by Renee' Irvin
“What are you saying?” asked Isabella, narrowing her eyes.
“Come on, Bella, no clues, no evidence, nothing? But there was a little conversation that I thought interesting.”
“What?” she asked anxiously.
“Your husband, the one who loves you, was seen in the early morning hours, the same morning Jacqueline was due to take the stand, with Mrs. O’Brien at the ship docks. That’s not all. She was seen carrying a brown satchel and your husband boarded her on a ship that was sailing for Europe.”
“Are you sure?” Isabella said in shock.
Tom smiled. “I’m so sure that I paid three hundred dollars for the information. And your husband wanted it to look like a suicide, so he paid five hundred dollars for that brown satchel and one of Jacqueline’s gowns to be found in the river.”
“Are you going to print this information?”
Tom stopped and looked at her. “It’s my job, but no, I’m not.”
“Why?”
“Because, Isabella, everything can’t be bought and if there’s one thing in this world I’ve learned, it’s that everything should not have a price. I figure Mrs. O’Brien has suffered enough, and if she was indeed able to take a boat out of here, go off somewhere to start a new life, then I don’t want to be a part of taking that away from her. Even though I could make a hell of a lot of money off this story; I figure, let some other poor hungry bastard write it. So, if you will excuse me, I’ve got a train to catch.” Tom slowed before opening the door to leave and said, “And if for some good reason Jacqueline did shoot Jacob Hartwell that morning, then I owe this to her, because I would have killed him myself. By the way, who did kill Jacob Hartwell that morning?” This was one secret that Isabella and Jesse would take to their graves.
Tom turned and walked out of the door of the hotel. Isabella just stood there for a long time.
By early March of 1886, Jacqueline had made the acquaintance of two artists: Vincent Van Gogh and Jean Renoir. She spent most of her days in the artists’ quarter of Montmartre. Suddenly Jacqueline had the wonderful opportunity to pose nude for Renoir. She did not need to model for the money since Jules regularly wired her money to a bank in Paris. He had opened the account shortly after her arrival for her use in any way that she saw fit. Jacqueline loved Paris, but she longed for Savannah, the place she had come to call home and, of course, most of all, she missed her beautiful, black-haired baby daughter. But Jacqueline knew that she was facing years, if not life in prison—right now she could not return. Jules promised her that as soon as he was able to arrange for either a dismissal or acquittal that she could come back home.
Renoir had become Jacqueline’s most trusted advisor and he urged not to go back home. He argued that in the scheme of deals being made, something could go very wrong, his beautiful model could end up in prison, and that, he said, would break his heart. Besides, he reasoned, that Jacqueline was French by blood, therefore, she should never return to America. Jacqueline often spent twelve hours a day posing in the nude for her mentor. Renoir would look at his painting and then back away a few inches, and then in frustration, he would stomp away to regain his composure, shouting that his work was not good enough.
Jacqueline often posed for Renoir outdoors. He loved to paint outside and his favorite subjects were rich landscapes and beautiful, bosomy young women. He confided in Jacqueline and told her that he did not like begging for money, but that, in earlier years, he seldom had the money to buy a paintbrush or canvas and often went hungry. He would then laugh and roll his eyes saying how much he appreciated his most loyal patrons: the Choquets, Caillebottes, Mrs. Charpentiers, and of course, his backer, the art dealer Durand-Ruel.
Patrick O’Brien was losing patience when Jules assured him that he had no idea what had happened to Jacqueline. Patrick, too, had heard the rumors about how Jules had paid an old sea captain to take his wife to Europe. Patrick had now started to follow Jules, and would sometimes sit at a small table in the tavern watching Jules, deal with businessmen and the cotton factors out on Riverstreet. Patrick looked for any sly exchange of money, but never once did he see anything strange or unusual. He stood quietly in dark, damp warehouses at night and waited for any sign of Jules until, out of frustration, he would finally go home. One night, after one of Jules’s poker games, Patrick waited for him outside in the dark after all the other players had left. When Jules came out of the warehouse, Patrick placed a knife to his throat. “Let’s go,” he said.
