Blessed Assurance

by Lyn Cote

  Father stirred his coffee. “The first assumption was that Belle wanted to quit school and get married this year.”

  Mother’s soft chin went up. “I’ve waited all my life to see Belle have her season—”

  “I’m having a season, Mother,” Belle put in.

  Color flooded mother’s face. “Belle—”

  “Celestia,” Father stopped her. “Why didn’t you tell me Belle wanted to go to Newcomb?”

  Mother waved her delicate hands. “That was just a girl’s foolishness. A woman doesn’t need an education. It could ruin her chances to make a match. Do you want people to think Belle is bookish?”

  “That wouldn’t bother me,” Father returned.

  Mother looked nonplussed.

  “Belle, tell your mother your plans,” Father continued.

  Belle drew herself up. “During Carnival, I’ll attend a couple of balls each week. I plan to graduate from high school in the spring.”

  Mother pressed a napkin to her lips to suppress a moan.

  Belle eyed her mother. “Then in the fall, I’ll enter Newcomb. If I do well there, I plan to go on to nurse’s training.”

  “Over my lifeless body!” Tears sprung to her mother’s eyes. “Ladies don’t become nurses”—her voice quavered—“only poor, ugly women who can’t find husbands—”

  “Celestia, please let our daughter finish.”

  Mother visibly grappled with her upset. “I can’t believe this.”

  Belle said in a coaxing tone, “I can marry after nurse’s training, mother.”

  Mother’s lips quivered. “And what true gentleman wants a nurse for a wife, may I ask? I was only seventeen when I married your father. Why is that wrong for my daughter?”

  Father placed a hand on hers. “That was in another century, mon cher.”

  “It was only twenty-eight years ago,” Mother declared.

  “And that means you’re too young to be a grandmother. You’re more lovely now than you were at seventeen.”

  This flattery obviously disconcerted his mother. Father never said such things in front of them.

  Father spoke gently, “My cher, it is unreasonable to think that Belle’s life would imitate yours exactly. Too much has altered in our world. I courted you in a horse and buggy. Our son grew up to fly in the air. There are dirigibles, movies, phonographs—”

  “Those are just things. People are the same,” Mother interrupted.

  “Are they? Belle was born in this century. She’s better in tune with her generation. How do we know the changes she will face in the coming years?”

  “Father!” Belle gazed at him with wide eyes. “You do understand!”

  “Au petite.” He sipped his coffee.

  Mother hid behind her napkin. “How will I face our friends? I can’t tell them my daughter is going to college.”

  “If you say it with pride, you may be surprised, cher.” Father gave her one of his twinkling smiles, which Gabe hadn’t seen in ages.

  The smiled acted on his mother also, but she still looked dubious. “I can’t believe this.”

  Gabe agreed. His sister, a college girl—a nurse. What had been going through his sister’s mind? When he’d returned from war, she’d been all grown up. Maybe I should have talked to her more since I came home.

  “Father, what was the second wrong assumption?” Belle asked. “I have double homework tonight because I don’t want to miss the Jupiter Ball tomorrow night.”

  Mother gave a little moan.

  “Mother, Martine Leon and Nadine Roberts are applying to Newcomb, too.” Belle turned to father. “Does the second assumption have to do with your going to court today?”

  Looking grave, father nodded. “We all assumed my injury had ended my law career. It hasn’t.”

  Gabe objected, “You’re not well enough—”

  “Are you my doctor?” Father’s tone stiffened.

  “Dr. Sankey said you are able to go back to work?”

  Father picked up his spoon. “He’s been suggesting it for months.”

  Mother looked startled.

  “I’ll never walk again. I’ll continue having my headaches. But nothing has impaired my reason or my memory.” Father took a spoonful of the mousse.

  After his riding accident, his father had been bedridden for months. At first, just seeing him in a wheelchair had been a joy. “What if a headache incapacitates you when you’re due in court?” Gabe asked.

  “If that occurs, most judges in Orleans Parish would give me a continuance, don’t you agree?”

  Gabe nodded grudgingly. Knowing his father would never use his headaches as a ploy, most judges would grant him a continuance.

