The Cards Don't Lie

by Sue Ingalls Finan

  “Oh, oui!” began Suzanne. “My husband, René, says—”

  “Right, then!” Catherine cut in. “So, how do we start, Madame de Trahan?”

  The Creole woman drew a deep breath. “Père Antoine is giving us space to meet at the cathedral tomorrow afternoon. Will you both be able to join us, Madame Caresse?”

  Catherine nodded. “We will see you there. Good day, Madame de Trahan.”

  The Creole woman smiled and left. Suzanne said, “She seemed very nice, Maman. I hope she feels better soon.”

  “I suspect she will in time, dear.”

  Catherine felt a tap on her shoulder. Turning about, she found a younger, white woman, around Suzanne’s age, facing her. There was something about her, though, that seemed peculiar. Her demeanor, for one so young, was scruffy, even audacious. And her makeup—her eyebrows had been darkened with far too much charcoal, and her crimsoned lips were excessively shaped. Could she be a “woman of the wharf”?

  “Beg your pardon, madame,” she said shyly. “I overheard your conversation, and I would like to help General Jackson, too.”

  It was Suzanne who answered her. “But of course,” she exclaimed. “General Jackson wants us all to participate! Isn’t that right, Maman?”

  Catherine nodded, although she was not certain how this girl’s “skills” would be beneficial. Yet she answered, “Oui, I’m sure we will need everyone’s help. How kind of you to offer. Do meet us tomorrow afternoon at Louis Église Street.”

  She almost added, “Do you know where the church is?” but the prostitute had already bowed her head, turned away, and disappeared.

  Tarot: THE QUEEN OF WANDS

  Revelation: Inspiring and magnetic woman

  undertaking a project.

  December 2, 1814

  The following day, Marguerite stood on a small platform thoughtfully provided by Père Antoine and looked out at the ladies who had arrived for the meeting. Some were her friends from neighboring plantations; others were wealthy Vieux Carré wives who lived in the lovely brick houses with intricate, iron-laced galleries rimming the second floors. She gave a slight nod to Catherine and Suzanne, who had brought a few of their tignoned neighbors from the Rue de Rampart area.

  Marguerite also noticed a garishly dressed young white woman, detached from any of the others, intently observing all of the other females. She seemed to be looking for a particular person. Marguerite watched with curiosity as the tawdry-looking girl finally fixed her gaze. She smiled at someone across the crowded room and then hesitantly waved. Marguerite saw Catherine’s daughter enthusiastically return the gesture.

  Well, well, well, Marguerite thought, slightly astonished. We certainly have assembled quite the gumbo!

  Time to begin.

  “Mesdames and mademoiselles,” Marguerite said. The women, who had been nervously chatting in their own little cliques, all turned to give her their attention.

  “Thank you so much for coming. This meeting will be brief; we all require time to make arrangements. There are rumors that General Jackson will impose a curfew; we need to also take that into consideration.”

  “So, what needs to be done, Marguerite, and how can we help?” asked one of her neighbors.

  “First, we must form committees, Claudia.” Marguerite glanced down at her notes. “We shall need to provide for the wounded, and we will have to find places to care for them. The Ursuline nuns have begun readying their classrooms with pallets to accommodate up to fifty men. Sister Angelique is supervising the proceedings there. She has requested additional women to aid in tending the patients.”

  “My friends and neighbors will be happy to help the good sisters,” called out Catherine.

  “Thank you, Madame Caresse,” answered Marguerite, smiling. She continued, “Also, we had better prepare private homes in the city to provide for those who need care. There may be more patients than the convent can manage. Madame Peyroux, of Three Oaks plantation in Chalmette, has already volunteered. Can any of you also help out?”

  Several Creole women immediately offered their houses for that purpose.

  “Next, we must find a supply of linen to make bandages, and gather clothes and blankets for the wounded. Moss must be cut and hung to dry for stuffing pillows. We’ll also need bed linens, soap, food, and practical supplies, such as bowls, tumblers, and kettles. Please also donate your panniers and chests in which we can store these items. Articles that can be reused must be picked up, washed, and dried in the sun or by fire, and then delivered according to need. I will be happy to coordinate our efforts, organize shifts, and distribute supplies.”

