The Immortelles

by Gilbert, Morris

  “But not always?”

  “Not always. Sometimes they go very suddenly.” He reached out and took Damita’s hand, something he rarely did. “I think you should try to persuade him to come into the office. Debakky has a great deal of experience in this sort of thing, much more than I have.”

  “I’ll talk to him, Jeff.”

  Damita did not enjoy the ball. She was preoccupied with thoughts of her father and his symptoms. When she saw Yancy Devereaux standing against a wall, drinking out of a crystal glass, she was startled. But she walked over, and when he saw her, he put the glass down and smiled.

  “Damita, it’s good to see you.”

  “It’s good to see you, too. I didn’t know you were in New Orleans until today. Papa told me he saw you at the cotton exchange.”

  “Oh, how the mighty are fallen. Did he tell you about my bad luck?”

  “Yes. I’m so sorry.”

  “Oh, it doesn’t matter. I’ve got my health, and I’ll be able to recoup.”

  Damita saw that Yancy was tired, and despite his words, he was not as optimistic as he tried to sound. She recalled their last meeting and asked abruptly, “Do you ever think of when the ship sank?”

  “Certainly! How could I forget that?” He considered her expression, then said, “We nearly died. I still can’t see how we survived. As a matter of fact, I’ve had bad dreams about it.”

  Damita eyes grew wide. “I have, too.”

  “But we did survive. I’ve never been very religious, but I’ve thanked God many times for saving us.”

  “I didn’t behave well to you at all the last time we met, Yancy. I’m sorry.”

  “Nothing to be sorry about. It was a tough time.”

  Damita had never forgotten how she had offered herself to him—and how he had spurned her. She looked into his eyes and whispered, “I was very foolish. I’ve never stopped being ashamed of—” She could not finish and dropped her eyes.

  “Don’t even think about it, Damita. Under stress, we all behave abnormally.” He saw that she was troubled and asked cheerfully, “Would you like to dance?”

  “Very much.”

  The two whirled out on the floor, and Damita tried, as tactfully as she could, to find out what Yancy’s prospects were. He shrugged off her questions, saying, “I’ll find something. I always do. Maybe I’ll become a Mississippi riverboat gambler. All you need is a fancy vest, lots of hair oil, and the ability to cheat at cards.”

  Damita laughed, but then she shook her head, saying, “My father would like to help you.”

  “He said so, but I’m a big boy now, Damita.”

  She did not speak for a time. Being near him again turned her thoughts to those few days on the ship, and she said, “I’ve thought so often about the McCains. I can’t get them out of my mind.”

  “I think about them, too. You know, as long as we remember them, they’re still here, Damita.”

  She looked at him with surprise. “What do you mean?”

  “I mean that as long as people think about us, and talk about us, we still exist somehow. I remember them so well. I think they were more in love than any couple I’ve ever seen.”

  “I know. She told me one day me how much she loved him. She said she was afraid she idolized him, which bothered her a little. That surprised me. I didn’t know a woman could love a man too much.”

  He smiled. “I don’t think one can.”

  The dance ended, and the pair walked to the refreshment table. Damita asked, “Did you know that Charissa is in New Orleans?”

  “No. What’s she doing here?” He listened as she spoke of the change that had taken place in Charissa’s life. “It’s really quite miraculous,” Damita said. “She’s over there, dancing with Lewis Depard.”

  Yancy said, “Who’s the tall fellow there? He looks as if he’d like to break her partner’s back.”

  “Dr. Jeff Whitman. In a way, he’s responsible for her, I understand. His adopted father was really Charissa’s father. It’s all rather confused.”

  The two were watching, and Yancy said, “That looks like trouble, Damita.”

  Jeff had approached Lewis Depard and said something to him. Depard’s face was flushed, and clearly a quarrel was brewing.

  “Come on. Lewis challenges everybody. I’ll have to try to stop him.”

  Yancy followed Damita and saw that, indeed, both men were angry.

  “I resent your words, Dr. Whitman, and I must take exception to them.”

