“I have thought of it. It’s been on my heart for some time. I couldn’t speak to you of it because I knew you wouldn’t be sympathetic.”
“It’s foolishness, Neville! You have a fine career ahead of you. You can serve God and be a lawyer at the same time. I do.”
Neville resisted the impulse of saying what was on his mind at that moment, and simply replied, “I’ve been thinking of it a great deal. I should have told you before.”
“Well, it’s foolishness, and I won’t have it! It would be the waste of a brilliant career! You’d throw everything out the window for nothing.”
“I wouldn’t call serving God in the ministry ‘nothing,’” Neville said gently.
Oliver Harcourt stared at his son. It was as if he had been walking along and had abruptly run into a wall that wouldn’t give. The light of determination in Neville’s dark blue eyes unsettled him, and he said no more. The memory of this scene, however, rankled the older man.
“Well, you are filling out. Look at you now!”
Elise had just helped Chantel get dressed, and the new dress did indeed reveal that the beanpole was beginning to develop some curves.
Chantel stared at herself. She had been aware of the growth in her body, of putting on weight. She was still tall and thin, but now, at least, she was not a skeleton as she had felt herself to be. She turned to Elise, her eyes wide with hope. “Do you really think I’ll fill out some day?”
“You’ve already started to be a nicely shaped young woman. And your hair is so pretty.”
Chantel reached up and touched her auburn hair, the golden glints caught in the light. She turned then and said quietly, “I don’t know what I’d do without you, Elise. You’ve been such a friend to me.”
Elise was pleased. She loved her young mistress fiercely, and pride came to her as she thought of how the young woman was maturing.
“You’d better go to your father,” she said. “He has a surprise for you.”
“A surprise?”
“Yes. Go see him.”
Chantel finished dressing quickly and left the room. She started to go down the hall when her father stepped out of the bedroom he shared with his wife.
“Papa, good morning.”
Cretien came to her, and there was a smile on his face and a joy that she had rarely seen. “What is it, Papa?”
“The baby came last night.”
“Last night? And you didn’t tell me?”
“You’d already gone to bed, and we had to rush to get the doctor here.”
“Is it a boy or a girl?”
“A fine boy!” Cretien’s eyes glowed, and happiness emanated from him. “And your mama is fine. Come along, but be quiet. She’s asleep and very tired.”
Chantel tiptoed into the room and saw that Collette was asleep. Her face looked pale and wan.
Chantel’s attention went at once to the special bed that her father had built. It was low enough that when she went over and looked inside she could see the red face of the newborn infant.
“He’s beautiful, Papa. May I pick him up?”
“Yes, but be very careful.”
Chantel gently picked up the baby. She cuddled him in her arms and stared down. “He’s beautiful, Papa, just beautiful!”
“He is, isn’t he? A fine boy!”
“What is his name?”
“He will be Perrin Covier Fontaine.”
Chantel held the baby, crooning to it. She looked up, and there were tears in her eyes. “It will make up a little for losing my sister, Papa. I hope we will be very close.”
“Of course you will, Chantel. Brother and sister. You will love him, and he will love you.” Cretien saw the affection in Chantel and was pleased. “You will not be lonely now, for you will have a brother to love.”
“So you have a new baby brother, Chantel?” Damita was lying under a huge live oak tree sucking on an orange. Flanking her were Simone and Chantel. “Well, you can say good-bye to any attention you’ll get from your parents.”
“Oh, I don’t think so!” Chantel answered. “We all love the baby.”
Simone rolled over on her back and stared at the huge limbs of the live oak tree, some of them as big around as full-grown trees. “Damita’s right,” she remarked. “A new baby gets all the attention.”
Chantel didn’t argue, for indeed, she had received little attention from her father since the birth of the baby. Instead, she tried to change the subject. “Where’s Leonie? I haven’t seen her all day.”
“I think she’s ironing her dresses.” Simone yawned. “I’d hate to have to iron my own clothes. Makes me all hot and sweaty.”
