(3)
Perched atop the highest rise of the Garden District, the doctor's home was a three story French colonial of pink stucco. An intricate framework of elaborate wrought iron railings and balconies formed a garland around each level. Dr Chapman directed the driver to a side portico. A dark skinned servant of middle years and ample girth met them.
His attire was identical to the doctor's, although the condition was a bit threadbare, and the fit a half size too snug. He wore on his face a disapproving scowl. "Sir? I was just making preparations to fetch you."
"No need." Chapman replied as he assisted Kitty from the carriage, "Zebulon, we have a guest, this is Kathleen Russell."
The black man bowed his head in reverence to the mourning clothes. His voice was a rich baritone, and his speech articulate, the mark of an educated man, "Welcome to Mayhaw Mrs. Russell. May I express my sincerest sympathy for your obvious sorrow, if I may be of any assistance during your stay please do not hesitate to call upon me."
She didn't correct him on his misuse of her title, for it was exactly what she wished him to think, "Thank you Mr. Zebulon."
The servant turned to John Chapman, "Shall I take her things to the North guest room, sir?"
"I believe the South room might be better, although not as spacious as the other, there's a view of the river that's a balm to the spirit."
"Yes sir. That is true sir." Zebulon agreed. He began unloading her trunk and carpetbags from the vehicle.
Offering his arm again, Kitty and John Chapman walked up a series of shallow stone stairs and into the home. "John I had no idea …" Kitty began as she took in the scope and grandeur of the mansion.
Everything was scaled to larger than life proportions from the freestanding white oak staircase, which traveled the three floors to the magnificent crystal chandelier hanging over the main hall.
Chapman glanced around as if seeing it though her eyes. "It is rather splendid isn't it? My late Uncle's home …Mayhaw, named for the trees in the orchard of course. I inherited it when he passed on. I've never had much use for it, but Annabelle is attached."
A tall well built young woman, with up tilted eyes and skin the color of creamed coffee scurried to greet them. She was dressed in a maroon gown topped by a prim white apron. Tied around her head was the traditional seven-knotted scarf called a tignon. Once a law in New Orleans, a woman of mixed-color was required to wear the scarf to define her race. The tignon soon became a symbol of pride. Renee wore the cloth as royalty might wear a crown. She bobbed her knees, "Monsieur Doctor." Her accent was that Cajun gumbo mixture of French Creole derived from the descendants of the French who first settled Louisiana in the early 1700s, and the Creole, developed from African slaves brought to work on their plantations. Over the years it had taken on a dialect as richly original as the Louisiana bayou itself.
"Renee, this is an old friend of mine, Kitty Russell, she will be staying with us."
The younger woman smiled shyly, and bobbed, "Bonjour Madame."
"Hello Renee." Kitty answered.
"Please find Miss Annabelle, I'd like to introduce her to our guest before we show her to her room."
"Oui Monsieur, she is in zee kitchen seeing to the menu, there are guests coming for dinner."
Chapman rolled his eyes at Kitty as Renee hurried from the room in search of the doctor's sibling, "My sister likes to play the grand hostess of the manor, which is not exactly my idea of a relaxing evening. Fortunately, at least for me … more often than not, I'm called away to the hospital for some emergency."
It took a moment before Annabelle appeared. She was a petite, curvy blond. No longer young, her hair and clothing gave the illusion of youth. She wore her abundant corkscrew curls pulled to the side, with flirty bangs fringing her forehead. Her gown was an expensive iridescent blue taffeta, with plunging neckline and decorated by innumerable chocolate colored velvet bows. Her blue eyes were shaped like saucers and dimples framed her delicate rosebud mouth. Without question she epitomized the very phrase, `southern belle'. However despite the impression her looks gave, when she spoke it was with short annoyance, "What is it John? Didn't the girl tell you I was busy?"
Chapman nodded his head in Kitty's direction, "I've brought home a guest."
Kitty thought the doctor's sister looked at her as if noticing her for the first time, although how one could miss 20 yards of black crepe de chine, she didn't know. The small blonde's voice and demeanor immediately adjusted itself to fit her image. Her drawl intensified, "Oh, my stars! How can you ever forgive me for being so rude, Sugar?"