  “Take whatever exception you want to, Depard, but you are going to be respectful of my sister.”

  “Jeff, he didn’t mean anything,” Charissa protested.

  “I think he did,” Depard said. He had been drinking. “I’m afraid I will have to ask for satisfaction.”

  “No, Lewis, don’t say that!” Damita said. She took his arm. “Come away. It’s all right.”

  “No, it’s not all right. I’ve been insulted!”

  Charissa said to Jeff, “If you just tell him you’re sorry, that’s all that is necessary.”

  “I won’t say any such fool thing. I’m not sorry.”

  Both women urged the men to break off the fight. Yancy watched. He had seen Depard in action before. He took pride in his dueling ability, and Yancy knew that he would not be pacified.

  “I’ll have my man call on you, Doctor. Even an American can’t refuse a challenge.”

  “Send whomever you want!” Jeff was furious.

  Depard bowed and walked away stiffly.

  “You can’t fight him, Jeff,” Damita said.

  “I’ll have to.”

  “He’ll kill you,” Charissa said. “He’s already wounded several men.”

  Yancy watched as the two women tried to calm the tall man, but it was hopeless. Jefferson Whitman was a stubborn fellow. If he had any sense, he would simply laugh at the man, as I did once.

  As if reading his mind, Damita said, “Yancy, tell him how foolish it is.”

  “Who is this?” Jeff demanded.

  “Oh, I’m sorry. This is Mr. Yancy Devereaux.”

  “You’re the man who saved Damita’s life,” Jeff said, relaxing at once.

  “I was able to help her, but let me join my voices with these young ladies’. It would be senseless to fight a man like him. He’s not worth it.”

  But all the arguments of the three could not turn Jeff from his plan, and he finally said, “Come along, Charissa, I’ll take you home.”

  Damita watched him and Charissa walk away. “Yancy, do something! You know about things like this.”

  “All right.” Yancy quickly caught up to the pair and said, “Dr. Whitman, it’s customary in duels to have a second. If you have no one else, I’ve had a little experience.”

  “That’s generous of you, sir. I know nothing about duels.”

  “Then let me take care of all the preliminaries.”

  “Thank you very much.”

  As Damita approached, Yancy leaned over and said, “Don’t worry. He’ll be all right.”

  “How can you promise that?”

  “As I said, I’ve had a little experience in things like this.”

  Charissa had begged, pleaded, cajoled, but Jeff was adamant. “I couldn’t let him insult you like that.”

  “It wasn’t an insult, Jeff. He’s that way with all the women.”

  “Then he needs to learn to have better manners with women.”

  “Jeff, I can’t let you do it.”

  “I have to.”

  “Please! For my sake?” she asked desperately.

  Jeff looked at her in surprise. “I couldn’t think of myself as a man if I refused a challenge like this.”

  Charissa stared at him and shook her head. “Jeff, you’re being ridiculous.”

  “I probably am. Most men are. But I’ll not tolerate his arrogance.”

  Damita visited the cotton exchange and found Yancy in his office. He invited her in and closed the door, and she said, “We can’t do a t
hing with him, Yancy. He’s going to get killed.”

  “Damita, I told you: No, he’s not.”

  “How can you say that? Haven’t you heard what an expert Lewis is with a sword or a pistol?”

  “Yes, I know all about that. I can’t say as I care for all this nonsense, but it’s become a way of life here among you Creoles.”

  “I know it, and it’s awful!”

  Indeed, New Orleans had produced a band of swaggering hotheads, who went about looking for excuses to fight duels. They had developed provoking fights into a fine art. They spoke constantly of their “honor” and demanded “satisfaction” at every opportunity. Manuals of dueling etiquette had been published, books about how one was to offend or to be offended. Those manuals decreed that a man must deliver insults according to rigid instructions; the insult might be verbal, or it might be just a flick of the glove in the face. Custom also fixed the places for dueling, usually in the outskirts of the city. Duelists and their audiences gathered regularly at a certain grove of trees outside New Orleans to watch the show.

  Yancy saw that Damita was still worried, and he asked, “Do you love this man, Damita?”