Chantel sat up and said, “I think we ought to do something for Leonie.”
“Do what?” Damita asked. She tossed the half-eaten orange to the ground and got to her feet. “You mean help her iron?”
“No, not that.” Chantel knew there would be no volunteers to help Leonie do this tiresome task; she alone among the Four Musketeers was poor. Damita’s father was one of the richest men in New Orleans, and Simone’s family had plenty of money. Leonie was a charity girl, a student that the convent took in from time to time from among the poor. She was an orphan, the daughter of an unmarried French actress who had died giving birth to Leonie. The Ursulines had taken her in, but she had nothing except what was furnished by the convent.
“She doesn’t have any nice clothes, and she never has any sweets or good food to eat to keep in her room,” Chantel said. “We all have so much! I’d like to buy her some new clothes and a few goodies.”
Damita, who always had everything she needed and more, was not prone to noticing what others needed—but she had a generous heart. “That’s a good idea, Chantel. I’ve got some money. How about you, Simone?”
“I’ve got enough to buy her a dress.” Leaping to her feet, she said, “It’ll be fun! Come on, let’s surprise her.”
“I’ll ask Sister Martha for permission to go to town,” Damita said.
Fortunately, school had ended early, and the girls had a half-day holiday. They obtained permission to go into town from Sister Martha with little trouble. Damita didn’t give her the real reason for their visit, but said, “We’d like to buy a few things to give to the poor, Sister.” Sister Martha was pleased, and the girls went at once to find the object of their good works.
They burst into the workroom, and Leonie was taken by storm. “Come on, Leonie,” Damita cried, and took the iron away from the surprised girl. “We’re going to town.”
“But—I need to finish my ironing!”
“You can do that later,” Simone grinned. “We’ve got things to do!”
With Leonie completely mystified, the four left for town. Their first visit was to a dress shop, and when Damita said to the clerk, “This young woman must have a fine new dress! Now, let’s see what you have!” Leonie was taken aback.
“I can’t buy a dress,” she whispered. “I’ve never bought a dress!”
“Well, it’s about time.” Chantel smiled. “You’re going to buy one now, maybe more.”
The three girls had a wonderful time, insisting that Leonie try on a number of dresses. They each liked different dresses—except Leonie, who was too dazed to even speak—but finally they agreed on a blue dress that looked wonderful on Leonie.
“We’ll take it!” Simone said with satisfaction. She walked around Leonie examining the dress, and nodded. “Wrap it up for her.”
“But—it costs so much!” Leonie said, a worried look on her face.
Damita came over and put her arm around Leonie. “Don’t even think about the cost. We’ve got the money and we’re going to buy lots more things.”
All three of the girls were shocked to see tears well up in Leonie’s eyes. She swallowed, tried to speak, but could not. “I—I don’t know what to say,” she finally managed.
“Say—‘Let’s go buy another dress!’” Chantel cried. “We’ve got a lot of shopping to do!”
When
the four girls returned to the convent, they were burdened with packages. They had bought some things for the poor, which would satisfy Sister Martha, but the bulk of their plunder was for Leonie. They entered her room giggling and squealing, and asked Leonie to try on everything again. The purchases included two dresses, a heavy coat for winter, a warm fur cap, a pair of gloves, two pairs of shoes, underwear, and stockings. In addition to this was a wealth of sweets of all kinds.
Leonie stood in the middle of the floor, looking at her three friends who were all admiring her—and helping themselves to the sweets. “I—never had any real presents before.”
The three girls grew quiet, for all of them felt somewhat shamed. All three had grown up in prosperous circumstances, and the words of Leonie brought a feeling of guilt to each of them. Damita got up at once and went to Leonie. She put her arms around the small girl and said, “Well, you’ve got some now—and three sisters to look out for you.”
Simone got up, and she also kissed Leonie. “That’s right. We’re the Four Musketeers, aren’t we?”
