by Eva Pohler
“That must be a tour group,” Sue said. “Let’s come back tomorrow.”
As nervous as Ellen had been, she was disappointed that their visit with the priestess would be put off for another day. “What do we do now?”
“We could try to use Marie Laveau’s turban to communicate with her,” Sue said.
“That doesn’t sound horrifying,” Ellen said sarcastically. “Are you sure we shouldn’t wait and ask Priestess Isabel for help with that?”
“Yeah, maybe we should wait,” Tanya agreed.
Sue lifted her brows. “Okay, but let’s not put it off for too long. That smell is beginning to mess with my appetite.”
“And that’s the very worst thing that could happen to either of us,” Ellen said with more sarcasm.
“I think we should go through all those old books in the library,” Tanya said. “Some of them could be quite valuable, don’t you think?”
“Good idea,” Ellen said.
“Let’s pick up some more of those cupcakes from the bakery on the way,” Sue said as she drove from the curb. “That kind of work is best done with plenty of carbs.”
“Your appetite sounds pretty healthy to me,” Ellen teased.
“And it’s a good thing,” Sue said, “considering all the manual labor you expect of me tonight.”
A few hours later, Ellen and her friends sat in the folding camping chairs they’d bought that morning as they poured through book after book in the library. The shelves and spines had been dusted by the professional cleaning crew, but the inside of the books left a lot to be desired, and a cloud of dust seemed to float around their heads, reminding Ellen of the character Linus from Peanuts. They had formed stacks on the desk, sorting the books by topic. Although some of the books were written in French, Tanya sorted those, because she had majored in French literature in college and was fluent in the language.
“Here’s another one in French.” Ellen added a book to the pile on the desk near Tanya before climbing up the shelves to reach the highest books in the twelve-foot room.
“Honestly, we need a ladder,” Sue complained. “You’re making me nervous, Ellen.”
Ellen laughed. “Just put ‘Determined Investigator’ on my headstone if I fall down and break my neck.”
“That’s not funny,” Tanya said without looking up from her book. “Hold on a minute. I think I’ve found something.”
Ellen reached for another book on the highest shelf and climbed back down. “What is it?”
“This reads like a medical journal,” Tanya said. “And I think the author is Dr. Louis Lalaurie.”
“Dr. Louis Lalaurie?” Sue repeated. “Wasn’t that the name of Delphine’s third husband?”
“Yes.” Ellen sat between Sue and Tanya. “What does it say? Anything about Delphine or her diary?”
Tanya shook her head. “It’s a very dry recounting of his medical experiments.”
“What kind of doctor was he?” Sue asked.
“He opens with a reference to his degree in dental medicine in France, and how the education served him well as a surgeon, but that he endeavored to learn more through a series of experiments, which he conducted on slaves, both those he owned and those owned by others.”
“I thought Delphine was the one who conducted the experiments on their slaves,” Ellen said.
“Maybe they did it together,” Sue said.
“I don’t think so,” Tanya said. “He makes a reference to his dire need for an assistant, because his beautiful wife has proved a disappointment, unable to stand the sight of blood.”
“What?” Ellen was confused. “That can’t be right.”
“He goes on to say that he has resorted to soliciting another slave to aid him in the procedures, which one pair of hands cannot possibly undertake alone.”
“What else does he say?” Sue asked before taking a bite of her unfinished cupcake. “Keep reading.”
Tanya scanned through the pages. “This is disgusting. He gives a detailed report on three sequential surgeries that attempt to curve the spine in two different subjects which, he says, although ultimately failures, provided great insight into future success for curing hunches.”
“I thought you said he went to dental school,” Sue said. “But he operated on spines?”
“Not just spines,” Tanya said. “He writes for several more pages about relieving pressure in the brain for chronic headaches by drilling holes in the skull.”
Ellen shuddered. “Geez Louise.”
Tanya covered her mouth and gasped.
“What does it say?” Sue asked.
