Garth said, "You must be out of your mind, Elise."
"Monsieur," said Jacques stiffly, "may I remind you that you are addressing my wife?"
"Be quiet, Jacques." Garth's eyes never left my face. "Take pity on the lad, Elise—"
"I am tired, Jacques," I said. "Please take me home."
"Of course." Jacques tweaked my shawl higher around my shoulders with proprietary tenderness. Garth looked on, amused. "Good night, Garth. Please call on us at La Rêve. Mother is always glad to see you."
"I'll do that." A lewd grin split his face. "You maybe sure that I shall call—as soon as it is decently possible."
Then he flung his head back and laughed long and loud.
As we climbed into our carriage I could still hear his laughter echoing along the dark, empty street. I moved closer to my new husband and swore silently that I would put Garth McClelland out of my mind and heart forever.
Chapter 12
Mistress of La Rêve
La Rêve, the Fournier plantation, stood on a knoll overlooking the Mississippi River halfway between Baton Rouge and New Orleans. We made the trip by boat, because in late summer the roads were ribbons of mire, virtually impassable.
Jacques stood at my side as we rounded the last bend in the river and I had my first glimpse of the sprawling white house with its encircling balcony and white colonnades. A regiment of gigantic live oak trees flanked the drive from the river road that led to the house. I could see a large group of Negroes gathered on the wharf at the foot of the slope. Some of them were waving their arms and shouting. Our boatman tooted his whistle in reply.
"They know about us, Jacques," I said, surprised.
"I decided to send word ahead," he said. "I—I wanted to prepare Mother. She'll be upset enough as it is."
The knot in my stomach tightened. I felt nervous and apprehensive about meeting his family, more nervous for Jacques than for myself. He was only beginning to realize what marriage to me meant. I squeezed his hand reassuringly, but received no answering pressure. He was still so deeply ashamed and embarrassed that he could hardly bring himself to look at me.
Our wedding night had been a farce, a travesty. We were both unnerved by our encounter with Garth at the Cathedral, and I attributed Jacques' shaking hands and stilted manner to his dislike of scenes. We decided to spend our first night together at the Hotel Marengo, away from the prying eyes and loose tongues of the family servants who lived at the Fournier town house on Rue St. Anne. I dismissed Savannah and George for the night. I saw that someone had sent up champagne.
"What a lovely idea, Jacques," I exclaimed. "You are always so thoughtful. Will you open it, please?"
"I didn't order champagne," he said dully. "Perhaps the management—"
As we toasted each other I thought of Garth. What was it he had said on the long ago wedding night at the Chateau: "The object of champagne in the bridal chamber is to alleviate embarrassment, calm the nerves, and dull the pain."
I nearly choked on the wine. But Garth couldn't have known about the marriage! He had seemed genuinely surprised when he met us at the Cathedral. When he discovered that I had left the house on Rue St. Charles, he probably guessed that I had checked into a hotel. He came to my room at the Marengo with champagne to appease me, but I wasn't in my room. He asked where I might have gone, and someone must have told him about the Cathedral. No doubt Savannah had left word with her old friends on the staff, just in case Garth appeared.
And now, ironically, I was drinking his champagne with my new husband. I emptied my glass and held it out to Jacques for more. Oh, I hated Garth McClelland, but I had beaten him at his own game. I savored the sweet taste of triumph.
"I am rather weary, Jacques," I said. "Will you help with the fasteners on my dress, please?" I turned my back to him and lifted up the coil of hair on my shoulder.
"I—you—" his hands twitched nervously. "You shouldn't have sent Savannah away so soon," he said hesitantly.
I smiled sweetly. "But my dear Jacques, I have a husband now. I no longer require a maid to undress me."
He obliged me, although his hands were trembling so violently that the simple task took him nearly ten minutes. When he had finished I thanked him and said softly, "Don't keep me waiting too long, my dear." He made a squeaking noise far back in his throat and forced himself to smile.
He came to me nearly an hour later, reeking of spirits and laughing to himself. He was wearing a voluminous nightshirt with ruffles at the neck and on the cuffs. I thought he was joking.