  Father caught his eye. “And since you decided not to come into practice with me, I may take in another young lawyer. Then I would have someone to cover for me, if necessary.”

  Gabe stared at him. For over two years, Gabe had given up hope of practicing law with his father and taken the position with the parish. “I see.”

  “I realize it will be peculiar to face each other on opposite sides at court—”

  “What?” Mother demanded.

  “I’m defending Miss Wagstaff’s friend, Del DuBois—”

  “Hey, that’s Jake!” Belle leaped up and kissed her father.

  Mother shook her head. “Belle, please watch your language. A lady doesn’t use slang.”

  Gabe still couldn’t accept the changes. His father wasn’t well enough to practice law. Belle was too young to make such momentous decisions. That Wagstaff woman’s influence was changing, hurting his family.

  Mother gave a sour expression. “I might have known that wild San Francisco flapper would be at the bottom of all this.”

  My thoughts exactly.

  Later, Gabe sat alone in his home office. Only the desk lamp shone in the dark room. He’d tried three more times to get a telephone connection to the Paris hospital where Paul now worked. His call to the still-ravaged city hadn’t been important enough to get through. Official government calls had priority, relief organizations…

  He rubbed his forehead. Then taking out a sheet of onionskin paper, he wrote.

  Dear Paul,

  Your news took me by surprise. Please do all you can to bring Marie to Paris to you. Yes, I want her. With all my heart. I would never have left France if I’d known she’d survived the bombardment.

  By wire, I’ll set up an account at the Bank St. George with funds sufficient to bring Marie with a companion from Paris to New Orleans. Please wire me as soon as you know anything. I have tried to call your hospital without success. Merci, mon ami.

  Yours,

  Gabriel

  He sealed the envelope and slipped it into his briefcase. He would send a duplicate as a telegram tomorrow. One or both would reach Paul. The agony of loss plunged its sharp, poisoned claws into him. “God, help him find her. She’s so sweet, an innocent. Bring her safe to me. I have no right to ask you anything. But for her sake. Please…” A sob forced its way through him. “Oh, God…God…”

  From the Clairborne home for the Jupiter Ball, strains of jazz, “High Society Blues,” floated through the cool evening air. The day had been unusual—crisp and clear—and stars gleamed around the full moon.

  Belle on Gabe’s arm murmured, “What a luscious moon.” Ahead of them, their mother in a wispy gray gown walked beside their father, being pushed by the chauffeur.

  Gabe squeezed his sister’s arm in response. All day long, he’d thought about Belle’s plans, the letter and telegram he’d written, Del’s battered face, and Meg Wagstaff’s tart words at Penny Candy. How had life suddenly become so messy? He had to convince Miss Meg Wagstaff to stop interfering with his family.

  Inside the airy foyer, they were relieved of their wraps, then they drifted into the luxurious wine red and gold ballroom. Gabe scanned the large, filled room for Meg. He spotted her across the room chatting within a circle of gentlemen.

  His sister teased close to his
ear, “She does know how to catch a man’s interest.”

  He made a face at his sister.

  A young man approached. “Belle, you’re a regular baby vamp tonight.”

  Belle giggled. “Oh, Corby, you’re the cat’s pajamas yourself.” She drifted away with Corby toward the younger set.

  Though amused, Gabe didn’t think he’d call anyone a “baby vamp” tonight. But Belle was right. Miss Wagstaff’s black beaded evening dress with its elegant high neckline and long form-fitting sleeves flowed over her slender form to her ankles. When she turned, however, her backless evening gown was less than demure. All over the ballroom, heads turned to catch a glimpse of her elegant spine, then away. Gabe hoped this shocking display would be a lesson to his father. Was this Yankee woman someone he wanted his innocent daughter imitating?

  The band stopped for one of their breaks. “Good evening, Gabriel. I see you were taking in the view,” Dulcine murmured.

  He didn’t pretend to misunderstand her. “Evidently, we’re not quite up to the new Parisienne styles.”

  She gave a mirthless laugh. “My cousin Maisy mimics Miss Wagstaff’s every move.”

