by Angela Lee
“There is another editorial in L’Union,” Pan playfully pursed her lips and raised her eyebrows. Taking the paper from where it was tucked under her arm and pushing it toward her mother, she hoped it would help keep her mother’s spirits up.
“Really? Pancy, perhaps you shouldn’t be purchasing this publication. If a soldier were to see…” Pan hid her smile as she watched her mother eagerly open the paper. Reading the racy editorials was a guilty pleasure the two women shared. So far, under General Burns’ orders, every publication that had propagated Confederate loyalties, questioned any Union practices, or had been published in French had been shut down. Only a few underground publications remained that dared to defy the Union occupiers. Of course, all the best editorials were in the banned publications.
Her mother’s giggled gasp filled Panacea with happiness. The cartoon was a caricature of Burns himself. The artist had purposely exaggerated the general’s heavy build and bald head. Titled “The Spoon”, the scene depicted the general in the stages of undress.
It was well known that in the initial siege of the city, aristocratic homes were looted at Burns’ orders. Some gossiped that the general, himself, had even helped himself to valuable silverware earning him the nickname
“Oh. Oh my! That spoon is sticking right out of his…” Bending over to push his pants down, there were utensils scattered about the floor as if Burns had filled his trousers full. To make it more ridiculous, the editorialist had drawn a spoon sticking straight out of the general’s derriere.
Her mother’s full smile was a beautiful, rare sight. Not so long ago, everyone who had met Iris Fontenot had been charmed by her. During Pan’s childhood, Mama could lighten every mood with her quick wit and sunny disposition. Papa said that it was no wonder the girls’ eyes were so bright, they had their mother’s radiance. Iris’s carefree manner often softened Dr. Fontenot’s serious nature and kept him from losing himself to his work.
“You know, cher, I could not help but notice that your Monsieur Weathers danced only with you last night. Twice.” Her mother emphasized the last word with raised brows.
“He is not my Monsieur Weathers. And he did dance with another. Anne Marie something.”
“Hmm. I heard that she is his relation. And he danced with you twice. Waltzes, both. He did seem to be a talented dancer.” Pan could actually hear her mother’s thoughts. No wait, that was an audible giggle. She locked eyes with her mother and they both guffawed.
“Pancy, dear. What a gorgeous man! My heavens.” Her mother fanned herself as she smiled brightly and laughed again.
“Mama, I don’t think you are allowed to say that!” Pan’s cheeks burned but she smiled. It felt good to banter about silly things with her mother rather than sit in sorrow filled silence.
“Why ever not? Lord knows it is the truth. A beautiful man.” Mama added dryly, “I think he fancies you, Pancy dear.”
“Is that why you ushered me out so quickly after our second dance, Mama?” In one of her few moments of recent maternal clarity, Iris had been adamant about leaving immediately after the couple’s second dance at the Friday night ball.
“Cher, you are the smartest woman I know, but you have had your nose in books too long. That man is pursuing you. He barely waited before asking for a second dance, no doubt he would have come back for a third. We know nothing about him except gossip and my daughter should be able to choose her life mate based on more than that.”
“Life mate? Mama. Men like that are not interested in women like me,” Pan retorted.
“Pfft. Women like you. What on earth does that mean? Beautiful women? Intelligent women? Well dressed women? I daresay a gentleman like that appreciates all women.” Both she and her mother had heard enough gossip to know that Weathers had appreciated many women who had appreciated him right back.
“Marriageable women, Mama. Really,” Pan argued kneading her hands in agitation.
“Are not all women marriageable, daughter?” Mama quirked a smile and sipped her coffee. This was a glimpse at the Mama she remembered; she was enjoying baiting Pan.
“No, Mother. All women are not marriageable. Some are already married. Some are of a different class or more adventurous with their affections. You well know that any gent who pays attention to women of my age and station are intent upon marital intentions. If Mr. Weathers is looking for a bride, I’m quite sure that I am not the ideal Creole wife.”
