The Cards Don't Lie

by Sue Ingalls Finan

  Catherine took some time before answering. “It is a gift, Miguel, and needs to be treated with care. I believe that it has helped many people in a”—she paused—“in a fitting way.”

  “How did you know . . . when did you realize . . . what’s it like?”

  She laughed. “Hard to describe; it’s like feeling a different kind of energy. Like an internal sparkling. And I inherited it from my mother’s side. It skipped her, but her père had it. Grand-père recognized that I had the gift when I was born. He helped prepare me for its uses.”

  “Does Suzanne have it?”

  “No, but her baby might!”

  “Whew! I just can’t imagine. I mean, the mysticism, the magic, the otherworldliness of it all . . . I know you would never use it to cause harm. But do you ever find this power frightening?”

  “No,” she said, “but sometimes it’s painful.”

  Tarot: THE THREE OF SWORDS

  Revelation: Misfortune, strife, sorrow, separation.

  August 24, 1814

  Tarnation seize me if I don’t get these valuables to safety! Dolley swore to herself.

  Through her spyglass, Mrs. Madison could see the British cautiously making their way northwest up Pennsylvania Avenue. However, there was no organized resistance to oppose them. There were only carts crowding the other streets as people left the city with what they could carry of their precious personal property.

  Dolley paused for a moment, not only to gather energy and courage, but also to assure her servants that they would all escape safely. Then she moved quickly through the rest of the executive mansion, looking for other treasures she might rescue.

  “Jean,” she called out, “how are you doing?”

  “We can’t get it down, Mrs. Madison!” answered the doorkeeper. It was apparent from his tone that he was unnerved, and the First Lady did not blame him. After all, the soldiers who were to guard the President’s Mansion had already fled, right along with the citizens of Washington, DC.

  “I’ll be right there, Jean!”

  The First Lady hastened into the dining room, concerned about the giant portrait of George Washington hanging on the wall. The doorkeeper was on a stepladder, trying to remove the picture.

  “It simply won’t budge, Mrs. Madison!” he said.

  “Get a hatchet and chop the frame apart,” she instructed. “Then just pack the canvas. Is the wagon ready?”

  “Yes, ma’am,” said Mr. McGraw, the gardener. “Everything is set to go.”

  “All right, then. Start loading these things, and I’ll be with you soon.”

  After gathering her bonnet and cloak, she went to a window and pulled aside the red velvet curtain to peer outside. She could see her servants carefully stowing the portrait, along with silverware, costly vases, and the president’s papers, into wagons.

  Jemmy will be glad that at least I was able to save his documents, she thought, referring to the President by his childhood nickname. The valuables were to be taken to a farm, out of reach of the enemy.

  Dolley glanced back at the dinner table, set for forty guests. She and her personal servant, Sukey, had gone to the market two days before and had filled their baskets for tonight’s elaborate celebratory dinner. Wine was cooling on the sideboard, and joints on spits were sizzling in the fireplace. Her husband was scheduled to return home victorious from a battle in Bladensburg. But there was no victory and the American forces had scattered. She was certain that, even though he was still in Maryland, he could now see the flames of Washington burning. President Madison would realize that there was no home to come back to.

  “Ma’am, the British will be here soon. We must clear out immediately,” Sukey called out.

  Dolley nodded and slipped a few small pieces of silver into her handbag. Taking a last look at her recently decorated residence of six years, she walked briskly out of the gray sandstone mansion with her head held high. Then the President’s wife climbed into the waiting carriage and did not look back.

  That night, Dolley tried to rest at the encampment, filled with other Washington citizens. They could see the glow in the night sky and smell the smoke rising from the city.

  The servant posted outside her tent asked to enter.

  “Come in, Jean,” Dolley said. “Have you heard any news?”

  “Yes, Mrs. Madison. We received confirmation that the enemy reduced the executive mansion to cinders. They looted the place first, ma’am, even ate the dinner you had prepared and drank your wine—and then burned the house. The Capitol Building, the Supreme Court Building, and the Library of Congress are also ablaze.” He shook his head in dismay. “I’m sorry, ma’am,” he added.

