The Cards Don't Lie

by Sue Ingalls Finan

  “René seems to be a smart fellow; perhaps he has a plan about how this will work.”

  “Oh, he has a plan, all right,” she said disdainfully. “After the baby is born, he wants to take them upriver to St. Louis, where many people do not talk about their background.”

  “Where would René get that idea?”

  “If you remember your history—back in 1769, Monsieur Christoval de Lisa came with Governor Alejandro O’Reilly’s entourage, when Louisiana was ceded to Spain.”

  “I have a vague recollection of learning that. And?”

  “Well, Christoval’s son, Manuel, who goes by the surname Lisa, married the widow Polly Charles Chew.”

  “Oh, yes, I remember the event because I did some work for the father on his house right before the wedding. It was in the mid-nineties. He was one of my first clients. Now that you mention it, I haven’t seen the couple for a long time. Whatever happened to them?” Miguel asked.

  “They moved upriver to St. Louis about ten years ago. Turns out Manuel Lisa has become a very successful fur dealer, trading with the Indian tribes of the Missouri wilderness. Seems he has gained the Indians’ trust—he’s the only trader some of the tribes will deal with. To get to the point, Monsieur Lisa is looking for someone to run his office and fur warehouse in St. Louis while he is off trading. He has an agent looking here in New Orleans. Must not be any trustworthy people in St. Louis. René has convinced the agent that he is just what Monsieur Lisa is looking for.”

  Miguel paused for a moment to assimilate all this information.

  “St. Louis! Well, I suppose in such a remote frontier town, the social mores aren’t as developed as those in a wealthy city like ours. I suspect even our Monsieur Lafitte could be the epitome of grace and gentility in a place like St. Louis.

  “But,” he continued, “I really can’t imagine that Suzanne would leave her friends and you. I know she can be audacious, but surely she is against that proposal!”

  “Unfortunately, she thinks it’s a brilliant idea and is quite excited about it,” Catherine cried. “She says they can be a family living together openly, with many more opportunities for the child.”

  “Sounds like something René would say,” said Miguel.

  “Of course!” Catherine began pacing back and forth in the room. “Because St. Louis is at the spot where the Missouri River joins the Mississippi, it has become the provisioning point for everyone who is in the lucrative fur trade and all others heading west. So they will not have to worry about money, but he has told her to imagine a different life, to forget New Orleans.”

  Miguel said, “Well, I have heard from the keelboatmen that even mixed-race and free black men are welcome among the coureurs de bois, the free spirits, who trade with the Indians. The boatmen say that the coureurs de bois must be able to carry, paddle, walk, sing, hit the bull’s-eye, and convince the Indians to trade their valuable furs for a woolen blanket and an iron knife.”

  “Sounds like a rugged existence!”

  “True! And a dangerous life, too, but an unrestricted one. However, it is possible, with hard work, for even a métis or a black man to advance to a bourgeois like Monsieur Lisa.”

  Catherine paused and then asked, “Does such an existence interest you, Miguel?”

  “No, my love. I have a better life here than I ever thought possible. But I can understand the lure of such a territory.”

  Putting her hands on her hips and shaking her head, Catherine said, “But not for Suzanne! She would be giving up so much, and . . . and . . . I would never again see her or the baby!”

  She sank down into a chair and lowered her head into her hands. “Oh, Suzanne, Suzanne, what have you done?” she sobbed.

  “But wait, Catherine,” said Miguel, as he gave his wife a sly look. He walked behind her and put his arms around her. “Isn’t there something that you can do—you know, like magic?”

  Catherine lifted her head and shook it sadly. “I have to admit that I did consider that. Black cat hair and coffin nails are known for their ability to break up a couple.”

  “Well, I can get the coffin nails for you. And black cats are easy to find.”

  “No, Miguel. I use my gifts only for healing and protecting people I love. I could not do that to my daughter. Especially since I’ve given her powerful bay leaves and manroot to ward off evil. I must keep the baby safe.”

  Again she shook her head. “What were they thinking?”

