Bal Masque (17 page)

No, that idea wasn’t possible. No woman, not even Grandmère, lived in a world free of constant social constraint. A woman made her place in the world by the man she married and the children she gave him. It was just the way of things, though such restriction sounded ghastly when she considered it. The years ahead had seemed more exciting, more hopeful when she and the other girls at school speculated about life and marriage and the future in store for them. How many afternoons had they spent asking the question, “Who will he be?” Now most of her schoolmates had that question answered. Lucienne hoped they were more pleased with the result than she had been. The good sisters discouraged such talk. The nuns counseled sound preparation for the future, whatever it held, by learning grammar in French and English so a girl fit well in her husband’s social world. They suggested needlework and domestic arts to help her run an efficient home. None of that satisfied a young girl’s curiosity, of course. How could a nun, no matter how kind, do that? There were no men, except priests, in the lives of those gentle souls. They had no knowledge of the life men planned for their women. No men at all, no fathers or brothers, or suitors, or anything. “No men,” Lucienne murmured, “no men behind those great, closed walls. No one to order their lives for them.”

Lucienne looked through the crowd. The rain had passed, and the streets were again filled with people. The sun had begun to come out, and it was dropping toward the horizon. Afternoon had advanced while she muddled through her misery. She began to edge toward the opening at the end of the market. Go home? No, she wouldn’t go home. She had no way to get there, and no desire to find one. She had another destination and another future in mind. It would be a long walk, she realized. Her feet already felt swollen and raw from her wet shoes, but she’d come this far. She’d chosen her own path, stumbling and cross-grained though it had been. Now she had a goal and a means of doing what she wanted. She just had to get there before the gates closed for the day.

Lucienne set out, determined she would not give up or go home. She saw a life where she wouldn’t have to follow the whim of any man. Others had done it. She had even threatened it herself. Now it looked to be the only place for her. She was sure Mother Superior would see the right of it. The sisters should be delighted to have a lady of good breeding among them. Lucienne Toussaint would make a beautiful nun.

Chapter Eleven:

Revelations From Bread and Buttons

“I want to see Mother Superior,” Lucienne announced. The older woman across the table looked up in mild surprise.

“Why do you need to speak to her, child?” The wrinkled hands were still, folded as if for prayer, on the polished wood. “Could another sister be of help, instead? All of us are here to offer counsel and help when asked.”

Lucienne reined in her impatience. Mother Superior would be the person in charge. No one else would do. “No, I want to see her. Nobody else.”

The elderly nun stood, taller than she appeared sitting down. Her veil and coif hid most of her expression, but Lucienne felt a shade of coolness in her manner. “Mother Superior is away. I’m taking care of things in her absence. If you’d care to come back?” She moved toward the door as if to show Lucienne out.

“Away? Where is she? Will she be back today?” Lucienne sputtered questions in confusion. She’d never known Mother Superior to leave the grounds in the whole four years she’d been at the school.

The sister shook her head. “I’m sure I can’t tell you when she’ll return. An elderly sister of our order is near death, and Mother is keeping vigil for her. It may be several days.”

“But I want to join the order. I want to be a nun. Mother Superior is the only one who can give permission.” Lucienne remembered all the fuss made about a classmate who had wanted to be a nun. Mother Superior finally had convinced the family that the girl had a true vocation. Lucienne might need the same advocacy.

“You believe you have a vocation, child?” The black-and-white figure sat again.

“Oh, yes, I’ve always wanted to join the order,” she gushed. “I just couldn’t convince my family.”

“I’m Sister Ann Marie.” Lucienne saw the blue eyes under the white coif grow warmer, a gleam of interest lighting them. “Tell me about yourself, and why you think we should admit you to our order. And what is your name?”

Lucienne ducked her head. If her family came here searching for her, her name would immediately give her away. “Lucie,” she mumbled, “I’m called Lucie.”

“Lucie,” Sister Ann Marie repeated. “It means light or a child of the light. A lovely old name. Where are you from, Lucie? What is your home like?”

“I lived on a farm upriver,” she said keeping as near the truth as she could. “My parents and I, no brothers or sisters. I always wanted to be a nun, you see, even when I was a little girl. But Papa thought it was foolish. He wants me to marry so someone will continue to run the farm when he can’t anymore. He arranged for me to marry, but I don’t want to. And I ran away to come here.”

