Chapter Five
"On Wednesday night, we will be having a street party for the neighborhood. Dress casual, roll your sleeves up, and get ready for the Crescent City to come alive. These Vieux Carre dances have gone on for a hundred years or so in the various neighborhoods. Pretty much everyone joins in except the Creoles. They have their own." Isabella told Jarrod one morning at breakfast; he was intrigued.
The wealthy families on the Esplanade got together several times a year for a seafood boil and dance. Jarrod had never seen anything like the camaraderie of the New Orleans families. The closest he had come was a town or ranch social but it still paled. Class distinctions were often blurred; the African influence in music; the iced oysters, beer kegs, and crawfish pots; the vats of jambalaya and gumbo and etouffee cooking in backyards. The streets were lined with families, loud music, and dancing. Plates were piled high with roast pig, buttered corn with potatoes, and fresh vegetables. Your senses are assaulted with the smells, music, dance, and torch glows...
Children through the elderly laughing, dancing, imbibing, and eating away the warm, humid night. The bayou rum flowed. Jarrod had only traveled through New Orleans on business before this trip. He had frequented the sophisticated gaming and sporting houses and fine restaurants. He had never seen this side of the city and markets.
Flambeaux were lit so the whole street seemed aglow. The wooden torches covered in pine tar rags and lit with oil to provide the light for the revelry and dancing.
"M'lady, may I have this dance?" Jarrod asked Daisy.
"I haven't ever danced before," she said shyly.
"Then it's time to learn." And they spent the next few hours dancing and laughing, He couldn't get the smile off of his face. Daisy's first dance.
The younger Beaufort sisters danced with old and young until after midnight. Elizabeth kept herself busy visiting with neighbors, declining invitations while keeping an eye on Jarrod and Daisy. He was an enigma to her.
Finally, after midnight, they all got back into their home. The New Orleans humidity was brutal and unforgiving. They were all sweating but no one cared.
Elizabeth's pale green muslin dress was damp with perspiration and a few excess gumbo spots—-and yet her pink cheeks and green eyes glowed with mirth and fun.
Her slightly unbuttoned bodice glistened in the pale light and the swell of her breast was accentuated. She had no earthly idea what that did to Jarrod. He stilled his reaction as much as he could and forced himself to lift his gaze higher. She was exquisite.
Her auburn hair was coming down from its braids into long tendrils. Jarrod found himself wanting to touch her hair and twist a couple of those curls through his fingers.
He tried to think that boyish of him. Miriam would have never let herself be seen in a less-than-perfect light. Elizabeth seemed to embrace it.
Why in the world was he comparing the woman he was going to marry with someone he just met?
It must be the bayou rum he sampled quite a bit of tonight.
Elizabeth used the washbasin to freshen up Daisy's wet brow so she would be more comfortable to sleep. It was a very warm night and all the hurricane shutters and transoms were open for any kind of breeze. Mosquito netting was hung above the beds. She was adamant not to go asleep until Jarrod came to say her prayers.
Elizabeth knocked on Jarrod's door. "Here is some ice water for the night. All those spicy foods will awaken you during the night, I guarantee " she winked and laughed. He took the cool glass from her and touched her hand. He looked into those deep green eyes for a long moment. Oh, he wanted to touch those loose curls. I think I am still a little drunk.
Elizabeth broke the spell first, "and our daughter wants you to say her prayers, Mr. Barkley".
She was unnerved by the feelings that Jarrod Barkley elicited in her. He's only here another week or so… he sees you as a guardian of his child...you can always be a friend to the man...surely he has a passel of women in California...if he knew how ruined you have been… just enjoy him while he's here, Lis...you weren't meant for this…
Jarrod was struggling to sleep himself. Feelings of longing kept him awake. It wasn't just physical desire; it was for a home. Living with the Beauforts brought that to light. He wasn't getting any younger. He had taken all impulsivity out of his romantic life. It was better that way.
The home Tom and Victoria provided for him and his siblings, the land where they lived and would die, the principles on which they raised all of the children… He wanted all of that. Building a life with Miriam Wilson...would she be comfortable on the ranch? He didn't mind living in San Francisco. He loved the city but the ranch was part of him too. He would teach her to love it. She loved Katarina, Nick's wife but she was a literal Russian princess. She had a title and the grace to go with it. Miriam was kind and courteous to Nick and Heath but seemed to always be checking their boots for manure or something. Audra and Miriam adored each other and Victoria seemed pleased, enough.
He had thought he had found it with Beth but after only a week… Regrets… Don't act on impulse...
He changed the subject quickly...since he didn't have any scotch left in his flask.
His mind went to Elizabeth, Lis to her sisters. On that day I met her and her sisters with John. They were barefoot in summer sheaths running through their large home. Long auburn tresses and big green eyes. Slight builds like children with the promise of great beauty...They reminded him of sea nymphs. He had thought them beautiful creatures that belonged in some Ancient Greek story. Muses….They introduced themselves and ran off into the recesses of that colonial plantation home.
Lis had been the oldest..she had been the one to find her sister's body, abused by those drunken scum. He had only seen her once again before he left the island. He passed the room and the door was open. He saw John by her bed crying by her bruised face and blood matted hair. It was a very private moment that he didn't want to interrupt. John never told him what happened except the sailors were now fodder for the sharks. He stayed for the funeral and left that very afternoon. He had packed the beautiful conch shell that Lily had presented him on his arrival. It went back to California and each of his offices henceforth.
Lis was a muse was his last thought as he drifted off to bed. It was a voodoo mix of the rum and the heat of New Orleans.
A couple of hours later, he awoke to a servant talking to Elizabeth in the hall. With all the transoms and windows open, Jarrod could hear every word.
"There are several of our men dead as many injured. The fire wagons are there and have the fires almost out."