by Maggie Ryan
Her grandmother displayed her inner strength by never appearing saddened by George’s condition. Dr. Grant met with them the next afternoon explaining that George had contracted yellow fever. The disease had run through the city before, killing hundreds, including George’s wife and children. He’d been spared at the time and it seemed a cruel irony that many years later, the disease had returned to his household as if remembering it had left a victim behind.
Juliette did all she could to help, insisting that her grandmother take breaks from sitting at his bedside. She read him the newspaper from cover to cover, furthering her own education about the city and other news. Articles about California often appeared and she took note of the advertisements for equipping oneself to become a miner, queries for investment partners, and stories of those who had supposedly made it rich. She loved the days when her uncle felt strong enough to discuss what she’d read to him.
She entertained him with tales of the men she’d met who were taking the chance. “Uncle George, do you think men are silly for leaving families and all they know behind to rush to California?”
“I can tell you that life is rather empty without dreams, my dear. Hell, without the need to explore or the curiosity to know what’s over the next ridge, we’d all still be living in caves. If I were able to swing a pick-axe, I’d have been on the first boat west.” He paused to take a sip of water and then patted the surface of the bed.
“Since all I have strength to do is hold cards, how about we play and I don’t mean canasta. Willy said you’ve become quite the poker player? Grab the cards and that jar over there on the shelf. It’s no fun playing without betting.”
Juliette put the newspaper away, retrieved the items and fluffed his pillows to provide a more comfortable position before she pulled her chair closer and began to shuffle the deck.
“Want to learn some tricks?” George asked, and at her nod, took the cards. She watched, her eyes widening and her mouth dropping open as he began to shuffle. In an impressive maneuver, she watched as the cards seemed to jump from one of his palms to the other seemingly without effort. He then made the cards seem to leap over each other, his fingers manipulating them expertly.
“That’s amazing,” she said. “Can you teach me?”
“Honey, I can teach you everything you want to know about cards,” he said, fanning the cards out facedown on the bed. “We’ll draw for the deal.”
After drawing a nine of clubs which outranked his two of diamonds, she took the cards and shuffled, both laughing when her attempt to mimic his movements had her slipping from the chair to pick up the cards that had exploded in her attempt to make a bridge and had fallen to the floor.
“It takes practice, but you’ll learn.”
Once she’d piled a stack of half-pennies beside each of them and dealt the cards, she said,
“I’m really a novice so take it easy on me.”
“You can’t learn to play if you aren’t willing to gamble,” he retorted, placing a coin in the center of their play area. “The most important thing to remember is never to bet more than you are willing to lose. Now, ante up and learn.”
They’d been playing for about an hour, their piles shrinking and then growing again as each hand was finished. She was deciding whether to up his raise or just call his rather large bet when Mrs. Douglas walked into the room.
“Aren’t you supposed to be resting?” she scolded, adding, “and dinner is ready, Miss Juliette.”
“I’ll get plenty of rest when I’m dead,” George said, his eyes never leaving Juliette’s. “Come on, girly, I don’t have forever to wait for you to play.”
“Fine, then, I raise you all I have left,” Juliette said, shoving her pile forward.
“Brave move for one who is holding no more than a pair,” he chortled, raking the remainder of his coins into the pile. “What did I tell you about bluffing? I call, what do you have?”
Sighing deeply, she lowered two cards to the bed, “Oh, how could you tell? I do have a pair of fives…” She paused when he laughed and stated he knew he’d won—until, batting her eyelashes rather dramatically, she lowered the other cards to lay beside the pair. “And three pretty little ladies. I believe it’s called a full-house?”
“Novice my arse,” George grumbled as he tossed his cards down. “You, my dear, are a natural. All I have to say is that if you ever play elsewhere, along the Mississippi, the term for full-house is a boat.”
Juliette giggled as she reached for the jar and began putting the coins back inside. She ignored his protest that she’d won the money fair and square.
“It wasn’t mine to begin with, Uncle George. Besides, learning from you was well worth any winnings. Once you said that I needed to stop smiling if I got a good draw, I could understand why I always lost on the ship.”
“You keep practicing and you can make a living on any of the riverboats. The next time we play, I’ll teach you about ‘tells’ and more about shuffling.”
Standing and putting the items away, she returned to the bed to kiss his cheek. “I’ll look forward to it.”
Willamina smiled as Juliette told her of the game. “George loves his cards and you couldn’t make him happier than playing with him. Don’t be surprised if he attempts to teach you how to cheat. No man can be that lucky at cards!”
“I can just picture you and Uncle George growing up. It must have been wonderful to have…” Looking across the table, she shook her head. “To have a brother to grow up with.”
“It was,” Willamina said softly.
Changing the subject, Juliette lifted her spoon, “So this is the famous dish you’ve been waiting for?”
“Yes! I can’t tell you how much I’ve dreamed of this moment. We would have had it earlier but a good gumbo is made with the freshest ingredients and takes time to prepare properly and, believe me, this has been prepared by an expert!”
