The Grand Masquerade (The Bold Women Series Book 4) (5 page)

The man ran into the woods, terrified as Vivian swooped at him and screeched. Hearing the commotion, the dogs charged, but Sydnee stopped them. She did not want to witness another kill like her father.

Sydnee smiled as Vivian soared back through the trees toward them. She raised her arm, and the crow landed on her. Sydnee kissed her head, praising her for a job well done.

The next day, it was apparent that they were getting close to Natchez. They passed more people on the trail, and there were more crossroads with active stands. Around midday they came upon a couple traveling to market with fresh produce. The young man was pulling the cart and his wife was riding in the back, her bare feet dangling. She held a tiny baby in her arms.

“Howdy,” she called to Sydnee, swinging her legs. She wore a faded yellow bonnet, an old blue dress, and a gray apron. Her feet were dirty, but her face and hands were clean.

The young man put the cart down and turned around to greet Sydnee too. He was dressed in rags as well, but his hair was clean, and his demeanor was friendly. His lifted his tattered straw hat, mopped his brow and nodded a greeting.

“Where you come from?” the girl asked. 

“Devil’s Backbone Stand on The Trace,” Sydnee replied.

“Come far?” the young man asked.

“Over two weeks walk.” Sydnee said. “Would--would you know of any work around Natchez?”

The girl studied her a moment and said, “You sound French. You French?’

Sydnee shook her head.

“I reckon San-Souci plantation might need help,” the young man said. “Head left at the fork. You’ll be off The Trace, but keep followin’ the trail. It’ll take you right down to the plantation.”

“Thank you,” Sydnee murmured.

“God’s speed,” the girl called.

Sydnee turned left at the fork feeling hopeful about the future.
Perhaps it is cotton picking time, or maybe there are vegetables to harvest.
Surely these large plantations have work.

She spied a patch of blue beyond the trees, and her heart lurched. Is it possible? And she walked a little farther. “There it is!” she cried.

Sydnee began to run, stopping with a jolt before she fell down a steep embankment. Throwing her hat, she dropped her pack and grabbed the trunk of a tree, swinging forward to look at the Mississippi River. Her mouth dropped open in awe as it stretched out before her in all of its glory. Never had she seen anything so magnificent! The panorama was breathtaking. White clouds climbed overhead like huge ghosts ascending to the heavens, with the wide river rippling noiselessly below. The sun seemed to glimmer on the surface like sparks of white fire.

She slid down the riverbank, clutching branches and trees for support. The underbrush was thick with orange tiger lilies, and when she reached the shore, she stepped out onto a large boulder, putting her hand up to shade her eyes. The dogs joined her as Vivian soared overhead, riding the air currents.

Sydnee had never seen anything so beautiful, and she fell in love with the Mississippi instantly. A light breeze lifted her hair and tossed it around her face. The air was cool and tinged with the scent of fish.

Suddenly there was a blast of noise more deafening than any clap of thunder. Terrified, Sydnee dropped into a crouch, covering her head. The dogs charged back up the hill in a panic. There was a rhythmic splash, splash of water and a deep rumbling.

Cautiously, Sydnee stood up. There in front of her, gliding on the water, was a moving mansion which was propelled by a large red wheel churning water from the back.

There was another blast and black smoke belched from a tall, fluted stack on the roof. Sydnee covered her ears, but this time she did not crouch. She knew that she was seeing her first riverboat. The stern-wheeler was white and several stories high, all trimmed in gold.

 
So these are the famous steamboats of the Mississippi
.

The women strolled carelessly on deck with colorful parasols, resting on their shoulders as the gentlemen leaned on the railings, dressed in fine suits, smoking cigars.

Sydnee memorized every inch of the riverboat as it went by. She noted the white shuttered doors and the gilded arches, the red paddle wheel, and the two black smoke stacks. When she spied a square piece of fabric, flapping atop a tall pole, she shaded her eyes to see more clearly. It had a curious design of red and white stripes next to a blue square with a circle of stars. It was pretty.

Sydnee dropped her hand and sighed. More than anything else in this world, she wanted to ride a riverboat. It was the most beautiful thing she had ever seen. As she watched it fade into the distance, the smile faded from her face as well.