  Gabe said, “I’m sorry to hear that.” The band began a waltz. Gabe lifted Dulcine’s wrist to read her dance card, which dangled from a golden cord there. “I see that I’m down for this waltz.”

  “Are you? Did you write with invisible ink?”

  Laughing, he drew her to the dance floor and into his arms. Dulcine’s rapt gaze soothed his ruffled nerves. Her form was soft and pliant in his arms. For a second, behind Dulcine, he caught a glimpse of his mother’s beaming face. He knew she approved of Dulcine as his potential bride.

  Inside, he faltered, then gathered his composure. He had no plan to marry again. And if Paul didn’t locate Marie, he’d be going back to France himself.

  Dulcine chuckled, “Corby looks as though he’s won a horse race.”

  As Corby Ferrand whirled Meg around floor, Corby’s hand pressed the bare skin at the small of the woman’s back. For an instant, Gabe felt Meg’s warm flesh under his own palm. The sensation enveloped him like fire. Immodest flapper. With the knightly courtesy he’d been raised to show a lady, Gabe danced the rest of the waltz with Dulcine. But his unruly eyes kept tracking the shocking brunette and the creamy skin down her slender spine. Vixen. Unfortunately, when the waltz ended, Gabe and Dulcine found themselves beside Corby and Meg.

  “Dulcine,” Corby said, “is there any room left for me on your dance card?”

  Dulcine pouted prettily. “You shouldn’t wait so long to ask.” She glanced at her card. “I still have the two-step open.”

  “Fill in my name.” Corby grinned.

  While this exchange took place, Gabe locked gazes with Meg. The band began playing the lively new fox-trot.

  “Thank you for a lovely waltz, Gabriel.” Dulcine touched his arm.

  “I beg your pardon?” Gabe glanced at her. “My pleasure.” His gaze drifted back to Meg. Gabe was vaguely aware that couples formed around him and Meg. His thoughts scattered as he breathed in her French perfume.

  Meg put her hand on Gabe’s shoulder and took his other hand in hers. “Start dancing. People are beginning to stare.”

  Gabe’s face burned, but he took her into his embrace and began to dance. What had just happened?

  “It’s my elemental appeal.” She made her voice sultry and low. “I can’t help myself. In an evening gown—I’m a siren.”

  “Pardon me,” he said stiffly embarrassed, “I think you left half your gown at home.”

  “Which half would that be?” She mimicked his southern drawl.

  He ignored her comment. “Evidently the gentlemen here haven’t fallen for your elemental appeal. You had space on your dance card.”

  “What dance card?” She wiggled her wrist. “Are you seeing things now?”

  “Why not?”

  “Do you mean, why shouldn’t you see things? Or why don’t I have a dance card?”

  He glared at her.

  Meg shrugged. “I’m not a debutante, so I don’t need a dance card.”

  “That’s right.” Her nonchalant dismissal of custom angered him. “You so kindly told my sister you went to Europe instead of having your debut.”

  Her expressive face slid into melancholy. “It’s not something I would recommend to her.”

  This brought him up short. “Those are the first sensible words I’ve heard from your mouth.”

  “You should know.”

  And those three words formed a bond between them. He pulled her tighter to him. Her skin against his palm warmed him. Her fragrance took him back to Paris, to crowded cafés where he had grabbed a few moments of relief from the war. He’d read deep loneliness in her eyes. The same loneliness he carried. He wanted to ask her, “When did the despair hit you? When did you realize you’d forgotten why you came? Who did you lose in France?”

  Though she spoke no word, he sensed her understanding. A flicker of warmth flared in his heart. If he spoke to her of Marie and Lenore, she would understand, not judge him. The fox-trot ended. Shaken, he couldn’t pull himself together or release her. Slipping out of his embrace, she linked her arm in his. “We’re going to get refreshments. We need them.”

  He let her direct his steps to a love seat beside a lush potted palm, where they sipped tangy punch. Slowly, he surfaced. “Sorry,” he muttered. “I’ve been under a great deal of pressure.”

  She nodded. “Me too.”

  This brought all his grievances to a quick boil again. His lips straightened into a line. “How did you persuade my father to represent Delman?”