Her father arrived at that moment, glanced over his wife’s shoulder at the paper and snorted. He kissed his wife’s cheek. “The sound of your laughter is music to my ears, my loves. We need to be going or we will be late for mass.” He turned his gaze on his daughter, “Cher, you would make any man a fine wife. How could you not? You have your mother’s beauty and charm.”
Chapter Ten
Giggles trickled down from the cathedral steps. “I’ve heard that she assists her father when he makes house calls.”
Pan froze realizing that the small cluster of women that she had been passing were, in fact, discussing her. She could see their embarrassed glances towards her, all now aware that she had heard. She steeled herself, tucked every bit of the anger away, and forced herself to ignore their nervous giggles and be calm. She had tried to escape from the cathedral before Mr. Weathers had seen her. She had been hyper aware of him and his male dominated family throughout the entire mass.
“Oh dear, Mademoiselle Panacea, I did not see you there,” came the sugared apology. “Is it true then? Do you assist your father with his doctoring?” The speaker and obvious leader of the group of debutantes was the same woman who had tried to gain Mr. Weathers’ attention at the ball.
With her thin figure, blond hair and sweet southern drawl, Anne Marie painted the portrait of a southern belle. Her royalty could not be denied, however, as her father was a sugar baron, owning one of the few French Creole plantations along the Mississippi.
“I do work with my father,” Pan answered simply and attempted to move on toward the carriage row. Gigi would have gone toe to toe with this girl.
The blond belle continued her address with a coy look. “Is that a Northern virtue then? To work with one’s father?”
A familiar husky drawl responded before Pan could, “I believe healing people is considered God’s work, as well as, a Christian virtue.” Hebe wrapped her arm through Pan’s and stared at the group in front of them. The look Hebe gave the others was one of relaxed defiance. Apparently, Gigi wasn’t the only one capable of taking on bullies.
Dismissing them with a snort, the feisty girl turned to Pan, “Mademoiselle Panacea, if you don’t already have plans would you care to ride home with me for a visit?” Pan gave a thankful look at her new friend and agreed.
“Horrid girl,” Hebe muttered.
As they moved away from the group, Pan spied Mr. Weathers watching from the other side of the steps. He winked as they made eye contact and she nodded. She both hoped he would and prayed he wouldn’t approach.
Hebe stared straight ahead and whispered, “Don’t worry, he’ll keep his distance. His family will keep him in check.” As the man in question began to head towards them, her new friend shrugged, “Or not.”
Pan was aware that her friend was speaking but the words had muted as her attention fixed on the purposeful gentleman who sauntered toward her. His eyes held her hostage, stilling time and blurring out every other thing around her.
The spell was broken as Sister Therese stepped directly in front of the walking girls cutting Weathers off mid-step. A perplexed look crossed Weathers’ features and hearty laughter sounded from the group of men he had been standing with. They had obviously been spectating his pursuit of Pan as well. The thwarted man shot a murderous look over his shoulder at his companions. Hebe giggled her amusement and Pan couldn’t help but smile herself.
Sister Therese continued to speak unaware that anything was amiss, “Miss Fontenot, I wondered if I could speak with you a moment.”
Hebe’s laughter c
eased and her eyes narrowed. Nuns typically pursued wealthy, married women for charitable donations as single girls had less at their disposal. Women of the church rarely approached unmarried women unless they were recruiting. Hebe’s tense arm and frown suggested that she was disinclined toward the idea of Pan pursuing a vocation in consecrated life. Hebe kept her thoughts to herself, however, and took her leave to have the Trevigne carriage prepared.
Following the nun into the Marian garden along the side alley of the cathedral Pan asked, “Is everything alright, Sister? The children?”
“Yes, dear. All is well at the orphanage. I wanted to speak with you about your other activities,” the nun had dropped her voice to ensure that no one heard. “You take a great risk treating the prisoners.”
When she delivered messages to prisoner families Pan explained that no one should speak of the information she had delivered. She asked the same of every family she delivered messages to, hoping that it might keep everyone safe. Agnes had obviously told Sister Therese.
