French Quarter Clues

by Eva Pohler

  For reasons I never understood, Marie Laveau came to love the devil child. She could not bear to be away from him for long. More than once a week, she walked to our house to retrieve the child and his medications, and she would keep him for as long as she could before returning him to the doctor’s care.

  Our new house was complete in the fall of ’31. It was a beautiful two-story mansion, with an interior courtyard, six bedrooms, many balconies, and a galley of rooms at the back of the house with a kitchen for the slaves.

  I spent months decorating the new house with gorgeous furnishings and the finest art, all at the height of fashion. The children helped and were pleased with their new rooms.

  We moved into the mansion in February of ’32. We threw a lavish party within a week to introduce our home to my family and friends. Our party received a mention in the society pages, and many more of our gatherings did, thereafter.

  The doctor’s practice benefited immensely from my parties, so he supported them, though he was never the charismatic host that Jean had been. I should credit Louis, perhaps, for his ability to conduct moving speeches.

  Soon he was asked to perform procedures for which he was unstudied, and this was when he began to practice on his slaves. I would not let him touch mine, but I could not prevent him from abusing his own, because I feared the consequences the children and I would face if I tried.

  Chapter Seventeen: Curses

  November 14, 1834

  The winter holidays are nearly upon us. The children are anxious for their gifts from the beloved Mother and her Son, our Savior, Jesus Christ; however, I continue to feel lonely, angry, and depressed. I wish I could accept my situation and move on. Instead, I continually wonder how different our lives would be had Rachel stuck to our plan.

  In the spring of ’32, one of my slaves told my ill-bred cousin and neighbor Montreuil what the doctor was doing to his slaves in the garret. Instead of reporting Louis, Montreuil came after me, because he was resentful of the property that was bequeathed to me but that he felt was rightfully his. (Montreuil was never pleasant, but, after that transaction, he had become intolerable.)

  I was called to the governor’s court to be tried for violating the Code Noir, which protects slaves from excessive abuse. I spoke truthfully about my relationships with my own people, but when asked about my husband’s behavior, I said that, if they wished to put him on trial, they should summon him to court. I could not speak on his behalf.

  I was afraid to reveal the truth, because I knew what would happen. Louis would be fined. Perhaps his slaves would be taken away. But then he would simply procure more slaves and carry on as before. Meanwhile the children and I would be made to suffer for my disloyalty.

  The judge found me not guilty, and I returned home, vowing never to speak to Montreuil again. I wasn’t angry at the slave who betrayed Louis, because he was trying to help his people. I was angry at Montreuil for not having the guts to go after the doctor and for using the opportunity to besmear my good name.

  The coward. I hate him.

  I hoped the court would follow my suggestion and summon my husband, because I wanted Louis’s practice on his slaves to end. My slaves were upset by it and feared they would be similarly treated. The entire household suffered. The moans from the attic weighed on our hearts and our minds. But no charges were ever brought against the doctor.

  November 29, 1834

  Last Saturday, I went to Paris to shop for Christmas presents for my children and grandchildren. Yesterday, I shipped gifts for my dearest ones in New Orleans, though I know they will not arrive in time. As my favorite uncle often says, better late than not at all.

  My joy was short-lived. Tonight, when I opened this diary and reread what I have written thus far, I began to dwell on how much more joyful our Christmas would be together with our family and friends in Louisiana. Tears fell from my eyes and smeared the ink on this very page.

  If only Rachel would have staid her hand until the agreed upon time!

  Rachel had been a gift from my parents. Short, thin, and missing two teeth, she was at least fifteen years older than I. For as long as I can remember, she had been in my life. She was a talented cook, a kind woman, and a loyal servant who, before Louis’s practice in the garret, would have never considered fleeing.

  After I returned from court, I told Rachel I would petition for a separation from Louis, offering to buy his share of the estate. The doctor would be forced to move and to take his unfortunate patients with him. I told her this to discourage her from running away.

  Although Rachel was comforted by this plan, she revealed her fears for her cousin, Devince, who had been asked by the doctor to assist him in an upcoming procedure on young Armand, a slave belonging to Louis. Louis had previously asked for my assistance, but I had refused, unable to stomach the sight of blood and innards. Devince did not belong to my husband. Louis had no right to solicit his help without my permission, and I had no intention of granting my permission if Louis had deigned to ask.

  I immediately took measures to have Devince emancipated. Louis was furious with me and made a scandalous scene on the steps of the courthouse. I used his mistreatment of me as supporting evidence for the petition I submitted a few weeks later, requesting our legal separation. The judge signed an order permitting me to go forward with my suit against Louis.

  However, the events that followed rendered that endeavor impossible.

  December 20, 1834

  We had a miserable visit with the Lalauries. Why did I think the Christmas spirit would move them to be kind and polite? They were hardly civil. I have upset my children by forcing them to make the visit. I have ruined their Christmas and mine.

  January 10, 1835

  I had hoped a new year would bring a fresh start to my household, but we are all in a foul mood, especially Jean Louis. His father came to visit on Christmas day and left two days later. Jean Louis has been in tears ever since.