  She hesitated for a moment and then delicately addressed the large group of women wearing tignons. “Madame Caresse has offered to share her medical expertise with us. Is there also someone who can work with me in scheduling the volunteers from the Rue de Rampart area?”

  “I will be happy to help you, Madame de Trahan,” said Suzanne. The tignoned women nodded in agreement.

  Catherine looked at her daughter with surprise. “That’s a big job, Suzanne! Do you think that’s wise, in your condition?” she whispered.

  “I am fine, Maman,” Suzanne said quietly. “I have a couple months till the baby arrives. Besides, I will feel closer to René if I am doing something important for the army, too.”

  “Thank you, mademoiselle!” said Marguerite. “Let’s get started, then. Please form into convenient groups to figure out your next meeting place, what to bring, what you might need. Let me know your results.”

  The women began gathering into small huddles to figure out their next moves. While Suzanne organized nursing schedules for the free women of color, Marguerite wrote down the names of Creoles who were volunteering their houses for the wounded. The leaders of the different groups also handed Marguerite slips of paper listing names of volunteers, contributions they could supply, and needs they had.

  Marguerite finished writing information about the last volunteered house and suddenly realized that the room had become very quiet. Peering out at the women, she found that their upturned faces were looking back at her, mirroring her own feelings of apprehension and anxiety, along with single-minded courage. They were all worried about their men: their sons and husbands, brothers and cousins, neighbors and friends. Brave men, she thought, and brave women.

  Hoping to convey her feelings of pride, as well as conviction, she said, “I believe we have an excellent start. Madame Caresse and I will be meeting tomorrow to work out some details, and we will let you all know the particulars.”

  The women nodded, feeling both viable and united in their cause. Marguerite hesitated, looking down at her notes. “Finally, we need a volunteer to deliver some of these supplies to the men. You will be returning with the wounded. I don’t need to tell you this is a dangerous—”

  “I’ll do that,” called out an emphatic voice from the back.

  The women all turned to see who had spoken. Marguerite was surprised to see that it was Suzanne’s friend, the garish girl, still standing by herself.

  “My name is Millie. I will drive a wagon. I can do this!”

  “Why, thank you, Millie, and bravo!” said Marguerite.

  Millie smiled; she was now surrounded by applause.

  Tarot: THE HANGED MAN

  Revelation: A voluntary offering for the purpose

  of gaining something of greater value.

  December 3, 1814

  Millie knew Peter was coming this night, and prepared her room to be as special as possible. She had purchased candles and perfumed soaps from Judah Touro’s shop and selected an expensive wine from the most exclusive store on Royal Street. She also splurged on tomorrow’s breakfast, buying his favorite, Baker’s No. 1 premium chocolate, for hot cocoa to accompany fresh beignets. She propped the cake of chocolate against the vase of freshly picked crimson bottlebrush blooms and then spread fragrant sheets upon her bed. Finally satisfied with her preparations, she mulled over which of her skills Peter apprec
iated most, for she wanted him to be in the best of moods.

  It worked. All of her efforts thoroughly enchanted him, and the rest of her scheme started to unfold.

  “Pete, mon amour? I have a request,” she began with a whisper, nuzzling his ear. “I would like you to help me.”

  “Of course, Millie,” he answered, savoring her little nibbles. “Anything for you. Tell me what I can do,”

  “Well,” she said, as she perched herself up on her elbow. Batting her eyelashes at him, Millie continued, “Remember how excited you were about joining General Jackson and fighting your former countrymen?”

  Peter looked a bit dubious, but he nodded and said, “Yesss?”

  “So, a lot of the city’s women have organized to help gather necessities for General Jackson’s army.”

  “Uh-huh,” Peter said.

  “But they need someone to help bring the supplies to the battlefield and then take the wounded back to the convent where the Ursuline sisters are setting up a hospital.”

