East of Orleans

by Renee' Irvin

  “Come in,” he said.

  Isabella came into the room and sat down in the rose, velvet slipper chair.

  “Isabella, I see no need to discuss it. You think that Jules loves you, what does he love you for, Bella? He bought you. Just like he bought Jacqueline Rousseau. The only difference is you drove a harder bargain and he had to marry you. But he did, that was your price and now he thinks he owns you. Bella, he would not even know that you exist if you weren’t beautiful. Has none of this occurred to you? He knew you were desperate.”

  “It wouldn’t take a mind reader, Tom to know that I was desperate. But I don’t believe that Jules doesn’t love me in some strange way.”

  “Well, that’s it. Until you can understand the truth of what has happened to you and you’re ready to accept it, then there can be nothing more between us.” Tom said, looking over her.

  Isabella could not believe Tom’s words. The thing that was most precious to her was disappearing before her eyes. Just yesterday, Tom was vowing that he would not leave without her and now, she was not sure that he even loved her anymore. She had never seen Tom like this before. “Tom, do you love me?” asked Isabella.

  The shutters were pounding against the window. A storm was moving in across the river. Tom got up, went over and looked out the shutters.

  “You don’t, you don’t love me anymore, do you?” Isabella asked in a tiny voice.

  “I—I don’t know how I feel anymore,” said Tom.

  “That’s why you left the court today without even speaking to me, isn’t it? Were you going to leave town and never even say goodbye?” Isabella cried. There was an expression on Tom’s face that she had never seen before. She felt scared and helpless. Isabella thought she’d rather be dead than return home to Jules with no hope of ever having a life with Tom. Tom was so indifferent to her now; she had to find a way to break through his icy exterior. Men had so much pride, that’s it, she thought, it was his pride.

  “I heard you were pregnant.” Suddenly there was a silence between them. Then Isabella looked up. “How did you know?”

  “You think there’s secrets in this town? If you do, then you’re badly mistaken and if there was, now, with this trial going on, there sure are no more secrets,” said Tom.

  Tom stared at her and Isabella felt uncomfortable. He walked over and took a bottle of whiskey out of his suitcase. He held it up and said, “There may be enough in this bottle for two, if you’re interested.”

  “Pour,” she said.

  Priscilla was sitting peaceful on the back porch stringing green beans when Jesse approached her. He shook his head, “You the workingest woman I ever seen.”

  “It’s better than picking cotton,” said Priscilla as she looked up and caught Jesse starring at her. “You wanna sit down?”

  “I suppose,” he said as he pulled up a chair. “Where’s Isabella?”

  “She gone.”

  “I figured dat. Where?”

  “I’m surprised you don’t know,” said Priscilla aggravated by the topic. “She gone out. Don’t ask me where. I’se don’t know a thing.”

  Jesse’s eyes probed hers.

  “Der suppose to be storms tonight. You want my opinion?” she said.

  Jesse’s gaze sharpened. “About what?”

  “You know ‘bout what. Mr. Jules is a hard man; hardest one I’se ever see. He lived a full life and he knows when a woman’s up to something. Why Isabella might as well dance naked in the front yard. She ain’t fooling nobody; especially Mr. Jules. She got a fine home here and a good life. She bout to mess it all up.”

  Jesse got up and jumped off the porch. “I think I’ll go check on the horses.”

  “I wouldn’t wait up,” said Priscilla in a sarcastic voice.

  Yellow beams from gaslamps lit up Jules way on his walk to the shipyard. He pulled his pocket watch from his trouser pocket to check the time. He was late, very late, but he knew his old friend would be there. Jules hurried past decaying houses in the dark, he tripped and stumbled on tabby holes in the road. The winds were up and the water was high. The dirt road was alive with roars of drunken seamen and barmaids who were stashed away with men for the night. Dim lights from Patrick’s saloon could be seen in the distance. Drunken sailors and women clawing for both money and love glared at Jules as he walked by. Jules looked up and down the street for the sea captain. He was to meet him at the end of the docks, but he was nowhere to be seen. Jules had not felt so heartsick since Atlanta had been burned. Finally, in the distance of the foggy, windy night Jules saw the old sea captain walking toward him.

