The mayor of New Orleans sponsored the ball, and he spared no expense. The ballroom itself was a marvel. It was a large, grand room painted a brilliant white, with a high ceiling that featured three huge crystal and gold chandeliers. Enormous white columns encircled the room, and the white, highly glossed marble floor showed tiny, sparkling flecks of gold. On every wall behind the columns were floor-length windows that were covered with dark crimson drapes, and finely upholstered chairs had been set along two of the walls. At the far end of the room, a small orchestra was playing soft, enchanting music, and the rustle of women dancing in their brilliantly colored dresses made an inviting sound.
Damita was having a wonderful time. She was waltzing with Lewis Depard, and the admiration in his eyes was pleasing to her. He had been pursuing her rather steadily for some time, and once, she knew, he had almost mentioned the word marriage. But Lewis Depard had escaped many “permanent arrangements.” As they spun around the floor, Damita was happy that he seemed to be more enamored of her than he was of his usual pursuits, though this did not mean much.
“You look beautiful, Damita.”
“Thank you, Lewis. So do you.”
“Oh, don’t be foolish!”
“You are beautiful. You’re a handsome man. I think when I get married, I want to marry someone just like you.” Damita laughed when she saw the expression freeze on his face. “Don’t worry, Lewis, I’m not pursuing or proposing to you. It would be fun, though, if I could bring a suit of breach of promise. Why don’t you ask me to marry you, and give me that opportunity?” She laughed again at his expression and said, “But wait until there are witnesses.”
“You are a minx, Damita! I never know how to take you. I suppose that’s why I keep coming back for more.”
The two continued their dance, and then Damita exclaimed, “Why, look, it’s Jefferson Whitman! Come along. He wrote me he was coming back to New Orleans, but I didn’t expect to see him here tonight.”
The two left the dance floor, making their way between the dancers, and Jeff stepped forward, his eyes lighting up. As Damita held her hand out, he took it and held it as if he didn’t know what to do with it. “You’re supposed to kiss my hand, Jeff.”
Jeff did so awkwardly. “I guess I’ll have to take lessons in New Orleans manners now that I’m here.”
“It’s wonderful to see you. May I present Lewis Depard?”
“Good to meet you, Mr. Depard.”
“And you, Doctor. So, you’ve moved to New Orleans. There’s always room for another doctor. Maybe you can stop this yellow fever from killing so many people.”
“I don’t claim to have that kind of skill, but I certainly want to do my best.”
Suddenly, Jeff seemed to remember something. “Oh, I’m so sorry. I have someone with me you will remember, Damita.” He turned and said, “Charissa, come here.” She had been standing slightly behind him, watching the scene, and now she advanced.
Damita stared at Charissa. She would never have known her. She had seen her only in the rags of a slave girl, a sixteen-year-old one at that. This woman—this lovely woman—was mature and refined in every sense. She managed to say, “Welcome to New Orleans, Charissa.”
“Are you going to introduce me?” Lewis asked. The beauty of the woman had impressed him, and he smiled with anticipation.
“I’m sorry,” Jeff said. “May I present Miss Charissa Desjardin. This is Mr. Lewis Depard.”
Charissa curtsied, and Depard bowed from the waist in a skilled fashion. “I am happy to welcome you. Is your family in New Orleans?”
“Dr. Whitman is my brother,” she said.
“Oh, I see. In that case, I will ask his permission to dance with you.”
“Of course,” Jeff said. Lewis led Charissa to the dance floor and swung her around gracefully, saying, “Will you be staying with your brother?”
“Yes, I will, Mr. Depard. I work with him, as his nurse.”
“You don’t say! I never had a nurse who looked as pretty as you.”
Charissa moved around the floor lightly, listening as Depard flirted with her. He was so obvious about it, but then most men were. He came after me as soon as he saw me, she thought. I wonder what he would do if I told him I was the former slave of Damita de Salvedo y Madariaga. She’ll tell him soon enough, and then we’ll see.
