(4)
The room was decorated in mid-century Victorian. The bed, bureau and armoire were all heavy pieces, ornately carved and inlaid. An enormous gilt framed mirror hung on one wall, flanked by Chippendale chairs. On the opposite wall, a bay window offered an expanded view of the town and the river below. She walked to the bed, it was enormous and required a step to get into. It was blanketed by a red brocade coverlet, which matched the draperies. Sitting next to the window seat, somewhat incongruous to the rest of the furnishings was a Shaker style rocking chair with gingham padding. The room looked nothing like home and the thought of occupying this strange space alone brought with it a wave of melancholy.
She forced the sad thoughts from her mind, for she knew she couldn't get through the next few days until she was examined by the doctor, if she allowed herself to be haunted by memories. She climbed the step to the bed and lay down; closing her eyes she promptly fell asleep.
She awoke forty-five minutes later, feelings slightly disoriented by her surroundings. Like a flash it all came back to her and she sat up in bed with her heart pounding. She forced herself to calm down. Her only solice in this situation was the fact John Chapman had offered her a port in the storm. As promised Renee came to her room, she carried a pot of tea, and plate of shortbread cookies. As Kitty sat in the rocking chair sipping the tea and nibbling the cookies, the maid, carefully unpacked Kitty's black wardrobe. She hung the dresses and skirts and neatly folded the rest in the mahogany bureau.
The one concession Kitty had packed to the glamour of her past life was the black satin and lace evening dress. Renee held it up and whistled, "Madame will wear this gown tonight? I will steam out zee wrinkles."
As she worked Renee kept up a steady stream of talk, filling Kitty in on the household pecking order. It seemed despite her diminutive size; John's sister ruled the roost and had everyone trembling in her wake. "You don't want to get on the wrong side of zee Mademoiselle Annabelle, she got a mean temper, and a wicked tongue. Madam Malloy come next, she zee cook, and as long as she in Mademoiselle's good graces you must do as she says. Mr. Zebulon doesn't have to answer to any one, except Monsieur Doctor. Lorinda, Marcia and I, we do za work."
"Three girls to take care of a house this size, you must work very hard."
"Oui Madam."
"It shows; the home is spotless."
"It never good enough to suit zee Mademoiselle. Shall I draw za bath Madame Kit-tee?"
She wasn't used to being waited on. "Thank you Renee, if you'll just show me where the wash room is, I can take care of drawing my own bath."
Any changes in her figure in the last months had only served to enhance it. Due to a queasy stomach, her waist was trimmer than it had been in years, while her breasts were full and voluptuous. Dressed in the black satin, Kitty looked and felt more like herself; and could almost forget the circumstances for being in New Orleans. She carefully applied the powder concealet to her face, hiding the scar and her freckles. She added kohl to darken her eyelashes and rouge to color her lips. In any other city, such face paint, especially on a widow might appear scandalous, in New Orleans it was expected. Home to crafty riverboat gamblers, beautiful quadroon courtesans, shrewd women of loose morals, and diamond bedecked pirates, the town had long lived up to the notorious label of Sin City, conditions had only become more shocking in the years after the war. No one could disagree with a local sheriff who had dubbed it as a "perfect hell on earth."
Like Kitty, Annabelle had taken special care with her appearance that evening. Her hair was piled in an enormous heap of curls and decorated with flowers and beads. The gown she wore was a pink confection of netting and lace, which seemed to Kitty, might have been more appropriate for a young girl. The dinner guests, mostly prominent citizens of New Orleans included a middle-aged banker, Randolph Boudry, who had lost his wife some years earlier and now was clearly locked in Annabelle's sights. Unfortunately, he seemed more taken with Kitty than with Annabelle. He listened intently as Kitty relayed an amusing story about Doc and Festus. "An elderly frontier doctor was trying to convince his friend, a man with no formal education raised in the hills of Missouri, to buy real estate as a financial investment. He suggested his friend buy a `lot.' The friend replied, 'a lot of what?' The old doctor answered, 'a little lot of land,' and the confused friend countered, `a little is a little and a lot is a lot and how can a little be a lot …"
Boudry threw back his head and laughed, "Mrs. Russell, you are an absolute delight, beauty of mind and body is a rare and valuable commodity."
Annabelle's saucer eyes narrowed to slits, "Sugar, one would never guess you're suffering a bereavement."
Kitty returned with a smile, "As you said Annabelle, `one never recovers from grief, one simply learns to endure."
"Touche."
A guest sitting opposite her smiled, "No one mourns in New Orleans at least not for long. Death is inevitable and life a celebration. A funeral is just one more cause for a parade and party."
Boudry agreed, "That's the truth, I hear there isn't another city on the face of the earth, that builds houses and creates cities for their dead the way we do."
With obvious pride, a woman seated on the other side of John Chapman remarked, "Other folks keep their skeletons hidden in a closet, here in New Orleans, we invite them out to dance."
