Iron Lace (19 page)

There was little jewelry inside the box. The man responsible for the cache, probably an ancestor of Juan’s, had not been sentimental. Étienne guessed that when the booty
was divided, he had chosen mostly gold and silver coins as his share. Or perhaps Juan himself, or others who had once possessed the treasure, had sold off everything else. Now there remained only the necklace, a pair of emerald-and-diamond earrings, a ruby-and-sapphire ring.

And the cross, executed in purest silver.

Aurore lifted the cross. It shone in the cradle of her lap. “I’ve never seen anything so beautiful.”

“I haven’t been able to make myself sell it.”

She laid it carefully in the box, against a wealth of gold doubloons. “How and where?” she asked. “These aren’t the usual family heirlooms.”

“Pirate treasure.”

“Dear God.”

“Very dear.” He scooped up a handful of coins and let them dribble through his fingers. “I can only guess where it came from, Aurore. There was a parade of Spanish ships that carried treasure back and forth from the New World to the Old. Some of them are known to have gone down in Louisiana waters. Some were taken by pirates.”

“But how did your father—?”

He told her a story he thought she would believe. “When my father found me in the marsh, the hurricane had also churned the earth nearby. Trees lay uprooted. As he was carrying me to his pirogue, he saw a chest that the storm had uncovered. Inside was this.”

“And he never spent it? Never tried to make your lives better? Your work easier?”

“I think he knew treasure couldn’t change him into someone else. And he was a miserly man. Perhaps he was waiting to spend it one day when he was old. He told me
where he had hidden it just before he closed his eyes for the last time.”

“But Étienne, once it belonged to someone.”

His lips quirked in a half smile. “But to whom? The Spanish who pillaged the Aztecs? The Mayans? Should I return it to them, do you think?”

She closed her eyes. “How much—?”

“I don’t know. Some of the coins are very old. They’ll be worth more to collectors than they’re worth for their gold. I don’t know if a price could even be put on the cross.”

He lifted the chest from her lap. Her eyes were still closed, and she was still too pale. “There is no one this belongs to more than it belongs to us.” He touched her cheek at the same moment he kissed her. The kiss was gentle and undemanding. He wanted nothing except color in her cheeks.

“I’ll be marrying a rich man,” she said as she opened her eyes.

“Rich? Maybe not. But this can be parlayed into real wealth, Aurore. We can start a business together. We have the means to do it.”

“Then why, with all this, have you been working for my father?”

“Because money is nothing without experience. And the things I had to learn couldn’t be taught in classrooms.”

She seemed to believe him. She nodded. “But this still won’t make my father accept you as his son-in-law.”

“I don’t want his acceptance. I want his daughter.”

“She’s yours.” The color he had hoped for flooded her cheeks. “She was yours before this.” She swept her hand toward the treasure. “And she will be yours after. She’ll be yours forever!”

He clasped her to him. He tried not to think of anything
except the woman in his arms. But, despite himself, he thought of Lucien, and what Lucien would say.

“I don’t want you to tell your father,” he said, against her hair. “He’ll attempt to stop us. We’ll arrange a place and time to meet. I’ll have tickets for the train. We’ll leave Louisiana, and we’ll never look back.”

She turned her face to his. He saw both sorrow and hope in her eyes. But as he kissed her, the sorrow disappeared.

O
n Lundi Gras, Rex, costumed as a French monarch of happier times, arrived at the riverfront on his royal yacht and paraded to Gallier Hall. Crowds lined the streets to cheer the king of carnival in his gold-and-white carriage. The city simmered with excitement as the clock ticked off the hours to Mardi Gras. By evening, when the Proteus parade was to begin, anticipation seeped through every street, from the palatial mansions of Saint Charles Avenue to the crowded shacks of Freetown in Algiers.

Up until the hour before Proteus was to appear, mothers worked on hampers of food to share with friends who lived on Tuesday’s parade route. Children designed and redesigned costumes, sewing bits of ribbon and small silver bells to cheap cambric and sateen. Then a flood of humanity spilled from houses all over the city and headed downtown to Canal Street.

