The Exiles (17 page)
Chantel’s heart seemed to swell. “That—that would be wonderful, Papa.”
Cretien reached out and took her hands. He held them for a moment then said, “This makes two of your parties I’ve missed.”
“No, you didn’t miss this one, Papa. It’s not too late.” She laughed and held her hand up, admiring the ring. “I’ll never take this off, Papa—never.”
The classroom was cold, and Chantel drew her blue wool coat closer around her. This did not help with her feet, however, which were numb. She looked around and saw that the other girls were just as uncomfortable as she was. Indeed, Leonie’s lips seemed to be blue. The coat she had on was thin, and Chantel thought,
I’ve got to give Leonie a warmer coat. I can give her my brown one. It’ll be too large for her, but at least she can keep warm.
The droning of Father Laurent’s voice nearly put her to sleep. The class he taught on church doctrine was enough to bore anyone to death. She dreaded it, and so did the other girls. Their academic subjects were sometimes good, sometimes boring, but never as tedious as Father Laurent’s lessons. As far as she knew no one ever paid the slightest attention to what he was saying except to be sure they could pass the examination that would follow.
Two tall windows on the east side of the room admitted the cold winter light of November. Chantel watched the long, slanting rays of pale light as they fell on the faces of her fellow students. She noticed the motes that danced in them and wondered suddenly if God knew the location of every mote. It was the sort of thing that came to Chantel from time to time. She thought of asking Father Laurent, but she knew he would think such a question frivolous.
She rubbed her hands together and paused to admire the diamond ring she wore on the ring finger of her right hand. Every day since her birthday she had taken time to admire it and to think of the second birthday party. She had had a marvelous time with her father. They had gone out to the most expensive restaurant in New Orleans, and while they had eaten her father had amused her with his talk.
Afterwards they went to the opera, and although Chantel did not like opera as well as drama, she was stirred by the music and by the story of William Tell. The scene where he shot the apple off of his son’s head was exciting, and she had found herself grasping her father’s arm with all her strength. He had laughed quietly at her and said, “Don’t worry. I don’t think he’ll hit the boy.”
After the opera they had chocolate and sweets, and Cretien again apologized for missing her party. “I promised you once that I’d never miss another one, but I failed you. Now I promise you again,
chère.
I’ll never miss another one of your parties.”
“Thank you, Papa. This has been the best birthday I’ve ever had, even if it is a few hours late.”
“Then I’m happy, and I hope you like your gift.”
“Yes, more than anything.”
Chantel was reliving that scene when suddenly she heard her name called and blinked, drawing herself back to the present. Father Laurent, a large man with a reddish face and pale blue eyes, was staring at her. She heard Damita giggling and knew she had been asked a question.
“I’m sorry, Father Laurent. I didn’t hear.”
Whatever reprimand Father Laurent was about to deliver was never heard, for just then the door opened and Sister Alice came in.
“Father Laurent,” she said. “Chantel is wanted in Sister Martha’s office at once.”
A shock of surprise came to Chantel. She had never been sent for like this, but when someone was called out of class it usually meant trouble. She waited until Father Laurent dismissed her, then rose and left the room. All the way to the office she wondered what she had possibly done that would call for this type of action.
When she entered the office, she found Sister Martha standing beside her desk. “Yes, Sister Martha. What is it?” Chantel asked.
“I’m afraid I have bad news for you, my dear.”
“Bad news, Sister Martha?”
“Yes, it’s—” The nun hesitated, then said, “It’s your father. He’s had an accident. You must go home at once.”
“Is he all right?”
“I don’t know the details, but I think you’d better go right now.”
Chantel stared at the nun with fear running along her nerves. Then she wheeled out of the room. Not even stopping to get her heavy coat, Chantel ran out of the building into the cutting wind, but she paid it no heed.
The distance from the convent to her home was only a few blocks, but she ran so hard she was out of breath when she pushed through the black iron gates and ran up the steps. She opened the door and almost fell inside.
“Chantel!”
Chantel saw Collette, and cried out, “What happened to Papa?”
Collette came over, took Chantel by the shoulders, and looked up into her face. “I’m so sorry, dear,” she said. Her eyes were red and wet. “Your father was riding his stallion, and the horse fell going over a jump.”
