The Exiles (2 page)

“We’ll be in New Orleans tomorrow. This may be your last chance.”

But Sedan was not interested. He was obviously a professional gambler, and he got up now and left the table. As Cretien collected his chips, a voice at his side caught his attention.

“You’re a lucky man with cards.”

He turned around to see an attractive woman in a low-cut, pale blue dress. Her hair was yellow and her eyes a deep blue. She had the assurance of a woman who knew the world at least as well as he did, and he stood up at once and nodded. “Lucky in cards, at least. My name is Cretien Fontaine.”

“I’m happy to know you, sir. I’m Nan Strickland.” She looked expectantly at him, and when he showed no recognition she laughed at herself. “I’m an actress, you see, and I always expect to be recognized.”

“May I buy you a drink, Miss Strickland?”

“Certainly.” She sat down and studied him boldly.

The waiter brought them drinks, and Cretien began telling her about his last few days.

“You were caught in the revolution?” she asked, sipping her drink.

“Yes. Things have gone badly in Cuba.”

“You probably lost all your property. I hear that’s what happened to many.”

Cretien smiled. He knew he made a handsome picture as he sat there, with his perfect teeth, thin and aristocratic face, and patrician features. He was graceful and cultured in a French manner, and totally confident in a way that told Nan Strickland he was at ease with women. “Not at all. As a matter of fact, I made a profit. I saw this coming months ago.” He lifted his drink and smiled at her. “Never stay in the middle of a revolution.”

“You are fortunate.”

“Yes, I am.”

“Where will you go?”

“I’ve bought a sugar plantation outside of New Orleans. I’ll be in town a great deal, of course.”

Nan gave him a brilliant smile. She reached into her reticule and brought forth a small card. “My company will be at the Majestic for some time, depending on how well we are received. Give this to the doorman. He’ll give you a good seat.”

She rose and held out her hand, and Cretien stood as well. He bent over to kiss her hand and smelled her perfume. Then he rose to his full height and looked down at her. “I’ll look forward to that.”

Nan Strickland smiled. “Give your wife my best wishes.”

“I’ll certainly do that.”

He watched as the actress walked away. She disappeared through the portal, and he sighed, cashed in his chips, and took his money. Leaving the saloon, he went right to the stateroom. It was later than he had thought, and he would have to make excuses.

When he stepped in, he found Aimee already in the lower bunk and said, “Elise, that’ll be all tonight.”

“Good night, sir. Good night, madame.”

“Good night, Elise. I hope you don’t get seasick again.”

When the door closed, Cretien spoke at once. “I’m sorry to be late.” He began to remove his clothes and noted that she was watching him cautiously. “I didn’t drink too much, my dear. Don’t worry about that.”

For a moment Aimee looked sober, and then she smiled. “Come here and kiss me good night,” she said. She held up her arms, and when he came to her and kissed her, she held him fiercely. “I’ll be glad when we’re off this boat and in our own place.”

Cretien held her tightly. In other circumstances he would have made love to her, but she had been drained by the events of the past two days. And to his shame, the image of Nan Strickland came to his mind. He ignored it and said, “We’ll be in New Orleans tomorrow. We’ll find a good hotel and look the city over. It’s going to be a good life there, my dear.”

For a moment she held him, and then she whispered, “I wish we had a child. I know you’re disappointed that I haven’t been able to give you a son.”

Cretien held her. He knew that this was something that was never far from her heart, and he said quickly, “No, it will be all right. I have you and that’s enough.”

His words brought balm to her spirit, and she whispered, “Good night.”

He settled himself in his own bed and very quickly his breathing became regular. Aimee lay awake for some time, still shaken over the violence of the revolution, but thinking of New Orleans.
O God,
she prayed,
give us a good life there.
She finally went to sleep, and her last thought was,
It’s not too late. I’m still young enough to have a child if the good God pleases.

Chapter two

The Empress
eased up to the dock, meeting it with such a slight bump that Cretien hardly felt it. He turned to Aimee, who was standing beside him, put his arm around her, and said, “Well, my dear, we are here. Our new home.”

Aimee stared out at the busy port and exclaimed, “There are so many ships! I never saw such a busy place!”

