Winds of the Storm (5 page)

Zahra knew that
freight
was the coded word for runaways.

Sophie stopped before a small fountain, “Do you really like the place? Minta sent me funds and said spare no expense, so I didn't. I had all of the statuary in storage. No one will know it's mine.”

Zahra didn't lie. “It's a bit unnerving.”

“Not what you're accustomed to, I'll bet?” she replied with a twinkle in her sherry eyes. “Don't worry. In a month's time, you won't even notice the nudes.”

Zahra wasn't so sure. Even now her mind's eye refused to let go of the memory of the statue of the man and woman by the staircase.

Zahra had another question. “What needs to be done to keep the business from being pestered by the city fathers?”

“All payments and permits have been arranged. New Orleans is a very tolerant city, and as long as the right people are kept happy with the occasional
gift,
you and your establishment should be fine.”

Zahra assumed she meant bribes. “I'll need to know who these gifts are to go to in the future.”

“Of course. We can talk about it after you get settled. You and I will have to come up with a way to communicate, since we can't be seen as friendly by the public.” Sophie added wryly, “Especially once you begin stealing my customers.”

Zahra met her eyes. “Will that be a problem?”

“No. You won't be in operation long enough to put me in the poorhouse. Or at least I hope not. You have some very beautiful girls.”

“Thank you.”

“And hopefully your girls will be able to attract the customers who won't patronize me because of my radical politics.” Sophie studied Zahra for a few moments, then asked, “Do you plan to offer yourself as bait?”

“No.”

Sophie smiled softly. “I thought not, but excluding yourself from the menu will make the men even more eager for your company. They won't be able to resist the challenge you present.” She then looked Zahra up and down with a critical eye. “You have a good figure. Make sure your gowns highlight that. You are a madam, and you should look like one. Now, tell me why you wear the domino.”

“I was a dispatch during the war, and I don't wish to be recognized.”

“I see.”

They began to walk once more. Sophie asked, “Is there anything else I might help you with?”

“Instruct me on the ways of a madam. I have played bawdy women in the past, but never a madam.”

“Well, first of all, you need to establish a style. There are madams who are flamboyant and loud, and others who conduct their business quietly. You have a certain grace about you that I believe you should incorporate into your Domino. Make her elegant, graceful, but most of all, intelligent enough to take on the men around her. You're not a foolish woman, and Domino shouldn't be either. Flirt, use double entendres, be playful but maintain the aloofness. You want these men following you around like lapdogs.”

Zahra chuckled.

“Always protect your girls. That giant man I saw by your carriage should do nicely. Also, I'll send my doctor over so that you two can work out
a schedule to have the girls checked on a regular basis. The last thing you want is disease—of any kind.”

Zahra took both the safety and health advice to heart. “How will I contact you if I need to?”

“For now, send one of the servants with a note. If we need a more secure means, we can discuss it at another time. Remember you and I will be rivals. If I see you on the street or in one of the shops, I will not acknowledge you.”

“I understand.”

“Good luck, Madame Domino.”

“Thank you.”

Sophie raised the hood on her cape, and once her face was hidden, she walked away, leaving Zahra standing in the garden alone.

That evening, Zahra moved into her third-floor suite. The room was cavernous, with gleaming wood floors and a set of French doors leading outside to a verandah where she could sit and sip her morning coffee. The walls were pale gold, and accented with elaborately rendered iron sconces. The design of the sconces was repeated in the standing lamps on each side of the gleaming white, mirrored dressing table. The big wrought-iron bed dominating the room had an upholstered gold canopy and was draped with silky netting. She opened a narrow door and was surprised to see a bathing room complete with a large claw-foot tub.

Closing the door gently she looked around with a smile. The décor was far grander than anything she could ever have imagined. Her little cabin back home with its leaky roof and paneless windows
would have easily fit inside the space. To her further delight, the interior was free of the nudes and the other sensual trappings so prominently displayed elsewhere in the house. The beautiful room could belong to any wealthy woman in the country, but for the time being it belonged to her, and Zahra was grateful to have such a haven to retreat to.

