Chapter Seven
The ladies settled their children down for bed. Giggles and whispers could be heard down the hall. Elize ended up with her youngest daughter and only granddaughter in bed.
She rolled over and patted the middle, "Come on, little one, my Camille. My fleur and my youngest Claire. There's plenty of room."
"Sing to me in French, please Gramere."
Brille, brille petite étoile
Dans la nuit qui se dévoile
Tout là-haut au firmament
Tu scintilles comme un diamant
Brille, brille petite étoile
Veille sur ceux qui dorment en bas
Twinkle, twinkle, little star, How I wonder what you are! Up above the world so high, Like a diamond in the sky. Twinkle, twinkle, little star, How I wonder what you are!
When the blazing sun is gone, When he nothing shines upon, Then you show your little light, Twinkle, twinkle, all the night. Twinkle, twinkle, little star, How I wonder what you are!
Then the traveller in the dark, Thank you for your tiny spark, He could not see which way to go, If you did not twinkle so. Twinkle, twinkle, little star,
How I wonder what you are!
In the dark blue sky, you keep,
And often through my curtains peep, For you never shut your eye,
Till the sun is in the sky.
Twinkle, twinkle, little star,
How I wonder what you are!
As your bright and tiny spark, Lights the traveller in the dark,— Though I know not what you are,
Twinkle, twinkle, little star. Twinkle, twinkle, little star, How I wonder what you are!
The little one nuzzled into her grandmother and fell asleep. She fell into a blissful sleep held by Elize, humming along into slumber. Elisabeth came to check but was shooed away.
"They are only little for a short time. I would enjoy the company with Pap gone and Claire is here—-we are fine. Go enjoy your sisters and cousins. We get to vote tomorrow. It will be a grand day."
Elize was especially proud of her American citizenship and volunteered in civic events whenever possible.
She kissed her granddaughter and then Claire. She had given Jarrod seven children, Claire being the last at age 30. She had Elisabeth at 17, then every two years or so, had another. Claire was the baby and the one she felt she got to enjoy the most. She grew up with Elisabeth, it seemed.
Claire spoke of her family, Grandmother Victoria, and her cousins—-all the conversations of the last days. She told her mother about a boy at church she met and her nervousness around him.
Elize smiled indulgently, "You have plenty of time, my love—-for such."
"But Mam, you were married to Pap at my age. You remember how it feels."
Elize swallowed deeply, "They had never told the children anything of their beginnings. It never seemed right to rob them of their idyllic life at the ranch. She and her sisters had created a hamlet in the Valley and raised their children together with the handsome Barkley brothers in love and peace—-far from all their humble beginnings. They never forgot where they came from and raised their children to serve, work, and create."
"Mam? Mam? Did I upset you?"
"No, my Cherie. I was thinking of you being my baby and being 15 and my granddaughter between us; it just feels like life is moving too quickly," she said softly.
She smiled at her sentimental mother.
"Seriously, mam, how did you meet Papa in Paris? The city of lights! The most romantic city in the world!"
"Ah, Parisse has a very dark side, just like San Francisco and even Stockton. Pap told you as much the last time we were in San Francisco. All cities have a bad element."
"I know. Poor neighborhoods."
"Not just the poor. In fact, the most unhappiness I have ever seen was within the wealthiest."
She furrowed her brow at her mam, "But we are wealthy?"
She smiled, "Yes, Claire and your Pappy has been very wise to earn it and how he uses it but never, never would he use it to hurt anyone. Just help. Like the holy book says."
"So, how did you meet Pap?"
She sighed and knew the children had seen the painting in Jarrod's private dressing closets.
I guess it was time. Well, only a few details.
"My mother left when I was small. She was a laundress for the Palais Royale,
Gardiner; my Papa was a shepherd and an actor. He worked half the year in the meadows of L'Anse and the other half in Paris as a handyman. He was a tenor and wanted to perform on the stage; he taught me to sing and paid for me to learn ballet. He died when I was thirteen. The maestro took me in, and I was given some small parts and earned my keep cleaning and stitching for the ballerinas. At fifteen, I auditioned and received my first main role—a solo. I met your father, who was visiting from Portugal. He looked so handsome in his black tie and tails. We married within two weeks, and he brought me back to the ranch."
"Oh, Mam. Did you miss dancing?"
