River Queen (2 page)

“That’s a morning dress, for receiving calls,” Julienne told her. “Now that I’m going shopping, I have to change into heavy winter underthings and an afternoon promenade dress.”

Carley grinned. “Oooh, receiving calls! Did Archie-BALD come mooning around again?”

“Carley! His name is Archibald, and you know very well that his friends call him Archie. But you’re just a little girl, and you’re supposed to call him Mr. Leggett,” Julienne scolded. “And where did you hear that? ‘Mooning around’?”

“You said it,” Carley said smartly. “I heard you tell Tyla that yesterday, when Archie-Bald called on you yesterday morning.”

“Oh. Well, you shouldn’t be eavesdropping on people’s private conversations.”

“I was sitting right here when you said it. I didn’t know I was eavesdropping. Are you going to marry Archie-Bald?”

Julienne gave a careless half-shrug. “He’d like for me to, but somehow I don’t think I could bear listening to him droning on and on forever about business. After awhile it’s somewhat like having a hum in your ear. HMMMMMMMMM.”

Carley joined in. “HMMMMMMMM. That’s Archie-Bald. Not like Etienne. Etienne’s fun. Why don’t you marry him, Julienne? He calls on you all the time too. He must like you a lot.”

Tyla finished Julienne’s hair, went to pick up her half-boots, and knelt to put them on her.

Julienne was smiling, a dreamy, private softening of her lips. “Oh, Etienne. I know he admires me, but it’s obvious that he has to marry a woman with money to support him in his chosen lifestyle, which is extravagant.”

“What’s estravagant?” Carley demanded.

“EXtravagant. It means that Etienne needs a lot of money for his clothes, his horses, his jewelry, and a fine house.”

Carley nodded. “I know, like you and Darcy. But I like Etienne. He always picks me up and swings me around and calls me
cherie.
And he doesn’t make me leave the parlor like Archie-Bald does when you come in. I know Etienne likes you a lot, Julienne, because at our last party I saw him kiss you when you went out into the garden—”

“What? What?” Tyla snapped, her eyes wide.

“Never mind that, Carley, you talk too much,” Julienne said hastily. “Besides, when you’re a little older you’ll learn that men like Etienne are not serious suitors. Etienne is just a tease.”

Tying up the laces on one half-boot, her head down, Tyla said quietly, “And some people may say such things about you too, Miss Julienne.”

“Why, Tyla?” Carley asked curiously. “Who’s Julienne teasing?”

“Mr. Leggett, for one,” Tyla answered. “And he’s sure not the first.”

Far from being displeased, Julienne laughed. “Tyla, you prattle on far too much about my reputation. Ever since you had that religious experience, or whatever you call it, you’ve been so holier-than-thou.”

Tyla looked as if she might argue for a moment, but then her expression softened. “I’m so sorry, Miss Julienne, I don’t mean to be that way. I just worry about you. I don’t want you to be known in town as a light woman. And I know that if you could just draw closer to the Lord Jesus, you’d understand better what I’m saying and why I worry.” She pulled the laces on the left shoe tight, and it snapped. “Oh, dear. If you’ll wait just one minute, Miss Julienne, I can pull this lace out and repair it.”

“No, no. Just take these boots and throw them away, Tyla. Go get me the other boots, the Balmorals. I should be wearing brown leather with this outfit anyway.”

Tyla looked up at her with dismay. “But Miss Julienne, these boots cost six dollars! It will be easy for me to fix this lace, and then when we go to town, I’ll get new laces.”

“No, Tyla,” Julienne said with a hint of impatience. “I am not going to town in tatters, it’s silly. I like the new Balmoral high boot style better anyway. I’ll stop by our bootmakers and order a new pair in black leather with suede uppers. As I said, just throw those away.”

With clear hesitation Tyla unlaced the other boot, then stood slowly, staring down at them. They were ankle boots, made of the finest, softest leather, with a small heel.

Eyeing her, Julienne asked, “Do you want them? If they fit, of course you can have them, Tyla. Now, hurry, please, I know Father is getting impatient, waiting for me.”

Tyla hurried out of the bedroom and Julienne turned back to the mirror to pat her hair. Soon Tyla returned with the Balmoral boots, which had a higher upper that reached to mid-shin. Kneeling again, she put them on Julienne, then stood and fluffed out her wide skirts.

“Thank you, Tyla, now why don’t you go and get your hat and cloak.”

Tyla left again and Carley asked, “Why doesn’t Tyla have to change clothes to go shopping? She’s still wearing the same dress she’s had on all day.”

“She’s just a servant, Carley, they’re not like us.” Julienne came over to the bed and reached down to take Carley’s hand. “Come on up—Oh, Carley, your hand is freezing! Why, your feet aren’t just dirty, they’re wet!”

“I know. I’m cold.”

“Silly girl. Anyone else would catch their death. Oh, Tyla, Carley is chilled through and through. Please go get Libby and tell her that Carley’s got to have a hot bath. Then come on out. By that time the carriage will be ready.”

NATCHEZ, MISSISSIPPI, IN THIS year of 1855, was the oldest town on the Mississippi River, and could arguably be said to be the most important port on that major artery of American commerce. In the eighteenth century Natchez was the starting point of the Natchez Trace, the old Indian path that led from this city on the river all the way up to Nashville, Tennessee, and the Big Muddy was the cause of all of that traffic. Men from all over the Ohio Valley transported their goods on flatboats to Natchez, sold everything including their rough rafts for lumber, and took the Trace back to their homes, either walking or by wagon. The little town of Natchez began to grow as the port commerce increased, and all of the merchants that bought and sold from the “Kaintocks,” as they called the flatboat men, prospered. They began to cultivate the little outpost of Natchez into a tidy, well-ordered middle-class merchant town.

