East of Orleans

by Renee' Irvin

  Isabella stopped him. “Jules, there’s plenty of rooms in this house. Pick one; I don’t want you in my room ever again.” said Isabella.

  If that’s what you want,” Jules said as he kept walking.

  Jesse came in and Isabella walked up to him and whispered, “Don’t worry, I answered his questions. I just told him that when we got to Jacqueline’s that Hoyt had just left and that he threatened Jacqueline. He knows Jacqueline left, but he doesn’t know where she went.”

  “Did you mention Jacob?” asked Jesse in a low voice.

  “No, we must never,” said Isabella.

  “Does he know dat Jacqueline is pregnant?” Jesse asked.

  “No, and he can’t know.”

  The sun was setting, the storms had stopped and the sky the color of a blood orange. “I’m tired, I’m going to eat something and go to bed. If Jules starts to ask you questions, answer as few of them as possible. Just say you don’t know, you ain’t sure, or you don’t remember,” said Isabella.

  “Where’s my daddy!” Elora screamed as Isabella walked toward the kitchen.

  “He’s out on the porch, baby,” Isabella answered.

  Isabella started to fix some scrambled eggs and toast when she felt someone staring at her. She looked up to see Priscilla. “What you looking at?” said Isabella, her voice cold and irritated.

  “It’s a sad thing when a child love her daddy like dat young-un do and de mama don’t pay neither one of dem no attention,” said Priscilla.

  Isabella pulled a ladderback chair over to the table. “For your information, if it’s any of your business, which it ain’t, I pay Elora plenty of attention. And as for Jules, he gets exactly what he deserves. What’s any of this got to do with you?”

  Priscilla ignored Isabella and started to hang the wash on a clothesline off the kitchen. Isabella rolled her eyes, ate her food, and then went to bed.

  Months passed Patrick O’Brien and Jules McGinnis both were at the end of their rope. There had been no word about the whereabouts of Jacqueline Rousseau, and to make matters worse, Jacob Hartwell had been reported missing by his family. Jules was not sure what Jacqueline’s disappearance had to do with Jacob missing, but he knew there was a connection. Patrick felt the same. And if that wasn’t bad enough, Hoyt, had been found a couple of months earlier beaten, left for dead and then thrown into the swamp for the alligators to dine on. The news of Hoyt’s death prompted Isabella to say to herself, “At last justice has been done.”

  Locals and Negroes spent a lot of time around Forsyth Park, talking about what had happened to the woman who had lived in the mansion on Oglethorpe and the disappearance of Jules McGinnis’s nephew. There were also whispers about Hoyt’s barbaric fate. The truth was everybody knew the three were connected; they just were not certain how.

  Patrick noticed that his mother would leave, stay away for several hours, and that neither he nor his father knew where she had been. When Patrick saw Kate often leave with Isabella, he grew suspicious. He had cornered Isabella on numerous occasions, questioning her about Jacqueline’s whereabouts, but her answer was always the same; that she knew nothing and then she would hurry on her way. A week later, Patrick watched for Isabella to come for his mother. As always, they claimed that they were going to garden club meetings, appropriate places, but Patrick had his doubts. He decided to follow them.

  Isabella found Patrick sitting on the front porch when she arrived at Kate’s. She stared down at his hands—he was holding a book. Patrick held the book up. “The Scarlet Letter,” said Patrick.

  “I’ve read it; it’s a good choice,” replied Isabella.

  “Fiction is nothing more than someone’s account of their life, wouldn’t you say, Isabella?”

  “That could be; sure seems that way sometimes.”

  When Kate came out of the house, it was obvious that Patrick was acting odd. She walked over, kissed her son on the cheek and said, “I left supper for you and your father. I should be back by early evening.”

  Patrick stared at the two women, smiled and nodded.

  “He looks so thin,” said Isabella as she and Kate climbed into the buggy. “Don’t he usually work on Saturday’s?”

  “He used to. After Jacqueline disappeared he ain’t done much of anything but drink,” said Kate.

  “At home or at the tavern?”

  “Both. His father and I are worried sick that he’s turning into a drunk; he’s always drinking.”

