“No,” another buyer said. “Nothing but skin and bones.”
Lebeaux tried to work up some interest. “Gentlemen, who’ll bid a hundred?”
“Why, she’ll be in the ground in a week.”
“No, I tell you, she’s fooling you. Just full of humbug. You give her a touch or two of the cowhide, and you can get plenty of work out of her.” Despite all his efforts, the auctioneer could arouse no bids, and finally a voice said, “Let’s get on with some of the better stock, Saul.”
The auctioneer shrugged and moved along to a large and powerful-looking black man. “Now, here is just what you’re looking for.” He poked the man in the ribs with the stick he carried and said, “Look at those muscles. Why, he can work eighteen hours a day in the fields.”
Damita listened, and her eyes went to the face of the black man. He appeared to be in his mid-thirties. He was black as a human being could be, and she saw that his eyes were dull. An air of hopelessness hung about him. He sold for $450, and his purchaser led him away.
“Do we have to stay, Damita?” Chantel whispered.
Damita hesitated. At that instant, a woman holding a baby was brought forward, and the auctioneer began his pitch. “We’ve got a fine house slave here, and a picaninny. Two for the price of one.”
“I’ll bid on the woman but not the picaninny,” a voice called.
The auctioneer argued, but a burly man with a shock of coarse, black hair finally bought the woman. He stepped up to pay the fee and take possession forward. He ordered the woman, “Get rid of that baby. You won’t be needing her to pick cotton.”
Damita and Chantel watched as the woman clung to the baby and shook her head, but the auctioneer pulled the child from her arms. “Go along, now,” he said.
The woman cried out something in a language that was not French and not English. She reached for the baby, but her new owner grabbed her by the arm and said roughly, “None of that! You’ll have plenty to do without taking care of a baby.” He led the woman away crying, and the auctioneer handed the baby to one of his helpers.
“That’s awful!” Chantel whispered.
Damita had not liked the scene herself. “I don’t see why he couldn’t have let the slave take the baby.” She started to say more, but, at that moment, the auctioneer said, “I’ve got something very special for you gentlemen.” He called, “Bring that girl out, Al.”
Damita turned to see, emerging from the door, a young woman being pushed forward by a white man. The girl was apparently in her teens and looked as different from the rest of the slaves as was possible. As Al brought her to the front, a buzz of talk sounded, and Lewis exclaimed, “By heaven, there’s a different sort of property!”
Despite the plain dress she wore, the young woman was a beauty in every way. She had raven-black hair, and her skin was smooth and of a faint olive tint. She kept her eyes down, for the most part, but when she lifted them, Chantel saw they were a pale green, large, and striking.
“She’ll fetch a pretty penny,” Lewis whispered to his friend. “I wouldn’t mind owning her myself.”
The auctioneer let the audience peer at the woman for a moment, then said, “This is a prize, gentlemen. Only sixteen years old. Make a perfect house servant. She’s healthy, and she’ll dress out fine. Come, look her over.”
Damita watched as a number of men moved closer. One at a time, they squeezed the girl’s arms and looked at her teeth.
“That’s shameful,” Chantel hissed.
Damita was staring at the girl. She was an impulsive young woman, and in that instant, she made up her mind. “That’s the girl I want for my maid.”
“You can’t mean it!” Chantel exclaimed.
“She’s pretty enough. I can dress her up. And she looks strong and healthy. I’m going to bid on her.”
“You can’t do that!”
Damita loved a challenge, and when the bidding started, she did not speak until the price rose to eight hundred dollars. Then Lebeaux cried, “Come along, gentlemen! Any more bids?” He waited expectantly and said, “If there are no more bids—”
“Nine hundred dollars!”
Every man’s eyes turned to Damita. Lewis’s face showed shock. “Miss Madariaga, you can’t mean that!”
The auctioneer also was nonplussed. It was uncommon for a woman even to attend the auction. But he was there for profit. “The bid is nine hundred dollars. Do I hear another?”
A hum filled the room, and the bidding rose to twelve hundred dollars. Damita calmly raised it to thirteen.