“He discusses the affects of a powder, which he calls Zombie Powder, made from the crushed seeds of a Borrachero tree, dried glands of a puffer fish, and dried entrails of a tree frog. It was intended to make slaves more cooperative and help patients suffering from chronic pain or mental instabilities. He writes that his experiments have shown that less puffer fish and more Borrachero ensures a higher survival rate.”
“I can’t believe doctors were allowed to do such things,” Ellen said.
“I read about a similar drug, I think,” Sue said. “It’s used in cases of date rape. I think it’s called Devil’s Breath.”
“What?” Ellen smirked. “Were you worried someone was going to use it on you?”
“Of course. You can’t be too careful when you look like this.”
“Well, I suppose we have Dr. Louis Lalaurie to thank for inventing it,” Ellen said.
Tanya shook her head. “He didn’t invent it. According to his notes, he first procured the Zombie Powder from Marie Laveau.”
“What did Marie Laveau use it for?” Ellen asked.
“Dr. Lalaurie doesn’t say.” Tanya looked up from her book. “But if Delphine couldn’t stand the sight of blood…”
“Then maybe she was innocent,” Ellen finished.
“Why would the legends say otherwise?” Sue asked.
“We need to find her diary,” Tanya said. “Marie Laveau sent us here to find it. It’s got to be here somewhere.”
Ellen stood up and went back to work on sorting the books. “Maybe with Marie Laveau’s turban, Priestess Isabel can help us find it.”
Sue lifted a finger in the air. “What if, when Marie Laveau said to look beneath where the dead man lay, she didn’t mean the floor? What if she meant the room below?”
Tanya jumped to her feet. “Good idea, Sue. Let’s go look.”
Ellen followed Tanya and Sue through the front parlor to the stairs.
“Go up to the bathroom and stomp on the floor,” Sue said to Ellen. “Tanya and I will try to figure out what’s directly below you.”
Ellen did as Sue had asked. Standing beside the clawfoot tub, Ellen stomped on the plywood subfloor they’d exposed when they’d removed the hardwood planks, hoping she wouldn’t fall through.
“Can you hear that?” Ellen shouted.
She couldn’t hear them answer, so she stomped harder a few more times and then took the stairs down to meet them in the dining room, where Tanya had already begun prying up the floor with a crowbar. Ellen fetched another to help. Together, they crouched on their hands and knees and lifted a few planks of the hardwood floor, one by one.
“What is that?” Tanya said, pulling up another plank.
It was a small wooden chest. Engraved on the lid was the name Jeanne Blanque De Lassus.
“Oh, my gosh!” Ellen cried. “Open it up!”
Chapter Thirteen: Jeanne Blanque De Lassus
Tanya lifted the lid of the wooden chest they had found in the dining room floor and sifted through the papers. “They’re letters, I think.”
“In French or English?” Ellen asked.
Tanya opened another folded paper. “Both. They’re addressed to Jeanne. This is her box, so these must be her letters.”
“It’s not Delphine’s diary?” Sue asked.
“No, I don’t think so,” Tanya said. “They’re letters written to Jeanne from differe
nt people.”
“The chest wasn’t anywhere beneath the bathtub upstairs,” Sue pointed out. “Which means, there may still be a diary somewhere.”
“Let’s go back to the library,” Ellen suggested, “and Tanya can read what we’ve found.”
Tanya unfolded over a dozen yellowed papers and smoothed them out on the desk in the library, where she and Sue and Ellen bent over them.
“Let’s see,” Tanya began. “This one is dated April 11, 1845, and it’s signed Auguste De Lassus.”
My Dear Jeanne,
I suppose you might be wondering why it has been so long since I have written. Please give my love to our children and to your sister and to Placide, and to their family. I will never be able to repay Placide for his generosity to you and to our children. I still feel homesick when I think of all of you there together, without me.