"You look beautiful, my lord," I said teasingly. "And your costume! Most becoming. Who is your tailor, pray?"
That kind of banter would have amused Lafitte or Garth, but Jacques blushed fiercely and said, "This was a gift from my mother. She embroidered the border herself."
I tried to restrain my humor and I examined his mother's handiwork. "Why, it's beautiful, Jacques. She does exquisite work. I've never been any good at it myself. I was always running off to play with my brothers when I should have been sewing. Come, blow out the candles and come to bed. I know you must be exhausted. You've had a very trying day."
"Yes, yes I have," he agreed readily. He extinguished the candles in the room and crawled into bed. He lay there stiffly, breathing as heavily as if he had run a race. I put a hand on his arm and felt his muscles tense.
"Please try to relax, Jacques," I said. "I won't bite you. I—I love you, and I shall try and be the best wife I can be." I meant it. I would show Garth McClelland that I didn't need him to be happy. I would be mistress of La Rêve. I would help Jacques to use his brains and talents to make something of himself. If Garth could be a senator, then Jacques could be president! "Do you believe me, Jacques?" I asked. I moved closer to him and rested my head on his shoulder. He was as stiff as a tree trunk.
"Yes, of course I believe you, Elise. I'm tired, that's all. It's been a very exciting day for me. I've never done anything like this before."
We lay quietly for a long time. I could feel him gradually relaxing. He shifted and drew me closer to him, and I could feel his breath on my hair. He gulped, sighed, and told me that he loved me.
"Are you afraid of me, Jacques?" I asked him. "Even a little bit? Don't be. I—I won't force you—"
"What are you talking about!" he said angrily, raising himself up on his elbow. "Of course I'm not afraid of you. I've had women before, lots of them. Don't think I'm as innocent as I appear, Elise. Just because a man doesn't act like a bully or a brute, like Garth McClelland, doesn't mean he's not a man."
"I quite agree with you," I purred. "You are a true gentleman, Jacques, not an animal. I love your gentle ways, and your poetry. I could never marry a man like Garth. Never."
He touched my cheek hesitantly. "I know that," he said. "I know who you really are, Elise. You are kind and generous and you appreciate the really fine, beautiful things in life. You're not like other women. We like the same things, Elise." He licked his lips and kissed me.
I lay close to him, wondering why I felt so dead inside, so cold. I found his kisses rather repulsive: too soft, too wet, too shy. But I braced myself inwardly and told myself that I shouldn't be unreasonable and stupid and expect every man to be like Garth McClelland in bed. And then I cursed myself for thinking about Garth. I hated him. I wanted to forget him.
Suddenly Jacques sucked in his breath and rolled over on his side with his back to me. "It's very late," he mumbled. "Good night, Elise."
"Good night, Jacques." I lay staring into the darkness long after his slow, regular breathing told me he was asleep. Hunger for a man gnawed at my vitals. I felt annoyed but not really angry. He was young. He needed time. But was he so young? an inner voice demanded. Can you imagine Garth at the age of twenty-six, rolling over on his belly and saying he was too tired to make love? A lusty animal like Garth would no more treat a woman like that than—Oh, leave Garth out of this, I thought crossly. Garth, Garth, Garth. I'm sick to death of Garth!
Th
e next morning Jacques told me he wanted to leave immediately for La Rêve, within the next two or three days. I agreed, thinking he might feel better about what he had done when he was on familiar ground, and we set about making arrangements for the journey. Savannah was eager to accompany us, but George told me he had received an offer from a fine gentleman in the city. I wished him luck and bade him a reluctant farewell.
And now, as I saw the pillared façade of the mansion at La Rêve shimmering above me, I prayed that we would be happy here, that I could make Jacques happy.
We stepped off the boat and the blacks swarmed around us, laughing and shouting and tugging at our hands. Jacques greeted them warmly and introduced me. Madame Fournier. I liked the way it sounded. Already marriage had given me a new name, new security, and a new home. What more could I ask? I looked past Jacques and saw a young woman running down the drive from the house. She was wearing a yellow muslin frock, and her auburn hair swirled loosely around her head.
