* * *
"Wake up, child," Hattie Lee’s musical voice called. A hand shook her. "Your mama’s solicitor will be here in an hour. He intends to read her will in the parlor."
Annalisa sat up, disheveled, disoriented. Slowly she gazed around her mother’s room, noting the fresh gardenias in a crystal vase on the desk top, giving off their perfumed fragrance. In front of a marble fireplace was a horsehair sofa and two gilt chairs upholstered in lush red velvet. On a low round table between them was a book of poetry, and surprisingly, the works of Walt Whitman, a poet and popular political writer whom Annalisa herself admired, despite his Union leanings. As always, it had been Yvette who had smuggled the forbidden books to their room. And the words had touched a cord and opened up new thoughts to the repressed young women. Had her mother been interested in politics, she wondered, or simply in the beauty of his words?
Everywhere she looked she saw evidence of the woman she had longed to know; her perfume, her clothes, even her jewelry positioned neatly in a silver box on the dresser top.
"I must write to Sister Marie Therese and inform her when I will be returning," she mumbled, struggling to clear away the last clouds of sleep.
"That can wait, child. Right now you’d best bathe and dress. I’ll have Thelma send you a tray."
While Hattie Lee spoke she directed a maid to fill the tub which stood in a little dressing alcove. Beside it were a chest, holding a basin and pitcher, and a small chair draped with a bath sheet. When she was alone, Annalisa undressed and settled into the warm scented water. There had never been such luxuries in the convent. She had learned to wash quickly in cold water, and to dress in the drab uniform of black homespun and stiff white collar and cuffs.
At a knock on the door, she reached for the sheet to cover herself. When the maid entered, she seemed surprised at Annalisa’s modesty. Recovering her composure, she said timidly, "Miss Hattie Lee sent me to wash your hair."
Noting the basin of warm water in her hands, Annalisa nodded shyly. What, she wondered, would she do about her nakedness?
The problem was settled for her. The maid set the basin on a small table and took the sheet from Annalisa’s hands. Draping it casually across a chair, she unpinned the dark tresses and brushed them vigorously. With her hands on Annalisa’s shoulders, she urged her lower into the tub, until her head was resting against the rim. Rubbing lilac-scented soap into her hair, she lathered gently, then rinsed. Annalisa released a sigh and allowed the tension to drain from her neck and shoulders. Such elegance. She had never known anything as soothing as this. When the maid began lathering her hair again, she gave in to the relaxing comfort, allowing the ministrations to ease her stiffness. Though she was certain Sister Marie Therese would condemn such decadence, Annalisa decided to savor it, if only for the moment. This afternoon she would write to the sisters, telling them when to expect her return. But for the brief time she had left, she would enjoy the comforts of her mother’s home.
When she was once more alone, she dried herself with the soft bath sheet and dressed in the clothes that had been laid out for her by the maid. At a knock on the door, she admitted another maid with a breakfast tray. While she nibbled a freshly baked croissant and sipped rich strong coffee laced with cream, she arranged her thick hair into a prim knot at her nape. By the time she descended the stairs and entered the pallor, she felt ready to face the rigors of the day.
The first to greet her was Gabrielle, the stunning Creole woman she had met on her arrival. Placing a comforting arm around Annalisa’s shoulders, she murmured words of sympathy, then led her toward a small cluster of women.
"In your grief, chérie, you have probably forgotten the introductions made earlier." Indicating a fair-skinned Negress, she said, "This is Eulalie."
"My sympathy on the death of Mrs. Sara," the young woman said in the warmest voice Annalisa had ever heard. It was lilting, musical, and it suited the delicate woman whose kinky, marigold-colored hair had been cropped very close to her head. Her eyes were large and dark, with long spiky lashes. Her gamine face was open and friendly. Though her skin was much paler than Annalisa’s, her nose was small and flat, her lower lip wide, sensual. Her somber gown revealed a tiny, perfectly sculpted figure, with high, firm breasts and clearly defined hips that needed no bustle for emphasis.
