East of Orleans (5 page)

Jacqueline strained her eyes to see through the thicket of trees. Some of the houses they had come upon were not recognizable. Jacqueline glanced at the burnt-out homes and wondered what they had looked like before the war. More often than not, they came upon a single chimney. She could not tell if the house had been burned by accident or at the hands of the Indians or Yankees.

“Ida, you’re not from
New Orleans
are you?”

“No, I’se not.” Ida chewed hungrily on the croissant.

“Well, how did you get there?”

Ida glanced at Jacqueline. “I was just a little girl, bout seven, staying in
Charleston
at the missus’ house and polishing her silver when she say to me, “Ida, take this pie down to Mrs. Hammond’s house.” When I got back, Master Robert, he says I looked at him in a disrespectful way. I did not think I did, and if I did, I did not mean to. Master Robert, he took a leather whip and beat my brother and me all over the place. It wasn’t long after that we left and went to stay with Aunt Beulah down in
Louisiana
.”

Jacqueline glanced away seeing Ida’s tear-filled dark eyes.

“You feel all right?” asked Jacqueline.

“Yessum,” said Ida.

“Well, I don’t.” Jacqueline removed a bottle of whiskey from her satchel and turned it up to her mouth. She placed the bottle between her legs. “You want some of this, Ida?”

Ida shot Jacqueline a long side-glance. “No, shure don’t.”

Jacqueline reached into her satchel, rummaged around and found a small piece of paper and a fountain pen.

“Good. Ida, I’m going to give you enough money to get you back home to
New Orleans
. I’m writing down the address of my friend Dr. Chandler, in
Atlanta
. He’ll check you over and make sure you’re strong enough to travel. I’ll ask him to make arrangements for you to get to
New Orleans
.”

Ida’s eyes widened. “You shure he gonna do dis?”

Jacqueline touched her gold bracelet, gave a smug smile, and said, “He’s an honorable man, who has a heart.” Jacqueline paused and stood up. “We must hurry, before all the people north of
Atlanta
know of our travels and send out a pack of dogs to hunt us down.”

In a little over an hour, they had almost arrived at their destination when they came upon an entire black Baptist congregation, baptizing sinners into saints in the river. The words of the preacher echoed through the oaks and magnolias and Ida felt as if the hand of God had touched her.

Jacqueline glanced at the reverend who appeared to be in his fifties. Circled around him were a flock of women, both old and young, dressed in fine Sunday dresses and fancy hats. Among the women was a brother or two with work-worn hands and wearing Sunday go- to-meeting hats. They glanced up with curious eyes and no small amount of appreciation and shock to see, walking out of the bushes, one fancy woman carrying a brown satchel with a cat’s head poking out, and a soon- to-deliver colored woman. A nervous reverend smiled, showing a multitude of white teeth. He held out his hand and said, “Afternoon, ladies.”

Jacqueline took the reverend’s hand, noticing it was cold but, of course, he had just gotten out of the river water. Tears filled Jacqueline’s eyes. “We’ve been lost in these woods for hours, lost, just walking around trying to find our way.”

Suspicious, the reverend sniffed, smelled the whiskey and Jacqueline flaunting her perfume and seductive gaze. He glanced back at his congregation and said, “Praise the Lord; he has delivered these fine ladies.”

They shook hands and Jacqueline leaned close to the reverend. “My maid Ida is a widow; lost her husband on the railroad.”

The reverend looked surprised. “He was building the railroad?”

“No, he was run over by a train,” said Jacqueline.

“I see,” said the reverend with a serious look on his face.

Jacqueline glanced at him and whispered, “Took off his leg.”

“Gangrene, I’m sure.” The reverend winked.

Jacqueline nodded. “It would have been pure hell if he had to limp around.”

A few of the congregation members gasped as they stopped on the riverbank and listened.

“And might I ask where a woman of your stature is from?” The reverend inquired.

“I am a lady, dear sir, and please address me as such,” said Jacqueline. Ida gave Jacqueline a sideways look, but did not dare say a word.

The reverend said, “Yes, well, of course, that goes without saying. It would take a fool not to be able to see that you are a fine lady, a fine lady indeed. And what did you say your name is, dear lady?”

In less than an hour, Jacqueline had shared her whiskey with the reverend, improved Ida’s social standing from sinner to widowed saint, and handed the reverend enough money to buy song books for his entire congregation.

By the end of the afternoon, thunderclouds and lightning had moved in. Jacqueline straightened her spine and closed her satchel to conceal the cat. She now stood in front of Mae Patterson’s bordello. Jacqueline turned to the sound of water and watched it drip off the lush green ferns that hung on the vast wrap- around front porch. She saw lightning flash through the hot summer sky and jumped at a thunderclap. She put down her bag and peered into the rose-stained glass window. A housemaid carried crisp linens down the hall, fresh-cut roses stood tall in a multi-faceted crystal vase. She exhaled, relieved that Dr. Chandler had made this arrangement for her. She pressed her sultry face to the glass, and batted her thick, black lashes when the front door opened.

Jacqueline took a deep breath and studied the young black woman who stood before her, wearing a cheerful cotton dress. Her nappy black hair with a hue of chestnut, was wrapped tight in a white turban. Shiny gold hoops hung low in her ear lobes. “Hi, I’m Priscilla,” she said to Jacqueline. “Would you care for a glass of cold lemonade?”

“Lemonade? I’m sorry I don't drink much lemonade,” said Jacqueline.

“Don’t worry, I don't neither, but it's here if you want it,” Priscilla said as she moved Jacqueline’s bags into the foyer.

“My name is Jacqueline Rousseau. I was referred by Doctor Chandler.”

