Lies Agreed Upon (11 page)

“Well, shall we go out to the patio?” chirped Mimi. “I’ve got hot tea and home-made scones with Devonshire cream. I decided to do it all in a very English way. An English rock star lives next door and gave me the recipe. Really, there’s a sweet boy under that ‘heavy metal’ disguise.” She shooed them out the French doors to a patio shaded by old maples and gums. She quickly followed, balancing a tray laden with a floral tea set. “I’ll just bring this out and come back with the rest if you don’t mind. No, no, Tess, please, I can manage,” she added as Tess made a move to help. Chatter unimpeded by having to maneuver a tray of fragile china, she led Tess and Lillian toward a wicker dining set in the middle of a leaf-strewn, slate patio. She unloaded her rattling burden and scurried back into the house.

Lillian, with an amused glance at Mimi’s retreating back, promptly lowered herself into a wicker chair with a grunt. She turned a pale-blue, penetrating gaze on Tess as soon as she was also seated
and fired her first conversational salvo: “So, I understand you went to investigate Josephine’s ghost story at that overpriced stable-turned-tourist-trap.”

“Yes, I toured the Oak Alley and Laura plantations and then stopped at The Lost Lady Restaurant,” responded Tess, a little put off by the woman’s challenging manner. “I agree th
at there was more focus on ambiance than fine cuisine.”

“Now wait until I serve before we get into the family history,”
called Mimi as she reappeared with a tray loaded with scones and slightly tarnished silverware. Mimi began busily arranging the table, while Lillian presided with critical attention. If sufficiently disturbed by some flaw in the tableau, Lillian would frown and reach a bulky arm and large square-fingered hand to reposition items.

Mimi ignored Lillian’s interference, took a seat and piped to Tess, “Now, do tell us the details of the ghost story, Tess darling.”

After Tess repeated the menu story, Mimi murmured, “Yes, how sad. Poor Josephine. Shall I pour the tea? I have sugar and milk if you wish to add it in the English way.”

Before Tess could respond, Lillian’s terse contralto interrupted. “That story is all bunk for the tourists. I’ll tell you the real story as it was handed down in my family
—”

“Well, before you do that, dear, why don’t you explain to Therese, I mean Tess, the rel
ationship between your family and her family,” interrupted Mimi in turn.

Lillian gave her a quelling look. “I’ll get to that. It all starts with Josephine anyway. Let me tell it my way, Mimi,” she rapped out and then held up a tarnished teaspoon with a frown. “You need to polish this.”

“Oh, I meant to do it,” mumbled Mimi, using a pair of tongs to transfer fat scones to plates. Mimi poured tea and passed carefully balanced cups on dainty saucers as Lillian launched her tale.

“I don’t think you’ll say ‘poor Josephine’ once you hear the real story,” glowered Lillian. “Josephine was no abused wife and definitely not a loving mother. She hardly slowed her pace when she was p
regnant the first two times—wheeling, dealing and riding around the countryside right up to delivery. Everyone noticed Josephine didn’t grieve for her lost babies either. Antonio began to doubt her maternal instincts and to suspect his wife’s maid Solange, one of those free coloreds. Solange was some kind of voodoo witch, and she had cared for the little babies that died. Josephine was abnormally attached to the servant, even included her in the portrait in 1850 House.”

“Are you saying Solange was involved in the infant deaths?” interrupted Tess.

“Judge for yourself,” sniffed Lillian and continued. “During her third pregnancy, Antonio forced changes on Josephine. He wouldn’t let her ride horses. He wouldn’t let her travel on business. He made everyone come to him on plantation matters so Josephine would rest. It made Josephine furious! He also banned the maid Solange from the baby’s care. And that third baby, Benjamin, was healthy as could be—until the fateful night.”

Lillian paused dramatically to make sure she had everyone’s attention and then resumed her narration in an appropriately
portentous tone. “That night, Antonio slipped into his wife’s room where the newborn’s cradle was kept. Maybe, it was to dote on his son, or maybe he suspected something. Who knows? But it was lucky—because he caught Josephine pressing a pillow over the baby’s face!”

Mimi sighed, and Tess felt the hair rise on the back of her neck.