"No. As I said, it was a very sad world. Your father brought me much joy and happiness in America. And now my children have the freedom to make their own choices. Elisabeth and her attorney—-your brothers, Louisa in art school, Rose and her rancher—-all made their own choices, as you will. I have given you the best childhood possible and laughter, ah, laughter. Much of it."
"Did you not laugh growing up in France?"
"Nah, we didn't. There was never enough, and I danced when I wasn't working. I knew my place was to earn money too."
"Thank you, Mam. I am glad Pap found you."
"Me too, my Cherie. Me too."
She laid back on her pillow, relieved that Claire was satisfied with the small portion of the story.
—-&—-
Claire and Camille were cuddled at her side, and Elize had trouble sleeping. The memories of ballet and the Palais still terrified her.
I was huddled on the divan. I was trying to quit crying. The other women had assured me I must do this—I was bought and sold to a bidder. If I did not please him by willingly giving my virginity, I would lose my role in the show and be thrown out on the streets, and they did not pay as well—-they scared me of diseases and starvation. It was the way of a dancer. It was the way of the world. In fact, they thought I was lucky I made it to fifteen intact. They rubbed my body with oils, brushed out my hair, trimmed my nails, and put me in a sheer nightgown. They reminded me of all the things I could do to gain his favor and not show displeasure at any of them. I was to act dramatically and make him feel like a man—no matter my pain or the smell of him or his weight. It was the lot of a woman. One of them told me she had to do this with men watching around the room in the old moulin. I had to walk into the room earlier to the catcalls and filthy comments from the gallery. They told me they would come back for me and help me tend any wounds. They knew all about those and had oils and salves ready. I was trying not to vomit and calm my shaking hands.
Jarrod walked into the room. I tried to be invisible, pushed into the back of the velvet chaise. He looked around for me, and then his eyes settled upon me. He looked mortified, even angry. Was I that unattractive? Did he regret his bid? Would he ask for his money to be returned? Was I to be shunned anyways? Wild ideas flew through my head.
He walked out of the room. I gathered my things, assuming I had failed and would be reauctioned or, worse, set upon the street. He came back in with a friend. Were they to share me? I wanted to die. He put his jacket over me, and his friend, Armand, translated.
"Elize, Mr. Barkley from America won you in a poker game tonight. He wishes you to return to his hotel suite with him. I promise Elize; he will not harm you. He wants to spare you this mortification."
"No. I don't know him."
"Elize, please. If not, you will be put up for bid again."
Jarrod looked at her sadly, "Please, Mademoiselle Elize. I only want to talk."
She knew enough English to understand, and she trusted his eyes. She barely nodded.
She went to her shared room and packed her few possessions. Her street dress was not to be found and was likely in the wash bin or borrowed by wanted them with her if she was to be kicked out for failing.
His friend put her cloak around her, and they walked out to catcalls and innuendos.
Jarrod quickly took her from the opera house into a waiting carriage. He didn't speak a word but stared out the window at the Hotel d'Alsace. He spoke to the desk clerk, and he nodded.
"Oui Monsieur Barkley. It will be about ten minutes. Ines is a fine la femme de chambre."
She took a sigh of relief—-he got her a chambermaid.
He handed Jarrod a room key. They rode up together in silence.
"Elize, I know you are not in a situation of your making."
She frowned, "No good English."
The chambermaid knocked about that time, and Jarrod went to answer the door.
"English and French?"
"Yes, sir. Oui."
Jarrod, Elize, and the chambermaid had an awkward conversation. Jarrod told Elize she would not have to go back to the opera; tears filled her eyes in relief.
"I will help you get a new start. Armand explained your predicament and what is expected of you. I want to be a friend. I am a lawyer, l' avoué in the states and I have the resources to give you a new life."
The chambermaid translated the words that Elize did not understand.
She frowned, "Your mistress?"
Jarrod replied, "No, your friend."
He showed her an empty bedroom and gave her a key. He bowed and said, "Bonne unit, mademoiselle Elize."
—-&—-
His grandson woke up in the middle of the night and needed to relieve himself. Jarrod smiled and lit a lantern. They walked to the tree line, and he hit the spot his Pappy dared him to hit. He promised the boy a new marble if he could hit the knot on the tree. He did. They laughed conspiratorially.
"Let's not tell your mother. It's men talk."
"Yes sir, Pappy. That's what poppa says when we hunt and don't take a bath or break wind or eat dessert before supper."
"That's right, son. Your Uncle Nick and I had some mighty funny bets in our day."
He whispered to his Pappy, "Me and my brother too."