  “I don’t know, Yancy. He’s a good man. A fine doctor.”

  “But do you love him?”

  “No, I don’t,” she answered, shaking her head. “But I respect him. He’s a gentleman, Yancy, and I don’t want him to die.”

  “Listen to me.” He held her by the shoulders. She saw that his face was serious, and a resolved light shone in his eyes. “I’ve offered to be his second. I promise you that nothing will happen. Will you believe that?”

  Damita felt the strength of Yancy’s hands. She saw in his face a fierce determination and an honesty that made her whisper, “Yes, if you say so, Yancy, I’ll believe it.”

  He smiled and released her and said, “Just leave it to me.”

  The October dawn brought chilling winds. Jeff shivered despite his bravado and said to Yancy, “I should have worn a heavier coat. I’m shaking, but it’s not because I’m afraid.”

  “Aren’t you?”

  “To be truthful, Yancy, I am. I’m scared to death.”

  “Remember that the next time. This is foolishness. You can still get out of it by simply offering the man an apology.”

  “I won’t do that.”

  Yancy sighed. “I knew you wouldn’t. Well, you stay here. I’ll go arrange the pistols. I’m glad it’s pistols instead of swords.”

  “Why?”

  “It’s much safer. Remember what I told you now: Turn sideways. Gives him less to shoot at.” He marched over and met Lewis’s second, a tall, cadaverous-looking man named French. “I suppose we may place our men.”

  “Yes, I think all is well.” He opened up the case he carried and said, “You may choose either one of these.”

  “It doesn’t matter. I’d like to load them.”

  “Of course,” French said, but his eyes were doubtful. He watched carefully as Devereaux loaded the pistols, putting in the powder, the balls, and the small wads that kept the balls from rolling out. “You have done this before, sir,” French noted.

  “More often than I’d like to think about. Is this satisfactory?”

  “Yes.”

  “I’ll take this one, then, for my man. Are we ready?”

  “Yes, I think so.”

  Yancy walked back and handed Jeff the pistol. “It’s cocked, ready to fire.”

  Jeff nodded as he took the pistol. “What happens now?”

  “We’ll meet, and there’ll be talk of a last chance to apologize.”

  “I won’t do it,” Jeff said again.

  “Of course you won’t. You’re too smart for that. You’d rather die than admit you’re wrong. Come along.”

  The two combatants and their seconds met. French said, “An apology would be accepted, sir.”

  “You won’t get it!” Jeff said stubbornly.

  Lewis smiled. “You would be wise, Doctor. This is not your game.”

  “I won’t do it! You were wrong, and I was right to stop you.”

  “I suppose we’re ready, then,” Yancy said.

  The seconds arranged the men back-to-back, and French said, “Each of you will take ten steps as I count. You will turn and fire as you will. Is that satisfactory, Mr. Devereaux?”

  “Perfectly.”

  Yancy stepped back alongside French. French’s voice rang out, “Are you ready? Then, one—two—three—”

  Yancy watched as the two men paced slowly away from each other. By George, the doctor’s an awkward fellow, but he’s got nerve. I’ll say that for him. For his first time out, he’s holding up well.

  “Eight—nine—ten!”

  Both men turned, and the shots were instantaneous. Both dropped their arms, and French exclaimed, “Missed! They both missed!”

  “That’s all,” Yancy said. He walked forward and motioned the two men together. “Your honor is now satisfied.”

  “The doctor may feel that another shot is necessary,” Lewis said.

  “I thought you were more acquainted with the dueling code,” Yancy said. “If you want satisfaction, sir, I am here to give it to you, sword or pistol.”

  Lewis Depard sucked in his breath, as Yancy suddenly appeared much larger than he remembered. He had never refused and was about to accept when French said, “You are entirely right, Mr. Devereaux. Lewis, be sensible, man! You’re wrong.”

  Lewis dropped his eyes. “You’re right. I apologize.”

  “Good enough,” Devereaux said. He said to Jeff, “Come along. Let’s get away from here, Doctor.”