"I, too, would like to offer my condolences on the death of your mother," said a young woman who stepped forward.
"This is Francine," Gabrielle said.
As Annalisa took her proffered hand, she was astonished at the firm handshake. The woman was tall, nearly a foot taller than Annalisa’s tiny frame, and shapely, with the regal bearing of a queen. Pale yellow hair was piled atop her head with jet combs. A blue black feather draped elegantly across one brow. Her dark gown was trimmed with an elaborate feather boa. Even in mourning clothes, she was stunning and fashionable.
"And this is Delia," Gabrielle said, turning toward a small, waif like girl wearing a high-necked gown of black watered silk. Her sable brown hair had been cut very short, like a cap of curls that bounced with each movement of her head. Her eyes were the color of spring violets. In her hand was an ornate fan which she continually waved to ward off the heat. Or was she hiding behind it, Annalisa wondered? Perched on her shoulder was an ugly gray and white cat. One ear was missing. Its sparse coat was lackluster. The girl nuzzled its face with her cheek in a gesture of affection.
"I loved Sara," the childish, breathless voice intoned. Her voice was so soft, Annalisa found herself straining to hear her. "I feel as if I’ve lost a mother as well," she added, touching Annalisa’s hand gently. With one shy glance, her gaze fell away, settling on the floor.
"Thank you." Annalisa turned to include all of the women in the room. "Thank you for your expressions of sympathy, and especially for your support. It gives me comfort to know that my mother was loved. My greatest regret is that I never had the chance to know her better."
Choking back the sob that threatened, she took a seat with the other women as Hattie Lee escorted a dour, mustached gentleman to a desk. Befitting his occupation, he was dressed all in black, with stiffly starched collar and silk cravat. Opening a briefcase, he lifted out a document, then seated himself, before allowing his gaze to sweep the occupants of the room.
Reading in a monotone, he began with the smallest bequest to a maid who had been working in this house since she was nine years old. The woman held a handkerchief to her eyes, sobbing softly, as she learned of her employer’s kindness.
"To Dr. James Lynch, who has brought aid and comfort to all who live here, and who has pulled me from the brink of death more times than I can count, I leave the sum of five thousand dollars. Though this money cannot compensate him for the hours he has labored on our behalf, I hope it can bring him some comfort."
The doctor coughed and stared at his hands. A slight flush on his neck was the only sign of his emotional state.
"To Hattie Lee, a free woman of color, who has been here for over twenty years, I leave the land adjacent to this house, some ten acres, to dispose of as she sees fit."
The black woman seemed stunned by the bequest. Dark eyes widened, then stared at a spot on the carpet as they filled with tears.
"To my beloved daughter, Annalisa, I leave this house and business. I trust that she will act responsibly toward those who look to her for employment, health, and security. I am entrusting the futures, the very lives of the good women who dwell herein."
As the lawyer continued to read the bequests of money, gowns and jewelry to the others, Annalisa sat in silence, trying to digest what had just been said. This house, her mother’s house, was now hers. And her mother’s business, whatever it was, would now be operated by her. She clapped a hand to her mouth. What did she know about running her own home? All her needs had been taken care of by the sisters. How could she possibly be expected to operate a business? She had no business sense.
What of her plans to return to the convent? She thought of dear S
ister Marie Therese. Her gaze swung to the black woman, who was now watching her. On Hattie Lee’s face was a look of deep concern. Was she already questioning Sara’s wisdom in leaving everything in the hands of an ignorant girl?
The voice had stopped. Annalisa looked up to see the lawyer neatly folding the papers before replacing them in his briefcase. Strolling forward, he offered her his hand, staring deeply into her eyes.
"My condolences, Miss Montgomery. Your mother was a remarkable woman. I hope you prove her equal."
"Thank you, Mr. Forester." She watched as Hattie Lee led the lawyer toward the front door, their heads bent in whispered conversation.
