The Creole Historical Romance 4-In-1 Bundle

by Gilbert, Morris

  Jeff wanted to ask, Why do you live here, if it’s so bad? but he refrained. People sometimes lived where they had to. He thanked the clerk and headed out to find Saul Lebeaux. He was intrigued by the architecture along the streets. He noted the two-story buildings, which were everywhere, supported by rows of iron posts that fit into a curb. The delicate ironwork on the galleries made a fine weaving shaped like leaves and flowers. All of the upper galleries had waist-high railings, and he saw people sitting in many of them. It made a graceful sight, with the scrolled panels of filigree that topped most of the homes. The sunlight was filtering onto the geraniums, wax flowers, ferns, and here and there a big birdcage that decorated the galleries.

  As he watched for the Creole Hotel, he passed a black woman carrying a bucket, her head swathed in a white turban. Right behind her were a pair of dandies, and the two were eyeing a beautiful young woman across the street with her apparent escort. The couple was dressed at the height of fashion, and the man carried a long cane. Jeff had heard that many of these canes concealed swords, which the hot-blooded Creoles drew on the least provocation.

  He passed the Creole Hotel to find a short flight of steps leading to a formal doorway. Men were coming and going, and he asked one of them, “Is this where the auction is held?”

  “Yes, sir. This is the place.”

  Jeff stepped inside and took in the large room at a glance. There was no activity, it seemed, although a few prospective buyers were wandering around, smoking long, thin cigars. The sound of their talk filled the place. Jeff saw a man come from a door in the back and approached him, saying, “I’m looking for Mr. Lebeaux.”

  The man said, “You have some stock to sell?”

  “No, it’s another matter.”

  “Go in the back. He’s in his office,” he said, gesturing toward the door.

  Jeff nodded his thanks, found the office, and entered. “I’m looking for Mr. Saul Lebeaux,” he said to the man who was standing at the window. He was a swarthy man, with jet-black hair plastered against his skull and a fine black mustache, carefully trimmed. He was wearing a white suit and a black string tie, and the purple smoke from his cigar curled lazily into the air. “That’s me,” he said. “What can I do for you?”

  Jeff expected to be asked to sit down, but Lebeaux was not hospitable. “I am Dr. Jefferson Whitman,” he said. “I’m from St. Louis.”

  Interest quickened in the dark man’s face. “You’ve come, perhaps, to buy?”

  “No, Mr. Lebeaux, I’m not a prospective customer.” He saw Lebeaux’s interest dissipate and said quickly, “I’m trying to find a young woman you purchased from Mrs. Leroy Hampton in Baton Rouge.”

  “I did make a buy there. You interested in one of them?”

  “The name I have is Charissa. It’s the only name I know. She would be, I believe, about sixteen.”

  Lebeaux’s eyes were fixed steadily on him. “What is your interest, doctor?”

  “It’s personal.”

  Lebeaux’s mouth twisted into a grin. There was something evil in his expression.

  Jeff ignored it. “Could you give me any information about the girl?”

  “You know her, do you?”

  “No, I’ve never seen her in my life, but another party has sent me to find out her whereabouts.”

  “I might remember—for a price. A memory works better when it’s primed by cash.”

  Lebeaux repulsed Jeff, but he knew he had little choice. “Fifty dollars,” he said flatly.

  “Give it to me.”

  Jeff reached into his pocket, pulled out a leather wallet, and extracted some bills. He handed them to Lebeaux, who stuffed them into the pocket of his shirt. “The girl’s the property of Alfredo Madariaga.”

  “Does he live here in town?”

  “He has a place in town but a larger plantation just north of the city. It’s a prominent family, but I’ll tell you, you’re probably wasting your time if you want to buy the girl.”

  “Why do you say that?”

  Lebeaux puffed on the cigar and said, “They’re proud. A little brash, I think. The girl was supposed to be a maid for the daughter in the family, so I doubt they’ll sell her. That’s all I know.”

