by AJ Sikes
Or I can decide all by my lonesome.
“I’ll have us to the house in ten minutes, Miss Lisette,” Emma said, taking the pilot’s seat and radioing the gearboxes to cut them loose.
“Oh, there ain’t no rush, Miss Emma. Sure enough, these girls don’t need to be getting to that house any earlier than they have to.”
The woman’s voice quivered as she spoke and Emma felt certain it was from more than a newcomer’s anxiety. She let it slide, though.
Working the ballast, Emma got them into the air and away over the French Quarter rooftops. The chaperone had met her at the mooring deck down from her and Eddie’s house, another change to the way things usually worked on this gig. Thinking about it now, Emma decided to risk a little conversation. Maybe this chaperone would be up for sharing some details beforehand. Anything that might help Emma prove what she felt sure to be true about the gala houses.
“Say, Miss Lisette?”
“Yes, Miss Emma. What do you need?” the woman asked, standing from where she’d been leaning against Brand’s desk.
“Need? Oh, nothing. But I wondered if you could tell me something about the gala house.”
“Oh sure thing, Miss Emma. Sure thing. Anything at all, you just ask.”
That settled it. Emma knew a sap when she saw one, and this girl was all sap and nothing but. Instead of asking for information, Emma went straight for the throat.
“What’s with the rabbit act, sister?”
Emma had hoped that would be the pin that held the floodgates closed, but it turned out to be a stopper in the bottle instead.
“Rabbit—? Now, Miss Emma, I don’t know what you mean by asking me that.” The woman’s voice changed; it dropped lower and picked up some heat on the way down. “Why don’t you just keep your eyes on your flying and leave me and these girls be.”
“Okay,” Emma said, smiling to herself at how the woman’s choice of words revealed her anxiety. A little more prodding and Emma would have exactly what she needed to prove to Eddie they were in a dirty business.
“We’ll be at the house soon, so you should probably get your girls ready. Don’t you think, Lisette?”
That last bit didn’t register with the chaperone. Lisette Durand did exactly as Emma suggested, directing the girls to gather themselves up and get ready to step nice “for the guests.”
Emma knew for sure she’d found the back door she’d been hoping for. As soon as they were alone, for the return trip, she’d get some questions answered.
~•~
The girls stepped down the gangway, slow and frightened like usual. A pair of toughs in fine suits met them at the bottom and led them into the gala house beside the mooring deck. Lisette stayed on the deck, watching the girls enter the house. This was the fanciest arrangement yet, and part of Emma wished she could join in the fun. Hear the tinkle of ice in her glass. Feel the warmth of a fireplace and the click of her heels on the floor.
The better part of her wanted to take the girls and fly away somewhere. But where would they go? Even if she did get away clean, she could only hide out for a day at most.
The Vigilance wasn’t the only airship in New Orleans, but Bacchus had a way of knowing where she was. And she’d already seen what the krewe boss did to employees who failed to satisfy his demands. Emma shuddered thinking about what Bacchus might do to someone who straight out acted against him.
Lisette stepped back up the gangway after the last girl had gone inside, and now the chaperone stood at the cabin door, one foot still on the gangway.
“You going to stand there all night or should we get on with it?”
“Yes’m, Miss Emma. You right. Let’s get on,” the young woman said. Lisette stepped into the cabin and worked the door closed. She took halting steps to Brand’s desk and fell into the chair with her face in her hands.
Emma got them airborne in silence, but as soon as they were at elevation, she started in on Lisette.
“So you gonna spill now the girls are out of earshot? What’s with you? You’re not like the other chaperones.”
Lisette sniffed from where she sat behind Emma. Then the girl spilled her guts in between sobs and hollers of sorrow.
“My baby girl,” Lisette said, sniffling and coughing sad. “My little Juliette gonna get auctioned off with the rest of ‘em and ain’t nothin’ I can do to save her.”
A wrinkle of hatred creased Emma’s brow as Lisette’s words hit home. “Auction?”
Lisette sniffed and coughed some more and went silent. Emma looked back and saw the chaperone staring out the cabin windows, eyes dripping tears down her cheeks and her jaw trembling.
