“No, no, most assuredly not. We are delighted you can join us.” Mister Alverez nodded his dark head streaked with gray. “Where is that lazy waiter?”
Some might consider his swarthy, square face handsome. With deep lines on his forehead and around his eyes, Bettina guessed him to be in his early fifties.
“How did you two meet?” she asked.
“At a party, was it not? Did you know your lovely mother was living under an assumed name here at first...what was it, nearly three years in our colony? Yes, a common Mrs. Moreno she called herself.”
“Alfredo, please...” Volet seemed to shrink in her chair like a wilted flower, her red velvet cap with white feather drooping.
“When I met her I thought she was a Spanish lady, until she admitted the truth.” His laugh was as brash as his accent. “I told her not to be ashamed of her past. She was an aristocrat, be proud. French, yes, but an aristocrat just the same. I’m jesting with you, querida.” Alverez patted Volet’s hand.
“I thought I would be safer, after what was happening in France. It was my mother’s maiden name.” Volet’s voice came out breathy. “Still, you were right, Alfredo.”
“Aren’t I always?” He flashed large yellow teeth.
“I wondered if you were using the family name when I first searched for you. So many used assumed names in Europe. After reading the local newspaper, I see it doesn’t appear to be necessary here,” Bettina said.
“Precisely my advice. Though we keep a sharp eye on anyone trying to foment your revolution here. You said you found your mother through Madame Ray? She’s such a vicious gossip, everyone should stay away from her.” Alverez smacked the table to get the waiter’s attention and Bettina flinched. He then barked an order for oysters, hot peppers, shrimp, buttered squash and Spanish wine. “I take the liberty of selecting the food, since you are new to our region.” He inclined his head in practiced deference to Bettina.
“How thoughtful of you,” Bettina said through stiffening lips.
Her mother sat silent like a dazed child.
Frederick stood. “If you’ll excuse me, I’ll walk down the street until the food arrives.”
“Do not go far, please.” Bettina watched him traipse off. He was no doubt thrilled to be out in the city. He walked toward a tavern where loud music blared out the door.
“Isn’t this weather atrocious? If I didn’t have work to do, I’d find a country home during the summer. The Creoles love their cooler plantations.” Alverez pulled out a box of snuff and snorted a pinch up each nostril, then coughed.
“It does take getting used to. I hope the autumn is milder.” Bettina spread a napkin on her lap and glanced across the table. “Mister Alverez, in what capacity do you work for the governor?”
“Ahhh, I feel we are merely jailers here, keeping peace and order. We Spanish must rule the Creoles with a heavy hand.” Alverez waved his hand in the air, almost slapping the waiter who brought their wine. “They are not as refined as we. They have plebeian tastes, as well as manners—but what do you expect from colonial peasants? This place is also a cesspool of disease, malaria, yellow fever. We suffered a huge outbreak of fever this year.”
The waiter uncorked and poured red wine into three glasses.
“Are you saying the Spanish make no attempt to integrate with the local population?” Bettina sipped the rich wine, trying to relax. “Does that not make it awkward for you?”
“These people are cretins. You cannot lower yourself to their level. When we took possession of this colony it ran rampant with sin...brothels...gambling dens. It was a major struggle to tame these Creoles.”
Another waiter arrived and set platters on the table. Slithery oysters in open shells, pink shrimp and peppers covered with red spices and yellow squash swimming in butter.
Bettina turned and craned her neck to see where Frederick had gone. He stood in front of the tavern across the street, staring in the window. Loud men strode in and out the place’s door. She waved the boy over to the table.
“Do you realize that France spent many years dumping their undesirables into this colony?” Alverez asked, his stern dark eyes on Bettina. “These people are descendants of criminals.”
Frederick hurried up. “I heard no one wanted to settle here.” He plopped into his chair. He picked up his fork and stirred the strange food around on his plate. “They heard of the fevers and soggy land. There are pirates close by, too.”
“Many countries dump their criminals like that. Look at England with the former colonies of Maryland, Virginia and Georgia.” Bettina’s teeth on edge she stabbed a shrimp with her fork.
“Can we talk of something pleasant?” Her mother cast down her eyes.
Alverez threw back his head and guffawed. “Volet, querida, you have a very intelligent daughter...perhaps too intelligent. We’ll have to marry her off to one of my officers, tame her down a bit.”
“I will handle my own life, merci.” Bettina cringed inside but kept her tone even. She bit into the pliant pink shrimp, the spices tickling her nose. “I’m looking into running a shop of some type.”
“A shop—no, no—a woman of breeding should never stoop so low.” He said this as if she’d planned to stab someone. “A remarriage is what you need.”
“I do not need that at all.” Bettina’s jaw ached from clenching it. “A shop is perfectly respectable.”
A group of dark-skinned men walked by, one carrying and playing a fiddle.
“This city is overrun with Negroes,” Alverez said. “There are so many slaves here. First it was for the tobacco and indigo. The indigo crop was eaten by caterpillars and other insects. Tobacco is not so important anymore to Spain. Now we grow cotton and since last year, sugar cane. Unfortunately, slaves are needed for this strenuous work. They are an unsettled group, and we even allow them to dance on Sundays in the square.”
