They call her Dana (13 page)

I decided to explore the town a bit, get the lay of the land, maybe get some idea about where I might find work. Fetching my parasol, I left my room and went downstairs, and I received several stares as I passed through the lobby. I suspected the low-cut striped linen dress wasn't quite appropriate for this hour of the morning, but it was all I had and certainly better than the rag I had thrown away. I ignored the stares and, head held high, parasol open and resting jauntily on my shoulder, I moved on out onto the verandah and down the steps.

The sky was a misty white with the merest suggestion of blue, and the morning sunlight was misty, too, silvery white, streaming down in lazy rays. It was already warm, and not a breeze was stirring. A lethargic feeling seemed to permeate the air, and the town itself seemed drowsy. There was a small park across from the inn, leafy chinaberry trees spreading hazy blue-gray shadows over the grass, the beds of pink and yellow daisies looking listless. Two wooden benches with peeling gray paint faced a sundial in the center of the park. A drab brown sparrow perched wearily on its rim, not bothering to fly away as I strolled

past. I could smell the mushy, rotting chinaberries that littered the ground under the trees and also the smell of parched grass. Leaving the paiic, I sauntered slowly down the street, parasol atwirl.

The street was lined on either side with large, comfortable-looking houses with spacious verandahs. Though lovely and, to my eyes, grand indeed, they all looked slightly mellow, weathered by the elements and in need of a fresh coat of paint and minor repairs. A large, shaggy, rust-colored dog wagged its tail at me and shambled after me for a short while until he finally lost interest and, yawning, turned back toward home. A plump Negro woman in a faded blue dress, a white apron and bandanna was shaking a rug out on one of the verandahs, flapping it without enthusiasm over the wooden banister, and she was the only person I saw until I reached the business district.

Only a few people strolled up and down the pavements, mostly middle-aged women with open-net shopping bags or Negro servants on their early morning errands. Shops and businesses lined the street, a stationers', a pharmacy, a grocery store with stalls of fruit and vegetables in front, a bakery, a small bank and, farther along the street, a large emporium with plate glass windows displaying wearing apparel. A trim black surrey with black silk fringe stood in front of the emporium, a glossy chestout standing patiently in harness. A nattily attired Negro man was sitting on the front seat, holding the reins loosely in his lap while waiting for his charge to return. I paused in front of the windows, gazing at the gloves and reticules and bonnets and lovely dresses. I planned to buy another dress just as soon as I could, like that fetching yellow cotton, perhaps, or that mauve linen with thin purple stripes. Both had modest necklines, and Julian would undoubtedly consider them "suitable" for a seventeen-year-old. He called me "child" and thought of me as a little girl, but I had been a woman for a long time.

As I was admiring the dresses, a remarkable-looking middle-aged woman came out of the emporium. Comfortably plump and well padded though not actually fat, she had very bright copper-red hair worn in long sausage curls and emerald-green eyes. Her chubby cheeks were well powdered, her mouth a vivid red. She wore a dress of black and green checked silk with a black velvet bodice, a pair of long black gloves and, slanted atop

her coiffure, a wide-brimmed black velvet hat absolutely aswarm with black and emerald feathers.

The Negro leaped off the surrey to take the packages from her and stow them in back of the vehicle, and, sighing heavily, the woman adjusted the tilt of her hat, fussed with one of her gloves and prepared to climb into the surrey. When she happened to look up and see me standing in front of the windows, she paused, examining me with considerable interest. After a moment she said something to the Negro and strolled over to me, silk skirts rustling crisply. She was wearing a wonderful if rather strong perfume.

"Momin', honey," she said. "New in town?"

She had a warm, very friendly voice. I smiled.

"I just arrived last night," I told her.

"Didn't think I'd seen you around before. I'm Mrs. Williams, hon, but all my friends call me Lorena. See you're admirin' the dresses—not your style at all," she confided. "Too prim and proper. You need something with a bit more dash, like that rig you're wearin'."

I was surprised. "You like this dress?"

"Real class, hon, and you certainly got the body for it. Betcha it's from New Orleans—Corinne, I'd wager. She's the best, learned her craft in Paris, I understand. Gonna be in town long hon?"

"I imagine so. I'm looking for work."

Mrs. Williams's emerald-green eyes gleamed with even more interest. She was an amiable soul, I thought, quite motheriy, the first person I'd encountered who didn't stare at me as though I were some kind of freak.

