Always & Forever: A Saga of Slavery and Deliverance (The Plantation Series Book 1) (46 page)

“That’s all I’ll do for now, Chamard. If she seems worse,
come for me again, and I’ll blister her.” For the first time, he looked at
Josie. “Keep her cool, young lady.” He nodded to Phanor, picked up his hat, and
left them.

Cleo moaned and tried to raise herself. Chamard sat on the
bed and supported her in his arms. He pulled the hair aside and kissed the back
of her neck. “My love,” he murmured. Cleo leaned her head against his chest and
closed her eyes.

Josie sent Phanor home to rest and changed the bed linens
while Bertrand held Cleo in his lap. When he lay her down on the fresh sheets,
he knelt next to her and murmured a constant stream of low sweet words, Cleo’s
hand pressed to his lips.

 Josie worked around him, cooling Cleo with damp cloths,
feeding her lemon water.

“Josie,” he said softly. When she looked at him, he said,
“I’m glad you’re here.”

“She’s my sister.”

He nodded.

“Did you know?”

“I guessed. She’s missed you.”

“Has she?” Josie choked back tears. “I thought I’d lost her.
And now--”

He reached for Josie’s hand and held it tight. “And now she
will get better. We won’t let her go, Josie. We won’t.”

Josie hired another girl to help Louella and moved in with
Cleo. Phanor returned in the evenings. Bertrand stayed on. He didn’t leave the
cottage for three days and three nights.

Cleo had seemed to get better after his first night there,
but they all knew the Yellow Jack’s tricks. Victims seemed to come through the
fever, and then, suddenly, they worsened and death came quickly and violently.
So Josie, Phanor, and Bertrand watched her and prayed. But there was no relapse
for Cleo. She steadily improved and by the end of the week, she could eat a
little.

Bertrand went home to his family. Josie wondered what excuse
he’d make to his wife for having been absent for so long. She wondered if
Abigail knew, or suspected, Bertrand’s heart dwelled in the little cottage
under the chinaberry tree. She wondered if he had married her, would he
have been unfaithful to her just as he was to Abigail. Yes, she decided. He
would have. But not with Cleo. Cleo would never have had him if he had married
Josie. Of that she was sure.

Phanor picked up Gabriel from Louella and brought him home.
While Cleo rested, Gabriel played at the foot of her bed. That his mama’s eyes
had turned yellow and her skin sallow he didn’t notice as he happily climbed
over her body and slobbered kisses on her face.

Cleo’s recovery was slow. Yellow Jack insulted the liver,
the doctor explained, and it took time to heal. But even when it was clear
Josie could manage without him, Phanor came, bearing peaches or grapes, pies
from Louella’s kitchen or Flora’s gumbo in a tin pail.

While Josie warmed their supper, he took Gabriel out back to
play in the shade and chase butterflies. She watched them from the window.
Phanor had abandoned his wool jacket in the house and rolled his shirt sleeves
up. His limbs were long, and slim as he was, the muscles in his arms were
distinct and hard. Not the shabby boy who’d come to sell her hearts of palm,
but a successful man, sophisticated, even urbane when he wanted to be. The easy
smile had not changed though and the delighted laugh as Gabriel brought him his
red ball to roll for him.

He looked up and caught her staring at him. She was
embarrassed, but Phanor wasn’t. He grinned at her and held her gaze.

“Why don’t you come out here, Mademoiselle Josephine, and
chase this ball with us?”

She had not treated Phanor well a year ago. Since then, life
had beaten the arrogance out of her and whatever snobbery she’d had when she
arrived in New Orleans had been rubbed away by hard work and an appreciation
for the wit and integrity of the customers she’d come to know. She had no
pretensions, no illusions that she was better than a poor Cajun, or a singer in
a night club. But did Phanor see the change in her?

Josie stepped out into the yard feeling shy and uncertain.

And here came a red ball whizzing at her. Startled, she put
her hands up and yelped. The ball bounced off her skirt and rolled down the
steps.

“No fair. I wasn’t ready!” she said.

Phanor scooped up the ball. “Get ready!” he said, and tossed
it again.

This time she caught it and ran into the yard, laughing. Gabriel
reached for his ball and she rolled it to him. When he caught it and chortled
in triumph, she clapped her hands and laughed with him.

