Ask a Shadow to Dance (23 page)

Afterward, lying in his arms, she did not want to leave this bed, this room. If only reality could dissolve and leave only love and pleasure behind.

David kissed her, then slid out of bed. Seeing his naked body sent a shiver of embarrassment and excitement through her. Never had she seen a man completely naked before. It was truly startling and quite stimulating. The shivers continued, in places she would never be brazen enough to name. He saw her watching and grinned, pulling on his trousers.

“I hope you like what you see. You’re stuck with me.”

She giggled at the thought of being truly stuck to David and marveled at the fact she wouldn’t mind it in the least.

“Aw, now, don’t giggle. Don’t you know it isn’t polite to laugh at a naked man? My feelings …”

“David, come back to bed.”

“In a minute.
Nature calls. You do have indoor plumbing in this house, don’t you?”

“Of course.
We’d be primitive indeed not to have indoor plumbing. The water closet is down by the kitchen.”

“The kitchen.”

He stayed gone a few minutes then returned, shedding his clothing, and dived beneath the covers she held up for him. His skin was like ice. She shivered when she enveloped his body with her arms and legs in an attempt to warm him.

“Did you stand naked in the water closet?”

“It’s a good thing I didn’t. Parts of me might have frozen and fallen off.”

“David! What a thing to say.” Feeling naughty, she grasped him firmly, verifying his joke wasn’t based on fact. His prediction might have come true if he’d stayed gone much longer.

“That feels wonderful. I’ll be warm again in no time.”

Feeling adventurous, she moved her fingers up and down and in little circles and heard his breathing change, felt his skin warm beneath her fingers. It was softer than any skin she’d ever touched, and loose. Sliding it back and forth seemed to please him immensely. Before long, he turned toward her to reciprocate.

It was another hour before he drifted back to sleep.

When she tried to get out of bed without disturbing him, he awoke. “I told you about my past last night. Now, I want to know more about you. Tell me about your life in New Orleans.”

She couldn’t help frowning. Thinking about her life with James was something she tried not to do anymore.

“I’m sorry. Maybe I shouldn’t ask. You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to.”

She knew suddenly she wanted to tell him. It was important for David to know her completely before they made a commitment to each other for the rest of their lives, something she hoped with all her heart would happen soon.

“It’s all right. I want to tell you. It isn’t a happy story, though.”

He settled against the pillows and waited for her to begin. She knew exactly where to start.

“My mother died of yellow fever when I was four years old. My father was devastated and never talked about her again. I suppose it was too painful for him. Everything I know about my mother and my grandparents I learned from Aunt Portia.

“She gave up her chance to have a husband and children of her own to live with us and care for me, but she’s told me a thousand times she wouldn’t change her life for anything. Her parents were some of the first people to settle in Memphis, in the 1820ss. Memphis was advertised—”

“You mean in the newspaper?”

“Exactly. Judge John Overton published a piece in
The Port Folio
in 1820 to entice people to come to the Bluff City, where Wolf River emptied into the Mississippi—the fourth Chickasaw bluff. My grandparents, Joseph and Cecelia Morgan, came here from Philadelphia looking for new opportunities and the chance to make a difference in this country. Later on, they founded Morgan Enterprises and lived very well indeed. This house was built in 1850. Some of the furniture in the parlor was my grandmother’s.”

David grinned and snuggled closer. “I don’t know a lot about antique furniture—to me, everything in this house is antique—but I know enough to see there are different styles and patterns, indicating different decades and different families.”

“Yes, different styles and families. Every piece has its own story. It would take a year to describe the significance of every piece. And new things are added all the time. There are things in the house now I’d never seen until I returned from New Orleans.”

“You’ll add more things, now that you’re back.”

“If I get to stay.” The possibilities fluttering through her mind like a flock of birds were obviously flying through David’s mind as well. He kissed her hand and stroked her fingers affectionately while she told about the Morgan family.

“There were only two Morgan children. The first was my father, Jacob, then Aunt Portia. They were loved and spoiled and told repeatedly how lucky they were to be growing up along with Memphis. They had to have been the happiest family in the world, according to Aunt Portia, at least. My father learned about Morgan Enterprises from the time he was old enough to tag along behind my grandfather. He took great pride in the family business and helped to accumulate the wealth my grandfather envisioned and worked toward.

“My father met my mother in New Orleans and brought her home to Memphis after their wedding. She was Brianna Lisette Durand of the French aristocracy, classically beautiful, with blond hair and startling blue eyes. My father was so proud of her, he took her everywhere with him, introduced her to all of his most powerful friends, involved her in Morgan Enterprises as much as she would allow. I was born fifteen months after they were married. Aunt Portia said my mother refused any more involvement with the business after that, wanting to devote every minute to me. I wish I could have known her.” Lisette stopped talking, lost in thought for a moment.

“What happened to her?”

“Yellow fever—another of those terrible epidemics. Memphis has been plagued with them since the inception of the city. Aunt Portia tended my mother while she was ill, treating her with laudanum. The doctor was so inundated with sick people; he was never able to come to the house. Aunt Portia used cold cloths, ice baths, everything she could think of to get the fever down. My mother was unable to keep the tiniest bit of broth on her stomach. Before too many days passed, she was too weak to fight the fever. She died in my father’s arms.” The image of that scene always caused Lisette’s throat to tighten. David waited patiently, gripping her hand, until she was able to continue.

“He almost grieved himself to death, he loved her so. He refused to even speak her name for years.”

“Who cared for you?”