Tired and uneasy with Annabelle's look of thinly disguised dislike, Kitty excused herself early and retired to her room while the other guests were drinking brandy and chicory laced coffee. Renee appeared moments later. "Madame Kit-tee would like me to help her undress?"Kitty was standing in front of the bedrooms six-foot tall gilt framed mirror. "That's not necessary, I've been undressing myself for years now."
"Oui, but Madame has a sad heart, I think she needs someone to take care of her for a while."
"You are perceptive."
"What does this mean … perceptive?" Renee asked as she began undoing the line of buttons down Kitty's back.
"It means … you know things without needing someone to tell you … you sense it."
Renee stopped the unbuttoning and their eyes met in the mirror, "Voudon? I read your mind?"
It had been years since she'd heard the word, "Voodoo? Yes … maybe … that is it."
Renee went back to work on the buttons, "My grandmother was Marie Laveau." She waited for a moment to see if the name registered with Kitty.
An image passed before her eyes, remembrances of a childhood long forgotten came back to her, "Marie Laveau? The Marie Laveau, the Voodoo Queen?"
"Oui, you know of her then."
"Listen honey, I'd defy anyone born in New Orleans not to have heard of her."
It was only a slight frown that wrinkled her brow at the news, "But Madame, you told zee Mademoiselle you were from Mississippi."
Kitty grimaced at her slip up, "So I did Renee, so I did."
Renee held out a hand as Kitty stepped from the gown, their eyes met in the mirror again and this time they exchanged a smile.
When Renee left, Kitty moved to the window seat. As John Chapman had promised the room had a magnificent view of the river. With the light from a full moon, she could see past the swamps to the brightly lit gambling boats moored on the river. She could see too, one of the cities of the dead that New Orleans was so famous for. Because the community had been built mostly below sea level, the traditional method of burying the deceased in the ground had proven inadequate. Coffins often returned to the surface and in times of flooding could be seen floating through the streets of town. By 1800 above ground burial had been established, the individual crypts taking on the form of miniature houses made from plastered and whitewashed brick and later granite and marble. The styles were varied architecturally, the classical revival style was prominent, but there were also Baroque, Gothic, Egyptian and Eastern examples. Kitty recalled as a child watching her own mother being placed in such a tomb in the `city of the dead'.
The window was open and she could hear the beat of the drums and calabashes and the chanting voices of the Negroes assembled in Congo Square. Before the Civil War, slaves had been allowed to gather in the field on Orleans and Rampant St. on Sundays, and religious holidays. Here they were allowed free expression of their African customs, especially dancing to the tribal music of the drums. Here too, they practiced the religion of Voodoo; the New Orleans version - a strange combination of African pagan worship and Catholicism. Renee's grandmother, a free woman of color named Marie Laveau, rose to prominence in the 1830s for her ability to provide supernatural aid to those in desperate situations. For a price, she would cast and remove spells, concoct love potions, and tell the future. There was some discussion especially by the skeptics, as to which of her skills was more prominent, clairvoyance or business acumen.
After a time Kitty left the widow seat to crawl under the smooth satiny sheets of the four-poster bed. She closed her eyes and looked for sleep, listening to the pounding rhythm of the drums from Congo Square.
Her mind wouldn't rest. Every thought reminded her of home and Matt Dillon. The memory was not sweet for it also carried with it the knowledge of the reason she'd returned to New Orleans. It was the thought of that unimaginable curse which plagued her. Time and again she asked the silent question, `why me?' Her reply, inspired by a sense of self-preservation, was to block Matt's image from her memory.
GS GS GS GS
She put on a black wool dress, ornamented only by fine pin tucking of the bodice. It was fortunate she wore black well, for even the plainest garment took on elegance when draped against her fair skin and red hair.
She met John as she was coming down the stairs for breakfast. "Good morning, I trust you slept well."
She nodded, "Yes, thank you."
The answer was a lie. He was physician enough to see the truth and friend enough not to question her further. "You'll feel better once you've seen the doctor, Kitty. It is hard to deal with the unknown, for you can't plan ahead when you have no direction to the path of the future."
"I'm not sure I want to know the future."
"That is understandable. However, I think you will find no problem is insurmountable. I'm sorry I won't be able to spend time with you today; I have a full schedule of patients this morning, as well as lectures to medical students this afternoon. I trust Annabelle will do her best to keep you entertained."
In the grand dining room, the table had been reduced in size from the evening before but was still large enough to accommodate eight Hepplewhite lyre-backed chairs. Kitty was already seated at the table when John's sister made her appearance. Annabelle's short stature was dressed for the day in a green and white checked percale. The gown had a square yoke accented by two rows of ribbons and ruffles. A large bustle highlighted the backside. She made an elaborate show of swishing around the dining room before taking her seat at the head of the table. Clearly she considered herself superior to Kitty. Her tone was meant to impress, "I'm sure you'll understand Sugar, as one of the prominent figures of New Orleans high society, my schedule is not my own. I know John mentioned I would be keeping you company, but I'm afraid that is simply not possible. I have dress fittings today for a very important social function next week, after which I've been invited to tea with the Loyal Order of the Ladies of the Confederacy. I'm afraid you will have to amuse yourself. John has an excellent library if you're the bookish type."
