The Immortelles

by Gilbert, Morris

  “The banker thinks it is. We’ve got to make a payment right away, and a large one. We’ll have to sell some of the slaves.”

  Elena went to his side. “I don’t want you to worry about this, dear. We’ll cut back to the bone. There are many things we can do without. We have plenty of clothes, and we can give up our travel until things get better.”

  “Of course we can, Papa,” Damita said. She walked to her father and kissed him on the cheek. “We’ll all help with this. And the crop looks wonderful this year. Claude said so.” Claude Napier was the manager of the plantation, and he had commented on the crop to Damita only a week earlier.

  “I hated to tell you, but I had to. We’ll talk about the details of it later.” As the ladies turned to leave, he said, “Damita, just a moment, please.”

  Damita returned to his side. He said, “One of the slaves that will have to be sold is Rissa.” He saw a stubborn look come to her eyes and said firmly, “I’m sorry, but I’ve got to have cash right away, and this physician from St. Louis is prepared to pay any price. It has to be.”

  Damita started to argue, but she saw the set look of her father’s face and knew that it was hopeless. Her anger fell on Jefferson Whitman, who had brought this upon her. She swallowed and said, “Very well, Papa. That’s what we’ll do.”

  When Jeff went to the Debakky house for lunch that day, he was surprised when Rose Bozonnier met him, saying, “There’s a gentleman to see you, sir. I had him wait in the study.”

  “A gentleman? I wasn’t expecting anyone. Did he give his name?”

  “It’s Señor Madariaga.”

  Jeff instantly felt a lift of spirits. He could think of only one reason why Madariaga would come to see him. “Thank you, Rose.” He walked down the hall to the study. When Madariaga rose from his chair and bowed slightly, Jeff bowed also. “I’m glad to see you, sir. I hope you haven’t had to wait long.”

  “No, of course not, Doctor,” Madariaga answered. He appeared nervous and stroked his mustache with a quick motion. He was not accustomed to giving up his own way, and it had cost him a great deal of pride to come. But he had steeled himself for it and said, “I will be brief, Doctor. Are you still interested in buying the slave girl Charissa?”

  “Yes, I am.”

  “I have thought on it a great deal and spoken with my daughter. She’s very fond of the girl, and I’m afraid I must ask a high price, perhaps more than you’d wish to pay.”

  “Name your price, Señor Madariaga.”

  Alfredo cleared his throat, then said, “We’ll have to have five thousand dollars for her.” He knew this was much more than he could get for the girl on the market, and he was prepared to bargain—something he hated to do.

  Jeff responded, “If you would care to go to the bank, I will write a draft, and they will cash it for you at once.”

  Madariaga was surprised at Jeff ’s unquestioning acceptance of the price, but he felt instantly relieved that it would help toward settling the crisis at the bank. “It’s not necessary for you to go with me, Doctor. If you will just give me the draft, I will take it to the bank myself.”

  Jeff retrieved the draft, filled it out, signed it, and handed it to Madariaga.

  “Thank you, Doctor. This is quite satisfactory.” Alfredo’s eyes were on the draft, but then he looked up. “You may call for the girl at any time tomorrow.”

  “I will be there early, Señor. Will you have something to drink?”

  “No, I must be going.” Madariaga hesitated, then put out his hand, something he rarely did and never had done to an American. He felt the strength of the tall doctor’s grip and said, “I can’t imagine your reasons, but they are your own. Good day, sir.”

  “Good day, Señor Madariaga.” Jeff felt a surge of happiness as he watched the man leave. He went to the window and watched the man get into his carriage, then motion the driver to leave. I don’t know what changed his mind, but I’m grateful for it. Jeff turned away from the window, and a more somber mood fell on him. Father may be disappointed by this young woman. We have no way of knowing how this will all work out.

  Charissa stared at Damita. She had been polishing the silver when Damita entered and said abruptly, “I’ve got some news for you, Rissa, news you won’t like. The American doctor, the one that wanted to buy you? Father has sold you to him.”

  For a moment, Charissa could not speak. She had put the matter out of her mind, feeling that she was secure. She saw that Damita was disturbed, even angry. “The master has sold me?”