“I’d like to see those dances.” Frederick wriggled his shoulders and tasted a shrimp.
“You may, young man. An amusing entertainment.” Alverez took a gulp of his wine, then swiped his sleeve under his mustache. “Now you two lovely ladies should not worry your delicate little heads over such problems.”
“Women should be concerned about important events. Perhaps the slaves are restless because they resent being slaves?” Bettina thought of Oleba and for the first time pitied these people dragged from their homes and forced into labor.
“There are many free people of color here. Slaves sometimes buy their freedom. Coming from Africa, they enjoy this weather more than we do.” Alverez laughed. “I won’t bore you ladies with any more details, our food will get cold.” He shoveled an oyster into his mouth as Bettina stared in disbelief over his arrogance.
She took a bite of rice to quiet the spicy food that sat uneasily in her stomach.
Escorting them back to the Bonne Maison after dusk, Alverez regaled Bettina with details of a social gaffe he had witnessed at the Governor’s recent ball. This was perpetrated by a gauche Creole who dared to imagine himself one of the better classes.
“Well, dear, what did you think of him?” Volet asked after he gave her a paternal peck on the cheek and left them in front of the mansion.
Frederick shuffled off away from them and stood beneath a street lamp. Insects buzzed and fluttered through the light shaft.
Bettina expelled her breath, she had to be honest. “Are you happy with the way he…acts?”
“He is outspoken, and has strong opinions.” Volet averted her gaze. “Does that bother you?”
“In England many people looked down on me because I was a foreigner. Mister Alverez condemns all these people he helps to govern because they are not Spanish, therefore not equal.”
“Bettina, that is absurd.” Her mother fanned herself, mouth pursed.
“I read that the Creol
es are the higher class here, and he ridicules them.” She shook her head. “And he is condescending toward women...marry me off...delicate little heads.”
“You have made up your mind not to like him, haven’t you?” Volet stared at her with wounded eyes. “I thought I’d raised you better than that.”
“I am sorry, Maman, it is how I feel. He is very arrogant.”
“Mais non, you do not even give him a chance.” Volet’s voice thickened. In the shadows she looked so young, vulnerable. “He will give me a good life.”
“You’re not in love with him. He treats you like a child.” Bettina said it softly, seeing her mother’s distress. “You could make your own life. Find a job and support yourself.”
“Do not be ridiculous.” Volet glared, chin raised. “I am not a common laborer.”
“Maman, I survived by my own efforts in England. I intend to do that now.” Bettina stepped close, her hand on her mother’s arm. “We might find something—”
“Not everyone is made to work.” Volet pulled apart from her. “I’ve always had servants, money to spend. You must judge me fairly.”
“What is fair, Maman? Life is not fair. Is it fair for my children to have no father? Is it fair for me to lose the only man I will ever love? Nothing is fair.” Bettina’s vehement words surprised her. She’d held her anger in too long. “I am sorry.”
“You’re only prejudiced against Alfredo because you loved your father.” Volet sniffed, jerking a handkerchief from her reticule. “He’s gone and is never coming back. You should realize the same about your husband and consider one of the local officers, as Alfredo said.”
Bettina winced, verbally slapped, punctured in her most sensitive area. “I cannot.”
“Then I must say good night.” Volet whirled and entered the mansion, slamming the door behind her.
Bettina sagged against the stucco wall. How could her sweet mother even consider marrying such a man? She sighed and stepped into the light toward Frederick. Tugging at his arm, she urged him through the night, slapping aside mosquitoes.
“Are you all right?” Frederick easily kept pace with her. “You fought with your mother. I didn’t like that man either.”
“We will make amends later.” She squeezed his arm.
At the inn, Bettina frowned at the cramped, disordered room. She pushed back her moist hair. Her heart still hammered from her confrontation. “Oleba, it is time we find permanent quarters. These past days I have looked everywhere. The city is too expensive to live in, and I found no business to buy into, as a lone woman.” She lowered her voice aware of her sleeping children. “Everyone asks where my husband is. Ma foi.”
She sunk onto the narrow sofa strewn with dirty clothes. At the other end, Oleba scrubbed garments in a bucket filled with discolored water. The chamber smelled of mildew.
“Let’s find a boat and live on it. People do that here.” Frederick tossed his hat onto a chair, plucked his dripping breeches from the bucket and wrung them out. He hung the garment over the four poster bed to dry. “I wish I played an instrument, I’d work in one of the taverns.”
“Shush now. You need to go back to school, to prepare for college as your uncle wanted.” Bettina hoped he wouldn’t argue as in England, when he desired to be a soldier and fight in the war.
The boy grimaced and pulled off his shirt. His lean form glistened in the candle light.
“What about the woman you met on the ship? Mrs. Beaumont.” Oleba wrung out a petticoat then brushed her arm over her damp forehead.
“I have thought of her. Tomorrow we will catch the ferry across the river. She may have ideas for us.”
Bettina removed the scarf tucked in her low cut bodice, wiped it across her sweaty chest, and sighed.
