The Cards Don't Lie

by Sue Ingalls Finan

  Also, along with her household responsibilities, Hortense had been charged with watching over Suzanne to make sure that she completed her lessons assigned by the Ursuline nuns. Of course, Suzanne had gradually become aware that Hortense was covertly educating herself. The intelligent woman had also become quite adept in her teaching skills, having the ingenuity to make assignments more interesting for Suzanne. Those were such happy times, Suzanne thought. We both enjoyed learning!

  And now Hortense had another student; she was teaching Scamp to read, write, and do sums. Catherine, too, encouraged the young boy to study, although educating slaves was not customary.

  Despite the fact that Scamp was bright, Hortense complained that he was not quite as enthusiastic about learning as Suzanne had been. And so Hortense fretted over his lack of concentration on the lessons she prepared. She worked even harder on creatively developing lesson plans, and her motivating techniques, from sweet treats to promising more time to read additional stories to him, were meeting with success.

  And the many hugs she gives that boy! Hmph! Suzanne recognized the slight envy she was feeling, for Scamp had replaced her in Hortense’s life. She also strongly suspected that some of Scamp’s alleged lack of enthusiasm was merely to gain more attention from Hortense. Yes indeed, he is bright.

  Suzanne’s musing ceased when Scamp opened the door. “I got it, Madame Hortense! It’s Mademoiselle Suzanne! And she looks beautiful! As usual!” Now addressing Suzanne, the boy said, “I sure did miss you last night, Mademoiselle Suzanne. It’s way too quiet here without you around! But did you have a good time with Monsieur Bonet?”

  Suzanne’s heart softened upon seeing the young boy looking up at her adoringly with his big, velvety brown eyes. “Yes, I did, Scamp. And I’m not that far away. You could come and visit me!”

  At that moment, Hortense walked into the parlor, hands on her hips and a frown on her face. “Now, Scamp, I know you haven’t finished your math exercises yet. You get right back to that assignment!”

  “Oui, Madame,” he said, slowly retreating to the rear of the house. “Maybe tomorrow I could visit, then?” he turned to ask Suzanne.

  She laughed. “Oui! But only if Madame Hortense says it’s all right.”

  “I’ll do all my chores and my lessons quickly and perfectly tomorrow! Absolutely! In fact, I’ll start now! Hurrah!” And he hurried off.

  “That boy. Moves real fast when he wants to. Otherwise . . . But look at you—why, you’re positively glowing! So?”

  Suzanne flushed. “Mmm, oui, Hortense, last night was so . . . magnifique!”

  “Enough said; I’ll tell your maman you’re here. I know she’s eager to hear how you and Monsieur Bonet got along. And so am I!”

  Catherine came into the room, gave her daughter a quick kiss, and then said, “Well?”

  “Oh, Maman, René is the most wonderful man in the world! He’s thoughtful, kind, and gentle. And he’s smart! We talked all through the night. Well, much of the night, anyway.” Suzanne blushed then, thinking about her previous evening’s activities.

  “Yessss? So, your first night together was satisfactory for both of you?”

  “Oh, my, ‘satisfactory’ hardly describes it. He . . . it . . . everything was wonderful. Perhaps I did not even need to hide the scented bags of ribbons!”

  “Maybe not, my dear, but with the measures you have taken, and thanks to your prayers to the spirit of love, Erzulie Freda, you can be confident that René will always cherish you and give you everything you need.”

  Suzanne answered with a smile, “I only want him to need me!”

  Tarot: THE QUEEN OF PENTACLES

  Revelation: An intelligent, thoughtful woman

  uses her talents generously.

  With her husband busy overseeing the new sugar mill’s construction and her mother visiting a neighbor’s plantation, Marguerite ordered a carriage brought to the front of the mansion. She instructed the driver to take her to the Rue de Rampart in the city. No need to give the directions to the specific house; they had been there before.

  Upon arrival, she bade the driver to wait. “I won’t be long.”

  At the door, she said to the maid, “Hello, I’m here to see Madame Caresse. I hope she’s in?”

