The Cards Don't Lie

by Sue Ingalls Finan

  At that moment, Sister Angelique walked into the hallway briskly, passing Suzanne with a nod of her head. The nun was carrying a stack of cloths and bandages. “Ah, good news, Catherine,” she said quietly, with a smile. “Millie has brought us some fresh supplies!” She bent down to place the stack on another chair.

  “Uh-oh!” Scamp repeated once more.

  While bent over, Sister Angelique noted the puddle and quickly straightened to look at Catherine, and then at her wide-eyed daughter, still clutching the chair. “Oh, my!” exclaimed the nun. “Suzanne, I see your water has broken!”

  Meanwhile, Catherine had moved to her daughter’s side to support her.

  “Scamp, we’ll need a mop and pail,” directed Sister Angelique.

  “I know where they are, Sister.”

  After removing the linens, the two older women lowered Suzanne gently onto the chair beside René’s pallet. Her face was ashen, her eyes now glazed.

  “Ohhhh,” she murmured, looking down at her abdomen. She massaged it and looked up at her mother. “Maman? What should I do?”

  “The baby’s arriving a little early, but, given the circumstances, it’s not unexpected. And look—I believe René is awake now!”

  “Oh, mon amour. René!” Suzanne quickly got out of the chair, knelt down, and leaned over her husband, delicately holding his face in her hands. “Oh, my beloved,” she whispered. “I am here for you.”

  René opened his eyes and attempted a smile.

  “Suzanne . . . my dearest.” His breathing was labored, but he struggled to continue talking to her. “You have made me . . . so very happy. Now, you must be brave. With our baby. . . .”

  “René, my love, please . . .” She reached for his hands.

  “Remember me, my darling, but not with tears; remember our sweet times together. . . . Je t’aime.”

  Still looking at her with tenderness, he breathed his last, exhausted sigh.

  “Non, René! Please don’t leave me! Don’t leave us!”

  As Catherine tenderly wrapped her arms around her sobbing daughter, Sister Angelique gently closed René’s eyes and drew the blanket up over his face.

  Tarot: THE HERMIT

  Revelation: A time to be mindful of limitations

  and acquire the wisdom of patience.

  As Suzanne keened on top of her husband’s covered body, Catherine motioned to Sister Angelique to follow her into one of the classrooms.

  “Is Millie still here?” she asked the nun. “She could take my daughter and me back to my home.”

  “Yes, I think she is resting in the supply room. I gave her a cup of tea to help revive her. Poor dear. She’s really doing a terrific service. I’ll get her now.”

  While the Ursuline sister walked swiftly down the hallway in search of Millie, Catherine turned to console Suzanne.

  Suzanne looked up at her mother and cried, “Maman! How can I go on? There are so few wounded—why René? And why couldn’t you save him?”

  Catherine knelt down by her daughter and put her arm around her.

  “Suzanne, René had a very severe wound and had lain on the battlefield for an hour or more before Miguel found him. We should thank God that he lived long enough to see you. It is clear that it was to say au revoir to you and his child that he willed himself to live as long as he did. You must remember that he sacrificed his life to protect us and your child. Now it is your turn to be as courageous as René.”

  Suzanne’s sobbing lessened.

  Catherine cupped her daughter’s chin in her hands and looked into her eyes. “Sister Angelique is getting Millie to take us back home. Are you having contractions now?”

  Suzanne shook her head no, but then she turned and put her head down on her husband’s blanketed chest, clasped his shoulders, and began sobbing again.

  Sister Angelique approached them in the hallway with Millie, who looked quite stunned. The nun gave her a quick hug.

  “I found her sharing her tea and cookies with one of the Baratarian patients,” announced Sister Angelique, in an effort to be buoyant.

  Suzanne looked up, her eyes rimmed red from her grieving.

  “Oh, Millie,” she said, “René’s gone!”

  Some inner strength appeared to galvanize Millie then, and her whole being seemingly changed, from incredible exhaustion and shock to an astounding vitality. She ran over next to Catherine and took Suzanne’s face in her hands. “Suzanne, my dear friend, I’m so terribly sorry. But”—and Millie’s tone sounded more stern—“your baby is on his way to join us. This is no place for him to be born. So your mother and I are going to get you to her house, where we can take care of you. You know that’s what René would want. And I’m here to help you—always, my good friend. Are you ready?”

