Love Story on Canal

by Angela Lee

Comforting arms engulfed her, and Pan breathed in the subtle scent of rosewater. Pan sobbed into her mother’s arms as she had not done since childhood. Even after the death of her sister, Pan had only cried when alone. She had wanted to be strong for her parents, comforting them as best she could.

  Her mother spoke quietly, “Pancy, do you know why we left New Orleans when you were so young?”

  Pan sniffed and looked at her mother, curious where the conversation would lead. “Papa always says that his education in Vienna was better than any in the states. He wanted to be a teaching surgeon to share that. Columbian College is in the national medical college, I suppose teaching medicine there would have made the most sense.”

  “Yes, this is all true, but we were already married with twin babies. We decided to leave the place of our birth, the support of our families, and the comforts of the society we knew and understood for the unknown. Why, do you think?” Iris asked again.

  Pan was quiet, thinking. She shook her head. “I don’t know, Mama. Adventure maybe. Something new, different.”

  “Exactly. Had I offered any resistance; we would never have left this place. I love this city, but Creole life can be stifling. I waited so long to bear children. Did you know that your father and I tried for so many years without success? When the two of you finally came, I knew that I wanted more than all of this for you. I wanted the best life for my daughters. I wanted you to grow without restraint, to be able to have adventures, to take risks.”

  “Mama, you speak as if there were no rules, no etiquette in the capitol. Much of our behavior went against convention even there. As if attending medical school wasn’t controversial enough, I breeched convention there in small ways every day.”

  “I know this, but growing up in the capital did you ever feel that you had jeopardized your entire future by walking across your campus unescorted, or worse, escorted by a gentleman while unchaperoned? Did you ever feel ostracized for knowing how to read in Latin in addition to French and English?”

  Pan shook her head.

  Her mother continued, “Those things are taboo everywhere in polite society. Yet, the most you might have suffered was some teatime gossip. You were never shut out from society. Your sister was not, by default, shut out as well. Those would have been the consequences in this community.”

  Pan’s argument came out as more of a confession, “Mother, I walk unescorted through the Vieux Carre. I’ve walked with Mr. Weathers unchaperoned.”

  “Exactly. Cher, you are a woman of four and twenty, an adult. Those are your choices to make now. The only one who will feel the consequences will be you. It is also up to you to decide whether those consequences matter. You would not feel that way if we had raised you here. That independent spirit would have been stomped out by society years ago,” Madam Fontenot reasoned.

  “What about you and father?” Pan argued.

  “Daughter, it is time to allow yourself to be happy. You have punished yourself for too long over Hygeia’s death.” Her mother’s voice wavered but she kept on. “It was never your fault. It was always God’s will. You have done your duty to us, remaining by our side as we have grieved. You have sacrificed your own aspirations to do so. It is not necessary any longer. It is time to live your life and be happy. You will always have your sister in your heart. Share your adventures with her.”

  “Mama, I don’t know what I want. I don’t know what will make me happy. I used to, but now? I make plans,” Pan looked down at her hands. She closed her eyes and breathed, “They are failing, Mama.”

  Her plans were indeed failing. Truthfully, she had no idea what to do with her life. Once she had been certain of what she what she wanted. Since Gigi’s death she had made no resolute decision about her destiny. No absolute decision to forego medicine and marry blindly as her parents feared. No tearful goodbyes as she announced that she was leaving to open her own practice in the North or further her studies in Europe. No single goal drove Pan forward like a hero from a novel. Her only thought was to cling to her family, to the memory of Gigi. She knew that without them she would be lost.

  Her mother spoke, “Because what you see now is not the future you once pictured? Panacea, daughter, life cannot be planned to the minute. You should know that better than most. You have lost a beloved sister and walked away from a lifelong dream. You take great risks to care for the sick with no personal gain.” Pan looked up in alarm and her mother smirked, “Yes daughter, I have a pretty good idea of how you spend your days. You are being courted by two men who are each handsome and sensible and enamored with you. Your life is not turning out as you had planned. That does not mean you cannot be happy with a new path. You have decisions to make. Let yourself be happy.”

