“No!” she called to them.
Atlantis began retching. “Come!” Sydnee commanded and then turned and walked briskly back up the hill with the dogs trotting behind her.
For the first time, Sydnee realized the area was alive with activity. This must be Natchez Under-the-Hill. She looked up at the bluff overhead lined with fine homes and then down at the decrepit whore houses, saloons and warehouses on the muddy road below. Mules strained up the hill, pulling wagons full of barrels and crates from the riverboats. Draymen snapped whips barking orders at the beasts. Riverboat men lounged in the shade. All of them were heavily-built men with thick muscles and leathery skin. They watched the activity on the streets and exchanged news while chewing their tobacco which they would spit in long brown streams.
The sun was setting and Sydnee saw whores coming out onto porches, fanning themselves and starting to solicit business. Advertising to customers walking below, they would pull up their skirts and put a leg up on the railing so the men could look at their privates. Boys whooped and hollered, while older men acted amused.
All of these images were familiar to Sydnee. These were the people who frequented The Devil’s Backbone. The house darky at the plantation was right. Natchez Under-the-Hill is where I belong.
Sydnee squeezed her eyes shut and took a deep breath. She made her decision. Someday she would find other work, but for now this is what she must do. She scanned the storefronts for possibilities. Many of the whorehouses had saloons on the street level, and Sydnee decided against these. Walking into a drinking establishment alone was not an option.
At last she saw a fille de joie escort a john up a short set of steps and into a wooden building with shutters and a sign out front. A young, black boy sat on the step guarding the customer’s horses.
Sydnee took a deep breath and stepped up to him to ask about work. He nodded and said to ask for Miss Magdalene. Sydnee told the dogs to stay and knocked on the door.
A large man with a black mustache appeared and escorted her down a dark hall to the back of the building. It was hot and stuffy inside the house, and Sydnee felt queasy. The man told her to wait in the hall and disappeared into a room, shutting the door behind him. She could hear a female inside the room scolding someone. Her voice grew louder, and then there was a string of obscenities from someone else and a smashing of glass. Next there was the shuffle of feet, more swearing and a door slammed.
Sydnee swallowed hard and waited. The man opened the door at last. He jerked his head and said, “Madame Magdalene.” Sydnee walked into the room as he walked out. It was a small office with two upholstered chairs and a desk. It smelled of smoke and heavy perfume. A tall, thin woman with extremely white skin and long smooth black hair was emptying broken glass into a waste bin. She wore a red wrap tied loosely around her waist. She turned and opened the window drapes. The room was instantly flooded with the red glow of the setting sun. Sydnee could now see Madame Magdalene more clearly. Although her body was slim and erect, she was not young. The corners of her eyes were lined with wrinkles, and there were frown lines around her mouth. Her thin lips were painted a blood red which stood out against her white skin and jet black hair.
Madame Magdalene looked at Sydnee at last. Lighting tobacco, she asked quietly, “You want work?”
“Yes, Madame.”
“You have done this sort of work before?”
Sydnee nodded.
“Take off your hat.”
Sydnee complied.
Madame Magdalene bent over and grabbed Sydnee’s chin, turning her face from side to side.
“Any disease?”
“No,” Sydnee replied.
The woman put a hand on her hip. “Where were you working?”
“For my father at a stand on The Trace.”
The woman chuckled cynically. “For your father,” she said, taking a puff of tobacco and blowing it out. “Well you are in luck. I am down a girl. You can start tonight. Come back in a few hours, and I will get you something to wear. Stop at the kitchen and get something to eat before you go.”
“Thank you,” Sydnee murmured.
The cook gave her a turkey leg, corn on the cob, and some biscuits. She almost swooned when she smelled the food. Racing down the steps, she found Vivian and the dogs, and they joyfully rushed to the shade of a tree to consume their meal.
When Sydnee was done, she sat back against the tree and sighed. Tonight she would have to work for her food, and she began to feel sick. The thought of men sweating and groaning over her made her want to retch.