  Unknown to the two women, Patrick followed close behind. A few minutes later, Patrick watched as his mother and Isabella disappeared behind the convent’s massive oak door. Quickly he tied his horse to a post and slipped past one gaslight post after another.

  Patrick paused and then entered the convent. He looked around; no one came out to greet him. Relieved, he took a deep breath. Patrick walked around a corner and started down a long hall. He heard the cry of a baby, stopped for a moment, then went a little further. He opened a door and entered the room where the cry came from. He didn’t move, just stood there and stared at Jacqueline with a baby in her arms.

  Kate was busy gathering blankets and attempting to make Jacqueline more comfortable. There was a long table on the side of the room with a statue of Mary, baby Jesus and a large gold wooden cross.

  “When was it born?” asked Patrick in shock and dismay.

  “Yesterday; she’s a month early,” said Isabella.

  Patrick walked closer to view the baby. Emotion spread across his face. “Can I hold her?”

  “Of course,” said Jacqueline. Jacqueline considered the fact that this could be Patrick’s baby, but she knew in her heart that it was not.

  She was tiny, smaller than any baby he had ever remembered. Her hair was full and black and then she opened her eyes and blinked. Patrick’s eyes filled with tears. “Am I her father?” asked Patrick.

  Jacqueline smiled. “I wanted to tell you before I left but there was no time. And then Kate and Isabella felt it was much too dangerous to risk my life and the baby’s.”

  “I can’t believe the three of you did this,” he narrowed his eyes, “When were you going to tell me?”

  Kate walked over to Patrick and the baby. “I don’t think I have ever seen a more beautiful baby; in fact, I know I haven’t. Son, we were going to tell you soon. This was for the best.” The baby opened her eyes and Kate cooed at her.

  “Have you named her?” Patrick asked Jacqueline.

  Jacqueline reached out her arms for her baby. Kate wrapped a pale pink blanket around the baby and handed her to her mother. Jacqueline cuddled the baby close against her chest. Her eyes met Patrick’s and she said, “Her name is Juliette Isabella.”

  “She’s named after me,” beamed Isabella.

  Patrick leaned back against the wall and looked at the woman he loved and his beautiful daughter. He knew that he had to make Jacqueline a woman of honor. He was angry that his mother and Isabella had hidden Jacqueline and his baby daughter from him, but he knew there had to be a reason why and a good one.

  Committed to her charge, Sister McMillian entered the room and insisted that everyone leave and let Jacqueline rest. Juliette’s birth had not been an easy one; her mother had labored long and hard and they almost lost her.

  Patrick followed Jacqueline’s gaze as Sister McMillian took Juliette from the room. He looked around waited until Isabella and his mother were gone, then said gently. “When can you come home?” asked Patrick.

  Jacqueline turned her head away from Patrick’s stare. “I don’t know,” she whispered.

  “Who are you afraid of?” asked Patrick.

  “There’s things.”

  “What kind of things?”

  “Things, I can’t talk about right now.”

  “Can’t or won’t?” asked Patrick.

  “Things are going to happen, Patrick, and when they do, things are going to be said about me; things I don’t think you want the whole town to hear.”

  “It don’t matter,
we’ll get through this together,” he said.

  “It don’t matter? Do you think that I can make myself invisible in the streets of Savannah?” she said.

  Patrick looked at her with pleading eyes. “You were a child, bought and sold like a slave. I’m going to hire you the best lawyer in the South,” he said.

  “You want Juliette to grow up knowing her mother was a whore!” cried Jacqueline.

  “You are no whore. You are no longer that woman and I don’t want to ever hear that from you again.” Patrick placed his hands on Jacqueline’s shoulders. “What would anyone have done in your situation? You were five years old, Jacqueline, when your own mother sold you to the devil! That was not the real Jacqueline; it was a scared, confused little girl. This is the real Jacqueline, the woman that I am holding in my arms, the mother of my precious Juliette, and the only woman I have ever loved. When you are well and out of here, I want to marry you. And nothing and no one will ever come between us again.”

