Her eyes danced with amusement. "No. Minette is too old for you. Still, you might learn something from an older, more experienced woman."
Judah raised his brow in mock horror. "You are shameless, Mother."
Her laughter was light, almost girlish. "No, my son—I am French. I had almost forgotten that. You are half-French you know."
Judah's eyes followed his mother's as she glanced lovingly down Royal Street. "I can see why you love New Orleans, Mother. It is unique among cities."
"I am glad you discovered that. I cannot explain how happy I am to be home at last. According to my father's letter, we are to spend only three nights here. That being the case, someone will call for us and escort us to Bend of the River Plantation tomorrow. Just wait until you see the place. You cannot help but be impressed."
Judah noticed the flush of excitement on his mother's face. She was happier than he had seen her in a long time. He was glad he had consented to bring her for returning brought her much joy. He only hoped her happiness did not fade when they reached their destination tomorrow.
Judah stared angrily at the mass of people on the docks. They were waiting to be transported upriver. He and his mother had been waiting in New Orleans for over a week with no word from his grandfather. Judah might have considered returning to Boston with his mother had it not been for the fact that the Winged Victory had already sailed.
In light of that, he had decided to take matters into his own hands. He had acquired space on a keelboat that would take them to Bend of the River. It angered him further that his mother would be forced to ride on public transportation, with livestock and farm implements.
Helping his mother on board, he steadied her while the boat pitched slightly. Gabrielle raised her lace handkerchief to her nose, then turned her face to the wind, hoping to escape the offensive odor of the goats, swine, and cattle packed aboard. Lumber was piled on both sides of the flatboat, and the crew of four seemed in no way concerned with the comfort of their passengers.
Judah stood with his legs widespread, a gleam of unleashed anger in the depths of his turquoise eyes. Soon he would face the man who had caused his mother so much grief. He ached to tell Montesquieu what he thought of him, and couldn't wait to warn his grandfather never to hurt his mother again. He glanced at Gabrielle, and saw the softness in her eyes as she watched New Orleans fade into the distance.
"Everything is so much larger than it was when I was a girl, Judah," Gabrielle observed wistfully, lapsing easily into her native French. "When I left, the languages spoken on the streets were Spanish and French. Now it seems English is more widely used."
"I believe you said Orleans Territory at one time belonged to Spain."
"Yes. That is why there is such a heavy Spanish influence in the architecture. The iron latticework you saw on the balconies can be attributed to the Spanish. Minette says that the Spanish and French population are not all pleased with the American takeover."
"I am an American," Judah reminded her.
His mother smiled sweetly and patted his hand. "So you are, and so am I. I would not have it any other way. But you will have to realize that the aristocracy, looks on "the American" with only slightly less horror than they look on leprosy. See the dwellings on the opposite side of the river? That is where the English-speaking people elected to live, since they were snubbed by the French. Minette says the Creoles feel that the Americans were forced down their throats."
"I can see where they might feel that way. I do not suppose they had a choice in the matter."
"Minette says the Americans found it much more to their liking to live outside the Vieux Carre'. They just did not fit in."
His smile took the sting out of his words. "Can it be that my mother is becoming a snob?"
Judah looked into her eyes and read confusion there. "I do not think I am prejudiced, Judah. At least I hope not."
"Put your mind at rest. How can you be prejudiced when your only son is one of those 'horrible Americans'?" His eyes danced merrily. "Of course, you could always pass me off as someone else's son."
Gabrielle became silent, and Judah knew she was thinking about her father. "Why do you suppose he did not send someone to escort us to Bend of the River as he promised in his letter?"
Judah frowned. It was his belief that his grandfather was merely asserting his authority, letting them know he was still in command. This was just another insult his mother was forced to endure. He wanted to erase the hurt he saw in her eyes, so he changed the subject. "Tell me what it was like when you were a girl," he said, waving his hand toward the shore.