They played, the three of them, and Josie could not remember
when she had felt so happy. Sweat trickled down her neck, and she knew her hair
must be frizzed, but when Phanor looked at her over Gabriel’s head, she felt
beautiful.

She stepped closer, wanting to tell him she was not that
proud girl anymore. “Phanor,” she said.

He put his finger on her lips. He didn’t want to hear it.
Instead, he bent and touched his lips to hers.

She closed her eyes and felt such a welling of peace.

“Phanor,” she whispered against his lips.

He closed the inches between them and hushed her with his
kiss.

Bertrand visited as often as he could, and he sent a woman
to help out, too. “You stay as long as you want, Josie, of course. But you can
rest easy knowing Thérèze will be here with Cleo when you have to tend to your
kitchens.”

Josie went back to work, visiting Cleo in the evenings to
see that Gabriel was taken care of and that Cleo was clean and comfortable. But
Thérèze was a cheerful, efficient soul who made Cleo and Gabriel her own.

Phanor appeared at Josie’s kitchen at the end of their work
days. He walked with her to Cleo’s. Best of all, he strolled home with her in
the cool of the evening. Sometimes, they just walked, her hand on his arm.
Sometimes, they talked without let up, laughing, or explaining, or wondering
about the stars winking in the twilight. He’d deliver her to her lodging house
and the two of them would linger in the front alcove, kissing and whispering.
Over the weeks, that little alcove became increasingly inadequate for what they
wanted, and needed, and craved. But in Josie’s room upstairs, Louella slept.
Phanor’s room down on butcher lane was no place he’d take a lady.

Patience
, Josie told herself.
Soon
, Phanor
silently promised.

In mid-October, a front moved through. People drew deep
breaths of the cooling wind that dried up the puddles, hardened the mud, and
blew the pesky mosquitoes out to sea. The odorous piles of burning hooves
fouled the air no more. Ladies ceased to wilt, and the planters from upriver
began to drift back to New Orleans.

The Yellow Jack had run its course, at least until the next
fever season. Ships quarantined in the lower river were allowed to dock, and
men bent their sweaty backs unloading silks and satins from China, fine wines
and piano fortes from France. The smell of roasting coffee beans from the
French Market wafted down river to Josie’s kitchens where once again men stood
in line in the early morning to buy their breakfasts.

Louella ran the original kitchen, and Josie ran the second
one. They were training four girls to take over the pie shops and another who
would help Louella in the new bakery. Josie hoped to deliver the first crème
puffs to
Les Trois Frères
within the week, and with introductions from
Phanor to the stewards at other clubs around the city, Josie expected a busy
season.

When the second rush of hungry customers had come and gone
after the lunch hour, Josie hung her apron on a hook and packed a basket of
provisions.

“Maria,” Josie told the new hired girl, “we need onions when
you go to the market.”

“
Si, Senorita
.” Maria smiled and tapped her forehead.
“I know what to do.”

Leaving the kitchen in Maria’s competent hands, Josie set
off for Cleo’s cottage.

Across town, Cleo sat propped up against a pile of pillows
with a mirror in hand. “You are one ugly girl,” she said aloud. She pulled down
a lower lid; not a healthy red, not yet. She stuck her tongue out at the yellow
image. She didn’t know how Bertrand could stand to look at her. She tossed the
mirror on the bed and put her arms behind her head. He did like to look at her
though. Even in this old chemise, or better yet, she smiled to herself, without
it. He must have dug a rut deep as his horse’s hindquarters from here to
Cherleu by now.

She heard the back door open and Thérèze, the woman Bertrand
had insisted on hiring, say, “Dat one big basket, Mam’zelle. Let me take dat fo
you.” Cleo lay back and listened.

“Let’s see that new tooth, Gabriel,” Josie said. “Aren’t you
the big boy? Has he been fussing, Thérèze?”

Josie was herself now, Cleo thought. Somehow, she was over
it, Bertrand, everything. And with Phanor chasing after her, she was smiling
again.

“Yes’m,” Thérèze said. “That big ole tooth in the back o’
his mouth been paining him. I keep rubbing a little turpentine on it, but he
don’t like it.”

 “And his maman?” Josie said.

“She been up most o’ the mawnin,’ but she gone back to bed
now. I think she asleep.”

