The Immortelles (27 page)

As Napier drew back to strike again, Yancy grabbed the whip and ripped it from Napier's hand. Then he grasped the man's arm and whirled him around, his voice brittle with anger: “I told you, Napier, never to whip a slave on this place!”

“You keep out of this! This boy was uppity.”

“Get up, Jake,” Yancy said, not taking his eyes off Napier's face. “You can go now.”

Napier's fury boiled. “Give me back that whip!”

“Here's your whip. Now take it, and get off this place.”

Napier took the whip, and his hazel eyes glittered with hatred. “You think you're somebody, don't you?”

“I know who you are—you're nobody. Now get off this place!”

Napier suddenly threw a clumsy blow that caught Yancy in the chest and drove him backward. He cursed and threw the whip back to strike Yancy with it. Damita cried out, “Look out, Yancy!”

But the blow was never delivered. Yancy threw himself forward and struck the big man squarely in the mouth. The big man roared and countered with a punch, and the two men began to exchange blows. Damita could not move. She had never seen such a thing. It was a brutal display; both men were strong and able, and both had obviously been in brawls before. One blow caught Yancy low on the jaw and drove him to the ground, and Napier ran forward, aiming a kick, but Yancy grabbed his foot and twisted it. Napier fell to the ground, and Yancy jumped to his feet. Blood dripped from the faces of both men.

Napier took a direct blow to his temple and started to collapse. Yancy rained blow after blow on the man's face and body, and finally Napier fell, crying out, “Enough—I've had enough!”

Yancy's shirt was ripped to shreds, and blood poured from a cut over his eye and from his lips. “Get off this place now!” he said.

Napier got to his feet, groaning, and staggered away.

“You've got thirty minutes to disappear. If you don't, I'll shoot you.”

Damita ran to Yancy and looked up into his face. “You've got to get something cold on those cuts.” She quickly led him to the big house and into the kitchen. Fortunately, her mother was not there at the moment, and Damita nervously dipped cloths in cool water and wiped Yancy's face.

He murmured, “I thought I'd given up all this, but he didn't leave me any choice.”

Damita was sponging away the blood. “You've got a cut over your eyebrow. I don't know if it should be stitched or not.”

Yancy ran his fingers over it. “No. Just get some plaster and pull it together.”

Damita's hands were trembling as she worked over his wounds. He had taken some hard blows. His right eye was almost closed already, and his lips were puffy.

“Nothing like a good, rousing beating to make a man realize how small he is.”

“He was a beast! I wish you had shot him.”

“I should have gotten rid of him before this.” He reached up and caught her hand, the one that held the cloth. “You make a pretty good nurse.”

“I . . . I haven't had much practice.”

Damita stood, his hand holding hers, looking into his battered face. “I wish things like this didn't have to happen.”

“We've all got to eat our peck of dirt, as someone said. You know, if you married Whitman, you wouldn't have to go through such adventures.”

Damita didn't answer but pulled her arm loose and dipped the cloth again in water. “Hold this over your eye for a while. Maybe it'll help.” She gently touched his cheek. Her eyes were tender. “I know you're not doing this for money, but for us. I didn't mean for you to get in a fight.”

Yancy grinned, then winced. “I'm too old to cry, and it hurts too much to laugh. We've got a long way to go, Damita, but I think we'll make it.”

“Yes,” Damita answered, studying his battered features, “we'll make it, but I wish you didn't have to bleed in the process.”

Chapter twenty

Charissa leaned back in the carriage, listening as Matthew Denton spoke of the sermon that they'd just heard. From time to time, she glanced at him, noting the strong jawline and the healthy glow of his face. He was not handsome but roughly attractive, and as he spoke, she thought of how strange it was that she should be riding along in a carriage—she who had not been a Christian only a year ago—with such a devout man.

“So, I agree with the pastor that there is such a thing as election. I'm not certain that it's quite as prominent as he seems to make it.”

“What's your opinion of election and predestination?”

