Love Story on Canal

by Angela Lee

  St. Luc was still talking to the room at large, feigning oblivion to Fin’s reaction, “You know the girl suggested that mobility might still be a possibility for me. Said she’s seen use of some sort of manufactured contraption.”

  “Peg leg?” Alex laughed. “Should Fin give you a boat? We’ll call you Captain Paul St. Luc, pirate of the mighty Mississippi?”

  “Bastard,” Luc tossed the nearest pillow at Alex. “The Fontenot girl says they make them to look just like a real limb. Might make me less of a beast,” he added the last part almost to himself. Fin and Alex shot each other a look. Neither reacted to the comment out loud, but Fin clapped St. Luc on the shoulder.

  “So, this is good news,” Fin said.

  “Perhaps. The surgeon didn’t have anything to say about it. Just let his daughter do all the talking. She did most of the exam as well,” Luc emphasized that statement with a wicked smile and a waggle of his brows. “I didn’t mind that so much. Kind of liked it actually.”

  Fin grit his teeth in irritation and the hand resting on Luc’s shoulder tensed.

  Alex, always watching, teased, “Run, St. Luc, run!” All three men burst into laughter.

  His jealousy finally subsided, Fin sighed, “What kind of flowers?”

  “Flowers? For the physician’s daughter?” A feminine voice trilled from the doorway. “Fionne, everyone noticed you took a liking to her. Choosing the right flower can certainly deliver a message.” Luc’s mother entered the room, her eyes alight. Both Alex and Luc hid their chuckles and pretended to be busy with a game of chess. The Trevigne gardens were by far the finest in the city. The gardens were Madam Trevigne’s pride and her favorite conversation piece along with all things related to flowers.

  “She is beautiful. A different sort, though. Following her father about helping with his duties.” Madame Trevigne tsked and shook her head, “But she is young and can be taught her place. So Fionne, what message is it that you wish to send?” Her eyes twinkled with excitement; a mother thrilled to marry off an eligible bachelor even if he wasn’t her own son.

  Fin was caught off guard at St. Luc’s mother’s ideas about Panacea. He had been raised to understand that Creole women had dominion over home life and society, it had been that way even before he had come to live in the Villere mansion. It had never occurred to Fin that females had no other options, that they should not help with business or anything unrelated to domestic life.

  At the ball, Fin had commented that Pan was unlike other Creole women and for the first time it occurred to him that she might not be well received because of that.

  Madame Trevigne mistook his contemplation for uncertainty about flowers and rushed forward eager to share her knowledge of floriography, the French language of flowers and their meanings. “Roses, of course, mean love. If that is too cliché for you, red tulips or red carnations suggest passionate love. That might be too much just yet.” She giggled and preceded to list possibility after floral possibility.

  “St. Luc, darling, did your sister mention having plans after mass. I saw her walking with the doctor’s daughter,” she looked knowingly at Fin, “and assumed she would be bringing Mademoiselle Fontenot to the tea.”

  This was news to Fin. He stood automatically. Madam Trevigne stopped him from breaking all the rules and invading a women’s tea, with her next words, “Of course, as it always is with that girl, she never showed. St. Luc, really, can’t you talk with your sister? Hebe needs discipline and your father is just too indulgent with the girl.”

  Chapter Twelve

  By the time Pan had reached the cathedral steps most of the congregation had dispersed, the Villere clan included. Hebe approached and explained that she had already spoken with Pan’s mother and had made her aware of their plans.

  With everything settled the young women, along with Hebe’s maid, climbed into the Trevigne family carriage. Pan’s mother had sent her medicine bag with Hebe before departing. It was an unspoken rule that neither Pan nor her father travelled anywhere without their bag in tow. When Hebe explained that a second carriage had come for the rest of her family, Pan said nothing but wondered how many carriages the family owned.

  “Mother has a tea going on at the house,” Hebe said with an eyeroll. “Let’s be wicked and visit the café instead.” Hebe’s maid, who had sat silently in the corner up until this point, snorted. Pan raised her brows in surprise at the suggestion as well.