Aurore pushed her way through the good-natured crowds, swimming against the tide. In the streets the shrill honk of automobile horns blended with the screeches of horses. On one
corner a small boy waved a carnival bulletin and pleaded for a dime. She had no use for it, but she bought one as a defense against fellow vendors at every corner. She was halfway to the riverfront before she realized that she was carrying a last colorful souvenir of her life in New Orleans. In days to come, she might look at the beautifully rendered lithographs of each float in the Proteus parade and dream she was home again.

Except that now home would be wherever Étienne planned for them to live. Afraid that her father might learn the truth before they were safely away, she hadn’t asked their destination. She was willing to turn her back on Lucien, but not to lie.

The crowds thinned. Far away she heard the music of a brass band. Then, as she neared the river, the sounds faded.

Carnival, with its relentless preoccupation with social status, its numbing regard for the most ephemeral of human values, would be easy to put behind her. She had never experienced carnival from the streets, never scrambled for a place on the parade route or worn a daring costume of her own creation. She wouldn’t miss what she had never really known.

The river was another matter. As she hurried toward it, she could smell its mysterious scent. Odors mingled into an essence as encompassing as the fog rising toward the darkening sky. The river was running faster and higher now, in anticipation of spring. Tears burned her eyes. She wasn’t sorry to be leaving New Orleans, because she was leaving with Étienne. But she hoped that someday, somewhere, she would know the river again.

She walked faster, because it was growing late. She was to meet Étienne that evening at the train station. They had chosen this night because her father would be occupied with the parade and the ball to follow. It would be late before
Lucien realized she was not among the young women in the call-out section. By then Aurore would be gone. But first she had one last goodbye.

As she neared the water, she schooled herself not to be disappointed. She had tried to get word to Ti’ Boo that she was leaving New Orleans. She had entrusted a letter to the same captain who had taken her to Côte Boudreaux, and she had telephoned a relative of Ti’ Boo’s in Napoleonville. She had asked Ti’ Boo to meet her here, but she hadn’t gotten a response.

Aurore didn’t know if Ti’ Boo had never gotten word, or if she had been forbidden to come. She was now the mother of a two-month-old infant, a healthy girl she had named Pelichere. Travel from Bayou Lafourche could be difficult, and it wasn’t unusual for an Acadian woman to stay forever in the confines of her small village. But Ti’ Boo had come to New Orleans once, on an uncle’s oyster lugger, and Aurore had prayed she could come once more.

She turned left and headed for Picayune Pier, near the French Market, where she hoped they would meet. Luggers docked here and unloaded fish, oysters and fresh vegetables from the bayous and lakes of the south, and in the daytime a mélange of men of all colors and races sailed in and out on boats with square sails.

At twilight the pier was not as enchanting. Every shadow menaced; every stranger was a potential enemy. She hurried until she was close enough to read the names of boats. Canvas tents covered cargo and blocked her view. She knew that men lived on their luggers; some had no other homes. Gazing at the crowded decks, she wondered if she had asked Ti’ Boo for the impossible.

She was debating whether to turn back when she saw a small figure unfold aft of one of the canvas tents. “Ro-Ro!”

She covered her mouth with her hands and watched as Ti’ Boo maneuvered past the cargo on her uncle’s lugger. Then she made a leap that would have done justice to longer legs and landed on the planks beside the water. In a moment they were in each other’s arms.

“I can’t believe you came!” Aurore hugged her tighter. “How did you manage?”

“I couldn’t let you go, not without seeing you.”

Aurore buried her face in Ti’ Boo’s hair. She realized that she had needed a portion of Ti’ Boo’s courage to move forward with her life.

“Ti’ Boo!”

Aurore looked up and saw Jules on the deck of the lugger.

“Over here.” Ti’ Boo waved. “He wouldn’t let me come, not without him,” she told Aurore. “He thinks to keep me and Peli safe.”

“Is he angry?”

“Angry?” Ti’ Boo laughed. “I treat him too good.”

Jules joined them. His hair had turned grayer, but he was clearly a man who improved with age. He greeted Aurore, then went to examine the lugger’s moorings so that they could talk.

“But where’s the baby?” Aurore asked.