Just as she was about to climb back up the hill, she saw another boat come around the bend. She heard about these crafts all her life, but this was more than she expected. A massive floating barge, the Mississippi broadhorn was more than two stories high. Sydnee blinked in amazement. She spied cows and goats on board, pens of chickens, spinning wheels, tables and chairs which were lashed to the roof. There were small tents down below and even a loom. Men stood with oars at the sides of the massive raft, guiding the floating village. Sydnee noticed women preparing food in a fire pit right on board the boat while others hung laundry up to dry. Some of the children were fishing off the side and one of them waved to her.

These were different from the privileged people of the exquisite paddle wheeler. Their clothing was homespun, worn and faded, and the children had no shoes, but Sydnee heard laughter, and the children were singing.

Sydnee sat down on the bank to see what else may turn up on this busy waterway. After a few moments, a dugout canoe came by paddled by Indians, and then a keelboat sailed around the bend with a young man playing music. He sat on the edge of the boat with his feet dangling in the water, clasping a box which he collapsed in and out. Sydnee had never seen or heard anything like it. The box created a whimsical wheezing sound, and the music rolled across the water as clear as a bell. The dogs were fascinated and listened with their heads cocked.

Sydnee shook her head in amazement at the traffic on this great river. She could pass the entire day watching this endless parade and never become bored. Reluctantly, she turned to go, and the dogs bounded up the riverbank behind her with Vivian in the rear.

Chapter 6

Deep ruts lined the path to the San-Souci plantation. The day was coming to a close, and when they reached the outskirts of the plantation, it was dusk. Sydnee stayed in the bushes to survey the grounds before approaching anyone. Snapping her fingers, she signaled for the dogs, and they sat down quietly behind her.

She ran her eyes along the open field.  Rows of black slaves were bent over hoes, chopping and plucking weeds from the rich black soil. They were in shabby homespun clothing and sweat glistened on their dark skin. Most were as thin as skeletons, and their faces were heavily creased. Some of the women wore
tignons
, a few wore bonnets, and the men worn ragged straw hats.

Watching them work, Sydnee realized that she missed cotton planting, but perhaps they were starting a different crop. Taking off her hat, she smoothed her hair, straightened her dress and stepped out into the field.

The hands stole looks at her, but they did not stop their hoeing. Several of them glanced around for the overseer, but they did not call to him. Sydnee caught sight of the big house in the distance. It was a sprawling two-story dwelling with white pillars and galleries wrapping around the top and bottom floors. A graceful stairway ran up either side of the entrance and candlelight twinkled in every window. Sydnee’s heart fluttered; never had she seen such grandeur.

“Say there! What’s your business?” someone barked.

Sydnee jumped, and the dogs stiffened as a white man strode up with a whip in his hand. He was short but massively built. The sleeves of his sweat-stained shirt were rolled up, revealing strong arms covered with curly black hair. He was frowning.

Sydnee stuttered, “I-I was wondering if you have—have work?”

“Not for trash like you,” was his abrupt reply. “Now git,” he ordered, gesturing toward the woods. “Or I’ll give you a taste of this whip!”

Sydnee stared at him a moment, and then turned away. She could feel the eyes of all the field hands upon her as she walked back to the woods. Standing for a long time in the trees, Sydnee tried to quell her humiliation. The dogs sat down, leaning against her legs. Lifting her chin, she took a deep breath and started to walk again.

Over the next three days, Sydnee was met with rejection after rejection. Up and down the river road she traveled, stopping at plantations, going to small farms, asking strangers for work. She heard the same reply again and again, “We got our niggers. There’s no work for you.”

Frustrated and afraid, she considered returning to The Devil’s Backbone. It would be easy to live off the land and lead the life of a recluse, but her bitter memories returned, and she dismissed the idea.

Hungry and discouraged, Sydnee headed for Natchez. Searching in town was her last resort. Even though her homespun demeanor and backwoods speech would be met here with scorn, she was desperate. Her stomach yearned for food, and she was getting frantic.

Just before town, Sydnee ducked under a willow by the river and pulled up her legs, resting her chin on her knees. She needed to gather her strength. Baloo and Atlantis sat down beside her, sensing her despair. The green drapes of the willow swayed gently as Sydnee opened her being to the spirits, filling her lungs with the sweet breath of the tree. She closed her eyes and listened. The voices grew stronger.
“
Have faith,”
they whispered
. “
We will take care of you. Your path will be revealed.”