Juliette looked down into her bowl, a bit hesitant at the sight of all the bits and pieces of fish, vegetables, and rice bobbing about. The aroma was enough to have eyes watering. Taking a bite of the dish that her grandmother had been salivating waiting to sample again, she gasped and grabbed for her wine. Gulping down half of the contents of her glass enabled Juliette to feel her tongue again.
“Whoa. When you said spicy, I had no idea you meant hot enough to burn my taste buds!”
“Welcome to Creole cuisine,” Willamina said, rolling her eyes as she savored a large spoonful of the gumbo. “It might have fish in it, but I’d eat this at every meal if I could. I’m sure you’ll feel the same once you get used to having actual flavor in your food.”
After a week of sampling different dishes, Juliette had to agree that the savory red beans and rice were delicious. She also enjoyed a type of sausage called boudin. It was a mixture of pork and rice combined with creole seasonings stuffed in a pork casing. The fish she now ate, she savored; herbs and seasonings making all the difference in the taste.
However, she instantly fell in love with pastries she mistakenly referred to as donuts only to be informed they were beignets. Dusted with powdered sugar and dunked in a steaming cup of café au lait was all Juliette needed to start her day. Captain Hewitt would have to change his opinion if he ate just a single meal in Uncle George’s home. His cook couldn’t hold a candle to Nettie, her uncle’s cook.
Nettie was unlike anyone she’d ever met before. She had the most beautiful, flawless complexion Juliette had ever seen. Her skin color reminded Juliette of the coffee in her cup. Nettie’s eyes were the deepest blue and lit up when she smiled which was often. Despite her short stature and her roundness, she moved about with the grace of a dancer. Juliette often stopped whatever it was she was doing to listen when Nettie began to sing. She’d get gooseflesh listening to songs she’d never heard before and would get tears in her eyes listening to the lyrics of the ballads. When she’d asked about the songs, Nettie told her many were those sung by the slaves brought over from Africa.
“Singing songs is a way to lighten a load as much as they are a way to give praise or tell a story.” Juliette knew that slavery still existed in America and hated the fact that people felt they could actually own another. When she said as much, Nettie gave her a hug.
“It will never cease to amaze me what man does to each other, child. Thank the good Lord that your Uncle has the same opinion as you. He’s a good man and pays honest wages for honest work. I’m one of the lucky few. I’m a free black woman.”
“But you’re not. You are… I don’t know… more a beautiful, creamy tan than black.”
A rolling laugh had Juliette unsure if she’d offended the woman or if she’d just proved she was just another crazy white woman.
“Child, I’m what people call a mullato. That’s a person who veins are full of mixed blood. Both of my mammy and my pappy were mullatos too. My blood is diluted but I’m still considered black as coal.”
Watching her cook was like watching a conductor conduct a symphony. Her pots and pans were her instruments and the many jars of spices were her notes. Lifting two shakers, Juliette watched as Nettie shook them over the pot on the stove.
“You take some salt—that’s you white folk—add a pinch of pepper—that’s us colored people—put them together and then lo and behold, they’ve done made some babies. Those babies jump a broom and make another baby and what do you have?”
“A mulatto?” Juliette guessed.
“Exactly. And, that baby can either have skin like mine or be what is called high-yeller.” Lifting her spoon, her demonstration ended when she slid the item onto a plate and sat it before Juliette who laughed at the yellow fried corn.
“I’m going to gain a hundred stone if you keep feeding me like this,” Juliette said even as she popped the hushpuppy into her mouth, giving a moan of satisfaction.
“You could stand to gain a few pounds. How do you expect to catch you a man if you don’t have any curves? No man likes to lie on a pile of rattly ol’ bones. They like some softness, you know.”
“Since I’m unwed, I believe I should pretend I have no idea what you are talking about. Besides, I have no desire to catch a husband. I’ve found men in general to be rather tiresome,” Juliette said, licking her fingers free from the butter and honey mixture she’d smeared on her hushpuppy. “Except for Uncle George of course!”
“Hmph, pretend all you want but don’t think you’ll be foolin’ Miss Nettie. Didn’t your gram tell you that New Orleans is full of women with the sight?”
Leaning forward, Juliette said, “Really? Oh, Nettie, I’ve wanted to talk to a voodoo priestess. Do you know one? Will you introduce me?”
“You stay away from such things,” Nettie said, waving her spoon in the air. “Foolin’ around with such will git you nothin’ but trouble!”
“Gram told me I could explore…”
“Don’t think I won’t take a wooden spoon to your bony behind if I hear of some fancy English gal sneakin’ about where she ain’t got no reason to be.”
Juliette doubted the woman would actually attempt to follow through with her threat, figuring her bark was far worse than her bite but didn’t exactly wish to test her theory. Sliding out of her chair, she said, “In that case, I guess I’ll have to find someone else to take my bony behind out to the swamps.”
“Child! There’s snakes and gators in those swamps. Don’t you dare climb into one of those rickety pirogues!”
“Now, Nettie, I was just teasing.”
“You better keep it at teasing if you don’t want to be eating those beignets you love so much standing up!”
