He bought her several simple dresses at the dry goods store, and the dressmaker had three gowns that had never been picked up and fit Wachiwi as though they’d been made for her. There were two dresses that were suitable for dinner at his cousin’s house, four demure ones for the daytime, proper shoes that he could tell Wachiwi didn’t like, and five bonnets that looked beautiful on her. There were mysterious undergarments that she had no idea how to put on until the saleswoman showed her. She was wearing more clothes at one time than she had ever worn in her life. There were gloves, several shawls, three purses, and a fan. They had it all delivered to the hotel, and Jean was relieved that they were taking a boat to New Orleans. It would have taken several horses or a mule train to carry everything he’d bought her. The boxes were stacked in their rooms. He bought two trunks to put it all in and made arrangements for the horse to be returned to Luc.
By the end of the day, they were both exhausted, and Wachiwi spoke to him in her few words of halting French and thanked him for everything he had given her. She looked more than a little dazed, and when they got back to the hotel, she put her elkskin dress and moccasins on again and looked relieved. At least that was something she knew how to wear. She had insisted on keeping them, and she looked like the little Indian girl he had first met when he saw her in the elkskin dress again, with the deep blue porcupine quills on the front, and she touched his heart again.
He had taught her jolie robe and chaussure and chapeau that day, along with gown, bonnet, undergarment, shoes, and gloves. She knew the names for everything he had bought for her. She was slowly learning to speak to him, mostly in French, but in English too. When they ordered dinner in their rooms, she ate with a knife and fork to please him, but when he lit a cigar, she wanted to share it with him. He laughed as he let her do it, but explained that she could only do it with him. Her father had let her share his pipe with him from time to time when no one was looking, so she knew what Jean meant, and put her finger to her lips to show that it was a secret … like the dead man they had left in the bushes. Neither of them wanted to think of that again, but it was his death that had brought them together.
They made love in Jean’s bed that night, with the same passion as they had before. The love that they shared was visceral and sensual and explosive. It was something he had never known before, and that was a mystery to her. She had no words for it, and they didn’t need them. What they shared when they made love to each other was magical.
The next day, he helped her dress, and with her new trunks full of the clothes he had bought her, they boarded the keelboat to New Orleans. Wachiwi looked excited and was smiling happily. She knew of this river, but had never expected to see it. She had heard of it in the lodges. Her people called it the Great River. The trip to New Orleans was going to take three weeks, with good winds and fast currents if they were lucky, while the boat made many stops and people got off and on.
There were canoes, flatboats, barges, and other keelboats all along the river, which was teeming with activity. Wachiwi was fascinated by it and beamed at Jean. He had reserved two cabins for them to look respectable once again, as he had at the hotel. They put all her trunks in one, and slept in the other. And when she got confused, he helped her put the undergarments on and laced up her corset. He laughed as he did it, and had never had so much fun. She was horrified by how tight the corset was and made him loosen it. He couldn’t expect her to learn everything at once. Only days before she had been swimming naked in the lake where he met her, living in a Crow village, and now she was dressed like a lady, on the way to New Orleans to meet his noble cousins.
He was slightly daunted by the prospect, and mildly unnerved by the stares of people on the keelboat when they saw that he was traveling with an Indian woman. She was so beautiful that the men understood it, but the women didn’t, and turned their backs on her the moment they saw her. Jean was startled by it and hoped that people in New Orleans would be more understanding, and captivated by her beauty. She was so innocent, so delicate, and so mesmerizing that he couldn’t imagine anyone being able to resist her. He certainly couldn’t, and his nights with her for three weeks on the Mississippi were passionate beyond belief. The trip to New Orleans gave them the time they needed to get to know each other, and improve her English and French. She was so bright and eager that she made rapid strides in both.
They had passed Fort Prudhomme and Fort St. Pierre, and finally arrived in New Orleans.