Damita had watched the two walk away, and then Jeff said, “It’s so good to see you.”
But Damita was staring at Lewis and Charissa. “You didn’t tell me she had grown up to be such an attractive young lady.”
“She is, isn’t she? I hope you’ll be able to forget the old times and treat her as a friend.”
“That will be difficult, Jeff, for both of us.”
Jeff shifted his weight and started running his fingers through his hair, but Charissa had warned him sternly about this and he stopped. “I’m such an awkward fellow, Damita.”
“An awkward doctor?” Damita smiled. “That could be dangerous, if you were cutting someone open.”
“Oh, I don’t mean that way. I mean with women. I just have never learned the knack of dealing with them.”
“I’m surprised at that.”
“You know how we Americans are,” he said, “Pretty rough-hewn.”
Damita glanced once again at the couple on the floor. It was hard for her to concentrate on what Jeff was saying. She could not get over the sight of Charissa Desjardin.
“What I’m saying is—would it be all right if I called on you, Damita?”
Damita was not at all surprised. On his two trips to New Orleans, he had attempted to court her. She had given him little enough encouragement, but he was a stubborn young man. Though his letters had been nothing like love letters, as she looked up at him and saw his eagerness, she smiled. “Of course. We are living in our town house, Jeff. Come to dinner next Wednesday.”
Jeff could hardly keep still in the buggy, but Charissa was quiet. She had danced every dance, because the young men were drawn to her. Lewis had danced with her three times and tried his best to get permission to call on her. She had simply said, “You’ll have to ask my brother.”
Jeff was drumming his fingers on his knees, a sure sign he was excited, and he said, “That young man Lewis, what’s his name—Depard? He’s a wild fellow.”
“Yes. He asked if he could call on me.”
Jeff stopped smiling. “What’d you tell him?”
“I told him he would have to ask you.” She smiled demurely.
“He asked me, as a matter of fact.”
“What’d you tell him?”
“I didn’t have time to tell him much, but he said he’d call on me later and get my permission. You don’t need a man like that.”
“He seems very nice.”
“He’s more or less a rounder. Damita has told me about him.”
“She seems to like him very much.”
“He’s a womanizer,” Jeff said bluntly. “I’ll have to tell him what the limits are.”
Charissa stared at Jeff. “What are the limits, Jefferson?”
“The usual. You know. I can’t have a man who isn’t honorable going out with my sister.”
Charissa shook her head in wonder. “Why don’t you just find a man who meets all of your standards and then bring him to me, instead of the other way around?”
Jeff opened his mouth to answer, then saw that she was kidding. “I’m sorry if I’m too stuffy. It’s just the way I am. You know that.”
“I know that.”
“Damita asked me to have dinner with her family next week. I think you might like to come.”
“Did Miss Madariaga request my presence?”
“No, she didn’t, but I’m sure you’d be welcome.”
Charissa laughed. There was something ludicrous about Jefferson Whitman. For all his skill as a doctor and all his kindness as a brother, he was like a child in some ways.
“Jeff, the Madariagas would be horrified if you brought a former sla
ve to their house to sit down at their table.”
Jeff reacted as if she had struck him in the face. “You must be wrong about that.”
“I’m not wrong. I’m sure you’ll have a fine time. You go and enjoy yourself.”
Chapter fifteen
“You look good enough for me to take you out, Charissa.”
Charissa had entered the foyer of the house. She turned to smile at Debakky, who was looking at her with admiration. “Why don’t you ever ask me out, Elmo?”
“Oh, I’m a confirmed old bachelor. And besides, you wouldn’t go out with a simple fellow like me. You’re moving in high circles now.”
Indeed, for the two months that she and Jeff had been staying with Debakky, they had worked hard at the practice, both of them. But they had also plunged into social life in a way that Charissa would not have thought possible. It had been her confirmed opinion that once Damita had let the word out that she had been a slave, all social activity would end for her. Evidently, Damita had not breathed a word of this, nor had any of the Madariaga family. And Charissa had attended several balls and operas with Lewis Depard and enjoyed herself. She smiled at Elmo and said, “One day a woman will steal your heart.”