  “I’m afraid so.”

  Charissa felt panicked. Although she had no love for Damita, she had found a place of safety. The male servants in the Madariaga household left her alone—with the exception of Garr Odom, whom the master had finally fired. What she feared most was a return to the life she had had before. On the plantation, she had been in constant danger of being raped. Quickly she sought some sort of assurance from her mistress. “Where will I be living?”

  “I have no idea. I don’t know anything about this man except that he’s a doctor.” Damita tried to offer some hope. “He seems to be a respectable man.”

  Rissa had had some experience with “respectable” men, and her feelings of apprehension showed in her face.

  Damita could see the girl’s discomfort. For one moment, she was on the verge of apologizing again for the whipping. She well understood that Charissa had never forgiven her for it, but her pride forbade her to speak. Damita considered what it must be like to be someone’s property: no rights, no say in where she would live or what she would do. Damita had been insulated from the worst aspects of slavery. Now she saw the fear on the girl’s face and awkwardly said, “I wish you well, Rissa.”

  “When will I be leaving?”

  “Sometime tomorrow. Here, I want you to have this.” Damita handed her four gold coins. “We’ve had our differences, but I wanted to reward you for your service.”

  Charissa stared at the coins and then lifted her eyes. “Thank you, Miss Damita,” she whispered.

  Damita turned and left the room, leaving Charissa alone with her worst thoughts.

  Charissa had slept little; throughout the night, she found herself growing tense as she thought about what lay ahead of her. She said little during the breakfast she ate with the servants of the family, and when the others had left, she began to help Ernestine with the dishes. The old cook was chattering as she always did when Charissa said, “I’m leaving here, Ernestine.”

  “You’re leaving! What do you mean, child?”

  “I’ve been sold to another family.”

  Ernestine saw the dread in the young girl’s eyes and put her arms around her. “I’m so sorry to hear that,” she said. “I truly am. But maybe it’ll be good.”

  “No, it won’t. That man, that doctor, he’s the one who bought me. He’s so big and strong, and he can do anything with me he wants to.”

  Ernestine hugged the girl with real affection. She felt the tremors in Charissa’s body and said, “God’s gonna take care of you, honey. Don’t you ever doubt it.”

  “You expect me to believe in God?”

  “I know you don’t, but someday you will.” Ernestine stroked the girl’s smooth black hair and said, “Don’t you remember that story about Joseph in the Bible? Everything went wrong with that man. His own brothers threw him in a pit and sold him for a slave. Then, later on, people lied on him and he went to prison. Everything was a defeat, but when they was all over, he came out of it fine. That’s what I’m askin’ the Lord for you.”

  Charissa wiped her eyes. She rarely cried, but her world seemed to be falling apart. She clung to Ernestine and whispered, “I’m afraid!”

  Ernestine knew that Charissa had good reason to fear. Masters often used attractive young slaves for immoral purposes. Ernestine prayed silently, “Oh, Lord, help this young girl. She don’t believe in You yet, but You take care of her, and one day she will.”

  Charissa was sitting silently in her
room when Elena entered. “It’s time for you to go. Dr. Whitman is here for you, Rissa.”

  Charissa had said her good-byes to the family and the servants, and now she stood and picked up the bag that contained her few belongings. Elena put her hand on the girl’s shoulder and said, “I’m sorry you won’t be with us, but things will be fine. Dr. Whitman seems like a good man—for an American, of course.”

  Charissa could not answer, her heart was so full. She and Elena walked down the three flights of stairs to the first floor. There she saw the tall man, who said, “Good morning, Charissa.”

  Charissa merely nodded.

  “You have all your things there?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “We’ll be going. Good day, Mrs. Madariaga. Give my regards to your husband.”

  “Yes, Doctor, I’ll do that. Charissa, you be a good girl now.”

  “Yes, ma’am.” Charissa stepped to the door and saw a carriage waiting.

  Before Jeff could respond, Charissa climbed up and spoke to the horses. She turned once and looked at the house. It had been a haven to her. She felt loss and loneliness.

