(9)
John insisted she join him for dinner in the dining room. "A change of scene will do you good." He encouraged.
She couldn't stand looking in the mirror as the repulsive evidence of the crime against her body grew larger and larger. Nor could she tolerate the thought of anyone else seeing her, for the fact her womb housed the offspring of the Dog Soldiers filled her with shame. She couldn't explain this to Chapman; so much of what she was going through he couldn't seem to understand. So she merely and honestly replied, "John, I don't have anything to wear."
This was a truth Chapman could understand for even her nightgowns had grown tight and stretched to the limit across her ever expanding figure, "A situation easily remedied my dear." He called in a dressmaker to create several new gowns and shirtwaists to go with her advancing pregnancy.
As she regained some of her lost strength, he invited guests he felt she might be comfortable with. He selected those people who could stimulate her interest in life around her. Notably absent was Randolph Boudry, who since learning of her delicate condition had made himself scarce. Word was he had taken a riverboat to St. Louis and was again courting Annabelle. The disclosure of this news had been rewarded by one of Kitty's rare smiles. "That must make your sister very happy."
On several occasions Professor Pittlekow and his daughter Adelheide, who was also a physician had joined them. During those meals the talk inevitably turned to medicine and Kitty was left out of the discussion. She was not bothered by their absorption in their profession. In fact, she was glad to be relieved of the responsibility for polite conversation.
On their first meeting, Kitty had asked the younger woman if she, like her father specialized in the female reproductive system.
"No." Adelheide answered. Unlike the Professor her voice was more American than German, "I am a surgeon. Even in this day and age, people are reluctant to see a female doctor, but in my specialty more often than not, they have no choice if they need surgery to survive."
In an attempt at humor, John added, "Addie is a brilliant seamstress."
His efforts brought a grimace instead to the woman's no-nonsense features. "I think it highly shortsighted to equate to my skills as surgeon with that of a common hausfrau."
Oozing with Southern charm John Chapman replied, "My dear, I was paying you a compliment."
Kitty sensed the tension in the air between the two of them. Given the proper amount of kindling, sparks could fly. She gave Addie a closer look; her severely coifed hair, was dark blond, her bushy eyebrows were a straight line across her forehead. Her pale eyelashes almost non-existent, and her face showed not a glimmer of emotion when she spoke. It occurred to Kitty that it other days she would have taken the girl under her wing in an effort to feminize her. Now she was too weary to bother.
It always came as a release when the dinner party was over and John or Zebulon would assist her back up the stairs to the South bedroom.
GSGSGS
The rhythm of the drums echoed from Congo Square, the pounding keeping time with the flicker of the candle by her bedside table as it danced with the night music. The wind picked up and so did the pulsating beat, growing stronger, faster, harder, striving … seeking … building to a frantic crescendo until the climax was reached. In the momentary quiet the listener was left spent in its wake. Soon the beat began again.
Renee was going about her work quietly, tidying the bedroom thinking Kitty was asleep, for her form was so still beneath the covers. She wasn't. She had been remembering back to her childhood and a night like this when she had listened to the same pagan cadence. Her mother had told her to ignore the pounding when she'd asked about it. She'd shut the window against the cooling breezes, "Those are evil God-less sounds Kathleen, and you must make every effort not to listen." The next day she'd bought for the little girl a music box and when the drums played in Congo Square, her mother had wound the key so her daughter would have the pleasant tinkling tune to listen to instead of sensual tempo of the ritualistic beat.
Panacea Sikes had had a broader view when Kitty asked her a year or so later, "The colored folk say it's a call to the spirit world and the forces that rule it. To me it sounds like the beat of life. I like it … almost makes me want to go out there and dance with them."
Now all these years later she was asking questions again, "What is it they are doing down there?"
Renee turned to look at her, startled not by the nature of the question but by the question itself, for Madame had shown little interest in life outside Mayhaw since that night at the house on Dumaine Street in the Vieux Carre. "It is the mating dance … the Bamboula. Tonight they pay homage to Damballa, the Snake god who grants wishes good and evil."