  Tarot: THE TWO OF SWORDS

  Revelation: Refusal to face an imminent

  situation of hostility.

  November 1814

  “Pete?” Millie whispered. They were both in her bed, but the pirate had fallen asleep almost as soon as he had crawled under the sheets. This was highly unusual.

  She had dozed off, too, but his lusty snores woke her up. Millie gently nudged him.

  “Pete, mon amour . . .”

  “Mmmfff, ooh, ha!” He bolted upright into a sitting position, eyes open wide. “Who’s there? What do you want?” he demanded.

  “Pete, it’s me, Millie. We didn’t do anything at all tonight; we didn’t even have our discussion. You know how enjoyable I find them; plus, I have some questions.”

  “Oh, sorry, Millie,” he said, rubbing his eyes and sinking back down onto the bed. “I guess I was more tired than I thought! November’s been such a busy month, with the war and all that, and Lafitte’s got us working more than usual.” He pulled her down closer to him, nibbling on her ear. “What’s on your mind?”

  “Did you and your mates accept the British bribe?”

  “No.” Peter frowned and again sat straight up, crossing his arms.

  He continued, “Instead, we all agreed to send the document to the Americans, to warn them and offer them our services. Lafitte even wrote that, even though he avoids paying some taxes, he has never stopped being a good citizen.”

  “That’s so true,” said Millie. “New Orleans depends on him for many necessities.”

  “Absolutely! We heard that General Jacques Villeré tried to argue our case but Governor Claiborne and his committee refused to budge. They think the letters are fakes, and they insist that we just want to get Pierre Lafitte out of jail.”

  “Well, I can see why they might think that. . . .”

  “But that’s crazy! And besides, thanks to a few well-placed friends, Pierre has already escaped from the calaboose! We really just want to help!”

  Millie could see that Peter now was not only fully awake but also quite agitated.

  “Perhaps they’ll change their minds,” she said, hoping to soothe him.

  “Well, I hope so!” he agreed, and then added, “Oh! And General Jackson’s supposed to arrive in the city next week. There’s going to be a big parade; everybody’s excited about welcoming him.”

  “Well, maybe Jean Lafitte can talk to the general when he gets here and he’ll see Mr. Lafitte’s reasoning,” she said.

  She sat back for a few seconds to consider something. Then she smiled. “A parade, you say! This might be another outing I can look forward to!”

  “I suspect you would enjoy it, Millie. Oh—but, Millie? Don’t go wearing that boy costume, or you might find yourself impressed into the United States Army. And I can’t have that.”

  And, no longer sleepy at all, Peter did what he could to impress upon her that, as his woman, she was needed right there and then. No costume necessary!

  Tarot: THE KING OF SWORDS

  Revelation: Appearance of a man with power of life

  and death; one with authority and military strategy.

  December 1, 1814

  The first day of December felt frigid because of the constant dampness, yet the residents eagerly gathered at the Place d’Armes for the first view of their savior.

  Although their relationship was still strained, Catherine and Suzanne also waited together in the crowd for their first glimpse of General Jackson.

  “Do you see him yet?” the mother ask
ed her daughter.

  “He’s surrounded by his bodyguards, so I can’t . . . Oh, wait! There he is!” Suzanne cried, moving up and down on her toes. “But he does not look like I imagined.”

  “Why?”

  “He’s tall, but very thin and frail-looking. No real uniform that I can see. Some sort of a cape around his shoulders.”

  “Probably to keep the chill and the drizzle off him,” said Catherine.

  “And his army does not look very soldier-like, either. They’re not marching in ranks; they’re just strolling along. No uniforms, just guns, powder horns, and hatchets. And there aren’t very many of them!”

  “Well, I’d heard that they are just like our Cajun people from the countryside, so I guess we can’t expect a dignified-looking army.” The older woman shuddered. “Miguel told me that some of them had fought with General Jackson in the Creek Indian War.”

  “Oh, yes. I know all about it!” Suzanne said, almost gleefully.

  Catherine raised her eyebrows and studied her daughter. Here we go again, she thought. Suzanne’s going to prattle on and on about what that foolish, pedantic husband of hers has told her.