“Well,” Matthew said slowly, “I think God is sovereign. He can do anything He pleases, but I think He chooses certain people such as Paul, for example. The Scripture says that he was a chosen vessel, but the pastor seems to think that Paul had no choice at all, that God simply made him become an apostle. I can't quite believe that.” He turned to her and smiled warmly. “I think we've all got wills of our own.”

Charissa agreed and sat contentedly as the horses clopped along the cobblestone streets. She enjoyed Matthew Denton's company. He was the son of a prominent businessman, who owned a large hardware store and a plantation just north of the city. Charissa and Matthew had met after church services, and he had driven her home several times.

He was a straightforward young man; he always said what was on the top of his mind. Charissa could tell that he was contemplating something, and she asked, “What are you thinking about, Matthew?”

“I'm thinking about you.”

“That's flattering.”

“I'm wondering if you've ever thought about me as a man you might marry.”

Charissa was stunned. She could see in his large blue eyes that he was serious. “Why, I never thought of it, Matthew.”

“I'm asking you now to think of it. I've grown very fond of you, Charissa.”

“But you don't know anything about me.”

“I know you're a fine Christian young woman. I know you're smart, because you're
a nurse. I know we get along real well.”

“But that's not enough to make a marriage.”

“I'm just asking you to think about it.” He smiled and looked very boyish. “I'd make a good husband. You'd never know meanness from me.”

Charissa took a deep breath and said, “Matthew, I need to tell you something. You may know it already, but if you don't, you should.”

“Know what, Charissa?”

“I'm a quadroon, Matthew.”

Denton looked at her, lifting his eyebrows. “I never knew that.”

“You need to know also that I was born a slave. For a while, I was the property of New Orleans people. Their name is Madariaga.”

“Alfredo Madariaga?”

“Yes, I was his daughter's maid for a few years.”

“No, I didn't know anything about that.” Denton held the lines loosely in his hands as the horses pulled the carriage along at a fast clip. “You don't look like it. Why, your skin is whiter than mine.”

“I am, though. My mother was a slave. So, you see, that makes a difference.”

“Not to me.”

His guilelessness was both amusing and sad to Charissa. “It would make a difference to your family,” she said.

Denton shook his head. “I don't think it would, but it doesn't matter to me.”

Charissa felt affection for the young man, but nothing more. “In any case, I don't intend to marry for a long time—if ever. I may give my whole life to medicine.”

“That wouldn't be good. You need to have a husband and a family.”

“I'm not sure that will ever happen to me. Matthew, please, I wish you wouldn't speak of this again.”

Denton was silent for a moment, then shook his head. “I can't promise that, Charissa. I've grown mighty fond of you.”

“I had an offer of marriage yesterday, Jefferson.”

Charissa was sipping her coffee after breakfast. Debakky had left early, and she and Jeff had lingered over the meal, talking about the work at the hospital. They had spoken for some time about the yellow fever that was relentlessly attacking the city. Charissa had not really intended to tell Jeff of Denton's words, and now she saw that her news affected him strongly. He sat up straighter, and alarm showed in his eyes.

“An offer of marriage? Who was it from?”

“Matthew Denton.”

“Is he the one whose people own the hardware store?”

“Yes, and a very large plantation somewhere.”

Jeff began to fidget. He picked up the saltshaker and rolled it around in his hand, staring at it. He was clearly troubled.

Charissa was mildly amused. She had not cared for any of the young men who had called on her, yet Jeff put them all through a strict grilling process. Many of them never bothered to call a second time.

“I'll make it a point to talk to him.”

“Oh, I'm sure he'll meet all your standards.”

“My standards?”

“Yes. You interrogate all my suitors, wanting to know if they're worthy of me or not.”

“I'm going to continue to do it!” Jeff said almost stridently. “I have to look out for you, Charissa.”

“I'm sure you'll find Matthew qualified. He's going to be one of the deacons in the church. He's already been chosen. Did you know that?”