“I’m awake,” Cleo called. She propped herself on one elbow,
and Josie appeared at the door with Gabriel on her hip.

“How are you feeling?”

“Pretty good, but still weak as a kitten. And still a skinny
yellow scarecrow,” Cleo said.

“Thérèze will fatten you up.”

“How long am I supposed to stay yellow? It seems like
forever.”

“How many days has it been?”

Cleo thought a moment. “Eighteen, I think.”

Josie looked at her critically. “Well, it must take more
than eighteen, then. But you look better, you really do. You’re a paler yellow
now.”

“Thank you very much.”

Josie set Gabriel on his feet and he toddled off to find his
ball. Cleo scooted over and offered a pillow for Josie to prop herself against
the head board.

“Sit down and tell me about the new kitchen,” she said.

Josie brought her up to date. Business at the first two
places had picked up and the money was coming in again. The new girls were
working out well under Louella’s supervision, and the fancy-goods kitchen should
be ready by the end of the week.

“You and Phanor, entrepreneurs extraordinaire,” Cleo said.
“Both of you running your own businesses now.”

“You remember the first time we saw Phanor?” Josie said. “He
was barefoot, wearing a straw hat.”

“I don’t remember either one of us paying much mind to his
feet, Josephine.”

Josie laughed. “I guess not.”

“Have you seen him today?”

“Not yet. Why?”

Cleo suppressed the urge to let Josie in on the secret. “No
reason,” she said.

For a moment they were quiet, and then Josie said, “Cleo?”

“Um?”

“Can you sit up?” She moved out of the way while Cleo swung
her legs over the edge of the bed.

 Josie pulled a folded sheet from her pocket and handed it
to Cleo.

“What’s this?” Cleo said.

“Read it.”

Cleo opened the heavy velour paper. The official imprint of
the State of Louisiana graced the top of the page. At the bottom was the
signature of Josephine Marie Louise Celine Tassin. The text in the middle of
this document testified that one Cleo Tassin, lately of Toulouse Plantation in
the parish of St. James, and her son Gabriel, to be free persons of color.

“Oh, Josie,” Cleo said, and pressed the paper to her heart.
“Josie,” was all she could say. Her hand sought Josie’s and gripped it tight.

Josie handed her handkerchief to Cleo. “You were already
free. But now…Cleo, don’t get the paper wet.”

Gabriel toddled back into the room and climbed into his
maman’s lap. Cleo whispered in his ear, “You’re free, little man.”

Josie stood up and wiped her own face. “I have to get back
to Louella. Do you feel like eating? I brought a pork pie and some new apples.”

“I better eat,” Cleo said. She blew her nose and dried her
eyes. “Nobody wants to watch a skinny girl sing in a saggy red dress.”

Cleo handed Gabriel over and watched Josie swing him onto
her hip. Cleo’s heart filled to bursting. She took a moment, and then she
joined her family at the kitchen table.

Cleo would be singing at the supper club Christmas Eve
night, so Josie and Cleo, Phanor, Louella, and Gabriel had their Christmas that
afternoon. Cleo’s cottage was full of good smells, onions and peppers and
shrimp in the jambalaya Cleo made, cinnamon and apples from Josie’s pies, and
spitted ducks from the fire Louella tended in the back yard. Phanor supplied the
wine.

Phanor had fretted for weeks over what to give Josie for
Christmas. The first, easiest thought was to give her a case of his best
champagne. He scoffed at himself. If he sold flour, would he be giving her a
fifty-weight sack of flour? And what would she want with a case of champagne
anyway? There were no grand affairs in her life anymore, and he couldn’t tell
that she missed them.

What he really wanted to give her was a look into his heart.
Once he’d decided that, he knew what to do.

They ate their Christmas feast and toasted the occasion with
two bottles of Rioja, a spicy red with undertones of coffee and pepper that
Phanor imported from Spain. With cups of strong coffee, they gathered in Cleo’s
little parlor to open their gifts.

A grand rocking horse painted yellow and brown already stood
in the corner, waiting for Gabriel to grow big enough to mount it. Bertrand had
brought it earlier in the day and would come again late that evening after the
celebrations with Abigail and the Johnstons were over. Cleo would be home from
the club by then, and they’d have the rest of the night together. Early
morning, Bertrand would be gone to take his wife to Christmas mass.