  “René said that three thousand Indians were killed in that war.”

  “Is that so!” I wonder if she ever says anything to him, or if he even listens to what she has to say.

  “The Yankees killed everyone: old men, women and children.”

  “Oh, how awful!” Then again, what would she tell him? The recipe to make chicken fricassee? Hmm.

  “But René also said that the Creeks, at the instigation of the English agents, had massacred families at a place called Fort Mims.”

  “Oh, my, they shouldn’t have done that!” But I must not criticize and must try to remain patient, so that I can convince her that this St. Louis idea is absurd. Utter craziness!

  “And René thinks that—”

  “Yes, yes, darling. Of course he does!”

  “But, Maman, you did not hear what I was going to—”

  “Oh! Suzanne! I see General Jackson now! Oh, my; he does look incredibly gaunt,” interrupted Catherine once again. “He just got off his horse and is being welcomed by Governor Claiborne and Mayor Girod. Can you see all of them?” She moved aside so her daughter could get a better look.

  “Oh!” Suzanne said softly. “The governor and mayor look far more impressive than the general. But General Jackson looks determined, and very tough. And the people are so exuberant! I can’t wait to tell all this to René!”

  As the cheering continued, Andrew Jackson was escorted to his headquarters. The two women moved along with the crowd, jostling their way to Royal Street. As they pushed their way closer to his building, they became separated. Catherine waved to her daughter, and Suzanne smiled in return.

  Well, thought Catherine, at least now she’ll have a story of her own to tell her husband!

  General Jackson finally appeared on the second-floor gallery, and the spectators quieted to hear him speak.

  Catherine concentrated on hearing Jackson’s message, which his soft-spoken congressional friend Edward Livingston was translating into French. Although the speech was brief, the people applauded; they were pleased with its content.

  After the general went back inside, Catherine began looking for Suzanne.

  An attractive woman next to her turned and said, “I beg your pardon, madame, but did you hear what Monsieur Livingston said?” This woman, unlike Catherine and Suzanne, did not have on a tignon, and her cloak, dress, and jewelry were very fine.

  Catherine was astonished; for a Creole woman to address a woman of color in public was most uncommon. She was even more surprised upon recognizing the woman.

  “He is asking all of us to unite with him to save our city, Madame de Trahan.”

  “Oui? Oh! Madame Caresse! I did not realize it was you! How good to see you again. You look well.”

  “As do you, Madame de Trahan.” Catherine smiled. “And it appears that the black cohosh was successful!”

  Marguerite nodded. “Indeed, Madame Caresse, and thank you again,” she said warmly. “I am in my eighth month.”

  “Hmm,” said Catherine. “Many women in their final trimester confine themselves in their homes. . . .”

  “Yes, so my mother reminds me every day. But I am careful not to overexert myself. I am quite healthy, full of energy, and to spend these days in a bedroom when a battle is about to brew does not make sense to me.”

  “Yes, these are different circumstances indeed. My daughter, who is also with child, refuses to confine herself as well. Fortunately, she, too, is in good health, vigorous, and, I might add, quite stubborn!”

  “I’m sure you are monitoring her movements carefully, though.”

  “Oui! Not only for her sake, but for my grandchild’s.”

  “That’s exactly what my mother says!” Marguerite laughed.

  She looked back up at the remaining men gathered on Jackson’s balcony. “So! According to General Jackson, all of us are to unite. Do you think he even realizes who we all are?” Marguerite gave Catherine a knowing look. “Our Creole men will certainly do their part. But surely he can’t mean everyone here.” She rolled her eyes.

  Both women then scanned the crowd, which, although made up mostly of the French and Spanish Creoles, also included colorful Cajuns from the bayous, free people of color, such as Catherine and Suzanne, slaves squatting on the banquette, Choctaw Indians from upriver, and even a couple of nuns from the Ursuline convent.