“As soon as I find one as rich and beautiful as you, I promise to fall as hard as any callow youth. What is it tonight?”
“Oh, it’s one of those Creole balls.”
“You’re going with Lewis?”
“Yes.”
“What does Dr. Jefferson Whitman say about that?”
“I haven’t told him yet.”
“He won’t like it. He’s very possessive.”
Charissa gave Debakky a strange look. “I know. He’s very possessive of his ‘baby sister.’”
“He loves you a great deal.”
“Yes,” Charissa answered flatly, “I know all about that.”
Debakky was a shrewd man. The pair had not been in his house for a week before he had discovered that Charissa was in love with Jeff. He had watched to see if the young doctor returned her affections, but he saw nothing but the love a man would give his sister.
Jeff entered, resplendent in a suit of new clothes that actually fit him. Debakky had taken him to his own tailor, and Jeff looked well indeed. “You’re going out, Charissa?”
“Lewis is taking me to the Creole Ball.”
Both Debakky and Charissa saw Jeff ’s face change. He looked reproachful and said, “I don’t really care for that fellow. I wish you wouldn’t go out with him.”
Charissa could not restrain herself. “You’ve gone out with Damita Madariaga three times in the last two weeks! I’d rather you didn’t go out with her.”
“That’s different.”
“How?”
Jeff merely pursed his lips.
Charissa looked at Elmo with discouragement in her face. “How can you argue with a man who gives you an answer like that?”
As she walked down the hall and into the parlor, Elmo said, “I think you’re fighting a losing battle there, old boy.”
“What does she see in the fellow?”
“Aside from the fact that he’s witty, charming, handsome, and rich, I can’t see a thing to attract a woman.”
“He’s a womanizer.”
“I have no doubt he is. He’s quite a swordsman, too, and a fine pistol shot. I think he spends most of his time getting ready for the duels that he intends to provoke.”
“He’s a fool!”
“New Orleans is full of fools, and so is the world, I suppose. Are you taking Damita tonight?”
“I didn’t know that Lewis Depard would be taking Charissa, or I wouldn’t have agreed to go.”
Debakky started to say something but stopped. He shook his head, looked sadly at Jeff, and turned away without word.
What’s the matter with him? Jeff wondered. He’s a smart man. He should see how wrong it is for Charissa to spend time with Depard. He stood irresolutely for a moment, considering whether to try to persuade Charissa to stay home, but he knew that was hopeless. Instead, he left the house and headed for the ball, thinking, Sometimes I wish we had never come to this place.
As he climbed into the carriage, he thought about how his life had changed in such a short time. Mostly he thought about Damita. She seemed far out of his sphere; handsome young men of wealth courted her constantly. He was intensely jealous of Lewis Depard and said suddenly, “I wish the fellow would fall off a building and break both of his legs! That would stop his dancing and his dueling and his chasing women. Get up, horse!”
Alfredo strolled along the aisles of the cotton exchange, stopping from time to time to speak with the men who were the heart of New Orleans economy. Cotton was king in the South, and in New Orleans more than anywhere else. Most of the cotton grown in the southern United States found its way in the form of huge bales to New Orleans. Much of that went to England, but ships bore it all over the world.
The air was filled with talking, shouting, and laughter as Madariaga moved along. Almost every man, it seemed, smoked cigars, and the air was hazy. Madariaga removed one from his own pocket, bit off the end, lit it, and took a puff. He did not visit this section often, but he had wanted to see the agent about the world market. October was upon them, and the cotton was stacked up in bales on the wharf until it looked like a huge fortress. Madariaga had held on to his, hoping the price would rise, but to his dismay it had fallen. When the world agent reported this, the news had crushed Madariaga. Worry had become almost habitual with him; his debts were large, and everything depended upon the crops. He was one of many aristocrats in the area who rose or fell according to the price of cotton. No one knew exactly how this price was determined, and sometimes Alfredo thought that some small group of men simply decided, on the flip of a coin, what to do with it.
