The Immortelles (21 page)

“I told him he would have to ask you.” She smiled demurely.

“He asked me, as a matter of fact.”

“What'd you tell him?”

“I didn't have time to tell him much, but he said he'd call on me later and get my permission. You don't need a man like that.”

“He seems very nice.”

“He's more or less a rounder. Damita has told me about him.”

“She seems to like him very much.”

“He's a womanizer,” Jeff said bluntly. “I'll have to tell him what the limits are.”

Charissa stared at Jeff. “What are the limits, Jefferson?”

“The usual. You know. I can't have a man who isn't honorable going out with my sister.”

Charissa shook her head in wonder. “Why don't you just find a man who meets all of your standards and then bring him to me, instead of the other way around?”

Jeff opened his mouth to answer, then saw that she was kidding. “I'm sorry if I'm too stuffy. It's just the way I am. You know that.”

“I know that.”

“Damita asked me to have dinner with her family next week. I think you might like to come.”

“Did Miss Madariaga request my presence?”

“No, she didn't, but I'm sure you'd be welcome.”

Charissa laughed. There was something ludicrous about Jefferson Whitman. For all his skill as a doctor and all his kindness as a brother, he was like a child in some ways.

“Jeff, the Madariagas would be horrified if you brought a former slave to their house to sit down at their table.”

Jeff reacted as if she had struck him in the face. “You must be wrong about that.”

“I'm not wrong. I'm sure you'll have a fine time. You go and enjoy yourself.”

Chapter fifteen

“You look good enough for me to take you out, Charissa.”

Charissa had entered the foyer of the house. She turned to smile at Debakky, who was looking at her with admiration. “Why don't you ever ask me out, Elmo?”

“Oh, I'm a confirmed old bachelor. And besides, you wouldn't go out with a simple fellow like me. You're moving in high circles now.”

Indeed, for the two months that she and Jeff had been staying with Debakky, they had worked hard at the practice, both of them. But they had also plunged into social life in a way that Charissa would not have thought possible. It had been her confirmed opinion that once Damita had let the word out that she had been a slave, all social activity would end for her. Evidently, Damita had not breathed a word of this, nor had any of the Madariaga family. And Charissa had attended several balls and operas with Lewis Depard and enjoyed herself. She smiled at Elmo and said, “One day a woman will steal your heart.”

“As soon as I find one as rich and beautiful as you, I promise to fall as hard as any callow youth. What is it tonight?”

“Oh, it's one of those Creole balls.”

“You're going with Lewis?”

“Yes.”

“What does Dr. Jefferson Whitman say about that?”

“I haven't told him yet.”

“He won't like it. He's very possessive.”

Charissa gave Debakky a strange look. “I know. He's very possessive of his ‘baby sister.'”

“He loves you a great deal.”

“Yes,” Charissa answered flatly, “I know all about that.”

Debakky was a shrewd man. The pair had not been in his house for a week before he had discovered that Charissa was in love with Jeff. He had watched to see if the young doctor returned her affections, but he saw nothing but the love a man would give his sister.

Jeff entered, resplendent in a suit of new clothes that actually fit him. Debakky had taken him to his own tailor, and Jeff looked well indeed. “You're going out, Charissa?”

“Lewis is taking me to the Creole Ball.”

Both Debakky and Charissa saw Jeff 's face change. He looked reproachful and said, “I don't really care for that fellow. I wish you wouldn't go out with him.”

Charissa could not restrain herself. “You've gone out with Damita Madariaga three times in the last two weeks! I'd rather you didn't go out with her.”

“That's different.”

“How?”

Jeff merely pursed his lips.

Charissa looked at Elmo with discouragement in her face. “How can you argue with a man who gives you an answer like that?”

As she walked down the hall and into the parlor, Elmo said, “I think you're fighting a losing battle there, old boy.”

“What does she see in the fellow?”

“Aside from the fact that he's witty, charming, handsome, and rich, I can't see a thing to attract a woman.”

“He's a womanizer.”

