Always & Forever: A Saga of Slavery and Deliverance (The Plantation Series Book 1) (40 page)

At noon, Phanor came in carrying a mattress over his back.
He tossed it on the floor and avoided Cleo’s eyes.

“Did I elbow you last night, hog the covers, snore?” Cleo
teased.

“Yeah, all those things.” He gave her a sheepish smile.
“We’re good friends, Cleo. I don’t want to change that.”

“Thank you,” she said. “For everything.”

“Let’s go eat some gumbo.”

Cleo pulled the remaining coins out of her pocket. “I’ll pay
for it,” she said.

Phanor shook his head. “You keep what you have. I make
plenty of money to take care of you and Gabriel for awhile.” He looked around,
suddenly realizing how shabby his room was. “I just haven’t gotten around to
spending much of it.”

The woman who’d directed Cleo to Phanor’s lodging greeted
them with her big gap-toothed smile. “It dat pretty girl and de handsome
M’sieu. You gone have my gumbo?” Flora said.

“Two bowls, Madame Flora,” Phanor said. “And a pan of
cornbread.”

Cleo and Phanor retreated from the bustle of Butcher’s Lane
to sit on a bench behind Flora’s stand. They ate gumbo thick with okra, corn,
shrimp, and rice, and they wiped the bowls clean with the last of the bread.

Cleo watched Flora bustle from her cook fire to the wash-up
bucket, all the while taking care of customers and calling out to passersby,
“Hey, mista, come on over here and get you a bowl of gumbo. You know you
hungry. Don’t it smell good? Gumbo here!”

“Flora?” Cleo said.

“What, chile?”

“Do you need a helper? I could do the washing up, cut the
corn.”

Flora laughed from deep in her belly. “Honey, I don’ hardly
make ‘nuff to feed myself. No, you don’ find much work dis time of de year.”
She wiped the sweat from her face with a dirty gray cloth. “All de fine folks
what hire girls be gone till the fever season over. Dey be back in a few weeks
when de weather turn cool. Den dey be lookin’ for kitchen girls, housemaids,
and de like. De only other ting I know fo you, maybe you get some work at de
fever hospitals. Dey always needin’ nurses.”

“No,” Phanor said. “It’s too dangerous, Cleo. We’ll find
something, and like I told you, there’s no hurry.”

Cleo didn’t say anything. She appreciated Phanor’s
generosity, but she meant to make her own way.

Phanor escorted Cleo and the baby back to his room. “I have
a man I need to see tonight, Cleo. I’ll try not to wake you when I come in.”

The next morning, after a breakfast of muscadine grapes and
cold corn pone, Phanor dressed in his business clothes. “I’ll be back after
lunch, Cleo. You and Remy be ready to go out.”

“Where are we going?”

He paused to heighten the drama, then leaned over the table.
“I’ve persuaded my friend Jean Paul to hear you sing. He’s at
Les Trois
Frères
– it’s a supper club. You sing for him this afternoon, and maybe
he’ll let you perform in the evenings. What do you think?”

Cleo put a hand to her throat. “Sing for a stranger? Phanor,
I’ve never done that. I don’t think -- ”

“Don’t think, Cleo. Just be ready to sing for Jean Paul at
two o’clock.”

After Phanor left, Cleo fretted for a quarter of an hour.
She’d always imagined herself singing in some grand club in New Orleans, but
that had just been pretend. Now that the prospect actually presented itself,
she wondered if anything would come out of her mouth when the moment came.
Finally, she left Gabriel asleep in his box and went to the pump in the back
courtyard for water. Back in the room, she bathed and cleaned her clothes the
best she could. She combed out her hair and tried to tie her tignon just so,
but with no mirror in the room, she had no idea if it even sat straight on her
head.

She heard Phanor on the staircase and quickly cleaned her
teeth one last time on the hem of her dress. It was an old one of Josie’s, and
though it was a cast off, it was in good condition. Cleo had let the bosom out
all it would go and tied a white lacy drape over the bodice. It was all she
had, but she looked quite presentable, she thought. Not like a runaway.

She carried Gabriel through the streets, following Phanor
several feet behind to look like his property. When they reached
Les Trois
Frères
, Cleo drew a deep breath. Grand, ornate, and huge, the club
intimidated her, but Phanor took her elbow reassuringly.

“His name, it’s Jean Paul Rouquier, remember? Just sing for
him like you would with me. He’s a nice fellow, a Creole, and he needs you as
much as you need him. Keep telling yourself that.” He put his hand on the knob
of the side door. “Ready?”