“That’s right, Miss Emma. Mr. Bacchus runnin’ his debutante auction a few days from now. Them girls, and my Juliette’s one of ‘em, they all gettin’ sold off for that New York money.”
Emma’s head spun every way at once and snapped back into place just as fast. That man she’d seen on the street that first night out with Eddie. The way the girls looked scared and almost sallow, like they’d be sick any second.
“They’re going to be sold? Like cattle?”
Lisette hummed a reply.
“How long has this been going on?” Emma asked.
“The auction? Only jus’ started up really. But Mr. Bacchus been trading girls left and right in this town long as I can remember.”
“How’d you get mixed up in it? Your daughter. How’d Bacchus get her from you?”
“He didn’ have much trouble. When a baby come out, whoever catch her pretty much say where she gon’ go. Mother can try to snatch her back, but after you done pushin’ and cryin’ and gruntin’ like it’s about to be your last breath . . . Fight goes outta you quick as can be. Mr. Bacchus had the nurse take my baby girl outta the room. Her twin brother, too. Then Mr. Bacchus, he told me how it’d be.”
“Why?” Emma asked. It felt so inadequate, so small a question, and it was still the only thing Emma could find the strength to say.
“Man named Otis,” Lisette said and gave a short laugh. “Man. He just a boy when I knew him. He went up Chicago City way. Said he’d make some money and then come and get me and the child I was goin’ be havin’ by him. Course, he didn’ know was two of ‘em I’d be havin’.”
Lisette’s face went cloudier still but brightened just a touch, so that Emma figured she’d best hold on to her questions and let the woman tell her tale. The chaperone didn’t disappoint.
“Otis, he like to playin’ a horn. Trumpet. First time I saw him he just sittin’ on his stoop playin’ that horn. When you that young, a man playin’ music look like every star in the sky.
“He got me with a child, and then he went up that river while I had my baby. Like I say, I had not just one, but two. I supposed to end up like them girls we just put in that house, goin’ off to Mr. Bacchus’ debutante card games, but a few months before I turned sixteen, me and Otis celebrated, and soon enough the house mother talkin’ to Mr. Bacchus about my ‘condition.’
“Pregnant girl can’t be auctioned off for no kinda money. Them New York men come looking for girls ain’t know what it means to lay with a man yet. Mr. Bacchus, he keep me around, though, say I’ll pay my way back into his good graces.”
“What about your kids?” Emma finally asked, dividing her attention between flying and keeping hold of every word that came out of Lisette’s mouth.
“I had my twins. Julien and Juliette. My sweet baby girl, Juliette. Raised them both up with help from Mr. B, and he say I just have to work the Sun hall to pay him back. Well I been doin’ that job near sixteen years now, and I’m thinkin’ I paid my dues to Mr. Bacchus and his krewe. So I went in and ask him last night if we was fair and square.”
Emma didn’t miss the bit about the ‘Sun hall,’ but she couldn’t let her own worries intrude on the moment. Lisette had the scoop and then some, and Emma wasn’t about to let the story get away from her now. “What’d Bacchus say? Last night, when you asked him.”
&nb
sp; “He said sure enough we was fair and square. Said I could even ‘move up in his employ.’ Gave me the chaperone job starting tonight. And then I see why he did it. My little girl’s standing there with the others, all waitin’ on me to take ‘em to the gala house for the show and tell.”
“How’s that?” Emma asked. “What do you mean ‘show and tell’?”
“How they do it. Show the men what they biddin’ for. Man not gon’ pay up his money he don’ know what he gettin’ in return. I thought you knew that, though, Miss Emma. You been flyin’ these girls all round New Orleans, ain’t you?”
“Yeah, but nobody told me why,” Emma said, feeling the pain of Eddie’s lies like a gunshot to her heart.
“Just how they do things here, Lovebird. Girls go out with daddies and uncles. Brothers, too.”
“Well, now you know,” Lisette said. “I suppose I should say thank you, as you seem nice enough and don’ give the girls no hassle. I can’ expect you been treated too well by them other chaperones, and I’m sorry for that, Miss Emma.”