  “How in the hell are you, brother?” said Jules slapping the captain across the back.

  The old captain smiled slightly. “You know this could be dangerous; not only for you and me, but more so for her.”

  Jules nodded, lit a cigar and put it in his mouth.

  “Everybody around here has their own thoughts about what happened to that boy,” said the captain.” I don’t blame you for wanting to get her out of here.”

  “She ain’t a saint, but she ain’t no murderer,” said Jules.

  “I don’t want to know any details. All I need to know is what time I pick her up, what port we’re sailing to and will there be someone there for her when we arrive? You know, I never thanked you for sending word where Sherman’s band of devils was camped years ago. Hell, Jules, had it not been for you, my little brother would have never made it,” the captain said. “He would have had a hole blown in him the size of a cannonball. Just like my older brother, Coley.” Rabbits and possums scurried across the road and smoke stacks could be seen floating above the water.

  Jules gazed at the captain for a minute. “Are you prepared to take her tonight?”

  The captain gave Jules a sober stare and said, “Tonight?” Foghorns could be heard in the distance.

  Jules looked out across patches of white cotton amidst the swamps. He removed a crumpled white envelope from his vest pocket and placed it in the captain’s hand. “Here’s enough money for the trip, plenty of food, and your trouble. And trust me, she’s a hell of a lot of trouble, so I want you to be well compensated,” Jules smiled, then turned serious. “I want you to make sure that she is well taken care of.”

  “When can you have her here?” asked the captain.

  “I’ll have her here by two a.m.,” said Jules.

  “What if you run into trouble?” asked the captain.

  Jules was silent, and then he pulled a pistol out of his coat pocket.

  The captain looked up at Jules with a quiet grin. “I’ll see you around two,” he said. Jules slapped the captain across the back, turned and walked away.

  Fierce winds slammed the shutters against Tom’s hotel windows. “A storm is moving in across the river,” said Tom.

  Isabella lowered her gaze, hoping that Tom would kiss her, but he did not.

  “Why did you lie to me?” he asked.

  Isabella was lost; she did not know what to say. She supposed she should just tell Tom the truth. “What are you talking about?” she said.

  “Hell, Bella, you told me that you didn’t want that old sonofabitch in your bed and then I hear you had a miscarriage. What in the hell is that all about?” He looked at Isabella coldly.

  She leaned back in her chair, there was tension in her face and then she started to cry.

  “Did you know that I worked two shifts at the newspaper trying to catch up the note on your mama’s house, hoping that somehow it would help them and bring you home to me. But then I find out that you’re sleeping with that old bastard.”

  “Tom, please, don’t say these things; you know I’ve never wanted anyone but you.”

  Isabella jumped to her feet, walked over and placed her arms around him. “I want you, too, Tom.”

  “What makes you think I still want you?” he said.

  Isabella searched Tom’s face anxiously. “What do you mean? You don’t want me?”

  “You know, it ain’t al
l between my legs, Isabella. That old man has had his hands all over you. I want to know right now what will it be, him or me?”

  “Don’t ask me that right now,” she cried.

  “How can we ever go back to where we were before all of this happened?”

  The rain was pouring down outside and Isabella felt chilled and broken-hearted.

  “I’m going out for a while. You can stay here or leave, it’s up to you,” said Tom.

  “Where are you going?”

  “It don’t matter,” Tom said as he went out the door.