  Without waiting for an answer, Millie began scooping up Suzanne, and Catherine quickly moved to assist her.

  Catherine turned to Scamp, who was uncharacteristically subdued.

  “Scamp, I want you to stay here and help Sister Angelique. I think this baby is going to be born within the next few hours. Then Hortense will take care of Suzanne and the baby, and you and I can check on General Jackson. We have a hectic time ahead of us.”

  She shook her head and looked at the nun. “If you can take care of . . .” She looked back at the covered corpse.

  “Yes, of course, Catherine. God be with you!”

  Tarot: THE FOUR OF PENTACLES

  Revelation: A mean condition; too attached

  to a worldly position.

  Hortense heard Catherine’s voice at the door and ran to open it.

  “Thank heavens you’re here,” she said to Catherine. “I have everything ready!”

  “Très bien, Hortense!” Catherine responded, and then stopped. “But wait—how did you know about the baby coming?” she asked.

  Hortense looked beyond Catherine and saw Millie helping Suzanne to the house. “Mon Dieu! Suzanne!”

  At the same time, Catherine heard a scream coming from the rear of her home.

  “Madame de Trahan?” asked Catherine.

  “In Suzanne’s room. She’s all right. Just started. But what about Suzanne?” asked Hortense.

  “Her water broke, but she’s not far along, either.” Turning back to the two younger women, Catherine said, “Millie, can you stay a while longer with Suzanne, until we get everything organized?”

  “Of course,” said Millie. “I’ll stay as long as you need me.”

  “Good!” Catherine turned back to her servant. “Hortense, if you will help Millie take Suzanne to my room, I’ll see how Madame de Trahan is faring. Join me after you get Suzanne settled.”

  Still gripping her medical bag, the midwife hastened into Suzanne’s childhood room. She saw her Creole friend sitting up in the bed, but not in obvious discomfort.

  “Ah, Catherine, I’m so glad to see you!”

  “How are you doing, Marguerite?” Catherine asked, as she washed her hands in the basin Hortense had left.

  “She’s cried out several times and is clearly in a great deal of pain,” declared another voice in the room.

  Catherine looked over her shoulder and saw an older woman standing by the window.

  “She should be at home in her own bed, with a real doctor. Instead, here we are, in this inferior neighborhood with you people. These conditions—this situation—is very unsatisfactory.” Sheila folded her arms tightly across her chest, her fists clenched, as if to shut out the surroundings.

  “And you are . . . ?”

  “Maman! I’m sorry, Catherine. Please forgive my mother’s ungracious behavior. She has forgotten how a guest should act.”

  “Ungracious! Well, Daughter, you forget yourself! Let me tell you—”

  Marguerite let out another scream. Catherine wondered if it was due to her labor pains or to her mother’s bad manners.

  Catherine got down on her knees to examine Marguerite’s cervix. She was not fully dilated. Catherine took Marguerite’s wrist to gauge her h
eartbeat, then said, “You’re going to be fine, Marguerite; just remember to pant like a dog when you have a contraction. They’ll be coming more quickly now.”

  “Well?” demanded Sheila, putting her hands on her hips. “What do you propose to do?” She walked to the foot of the bed and glowered down at Catherine.

  Catherine stood up and regarded Sheila with a slight smile. “I am going to deliver your grandchild, Madame. However, I quite agree with you.”

  Sheila looked at her with surprise.

  “My home may be modest, and this room is very small. But it is my house. My maid, Hortense, and I will need every space available to set up our supplies for Marguerite’s comfort. And although I did not invite you, you are my guest. I expect you, as a courteous Creole lady, to act as a guest should.”

  Catherine removed some of her ointments and instruments from her medical bag and, placing them on the bed, deliberately nudged Sheila aside.

  “And so, now that you know that your daughter is comfortable, I would strongly suggest that you stay in a place more suitable to your station until after the birth,” she continued, still laying out her tools, cloths, and lotions. “Our friend Millie will take you there. But you must leave immediately, as curfew will soon be upon us.”