The port of New Orleans was indeed busy—one might almost say frantic. Ships and boats and crafts of every kind plied the river, some skimming over the water under full sail, others easing in slowly. The sound of steamboats with their shrill whistles rent the air. The river made a large S-curve, and it seemed that the lengths of the banks were made of nothing but docks.

The masts of the ships, their sails furled, lined the docks. “It looks like a forest of bare trees,” Cretien remarked. Then his eye caught a sight that pleased him. “Look, they’re loading sugar onto that ship, Aimee! Soon it will be
our
sugar. We’re going to do well here. I feel it in my bones.”

Aimee leaned against him, and when his arm tightened about her, she felt a surge of desire for a life of peace and contentment. Life in Cuba had been difficult, for the scent of revolution had been strong for the past few years. Both she and Cretien had known they would have to leave sooner or later, and she was grateful that they had sold their land and gotten away without losing everything.

The burly first mate was shouting orders to the crew, and as the gangplank was lowered, Cretien said, “Let’s find Robert and Elise and go ashore. I’ll be glad to get off of this boat and get my feet on firm land again.”

Together they turned to go below. Just before they reached the stairs, they encountered an attractive woman with blond hair and blue eyes. She gave Cretien a bold smile of recognition, and he bowed slightly. Aimee said nothing. She was accustomed to women being attracted to her husband; what would be the point of creating a scene?

In their cabin they found that Robert and Elise had collected their things, and in a short time they were leaving the ship.

As they walked down the gangplank into the hubbub of the port, all seemed to be confusion. Passengers were lined up to board the ship. Peddlers were everywhere, calling in a polyglot of languages. Aimee heard English and French, of course, plus Spanish and others that she could not distinguish.

Cretien took charge and engaged a carriage driven by a muscular young man with inky black hair and white teeth stark against his golden tan. He spoke a mixture of French and English that the newcomers found difficult to understand.

“Ah, monsieur, my name is Jacques. Me, I weel take you anywhere to which you go.”

“We want to go to a very good hotel, Jacques,” Cretien said as he offered a hand to aid Aimee into the carriage.

“That would be the St. Charles. I theenk you weel like it there, but it is ver’ expensive.”

“I think I can afford it, Jacques,” Cretien said with a slight smile.

Jacques helped Robert load the trunks, then stepped back up into the carriage. He spoke to the horses, a fine matched set of grays, and at once began talking to the group. He was a curious fellow, wanting to know everything about the new arrivals. “There are many come from Cuba because of the revolution. I hear,” he said, “over three t’ousand. More than two t’ousand of them black people have come already the last two months. Was it bad over there?”

“Yes, very bad.”

“Well, you weel like it here in New Orleans. While you are here I hope you weel avail yourselves of my services.”

“We won’t be here long. I have a sugar plantation to the west.”

That sent Jacques into a lengthy dissertation on the advantages of raising sugar over cotton, but as they moved into the downtown section, the visitors expressed interest in the city. When Cretien mentioned that they had never been there before, Jacques said, “Oh, it is a great city. Plenty to do. Your people, the Creoles, have brought good things to the city. Every one of you people love to go to the theater, no?”

“Yes, that is true. You have a good theater here?”

“Many of them. The best.”

“What street is this?” Aimee asked.

“St. Charles Avenue. You see, this is the
Vieux Carré
—the good part of town. The other part is where the Kaintocks stay. Very bad.”

“Kaintocks? Who are they?” Cretien asked.

“The men who bring the flat boats with their goods down the river. They are rough men, these Americans. Stay away from them, sir, I would advise you.”

St. Charles Avenue was paved with cobblestones. Most of the other streets had
banquettes,
or sidewalks, which were simply planks or sometimes a single log pegged into the ground. Wooden drains served as gutters, and in some instances there were open ditches containing garbage and refuse of every description.

“It smells bad,” Robert whispered to Elise.

“Yes, it is terrible. I hope our plantation will not smell this awful.”

Robert, a tall, saturnine man of forty, patted Elise on the shoulder. “The town was made by men. The country was made by God.”

Elise laughed. “You say such funny things.”