  Several hours had passed when Isabella heard the sound of a brass key opening the hotel room door. She pretended to be asleep. Tom walked quietly over to the bed, bent down and pulled a crocheted blanket up over her shoulders. Isabella could smell the strong scent of whiskey. Tom sat on the bed and Isabella felt him watching her. She opened her eyes and he leaned over and kissed her hard on the lips, as if he meant to hurt her. He pressed himself hard over her taffeta dress and crawled on top of her. Isabella rose up, pulled the dress over her head, and threw it to the floor. Tom stood and Isabella heard his trousers drop to the floor. She turned to see his nude silhouette against the flicker of a single candle. Tom sat back down on the bed, unbuttoned her French lace camisole, and pulled it down off her shoulders, exposing her firm round breasts. He lay down on top of her and pulled down her pantaloons. Isabella took him to her bosom with a yearning she had never known before. He made love to her in an unexpected way; not the sweet, gentle Tom of years before, but a man who could not get enough of her. He rode her hard, as if she were one of Mae’s girls who had come to stay the night. It was obvious that if this was the only way he could have her, then, at that moment, he didn’t care. Finally, in their most intimate moment he opened his eyes, watched her as she turned her head, and cried out in ecstasy; he smiled as if he had been waiting on this moment of pleasuring her.

  As Isabella drifted off to sleep, Tom wrapped his arms around her and held her close, but she did not hear the words that she wanted to hear. The storm grew angry across the river, but neither one of them noticed as they slept through the night.

  It was nearing one a.m. and Patrick took another shot of whiskey, not being able to bear the thought of his wife being locked away forever. For two days he had not been able to sleep. He wondered if Nell and Charlie were managing to get the bar closed down for the night. A man had been shot there the previous evening. He knew that the crowd should be breaking up by now and he headed toward the door to see if they needed any help. Patrick had no way of knowing that Jules was sitting in the park on a bench, anxious for him to leave. Patrick gently crept into Jacqueline’s bedroom and kissed her softly on the cheek. Baby Juliette was nestled close to her mother. After a few moments, Patrick could not hold back the tears. Kate had left a few hours earlier, but told Patrick she’d be back by seven o’clock the next morning. Patrick left the house and headed to his saloon.

  Jules watched Patrick until his carriage was out of sight, then Jules slipped around to the back door of Jacqueline’s house. The details had been carefully planned and now they had to be carried out. Fortunately, the back door was unlocked. Jules slipped inside and ran upstairs to Jacqueline’s bedroom. She was still asleep with the baby close beside her. Jules looked down into the smooth face of baby Juliette as she opened her eyes and smiled a big smile at Jules. And he grinned. She kicked her tiny feet and cooed. Shyly, he bent over and picked up the baby. Jules sank gleefully in a chair. Jacqueline awoke, startled to see Jules fussing over Juliette. “What are you doing here?”

  Jules eyes twinkled. “She’s a beautiful baby, Jacqueline.” Quickly his mood changed, he got up and placed Juliette in her crib. And before Jacqueline was able to ask another question, Jules lifted her off the bed and started to carry her outside to a waiting carriage. Jacqueline kicked and fought Jules. She struggled and screamed, “Where are you taking me? Leave me alone! What about Patrick and my baby!”

  “If there was another way in the world for me to protect you, I would. But for now, this is the only way. I don’t give a goddamn about Patrick.”

  “They’re going to hang us both! You think you can do anything to anyone! Where are you taking me?”

  “Paris, my love. I’m sending you to Paris by boat tonight. I’ve arranged to have you transported from the docks and you will be well cared for.”

  “I want my brown satchel. Please, Jules, let me get it,” she cried.

  Jacqueline broke free and ran across the room, unlocked the French armoire and grabbed the brown satchel. She opened it, looked inside, and pulled out the rosewood box.

  “What are you doing?” Jules yelled as he rushed across the room and took the box out of her hands. “Just like the old days, isn’t it, Jacqueline? I thought you had gotten rid of this stuff. Don’t you know it’s going to kill you!”

  Jacqueline was shaking her head and pleading, “No, let me have it, please, Jules!”

  “This is one deal you aren’t going to cut with me, my darling.”

  “Just let me have it this one time. I’ll need it to make the trip. Please, Jules, just this one last time, please!”

  Without hesitation, Jules said, “Look, I’ve got to get you out of here until I can either talk some sense into that goddamned Noble Jones or he’s replaced. Just pretend you’re going on a vacation. Now, you’re going whether you like it or not.”