  Paulin resents his step-father and told him, just before he left, that his random visits were too upsetting to Jean Louis. Paulin will be twenty years old next month, and he fancies himself the man of the house. Louis merely forced a grin and said through gritted teeth that he would do as he pleased.

  It was two years ago that I said similar words to my husband. I showed him the petition that had been granted by the judge and revealed my plans to sue for the separation. Louis had the same reaction to me then, gritted teeth and all.

  Not long after this declaration to my husband, I was visited by Marie Laveau. As often as she came and left this house, to deliver or to receive her devil child, I rarely spoke to her. She usually dealt with Anne or Lucille, the young negresses who helped Rachel in the kitchen when they were not caring for the children.

  But on this day in January two years ago, she asked for a private interview with me. I offered her a chair in the parlor, where no one would disturb us. She had just left the devil child with Anne, who had taken him to see the doctor in his office on the other side of the house.

  By this time, the devil child was three years old. He could walk and speak. Although he was still plagued by his skin condition, and his facial features looked abnormal, he was otherwise like any other child of his age. Unfortunately, the other children shunned him. Even Jean Louis was afraid to look at him and would cry in the boy’s presence. I felt sorry for the child, and I sometimes tried to comfort him with candies and gifts.

  That day Marie Laveau sat across from me and said that the spirits had warned her of my intention to separate from the doctor. She threatened to curse me, my children, and my property if I went through with the lawsuit. She needed the doctor to remain close by, so he could continue to care for the devil child. She said she would bless us with great prosperity if I allowed the doctor to stay.

  I asked why she thought he would leave New Orleans if we separated. She said the spirits had told her he would.

  I had heard rumors of the Voodoo queen’s powers. I was frightened
by her threat. If she had threatened me alone, I might have risked it; but, she included my children and slaves.

  I asked her why she referred to the boy as a “devil child” when she clearly loved him. She said she did it for his own protection. She wanted people to fear him so that they would leave him alone and not act cruelly toward him. There was power in being feared, she said. How right she was.

  That night, I confided in Rachel what Marie Laveau had said in our private interview. Rachel’s dark eyes widened with fear. She believed in the Voodoo queen’s magic and advised me not to go through with the lawsuit.

  By this time Devince had still not been emancipated, and the doctor had already solicited his help behind my back in two operations on slaves in the garret. Rachel told me that same night after Marie Laveau’s visit that she was afraid for Devince. He had spoken to Rachel about running away, because he could not bear to play a role in the doctor’s experimental procedures upstairs. She feared, if he ran, that he would be caught and lynched. I promised her I would ask the court to expedite Devince’s case, but I knew the gesture would prove futile.

  Later that night, I asked my butler, Bastien, to keep an eye on Devince. I told him what Rachel had shared with me. He agreed to lock Devince in his sleeping quarters at night and to keep a watchful eye on him during the day.

  This practice continued until October, when Devince’s papers, stating that he was a free man, finally arrived.

  Devince had not been gone but one week when it was brought to my attention that the doctor had coerced my slave Bastien to assist him in Devince’s place. Bastien was like an uncle to me. Like Rachel, he was a gift from my parents when I married Don Ramon. It pained me to know the horrors he was being forced to endure at the doctor’s hands. I argued with Louis nearly every day, reminding him that he had no right to my slaves. I threatened to expose his vile treatment of his own slaves to the authorities. But these fights were for naught; he did as he pleased.

  My fear of Marie Laveau prevented me from following through with my threat to expose the doctor. Instead, Rachel and I solicited the help of her cousin Sarah Lee, a free woman of color.

  January 30, 1835

  Recalling my dealings with Sarah Lee has prompted me to file a suit against her. I mentioned it in my letter to De Lassus requesting more money. I fear I should have signed power of attorney to Placide, as the doctor did. De Lassus has proven unreliable.

  Rachel’s idea to approach her cousin, Sarah Lee, initially seemed a sound one.

  Marie Laveau had threatened to curse me, my children, and my property if I took measures to remove the doctor from my household, but she could not fault me if another made accusations against him. Rachel spent the following Sunday with her cousin Sarah (and Devince, who planned to live with Sarah until he could afford his own rooms). During her visit, Rachel petitioned Sarah to bring charges of slave abuse against the doctor. I would pay Sarah five hundred dollars, if she agreed to come forward and testify against the doctor.

  When Rachel returned, she said that Sarah would consider my offer. Within a week, Sarah accepted, on condition that I give her the money immediately. I sent the funds with Rachel the following Sunday, along with a contract specifying that if services were not rendered, the money must be returned. Sarah signed the contract and returned it with Rachel.

  In the following days, I noticed a change in the morale of the household, leading me to suspect that the other slaves knew of my arrangement. I dreaded what might happen if Louis were to get wind of it. With each passing day, I became more and more nervous and anxious. When four months went by and no letter from the court arrived, I went to see Sarah Lee myself.