One of the men asked, “Lebeaux, how do you know she’s got the money to pay for that girl?”
The auctioneer swallowed hard. He was in a difficult position. He needed to make the money, but indeed, no young girl like this had ever bid on a slave. “May I ask how you intend to pay for this, mademoiselle?”
“My father is Señor Alfredo Madariaga. He will pay the money.”
The auctioneer obviously knew Damita’s father. Still he said, “Your father is not here.”
“No, but he’s buying me a maid, and that’s the one I want.”
For a moment the auctioneer wavered, then nodded. He tried to get the bid raised, but no one was willing, for it was clear that the young woman was going to pay whatever was necessary. “Mademoiselle, your bid is accepted. Come forward and take your property!”
Lewis stayed close beside Damita while she looked the slave girl over carefully. “Your father’s very generous,” he commented.
A man slid some papers over a small table to Damita.
“He always has been,” Damita said. She signed the papers, turned to the young woman, and asked, “What’s your name, girl?”
The woman stood straight as an arrow. She faced Damita and said in an even tone, “My name is Charissa Desjardin.”
“That’s some name. We’ll just call you Rissa. You belong to me now. If you do as you’re told, you’ll be well treated.” Damita waited for the girl to answer. When she only stood silently, Damita added, “If you misbehave, you’ll be whipped.”
A light blazed in the girl’s green eyes. “I’ve been whipped before!” she said defiantly.
“I believe you’ve got a rebellious servant on your hands,” Lewis said. “She may require a touch of the stick.”
“Get your things,” Damita said.
The girl said in the same tone, “I don’t have any things.”
“Come with me, then.”
“I hope she turns out well,” Lewis said.
“Thank you, I’m sure she will. Come along, Rissa.”
Damita turned and left the auction, aware that every eye was upon her. As soon as she stepped outside, she turned to Chantel and said, “I’m going to take my new maid home. Do you want to go with me?”
“No, I think I’d better go back.” Chantel had had enough adventure for one afternoon.
“All right. If the sisters ask about me, tell them I won’t be back for the rest of the day. I’ll be there tomorrow.”
Chantel left hurriedly, and Damita turned to the girl, who still stood without speaking, and said, “Rissa, I won’t put up with sullen behavior.” She waited for the girl to say something. When she got no response, she said, “Answer me when I speak to you.”
The words came reluctantly. “Yes, ma’am.”
Damita looked into the eyes of the young woman and shook her head. “This is a bad beginning, but we’ll do better, I’m sure. You just have to learn some manners, and I’ll teach you. Come along.” As they walked toward the Madariaga home, she was already thinking about how to approach her father. He was lenient and had spoiled her, but she had taken a big step. She began to feel nervous. She wondered if she had done the right thing.
It will be all right, she reassured herself. I’ll smooth it over somehow.
Chapter two
Charissa walked quickly down the street, holding a basket in her right hand and a wrapped parcel in the other. The afternoon sunlight of New Orleans illuminated the houses on both
sides. Smooth plaster covered most of them, and the Madariaga house had been painted a warm peach shade. It was one of a line of similar structures rising directly from the banquettes, as dwellers of the city called the sidewalks. Other homes were blue, some a faint purple, each fitted to the desire and artistic temperament of the owner.
She paused a moment before the house, thinking of the two weeks that had passed since she had come to live there. One of her memories was of the argument between Alfredo Madariaga and his daughter on the day she had arrived. Damita had ordered Charissa to wait in the kitchen, but she could hear the master of the house, his voice rising in anger, and had felt certain she would be taken back to the auction and sold again.
As she stood remembering that day, she thought,Well, this is better than it might have been at some other place. I just have to put up with that selfish, demanding girl. She glanced up now at the facade of the house, three stories dominated by three tall galleries, and she admired the delicate ironwork that sketched a lacelike outline of leaves and flowers on the stucco. Waist-high railings and scrolled panels of filigree marked the balcony, and on the second level, dozens of containers held geraniums, wax flowers, ferns; on the first one, a big birdcage contained a brilliantly colored, screeching parrot.
