The Immortelles (24 page)

At that moment, Damita felt a tremendous compulsion. She had slept little the past weeks, ever since Pennington had first informed them of the impending tragedy. She had racked her brain, trying to think of a way out.
How easy it would be just to marry this man and let him take all the worry!
She studied his face, and the temptation was stronger than she would have believed possible. But at the same time, something in her would not permit this. She said quietly, “Jeff, you must give me time to think this over, and I want you to think it over, too. A man should never marry a woman who doesn't love him. I know you think I'd change, and I might, but there are no guarantees.”

Jeff kissed her hand. “All right,” he said. “I won't change my mind, but I hope you will. I would like nothing better than to take care of you, Damita.”

Chapter seventeen

Charissa left the clinic early. Upon reaching the house, she walked into the kitchen, pulled off her hat, and sat wearily on a tall stool next to a counter. “Rose, could I have a cup of tea, do you think?”

“Of course, Charissa.” Rose put on the kettle on the stove, then asked Charissa about her day at the clinic. Something in Charissa's tone caught her attention. When the kettle boiled, Rose made the tea, poured it into two china cups, put them in saucers, and sat down beside the young girl. “You look tired,” she said.

“I suppose I am, a little bit.”

“You work too hard. I'm going to tell Dr. Jeff to give you more time off.”

“No, don't do that, Rose. I enjoy the work.” Picking up the teacup, Charissa sipped, then gasped, saying, “This is hot!”

“Can't get a cup of tea too hot,” Rose said, smiling. She was an attractive woman with coal-black hair almost as dark as Charissa's, but she had startling light-blue eyes.

As the women drank their tea, Rose saw that Charissa remained tense. She asked casually, “What do you think about Dr. Jeff 's asking Miss Madariaga to marry him?”

Charissa grimaced. “I didn't know you knew.”

“You can't have secrets in a house, even one with as few servants as this one.” She waited for Charissa to answer her question. When she didn't, Rose's face grew serious. “You're troubled about it, aren't you?”

“Yes, I am. You have to remember, Rose, I know that woman. I was her slave, and that's a powerful way to learn about people.”

“Is she really that bad?”

“She had me beaten for something that was her own fault—spilling some wine on her dress. She was only seventeen at the time, but she hasn't changed.”

“I wonder why Dr. Whitman can't see that.”

Charissa shook her head, and a wry bitterness filled her voice. “He's blind where she's concerned, but I suppose most people are.”

“I think somebody needs to shake him. If his father were alive, perhaps he could do it.”

“I doubt it. Nothing can change the way he sees her.”

“Have you tried to talk to him?”

“I've talked to him constantly, but I can't go up and say, ‘You shouldn't marry that woman. She's a witch,' can I?”

Rose smiled faintly. “I suppose not.”

Charissa finished her tea, then gave Rose an apologetic smile. “I am sorry I'm such poor company.”

“I think we're all worried about him. I know Dr. Debakky is. I wonder if he's talked to him.”

“He tried, but it didn't do any good.” Charissa rose and said, “I think I'll lie down awhile before dinner.”

“Good. Why don't you take a hot bath? That'll relax you.”

“I don't think so now. Maybe later.”

Charissa left the kitchen and climbed the stairs to her room. She reached the door, and when she put her hand on the knob, she stopped. An idea grasped her mind. She stood straighter. Her eyes narrowed, and her lips drew into a thin line.
I can't talk to Jeff, but I can talk to Señorita Damita Madariaga. She'll probably have the butler throw me out of the house. It would be just like her. But I've got to try.

She whirled, ran down the stairs and out the front door, slamming it behind her.

“Who do you say is here, Charles?”

“Miss Charissa Desjardin.”

Damita stared at the butler in disbelief. “All right,” she said. “Where is she?”

“I put her in the parlor, Miss Damita.”

“Thank you, Charles.”