  Iris kissed her daughter’s forehead, “Will you be joining me for the Trevigne tea?”

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  “Good day, ladies.” Pan smiled at Hebe’s greeting. Standing in the foyer of the Trevigne mansion, the sight of her friend wearing a vibrant peach dress with an overabundant bustle was the first thing to make Pan smile all day.

  “Well hello, dear,” Iris Fontenot greeted Hebe.

  “Mother and the other ladies are in the parlor. I hope you brought your needles,” Hebe said with dry emphasis. Both Pan and her mother chuckled at Hebe’s obvious distaste for sewing.

  Iris responded, “I did. Though I am sure that you and my daughter might be able to occupy yourselves with other activities. Assuming your mother would not object.”

  “Madame Fontenot, but mother abhors my needlework. She would be thrilled if I did not participate in her sewing circle. Would you be opposed to Pan and I adventuring out for the hour? After tea of course. My maid will attend us.”

  Pan raised her eyebrows. She had really despised the idea of an afternoon of sewing. Tea wasn’t something she looked forward to either. She had originally planned to spend her day getting those messages delivered as her father would be in meetings all day. Emotionally weary, she had opted to spend time in her mother’s company even if was at a women’s gathering. Now here, the idea of spending time with her only female friend in New Orleans was a welcome one.

  “Shopping then? How fun,” Iris beamed. She added conspiratorially, “I almost wish I could come as well.”

  “By all means,” Hebe said with a low laugh.

  “Oh my. I do believe that might offend. You two go and enjoy yourselves,” she said kissing Pan on the cheek.

  “You’re sure, Mama?”

  “I’ll be fine with the biddies. Come greet your hostess first,” She chuckled as the three women walked into the parlor.

  Twenty minutes later, Pan looked up from where she stirred sugar into her tea. Hebe sat herself to Pan’s right with a shrewd look on her face, “A lot of things are being said about you.”

  “Oh?” For a moment, Pan felt dread. The newsman’s daughter was every bit as informed as her father; if anyone could have uncovered Pan’s excursions to the prison, it would be Hebe Trevigne.

  Hebe’s droll response calmed her, “A certain gentleman running for councilman seems to be revising his campaign agenda. All of a sudden, women’s rights and better health care for indigents have become his priority.” Hebe’s shaking shoulders and mirthful smile told Pan that she thought it was hilarious.

  Pan quietly laughed into her cold tea. “I’m sure that will help in the polls.”

  “Are you kidding? Don’t you read my father’s papers? The common vote loves him.”

  “And the upper classes? I’m sure they are most concerned with helping the poor.”

  “Hmm. Ordinarily you’d be right, he will lose some of that vote if he is not careful. Right now, the city is in a time of crisis. Unemployment is at a record high because of the blocked port and all that. Not to mention that fat Union commander instilling martial law, curfew, and barricades. People are tense.” Hebe’s hands flew wildly as she spoke. “The wealthy cannot publicly disregard the needs of the masses without potentially inciting their a
nger. No one wants riots. But it’s still a gamble. It’s a sacrifice Fin seems willing to accept if his actions make a certain mademoiselle medicin take notice,” Hebe shot her a dubious look and then winked.

  “He should not take chances with his campaign to gain my favor. Infuriating man,” Pan grumbled into her teacup, instantly regretting the sip.

  “He’s already crafted a way to spin it so that our set won’t fight his platform.”

  Pan looked at her curiously, “What has he done?”

  “I would have thought he had made you privy. He, well, the Villere family, took over complete sponsorship of the next cotillion. They have renamed it as a fundraiser to benefit the St. Vincent Children’s Asylum,” Hebe whispered never taking her eyes from Pan’s face. Thunder.

  Hebe laid a hand on top of Pan’s, “Pan, he is a good man. He really is. I would never push any woman toward something she did not want, but I sense that isn’t the case here. Fin would understand.” Pan’s head shot up. Hebe gave a her a conspiratorial smile. “He would support your occupation. Are you ready? I thought we might find a better way to spend our afternoon than drinking tepid tea,” she frowned looking at Pan’s cup, “and worrying over handsome men.”