With a sigh, Charissa, wearing a simple brown dress and her long hair pinned up in a coil, passed through a large patio with a gate big enough to admit the carriage that was kept in the rear. Charissa turned to enter the door, but someone grasped her from behind so suddenly that she dropped the basket and the parcel, hearing something crack in one. She fought fiercely, but the arms were strong, and she heard a rough voice saying, “Stop fightin’! You know you like it, girl.”
Charissa managed to free one of her arms, but even as the man she knew to be Garr Odom, the carriage driver, tried to grab it back, she pulled a long pin from her hair. Without a moment’s hesitation, she stabbed the hairy arm that went around her breast and was rewarded by a loud screech. She was free. Turning quickly, she held up the pin like a dagger and glared at the big man, saying, “You keep your hands off me, Odom, or I’ll put your eye out.”
“You she-devil!” Garr Odom was not tall, but he was broad and strong. His hazel eyes burned, and the battle had loosed his long hair from its tie. He held his hand over the wound, his mouth twisted in a murderous expression. “You stabbed me!” he gasped.
“Yes, I stabbed you, and I’ll do worse if you don’t keep your hands off of me!”
“Well, ain’t you somethin’ now! You’ve had a man’s hands on you before.”
“I won’t have yours. You heard what I said. If you ever touch me again, I’ll make you regret it.” She leaned forward and swiped the pin in front of Odom’s face.
“Hey, watch out!” he yelled—the pin had passed within a few inches of his eyes. He stumbled backward and then glared at Charissa, muttering, “You won’t always have that hat pin.” He turned and stomped away, disappearing through the carriage gate.
Charissa took a deep breath, standing still until the fear dissipated. It was not the first time that Garr Odom had tried to attack her. He had come once to her bedroom, and only her threats to scream and raise the house had prevented his assault. Charissa replaced the hat pin, then reached down and picked up the basket, replacing the vegetables that had rolled out of it. She saw that liquid was dripping from the parcel. She picked it up as well as she could and stepped quickly through the door. She hurried through the corridor to the kitchen at the very back of the house. A heavyset woman with skin the color of ebony was standing over a stove, and she turned at once to ask, “Where you been so long? Miss Damita’s havin’ a fit.”
“It took me a long time to get all the things you wanted, Ernestine.” Charissa put the basket and paper bag on a counter and said, “I dropped this bag. I broke whatever’s in it.”
“You busted it!” Ernestine, who had been with the Madariaga family for years, heaved her bulky body over to where Charissa stood. She was almost as broad as she was tall. She began pulling items out of the sack. “How’d you smash this?” she asked, holding up pieces of a broken bottle.
“Garr grabbed me from behind.”
“He botherin’ you again? Why don’t you tell the master about him?”
“It wouldn’t do any good,” Charissa said coldly.
Ernestine stopped removing items from the sack and turned to Charissa. Her eyes were compassionate. “That man is no good. He may be a good carriage driver, but he ain’t no good in no other ways. Did he hurt you?”
Charissa laughed. “No, but I hurt him.” She pulled the pin out of her hair. “I used this like a sword and ran it right into his arm. I’m surprised you didn’t hear him holler.”
Ernestine Brown grinned broadly and chuckled deep in her chest. “That’s good! You know how to take care of yourself. But you’d better get on up now. Miss Damita’s plumb fit to be tied. I told her I had to send you to the market. She got mad and raved at me. She say you don’t work for nobody but her.”
“She doesn’t care a pin for anybody in this world.”
“Oh, she’s spoiled and selfish, but I reckon she’s got a good heart.”
Charissa glared at Ernestine. “A good heart? She hasn’t done anything but mistreat me since I got here. She slapped me in the face just two days ago, when I couldn’t find her hat quick enough to suit her.”
Ernestine put her big arm around the girl. “You could be lots worse off, honey. Out in the plantation I’ve seen Claude Napier, the manager, whip men and women both until their backs was cut all to pieces. You just be glad he ain’t been turned loose on you yet.”
“I’d run away if he ever did that to me.”