“No, I didn't.”

“He's very active on the mission board also. He's always in church. Never misses a service.”

“That's a good thing.”

“He's a savvy businessman too. His family's got money, and he's a hard worker. Would that meet your standards?”

“Don't talk as if I were some kind of a judge, Charissa!”

“That's what you are, Jefferson. You always question those poor young fellows like an ogre.”

“I do not!”

“Yes, you do,” she said calmly. “What if you wanted to court a young woman, and her father grilled you like that?”

“I'd admire him for it,” Jeff said, holding his head up high. “It would be his duty.”

“I think you'll have a hard time disqualifying Matthew. He's highly sought after by many young ladies—and by their mothers, I might add.”

“What did he say to you?”

“I don't think I should reveal any confidence.”

“Did you agree to marry him?”

“Not until after he passes his examination with you.”

Jeff flushed. He realized that she was teasing him, which she often did. “Tell me straight out. Do you care for him?”

“I like him very much, but I don't want to marry him. Jeff, you're funny.”

“I don't mean to be,” he said stiffly. “The truth is, I just want the best for you, Charissa, and—” He hesitated, then smiled. “The truth is, I'd miss you if you were to marry. I'd hate that.”

Charissa was silent for a moment, then asked, “What do you think will happen to us when
you
marry?”

Jeff stared at her. “Why, we'd go on, just as we are.”

His remark was bittersweet. “You are so naive!” Charissa moaned, shaking her head. “I'm constantly shocked at how much you know about medicine and how little you know about people.”

“What are you talking about? Of course we'd go on as we are.”

“Jefferson, what wife would want a young woman around? I will leave when you marry.”

Jeff considered her statement. He could not think of a thing to say, and Charissa said, “Just give me plenty of warning. That's all I ask.” She smiled and saw that he was speechless. “For once in your life, you don't have any answers. Now I know how to handle you when you get rambunctious.”

Later that morning, before they left, Jeff waited in the kitchen for Charissa to finish dressing and join him in the buggy for the ride to the hospital. Rose was working about the kitchen as he drank his coffee, and he told her, “Charissa had an offer of marriage.”

“I'm not surprised at that. I'm just surprised she hasn't married already. She's such a beautiful young woman.”

“I don't think she should marry him.”

“Is he a bad man?”

“Well, no.”

“Is he a good man?”

“From all I hear, he is.”

Rose Bozonnier, the housekeeper, was an astute woman, and she saw that the doctor was troubled. She knew why. She remarked, “She's going to make a wonderful wife, Dr. Whitman. She's compassionate, she's smart, and she's good-natured. She's everything that a man could want. Why, she'd make a perfect wife for a doctor.”

“I thought, for a time, that Debakky might be interested in her.”

Rose looked at him with kind eyes. “He's not the only
doctor in the world.”

“She's met all of my doctor friends. She doesn't like any of them.”

At that moment, just as Rose opened her mouth to answer, Charissa came in, and Jeff said, “We've got to hurry. We're late. Good-bye, Rose.”

“Good-bye, you two. I'll have a good supper ready for you tonight.” She watched the pair from the window as they left and muttered, “Jefferson Whitman, open your eyes!”

In September, when the door to the Madariaga plantation house opened, Lewis Depard was surprised to see Yancy Devereaux. “Hello, Yancy,” he said.

“Hello, Lewis. Come visiting?”

“Yes. Is Damita here?”

“She's here. Come on in.”

Depard took off his hat and put it on the hall tree.

Yancy said, “Damita told me about your taking the last of our hands and giving them a good place. We both appreciate that.”

“Oh, don't bother yourself. We have so many, four more won't matter.”

The two were speaking when Damita walked into the foyer. “Lewis, it's so good to see you,” she said. She offered her hand, which Lewis kissed.

“You look enchanting as always, Señorita.”

“Come into the dining room. We're having
café au lait
and a cake that I made myself.”

“You don't do all the cooking, do you, Damita?”