A
rcher spent the morning in his office at the hotel as he did every morning, going over the accounts. He studied billings from the city markets where he purchased fruits and vegetables for the restaurant; from the butchers who supplied his meats; from a plumber and his personal barber. He wrote out the bank drafts, then moved on to the second pile.

Unlike the chaotic years immediately following the surrender, Archer now had no difficulty meeting his financial obligations. Thanks to his own hard work and an infusion of funds from the inheritance the family received courtesy of his mother's Cuban uncle, the Old Pirate, the struggles he'd endured were in the past. However, other business owners in the city had not been as fortunate. After the war, real estate values had plummeted, as shipping interests had. There had
been extensive damage to ships and to the port caused by the guns of the Union Navy during the May '62 battle. That and the labor problems following Emancipation had dropped the city to its knees. Recovery was slowly taking place but not in a way envisioned by the Radical Republicans. Instead of the freedmen being able to own land or contract for work under conditions that would ensure their economic independence, they were being forced into agreements with former planters and masters who paid them little more than they'd received as slaves, thus stifling any expansion of the economy. Also impacting the South's recovery were the Northern bankers who, instead of investing in and loaning money to the South, were offering financial assistance to the railroads and burgeoning manufacturing cities like Chicago and St. Louis. Because of this, the North was transforming itself into an industrial giant unlike any the world had ever seen while the South wrestled with economic and societal problems that Archer sensed would keep it mired for years.

He was signing the bill for one of Lynette's new gowns when his brother Philippe entered through the open door and gushed, “Are you going?”

Archer looked up. The excitement on Philippe's tan face was easy to see. “Where?”

“To the formal opening of Madame Domino's new house.”

Archer wondered if this was how their big brother Raimond felt when set upon by his younger siblings. “Who is Madame Domino?”

“Don't tell me you haven't heard about her arrival?”

Archer studied the youngest member of the Le Veq family and sighed. “Start from the beginning.”

Philippe, who'd been on his way to the docks on the afternoon in question, described to Archer the eye-popping coach.

“Apple red?” Archer echoed skeptically.

“More like ruby red. It was shining like a polished jewel. Even the horses were tarted up with plumes and red rhinestone harnesses. How could you not know? Everyone in town is talking about it.”

Archer responded with his patented sarcasm. “Too busy running this hotel, I guess.”

“You need to leave this office, at least occasionally, big brother. You're becoming more and more like His Majesty Raimond every day. It's rather frightening.”

Not liking being compared to Raimond, Archer cut Philippe a look. “Back to this Madame Domino. Why's she called that?”

“Because she wears one. No one has ever seen her without it.”

Archer opened yet another bill from Lynette's dressmaker. “Maybe she looks like a horse's ass.”

“Maybe, but below the domino she has the mouth of a goddess. My friends and I are betting she's scarred or disfigured in some way.”

Archer met his brother's eyes and shook his head with amused disbelief. “Surely the gamers aren't taking odds?”

“Of course they are. She's quite the mystery.”

“What about the other women. Are they behind dominos, too?”

“No, but they're all beauties. The other houses are bound to lose customers once Madame Domino opens her doors.”

“And when will that be?”

“Soon, according to this broadside.”

Archer took the paper from his brother's hand and read the announcement. “‘The most fascinating women this side of the Mississippi. Grand Opening.'” He handed it back. “Just make sure you wear a sock.”

“Lord!” Philippe cracked, “is Raimond in the room?”

Archer leveled him a look. “Out, brat. I've work to do.”

They stared at each other with shocked eyes. The phrase was one of Raimond's standards when being pestered by his brothers.

Philippe drawled, “I told you, I'd see a physician about that before it spreads.”

Archer pointed to the door. “Good-bye.”

An amused Philippe departed.