"Jacques! Jacques!" she called excitedly. The slaves parted to let her through, and she threw herself into his arms and wrapped her thin arms around his neck. "Oh, we've been waiting for you for days, Jacques! Maman is rather perturbed by the whole thing, of course, but I am delighted. You must be Elise. How do you do? I am Colette, Jacques' sister. I'm sure he hasn't even mentioned me, because half the time he forgets I'm alive, don't you, Jacques?"
My husband looked happier than he had for three days. "I think about you constantly, little demon," he said. "But I couldn't tell Elise about you: she might not have married me if she knew that La Rêve had such a scamp living there."
We walked towards the house. Colette chattered constantly and danced around us like a fairy. I could feel Jacques' tension disappearing. She is good for him, I thought. I liked her a lot, but I wondered if I could possibly have been that giddy at sixteen. A great deal had happened to me in four years. I was no longer a girl, but a woman.
"Oh, Arnold is here," Colette announced with a little pout. "He rode up this morning, and I told him you had gotten married and that we were expecting you to come today sometime. He decided to wait around and kiss the bride."
Jacques mumbled something I couldn't catch. I looked at him and was surprised to see that his face was chalk white. I reached out and pressed his hand, but he pulled away from me.
"They're all gathered in the drawing room," Colette went on. "Maman and the aunts and Uncle Robert and Arnold, of course. But I was the only one who wanted to meet the boat, even though they all said I was crazy to come out in this heat. It's not that hot under the trees, is it? Elise, Jacques said in his note that you were French. I have never been to France, although Maman said I could go, but now that there's a war I don't suppose I shall ever be able to see France. Is it as beautiful as Louisiana?" I assured her that it was. "I was afraid of that," she sighed pathetically. "I have never been out of Louisiana. I have never been anywhere except to New Orleans. You must tell me about all the places you've seen, Elise. Perhaps Maman will let us travel together sometime. Would you like that?"
I told her laughingly that I would. We mounted the steps under the portico at the front of the house. The door was opened by a black footman resplendent in red livery, and Jacques ushered us inside. The center hallway was cool and elegant, painted white with a few portraits of Fournier ancestors hanging on the walls. The footman led us directly to the drawing room.
"They told me to bring you in immediately," Colette whispered to me. "I guess they want to look you over before you get a chance to fix yourself up from the trip."
"Do I look really awful?" I wondered aloud.
"No, you look beautiful. I'm so glad you're a beauty. Papa used to say he could forgive a woman anything if she was beautiful."
Jacques' mother was seated on a sofa in the center of the room with her two sisters, Aunts Celine and Henriette. All three were dressed in black, and reminded me of crows sitting on a fence. An uncle, Robert Devereaux, was leaning languidly against the mantelpiece, smoking a cigar. As we entered the room a young man with thinning blond hair stood up from the piano at the far end of the room. He had been playing, and the silence that fell over the gathering when he stopped was thick and uncomfortable.
"Hello, everyone. This is my wife, Elise," said Jacques a little too loudly. "I hope you will make her feel welcome at La Rêve, and that you will come to love her as I do." He led me first to his mother, who nodded stiffly and did not extend her hand. The aunts looked right through me, and one of them turned her head to the side and coughed into her handkerchief. They looked like they had just smelled a most unpleasant odor. The waves of hatred and disapproval that engulfed me were so strong that for a moment I felt as though I couldn't move
Uncle Robert cast an approving eye over my breasts and hips and slowly raised my hand to his lips. He was about fifty, the husband of Aunt Celine. He held on to my hand much too long while he said jocularly to Jacques, "Well, you young scoundrel, it seems we can't trust you out of our sight for a minute." He laughed robustly. No one else joined him.
The young blond man was Arnold Charpentier. "A good friend and neighbor," Jacques explained when he introduced us. Arnold bowed over my hand. He looked familiar, but I was certain we had never met.
"I've been telling the Fourniers about your exploits, Madame," he said lightly. "I hope I haven't been too presumptuous, but we have never met a real pirate before. The experience is a most welcome one. Surely you will find marriage a rather dull proposition after the exciting life you have led."