Of all the people to gossip, it would be the nun. “Yes, Sister. No greater risk than many others make.”
“Great, nonetheless,” the old woman said with warmth. “I would ask to add to your burden.”
“Sister? What do you need?” How could any devoted Catholic possibly say no to anything the nun asked?
“I have wrestled with the idea that I should dissuade you. I’ve prayed about it. It is important work that you do. I would like to assist you,” the old woman answered, never breaking eye contact.
Thunder. “Sister, I am grateful. It is my belief that my visits would be compromised if any others were involved. This work takes speed and stealth. If you absolutely insist, I won’t deny you. But I don’t think it’s sensible.” There. She said no to a nun. “Besides, we haven’t, that is, I haven’t decided if these visits will continue.” And now she had lied to a nun. Pan fought every urge not to look up to see if lightning would strike.
“So, I’m too old and frail then?” Sister Therese said with a sniff. Pan’s head snapped up. Had she just insulted a woman of God? Before she could respond, the nun held up a hand and said, “It’s alright, nuns can make fun, too. This habit cannot cloak my sense of humor. I would not want to ruin your good works with my presence. Speed and stealth are no longer skills of mine. My intent was to help the men spiritually, by bringing Christ. Perhaps you could do it instead.”
Pan’s foot began to tap, and her eyes rolled heavenward for a quick check. “Sister, I would not have enough time to administer communion to the men. There are just too many.” This was becoming the worst conversation of her life. How many times could she deny this holy woman? Three times before the cock crowed? How painful was it to be struck by lightning?
Sister moved to the stone bench and sat down propping her chin on her hand, “Perhaps just to those in greatest need?”
“Sister Therese, all of the prisoners are malnourished and injured or ill. I’m already struggling with an issue of bringing enough bread on my visits. I can only carry so many loaves when I travel, and I have to have some plausible reason why I need a dozen or more loaves every week,” Pan paused. She tried to return to the topic at hand, “The men are all in great need. I’m trained in medicine not ministry. Those men have been imprisoned for quite some time, even if I knew how to administer communion, reconciliation would be required first. I could not hear their confessions. Could I? Is that allowed?” She shook her head a moment to clear the chaos. “Those things aside, my visits are at most an hour at a time. My main priority is medical aid, this would take away any time I could be treating their ailments. I don’t want to say no.” But she was. Again.
A moment of silence followed. Pan’s mind created all types of hellish scenarios for what happened to people who refused to help the church. She began to pace anxiously. Alternately, ideas of compromise surfaced in her brain. “Sister, does it have to be communion? Couldn’t I bring them something from the church?”
“Bibles?” Sister Therese looked up.
For the love of God. “No, too heavy.”
Sister pulled a rosary from her pocket and began to roll the beads in thought or prayer or habit. She looked up at Pan, “Rosaries?”
Pan stopped pacing and looked at the rosary and then smiled wide, “Rosaries are good.”
“Hmmm. That might work,” Sister said nodding her head. Then she continued, “If I cannot attend you, then I will send another helper. I ask that you take an older boy from the orphanage with you from now on. Tom mentioned that he had spoken to you the other day at the home,” the small woman’s tone suggested that this was more a command than a question. Pan was touched by the woman’s concern, but surprised that Sister Therese would think it a good idea to bring one of the children along.
“I cannot guarantee his safety. I cannot assume responsibility for a child.” She had to be setting a record of refusals here. Thunder.
Sister replied firmly, “Tom, like many of the older children, has grown up in the city. He will be able to help you navigate both the streets and hazardous situations. I will not accept a refusal.”
Pan snorted before nodding her assent and the nun smiled. The two spoke a few minutes longer, putting together a plan. Before she left Sister Therese called to her, “Miss Fontenot, I think I may be able to resolve your bread issue as well.”
