The Immortelles

by Gilbert, Morris

Jeff was watching Damita and saw how pale her face was, and suddenly she began to collapse. “Damita!” He helped her over to the couch, and she sat down. “Just lower your head,” he said.

  In a minute, Damita straightened up, and her face showed a little more color. “Can I see him, Jeff?”

  “It will do no harm. As a matter of fact, I think it would be wise if both of you went to see him.” He looked at Debakky, who nodded.

  Damita and her mother entered the room where Alfredo lay. The two doctors stood silently at the doorway. Elena went to one side of the bed and Damita to the other. Damita could hardly speak for the tightness in her throat. Her father was lying absolutely still, his hands crossed over his chest. His face was rigid and pale. She thought for one awful moment that he was dead, but then his eyelids fluttered, and she cried, “Papa! Can you hear me?”

  The answer was very faint. “Yes, daughter.”

  Elena took his hand. “You must be quiet. You are very ill, Alfredo.”

  From where he stood, Jeff could see Damita’s face. He had seen it often express joy and excitement, but now he saw only grief. Poor girl. She’s never had any real problems, and now she’s going to have to learn to cope without her father. He glanced at Debakky and shook his head.

  Damita leaned close to her father as he began to whisper, “I regret not—”

  “What is it, Papa? Don’t worry about anything. You’ll be all right.”

  Alfredo knew better. There was terror in his eyes, and both Elena and Damita could see it. “Don’t worry, Papa. You’ll get well.”

  “No, I’m dying. I wish I had served God better than I did.”

  “You’ve been such a good man. Always good to us,” Elena whispered.

  “But I have not served God as I should.”

  The dying man’s voice grew weaker. He took Damita’s hand and said to his wife and daughter, “Serve God.”

  The two sobbed. With his last bit of strength, Alfredo Madariaga said, “Elena, I have loved you.” She leaned over and kissed him, and then he turned his eyes on Damita. “Daughter,” he said, “take care of your mother. She needs you.”

  Jeff wanted to speak up and pray for the man, but it was too late. He saw a sudden stiffness, and Alfredo’s body arched, then relaxed in a terrible and sudden looseness.

  “Papa, don’t die! Don’t leave us!” Damita cried, falling over the body.

  Debakky took Elena by the arm and whispered, “He’s gone, my dear Señora Madariaga.”

  Jeff pulled the young girl from the bed. “Come, Damita,” he whispered. “There’s nothing more you can do for him.”

  Damita turned to him blindly and threw herself against him. He put his arms around her protectively. “Oh, Jeff,” she wept, “we’ve lost him!”

  Jeff Whitman could say nothing.

  Her father’s death struck Damita harder than she could have imagined. As a matter of fact, she had never given a thought to the death of a member of her family. And when it came, it brought her to a state of nervousness and loss she was powerless to fight.

  On a cloudy Thursday afternoon, she went to visit her father’s tomb. She wore a black cloak with a bonnet covered with black crepe. As she passed through the tombs, she was aware that other mourners had come to visit loved ones’ graves. Many of the burial sites were graced with funerary ornaments, some of them flower emblems fashioned of wire, beads, and glass, which were called immortelles.

  When Damita reached the grave, she began to arrange the immortelles on the tomb, which was already ornately decorated. Then she leaned against the tomb and pressed her face to the cool marble. She was given easily to tears since the loss of her father, and now she wiped them away and whispered, “Oh, Papa, why did you leave us?” She finally rose and left. The immortelles that adorned the tomb of Alfredo Madariaga caught the late afternoon sun and made a gay appearance, in stark contrast to the tombstones surrounding it.

  “Damita, Mr. Pennington is here.”

  Damita looked up from where she sat in the parlor. She had been reading, and her mother had entered abruptly. “Mr. Pennington? Who’s he?”

  “The man from the bank.”

  “Oh, yes, I remember.” Damita stood. “What does he want, Mama?”

  “I don’t know, but we’ll have to talk to him.”

  “All right. Where is he?”

  “In your father’s study.”