Sydnee sighed and opened her eyes. At the top of the tree she could see Vivian riding a branch in the wind. She remembered something Margarite told her once about the birds of the air.
They neither sow nor reap; yet the heavenly Father feeds them.

“I will find work today. I can feel it,” she said to the dogs, planting a kiss on each of their heads. When she stepped out from under the tree, Vivian dove down and landed on her shoulder.

When Sydnee arrived at last in Natchez, she was overwhelmed. This town was no cluster of cabins hastily constructed along the Mississippi River. There were no barns, sheds or shabby outbuildings littering this landscape. Instead the streets of Natchez were lined with trim, thriving businesses and lavish estates. Manicured boulevards wound past plantation homes bordered by wrought-iron fences and gates which opened onto gardens bursting with flowers and fountains. Lush lawns swept up to palatial estates which were monuments to cotton, slavery, and the power of the Mississippi. Like San-Souci all the homes had porches with white pillars and tall, shuttered windows stretching from floor to ceiling.

Leaning on the ornate iron gate of one of the homes, Sydnee closed her eyes and took a breath. The sweet fragrance of flowers filled her nostrils, and the breeze whispered as it moved through the dogwood and hawthorn trees.

It was the middle of the afternoon, and all activity ceased in the town during the heat of the day. She spied two boys walking toward her eating apples and carrying burlap bags. One had red hair and freckles, and the other had a pug nose and shaggy hair. They were about her age.

She didn’t notice them elbow each other when they saw her. She mistook their smirks for smiles.

“
P-pardon
,” she stammered in her French patois. Swallowing hard, she started over. “I beg your pardon. Would you know of any work?”

The boy with the pug nose mocked her. “W-well, yes we do. Y-you are in luck.”

Sydnee’s heart jumped, and she looked eagerly from one to the other.

“Tell her, Will,” the pug-nosed boy said, poking his friend in the ribs.

The freckled-faced boy looked confused, and then his friend nodded toward the big house. He perked up and said, “Oh! Go right up there, knock on the door in the back, and ask for Angelique. She’ll have something for ya’ll.”

Wide-eyed, Sydnee nodded and said, “Thank you.”

Starting for the gate, she hesitated.

The pug nosed boy waved in the direction of the house. “Go on!”

Telling the dogs to stay, Sydnee reluctantly opened the gate and walked up the service driveway to the back of the house. Her mouth was dry, and her hands were shaking. It was terrifying approaching such a grand home, but Sydnee mustered all her courage and walked on. When she reached the back of the house she hesitated, wiping her hands on her smock. She did not want to knock on the door.

The moment she raised her hand, the door flew open and a tall slave with an angular face loomed over her.

The woman scowled. “What you want?”

Sydnee opened her mouth, but no words would come.

“I just ask you. What you want?”

It was like Sydnee’s tongue was glued to the roof of her mouth.

The woman’s eyes narrowed. “We got nothin’ for you here. Riff-raff like you belongs Under the Hill!”

Before Sydnee had time to turn around, the woman took a dish towel and started to shoo her away like she was a stray dog. She started to run, and the woman chased her all the way down the driveway. Mortified, she could hear the boys in the distance howling with laughter and calling her a “Kaintuck.”

Panting, Sydnee turned toward the river. She didn’t know where she was going, but she knew that she had to get away from this part of town. She did not feel good enough to be among these fine folk. Tears began to run down her face. The road ran parallel to the river and sloped sharply downhill. It was lined with businesses and warehouses, and it took several hairpin turns before it reached the busy landing where five steamboats were moored and flatboats as well.

With her ragged hat pulled low, Sydnee never looked at anyone. She was blinded by humiliation and rage at the boys who played her for a fool. She did not stop until she reached the base of the hill by the river. Standing for a long time with her heart pounding, she realized at last that she was in the shade of a building which stood over her head on pilings. All the businesses on the landing were on stilts along the river. Hastily constructed shabby structures, the buildings teetered precariously over mounds of debris and garbage. Sydnee wrinkled her nose at the decaying fish and feces. She realized suddenly that the dogs were nosing around in the trash, and Vivian was picking at fish bones.

“No!” she called to them.

Atlantis began retching. “Come!” Sydnee commanded and then turned and walked briskly back up the hill with the dogs trotting behind her.

