china and a whole boatload of furniture. Since I knew that sorry son ofabitch Sherman, he promised me that his men would not mess with my warehouse. I played cards with him a few times, shared a few bottles of whiskey and once the same woman.” Jules studied Isabella. “I know you didn’t come here for a history lesson. What can I do for you?”

  “I’m here to borrow money.”

  “I see.” Jules had heard what she said, but was noticing how very fine looking she was.

  “I need the money to pay off the mortgage on my mama and granny’s farm. Rollins Hartwell is about to foreclose.”

  “Why did you come to me?”

  “Cause you are the only person I know that has that kind of money.”

  Jules raised his brows and grinned. “Well, at least you’re honest about it. I like an honest woman who gets right to the point. What you got for collateral?”

  Isabella thought for a moment. “What’s that?”

  Jules laughed. “Little lady, collateral is what you give someone in return for something they give you until you pay off the loan.”

  Isabella did not hear the words come out of her mouth, but she knew what she had to say. “Me.”

  Jules looked at what she was offering him. “How you know I’m interested?”

  “I figured after all this time you could use a wife. I can cook and clean and---.”

  Jules laughed. “Hold on, darling. Whatever made you think that I am the marrying kind? Don’t you think I might have had a wife if I had wanted one?”

  Jules lit a cigar, caught Isabella’s eye and smiled. “You’re alive alright, and I like that. You ask for what you want and I like that.” Jules leaned back in his chair. “And what if I said yes?”

  “Yes, that you’d give me the money or yes that you’d marry me?”

  Jules teased, “Little lady, suppose I said both? Don’t answer me now. I’ll tell you what. Tonight I’ll take you to dinner. This afternoon I’ll give your proposition some thought and we’ll discuss it tonight.” Jules removed his pocket watch and glanced at it. “You got the rest of the day off?”

  “Yes.”

  “What do you say we just go over to Charleston? Hell, I need some time off myself. Go get yourself dressed, and we’ll leave this afternoon.”

  “Am I coming back tonight?”

  Jules slowly grinned. “Darling, that’s up to you.”

  Isabella left the warehouse and ran down the tabby steps to Riverstreet. She ran into the tavern. The place was quiet this time of day. She looked around for Jesse, but did not see him. Charlie was behind the bar counting money.

  “Where’s Jesse?”

  “He ain’t felling well. He’s in his room.”

  Isabella ran to the back of the tavern and knocked on Jesse’s door. There was no response. Slowly she opened the door. Jesse was curled up in the bed with an old gray blanket wrapped around him. He was shivering. Isabella rushed to his side and placed her hand on his head.

  “You’re as hot as a frying pan. How long you been this sick? How long you had this fever?”

  “Since early dis morning.”

  “You ate anything?”

  “Don’t feel like it.”

  “You drank anything?”

  “Nah.”

  “Well, you got to drink. You can’t just lay there and burn up with fever. Why didn’t you send for me?”

  “Ain’t a thing you can do.”

  “There sure is a thing. You stay here. I’m going to get Kate.”

  “I ain’t going nowhere.”

  Isabella ran out of the tavern and down the steep tabby steps to Kate’s. She opened the bakery door and smelled the aroma of peach pies. She rushed up to Kate looking very distraught.

  “What’s the trouble, Isabella?” said Kate, shaking a bag of flour out on the table.

  “It’s Jesse, he’s sick. He’s got a high fever.”

  “Does he hurt anywhere?”

  “I don’t know. I didn’t ask him. I wanted to come get you.”

  “All right, let’s get moving.” Kate dusted off her apron and took it off. “Where’ve you been this morning all fancied up? Don’t you look pretty.”

  Isabella knew that Kate would not understand, and at this moment, neither did she. What was I thinking? What about Tom? How could she possibly marry a man like Jules McGinnis? She wouldn’t; she couldn’t. She would run and tell him that she could not go with him to Charleston, right after she took Kate to Jesse. She would have to come up with some other way to save the farm. Maybe Jules McGinnis had a bigger heart than anyone knew and he would just lend her the money and not expect any collateral.