“Asleep on the cot beside my
nonc.
” She inclined her head toward the boat. “She’ll be awake soon enough. You can see her then.”

Aurore had a thousand questions to ask, questions about marriage, childbirth and motherhood. She hadn’t told Ti’ Boo why she was leaving New Orleans, afraid to put the reason
on paper. Now she couldn’t hold it inside any longer. “Ti’ Boo, I’m getting married,” she said.

If Ti’ Boo was surprised, she didn’t show it. “Does your father know?”

Aurore shook her head. “He would disapprove. You know the man. It’s Étienne Terrebonne from Lafourche. He came here to work for my father.”

“Étienne.” Ti’ Boo’s face was inscrutable. “But why?”

“Because I love him.”

“And that matters more than what your father will say?”

“I’ll never know what my father says. We’re leaving tonight. We’ll be married out of state.”

“Ro-Ro…” Ti’ Boo shook her head. “You can’t escape what you are. Neither you or…Étienne.”

“We can try.” Aurore took her arm. “Please, let’s walk.”

“Jules will follow,” Ti’ Boo warned.

“Good. Then we’ll be safe.”

They strolled arm in arm, and Ti’ Boo questioned Aurore about her plans. “But to be married without family,” Ti’ Boo said. “How you must ache.”

“I’ve never had family.” Aurore squeezed her arm. “You know that better than anyone.”

“And your maman?”

“She doesn’t even know me anymore, and Papa forbids me to see her. Even the nuns who watch over her say she seems happiest when she’s left to herself.”

“Poor Ro-Ro.”

“No. Not anymore. Now I have someone who loves me, Ti’ Boo.” She flung out an arm, as if to encompass the whole world. “You don’t know what it’s like after all these years!”

Ti’ Boo made a comforting sound.

“I just had to see you once more before we leave. I don’t know if we’ll ever see each other again,” Aurore said. “I know it was hard to come, but it means so much to me. By tomorrow my father will know.”

“He’ll try to find you.”

“I don’t think so. He’ll cut me out of his life.”

“And leave you with nothing.”

For a moment, Aurore felt a pang at that thought. Her father had never thought her capable of learning Gulf Coast’s affairs. But she had always hoped that someday she would have a place in the company, no matter how modest. There had been women in business in the city. One had inherited a daily newspaper and managed it until her death. There was even some precedent for women working on the river. Several had been noted riverboat captains, and one still worked as a pilot.

She was no less capable. She was as intelligent, as enthusiastic, as any man, and she had hoped to prove that to her father one day. Now, with the
Dowager,
the Le Danois tribute to the future, completed and docked at Gulf Coast’s own wharf, it was a difficult dream to abandon.

“I don’t need Gulf Coast.” She gathered courage from saying it. “Étienne and I will build a life together. Maybe someday we’ll have our own shipping company.”

“How well do you know him?”

“How well did you know Jules?”

“But others knew Jules. My family has known his family always. We are distant cousins. There was nothing about Jules that was unknown.”

“And you’ve known Étienne, Ti’ Boo. Is there anything about him that would cause you worry?” Aurore expected the
obvious answer. When Ti’ Boo said nothing, she frowned and stopped. In the distance, she could hear a band, and what sounded like the booming of fireworks or cannonballs. The parade had begun.

“Ti’ Boo?”

“You know how he came to live with Faustin and Zelma Terrebonne. When he was ill, he was identified by a man from Chénière Caminada.” Ti’ Boo crossed herself as she said the name.

“I know.”

“It’s said the man became a hermit after the storm.
Il a pas tout.
” She touched her head to indicate that the man was crazy. “There are those who wonder if he told the truth.”

“About what, Ti’ Boo? What are you trying to say?”

Ti’ Boo looked away. “There are those who wonder if Étienne…if Étienne was a child of mixed blood.”

Aurore stared at her.

“My maman told me the story after my wedding. She thought it wasn’t for my ears before. Faustin began to suspect after Étienne had lived with him for some time. He grew bitter and silent. He began to drink. Zelma wouldn’t allow him to send Étienne away to an asylum for orphans.”