  Marguerite’s mother, for the first time in her life, was speechless.

  Catherine nodded to Hortense, who was standing in the doorway. She turned then and faced Sheila. “Now, if you will come with me . . .”

  “But . . . but,” sputtered Sheila.

  “Go, Maman. I may be in labor for quite a while,” said Marguerite.

  Putting her right arm around Sheila’s shoulder and her left hand under the woman’s left elbow, Catherine commandeered the flabbergasted woman out of the room and hustled her to the entry door.

  “Now, don’t worry about your daughter, madame,” Catherine said in a soothing tone. “Hortense and I will see that Marguerite is comfortable and that the birth goes smoothly. I will send word to you as soon as she is ready to receive visitors.”

  Millie was already outside, waiting in her wagon.

  Hortense handed Sheila her cloak. “Au revoir, madame,” she said, with a big smile.

  “Harrumph!” said Sheila, as she flounced past Hortense.

  Shutting the door, Hortense rolled her eyes at Catherine. “That woman has some nerve,” she said.

  “I agree,” said Catherine. “But I’m sure she’s worried about her daughter. As am I. How’s Suzanne?”

  “She’s settled. Crying a lot, but Millie calmed her down a bit. I’m so sorry about René. Le pauvre. But, knowing Suzanne, she’ll get through this. She’s always been resilient.”

  Tarot: THE LOVERS

  Revelation: A choice in love and responsibility.

  Both births occurred late that night. Both mothers cried out in pain. Not unusual during childbirth.

  But Catherine wondered about Marguerite’s distress; much of it seemed to be caused by a fear of someone or something she alone sensed. Besides her screams during obvious contractions, she also shrieked, “You’re wrong! No, leave me!” “Stop telling me that!” “Go away!”

  Suzanne’s anguish only compounded her trauma. Her mutterings, between labor pains, were simpler to understand: “Oh, René . . .”

  Both birthing mothers were exhausted. Catherine and Hortense wiped off their sweat, prompted their panting, and ignored the swearing. They gave them sips of water and soothed them with words of comfort and encouragement. After washing their own hands, the midwife and assistant went back and forth from one “delivery room” to the other. They massaged the patients’ vaginal openings, made the surgical cuts to their perineums, and instructed them when to breathe and when to push. They were drained, too.

  Catherine received Marguerite’s baby boy first. An hour later, Suzanne’s son was born.

  Both infants were wet, bald, with long heads, and dark red in color, and had bluish-tinted hands and feet. After cutting the umbilical cord, Catherine handed each baby to Hortense, who cleansed him, clearing away the mucus from his nose, mouth, ears, and anus. The newborn was then swaddled and placed into his own basket.

  Both mothers promptly sank into a deep sleep after delivery. The caretakers restored their birthing rooms to everyday conditions; cleaned the umbilical scissors, forceps, needles, and thread; and put away the unused portions of ointment.

  Hortense lit several candles in the parlor and brought the babies in, and Catherine settled herself on the sofa to watch over them. Hortense went back to her cabinet and was soon snoring softly.

  Both babies seemed to be sleeping peacefully. Catherine closed her eyes and tried to rest, but, although her body was weary, her mind was churning with a peculiar foreboding.

  After an hour of fidgeting, she got up to check on the babies. Holding one of the candles, she tiptoed over to the baskets, knelt down, and examined the first. Perfect. His coloring was good, his breathing steady.

  Then she observed the other little fellow. Something didn’t seem quite normal. He appeared to be having difficulty breathing.

  Putting her candlestick down, Catherine carefully picked the baby up for a better look. Even though she supported the back of his head, it still flopped forward like a rag doll. And she could see, even in the flickering glow of the candlelight, that his coloring was wrong; his face had turned yellow.

  Alarmed, she immediately felt his forehead. He had a fever. As she held him in the crook of her arm, he arched his neck backward and opened his eyes. The whites, too, were yellow. He gave a high-pitched cry, and, as she clasped him to her breast, tears came to her eyes as well. She knew he would not survive much longer.