“You can’t be old enough to marry, not yet. What are you, twelve, perhaps thirteen? You may change your mind in two or three years.”

Lucienne thought of her tangled braids and the skimpy, wet gown that showed too much of her legs for a proper young lady. “No, sister, I’m sixteen, nearly seventeen, and certainly old enough to marry if Papa insists.” She was eighteen, but disguising her age would help her stay hidden.

The nun seemed doubtful but made no further objections. “Well, Lucie, you seem sincere enough in your intentions, but I can make no decisions about anything so serious without the counsel of Mother Superior. That will have to wait for her return.”

Frustration combined with hunger and desperation to make Lucienne’s great black eyes fill with tears. “Please, sister, I have no place to go. I can’t go home. They’ll never let me get away again. I want to stay here.” A sob, not hard to create given her circumstances, welled up in her words.

“Now, now, Lucie, I had no intention of turning you out tonight. We’ll do nothing before Mother Superior returns, but until then you may stay here. If you make yourself useful and your vocation is sincere, I think Mother will look kindly on your request.” Sister Ann Marie took her by the hand. “Come along. We’ll find you some dry garments, at least. What can you do, Lucie? We must find work for you.”

Work? The word scarcely existed in Lucienne’s vocabulary. She’d expected to be welcomed, fed, and tucked into a warm bed. Her poor feet needed ointment and linen bandages. Her wounded spirit needed solace. This ignorant sister was telling her she’d have to do some kind of tasks to be kept here? Lucienne swallowed her outrage.

“I sew neatly,” she answered. “I read French and English. I sing a little and can play twelve tunes on the pianoforte.”

Sister Ann Marie smiled at the list. Lucienne suspected it didn’t sound much like the accomplishments of the daughter of a small farmer, but she couldn’t claim other talents. “We don’t have need for those tasks just now. We have mending, of course, and in the fall, we’ll make new habits to replace those too worn to wear. At the moment, we need some help for Sister Mary Agnes in the kitchen. At home, I’m sure you did your part with the cooking and washing up. We’ll start you with her. Pots and dishes always need willing hands.” She looked at the damp dress still clinging in wet folds to Lucienne’s legs. “First, let’s get some dry clothes on you. You’ll take cold wearing that soggy dress.”

The grey gown was dry. That was the only benefit Lucienne found in it. It fell straight from her shoulders, as loose as the discarded brown one had been tight. If her feet and legs showed beneath the hem of the first, the second puddled to the floor. She tied a braided cord at the waist, then bloused the fullness over so she wouldn’t trip on the hem. Hanging over her hands, the sleeves had to be turned up three times to leave her fingers free. The fabric felt coarse, and the dress was drab and ugly. If she hadn’t been so relieved to be rid of the tight seams and chilly, damp fabric of Dorcas’s faded gown, she’d have kicked the dowdy garment into a corner.

Sister Mary Agnes, the nun in charge of the kitchen, a little brown stick of a woman, gave her one quick glance. “You look strong enough, and I’m glad of the help. There’s dishes to wash. The water’s nearly hot. You start with that while I begin tomorrow’s bread.”

The mountain of crockery filled the table along the wall. Heat from a brick oven made the low-ceilinged kitchen stifling. Lucienne stood helplessly in the center of the room. She had no idea how to begin. “Never done kitchen work before?” Sister Mary Agnes asked.

Lucienne shook her head. She’d never even been in the kitchen buildings at home. Mama took care of running that part of the plantation, along with a good number of maids, a cook, and several small black boys whose job it was to carry food from the kitchen to the dining room.

“Take this rag, dip the dish in the hot water, rub the rag on this lye soap, scrub the dish till it’s clean, then rinse in more hot water, like this.” Sister Mary Agnes demonstrated, then plopped the soapy rag into Lucienne’s hands. “You do the rest. Make sure that water stays good and hot.” She took a huge wooden bowl from a stack at the end of the table. “If I don’t get the next batch of bread started, some people won’t have food tomorrow.” She watched Lucienne’s fumbling efforts. “You’re getting the idea,” she encouraged. “Just scrub those plates clean, then go on to the cups and spoons.” She observed for another minute. “You ever made bread, Lucie?”