  The change of topic brought a relieved smile to Pan’s face. She recognized the scheming look on Hebe’s face. She had seen it in the mirror many times as she hatched a new plan for adventure. “What did you have in mind.”

  “Something daring,” Hebe said with a wink. She stood, still holding Pan’s hand and led her from the table.

  They discreetly took their leave and waited for escort to the Trevigne carriage. Hebe paused before climbing inside, her attention fixed on the running board. “Who are you?”

  “Tom, miss.”

  Pan sighed. Tom was perched on the rear of Hebe’s carriage. Pan looked him over, arrested by the marked change in his appearance. His hair was clean and cut. He wore a white shirt that fit well. His new trousers were not smudged with grime and were the right length. Even his shoes were scuff free and fully soled. She had been so absorbed in her own troubles that she had not noticed these things this morning.

  “And why are you on the back of my carriage? You are not in my employ. Are you?” she asked shooting a look at her driver who shrugged and shook his head at the same time.

  “No, ma’am. I’m to go where Dr. Pan goes.”

  “Tom you need not stay today, Miss Hebe and I are off to do some shopping,” Pan said with a smile.

  The boy shifted uncomfortably, “I can carry your bags, Dr. Pan.”

  Hebe stepped closer to the boy who had not forfeited his post, “You are not in Dr. Pan’s employee either?” Watching the exchange, Pan likened it to a game of cat and mouse. Hebe was shrewd and stealthily circled Tom, her prey, who watched knowing of the impending doom without having any means of escape.

  “No ma’am. Well yes. I help Dr. Pan when she works,” he stammered never meeting Hebe’s eye.

  “But she is not working today and has told you so. Yet here you are. So, who is your employer?”

  Since the day Fin had escorted her to the orphanage, the boy had been waiting to escort her every morning on her errands. Tom had explained that Mr. Weathers had asked him to begin meeting her every morning at the townhome. She had let him tag along this morning as she and her mother left the house. Looking at him now clean and well clothed, Pan couldn’t help but feel a bit ashamed that Fin had been better at mothering the child than she had.

  “Mr. Weathers pays me to accompany Dr. Pan every day. Not just on rounds,” Tom answered nervously.

  “That’s all? He pays you just to escort Dr. Pan?” The boy nodded furiously. Hebe arched an eyebrow and closed in for the kill, “He doesn’t ask you to report back, tell him what the lady does each day, who she sees?”

  “No ma’am. No reporting. Well, maybe if Dr. Pan were to get caught...” Tom stopped, eyes shooting to Pan. Thankfully, Hebe said nothing regarding the last remark. She dropped her tone lower. Pan could no longer hear the exchange. The boy looked at Hebe in awe and nodded several times.

  Hebe left him there and walked past Pan into the carriage remarking in her in her dry manner, “All right, apparently the boy will carry our packages today.”

  Pan looked warily between an awestruck Tom and Hebe, who was climbing into her seat. “I think you terrified my helper,” Pan said following her into the carriage and tucking her Gladstone beneath her seat.

  “I don’t like surprises and I do not like unfamiliar faces tagging along. I insist on knowing everyone in my employ. You should be more suspect of Fin’s motives for making the boy your attendant,” Hebe retorted with a sniff.

  “He’s not spying for Fin. The boy was already my assistant. Fin just pays him more,” Pan said defensively. She wondered what had made her friend so cautious.

  “I think I might enjoy having a small assistant as well,” Hebe mumbled. The maid sitting in the corner of the carriage, snorted without looking up. Nothing more was said on the matter. Little was said at all as Hebe spent most of the trip rubbing at an ink stain on her sleeve. Pan didn’t tell her friend that there another stain on the woman’s skirt.

  As the carriage came to a halt a short time later, Pan gave her friend an incredulous look, “The dress maker. Really Hebe? So, daring,” she chided drily.

  “It may not be as exciting as some of your other endeavors, but I would wager that this may not be something you’ve done before.” Hebe drawled.

  Pan looked at her skeptically, “Of course. But the dress shop?”

