The Major's Wife

by The Major's Wife (lit)

  “Tell me, lovely ladies, did you sleep well last night? My chair was most uncomfortable, but no berths were available when I made my reservation.”

  Ruby lifted her eyes to his and said, “We slept well, sir. I am sorry about your accommodations. Strange, but when we came onboard in Cottonwood Creek, I can distinctively remember the conductor asking if we wanted one or two cabins. Seems strange he would have offered us two if none were available.”

  Lucretia covered her friend’s hand with hers. “It matters little now, as we will be arriving in New Orleans in a few hours. I am looking forward to seeing the city that I have heard so much about my whole life.”

  Devereaux smiled back at the women, adoring one and detesting the other…to possess one, he would have to eliminate the other. “Then, I will be more than happy to be your guide. Having lived here for going on twenty-five years, there is little I do not know about it, from the good to the bad. First, we will get you situated in my home…you can have the entire second floor…and when you are rested, we will start looking at the beauty that is New Orleans. My servants will be delighted to have something to do but cater to the whims of this fidgety old man.”

  “Surely, you do not think of yourself as an old man, Mister LaClaire.” Lucretia smiled at him as she spoke, but before she could continue, Ruby interrupted.

  “I think you are presuming far more than is the case, Mr. LaClaire. We have a suite at the Orleans Royale and would not dream of staying with you. For your information, Mrs. Mills is in mourning, but circumstances have not allowed us the opportunity of purchasing the proper attire for her.”

  Devereaux forced a smile when he really wanted to hit the pompous woman. How could he ever get to the juicy morsel of her ward with her around? Yes, she would have to go, and soon. “Of course, I meant no disrespect. That is the last thing I would ever do to either of you lovely ladies. It is just that I have such a large old home, it seems a shame for you to spend the incredible amount those hustlers demand for their rooms.”

  Inside he smiled to himself. This had worked out perfectly. He knew Mrs. Redstone would refuse his offer, or so he hoped. His home was dilapidated inside and his servants consisted of an old black couple who had been with him since he was a child. Sam was arthritic and did the best he could maintaining the outside of the house and the carriage. He drove Devereaux, while Peg, his wife, did the cooking and as much cleaning as her elderly body allowed. He paid them practically nothing, but they had a roof over their heads and food in their bellies. He considered himself a good employer…he seldom yelled at them anymore and had not hit either one in years. Besides, he knew they had nowhere else to go.

  Maintaining his image was of utmost importance to Devereaux. In a town so deep in bloodlines and proprieties, it was a façade he had to maintain in order to be received in the best homes and restaurants. To be penniless was a crime worse than murder in the eyes of those patricians who ruled society.

  He forced the negative thoughts away and focused on the bright face of Mrs. Mills, who broke his revelry. “Really, Mr. LaClaire, it is nice of you to offer, but Mrs. Redstone is right. How would it look for us to reside in your home, where no lady is present? In St. Louis society, such would never do. We want to start our lives here with propriety. I hope you understand. Moreover, you need not worry about the expense. Thank you anyway.”

  Devereaux learned that she had money, which he suspected. Widow, be damned. One way or another, he would get his hands on her delightful body, her pretty face, and the funds to bring his home back up to its prime.

  “You are welcome, both of you. I do understand, but do not forget my offer if ever you need anything.” And you will, that is a promise, he said to himself.

  Chapter 60

  After breakfast, the ladies returned to their cabin to finish packing. The conductor arrived and took their luggage to the baggage car for unloading as soon as the train stopped. They departed and were met by a driver from the Orleans Royale, who escorted them to their carriage to wait while he gathered their bags. The joys of telegraph lines have made travel so much easier than in the past, thought Ruby, remembering long waits for transportation and searching for suitable lodging. Not that she ever needed much in the way of lodging. A room with a bed was enough for one in her line of work.

  “Oh my, Ruby, I had not expected it to be so hot and wet feeling. Is it this way all the time? Why, my shirt is sticking to me already. However does one get used to it?”