Kitty looked at Renee with new eyes as she remembered an early conversation with the black woman on her first night at Mayhaw, "You said your Grandmother was Marie Laveau the Voodoo Queen."
"Oui … she was most powerful … her daughter … my tante, my Aunt has taken her place … she has much power as well."
Kitty propped herself on an elbow, "Do you believe in Voodoo?"
"Madame, as did my aieule, grand-mere, as did my maman and my tante, I attend Mass at the Cathedral of St. Louis."
"But … do you believe in voodoo."
Renee moved closer, she took Kitty's pillow and plumped it, "Madame Kit-tee, I believe there are more powers in heaven and earth then we in this life can understand. I believe there is good and evil in this world, just as there is black and white. I believe there is `gris', gray, which starts as neither good nor evil. I believe the spirits, which dwell in sky, trees, snakes and birds, grant us gifts. They give us the power to right wrongs, to heal, to love and be happy." She gave Kitty a gentle nudge so she was resting again on the pillow, "That is enough talking now, you must sleep for yourself and the bebe."
GS GS GS GS
"Are you up to a carriage ride?" John asked her several mornings later.
She shook her head, knowing there was no place she cared to visit.
"I think it would do you good my dear, it has been months since you've been out of this house." He went to the window and drew up the blinds revealing the early morning haze. "It looks like it is going to be a pleasant day and the ride will be short."
She gave a small smile and lifted a sardonic eyebrow, "It sounds like you've already made up my mind."
"I have, I'd like to take you to the orphanage at the convent, it will put your mind at ease to see the child will be taken care of after it is born." She was wearing a black gown, which ran in capacious pleats from her breasts to the hem. It was so large it would have allowed Kitty to double her present size and still have room to spare. She sat a little straighter in the rocking chair the exercise setting it in motion. "No need, I trust you."
Not taking `no' for an answer, he pulled a black shawl from her closet, "I'm glad to hear it. Trust me with this little trip as well."
Reluctantly, she acquiesced to his wishes with a downward sweep of her eyelashes. She pressed her hands on the arms of the chair and raised her body to stand. It took considerable effort, for her strength had still not returned. He watched her move toward him with the dignity and sadness of exiled royalty. Years of practice were not easily denied. Even in the face of despair, she held her head high and her shoulders back. Above average height in stature, she carried her pregnancy well with only slight traces of the bloating and puffiness that came to so many women. Her skin remained flawless, save for the faintly visible scar and the dark circles under her eyes betraying nights without the comfort of sleep.
He gently placed the cape upon her shoulders, "Come along my dear, Zebulon has the carriage waiting."
A frown creased her unwrinkled brow, "Why did you ask, if you weren't really giving me a choice?" she wondered aloud.
"Because my dear, I am a gentleman and a gentleman always asks a lady."
The convent was located on Dauphine St, on the lower edge of the city. Looking like a mythological castle fated to dwell in the clouds, the convent loomed upward from the low hanging fog. It was obviously an ancient building, or rather series of buildings, which had been added on to by each subsequent generation. The additions were reflected in a change in brick and style. A ten-foot wrought iron fence, decorated with gothic crosses and strange medieval fighting birds, guarded the outer courtyard. Chapman rang a bell at the gate.
A small, sallow skinned nun, shrouded by a habit of black serge falling in folds to the brick covered ground, approached them. Seeing the visitor was the doctor she nodded her veiled head in recognition. She removed a key ring attached to the leather cord at her waist and lifted an arm exposing voluminous sleeves.
"Sister Mary David," The doctor said as the nun opened the gate, "I believe Mother Superior is expecting us."
She spoke in a measured monotone, "Mother is in the nursery."
Locking the gate behind them, she bowed her head and indicated with her hand that they follow after her. Mammoth, carved cypress-wood doors lead into the damp stone convent. The only light was the ocher and crimson glow, which worked its way in through the vast panels of old-world, stained glass windows. She led them down a hallway into another inner courtyard; this one contained a small prayer garden depicting the Stations of the Cross. Walking the perimeter of the garden they came to another set of double doors. Sister Mary David opened them and stood back ushering Kitty and John Chapman in. They followed through a small maze of hallways and doors.