  The Cathedral Saint John the Baptist had never appeared more beautiful and neither had the woman that Patrick O’Brien looked lovingly upon: his bride, Jacqueline Marie Rousseau. Jacqueline’s past was a well-kept secret from Father O’Reilly, the parish priest. Father O’Reilly was a stout, round faced, serious man of the cloth. His judgment was infallible amongst Savannah society. If Father O’Reilly had known of Jacqueline’s past, he would never have agreed to marry her and Patrick, but he did not know and he was a personal friend of Kate and Mr. O’Brien’s. Even so, Father O’Reilly, would not have gone against his civil and religious code of ethics. He would maintain the integrity and the sanctity of the church at any cost. The retribution for committing such a sin would have gone beyond disgrace. Christians, it seemed at times, were more vicious than the worst of those they feared most. Had Jacqueline been found out, she would have been cast out from society, left to survive in the streets. But that would not happen. Patrick O’Brien was willing to give his life for this woman.

  The ceremony was lovely. Jacqueline in her beautiful wedding gown was preceded by two year-old Elora on tiny marching feet. Elora carried a little basket of pink roses sprinkled with baby’s breath, cradled in exquisite lace. The bride’s gown was cream brocade covered with embroidered pearls amidst satin ribbon bows that trimmed a fine border. The neck and sleeves were finished with a silk organdy ruffle. The bustle was high, made of ivory silk taffeta; creating a full, lush effect.

  Jacqueline trembled as Patrick lifted the netted veil from her face. And when Father O’Reilly asked for the ring, Patrick placed his grandmother O’Brien’s platinum and diamond ring on Jacqueline’s delicate finger. Soon after Father O’Reilly pronounced Patrick and Jacqueline husband and wife, Patrick whispered to her, “The three of us are now a family, and nothing will separate us, never again, not even death.”

  At the same time, over on Bay Street, another woman was shaking, but for an entirely different reason. Mae Patterson had arrived in town to see the district attorney of Effingham County. She was there to demand that Jacqueline Rousseau be questioned for the murder of Jacob Hartwell. Jules was at the warehouse going over his books when he heard a knock on the door. Jules removed his spectacles and lay them down on his desk when he heard a voice call his name. He had worried that she might come. Jesse had warned him that Mae was in town, so her visit was no surprise.

  Jules opened the door and a whiskey scented Mae moved close to him. Her looks had hardened from when he last saw her, and she stood out from the other women on Bay Street. Mae leaned forward and touched Jules’s chest with her bony, jeweled hand. Jules removed her hand and stared into her cold eyes.

  “In the name of God, Jules, aren’t you even going to say hello?” said Mae.

  “Hello, Mae, it’s good to see you.”

  “That’s all you have to say to me?” she said. She hated him, she hated him so much. There was a rage in her eyes. Jules looked down and saw that she had a pistol in her hand.

  “Mae, give me the gun. That ain’t gonna solve a thing.”

  She clutched the gun and stared hard into Jules’s face, “My boy,” she cried. “She killed my boy!”

  Jules’s shoulders dropped and he motioned for Mae to come into his office. She followed him inside and he closed the door. “When did they find him?”

  “Late yesterday afternoon,” said Mae.

  “Who notified you?” asked Jules. “Where’d they find him?”

  Hate burned in her eyes, “Hell, Jules, you know I know people. You forget that I knew the sheriff twenty years ago,” she hesitated, “They found him buried in a swamp between here and Beaufort.”

  Jules nodded. “Does Eliza and Rollins know?”

  “I went to the bank to see Rollins late yesterday. You know I don’t care one damn bit about Eliza; she never treated Jacob or Catherine like they were her own children. At least I can say Rollins loved them both.”

  Jules nodded.

  “Is that all you can do is nod? Aren’t you even the least bit upset? Jacob was your son, Jules,” said Mae.

  “Don’t you think I know that, Mae. Hell, I gave you plenty of money over the years. I got my sister and brother-in-law to adopt him. Don’t you think I watched that boy every day of his life and wished that it had never happened? I felt responsible for every bad thing that happened in that boy’s life.”

  “Oh, Jules, for years I wished things were different between us. There was a time that I thought maybe we had a chance, but then I realized you never cared a thing about me and the only reason you gave me the money was to keep me quiet,” she said.