  “Yes, that makes sense. And?”

  “So I volunteered!” She said it quickly and then felt herself glowing with pride with her announcement.

  “You what? You can’t do that!” exclaimed Peter. He sat up in the bed, crossed his arms, and regarded her with dismay. “Millie! For one thing, you don’t have a horse. And, by the way, you don’t have a wagon, either. Not to mention that you wouldn’t know how to drive one if you did.”

  “True,” Millie responded. She had anticipated his reaction. She reached over to uncross his arms and hold his hands. “And that’s the request. Can you get me a horse with a cart and teach me to drive it? Tomorrow? Come on, Pete—you know I can do it, and you promised to help me! Please?”

  She squeezed his hands gently, began kneading his palms with her thumbs, and gave him her most pleading look.

  Peter cocked his head, thought for a minute, and then answered reluctantly, “Oh, all right, Millie.”

  She threw her arms around him and smothered his face with kisses. “Thank you, Pete! I knew I could count on you!”

  “I don’t like this at all, but . . . meet me at Lafitte’s blacksmith forge on Rue St. Philippe and Rue Bourbon at noon tomorrow. I’ll see what I can do.”

  “Right. Lafitte’s forge tomorrow at noon!”

  “Oh! And I never thought I’d be saying this, Millie, but be sure to wear your trousers.”

  Tarot: TEMPERANCE

  Revelation: Good management and coordination

  bring about a good relationship.

  December 4, 1814

  As prearranged, Marguerite and Catherine met at Rose Zabette’s coffee stand in front of the cathedral.

  “I am so grateful to you for your help, Madame Caresse.”

  “Whatever assistance we can provide, Madame de Trahan, my friends and neighbors are committed to this effort.”

  “Please call me Marguerite; we will be colleagues, after all.”

  “And I am Catherine.”

  The two women sat down with their tiny cups of café au lait and pastries.

  “We will be asking for donations of sheets, towels, blankets, and even petticoats, which can be cut into bandages,” said Marguerite.

  “Good,” replied Catherine. “For the best results, please see that all contributions are washed in boiling water and dried in the sun, before storing them in panniers that have been cleaned with ammonia.”

  Marguerite raised her eyebrows questioningly but agreed. “All right,” she said, and then she smiled. “And here is my list of the Creole women volunteers and their city homes. Each one has indicated what kinds of supplies she can provide, and those who are underlined will also be prepared to care for the wounded in their homes.”

  “Thank you,” Catherine said, looking at the list. “I have a list of volunteers who have offered their services to nurse at the Ursuline convent. My daughter, Suzanne, is setting up a timetable.”

  “Excellent! I will alert Sister Angelique, who is supervising this project.”

  Catherine smiled. “I recognize the name; I believe she was one of Suzanne’s instructors when she was attending the Ursuline school.”

  “Your daughter, she was a good student?”

  “Oui, when she was interested in the subject.”

  Marguerite smiled. “We also must provide information for Millie, the young woman who volunteered to drive the wagon. She will need to know how many patients each place can accommodate, as well as which supplies should be distributed and where.”

  “Suzanne will be happy to figure it out; she has a good head for numbers and organization.”

  “Like her father,” said Marguerite.

  There was an uncomfortable pause, as both women looked down at the table.

  “Yes, like Jacques,” agreed Catherine.

  “This is awkward; please forgive me. I did not know—Jacques has never mentioned his relationship to you or Suzanne.”

  Catherine smiled. “I’m not surprised,” she said. “Please don’t feel ill at ease about the past. Jacques and I were both young at the time, but we knew we weren’t in love. We did enjoy each other’s company, though, simply as good friends.”

  “Were you upset when he stopped seeing you?”

  “I understood his reasoning; he didn’t want the complications of two families. Life as a new husband and running the plantation by himself was difficult. But he fulfilled all of his plaçage obligations and, I might add, was generous in his provisions for us. Suzanne has been well educated, and I have always had enough money to develop my healing skills, as well as take care of our home. In fact, thanks partly to your husband, I have a nice bank account for myself!”