Puffing on his cigar, Alfredo was about to leave when he glanced into one of the offices and stopped abruptly. “Well, upon my soul!” he exclaimed and entered the office. “My dear friend! What are you doing here? I didn’t know you were employed in New Orleans.”
Yancy Devereaux rose from the desk and smiled wryly. “It’s not by choice, sir, I assure you.”
Madariaga asked, “What’s happened? I thought you had bought a ship and gone into business in Savannah.”
“Come in and sit down. It’s a long, sad story.”
Madariaga saw lines of fatigue around the man’s mouth, and he sensed a lackluster spirit in him that he had not seen before.
“I did buy half-interest in a ship with a friend. He was a good man. He was going to be the captain; I would do the work on shore, getting cargoes. Never go into that business, Alfredo.”
“What happened?”
“The ship went down off the coast of Africa, loaded with cotton. A hurricane hit it and we lost all hands. Also lost was every penny I had in the world.”
“Oh, that’s frightful, Yancy! I’m so sorry to hear it. Do you need any help?” Madariaga put his hand in his pocket, but Yancy put up his hand.
“No, I’m all right. I’m not likely to starve.”
Alfredo was relieved; he had little to share. “How long have you been here?”
“Oh, about a month. It’s just a job. I’ve decided to leave New Orleans.”
Madariaga was grieved. He had never ceased to be grateful to Yancy for saving his daughter, and he said, “Perhaps I could introduce you to someone who might help you find a better position.”
“No, but thank you for your offer. I’m going back to Shreveport. I know quite a few people there. I shouldn’t have too much trouble finding something to do.”
The two men talked briefly, and when Alfredo stood to leave, he shook Yancy’s hand. “Why don’t you come out and visit the family? They’d be so glad to see you.”
“I will, if I don’t leave right away.”
“Don’t leave until you come at least once. Our family owes you a great deal.”
Alfredo left the cotton exchange feeling concerned. He thought about
Yancy Devereaux all the way home, and when he arrived, he found that Jeff Whitman had arrived to take Damita to a ball. He greeted him absently, then turned to Damita. “I had quite a shock today, daughter.”
“What was it, Papa?”
“At the cotton exchange, I ran into Yancy Devereaux.”
Damita looked shocked herself. “I didn’t know he was in New Orleans.”
“It really troubles me.” He told of Yancy’s misadventures and shook his head. “Our family is in his debt. You wouldn’t be with us, Damita, if it weren’t for him.”
“That’s true enough. I’m so sorry to hear it.”
Jeff listened quietly, standing off to one side, since it seemed to be family business. He watched Alfredo, and he noticed that the older man was rubbing his chest and flexing the fingers on his left hand. This was an alarming sign. “Are you having a problem in your chest, Mr. Madariaga?”
“Oh, probably just indigestion.”
“What about your hand?”
Madariaga held up his hand and made a fist. “Oh, it’s nothing. Just a little numbness in my fingers now and then.” He shook his head and said, “Now, don’t start trying to doctor me. I’m all right.”
Damita looked worried. “You really should let Jeff look you over, Papa.”
“Yes, we’ll have to do that sometime.” He turned to go but said, “I’m worried about Yancy. I’m going to see if I can find something for him to do.”
As soon as her father left, Damita asked, “What do you think is wrong with Papa?”
“Probably nothing. You know how doctors are. We spend all of our time listening to symptoms. Sometimes we begin to see them when they’re not there.”
Damita knew that Jeff was being evasive. “Tell me the truth. I want to know.”
“Probably nothing, but I wish he would come in and let Debakky examine him. He has some very mild symptoms that could mean a heart problem.”
“Is it dangerous?”
“Oh, I’ve seen men who take care of themselves live many years with heart problems. Most of them even live longer than people without heart conditions, because they take better care of themselves.”
The Immortelles Page 16