Wachiwi looked particularly beautiful that day. She wore a pale blue day gown he had bought her that looked like sky next to her skin, and a matching bonnet he tied beneath her chin for her, and gloves that he helped her put on. And her undergarments were in perfect order, thanks to him. She was part child and part woman, and what he loved most about her was that she was entirely his. Not his slave, but his woman. The chieftain’s daughter. Wachiwi. The dancer. Luc had translated her name for him. When the boat reached the dock in New Orleans, he helped her off and she walked with silent grace right behind him.
They took a carriage to a guest house Jean knew on Chartres Street, with all their belongings. He wanted them to wait in a comfortable room while he sent a message to his cousins at their plantation just outside of town, explaining that he was back and had a friend with him, a young lady. He didn’t want to impose on them and assume that they could stay with them. Within two hours a note was returned to him, from his cousin’s wife, Angélique de Margerac, insisting that they come at once and give up their rooms in town. She didn’t mention the young lady, but Jean presumed that there would be a room for Wachiwi too, since he had been clear in his note that she was traveling with him. It was an unusual occurrence, but he felt sure that his cousins could accommodate them both, and would be glad to do so. Angélique’s note had been welcoming and warm.
She sent her carriage for them, an elegant French-made Berline drawn by four horses, and a separate carriage for their trunks. Jean smiled at Wachiwi as they set out for the long ride to the plantation, thinking how far they had come. He looked at her proudly, and took her hand in his own. He didn’t doubt for a moment that his cousins would fall in love with her too. It was the first time he had ever traveled anywhere with a woman, but the New Orleans Margeracs were his family, and had always been wonderfully hospitable to him. He was sure that this time would be no different.
Chapter 10
Angélique de Margerac was actually married to Jean’s father’s cousin, and she was from an illustrious family of aristocrats in the Dordogne herself, directly related to the king. She had married Armand de Margerac forty years before, and he had brought her to New Orleans under protest. She had been willing to live in Paris, but not the New World. He had fought hard to convince her. New Orleans had been founded by the French thirty-five years before they got there, and her husband had done everything imaginable to make her happy. He had bought her a house in town on Toulouse Street and a splendid plantation with an enormous house in the West Indies style, which he let her fill with all the antiques her family sent her from France. Armand planted cotton and sugarcane, and it became one of the most successful plantations in the region, and Angélique’s home the most elegant in the district. Their children were born there, and eventually acquired plantations of their own, and by the time Jean arrived from France, she held a decades-long reputation for being the most gracious hostess in Louisiana.
The Spanish had acquired the colony by then, but Angélique and Armand were close friends with the Spanish governor, and he dined often at their plantation and at the house on Toulouse Street. Angélique had closed the house in town the year Jean arrived, after the great fire that destroyed nearly a thousand buildings on Good Friday. Miraculously, their home had survived, but she said she was too nervous to be there any longer. She was afraid of another fire and preferred staying on the plantation. It was so much more comfortable and infinitely more grand. She loved having houseguests and had convinced Jean to stay with them for several months before he began h
is travels north to Canada, and eventually toward the Great Plains in the west. She had been extremely hospitable and introduced him to all their friends and several very attractive young ladies. He had shown no particular interest in any of them, but everyone had found their newly arrived French cousin very charming.
The area around New Orleans was very international, there were not only French and Spanish people living there, but a large community of Germans, which, as Angélique said, made their soirées and dinner parties so much more interesting. She was particularly proud of the balls they gave, and the many important people who had stayed there. The plantation itself was situated between Baton Rouge and New Orleans, and it took Jean and Wachiwi two hours to get there in his cousin’s elegant horse-drawn carriage, which had come by ship from France. There were two footmen riding behind, and the coachman kept the horses at a brisk pace. Angélique wanted them there in time for dinner, which Jean already knew would be an elegant affair. He had coached Wachiwi for it the night before, and he hoped she would be equal to it. He felt comfortable in the knowledge that the dresses he had bought for her in St. Louis would be perfect, not as elegant as Angélique’s of course, who still had her gowns made in Paris and sent to her by ship in the New World twice a year. And she had a clever little dressmaker in New Orleans who could copy anything she saw, even some of the gowns from Paris.
