The Inheritance

by Rochelle Alers

  Attractive lines fanned out around St. John’s eyes when he smiled. “I’m never one to turn down good food, so count me in.”

  * * *

  The kitchen was filled with activity and laughter as Hannah, Jasmine, Nydia, and Tonya prepared their dishes while Samara stayed in the parlor with St. John.

  “It’s a good thing this kitchen is so big; otherwise the four of us would never be able to work together,” Jasmine remarked.

  Nydia nodded. “I still can’t get over the fact that there’s an outside kitchen.”

  Hannah crumbled feta cheese in a ramekin, then set it aside and covered it with plastic wrap. It was the last ingredient she’d put into the salad. “Years ago, before there was air-conditioning, many houses in the south were built with outdoor kitchens in order not to heat up the main house.”

  “And of course it was slaves who did the cooking,” Jasmine spat out.

  Hannah gave her a withering glare. “There weren’t any slaves at DuPont House.”

  “How did that happen?” Jasmine asked.

  Inhaling a deep breath, Hannah held it, and then finally let it out, knowing she should have waited until everyone was together to recount her family’s history. She captured Jasmine and Nydia’s rapt attention when she repeated what she’d told Tonya about the DuPonts, watching their expressions change to disbelief when she told of the number of mixed race relatives she’d never met.

  Jasmine wiped her hands on a dish towel. “Are you saying that everyone named DuPont, whether white, brown, or black, is your relative?”

  “I’m not saying that, Jasmine, because other than Etienne and his brother Jean-Paul, I don’t know how many other DuPonts from France settled here. St. John will probably be able to authenticate this because he’s involved in writing a comprehensive history of free people of color in Louisiana.”

  Nydia smiled. “That’s what I call a trifecta, Hannah. The man has looks, brains, and he’s sexy as hell. Now if I could meet a younger version of your St. John, I’d . . .” Her words trailed off as she shook her head.

  “Don’t you even try and play yourself, mija,” Jasmine crooned. “You weren’t even coming down here with us because you didn’t want to leave the love of your life back in New York.”

  Nydia pushed out her lips. “The love of my life has been fucking up lately. I told him if we’re going to move in together, then he has to save his money, because I’m not going to subsidize his portion of the rent. The last time I asked how much he’d saved, he gave me some lame-ass excuse that he had to loan one his homies some money because the idiot took some woman home with him and when he woke up his wallet was missing. I lost it, calling him every name I could think of in English and Spanish, and in the end he walked out.”

  “What did I tell you about a man not being able to match what you bring to the table?” Tonya reminded Nydia. “I usually don’t get into other folks’ business when it comes to their love life, so I’m going to say this once. Get rid of the bum, block his number in your phone, and move on with your life. You have too much going for you to let an anchor weigh you down. He’s never going to progress any further than he is right now, and he’s always going to look for a woman to take care of him.”

  “Preach, sister!” Jasmine shouted.

  “Amen,” Hannah intoned.

  Tonya dropped an arm over Nydia’s shoulders. “Now repeat after me. I’m going to get rid of the bum.”

  “I’m going to get rid of the bum,” Nydia repeated, eyes downcast.

  Tonya gripped the back of her neck. “Say it like you mean it.”

  Nydia’s hazel eyes were filled with determination. “I’m going to get rid of the fucking bum!” Everyone applauded and then dissolved into uncontrollable laughter.

  “Y’all know you’re crazy as hell,” Hannah said as she struggled to catch her breath.

  Jasmine pointed at her. “You better include yourself in that equation. If you hadn’t invited us down and plied us with an evil drink that had me dreaming of all sorts of naughty things, I probably would still be in my condo watching endless mindless reality shows and commercials for drugs to cure every ailment known to man.”

  “Tonight we’re going to skip the alcohol and have sweet tea. I don’t want you to leave here blaming me for turning you into drunks.”

  Nydia raised the lid on a pot of pigeon peas and rice and then quickly replaced it. “Is it true people can drink in the street down here?”