Later, when Robert Fulton invented his steam-powered boat, and through hybridization, cotton transformed from a hard-to-grow crop in the South to King Cotton, Natchez suddenly turned into a gracious, elegant city for rich planters, who built block after block of fine Greek Revival mansions on the high bluffs above the river. By 1855 the population of Natchez was about five thousand, so it was dwarfed by the huge sprawling cities of New York, Baltimore, and Boston; but Natchez had more millionaires by percentage than any other city in America. Natchez was a lovely small city, well-manicured and orderly, and it was strictly for the rich.

The merchant district reflected this refined strata of society, too. As Julienne looked out the window of their fine brougham carriage, she was satisfied to see that all of the sidewalks had been swept of snow, and were immaculate. The seven-block stretch of Main Street that held the shops consisted mainly of dignified brick establishments, with sparkling windows and tasteful displays.

“Father, I have to go to my dressmaker’s, Mrs. Fenner’s, my milliner’s, my shoemaker’s, my glover’s, and, and, where else, Tyla? I forget,” Julienne said.

“Confectioner’s,” Tyla prompted her. “Remember, that’s the only way you could get Miss Carley into a hot bath. You promised her you’d get her some candy.”

“Yes, confectioner’s. What about you, Father? Where are you going?”

Charles Ashby, seated across from them, looked at Julienne and frowned. He was a handsome man, with thick silver hair and patrician features, tall and with a dignified, erect posture. “I have to go to the bank and see Preston Gates.”

“Again?” Julienne said with exasperation. “Papa, you’re always so upset after you meet with him. Why don’t you two just exchange letters or something?”

“Julienne, I keep trying to tell you that handling our finances is not something you can manage by just exchanging polite notes. And why are you going on this shopping excursion? Didn’t you just have half a dozen new dresses delivered yesterday?”

“Yes, and this is one of them,” Julienne said, spreading out her rich velvet skirt. “Isn’t it beautiful? Don’t you like it?”

“I like it very much, and you look beautiful in it, as usual,” Charles said with clear affection. “But that’s just my point. Why are you visiting every merchant in town when you just got in a lot of new clothes, all of which I know you will look lovely in?”

Julienne laughed, a light, girlish giggle that made even her rather stern father smile. “Silly Papa, I’m not visiting every merchant in town! I just want to do my final fittings for my evening ensemble for the party tomorrow night. And if everything’s ready, I want to go ahead and pick them up instead of having them delivered.”

Charles’s mouth drew into a tight line. “Julienne, I thought we had settled this. This party tomorrow night is not really the sort of thing that you should be attending. It’s more of a business engagement, for men. I was under the impression that you understood that.”

“I do understand that, but the invitation was for ‘Charles Ashby and Family’ and besides, Archie is going to come with us and be my escort. He’s so staid and proper, anyone with the least hint of impropriety about them would probably freeze solid in his presence.”

“So you manipulated Leggett into letting you drag him along for appearance’s sake,” Charles said. “I give up. Just please, Julienne, try to remember that money is tight. Maybe you don’t need any more clothes for awhile.”

“Of course, Papa,” Julienne said happily. “Just this dress. And, of course, the gloves and matching shoes. Oh, and I simply must have new black leather boots, and I had ordered three new winter bonnets, so they’re already done and paid for.”

“Not really,” Charles muttered.

Ignoring his dour looks, Julienne said, “Here’s Mrs. Fenner’s, and Tyla and I can walk on down the street to the other shops. Then we’ll just come all the way down to the bank and meet you, all right, Papa?”

“All right, Julienne,” he said. “Just please don’t dawdle, I hope my business with Mr. Gates won’t take too long.”

PLANTER’S BANK WAS AN imposing two-story edifice of red brick and black shutters on the precisely spaced double-six windows. In previous years, when Charles Ashby had been in the flush of prosperity, he had thought that the bank looked dignified and respectable. In the last couple of years, however, as his fortunes had steadily declined, he began to think that it seemed forbidding. As he went through the enormous double front doors, of six-inch-thick walnut blackened with age, he felt almost as if he was entering a prison.

Regardless of his true financial status, and his private musings, Charles Ashby was still regarded as one of Natchez’s elite, one of the aristocratic cotton planter class, and the president’s clerk looked up and recognized him immediately. A small, stooped man with tiny spectacles and thinning hair stood up from his desk, hurried through the swinging wooden gate, and came to greet him. “Mr. Ashby, how good it is to see you again. Are you here to see Mr. Gates?”

“Yes, I am. Is he available?”

“Of course, sir, please just step this way and I’ll let him know that you’re here.”

Charles followed him past the waiting area, and perhaps for the first time, he really looked at the people sitting there. They were dressed poorly, in rough plain clothing, and most of them looked worried. Three women were there, their faces pale and drawn, obviously widows, wearing black clothing and bonnets. One of them looked as if she had been weeping, clutching a worn reticule with gnarled work-ridden hands. A sudden vision of his wife Roseann sitting there, weeping and aged, rose in his mind and filled Charles’s mind with black dread. When he went into the president’s office, his face was grim.

Preston Gates was a small man, no more than five-six. He dressed as the president of a successful bank should, as his father and his grandfather had, with plain black coats, either a gray or black waistcoat, shiny brass buttons, a gold watch and chain, and iron-creased black trousers. He had black hair, a full beard closely trimmed, and sharp black eyes. Coming around his big oak desk, he extended his hand and said, “Good day, Charles, it’s good to see you. Please, come sit down.”