Love Finds You in New Orleans, LA

by Christa Allan

  “Of course, Monsieur Joubert.” Armstrong whistled to a younger version of himself perched on a barrel and cleaning his fingernails with a knife. “William, come get this order ready.”

  His son folded the knife closed with one hand and slid off the barrel with the speed of thick molasses. “If I had hair, half this weight, and all my teeth, I wouldn’t be holding down a barrel waiting for the next whistle. Guess it’s my fault for not making my son work as hard to feed himself as I had to.” He handed Joseph the invoice. “Don’t let that happen to him,” he said, pointing to Gabriel. Joseph just smiled and nodded.

  As they left the store, Gabriel said, “You didn’t correct Armstrong when he mistook me for your son.”

  “No, I didn’t mind him thinking that at all. Though he must be wondering how you came to be so light with me as your father,” Joseph said. “Wait. Gabriel. I just realized how that must have sounded. I didn’t mean to suggest any disrespect to your father. Or to you. I shouldn’t assume.”

  “No one has ever recognized me, mistaken or not, for anyone’s son before today.” So that was the feeling he’d missed all those years. Gabriel wanted to resent Jean Noel for having deprived him of a father-son relationship. But sons of placées, even when their fathers had no other biological children, were rarely acknowledged. Joseph had given him what his own father could not. Recognition.

  * * * * *

  Gabriel and Joseph stopped sawing when they saw Nathalie step behind the kitchen and move to where they were framing the addition. A shower of fine white dust covered almost every part of her gown that her apron didn’t.

  “Have you checked the powdered-sugar expenses since she started working for your mother?” Joseph smiled and shook his head.

  “No. Rosette said anyone who wonders what it means to beat the devil out of something needs to watch Nathalie with a shaker and a plate of beignets,” said Gabriel. “She said she hates to spoil her fun, and it entertains the customers.”

  “You two are laughing at me, aren’t you?” Since Nathalie laughed herself when she asked them, the men figured they were safe in agreeing with her. “Customers haven’t complained about the new prices. They think that little mountain of sugar is lagniappe. Just you wait.”

  “Did you need to tell us something?” Gabriel asked, knowing she would not have bothered them outside otherwise.

  “Oh, yes. Gabriel, you have visitors. Charlotte and her friend, the one who talks constantly—Justine. Yes. Do you want them to meet you out here?”

  “Tell them I’ll be right in.”

  “I already did. They’re having coffee.” She winked and went back inside.

  Joseph wiped his face with his handkerchief. “Some man is going to have his hands full, taking care of her.”

  “And it’s not going to be me,” Gabriel said as he rolled down his sleeves and cuffed them at the wrist.

  “Does she know that?” Joseph wiped sawdust off his shirt and brown cotton work pants.

  “Why wouldn’t she? I didn’t think it was ever an issue,” said Gabriel. He had always considered Nathalie a friend. Their discussions and actions had never ventured beyond that relationship.

  “I wouldn’t be too sure,” Joseph warned. “I might as well take a break while you do. I’m sure your mother misses me.”

  Gabriel saw Lottie in one of those unguarded moments before she knew he was in the room. Her hair had been tightly drawn back on each side of her face but released in a thick sea of curls that flowed past the nape of her neck. The teardrop emerald hanging from her pearl choker nestled itself in the hollow of her throat. He outlined her face with his eyes and in that moment knew he could not watch her become the wife of Paul Bastion. She scanned the café, and when her eyes found him, his heart shattered.

  He threaded his way through the tables, pausing to greet a regular customer or friend as he went. When he reached Lottie and Justine, he first apologized for and then explained his disheveled appearance. “I did not expect company,” he said, “but I am glad you are here.”

  “Justine and I planned to spend time this evening strolling along the levee since the winter has not seemed nearly so angry the past few days. Agnes and Abram will be with us, of course. I thought, if you were free—”

  “Sometimes I do not know why she bumbles when you are around. Or maybe I do. She is trying to tell you that the two of you could meet and have that talk. I’m only going to lend legitimacy to the event. That, and to avoid being asked to do Ruthie’s chores since she is so ready to deliver that child she needs help to stand once she’s seated. I’m even being told to flatten my own mattress and fill my own pitcher for my bedroom and help with meals. My mother and Isabelle are going to ruin that girl if they continue to treat her as if she is white.”