She was thoughtful for a moment, as if she knew what he was trying to do. "It was a glorious time that knew no equal. There were frivolous, joyous parties. The masquerade ball was the most anticipated of all. Each year it was held at a different plantation. We would use any excuse to have a party. The French Revolution was at its height, and many aristocrats found their way to our shores after escaping the flashing blade of 'Madame Guillotine.' It was a gallant age of chivalry, with a stiff code of honor, and many duels were fought over a young lady's favor. A man's honor was sacred, and he stood ready to defend it with his life. There was a saying, in New Orleans, that sums up that period perfectly. 'Rapiers for two, coffee for one.' That was the way of life when I was a girl."
"I remember you saying that the entertainment was lavish at Bend of the River," Judah declared, noticing the excited blush on his mother's cheeks.
"Oui. At my father's plantation, hospitality was offered to all of gentle breeding. Often as many as fifty guests would descend on us, and we would entertain them in a lavish style for a week. That was a time of much laughter and gaiety. Before my mother died, she made sure that no food was served twice during those visits."
"Were you not sorry to give it all up when you married my father?"
Gabrielle's eyes saddened once more. "No, I never regretted marrying your father—not ever. As I tried to explain to you many times, my father was a proud man — I knew he would think I married beneath my station —and he was a hard man, Judah. If he has ever admitted to making a mistake, I have never heard him. Try to be patient with him, for he is now old. I suspect he wants to make amends."
Judah doubted it. There had been no evidence of such an intention since their arrival in New Orleans. His temper had not cooled, and he was still not looking forward to meeting his grandfather. "What of your father's brother? You rarely speak of him."
"Andre was twelve years younger than my father. He was a disappointment to his family in many ways. He was always dueling and drinking, never accepting responsibility. However, he married well according to my father's standards, so he was never in disgrace as I have been. When my uncle was killed in a duel, my father took Sebastian and his mother, Alicia, into his home. Minette told me that my father pinned all his hopes and dreams on Sebastian. She says that father has lately become disillusioned by him as well. I believe this is another reason why he has sent for you. He wants to see if you will live up to his expectations."
Judah clamped his lips tightly together. There would be no danger of his being accepted by his grandfather. Not after he stood eye to eye with the old tyrant and let him know how much he disliked him.
Both Judah and his mother lapsed into silence as they watched the keelboat move up the winding Mississippi River. The sounds of the street vendors hawking their wares faded in the distance as New Orleans was left behind and they moved slowly upstream. The earth-colored water flowed in an indecisive manner, past green farmlands and narrow forks half-covered with dense undergrowth amid the lazy bayous. Atop softly rolling hills, grand plantation houses stood as graceful reminders of a genteel lifestyle.
Against his will, Judah was drawn to the beauty and graciousness of the hillside mansions that lined the waterway. The Mississippi valley, with its fertile valleys and rich farmlands, seemed to beckon to him. The beauty of the green meadows was timeless. The melodious sounds of the mimicking mockingbird tri
lled through the morning air.
"I am home," Gabrielle murmured. "Like the prodigal son I have returned."
Before Judah could reply, his mother's eyes sparkled with warmth. "Look, just around that next turn is Bend of the River Plantation!" Her voice rose with excitement as the flatboat maneuvered the curve.
When the boat passed a wide glade of trees choked with underbrush, it pulled within sight of the huge manor house. Nothing Judah had been told by his mother prepared him for the magnificent sight that met his eyes. The stately mansion was located on a distant cliff overlooking the Mississippi. Built in 1725, it was a testament to the finest French architecture. Unlike many of the other plantations that had been built along the Mississippi, the house was set half a mile from the river. Twenty acres of manicured lawns, pasture, and woodland surrounded the great house, and the roof of the red brick structure was graced by twelve chimneys. It was a three-story dwelling that boasted fifty-nine rooms.
Indeed, the mansion seemed to dwarf everything around it —even the tall stately magnolia trees that lined the drive leading to the front door. Iron latticework ran the length of the veranda as well as the second-story balcony.