As the others drifted from the parlor, Annalisa wandered to the wide windows overlooking a lovely rose garden. Throwing open the French doors, she walked to a wrought- iron table and ornate chairs, set amidst the fragrant blooms. A few minutes later, Hattie Lee found her there, lost in silent meditation. Annalisa never even noticed when first one woman, then another, ambled outside and sat, some at the ornate table, others in the grass, with their colorful skirts billowing about them like a field of wildflowers.
"It’s time we talked, child," Hattie Lee said, seating herself across the table.
Annalisa looked up, her thoughts scattered. "I’m confused, Hattie Lee. I came here to tell my mother that I planned to enter the convent; to make my home with the good women who educated me all these years."
The black woman waited shrewdly, watching the play of emotions on Annalisa’s lovely face.
"But first, I wanted this one final chance to know my mother." Annalisa’s fingers nervously played with the petals of a rose. "And now everything seems to be getting mixed up in my life. Mama has died." Tears welled and she angrily brushed them with the back of her hand, reminding Hattie Lee of the child she had once rocked in her arms. "What of my promise to the Reverend Mother? How could I possibly stay and run this fine house and my mother’s business?"
"Give yourself time to sort it out, child. Maybe by getting to know the people your mama knew, you’ll get to know her better. And as for this fine house, the maids and I can keep it just the way it’s always been kept."
"But I don’t even know what I want done. Don’t you see, Hattie Lee? I don’t know the first thing about owning my own home."
"I’ll help you. Your mother knew I’d stay on here with you, the same way I stayed with her."
Annalisa felt a rush of gratitude at the woman’s words. "But what of your own life?"
For the first time, Annalisa heard the rich musical laughter that she remembered from her childhood. "Sweet Lord almighty. This house is my life."
"What about my mother’s business, Hattie Lee? I don’t even know what she did to earn her keep."
The smile fled. Serious dark eyes contemplated the innocent young woman for long moments. When at last she spoke, her tone was intense.
"Miss Hannah Elliott, the original owner of this house, was known far and wide as a generous woman who took in young ladies who had no place to go. She trained them, educated them, and allowed them to work for their room and board. Many of them took up with fine gentlemen and left, with Miss Hannah’s blessing. Some, like Corinna here," Hattie Lee said, indicating the orange-haired woman, "stayed on after their productive years were over and helped out by assisting the seamstresses or cooks."
"Yes, but . . ."
Hattie Lee held a finger to her lips. "Let me finish, child. Your mama came to our doorstep, beaten, stabbed, and near death."
A stunned look came into Annalisa’s eyes.
"Miss Hannah Elliott took her in, nursed her back to health, and when Miss Hannah died, she left the house and business to your mama because she was the only one smart enough to keep it all together." Hattie Lee’s eyes misted, then cleared. "Sara Montgomery repaid our loyalty in kind. Because of her we are still able to extend the hand of friendship to women who have no place else to go." Before Annalisa could speak, Hattie Lee pressed on. "And now your mama has seen fit to leave our future in your hands, child. She saw that you were educated, and she trusts that you will stay on here and make this your home."
Wiping her tears with a lace handkerchief, Annalisa whispered, "Thank you. All of you. For the kindness you extended to my mother. But I’ve pledged my future to the sisters who educated me."
One of the women gasped, and Hattie Lee shot her a dark look to stifle her exclamation.
"That’s a fine thing, child. And one your mama would be proud of. But we have no one here to do the ledgers and keep the business going."
Annalisa recalled her mother’s whispered words before she died. The ledgers. Even in her illness, she worried about them.
"If you leave," Hattie Lee said firmly, "our futures will be doubtful at best. There’s no way we can handle the figures and banking and pay all the bills on this place. In no time, we’ll find ourselves out on the street, standing around looking for day work like all those people in town."
Annalisa stood. Glancing around at the assembled women, she said, "I want to help you. I really do. I’ll need time to think about this. I hadn’t planned to own a home or run a business. But if you think I can manage, I’m willing to think it over. What is the business, Hattie Lee?"
