East of Orleans (4 page)

Lila sighed. “It isn’t any wonder the Baptist called a special meeting about him. His mother was a good woman. She took in our sick and wounded boys during the war; turned her entire house into a hospital. But Jules and his haughty old, hateful sister, Eliza, I believe, came from the devil himself.”

Granny let out a low laugh. “What do you suppose he gave that white trash woman all that money for?”

Lila smiled and said, “Maybe he owes it to her for something.”

Isabella heard the entire conversation. Her body was bruised and sore; she lay still in her bed and wiped the tears from her face. As she listened to every word her mama and granny said, she finally drifted off to sleep.

It was late in the afternoon and Isabella was still wearing her bloodstained gown when she heard a knock on the door. Granny hummed and swept the porch, and then everything fell still. Isabella’s body felt lifeless, but she got up and started to dress. She dunked her head in the washbowl and wrapped her hair in a towel. No one saw her when she came home the night before. She had run past Granny and Mama when they were both in the smokehouse. She did not know where her daddy was. He had been gone since yesterday morning. She felt terrible about the cross words they had, and she thought that she would kiss him and tell him how much she loved him the moment he came home.

Isabella heard whispers out on the porch and then a scream. She held her breath and placed her hand on her chest. She ran onto the porch and saw her mama bent down with her face in her hands. Isabella ran over, wrapped her arms around her mama and brushed the hair away from her cheek. Her mama shook and trembled. Isabella kissed her and then her eyes searched for Granny.

Leon Cagle, the local coroner, motioned to Isabella and she ran over to him. Why was he there? He looked down at her and his tired brown eyes watered. He took her hand and squeezed it. His words seemed to ooze out of his mouth. “Isabella, I am sorry to have to tell you, we found your daddy dead this morning.”

She starred hard at Cagle. “What did you just say? Why do you want to tell me this awful lie?” Before she could feel it, tears were streaming down her face. She screamed and fell to the ground. Cagle and one of the lawmen, who were walking to the front porch, picked her up and carried her into the house. They all heard three shots ring out.

“What’s going on?” Leon Cagle asked anxiously.

Lila cried, “Granny’s gone to the pasture to kill Sonny. I wish she would not do that, Miles loved that horse.” Isabella looked at the different faces around her. It was if she had never seen any of them. In disbelief, she let out a loud scream, “No!” and ran toward the barn to find Sonny and to keep Granny from shooting him. She found Granny in the barn with the rifle in her hand. Granny glanced up at Isabella and their eyes locked. Granny had buried three children. Miles was the only one she had left.

In between sobs, Isabella said, “Did you kill him, Granny?” Tears ran down Isabella’s cheeks. “Please tell me you didn’t kill Sonny, Granny, please!” She sank to her knees and struggled for breath.

Isabella heard someone call her name. She raised her head and as she recognized the voice, she saw Granny turn and leave the barn. Tom Slaughter bent down, nudged her arm, and kissed her on the forehead. He swept her up in both arms and carried the small bundle of a girl that was almost a woman. Tom felt the softness of her hair brushing against his arm. He wanted to entwine his fingers through her long auburn curls with streaks of gold. She was so innocent and pure he would have to be mad to think these things at a time like this. Even so, as he held her body close against his, he could feel her heart beat and he knew that he would love to lay her down in a bed of hay and cover her mouth with gentle kisses. He wanted her; he had wanted her for so long, but he knew that it was a sin for him to think such a thing and there was no way on God’s green earth that he would do a thing about his desires, or risk her good name until he made her his. She was his Bella now and all the years that had come before, when they ran and laughed along the banks of the
Chattahoochee
. He thought about the times she had dared him to get in the river with her. He recalled the time he teased her deep into the forest and hunted for crazy old man Haggar, and when they ran up on Haggar, they both were scared to death. His eyes misted as he gazed into the distance and could see her laugh as she skipped across the river rocks. She held one of her Granny’s cathead biscuits in one hand while she hummed some silly girl song.

He remembered the way she would place her hands on her small, narrow hips, smile and shout, “You gonna let a girl beat you, Tom Slaughter?”

Before he thought about it, Tom bent down and kissed her on the head.

Isabella whispered, “Don’t leave me, Tom,” and reached for his hand.

He touched her face with his hand and whispered, “For Christ sake, Bella, I would never do that.” He started to lift her. “Baby, put your arms around my neck. I’m going to take you to Sonny.”

Tom carried Isabella through the hay until they got to the stall at the back of the barn. He sat her on a blanket and said, “Here’s Sonny; he’s still alive. I didn't let Granny kill him. But you’ve got to understand that Sonny is injured and he may not live through the night. Whoever killed your pa, meant to kill the horse, too.”

Isabella gave Tom a fearful glance and then said with a whimper, “Can't Doc Ingle fix him?”

“Bella, the horse is in shock and he has a fever. His breathing is shallow, but he did move his head and Doc said that was a good sign. I think the horse tried to stay alive until your pa died, and then, well, he may have given up. I knew when I saw Granny headed to the barn what she had in mind. I could not let her kill that horse.” He let out a sigh and choked back tears. “I’m so sorry about your pa. We’ll find his killer; Sheriff has already put two of his boys on the case.” Isabella sniffled and wiped her nose on Tom's shoulder. Tom frowned and touched her cheek with his hand. “Oh my God, what happened to your face? Who did this to you?”

