Creole Hearts (22 page)

May your days be sunshine

May your nights be moonlit

Be happy forever oh, sister

Oh, lovely Julienne.

"It's signed Yolande," Nicolas added.

Everyone clapped, craning their necks to look at Yolande, who sat smiling at her sister. Julienne, Guy thought, looked almost petulant, as though she resented Yolande’s brief moment of glory.

As Nicolas sat down, Joubert rose again. "It was all my elder daughter's idea—the bird, the poem. My wife and I are proud of both our girls, and we’re thrilled and happy to announce Julienne's betrothal to Nicolas Roulleaux." He spread his hands. "I welcome you to D'Argent to join us in celebrating the happy occasion."

Sitting on the same side of the table as Ignace Proulx, though separated by four chairs, Guy watched the young man carefully. Ignace was on his seventh glass of champagne by Guy's count. With luck he'd drink himself under the table. A parade of servants came in with tureens of soup—bouillabaisse made with redfish, red snapper, crabs and shrimp, and also a crayfish bisque. The soup was followed by file and okra gumbo made with both seafood and chicken, oysters on the half shell, frog legs fried golden brown, and three kinds of jambalaya. There were cuts of ham and roast beef on silver platters, baked squabs, peas and beans, plus assorted fruits in syrups,
pain patate
sweet potato cakes,
colas tout chaud
, hot rice cakes fried and sprinkled with sugar,
batons amondes
, almond sticks, and pecan candies. Ignace, who sat directly across from Nicolas, ate little, scarcely speaking to those on either side of him. Guy, on the other hand, found he had a good appetite for the tasty dishes, but he kept part of his attention on the brooding Ignace throughout the meal.

As the servants cleared the table, Ignace began fumbling with something under cover of the tablecloth, his hands out of sight. Guy tensed. An immensely fat black woman wearing a blue t
ignon
entered the dining room bearing a silver salver with two tiny stemmed glasses filled with layers of different colored liqueurs. She offered one glass to Julienne and the other to Nicolas. They touched glasses, then drank. Everyone cheered.

Other servants brought in trays of liqueurs for everyone. Guy, watching Ignace, eased his chair back from the table, stood, then, as he saw the glint of metal, lunged at Ignace, catching his arm as the young man steadied a pistol on the table, its muzzle pointed at Nicolas.

A flash of flame, an explosive crack, a clang as the bullet struck the gilt cage suspended from the ceiling, the shatter of glass when the bullet ricocheted to smash a wall mirror.

Ignace struggled, cursing, in Guy's grasp. The pistol, muzzle smoking, lay on the table amid spilled creme de menthe. Men rushed at them, as many grabbing at Guy as at Ignace, for they weren't certain what had happened. Women screamed.

Finally, with Ignace held firmly by two men, Guy by two more, Nicolas shouted above the noise. "It was Ignace Proulx, not La Branche. Let Tanguy go."

Guy straightened his coat and shirt after he was turned loose, then strode to Ignace.

"You shot at me one night a few months back, didn't you?"

Ignace said nothing, giving him a look of hatred that momentarily silenced Guy. Why should this man hate him so? He grabbed Ignace's waistcoat in his fist.

"Only a coward shoots a man without challenging him. You've forfeited the right to ever fight a duel in Louisiana. Gentlemen don't duel with cowards. If, it weren't for that you'd be a dead man, for, I'd challenge you and kill you in a fair fight."

He released Ignace and turned from him in disgust. Behind him he heard Julienne's high, clear voice.

"Oh, Ignace, how could you do such a thing? You've ruined my party."

Guy glanced back.

Ignace stared across the table at Julienne. "I love you!" he cried in a strangled voice. Those old men don’t deserve you—you belong to me!”

Julienne brought her hands up to her face, swayed, and before Nicolas could catch her, fell face forward onto the table.

Chapter
22

Before anyone could reach Julienne, the fat Negress in the blue
tignon
had the girl clasped in her arms. Tears rolled down the black woman's face.

"My sweet child," she cried. "I don't be meaning to hurt you, no, never."

Madame Le Moyne, pale and trembling, leaned against her husband. Yolande was the one who, with Nicolas' help, managed to pry Julienne from the fat slave's arms.

"Stop that, Lulie," Yolande ordered. "Let
Monsieur
Roulleaux carry Julienne to her room."

With Lulie wailing after them, Nicolas bore Julienne from the dining room, Yolande leading the way. The guests milled about, shocked and upset and, in the confusion, Ignace Proulx broke loose from his captors and dashed from the house.

Guy started after him, then stopped. What use would it be to try to catch Ignace? Nothing would be done with the young man even if he did succeed in taking him prisoner. The words Ignace had shouted at Julienne still rang in Guy’s ears. The young pup thought of him and Nicolas as old men. Old! At thirty three? Nicolas could be no more than thirty four. The prime of a man's life!

He hurried back inside the house and sought Madelaine. "How is Julienne?” he asked. "Have you heard?"