  In the time Justine took to realize what she had said and to whom, Gabriel had moved past speechless. “Yes, what an outrage, to treat a slave as if she is human.”

  He left after he told Lottie that if he finished in time, he would meet her in the evening. But for the Justines of society, he and Lottie might have a chance at the life they wanted.

  * * * * *

  Gabriel pushed the saw through the boards with a vengeance as he repeated to Joseph what Justine had told him and Lottie.

  “I know you’ve met your share of Justines through the years, and you already know you’ve not met the last. We may detest what she says, but she’s at least letting you know what she thinks. As far as I’m concerned, the people who think it and never say it are sometimes more dangerous. Most of them already know that the Bible says we’re all God’s creation. Sometimes I wish the verse would have ended with ‘we’re just different colors.’” Joseph handed Gabriel a hammer and took over sawing. “But Justine isn’t really the person we ought to be talking about. What are you going to do about Lottie?”

  “Lottie? How do you know anything about Lottie?”

  “The day we went to her grandfather’s office, the two of you laid eyes on each other like you’d just seen water after being in the desert for weeks. I started paying attention after that. Same way nobody had to tell you how I feel about Rosette.” Joseph stopped, got a long nail, placed it into the opening he’d already cut so it wouldn’t close in on his saw, and went back to cutting the wood. “You don’t have many options, though I’m sure you figured that out already.”

  “One thing I’ve figured out is, it’s one thing to swing a hammer. Making the nail go in straight is another.”

  “Practice. It’s all practice. Stop focusing on the hammer; focus on the nail head. That’s why you’re getting all those sideways swings. I’m surprised you haven’t flattened a few fingers,” Joseph observed.

  “Maybe that’s my problem with Lottie too—the wrong focus. It’s not enough just to want to be together. If we’re serious, then we both know it can’t happen here. And that’s what we have to focus on. But I don’t know what she’s willing to do to make that happen.”

  “Lottie may not either. Sometimes people learn what they’re willing to sacrifice only when life doesn’t require it of them anymore. If you’re lucky, she won’t be one of those people.”

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  ...........................

  A New Orleans evening sun coaxed people out of their houses to revel in the gift of a mild winter day. Some families abandoned strolling in favor of watching their chubby-legged children run in wide circles, in the hopes that they would fall fast asleep once they reached home. Mothers with the foresight to wear fewer petticoats and dresses more ready to be cut down than worn found it possible to arrange themselves appropriately and sit on the hard, dry ground. When a steamboat blasted its giant trumpet and belched inky, smoky notes, the delighted children celebrated with a symphony of squeals, giggles, and applause. Later, carried onward by the wind, a sprinkling of soot rested on collars and capes and gowns.

  The scent in the fresh air depended on the number of ships and their cargo. Hogsheads of sugar and tobacco, mo
lasses and flour, and so many bales of cotton they seemed as endless as the Mississippi River waited to be loaded or had been off-loaded. Lottie breathed in pineapplefragrant air as far down as her corset would allow. She envied the little girls who bent and stretched so effortlessly, their soft bodies not held prisoner by laces and whalebones. Even Alcee, whom Gabriel had invited along, rarely bothered with uncomfortable underpinnings. But looking at her as she walked with Justine ahead of them, Lottie could see the woman in Alcee pushing out the little girl.

  “She is truly repentant. I know she wants to apologize,” said Lottie about Justine’s remark at the café. “And one day, one of us might need to grant forgiveness before we seek it.”

  “You’re beginning to sound like Rosette, which is not conducive to what I want to say. I intended to talk to Justine later. Anything about Agnes, Abram, or Alcee we need to address?”