  “Yes, madame; please come in and sit down. I’ll get her for you.”

  A few minutes later, Catherine entered the parlor. “Madame de Trahan! How nice to see you again! It’s been over a year since . . .”

  “Ah, Madame Caresse! A pleasure to see you also. Yes. Over a year.” Marguerite was nervously wringing her hands.

  “You’re looking well.”

  “Thank you. But . . .”

  “What is it, Madame de Trahan? You seem troubled.” Catherine said gently. “How can I help you?”

  Marguerite sighed. “Ah, Madame Caresse, as you may recall, my husband and I tried for a number of years to have a child. That’s why I sought you before. The tincture was wonderful; I became pregnant shortly thereafter. But the baby died at birth.”

  “Oh, I’m so sorry, madame.”

  “I would like to have some more of your elixir.”

  “Why, of course! I’ll get some now.”

  Returning with a small vial of powdered black cohosh root steeped in brandy, Catherine reviewed the directions.

  “As you may remember, you are to take ten drops every day with juice. Did you have any stomach problems when taking it before?”

  “No, and, again, the tonic worked like a charm.”

  Catherine laughed. “There’s no magic involved in this remedy, madame; the Native Americans have been using it for years. But if you’re interested in the supernatural, you might petition St. Anthony of Padua to help you become pregnant. And then invoke the help of St. Gerard Mejella; he’s the patron saint of expectant mothers.”

  “Thank you, Madame Caresse. I’m very grateful.”

  “You’re welcome, Madame de Trahan. Success be with you!”

  Tarot: THE TWO OF CUPS

  Revelation: Agreement and cooperation where

  an existing relationship has undergone difficulty.

  1814

  The house servants removed the dinner plates from the table and brought the decanter for the wine. Jacques poured two small glasses of Madeira. Marguerite saw that he was in a very favorable mood. This was good.

  “How are the party plans coming, dear?” he asked.

  “Mother and I think the best time to have it would be around the middle of September. The weather won’t be too warm and humid, and rainfall will be at a minimum. What do you think?”

  “Yes, the weather will be perfect, but that’s why the harvest may be under way. However, I’m sure I can squeeze in some time for the festivities.”

  “Of course you must, Jacques! You’re already working such long hours,” she exclaimed.

  “Ah, yes, Marguerite, so far, no problems, but it is too early to tell about the next six months.” He leaned back thoughtfully in his chair, hands clasped behind his head. “Not enough rain, or too much rain. Insects, disease, and of course a hurricane could make all the work for naught. Right now, the green shoots are pushing up through the ground and the field hands are at work getting rid of the weeds that are trying to choke the new growth.”

  “We must ask St. Benedict for a bountiful harvest! But this has been a glorious spring so far, don’t you agree, dear?”

  Her husband looked at her oddly and said, “Well, yes, Marguerite; after all, it is March! And soon the sugarcane will grow thicker and stronger.”

  “Yes, thicker and stronger, dear,” she repeated.

  Jacques gave her a look that indicated he was beginning to suspect that this conversation was not about sugarcane. But he continued, “The levee has been reinforced, I have enough hogsheads, and Tobias and I figure our workforce is now large enough to handle the hoped-for yield. We have prepared as best we can; however, all is in the hands of God.”

  “I understand, Jacques; when yo
u grow only one crop, you risk complete success or complete failure.”

  Jacques tilted his head and searched his wife’s face, seeming not quite certain where she was leading him. She continued to sit across the table from him with a small smile on her face, and he changed the subject.

  “Wonderful dinner tonight, dear; Cook makes the best gumbo in Louisiana, and you know how I love her spicy chicken soup. Sometimes I think you’re trying to fatten me up.” Jacques patted his stomach.

  Marguerite laughed. “Jacques, you never gain weight. But I need to!”

  He looked across the table at her and raised his eyebrows. “Women rarely say that, Marguerite. Whatever do you mean?”

  She rose from her chair, and walked over to his. Standing directly in front of him, she cupped his chin in her hands and gazed lovingly down at him. His green eyes widened and looked back at her in surprise.