  As they exited the carriage and stepped onto the sidewalk, Pan noticed a well-dressed mulatto woman standing alongside of the building, jotting something in a notebook. She was dressed in an expensive walking dress in a deep charcoal grey. Pan noticed that the young woman had a newspaper tucked beneath her arm. It was not unusual to see a polished woman of color about New Orleans. Seeing one who could obviously read and write was unexpected but not unheard of. Still, none of those elements were really what captured Pan’s attention.

  The woman was stunning. Her caramel skin glowed in the sunlight. She wore her ebony curls loose, tied only at her neck with a ribbon. She had the voluptuous figure so often depicted in the women drawn in the racy cartoons Pan enjoyed reading. She assumed men found such curves to be appealing. She couldn’t help but feel a bit intimidated. The woman looked up from her task and Pan almost laughed out loud. Even her eyes were captivating, the lightest shade of purple Pan had ever seen.

  “Good. You’re here,” Hebe drawled. Pan looked over at her friend in surprise. Was she addressing the other woman? The stranger smiled and handed Hebe the paper that was tucked under her arm. Hebe glanced at it before handing it back to her maid who immediately returned to the carriage. The other woman nodded and then smiled at Pan and seemed to be ready to leave.

  Hebe waved a casual hand between the two women, “Dr. Panacea Fontenot may I introduce my friend, Mademoiselle Luna Lejeune.”

  Pan smiled brightly and extended her hand. She was aware that the other two women were having a silent communication. Miss Lejeune seemed uncomfortable with the introduction but extended her hand. “Dr. Fontenot? You are a physician?”

  “I am. It is nice to meet you. Please call me Pan.”

  “Good. That’s done,” Hebe said moving between the two, “Come on. You too, Luna.” Hebe had not even bothered to make sure the other women were following as she entered the dress shop. Hebe acted as though it was not extraordinary for two aristocratic white women to be dress shopping with a woman of color. Daring indeed. Pan looked over at Miss Lejeune and chuckled.

  “I just left here,” the other woman said under her breath as she shrugged and smiled back at Pan.

  The bell above the door to the shop tinkled as they entered. “Oh! Beautiful ladies, welcome!” the French dressmaker called in French as she moved around her shop like a drill sergeant commanding her assistants to grab this bolt or that. Her eyes travelled over each of t
he women, pausing in confusion at the sight of Miss Lejeune. An excellent salesperson, she kept her thoughts to herself. “We are fitting you for new gowns today?”

  “Madam Coustant, we wanted to see your other collection,” Hebe said with emphasis.

  “Mademoiselle?” The other woman took a minute to contemplate the statement. She looked at the women warily before a wide smile spread across her face, “Follow me. You will love this.”

  The trio followed the lady beyond the fitting area into the back half of the store that was blocked from view. Pan assumed that it would house the sewing area and more material. She was shocked to see an entirely separate shop.

  Rather than a typical mercantile environment, the space was arranged in the fashion of a bedroom, a very luxurious bedroom. Overstuffed white couches were positioned to face several full-length ornate mirrors. Plush white carpets covered portions of the mahogany wood floors. The gas lamps burned low keeping the room at a soft light. Yards of sheer fabric in soft colors billowed from the ceiling. The room smelled of lavender and orange, the mixture both calming and stimulating. White marble figures of naked men and women served as centerpieces on tables adorned with yards of lace and satin.

  “What is this place?” Pan said in astonishment.

  It was Hebe’s turn to smile wide. “It’s sin. Pure sin,” she said with pleasure. “Have you ever seen so many beautiful things?”

  “Is this all undergarments?” Pan whispered sounding embarrassed but feeling intrigued.

  The dressmaker grunted, “Pft. Coarse Anglo term. My work is not undergarments.” The offended woman held up a soft pink satin chemise against Miss Lejeune’s torso. “Peignoirs, lingerie, beautiful negligee. These are what should touch a woman’s bare skin.”

  Pan agreed these pieces were beautiful. Most of her undergarments were plain, good quality, but simple just like her outerwear. In truth, she had never even shopped for undergarments. They were merely added into her order, almost as an afterthought, when dress shopping. Of course, she knew that if she were to marry, some pieces of her trousseau would include more decadent pieces, but they were not shopping for their trousseaus. Were they?