Isabella thought she had kept her bruise covered with her hair, but there was no point in trying to hide it now. She gazed at Tom and buried her head in his chest, her whole body twitched in pain. She knew that she had to lie; she could not tell him what had happened to her. She placed her hand on Tom’s cheek, and her lips trembled. She closed her eyes and said in a childlike voice, “Gracie and I went for a ride yesterday morning. We rode down by the river and over near Millicent Craig’s place. Something scared Gracie; it might have been a snake.” She paused and tried to catch her breath. “You know how scared me and Gracie are of snakes.” She glanced away from Tom. “I tried to hold the reins tight, but she was scared and ran. I caught my dress in the stirrup and I lost my balance and fell to the ground.”

Tom looked puzzled. He squeezed her hand and said, “For Christ sake, Isabella! Remember what your daddy and me told you; that you didn’t need to ride down by the river alone?”

Isabella whimpered, “Yesss.”

He held her head back and looked into her eyes. “Baby, don’t ever do that again.” Then he became irritated and confused. “That does not seem like Gracie.”

Isabella clung to him. Tom rubbed her head, leaned back and stared up at the rafters. For over an hour, he held her close, and then he picked her up and carried her into the house.

Jacqueline Marie Rousseau

It was early the next morning when two women of questionable reputation crossed the
Chattahoochee
River
in an attempt to get out of
Atlanta
. They went through a thick, wooded forest that provided the endurance to believe that a hot bath, a dry place to stay, and a more hospitable environment was just a little further through the woods.

Jacqueline Rousseau, one of the two women, was a young Creole prostitute, whose profound beauty and experience made her the most desired whore in
New Orleans
. Her look was provocative, the kind that belonged to a woman who had no morals, but with the innocence of a child. One glance at this mysterious woman would make a man think that she was the work of both the angels and the devil. Her flawless skin was a pale shade of olive, thick, black lashes encased pensive almond-shaped eyes that were an exotic shade of green, and her lips were full and seductive.

Many a young sailor had brought her flowers. Older gentlemen had fallen in love with her, and it was only after she had robbed them of their money, that they realized what fools they were. She twisted the gold bracelet on her arm and smiled a malicious smile. She was not like the other whores; she used men the way they used her.

She rode out of
Atlanta
with a Negro maid, who was huge with child, and the Madame of their brothel had chased them in the streets. The Madame flung a handkerchief at Jacqueline, cursing and screaming threats.

“You thief, you little tramp!” Yelled the Madame.

However, the real mystery, Jacqueline kept concealed inside a small rosewood box that she had carried with her since the age of twelve. Inside the dark box was what put Jacqueline’s anxious patrons into a deep sleep: opium. While the vile men slept, Jacqueline emptied their pockets.

A street
preacher had come to the brothel and offered mercy for Jacqueline’s soul, in exchange for an afternoon of pleasure behind closed doors. Jacqueline reminded herself that she had made the small fortune she had squandered. But she did not believe in charity, therefore, she took the street preacher up on his offer. She thanked him for his company and several minutes later, she left him naked, asleep like a baby, and emptied his pockets on the way out the door. Upon her departure, she brushed her waist length black hair with her silver brush and then slipped into the Madame’s room. Jacqueline glanced quickly at the dressing table covered with perfume bottles and toiletries, and put every one of them into a worn brown satchel. She hurried out of the house, looked up at the cloudy, gray sky and hoped rain would not come until she could arrive in Norcross at the house of Mae Patterson. She was alone again, with the exception of the pregnant maid and a blind black cat. She slowed down in a brief attempt to rearrange her belongings. Warm air blew her jet-black hair loose in her face.

She looked into the satchel, removed the black cat, held him up to her face and rubbed his cold scratchy nose against hers. The cat was the only family she had. Jacqueline, now eighteen years old, had only been five or six when she found herself with nothing more than the brown satchel she now carried, standing at the door of the most notorious “house” in
New Orleans
. No one ever saw her crack open the bedroom doors and witness half-naked men and women with loose limbs draped over each other. Staring through the thicket of pines, the cat pawed at her cheek. She smiled and placed him back in her satchel where he burrowed in cozily.

The sun came out and her panic lifted. Jacqueline glanced down at her wrist; she had on a gold bracelet given to her by a prominent
Atlanta
physician. A silent man she mused, but he had been terribly fond of her. Above all, he made her feel like a lady. She glanced at her maid and felt guilt and remorse that she had brought her along. She had never seen a woman give birth and she did not want to see it now.

“Ida, do you have any kin that live around here?” Jacqueline asked, hoping the answer would be yes.

“Dey all back in
Louisiana
. I shure is tired. These bags is awful heavy.”

Jacqueline sighed, dropped her narrow shoulders and sat her bag down on the ground. She walked over and took Ida’s bags from her hands, put them next to hers and plopped down next to them.

“Let’s rest for a minute. I would love to have a cup of hot coffee and a warm croissant,” Jacqueline said with a sigh.

Ida glanced at Jacqueline and laughed. “Miz Jacqueline, you’se drink that coffee so black I’se don’t see how you stands it.”

“It's chicory coffee, Ida, and black is the only way to drink it.”

Exhausted, Jacqueline dug into her skirt pocket and removed two croissants wrapped around a piece of sausage. She tore off a small piece of the meat and dangled it in front of her cat. He sniffed and snatched it for himself. Famished, Jacqueline started to eat one of the croissants, and then looked at her maid, who was trembling. “Here, Ida, you take this; I’m not that hungry.” Jacqueline thought to herself that she would rather give both croissants to Ida than have to deliver a baby.