The Immortelles

by Gilbert, Morris

  Neither his wife nor his sister paid much attention to this statement. It was a common enough plaint from Alfredo. Most of the plantation owners lived on credit, and no one considered owing money a sin in any way.

  Changing the subject, Juanita said, “I want you to let Damita go with me when I make my visit to Savannah.”

  “I don’t have any objection. Does she want to go?”

  “I haven’t asked her about it yet, but the trip isn’t until November. I think she’d enjoy it. Besides, there may be some suitable young men there for her.”

  “That’s very important,” Elena said with a nod.

  “Indeed it is.” For once, Alfredo agreed with his wife and sister. “She needs to marry someone with a bank full of money. Somebody who could help pay these debts off.”

  “She’s a beautiful girl, and she won’t have any trouble marrying,” Juanita said. She had other nieces in Savannah, but she had made a pet out of Damita. “It’s essential that she not only marry money but that she marry someone socially acceptable.”

  “What do you expect her to do—marry a monkey?” Alfredo laughed. “Of course he’ll be acceptable.”

  “I don’t know. Young girls are willful these days,” Elena said. “When Fannie Metlous married that awful American, it nearly killed her parents.”

  “It certainly did,” Juanita agreed. “He was like all of the other Kaintocks: little more than a beast.”

  The white men who came down to New Orleans from the west, mostly on the Mississippi, were known as Kaintocks. They had reputations for fighting and drinking and were coarse to the genteel members of New Orleans.

  “Damita’s got more sense than that,” her father said firmly.

  “Yes, she has,” Juanita said quickly. “I’d better go see if she’s dressed. We don’t want to be late for the graduation.”

  Damita stepped out of the brass tub and stood while Charissa dried her off with large, fluffy towels. This was an everyday ceremony and one that took up a great deal of Charissa’s energy. She had to heat the water in the kitchen, then bring it up, two heavy pails at a time, to fill the tub. It was one of the tasks she hated, and now, as she dried Damita off and powdered her, she thought, She’s never paid me a single compliment. Not once has she said a simple thank-you.

  “Hurry up, Rissa, I’m going to be late.”

  Charissa had learned never to respond to such useless comments. She was working as quickly as she could, and it did no good to protest. All she would get was a sharp word or sometimes, even a slap. She helped Damita into her undergarments, then slipped the snow-white dress, the color all the girls were wearing for graduation, over her head. She buttoned it up, and Damita said sharply, “Go down and get me some wine. Make sure it’s been cooled.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” Charissa muttered, turned, and went downstairs. She found the wine, poured a glass, and carried it carefully back up the stairs. Entering the room, she walked over to where Damita was standing before the mirror. “Here’s the—”

  She had no time to finish the sentence. Damita suddenly turned, and her hand struck the glass that Charissa was holding out to her. The dark red liquid splashed onto Damita’s bosom, and for one moment, she just stood with a shocked look on her face.

  Charissa’s heart sank when she saw the hideous red blot. She had no time to speak, however, because Damita screamed, “You’ve ruined my dress!”

  “It wasn’t my fault. You’re the one who hit the glass!”

  “Don’t you talk back to me! It was your fault!”

  Ordinarily, Charissa would have had sense enough to keep quiet and let Damita have her fit, but she could not always control her quick temper. She responded loudly, “You’re the clumsy one, not me! You knocked the glass right out of my hand and spilled the wine all over yourself!”

  Damita’s face turned pale. She slapped Charissa and said, “You come with me. I’m going to break you of this habit of talking back!” She whirled and stormed out of the room.

  Charissa followed her mistress through the hall, down the stairs, and out the side door. As soon as she stepped outside, Damita saw Garr Odom, leaning against the iron gate. “Garr,” she said, “come here.”

  “Yes, ma’am. What is it?”

  “I want you to take this girl and whip her.”

  A chill ran through Charissa. Garr’s brutal face broke into a smile. “You mean really whip her with a stick?”