  “Nothing,” she said. “But I want to talk to you first.” Lottie wished she had pockets so he wouldn’t see her fidgeting with her hands. She intertwined her fingers and her hands bounced with the movement of her skirt as she walked. A long stretch of ground lay ahead, so she would have time to finish. “I’m not exactly sure when it happened—when I crossed from ‘Gabriel as friend’ to ‘Gabriel as more than friend.’ I do know there was one day in particular when I could no longer ignore or deny those feelings. When you smiled, all I could think about was what your lips would feel like on my forehead, my cheeks, my own lips. How it would feel to stand so close to you and be held so tightly and be kissed so deeply. I feared you could read my mind. And I feared you couldn’t.”

  Justine stopped and pointed ahead. “Alcee and I are going to get a lemonade. Would you like one?”

  They both said no, and when they closed the distance between the two girls, Alcee whispered she could convince Abram and Agnes to stay with them. “You two keep walking and don’t turn around.”

  “That sounds dire, Alcee. Biblically dire,” Lottie whispered back.

  Lottie and Gabriel continued to walk and were only steps away when Alcee let out a high-pitched mewl. “Justine, I have to stop. My ankle must be shattered.” Then, within moments, “Agnes, how could you leave me….”

  “We missed her first theatrical performance in front of an audience,” Gabriel said. “You were talking about my lips on yours.” He smiled.

  Lottie sidestepped a low spot but her voluminous skirt did not, and the weight of it started to pull her to the ground. She emitted a noise that sounded more like Isabelle’s child, but Gabriel’s arm encircled her waist and his other hand held her arm before she fully embarrassed herself by tumbling down the levee.

  “You did that on purpose, didn’t you?” he whispered in her ear before he released her.

  Lottie smiled. “No. But I would be happy if you wanted an encore.”

  “Continue,” Gabriel said.

  If only I did not have to. She wished the memories of this day would end here. “Before and even after my party, I allowed myself the luxury of imagining a life with you. Each possibility ended in having to leave the city. That terrified me, until I thought of a life without you. That is when I knew I had the courage to leave.”

  “That is exactly what I came to tell you,” he said.

  His fingertips on her face were like feathers, moving from her eyes to her cheeks to her chin. He kissed her forehead. He was so close, she felt him breathe. And with every ounce of strength she could pull from her heart, she placed her hand on his lips. “Stop. I wasn’t finished.”

  She explained everything her grandparents had told her, what they would lose if the marriage didn’t happen. “I can’t walk away, knowing what the consequences would be for them. You wouldn’t want to be with me, because I wouldn’t want to be with myself.”

  “I…I can’t believe you are telling me that you will marry a man you don’t love so your grandparents can sell a piece of land and make money from it. From you.”

  “Why does that surprise you? Look at the marriages among my friends. Plantations, business partners, cash, stocks…they are arranged mergers. And my grandparents are not earning a profit. I am making it possible for them to keep their home,” Lottie said. “What would happen to Agnes and Abram if they couldn’t?”

  “So, that is it, then?”

  “You have been making a sacrifice for your family ever since you chose not to go to Paris to stay here and help your mother. I at least thought you would understand that much.”

  “Except that the decision to choose Paris never happened for me in the way that it was meant. What I sacrificed was an immediate education, and it was fully my decision. Rosette supported me either way. It’s not the same, Lottie.”

  “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. But they are my grandparents. They raised me, and now they need me.”

  “I’m sorry too. You know about his other marriage, don’t you? And that she is with child?” Gabriel’s tone was harsh, unfamiliar.

  “If I had not known before, that was a cruel way to tell me.”

  Gabriel stopped out of hearing range of everyone waiting for them. “Please do not expect me to understand that the woman I love will marry a man whom she does not love and who probably does not love her. Bartering herself for a piece of land.” He looked at her, the sadness in his eyes belying the coldness in his voice. “I do not want you to come with me on Sunday. Or any Sunday thereafter. I hope you understand.”

  * * * * *

  “Honey chile, you need to wake up.”

  Lottie heard the scrape of the draperies, which meant her room would be pulsing with sunshine and, when Agnes opened her French doors, cold. Still, she didn’t move. She didn’t even remember how she came to be in bed. Gabriel walking away and Agnes’s voice, but nothing in between.