“But why? What reason did he have for such a terrible suspicion?”

“Nothing more than Étienne’s face.”

Aurore closed her eyes and saw the face of her beloved, the face that danced through her dreams. “No.” She opened her eyes. “No, if Étienne had Negro blood, I would have seen it. I live with Negroes in a way you never have, Ti’ Boo. They surround me. I see them on the levee, I see them in my kitchen, my carriage house, my garden. I see light-skinned
and dark-skinned, and some so white they could pass if they weren’t carefully watched.”

“And some who have passed, Ro-Ro.” Ti’ Boo looked away. “It’s a terrible thing when a man must pretend he is something he’s not. It could be more terrible for a woman who loved him. Especially if there were children.”

Aurore had planned to tell Ti’ Boo about the baby she carried. Now she couldn’t find the courage. “You’re wrong. I would have known. My father would have known!”

“Do you think it’s so easy to tell? We’re taught to see only what we expect. If we notice the unexpected, explanations, even the poorest ones, satisfy us. The people of the
chénière
came from many different places. Perhaps the lines weren’t as strictly drawn there. Perhaps Étienne is the child of such a merger. You must consider this.”

Aurore drew away from her friend. “No. I refuse.”

“What do you refuse? To consider? Or to care? Because each is different,
n’est-ce pas?
For one, you pretend there is no question. For the other, you admit to the question and disregard the answer.”

“I thought you were my friend.”

“I think, perhaps, I’m the only real friend you have.”

Aurore couldn’t answer. Misery welled up inside her. She was angry at Ti’ Boo, but along with anger had come suspicion. She tried to thrust it away, but it remained. She could feel the coarse texture of Étienne’s hair, see the spread of his cheekbones, the width of his nose, the hue of his skin. The things she had loved most about his face were now evidence against him.

“We never have to speak of this again,” Ti’ Boo said softly. “If you can say you don’t care, then I won’t care for you.”

“Ti’ Boo!” There was a burst of French behind them. Jules gestured and pointed downriver. He spoke so quickly and in such a heavy patois that at first Aurore couldn’t follow his words. Then she saw the glow in the sky. At almost the same moment, she heard the blast of horns and bells along the river.

“Fire.” She understood, and wished she hadn’t. Fire was a dreaded event. The port had
Samson,
a tug fireboat, always on guard. But once a fire began, it was difficult to end it without substantial loss of property. Large ships lay on the river bottom, the victim of flames less impressive than these.

She struggled to gauge where the flames might have originated. Denial made her calculate and recalculate, but when she was finished, she knew the fire was near Gulf Coast’s wharf.

She began to run. She heard Jules and Ti’ Boo calling her; then she heard their footsteps following. The Gulf Coast wharf was far away, but the air already seemed tainted with smoke. She ran faster. She forgot about Étienne and Ti’ Boo’s suspicions. She could think only of Gulf Coast and her father.

Lucien allowed Fantome to place his coat over his shoulders; then he waved the old man away so that he could examine himself in the mirror. “Get the carriage.”

Fantome left as silently as he had come. Lucien continued to stare at his own reflection. He was still imposing in formal clothes, and now that the weather was better, his health had improved. Or maybe it was the impending launch of the
Dowager.
She sat at Gulf Coast’s own wharf, a testimonial to everything Lucien had achieved. Tonight he could almost believe the doctors were wrong.

He remained careful of his health. He had refused to ride on a Proteus float, and he had intended to find an excuse not
to attend the buffet supper at the Opera House or the ball afterward. But at the last minute he had changed his mind. He wanted to scrutinize Aurore’s dancing partners.

There was a certain aura about a woman in love, a look, an essence; he believed that Aurore had succumbed at last. After careful analysis, he’d decided the young man was Baptiste Armstrong, the son of a cotton broker whose New Orleans roots went back the requisite number of generations. Lucien wouldn’t have chosen Baptiste, who lived off his father’s largess and made only occasional forays into the business world. But, with his impeccable background, he was acceptable. Lucien intended to speak to Charles Armstrong that night. Between them, he hoped, they could control and shape Baptiste until he was the son-in-law Lucien had always hoped for.