  “Yes, and make sure you’re harsh. She’s a clumsy, insolent girl, and I want her broken. You hear me?”

  “Yes, Miss Damita. I’ll do what you say.”

  Damita glanced at Charissa and said with satisfaction, “A beating is just what you need.” She turned and rushed into the house without another word.

  Charissa stared at Garr Odom.

  “Well, well,” he said. He grabbed her by the arm. “You come on back. You and me got a little business.” He was a strong man, and although Charissa struggled, she had no chance against him as he dragged her back and entered the darkness of the barn.

  The faculty of the Ursuline Convent had gathered on a small platform erected in the courtyard. The black robes of the priest and the nuns, highlighted by blinding white collars and hats, and the graduates in their white dresses made a startling contrast to the colorful and stylish dress of the family and friends.

  The date was May 15, 1831, and as Damita moved forward in the line, she felt a fierce sense of exultation. She heard Chantel’s name called out, followed by the words “summa cum laude.” She felt no jealousy for the applause because Chantel was, by far, the best scholar in the class. She reached out and accepted her diploma from Sister Agnes, who did not smile. “You never thought I’d get it, did you, Sister?” Damita whispered. The nun gasped and Damita giggled, then turned and flashed a smile at her family.

  She strode back to her seat, thinking, This is the last day I’ll have to spend in this place. She watched as her classmates received their diplomas, and when the ceremonies came to an end, she stood to her feet with all the others while the bishop said a brief prayer. As soon as he spoke the amen, the graduates broke ranks and joined their families.

  Damita’s father was waiting for her, and when he put his arms out, she threw her arms around his neck and kissed him soundly on the cheek. He smiled at her and said, “I’m proud of you, daughter. There were times I thought you’d never make it.”

  Damita smiled and said, “I don’t think I could have, if it had gone on another day. But now I feel as if I’ve been let out of prison.” She turned and embraced her mother and aunt, then walked over to Chantel. The two girls hugged, and Damita said, “You’re the best in the class!”

  Chantel smiled. “You could have been, if you had tried.”

  “I can’t waste my time learning useless things. Have you asked your parents if you could make the trip to Savannah with us in November?”

  “We’re going to be out of the country. I can’t go.”

  “That’s too bad. You’re going to miss seeing a lot of good-looking men, from what I hear.”

  They mingled for the last time with their other classmates, especially with Simone d’Or, with her long, blond hair and dark-blue eyes, and Leonie Dousett, who was smaller than the other girls and the poorest of them all. She was a charity student, and perhaps this was the reason she was the humblest of the four.

  “We’re the Four Musketeers, and we’ve got to stay in touch,” Damita said. “I’ll tell you what. Let’s get together early this week and go to a party.”

  “What party?” Simone asked.

  “I don’t know, but there’s bound to be one somewhere.”

  Simone commented, “That’s not the dress you bought to graduate in.”

  “No, that stupid maid of mine spilled wine all over it, but she won’t do it again. I had her punished.”

  “She didn’t do it on purpose, did she?” Leonie asked quietly.

  “I have no doubt she did. She never did like me. I’ve been as nice as I
can be, but she’s a stubborn, rebellious girl. We may have to sell her. It would do her good to go out in the cotton fields and put in some time there. Maybe she’d appreciate me then.”

  At that moment Juanita appeared and said, “Come along, dear, it’s time to go.”

  The girls embraced, and each felt the poignancy of the moment. They had spent many years together at the convent, and now each girl knew that a new life lay before her. They made their promises to stay together and to keep in touch, but knowing how things change, all four of them felt that this was the end of something.

  Damita chattered all the way to the house, filled with excitement. As soon as the family entered the front door, Charles Devere, the butler, appeared and said, “I must speak to you, sir, if you don’t mind.”

  “Why, what is it, Charles?”

  “I’d better tell you alone.”

  The two men left, and Elena looked at her daughter. “What was that all about, do you suppose?”

  “Oh, some problem with the household, I suppose. You know Charles. He’s a worrier.”