Several hours later the torches were ablaze at Natchez Under-the-Hill. The revelry was in full swing as night fell. A steady stream of men roamed the streets, laughing and cursing, drinking and carousing. As Sydnee walked up the stairs to Madame Magdalene’s establishment, she passed a tall immaculately dressed black man coming out of the house. He held a lace hankie to his nose, his hair was graying at the temples, and he wore an emerald-green frock coat with light pantaloons.
Sydnee was surprised to see someone of his gentility here, but she gave him no more thought and continued up the steps. When he reached the sidewalk, he lowered his hankie and said, “Say there!” in French.
She turned around.
“What is your business in that place?”
Sydnee looked over her shoulder, unsure if he was addressing her.
“Yes, you,” he stated sharply.
“I start my work here tonight.”
He looked her up and down and said, “Come here.”
She walked back down the stairs warily.
The man put the hankie back to his nose and ran his eyes over her, looking at her again. He cocked his head from one side to the other, looking first at her hair and then at her eyes. He walked around her several times appraising her figure and then asked, “How old are you?”
“Fifteen.”
“Hmm, you need a bath,” he observed. “Have you committed any crimes?”
She shook her head.
He continued to address her in French. “Disease?”
“Non.”
Lowering the hankie from his face, he said, “Although you have a patois, your French is tolerable.”
Putting his fist to his mouth, he started to pace. He walked for so long he seemed to have forgotten her. Merry-makers staggered past him, tilting bottles to their lips, shouting and laughing. Whores could be heard hawking customers in the distance. Down by the landing a firearm discharged.
After a while Sydnee assumed he was done with her, and she started back up the stairs.
“Come back here,” he barked.
Sydnee approached the man once more.
With his lip curled, he asked, “How would you like a job working for only one customer?”
“What would I do?”
“This filth,” he said, nodding toward Madame Magdalene’s house.
Sydnee blinked and asked, “Will I work for you?”
“No thank God,” the man said, rolling his eyes. “For my master. He has sent me to Natchez to find—to find—a girl of your sort.”
Swinging his cane, he said, “Come, we will talk elsewhere.”
They pushed through the streets, torches blazing outside of every establishment. The thoroughfares were muddy and crowded as patrons zigzagged in and out of every saloon. Clearly disgusted by the rabble, the man picked his way delicately through the throng. Sydnee, Vivian and the dogs followed behind him in a line. When they got to the river, the man stopped and asked, “Are you aware that there are creatures following you?”
Sydnee nodded and said, “These are my friends.”
“Well, tell them to wait here.”
He turned and nodded to an attendant who was guarding the ramp of the paddle wheelers and said to Sydnee, “Come along!”
Sydnee thought she would be happy to be boarding a paddle wheeler, but instead she was nervous. Lanterns were hanging on the deck, shedding a dim golden light as she followed him onto the boat. The pad
dle wheeler was quiet and deserted. The man picked up a smoke pot to ward off mosquitos and set it by a table. He sat down, crossing his hands over the head of his cane and looked at her.
Sydnee stood before him, her eyes wide with expectation.
“First things first. My name is Maxime. I am acting on behalf of my master who lives in New Orleans. I have been instructed to find a--tutor—for his sixteen-year-old son. The boy has some habits which are unnatural, and we do not approve.”
Maxime pursed his lips. “Although there are women of your sort in New Orleans, I have come all the way to Natchez because this is a matter of utmost secrecy. My young master’s reputation is at stake as well as his father’s reputation. You will live in New Orleans with the family, take a room in the servant’s quarters and visit the young man as necessary in his garçonnière.
When Sydnee looked confused, he explained. “The garçonnière is a small building in back of the main house where young gentlemen reside.”
“What will I teach him?” Sydnee asked.
Maxime clenched his jaw and looked from side to side. “Mon Dieu! Must I be explicit? The art of love—passion,” he hissed, clearly embarrassed. “Most importantly, you will teach him to desire females.”
They fell silent a moment. Sydnee could hear the river splashing gently against the hull of the steamboat.