"Perhaps it was no more than a faint," Madelaine said. "Such excitement for her—the engagement, the gun going off, the fighting. Oh, Guy, you were so brave. I can't tell you how proud I am of you. You saved their lives."

"Nicolas' at any rate."

"The boy must be very much in love with Julienne."

"She shouldn't have encouraged him,” Guy said positively.

Madelaine said nothing.

After a moment Guy nodded. "All right. My eyes are opened at last. Yolande may not be the rabbit I thought she was. She took charge admirably. No doubt she'll make some man a much better wife than Julienne. Nevertheless, I don't wish to make Yolande my wife. Nor Julienne, for that matter." He glanced toward the stairs. "I hope Julienne isn't seriously ill. What was her old nurse carrying on about?"

"It made no sense. Something about not meaning to hurt her."

There was a stir among the guests and Guy saw Joubert on the stairs.

"I regret tonight's disaster," Joubert said. "Julienne is awake but she needs to rest. Please stay, if you wish. I had planned dancing to follow the meal."

No one felt like continuing the party. Madelaine and Guy were among the first to leave.

Joubert pressed Guy's hand. "I can't thank you enough for preventing a tragedy. Nicolas, who's waiting outside Julienne's door in case she wants to see him, asked me to express his gratitude. He is quite aware that you saved his life tonight."

“I told you Mademoiselle Le Moyne wouldn't be your wife," Estelle said to Guy the next week. “Didn’t I?”

Guy frowned, “I don’t wish to discuss her.”

“Shall I tell you something more? If
Monsieur
Roulleaux doesn't take care to sit by her side until she recovers, he won't marry her either."

Guy grasped her arm. "What do you mean?"

Estelle shrugged. "Everyone knows she's ill. Everyone knows what happened at the party. Why shouldn't I know?"

He resisted the urge to shake Estelle until her teeth rattled. Violence between them always led to bed, and he'd already taken her once.

"You haven't answered my question," he said.

"She may give her heart to another."

He shrugged, relieved. For a moment he'd thought Estelle had meant Julienne would die. Not that he believed in voodoo, but one couldn't deny that strange things sometimes occurred—that a
voodooienne
had some powers. And, after all, Estelle was Vedette's daughter.

In October, Guy walked with Andre from the legislative chambers, heading for Tremoulet's.

"Unless we can muster at least one more vote," Andre said, "all is lost. What's the matter with those
Americains
? Do we ask them to learn French, even though our language is certainly more specific as well as more melodious than English? Of course not! Why, then, do they try to force us to learn their barbarous language?"

"I agree, I agree," Guy told him. "Besides, think how we'd miss the fun of waiting for the translations if we all had to give speeches in English."

Andre grinned. "The look on Samuel Cannon's face today when he finally understood what I'd said about him was one I'll treasure for years."

Guy laughed. "There you were, waving your arms while you called him no better than a son of a dog, worse than the foulest pig that ever rooted in a gutter, and he looked you blandly in the eyes, not understanding one word. That is, until you finished and the interpreter translated what you said."

Andre's smile faded. "I didn't make the same mistake when he stood up and began raving at me in his uncouth tongue. I glared at him even before I understood what he said, for I know an angry man speaks abuse."

"I can't think how the interpreters keep a straight face," Guy said.

"One of an interpreter's qualifications must be having no sense of humor," Andre said. "You've managed to learn English, I've never understood how. Oh, I know the odd word, but as a language it makes little sense, unlike ours."

In the coffee house, they sat with another state representative, Leroy Carmelet from the German Coast.

"One more vote would save us," Leroy said.

"Trouble is, we'll have to go after an
Americain
vote, for every Creole in the House is already with us."

"We never should have let them vote to eliminate Spanish," Andre said. "That was the camel's nose in the tent."

"Let me run down the list of
Americains
and see if either of you think any one of them is a possibility," Leroy said.

Guy listened. Some of the men he knew, others were almost strangers.

"Then there's Timothy O'Donnell from upriver," Leroy said, "and that's it."

"O'Donnell's been sick. He probably won't be in for the vote," Andre said. "He's been absent so much."

"Is that the Timothy O'Donnell who was with Jackson at Chalmette?" Guy asked. "I haven't seen him in the House."

"I was just saying he'd been away more than he's been there," Andre said. "Yes, I believe Tim did fight in the war against the British."

"I know him. In fact, he might well do me a favor," Guy said.

Both the other men gazed at him.

"If you can persuade Tim to vote with the Creoles," Andre said, "I'll personally carry him into the House on my back if I have to."

Guy found that Timothy O'Donnell was living in Baton Rouge. He caught a ride up the Mississippi on the
Creole Folie
, captained by a man named Kendrick.

"I raced one of the Fulton boats coming downriver," the captain told Guy. "We were behind her, and as we pulled alongside they fired up her boilers. Even then we held even, then edged ahead. We've got a nice little boat here. I'll bet she can beat anything on the river."