The older woman took a step toward her and fixed her with a cool look. In very precise words, she said, "This house, this place you think of as home, is the place where many men in the community come often to—relax. Throughout New Orleans and even beyond, it is known as Hannah Elliott’s House of Pleasure."
Chapter Six
Deathly silence followed Hattie Lee’s words. Annalisa’s face paled visibly. With a little sob she turned and fled through the rose garden. Thorny bushes snagged the hem of her gown, but she snatched at it fiercely and continued running. With tears spilling down her cheeks, she tore blindly through the quiet house, unmindful of the murmured voices beyond the walls. Upstairs she slammed the door of her mother’s room and fell across the bed, crying as if her heart would break.
A whore. Her beloved mother had been nothing but a whore. And worse, she had requested that her daughter join her in that scandalous occupation. The woman who claimed to love her had actually sent her away because a child would be an impediment to a life of pleasure. The woman she had enshrined in her young heart had in reality been a sensual creature who would sacrifice anything for her shameful career.
Wrenching sobs tore through her. Annalisa cried until there were no tears left. Lifting herself on one elbow, she stared around the elegantly appointed room that spoke of dignity and culture. A fraud. Everything about her mother had been a lie.
Swallowing down the fury that threatened to choke her, Annalisa crossed the room and began packing. There was no reason to wait until tomorrow to leave. She wanted to be away from this terrible place now. Away from the childhood memories that haunted her still. As she folded a prim ivory gown, she paused. The delicate fragrance that filled this house, lingering on the heavy air, was expensive French perfume. The muted sounds of music and tinkle of crystal late into the night were used to seduce local businessmen into lingering in this evil place. And those laughing cousins and aunts of her memory were actually wicked women, plying their trade on this unsuspecting city.
A tear threatened, and Annalisa wiped it away viciously. There would be no more tears for the mother of her youthful memories. She wasn’t deserving of tears.
Reaching for another gown, she folded it into her trunk. A knock at the door caused her to glance up. Squaring her shoulders, she opened the door.
"Chérie."
Annalisa stared at Gabrielle. Her daytime gown of rose muslin revealed a lush, ripe figure. Coal black hair had been brushed into thick waves tied neatly with rose satin ribbons.
"May I come in?"
Reluctantly Annalisa moved aside. When Gabrielle closed the door and turned toward her, Annalisa picked up another gown and busied herself at the trunk, in order to avoid meeting her eyes.
"I know you have been shocke
d by Hattie Lee’s revelations," Gabrielle began in her heavily accented voice. "A young girl like you, fresh from the convent. You are thinking, maybe, that your mother was a tarnished angel." She smiled at Annalisa’s rigid back, her determined lift of chin. "Those of us who live here, who accepted your mother’s hospitality, have no illusions. We realize we are not welcome in polite society."
Keeping her back to the woman, Annalisa pulled another gown from the wardrobe and began folding it.
Gabrielle’s words stopped her. "Your mother would have been welcome anywhere. It is because of her generosity that I am alive today."
Slowly Annalisa turned to look at her. The beautiful woman held her head high as she said, "I do not speak of my past. It is no one else’s affair. But this one time, for your sake, I will bring myself to speak of it." Her voice trembled. "I was raised to be a rich man’s mistress. All my youth, all my training, went into that one goal. When my lover chose me, I lived in a fine house that he provided, with servants and a carriage and driver at my disposal. I spent my days having tea with other wealthy men’s mistresses, and once even traveled with him to Paris to buy the latest French fashions."
Ignoring the look of contempt on Annalisa’s face, she went on haughtily, "My lover was killed in Richmond. He left no provision for me in his will. I was put out of his fine house, with no future and a sordid past. I had been educated to believe that without a benefactor, I would be better off dead."
At Annalisa’s little gasp, she said quickly, "We will pass over the ugly details of my existence. It is enough for you to know that when your mother found me, I was desperate enough to contemplate taking my life rather than face another day. She gave me a home, and more, she gave me the means of taking care of myself." The voice lowered. "To care for my own needs was something I had never done before. It had never even occurred to me that it was possible."
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