  “I hate to tell you this, but this is winter and it gets worse in the summer. You will adjust, at least a bit. And there are a few tricks females use, but that are never admitted. For one, you will get rid of all those petticoats but one. Your pantaloons can go, too. And those heavy long stockings. A thin pair to cover your ankles will do. After all, a lady should never show an ankle. Heaven forbid that a patch of leg be exposed.

  “But exposing your upper chest, shoulders, and a bit of cleavage is encouraged for daytime in the warmer months. The ladies know the gentlemen like that. Moreover, at night, for balls and such, even more cleavage is acceptable. The more modest women add a thin layer of fabric called lawn to cover themselves, but in my opinion, it makes them even more interesting to men to want to see what is under it. Oh, damn. Here comes that LaClaire.”

  Devereaux maneuvered the carriage to stop beside them. “I intended to take you to the Royale myself, but I see you already have transportation. Again, feel free to send for Sam anytime you need to go anywhere. We are at your disposal.” With that he bowed, tipped his hat, and the carriage moved away.

  “That is so nice of him, don’t you think, Ruby?”

  Ruby sighed. Lulu was so naïve. “Honey, let me warn you about that man. He is a gold digger after your money. And your body, I suspect. I have seen countless men like him and take my word for it, he is not to be trusted.”

  Their driver returned and asked if they wanted the quickest route to the hotel or a more roundabout way to see more of the city. Before Lucretia could answer, Ruby said, “Straight to the hotel. We have all the time in the world to see the city.” To Lucretia she whispered, “After we get a bath, some fewer clothes, and pampering, we will enjoy another ride.”

  “Not quite yet. I am sorry, but I have one stop to make. Take me to the closet bank. I have a couple of things to deal with first.” When the driver stopped, Lucretia told him to wait under a tree so that Ruby was out of the sun while she went inside. Her business with the banker was quick and easily done. She signed documents giving him the right to telegraph her St. Louis bank and at the same time, changed her account name to Mrs. Mills, not wanting any trace of Mrs. Sawyer being in New Orleans. The banker was confused, at best, but did as instructed. He was still shaking his head when Lucretia smiled at him and returned to the waiting carriage for their continuing trip to the hotel.

  Their suite was as luxurious as could be had in the modern city of New Orleans. Even before they had time to do little more than give their names at the counter, a porter whisked them to a remarkable closet that moved up and down between floors so that a person no longer had to walk the endless stairs. Inside was the operator, dressed in a red uniform. He smiled as he accepted Lucretia’s coin, slid a gate in front of them, and moved a lever until the closet stopped on the highest floor.

  It was a massive residence that opened before them, so beautiful it took away Ruby’s breath. She had never seen such luxury in her life, let alone stayed in such a place. Embossed gold wallpaper covered the wall. Floor-to-ceiling windows of cut glass had heavy draperies to cut out the sun and heat. Outside was a balcony that ran from one side of their apartment to the other. The huge building had three other units of this size, so that only four suites took up the entire floor. White marble tiles with Oriental rugs of gold and red marked the placement of the seating areas, which consisted of velvet furnishing and shiny dark wood tables. Accents were pieces of art the likes of which neither woman had ever seen. Oriental vases and statues sat in alcoves around
the room.

  “Lucretia, we cannot afford this. There has to be a mistake.” Lulu looked as mystified as she was as she pulled the call rope. It was answered in less than a minute. “I think this is not the right room. Not that it is not perfect, but it is not what we asked for.”

  “The gentleman warned us you would say that, but I assure you that it is the proper room. He asked us to give you this note, should you object to your accommodations.”

  He handed the folded paper to Ruby and quietly closed the door behind him. She offered it to Lulu, who said, “You read it.”

  Ruby opened it and stared at the page. Tears began to fall behind her heavy veil until they dropped to her shirt. When she did not utter a word, Lucretia turned to her and saw the wet spot on the dark blue fabric. “What is it, Ruby? Is it terrible news?” Still Ruby did not reply. Lucretia lifted the veil to see her friend’s face and knew something was wrong. She took her in her arms and together they sat on one of the red velvet settees scattered around the room.