“Aunt Portia never moved out of the house. She felt it was her duty to care for her brother and niece. And that’s exactly what she did.
Until this very day.”

He drew Lisette into his arms. The memories, so bittersweet, seemed even dearer now that she had shared them.

“How did you end up married and in New Orleans?”

“Another gift of the saffron plague. Nine years ago my father also contracted yellow fever. They called it the saffron plague because of the yellow cast to the skin it caused. He didn’t die, but in some ways it might have been kinder if he had. His mind was affected by the high fever. He simply wasn’t the same person he’d been before.”

“In what way?”

“He couldn’t concentrate for any length of time. They noticed it first when he would go to his office at Morgan Enterprises. He’d be adding a column of figures and suddenly leave his desk and the building and be gone for an hour.”

“Where did he go?”

“We didn’t know until one day we were contacted by the authorities to fetch him. He’d gotten into a brawl at the Peabody Hotel with some gamblers. We learned later he’d lost almost five thousand dollars playing poker.”

“That was a lot a money back then.”

“It was a terrible loss, even to a business as successful as Morgan Enterprises. Remember, I told you the company closed in eighteen sixty-two after the Union soldiers took Memphis. By eighteen sixty-six, most of our savings were depleted. Believe
me, we felt the loss of that money keenly.”

“After that?”

“We kept him home, or tried to at least. He was failing rapidly by that time. He couldn’t be trusted to run the business. So, Aunt Portia took over.”

“Portia ran the company?”

“Don’t be fooled by her, David. She’s exceptionally bright and resourceful. Of course, we couldn’t let many people know she was running the company. No one would have trusted her to do things as well as my father. But she did. In fact, the company prospered more than it had in years. But then, my father’s heart had been in the manufacturing of munitions. Not cotton clothing.”

“So Portia ran the business, Jacob stayed at home. What did you do?”

“Helped care for my father, when he’d allow it. We tried to keep him out of the Peabody and away from gamblers, but from time to time he would leave the house after dark without our knowing and reappear in the morning, all his money gone, sometimes bloody from a brawl.”

She paused, thinking. She had come to the most painful part of the story.
It would be the first time she’d told anyone what she’d endured in New Orleans.

“How did you end up married to Westmoreland?”

“My father was at the Peabody, playing poker with a ‘gentleman’ from New Orleans who was in Memphis on business.”

“James Westmoreland?”

She nodded. “When Papa ran out of money--by then we didn’t let him have a lot to carry around—he bet my hand in marriage on two pairs—fours and deuces.”

“He used you as a bet in a poker game?” David sat up straighter. She could tell he was as incredulous such a thing could happen as she and Aunt Portia had been when they learned what Jacob had done.

“James was holding three tens. He came to the house with Papa, ordered me to gather my things and be ready to leave Memphis at dawn the next morning.”

“He couldn’t have expected you to actually marry him!”

“Of course he did. He’d won fairly. There were witnesses to the game. Since I was unmarried, I had no choice but to honor my father’s bet. James seemed a decent man at the time. My only hope was to be treated with dignity.”

“Were you?”

“At first, perhaps. While we were on the
Cajun Star
, he was civil enough. We had little to say to each other.”

“What happened when you reached New Orleans?”

“I barely saw the city. We went straight to his plantation. At first glance the house was beautiful, but signs of neglect became evident. The closer we came, the shabbier it looked. Inside, it was a complete shamble. I learned, eventually, from a servant girl in the kitchen, that James had adored his wife and the house had been well kept and a happy place while she was alive. She succumbed to the fever two years before my arrival. James had not allowed anyone to do repairs or even clean more than the floors after her death. His depression turned him into a bitter man, incapable of loving anyone ever again.”

“What about Andrew?”

“While Mrs. Westmoreland was alive—I never learned her given name—she protected Andrew from his father, who never cared a whit for him. After her death, James had no use for Andrew whatsoever. They avoided each other, never speaking. I learned, again from the kitchen servant, Andrew had never done one lick of work around the place, that he spent most of his time in town spending his father’s money. Why James allowed it, I never knew. I finally decided it had something to do with Andrew being the only child they’d ever had. Perhaps she’d pleaded with James before she died to take care of the boy. I could only guess. Since I had reddish-brown hair, everyone knew at a glance I was neither French nor Cajun. It made me what they called ‘an American,’ and therefore an outsider. I asked several times to be allowed to learn French but no one was willing to teach me. It made me even more of an outcast. That, and the fact … that we weren’t legally married.” Lisette’s face burned with embarrassment.

“He didn’t marry you? I can’t believe—”

“He did after several weeks. He told me on the boat that I was his wife, even though we’d not be getting a preacher to say so, but I couldn’t bear the thought of living in sin. I pleaded with him constantly to make our marriage legal. Eventually, he gave in. We summoned a priest to come to the house, but James was drunk when he arrived and practically unconscious. The priest suggested that Andrew ‘stand in’ for his father in the ceremony. Andrew even signed the marriage certificate. At least we were married.”

“How did Andrew treat you?”

“With contempt. He’d adored his mother. I was nothing more than another mistress, added to the others in the household.”

“He kept mistresses at home?”

“Two of them. James had brought both of them home at once, about a year before. He told me he had no intention of getting rid of them. He showed me his bedroom, told me to be there every night at ten, then stowed my things in a box in the corner. I longed for a room of my own, like Marie and the other girl. I can’t remember her name. It was French and hard to pronounce. They spoke nothing but French. It made it easier to tolerate their presence, passing them in the halls every day and sitting at table with them in the evenings.”