Damita stood slowly. Thoughts raced through her mind. She walked to the parlor, and when she entered, she saw her former slave standing in the middle of the room. “Hello, Charissa,” she said.

“I'm sorry to trouble you, but I'd like to talk with you.”

“Of course.”

“Would you mind closing the door? It's a private matter.”

Damita, curious, closed the door. She walked over to her guest and asked, “Would you sit down?”

“No, I don't think this will take very long.”

“There's nothing wrong with Jeff, is there?”

“Yes, there's something wrong with him.”

“You
mean he's sick?”

“No, I don't mean that.”

Damita thought,
The last time we were in this room together, she was a slave, and I owned her. Now no one would ever know that from looking at her.
She saw the determination in Charissa's face and said, “Just say what you have to say.”

“I came to say that you'd make Jeff miserable if you married him.”

Damita was incredulous. “That's hardly your business, is it?”

“Yes, it is. He's been very kind to me, as his father was before him. I'd hate to see his life ruined.”

“And you think I would ruin it?”

Charissa smiled slightly. “Do you forget how well I know you, Damita?” It was the first time she had called the woman by her first name. “He's not like the young men who chase you around to parties and balls. He's a serious man, and you'd make him very unhappy.”

“He doesn't seem to think so.”

“He doesn't know you. As a matter of fact, he doesn't know anything about women.”

Strangely enough, Damita was not angry at Charissa, and this puzzled her. Ordinarily, if a former servant or slave had spoken to her on such a personal matter, she would have been furious. She marveled at her sense of calm. Suddenly, an idea occurred to her. She leaned forward slightly, and her eyes narrowed. “I see how it is.”

Charissa saw something in Damita's eyes that made her ask, “What is it you see?”

“I see why you don't want me to marry him.”

“I've told you why. You'd make him unhappy.”

“What you don't say is that
you're
in love with him.”

As soon as Damita said this, a rich color suffused Charissa's face. Something like guilt washed across the young woman's countenance, and she had difficulty speaking. Charissa stammered, “That's . . . that's not so.”

“I think it is.”

“No, you're wrong,” Charissa said loudly. “He's my brother.”

“No, he's not your brother.”

Charissa had expected anything but this. She would not have been surprised to see Damita fly into a rage, but the young woman showed a composure that was disturbing. The accusation, true as it was, was one that she could not bear to hear Damita speak. “No, it's not so!” she cried. “You mustn't say things like that.”

Damita felt a sudden compassion for the girl. “I'm sorry,” she said. “It's very obvious that you are.”

Charissa whispered, “It would be a tragedy if you married Jeff. Thank you for seeing me.” She strode to the door, opened it, and fled.

Damita watched her go.
What a strange thing,
she thought.
But Jeff would never care for her, except as an object of pity.

She walked over to the window and watched Charissa as she climbed into her carriage. When the carriage disappeared from view, she whispered, “I'm sorry for her, but I'll do anything to save my family.” She turned from the window, and a resolution that she had made earlier became stronger.
There's
got
to be some way to solve this financial mess. If I could get the bank to agree to just one year, we sold this house, and we had a good crop, I'll bet we could at least hang on to the plantation.

She went to her room and put on a traveling dress and a bonnet. On her way to the front door, she told her mother, “I'm going out to the plantation.”

Elena showed surprise. Thinner since her husband's death, the widow now had new lines of worry in her face. “Why are you going there?”

“I'm going to talk to Napier.”

“What in the world for?”

“I've been wanting to talk to him about the plantation. If we rearrange things there so that we're assured of cutting expenses, and if we get an extension from the bank, I'm hopeful we'll be able to save the place. Don't worry, Mother. I'll probably stay overnight. I'll be back in the morning.” Kissing Elena, she turned and left the house.

“You don't know what you're talking about, Miss Damita,” said Claude Napier, the overseer of the Madariaga plantation. He was a strong, bulky man with blunt features, small hazel eyes, and a mouth like a catfish, usually twisted in a sneer. He had listened as Damita explained what she wanted, but now he was impatient. “Do you think we haven't tried all them things before?”