  “I had nothing to do with it. Don’t you think you should discuss that with your father anyway?”

  “I can’t. We are representing the opposing sides in a murder case.”

  “I think I heard that,” she said with a flippant lift in her voice.

  “You’ve had quite an effect on my family. You’ve inspired my sister to become a nurse—of all things.”

  She smiled thinly. “When you were seventeen, did your mother tell you to get married and outline what you should do for the rest of your life?”

  “Of course not—”

  “Then why don’t you think your sister has a right to her own decisions, her own life?”

  “It’s not the same. She is a woman.”

  “Yes, she’s a woman. And she deserves the same freedom as you.”

  He glared at her.

  She sipped her punch. “Your sister has depths you haven’t even begun to comprehend. I think that must be the way between older and younger siblings. When I left for France, my brother was just a boy. I came home and found him on the threshold of manhood. I didn’t know how to talk to him.” She sighed.

  Again, her mood touched a similar wound deep inside him. Since the war, he’d felt separated from his family, even as he sat among them. Still, he resisted her. “Your brother starting high school is natural, but Belle may fail to make a good match because she won’t make as big a splash at Carnival as mother intended.” He ignored Meg’s attempt to speak. “And my father’s health will suffer because of his taking Delman’s case.”

  For an instant, Meg contemplated slapping him for his stubbornness. Had he learned no wisdom in France? Then she decided on a better punishment.

  His impetuous words flowed on, “And your friend will—”

  “Oh, Gabriel! The things you say!” she teased. She let a deliciously outrageous laugh ripple out of her. Then she kissed him on his parted lips.

  He wanted to kill her. She read it from his expression. To keep others from reading it also, she kept her face just in front of his. “If you keep spewing nonsense, I’ll only behave more shockingly.”

  He seethed visibly. “No southern lady would behave as you have.”

  “If being a lady means behaving as though I agree with all the nonsense you spout, I don’t want to be one. You are quite sure you know exactly the lives your sister and
father should lead. But you wouldn’t, haven’t, submitted to anyone telling you what life you should lead, have you?”

  “The cases are not the same,” he bit out.

  “Oh?” She gave him a scathing glance. “I suppose you’ve never heard—‘Do unto others as you would have them do unto you?’”

  He scowled at her.

  “Don’t worry. Dulcine is on her way to rescue you from this notorious Yankee. I wonder if she will deign to kiss lips I’ve kissed. Oh, dear. I may have ruined all your chances.” She sprang up to greet Dulcine and her escort who eyed Meg uncertainly. “Dulcine! Thank you for bringing me another dance partner.” She took the startled gentlemen’s arm and sauntered off with him in tow.

  Fuming, Gabe stood.

  “Gabriel,” Dulcine’s voice had lost its usual liquid charm, “it’s time you took me to the buffet.”

  Then something caught his eye. A uniformed police officer entering the ballroom approached his father. “Dulcine, I’m sorry. I must see what’s happened.”

  “Of course.” Worry in her voice, Dulcine released his arm.

  He slid between the dancers to reach his father across the room. “Father, what is it?” Gabe murmured, aware all eyes must be on them.

  “Gabe, an attempt has been made on my client’s life.”

  Gabe stared at his father in disbelief.

  “Get Miss Wagstaff.” His father glanced at the officer. “All three of us will come down—”

  “Rooney said that wasn’t neces—”

  Gabe cut him off, “We’re coming.”

  Chapter 7

  Gabe, with Meg Wagstaff at his side, pushed his father’s wheelchair down the stark stone hallway to the jail infirmary. Leaving the Jupiter Ball where laughter and music reigned for this dark, sad place…At the doorway, he let the lady, as out of place in her black evening gown as he was in a tux, precede him into the cell-like room. The family chauffeur waited outside, hat in hand. The smell of pine cleaner overpowered the room and made Gabe queasy. Rooney leaned negligently against the rear wall. The doctor blocked Gabe’s view of the patient, who lay in the middle cot.

  Out of the corner of his eye, Gabe watched Miss Wagstaff. She’d frozen just inside the door, staring at what she could see of Del beyond the doctor.