Lisette went back to sobbing and Emma kept her eyes on the night through the windscreen.
“Sixteen years!” Lisette shouted, startling Emma. “That man been holdin’ his cards close. Sixteen years and Mr. B didn’t never say nothin’ about takin’ my baby girl from me. Sonofabitch ain’t lost nothin’ wasn’t his to lose anyway, and he damn sure ain’t gettin’ nothin’ more from me now he killed my Otis.”
“Bacchus didn’t shoot Otis,” Emma said. “It was his man Hardy. The guy who runs his mooring deck out in Metairie.”
“How you know this?” Lisette asked. Emma heard the woman stand from Brand’s desk and come a few steps up behind her.
“I was there when Hardy did it,” Emma said, keeping her eyes on the night in front of them. “Otis came with me and . . . my man. We were flying down from Chicago City. Otis was picked up by a copper named Wynes.” Emma snarled the man’s name and went on to tell Lisette about the lynching and how she’d killed Wynes and helped Otis and Eddie escape along with the Conroys.
As she brought the Vigilance in over the neighborhood deck, Emma hoped she’d have no cause to ever share stories about the other things she’d seen that night in Chicago City. And part of her knew that hope was about as misplaced as a white girl flying an airship in New Orleans.
“You wantin’ to be helpin’ somebody else escape now,” Lisette said and came to stand by Emma’s side. “I can see it in you, Miss Emma. Way you look out that window. Sure as I’m standin’ in this airship, you want to fly away your own self. Somewhere. Anywhere but New Orleans. I’m right, too. Tell me I’m not.”
“You’re right,” Emma said. “But that won’t change anything. I’ll fly away and you’ll still be here. Your kids’ll still be here.”
“Not if you help us get free we won’t.”
Emma let the words sink in for half a breath before she nodded. “Okay,” she said, turning to look Lisette in the eye. “But we can’t just take your little girl and leave the others. We’ve got to get them all out, and put Bacchus down if we can.”
Lisette’s eyes went round with fear, but she kept her voice steady. “I don’ know about killin’ Mr. B, but we gon’ get them girls free.”
“Damn right we are,” Emma said, going back to looking out the windscreen at the night ahead. “You know, Lisette, I think I might need your help with something else.”
“With what?”
Emma heard the words in her mind and she saw the scene laid out a film reel. Eddie getting into the van. The other jazz boys laughing and slapping him on the back. The things she’d heard them say about “biddin’” and “seein’ what’s on the block.”
“What you need my help with, Miss Emma?” Lisette asked again, breaking into Emma’s thoughts.
She paused before she answered, took a deep breath, then replied, “Sniffing out a rat.”
Chapter 30
It took Aiden two lifts to get up the steps and a third to set the mop bucket on the splintered boards of his new cart.
New.
Aiden sniffed and tugged the bucket closer to the middle of the cart so it wouldn’t spill over the side. His old cart, it’d had a strap to keep the bucket steady. But this one . . .
When he’d gone into Mama Shandy’s place, she had a look on her face that told him it was a bad day to be asking for anything, let alone a new clean-up cart. Like the mess outside the house hadn’t already told him enough.
“What you want, Dove?” she’d asked, with her eyes glued to the wall above Aiden’s head. He’d told her about losing his cart and held out the can he kept his money in. He’d put it on her desk and she had snatched it before his fingers left the rim of the can.
Without even counting it, she’d told him it wasn’t enough for a new cart. She’d then shooed him out with her fingertips, still staring up at the wall above the door, her face shaking and eyes red-rimmed with anger and fear. Aiden had caught a glimpse of the wall as he left. Something dark, like paint, was smeared there, and the shape of a bird. Feathers scattered around it.
And blood. Aiden had smelled it as he left.
A tough outside Mama Shandy’s office had taken him by the scruff and pushed him down the stairs. Aiden had kept his feet, but he had still skidded down a few steps and nearly turned his ankle. The tough bird then opened a closet under the stairs and had pulled out this pile of splinters and old twine on four beat-up, old rubber wheels. He’d shoved it across the floor at Aiden, telling him he’d best get to work.
