“You mean Mr. Neville?”
“Oh, no, Mr. Neville’s here. His father, I meant. He’s not too well.”
“I’m sorry to hear it.”
“I’ll tell Mr. Neville that you’re here.” The clerk knocked on the door, listened for a response, then stuck his head inside to announce her. He turned to her and smiled. “Go right in, Miss Fontaine.”
Chantel entered the office and found Neville rising to greet her with a bright smile. “Well, this is a welcome break in a dreary day.”
“I just came by to remind you of my party, Neville.” Chantel smiled and said, “I want you to dress up and look your very best. You’ll meet all of my friends.”
“I don’t know why you want to invite a Methuselah like me to an event filled with attractive young people.”
“Don’t be silly! You’re only twenty-one.”
“And you are sixteen. Happy birthday, Chantel, and may I say you look quite lovely today.”
Neville’s compliment brought color to Chantel’s cheeks. He was always quick to compliment her, but not so often on her physical appearance. “This isn’t my party dress,” she said quickly.
“Well, you look very nice. Come and sit down. Let’s have some coffee.”
Chantel always enjoyed talking to Neville because he knew so much and was witty. She studied his appearance as he spoke of a case that he had had in court. He’s not very handsome, she thought, but some people think he is.
He was no more than five-foot-ten but was very trim and athletic. His hair was light brown, almost auburn, and had a curl to it. It was crisp, and he kept it cut rather shorter than most men. His eyes were a warm brown, and he had eyelashes that were no doubt the envy of many women. His eyes were his best feature, always alert, and Chantel often wondered if he had any sweethearts. He never spoke of young women, but she knew that he occasionally escorted them to the opera or the theater.
Finally Chantel rose and said, “I must get home. I’ve got a thousand things to do before my party.”
“I’m going to be a little bit late, I’m afraid.”
“Oh, Neville, you promised to be there!”
“I know, but an appointment came up that may run a little long. But I have your present, and I’ll give it to you now. It won’t get lost in a group of other gifts.”
“It would never do that.”
Neville walked to the desk, opened a drawer, and pulled out a small package wrapped in brown paper. He came over and handed it to her. “Happy birthday, Chantel.”
“Oh, thank you, Neville.”
“You don’t know what it is yet.”
“Whatever it is, I’ll love it.”
“Well, I spent too much money then. I should have given you a rock.”
Chantel carefully removed the paper and found a box inside. She opened it, and for a moment stood speechless. “Neville, they’re absolutely beautiful!” She laughed with delight and stared down at the green earrings. “Are they real jade?”
“Of course they’re real. Do you think I’d give you a cheap imitation?” Neville grinned. “They’re almost the color of your eyes. Put them on and give me a preview.”
Chantel put the earrings on with excitement and demanded a mirror, which Neville produced from his drawer. She stared at the earrings and cried, “Oh, they’re absolutely beautiful, and they do match my eyes!” She whirled around and threw her arms around Neville and kissed him on the cheek.
“Here now! We can’t have this. Young ladies don’t rush up and kiss strange men.”
“You’re not a strange man.”
“Well, you’re too old to be kissing fellows—even an old fellow like me.”
But Chantel was utterly taken up with the earrings. She could not stop staring at the small mirror. Finally she said, “It’s all right for me to kiss you, Neville. You’re my big brother. You always have been.” She came over and put her hand on his cheek. Even at sixteen she was almost as tall as he was. She hoped that she would never be any taller. “I’ve got to go now. I’ll see you at the party. Don’t be any later than you can help.”
Neville walked her to the door, and when she had left, he closed it, came back, and went to the window. He watched her figure as long as he could see it among the milling crowd below. Long thoughts ran through him, and he recalled the first time he had met her in this very office. She had been a long-legged, thin, rather homely child with enormous eyes. Now he realized, not for the first time, that the years had done something to her. He stood still for a moment, thinking of how beautiful her eyes were and how the stones set them off. Then he shook himself and turned back to his work.
The party was a success as far as most people were concerned. Eleven people were there, mostly her close friends from the convent. The most noticeable of them was Assumpta Damita de Salvedo y Madariaga. Her dark eyes sparkled, and her black hair shone, revealing her Spanish blood. Not surprisingly, she dominated every group she found herself a part of.
“So, your sweetheart gave you those earrings. They are beautiful. He must love you very much.”
“Oh, no, Damita!” Chantel said, feeling her cheeks turning red. “Just a good friend of mine. He’s actually our family lawyer.”
Damita shook her head. “I’ll never believe that a cold-blooded lawyer gave you such beautiful earrings. Come now.” She winked across at Simone.
“I think she’s hiding something, Simone. She tells you everything. Find out who gave her those earrings.”
Simone smiled. Her blonde hair was swept up on her head, wisps of curls falling around her face. She whispered, “You can tell me after the party’s over. I know you’ve got a secret admirer. No lawyer would give you a beautiful gift like that.”
The fourth member of the quartet, Leonie Dousett, said, “Don’t tease Chantel. You’re embarrassing her.”
Damita laughed. “It’s good for her to be embarrassed. She outdoes us all in our studies, so I have to find some way of getting back at her.”