Jacques emitted a strangled noise. I looked at him sharply. His face was white except for two red spots that burned on his cheekbones.
I drew my hand away from Arnold's icy grasp. I disliked him and distrusted him, and I felt that he wanted it that way. Why else had he brought up my past?
"Even pirates grow tired and want to retire," I told him. "A steady diet of excitement can be rather wearying, you know."
"I'm sure it can. Well, my heartiest congratulations and best wishes to you both, Monsieur and Madame Fournier. Let us hope we won't have to wait too long for an heir to La Rêve. That really will be a joyous occasion."
Everyone gasped at the ill-bred remark, but I noticed the aunts were smirking behind their fans. Colette was looking at Arnold with a distressed expression on her face, as though she couldn't quite understand his bad behavior. I hoped she wasn't falling in love with him.
"I'll be seeing you soon," said Arnold as he prepared to leave. "I'm sure Georgette will want to have a ball or a party of some sort to welcome you to these parts. Everyone will be so eager to meet you, Madame."
"Georgette?" Of course, the resemblance should have told me something. Her brother?
"My cousin, Georgette McClelland. I believe you have met her husband. He has just been elected United States Senator from Louisiana." His eyes gleamed wickedly. So he knew about Garth. She had told him. "Their plantation is the next one up the river from La Rêve. Highlands. I imagine this will give you and Garth an opportunity to become, ah, better acquainted," he said mischievously.
I bit back a retort. I didn't want to antagonize the senior Fourniers any more than I already had. Life at La Rêve wasn't going to be as easy as I had hoped. I knew I would have to work hard to win their affections, and I wasn't even sure that I wanted to be bothered. After Arnold left I pleaded weariness from our journey and asked Jacques if I could go to my room. Colette volunteered to show me upstairs, and I could have cried with relief when we closed the drawing room door on Jacques and his relations.
When we were alone in the hallway Colette impulsively threw her arms around my neck and said, "I'm sorry they were so dreadful to you, Elise. They were just a little surprised that Jacques would do such a thing, that's all. It's totally unlike him, you know. He's always been such—a paragon."
"And I'm not the kind of wife they would have chosen for him," I said a trifle bitterly. "They made that quite clear."
We went upstairs. My room was at th
e front of the house, overlooking the river. It was spacious and elegantly furnished in the modern French manner. The late afternoon sun was streaming in through the long windows that opened onto a balcony, and it bathed the whole room in a soft, golden glow. Colette pressed my hand and left me alone with Savannah, who was unpacking my things. I sank into a chair and let my head fall back.
"They're horrid, Savannah," I groaned. "Three wicked old ladies, a lecherous old man, and Georgette McClelland's cousin, Arnold, who is a viper with legs. I can't bear any of them. I can hardly bear Jacques right now. What on earth came over me?"
"That man came over you," Savannah grumbled. "And you was too proud and silly-minded to see that he was crazy in love with you. You think he would go to all that trouble to buy you a house and then hide it from you if he didn't love you? I never seen such a crazy woman before, never in my whole life!"
"Oh, don't scold, Savannah. I'm so tired of people who don't approve of me. Why did I come here? Why didn't I go back to France when I had the chance?"
"That man—"
"That man has never loved anyone but himself," I said sharply. "And please stop talking about him. I don't even want to hear his name, do you understand? Just one mention of Garth McClelland and out you go!"
"I don't know where I'm gonna go, less you want to send me to the slave cabins out there and make me a slave jest like the rest of these poor folks." Savannah closed a bureau drawer with unnecessary force. "I'm the only free black on this place and I don't like it. I ain't no slave, and they knows that I'm not going to want to associate with the likes of them. Who am I going to associate with, you white folks? If you holler at me again, Missy, I am going to jump in the river and swim right back down to New Orleans."
I went over to her and put my arms around her thin frame. "Don't leave me, Savannah," I pleaded. "You're the only one here I can talk to. I'll go mad if you leave me. Please stay, and I'll promise to behave myself. It wasn't fair of me to take it out on you."
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