“What are you thinking about, Miss Chantel?”
“I was just wondering about my mother and my sister.” The memory came sweeping back through Chantel, and she forgot for the moment where she was. She could almost hear her mother’s laughter and see her face. Without thinking she said impulsively, “Where do you think people go when they die, Mr. Neville?”
“You mean good people?”
“Oh, yes, good people like my mother.”
“I think people who love God go straight to heaven.”
The words warmed Chantel. “I asked our priest, and he said that they go to purgatory, and they have to suffer there for a long time until they can get out. But I don’t believe that.”
“Well, I’m afraid I don’t believe it, either. As a matter of fact I was reading in the Bible last night about a man who died and went to heaven that same day.”
Chantel looked up. She had a line of chocolate across her lips and dabbed at it with her handkerchief. “Really! That’s in the Bible?”
“Yes, it is.”
“I’d like to read it, but we don’t have a Bible.”
“Don’t have a Bible? Well, come along.”
Neville paid for the food and waited for her. Once again he put his arm out, and she took it, feeling very grown up as she walked along the streets of Place d’Armes.
Neville led her to a bookstore and went inside. He was evidently a frequent guest, for he was greeted by name by the proprietor, a short, swarthy man with bushy black hair and a ferocious beard to match.
“We’re looking for a Bible.”
“Well, you know where they are, Mr. Harcourt,” the proprietor said. “Let me know if I can help you.”
Harcourt led Chantel to a shelf and studied the books for a moment. “This looks like it might be very nice.” He pulled out a book and opened it. “Can you read this print all right?”
Chantel took it and studied it. The cover was black and rather thick, but when she opened it, she saw that the print was large and plain. “Yes, it’s very easy to read.”
“Very well then. This will do.”
He took the book to the proprietor, paid for it, and the two left. “Let’s sit down on that bench over there. We can watch the people, and I’ll let you read the story that I mentioned.”
They sat down on the bench, and Neville said, “Let me see. Yes, here it is. It happened at the time Jesus died. You know about that, don’t you?”
“Oh, yes, He died on a cross. I have a silver cross that I wear sometimes, but I’m not wearing it today.”
“I’m sure it’s very pretty. Now, read right here.” He handed her the book, put his finger on a line, and nodded.
Chantel read aloud about Jesus being crucified.
And when they were come to the place, which is called Calvary, there they crucified him, and the malefactors, one on the right hand, and the other on the left.
Then said Jesus, Father, forgive them; for they know not what they do.
Then when she got to verse thirty-nine Neville interrupted her. “This is what you really need to pay attention to,” he said.
She read:
And one of the malefactors which were hanged railed on him, saying, If thou be Christ, save thyself and us.
But the other answering rebuked him, saying, Dost not thou fear God, seeing thou art in the same condemnation?
And we indeed justly; for we receive the due reward of our deeds: but this man hath done nothing amiss.
And he said unto Jesus, Lord, remember me when thou comest into thy kingdom.
And Jesus said unto him, Verily I say unto thee, To day shalt thou be with me in paradise.
Chantel could not take her eyes off the page for a time. She turned and said, “And the thief went to heaven that day?”
“That’s what Jesus said. He went to paradise, and that is heaven, isn’t it?”
Suddenly Chantel saw that the young man’s eyes were misty. “Why are you crying?” she said.
Neville pulled a handkerchief out and wiped his eyes. “Oh, sometimes I get moved when I think about Jesus dying for me.”
Chantel stared at him. She had never seen a grown man cry. Women cried, but not men, and it troubled her. “I’m sorry it made you feel bad,” she said.
“It didn’t make me feel bad, Chantel. It made me feel good. Come along. We’ll go back to the store. I’ll get a pen, and I’ll put your name and the date in the front of this Bible. It’ll be something to remember the first time we met.”
When they returned to the office, Chantel found her father ready to go. He smiled and said, “Was she a great deal of trouble, Mr. Harcourt?”