"What—uh—what kind of work do you do?" she asked.

"Most any kind. I can cook or clean house or milk cows or-I can do washing or almost anything."

One eyebrow shot up at this, and she looked rather startled, but she quickly recovered. She tugged at one of her gloves, smoothing it over her arm, thinking all the while.

"I—uh—I just might be able to help you out, hon," she said.

Now I was startled. "Really?"

"I can always use an extra hand in—uh—in the kitchen. Why don'tja come with me and let me show you my place: I'm sure you'll like it. I can even give you a room to stay in."

"Why . . ."

Mrs. Williams gave me a motherly smile. "I've been lookin' for a new girl to help out, hon, and I think you'd fit the bill perfectly."

"I—I can't come with you just now," I told her. "I've got to go back to the inn. A—a friend is expectin' me,"

"Oh," she said, disappointed. "You're with somebody?"

"He—he's leavin' for New Orleans at noon," I said. "That's why I've gotta get back—to tell him good-bye."

She looked relieved. "I see," she said. "We—uh—wouldn't want him to worry about you."

"Maybe—maybe I could come to your place later on," I suggested.

"That'd be perfect, hon. It's just outside-a town, at the end of Jeffers Road—you can't possibly miss it. You keep goin' down the road, pass the pecan grove, and there it is. A big pink house."

"Pink?"

"Always did think pink was a happy color. Tell you what, hon, why don't I send Henry here to pick you up—it'd save you a lot of trouble. You can bring your bags and settle right in."

I didn't have any bags, but I thought it best not to mention that. I told her that would be very nice and she said Henry would pick me up in front of the inn at one o'clock, and then she patted my arm, looking quite pleased with herself. We said good-bye, and Henry handed her up into the surrey. Mrs. Williams settled herself on the seat, checked to make sure all her packages were aboard, and then gave me another smile, waving as Henry clicked the reins and the surrey pulled away. I couldn't believe my good fortune. Hadn't left the inn more than an hour ago and already I had a job working in the kitchen of a nice, cozy lady like Mrs. Williams. I'd even have my own room. Who would've believed it'd be so easy to find work?

My spirits were considerably higher as I started back to the inn. I dreaded the thought of telling Julian good-bye and seeing him leave, but at least now I had a place to go. Mrs. Williams and I hadn't discussed money and I had no idea what she would pay me, but I intended to save as much as possible. I'd be going to New Orleans myself one day before too long, and I'd find work there, too, and somehow I'd find my ma's folks and . . . and wouldn't Julian be surprised when I came to call on him, lookin' all elegant and refined? The orange kidskin shoes were

beginning to hurt my feet a little as I turned down the street of old houses that led to the inn, and I longed to pull them off, but that wouldn't be ladylike. I was going to be a lady one day, I vowed.

The rust-colored dog wagged his tail at me again and padded along after me to the park, where he sniffed at the rotting china-berries, wrinkled his nose and finally rolled lazily in the grass before going back home. I paused at the sundial for a moment and, after I had figured out how to read it, was surprised to discover that it was after ten-thirty. I wondered if Julian had finished labeling his specimen and organizing his papers. Fancy someone devoting so much time to wildfiowers and plants. Fimny way for a grown man to spend his time, but Julian seemed to think it was very important.

Strolling on through the park, I crossed the street to the inn and moved up the steps and across the verandah, dying now to get upstairs to my room and take off the shoes. As I stepped into the lobby, I was surprised to see Julian leaning across the counter and gripping the clerk's arm, glaring at him with an angry expression as he demanded some information. The clerk shook his head nervously and, spotting me, looked relieved indeed and pointed to where I was standing. Julian released his arm and, trying his best to calm himself, marched over to me and took hold of my elbow. He was wearing the same handsome attire he had worn last night, but the clothes looked a bit rumpled, frock coat creased, cravat coming undone. He didn't say a word, he merely jerked my elbow and led me back out onto the verandah and walked me briskly around to the side, me tottering precariously on the unaccustomed high heels. He finally stopped in front of two wicker chairs with plump cushions, plants stationed on either side and dangling from hanging baskets.

Julian let go of my elbow and took a deep breath and leaned against the banister, his brown eyes dark with anger. What could possibly be the matter? I wondered. This wasn't like him at all. Still trying to calm himself, he didn't say anything, merely scowled, so I sat down in one of the wicker chairs and took off my shoes. It was a great relief.