  “Marguerite, what is it? You’re behaving in a very unusual manner!”

  “Darling, we have each other and our beautiful home. And I do love you so much.”

  “Yes, I quite agree,” Jacques said, shaking his head and looking uncomfortable. “In fact, I should get back to the office right now to work on the accounts, to make sure that we continue to have this lovely home.”

  He started to get up, but Marguerite grabbed his hands, forcing him back down. She knelt in front of him and looked up at him imploringly.

  “Marguerite? What . . .”

  “Jacques, it’s time. I want to try again. You have to come to my bed. I know you’ve been afraid of hurting me since the baby died. But please!”

  “Well.” He said the word slowly and patted her head, as if she were a child. “Now, Marguerite, do you think that everything is, uh, mended?” He thought a moment and added, “I couldn’t bear losing you.”

  She took his hands again and gently kissed each one. “The doctor said it’s all right. I am in good health, and he assured me that I am perfectly capable of bearing another child. Please, Jacques!” She was begging him, tears running down her cheeks. “Come tonight! I miss you so much!”

  He gazed at her for a couple of minutes, not saying a word. Finally, he agreed: “All right, Marguerite. Tonight.”

  Still holding his hands, she laid her head on his lap. “Oh, my darling, thank you!”

  Tarot: THE MAGICIAN

  Revelation: Having skill that takes power

  from above and directs it to possibilities.

  One might have expected the popular, handsome, and charming Miguel Plicque to continue enjoying his philandering ways, but now he desired only Catherine Caresse. Quite passionately! He ascribed it to maturity.

  Catherine knew otherwise. They were happy together, and with Suzanne now taken care of by René Bonet, Catherine had married her plasterer. Life was good, she thought.

  Having finished a light supper, Catherine and Miguel were sitting in the garden, each sipping a glass of wine and enjoying the late-June sunset. The vibrant bougainvillea vines covered the walls, their flowers glowing in the softening light. Their vigor reminded Catherine of her daughter. Suzanne visited almost every afternoon, full of news about René’s nightly visits to her home. Although she delighted endlessly in detailing René’s many thoughts and convictions, today’s visit had been brief. She had asked Hortense for cooking instructions, borrowed some cayenne pepper, and then rushed home to prepare a chicken fricassee, one of René’s favorite meals.

  Catherine smiled to herself. Suzanne had never taken an interest in food preparation before; she’d been quite content to leave Hortense alone in the kitchen. Now, however, she was asking Catherine’s maid for favorite recipes. Although René had provided her with a competent cook, Suzanne wanted perfection. For René. Because he was perfect.

  Well, Catherine had to admit that because of René, Suzanne’s interests and proficiencies were growing. And, like the bougainvillea plants, she was blooming. But they seemed to be only René’s interests, as well as his opinions and concerns. She was no longer her own person.

  In more ways than one! Catherine thought. She smiled at her private joke. Yes, this “secondhand marriage” has quite changed her.

  Then she sighed, caught Miguel’s eye, and smiled again. Although she missed doting on her daughter, she loved her new married life with Miguel. And these were cherished moments the couple shared: sometimes intimate, other times merely exchanging neighborhood news, but always relaxed and satisfying.

  Miguel smiled back at his new wife. He also relished this time; while he supplied much of the gossip, Catherine usually astonished him with her analysis of people and situations.

  The topic he was about to broach now, however, was delicate. Tread softly, Miguel, he told himself.

  “Suzanne is quite in love with René, isn’t she?” he said, topping off her wine.

  “Yes, she is,” said Catherine. “She is very happy. By the way, Miguel, what do you think of René?”

  Her question caught Miguel by surprise. Catherine had never asked his opinion about anything regarding Suzanne—probably because Catherine believed her daughter was perfect. He, on the other hand, considered Suzanne self-centered, spoiled, and stubborn, and he suspected she was also impulsive. But he would never tell that to Catherine. And René Bonet, too, Miguel thought, might be somewhat reckless. But he didn’t want to upset Catherine, so he chose his words carefully.