Lillian observed her audience’s reactions with a grimly satisfied smile and concluded, “Antonio pushed Josephine away, grabbed the baby and began to shout for help. Josephine never said a word, just walked out of the house and into the river.” Lillian leaned back at this climactic point and took a restorative sip of tea and a large bite of scone smeared with cream and strawberry preserves.

“It’s hard to imagine how anyone, but especially a mother, could harm a helpless infant,” commented Mimi. Her tone was mournful, but her eyes were
bright as a crow’s spotting carrion. “Do you think Josephine killed her other children, Lillian?”

“That’s a big question mark, isn’t it?” Lillian
shrugged and added, “It wouldn’t surprise me. Maybe Solange got rid of the first two babies, and then, when Antonio’s orders banned the voodoo woman, Josephine acted on her own. Anyway, that’s what Antonio’s second wife, Thérèse, told my grandfather.”

“Well, if this story comes from second-wife Thérèse, it would be natural to demonize the first wife,” remarked Tess.

“So believe the back of a restaurant menu,” huffed Lillian.

“
What happened to baby Benjamin and poor Antonio?” interjected Mimi, deftly guiding her friend from irritation back to narration.

“Oh, so now it’s poor Antonio,
” grunted Lillian. “Well, I never had much respect for that man. Antonio felt so betrayed and grief-stricken that he shut himself up in his bedroom and pulled the covers over his head. They had to beg him to eat. He left the baby to the care of the slaves. Finally, his neighbor and friend, a man named Paul Arnoult, was able to bully and cajole him into taking care of his plantation and his son. But Antonio just went through the motions after that, with no joy in anything, even his only child.”

“That must have been a dreadful atmosphere for Benjamin growing up,” sighed Mimi. “I know how paralyzing grief can be. Why, when Mr. Walker passed away, I was walking around in a fog
for weeks. But I forced myself to snap out of it for the sake of my children.”

This little speech told Tess several things she had wondered about Mimi, including the whereabouts of Mr. Walker. Lillian sat looking at her friend with a bored, irritated expression, as if she’d heard this homily many times before.

“Yes, very brave of you,” muttered Lillian. She paused and stared off into space, frowning and pensive. “You know, I think it’s easier to lose someone you love passionately than someone you hate passionately. All those hurts that can never be avenged and arguments that can never be won—the person dies but all the negative energy stays.”

From the expression on Mimi’s face, part insult and part pity, Tess assumed Lillian was speaking from personal experience
as much as speculating on long-dead Antonio’s state of mind.

Lillian cleared her throat and returned to her tale with renewed forcefulness
. “The fact is that Benjamin Cabrera grew up with little attention from his depressed father. It might have ruined a different person, but Ben Cabrera was an uncommon man, with a ‘noble’ character people used to say.”

“What was so special about him?” asked Tess. “And why didn’t he get married if he was so impressive?”

“Ah, good question,” smiled Lillian. “It wasn’t a problem of looks or charm. Ben Cabrera was handsome as sin and athletic, too. From boyhood to manhood, no other young man could outrun, outride or outshoot him. He inspired love and respect in everyone—man or woman. And despite his father’s neglect, Ben was a devoted son.”

“I’m surprised that you make Ben Cabrera such a hero given
the Cabreras’ negative impact on your family,” interrupted Mimi, and the two older women shared an enigmatic look for a long moment.

“Great people can do the greatest harm,” averred Lillian finally, slapping her teacup down on its saucer with a clatter that made Mimi wince for the delicate china. “But that’s getting ahead of the story. Anyway, Ben went to West Point in 1860 with the idea of becoming an officer and a gentleman. Unfortunately for him, war broke out in 1861. Ben was only 18, but he was a good son of the South, so he left school and joined the Confederate cavalry. I know he saw action at Gettysburg, and his courage and cool head won him promotion. By the end of the war, he was a captain
despite his young age.”

Here Lillian paused and rummaged through her purse, one of those deep-bottomed satchels from which women on television commercials can pull jumbo-size containers of anta
cids. “Here it is,” she said and triumphantly handed Tess on old-fashioned tintype photograph. “The man on the far right is Benjamin Cabrera. You can see how handsome he was.”