And then Chantel, whose heart was filled with joy, joined them. “One for all—and all for one,” she said. She hugged Leonie, and a thought came to her. “I want to tell you all something,” she said. “As long as we live, if I can ever do anything for any of you, I’ll do it!”
Damita Madariaga had been pampered her whole life and wasn’t accustomed to serving others, but something in Chantel’s words touched her. “That’s the way it is with me. Come to me if you ever need help.”
“And I feel that way, too,” Simone said. “I’ll never say no to any of you!”
And Leonie, who had nothing—except perhaps the largest heart of the four—whispered, “I don’t see how I could ever do anything for any of you, but I’ll love you all my life!”
The four girls were quiet, touched by what had happened, and then Chantel cried, “All for one—and one for all!” And the other three echoed her words.
Chapter twelve
Chantel looked up as her father spoke, hearing a trace of anger in his voice. They had nearly finished breakfast, and, as was his custom, Cretien was scanning the pages of the morning paper.
“This fellow Jackson, he’s nothing but a rude Kaintock!”
“You mean the man who’s running for president?” Collette asked. She was, as always, beautifully dressed, for she spent a great deal of her time and her husband’s money on clothing. Her dress this day was exceptionally ornate. It was made of light green silk with a fine gold brocade around the off-the-shoulder neckline, the tight bodice, and the hem of the full, floor-length skirt. Its full sleeves billowed out at the shoulder and grew very tight at the elbow, and the skirt was cinched in at the waist by a sash and had six small bows of white silk down the middle.
“That’s the one. Why, he’s had several duels already!”
“Duels over what, Papa?” Chantel asked. She really cared nothing about Jackson, but she always listened to what her father had to say.
“He’ll be president. No doubt of that, and the country will go straight to the dogs. What America needs is a good aristocracy.” Cretien continued to flip through paper. “Well,” he said, “I see they finally outlawed suttee in India.”
“Suttee? What’s that?” Collette asked as she nibbled at a section of grapefruit.
“In India, when a man dies, they put him on a pile of wood and cremate him. The law says his widow has to be burned with him.”
“You mean burned alive? ” Collette demanded. “How awful!”
“Oh, I don’t know.” Cretien grinned and winked across the table at Chantel. “I know a few wives that might justify such a policy.” He laughed then and said, “Not you, of course, my dear.”
“Papa, I read that a man named Burt has invented a new machine.”
“A machine? What kind of a machine?”
“You don’t have to write anymore with a pen. You use this machine, and it prints the words just as they appear in a book.”
“Nothing will ever come of that. It would be too complicated. Like this—” He thumped the paper. “Those crazy Englishmen have invented a steam engine. There’s a story here about something they call a steam locomotive named The Rocket.”
“What does it do, Cretien?” Collette asked.
“They build iron tracks for it, and it runs along them, I understand. Nothing will ever come of that, of course. Horses, that’s the thing.”
Breakfast was almost finished, and Chantel said quickly, “Papa, Neville is going to come to my party today.” She had taken special care with her appearance this morning, for it was her sixteenth birthday.
“How did that happen?” Cretien was not pleased at the attention that Neville Harcourt showed to Chantel. Ever since he had discovered that the young attorney had given his daughter a Bible, he had been suspicious. He shook his head, his displeasure evident on his features. “I hear disturbing things about Neville.”
“What sort of things, Papa?”
“Why, he’s become some sort of a preacher now.”
“A preacher?” Collette looked up with surprise. “But he’s a lawyer.”
“Oh, I don’t think he’s left his law practice. His father’s not doing too well, you know. His health isn’t good. I’d admire the young man if it weren’t for this preaching.”
“Where does he preach? In one of the Protestant churches?”
“I don’t know the details. I just know his father told me that he was furious with Neville, and I don’t blame him.”
Chantel knew that Neville had become a lay preacher of some sort. She, of course, had never heard him preach, and he did not speak of his activity often. But she did not like the fact that her father was displeased and was glad when suddenly their attention was taken by Perrin.