  “Won’t that reflect poorly on your family? Please don’t neglect your obligations on my account,” Pan said carefully.

  Hebe gave her own snort at that, “No one will blame you, Mademoiselle Panacea. Mother won’t be surprised in the least if I fail to show.” The maid made a low grumble. Hebe ignored it and continued, “Sunday mass is usually not so much fun.” She added dryly, “Equal venom and syrup to be sure.”

  Pan rolled her eyes, “I feel as though I am the gossips’ new plaything.”

  Hebe leaned in closer to Pan, “Indeed. Just keep that regal chin of yours up. They won’t know what to do if you don’t cow to them, I promise.” Her dry tone turned suddenly playful, “I wonder what the gentleman’s wager is.”

  “Wager?”

  The petite belle’s drawl became honey thick as she replied, “You are in New Orleans, cher. There is always a gentleman’s wager. And as you have become the source of their,” she inclined her head towards the window of her carriage, “interest, you will most assuredly be the highlight of a bet.”

  Pan had never been involved in community relationships. Her sister had always been a society miss. That had given Pan the freedom to behave as she wished in the background. She was not one who received the attention of gentlemen in a ballroom. Pan was not the honored guest at the ladies’ teas or even the topic of their sewing circle gossip.

  “What types of bets?” Pan asked aloud, though her mind raced with a dozen other questions.

  “Who will win your hand, how long it will take. Probably some other more deviant things. My guess is that Fin is the frontrunner. And that is why the gossips are even more blood thirsty.” Thunder.

  Pan frowned, “He’s a womanizer, then?”

  “No. Well, yes. But as far as I know, his women have always been experienced. He wouldn’t set out to ruin your reputation,” Hebe shot her a side glance before lifting her brows, “Unless that was what you were hoping for. Might be a fun way to turn the betting tables.”

  Pan laughed at her friend’s dry candor, “I’m not sure I’m ready to be ruined. Why would Mr. Weathers’ involvement matter?”

  Hebe shrugged, “Fin is handsome and charming. He’ll win the election for city council, it’s a given. His mother’s family is the most respected family in town. And he’s gorgeous as sin. That makes him the ideal catch. He has always been a society favorite, even though his father was Irish.”

  “I did not realize he was a politician,” Pan said to herself. “You call him by a nickname, his cousin as well. They call you Be.”

  “BeBe. I abhor it. My youngest brother couldn’t pronounce the H. It just stuck.” Hebe frowned before continuing. “Back to the point, Fin attended you the other night, more than any other girl in the room. More attention than he has ever paid any debutante. Of course, everyone noticed.”

  “I am a physician’s daughter. I am in no way in the same station as Mr. Weathers. He isn’t pursuing me,” Pan argued.

  Hebe gave her a sardonic look, “Not just a physician’s daughter, I suspect.” When Pan was silent, she continued with a snort, “Your family name is an old one. Contrary to other aristocratic tendencies, Creoles value and respect most professions. Your father has earned the respect of every prominent merchant and politician. More than that, class is moot when you are the vision of a goddess. Indeed, you carry yourself as one. Of course, Fin is smitten, probably not the only man in town, to be sure. I daresay my brother would throw his hat in, if he didn’t have other issues to first address.”

  “This is ridiculous. I did not come t
o New Orleans to become entwined in gossip fodder and courtship dramatics. Goddess indeed,” Pan huffed.

  “Did you have a choice?” Hebe had turned very serious, looking directly at Pan.

  The intensity of the question surprised Pan, “Of course. At four and twenty, I had not intended on remaining tied to my parents forever. I had planned to pursue my own vocation elsewhere.”

  “You would have lived on your own then? Supporting yourself independently? As a doctor?” Hebe seemed intrigued but distracted. As she spoke, she lifted the skirt of her dress and was peering closely at what appeared to be an ink stain on the fabric.

  “Many women do.”