They approached the plantation, which had been named after Angélique when her husband acquired it, along a seemingly endless driveway lined with oaks. The grandeur of the West Indies house came into view fully ten minutes later. Jean smiled at Wachiwi and patted her hand. Her understanding of the language wasn’t strong enough yet for him to reassure her as much as he would have liked to.
“It will be fine,” he said quietly, and his tone said as much to her as his words did. He was wearing a beautifully cut dark blue wool coat that he had brought with him from France when he arrived, and seldom had a chance to wear now. He kept it carefully rolled in his bags. Their visit to the plantation was the perfect occasion for it, as well as for the satin coat and knee breeches he would wear at dinner, which he had left at his cousin’s home before, for his return. He was grateful that he didn’t have to wear a wig or powder his hair as he would have in Europe. Fortunately his cousins were not quite that formal, and his own dark hair would be fine.
Wachiwi was staring at the house as they approached it. Her eyes were huge in her lovely face, framed by the bonnet he had bought her. She glanced at him nervously, and it struck him that she was far less frightened on a horse, going at full speed, which would have terrified almost anyone, than she was in the situation he had put her in here. It had been brave of her to come with him, and he had a strong urge to protect her and shield her from harm as one of the footmen handed them out of the carriage.
There were six liveried servants waiting for them on the front steps, all of them black and perfectly groomed in matching uniforms. They were slaves, Jean knew—hundreds of them worked in the fields on the sugarcane and cotton crops that had made his father’s cousin an almost limitless fortune. Before Jean could say anything more to Wachiwi, Angélique de Margerac swept grandly through the front door to greet them. She was smiling warmly at Jean, and for an instant she didn’t notice Wachiwi, standing just behind him. After embracing Angélique, he stepped aside and introduced them. The look on his cousin’s wife’s face was instantly one of shock mixed with horror. She pulled back the hand she had extended, took a step backward, and looked at Jean in amazement.
“Oh … I see …” she said disdainfully, and walked back into the house without a word to Wachiwi, who followed Jean into the grandeur of the front hall, with a look of terror. “Why don’t we have the young lady taken to her room immediately so she can be comfortable after the drive,” Angélique suggested as she signaled to one of the liveried servants and whispered something to him. He nodded, and then motioned to Wachiwi to follow him. She disappeared from the room almost before she had entered it, and then Angélique embraced her cousin again with a warm smile, immensely relieved to have dispensed with Wachiwi so quickly. And as she did, her husband Armand appeared from the library where he had been smoking a cigar in peace. He looked delighted to see Jean, and couldn’t resist teasing him a little.
“I understand you brought a young lady with you. Is there to be great news soon? Perhaps we can convince you to settle in New Orleans, instead of running around all those uncivilized places you enjoy so much. So where is she?” He looked around, surprised to see Jean talking to Angélique alone. They had both been a little startled that there had been no mention of a chaperone for the young lady traveling with them, an aunt, mother, sister, or cousin. And they hoped she was suitable for him, and of distinguished birth. They knew he wouldn’t bring a mistress with him to their home.
Angélique’s look of violent disapproval when she saw Wachiwi with him had not been lost on Jean, and he was afraid that even without proficiency in the language, Wachiwi had understood it too. His cousin had made it as clear as possible that she was not welcome in their home. There was no hiding the fact that she was an Indian. It was all Angélique needed to know. For her, at that moment, Jean’s traveling companion ceased to exist. She couldn’t believe he’d brought her here. It was a shocking impertinence and insult to them.