Chapter Eleven
It wasn’t Fin’s finest hour following the beauty as she walked away with the nun. It would be a lie to say that he had something in mind other than eavesdropping and then cornering her after the conversation was concluded. Though Fin was an observer, he never considered himself to be an intrusive person, he certainly never went about purposely listening in on others’ conversations. In this case he was curious.
Pan Fontenot was in every sense an enigma. Beautiful. Intelligent. Goddess like. Different than the typically petite and curvy women Fin had grown up with. Everything about her was at odds with the traditional manner of society ladies, though she seemed determined not to reveal it.
Hebe Trevigne had taken a liking to her and even that was extraordinary. Paul St. Luc’s sister rarely befriended any of the debs; smart and tomboyish she tended to participate better in the conversations of men. Fortunately for Hebe, she had three brothers who allowed her to tag along.
Now at Sunday mass, a nun had requested a private conversation with goddess Pan. Fin had never seen a nun approach an unmarried woman for private council. Maybe it wasn’t unusual, he had no idea. But she had been at the orphanage that day. Good God, don’t let her be planning to enter the convent.
His curiosity on fire, he had followed. His head spun right to the light tap of feminine feet on hard floor, and he caught sight of full skirts exiting the side entrance to the Marian garden.
“This can’t be a good idea, cousin.” Alex, his self-appointed constant companion and official campaign advisor, had turned up unexpectedly.
“I didn’t ask you to come, Alex. I don’t trail after you when you are chasing a skirt.”
Alex responded slyly, “The point is that I do chase skirts. You, on the other hand, do not. Women are usually throwing themselves at you. Have you decided to see what it’s like for the rest of us?”
“Fuck off, Alex.”
“Fin, that come back is getting tired. This isn’t the best time for you to be doing this. The girl is a distraction you don’t need. You have lost focus. Right now, we should be heading to the Trevigne brunch. Uncle Paul is going to give us some feedback on your platform speeches. We need to decide which should go to print. Instead you’re…” Alex threw up his hands and looked around in disbelief, “We’re at church for Christ’s sake. Mass is over! Cousin!”
Alex had grabbed Fin’s jacket stopping him. “The Fontenot girl is an innocent, not the sort of woman to dally with. She’s with a nun right now. Think with your head! Pursuits like this can be dangerous. Any small misstep, if it appears you’ve compromised her, you’ll lose this election.
The only thing you’ll win will be a bride.”
“There won’t be a misstep. I’m not going to compromise her. I just want to talk to her.” Fin pulled free and continued around through the sanctuary heading toward the same door the women had exited.
“Who are you looking for, son?” Felice Weathers walked toward the two men, with a sly smile. Fin heard Alex mutter some gratitude under his breath.
“Um. No one. Why haven’t you left yet, Mother?”
“I thought I might ride with my handsome son. There is a lady’s tea at the Trevigne’s,” she said with a bright smile. “That is alright, is it not?”
“Of course, Mother. First, I just wanted to…” He drew a blank, even as a twenty-nine-year-old politician he had a hard time lying to his mother. For the life of him Fin could not find an excuse for what he was doing fast enough. A look towards Alex told him that his cousin thought the situation hilarious. “Of course, Mother. I’m ready.”
Two hours later he was sitting in the Trevigne study with Alex and his best friend, Paul St. Luc. Hearing his dilemma, his oldest friend had roared with laughter. “The nurse, huh? I told you she was a beauty. Those golden eyes.” Fin wasn’t fast enough in concealing the flare of possessiveness that reared at his friend’s whistled approval. His fists and jaw all clenched at the same time.
St. Luc arched a curious eyebrow at the reaction “Afraid I might run off with her?” his friend asked drily. St. Luc gave his inoperative stump a pat; he had earned his way home from war early with the loss of his left leg. Thankfully, the veteran seemed to be dealing with his disability well enough. “Get a grip of yourself, man. It’s not like you to lose your head over a skirt. Although I must admit, the brains match the beauty. That is delicious in a different sort of way.”
Fin’s jaw worked as he bit back the surge of possessiveness. St. Luc was right. This wasn’t like him.
Not. At. All.