Jules casually removed a cigar from his mouth. “Hell, I was leaving anyway.”
“Where’s my wife?” asked Patrick.
“I don’t know.”
“I’ve heard that until I’m sick of it. If you don’t tell me where she is, I’m going to slit your goddamn throat,” said Patrick. “The gators will have you tomorrow for lunch.”
Jules threw his cigar on the ground, and grabbed Patrick by the collar. “Boy, you listen to me, you wanna eat this goddamned knife?” Jules wrenched the knife from Patrick. “She’s doing fine and I’m about to work a deal with Noble Jones. Now, you listen to me and you listen good—she’s a free woman. What do you want? To see her here behind bars for months, maybe even years, before we can get her a new trial? This thing ain’t pretty and you know that; she couldn’t take being in jail for all that time. Do you want to kill her? Tell me, do you? I’ve had enough! If you want to stick that knife in me, I suggest you go ahead, but when you do, it’s all over. You’ll never see your wife again.”
Suddenly Patrick’s anger turned to pain and heartbreak. “How much longer do you think this will take?”
“I don’t know, but I’m working on it. Just leave it to me.”
Patrick nodded and looked away. His eyes filled with tears. “Do you understand I have nothing without her?”
Jules nodded. “I understand.”
The next morning after breakfast Isabella approached Jules. He had taken his coffee out on the verandah and she made a quiet entrance behind him. “I want to talk about our future,” she said.
“Very well, talk.”
“I don’t want to live together as man and wife anymore,” said Isabella.
“I see. Do you have any more requests?”
“I want to take the stand. I want to testify for Jacqueline.”
There was a spark in Jules eyes. “There is no Jacqueline, therefore, there is no trial,” he said. Isabella noticed that Jules had lost weight and there were dark circles under his eyes. He shrugged, “It’s not possible.”
“It is possible! You can bring her home; I know you know where she is.”
“And the night Jacqueline disappeared, where were you?” asked Jules.
Isabella stood frozen; then she looked at him. “I had a lot to think about so I walked, I walked the streets ‘til dusk. Then, I came home and you weren’t here.”
“And--” he said.
“I was busy with other things.”
“You were so busy that you stayed out all night?”
“I was not out all night,” Isabella said in a low voice.
Jules smiled. “You’re not good at keeping secrets, little lady. A smart woman, especially a married one, would never been seen early in the morning leaving the hotel room of a single man. There is nothing worse for a lady’s reputation, and well, if there was ever a divorce such a woman would surely lose her child.” Jules grabbed her arm and pulled her to one side. “You see, eyes and sharp tongues are everywhere. Anyone could have spotted you, and it seems someone did. Now, I would think long and hard about that divorce that you think you want. I think Elora has been through enough. Do you want her to have to walk with her head down for the rest of her life? But this is your decision.”
“I swear if it were not for my daughter, I would kill you. And now after finding out that you are Jacob Hartwell’s father tells me that my suspicions were right—you are the devil himself.”
“I’ve been called worse and I may be the devil, but a devil who kept you
out of the streets. At least when you sold yourself, it was for one time and behind closed doors,” said Jules.
Isabella slapped Jules hard across the face. “I’d rather sell myself on the streets than to ever share your bed again. I’ll keep up appearances until Jacqueline comes home, and then when her trial is over, I am going home.”
“You have no need to worry about me anymore.” He paused. “My desire for you has died. Your betrayal has been made clear to me.”
Isabella started toward the door as Jules added, “Oh, I almost forgot—” he pulled a small object wrapped in a small piece of white muslin from his trouser pocket, “Silas handed this to me this morning. It seems that the hotel sent it over—you left it in Tom Slaughter’s room.”
All the color drained from Isabella’s face and she felt queasy. She took the earring from Jules’s hand, turned and stormed into the house.