Lucienne wiped a trickle of sweat from her forehead. “No, I don’t know how to make bread, either.”

“Don’t worry, I’ll teach you. I’ll be glad to have a good strong girl to do some of the stirring and kneading. I’m a little old and stiff to do it all by myself.”

The bones of Lucienne’s feet protested every step on the hard brick floor. They actually felt as if they were coming through the flesh. The strong soap burned her skin, turning her hands red and raw. Greasy water dripping under her sleeves made her arms itch unbearably. Her back ached as she lost track of the number of times she dipped from the kettle of steaming water. Lucienne repeated her movements mindlessly. She was too numb, too weary, too hungry, to protest. The pile of plates and cups and cutlery looked endless. Somehow the thought of stirring and kneading bread dough barely penetrated her mental fog. She just kept moving, one spoon, one mug, one bowl at a time.

“You’ve done a good job of work there, Lucie. I think we’d best stop and have our own dinner now, or we won’t be ready to serve when the others sit down. There’s buttermilk in a pitcher out in the pantry. You can fetch that while I get some plates ready for us. Then we’ll get back to setting the loaves to rise. I’ll get you up in the morning in time to help put them in the oven. The priests at the cathedral will want their bread hot on the table after morning mass.”

A wave of hunger strong enough to make her grasp the table for support washed over Lucienne. The aroma of Sister Mary Agnes’s fish stew filled the kitchen. Lucienne shuddered. She’d never dreamed she could be so famished and still live. She hoped her feet would carry her to the pantry and back before she crumpled in a whimpering heap at Sister’s knees.

****

Three days had passed since Armand brought Marie and a curious black kitten into his home on Dumaine Street. On arrival, he’d gone first to Etienne Pardue’s house. If Lucienne was running to Philippe, she’d go directly to his brother’s house, Armand reasoned. Etienne met him at the door with some surprise.

“I thought you’d still be at Mille Fleur celebrating your marriage, my friend.” Etienne, plump where his brother was whippet thin, fair where Philippe was dark, welcomed the visitor to his elegant home.

Armand chose his words carefully. If Lucienne had not come here, he had no desire to expose her escapade to anyone. “We’re spending some days here. With my father gone, we have more privacy in town than at Mille Fleur.”

“Oh, very wise, start life in your own home, let things settle naturally.” Etienne led his guest into a shaded parlor. “My wife will want to call as soon as you’re receiving, but she took the children to visit her mama. I’ll let her know you’re in town when she returns.” His manner didn’t suggest he’d seen Lucienne. Armand saw nothing hesitant or guarded in Etienne’s expression.

“I know Lucienne will be happy to see her. She’s very fond of your family.”

Etienne looked as if he expected an explanation of this somewhat unconventional call. Armand found a reason. “I actually wanted to speak to Philippe, if he’s here. Your brother wanted to buy a horse, a brood mare, from my new father-in-law, and I thought to see if he was still interested. It’s convenient for me to take care of such details for the family while I’m in town, and it gives my wife a little time to do the things to the house that she enjoys.” A bald lie obvious to anyone who knew Lucienne at all, Armand realized, but it would have to do.

“Alas,
mon ami
, I fear the transaction completely slipped my brother’s mind. He had a small interruption, one of those ridiculous
affaires d’honneur
that young and passionate men like Philippe fall into, the morning after your wedding. My apologies for missing such a celebration, but my impetuous brother will rush in where cooler men turn away.” Etienne offered a cigar, but Armand waved it aside. The duel, of course. Armand was certain Etienne referred to the duel that had led Lucienne to run away to the city.

“I trust Philippe escaped injury?”

“A slight wound only, nothing of concern. The affair goes back some years, however; the culmination of a quarrel my brother and our cousins had with a family called Blanchard. Bad feelings all around. Philippe feared the affair might not be at an end and chose to absent himself from New Orleans for a time. He’s gone to Texas at the invitation of our cousin James Bowie. It’s only fair, as James got Philippe into this situation in the first place.”

Pardue had gone to Texas? Had Lucienne secretly followed him? Armand fought the vision of the girl being near that powderkeg ready to erupt.