“And then they’d catch you. Ain’t nobody can get out of bein’ what she is.”
Charissa stared at the big woman, who had proven to be her closest friend in the household. “Don’t you ever wonder what it would be like to be free, Ernestine?”
“There ain’t no sense thinkin’ about what can’t happen,” Ernestine said. “You just make the best of what you got. We got plenty to eat. We got warm clothes. We don’t have to go out in the fields. The master and Miss Elena, they ain’t cruel folks at all.”
“Damita is.”
“She’s young. She’ll outgrow that by the time she has a few knocks herself.”
“She has everything,” Charissa said bitterly. “Why is it some people in this world have everything, and some of us have nothing?”
“I don’t know, but that’s the way it’s always been, and that’s the way it’s always gonna be. Now you go on up, and don’t give Miss Damita any of your sass. No matter what she says, you just smile and say, ‘Yes, ma’am.’”
“I’ll do what she says, but she can’t make me like it. I’ll come back and help you cook when she gets through with me.”
“She ain’t likely to get through with you today. She’s gettin’ ready for that graduation of hers. Go on, and you be sweet like me.”
Charissa could never resist Ernestine. She hugged her and said, “All right. I’ll be sweet like you—to you, but never to Damita.”
Juanita Mendez sat on the balcony, watching the passersby below her. She had seen Charissa come down the street and enter the gate, and now she commented, “That new slave you bought for Damita is a rebellious girl.”
“Yes, she is,” Elena Madariaga agreed, turning to her husband. She was a small woman, shapely, and at the age of forty-five, she still had traces of her youthful beauty. “You spoil Damita, Alfredo. You shouldn’t have paid that much for another maid. We could have gotten by with Monica. She’s already paid for, and she can wait on both of us.”
Alfredo was a trim man of fifty-one. As he sat with his chair tilted back, looking at his wife and his sister, he shrugged. “I promised her a maid, and the girl will probably be a good investment. Always a good market for beautiful young mulattoes.”
“Mulatto! What are you talking about?” Juanita exclaimed. “She’s no mo
re mulatto than I am.” A mulatto was a person half-black and half-white. “She’s not even a quadroon. She looks like an octoroon to me.” These two terms were well known to refer to the mixture of black and white blood—quadroon being one-quarter black and an octoroon only one-eighth black.
“So much the better for a sale. You know how the young bucks like the Creole girls, with their lighter skin.”
“I know it very well, but Rissa will never be one of those,” Elena said.
“She may be, if we have to sell her. I expect her mother was mostly white. The town’s full of octoroon Creole girls, and most of them wind up as mistresses to wealthy white men.”
Indeed, men in New Orleans often maintained two families. The white one society accepted, the dark one no one did. Many men divided their time between the two households, rearing two sets of children. The white wives had no choice but to accept the situation, and almost everyone attended the sumptuous quadroon balls, where tawny-skinned women displayed their charms in what amounted to a bazaar for prospective men of wealth. Among the well-to-do Creoles, the marriage of convenience was common, but often the couple had not even met, and when a young man did not get a beauty, he was quick to go to the quadroon balls and find himself a mistress.
“The girl could pass for white easily enough,” Alfredo remarked. “We won’t have any trouble selling her.”
The two women stared at Alfredo; the subject was usually taboo. But Elena was not finished and repeated harshly, “You spoil Damita terribly. Her husband’s going to have an awful time with her.”
As a matter of fact, Alfredo Madariaga was himself still somewhat angry over Damita’s buying the slave without his permission. “I’m going to whip that girl,” he said loudly.
Both women smiled at each other grimly. They were well aware that he had never struck Damita in his life and never would. “Well,” Juanita said, “I think you’d better sell the girl quickly. She’s not a good maid.”
“No,” Elena agreed. “She’s headstrong.”
“So is Damita,” Alfredo murmured. A gloomy look crossed his face, and he shook his head. “I may have to sell Charissa and some others from the plantation as well. I’ve got a payment coming due on the loan, and the crop was terrible this year. The drought nearly ruined us.”
The Immortelles Page 2
