“Please make way,” I begged as Delia and I tried to get through the crowd of people. “Please let us through.”
“—dead,” someone was saying. “They brought him out just a few minutes ago. He’s under that blanket.”
“Oh God,” Delia whispered. “Oh dear God—”
“Please!” I begged urgently. “Please make way.”
“Etienne—yeah, that’s who he is. Name’s same as the store. Burned to a crisp, though Alan—he’s my cousin, he’s with the fire brigade—Alan said he musta been overcome by the smoke and already dead before the flames—”
I stopped begging. I started shoving, forcing my way through the tightly packed mass of people, using shoulders and elbows and hips, panic swelling inside, gripping me with icy fingers. I stumbled, falling against a burly stevedore. He grabbed me and gave me an angry look. I shoved him aside, knocking him against a redhead with painted face and flashy green dress. She called me a name. I forged ahead, finally reaching the front of the crowd. Delia was right behind me. The heat was intense, but I seemed to be freezing, icy cold fingers gripping me as I stared at the scattered pieces of smoke-stained furniture that had been salvaged, at that mound stretched on the ground with a heavy blanket covering it.
The fire brigade was still busily at work, hurrying to and fro, moving in and out of the smoking ruin that had been Etienne’s. They passed huge buckets of water and wielded large axes and shouted orders and warnings to each other, faces soot-stained and pouring with sweat. Some sections of burned wood were still glowing a fiery red-orange, popping and crackling and sending up showers of sparks, sizzling loudly as buckets of water sloshed over them. A partially standing wall of black charcoal tumbled, crashing loudly as the men scrambled. Delia stood beside me. Her face was waxen. She didn’t move a muscle. People behind us murmured, whispered, pointed.
One of the men working wore a badly singed frock coat. He passed a bucket of water and turned, and I saw that it was Julian. I cried out. I rushed toward him. His hair was wet with sweat. Sweat poured from his brow, and one cheek was completely black with soot. He looked startled when he saw me tearing toward him. He hurried forward, catching me before I actually entered the smoldering ruin.
“Thank God!” I cried. “Oh, thank God you’re all right!”
“You shouldn’t be here,” he said. “It’s still extremely dangerous. How did—Jesus! I see Delia’s here, too. You shouldn’t have come. There’s nothing—”
“You’re all right! Oh, Julian, I was so—”
Julian put his arm around me and held me tightly, leading me over to where Delia was standing. His face was very grave. Delia looked up at him, and when she spoke, her voice was hollow.
“Charles,” she said.
“He’s all right, Delia.”
“They said—” She took a deep breath. “They—someone said—an Etienne. In the fire—the—under the blanket.”
“Raoul,” Julian said gently.
He released me and took his aunt’s hands in his.
“Apparently he’d come to the store for something—we’ll never know what—and the fire started accidentally—perhaps he left a cigar burning. He tried to put it out himself, apparently, and—”
He cut himself short, squeezing her hands.
“He—he can’t have known what was happening,” he said gently. “He can’t have had any pain.”
“Someone will have to tell Lavinia.” Her voice was still hollow. “I suppose I’d better go to her—”
“Charles and I will take care of that, Delia.” He gave her hands another squeeze. “We’ll take care of everything. Did Jasper bring you? I’ll take you back to the carriage. You and Dana go on back home. I—Charles and I probably won’t be back until late tomorrow morning. We’ll have to finish here, then see Lavinia and make—arrangements. You don’t worry, love. Everything is going to be all right.”
Delia didn’t reply. He put his arm around her shoulder and started leading her through the crowd. People stepped aside, making way. I didn’t go with them. Turning, I happened to see Charles coming out of the blackened ruin carrying a still-steaming metal box, using his frock coat as padding. He set the box on a scorched table and dropped the ruined frock coat onto the ground. His face, like Julian’s, was streaked with soot. His neckcloth was gone, his white lawn shirt wet with sweat and plastered to chest and shoulders, one sleeve badly torn. Damp, dark locks spilled over his brow, and his eyes were filled with stoic resignation. He looked ten years older.