For the first time, Sydnee realized the area was alive with activity.
This must be Natchez Under-the-Hill.
She looked up at the bluff overhead lined with fine homes and then down at the decrepit whore houses, saloons and warehouses on the muddy road below. Mules strained up the hill, pulling wagons full of barrels and crates from the riverboats. Draymen snapped whips barking orders at the beasts. Riverboat men lounged in the shade. All of them were heavily-built men with thick muscles and leathery skin. They watched the activity on the streets and exchanged news while chewing their tobacco which they would spit in long brown streams.

The sun was setting and Sydnee saw whores coming out onto porches, fanning themselves and starting to solicit business. Advertising to customers walking below, they would pull up their skirts and put a leg up on the railing so the men could look at their privates. Boys whooped and hollered, while older men acted amused. 

All of these images were familiar to Sydnee. These were the people who frequented The Devil’s Backbone.
The house darky at the plantation was right.
Natchez
Under-the-Hill
is where I belong
.

Sydnee squeezed her eyes shut and took a deep breath. She made her decision. Someday she would find other work, but for now this is what she must do. She scanned the storefronts for possibilities. Many of the whorehouses had saloons on the street level, and Sydnee decided against these. Walking into a drinking establishment alone was not an option.

At last she saw a
fille de joie
escort a john up a short set of steps and into a wooden building with shutters and a sign out front. A young, black boy sat on the step guarding the customer’s horses.

Sydnee took a deep breath and stepped up to him to ask about work. He nodded and said to ask for Miss Magdalene. Sydnee told the dogs to stay and knocked on the door.

A large man with a black mustache appeared and escorted her down a dark hall to the back of the building. It was hot and stuffy inside the house, and Sydnee felt queasy. The man told her to wait in the hall and disappeared into a room, shutting the door behind him. She could hear a female inside the room scolding someone. Her voice grew louder, and then there was a string of obscenities from someone else and a smashing of glass. Next there was the shuffle of feet, more swearing and a door slammed.

Sydnee swallowed hard and waited. The man opened the door at last. He jerked his head and said, “Madame Magdalene.” Sydnee walked into the room as he walked out. It was a small office with two upholstered chairs and a desk. It smelled of smoke and heavy perfume. A tall, thin woman with extremely white skin and long smooth black hair was emptying broken glass into a waste bin. She wore a red wrap tied loosely around her waist. She turned and opened the window drapes. The room was instantly flooded with the red glow of the setting sun. Sydnee could now see Madame Magdalene more clearly. Although her body was slim and erect, she was not young. The corners of her eyes were lined with wrinkles, and there were frown lines around her mouth. Her thin lips were painted a blood red which stood out against her white skin and jet black hair.

Madame Magdalene looked at Sydnee at last. Lighting tobacco, she asked quietly, “You want work?”

“Yes, Madame.”

“You have done this sort of work before?”

Sydnee nodded.

“Take off your hat.”

Sydnee complied.

Madame Magdalene bent over and grabbed Sydnee’s chin, turning her face from side to side.

“Any disease?”

“No,” Sydnee replied.

The woman put a hand on her hip. “Where were you working?”

“For my father at a stand on The Trace.”

The woman chuckled cynically. “For your father,” she said, taking a puff of tobacco and blowing it out. “Well you are in luck. I am down a girl. You can start tonight. Come back in a few hours, and I will get you something to wear. Stop at the kitchen and get something to eat before you go.”

“Thank you,” Sydnee murmured.

The cook gave her a turkey leg, corn on the cob, and some biscuits. She almost swooned when she smelled the food. Racing down the steps, she found Vivian and the dogs, and they joyfully rushed to the shade of a tree to consume their meal.

When Sydnee was done, she sat back against the tree and sighed. Tonight she would have to work for her food, and she began to feel sick. The thought of men sweating and groaning over her made her want to retch.

Several hours later the torches were ablaze at Natchez Under-the-Hill. The revelry was in full swing as night fell. A steady stream of men roamed the streets, laughing and cursing, drinking and carousing. As Sydnee walked up the stairs to Madame Magdalene’s establishment, she passed a tall immaculately dressed black man coming out of the house. He held a lace hankie to his nose, his hair was graying at the temples, and he wore an emerald-green frock coat with light pantaloons.