  Hannah nodded. “Only if it’s in a plastic cup. If you order a drink in a bar and you don’t finish it, then you can ask for a go-cup.”

  Jasmine smiled. “This place is party city twenty-four-seven.”

  “Are you changing your mind about relocating?” Tonya asked Jasmine.

  “Not yet,” she replied. “I have to see more of the city before I make that decision. What I did like when we drove through the French Quarter was the architecture.” She waved a hand. “And this house is incredible. If I were appraise the contents, I’m certain they would sell for high seven figures. I noticed some of the plantations we passed on the way down were either abandoned or burned-out shells. Hannah, why did this place remain intact?”

  “New Orleans was under the control of the Union Army for the duration of the Civil War. And because the DuPonts didn’t own slaves, it wasn’t burned or looted. Stephen DuPont allowed a Union colonel to use the house as his headquarters with the proviso his men not steal or ruin anything. He was able to save the house, but his business suffered. He couldn’t ship sugarcane out of the city because of the Union blockade. He would’ve gone completely bankrupt if he hadn’t employed blockade runners who were operated by British citizens making use of neutral ports like Havana, Nassau, and Bermuda.”

  Nydia whistled softly. “There’s so much to history I never learned.”

  “If there’s anything you want to know about history, then just ask St. John. He’s the chair of the history department at the college.”

  “And I know my daughter is talking his head off about everything that pertains to government and politics,” Tonya said.

  Hannah opened the wooden chest filled with silver. “I’m going to set the table in the dining room so we can have more room.”

  “I’ll help you,” Nydia volunteered.

  * * *

  Ninety minutes after St. John walked into DuPont House, he sat down at the opposite end of the dining room table from Hannah. The aromas wafting from the various dishes reminded him that he’d only had a cup of coffee and a glass of juice earlier that morning. Conversation had become a lively banter as he watched Hannah laugh and joke with her former coworkers.

  The only time he’d witnessed her that uninhibited was when they were in bed together. He smiled at her as he raised a glass of sweet tea to his mouth. At that moment he felt a pang of regret that he’d stayed in a loveless, one-sided marriage for more than half his life. The day Lorna asked for a divorce she was finally able to reveal the trauma that had left her scarred for life. The week before, she’d driven to Kenner to visit the aunt and uncle who’d raised her. When she returned, St. John knew without asking that she’d changed completely. That’s when she revealed that her uncle, who had lost his leg because of diabetes, had begun touching her inappropriately when she turned eight; it escalated until she was thirteen. The touching progressed to penile penetration, and by the time she was fifteen he came to her room several nights a week to have intercourse with her. The one time he didn’t use a condom he got her pregnant. Her aunt took her to a woman who gave her a concoction that put her in a semiconscious state while she underwent an abortion. Lorna never told her aunt that it was her uncle who’d gotten her pregnant, because he’d threatened to kill her if she ever told anyone about their secret liaisons.

  The abuse only stopped after Lorna and St. John were married, and by that time guilt made it impossible for her to allow another man to touch her.

  Instead of comforting his wife, St. John flew into a rage, shouting t
hat she didn’t love or trust him enough to tell him the truth, and her silence had turned him into an adulterer.

  The divorce was quick, uncontested, citing irreconcilable differences. What St. John found strange was that Lorna sold the house where they’d lived as husband and wife to move back into her abuser’s home to care for him and his wife, who’d been diagnosed with dementia.

  His reverie ended when Hannah asked him to pass the rice and peas. “I must congratulate the cooks sitting at this table, because everything is delicious.”

  “Where is your family reunion?” Tonya asked him.

  “It’s going to be at my house.”

  “How many are you expecting?” Nydia questioned.

  He lifted his shoulders. “It varies. Sometime we have as many as seventy-five, and in other years it’s been like twenty-five to thirty. My cousins are doing the cooking so I urge everyone to bring their appetites. And come early, because we always have breakfast to tide us over before we sit down to eat dinner.”

