East of Orleans (7 page)

In the wee hours of Sunday morning, Jules raised his head from the satin pillows to find that his petite French darling was gone. As he lay there, trying to remember the previous evening, he became aroused, but Jacqueline was nowhere. Jules dressed, and intended a quick exit from Mae’s, when Priscilla saw him walk through the front parlor.

“Mister Jules, lawd, where you been? Miz Mae, she say you be too busy. I jest tell her Mister Jules, he ne’re too busy before for our girls and our company, but it’s been a right spell, Mister Jules, where you been? You shure looking awful bad this morning.”

Before Jules could answer, Mae appeared, wearing a powder-blue silk morning dress.

“Mae, my, you look well this morning. I was a bit disturbed when I woke and found Jacqueline gone from my bed,” Jules said.

“Was there anything wrong, something the matter?” Mae asked.

Jules kicked the end of a Persian rug up with his shoe, smiled a sarcastic smile and removed a cigar from the pocket of his vest. Priscilla puckered her lips and looked at Jules sidelong as she pretended to dust off the Louis XV sideboard. Jules reached for his hat on the chair and with cool eyes said, “No, I just like her company; what I remember of it.” He looked at the floor, and then back up at Mae. “She’s a hell of a woman, alright. I had such a good time last night that before I knew it, morning was here. I wonder if Miss Rousseau has that effect on all her patrons?”

Priscilla shot Mae a quick glance and then went back to dusting. Mae said, “I am sure that she does. You are not her only client, you know, and besides, the Major requested her presence; that's the nature of this business.”

“She is an ambitious sort,” said Jules as he shook his head, narrowed his intense blue eyes and curled his bottom lip.

Jules gently pinched Mae’s right breast as he leaned over to kiss her on the cheek. At the open front door, he paused and smiled.

“Goodbye, Jules,” Mae said sweetly.

“Tell Miss Jacqueline I will call on her soon, real soon, and Mae, if you will, please find another interest for the Major.”

Jules left Mae’s and stopped off at McGarrity’s tavern for a shot of whiskey. His head had never hurt so badly. He could not explain the way he felt, only that he had never felt that way before, but he had a pretty good idea. Jules entered the saloon and saw Maude Watson tending the bar. “How you doing this morning, gal?”

Maude looked up from behind the bar and smiled, drying a crystal bar glass and noticed that Jules looked rather ill. “I’m doing fine, Jules, but you don’t look so good. What did you do last night?”

Jules gave her a coy smile and leaned across the bar to look into her kind brown eyes. Maude looked much older than her years, but she had always cared about the regulars, the kind of person they could confide in. That was what Jules liked about her.

“I went down to Mae Patterson’s place.”

Maude puckered her bottom lip and narrowed her eyes. “She got you, too, didn't she?”

Jules looked at her quizzically. “Miss Maude, I don't know what on this earth you are talking about?”

“Oh hell, Jules, don't you play that game with me.” Maude grinned, exposing two missing lower teeth. “She got you, didn't she?” Maude leaned over and picked up another bar glass to dry. “I can’t believe you fell for her tricks. Don’t feel bad; I hear she’s taken half the men east of
Orleans
. Look, don’t quote me; Lord knows I have enough trouble but, Jules, every man that comes in here that’s been with that woman all say the same thing.”

Jules stared into Maude’s face. “And what’s that, Maude?”

“I believe she drugs her customers. I mean, I may be wrong, but not a single man that has been with her can recall a thing. And if you’re smart, you had better count your money. Lee Worley left there with nothing more than his clothes and he swears he had two hundred dollars on him when he arrived.”

Jules turned his whiskey up and threw his glass against the wall. “Damn her!”

Several weeks
had passed when Lila McCoy received a letter from the bank that said she was to come in and meet with Rollins Hartwell. Lila told Granny and the two of them, both dressed in black, still in mourning for Isabella’s daddy, but even if they hadn’t been, Isabella thought that the black would have been appropriate. The young girl rode into town with her head held high. She was determined that not even the sight of a Hartwell would ruin her day.

The one thing that did cheer her up was that she wore a scarlet red dress that Granny had made her for her sixteenth birthday. Tom had given her a pair of garnet earrings that he purchased from the money the paper paid him. Her hair fell in loose ringlets, tied halfway back in a bow with the silk ribbon that Livie and Henry had brought her from
Atlanta
.

Isabella paced the lobby of the bank while her mama and granny met with Rollins Hartwell in his office.

It wasn’t long before Isabella could not stand the sight of another farmer walking into the bank. They all came and went the same way.

They entered with a defeated look and left with calloused hands plunged deep into their overall pockets. She wondered how many tired, desperate farmers the Hartwells had cheated out of their farms that day.

She stood up and strolled across the beautifully waxed pine floors of the bank. She studied the elegant oil paintings of the two previous stern-looking bank presidents. Isabella had had enough of the bank and its former occupants. She had to get out of there.

Isabella walked outside and went down the street, looking through store windows until she came to the ornate glass window of Mrs. Scarborough’s Millinery Shoppe. In the middle of the store window was a fabulous turquoise bonnet with alluring ostrich plumes, begging her to come inside. She opened the door and peeked in--- flowers and ribbons decorated the whole place.

“May I help you, dear?” Chirped the saleslady. Isabella jumped.

“No, no, ma’am, I just came inside to see all your beautiful hats.” Isabella’s violet-blue eyes sparkled as she gazed at one hat after another.