“I have no doubt he is. He's quite a swordsman, too, and a fine pistol shot. I think he spends most of his time getting ready for the duels that he intends to provoke.”

“He's a fool!”

“New Orleans is full of fools, and so is the world, I suppose. Are you taking Damita tonight?”

“I didn't know that Lewis Depard would be taking Charissa, or I wouldn't have agreed to go.”

Debakky started to say something but stopped. He shook his head, looked sadly at Jeff, and turned away without word.

What's the matter with him?
Jeff wondered.
He's a smart man. He should see how wrong it is for Charissa to spend time with Depard.
He stood irresolutely for a moment, considering
whether to try to persuade Charissa to stay home, but he knew that was hopeless. Instead, he left the house and headed for the ball, thinking,
Sometimes I wish we had never come to this place.

As he climbed into the carriage, he thought about how his life had changed in such a short time. Mostly he thought about Damita. She seemed far out of his sphere; handsome young men of wealth courted her constantly. He was intensely jealous of Lewis Depard and said suddenly, “I wish the fellow would fall off a building and break both of his legs! That would stop his dancing and his dueling and his chasing women. Get up, horse!”

Alfredo strolled along the aisles of the cotton exchange, stopping from time to time to speak with the men who were the heart of New Orleans economy. Cotton was king in the South, and in New Orleans more than anywhere else. Most of the cotton grown in the southern United States found its way in the form of huge bales to New Orleans. Much of that went to England, but ships bore it all over the world.

The air was filled with talking, shouting, and laughter as Madariaga moved along. Almost every man, it seemed, smoked cigars, and the air was hazy. Madariaga removed one from his own pocket, bit off the end, lit it, and took a puff. He did not visit this section often, but he had wanted to see the agent about the world market. October was upon them, and the cotton was stacked up in bales on the wharf until it looked like a huge fortress. Madariaga had held on to his, hoping the price would rise, but to his dismay it had fallen. When the world agent reported this, the news had crushed Madariaga. Worry had become almost habitual with him; his debts were large, and everything depended upon the crops. He was one of many aristocrats in the area who rose or fell according to the price of cotton. No one knew exactly how this price was determined, and sometimes Alfredo thought that some small group of men simply decided, on the flip of a coin, what to do with it.

Puffing on his cigar, Alfredo was about to leave when he glanced into one of the offices and stopped abruptly. “Well, upon my soul!” he exclaimed and entered the office. “My dear friend! What are you doing here? I didn't know you were employed in New Orleans.”

Yancy Devereaux rose from the desk and smiled wryly. “It's not by choice, sir, I assure you.”

Madariaga asked, “What's happened? I thought you had bought a ship and gone into business in Savannah.”

“Come in and sit down. It's a long, sad story.”

Madariaga saw lines of fatigue around the man's mouth, and he sensed a lackluster spirit in him that he had not seen before.

“I did buy half-interest in a ship with a friend. He was a good man. He was going to be the captain; I would do the work on shore, getting cargoes. Never go into that business, Alfredo.”

“What happened?”

“The ship went down off the coast of Africa, loaded with cotton. A hurricane hit it and we lost all hands. Also lost was every penny I had in the world.”

“Oh, that's frightful, Yancy! I'm so sorry to hear it. Do you need any help?” Madariaga put his hand in his pocket, but Yancy put up his hand.

“No, I'm all right. I'm not likely to starve.”

Alfredo was relieved; he had little to share. “How long have you been here?”

“Oh, about a month. It's just a job. I've decided to leave New Orleans.”

Madariaga was grieved. He had never ceased to be grateful to Yancy for saving his daughter, and he said, “Perhaps I could introduce you to someone who might help you find a better position.”

“No, but thank you for your offer. I'm going back to Shreveport. I know quite a few people there. I shouldn't have too much trouble finding something to do.”

The two men talked briefly, and when Alfredo stood to leave, he shook Yancy's hand. “Why don't you come out and visit the family? They'd be so glad to see you.”

“I will, if I don't leave right away.”

“Don't leave until you come at least once. Our family owes you a great deal.”