The walking in the muggy heat was making Kitty feel a bit light in the head and heavy on her feet. John noticed, "Are you alright?" He asked offering her his arm. She took it in answer. They marched down the final corridor, a muffled cry of an infant could be heard. The muted wail reverberated from stonewall to stonewall. Sister Mary David pushed open the door at the end of the hall and the sound came alive. The small dank windowless chamber revealed three rows containing three small identical cribs each. Eight were filled with infants younger than three months one lay empty. In the corner of the room stood the Mother Superior obviously praying over the inert form of the ninth child. Two other nuns were kneeling, their heads bowed, and rosary beads in their fingers. Sister Mary David excused herself and went to join them.
John Chapman bowed his head and closed his eyes in respect to Mother Superior, but Kitty kept hers wide open scanning the conditions the infants were housed in. Everything was immaculate, certainly cleaner than even Bessie Roniger's home. Each child was tightly wrapped in a snow-white flannel blanket. Most lay quietly staring at the ceiling but one little fellow close to her was screaming mad. His hands had worked their way out of the swaddling and he was waving his miniature fists in the air in protest. Kitty tried to ignore him hoping he would quiet on his own, but his face grew redder and his cries more exuberant. Afraid he was interrupting the prayer she went to the baby and picked him up. Immediately, the little one nestled in the curve of her feminine form, his crying slowed to a whimper as his mouth moved toward her bosom. She shifted him to her shoulder. She patted his bottom. A startling sensation of tenderness rushed through her; the result of foreign maternal emotions fueled by hormones she didn't even know existed.
She wasn't aware the prayers had stopped although in the back of her mind she did hear, "In the name of the Father, Son and Holy Ghost. Amen."
"Put the infant down." Came a stern command from the nun in charge.
The perception may have been due to the wimple she wore, but her face seemed unusually long and she had a nose that took up more room than was proportionately ethical. Above her eyes were slashed two severe brows that were knit together at the center of her forehead. Her thin lips turned downward and she glared at Kitty with undisguised condescension.
Kitty looked up to see the four black clad women flocking toward her at a fast walk. "I said put the child down." Mother Superior reiterated, "We cannot afford to coddle these children, they must learn early on to discipline themselves."
"He was crying, I think he's hungry." Kitty explained.
"He will wait and be fed when the others are fed, he must learn that crying is not the answer to his problem." Unconsciously Kitty held the infant tighter, "But he's just a baby, he needs attention and affection." The nun tilted her chin upward, making it appear her long face was growing, "How many children have you raised Madame?" She asked haughtily.
"None … but…" Kitty started.
She pointed an arthritic finger at Kitty's protruding belly, "This one you carry, you do not wish to raise it either, pardon me for being blunt, but that hardly makes you an expert. This is a hard life, a life full of sorrow, the sooner these children learn that lesson the better off they will be. Now give me the infant." The baby was nuzzling into Kitty's shoulder rooting for love and nourishment. Kitty took a step backward. "The child …" The old nun held out her arms.
"I'm sorry, my friend has not been well, and she has recently suffered a great loss…" Chapman explained as he gently removed the babe from Kitty's arms and handed him to Mother Superior.
She took the child, not cradling the baby, but holding him out as though he were nothing more than a sack of potatoes. In turn, she passed the baby off to one of her assistants who deposited him back in his crib.
"Come, we will talk." Mother Superior directed.
"No … no … I've seen enough." Kitty exclaimed breaking away from Chapman and running despite the burden of her pregnancy, out the room.
"Kitty." Chapman called as he ran after her.
When he caught up she said, "Get me out of here, just get me out of here."
They didn't say another word until the wrought iron gate clanked shut behind them. The warmth of the sun had burned away the fog, despite the heat, she shivered and wrapped her arms around herself, embracing her middle, "In spite of my feelings, I could never condemn this child to that kind of loveless existence."
John Chapman gave her a hard look, his intent was not to be unkind but to make Kitty see reality, "And if you keep the baby he will be sentenced to a life with a mother who hated him so much she wished him dead."