Love Finds You in New Orleans, LA

by Christa Allan

  She expected that, as she grew older, she would understand more of life. Instead, she understood less. She asked more questions but received fewer answers. The party, the marriage, Gabriel, Justine, her parents, her grandparents. Agnes and Abram, who had no control over the color of their skin, now had no control over their lives. But isn’t that true for all of us? The God Grand-père explained all those years ago seemed then far less confusing than He did today.

  And now her grandparents’ voices drifted through her window, but no one had yet called for dinner. Lottie watched the rain exhaust itself, leaving behind drops on the lemon trees, a shine on the bricks in the courtyard. She decided she was tired too. She closed her eyes and waited. She just wasn’t sure for what.

  Chapter Fifteen

  ...........................

  Of course she would be there. It was her house.

  Gabriel left the LeClercs’ house hoping his day of disappointments ended soon and that Rosette would be understanding about his being away so long. Neither one seemed likely.

  First, he had watched as his father, the man he intended to visit in moments, turned to meet his wife and son. The reunion Gabriel plotted in his head became as useless as he felt. Knowing he didn’t want to tell Rosette what happened, Gabriel went directly to Agnes. The thought that he might have to endure the awkwardness of seeing Lottie didn’t occur to him. That is, not until he finished explaining to Agnes what happened and then saw Lottie walking through the hall. And there was no way out for either one of them.

  He saw how the delicate yellow of her dress highlighted the honey gold in her eyes. And when he had averted his eyes from Agnes, having heard the rustling of Lottie’s dress, he saw that she smiled. That she held one hand with the other, he knew signaled her nervousness. Their first few times visiting the children’s homes, days they’d walked and she’d talked about her grandmother’s distance from her, she’d clasped her hands just like that.

  The discomfort he sensed between them was sadly reassuring, because it reflected what they could not openly acknowledge. It pained him to be so close that he could take her hands, draw her to him, and no longer need to wonder what it would be like to bend to kiss her, knowing it would be welcomed. And worse, her grandparents might have already decided on her husband, and yet she didn’t know. He wanted the party to be over, perhaps more than Lottie.

  * * * * *

  Gabriel dreaded explaining to his mother the reason he had not arrived home at the time she’d asked. And if she did not bother to ask but instead walked past him with Alcee in tow, he knew he’d best prepare for a hurricane-force wind upon her return.

  He heard a medley of voices as he approached the house. Probably Tante Virgine. But entering through the open French doors of the dining room, he was surprised to find unfamiliar faces gathered around the table.

  “Gabriel, so glad you are home.” Rosette sounded as if she meant it. “Finally.”

  Ah, there it was.

  His arms occupied holding his wardrobe, he simply nodded and wished he had first gone to his garçonnière and perhaps stayed there.

  Excusing himself from the guests, Gabriel brought his clothes to his room and laid them on his bed. Rosette expected him to join her and her guests, so he quickly splashed water on his face, dried off, and returned to the dining room.

  Most everyone had already finished eating, and, judging by the smell of fresh coffee, dessert would be served soon. He hated feeling uncomfortable in his own home. He served himself a bowl of red beans and rice then sat at the table across from his mother. Tearing the heel off the crusty French bread on the serving tray, he set it on his plate. When he lifted his spoon to his mouth, Rosette decided to start the introductions.

  “This is my dressmaker, Madame Barrier. She graciously came here after Virgine told her we were without transportation.” Rosette gestured to the lady on her right, whose high white lace collar had been fastened by a rectangular brooch. The pink-and-gray horizontal stripes of her dress made for a surprising contrast, as Gabriel would have expected on a younger woman. Perhaps the lines around her eyes made her appear older.

  “And this is Monsieur Joseph Joubert. He is a builder.”

  Curious. “Pleased to meet you. And what is it you build?”

  “Cottages, town houses, and stores. Most of my designs are traditional, but I do my best to know current trends. I provide floor plans, sketches of the completed project for my clients. I also renovate, which is what brought me to Madame Girod’s home today.”

  He spoke with the practiced assurance that comes from knowing his clients wanted someone trustworthy, competent, and confident. Had he not introduced himself as a builder, Gabriel might have mistaken him as someone who worked on the river. Joubert had the well-developed arms of a man who spent the major portion of his day carrying objects the size of which might make another man, like Gabriel, collapse. Considerably darker than the Girods, Joubert’s close-to-his-scalp, tightly curled hair may have defined him as entirely black had his eyes not been as green, his lips not as thin.

  Gabriel mixed the mound of red beans atop the rice, the creamy gravy barely visible. The night before, Rosette and Alcee had sifted through them to remove small pieces of rock or hard mud that sometimes hid in them. After scraping the beans into the pot, Rosette covered them with water. Alcee used to say they got “fat” overnight. This morning, Rosette drained the old water, started with fresh water, onions, and spices, and then cooked them for most of the day.

  While his mother, the dressmaker, and the builder shared stories about strange occurrences during Carnival, a conversation that could go on for years, Gabriel leaned over to Alcee and said, “I am sorry if I spoiled the day you were to spend with Maman. I can explain later.”

  “How much later?”