Priscilla looked down at Jacqueline’s feet. Her red skirt, fashionably tapered, crinkled when she moved and exposed her black, jet beaded boots. A well-designed red and black satin bustle rested seductively on her rounded derriere. Sheer black, French lace, which fit provocatively over a black silk camisole shrouded her bust, and then narrowed at her wrist. A magnificent pair of gold and ruby drop earrings with a matching multi-tiered ruby pendant sparkled against Jacqueline’s luminous skin. Priscilla stared and decided this ain’t no common whore. Priscilla’s voice lowered. “Doctor Chandler, yes’sum, he told us you’d be coming. I’se have a lot of regard for dat man.” Priscilla threw her shoulders back. “The girls say nice things about Doc Chandler.” She let out a hearty laugh and waved her small brown hand.

Jacqueline smiled a smug smile.

Priscilla turned the lamp on in the hall and escorted Jacqueline up the wide, winding oak staircase. Plush oriental rugs of blues and reds carpeted the halls.

Jacqueline looked up and observed the gilt painted ceilings and the elaborate crown molding. The smell of fried chicken and apple pie filled the air; three or four servants were on duty. The house was clean and did not have the musty odor that the house in
Atlanta
had. She could not have been more “at home.”

A young girl appeared, a child of no more than twelve, with tight bouncy curls and a giddy innocence.

Priscilla scowled at the girl. “Little one, Miz Mae sees you coming down the hall in not a thing but your drawers, she’ll have my hide.”

They walked past an open bedroom where two girls with matching faces lay on their sides, with their hands touching. Priscilla closed the door. The stairs creaked; Jacqueline felt a warm hand touch her back. She turned and there stood the mistress of the house. Mae Patterson had eyes like a snake, below well-defined brows. Her coiffed hair was blond with tight ringlets that dangled down the nape of her neck. Her face was cold with mature lines and she never blinked. She placed her hands on her hips, smiled an evil smile through thin lips, stared at Jacqueline, and said, “Does their age shock you?” Jacqueline looked hard into the woman's stoic face and said, “Nothing… shocks me.”

Mae extended a pale, shaky hand. “I have been eager to meet the most talked about woman east of
Orleans
.” Mae glanced back at the twin girls. Rest your mind; they are far better off. They came to me from a former slave owner who held them in bondage over in Beaufort.” She sighed. “It’s an ugly business at times, and when it comes to the girl’s age, it has been a political disagreement.” She looked Jacqueline up and down. “I understand you are a real money-maker.”

With a fixed stare on Mae, Jacqueline gave a slight smile.

“You don’t have any scars, do you?” asked Mae.

Jacqueline tilted her head. “Do you want me to strip?” Mae clenched her bony white knuckles.

“Priscilla will be your maid. She will take care of all your personal needs.” Mae’s voice deepened, her eyes narrowed, her face grew tight. She pointed a thin jeweled finger at Jacqueline. “Now, you listen to me. I run a first-class place here. I do not allow no drugs, no disease, no guns, and I will throw your ass in the street if you steal. If you have any secrets, you will not have them long around here. I warn you, don’t try and pull any fast tricks. I have seen them all; there ain’t a thing that goes on here that I do not know about, and if I don’t, it will not be long until I catch you. The rules of this house are simple: the man rules here. It is your job to arouse him and keep him happy. Take his money and do not get any ideas. I do not allow any of my girls to steal from our patrons. If you get caught, the punishment is severe. I furnish your meals, your board, Priscilla will see that your laundry gets done, and we work on a forty-fifty split.”

Jacqueline’s face grew serious. “Didn’t Doc tell you I get sixty-forty? Sixty for me and forty for you.”

Mae hesitated for a moment. “All right, given your reputation, I’ll agree to your terms, but you had better be worth it. The sheriff, he visits here twice a week, so be especially nice to him. You may need him some time; they usually all do sooner or later.”

Jacqueline smiled. “Of course.”

Mae exhaled. “They come here for different reasons, unexpected pleasures, things their wives would never dream of doing. What am I telling you for? You know what I’m saying.” Mae chuckled. “There’s a tall, dark-haired man that has a thing for watching. He likes to call the girl by his wife’s name, but don’t worry, he’s harmless and is generous to the girls. Just remember what happens here stays here; I don’t care how bad it gets. We have never had any trouble with the law. Of course, we have kept the sheriff paid off for years.”

Priscilla leaned over and whispered in Mae’s ear. Mae’s face drained of color. She turned back to Jacqueline. “There is one young man, he’s been banned from here, but on a busy night, he might slip past the girl at the door.” Priscilla shot Mae a sharp glance and they exchanged stern looks. “He gets pleasure out of tying the girls up. He ain’t never done any of them harm and I do not believe he ever would, but the girls are afraid of him. You don’t need to worry. I’ll keep him away.” Mae stared long and hard at Jacqueline, then walked back down the stairs.

A moment of silence passed, and then Jacqueline asked Priscilla, “What did she mean by that?”

“None of us know, but Miz Mae does. There something ‘bout that boy and her, always has been, but I ain’t n’ere been able to put my finger on it. Best to stay away from dat subject, but I hear he’s from a real important family, some banker’s boy.” Priscilla started to laugh. “She didn’t tell you, but Miz Mae, she don’t allow any colored men in here. Not that she cares; she’d take anybody’s money, even those randy gold-mining trash. The sheriff he hates all us coloreds. He says he will close her doors if he ever hears tell of Miz Mae’s girls entertaining colored men.” Priscilla bent over in laughter.

Jacqueline smiled. “What’s so funny?”

“The sheriff, he shure must be crazy, for his favorite girl is a high-yeller from one of them plantation families over near
Charleston
.”

“Perhaps the sheriff is colorblind,” Jacqueline whispered, as she stood in the hall looking over the banister.