  Jeff nodded curtly and said, “Thank you, sir,” turned, and left the auction house. The encounter had left a bad taste in his mouth, and he walked slowly along the street, wondering what his next move should be. He felt ill-suited for his mission. He had spent much of his life in classrooms, then in examining and operating rooms at the hospital. Yet he knew this was an undeniable request. His father needed Jeff to find the girl and help her, to rest his conscience. A thought snapped into his mind. It came with as much finality as a key turning in a lock. I’ll find Debakky. He’ll be able to advise me.

  The one person he knew in the entire city of New Orleans was Dr. Elmo Debakky. Jeff ’s mind had been so filled with his quest, he had completely forgotten about his old friend. Although Debakky was two years older than he, the two had been close during their medical training in St. Louis and stayed in contact afterward. Jeff remembered the address and asked a coachman to take him to it.

  The driver agreed, and Jeff got in the cab. The driver picked up the lines and spoke to the horses. He drove along several streets, making turns, and once again Jeff marveled at the lack of traffic. “Business isn’t good?” he asked.

  “No,” the driver said and cursed fluently in French and English. “The fever’s got everybody scared.”

  “What about you? Aren’t you scared?”

  “Me? No! If a man’s time has come, he will get the fever wherever he is. You can’t run from death.”

  The cab drew up to the house, which was set back from the street. It was a large, two-story structure with a steep roof and gables, and the only resemblance it bore to other architecture in the city was the gallery along the upper story. A sign out front said Dr. Elmo Debakky. Getting out, Jeff paid the driver and walked up the steps. When he knocked on the door, an attractive mulatto woman in her late twenties stood before him. “Yes, sir?”

  “I am Dr. Jefferson Whitman. I’m a friend of Dr. Debakky’s. I’d like to see him, if he’s in.”

  “Yes, he is. Come inside, please. I am Mrs. Bozonnier, the housekeeper.” She shut the door behind him and said, “If you’ll wait, sir, I’ll tell the doctor you’re here.”

  “Thank you.” Jeff looked around at the large foyer with expensive-looking pictures on the wall. Doors on each side of the hall before him were open, revealing rich carpets and sunlit rooms. On his right was the library, on the left was apparently a parlor.

  “Jeff, what in the world are you doing here?”

  Jeff smiled as Elmo Debakky hurried down the hall. Debakky was a cheerful-looking man, short and somewhat heavy. It was not fat but muscle, as Jeff well knew, and when Debakky took his hand, he winced at the iron grip. “Don’t break my hand, Elmo.”

  Debakky slapped Jeff on the back. He wore his blond hair rather long and had intense gray eyes set in a round face. He did everything quickly, speech or action, and now he said, “Come into the parlor. Rose, bring us something refreshing to drink.”

  “What shall it be, Doctor?”

  “You always choose best,” he said, smiling. “Come on, Jeff. By George, I’m glad to see you!” He led his friend into the parlor.

  “Elmo, I hope I haven’t caught you at a busy time.”

  “As a matter of fact, you have. This yellow fever keeps all the doctors busy. What are you doing in New Orleans? Sit down. How’s your father?”

  Jeff answered the rapid-fire questions from a horsehide-covered chair. He had little time to do more than that when the housekeeper came in, carrying a tray.

  “I thought tea would be nice,” she said. “Lunch will be ready soon, though.” She looked a question at Jeff.

  “Put enough on for two, Rose. Jeff, where are you staying?”

  “I took a room in the St. Louis Hotel.”

  “You go get you
r things and come here. I just rattle around in this big old house.” Elmo Debakky’s face was filled with gladness. “Now, help yourself to that tea. Rose here makes the best tea in New Orleans—or anywhere else, for that matter.”

  “I’m sure she does.” The two men sipped tea, and Elmo chattered until Jeff finally had to cut in on his friend. “I’ll tell you why I’ve come, Elmo. I’m here to buy a slave.”

  “You didn’t have to come all the way to New Orleans for that.”

  Jeff shifted uncomfortably. “I’m going to have to confide in you, but it must not go any further.”

  Debakky’s eyes grew thoughtful. He chewed on his lower lip and then nodded. “All right. What is it?”

  Knowing that he could fully trust his friend, Jeff explained his story, concluding, “So, you see, it’s a touchy situation. Lebeaux tells me a family named Madariaga bought the girl.”