  The women left the drawing room and walked down the hall. When they entered the study, Mr. Pennington rose quickly to greet them. Both women nodded and noticed that he seemed rather nervous. “Won’t you sit down, Mr. Pennington?” Elena said.

  “Thank you, Señora. I believe I will.” Pennington took his seat and cleared his throat.

  As she looked at him, Damita remembered that she had seen him when she had gone with her father to the bank. She also remembered that he had come to the house one time, but she didn’t know why. His obvious apprehension made her ask, “Is there something wrong, Mr. Pennington?”

  “I’m afraid there is,” Pennington answered. He seemed to struggle to find words.

  “What is it, sir? You seem troubled,” Elena asked.

  “This is a most distressing errand for me, ladies. Your father and I did business together for many years, and I know that he never burdened you with financial matters.”

  “No, he didn’t. He took care of those himself,” Elena said.

  Pennington shook his shoulders slightly, then straightened up. He opened a large case he had brought with him. “I’ve brought here quite a few papers. They’re complicated, and I think you might do well to turn all this over to your attorney.”

  “What are those papers, Mr. Pennington?” Damita asked.

  “These are records of your family’s dealings with our bank. I’m sorry to tell you that they are in very poor condition. Your business affairs, that is.”

  Something seemed to close around Damita’s heart then, and she saw that her mother was worried also. “Father mentioned more than once the loans that he had from the bank, but we’ve tried to help by cutting back on expenses. You remember that we sold off some of the slaves.”

  “Yes, I have that record here, but I’m afraid that the situation has grown even more critical.”

  Elena swallowed hard. “Can you explain it in simple terms, Mr. Pennington?”

  Pennington ran his hand over the leather case that held the papers. Looking down, he said, “I’m afraid you are facing bankruptcy.”

  “Bankruptcy!” both women exclaimed. “Surely not!” Elena said.

  “I’m afraid so. The papers are all here, and as I say, I think you should have your lawyer examine them. I’ve gone over them myself, Señora Madariaga. I realize this is a terrible time to tell you this, but even if your husband had lived, this meeting would have taken place.”

  “What does it all mean?” Damita asked in a whisper.

  Pennington shook his head. “Your attorney will go over the figures, and he will tell you that this town house and the plantation will have to be sold.”

  “No, that can’t be possible!” Damita cried. “Surely some arrangement can be made.”

  “I’ve explored every alternative, Miss Madariaga. Your father was an honest man and a good man, and I’ve done the best I could for him. As a matter of fact, for years I’ve tried to get him to further economize, but he was hopeful that cotton prices would rise again. Unfortunately, the price of cotton has plummeted and stayed low, and all of these notes, some of them ten years old, are now due. You understand, it’s not my decision. My board instructs me.”

  Elena cried, “But where will we live? What will we live on?”

  “I will work with your attorney to try to realize enough money from the sale to set up a fund. It will be very small, but at least it will be something—enough for you to rent a small place and cover the necessities.”

  Pennington saw that both women were devastated. “I’m so sorry,” he said. “I will leave these papers with you. Contact yo
ur attorney and have him come to the bank, and we will do the best we can for you. I’m so very sorry.” Pennington picked up his hat from a chair and hurried out.

  Damita looked at her mother and saw that she was helpless. Her mother had always been totally unaware of anything related to business, but then, so had Damita. Elena was trembling, and Damita put her arms around her and said, “Don’t worry, Mother.”

  “But, Damita, what will we do?”

  Damita said as strongly as she could, “We will find some way to save the plantation. There must be a way, and you and I will find it.”

  The young doctor stirred the food on his plate but didn’t eat it. Charissa startled him when she asked, “What’s wrong with you, Jeff?”

  Looking up from across the table, he saw that both Charissa and Elmo were watching him. “I guess I’m off my feed a little.”

  “You have been for weeks now,” Elmo said. “Is it physical?”

  “Oh, no, I’m healthy as a horse.”

  Charissa exchanged glances with Elmo, and she said, “Both of us have been worried about you.”