  Jeff saw that the girl was frightened. Not much chance she would be otherwise, he thought. It’ll take a while, but she’ll come around. “Beautiful day, isn’t it, Charissa?”

  “Yes, sir.” The reply was brief, and Charissa did not turn her head.

  Jeff tried several more times to make conversation, but the girl answered in monosyllables. He finally pulled up to the house and drove around to the backyard. Charles Menton, the gardener, ran across the yard to take the horses. “You want me to unhitch the team, Doctor?”

  “Yes, I suppose so, Charles.” Jeff jumped out and walked around the buggy. Charissa had stepped out and stood next to it. “Charles, this is Charissa.”

  “How do you do, Miss Charissa?” Charles said. “It’s fine to meet you.”

  The black man seemed friendly, but her guard was up. “Hello.”

  “Come on inside. Charles, you might grain those horses.”

  “Yes, sir, I’ll do that.”

  Jeff strode to the back door, and when he stepped inside, he found the housekeeper waiting. “Hello, Rose. You have another mouth to feed. This is Charissa.”

  “Hello, Charissa.”

  “She’ll be staying for a few days. Which room would you suggest?”

  “The second door on the right when you get upstairs.”

  “Come along, Charissa,” Jeff said. “I’ll show it to you.”

  Charissa followed without a word. The house was impressive. It was not as fine as the one she had been living in, but it was obviously expensive. As they walked up the stairs, Jeff explained, “This is Dr. Debakky’s home, but he’s working at his office now.”

  “You don’t live here, sir?”

  “No, I live in St. Louis with my father. We’ll be going there day after tomorrow by ship.”

  He opened the door and stood back, and Charissa, unaccustomed to courtesies, did not know what to do. She was trained not to walk before white people, but he said, “Go on in. See if you like it.”

  She entered the room, which had a high ceiling and cream-colored wallpaper with dancing figures on it. The carpet under her feet was a deep maroon, and the furniture was gleaming mahogany. Sunlight flowed through two tall windows. Charissa stood at the doorway, holding her possessions, not knowing what to do.

  Jeff saw that the girl was apprehensive and said, “You’d better open these windows. It’s going to be warm tonight. It’s getting hot for May.” He then said, “Make yourself at home here, Charissa. Dr. Debakky will be back after a while. I want you to meet him at supper.”

  “Dr. Whitman,” Charissa said, “I have to tell you something.”

  “Of course. What is it?”

  Charissa had to tilt her head back to look up at him, and she studied him for a moment. He was not a handsome man, but his features showed strength. Though she had planned her speech, her voice was flat as she said, “I belong to you now, sir, and I will do any work that you ask me to do.” She paused, and then her eyelids dropped until her eyes were nearly hidden. Her throat was tight, and she had difficulty adding, “I’ll do any work you want, no matter how hard, and I’ll never complain. But if you touch me, I’ll kill you if I can, even if I die for it!”

  Her words shocked Jeff. He had no idea what sort of life she had led. He did not speak for a moment, but then he shook his head and said quietly, “I don’t force myself on women, Charissa.”

  “I’ve heard that before, sir.”

  Jefferson Whitman suddenly felt compassion for the girl. She had no defense, none whatsoever, but was at the mercy of those with greater power. “You haven’t heard it from me, Charissa,” he said quietly. “But I understand your fears. All I ask is that you give me and my father a chance to show you how we feel about things like this. I’ll see you later tonight when Dr. Debakky gets back.”

  He turned and left the room, and suddenly Charissa’s knees felt weak. She had planned her declaration and fully expected to be beaten for it. But she had seen nothing like anger in the tall man’s eyes. She went over to one of the windows, opened it, and sat down in the chair opposite it. Leaning forward, she put her head down and placed her palms over her eyes. She was trembling, but she could not pray, because she did not believe in God. Yet just sitting silently, she began to gather her courage. We will see what you are like, Dr. Whitman, you and your father, she thought.