  “There was never a chance anything other than what happened between us was gonna happen. As for me giving you money to keep you quiet, hell, Mae, you know I don’t give a goddamn about what anybody thinks. I gave you the money because I felt bad for you. I thought maybe if you had enough money you would change your life. I wanted that for you, I did,” said Jules.

  “Did you ever care anything about me?” asked Mae.

  “Yes, Mae, once, a long time ago, but it wasn’t like you wanted. It would have never been like that.”

  “You never loved me, did you, Jules?”

  “No Mae, I never loved you.”

  “That’s not true, you loved me until that whore from New Orleans came into our lives,” she screamed.

  “I never loved you and it had nothing to do with Jacqueline.”

  “It didn’t take that whore long to marry that O’Brien boy, did it? Poor fool, there’s rumors that baby isn’t his,” said Mae.

  Mae watched all the color drain from Jules’s face.

  “You didn’t know did you? She married him today,” said Mae. “She will get down on her knees and beg for her life, just like my son did.”

  “You don’t know, what happened to Jacob, none of us knows the truth,” said Jules.

  “I know he was last seen going in Jacqueline’s house and he was never seen alive again. And I also know that little wife of yours was there. You’ll all pay before this is over with. But it’s the whore you love, isn’t it, Jules? You ain’t fooling anybody. You remember that whore’s face and you better see her one last time because soon, she’s gonna leave this earth forever, just like my boy.”

  After Mae left, Jules went outside and walked in the cold rain. He wanted it to wash away his pain, anger and sins. But it never would.

  The next morning, gossip filled Bay Street. Jacob Hartwell, the nephew of wealthy cotton broker Jules McGinnis, and son of banker Rollins Hartwell, had been found dead. Kate hurrying to her bakery, carrying baby Juliette, mumbled, “I reckon people don’t have anything better to do this morning than to stare and gossip in the streets. Isn’t that right, sweetheart?” Kate said, kissing Juliette on the cheek.

  The paperboy cried out, “Savannah Mornin’ News!” Kate grabbed a paper and handed the boy a coin. Before she headed for the bakery Kate stopped off at Saint John the Baptist to light a candle and pray. Kate walked fast with the baby in her arms, ignoring
curious stares as she unlocked the door of her bakery. A few minutes later, Isabella and Jesse arrived. Kate had made Juliette a temporary bed in a banana box and placed it on her bakery counter.

  “You have her in a banana box?” laughed Isabella. “Look at that head full of black hair!”

  “You know, Patrick’s hair was just like hers when he was her age,” said Kate.

  “Did ya’ll know they found that Hartwell boy’s body a few miles out of town? From what they’re saying, they had to identify him by his clothes, his face was gone. Seems hunters found him buried under some brush, dogs had dug up his body. He must have made somebody awful mad.”

  “I reckon,” said Jesse.

  “Whoever did it wasn’t out to rob him. The paper said he had a pocketful of silver,” Kate said.

  “It’s in the paper?” asked Isabella with a disturbed look.

  “Front page, it’s right here,” Kate said, handing Isabella the newspaper.

  Jesse glanced at Isabella with his dark black eyes. She took a deep breath.

  “I wonder what business that boy had in Savannah? Isabella, isn’t he Jules’s nephew?” asked Kate.

  “A Hartwell deserves anything he gets. They force women and children out of their homes to starve!” Isabella said as she ran out of the bakery door.

  “Did I say—?” Kate asked.

  Jesse interrupted, “No, no—she’s just tired. With all dat’s happened, her nerves are bad.”

  Kate took quick, steps over to the bakery door and looked out. “I’m so sorry.”

  “She’ll be fine,” said Jesse.

  Jacqueline thought of all the things that she had intended to tell Patrick; everything except the two times that she had slept with Jules. But that was all behind her now. She was a married woman, a mother to her beautiful daughter, Juliette. She had thought about telling Patrick about Jules, but then he would question whether he was Juliette’s father, and more than anything, Jacqueline wanted Patrick to be Juliette’s father. She had always heard that when a man loved the mother as much as Patrick loved her, that he would worship the daughter. Besides, Patrick had to be Juliette’s father—there had only been one time when she made love to Jules that he could have gotten her pregnant and surely, that one time would not have done it, or would it? She closed her eyes; she would not think about that, she did not have to—no one would ever know the truth.