  Jefferson Whitman was not a man who shared his problems easily, but he put his fork down and shoved his plate back. “I’m worried about the Madariagas,” he said.

  “What’s their position?” Elmo asked. “I’ve heard that they are financially strapped.”

  “It’s worse than that, Elmo. They’re destitute.”

  “I can’t understand that,” Charissa marveled. “I always thought they were rich.”

  “That’s an illusion with some of these New Orleans folks,” Elmo said. “They own a lot on paper, but as a rule, they owe more than they own. You remember the Baxter family. I thought they were millionaires, but they filed for bankruptcy. Came as quite a shock.”

  “That’s what’s happened to the Madariagas,” Jeff said moodily. His eyes were troubled, and he nervously pushed his knife around with his finger. “I’ve been trying to think what I could do to help. I’m going over there again this afternoon.”

  “What do they say when you visit them, Jeff?” Charissa asked. He had offered little detail of those visits, but it was at the beginning of these trips that he had begun behaving rather peculiarly.

  “They won’t talk about it much, but they’re worried sick. As it is, they stand to lose everything. They have a lawyer who’s fighting it out with the bank, but I can tell they don’t have much hope.” He suddenly stood and said, “I think I’ll go now.”

  He left the room without another word, and Elmo glanced at Charissa. “I hope he doesn’t do anything foolish.”

  “Foolish? In what way?”

  “Jeff ’s infatuated with that woman. I’ve tried to talk him out of it, but he won’t listen. And after all, it is none of my business.”

  “I know that.”

  Charissa said, “He may well do something foolish, Elmo. He’s more than infatuated—he’s in love with her.”

  “You think she loves him?”

  Charissa said evenly, “No. I think she loves only herself.”

  Damita saw that Jeff was nervous the minute he arrived at the town house. “You seem troubled, Jeff. Is something wrong with your practice?”

  “Oh, no, not in the least. It’s going very well, indeed. As a matter of fact,” Jeff said, “I’m worried about you.”

  Damita forced a smile, saying, “You’ve been a comfort, Jeff. We found out that some people we thought were friends were not, but you’ve been steadfast.”

  “Damita, I don’t have any smoothness or any way with words, so I’ll just say what’s on my mind.”

  “Of course, Jeff. What is it?”

  “Damita, I want you to marry me.”

  Damita had, of course, seen that Jeff cared for her. At one point, his obvious infatuation had amused her. She had even teased her mother about it, saying more than once, “I may marry that Kaintock. Would that make me a Kaintockess?”

  Later on, she had realized that he was truly a good man, but now as she faced him, struck by his proposal, she could not answer.

  Jeff saw her hesitate and reached out and took her hand. “I know I’m not the kind of man you think of as a husband. My manners aren’t refined. I’m not handsome. I’m not a lot of things that a woman like you would want, but I love you, Damita, and I’ll try my best to make you happy. And I would take care of your family.”

  His words moved her. “Jeff,” she said gently, “you do me honor, but I don’t love you. Not in the way a woman should love a husband.”

  “I know that,” Jeff answered, “but I think you would come to feel something for me in time.”

  At that moment, Damita felt a tremendous compulsion. She had slept little the past weeks, ever since Pennington had first informed them of the impending tragedy. She had racked her brain, trying to think of a way out. How easy it would be just to marry this man and let him take all the worry! She studied his face, and the temptation was stronger than she would have believed possible. But at the same time, something in her would not permit this. She said quietly, “Jeff, you must give me time to think this over, and I want you to think it over, too. A man should never marry a woman who doesn’t love him. I know you think I’d change, and I might, but there are no guarantees.”

  Jeff kissed her hand. “All right,” he said. “I won’t change my mind, but I hope you will. I would like nothing better than to take care of you, Damita.”

  Chapter seventeen

  Charissa left the clinic early. Upon reaching the house, she walked into the kitchen, pulled off her hat, and sat wearily on a tall stool next to a counter. “Rose, could I have a cup of tea, do you think?”