As the keelboat pulled in at the wooden pier that jutted out into the water, the captain tossed a rope to a young boy, who jumped ashore to secure it to a post. There were several slaves standing on the dock. One, a tall man with stooped shoulders, white hair, and wide-set black eyes, seemed to be in charge, and ordered the others to unload the supplies. He watched closely when Judah and his mother disembarked, noting from their mode of dress that they were obviously of great import.
He looked at Judah for direction. "I was not told to expect visitors, M'sieu, or I would not have brought the mule-drawn wagon. Would you be so kind as to wait until I can send back to the house for the buggy?"
Judah noticed that the man spoke a broken kind of French that lent a certain charm and elegance to his speech. Before he could reply, however, Gabrielle stepped forward and startled the old man when she placed her hand on his arm. "Do you not know me, Biff?"
The man stepped back a pace, his dark eyes moving over her face. Suddenly there was recognition in his eyes, and a smile lit his face. "Mon dieu!" he cried, shaking his head, his eyes bright with genuine joy. "Can it be Ma’dame Gabrielle? I thought these tired old eyes would never behold your pretty face again."
"I am home, Biff. At least for a while. Were you not told that I was coming?"
"No, but I am glad to see you all the same." The old man raised his voice and yelled down the dock. "Make quick and bring the buggy down, Ma'dame Gabrielle's come home!"
When the buggy pulled up at the front of the house, Biff jumped down to assist Gabrielle to the ground. His wrinkled face was creased in a smile as he piled the baggage on the front steps, knowing he could go no farther. There were strict codes to be observed. He was the foreman of the plantation, and outside the white overseer, Biffs word was law when it came to the field hands and the fishermen. But here at the big house, the house servants jealously guarded their domain; he was not allowed to intrude.
A tall slender black man with a regal bearing, dressed in red and white livery, opened the door and haughtily glanced down his nose at Biff. Seeing Gabrielle and Judah, he looked taken aback for a moment, but he quickly recovered. The snap of his fingers brought three other liveried servants. He ordered them to carry the baggage inside. Then he turned to Gabrielle and Judah.
"Whom shall I say is calling, Ma'dame?" the man asked with a crisp French accent.
Biff, still grinning, spoke up. "You may want to tell Cora to get her fancy cook pot going, cause there going to be a good time—"
The liveried servant cut Biff off. "Be so kind as to tend to your own affairs and leave others to tend to theirs. Move along." He shooed him away with the wave of a white glove.
"Just a moment," Gabrielle said, stopping Biffs hasty departure by the touch of her hand. "Who is this man, Biff? I do not recall ever seeing him."
Biff turned back, with a look of superiority, at the still unbending butler. "His name is Noal, Ma'dame. He is someone Ma'dame Alicia brought in from New Orleans. She say we need more— She say we needed him to make more nice the manners of the house servants."
"I told you to be gone," the butler said loftily. Turning to Judah, who had watched the whole proceeding with bored indifference, he asked. "Who shall I say is calling?"
Gabrielle pushed past the man and ascended the steps. "You may inform M'sieu Montesquieu that his daughter is home, and in the future you will never talk down to Biff in my presence, is that understood?"
Noal's face fell, and he stepped quickly to the door. "Oui, Ma'dame, it will be as you say. Come with me, and I will show you to your rooms so you can freshen up. When the master asks for you, I will come for you at once.
Judah followed the stiff-backed servant into the house. In the massive entrance hall, the white marble floor was immaculate, leading Judah to believe that not a single speck of dust marred its perfection. Golden Louis XIV armchairs faced each other, while urns and benches carved of Carrara marble stood on either side of the six steps that led to the landing. Off the landing were two sets of steps that went off in different directions, and Judah noted that several cherubs adorned the painted canvas ceiling. He had never imagined such wealth, but was cynically unimpressed. He did, however, now realize what his mother had sacrificed for loving of his father.
As he climbed the wide polished staircase, he paused to look at the floor-to-ceiling stained-glass window depicting the coronation of some distant French King. He drew in a deep breath, knowing he would soon meet the man behind this vast kingdom. Judah was well aware that when he stood before this tyrant who had made his mother's homecoming such a humbling experience, nothing would keep him from voicing his displeasure.