  “Hmm. When you are twenty?”

  “Maman looks like she thinks she might be twenty again.”

  At first, Gabriel thought his sister’s over-dramatizing was a result of her reading Mansfield Park. The wretched treatment of poor orphans made for highly impassioned and sob-wracked voice scenes in the parlor. She told Gabriel and her mother that “happily ever after” challenged her acting skills.

  Rosette had remarked, “Exactly.” But Alcee continued playing the suffering heroine and pleading with Rosette for permission to quit school to perform. Their palaver one particular night sent Gabriel back to the quiet of his garçonnière. They continued to quibble, but not with regularity. Rosette told Alcee she could act by pretending she liked school.

  But he watched his mother across the table and noticed the shift in the brightness of her eyes when she spoke to Joubert and the dressmaker, the natural smile for one, the polite smile for the other. Gabriel waited for an opportunity to join the conversation, which kindly presented itself when Rosette went to the pantry for dessert plates.

  “Excuse me. I will see if I can be of help to Maman.” Alcee kicked Gabriel ever so slightly under the table before she left.

  “Monsieur Joubert, did you escort Madame Barrier here?”

  The builder looked across the table at the dressmaker. “No. No. Of course…” He smiled then continued. “Of course, I offered to escort her home.”

  Madame Barrier nodded. “He is very kind, especially since…since Monsieur Barrier is no longer with me.” She withdrew a lacy handkerchief from one of her long sleeves, patted her eyes dry, then pushed it back into her sleeve.

  “Monsieur Joubert, I wasn’t aware Rosette knew any builders,” said Gabriel.

  “I am here because your mother and I talked at the café about the possibility of bringing the kitchen to the house. Many homes have been safely remodeled to do this, and it seemed an idea that would be of great help to her.”

  Rosette walked in, holding a tray of Dresden cups and the coffee service. Alcee followed with dessert plates.

  “Gabriel, remember how we talked about the Gallier home and the indoor kitchen?” Rosette walked to the sideboard for the sugar
bowl.

  He wanted to say that they had discussed a number of houses for a number of different reasons. But tonight was not the night. “Yes, I do recall that conversation.”

  “When Monsieur Joubert showed me how we could increase our business at the café with simply a few changes”—she stopped to smile at the builder as she passed him a cup of coffee—“that’s when I asked about our kitchen.”

  Gabriel prepared himself. Witnessing his mother’s demeanor around Monsieur Joubert, he suspected the café might not be the only change at the Girod household. He hoped Rosette understood that most all renovations required tearing down the old to accommodate the new. And it couldn’t be one brick at a time. He passed Alcee his empty bowl and waited for the next cup of coffee.

  Joubert had the muscles for the job. But did he have the heart?

  Chapter Sixteen

  ...........................

  Though considered mild by anyone north of New Orleans, the winter brought enough of a chill to warrant velvets, cloaks, and fireplaces. Business increased in the café as the aroma of the calas mingled with the café au lait and lured customers in to warm themselves and wrap their hands around the steaming mugs. Sundays before and after the masses at the Cathedral were especially busy.

  The morning after dinner with their guests, Gabriel looked around the café at the scattered groups standing near tables and admitted that having more seats would be of benefit.

  As he bent to pick up empty cups and plates from a table, Gabriel felt a tap on his shoulder. A bundle of silver velvet brushed against his hand as the dress whisked past, and then Nathalie stood in front of him. “Is anyone sitting here?” She placed her silk fan on her face, revealing only her large, inviting eyes. She blinked like Alcee when she exaggerated her adoration of him to plead for some favor. Nathalie, though, seemed much more practiced, especially in the way she slowly lowered her fan from her round eyes to below her full lips, revealing a smile as curvaceous as her body.

  Without waiting for an answer, she glided onto the stool and unbuttoned her mantelet, a delicate pink that matched the bow just below the hollow of her neck and the small buttons down the center front of her dress. She looked at him with the expectancy of a woman awaiting a compliment.

  Not sure if his temporary inability to speak was due to Nathalie seeing him as a server or his seeing Nathalie, Gabriel thought the best course of action was to dispense with the jumble of cups and plates he held. “So good to see you. Would you excuse me? I need to take these to Rosette.” He mentally kicked himself for sounding as uncomfortable as he felt.

  “I won’t go away. I promise.” She started removing her gloves as if to prove that she would not be leaving.

  He deposited the china inside the deep wooden tub they used for washing and dried his hands. Rosette handed him a fresh cup of café au lait and nodded in Nathalie’s direction. “Is that—?”

  “Yes. Little Nathalie Chaigneau.” He saw Rosette’s eyebrows arch even higher and her mouth open to speak. “I know. I know. She’s not so little anymore.”

  His mother smiled. “Well, at least you noticed. That’s a beginning.”

  Her remark unnerved him. He set the cup down on the counter. “Why do you say that?”

  “Because you need to hear it.” She reached for more cups. “We can talk later.”

  “I don’t have anything to say. Not now.” Gabriel walked away before she could answer and made his way to Nathalie. He set the cup in front of her. “I suppose I should have asked if you wanted coffee.”