Jarrod ruffled his grandson's head and kissed the top of it. Tears seemed close to the surface. Since his heart scare, he found himself more emotional.
He tucked the boy back into the bedroll and checked on McColl. He was sleeping soundly. Jarrod sighed. He knew it would be a matter of time before his father's foreman, his mother, Aunt Jane, and Silas—the generation before him would find their eternal rest. He dreaded that inevitable day. It weighed on him.
He settled back between his grandsons. He looks over them with pride.
"They look so much alike our Elisabeth at that age—-and thus, my Elize."
He watched her walk tentatively to the guest bedroom with the chambermaid in tow. He heard the lock turn; he walked back and poured a scotch.
"Armand says this is a whim. I should send her back. I have angered some very powerful men. They will even pay me $7000 for her return. I have offended the aristocracy. It is their prerogative to sample the young ingenues of the ballet and they pay mightily for the privilege. By taking Elize, I have made enemies and upset the status quo. But I can't return her. Armand says she has no family and ballet is her only chance in society to find a wealthy patron to support her. It was the way."
"Not my way." he spat as he downed his scotch.
Her eyes haunted him. He couldn't take her back to the opera house unless she wanted to go. He would ask her to come with him to America and stake her new life.
And he slept contentedly for the first time in years—-
He awoke fresh and energized for the first time since Eleanor had died four years before with their child. He made a mental list of what Elize would need for a new life. He would get her a visa, clothes, an education—- If she chose. He began to put his plans into action at daybreak.
—
Elize tried to move without disturbing her granddaughter. Camille was holding her Mam tightly. Her mind wandered back to 1880.
While Elize tossed and turned all night, her chambermaid slept on the trundle. She frowned at being awoken by the slight lady above her.
"Mademoiselle, you are making yourself miserable. He is a good man or he would not have given you a key or hired me to chaperone."
"True. I am scared for my future without the Palais. Yes, they sold me, but it is all I know. I know how to clean, dance, and sew. I can barely read or write. If they cast me out?"
"Mademoiselle, the American will take care of you. You could do much worse. He at least bathes and has funds. Or take your chances on the street? I think not. He would be a fine tumble if I say so myself. He is magnifique. If he wanted me, I would become a libertine, an acrobat, or risqué. I would show him what these lips could do—" and she started describing sexual acts.
Elize was mortified. She was not naïve and had witnessed all such at the Palais; the dancers the night before had instructed her again in such But—-"Merci beau coup—-I am sorry I woke you. Please forgive me, you have been so kind."
Dawn woke the ladies, and Elize put on her sheer provocative gown of the evening, provided by the Palais. Her cleaning smock in the bag seemed shabby in this room of gilt and velvet. She looked over at the cloak. She couldn't decide if she should wear it to breakfast. She peeked out the door; Jarrod was sitting at a table with a silver coffee carafe and a tray of food—-reading a newspaper. Rolled-up shirt sleeves with pin-striped pants. She decided to wear the cloak.
She looked at him in the morning light. He was a very handsome man, likely her father's age. He seemed to notice her, and he smiled. Her stomach fluttered. It was an honest smile that reached his honest eyes.
He stood up and motioned to the tray, "petit-déjeuner?"
"Breakfast." she smiled as she walked out with her cloak on her shoulders.
"Bonjour," with a twinkle in his eye.
"Good morn, " she replied.
He pointed to the toast, "Ummmm, toast,"
"Pain grillé," she laughed.
He pointed to the jellies, "Jam?"
"Confiture." with her easy smile.
They spent the next few minutes sharing French and English words; their pleasant discourse was interrupted by a knock on the door.
Elize pulled her cloak tighter around her in modesty. Jarrod noticed and was pleased with her innocence and care in appearances. She tried not to make too much eye contact, but she kept catching a glimpse of his sapphire eyes.
"The bluest I have ever seen." she shuddered, "And he smells like bay and fine tobacco."
Armand was at the door, "Good Morning. I have made contact with the American Embassy. We have an appointment at 1 pm."
The chambermaid appeared by lunch with a simple, elegant day dress, gloves, boots, and a hat. Jarrod had even thought that through for her. He had sent her a list for the concierge, even suggesting green and calfskin. He gave him coin for the finest items he could find—- and a bribe for expediency and quality. He had even had the chambermaid measure her slippers.
"What kind of man have I found? Or found me?" she wondered as she touched the fine materials.