  “I don’t mind helping out with the cooking,” Tonya volunteered. “I need to keep my skills sharp now that I’m not working.”

  St. John gave her a long, penetrating stare. “I’m sure Eustace and Gage wouldn’t mind extra help, especially from someone who’s a trained chef.” He paused. “Hannah, why don’t you and your friends spend the night at my place?”

  “Is there enough room for all of us?” Jasmine asked.

  “If there isn’t enough room, then we can always double up,” Samara said quickly.

  St. John smiled. “There’s more than enough space for everyone to have their own bedroom.”

  Tonya cleared her throat. “How about it, Hannah? Are we checking out of this venerable establishment to check into another hotel for one night?”

  She narrowed her eyes at St. John. “I suppose we can see what the owner of the other establishment has to offer his guests.”

  “Oh, I forgot to ask,” St. John continued. “Is anyone here allergic to cats?”

  Samara’s expression brightened. “You have a cat?”

  “No, he doesn’t have a cat,” Hannah said. “He has my cat. Don’t look so smug, St. John. You know you hijacked my kitten.”

  “I thought he was your cousins’ kitten.”

  “Damn,” Jasmine drawled. “They’re not even married and they’re arguing about who gets the cat.”

  Everyone laughed except Hannah, and St. John realized she was still upset that Smokey hadn’t come back to DuPont House with her. Dinner continued with everyone but Jasmine recalling stories about the pets they’d had. She said her mother was allergic to pet dander so she didn’t grow up with a dog or cat.

  St. John couldn’t remember when he’d had a more enjoyable evening. It did boost his ego somewhat, because he was the only male in the company of attractive professional women. Dinner concluded with slices of a custard dessert that literally melted on the tongue, and cups of the chicory-laced coffee favored by most New Orleanians.

  * * *

  Hannah ushered him out the door when he offered to help clean up. “Now I know I can’t get rid of you,” she said as they stood on the porch together.

  “Why would you want to get rid of me?”

  “I don’t. But if I attempted to do so, those ladies in the house would probably tear my throat out. You have to know you charmed the panties off them.”

  St. John splayed a hand over her bottom. “I’m not interested in anyone’s panties but yours.”

  She rested her head on his chest. “One of these days I’m going to come to your house butt-naked under my skirt and you won’t have to take off my panties.”

  He was reminded of the time they made love in the garden when he hadn’t worn a pair of briefs under his shorts. “Maybe I should go commando more often,” he whispered in her ear.

  “Stop it, St. John, because talking about it will give me erotic dreams.”

  He nuzzled her ear. “I woke up this morning with an erection so painful that I masturbated into a sock.”

  “Go home, St. John, before I pull you into the garden and screw your brains out.”

  He pressed his groin against her so she could feel his hard-on. “I better leave now before your friends witness something they don’t need to see.” Lowering his head, he kissed Hannah with all of the passion coursing through his body. He wanted her more than he’d ever wanted any woman. Not only in his bed, but also in his life.

  “Good night, darling,” Hannah breathed out when he raised his head.

  St. John smiled. “Good night, sweetheart.”

  * * *

  Hannah returned to the house, closing and locking the door behind her. Everyone was still in the kitchen, sitting at the table. “Well, did you give him some?” Jasmine asked, her eyes shimmering with merriment.

  Hannah couldn’t stop the blush rising from her chest to her face. “We don’t do quickies.”

  Jasmine pointed at Nydia. “I told you they were sleeping together.”

  Samara pushed back her chair. “I think this conversation is a little too much for my delicate ears.” She ducked, laughing when balls of rolled-up paper napkins were launched at her. “I have to go through my tablet to send Dr. McNair my research info.”

  Hannah sat down in the chair Samara had vacated. “I thank you guys for coming. It’s been a long time since this house has been filled with fun and laughter.”

  Tonya shook her head. “Why do you always have to get maudlin, Hannah? You have a priceless historical home, a new venue that’s guaranteed to be a success, and a fine-ass man any one of us would be willing to jump his bones.”