  Lulu took the paper from the trembling hands and read aloud. “Dear ladies. I took the liberty of stopping here before returning home to make sure all was as it should be for such a gracious, beautiful pair of travelers ever to set foot in our fair city. The room they had set aside for you was inferior, so I suggested a suite more in keeping with your sensibilities. Sincerely, Devereaux Benoit LaClaire the Third. Post Script: Please do not refuse my hospitality for the second time today. I will be devastated should you do so.”

  Lucretia looked askance at her friend. “Surely, Ruby, while the man is definitely overstepping himself, it is nothing to cry about. Why…” Slowly, realization began to dawn. “Ruby, is it that you cannot read?”

  Ruby’s head slowly rose from its bowed position so she could meet the eyes of her only true friend. “No, I cannot read. I am so sorry.”

  “Why are you apologizing? If you do not read, it is of little real importance. I am here to read what is necessary and I will teach you in no time. It is easier than you think. But I do not understand…those books you showed me. Surely, you read them?”

  “No, I did not, Lucretia. You remember, they were all full of pictures and few words. There is a saying about a picture being worth a thousand words, and those pictures certainly told it all.”

  She took a deep breath before continuing. “I never told you before, but perhaps now is the time. It is an ugly story and now I am as ugly as my beginnings were. After you hear it, I shall leave, as you do not need the sort of person I am. What I am is really far worse than a whore.”

  Chapter 61

  A knock on the door came at the most inopportune time, and Lucretia moved to answer it. A uniformed hotel employee handed her another note and waited while she read it. She took a coin from her pocket and handed it to the man. “Please tell the gentleman we are having our supper in our suite and have plans for most of the week. We will contact him at his home in a few days. Thank you.” She shut the door firmly behind her and slipped the lock.

  “It was our Mr. LaClaire here to take us out for the evening. He is becoming a bit of a pest and—” She spoke as she turned and saw that Ruby was no longer on the settee, but was closing the door to her room. Lucretia’s first thought was to follow her, but prudence brought her to a stop. She would let Ruby have her privacy, as she herself often needed. She moved to the bathroom off her bedroom and drew a full tub of water, adding the oils and perfumes provided to well-heeled customers, like the hotel personnel thought she was.

  “I might as well take advantage of what is offered while I can,” she thought aloud, as she slid out of her heavy linen dress and multiple petticoats. When she was fully undressed, she looked at herself in the full-length mirrors that surrounded the room. An open window, shaded for privacy, allowed the steam to escape. A pile of white towels sat on a counter behind the tub. The faucets of the lavatory and bath were gold colored, probably even gold plated. Nothing was too good for those who could afford it. She giggled as she slid into the perfect water.

  On the side of the deep porcelain bath was a bank of windows, also shaded. She lifted the edge of one shade to see only blue sky beyond. She pulled the drawstrings and let out an exclamation of disbelief. Below her was a panorama of the city, from its slow-moving river full of ships on her left, to the streets and avenues as far as she could see to her right. She settled back into the water, never taking her eyes off the hustle and bustle of life in New Orleans.

  After a while, the warm water and her tired body won out and she sank into a soft sleep. In her sleep, images of Jeffrey and Eagle slipped and slid around her mind like ghosts, laughing and taunting her. She was tied to a tree on a hill with both soldiers and Indians riding around her, chanting and laughing at her nakedness. The wind blew cold while the clouds moved to dump showers of frigid water down on her. Both the major and the captain sat on horses and stared down at her before turning to ride away, leaving her to her fate.

  When she awoke with a start, it was to a dark sky and cold water. She pulled the plug and wrapped one of the huge towels around herself. She picked up her clothing and put it in a basket with a tiny label saying “laundry.”