I went to him. I touched his arm.
“I’m sorry,” I said.
He looked at me as though I were a stranger.
“It wasn’t an accident, was it?”
“It wasn’t an accident,” he said. His voice was flat. “He set the fire deliberately. You and I know that. You and I know why. Apparently it got out of control before he could get out.”
We had to step aside to make way for four men in the fire brigade who carried more buckets of water. There was a crash as another section of wall fell. Ashes swirled in the air like gray snowflakes. Charles shoved damp locks from his forehead and looked at me with weary, desolate eyes.
“Everything—everything gone,” I said. “All those priceless paintings, the porcelain, the furniture—what will you do?”
“The family will survive,” he said.
“Charles—”
“Go away, Dana. Just go away. There’s nothing you can do here. You’ve already caused enough damage.”
He turned and walked back into the ruin. I watched him for a moment, and I felt dead inside. I stood there in my silvery-gray and emerald striped satin gown and long gray velvet gloves, ashes floating around me, the air filled with the acrid smell of smoke and desolation, and finally I turned and moved blindly through the milling crowd toward the carriage. Delia was already inside. Julian was waiting for me with a worried expression.
“Here you are,” he said.
He took my hands and looked into my eyes.
“We must all be very strong,” he told me.
I nodded. He let go of my hands.
“See that Delia gets to bed.”
“I will.”
He opened the carriage door for me. I didn’t climb in.
“Julian—”
He looked at me, waiting.
“I—I do love you,” I said. “There will never be anyone else in my life as—as fine as you are. I’ll always be grateful for all you’ve done for me. I—want you to know that.”
I stood up on tiptoes and kissed him on the lips and clung to him for just a moment, and then he helped me into the carriage, smiling a gentle smile. He squeezed my arm and closed the carriage door, and as we drove away I looked out the window and saw him standing there with his soot-stained face and damp hair. Tears welled up, but I refused to let them fall. I took Delia’s hand and held it tightly. She gave me a brave smile. Both of us were silent during the ride back home.
“I think I’ll go right up to my room, dear,” Delia said as we entered the house.
“I’ll go with you,” I told her.
“No—no, I don’t want you to fuss over me, dear. I’m going to be perfectly fine. Tomorrow is going to be a difficult day for everyone, and they’re all going to need me. I intend to be a paragon of strength.”
“I’m sure you will be,” I said.
“Good night, Dana dear.”
“I love you, Delia. I—I’ll always remember your kindness, and I’ll always remember how you took me in and treated me like—like a daughter. You’ll always have a place in my heart.”
“And you’ll always have a place in mine, dear.”
I kissed her on the cheek and took her arm and walked with her to the foot of the stairs. Kayla came into the foyer, and I signaled for her to go up with Delia. She nodded, understanding. I watched the two of them go up the stairs, and then I went into the library and, sitting at the desk, wrote two brief letters. I asked Delia to forgive me. I told her that I was
doing what I was doing for the good of everyone, and I repeated that she would always have a place in my heart. I told Julian that I would always remember him and I would always love him in a very special way. I told him that I would always be honored that he had asked me to marry him and that one day, perhaps, he would understand and be grateful to me for leaving. I sealed both letters and left them on the desk, and then I went upstairs.
The old worn leather traveling bags were still in the storage closet where I had replaced them weeks ago, a lifetime ago. The brass buckles were a little more tarnished, the limp, supple leather covered with a fine layer of dust. I carried both of them to my bedroom and dusted them and put them on the bed, and I spent a long, long time packing, carefully selecting the clothes I would carry with me, those I would leave behind. I stood for over five minutes holding the embroidered rose brocade gown I had worn the night Charles first came to my bedroom. I didn’t cry. I couldn’t. I couldn’t feel anything but the emptiness inside. I hung the gown back up and sat down on the bed, carefully folding undergarments, placing them in one of the bags. It was after three o’clock in the morning when I finally finished packing.