“But this is an emergency, Napier. If we don't do something, we'll lose this plantation. Then you'll be out of a place just as we will.”

Napier looked down at Damita with disdain. “You never gave the plantation a thought until now. In all these years, what do you think I've been doing? I've been struggling to make it pay, and all the time your father was out gambling money away.”

“Don't you speak of my father!” Damita snapped, her eyes flashing. “I won't hear a word about it.”

Napier said, “Have it your own way, but I'm telling you right now that there's no way to make this place pay enough to get it out of debt.”

“I'll have to see what I can do myself.”

As she was leaving, Napier called out, “What do you think you can do? You don't know the first thing about growing cotton.”

This was a forceful truth, but Damita did not turn to answer. She climbed into her carriage and said to the driver, “Take me back to the city, please.”

As the carriage started with a violent jerk, she was thrown back but did not even rebuke the driver. All the way back to the city, her mind worked, trying to find some way of escape. She felt small and helpless and vulnerable, and fear was a coldness that filled her from head to toe.

I may have to marry Jeff.
She closed her eyes and tried to think of another way. No ideas came, and she began to wonder what it would be like to be married to the doctor.
He's a good man. He's not handsome, and he's certainly not the kind of man I've always wanted, but he wouldn't be a cruel husband. It would be good for Mama to have the security. And he would take care of all of us. With his financial support, we'd be secure for life.

All the way back to New Orleans, Damita thought wildly about her options. She instructed her driver to take her to the wharf. She knew little enough about how business was conducted there, but she knew she could ask Yancy about the price of cotton.

Getting out, she told the driver to wait and walked toward Devereaux's office. As she stepped inside, she saw Yancy speaking with an attractive young woman with curly brown hair and twinkling blue eyes. He saw Damita and smiled. “Miss Madariaga, I would like for you to meet a good friend of mine from Shreveport. This is Mrs. Lucy Adcock.”

The two women exchanged greetings, and Yancy said, “Mrs. Adcock needs to get to the depot, and I can't leave the office. Would you possibly be able to show her the way, Miss Damita?”

“Of course, it'd be no trouble at all.”

“I wouldn't dream of putting you out.”

“It isn't far. Yancy, I'd like to see you for a moment when I come back.”

“I'll be here all day.” He turned and said, “It's so good to see you. You tell Howard that I appreciate his offer.”

“I hope you'll take him up on it.”

Yancy shrugged. “Who knows? Take care, Lucy.”

The two women
left the office, and Damita said, “My carriage is here. Why don't we go in that? It's only a few blocks, but it's cold today.”

“That would be very nice.”

The two women climbed into the carriage, and Damita gave the instructions. As the carriage moved forward, she asked, “Have you known Yancy for a long time?”

“For quite a while. You see, my husband and I bought his plantation just outside of Shreveport.”

“Oh, I see! Is it a large place?”

“Very large. Yancy never told you about it?”

“No, he never has.”

“It's really quite a story. Yancy took over the place when he was a very young man. I don't know how he scraped together enough money to make a down payment. The plantation had gotten rundown, but it had possibilities.” Lucy Adcock shook her head. “We didn't know him in those early days, but later on, we found out that he had worked night and day, year-round, never taking a vacation. And he made a fine place out of it. I wish you could see it.”

“You and your husband bought it?”

“Yes, we did. Yancy worked like a slave to pay it off, and as soon as it was in the clear, he put it up for sale. It's beautiful.” Lucy Adcock's eyes sparkled. “He not only worked on the land, but he made the house a showplace. Howard and I have been so happy there.”

“I didn't know Yancy was that skilled—running a plantation
and
restoring a home.”

“Oh, there's nobody like him!” The woman hesitated, then said, “As a matter of fact, I came to see him about coming back and managing the place for Howard.”

“Managing it?”