Judah buttoned his jade green jacket and adjusted the snowy-white cravat to his satisfaction. Gray pantaloons disappeared inside black knee boots. Impatiently, he paced the floor of the spacious bedroom, waiting for a summons from the great man himself. The long delay had not helped his temper. He did not care that he was being insulted, but he resented the treatment for his mother's sake. He was on the verge of demanding to be taken to his grandfather, when a knock came on his door.
Jerking the door open, he discovered his mother smiling up at him. "My father will see us now, Judah." She ran a nervous hand over the skirt of her pale green empire-waist gown. "How do I look? Do you think my hair is right?"
Judah only half glanced at his mother's appearance. His anger was still too raw and too near the surface to do more than nod. "You are lovely as always," he said, taking her arm and steering her toward the staircase.
After they descended the stairs, Judah allowed his mother to lead the way. Their feet sank into rare thick rugs in the hallway as they passed by rooms where candles burned in crystal chandeliers, their flames reflected in glided French mirrors.
His mother knew where she was going as they walked down brightly lit hallways, past a host of servants who were cleaning and polishing floors and furniture. When at last Gabrielle stopped before a heavy mahogany door which was decorated with shining brass work, she wrapped softly, then pushed the door open.
The room was almost dazzling in its magnificence. It was the largest room Judah had ever seen. The ceilings, painted in brilliant blues and whites, depicted the life of Jeanne d'Arc. An Aubusson carpet of white and gold graced the white marble floor. The floor-to-ceiling windows were draped with gold velvet and white lace, and a ten-foot-high white marble fireplace dominated the delicate French gilded chairs and sofas. Gilded mirrors lined one wall, making the room appear twice the size it actually was.
Judah felt his mother's trembling hand on his arm, and he placed his hand over it to give her courage. His eyes moved across the room to the man who was seated near the fireplace, haloed in the beam of light filtering through the open window. Judah met his grandfather's stare without flinching. His jaw clamped shu
t, stubbornly, as the man motioned for them to approach.
Judah was aware that the old man followed their progress, and when he drew near, he saw that his grandfather wore a blue satin coat and white knee britches, in the outmoded style of a grand era. The old man's white hair7 tied back with a black velvet ribbon, also represented the style of another era. Judah met faded turquoise eyes not unlike his own. He perceived heightened interest, curiosity, intelligence, and a mocking light in those shrewd old eyes.
Extending a trembling blue-veined hand to his daughter, while his eyes never left his grandson's face, Gustave Montesquieu spoke in French. "So, my daughter has returned home at last?"
"Oh, Papa," Gabrielle cried, clasping his hand in both hers. "I have missed you so desperately." Judah knew his mother waited for some sign of affection or welcome from the old man, who only studied her with cold indifference.
"Do not snivel, Gabrielle," Gustave scolded, removing his hand from her clasp. "You were overemotional even as a child. I see you have not changed, except to age somewhat."
Judah saw the pain in his mother's eyes, and he stepped forward, wrapping her in a protective embrace. "You have no right to insult my mother." Without thinking, he spoke in English. "I will not allow her to remain in this house for one moment longer than it takes to pack our belongings. You are a bastard, and I am glad to be able to say it to your face. It makes the journey worthwhile."
Gabrielle gasped, as two pairs of turquoise eyes locked in combat. She clutched her son's coat-front, waiting for her father's reaction to his insult. She knew that both her father and her son were stubborn and proud, and she wondered if either of them would relent. She was startled when she saw her father's face ease into what was almost a smile.
"If I am to be insulted, I prefer it be done in French. The English language is so vulgar and common. It has always grated on my ears. I assume your mother taught you her native tongue?"
Judah glanced at the old man through half-closed lashes. "My mother taught me several languages. If you would like, I can insult you in each one of them."
Moontide Embrace (Historical Romance) Page 6