  “Of course, Charissa.” Rose put on the kettle on the stove, then asked Charissa about her day at the clinic. Something in Charissa’s tone caught her attention. When the kettle boiled, Rose made the tea, poured it into two china cups, put them in saucers, and sat down beside the young girl. “You look tired,” she said.

  “I suppose I am, a little bit.”

  “You work too hard. I’m going to tell Dr. Jeff to give you more time off.”

  “No, don’t do that, Rose. I enjoy the work.” Picking up the teacup, Charissa sipped, then gasped, saying, “This is hot!”

  “Can’t get a cup of tea too hot,” Rose said, smiling. She was an attractive woman with coal-black hair almost as dark as Charissa’s, but she had startling light-blue eyes.

  As the women drank their tea, Rose saw that Charissa remained tense. She asked casually, “What do you think about Dr. Jeff ’s asking Miss Madariaga to marry him?”

  Charissa grimaced. “I didn’t know you knew.”

  “You can’t have secrets in a house, even one with as few servants as this one.” She waited for Charissa to answer her question. When she didn’t, Rose’s face grew serious. “You’re troubled about it, aren’t you?”

  “Yes, I am. You have to remember, Rose, I know that woman. I was her slave, and that’s a powerful way to learn about people.”

  “Is she really that bad?”

  “She had me beaten for something that was her own fault—spilling some wine on her dress. She was only seventeen at the time, but she hasn’t changed.”

  “I wonder why Dr. Whitman can’t see that.”

  Charissa shook her head, and a wry bitterness filled her voice. “He’s blind where she’s concerned, but I suppose most people are.”

  “I think somebody needs to shake him. If his father were alive, perhaps he could do it.”

  “I doubt it. Nothing can change the way he sees her.”

  “Have you tried to talk to him?”

  “I’ve talked to him constantly, but I can’t go up and say, ‘You shouldn’t marry that woman. She’s a witch,’ can I?”

  Rose smiled faintly. “I suppose not.”

  Charissa finished her tea, then gave Rose an apologetic smile. “I am sorry I’m such poor company.”

  “I think we’re all worried about him. I know Dr. Debakky is. I wonder i
f he’s talked to him.”

  “He tried, but it didn’t do any good.” Charissa rose and said, “I think I’ll lie down awhile before dinner.”

  “Good. Why don’t you take a hot bath? That’ll relax you.”

  “I don’t think so now. Maybe later.”

  Charissa left the kitchen and climbed the stairs to her room. She reached the door, and when she put her hand on the knob, she stopped. An idea grasped her mind. She stood straighter. Her eyes narrowed, and her lips drew into a thin line. I can’t talk to Jeff, but I can talk to Señorita Damita Madariaga. She’ll probably have the butler throw me out of the house. It would be just like her. But I’ve got to try.

  She whirled, ran down the stairs and out the front door, slamming it behind her.

  “Who do you say is here, Charles?”

  “Miss Charissa Desjardin.”

  Damita stared at the butler in disbelief. “All right,” she said. “Where is she?”

  “I put her in the parlor, Miss Damita.”

  “Thank you, Charles.”

  Damita stood slowly. Thoughts raced through her mind. She walked to the parlor, and when she entered, she saw her former slave standing in the middle of the room. “Hello, Charissa,” she said.

  “I’m sorry to trouble you, but I’d like to talk with you.”

  “Of course.”

  “Would you mind closing the door? It’s a private matter.”

  Damita, curious, closed the door. She walked over to her guest and asked, “Would you sit down?”

  “No, I don’t think this will take very long.”

  “There’s nothing wrong with Jeff, is there?”

  “Yes, there’s something wrong with him.”

  “You mean he’s sick?”

  “No, I don’t mean that.”

  Damita thought, The last time we were in this room together, she was a slave, and I owned her. Now no one would ever know that from looking at her. She saw the determination in Charissa’s face and said, “Just say what you have to say.”

  “I came to say that you’d make Jeff miserable if you married him.”

  Damita was incredulous. “That’s hardly your business, is it?”

  “Yes, it is. He’s been very kind to me, as his father was before him. I’d hate to see his life ruined.”