  “Why else would I be here?” She moved her gloves to her lap. “Thank you. I will probably need another soon.” She glanced around the café.

  “Oh, you are meeting someone.” Of course. Why would someone as attractive as Nathalie find herself alone in a café drinking coffee?

  “Yes. A friend I haven’t had an opportunity to spend much time with since I returned.” She sipped her coffee. “How have you been? I don’t see you out much.”

  “No. I spend most of my time here or helping Rosette at home with her pralines.” Hearing himself, he realized how feeble that must sound. At least he escaped having to admit that in front of the man she was there to meet.

  She tilted her head. The simple yet tightly wrapped dove-gray tignon, two soft pink feathers banding one side, drew more attention to her face. “Then we must change that. A group of us will be at the opera Saturday. Why don’t you join us?”

  He didn’t have a reason to refuse. “Yes. Yes, I will do that.”

  She clapped her hands. “C’est magnifique! Great news. I look forward to it. We usually meet at six o’clock outside the theatre. My family has seats. I will be sure to save one for you.”

  At some other time, Gabriel would have argued against a ticket being provided for him. But the café was not the place nor Nathalie the person for that discussion. “Thank you.”

  She smiled but looked past him and waved. “My friend. She is here.”

  The tall young woman, elegant in her expensive French silk-andlace dress and triple pearl strands, moved in their direction. Not only was she au courant with fashion, but she wore money with the selfassurance displayed only by those who had it in abundance. That the wealth did not originate with her was revealed by her equally understated but bejeweled tignon.

  She looked familiar, and when Nathalie introduced her, “This is my friend, Serafina Lividaus,” Gabriel remembered exactly where he had last seen her.

  “I am pleased to see you again,” she said.

  Serafina.

  The woman Rosette comforted in their parlor.

  The woman who thought she might be pregnant with Paul Bastion’s child.

  * * * * *

  The first few months after Rosette ended her relationship with Jean Noel, Gabriel heard the maids and children of other placées weave the most elaborate tales about his mother and father. All of them involved a version of how, why, or when Jean Noel left, because a placée asking her protector to end their left-handed marriage would be so unusual as to be unbelievable. When he heard stories of his mother wanting more children, not wanting more children, spending too much money, not pleasing Jean Noel, or whatever the tale du jour, Gabriel said nothing. His mother had promised his father not to reveal the truth so as to protect his reputation, which, ironically, made her the protector. And so Gabriel had honored his mother’s request that he not disclose what he knew to be the truth. Maintaining silence and his temper were crucial, and that promise to his mother was one of the most difficult Gabriel had ever experienced.

  Until today, when Rosette extracted another promise of confidentiality.

  After serving Serafina and Nathalie, Gabriel severed every emotion possible. Cut their ropes, let them drift into a sea of nothingness. Otherwise, he could not have finished the day that he now stood discussing with Rosette, who confronted him as soon as the last customer left.

  “Have you swallowed a ghost?” she teased when he handed her more cups. “Wait, you didn’t smile.” Still holding the dishes, she said, “Sit on that stool right in front of me. I’m going to put these in the tub. Don’t move.”

  Gabriel sat and watched his mother as she walked away, her shoulders straight, her head high. Even at the end of a day, no one would guess how little she slept, how hard she worked, in her business and as a parent. He thought of Jean Noel’s wife, who didn’t have to concern herself with money, and his son, who could talk to his father whenever he needed. At times, Gabriel resented his mother’s decision. How could half a father be worse than no father?

  Rosette dried her hands on the hem of her apron then pulled up a stool for herself. “You have been bothered since earlier today. What happened that you are barely alive?”

  He chose not to mention the discussion with LeCroix and Cordeviolle about his clothes or about trying to spend time with Jean Noel. He related the conversation he’d overheard in the tailors’ about the Bastions and then about seeing Serafina today, making the conne
ction between her and Paul. “He already has a woman, and she is pregnant, and now he will have Lottie too? I—I cannot watch this unfold and do nothing.”

  “So what is it you think you can do?” Rosette unwrapped her calico tignon, letting her hair spill over her shoulders. She pushed her fingers through her hair where it pressed against her scalp. She would retie the tignon before they left the café, but Gabriel knew she welcomed even this brief respite.

  “Lottie should know the kind of man Paul Bastion is. She would want to know.”

  “And then what?”

  “Why would she want to marry such a man? If she knew beforehand, she could—”

  “Refuse? That would suggest she has a choice—which she does not. And how is Paul Bastion different from any other white Creole man? How is it different from—”

  “Don’t,” he snapped and stood, leaning to hold onto the stool. “You were going to say how is he different from my father.”

  “No. I intended to ask how is it different from rocking my son to sleep on the day his father married? Because this is about your grief. About having no control over your life.”

  He clenched the stool, wanted to hurl it across the café. He wanted to see the destruction he felt. “But I love her. When I was younger, I thought I’d grow out of it. A boyhood infatuation. But I kept growing into it.”

  “Have you told her?”

  “Of course not. What would it change? The laws are not going to change for us.”

  “No, they’re not. If you haven’t told her your feelings, why would she even think she had any choices? But people who love each other have found ways. None of which are easy.”