"I've been looking all over for you," he informed me.

"Oh?"

"For the past hour and a half I—no one had seen you—the

maid, the clerk. I was growing frantic. I thought something had—dammit, child! Where the hell were you?"

"I went for a walk," I said, rubbing the sole of my left foot. *'I strolled downtown to see the shops."

"In that dress?" He was horrified.

"It was all I had," I reminded him.

He shook his head. "Jesus," he whispered.

"I thought you were goin' to be in your room organizin' your papers and labelin' your specimen and things."

"I couldn't concentrate," he told me. "I couldn't sleep last night, either;, I kept thinking about you, about the way the men kept staring at you—that blond pup, for example. Oh yes, I saw him nodding at you, smiling, sending signals. Up to no good, that one. If I hadn't been there to watch over you . . ." He paused, looking grim indeed.

"That ain't—isn't anything to get riled up about," I told him. "Men are always starin' at me, sendin' signals. I can take care of myself ''

"Sure you can," he said.

"I cflrt," I retorted. "I ain't a child, despite what you think, and I—I don't need anyone to watch over me."

"No?"

"No," I said testily, rubbing my right foot now. "You—you just go on to New Orieans and don't worry about me. I'll be fine. I ain't your responsibility, remember?"

"I keep telling myself that."

"Besides," I added, "I already got work."

"Indeed?"

"I met a very nice lady this morning, a Mrs. Lorena Williams. She was real friendly to me, and when I said I was lookin' for work, she said she'd been lookin' for a new girl to help out, said I'd fit the bill perfectly. She has a big pink house just outside-a town, and she's goin' to give me a room and—"

"Jesus!"

He didn't whisper it this time. He thundered it so loudly I almost tumbled out of the chair. I looked up at him in amazement and decided that he might not be quite right in the head. Lots-a tetched folk seemed perfecdy all right when you first met 'em, seemed sane as anyone till something set 'em off and you discovered they were loony as a bat. Julian looked at me in total disgust and said I was a babe, a mere babe, so green I'd grow

if you stuck me in the ground, said I was hopelessly naive, a hazard to mankind. I sat very still and nodded at everything he said, not about to disagree. Best to humor him, I thought. Finally running down, he gave an exasperated sigh and ordered me to put my shoes back on. I tried. I couldn't. My feet were swollen.

"I-I can't," I sobbed.

"What difference does it make?" he asked wearily.

He pulled me out of the chair and led me back around the verandah, me holding the orange kidskin shoes in one hand and treading along apprehensively in my stockinged feet. He seemed quite calm now, seemed utterly resigned.

"Where—where're we goin'?" I asked nervously.

"We're going to fetch my bags and then we're going to hire a cab and go buy you a decent outfit and then we're going to go board the steamboat for New Orieans. I've taken complete leave of my senses—I'm fully aware of that fact—but I'd never be able to live with myself if I left you to the mercy of . . ." He shook his head once again.

"Why me. Lord?" he asked.

I thought I was going to burst with joy.

Book Two

The Ward

Chapter Six

NEW ORLEANS WAS COMPLETELY OVERWHELMING, and aS WC left the steamboat, a porter following behind with Julian's bags, I couldn't believe I was actually here. I held on to Julian's arm, in awe, sad, too. This was where Ma had grown up, and this was where she had known such happiness, such heartbreak. Ma ... I didn't want to think about her. I wanted to keep the grief locked up inside where it couldn't harm me. Julian tilted his head and glanced down at me, and I managed to smile a feeble smile. He seemed to sense that I didn't want to talk, seemed to sense the reason why. He gave my arm a little pat and guided me past a huge stack of cotton bales.

The docks were vast and very crowded and full of activity, but there was a curiously lethargic atmosphere nevertheless. Perhaps it was the rather oppressive blue-gray sky looming overhead, or perhaps it was the sultry heat, but although everyone seemed to be busy, no one seemed to be in any hurry. Passengers arriving and departing strolled along leisurely, as though they had all the time in the world, and the Negro slaves loading and unloading huge crates and barrels or yet more bales of cotton did so at a shambling pace. There seemed to be dozens of sailors, some of them in foreign uniforms, and they lounged about, eyeing the women who sauntered about the docks in colorful and provocative garments. A number of these women were very beautiful and some of them quite dark, obviously mulattos or quadroons. They were the most beautiful of ail, coyly twirling fancy silk parasols.