Cleo nodded. “I can do this, Phanor.”

“I know you can.”

They entered the cooler, dimmer rooms in the back of the
club where they found Jean Paul. “
Mon ami
,” he said. “And this is the
songbird?”

Gabriel snuffled and fretted in Cleo’s arms. “Here, let me
have him,” Phanor said.

Jean Paul eyed Cleo frankly. “She’s very pretty, Phanor,
just as you said.” He tilted her chin toward the window. “More than pretty. If
she sings as well as she looks, we will do business. Come, Cleo. The dining
room is empty at this hour, and you can sing for me and me alone.”

Cleo threw one last look at Phanor sitting near the window,
but Phanor’s attention was captured by Gabriel’s coos. She followed Jean Paul
into the main dining room where silver candlesticks glowed softly on snowy
table linens. Chandeliers sparkled in the light from the floor-to-ceiling windows
on the north wall, and below them dark velvet cushions swallowed the light.

“Up there,” Jean Paul said. He waved to a small stage
against the inner wall where there was a piano and a few chairs for the
musicians.

Jean Paul took a seat in the middle of the room. “Begin.”

Cleo began to sing a capella.

“Project, honey, project,” Jean Paul demanded.

Cleo flinched at his irritation. She began again, all her
breath behind her voice.

“Not bad,” he said. “Now on the edge of the stage, and
imagine you have two or three men playing along with you.” He left his chair
and stood at the far side of the room.

Cleo’s voice quavered the first few words of the song, but
she drew herself up and pushed the nervousness away. She sang to the back
tables, imagining Phanor sitting there, or Bertrand. He loved it when she sang
for him.

“That’ll do,” Jean Paul said. He stood up and Cleo followed
him back to where Phanor walked the floor with Gabriel. The baby’s angry little
fists flailed at Phanor’s chest.

“Could he be hungry again already?” Phanor said when she
hurried to take him.

“If he’s awake, he’s hungry,” Cleo said.

“Let’s talk, my friend,” Jean Paul said and gestured toward
his office.

The men left Cleo to feed the baby. Nursing Gabriel calmed
her. She felt she’d sung well, as well as she could anyway. She wanted the job,
wanted to sing, but if it wasn’t to be, then she would find something else.

When Phanor returned, he winked at her.

“I believe we have an arrangement, then,” Jean Paul said.
“We’ll try her out on the early crowd Thursday night, to begin with. Let her
get some confidence.”

Jean Paul turned to Cleo. “You have an evening gown.”

Phanor didn’t hesitate. “Of course she has,” he said.

Les Trois Frères
behind them, Cleo hissed, “Why did
you tell him I have a gown, Phanor? Do you have any idea how much a fancy dress
costs?”

“We’ll get a dress. I know someone, Cleo.”

“A seamstress?”

Phanor laughed. “Not a seamstress. She’s Russian, can you
imagine? A Russian in New Orleans.”

Madame Kirasov’s establishment was several streets away from
Les Trois Frères
, and its dirt lane carried more refuse and more
potholes. However, the doorway into Madame’s home promised opulence and a
particular comfort. A carved and enameled red rose graced the upper panel of
the door just over the large brass knocker, and gilt filigree framed the narrow
beveled glass set in its center. A small Negro boy dressed in purple with a red
satin sash answered Phanor’s knock.

The child smiled broadly when he saw Phanor. “M’sieu,” he
said.

“
Bonjour
, Narcisse,” Phanor said, and placed his big
hand on the boy’s shoulder.

“Will you tell Madame I’m here?”

The boy left them in a lavishly appointed sitting room. Cleo
sat down with Gabriel on a scarlet settee furnished with deep purple pillows.
Everywhere there were reds and purples – the drapery, the carpet, the lamps.
Cleo decided the effect was tasteless, even garish, but there was no denying
the luxuriousness.

Madame Kirasov floated into the room in a red dressing gown,
trailing ruffles and the scent of expensive perfume. She was a tiny woman, but
she somehow seemed to fill the room. “Phanor, darling.”

Phanor leaned over to kiss her cheek, but Natasha insisted
on a fervent kiss on the mouth. Phanor came up grinning and turned to introduce
her to Cleo. Natasha’s feigned surprise at her presence in the room didn’t fool
Cleo. She knew the woman had been fully conscious of her from the moment she
entered.