  “That would be Alfredo Madariaga,” he said. “I know the family.”

  “Lebeaux seemed to think they are proud people.”

  “They were, but it’s pretty common talk that the family’s not as prosperous as it once was. There have been some bad cotton crops. If you’re prepared to pay a stiff price, you may be able to purchase the girl.”

  “Could you give me a letter of introduction?”

  “Glad to. You’ll probably find them in town here, although they may have run away to their plantation to avoid the fever.”

  “I’ve got to find her. I’m worried about Father. This thing is preying on his mind.”

  “It may take a little negotiating. Look, go to your hotel and get your things.” Elmo reached out and squeezed Jeff ’s arm. “I’ve missed you, old boy. What I’d like to do is persuade you to stay here and go into practice with me, but I know that’s impossible.”

  “I appreciate the offer, but I can’t leave my father, and St. Louis is all he knows now.”

  “We’ll have a good time while you are here. I’ll have my man take you to get your things after lunch, and then we’ll see about buying this girl.”

  Chapter ten

  The Madariaga plantation was expansive, Jeff discovered. He had borrowed Elmo’s buggy and driven out of New Orleans, having learned that the family had indeed left town until the yellow fever epidemic passed. The house that rose out of the flatlands was enormous, white with four columns, and on all sides the fields stretched away over the land. Pulling up in front of the house, Jeff met a young black man who inquired, “Shall I put up your horse, sir?”

  “No, I don’t think I’ll be here long. You might water him, though.” He fished in his pocket, pulled out a coin, and gave it to the man, whose eyes lit up.

  “Yes, suh!” he said and went to lead the buggy away.

  As Jeff walked up to the stairs leading to the porch, he rehearsed in his mind what he was going to say. He was not satisfied with it. No matter how he phrased it, his explanation for coming all the way from St. Louis to buy a single slave sounded feeble.

  He pounded the big brass knocker on the front door, and almost at once, it swung wide. He found himself facing an older woman wearing a gray dress and a white cap on her head. “Yes, sir?” she said. “May I help you?”

  “I would like to see Mr. Madariaga, if possible.”

  The woman hesitated, then said, “May I have your name, sir?”

  “Dr. Jefferson Whitman.”

  “Will you step inside, please? I’ll see if Señor Madariaga is available.”

  Jeff obeyed, and the woman disappeared. As he waited, he silently rehearsed his speech again. The woman returned and said, “Come this way, sir.”

  Jeff followed the woman down the wide hallway, and then through a door on the left. The woman stepped aside to let him pass, and he found himself inside a spacious room with a beautiful oriental carpet. The walls were a pale gold and reflected the sunlight that came through the tall window at one end. The man who rose to greet him was dressed in a rather formal way, with black trousers, white shirt, and a tie. He had a smooth, olive complexion and light brown eyes, and he nodded courteously, saying, “Dr. Whitman, welcome to my home.”

  “Thank you, Mr. Madariaga. I must apologize for coming without an appointment, but I do have a note from a mutual acquaintance, Dr. Debakky.”

  Madariaga took the note that Jeff extended, read it quickly, and smiled. “Yes, Dr. Debakky was very helpful to my family once during a sickness. Will you sit down?”

  Jeff accepted his invitation and decided that the best approach was to bring his business into the open as soon as possible. “I will not take much of your time, sir. I’ve been commissioned to find a young woman, a slave you purchased recently. I can’t reveal the details, but I would like to buy the young woman, if it’s possible. Her name is Charissa.”

  Instantly, Madariaga drew himself up straighter. “Yes,” he said evenly, “I do own such a girl. Could you tell me a little more about the details of your mission?”

  Jeff had known that he would have to say something, and he had come up with a story that explained his mission in the vaguest of terms. “The gentleman who sent me felt that he had done an injustice to the mother of Charissa. I believe her name was Bethany. I was sent to purchase both the mother and the daughter, but I discovered that the mother died recently. I’m sure my principal would be willing to pay any reasonable price for the girl.”

  Madariaga tapped his fingertips together thoughtfully and then shook his head, a puzzled look in his eyes. “This is all rather strange, sir. I hardly know what to say.”