Archer walked over to the small mirror hanging on the office wall and stuck out his tongue so he could study it in the glass. Was he really turning into Raimond? He placed his palm over his forehead to check his temperature. Suddenly, his brother Drake stood reflected in the mirror behind him. Archer turned.

Drake, whose dark skin was most like their mama's, raised an eyebrow and asked, “Problems?”

“I think I'm turning into Raimond.”

Drake chuckled, “I hope not. We'll have to kill you if you do. One His Majesty is quite enough. Two is grounds for justifiable murder.”

Archer grinned. “What brings you here?”

“Haven't seen you in a few days. Wanted to find out how the investigation into Oscar's death is faring.”

Archer studied him for a moment. “Who says I'm investigating?”

“I know you, Archer. I also know that Oscar was a friend, so, how's it faring?”

Archer surrendered. His brother did know him too well. “I've been trying to get a look at the death certificate, but supposedly it hasn't been finalized or filed.”

“Is that unusual?”

“Not really, but what bothers me are the rumors that the family turned down the offers of an autopsy.”

Confusion lined Drake's face. “I'd think that if there were questions about his death, his family would move heaven and earth to get answers.”

“So would I, but supposedly his family didn't want one.”

“Religious reasons?”

Archer shrugged. “I've no way of knowing without speaking with someone in the household.”

“Have you made any attempts?”

“One. I went to the house but was told his wife was too distraught to receive visitors.”

“That's understandable. His death had to be a shock.”

“To everyone.”

“Maybe she'll make herself available in a few weeks' time.”

“Maybe.”

Drake said, “Well, I just stopped by for a second. I'm on my way to see the Ursuline sisters. There's a leak in the convent roof. They want me to see if it can be repaired.” Drake's building skills were as well known as his architectural skills.

Archer nodded. “Your little brother was just here.”

“He still raving about Madame Domino?”

The amused Archer replied, “Yes.”

Drake shook his head. “According to all I've heard, the women made quite the grand entrance into town. Horses wearing feathers. Women wearing feathers.”

“So he told me. He wanted to know if I was going to the opening night.”

“And are you?”

“No. Lynette and I have plans for the opera.”

“I see.”

Archer heard the tone. “What?”

“Nothing. Just that the lovely Lynette has you eating out of her hand.”

“Because she doesn't press me or harangue me and she's always available when I need her to be. She's the perfect mistress.”

“If you like the passive type.”

“Passive?”

“Yes. Do the two of you ever argue?”

“Of course not. You don't choose a mistress for her argumentative skills.”

“True, but I'd rather a woman challenge me the way the lovely Sable challenges Raimond. Maybe a woman like Lynette is right for you, but I want more.”

“Well, I don't. A nice, quiet woman like Lynette suits me just fine. I was the one with three mistresses, remember. I've learned my lesson.” Archer then brought the conversation back to the city's newest brothel. “So, are you going to the opening?”

“I may, just to see the interior of the place. I know some of the artisans who worked on it. They say it is the most elegant whorehouse outside of Paris.”

“Really?”

“That's what they said.” Drake headed out of the door and tossed back with a smile, “Enjoy the opera. And please, see someone about that Raimond disease. It could prove fatal.”

Archer grinned and returned to the paperwork on his desk. The next morning he and Drake rode out to investigate the results of yet another night of terror. Like last time, he and Drake found a burned-out shack, but this time they found the residents; a man and his son, hanging like strange fruit in the trees.

 

Over the next few days, courtesy of Araminta and her contacts, former dispatches from all over the South arrived to aid Zahra's mission. They
came from Mississippi, Florida, and other places across the South to serve as house maids, kitchen maids, gardeners, and coachmen. Most were strangers. However, when Chloe escorted the newest arrival into Zahra's second-floor office, Zahra looked up from the newspaper she'd been scanning and screamed excitedly, “Wilma!”