To Kitty, John said with a sweep of his hand, "Kitty Russell this is my sister Annabelle Angelique Chapman, Taylor, Booker, Nash." He added in explanation of the names, "She is a widow times three."
"I'm so sorry." Kitty murmured, clearly taken off guard by the other woman.
In respect to her deceased husbands, Annabelle's eyelashes fluttered. The honey in her voice flowed freely, "It is a cross I must bear, and tragically it appears a cross we share."
"Annabelle, Miss Kitty is a friend of mine. I have offered our home as a haven from her grief. It is to be hoped that a change of scene can ease her heartache and return her to health."
Annabelle slowly appraised Kitty's figure from head to toe, despite the heavy black crepe it was obvious to Annabelle her brother's friend was a magnificent figure of a woman. Her eyelashes fluttered again, "My dear brother, one never recovers from grief, one simply learns to endure. Might I be so bold as to ask where you and my brother became acquainted?"
With a look of silent warning, Chapman glanced at Kitty and gave a quick wink before turning back to his sister, "Colonel Russell, and I served together during the war."
"Your husband was a medical man?" Annabelle asked.
"Her husband was an officer." John replied.
"Russell … I'm familiar with Russells living in Boone Parish. What did you say his first name was?"
"I didn't my dear, and that is not your concern at present. But if you feel you must know it was … Cooper." Chapman replied smoothly.
Undeterred Annabelle continued with her questioning, "Where about are your people from Mrs. Russell?"
"Mississippi …" Kitty answered quickly this time, not giving John the opportunity, "Colonel Russell was from Mississippi."
"Sister you'll have plenty of time to get to know Kitty, but right now I want her to rest, she's had a long trip and she's been under a heavy burden of grief."
"Yes, yes of course Sugar."
She looked at Kitty again; competition for eligible wealthy men was keen in a town known for beautiful women. Annabelle had plans for her dinner party that didn't include another pretty face. She couldn't be sure what was hidden behind the veil but if it matched the rest of her this woman spelled trouble, "Since you are in mourning, you'll want someplace quiet and out of the way. I think the servant's room behind the kitchen would be appropriate. In your heartache, you will have no wish to join in the gaiety of our dinner guests. I'll have someone leave a tray of soup for you."
John's voice was firm, "Zebulon is taking her baggage to the South guest room, and I'm sure after an hour or so rest, Miss Kitty will be more than ready to join us in welcoming your dinner guests."
Kitty inhaled sharply, she was in no frame of mind to socialize, "I don't think…"
"It will do you good, doctor's orders." Chapman patted Kitty's gloved hand, which still rested in the crook of his arm. "Come my dear, I'll escort you to your room."
Once they were at the top of the stairs Kitty whispered, "You didn't let me get a word in edgewise."
"I thought it best I deal with Annabelle, she can be … ah… shall we say difficult for want of a better word."
"I sensed that … John … may I ask, why did you give my dearly departed spouse the name of "Cooper"?"
"It was the first name that came to my mind. I was treating a Mr. Cooper today for the gout."
Kitty smiled, something she hadn't done in days, "Am I to presume that is the affliction which led to the Colonel's untimely demise?"
He opened a bedroom door and allowed her to pass in a head of him. "Let's just tell folks … he died from complications of an old war injury. Most folks are too polite to question a statement like that further." He watched as she removed the heavy veil from her bonnet and then unpinned the hat, revealing the vibrant red of her hair. Her pale skin, void of makeup had an ethereal quality to it that lent a ghostly beauty to her face. When she turned to look at him, he noticed for the first time the vestiges of the scar on her cheekbone.
Feeling his gaze, her hand touched the imperfection, "Part of the legacy of Jude Bonner…" she explained, "I've learned to conceal it with moistened powder, Doc says in time it will fade completely …"
"I've no doubt he's right, time heals Kitty … time heals all wounds. You rest now, I'll send Renee up in an hour or so to help you unpack and get ready for this evening."
"Thank you John, for everything."
He smiled and nodded his head, and then left her.