I had taken off the long gray velvet gloves earlier, and now I removed the elegant striped satin gown. It smelled of smoke and soot. So did I. I washed myself thoroughly and put on a white petticoat with several ruffled skirts, and then I undid the coiffure Kayla had so artfully styled. I shook my hair loose and brushed it until it gleamed. I still felt empty inside. I felt incapable of emotion. I took down a simple, beautifully made frock of thin yellow linen and put it on, spreading the skirt out over the underskirts. I put out all the candles and sat down, staring through the open French windows at the night sky. When the first streaks of pink and amethyst dimly appeared, I stood up and took the bags and left the house.
It was a long, long walk to the waterfront, but no one molested me, no one paid the least attention to me. Even though it was not quite seven, the waterfront was bustling with noisy activity. I located the ticket office, and there I was lucky indeed. I discovered that a steamboat was leaving for St. Louis at eight o’clock. I was able to get a cabin. It was quite expensive, but I had over $130, the majority of it my commission for selling the commode to Mrs. Louella Kramer. I prayed her husband would remember his offer of a position at his emporium when I arrived. I found my way to the steamboat and boarded it. Forty minutes later I was standing at the railing of the lower deck as it puffed and chugged and pulled away, the huge paddle wheel turning slowly.
I watched the wharves grow smaller as we pulled out into the river. I had arrived in New Orleans a girl, a child really, innocent and naive despite my experiences in the swamps. I was leaving the city a woman, sadder and much wiser about the ways of the world and how the world treated people who didn’t belong. I didn’t belong to Julian’s world. I didn’t belong anywhere, not yet, but as I gripped the railing and the great wedding cake of a boat turned and started upriver, I vowed I would make a place for myself. I would belong, and I would be somebody. I would show Charles Etienne and his kind. I would show the blood kin who had turned me away. One day, I promised myself, Dana O’Malley was going to look down her nose at the whole bloody pack.
Book Three
The Woman
Chapter Fifteen
I NOTICED HER THAT VERY FIRST MORNING on the boat. I was standing at the railing, watching the churning water and the far bank, listening to the slosh-slap-slosh of the paddle wheel. It was nearly eleven o’clock. Several people were sauntering on deck, chattering with great animation, but I paid no attention to them. Lost in thought, lulled by the motion of the boat and the sound of the water splashing, I might have been completely alone. An hour must have passed, and I finally turned, thinking about lunch. I couldn’t face the dining salon. Maybe that nice steward could arrange to have a light lunch brought to my cabin. The deck was almost deserted now. I sighed and started toward the narrow stairwell that led down to the cabins, and it was then that I saw her.
She was walking in my direction on the arm of a tall, slender, dark-haired man in gleaming black boots, gleaming white breeches and frock coat and a white Panama hat. He wore an emerald-green stock with an enormous diamond stickpin, and a gold watch chain dangled from the pocket of his black brocade vest. Gambler, I thought, one of the flashy, flamboyant rogues who were a permanent fixture on the riverboats, fleecing wealthy lambs foolish enough to play cards with them. I judged him to be in his late thirties, handsome if a little too smooth and glossy. His dark eyes were much too sincere, and the thin black mustache couldn’t quite minimize the venal curl of his full lips. His head was slightly turned and he gazed down at the woman as they walked. He seemed to be totally enraptured with her, and no wonder.
She was incredibly, amazingly beautiful. No, not so beautiful, I decided. Not really. Her cheekbones were too prominent, her nose just a fraction long, and her lips were too full. She was striking, dramatic, rivetingly attractive, with that sparkling vitality and indefinable allure that was far more arresting than mere beauty. Her eyes were a dazzling sapphire-blue. Her hair was a deep raven-black, gleaming with blue-black highlights, piled on top of her head in a gorgeous arrangement of waves, long ringlets spilling down her back. A diamond spray was fastened to one side. She wore a stunning taffeta gown with blue and white and garnet stripes, the extremely low-cut bodice and snug waist accentuating her remarkable figure.