As Chloe closed the door and quietly exited, the two women embraced with a happiness that mirrored their friendship.

“It's good to see you, lass,” Wilma Gray whispered fervently. “So good.”

They rocked each other for a long moment more, then broke the embrace. Zahra wiped away the mist of tears in her eyes and smiled at the rotund Irish woman. “It's been a long time.”

During the war, Wilma and Zahra had spent six months living together in Alabama spying on the Confederate navy anchored in Mobile Bay. “Do you live here in New Orleans?” Zahra asked.

Wilma shook her head. “No. Boston. Got here by train last night. Spent the morning finding a decent boardinghouse, then asked around until I found someone who knew of the mysterious Madame Domino. Miss Harriet told me the plan.”

“You are looking well.”

“I'm old and feeling it, but you're as beautiful as ever. Have you found a man strong enough to match you?”

Zahra shook her head and smiled. “No. Doubt I will, old as I am, but it's wonderful having you here.”

Wilma looked around the office. “Nice place,” she said. With an amused twinkle in her blue eyes, she added, “No nudes?”

Zahra chuckled. “Not in here, thank goodness.”

“The statue by the steps—the one with the man and woman, liked to stole me breath.”

“I know. The atmosphere down there is very, shall we say, heady?”

“That's putting a polite name on it.” Wilma ran her eyes over Zahra, then asked easily, “So tell me all you've done since we were together last.”

“First, would you like some refreshment? Tea, café? We're still waiting for our cook to arrive from Atlanta, so I'm afraid I can't offer you anything of substance to eat.”

“Tea will be fine.”

Using the bell pull behind her desk, Zahra summoned one of the new kitchen maids, who promised to return promptly with the tea. The young woman, a dispatch from Florida named Suzette, kept her word, and when she retired, the two old friends sat, sipped, and caught up on each other's lives.

“I've been living in Boston with my son,” Wilma began. “He's married to a wonderful lassie, and they have two children. Most beautiful grandchildren in the world.” She met Zahra's smile with one of her own before continuing. “Have me own dress shop now, but work with the indigent, too. Many refugees are arriving north with nothing but the clothes on their backs.”

“How much is your organization able to help?”

“Quite a bit, actually. Boston has a large Colored community that's been lending a helping hand for almost a hundred years, but donations have been declining, and it's making the work harder.”

“The country is weary of the race's problems. They don't understand why the freedmen aren't content. After all, they are free.”

“Few Northerners realize the issue is far more complex than that.” Wilma sighed and shook her head. “So where are you living now?”

“Near Columbia.”

“Miss Harriet said the government confiscated your parents' land?”

Zahra nodded tightly over her cup. “The president has promised to look into the matter in exchange for my help here.”

“Do you believe him?”

Zahra met Wilma's blue eyes and said truthfully, “I don't know. My head says no, but my heart holds hope.”

“Well, my Boston friends and I are very disappointed with Grant. All the scandals, all the graft and bribes. Not to mention him and the Republicans turning their backs on your people. It's unconscionable.”

Zahra agreed.

“Have you heard from your folks?”

“No. I've no idea whether they are still on the land or not.” Zahra last saw her parents right before she left South Carolina. They, like their neighbors, had armed themselves and were determined to hold on to the land by force if need be for as
long as they could. She knew that if the situation became intolerable they'd return to Sanctuary, the town in the Carolina swamp where Zahra was born and raised. But the citizens of the swamps from Florida to Louisiana were also being forced out, by Rebs who didn't want Maroon communities of Blacks nearby and by speculators anxious to sell the land to anyone wealthy enough to ensure them a fat profit.

Wilma said genuinely, “Let's hope you hear from them soon.”

They spent the next hour talking about the operation Zahra was putting into place. Wilma agreed with Zahra's theory that President Grant was after more than just a report on the state of the race. “The people and the big newspapers back home are calling for the removal of the troops. In their minds, once that is accomplished the war will officially be over, and life can go on.”