  Every baby she had delivered was precious; losing one was always heartbreaking. The loss of this child would be no different. Especially in this instance, difficult grief and despair were soon to follow. And Catherine knew tonight’s consequences would be colossal. Appealing to St. Jude, known for aiding in desperate causes, she began to gently rock the baby in her arms. Softly, she told him about his father and mother and how much they loved him.

  Carrying the baby out to the water barrel by the kitchen, Catherine dipped her handkerchief into the water and, squeezing drops onto the baby’s forehead, pronounced, “I baptize thee in nomine Patris, et Filii, et Spiritus Sancti.” Then she called to Chamuel, one of the two angels who comforted Jesus in the garden of Gethsemane. Knowing the inevitable, Catherine asked that the angel lead the child quickly into heaven and return to help her deal with the family’s bereavement. She was still petitioning the saints and loas, cuddling the baby, when he took his last, little breath.

  Catherine put the infant’s body back into his basket and covered it with a cloth. Hortense awakened, wordlessly acknowledged the situation, and sadly embraced her employer. She would call upon Père Antoine the following morning.

  Catherine went back into the parlor and gazed at the other infant. He sleepily opened his eyes and blinked back at her. She picked him up, kissed him tenderly, and said, “Hello, my darling. Today is your first full day in a new world. You must be strong; you must survive.” The baby blinked again as she gently laid him back in his basket.

  A few hours later, Catherine sat at the dining room table, head down in her arms. She felt like one of the candles—melted down to the nub. Hortense was quietly pouring her a morning cup of coffee, when a baby’s cry came from the parlor.

  Catherine raised her head, her eyes bloodshot, her face haggard. She pushed her hand through her hair, took a deep breath, and looked fixedly at her maid.

  “Hortense, will you please get the baby for Marguerite to nurse?” she said.

  Hortense cocked her head in shock and dropped the coffeepot.

  Tarot: THE CHARIOT

  Revelation: Conflict and struggle will be

  faced with strength and a conquest.

  December 25: a very foggy morning. “Happy Christmas, mates, and God bless America!” Peter called out to his fellow Baratarians on th
e Carolina, as they continued blasting the British.

  December 26: a very misty morning. “It’s St. Stephen’s Day, mates!” Peter called out to his fellow crewmen. “Where I’m from, the feast day of St. Stephen the martyr is celebrated with food, drink, music, and dancing, in contrast with your more solemn, religious Christmas Day. But today we’re celebrating St. Stephen with fireworks, bombarding the Redcoats!”

  December 27: a very frosty morning. The rising sun revealed that the Carolina’s routine was about to change.

  Over the prior three days, the Redcoats had lifted, rowed, dragged, and carried dismantled cannons through forest and swamp from their ships on Lake Borgne to the banks of the Mississippi River. There, overnight, the cannons were remounted and aimed at the Carolina. While the cannons were being emplaced, the cannon balls were heated in the plantation’s blacksmith’s forge until they were red hot.

  The first English salvo splintered the Carolina’s bulwarks and shredded its rigging. Before the Carolina’s crew could load and return fire, the red-hot cannonballs of the second English salvo ruptured the Carolina’s hull and started fires near the magazine containing the store of gunpowder.

  Captain Henley immediately gave the order to abandon ship. Peter scrambled over the side into a boat, grabbed an oar, and, along with other escaping crewmembers, rowed to the opposite shore.

  Moments later, the Carolina erupted with a roar; burning wood and iron cannon barrels sailed through the air. Peter heard the British gunners cheer.

  Although Peter was furious about the loss of the Carolina, he was grateful to be alive. Not all of his mates were so lucky.

  The Louisiana was safe, too; her crew of Baratarians, in rowboats and pirogues, against the wind and current, had pulled her upstream, around a bend in the river.

  December 28: a very sunny morning. The Carolina destroyed and the Louisiana now withdrawn from sight, the English commander General Packenham decided to push the American rabble out of the way and take the city. Behind a barrage of artillery and rockets, ranks of English troops began advancing, eighty abreast, one column in the field along the river, the other adjacent to the swamp.