They were interrupted then by a tall, striking young man, Roger Devorak. His father was a cotton farmer, and Roger’s good looks, along with his family wealth, had many mothers looking to him as a possible husband for their daughters. At seventeen he had already had several rather exciting romances. He came now to stand before the four girls.
“Well, the Four Musketeers again. I’d like to be a fly on the wall in your rooms and hear what you ladies have to say.”
“You would be shocked,” Damita said, smiling boldly. “I wouldn’t have you know what we say for the world.”
“Oh, don’t pay any attention to her, Mr. Devorak,” Leonie said. “You wouldn’t be shocked at all.”
“In that case I’ll have to get the secret out of Miss Chantel.” He stepped forward and took her hand, then bent over and kissed it. “A very happy birthday to you, Miss Fontaine.” He looked very handsome with his shiny black hair and large, lustrous eyes. He held her hand a moment longer than necessary and whispered, “Now that you’re a full-grown sixteen years old and can call yourself a woman, I’ll be calling on you.”
“I don’t believe that,” Chantel said.
“And why not?”
Chantel laughed. “Because you’re working your way down through the young women of New Orleans alphabetically, and you haven’t even gotten through the B’s yet. Those of us who have names beginning with F have to wait our turn.”
Roger laughed with the young women but shook his head. “You accuse me of being a philanderer, but I will show you that it is not true.”
The time went by pleasantly enough, but Chantel was not able to throw herself into the merriment. There was music and several of the better singers entertained the group. There was a cake with candles and opening of presents, but during all of this Chantel was looking constantly at the door. She tried to make herself smile.
When finally the party ended, and just as the last guest left, Neville came rushing up. “I’m sorry to be so late. I couldn’t get away.”
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“That’s all right, Neville. Come in,” Chantel said.
“Am I too late for a piece of cake and some punch?”
“No, of course not.” Chantel tried to smile.
Neville was escorted over to the refreshments.
“Let’s go into the parlor, Neville,” she suggested, “while the maids clean up.”
Neville sat down beside her on the sofa and listened to her tell about the party. Always sensitive to Chantel’s moods, he asked her, “What is it, Chantel? You’re disappointed.”
“Oh, no, I’m not.”
“Why, of course you are. I can see it. You’re not a hard person to read. What’s wrong?”
“Oh, my father didn’t come, and I—I thought he’d be here.”
“I’m sure he was held up.”
“I suppose so.” She appreciated the warmth of his hand as he held hers and tried to assure her. “When I was a little girl he missed a party of mine that he had promised to come to. It was a birthday party just like this one. He didn’t come, and I cried myself to sleep. But that night,” she said, “he came and got me out of bed and took me out to the front of the house. And there was a pony. Lady was the first horse I ever had. So maybe he’ll come late, just as he did then.”
“I’m sure he will, Chantel.”
Neville sensed that she was not in a talkative mood and soon rose to say his good-byes. “Suppose we go riding tomorrow. Can you come?”
“Oh, yes, that would be wonderful. I’ll meet you at the park at two o’clock.”
“I’ll see you then.”
He reached out and put his hand on her shoulder. “I’m glad to have you for a friend.”
His kind words brought more moisture to Chantel’s eyes. She blinked the tears away and said, “Thank you, Neville. Your gift was the best of all. I’ll keep these earrings always.”
Cretien stopped abruptly. He had stepped inside the front door and found Collette waiting for him. “I’m sorry to be so late—”
“I’m sure you are!” Collette stepped closer and could smell the liquor on him. “You’re drinking too much.”
As a matter of fact, Cretien had drunk too much, but he defended himself at once. “I only had a little—”
Collette glared at him. “And that perfume I smell on you. Did you only have a little of that woman you were with?”
“That’s no way to talk.”
“I’m supposed to ignore this sort of thing? What if you found that I’d been seeing a man?”
“That’s entirely different!” Cretien said stiffly. “Don’t speak of these matters.”
“You should have been at the party! Chantel was watching the door for you all day and all evening,” she said, adding more venom to her anger.
Cretien blinked.
He had forgotten the party, and now a sense of deep shame came over him. “I’ll make it up to her,” he said lamely.
“You can’t go back and do things over. Now, let’s go to bed.”
The next morning Chantel had just gotten dressed when she heard a knock on her door. “Come in,” she said. When she saw her father standing there, she said nothing, but waited until he came over to stand before her.
“Are you very angry with me, daughter?”
“No, of course not.”
“I wouldn’t blame you a bit, but wait until you hear why I didn’t make it.” He reached into his inner pocket and pulled out a gift. “I had this especially made up for you in Baton Rouge. I had to go over and get it, and it wasn’t ready. By the time I got home it was very late. Happy birthday, daughter.”
Chantel took the small box with fingers not quite steady. When she opened it, she gasped at the diamond ring that caught the light and glittered and flashed with blue fire.
“Papa, it’s so beautiful!”
“I am so sorry I didn’t get here sooner,” Cretien said. “But how about this. Suppose we have another birthday party, just the two of us? We’ll go out and have dinner, then we’ll go to an opera. There’s a new one called William Tell. I know it’s a day late, but I want you to have a good birthday.”