  Damita went to her room and started to change out of the white dress, but a loud knock on the door sounded and she said, “Come in.”

  Her father stepped inside, and Damita saw that he was upset. “What is it, Papa? What’s wrong? Somebody sick?”

  “Damita, come with me.” Her father’s tone was cold, and the look in his eye chilled her. She had seen him angry at others, but never had he looked at her with this expression. “What is it, Papa?” she asked again.

  Alfredo turned and walked out of the room. Damita followed, and he led her up the staircase to the third floor, where the servants’ rooms were. He opened one door, stepped inside, and Damita followed him. She stopped dead still. “This is Rissa’s room.”

  “I know whose room it is. Come in here.”

  Again his voice was cold, and fear grabbed Damita. She stepped inside and saw that Rissa was in bed, but she was lying facedown. Her black hair had come down loosely, and her arms lay outside the sheet covering the rest of her body.

  “What’s wrong?” Damita whispered.

  “This is wrong.” Her father reached out and lifted the sheet. For a moment, Damita could not speak. Charissa’s back was crisscrossed with welts, all of them blue, and some of them oozing blood.

  “Did you order this done, daughter?”

  “I . . . I told Garr to punish her, but I didn’t mean this.”

  “You’re a fool to let that man beat this girl! Don’t you know his reputation?”

  Indeed, Garr was known as a cruel man, and that was why her father took him out of overseer’s work and restricted him to the barn and carriages. But in her fury at having her dress soiled, Damita had forgotten that. “I didn’t intend this.”

  “I could shoot that man! In addition to being barbaric, he was just stupid to mark up a valuable girl like this. And you should have known better.”

  Damita could not bear to look at the lacerated back. She saw Charissa glaring up at her and met her eyes. Hatred flared in them. Damita could not speak anymore and turned away, sickened by the sight.

  “I’ll have to send for Dr. Morton. Ernestine has done what she could and given her something that will ease the pain.” Turning to the figure on the bed, he said, “I’m sorry this happened, Rissa.”

  The beaten girl made no sound, and Alfredo left the sheet off of her back. He stepped outside the door, saying roughly, “Come out of there, Damita.”

  As soon as they were outside, he grabbed her arm and led her down the hall, where he stopped and faced her. “You’re a fool, Damita, and inhumane besides! I know you’re not kind to underlings. You never have been, but I never expected anything like this. I’m so ashamed of you, I can’t speak.”

  Her father whirled and left the hall, and Damita began to tremble. Tears came to her eyes, and she pulled her handkerchief out of her reticule and held it over her face. She stood there for what seemed like a long time, then turned and looked at the door. I’ve got to go back and tell her I’m sorry.

  She walked to Charissa’s room and entered. The young woman had not moved. Damita could not face those eyes that seemed to bore into her, nor could she bear the look of the bloody back. “I’m—I didn’t mean for this to happen,” she whispered.

  Charissa merely responded, her voice like steel, “Yes, you did.”

  Damita turned and fled the room. She ran down the two flights of stairs and found her mother in the hall near the kitchen. Elena said, “Your father’s told me what happened.”

  “It wasn’t my fault. I didn’t tell him to beat her that savagely.”

  Elena knew her daughter very well, and she put her hands on her shoulders. “You must learn to be kind, Damita,” she said. She turned and walked away, leaving Damita alone in the hallway.

  Chapter three

  Although it was only slightly past nine o’clock in the morning, the streets of the French Market were already crowded. Damita and Charissa had to thread their way through the throngs of customers who, like them, had come to buy food and supplies. A babble of languages broke the morning air: English, French, German, and Spanish. The streets were lined with shops of all sorts, but selling was not confined to them; many individuals stood next to their wares and advertised loudly. A black woman with a large bowl on her head called out, “Fine fritters!” Damita stopped and bought two of the rice fritters. “Very hot,” the black woman said, grinning as she took the coin from Damita.

  Damita turned and handed one of the calahs to Charissa. “Eat it while it’s hot,” she said, smiling.