“No trouble at all. We had a fine time, didn’t we, Miss Chantel?”
“Yes, we did. Mr. Neville has a horse, and when we get Lady here he’s going to ride with me.”
“That is most kind of you, sir,” Fontaine said.
As Chantel and her father left the office, she almost told him of the gift, but something stopped her. Unsure of how her father would react, she decided to keep it a secret.
Two weeks after her meeting with Neville, Chantel was riding Lady in the park. Robert had brought the mare from the plantation, and Chantel enjoyed a ride several days a week. Now she put Lady into a gallop, pulling her up to where Robert was waiting.
“Did you have a good ride?” he asked.
“Oh, yes.”
She turned the mare over to a groom, patted her, and said, “I’ll be back soon, Lady.”
On the way home in the carriage Chantel saw three beautiful young ladies in the back of an open carriage.
“They’re so pretty. Who are they?”
Robert had been watching the women also. His tone was neutral. “They’re quadroons.”
“What are quadroons?”
Robert cleared his throat and said, “I don’t think I can discuss it with you, Miss Chantel.”
Later, when she was alone with Elise, Chantel asked her maid about the quadroons.
“Oh, you don’t know about them! Well, they’re young women with some Negro blood in them.”
“Really? But they were white as I am!”
“Well, some of them are, and they’re very beautiful. They have a quadroon ball here, where the young men go to look them over. If they like them, they sometimes take them into their houses as mistresses.”
Chantel listened breathlessly. She could not believe that such beautiful young women would become mistresses, but Elise insisted it was true.
That night her father was out, and Chantel stayed awake reading. She had planned to read a new novel, but instead she took out the Bible that Neville Harcourt had given her. She was fascinated by the Gospels—mostly by the figure of Jesus. Before this time Chantel had thought of Him only as a statue with a painted face that she saw in church, but the words of the Scripture leaped out at her. She had not dreamed that anything true could be so exciting. It was better than one of her romances.
As she finally closed the Bible and hid it along with her journal, she wondered why she felt guilty about it. She had asked her father once if he had ever read the Bible, and he said, “No, that’s for the priest. Ordinary folks can’t understand it.”
She thought about this one night a couple of weeks later as she drifted off to sleep. Her father’s statement puzzled her, for while it was true that much of the Bible seemed difficult, she could understand the stories about Jesus. She had found also that reading the Bible just before she went to sleep seemed to give her a more restful night. She could not understand this, but as she lay there thinking about Jesus healing the lepers, healing the blind, or talking to a woman at a well, He seemed very real to her.
Chapter nine
Chantel found that living in the French Quarter had its advantages. It was true enough that she missed many things about her home at Fontaine Maison, but she only dwelt on these thoughts in bed at night, unable to sleep. She was still troubled from time to time with nightmares of her mother’s death,
and more than once her father, awakened by her cries, came in to soothe her.
Living here, she saw much more of her father, and Elise had become a close companion. There were few young people for her to associate with, but on the whole she had adjusted very well.
As she looked out the window to the street below on a fine August morning, Chantel felt happy. She waved at Robert, who was working in the flower bed, and called to him, “Good morning, Robert!”
“Good morning, Miss Chantel. A fine day.”
Chantel drew back and started across the room to her desk. Her room was beautifully done, but she sometimes felt uncomfortable in it. Everything was so new and fragile. On the light blue walls hung pictures in delicately carved wood frames. The dark blue carpet on the floor repeated a pattern of lighter blue and white flowers, and the mantel of a small marble fireplace held white china figurines of ballet dancers in various poses. There were roses and vines carved into the bed’s headboard, and the armoire, desk, bureau, and washstand all matched. A thick comforter and fluffy pillows of white with light blue trim covered the bed, and light, airy curtains of the same material covered the windows.