That is why I pour myself into my work here in founding this Missouri township in my father’s footsteps. Unfortunately, it has required more time and money than I had anticipated, and I have exhausted my savings. If I am ever to hope you will take me back, it cannot be as a poor beggar. I work tirelessly to turn my situation around, so that I may one day win your heart again.
Please send me news of our darlings, though it breaks my heart to hear what I have missed. Is it true that your mother has taken over our old residence, and that you and the children intend to dwell there with her?
My aunt sends her love, as do I, your faithful servant.
Auguste De Lassus
“I wish we knew who these people were,” Sue said.
“Oh, check this out!” Tanya said, excitedly. “This one is signed ‘Dr. L. Lalaurie.’”
“As in Louis Lalaurie?” Ellen asked. “Delphine’s husband?”
“Read the letter,” Sue said.
“It’s dated October 9, 1842 from Havana,” Tanya said.
Ellen sat back in her chair. “Havana, Cuba?”
“What other Havana is there?” Sue teased.
“Listen,” Tanya began.
Dear Jeanne,
I do not like to trouble you, but I have written to Auguste and have received no reply. You have in your possession some works of mine that I could not bring with me. These are my medical journals and books of medicine (some belonged to my father). I would like to have them delivered to me, along with two of my possessions—two diplomas, one of master mason and the other of the Lodge of the Friends of the Bourbons of Villeneuve-sur-Lot.
Please deliver them to the captain, who will deliver them to me by hand, since they cannot pass through customs. If you will do me this favor, I would be most grateful. If you believe that I can be of some assistance to you here, make use of me in all surety.
Give me some news about your husband and children, above all, about your oldest, who is also mine. He will not remember he who rendered him into this world, though I cannot forget. He was the first baby I delivered, and so he is marked in my mind forever.
Believe me your all-devoted servant and friend,
Dr. L. Lalaurie
“He must be referring to the books we found here,” Ellen pointed out. “Obviously, Jeanne never sent them to him. I wonder why.”
“Maybe because he was a psycho,” Sue said.
Ellen laughed. “At least we know that Jeanne is somehow connected with the Lalauries.”
“Oh my God!” Tanya held up another paper. “I think this one was written by Delphine.”
“What makes you think that?” Sue asked. “Did she sign it?”
“Listen. It’s dated May 20, 1838.”
My Dearest Jeanne,
How I miss you and your sweet children. These six long months since your visit have been dreary. Please tell De Lassus I am not satisfied. You must come again soon. I know he was miserable. My in-laws are insufferable. Your sisters and brothers and I must abide their rude and queer manners for a few more years, until my finances are sorted, and we can return to New Orleans. How I miss my city!
Paulin, Pauline, and little Jean Louis miss you as much as I do, but your siblings believe me insane for wishing to return to my home after what happened that dreadful day four years ago when the flames engulfed our house and so much of what we held dear. I refuse to live in exile for the rest of my life. Am I to miss out on Borquita’s adult life entirely? I have yet to see little Octave, whom she writes has nearly recovered from the measles. And now she is pregnant again. And Laure will soon be pregnant, too, I imagine. How difficult it is to be away at such important moments in a daughter’s life. The presence of young people in a house always fills it with more gaiety and liveliness. I had once imagined I would have my grandchildren at my feet, not miles away across the sea.
Kiss your children for me. Urge your husband to look into that matter of which we spoke. I have been obliged to put my signature out. I don’t know what to attribute the delay in the money he promised to send me. If my affairs have become too burdensome to administer, I pray he turn them over to Placide. After waiting in vain for the various steamships, which have arrived many times, I fear that my signature could be protested and my promissory note ineligible for renewal. I see no reason why my money has not yet arrived.
Give my love to Borquita and Laure and know that you are, as always, in my heart and on my mind.
Your loving mother.
“Jeanne De Lassus was the daughter of Delphine,” Sue said. “Let me search her up on Google. Okay, yes. Marie Louise Jeanne Blanque was the daughter of Jean Blanque and Delphine Marie McCarty De Lopez.”