  “Not here. Certainly not as a female doctor,” Hebe looked up as if to gauge Pan’s reaction to the last word. If she was disappointed by Pan’s simple nod, she masked it.

  Aloud Pan said, “So I am learning.” She watched with amusement as Hebe pulled a handkerchief out and began to furiously rub at the stain. “I think you are making it worse.”

  Hebe frowned and stopped. She kept looking back at the stain as if debating whether she should continue attacking it, “Why did you come then, Panacea? Why not follow the path already in place that would allow you the life you preferred?”

  “Please call me Pan. My friends do,” she smiled. “My twin sister, Gigi loved society. And everyone loved her back. She had her choice of beaus and married the best. Her husband was, is, a wonderful man. Gigi died in childbirth as did her babe. I have only lost two other women during their delivery.”

  Hebe reached out and laid a comforting hand over hers, “I am sorry for your loss. And yet, I still do not understand what one has to do with the other.”

  “My parents are only now recovering from their grief. I am their only living child, it would be selfish to separate myself from them. Even more so to deny them the opportunity of someday becoming grandparents.”

  “Why could you not have married and still pursued your aspirations?” With such sharp interviewing skills, it could never be doubted that Hebe was the daughter of a newspaper man.

  Pan asked, “Is that such an easy feat here in New Orleans? While, progressive women are more common north of Louisiana, it is still, to some degree, taboo. Most men would not find an educated, career minded woman appealing as a marital partner. Those that did, would not necessarily be understanding of a working spouse. I’m not sure that I could give up my own practice if I were to open one. I truly had never planned to wed. Having made the decision to do otherwise, I felt it best to make a fresh start altogether.”

  “So, you are a doctor,” Hebe declared with triumph.

  “I attended Syracuse Medical College,” Pan admitted with a laugh. “I prefer to keep that fact out of the public ear.”

  “And yet you assist your father? Hard to hide your expertise from society when you are practicing on the local aristocracy,” Hebe drawled.

  Pan frowned, “People see what they wish to see. It’s not the likely connection to assume that a daughter who helps her surgeon father is, herself, a physician. Most assume I’m a bluestocking on the path to spinsterhood.”

  “Are you? Or have you come to marry and settle? Would you give up your medical aspirations?” Hebe gave an unladylike snort.

  “Miss Trevigne, those are the questions that plague me every day. I’m not certain I would be the kind of spouse any man would want but some days that is my plan,” Pan said drily.

  “And the other days?” Hebe questioned with genuine interest.

  “Other days I think that I will be a spinster, and just help my father for the rest of my life,” Pan frowned. “Some days I think I’ll go back north and pick up where I left off. And then there are the few days in between when I make reckless decisions and take needless chances for no reason and no personal gain.”

  “Those reckless days sound fun. And today?” Hebe had resumed her furious scrubbing but paused to look at Pan intently.

  “Honestly, today I have no real idea what my plans for the future are. I only know that when I lost my sister, nothing else really mattered. I just couldn’t go back to the life I had led or the path I was on. When my family said they were moving home to New Orleans, I decided to follow them. Being close to them is the only thing that feels right.”

  Chapter Thirteen

  Staring out the window of his Louisa Street campaign office, Fin wondered what misstep he had taken. He traced a finger over the feminine penmanship on the card she had sent more than a week ago. He reread her brief note. The vaguest hint of vanilla wafted from the card.

  They are lovely. My thanks. -P

  St. Luc had been the one to solve the floral dilemma. Fin had headed to the florist after the Trevigne brunch to order a mixed variety of ranunculus with a card signed only with his name. Madame Trevigne had been excited at the thought of such a unique pick with such a distinct message. I am dazzled by your charms.

  Fin wasn’t even certain what the ranunculus flowers looked like. Aside from the card, he’d had no other contact with her. A full week later and she had not attended any of the social functions he had, including the Friday night cotillion, not even mass. He had called at her home once only to be told that the mademoiselle was not receiving calls as she was out on hospital rounds with her father. Absently watching the street below, he could not help but suspect that the lady was avoiding him.