The tall, slender saleslady smiled. “That’s fine, dear. My name is Ellen Scarborough. If you need assistance, just call me. I’ll be in the back for a few minutes.”

Isabella gave a quick nod. “Thank you ma’am.” On a large oak display case, was a cranberry glass bowl with fluted edges. The bowl held an abundance of ostrich plumes in every fashionable color. Isabella never knew so many colors existed. She soon discovered that she could never own even a single plume; each one cost five dollars. A late edition of
Designer Magazine
lay on the counter and was opened to an article on the world-renowned French hat designer, Francoise Lamphere. The title was Chapeaux
the Rage of Spring!
Oh, to own one, she thought. She turned the pages of the magazine and saw a fabulous array of fine winter hats trimmed with lavish millinery birds, ostrich plumes, feathers, wings, and composite birds.

Her eyes circled around the shop until they stopped at one hat. Her heart stopped, too. If she were to own a single hat, it would be the rose one with long velvet silk ties, wine-colored ostrich plumes and a tiny parade of pink roses.

Isabella glanced to the side to see if anyone could see her. There was no one in sight.

Mrs. Scarborough was still in the back. Isabella decided it was time to try on that hat. She stood in front of the cherub-embellished gilt mirror and gingerly placed the hat on her head. She turned from front to back and then sideways, admiring herself over and over again.

She sniffed and detected a strong, sweet smell that had entered the air. She whipped around to see where the smell came from, and bumped right into a well-dressed man with a curious look on his face. Jules McGinnis stared at her as if she were naked.

His eyes were blue, like the ocean and deep enough to drown the thoughts of a young girl. Isabella had never seen eyes like his before. She thought a man with eyes like that must have many secrets. His face was rugged and handsome, but in a dangerous sort of way.

“A young lady of such beauty should own the hat she most desires,” Jules said. Isabella swirled around with the bonnet still high on her head. She turned so fast that she almost knocked over Mrs. Scarborough’s entire display. Quickly, she removed the bonnet.

“My dear, leave it be. That bonnet will never be more appreciated than where it sits now,” Jules said with an arrogant smile.

Isabella could feel the heat rise in her face. She ran her fingers through her hair, looking into the stranger’s eyes.

“Sir, I appreciate your kindness, however, I neither have the money nor the intent to purchase the hat.”

He stared at her for a long moment. “Money, my dear, is not a problem; intent,on the other hand, can be changed in an instant.”

Isabella wondered if she had provoked this man in some way. She smoothed her hair with her hand. His brazenness shocked her. The nerve of him, she thought.

She wondered if she wore a scarlet letter, if he knew about what had happened to her. Of course not, how could he know? She wanted to tell him what she thought of him, but she held her tongue.

Jules pushed his broad tanned hand into his trouser pocket and plucked out a roll of money the likes of which Isabella had never seen.

She thought that he must be from some exotic place like
New Orleans
. She had heard tales about people from
New Orleans
, but she had never met one. He looked like a riverboat gambler. Of course, she had never known a riverboat gambler. Tom had told her stories about such men. Maybe he was a riverboat gambler on the
Chattahoochee
.

Isabella straightened her back and placed her hands on her hips. She looked up at Jules, narrowed her eyes and leaned forward.

“Sir, you must not have heard what I said. I have no money to buy that hat.” She then fixed a direct stare on him. “And as for my intent, it is not easily swayed---” She turned and placed the hat back on Miss Scarborough’s millinery stand.

At that moment, Mrs. Scarborough appeared from the back. She had a cup of hot tea in one hand, a sugar cookie in the other and an amused expression on her face. Mrs. Scarborough ate the last bite of the cookie and pretended that she did not hear their conversation.

She put down her teacup, and disappeared into the stock room. A moment later, she returned holding a shockingly beautiful scarlet silk hat. It was the most exquisite hat Isabella had ever seen; the rose velvet one paled in comparison.

Isabella watched as Mrs. Scarborough showed the hat to the stranger.

“Jules, I apologize that it took so long for the bonnet to arrive. As you know, I had it shipped from
Paris
, and well, you know sometimes we have no control over these things.”

Jules smiled and nodded.

“Box it, Mildred, please. Do not worry about the delay. I’m certain the bonnet will make my…” Jules glanced at Isabella, “niece, very happy.”

Mrs. Scarborough raised one eyebrow and left to put the hat in the best box she had.

When she was out of sight, Jules turned to Isabella. “Little lady, I don’t believe we’ve met.”

Isabella walked past Jules. “No sir, I’m certain we have not.”

“Where are you from? Can I assume that you’re visiting from
Atlanta
?”

“You can assume anything you want, but that don’t make it so.” Jules stood with his legs apart and a slow grin spread across his face. He liked her bold, sassy attitude.

“Can I at least ask what your name is, little lady?”

Isabella’s eyes flashed. “If you will quit calling me little lady, I just might tell you, but I ain’t gonna tell you anything as long as you stand there with your eyes fixed on me like a wolf.”

Jules laughed. “Okay, it’s a deal. Now tell me your name?”

“Isabella, Isabella Grace.”

Jules narrowed his eyes and removed a cigar from the pocket of his vest. “Little lady, that’s about as pretty a name as I ever heard. What is your last name?”

Isabella stared annoyingly at Jules. “I told you that if you called me little lady one more time, I was not going to answer another one of your questions. And I ain’t!” With that, she ran out of Mrs. Scarborough’s Millinery Shoppe.