“How old are you?” he asked.
Remembering that she just had a birthday within the past few weeks, she said, “Fifteen.”
Maxime put the hankie back to his nose and said, “Well, the first thing you must learn is to bathe regularly and wear becoming clothes.”
Sydnee nodded.
“Very well,” Maxime stated, standing up. “Come back tomorrow at dawn. We will be taking this packet to New Orleans.”
* * *
Sydnee found a private spot outside of town in the woods where she pitched a tent over a low branch. All night she was awake, listening to the dogs snore beside her. The thought of leaving her friends was torture. They were all she had in this world, and they had saved her life time and time again. Now she was betraying them. Yet the alternative was to stay in this filthy town and sell her body in a bordello. She would live day in and day out in squalor, risking disease and beatings, eventually dying in the street. Tears rolled down her face as she stroked their fur. The dogs thumped their tails and then drifted back to sleep, oblivious to her quandary.
At sunrise, Sydnee gave the last of her food to Vivian and the dogs, rolled up her pack, and headed for the landing. She felt as if her heart was being ripped from her chest.
Natchez Under-the-Hill was bustling with activity once more. Draymen were driving teams down the hill, overseers barked orders to slaves as dock workers loaded firewood, crates and barrels onto the riverboats. Cargo swung overhead, being loading onto the paddle wheelers that were parked at an angle along the shore. Whistles blasted, announcing riverboat departures, and each time the sound erupted, Baloo and Atlantis would drop into a crouch. Peddlers hawked their wares, pushing carts loaded with fresh produce and flowers. Servants and slaves pushed past Sydnee carrying steamer trunks on their backs bound for other river towns.
Most of the travelers at Natchez Under-the-Hill were boarding vessels headed upriver to Vicksburg, Memphis and St. Louis. They were trying to avoid not only the stifling heat and humidity, but the yellow fever and malaria which plagued the low country during midsummer. Once they arrived in the north, many paddle wheelers would drop anchor until the autumn. Then, once the river regained a safer depth, they would return the residents back to the south, after the oppressive heat ended and danger of contagion was past.
Black crew members in snappy uniforms stood officiously at the ramps, checking off passenger’s names as they boarded the steamboats one by one. Sydnee blinked in amazement at the elegant gentlemen with ladies on their arms, looking cool and fresh in the latest fashions from Paris. Marchandes, or female peddlers, waited for them on deck, eager to sell nosegays of violets to the ladies and pralines to the children.
The only paddle wheeler headed to New Orleans was the Vidalia, and Sydnee stopped there. Maxime was standing at the railing, wearing an Aylesbury hat, cream-colored frock coat and dark pantaloons. His hands were gloved and folded on the head of his cane. He did not acknowledge Sydnee, but he knew she was there.
The whistle on the Vidalia blew. It was time for her to board, and her stomach was in knots. She swallowed hard and bent down in front of the dogs. Sensing something was wrong, they stopped panting and looked at her. Vivian sat on a mooring nearby watching.
“I must leave you now. It is our only hope.”
The dogs stared up at her.
“You cannot come with me. Not this time. But I will be back for you, so you must never go far.”
Tears pushed at her eyes. Sydnee stood up and looked at Vivian. “I leave you in charge. Take care of them and don’t be too harsh.”
Sydnee’s chest heaved, and the dogs moved closer. Dropping down, she hugged their necks and said, “Thank you for saving my life--so many times.”
The whistle blew again, and she stood up, abruptly cupping Vivian’s head with her hand. “Goodbye.”
When she started up the landing stage the dogs began to follow, and she ordered, “No!”
Maxime nodded to the crew member who allowed her to pass. Her dream had come true. She was on a magnificent paddle wheeler, but she didn’t notice. She did not care. All she could see were Baloo, Atlantis and Vivian sitting on shore watching her leave.
The crew began to make preparations for departure. Orders were shouted, ropes were untied and people began to wave farewell.