When she went inside the house Jesse approached her eagerly. “What was dat bout?”
“I don’t want to talk about it. I’ve trusted secrets to too many people already.”
Jesse’s eyes narrowed slightly. “I thought you trusted me ever since I come here with you.”
“What you don’t know won’t cause you any problems.”
Looking deeply into Isabella’s eyes Jesse said, “I ain’t got nuthin’ to lose.”
“I hope you’re right, but you know it could cost you,” she said.
“Whatever the cost you know I’m here to protect you. I promised Granny.”
“Jules knows I went to the DeSoto to see Tom.”
“You determined to get yourself in trouble, ain’t you?”
“I don’t want to talk about it,” Isabella said as she stormed out of the room.
“Sometimes…dat girl,” Jesse said. “Her curiosity is a curse.”
Isabella must have slept until almost supper. After she met with Jules that morning she had gone in and laid down across her bed and then fell asleep. She wanted to cry, but who would care? All her years of prayers and beliefs were gone. As a child, everything had seemed so simple, so clear. Not anymore, not ever again. And as for God, she began to wonder how, if he loved her, he could keep letting her go through all this pain. Tom was right—Jules never loved her; all he had done was use her and now she was alone. Not only was she alone, she had been humiliated. She wondered who saw her come out of Tom’s hotel room and who really sent the earring to Jules. Was it Mae and one of her girls or those two nosey biddies that testified against Jacqueline, maybe it wasn’t any of them, but someone that she had no idea about. Someone that Jules had paid to watch her. Well, she would never find out. She remembered a street preacher saying that wives without husbands were vessels of temptation and should remain behind closed doors. She thought that she had rather remain behind closed doors. Perhaps that would be her fate.
Isabella decided that she would rather live at the DeSoto than spend another day in the same house with Jules. She wasted no time gathering her things as Priscilla told her that she would do well to rethink her decision. She told Isabella that she would be an outcast now and that she needed to go to church and repent. Kate urged her to go to confession, but the truth was, Isabella was tired of confessing and praying.
And then there was Elora. She couldn’t really raise a child in a hotel so she took her to Kate’s and Kate agreed to look after Elora until Isabella could work out her problems with Jules.
Isabella checked into the DeSoto and while she was busy trying to drag her three suitcases through the lobby, she ran smack into a beady-eyed woman carrying a huge vase of hydrangeas. “Oh, my goodness, dear, I’m so sorry—here I am trying to hurry to the ballroom and I almost knocked you down,” said Annalee Hancock. “Are you here for the flower show?”
“No, No, I’m not. Are you okay? I’m terribly sorry.”
“That’s quite alright, dear, I wasn’t paying any attention myself. I’ve been wandering around this hotel trying to find out where the flower show is being held. Our garden club is having a show for prize hydrangeas.” Annalee smiled and then her eyes flickered. “Forgive me, Isabella, I didn’t recognize you, dear,” she said taking Isabella’s hand. “You should come to one of our meetings some afternoon.”
“Thank you, I’m sorry but I’m afraid I don’t know much about growing prize flowers.”
“You’d be surprised, dear, at how many of our members started out feeling the same way as you,” Annalee said, turning the collar of her dress inward so her diamonds could be seen. Annalee leaned toward Isabella and whispered, “I want to tell you how sorry I am about that terrible trial and the disappearance of your friend, Mrs. O’Brien. And—poor Kate. You tell her, if you will, dear, that our garden club has been praying for her and her family. I don’t mean to meddle, but will you do that for me?” Annalee glanced down at Isabella’s bags and stared at her more closely. “Are you going somewhere dear?”
Isabella paused, and then struggled for words, but none would come.
“My poor dear,” Annalee said, sitting her vase of hydrangeas on the marble floor and wrapping her arm around Isabella. “You are having marital problems, aren’t you?” Annalee smiled, gave a slight shrug and whispered, “Thank God for garden club meetings. No one knows this, but shortly after Mr. Hancock and I were married, I did the same thing as you’re doing now. I gathered my things and ran to my mother’s. I guess you don’t want your mother to know, no, I would think not. Well, rest assured, my dear, your secret is safe with me,” said Annalee with eyes that danced.