  He looked to his office door as it was flung open. His cousin, Dante, stomped inside nearly shouting, “He really is a beast! That whoreson confiscated the cotton shipment!” That grabbed Fin’s full attention and he turned away from the window to face Dante.

  “Burns? He seized it?”

  “He says the Stewarts are disloyal to the Union,” Dante answered. Always the most levelheaded of the Villere cousins, Fin had asked Dante to take charge of Weathers’ Shipping during the campaign. His cousin’s usual calm was nowhere to be seen as he paced Fin’s campaign office.

  “Did he inspect the shipment? Were they smuggling something?

  “No, the soldiers that arrived said that they were told to detain it. Burns says that by rights he can confiscate goods from anyone suspected of separatist loyalties. That would be the entire South!” Dante's tone had grown even louder.

  Now Fin’s temper was peaked, “The bastard made everyone swear an oath of allegiance to the Union. That was our shipment to make.” Thankfully Alex was out on errands. Fin wasn’t sure how his hotheaded cousin would react.

  Dante looked at him, “Do you think they are rebel sympathizers?”

  “Probably. Their plantation thrives on slave labor. But if they weren’t smuggling anything in the cotton, and the shipment isn’t benefiting the Confederacy, I don’t understand how Burns can claim it,” Fin ran a frustrated hand through his hair.

  Dante said from across the room, “This is going to get worse, cousin.”

  “What is?” Their heads turned as Alex walked in through the door asking, “What’s happened?”

  “Burns is up to something. He wants notification whenever a cotton shipment is expected. Instead of inspecting today’s delivery for contraband, he’s seized it,” Fin explained.

  As expected, Alex’s entire demeanor changed. His face and posture went from relaxed to rigid in seconds. His voice dropped to a gravelly bass, “How do you want to handle it?”

  Fin nodded, “Cautiously. I can’t call him out on it. He’s already told me he can squelch the election and appoint his own council. But now that this has worked in his favor once, he’ll expect me to provide information again. We need to figure out why he’s claiming the cotton. Is he following orders or is it for some personal gain?”

  “Why would you assume he has a personal interest in it?” Dante asked.

  “I don’t know. Everyone’s heard the rumors about his being right there with his men pillaging the Anglo plantations,” Fin shrugged. “Why would the Union have approved the continued trade before and now start to confiscate without issuing any new decrees?”

 
“Interesting point. How do we go about finding any answers?” Dante planted himself in the chair across from Fin’s desk.

  Alex walked to the window and peered at the street below, “We find a mole and we watch the nephew.”

  Chapter Fourteen

  After her day with Hebe, Pan had avoided every society event. Fin’s beautiful flowers had arrived the following day and her decision was cemented. His card hadn’t said anything, but it was becoming clearer that the man was pursuing her just as her mother and Hebe had intimated. If she was to continue her work at the prison, she would have to do better at blending in. If a politician took notice of her, others would as well. Too much attention would get her caught. She should just stop her work at the prison, she gained nothing from this risk.

  It was a pointless internal argument. Treating the men, meeting their families, learning that southern soldiers were not all evil slave owners. At some point this work had become important to her.

  The idea of those men suffering, even dying, with no one offering them care had buried itself deep beneath Pan’s skin. She knew. And because she knew, she felt responsible.

  So, she returned to the Customs House again. This time she left with a longer list of people to communicate with. She had also been to the orphanage to see some of the children at Sister Therese’s request. The rest of her week had been spent busily helping her father at the clinic.

  Pan stepped into the small grocer stand on the corner of Annunciation. She was really pushing the limits of how far into the city she should travel, having ventured into the Irish Channel. She was bordering on the red-light district. Judging from the traffic coming and going from the townhome on the corner, Pan was suspicious that it might be an actual bordello.

  Most of the people she had called on in the last two weeks had been poor, Irish immigrants. She had come to understand that the imprisoned soldiers would have been front line infantry. Their families would not have been able to purchase a higher rank for them or bribe them out of captivity.