  I was shocked to learn that Sarah had been visited by Marie Laveau and threatened in a similar way as I. Sarah confessed that she had already spent the money but was terrified of the Voodoo queen. Sarah would not bring charges against the doctor.

  I asked her how Marie Laveau came to know of our arrangement, and Sarah replied, “The spirits told her.”

  I decided to go to Congo Square on Sunday night to witness, firsthand, Marie Laveau in action. Every Sunday, blacks and people of color, both slaves and free, attend, in large numbers, a celebration of the sabbath in the way of their African ancestors. I had never been, though I had heard of other Creole and whites attending.

  I was astonished to discover that almost as many whites as colored were in attendance, and equally astonished that they participated in the wild dancing, drinking, and prayer led by the Voodoo queen, who stood in the center of their circle near a large bonfire with a python draped around her shoulders. It was June of ’33, when nights were intemperate. At one point in the ceremony, the drums stopped, the dancing came to a halt, and people were invited to make offerings to the Voodoo queen in exchange for a favor.

  I watched in silence for an hour, screwing up the courage to speak to Marie Laveau, to petition her with my offering. But before I had decided what I would do, she noticed me standing there, alone, on the outskirts of the ring of multitudes. She narrowed her eyes at me, stomped her foot, and hurled her snake into the fire.

  The snake shrieked and writhed. I had never heard a sound more haunting—not until the day of the fire, when Rachel screamed as the flames consumed her.

  February 15, 1835

  One year ago, on this day, the devil child died while under the doctor’s care.

  As saddened as I was by the death of the child—as one would be to hear of the passing of any child—I was elated by the prospect of finally being free of Louis and his abhorrent ways.

  I took it upon myself to personally notify Marie Laveau. She was hesitant to receive me in her home on St. Anne’s, but when I told her slave that I had important news, the Voodoo queen met me at the door and beckoned me to enter.

  She did not offer me a chair. We stood in the foyer, where I told her what had happened. The child had not survived his operation.

  The look of horror that flashed across her face frightened me. Then she wailed and moaned and pulled at her hair. Fearing for my life, I ran to the door, but she grabbed my arm and stared at me with wide, hateful eyes.

  “Where is he now, my debil chile?” she asked.

  I replied that he was in the doctor’s office, being prepared for burial.

  “I’ll come for him tonight,” she said.

  I lifted my chin. “Promise to remove your threat to me, to my children, and to my household. Promise to release me from any future threat. Only then will I allow you to take the child from my home.”

  The Voodoo queen was not pleased that the tables had turned. She narrowed her eyes at me and told me that I would hand over the child tonight, or else.

  “Or else what?” I asked.

  “You’ll be cursed, and your chillen ‘ll suffer, too.”

  March 11, 1835

  I had come to realize that Marie Laveau intended to curse me whether she received her devil child or not. She had been the cause of great anxiety in my household, and I could not allow myself to give in to her threats a moment longer.

  When I returned from Marie Laveau’s house, I told Louis that I would personally see to the burial of our god-child. The doctor had already prepared and wrapped the body. Bastien helped me to find a crate, and then he loaded the crate with the body into the carriage and drove me out to my parents’ old plantation, where the Voodoo queen would never find her devil child.

  I chose a place on high ground—one I could easily find if Marie Laveau ever swore to release me from her threats. It was the Etienne de Bore Oak, which grew on the lower riverside of my parents’ sugar cane plantation and was named for Jean Etienne de Bore, the first mayor of New Orleans. It was also the spot where Don Ramon and I first kissed and where Jean Blanque and I first declared our love to one another.

  We reached the tree by nightfall. It was easy enough to find, being less than a quarter of a mile from the river. I held the lantern while Bastien shoveled the earth and buried the child. I marked the grave
with a circle of stones. I said a prayer, asking the Almighty to forgive me for not giving the child a proper burial and to receive the child into His heavenly kingdom. I hoped my little prayer would be answered, but a nagging feeling in the pit of my stomach made me fear that it had not been.

  Chapter Seventeen: The Tree of Life

  Ellen gawked at Tanya, who sat beside her on the couch with Delphine’s diary in her lap.

  Tanya looked up from the diary with tears in her eyes. “We’ll never find the devil child. Guys, what am I going to do?”

  “If it’s not buried at the Lalaurie Mansion,” Sue said, from where she sat in the chair opposite them, “why did Marie Laveau say it was?”

  Ellen threw up her hands. “Obviously, she didn’t know.”

  “I don’t want to die.” Tanya wiped her tears with the inside of her shirt.

  “Don’t get your panties in a wad,” Sue said as she tapped on her phone. “I just Googled Etienne de Bore Oak, and you’ll never believe what I found.”

  “Well, don’t keep us in suspense,” Ellen demanded.

  “Listen to this,” Sue said. “‘The Etienne de Bore Oak, dubbed “The Tree of Life” by locals, was named after the first mayor of New Orleans. The tree stands on what was once part of de Bore’s massive sugar cane plantation and is now Audubon Park.’”