  As they were walking, Jeff commented, “I understand how I missed, but I thought he was a dead shot.”

  “Even dead shots miss sometimes. Try to remember what you learned from this.”

  “I will never forget it. I thought I was a dead man.”

  At Yancy’s house, Damita was incredulous. “You mean they both shot and both missed?”

  “That’s what everybody says.”

  “But Lewis never misses.” She stared at Yancy and saw that he was trying not to laugh. “What’s going on?” she demanded. “They could have been killed.”

  “No, they couldn’t.”

  “What do you mean? Men get killed all the time in these foolish duels.”

  “Not when I handle it.”

  Damita knew that Devereaux had a sense of humor. “What did you do, Yancy?”

  “What did I do? I took some dough, and I rolled it up into little balls about the size that a pistol takes. I cooked them in the oven and then coated them with oil. When I loaded the guns, I palmed the real musket balls, and put toast in. It was a pretty neat piece of work, Damita. Lewis’s second was watching me like a hawk, but I’m a very shifty fellow.”

  Damita stared at him, and he broke out laughing. “They shot each other with toast!”

  Relief washed through Damita. Without knowing she did it, she reached out and put her hand on his chest. He covered it, she began to smile, and then she began to laugh heartily. “Oh, that’s so funny!”

  “You must never tell anybody about this. The fools would try to kill each other again.”

  “I won’t. But, Yancy, I didn’t know you were so clever.”

  “Oh, I’m a slippery man. One time back in Shreveport—” At that moment a servant entered the room and said, “There’s a man to see you, Miss Madariaga.” She turned and saw Charles Devere, her family’s butler, come in, his face stiff and pale.

  “What is it, Charles?” she said.

  “It’s your father. He’s ill. You must come home at once.”

  “What is it?”

  “I think it’s his heart.”

  “Is the doctor there?”

  “I went for Dr. Debakky and Dr. Whitman. They should be there by now.”

  Damita started to follow Charles out of the room, but at the last minute, she turned and said, “Thank you for helping, Yancy.”

  “I hope your f
ather’s all right.”

  “Thank you,” she whispered, but her eyes were filled with terror.

  Chapter sixteen

  As soon as Damita stepped inside the house, she met her mother. She was weeping.

  “What happened, Mama?”

  “Oh, Damita, he just gasped and fell over. I’m so afraid.”

  “Where are the doctors?”

  “They are both with him. They’ll be out in a few minutes.”

  “Come and sit down, Mama.” Damita led her into the parlor and sat beside her on the sofa.

  “He had just come in from the city,” Elena said, her voice quavering. “We were in the drawing room, talking about repairs for the house, and he seemed perfectly normal. Suddenly, he grabbed his chest. He had the most awful look on his face, Damita. It was as if someone had shot him! He fell, and I could tell he was in terrible pain.”

  “Did he say anything?”

  “He whispered to get the doctor, so we put him in bed, and then I sent Charles.”

  “But have the doctors said anything? Have they been out?”

  “Dr. Whitman said that it looked very serious, but he said there was always hope. Oh, Damita, what would we do without your father?”

  Damita suddenly realized the enormity of what was happening. She knew her father was not the wisest of men, but he was always available when she had any needs. He loved his family better than anything on earth. A great emptiness filled her, and the fear tasted like brass in her mouth.

  The two tried to comfort each other while they waited for word from the doctors. When they heard the sound of a door closing, they stood up. Jeff Whitman and Elmo Debakky appeared.

  “Doctor, what is it? Is he all right?” Elena asked.

  Debakky spoke for the two of them. His face was very serious. “I’m afraid we must prepare ourselves for the worst, Señora Madariaga.”

  “Oh, no, don’t say that! There’s got to be something you can do!”

  “In cases like this, we doctors are almost helpless,” Debakky said. “Dr. Whitman tells me he’s had symptoms recently.”

  “Yes, he complained about his chest and numbness, but he wouldn’t see a doctor. You remember, Dr. Whitman.”

  “Yes, I do. I wish he had come, but even that might not have helped. We just don’t know.”