  “Well, René is young,” Miguel said diplomatically, after sipping a bit of his wine. “Full of himself and his ideas, inexperienced and thus presumptuously confident—you know the sort.”

  “Ha! Pompous, you mean!” Catherine hooted, and swallowed the remaining liquid in her glass. “I quite agree! But Suzanne thinks he’s brilliant.”

  Miguel looked at his wife with surprise. He couldn’t believe it: Catherine actually admitted to a chink in Suzanne’s amour. Must be the wine. And yet she was looking back at him directly, with clearheaded candor in her eyes. And expecting him to say something.

  He continued cautiously. “Ah, yes. She thinks he’s brilliant,” he repeated. “And I’m sure that he appreciates her thinking that. All men do!”

  He smiled as she laughed again. Then he said, “Actually, though, some of René’s notions are quite interesting. For example, he likes to quote Thomas Jefferson’s writing in the Constitution that ‘all men are created equal.’ I find that astonishing, because that just goes against all the ideas he grew up with, as a white man.”

  “Oh, I’m sure his parents aren’t too pleased with his notions—that is, if he’s foolish enough to expound on them at family gatherings.” Frowning, she held up her empty glass and he leaned over and poured some of his wine into hers.

  “He’s just too intense, overzealous,” she declared.

  “He’s young, Catherine. And, again, I think some of his arguments are valid.”

  “Hmph! Suzanne says he’s also against slavery. And, of course, now she is, too. Why, my daughter never gave slavery a single thought before she met René!”

  “Well, I’ve seen his type before—excessive enthusiasm for a cause,” said Miguel. “But I suspect he’ll change his tune if he has to actually stand up for what he professes to believe in.”

  Catherine sighed as she again drained her glass. “Well, as long as it’s all just talk. And you’re right—I doubt very much that he’d give up his Creole society in order to demonstrate his convictions to terminate slavery. He’d have too much to lose. His family, friends, position—no. Right now, as you say, he’s young. But eventually his family’s norms, the habits and instincts he basically inherited, will prevail. As they should.”

  She settled back into her chair, apparently relieved that “it” was settled, and surely “everything” would turn out favorably.

  “Of course, dear,” Miguel agreed, silently congratulating himself for his tactfulness. “Basically, René is a good man, treats Suzanne well, makes her happy, and that’s all that counts.”

  Miguel took the last sip of his wine. C
atherine had gotten him off track, talking about René, so he gingerly approached his issue again, tying it into their previous conversation. “I was thinking, though . . . René’s going to break Suzanne’s heart when he marries a Creole woman.”

  “Yes, that is possible,” agreed Catherine.

  “Mmm, yes. Uh, Catherine, when Suzanne’s father married, how did you react?”

  Catherine tilted her head and looked up at her husband. She thought for a moment, then said, “I accepted the situation, had even anticipated it. He told me when he met his soon-to-be bride that he would be completely faithful to her.

  “By that time,” she continued, “I had already given birth to Suzanne. My daughter became the main focus of my life. And although her father never visited me again, he honored his plaçage commitment. I never wanted for money, and Suzanne was provided with the best education possible.”

  “It doesn’t sound like you were that upset.”

  “I was not in love with him, Miguel.” Smiling, she reached across the table to take his hand.

  “So, it would be best if Suzanne has René’s baby as soon as possible?”

  “She is already with child,” Catherine acknowledged.

  “What! How did I miss her announcement?”

  “She does not yet know. She is only in her first month.”

  “Then how do you . . . ?”

  Catherine merely smiled.

  “By the way,” she said, returning to the previous topic, “because Suzanne’s father did not request my company, I had more time to improve my skill.”

  “Ah, the ‘skill,’” Miguel mused. Another sensitive topic. “We’re not talking about your healing potions or midwifery here. It’s that other skill.”

  “Hmm?” Catherine looked at him questioningly.

  “Like knowing that your daughter is with child before she does. And having some sort of a connection with spirits. I have never really asked you about it. Actually, sometimes it scares me. Some say it’s a freakish power. Do you feel that way about it?”