Maxime saw the tears streaming down Sydnee’s face. How ungrateful, he thought. How incredibly lucky this dirty little waif is, and she doesn’t appreciate it. He shifted from one foot to the other, sniffing and looking away. Over and over he told himself that he was being so very magnanimous giving this child a fine home in New Orleans, but her tears bothered him.
The whistle blew for the final time, and he barked, “Oh, Mon Dieu!” Approaching a crew member, he said, “See those dogs down there? Put them on the next flatboat to New Orleans.”
Sydnee whirled around and stared at Maxime with wide eyes.
“Yes, they are coming,” he growled. “You spoiled little child.”
Sydnee put her arm up, and Vivian landed on her sleeve.
“And keep that filthy bird away from me,” he declared.
Chapter 7
The crew hoisted the landing stage, the whistle blew, and the big red paddle wheel started to churn. A sense of elation swept Sydnee from head to toe. She raised her head to catch the scent of the fresh river air, and a breeze blew through her hair. At last I have direction. At last I have a future. The spirits had been right all along. I did find my way, and Baloo, Atlantis and Vivian did too.
Shortly after they cast off, Maxime shooed Sydnee down to the lowest deck to be among the slaves and lower class passengers. He remained above to talk with the riverboat Captain, a man he had known for years.
Sydnee stood at the railing in the morning sun watching the paddles turn round and round and listening to the soothing splash, splash of water. She shaded her eyes to see the flatboat on which Atlantis and Baloo rode. She could just make out the dogs sitting side by side. It appeared as if the crew member found a little boy to watch them, and the child had his arm around Baloo’s neck. Sydnee smiled. The dog was twice the size of the child.
Vivian was soaring overhead, coasting on the river winds keeping both the flat boat and the paddle wheeler in sight. Sydnee put her arm up, and she swept in for a landing. The crow landed gently on her forearm, and Sydnee stroked her head. “You are a good girl, but you must be on your best behavior. We are going to a beautiful new home, and we must make a good impression.”
Vivian cocked her head, listening. They stood together for a long time watching the muddy water of the Mississippi and the green shoreline littered with fallen
trees. Suddenly a young crew member jumped into a skiff and started rowing to shore. When he reached land, he jumped out and ran to a tree that had a red box nailed to it. Pulling out a piece of paper, he stuffed it in his shirt, jumped back into the skiff and returned to the paddle wheeler before it left him behind.
“The pilots leave notes for one another,” Sydnee heard one of the passengers say on the deck above.
“Why is that?” a woman asked.
“To let each other know about river conditions or hazards ahead.”
Sydnee smiled. Eager to see more of the paddle wheeler, she tossed Vivian back into the air and walked toward the bow. She edged her way through mounds of firewood, barrels, crates and bundles. Slaves and working class folk were sitting on the lower deck in the shadows of this cargo, playing cards, throwing dice and murmuring quietly to each other. They were not to disturb the fine ladies and gentlemen riding on the decks above.
Sydnee was glad for the fresh air when she reached the bow. This deck had an apron which thrust out in front of the boat where the landing stage was mounted. Sydnee walked to the end of the apron and turned around to see the other decks. The second deck had a lacy white railing and was lined with state rooms. Sydnee assumed these cabins were unoccupied because she overhead someone say the journey to New Orleans was only a day trip. She wondered what luxuries were behind those fancy white louvered doors. She imagined there to be soft feather beds with sumptuous linens, perfumed pillows and rich carpets.
The next level on the stern-wheeler was lined with beveled glass windows, and she wondered if this is where first class passengers were getting the cool drinks that they carried in frosty goblets. Sydnee did not dare gawk at these fine folk, but she did notice that the ladies wore grand gowns with huge puffy sleeves. Although the dresses were of lightweight, cool material, they were cinched tightly around the waist and dropped in heavy folds around the legs. They all wore wide brimmed bonnets as well, decorated with ribbons and flowers. These hats framed a sort of funnel around the ladies’ faces, and she heard someone call them poke bonnets.
The Grand Masquerade (The Bold Women Series Book 4) Page 6