Thinking perhaps she’d misjudged the woman’s seriousness about that spoon, Juliette changed the subject. “Yes, ma’am. I think I’ll head up to Uncle George’s room and relieve Gram. Please make sure she eats.”
“I will,” Nettie said. “I’ve made her favorite tonight.”
“Oh, she’ll enjoy that,” Juliette said, leaving the kitchen and thinking it was a good thing she was full of delicious fried corn. As much as she was a fan of Nettie, she would never be a fan of the gumbo her grandmother loved. Slimy okra just didn’t have anywhere near the appeal of powdered sugar.
***
Ophelia and Amelia came to visit a few days later. Her grandmother was proven correct again when Uncle George’s face lit up when the women entered his room. Ophelia put the vase of flowers they’d brought on his bedside table and smiled as he spoke.
“The posies are pretty, but you two make an old man’s heart threaten to stop with your beauty.”
“You are far too kind, sir,” Amelia said.
They visited for only a short time as it was obvious that George was tiring.
“Promise me you’ll come again?” he said, his voice much softer than it had been a half-hour earlier. “Perhaps I won’t be so tired.”
“We promise,” Ophelia said, bending to give his cheek a kiss. Willamina stayed with him as Juliette took her guests into the parlor for refreshments.
“Thank you for coming. I know you brightened Uncle George’s day.”
“It’s our pleasure. How is he, really?” Ophelia asked.
Juliette’s hand trembled a bit as she poured the tea for her guests. “I believe he is getting worse. Dr. Grant warned us that he often sees patients rally for weeks at a time before declining. I’m just grateful that Gram has had time to visit when he’s been well.”
Not wanting to burden them, she told them of how she was not only learning more and more about the gold rush, but was becoming quite proficient at playing poker. “It’s a game that requires a great deal of luck but Uncle George has taught me it requires skill as well. We’ve had a grand time playing.”
“You should come with us some evening,” Amelia said. “There are games every night.”
“And she doesn’t just mean poker,” Ophelia quipped.
Juliette smiled. “I’m guessing that you’ve found New Orleans quite profitable without playing a hand?”
“We play with our hands all the time,” Amelia said, causing all three women to giggle. “Yes, we’ve done well. We should have enough for passage within a month or so.”
“Then, I suppose I’ll have to visit you soon. Where are you staying?”
Ophelia explained they’d found a room in a boarding house. “Lots of the girls stay there,” she said, “we don’t mind being a bit cramped as the room is cheap and includes a meal. Nothing as delicious as these incredible beignets, but it’s enough to keep us going.”
“Besides, there are several gents who like to dine with a pretty little bird on their arm,” Amelia said. “There are even gents who pay a woman to sit beside them at the card tables. They believe it brings them luck.”
“More likely it distracts the other players at the table,” Ophelia said. “What man can pay attention to his cards when a woman’s titties keep threatening to pop from her dress?”
The three talked for another hour until the two women stated they needed to get back.
“You didn’t give me the address,” Juliette reminded them.
“I’m not sure your Gram would approve of you visiting Storyville,” Amelia said. “It’s not exactly like visiting the Palace—and I don’t mean the residence of Queen Victoria.”
“She’s right, Juliette. The ship is one thing but the streets are another,” Ophelia said, her normal tone lowering to one that spoke of her concern.
“Gram has encouraged me to explore. I’ll come early some evening and stay for just a bit. It would be a shame to leave New Orleans without seeing where all the naughty things happen,” Juliette said as she walked them to the door. “Just don’t let Nettie know. I have no plans on feeling that spoon on my backside.”
Any thoughts of visiting were put on hold when her uncle’s health began to rapidly deteriorate. Juliette didn’t venture from the house, not wanting to be gone if her grandmother needed her. George wasn’t left alone for a single moment. One or both of the women were in his room, u
sing damp rags to wipe his forehead when the fever returned, causing his temperature to rise to alarming heights. On the tenth day after the women’s visit, Juliette stood at the bedside as Willamina knelt on the other side, her brother’s hand clasped between her own.
“I love you, Georgie. Tell mum and father that I said you were the most perfect brother. I’ll be fine. You can go… go to Nancy and the girls. Go in peace.”
Juliette’s tears fell unchecked as George smiled and opened his eyes for the last time to look upon his sister. “You always were too bossy, but, God, I love you so, Willy.” When he sighed and closed his eyes again, Juliette moved to kneel beside her grandmother and when her great uncle’s chest rose and fell for the last time, she was ready when Willamina fell into her arms.
Mrs. Grant and Nettie covered the mirrors in the house and placed a black wreath on the front door. Juliette donned the black dress she’d brought and took on the role of the strong one as her Grandmother seemed to shrink before her very eyes.
Juliette was sobbing when the pantry door opened a few days later. “Oh, child,” Nettie said, pulling her into her arms.
“I’ve lost Uncle George and I’m so scared I’m going to lose Gram,” Juliette cried, finally voicing the fears she was trying so hard to keep from her grandmother.
“She’ll be fine,” Nettie said, rocking Juliette in her arms, stroking one hand down her back. “Your grandmother needs to grieve but I promise, she is a strong woman.”