  “Mother, businesswoman, knowledgeable in medicines and herbs . . . You are a remarkable woman, Catherine!”

  “Thank you. I’m grateful to have been blessed in many ways.”

  Marguerite continued, “And I know that you have experience in caring for patients . . .” She paused. “Plus, I have also heard that you are a midwife!”

  “Yes, I have delivered many of the babies of free women of color.” Catherine looked around at the passersby. “They are my friends and neighbors. Now I’m even midwifing for their daughters.”

  “So I’ve heard—your reputation for successful birthing is well known.”

  Catherine cocked her head and asked, “Are you concerned about your baby’s birth, Marguerite? You appear to be in very good health.”

  “I am. And I can feel the baby’s movements. Which is good, right?”

  Catherine nodded.

  Marguerite continued, “I want so desperately to give Jacques a son. But my time is running out. I tried for years to become pregnant, but it just didn’t happen. That’s why I came to you for the black cohosh. Both times! But the doctor said that, given my age, this might be—in fact, he said it should be—my last pregnancy. And now, with this awful war going on . . .” Marguerite put her chin in her hands and slowly shook her head.

  “Oh, you poor dear,” said Catherine. “I’m sure everything will be all right. But I agree with your mother: You do need plenty of rest before the ‘big day.’ And try not to become stressed. I know that’s a tall order, given the circumstances.”

  “True, but just doing my little part in coordinating our efforts takes my mind off other worries. I actually feel invigorated and productive. Buoyant, even.”

  “Wonderful! And perhaps the baby can feel your optimism and will come out smiling.”

  “Wouldn’t that be something?” Marguerite laughed. She became serious again and gazed at her new friend with a slight frown.

  “What is it, Marguerite? You seem anxious now.”

  The Creole didn’t answer at first; she appeared to ponder her next words carefully. Finally, she said, “Catherine, would you deliver my baby?”

  Catherine was shocked. “Marguerite, I don’t think—”

  Marguerite quickly continued. “Please. Except for organizing these lists, I have thought of li
ttle else. You see, my old physician passed away two months ago. And, as you know, most of the other doctors are tending to the troops. Now, my friends have told me that you’ve successfully delivered a number of their plantation slaves’ babies. They say you have other competencies also.”

  Catherine raised her eyebrows. “Are you sure they were referring to my midwifing skills?”

  “Well, yes.” Marguerite, more relaxed, almost chuckled. “I have heard of your spiritualist abilities. But I have seen you at Mass, and I remember that you also suggested, when giving me the black cohosh, that I petition St. Anthony and St. Gerard for help. I believe in them, and I believe in you!”

  “Yes, but—”

  “So please, Catherine. I will be staying at my friend Claudia’s city home on Rue de Louis, near to your residence. Our plantation is too far away and unsafe, with the British coming and all. I promise to get plenty of rest. You will be monitoring the patients at the convent, but when my time comes, I could go to your house. I know it’s a huge inconvenience and an even bigger favor, but I would forever be in your debt. . . .”

  “Hmm.” Catherine looked at the Creole woman with sympathy, concern, and, to her own surprise, warmth. “You seem to have given this a great deal of consideration. And I agree it’s a reasonable plan. Yes, I will be happy to midwife you, Marguerite.”

  The white woman reached out to clasp Catherine’s hand. “Thank you, my friend. You have already erased much of the stress!”

  Catherine smiled. “When your time comes and you arrive at my house, you will be with Hortense, my maid. She is quite experienced and has helped with deliveries many times. She will send for me, and then we’ll welcome your son together.”

  Tarot: THE QUEEN OF PENTACLES

  Revelation: The emergence of a strong,

  sensual woman who uses her talents well.

  Millie was excited. She was in the front of Lafitte’s blacksmith forge on Rue St. Philippe, looking around for Peter, hoping that he would not disappoint her. She knew he disapproved of her volunteering for several reasons, the risk factor being the most significant, and she found his concern for her very endearing. He was becoming quite special to her, and that idea, while unusual for her to feel, was not unpleasant.