As they steamed past D'Argent, Guy thought somewhat guiltily of Julienne. Strange how she'd gone out of his mind once he realized how shallow she was. Madelaine mentioned that she'd heard Julienne was still abed and, though her condition wasn't considered dangerous, she was refusing to see anyone but Lulie. Nicolas was said to be furious, and the wedding had been postponed indefinitely.

Was Estelle's prediction coming true? Guy shook his head at the notion. Nonsense.

Timothy O'Donnell sat in a rocking chair on the verandah of his riverside home. His skin had a yellowish tinge and he'd lost weight until he was little more than skin and bones. Guy saw that his arm had healed crooked.

"By God, 'tis all of four years since I've clapped eyes on ye, lad," he said to Guy.

"I'm in the House now. We're sorry not to see you there."

"I'll tell ye, 'tis this damned ague. Just when I get to thinking I'm over the thing, down I come with the chills again."

"Hasn't the quinine helped?"

"The what?"

"Doesn't your doctor prescribe quinine? In New Orleans I know that's how intermittent ague is treated."

"Damned if I know how he'd treat me. The bastard tried to clap leeches on me and I threw the man out of me house. Been doctoring meself since Mary passed on from the yellowback."

Guy looked at him. "I came upriver to ask you a favor. I'll find quinine for you, but I'd certainly hate to cure you and find I'd collected another vote against the Creoles when the bill comes to the vote."

"What bill?"

"Samuel Cannon has a bill pending to suspend the French language in the General Assembly. The House votes on it next month. All speeches, bills, everything written or spoken would be in English instead of both languages."

"Seems a lot of fuss over a trifle."

"It's not a trifle to the Creoles!"

"Well, I don't owe Cannon any favors, and I'm certainly not afraid of the bastard. I owe you—damned if I don't. Tell ye what. Ye get some of that medicine for me, and, if it makes me well enough to go downriver, I'll come and vote against Cannon. Fair enough?"

Guy held out his hand. "Just tell me your doctor's name so I don't call on him by accident. I'll find out how much of the quinine you should take and bring it to you."

Tim held out his crooked right arm, offering Guy his hand. Guy could feel the scars as he shook it.

"Hell, lad, who'd ever think Guy La Branche would come sailing clear up to Baton Rouge to help old Tim again? We'll have a drink or two when ye get back and talk about the whipping we gave the damned British at Chalmette." His eyes twinkled. "I'll wager ye ain't heard what happened to General Pakenham."

"The general was killed in the battle," Guy said.

"I mean after that. Don't ye know his men gutted the corpse and preserved it in a keg of spirits? Some say brandy, some say 'twas rum. Whichever it was, they shipped the keg with the mortal remains of General Pakenham off to his dear wife in England." Tim winked at Guy. "He never got there, I hear."

"Why not?"

"There comes up a storm and the ship founders off the coast of the Carolinas. The keg, though, comes floating in to shore and a couple of men who look out for such things find the keg, tap it and drink off the spirits before they discovers what else is in the keg."

Tim laughed until he choked, recovered, and added, "Oh, and wouldn't it have angered

the dear general if he knew they drank his
esprit de corps
!"

Guy chuckled. "I'm thinking of those poor fellows who drank the brandy. Imagine how they felt!"

Guy found a doctor, got the quinine and brought it to Tim. "Here's the names of my steamboats," he said. "Tell the captain of any one of them I said you were to have the best accommodations."

"That's if I feel better, don't forget, Guy, me lad. But if I do, I'll not forget me promise. I'll send a message by your boats."

Guy brought the good news to Andre two weeks later when Captain Barton off the Sugar Belle brought him a letter from Baton Rouge.

"Tim O'Donnell's a new man. I haven't felt so good since Old Hickory led us into battle. I'll be there with bells on."

After the session the next day, Guy saw Nicolas Roulleaux coming his way. He expected Nicolas to nod quickly and go on as was his wont since Guy had been elected. Nicolas stopped in front of him.

"I've bad news," Nicolas said.

Guy said nothing, waiting.

"I've heard a rumor there's a group of
Kaintocks
hired by Cannon on their way upriver to prevent Timothy O'Donnell from coming to New Orleans for the vote. Somehow the word got out that he was our man."

"The
Kaintocks
are on their way?" Guy asked.

Nicolas nodded. "I heard it from one of the free blacks, a man who's done cabinet work for me. He says a friend of his overheard their plans."

"Can you trust the black?"

"I believe so. He's a man who served under Daquin de Chalmette and has never forgiven the
Americains
for the way they treated the free colored afterwards. Can you commandeer one of your steamboats?"

“The
Petite Joyau
is loading at the docks." Guy raised his fist. ”I’ll take her over. We'll catch them."

"They're an hour ahead."

"It doesn't matter. They must be on a Fulton boat because the
'Tite
is the only one of ours in New Orleans at the moment. We've beaten his steamboats before."

"I'd like to join you."

Guy hesitated for only an instant. "Come along.”

Captain Leonard of the
Petite Joyau
greeted Guy’s plan with enthusiasm as they came aboard near sunset.

"Stop loading, boys," he called, "we're casting off."