“But will he be all right?”
“Chantel—your father is . . .”
“I want to see him!”
“We put him on his bed in the bedroom, but—”
Chantel tore away from Collette’s grasp and ran up the stairs, taking them two or three at a time. She ran down the hall to her father’s room.
There on the bed she saw her father lying in the most awful stillness she had ever seen. Her throat closed up, and the room seemed to tilt. She walked stiffly to the bed and looked down on his pale face, then suddenly fell forward across his chest. She held to him, crying, “Papa—Papa!”
Finally she felt hands raising her up and heard Collette say, “Come away, dear.”
Chantel rose and looked down at her father’s face. Through the tears the features seemed to waver, and a sudden sense of loss came over her.
Spring brought beautiful weather to New Orleans. The sky overhead, as blue as could be imagined, was broken by fleecy white clouds that drifted slowly by. The date was May 15, 1831, and a warm breeze blew across the crowd gathered for the ceremony. The faculty of the Ursuline Convent was gathered together on a small platform that had been erected in the courtyard. The black robes of the priests and nuns, highlighted by blinding white collars and hats, made a startling contrast to the colorful dresses of the family and friends of the graduates. As Chantel glanced around, she thought,
It looks like a tulip garden with all the beautiful colors of the dresses.
Indeed, the women in the predominately Creole gathering had worn their best—gowns of pink, blue, green, and yellow that caught the sparkling sunlight. The air was light, the final speech had been made by the bishop, and now the diplomas were being handed out. Chantel moved forward, listening to the names of her fellow students. Finally she heard her own name called out, then a slight pause and the words “Summa Cum Laude.”
A sound of applause came to her, and she flushed as she reached forward and took the diploma from Sister Martha. The nun smiled at her and whispered, “I’m proud of you, Chantel.”
“Thank you, Sister.” Grasping the diploma as if it were a precious jewel, Chantel turned and flashed a smile at Neville. To her surprise, he kissed his hand and waved it at her.
As she made her way back to her seat, a wave of memory swept over her. She thought of the past months that had come and gone, and sadly wished that her father could be here to share this day. She continued to live at home with Collette and Perrin, but the house had become a torment for her. It was Cretien who had made it a special place for her, and every time she entered the door it was with a pang of grief. She thought of the lonely nights when she had wept herself to sleep, and after all these months her loss seemed to grieve her even more.
She made her way to her seat, glancing once again at Neville. He wasn’t looking at her at that moment, and she saw his profile and thought of how his friendship had helped her endure the recent struggle
.
Chantel sat there until the ceremonies finally came to an end. They stood to their feet, graduates and guests alike, and the bishop said a brief prayer. Then the graduates went to their families.
Collette and Elise smiled at her and kissed her, but it was Elise who was the warmest.
“You did the best of all,
mon chère!”
She beamed and hugged Chantel again so hard that it almost made her lose her breath.
“I’m very proud of you—and your father would be so proud, too,” Collette said. She was wearing a light, summery blue dress and looked very pretty as she stood there. Collette had never been unkind to Chantel directly, but since Cretien’s death she had been preoccupied. It hurt Chantel that her stepmother seemed to grieve so little at the loss of her husband.
Nevertheless, she managed a smile and said, “Thank you, Mama.”’
“Aren’t you going to give me a present, Chantel?”
Chantel laughed and bent over to ruffle Perrin’s hair. He was three and a half years old now and resembled his mother more than his father.
“You’re supposed to give
me
a present,” Chantel teased.
Perrin scowled at her and then shrugged. “Okay. You can have one of the toys that I’m tired of.”
“That’s not very generous, Perrin,” Collette said. She turned to Chantel. “You’ve worked so hard, dear, but now, perhaps, you can rest a little.”
Elise was still excited over the honor Chantel had won. “You were the very best!” she said. Then she laughed and shook her head. “I thought I’d never get you raised.”
Collette gave Elise a hard look, for it grated on her nerves that a servant was in many respects closer to Chantel than she was.
Chantel started to answer, but at that moment Sister Martha came up and in an unusual gesture put her arm around Chantel and squeezed her. “Well, I’m going to miss you around here.”