  “Oui,” agreed Catherine. “One might think he is mistranslating—that the general just means the Creoles, the Cajuns, and other whites.” Then Catherine thought a moment, before adding proudly, “However, my husband, Miguel, a free man of color, has also joined the local forces. He is in Major Jean Daquin’s battalion. General Jackson specifically requested our help as well.”

  “Excellent! It seems to me that the general will need all the help he can get.” Marguerite stood on her toes to get a better look at the militiamen. She gasped. “Just look at those scruffy soldiers! Not having decent uniforms is one thing, but my goodness!”

  Catherine nodded. “Most every one of them: ragged, disheveled, and undisciplined. And they’re supposed to save us from the English, who have defeated the great Napoleon?”

  “Well, although they do look shabby,” replied Marguerite, “my husband tells me that we’re lucky to have them. They’re volunteers from Kentucky and Tennessee. They’re hunters and used to protecting their families from Indians. It is said that they are all excellent marksmen.”

  “I hope so. But many of them look extremely thin and, again, poorly clothed.”

  “My husband also said that they have been on the trail for over a week, some of them coming all the way from Alabama. And look at General Jackson! He himself looks emaciated and in poor health. I think he should probably be in bed. Don’t you?”

  “Absolutely,” Catherine said. “Especially in this wet weather!”

  While nodding her head in agreement, the Creole continued, “He certainly isn’t splendid or majestic, like the pictures I’ve seen of other generals. But he was sent here to rescue us from the British. Well, we know he can defeat Indians, so I guess, like he says, we had better unite and work together, or abandon our homes to the English.”

  And, joining the throng’s chant, Marguerite cried, “Jackson has come!”

  Caught up in the enthusiasm, Catherine, too, joined in: “Jackson has come!”

  Several minutes later, the crowd quieted and began to disperse. Marguerite smiled as she turned back to Catherine.

  “Madame Caresse, perhaps it is serendipitous that we have met here.”

  “Oui, madame?” Catherine looked at Marguerite curiously.

  “Besides being knowledgeable about certain herbs, you are also well known as a healer. I’ve heard so much about you. You saved a neighbor’s son four months ago; he had pneumonia. Raimond Fortier had such a high fever, and my friend Julia was so worri
ed that she was going to lose him.”

  “Yes, I remember young Raimond,” Catherine smiled. “He liked the cold, wet scarves I wrapped around his head and neck, but he did not like drinking my raisin tea. He’s doing well now?”

  “Oh, yes! And I did hear about your tea; he hasn’t eaten a raisin since!”

  Catherine chuckled. “Please give his mother my regards when you see her.”

  Marguerite said, “Of course.” She thought a moment, and then added, “But about our fortuitous meeting today. My husband said that women are needed to help with nursing, making bandages, dressings, and such. I am organizing some of my friends and neighbors to accomplish this. Perhaps, Madame Caresse, you would consider working together with me? Your healing skills would be very much valued, as well as your knowledge of medicines and other supplies we need to acquire. May I count on you to help?”

  “Certainly, Madame de Trahan. And, if you would like, I will also gather friends and neighbors from the Rue de Rampart area to support this undertaking.”

  “That would be wonderful!”

  “Ah! And here is my daughter, Suzanne. She can assist me. This is Madame de Trahan, darling.”

  Suzanne turned to meet the Creole woman with a smile and a curtsy. “Bonjour, madame.”

  Marguerite’s eyes widened. Interpreting the significance of the girl’s tendrils of copper-colored hair, light complexion, and, most of all, green eyes, almost caused her to swoon. But she instantly steadied herself. “A pleasure to meet you, Mademoiselle Caresse.”

  Marguerite was still pale when she addressed Catherine. “My, do excuse me. This chill air is enough to make one faint!” She gave a wan smile.

  Catherine had carefully watched Marguerite’s reaction. Heedful but not surprised at the other woman’s shock and discomfort, she quickly said, “I agree, and you are both in a somewhat delicate condition and should get out of this dreadful, drizzly weather. But, again, Madame de Trahan, I will be happy to assist you. As you say, we are all in this together.” She turned to her daughter, “Isn’t that right, dear?”