  Thunder cracked, signaling the start of another late-August storm. A torrent of rain followed, pelting the city.

  “Well, now. A storm! A horrible ending to a terrible day.”

  “Ah, this downpour will drown the fires, Mrs. Madison.” The doorkeeper tried to lessen the woman’s anguish. “The British camp will be a slushy mire, and they’ll probably hurry back to their ships.”

  “Have you heard anything about the wagons we packed?”

  “The country’s valuables have been delivered and are safe in the house.”

  “Well, that’s good news, anyway.” Dolley gritted her teeth. “How I wish General Washington were still alive, Jean; the Redcoats would never have been able to reach shore. How dare they destroy our capital! We must exact revenge!”

  Tarot: THE SEVEN OF WANDS

  Revelation: Courage in the face of opposition.

  September 1, 1814

  “President Madison? Mr. Francis Scott Key is here to see you.”

  “Send him in, Edward,” Madison said.

  The thirty-three-year-old Virginia lawyer nervously entered the President’s makeshift office.

  “Sit down, Mr. Key,” said the President. “What can I do for you?”

  “Well, sir, the British have arrested my friend Dr. William Beanes. He’s being held on one of their ships in Baltimore Harbor. His ‘crime’ was capturing their stragglers after they had burned Washington.”

  “He’s a hero, in my book,” said Madison.

  “I quite agree, sir. But he’s quite elderly and his friends and neighbors are concerned about him. I’d like your permission to go to the British flagship and negotiate his release. I will also deliver some letters from our British prisoners. Many of them state that we’ve treated them with kindness. They may be influential in getting my friend back.”

  “That sounds like a good incentive, Mr. Key. I’ll arrange to have a sloop flying a flag of truce take you to their vessel. And good luck to you on your mission of mercy!”

  Tarot: THE THREE OF WANDS

  Revelation: Foundations laid, optimistic

  possibilities.

  Jean Lafitte’s business venture in New Orleans, begun in 1809, was designated as that of a blacksmith, but everyone knew it was a front for the lucrative smuggling of slaves and captured merchandise.

  Peter often came into the city to work at the smithy, for it was also the perfect spot for barrel making. Containers were always needed. Sturdy, tightly sealed barrels, casks, and kegs were used for essentials: sugar, beer, wine, rum, and brandy. Also, for ships going out to sea, the barrels held preserved salt meat, cabbage, biscuits, and water.

  Peter was also appreciative that the perfect place for applying his carpenter’s skills by day was also close to Millie’s brothel, where he delighted in applying different skills at night.

  He liked making Millie happy. He found that she really enjoyed having the back of her neck softly kissed while, at the same time, he stroked the curve in her waist. Not rushing (although at times he wanted to), he kissed and nibbled her knees, then worked his way back up to licking her ears. He talked to her throughout all the caresses, complimenting her beautiful body. And he always made sure of her ultimate sexual pleasure first before achieving his.

  Although he assumed it was just business to her, his vi
sits were special to him.

  In fact, however, Millie looked forward to Peter’s visits, which were becoming more and more frequent, and she did not conceal her delight when he came through her doorway this evening. He was wet from a late summer rain, but she helped him remove his bandanna, striped shirt, and pants and hung them over the drying stand, where they would stay until morning.

  After a long soak in her tub and a brisk rubdown with fleecy towels, Millie wanted to make sure Peter was comfortable in her bed.

  “Time for a back rub!” she said.

  Peter sighed with pleasure as he turned over on his stomach. “Thank you, Millie! I am a little sore from today’s work.”

  As Millie proceeded with strong strokes going up from his pelvis on both sides of Peter’s spine, she said, “Pete, I love it that you always make me feel so special. I do believe you are my very favorite, um, boyfriend!”

  “Well, you’re my favorite girl, Millie! Actually, you’re my only girl. Mmm. That feels so good!”