  “I wish I could reveal more, but I can’t.”

  “Do you know the girl, may I ask?”

  “No, I’ve never seen her.”

  “The girl was a gift to my daughter on her graduation. I could not think of selling her unless my daughter agreed.” He hesitated, then said, “She has had trouble with the girl, I must tell you. Charissa is strong-willed. Personally, I would be willing, but you must get my daughter’s consent.”

  “Would it be possible to speak with your daughter, sir?”

  “Yes. If you will wait here, I will send her to you.” He left the room and turned down the hallway. There he encountered Dolores, his housekeeper, and asked if she knew Damita’s whereabouts.

  “She is out in the garden, sir.”

  “Go get her, and tell her to come inside.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  As Dolores stepped outside, Madariaga stood thinking over this turn of events. Dolores returned with Damita at her side.

  “Damita, come with me, please.”

  “What is it, Papa?” Damita was wearing a pale yellow dress and a bonnet to shield her face from the sun. She pulled it off now, gave it to Dolores, and followed her father down the hall.

  He paused halfway to the den and lowered his voice, saying, “There is a man here, a physician from St. Louis. It’s a rather unusual situation. I don’t understand it.”

  “What is it?” Damita asked with curiosity. “What does he want?”

  “He wants to buy Rissa.”

  “Buy Rissa? He’s come all the way from St. Louis for that?” Her eyes narrowed, and she asked, “But why?”

  She listened as her father repeated the explanation their visitor had given, then said, “I told him that I would not sell the girl without your permission, but I want you to think carefully, Damita. The girl will never make a proper maid for you. I think you should allow the man to buy her, and we’ll find a more suitable servant.”

  Damita looked at her father, then said, “Let me talk to him, Papa, and we will see.”

  “He’s in my study. After you’ve talked, come and tell me what you’ve decided.”

  Damita entered the study and saw the tall man sitting in a leather-bound armchair. He rose to his feet and bowed slightly, and she said, “I am Damita Madariaga, sir.”

  “Dr. Jefferson Whitman, ma’am.”

  “I understand that you want to buy my maid.” As she spoke, Damita surveyed the gangly figure of the doctor.
Though she had a stubborn prejudice against Americans and called them all “Kaintocks,” this man was a physician. She saw that he was educated and not crude, as many Americans were. Still, her voice had a hard edge when she asked, “Why do you want this particular girl?”

  “Miss Madariaga, as I told your father, I have been sent to buy the girl by an individual who feels that he did her mother an injustice. That’s all I can say. I am bound to secrecy.”

  “That sounds odd to me,” Damita said, somewhat haughtily. She had seen how men’s eyes followed her maid and wondered if this man had the same intentions. She met his eyes steadily. “I would have to be assured that your interest was not more personal.”

  “More personal? I don’t understand.”

  “Rissa is a very attractive girl. Men are interested in her.”

  “But I’ve never even seen the girl, Miss Madariaga.”

  Damita was a fair judge of character, and she saw the surprise in the deep-set eyes of the man before her. He was homely, not handsome in the least, and he seemed to project honesty. Still, he was a Kaintock. She came to a decision. “If you will stay here, I will get the girl.”

  “I’m afraid I won’t be able to tell her any more than I’ve told you, Miss Madariaga, but I would like to meet her.”

  Damita stepped outside and found the young slave. “There’s a man here to buy you, Rissa.”

  “Buy me!” she exclaimed. “What do you mean, Miss Damita?”

  “Just what I said. He’s come all the way from St. Louis.” She lowered her voice, then asked, “Did you ever hear of anyone named Jefferson Whitman?”

  “No, ma’am, never.”

  “He says another man, who owed your mother a favor, sent him. Did she ever mention anybody by that name?”

  Charissa was silent. “I’ve never heard the name before.”

  “Come along. I want you to see him. He’s an American. A Kaintock, but he’s a doctor. I suppose that makes a difference.”

  The two women entered the room, and Jeff was visibly startled when he saw the girl. Her hair was as black as any he had ever seen, but what caught his attention was her eyes. They were light green, exactly the color of his father’s.