“Want seet roll!”
Perrin, at the age of two, had become a tyrant in the Fontaine household. His parents doted on him, and neither of them could deny him anything. The result was a two-year-old who demanded his own way under every circumstance. Now Perrin, who was seated in a specially built high chair, was frowning at the egg that had been placed in front of him.
“No egg! Want seet roll!”
“Eggs are better for you than sweet rolls, Perrin,” Chantel said. “And they’re good, too.”
But her words did not assuage the child. He began screaming for sweet rolls, and almost at once Cretien called out, “Ann—Ann, bring Perrin some sweet rolls!”
“Yes, sir, right away.” The maid scurried away and soon came back with a plate with two sweet rolls on it. She placed them in front of Perrin, who grabbed one with both hands and began tearing at it as if he were starved.
“Don’t bolt your food, Perrin,” Collette warned. But her words had no more effect on him than they ever had.
Collette urged him to drink his milk, and Perrin gulped it down, almost choking in the process. He was overweight and ate almost constantly only the sweetest and most fattening of foods. Chantel had tried to speak to her parents about her brother, but they were both so happy to have a son that they paid no attention whatsoever.
After breakfast Chantel moved to the drawing room, where she sat for some time reading a book that Neville had given to her. It was called The Last of the Mohicans, and she found it fascinating. Neville had good taste in literature, and knowing her love for the romantic element, usually tried to steer her toward the more acceptable novels. He himself appeared to have read everything. Chantel was sure that he knew more than all of her teachers at school.
As she plunged into her book, more than once she felt tears rise to her eyes. The plight of the Mohican chief moved her greatly. How terrible, to think of an entire tribe perishing.
Suddenly she heard the sound of Perrin’s footsteps, and without warning her book was snatched from her hand. She gave a cry as the boy took a page and tore it out. Leaping forward, she grabbed the book and slapped his hand. “No, Perrin, you mustn’t tear books! That’s a bad boy.”
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br /> Collette had followed on Perrin’s heels, and she said angrily, “Don’t you ever strike your brother, Chantel!” She snatched up Perrin, who was crying at the top of his lungs, and cuddled him, saying, “Now, don’t cry, Perrin. Your sister didn’t mean to hurt you.”
Chantel stared at the two and said, “Mama, Perrin has to learn discipline. He can’t destroy people’s property.”
“It’s only a book,” Collette said. “Now here, I want you to go to town for me. Here’s a sample of the thread that I need to finish my project.” Chantel understood that Collette made demands like this to exercise control over her.
“But I need to get ready for my party.”
“You’ll have plenty of time for that. It’s not until four o’clock. Hurry along now.” She turned her attention to Perrin, who was still sulking. “And remember. Never strike your brother again.”
Chantel was glad to get away. She loved Perrin, and at times he could be very sweet. But any child that is given his own way constantly and never rebuked is bound to develop bad character traits, and Chantel worried about him.
Her father could see only that the dream of his life had been fulfilled— he had a son. He was planning Perrin’s future already, even making arrangements for schools when the child was old enough. He had once mentioned that he had picked a university for him to attend in France.
Leaving the house, Chantel hurried to town. It was a warm day in May, and the streets of the city were busy. She went into the shop, found the thread that her mother needed, then decided to go visit Neville’s office, which was only two blocks away.
She made her way along the busy streets, and as she moved, she paid particular attention to the women she passed. She still felt herself too tall and awkward, and she admired women who were small of stature and had pronounced curves. She had developed somewhat, but the long-seeded idea that she was ugly and ungainly was hard to shake off.
When she reached Neville’s office, she found the two clerks working in the outer office. One of them, a short, fair-haired man of some twenty years, smiled at her. “Well, Miss Fontaine, I hope you haven’t come to see Mr. Harcourt. He’s not in the office today.”
The Exiles Page 12