Tess looked at the faded photo curiously. Five people were standing in a row at the bas
e of a large live oak. At the bottom, the legend “Wedding of Marie Haas and Louis Cabrera, June 1883” was written in sepia ink. At the far left stood a solemn youth in a suit with high-collared shirt and a bowler hat cocked in a self-conscious imitation of rakishness. Next to him was an attractive unsmiling woman in her 20s. She wore a bustled dress and a tightly corseted bodice that showed off an hour-glass figure. Her carefully coiffed hair appeared to be blond. Beside her was a shorter, buck-toothed girl with similar coloring but a meager figure. A liberal festooning of expensive lace and a bouquet of flowers proclaimed her the bride, Marie.

At the bride’s side was a slight young man with narrow shoulders and delicate features whose effeminacy was accentuated r
ather than offset by a thin moustache. Dressed in a formal tailed coat with boutonniere, he was easily identified as the young groom, Louis Cabrera. He had a wide-eyed almost alarmed look, and the last figure, identified by Lillian as Benjamin Cabrera, stood head and shoulders above him. Ben Cabrera had placed a reassuring, or perhaps controlling, hand on the young groom’s shoulder.

Tess focused more closely on
“noble” Ben. He had movie-star looks, with a masculine beauty that age would only hone to an attractive cragginess. A broad intelligent forehead was accented by a rippling fall of lustrous brunette hair and strong winged brows. His dark eyes were deep-set and looked calmly at the photographer. He had a strong patrician nose above a long upper lip with a full moustache. Under the moustache, Tess could see a generous smiling mouth bracketed by long dimpled creases. There was physical power in his broad-shouldered stance but gentleness in the hand resting on the youthful Louis.

“Wow, Ben Cabrera is really handsome. He must have been in his late
30s here, right? I can identify the bride and groom, Marie and Louis, but who are the others?” asked Tess, handing the photo on to Mimi, who reached for it eagerly.

“Left to right, that’s my grandfather Martin Haas at age 16, and then his sisters, my great-aunts Muriel and Marie. Then comes Louis Cabrera, Ben’s stepbrother, and Ben himself,” answered Lillian.

“Oh, so this marriage ties my family to yours!” exclaimed Tess. “Is that how you ended up with Josephine’s portrait?”

“Be patient and let me give you the background. I understand from Mimi you don’t know much about the family prior to your grandfather,” Lillian said with a dampening glance. “Where was I? Oh, yes, once again, Antonio’s obsession for a woman led to a mess. While Ben was away fighting with Confederate forces, Antonio fell in love. One evening, he attended a soirée at his old friend Paul Arnoult’s house and saw Arnoult’s daughter Thérèse for the first time in many years. He was stunned to see that Thérèse was now a lovely 25-year-old, and, of course, he fell in love at first sight.”

“Wasn’t Antonio a bit too old for Thérèse?” asked Tess.

“Definitely,” agreed Lillian. “Antonio was already 47. But, instead of being upset, Paul Arnoult saw a profitable alliance. He urged his friend to propose, and he urged Thérèse to a
ccept. And then history repeated itself. Like Josephine, Thérèse was a woman pressured into marriage, and a woman with more will and wit than Antonio. For her, the main attractions of the marriage were social status and financial security. But she knew a large portion of Antonio’s estate would be inherited by his oldest son Ben, who was sole heir to the Chastant estate and to a portion of Cabrera property. Thérèse wanted more. So she told Antonio that unless he could guarantee her children all the Cabrera land as well as her Arnoult property, she would not consider his proposal. Even Antonio hesitated to partially disinherit his loyal oldest son, and he went into a funk.” Lillian awaited their reaction.

“Thérèse and Antonio married, so did Antonio
eventually meet her demands?” asked Tess.

“It was
n’t Antonio who struck a bargain with Thérèse,” answered Lillian. “Shortly after Antonio’s aborted wooing of Thérèse, Ben came home for a brief visit – secretly, of course, because the state was in Union control by 1862. Ben was shocked to find his father more withdrawn and despairing. As soon as he understood the reason, Ben went to speak with Thérèse. Here’s what Ben offered: He promised that he would cede his portion of the Cabrera estate to Thérèse’s children. Thérèse still hesitated. So Ben went further. He promised that he would also leave his Chastant property and any personal estate to Thérèse’s children upon his death. With that, Thérèse agreed to marry Antonio.”