  As she stepped into the sitting room, the corridor door closed. Just inside was a cart with two place settings, two bottles of wine, and several covered bowls. “Ah, you are awake.” Ruby was smiling at her. Her veil was gone and she wore a soft, silky dressing gown with matching slippers. “I peeked in at you when you were so long quiet. You looked like an angel asleep in that massive tub. It is big enough for two, easily, as I decided when I used mine. Have you ever seen the likes of this place?”

  Lucretia grinned. “Never. I could have never even imagined such things. Our little house in St. Louis was a hut compared to this, and I always thought it was rich and beautiful. Did you look out the windows?”

  “Yes, and it took my breath away. Now come and sit down. I ordered our supper when my stomach reminded me that breakfast was hours ago. Since we are about as far south as we can get, I ordered southern cooking, leaving it up to the chef to select for us. If we do not like it, well…we will just order something else. Mr. LaClaire will be amazed at what two women can eat, will he not?”

  Chapter 62

  Unfortunately for Mr. LaClaire and his purse strings, the two ladies “oooed” and “ahhed” as they consumed nearly everything. There was shrimp Creole, sherry crawfish, dirty rice with chicken livers, chicken croquettes, grits, fried okra, fried green tomatoes, gumbo, and peach cobbler with thick, sweet cream. It was a meal fit for a king—or, in this case—two queens. They ate until their stomachs said “no more.” They decided to save the dessert for later…and some of the other things as well.

  They poured their wine and moved to the balcony overlooking the city below. Although they did not know many of the names at the time, they could see Jackson Square, miles of canals, the Ursuline Convent and the Archbishop’s Palace, the Claiborne Market, the French Opera building, and the Parish Prison. The sun had set, but a light breeze kept the mosquitoes at bay for the time being.

  They talked of inconsequential things. When the conversation lagged, Ruby said, “I suppose this is as good a time as any for me to bare my soul. If you want me to leave when I have told you my worst, I will understand and go immediately.”

  Lulu reached for her friend’s hand and held it tight. “There is nothing you can say that would make me want you to leave. You are my friend and I love you.”

  Ruby squeezed back and took a deep breath. “I have never told a soul what I did. Even the children never knew. Well, not my children. Yes, they became my children, although I have borne no baby alive. They were my brothers and sisters and cousins and orphans from the hills and valleys of the mountains of Appalachia.

  “I was the oldest child, nine when my mother died in childbirth with my youngest brother. He was the third brother and I had two sisters. She was a frail woman, as I remember her. Not the kind to bear a child every year, especially when she
felt my father’s fists and boots when he had too much hooch, which was nightly.”

  She stopped talking and rose to fill their wineglasses. She laughed bitterly. “Here I am drinking and at the same time berating my father.”

  Lucretia smiled and said, “This is hardly the same thing. I cannot believe you would ever hurt a fly, drunk or sober.”

  “How little you know of me, sweet Lulu. Soon you will know the difference. Anyway, without a woman to fall on every time his pecker got hard, he decided I would have to do. He swore at me, hit me, and raped me whenever the mood struck. There was no one to care for the babies, so I did it. Sometimes he would bring home food, but mostly it was deer or rabbits and such. He loved to hunt. Guess he liked playing God. So I planted a pathetic little garden, milked our pathetic cow, fed our pathetic chicken, and all else to fill our bellies.

  “I was just a child, but I grew up real quick. I am not complaining, just telling you what happened. By the time I was twelve, he was bringing home other men who paid him to use me. He liked to do things with my brothers, too, then the small girls, but he kept them all for his own use. At least until they were older.

  About that time, he started bringing home girls he found in orphanages. He did make more of an effort to see that we had food, but that was all. The girls were just another way to make money, and he liked money. He brought fancy laces, feathers, and such for us all to wear. He said it was to make us sexy and the men would be willing to pay more.

  “I guess he was right because he had another building put up. It had several ‘rooms,’ as he called them. ‘Some men want privacy,’ he said. Each room had nothing but a mattress on a wooden frame, but that is where he sent us with whichever man wanted us.