Isabella nodded slightly and turned to walk up the winding staircase to her room.
Lucy Baker came up to Annalee. “We’re waiting on you, where have you been?”
Annalee sighed. “Such a young girl, so sad. Her situation is horrible.”
“Oh…what did she say?” asked Lucy. “There’s been rumors all over town.”
“I’m sure that’s not the half of it,” said Annalee.
The hotel room felt strange to Isabella. Even if she had not have felt out of place and thinking that everyone that she passed in the lobby knew why she was there, it hurt so much to be away from her home and her daughter. She even missed Priscilla. And when Jesse found out, she did not know what he would say. She sat still on the bed and thought that what she had done with Tom was sure to be her damnation.
The room was cool, damp and musty smelling. She closed her eyes and rocked back and forth on the bed. Nothing seemed certain to her and for the first time, she knew that there was no one to depend on but herself. She thought about Granny and her mama she thought about Tick, Blue and Freckles. By the light of a single candle, she traced the lines of the scarlet flocked wallpaper with her eyes. Then her daddy’s face appeared on the wall. She closed her eyes and tried not to see him. But he would not go away. Slowly, she drifted off to sleep and the last thing she saw was her daddy looking down on her with a smile on his face. He looked like what she thought God would look like. He spoke to her and said, “Do not be afraid; I am here with you, I am always with you.” As she reached out to touch him he faded away. But it was the first time in a long time that Isabella had a good night’s sleep.
The next morning, in the hotel lobby, Jesse walked up behind Isabella and said, “Where have you been?”
Isabella spun around. Jesse grabbed her by the shoulder and then shook her. “What are you doing?”
She grabbed the bottom of her skirt and started out the hotel lobby door.
“Look at me! You can’t run from this,” Jesse said, running outside after her. “Don’t lie to me, why are you here?”
Isabella stared at him for a minute. Then she shook her head in utter despair, “You don’t understand. You’re not a woman; you’ve never been in love.”
Jesse looked up and said quietly, “I ain’t a woman, but you don’t know anything about how I feel and who I’ve loved.”
Isabella studied his face. “Are you in love with Poppy?”
Silence grew and Jesse did not tak
e his eyes off her. “No, I’m not in love with Poppy.” He looked away and then said, “Did you just think you could drag your things half way across town and everything would be okay? Running ain’t gonna get you anywhere. You’re running in circles; aren’t you clever enough to know that?” Jesse paused, “I come to take you home.”
Isabella started to cry.
“For the sake of Elora, come back to the house,” Jesse said.
“I don’t know if I can do this anymore. And I don’t want Jules touching me.”
“That won’t happen. He’s changed. I think he working night and day to try and bring Miz Jacqueline home.”
“You know?” asked Isabella.
“You think dis ain’t all over town?” asked Jesse.
Isabella returned home and Jesse proved right; Jules did not bother her. Her husband had grown thin and it was as Jesse had said: Jules was spending all his time arranging for Jacqueline’s return he had even approached Isabella about testifying for Jacqueline. There were rumors that he had been to church on a couple of occasions and asked for God’s guidance.
On Isabella’s the first night back in her house, Jules was seated at his desk with a stack of books piled before him. Jules said to her when she entered his study, “I did not force you to marry me, you know.”
“I know,” she said quietly.
He looked up at her then his eyes strayed back down to his ledger columns. “I’m happy you’re home.”
Isabella stood, staring into space. She felt like a young girl who had just defied her father. Days passed and they did not talk. Then one afternoon, she asked him, “Is it possible to save her?”
Jules caught Isabella’s eye. “I think so.”
“How long before she is back?” asked Isabella.
Jules shrugged. “I may need to bring her home sooner than I thought. An illness has broken out in Paris and it may be dangerous to leave her there.”