“I’ll miss you, too, Sister Martha. But we’ll only be a few blocks away. I’ll come and visit you.”
Sister Martha shook her head and gave a slight laugh. “I doubt that, but it would make me very happy if you would. When our students move away we rarely see them again. Now, what are you going to do with yourself? Get married, I suppose.”
“Oh, no, nothing like that!”
“What? Not ever? Perhaps,” she said, “you’d like to stay on and become a nun.” Her eyes twinkled as she said, “But I don’t think that is your calling.”
At that moment Neville appeared and said, “Good afternoon, Sister Martha. Are you proud of your prize student?”
“I certainly am. But I must say that I occasionally suspected that some of her essays were assisted by another hand.” She stared hard at Neville and said, “I call no names, you understand.”
Neville flushed and said, “Well, I did give her some help from time to time.”
Sister Martha nodded and said, “You would make a good Catholic, Mr. Harcourt.”
“That’s quite a compliment, coming from you, Sister.”
“You must come and see me. I believe I could enlighten you if I just had time enough.”
Neville laughed and said, “I’m afraid of you, Sister. You’re too good an evangelist to suit me, but I appreciate your offer.”
Sister Martha went to speak to the other graduates, and Neville said to Chantel, “I’ve come to take you away to celebrate.”
But at that moment, Chantel was surrounded by a trio who wore the same costume of graduation. “Chantel! You won! I’m so proud of you!”
“Thank you, Leonie.” Chantel took the shy kiss from the girl, then said, “Are you ready to face the world now?”
“Well,
I
am!” Simone was beaming as she came to exchange hugs with Chantel. “I’m so glad to be out of this place I could scream!”
“The sisters are saying the same about you, Simone.” As usual Assumpta Damita de Salvedo y Madariaga dominated the group. She held up her hand to flaunt an enormous diamond ring that looked like blue ice. “How do you like my graduation present?” She laughed. “Father never thought I’d make it. I wouldn’t have if it hadn’t been for you three!”
“Congratulations to all of you,” Neville smiled. “I’m not sure the world is ready for the Four Musketeers.”
Damita went directly to Neville. “Don’t you have an expression of congratulations for me, Neville?”
Neville looked flustered but gave Damita a quick kiss on the cheek. “Is that the best you can do?” Damita mocked. “Chantel, teach this crude fellow how to express himself!”
“Come along, Neville,” Chantel said, taking his arm. “This brazen woman will eat you alive.” She turned to leave, but then stopped and called back, “Remember, one for all and all for one!”
Antonio’s Restaurant was absolutely gorgeous—at least Chantel thought so. She sat across from Neville, feasting her eyes on her surroundings: enormous ornate mirrors framed in curved, French gold-leaf frames, chandeliers that shed their light in brilliant cascades over the tables adorned with white tablecloths, fine china, and silver flatware polished so highly that she could see her reflection in the flats of the knives.
“This is wonderful, Neville, but isn’t it awfully expensive?”
“Well, I’ve got enough to pay my share. I’m sure you do too.” Neville stared at her without expression and then burst into laugh- ter when he saw her expression. “I was only teasing,” he said. “This is my treat.”
Their waiter came, a tall, thin man with Gallic features, who apparently spoke only French and assumed that his customers did as well.
“May I recommend the shrimp and andouille omelet, sir. It consists of sautéed shrimp and andouille sausage and wild mushrooms folded in a fluffy omelet and touched with a spicy Creole sauce.”
“Does that sound good to you, Chantel?” Neville continued in French.
“No, I would like fish tonight.”
“In that case, mademoiselle, we have fresh fillet of snapper, grilled over an open flame. It is served with sour-cream mashed potatoes and a spicy smoked tomato beurre blanc. It is accompanied by a salad tossed in sherry vinaigrette.”
“Ooh, that sounds good. I’ll have that.”
Neville studied the menu and then ordered oven-roasted duck. “Is that good?” he asked the waiter.
“Certainly, sir. We serve only the finest food here. This is a deboned, crisp, oven-roasted duckling served on a field of peas and hickory-smoked bacon ragout with green onion mushroom rice. And what wine shall I bring?”