Aimee spoke to Jacques. “The streets must be very bad when it rains, those that are not paved.”

“Oh, you would not believe! It is so bad you cannot get anywhere, no!”

They passed a large party, over two hundred people, some carrying lanterns and many disguised with masks. They were a noisy group, banging old kettles and shovels and tongs with clanging metal.

“What is that, Jacques?” Cretien asked.

“Oh, that is a
charivari
. A wedding. That is a big one.”

Then a cart passed by, bearing a rather strange sight. Aimee asked, “What is that, Jacques?”

“Oh, that is a widow, and that is an effigy of her husband in the coffin and her present husband is there by her side.”

“Is that common?” Cretien asked, staring at the cart. “It seems rather—crude.”

“Me, I don’t know why they do it,” Jacques shrugged. “Maybe the bride wants her new husband to see he can be replaced if he doesn’t behave himself. You’ll see t’ings stranger than that in this place.”

Finally Jacques drew up the carriage and waved his whip. “The St. Charles. The rates are high, two dollars and a half a day, but there is a table for gentlemen that provides dinner from three to five.”

“What about the ladies?”

“Oh, the ladies, too, of course.”

The St. Charles was an enormous building, seeming to stretch for a full block. The lobby had a high ceiling, glowing chandeliers, and paintings on every wall, adding color to the scene.

Cretien moved to the desk, where a small man with a pair of sharp gray eyes said, “Yes, sir. May I serve you?” He spoke in French, and Cretien responded, “I need a room for myself and my wife, and two for my servants.”

“Yes, sir. Will you be staying long?”

“I think not. Just a few days.”

“You will like our hotel, sir. First time in New Orleans?”

“First time in the United States.”

“Ah, I trust you will have a good stay. Are you traveling far?”

“I bought a sugar plantation a few miles west of New Orleans.”

“Then you would be interested in our auction.”

“What sort of auction?”

“Slaves, of course. You will find them under the rotunda. I think it is going on now.”

Curious, Cretien resolved to look into the matter, but he knew that Aimee was tired. “Thank you,” he replied. “I must get my wife settled first.”

Cretien and Aimee followed a hulking servant upstairs, and after he put their luggage inside the room and left, Aimee looked around with pleasure. She was tired but she loved the room.

“It’s so beautiful, Cretien! I’ve never seen such gorgeous wallpaper— and look at the woodwork!”

“I’m glad you like it. Well, suppose we go out and buy ourselves a fine meal to celebrate our first night in Louisiana.”

“That sounds wonderful. I am hungry.”

The two went downstairs and learned that the Bienville, one of the best restaurants in New Orleans, was right down the street. They soon found themselves seated in an ornate dining room, swarmed by a waiter who rapidly gave them a verbal menu of the offerings.

They dined well that night on lobster and a delicious salad. After they had eaten, they returned to the hotel, and just before they went to sleep Aimee put her arms around her husband and drew him close. “We are going to be very happy here, dear.”

Cretien returned her caress. “Yes, we are. We will make a new life for ourselves in this place!”

Cretien arrived at the offices of Oliver Harcourt, where he was greeted by the lawyer whom he had never met in person. The two had done business through the mail, and it was Harcourt who had recommended buying a sugar plantation instead of cotton and had negotiated the purchase.

Harcourt was a tall, dignified man with an aristocratic air. He had silver hair and wore a dark brown suit with a spotless white shirt and a black string tie.

“I think you will find that I got a good buy for you in your plantation, Monsieur Fontaine.”

“I was somewhat hesitant. There are many sugar plantations in Cuba, but I have never engaged in that sort of trade.”

“With the right workers you should have no trouble. You must have a good overseer, and I checked carefully into the man who is there now. His name is Simon Bientot. He knows all about the work and is an amiable sort. I interviewed him myself. And his wife, Marie, would be a good housekeeper, but of course that is up to your wife.”

“I’m very grateful to you for your help, Mr. Harcourt.”

“We’re anxious to see good people coming to our part of the world.” He frowned slightly and shook his head. “Of course, the revolution brought a great deal of the other sort.” Then he smiled and nodded. “But I can see that you are a man of the world who knows good living.”