As the couple neared, I stepped to one side to let them pass. The man in white had eyes only for the glamorous creature at his side and didn’t even know I was there. The woman looked up and caught my eye and smiled. It was perhaps the warmest, friendliest, most engaging smile I had ever received. It was both greeting and acknowledgment and came straight from the heart. Hello there, it seemed to say. We don’t know each other, but I’m sure we would like each other if we did. She gave me a little nod as they passed on, and I heard the musical crackle of her taffeta skirt and smelled her subtle yet wonderfully tantalizing perfume. I stood there for a few moments, watching them move down the deck, and I felt a curious sense of loss, as though I had been bathed in sunlight and it had suddenly been taken away.
The steward did indeed bring lunch to my cabin, arranging everything neatly on the small round table. I tipped him generously and he bowed himself out. I wondered how many of Magdelon’s haughty friends knew that Doctor Samuel Johnson had begun the custom of tipping in a London coffee house over seventy years ago, giving his waiter a gratuity “To Insure Prompt Service.” None of them, no doubt. A lot of good such trivial knowledge did me, I mused as I unfolded the spotless white linen napkin. I might be brighter than the whole pack—better-mannered, too—but I was a bastard from the swamps and I would always be their inferior. In their eyes. One day Charles would undoubtedly marry one of them, a magnolia-skinned belle with impeccable lineage and a head as empty as a gourd. To hell with him … Oh God, let me be strong. Let me forget. Let me begin a new life and put the past and its pain behind me.
While the cabin was roomy and comfortable and nicely appointed, I realized I couldn’t spend the entire trip hiding away from other people. After lunch I took a short nap and freshened up, and then I decided to explore a bit. I hadn’t wanted to lunch in the dining salon, but around four o’clock I found myself strolling into the main salon, very grand with thick red carpet, mahogany paneling and a plethora of potted plants. There were overstuffed gray velvet sofas and chairs and at least a dozen leather-topped tables. The woman I had seen on deck earlier was at one of them, shuffling a pack of cards while the gambler in white and four other men watched. The cards seemed to fly. in her slender white hands with their bright pink nails, and they flew ever faster as she dealt them. The gambler in white did not look particularly happy, I observed.
There were few other people in the salon. I lingered for a moment by one of the potted plants, and the woman looked up and saw me and gave me a pleasant little wave, as though we were already friends. I nodded somewhat stiffly, and a
lthough I would have loved to stay and watch the game, I strolled out of the salon and spent the next hour or so wandering around the deck. Not too long ago, I knew, the Mississippi had been filled with keelboats and flatboats, bringing trade goods downriver. It had been the haunt of vicious river pirates and marauders and, in its way, had been as perilous for the unwary as the notorious Natchez Trace. The coming of the big steamboats had changed all that. Although keelboats and flatboats could still be seen, the river pirates and marauders had been replaced by gamblers, con men and fancy women who used more subtle means to separate fools from their gold. Was the woman in striped taffeta a fancy woman in league with the gambler? I hated to think so, but the way she had handled the cards clearly suggested it.
I finally retired to my cabin, wishing fervently I had brought a book with me. Time hung heavily on my hands, and that was dangerous. I wasn’t worried, I told myself, and I wasn’t afraid either. If Herbie Kramer didn’t remember me and I didn’t get a job at his emporium, I would find some other job and I would survive. I would succeed. You’re not going to sit around this cabin worrying, I promised myself. You’re making a new beginning, and you’re going to move forward with strength and courage and determination. You fended for yourself all those years in the swamps, and you can bloody well fend for yourself now.
At six I washed up, brushed my hair and changed into a simple frock of tan and gold striped silk, and then I braved the dining salon. It was a bit early for the majority of passengers, and there were few people at the tables. I was thankful for that. Even so, I received a number of speculative stares as I ate my meal. Proper young women did not travel without a chaperone, and as I occupied a single table I was the subject of much curiosity. An ancient dowager in black lace and dusty garnets examined me through her lorgnette, lips pursed. A trio of middle-aged planters gazed at me and whispered. A handsome youth with sleek bronze hair tried to flirt with me. I ignored them all. I looked proper enough, but, traveling alone, I must either be an upstart poseur or some clever adventuress. Finishing my meal, I left the dining salon with my head held high and a frosty look in my eyes.
They Call Her Dana Page 36