Alfredo left the cotton exchange feeling concerned. He thought about Yancy Devereaux all the way home, and when he arrived, he found that Jeff Whitman had arrived to take Damita to a ball. He greeted him absently, then turned to Damita. “I had quite a shock today, daughter.”

“What was it, Papa?”

“At the cotton exchange, I ran into Yancy Devereaux.”

Damita looked shocked herself. “I didn't know he was in New Orleans.”

“It really troubles me.” He told of Yancy's misadventures and shook his head. “Our family is in his debt. You wouldn't be with us, Damita, if it weren't for him.”

“That's true enough. I'm so sorry to hear it.”

Jeff listened quietly, standing off to one side, since it seemed to be family business. He watched Alfredo, and he noticed that the older man was rubbing his chest and flexing the fingers on his left hand. This was an alarming sign. “Are you having a problem in your chest, Mr. Madariaga?”

“Oh, probably just indigestion.”

“What about your hand?”

Madariaga held up his hand and made a fist. “Oh, it's nothing. Just a little numbness in my fingers now and then.” He shook his head and said, “Now, don't start trying to doctor me. I'm all right.”

Damita looked worried. “You really should let Jeff look you over, Papa.”

“Yes, we'll have to do that sometime.” He turned to go but said, “I'm worried about Yancy. I'm going to see if I can find something for him to do.”

As soon as her father left, Damita asked, “What do you think is wrong with Papa?”

“Probably nothing. You know how doctors are. We spend all of our time listening to symptoms. Sometimes we begin to see them when they're not there.”

Damita knew that Jeff was being evasive. “Tell me the truth. I want to know.”

“Probably nothing, but I wish he would come in and let Debakky examine him. He has some very mild symptoms that could mean a heart problem.”

“Is it dangerous?”

“Oh, I've seen men who take care of themselves live many years with heart problems. Most of them even live longer than people without heart conditions, because they take better care of themselves.”

“But not always?”

“Not always. Sometimes they go very suddenly.” He reached out and took Damita's hand, something he rarely did. “I think you should try to persuade him to come into the office. Debakky has a great deal of experience in this sort of thing, much more than I have.”

“I'll talk to him, Jeff.”

Damita did not enjoy the ball. She was preoccupied with thoughts of her father and his symptoms. When she saw Yancy Devereaux standing against a wall, drinking out of a crystal glass, she was startled. But she walked over, and when he saw her, he put the glass down and smiled.

“Damita, it's good to see you.”

“It's good to see you, too. I didn't know you were in New Orleans until today. Papa told me he saw you at the cotton exchange.”

“Oh, how the mighty are fallen. Did he tell you about my bad luck?”

“Yes. I'm so sorry.”

“Oh, it doesn't matter. I've got my health, and I'll be able to recoup.”

Damita saw that Yancy was tired, and despite his words, he was not as optimistic as he tried to sound. She recalled their last meeting and asked abruptly, “Do you ever think
of when the ship sank?”

“Certainly! How could I forget that?” He considered her expression, then said, “We nearly died. I still can't see how we survived. As a matter of fact, I've had bad dreams about it.”

Damita eyes grew wide. “I have, too.”

“But we did survive. I've never been very religious, but I've thanked God many times for saving us.”

“I didn't behave well to you at all the last time we met, Yancy. I'm sorry.”

“Nothing to be sorry about. It was a tough time.”

Damita had never forgotten how she had offered herself to him—and how he had spurned her. She looked into his eyes and whispered, “I was very foolish. I've never stopped being ashamed of—” She could not finish and dropped her eyes.

“Don't even think about it, Damita. Under stress, we all behave abnormally.” He saw that she was troubled and asked cheerfully, “Would you like to dance?”

“Very much.”

The two whirled out on the floor, and Damita tried, as tactfully as she could, to find out what Yancy's prospects were. He shrugged off her questions, saying, “I'll find something. I always do. Maybe I'll become a Mississippi riverboat gambler. All you need is a fancy vest, lots of hair oil, and the ability to cheat at cards.”