  “You already missed breakfast, and if you get up now, you might make it to lunch. If you don’t fall over all dis you left on the floor before you git out of your room.”

  Agnes must have been hanging her clothes, judging by the creaking of the armoire doors.

  “What you want to wear today? How ’bout dis yellow one? Brighten you up.”

  “Please leave me alone, Agnes. I am not getting up, and I am not wearing that horrid yellow dress. And when I do wake up, I will find my scissors and make yellow shreds of it.” Lottie felt the mattress tilt. Agnes sat close enough to unpin the mess of curls at the back of Lottie’s head. When she had freed every curl, Agnes finger-combed Lottie’s hair, stretching it across the other pillow.

  Her hand felt tender and soft and kind. Lottie didn’t want to feel that. She wanted to stay empty.

  She rolled toward Agnes, placed her head in her lap, and shook the bed with her sobs.

  “You go on and cry. You feel better getting it out. But you just remember, Genevieve Charlotte, Jesus always got a way.”

  * * * * *

  “Sorry I’m late.” Gabriel removed his hat, gloves, and coat. Then he walked outside, grabbed the hammer and a nail, and came back in. Still holding everything he’d taken off, he pounded a nail into the wall then took the hammer back outside. Reentering the café, he shoved his gloves into his coat then hung his coat with his hat over it on the nail he’d just hammered.

  Rosette and Nathalie watched him as if he were a one-man play and they stood waiting for the second act. Gabriel poured his own coffee and sat on the stool, and the two women still looked at him as if he had gone bald overnight. “What?”

  “I’m not sure. You look familiar, but you aren’t acting familiar. You’re so far away, you might as well be with André in Paris,” Rosette said, not taking her eyes off him.

  “Interesting you said that about André. I’ve been thinking maybe I need to finally do that. Go to Paris for school, that is.”

  Nathalie tied on her apron. “I’m going to find something to do in there,” she announced and pointed to the café. “You two may continue your conversation without me.”

  “You’ve been thinking about this? For how long?” Rosett
e took out the flour, sugar, eggs, and spices she needed to make the calas, setting everything down as if a noise might frighten Gabriel away. She found the basket she had brought from home. She had cooked the rice yesterday and left it out overnight so that it would be cold today.

  “I grew up thinking about it, remember? Then it didn’t happen. And I thought I needed to stay here to help you, which I did. But you have Joseph and Nathalie now. So I’d feel better about leaving.”

  “And when do you plan for this leaving to happen?” Rosette worked the rice with her hands to break up any clumps then started adding all the dry ingredients.

  “I don’t have any definite plans yet. There’s a great deal to consider: which school, the tuition, the cost of getting there, finding a place to live, a job…. I need to write André and get as many questions answered as possible.”

  “Certainly.” She added the eggs and vanilla and started mixing. She handed Gabriel a few grains of rice she’d kept out of the mix. “Here, test that oil for me.”

  Gabriel dropped a grain of rice in the hot oil, but it floated lazily to the top instead of popping right up and starting to sizzle. “Not yet. Maybe another minute or two.”

  “I need to ask Nathalie about coming in tomorrow. Would you please watch over the oil for just a minute?”

  “Yes. I will call you when it’s ready.”

  The conversation with Rosette had gone so much better than he’d expected. He heard the caution, maybe skepticism, in her voice. He understood how surprising this announcement was to her. It was to him as well.

  Gabriel dropped in another grain of rice. Almost the right temperature. Like Rosette, he had learned that being impatient and rushing the oil produced calas that no one would purchase, much less eat.

  He had awoken early this morning. After yesterday’s talk on the levee, he knew his life had to change. He could not live in the city when Charlotte LeClerc would become Madame Bastion. But he determined that leaving New Orleans had to be about what he wanted, not what he wanted to run away from. For over fifteen years, he’d awakened in the same garçonnière, gazed out the same window to see the same rooftops, looked over the same courtyard, and looked over the same life. It occurred to him this morning, when he was capable of more rational thought, that what had happened with Charlotte forced him to examine his life just when he needed to. Perhaps, in its own way, it was a blessing.