  She wanted to tell her friends that she’d grown up feeling alienated from girls and women her age, but she didn’t want them to see her as someone who couldn’t fit in. “If any of you think you’re going to hit on my man, I’ll cut you.”

  “Woohoo!” Jasmine screamed, then gave Tonya and Nydia fist bumps. “That’s what I like. A woman who’s willing for fight for her man—but only if he’s worth fighting for.”

  They sat in the kitchen talking about the men they’d slept with when they shouldn’t have given them a second glance. Hannah didn’t have much to contribute to the conversation because she’d only slept with one man before St. John. But knowing they’d accepted her made their friendship even more special. Wakefield Hamilton did her a favor when they fired her. They’d given her the time she needed to plan for her future and, more important, they’d given her group of women who were friends and the sisters she always wanted.

  * * *

  Hannah was shown to a table at Broussard’s. When she made the reservation for five she decided to eat inside because of the intense heat, which did not abate at sunset. Everyone wore clothes baring a great deal of skin.

  “This place is very French,” Samara remarked.

  “It’s been a while since I’ve prepared a French dish,” Tonya said.

  Nydia glanced up from her menu. “How do you remember what to put in each dish?”

  Tonya smiled. “It comes from years of practice.” Her smile was replaced by a slight frown. She leaned to her right, her bare shoulder touching Hannah’s. “Isn’t that St. John sitting at the next table against the wall?”

  Hannah’s eyes shifted until she made out his face among the six people at the table. He was seated next to a very attractive woman with a flawless dark complexion and neatly braided hair, clinging possessively to his right arm. Hannah wasn’t looking at her beautiful face, but the stunning engagement ring on her left hand. She tried telling herself he was single, they were not in a committed relationship, and therefore he could see whoever he wanted, but she found it hard to draw a normal breath.

  Tonya rested a hand on her back. “It’s not what you think,” she whispered softly.

  Hannah expelled an audible breath. “I’m in love with him,” she said sotto voce.

  “And you think he doesn’t love you?” Tonya asked, pressing her head to Hannah’s. “Don’t jump
to conclusions, because I’ve seen the way he looks at you, and it’s not with indifference. So suck it up and don’t you dare let him see you staring at him like a lovesick puppy. If you claim to be a grown-ass woman, then act like one.”

  Hannah squared her shoulders. “You’re right. I am woman. Hear me roar.”

  Tonya smiled. “That’s what I’m talking about.”

  “What are you talking about?” Nydia asked Tonya.

  “Fifty-year-old shit that you don’t need to hear.”

  Nydia had brushed her hair off her face, holding it in place with a narrow headband. She’d forgone makeup; she appeared no older than someone in their late teens. “I guess I have to wait eighteen years before I’m privy to fifty-year-old shit.”

  Jasmine patted Nydia’s hand. “Don’t let Tonya get to you, mija. She’s probably talking about hot flashes and all the stuff women go through when they’re in menopause.”

  “You’re right,” Tonya lied smoothly.

  The waiter came to take their drink orders. When Hannah decided on a virgin mojito she saw the stunned stares from the others at the table. “Y’all go and order hurricanes. I’m willing to bet I’ll become the designated driver tonight.”

  Jasmine made circular motions with her fingers. “They claim New Orleans is food, music, and drink, and I intend to sample all three tonight. I’ll have a hurricane,” she told the waiter.

  Once they were given their drinks and entrées, Hannah managed to ignore the man sitting less than thirty feet away. The encounter turned into a laugh fest when Nydia talked about visiting her relatives in Puerto Rico and how she’d been chased by one of her uncle’s pigs that would hump anyone standing close to him. She also revealed that she didn’t grow up speaking Spanish, but once she entered adolescence her parents sent her to the island for the summers to keep her away from a boy she’d been sneaking around with. During the school year her older brother would follow her around to make certain she didn’t see him.