  As Millie worked her thumbs in small, deep circles around his shoulder blades and moved up to the base of his head, she said, “Your muscles are really tight, Pete. What’s making you so sore?”

  “Making lots of barrels. Seems the rumors we’ve heard are true. My countrymen plan to capture New Orleans, which is very important to Louisiana’s economy. I think they want to keep this territory for themselves, or maybe return it to the Spanish.”

  “That’s horrible, Pete!” Millie cried indignantly. “But wait . . .” She suddenly stopped the massage, sat up, and crossed her arms.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “Your ‘countrymen’? Just whose side are you on?”

  “I would guess I’m on your bad side now, Millie, with that remark. I should have said ‘my former countrymen’!”

  “Well, that’s better.” With her fists, she began softly pummeling his backside. “And how do you know the rumors are true?”

  “Well, just a few days ago, some Royal Navy officers from the brig Sophie stopped to visit Jean Lafitte at Grand Terre,” said Peter. “They had a letter from Colonel Nicholls giving Lafitte a choice: either we Baratarians can help them invade Louisiana by guiding them through the swamps and assisting them in attacking the city, or the British will destroy us because of our privateering enterprises against their ships.”

  “So they want to use Barataria as a point of invasion? They’d be coming at us from all of the swamps?”

  “Right. And they’d use our boats and ships, as well as our gunners and fighters. They also offered Lafitte thirty thousand pounds to help them.”

  “Thirty thousand pounds!” exclaimed Millie. “Is he going to do it? Help the British?”

  “We’ve been discussing the offer for several days now. The money is very tempting, but I don’t think Lafitte is keen on the terms,” answered Peter. “He’s a slaver; plus, he would have to stop smuggling and give up all his ships to the British. Then what would he do? I can’t see him becoming a farmer.”

  “That’s for sure!” Millie said with a laugh. She stopped her patting, stretched out beside him, crooked her arm, and held her head up with her right hand.

  Peter rolled over on his left side, mirroring her position. “No, he really thinks of himself as an American; Louisiana is where he’s made his fortune, and he wants to continue his livelihood here.”

  “Even though Governor Claiborne incarcerated his brother Pierre in that wretched calaboose and would love to put Jean away, too?” asked Millie.

  “Fair point,” agreed Peter. “But aside from the governor, Lafitte does have political friends in high places. In fact, I suspect Pierre will not be locked up much longer.”

  “But back to the British bribe—the Baratarians are preparing for battle?” asked Millie.

  “Yes. Some time ago, they began stockpiling flints, gunpowder, cannonballs, and, of course, cannons, so we’re ready for whatever happens. As far as the British ‘offer’ is concerned, Lafitte told them that he needed a couple of weeks to think about it.”

  “So, you are all discussing it?”

  “Yes. It’s a lot of money, and we’d be battling the Royal Navy. On the other hand . . . But, Millie, you must not tell anyone about this!”

  “It’s very exciting, your life, Pete. And I do worry about you, especially if you get involved in warfare.”

  “Truly?”

  “Why, of course, Pete! And I think you know that. Now, turn over so I can finish your back rub.”

  Peter saluted her, with a frown on his face. “Are you sure you’re finished on this side, ma’am?”

  Tarot: THE KNIGHT OF SWORDS

  Revelation: Turbulence is possible.

  On the final evening of Marguerite’s weekend party, the house servants were clearing the dessert dishes from the rosewood table and taking them back through the courtyard to the kitchen. Marguerite, Sheila, and Jacques were in the front of the mansion, bidding their last guests a good night.

  “This evening’s dinner was absolutely delicious,” said their friend Henri. “You have a fine cook!”

  “Thank you; she was quite expensive, but worth it,” replied Jacques. “Good cooks always are, you know. She is teaching two of our younger females to do the peeling and chopping in the scullery. Eventually, they will also learn her other culinary skills.”

  “Do you have any young house servants who have the physical stamina to make soap? Our laundress is getting on in years and losing her strength,” said Claudia.