“I sent her to her room to rest before dinner after the drive from town,” his wife explained smoothly. Jean hoped that she wasn’t going to be difficult about it at dinner. They offered him a glass of champagne, and then sent him to his own room to freshen up. And as he was led to the large guest quarters on the second floor, he couldn’t figure out which room they had given Wachiwi, and he was afraid to ask, but he would have liked to see if she was all right.
He knew the house well and had stayed there often before in the past five years, but all of the guest room doors were closed. He hoped she wasn’t frightened or upset, and just before he went down to dinner, he began to seriously worry about her. He knew that she would need help getting into her gown, and more than likely would be afraid to ask. He began knocking on doors shortly after, hoping to find her without making a fuss. There was no answer at any door, and when he poked his head in, the rooms were dark and empty. He had no idea where she was. And finally, not knowing what else to do, he rang for one of the servants. An old man named Tobias answered his call. He had worked for years as Armand’s valet and had always been kind to Jean before. He had recognized him immediately and greeted him warmly when he and Wachiwi arrived.
“Do you know where the young lady is, Tobias? I can’t seem to find her. I’d like to see her for a moment before we go down to dinner. Do you know which room she was given?”
“Yes, I do, sir,” Tobias answered respectfully. It was one of the few plantations where the slaves were treated well. Armand de Margerac had a reputation for being kind to them, and most of the time tried to keep families together, which was rarely the case in other homes, where husbands and wives were often separated, one of them sold to a different owner, and their children sold separately as well. It was a practice that always made Jean feel ill. It was one of the things about the New World that he had never liked. In France, the free trade of human beings like so much cattle was unthinkable. “Where is her room, then?”
“In the cabin next to mine,” Tobias said quietly, lowering his eyes. He had had a feeling that that circumstance would not go over well with their young cousin from France.
“I beg your pardon?” Jean decided that he must have been mistaken in what he just heard. There were no guest rooms in the cabins, only slaves, and the quarters they were housed in. There were fourteen of those cabins behind the house.
“Your aunt thought she would be more comfortable there.” He had taken her there himself immediately after she arrived. He felt sorry for her, she looked so frightened and lost. He had left her with his wife, who was showing her around.
“Take me to her at once,” Jean said through clenched teeth, and then followed
Tobias down the stairs, out a side door into a back garden, and then through a locked gate, to which Tobias had a key. Only a few of those who worked in the house did. The other slaves had no access to the main house. Nor did Wachiwi if she was behind that gate.
Tobias led Jean down a series of paths in a confusing pattern, past several buildings that were the “cabins.” Each one housed two dozen slaves. There were a few smaller, nicer cabins, where the more trusted house slaves lived, like Tobias, and his children when they were young. He stopped at one of the better cabins, and led Jean inside. There was a narrow hallway, a honeycomb of tiny rooms, and in each of them he could see several people. He found Wachiwi finally, in a back bedroom with four other women. Her trunks filled the room, and she was sitting on one of them, with a look of despair.
“Come with me,” he said quietly, his eyes blazing. He gestured to her to follow him, and she looked terrified that he was angry at her. She was sure she had done something wrong, and she had no idea who these people were or why she was in a house with them. She hadn’t seen Jean all afternoon. While he thought she was resting quietly in a guest bedroom, she had been shunted away to stay with the slaves. He turned to Tobias then and told him to have her trunks sent to his room.
He took her back to his own room, took off her bonnet, smoothed her hair, and told her how sorry he was. She didn’t understand all the words that he said to her, but she got the idea. She was smiling again by the time her trunks arrived, carried by two of the house slaves. Jean opened one of them and took out one of her dinner gowns.
He dressed her himself, did up her corset, helped her into the underwear. He took out the fan he had bought for her, and when he was finished ten minutes later, she looked dazzling. She had been transformed. He brushed her hair until it shone, and she looked at him gratefully when she saw herself in the mirror. She looked exotic and at the same time elegant, fresh, and young, and totally respectable as he tucked her hand into his arm and led her down the grand staircase to the drawing room.
Legacy: A Novel Page 13