Chantel stood before the full-length oval mirror and studied herself critically. She was still growing like a stalk of sugarcane! She had grown even since coming to New Orleans, and more than once Elise had rebuked her for stooping over. “You’re going to be a fine, tall woman. Be proud of it. Why would you want to be a short, dumpy thing? No, you will stand tall and be proud!”
But looking in the mirror, Chantel was unhappy. She was wearing only a pair of drawers and a vest and could not see any signs of the womanly curves that other girls her age had begun to manifest. Her hair continued to grow darker, which pleased her, but she wished for the thousandth time that she had inherited her mother’s good looks.
Now she held up her hand with her fingers outspread and frowned. “I’ve got fingers like a gorilla.” Then suddenly she laughed. “You’ve never even seen a gorilla, you foolish thing!” She turned from the mirror and began dressing. She put on a light green dress that matched her eyes and a pair of white stockings, then slipped her feet into new black shoes that still pinched a little bit. She gave her hair a few quick swipes, tied it with a ribbon, and left her bedroom.
As she entered the dining room, she found her father sitting there sipping his coffee. He looked up and said, “Good morning, sleepyhead.”
“Good morning, Papa.”
“I trust you slept well?”
In truth Chantel had not, for she had been troubled with dreams, but she knew her father did not like to hear this. “Very well, Papa. And you?” She sat down and began to eat.
“It’s almost time for you to begin school,” her father remarked casually.
“Papa, do I have to go to that convent?”
Cretien had told her earlier that she would be attending the Ursuline Convent a few blocks from their house. Chantel had begged to simply have a tutor, but her father had been firm. “You must learn the things that a lady has to know,” he had said in a tone that brooked no argument.
“I’m sure you’ll like it there. There will be girls your own age, and you need to be with young people.”
“Yes, Papa.”
A moment later Cretien said, “Would you like to go to the theater tonight?”
“Oh, yes!”
“I thought you might. We will go to The Majestic. They’re doing a musical that has a great deal of good singing and playing.”
“Oh, that will be wonderful!”
For a moment Cretien hesitated, then he said, “We will not be alone. I have asked a lady to accompany us.”
“A lady, Papa?”
“Yes. Her name is Emmeline Collette Culver. I think you will like her very much.”
Something stirred within Chantel, but she said only, “Is she an old lady, Papa?”
“Oh, no. She’s not at all old. She’s very pretty. You will like her.”
All day long Chantel was in a state of excitement, and she almost drove Elise crazy deciding what to wear. When she was alone Chantel cared little for dress, but when she was going out with her father she let Elise dress her in the very finest fashion and fix her hair carefully.
For this event Elise selected a high-waisted dress of white silk with delicate garlands of flowers in light pink, yellow, and blue. The gown had long, narrow sleeves that ended in white lace at the cuffs. The high neckline and the long skirt were edged with white lace, and she had a spencer jacket of dark blue velvet to wear over the dress.
Chantel stood in her underwear waiting for Elise to put on the dress. She turned to her with a worried expression. “Elise, why aren’t I filling out like other girls do?”
“That’s the way it is sometimes,” Elise said, looking critically at the dress. “Yes, this one will do. You look very nice in it.”
“Am I going to look like a stick all my life?”
Elise heard the troubled tone and at once put her arm around the girl. “Of course not, mon chère. You are going to be a beautiful woman—tall and well-shaped, and very pretty indeed.”
“No, I’m not. I’m going to be an old stick with an ugly face!”
“Do not be ridiculous. When I was your age I was the same way.” She smiled, remembering. “I did not start becoming a woman until I was nearly fourteen, and I cried myself to sleep every night.” Seeing that Chantel wasn’t convinced, she said, “You just wait. A year from now it will be all different.”
The words comforted Chantel. Elise had become her confidante and told her of the changes that would come in her body as she passed into womanhood. Her mother had hinted about such things, but it all seemed to be very mysterious. She returned Elise’s hug and said, “Thank you for being so nice.”