"Don't worry about me." Kitty said, dreading being alone with her thoughts but relieved she wouldn't have to put up with a full day of Annabelle.
She'd finished coffee and toast and was ready to leave the table when the doorbell rang and moments later Zebulon appeared at the room's massive archway, "Mr. Randolph Boudry." He announced. The banker was dressed in an elegant day suit and top hat and carrying a gold knobbed ebony walking stick. He nodded his head at Annabelle walking past her to Kitty, He made a formal bow, "Forgive my impetuous nature lovely lady, but I would greatly enjoy taking you for an early morning ride and showing off some of the sites of our fair city."
Annabelle's look could have set fire to a prairie, but she managed to keep her soft voice in check, "Mr. Boudry, have you forgotten? Mrs. Russell is in mourning, she can hardly be seen gadding about town in the company of a handsome eligible gentleman."
Boudry chuckled, "Miss Annabelle, we dispensed with the mourning issue last night. My only wish is to provide your beautiful guest with a diversion from grief. I know John is busy with his duties at St. Catherine's."
Kitty rose from the table, placing the napkin to the side of her plate, "I think a tour of New Orleans would be a most welcomed diversion, will you give me a moment to get ready?"
He bowed his head, "Only a moment, for you are perfect as you are and need not the primping required by most of the fair sex."
Annabelle's eyes narrowed, her pretty mouth puckered and she folded her arms across her heaving bosom. Randolph Boudry appeared not to notice her tantrum. He sat down at the table and helped himself to a cup of coffee.
When Kitty returned to the room it was in black bonnet and veil. Randolph looked disappointed at being deprived of the site he'd been looking forward to. But Annabelle seemed slightly appeased. She made one last attempt at gaining her would be suitor's favor. With dimples in place and eyelashes fluttering, she cooed, "Randolph honey, I'm trying to decide which dress would be most appropriate for your soirée. Do you prefer me in pink or red?"
He raised an eyebrow; "I never felt a woman over a certain age should dress herself in colors, draws attention to that best left disguised." He held an arm out to Kitty, "Shall we go my dear?"
The carriage was an elegant boxlike coach known as a `brougham'. It accommodated two passengers and was pulled by a matching team of chestnut hackney geldings. A black coachman in livery attire sat on the outside in the drivers seat. Randolph helped her into the conveyance before he climbed in. With a backward glance Kitty saw a disgruntled Annabelle watching from a front widow.
The ride did prove a pleasant distraction; the carriage took them past the LaBrace building on Royal Street, where Boudry pointed out the filigree ironwork cast in acorn and oak leaf design. They traveled by the magnificent buildings of Tulane University, to Jackson Square, the Cabildo and St. Louis Cathedral. Boudry proved a charming companion, for he had a wealth of interesting stories to divert her mind from her problems.
"I understand about loss Mrs. Russell, I still miss my wife even though I've been without her for several years now. After a while you come to the realization that life does indeed go on."
"I'm sure you're right." Kitty replied although not agreeing, for she knew life for her, without Dillon in it, was without value.
As the carriage pulled around the Mayhaw portico on their return to John Chapman's house, Randolph asked, "May I request the honor of your presence for a carriage ride again tomorrow, there is still much of the city to see?"
"I don't think so, but I thank you just the same."
He persisted, "Perhaps another day?"
"Perhaps." She hedged.
"The day after tomorrow then." He asked refusing any answer but a positive one.
She smiled at his persistence, "Yes, I'll look forward to it."
Chapman was pleased when she told him about Boudry's attentions that evening. He liked the banker. He'd doctored his wife through her illness, and knew how deeply affected Randolph had been by her death. He also knew his sister had designs on the wealthy widower and he felt it might be good for Annabelle not to get everything she set her fancy to.
Kitty rode with Randolph twice more that week and on the weekend he joined the Chapman's for a quiet dinner, and it was at that meal he asked Kitty to be his guest at his upcoming party.
"It should be pleasant," he promised, "the first party I've given since Miss Winifred passed on. I would be proud to have a beautiful woman on my arm to take away some of the nervousness."
Kitty shook her head, "I don't know Mr. Boudry. I don't think I'm up to the kind of event you describe."
"Come with John and Annabelle if you think that might be more appropriate." Randolph persuaded, "and I promise if you feel uncomfortable you may leave."
She was looking for an excuse, "I don't really have anything along that would be appropriate to wear."
"The dress you wore at our first meeting is most beautiful especially with you wearing it."
Chapman concurred, "It will do you good Kitty and as Randolph said, you may leave the moment you feel ill at ease."
Kitty gave a pleading look to Chapman, surely he knew the party was the same day as her doctor appointment with the specialist John had recommended. She couldn't look past that appointment, for her future hinged on its results. Her face had become paler and there was a slight tremor to her hand as she set down her coffee cup. "We'll see Mr. Boudry, but please don't plan on me."