  “Thank you,” replied Charissa, without expression. She took the calah and bit into it, but she felt little friendliness. It had been four months since the beating had taken place, and during that time the two young women had been wary of each other. Damita had made some effort to reconcile with the slave girl but was ready to give it up as hopeless. Charissa never spoke of it, but her eyes showed a cold bitterness whenever she looked at her mistress.

  The two women passed by a woman who cried out, “Blackberries—berries very fine!” Another, called a praline mammy, vended pecan and pink or white coconut pralines from a basket.

  Damita paused in front of an Indian woman who sold herb roots. She bought some of the filé, or pounded, dried sassafras leaves, for making gumbo. As she was doing this, Charissa bent over and touched the fat cheek of the woman’s baby, who grinned at her and made her smile.

  Damita saw this and said, “That’s a beautiful baby, isn’t it, Rissa?”

  She insisted on using the nickname, which rankled the young slave. “Yes, ma’am, very nice.”

  As the two made their way through the market, Lewis Depard hailed from across the street. He took off his hat and greeted Damita with a warm smile. “How fortunate to meet you, Damita. You are shopping, I see.”

  “Yes. Our cook asked me to pick up some things. How are you, Lewis?”

  “Could not be better.” Lewis did indeed look handsome, and he sounded eager as he said, “I was going to call on you later in the day, but we are well met.”

  Charissa stood by, listening to the two. It was as if she did not exist. She had noticed that slave owners were able to blot out their human possessions, treating them like furniture. At times she wanted to scream, Look at me! I’m a human being. Don’t ignore me. But this, of course, would not have been wise.

  She shrugged her shoulders in the morning heat, and the memory of the brutal beating rose in her mind. The pain was gone, but she still had fine scars left from the wounds of the rod. Alfredo had replaced Garr Odom with an older man named Batist Laurent, and she was grateful to her master for getting rid of him. Alfredo had been kinder than she expected, calling a doctor in to treat her and keeping her from work for two weeks after the beating.

  But Charissa could never bring herself to forgive her mistress. She knew Damita only as a thoughtless young girl, who perhaps cared for her own people but had no compassion at all for the
poor or especially for slaves. She looked at Damita, whose eyes were bright as she spoke to Lewis Depard. She’ll probably marry someone like him. She can marry anyone she wants to.

  The couple began to walk, and Charissa followed. Lewis said, “I was coming over to ask if you would go to the Quadroon Ball with me tomorrow night.”

  “I’m not sure Mama would let me go.”

  “Oh, I think she would, if you asked right.” Lewis smiled, his white teeth flashing against his olive skin. “I notice you get pretty much you want. It might be wiser to get permission from your father. You wind him around your little finger—as you do every man you meet.”

  “What a frightful thing to say!”

  “No offense. I think it’s charming. Will you go?”

  “I will if Papa says so. I’ll send you word.”

  “Good. You’ll enjoy it, I’m sure.”

  Damita found her father standing at the iron railing of the balcony, looking at the sidewalk. He seemed preoccupied, and she hesitated for a moment, making her plan. She knew that she could get almost anything out of him she wished, but going to the Quadroon Ball was not something most young ladies did. She had confidence in her wiles, however, and moving forward, she tucked her arms under his and hugged him from behind. “Papa, what are you doing?”

  “Nothing. Just watching the people go by.”

  Damita saw that a heaviness hung about her father. It troubled her. “What’s wrong? Don’t you feel well?”

  Alfredo turned and looked at her. He tried to smile, but it was a weak effort. “I get a little weary of struggling, daughter.”

  “Come. Sit down and tell me about it.” Damita pulled him to a wrought-iron bench, and when he sat, she held his hand in both of hers. “What’s wrong? Is it business?”

  “I’m afraid so. The cotton crop was disastrous this year.”

  “What happened?”

  “It was the drought. Ordinarily, we have too much water in this area, but this growing season, the rains didn’t come. The crops were very poor.” He shook his head and added, “I don’t know how in the world I’m going to arrange to pay off the loans.”