“Ramon Lopez was Dephine’s first husband, right?” Tanya asked.
Ellen nodded. “She married Don Ramon Lopez first, then Jean Blanque, and finally Louis Lalaurie.”
“That’s right,” Sue said. “Here’s a genealogy site with a list of Delphine Lalaurie’s children. Borquita was her oldest daughter and the only child she had with Don Ramon, a Spanish officer. After he died, she married Jean Blanque and had four children from him. Jeanne was the oldest. Then later she married Dr. Lalaurie, and they had one son. So, these letters are to Delphine’s second child.”
“Oh, gosh!” Ellen cried, filling with hope. “We may be onto something. Are there any other letters from Delphine? Maybe she mentions the devil child.”
Tanya sifted through the papers. “Here are two more, also written in French in the same handwriting and signed ‘your loving mother.’ One is dated June 23, 1834, and the other is dated September 19, 1834.”
“Isn’t that the year of the fire?” Sue asked. “The fire was in April of 1834, wasn’t it?”
“Yes, that’s right!” Ellen’s heart picked up its pace. “Read them in chronological order.”
“Okay. Here’s the first one.”
My Dearest Jeanne,
We are safe in New York City. We met Auguste and Placido in Mandeville two months ago and signed over power of attorney. Tomorrow, we leave on the ship Poland for Le Havre. We will remain there briefly before we journey on to my in-laws’ at Villenueve-sur-Lot. Please send news there as soon as possible. I must know if Bastien made it home safely.
Poor Rachel. I shall miss her dearly, despite her evil deed. Pray for her, will you? And for the souls of your step-father’s slaves. Unlike the doctor, I do believe they have souls.
As soon as he has helped the children and me to settle down, your step-father shall find another place to build his practice. We will finally live separate lives, as I have wished. But I shall never be happy again until I am home in New Orleans with you.
Please give Borquita and Laure my love and kisses.
Your loving mother.
Ellen sat up. “She wrote, ‘Unlike the doctor, I do believe they have souls.’ Maybe this explains why he treated the slaves like guinea pigs.”
“I think so,” Tanya said.
“It’s unfathomable that anyone could believe that another race of human beings didn’t possess souls,” Ellen said.
“People say that today about animals,” Sue sa
id. “But I believe they have souls.”
“I do, too,” Tanya said.
“That doesn’t stop me from enjoying a good steak,” Sue admitted.
“I wonder who Rachel is,” Tanya said. “Didn’t we read something about a Rachel?”
“And Bastien,” Ellen said. “I think those were the names of two of her slaves.”
“I wonder what deed she refers to,” Sue said.
“Starting the fire,” Ellen said. “Didn’t we read somewhere that Rachel was the cook, and she started the fire?”
“That’s right,” Tanya said. “And Bastien is the driver who was killed by the mob after Delphine and her children escaped.”
“I wish I had a notepad, so I could take notes,” Ellen muttered.
“Read the next letter, Tanya.”
“Okay. Here it is.”
My Dearest Jeanne,
The receipt of your letter caused me both happiness and pain. I am overjoyed by the news of your pregnancy. I am also satisfied to hear that De Lassus and Placido were able to complete the dispensation of what remained of my property.
I am pained to hear what people are saying about me on the streets and in the papers. On the ship to Le Havre, the rumors had already been received by many of the other passengers. I was at first confused by their reserve and their rude glances, but I overheard an American poet talking about it to his companion. He did not know I was standing not four feet away from him.
It is beyond my comprehension that I shall be blamed for the very thing I endeavored to prevent. If only I could go back in time to those days when your step-father first began to treat Pauline. I was grateful for his promises, enamored by his charms, and so naïve. Marie Laveau warned me, and I did not listen. If it hadn’t been for the help he gave to our Pauline and to the poor, unfortunate Charles, I might have stood up to him.