Mama Shandy’s voice had come down from above him and Aiden had looked up the stairs to see her tear-stained cheeks and wild, crazy eyes glaring at him.
“Damn dove be workin’ a year ‘fore he pay off a new cart. Well, that Bonvivant bitch can take it outta his ass. She gettin’ nothin’ else from me!”
Mama Shandy’s words echoed around Aiden’s head now. He pushed the cart into the new gala house where he had been told he’d be working. He was careful not to hit the door jamb or the newel post just inside the entry. A hall led into the back, where Aiden could see the kitchen. Doors led off left and right to parlors and other rooms he’d have to clean up, but he couldn’t tell what he was supposed to clean. Aiden breathed in the smell of fresh plaster and paint, and he stared at the gleaming brass fittings and polished wood.
“Hey, boy!”
Aiden looked up the stairs and met the gaze of his new employer, the house mother he’d been sold to, or who’d stolen him like he was something to steal.
Mama Sophie Bonvivant. She stood in the glow of an electric bulb set in a wall sconce at the top of the stairs. Her blond hair lit up like a halo, but the heated look on her pale face said trouble was on the menu.
But he’d just got here, and early. What kind of trouble could he be in?
“Y-yes’m,” he said, dropping his eyes to the toes of her shoes.
“Up here,” she said, coming down the stairs as she spoke. “And leave the damn bucket where it is. I’ve got a room full of mess upstairs. First one on the right. You’ll just need a broom and dustpan.”
With her last words she came to the bottom landing. Mama Sophie was about Aiden’s height, maybe a little taller. But she carried herself like she was ten feet tall. Her hands framed her hips and her blazing blue eyes added a weight to her slight frame. Aiden knew that she wouldn’t think twice before knocking him silly with the back of her hand.
“Yes’m,” he replied, standing still and holding his hands in plain sight on the cart handle, like he’d learned to do.
“You all right, boy?”
Aiden didn’t much care for the way she called him, but he had to admit it was better than dove.
“Yes’m. I’m fine, ma’am.”
“The way you’re standing there like you don’t have work to do, I thought you might be getting the vapors. You aren’t, are you?”
“No, ma’am,” Aiden said, moving his head side to side nice and slow.
“
Well that’s good, then. Go on and do your job. Money’ll be in the can outside when you’re done.”
“Yes’m,” Aiden said, still not moving because he’d have to go around Mama Sophie to reach the stairs, and he knew as well as any houseboy never to set foot in the path of a house mother or her staff, or pretty much anyone he met in the gala houses.
“Well go on then, boy,” she said, stepping to the side.
“Yes, Mama Sophie,” Aiden said as he waited for her to leave.
She stopped with her hand on the knob and gave him a look up and down. He could feel her eyes burning into his cheek. “They tell you to call me that when they sent you over from Shandy’s pit? Huh, boy? They tell you to call me Mama?” She took her hand off the doorknob and came to stand inches away from Aiden. He could smell a hint of gin on her breath as she hollered into his ear.
“Maybe they told you to call me Mama because they thought it’d be funny. Well listen up, boy, and listen up right. You see a white woman in front of you, you don’t call her your Mama. You call her Mother. Is that clear, boy?”
“Yes’m,” Aiden said, shaking and waiting for the hand that he knew would come up any second and sweep across his face like a storm.
But she didn’t hit him. Ma—Mother Sophie Bonvivant stepped back and put her hand on the knob, turning it. Then she clicked her tongue and muttered something about “soiled doves” before going out the front door.
When she had gone, Aiden lifted the dustpan off his cart. Taking the old broom from its clasp he breathed deep and let it out as he made his way upstairs.
The single electric light cast a glimmer around the door to his right. Three more doors stood across the hall, all closed. Nothing but silence came back to him as he listened to the house. The washroom was to his right, just beyond the room he would be cleaning. Past that was another closed door. The far wall was all windows and looked out to the yard behind the house.