  Kate held Isabella tightly by the arm as they hurried back to the tavern. When the two women reached Jesse’s bed, he was almost unconscious. Kate leaned over his bed. “Jesse, you hurt anywhere?”

  “Nah, nowhere, but my arms and my feets feels like needles sticking in dem,” Jesse said in a weak voice

  Kate shook her head. “That ain’t good.”

  “What can I do?” asked Isabella.

  “Go find Doc Chandler. This boy might need some kind of tonic or a needle. I think that he may have pneumonia. The way he breathes sounds like it, but I ain’t sure. Hear that rattle in his chest? Hurry.”

  Isabella leaned over Jesse and her eyes filled with frightened tears. “Jesse Rucker, don’t you go and die on me, you hear? I’m gonna go find Doc Chandler, I’m gonna bring him back and he is gonna to make you better.” She placed her thin arms around Jesse’s hot body, and cried, “No matter what it takes, I’m gonna get you well. I’ll be back.”

  Isabella ran out of the tavern and into the warehouse, searching for Jules. She ran outside and bumped into Hoyt. “Miss Isabella, ain’t that right?” he said as he eyed her.

  “That’s right. Where is Jules?”

  “He’s a little old for you, isn’t he? You sure are pretty.”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “Said he had some business to take care of over at his place on Oglethorpe.” Hoyt pulled out his pocket watch. “He ought to be back by now. You might check over at the stables.”

  Isabella heard him before she saw him. “Hell, I got a house over on Oglethorpe that I can’t even get a night’s sleep in and I paid for the goddamn place. I bought a goddamn whore a house and she kicked me out of it. Now that’s loyalty.” Laughter roared through out the stable. Isabella walked fast to the back of the stable and saw Jules untying his horse. “You headed somewhere?”

  “I was, but I ain’t in any hurry.”

  “Can you take me to Doc Chandler?”

  “What’s the matter?”

  “It’s Jes
se; he’s burning up with fever. Mrs. Kate told me that he might have pneumonia and for me to go and get Doc Chandler.”

  “Where’s your baby?”

  “Nell’s got her, and then at four o’clock she’s gonna take her to Kate’s.” Isabella dropped her head. “I won’t be going to Charleston this afternoon. I’ve got to see that Jesse’s alright.” She looked up into Jules’s face.

  “Get in the buggy,” he said. “We’ll go get the doc.”

  “Will Doc Chandler charge Jesse any money?”

  “Little lady, everything in this world has a price.”

  “You think I’m a lot of trouble, don’t you?”

  Jules laughed.”Hell, I don’t think you’re a lot of trouble. I knew that the first day I laid eyes on you. The Yankees wouldn’t have stood a chance had you been in Atlanta.”

  “Did you fight the Yankees?”

  “I shot them bastards every chance I got.”

  “Why do you think we lost?”

  Isabella had Jules’s full attention now. His gaze was like none she had ever seen.

  “Because our boys were way outnumbered,” Jules said. “Even so, we still put up a hell of a fight. Some of them didn’t even have uniforms to fight in or shoes to wear in the winter. I seen many a boy in gray, often no more than fifteen years old, with their feet cracked open and festering with blood and pus. There wasn’t any food for them to eat. They starved to death on cornbread and grits while Sherman’s gang of outlaws stuffed their bellies with ham and sweet potato pies that they forced some Reb’s mama or wife to cook for them. They were forced to cook for the very men that may have just killed their husbands or sons. And if they were lucky, they didn’t get raped or left to starve.”

  Jules pulled his buggy around the side of Doc Chandler’s house. Jules leaned over to talk to one of the Negroes in the yard. “The doc in?”

  “Nah sir, he’s gone to deliver another one of Mrs. Kennedy’s young-uns. Can I tell him you called?”

  “I’m Jules McGinnis.”

  “Yes sir, I’se knows who you is.” He pointed at the house. “The missus, she in dere if you need to see her.”