Chantel’s heart seemed to swell. “That—that would be wonderful, Papa.”
Cretien reached out and took her hands. He held them for a moment then said, “This makes two of your parties I’ve missed.”
“No, you didn’t miss this one, Papa. It’s not too late.” She laughed and held her hand up, admiring the ring. “I’ll never take this off, Papa—never.”
Chapter thirteen
The classroom was cold, and Chantel drew her blue wool coat closer around her. This did not help with her feet, however, which were numb. She looked around and saw that the other girls were just as uncomfortable as she was. Indeed, Leonie’s lips seemed to be blue. The coat she had on was thin, and Chantel thought, I’ve got to give Leonie a warmer coat. I can give her my brown one. It’ll be too large for her, but at least she can keep warm.
The droning of Father Laurent’s voice nearly put her to sleep. The class he taught on church doctrine was enough to bore anyone to death. She dreaded it, and so did the other girls. Their academic subjects were sometimes good, sometimes boring, but never as tedious as Father Laurent’s lessons. As far as she knew no one ever paid the slightest attention to what he was saying except to be sure they could pass the examination that would follow.
Two tall windows on the east side of the room admitted the cold winter light of November. Chantel watched the long, slanting rays of pale light as they fell on the faces of her fellow students. She noticed the motes that danced in them and wondered suddenly if God knew the location of every mote. It was the sort of thing that came to Chantel from time to time. She thought of asking Father Laurent, but she knew he would think such a question frivolous.
She rubbed her hands together and paused to admire the diamond ring she wore on the ring finger of her right hand. Every day since her birthday she had taken time to admire it and to think of the second birthday party. She had had a marvelous time with her father. They had gone out to the most expensive restaurant in New Orleans, and while they had eaten her father had amused her with his talk.
Afterwards they went to the opera, and although Chantel did not like opera as well as drama, she was stirred by the music and by the story of William Tell. The scene where he shot the apple off of his son’s head was exciting, and she had found herself grasping her father’s arm with all her strength. He had laughed quietly at her and said, “Don’t worry. I don’t think he’ll hit the boy.”
After the opera they had chocolate and sweets, and Cretien again apologized for missing her party. “I promised you once that I’d never miss another one, but I failed you. Now I promise you again, chère. I’ll never miss another one of your parties.”
“Thank you, Papa. This has been the best birthday I’ve ever had, even if it is a few hours late.”
“Then I’m happy, and I hope you like your gift.”
“Yes, more than anything.”
Chantel was reliving that scene when suddenly she heard her name called and blinked, drawing herself back to the present. Father Laurent, a large man with a reddish face and pale blue eyes, was staring at her. She heard Damita giggling and knew she had been asked a question.
“I’m sorry, Father Laurent. I didn’t hear.”
Whatever reprimand Father Laurent was about to deliver was never heard, for just then the door opened and Sister Alice came in.
“Father Laurent,” she said. “Chantel is wanted in Sister Martha’s office at once.”
A shock of surprise came to Chantel. She had never been sent for like this, but when someone was called out of class it usually meant trouble. She waited until Father Laurent dismissed her, then rose and left the room. All the way to the office she wondered what she had possibly done that would call for this type of action.
When she entered the office, she found Sister Martha standing beside her desk. “Yes, Sister Martha. What is it?” Chantel asked.
&nb
sp; “I’m afraid I have bad news for you, my dear.”
“Bad news, Sister Martha?”
“Yes, it’s—” The nun hesitated, then said, “It’s your father. He’s had an accident. You must go home at once.”
“Is he all right?”
“I don’t know the details, but I think you’d better go right now.”
Chantel stared at the nun with fear running along her nerves. Then she wheeled out of the room. Not even stopping to get her heavy coat, Chantel ran out of the building into the cutting wind, but she paid it no heed.
The distance from the convent to her home was only a few blocks, but she ran so hard she was out of breath when she pushed through the black iron gates and ran up the steps. She opened the door and almost fell inside.
“Chantel!”
Chantel saw Collette, and cried out, “What happened to Papa?”
Collette came over, took Chantel by the shoulders, and looked up into her face. “I’m so sorry, dear,” she said. Her eyes were red and wet. “Your father was riding his stallion, and the horse fell going over a jump.”
“But will he be all right?”
“Chantel—your father is . . .”
“I want to see him!”
“We put him on his bed in the bedroom, but—”
Chantel tore away from Collette’s grasp and ran up the stairs, taking them two or three at a time. She ran down the hall to her father’s room.
There on the bed she saw her father lying in the most awful stillness she had ever seen. Her throat closed up, and the room seemed to tilt. She walked stiffly to the bed and looked down on his pale face, then suddenly fell forward across his chest. She held to him, crying, “Papa—Papa!”
Finally she felt hands raising her up and heard Collette say, “Come away, dear.”
Chantel rose and looked down at her father’s face. Through the tears the features seemed to waver, and a sudden sense of loss came over her.
PART THREE
1831
Neville
Chapter fourteen
The Exiles Page 13