  Chapter twelve

  When she woke the next morning, Charissa stared around her wildly, not knowing where she was. The large room, the beautifully papered walls, and the exquisite furniture—none of it seemed familiar. Then she sat up and remembered. She recalled how she had been able to take a bath the previous night in hot water the housekeeper brought. She had luxuriated in the large tub, trying each of the fancy soaps that the woman called Rose had provided. Now, as she threw the covers back, she realized she would have to wear her only other dress—a raggedy slave garment. She slipped into it and her shoes, and then looked in the mirror mounted behind a finely finished dresser. She had a comb and brush, well worn, that she had found in a dump, and she brushed her glossy black hair. It had a slight wave to it and fell beneath her shoulders. She tied it with a piece of ribbon and went to look out the window.

  Just outside, sparrows were fighting over something, tumbling, and for a moment the scene brought a smile to her lips. If birds can’t even get along, how can human beings? A knock at the door startled her. Turning quickly, she went to the door, opened it, and saw Rose.

  The woman was smiling and said, “Why don’t you come down to breakfast, Charissa? It’s all ready.”

  “Yes, ma’am.” Charissa stepped outside and followed the woman down the stairs. She asked, “Do you belong to the doctor who owns this house?”

  “No, the doctor freed my husband and me. My husband died only last year.”

  Charissa had never heard of such a thing. “You mean, he just set you free instead of selling you?”

  “That’s right. Dr. Debakky is a fine man. I’ll never cease being grateful to him.”

  Charissa followed Rose down the stairs and through the hallway, turning into a room at the back of the house. When she stepped inside, she saw Dr. Whitman seated at a large dining table with another man. Two more places were set across from him, but she did not notice them.

  “Come in, Charissa. I hope you slept well.” Both men stood.

  Charissa was stunned. “Yes, sir. I did.”

  “This is Dr. Debakky. Elmo, this is Charissa Desjardin.”

  “I’m glad to know you, Miss Charissa,” Debakky said with a smile. “I hope you’re hungry. Sit down. Dr. Whitman and I have been waiting for you.”

  Charissa could not understand what the man meant. Sit down with two white men? She had never done such a thing. Always she had eaten in the kitchen or wherever the slaves were assigned. She blinked and did not move. Rose pulled out her chair. “You sit right
down here, Charissa, and I’ll sit beside you.”

  Dumbly Charissa sat and stared at the fine china plate and the silver before her. She could not say a word, but Dr. Debakky said, “Why don’t you ask the blessing, Jeff?”

  “Sure will. Lord, we thank You for this food. We thank You for every blessing You’ve given us. Bless this house. Bless Miss Rose and Miss Charissa, and bless us as we serve You this day. In Jesus’ name, amen.”

  “Here, have some of these eggs, Charissa,” Rose said. “And this ham is very tasty.”

  Charissa kept her hands beneath the table as Rose filled her plate. A young girl came in, no older than herself, with a silver tray and coffee urn.

  “Mary, give us all some of that good coffee,” Rose said. “Do you like coffee, Charissa?”

  “Yes, ma’am.” Charissa was glad when the two men began talking about the yellow fever epidemic. She did not understand most of their terms, and she was terribly self-conscious. She watched Rose covertly and picked up her fork when she did. She found she was ravenous and ate everything on her plate. Then Rose passed her some jelly and freshly baked buns. She ate these, too, and just as she was finishing, Dr. Debakky said, “I hate to leave good company, but I’ve got to start my rounds. Jeff, you’re going to join me later?”

  “Yes, I will.”

  Debakky said, “Good to have you with us, Miss Charissa. I’ll be seeing you later.”

  Rose stood and began to help the girl named Mary clear the dishes. Charissa sat with her eyes down, unsure what she should do next. Finally, she looked up and saw that Whitman was sipping his coffee. When she met his eyes, he said, “We’ll be leaving for St. Louis tomorrow, Charissa. Today I want us to go do a little shopping.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  She waited, but the doctor said only, “I’m ready if you are.”

  “Yes, sir, I’m ready.”

  She followed Jeff out of the house and climbed into the carriage beside him. He spoke to the horses, and as they moved out of the back and down the narrow passageway that led to the street, he said, “Just beginning to learn my way around the city. Have you ever gone shopping here with Miss Damita?”