  “No, but our laundress, who was also very costly, is excellent. She knows how to expertly remove stains, and she is willing to work on her day off. Most of our slaves like to go into the city on Sundays, but she is saving to buy her freedom. We will be willing to send her to you—but only until the baby arrives.”

  “S’il vous plaît!” said Claudia, “And oui—when le bébé arrives, you will definitely need her skills every day!”

  After the laughter subsided, Claudia continued, “Your china is so exquisite, Marguerite! I love the cornucopia motif on the large plates—so symbolic of your hospitality. But surely you don’t allow your servants to wash your good dishes!”

  “Absolutely not, Claudia; Mother and I will do that chore ourselves tomorrow.”

  “It should take us a good part of the day,” added Sheila.

  “I will be thinking of you tomorrow, then, as I begin reading Voltaire’s Candide. Thank you so much,” said Claudia.

  “You’re welcome. I was happy to get this latest version; it’s illustrated with seven drawings by Jean-Michel Moreau le Jeune,” said Marguerite.

  “I know the story well,” said Jacques. “Voltaire’s satire has angered many, but to me he’s a hero.”

  “Speaking of writers, is Donatien Alphonse François de Sade still in solitary confinement at the Charenton insane asylum?” asked Henri.

  “I should hope so. Such appalling books! It’s been ten years now since he was transferred there from the Bastille, and I do hope he never escapes!” declared Sheila.

  “Indeed. And to continue on in only good taste, do tell me, Jacques, how did you obtain such wonderful wine?” asked Henri.

  “The French wines are from a small importer, who usually deals in iron products but happened on a cargo of wine rescued from a ship that had sprung a fatal leak,” Jacques replied.

  “Alors, I must admit that such a lucky importer is a valuable asset to our community!” said Claudia.

  “Indeed he is!” agreed Sheila.

  Henri turned back to the host. “Jacques, in addition to the wine, everything else was perfect: your plantation provided superb hunting, your cook’s kitchen accomplishments were delectable, and the company, of course, was so very enjoyable. We must get together again soon at our townhouse before your baby comes!”

  “An early celebration would be lovely. What do you think, Henri? Perhaps in late October or November?” asked Claudia.

  “We’ll plan for early November.”

 
“I look forward to it!” said Sheila. “I’ve loved these get-togethers among friends and neighbors ever since I was a little girl. I must say, however, that although our friends remain the same, our neighbors have changed quite a bit since Louisiana flew the French flag.”

  “Yes,” said Henri, “many changes have occurred, especially since the Yankee traders began residing here.”

  “At least they’re not moving into the Vieux Carré,” said Sheila.

  “No—no one will sell to them. So one of those Northerners bought up the Livoudais plantation and divided it into parcels, and the Yankees are building their mansions there.”

  “And their odd-looking houses are surrounded by gardens that anybody can see!” cried Sheila.

  “Oui, the Yankees are newcomers, but they respect our culture. After the Louisiana Purchase, President Jefferson himself assured Sister Marie Theresa, of the Ursuline sisters, that their institution could continue to govern itself without interference, and that the US government would protect their property. I believe we are fortunate to be part of the United States,” said Henri.

  “I agree,” responded Jacques. “Our countrymen in Canada are treated as serfs by their English conquerors. But I am afraid, with our new country at war, we will be facing even more adjustments soon.”

  “Another positive reason we are fortunate to be part of the United States. As France’s navy is not equal to England’s, she could not defend her colonies in the new world.”

  “I expect you’re correct, Henri,” said Jacques. “I have heard rumors. New Orleans probably should be preparing for a British attack, although I’m at a loss for how to go about it.”

  “What we need is a strong, experienced leader! Que Dieu nous aide!” said Henri.

  Their carriage pulled up, and a coachman opened the door. Bidding a final goodbye to his hostesses, Henri kissed the women’s fingertips. “Thank you, Marguerite and Sheila, for such a wonderful weekend, full of dancing and dining.”