She quelled her self-pity and upset with her mother as she gazed upon the people who depended on her. Her precious children. “Do not worry, mes petits, we will figure out something,” she whispered to tamp down her own fears.
Chapter Four
The morning light shimmered on the river, but the bright sun promised more heat. Bettina held fast to Christian’s hand and walked her family down to the wharves below the Vieux Carre, where their ship had landed them days before. They boarded a ferry across the vast flow of the Mississippi River.
Frederick hung over the ferry’s side, fascinated by the river and her many boats. Oleba hugged Genevre close. Bettina rocked with the vessel, trying to forget the quarrel with her mother.
Mahieu rose up on the opposite bank. Their party disembarked across another levee and walked through weeping willows to a clean, attractive village. The streets were lined with one and two-storied stucco and plaster buildings. These white, yellow and peach structures sat like blossoming flowers amidst fragrant magnolia trees and hemlocks. An unpretentious white plaster church faced a large grassy square. A line of quaint shops fronted the river road.
“This is a charming place,” Bettina said. She and Christian led the trek past the shops. They peeked in the window of a milliner and an apothecary. At a print shop, the New Orleans paper, La Moniteur de la Louisiane, displayed on a rack out front touted the date of August 21, 1796.
Her heart sank. In four days her mother would marry Mister Alverez. She deeply regretted falling out with her. The ineffectual woman she’d become, wasn’t the mother Bettina remembered. She hurried past the shop, determined to find a way to reconcile with her later.
At the end of the street sat Charlotte’s shop, Beaumont’s Pastries, next to a green, marshy field intersected by a creek. Entering the shop to a tinkling bell, they stood in a cramped waiting area with a counter along the back wall. Beneath the counter a glass case displayed various delectable looking pastries, Pain au Chocolat, Profiterole and Éclairs. The fragrances made Bettina’s mouth water.
The door behind the counter opened and Charlotte emerged. “Bettina, how nice to see you. Did you locate your mother? Hello children, Oleba.” A sheen of perspiration on her face, Charlotte leaned her elbows on the countertop.
“I’ll take the children out to the grass, to let them play.” Oleba tapped Frederick’s shoulder and hustled her charges back through the door. Frederick grimaced and followed, mumbling his displeasure at being included among the children.
“I did track down my mother, merci.” Bettina’s throat tightened for a moment. “However, Charlotte, I came to ask your advice, if you have any ideas. I cannot afford to live in New Orleans. We desperately need a place of our own. Frederick should be back in school. I do not see any business opportunities there either. I do like this town. You are right, it is very appealing.”
“It’s cheaper to live in, too. Let me think.” Charlotte ambled from behind the counter and they stood at the window gazing out to where the children romped. “I must first warn you, your girl has to wear a tignon over her hair. It’s the law.”
“A kerchief? Why is that?”
“Oleba is a Negro, and they’re forbidden to wear a fancy headdress, so a scarf is mandatory to show their lower status.” She said it so matter-of-fact.
“That is terrible, a lower status.” Bettina frowned. She watched the graceful woman outside, her bright smile and gentleness with Christian and Genevre. She filled with more sadness as she recalled Mister Alverez’s dismissive talk of Negroes and slaves.
“Here in Louisiana we have a special law called the Code Noir. That stipulation is in the code.” Charlotte swiped a dead fly from the window sill.
“A very unfair law. I would have asked Oleba to stay in England if I’d thought she might be treated badly here.” Bettina’s shoulders drooped. Had she dragged all her family to Louisiana for no purpose?
“If she follows the rules, she’ll be fine.” Charlotte stared again out the window. “Oh, how forgetful of me.” She tapped the glass. “Do you see over there, those little houses?”
“I am, yes. Can you show it to me?”
“I’ll fetch the key from Monsieur Corbett. Won’t be a minute...meet me at the bridge.”
Over the bridge and walking up three steps, Bettina followed Charlotte across a tiny front porch as a lizard scurried near their toes. They entered the cottage and a musty smell wafted out. The first room was a kitchen with a little parlor after that. There were two bedrooms divided by a narrow hallway off the parlor.
“There’s an enclosed back porch down that hall. You can use it as another bedroom,” Charlotte said. “All this furniture isn’t much, but it comes with the place.”
Bettina looked around the small dwelling, badly in need of care and paint. How far she’d fallen from elegant palaces, yet here she’d make this place her little haven. “I will take it, yes.”
* * * *
Dipping a rag into vinegar and water two days later, Bettina scrubbed the dirt and mildew on the cottage window sills. The spicy vinegar made it smell fresher already. She thought of her first days at Maddie’s inn, cleaning rooms and fretting about her lost wealth and position. Bettina had met Maddie’s sister, the feisty Kerra, outside Bath. After discovering the man she was sent to, Bernard Little, no longer resided there, she’d traveled out to Cornwall with Kerra seeking employment. In the little Cornish village she’d met the local squire, Everett Camborne.
Bettina wiped the window glass in quick strokes, pushing down the familiar ache. Her Everett, a man unfairly rumored to have murdered his feckless wife. Miriam had run off to London with Frederick’s father who’d probably killed her, though they could never prove it.
Without Refuge Page 4