“There, there. Of course I’m nice. I get paid for that.”
“No, you don’t. You get paid for doing my hair and helping me with my dress. You’re nice just because you’re nice.”
Elise laughed, and a light danced in her eyes. “I am glad you think so. Now, let us ready you for your engagement with your father.”
“A lady is going with us tonight. Her name is Miss Culver.”
“Ah, yes, I know.”
“You do?” Chantel demanded.
“Why—yes, I have met her. She is a very nice lady.”
“How did you meet her?”
“Oh, I don’t remember. I think at a dinner your father gave while you were still at the plantation.”
Chantel sensed the evasiveness in Elise’s reply—unusual in this straightforward woman who had few unspoken thoughts. It troubled her, but she asked no more. “When I come back,” she said, “I will tell you all about the play.”
Downstairs Chantel found her father ready to go. She wanted him to praise her appearance, but he merely said, “Come, we’re late.” Then he added as an afterthought, “You look very nice. Elise does a fine job.”
“Thank you, Papa.”
Robert drove them in the larger closed carriage to a section of the city that Chantel had not seen. Her father left her in the carriage, where she waited impatiently. Then he came out with a lady.
He helped her in, then got in and sat down beside her. “Chantel, I would like for you to meet Miss Emmeline Collette Culver. Miss Culver, this is my daughter, Chantel.”
“I’m so happy to meet you, Chantel.”
Chantel had not known what to expect, but she was surprised by the beauty of the woman who smiled at her. Miss Culver was a small woman, but she was exquisitely formed, and her face was attractive indeed. She had dark hair and dark eyes and seemed genuinely glad to meet her.
“I was so glad I could go with you and your father. Do you like the theater?”
“Oh, yes, Miss Culver!”
The conversation went well, and she could tell that her father was pleased at her behavior toward the woman.
The rest of the evening was fun for Chantel. She loved the play and laughed and actually sang along
with some of the choruses under her breath. Miss Culver, who was sitting across from her father, said, “She is named right, Cretien. She is a real songbird.”
“Oh, yes, she sings constantly. I believe she’s going to grow up and be an opera star.”
“That would be wonderful,” Miss Culver said with a smile.
After the performance Chantel talked excitedly. She had been rather shy at first, but Miss Culver drew her out. When the carriage stopped, she leaned forward and said, “We must do this many times, Chantel.”
“Yes, please. I enjoyed meeting you, Miss Culver.”
Chantel sat there until her father returned, and when he got into the carriage and settled back, he asked, “How did you like our guest?”
“She’s very pretty.”
“Yes, she is.”
“Have you known her a long time, Papa?”
Cretien hesitated briefly, then said, “Why, yes, for quite some time.” He changed the subject. “Well, you begin school next Monday. I will be expecting fine reports.”
“I will do the very best I can, Papa.”
“I’m sure you will, my dear.”
When they got inside their house, Cretien bent over and kissed her cheek. “Go to bed now. It’s late for you.”
“Good night, Papa. I had such a good time, but I always have a good time with you.”
Chantel went quickly to her room and at once withdrew her journal. She sat down and wrote of the evening at great length.
Miss Culver is very pretty, and I like her. Papa has known her a long time, and I hope she liked me.
For a time she stared at the entry and then was aware of a strange sensation. She had liked Miss Culver well enough, but deep inside she also resented her being there. She added:
She’s very nice, but I would rather have Papa all to myself.
Closing the journal, she put it into its hiding place and then went to bed. She did not dream of her mother that night, but of being an opera singer on a stage.
“So this is your daughter, Monsieur Fontaine.”
“Yes, Sister Martha, and I hope she will prove to be a fine student.”
Sister Martha was a tall, angular woman with a pair of sharp gray eyes. She wore the black habit of a nun and examined Chantel closely. “I’m sure you’ll do your best to please your father and me and your other instructors, won’t you, Chantel?”
The Exiles Page 8