  When Jules and Jacqueline arrived at the dock, she closed her eyes and saw her mother standing at the port, holding her hand and telling her that she would come back for her soon. Jacqueline began to cry out in fear. She dropped her brown satchel, whirled around, throwing her arms around Jules’s neck, holding onto him for dear life. She was a little girl clinging to her father.

  Jules held her tightly. “What is it my love? I know you’re afraid, but I will see that you are taken care of and I will be here waiting when you return.”

  “That is what she said,” cried Jacqueline.

  “She?”

  “My mother.”

  “Close your eyes and I will be there, right before you. We may be a thousand miles apart, but you will be there in my heart. There is no love like the love I have for you, Jacqueline. I will be there ‘til the end.”

  All of a sudden, a sad look crossed Jules face. “I lost you once, I never thought I could bear losing you again, but I have to do this.” He looked into Jacqueline’s helpless eyes. He kissed her softly.

  “You do love me, don’t you, Jules?”

  “I’ve always loved you. If it had not been for Patrick, I would have married you, but you betrayed me and I felt I could never trust you.”

  “Then why did you marry Isabella?”

  “Let’s not talk about that now.” Jules sat down on one of the cargo containers on the dock and took Jacqueline’s hand in his. “There are no bridges that can be burned between us; not in this life or even in death. At least I’ll know at night when I lay down that you are safe under some roof. As for little Juliette, I will see that she is well cared for until you return home. I know that she has Patrick and Kate, but I will keep a close eye on her as well.”

  Jacqueline looked at him with her slanted, exotic green eyes, put her hand to his face and whispered, “Toutes choses me conduisent 'a vous.” All things lead me to you.

  Two days after Jacqueline did not show up for court, the judge issued a bench warrant for her arrest. Patrick O’Brien was in shock. He had no idea where his wife had gone. It was as though she had vanished off the face of the earth. After a week, Kate moved into the house on Oglethorpe to help Patrick with Juliette.

  Then all hell broke loose. Noble Jones served Patrick with papers demanding to know where Jacqueline had gone. Kate blamed Noble Jones and Isabella blamed Jules.

  Jules had yet to say a word about Jacqueline’s disappearance. Savannah was busting with its favorite topic: Where was Jacqueline Rousseau O’Brien?

  Jacqueline’s defense team attacked the prosecution and th
e prosecution attacked her team of lawyers. Lawyers and spectators huddled around the courthouse. The knowledge that Jacqueline was missing sent the artists in Forsyth Park chatting with each other more than they were painting. There was talk of suicide, and of her having gone back to New Orleans. The city was alive with endless speculation. And Patrick O’Brien could not speak at all. He did not know what to do. His heart was broken—he would have danced for the devil to get Jacqueline back in his life.

  Two weeks more passed and Tom Slaughter decided that it was time he left town. As he started downstairs at the DeSoto to check out, he turned to the voice behind him. “When are you leaving?” asked Isabella.

  “In a few minutes. I have to be back in town by tomorrow afternoon.”

  Isabella nodded.

  “There are questions I would like to get answered, but I think maybe it’s time I move on to another project. There’s lots of rumors out there, you know.”

  Isabella put her hand on his shoulder. “Don’t leave,” she said.

  “Why?” Tom asked.

  “Because I can’t stand to see you go.”

  “And what about tomorrow and the next day?” He asked. “No, I told you the last night we were together that you had to decide. You made your decision.”

  “No, I didn’t. Please, Tom, understand, there’s so much going on right now I can’t just up and leave.”

  “You can’t? That’s exactly what you did years ago. You up and left without a word. You’re still making me empty promises.”

  “Meet me this afternoon,” she said.

  “Where?” he asked.

  “At the river,” she said.

  “No, Isabella, we’re not children anymore.”

  “And what about Jacqueline. You know how worried I am about her,” said Isabella.

  “I’m sure she’ll turn up,” Tom said with a sarcastic smile. “If you listen to the gossip down on the riverfront, you know that she didn’t just vanish into the night.”