Cleo had no doubt Natasha’s shrewd gaze assessed her
relationship to Phanor correctly. Cleo assessed Natasha and her business
accurately as well. That Phanor was obviously a familiar caller here gave Cleo
something to think about. She offered a small curtsy, and Natasha assumed a
friendly face.

“Does your friend need a job?” Natasha asked. She looked
Cleo and the baby over with a practiced eye. “She would do well here, I think.”

“She has a job, in fact. That’s why we’re here. I hoped you
could help her with a dress. Maybe one of the girls could loan her one, or rent
it to her?”

“Perhaps. What is this job?”

As Phanor explained, Cleo wondered if the women who worked
here wore only purple and red gowns. She’d always imagined herself in a scarlet
dress when she’d fantasized about singing in New Orleans.

“And you are a free woman?” Natasha asked.

With conviction and without hesitation, Cleo said, “Yes, I
am a free woman.”

“With papers to prove it?”

“Certainly.”

Cleo held Natasha’s gaze. She could make papers the way
Phanor had for Remy. If Natasha wanted to see papers, she would produce them.

Natasha smiled slightly. “That won’t be necessary,” she
said.

A clever woman, Cleo thought. She knows what I am.

To Phanor Natasha turned a business eye. “I would so love
another dozen cases of the
Chenin Blanc
, Phanor.” She tilted her head
down and looked up at him with soulful eyes. Her reddened lips assumed a pout.
“But it is so dreadfully expensive,
mon chér
.”

Phanor smiled and glanced at Cleo. “Perhaps a discount could
be arranged.”

“Oh, could you, my darling? Perhaps a dollar a case less
than my last order?”

“I think I could deliver a dozen at a half dollar discount.”

Natasha smiled prettily and actually batted her eyelashes.
“You are my treasure, Phanor. Cleo… is that your name? Come with me and we’ll
see what we have. Oh, dear. The child. Phanor, would you?”

Phanor held his arms out for Gabriel, and Cleo followed the
red silk train across the floor.

Half an hour later, Cleo emerged with a glowing face. She
carried a large soft bundle under her arm and a pair of black satin slippers in
her hand.

“It’s beautiful, Phanor,” Cleo whispered. “And she said I
can keep it. It’s only a little soiled, and it has a frayed hem, but it’s too
long anyway.”

“Is it purple, or red?” he teased.

“It’s red. Red velvet.”

“You gots to eat dis,” Laurie said. Grand-mère, slumped in
her rolling chair, shoved Laurie’s hand away and spilled the mush on Laurie’s
clean skirt. “Now look what you did, you mean old biddy.”

“Laurie!” Josie gathered a handful of Laurie’s pigtails and
gave them a yank. “I’ve a good mind to take a switch to you. Now get on to the
cook house and see if you can help Louella.”

Josie sat down with her grandmother and stirred the bowl of
mush. “Mémère, if you don’t like this, I can get you some jam and toast. You
can eat the toast by yourself, if that’s what you want.”

Grand-mère tried to speak, but it came out something like
“ack ra.”

“Okra? You want Louella to fix you some okra?”

Grand-mère raised her voice and waved her hand around. “Ack
ra ah san!” She let out a stream of angry words, one of which Josie thought
might have been an actual swear word. But who could tell? In the months since
Cleo left, no one understood Grand-mère, and her temper had become shorter and
hotter.

Josie sat it out. She was so tired. She spent the early
mornings riding the plantation and the afternoons consulting the logs
Grand-mère and her father and his father had kept. They had recorded the dates
they’d fertilized the fields, where they’d bought the fertilizer and how much
they’d paid, how many hands it took to put in a field of corn. And then there
were the thousand other details to keep track of, like whether there was
sufficient charcoal made to last through the winter. Should she have the crews
harvesting the vegetable gardens or hoeing weeds in the cane? If she had
another twenty slaves, she wouldn’t have to worry about juggling all the tasks
to be done.

And she missed Cleo and the baby terribly. Remorse, guilt,
shame, loneliness, and fatigue wore her down – on top of which, Grand-mère
spent half her waking time in a fury. If only Josie could tap in to all her
years of experience, could ask her advice, but she couldn’t understand one word
in ten. The last time she had tried to ask her about which bills to pay first,
Grand-mère grew so impatient they were both in tears before Josie gave up.

Josie saw to it that Laurie, respectfully, served her
grandmother toast and jam. Then she returned to the office to ponder the
accounts. She now kept the hated glasses on a ribbon around her neck. She
needed them too often to be searching for them on mantles or in pockets these
days, and it no longer mattered to her whether they were becoming or not.