East of Orleans (11 page)

It was no wonder that his cotton brokerage was the most successful in
Savannah
. Jules did not want to worry about whether or not his cotton would fetch top dollar when he shipped it to
England
and now he would not have to. Jules was never satisfied with how much he had. He was always hungry for more.

Weeks passed before Jules found a house that he felt Jacqueline would be happy in. It was the most beautiful house on Oglethorpe. When they first arrived in
Savannah
, Jules took Jacqueline to
Forsyth
Park
. She made Jules promise to buy her a house overlooking the park. She loved being among the artists and the poets that frequented the park. She loved the fountain; it reminded her of one that she had visited in
Paris
with her mother as a child. A robed female held a rod and water came out through the rod in the top basin. The basin was large enough for a person to sit in. The lower basin was decorated with Egyptian columns. At the base of the fountain stood four tritons-- half-man half sea serpent--holding a shell horn from which water spouted into a large pool.

Tall grasses, trees dripping with moss, cattails and bathing birds with widespread wings all surrounded the fountain. The park emulated the high style of the French Empire.

The splendid mansion was Italianate in style and dressed up with baroque twists of wrought iron. A parade of pansies lined both sides of a brick walkway that led to the front steps of the house. A weeping willow draped with Spanish moss sat to the side of the yard. Rows of sculpted hedges and trees encased the house. A French garden climbed and peeped from a double iron gate covered in red roses that led to the back courtyard. It was graced with an intricate iron fence. The doors and windows were shuttered and painted an unusual blue.

When Jacqueline first saw the house, she fell silent. Jules swung the iron gate open and ushered her inside. Wearing a crimson and ecru silk morning dress with matching gloves, she looked more elegant than Jules had ever seen her.

“Whatcha’ think, honey? Thank God that sonofabitch
Sherman
had enough goddamn sense not to burn
Savannah
and all her glory. Of course, he left us with carpetbaggers all over the goddamn place. I should have killed that sonofabitch when I had the chance in that damn poker game.” Jules removed his hat and walked up the wide steps and into the house.

Jacqueline’s eyes traveled around the cast iron trellis, the front porch and the iron balconies. Red geraniums crowded clay pots on either side of the massive mahogany front door that boasted the most beautiful stained glass in the center. Jacqueline went inside. She stretched her head back and looked up at the gold trimmed, elaborate crown molding. If she had a vision, Jules had outdone it. This house was more elaborate than the most extravagant Creole townhouse, and it had obviously been built for show.

“Did you buy it?” Jacqueline asked, clearly impressed.

“You damn right! Hell, honey, didn’t I promise to buy you the biggest house in
Savannah
?”

A pair of gloved, slender hands untied a scarlet bonnet. A rush of black hair fell past her shoulders to her waist.

Jules grabbed her by the shoulders. “Shh, stay still.” He drew his pistol and walked around the corner.

“What’s the matter?” Jacqueline whispered.

“I thought I heard somebody in here. With all the damn carpetbaggers and niggers running loose, you can’t be too careful.”

“You always carry a gun?”

“Hell, honey, I’m a cotton broker.”

“And a gambler…” Jacqueline smiled.

She looked at Jules standing there, and noticed that when he walked he swayed and then he stood with his legs far apart. He was standing that way now. She began to laugh.

“What’s so funny?”

“You! You walk like a cowboy.”

“Oh, yeah? How many cowboys have you ever known?”

“Just one.”

“Did you steal his horse?” he said with a slow smile.

She squinted at him and smiled. “No, I stole his heart.”

“And now mine,” Jules said, his voice serious and soft.

“But you don’t know anything about me.”

“I have the rest of my life to learn,” Jules said, folding his arms and leaning up against the doorjamb.

“Damn!” He snapped his fingers. “Let’s go upstairs. I have something to show you.” He walked over, swept her up in his arms, and carried her up the stairs and to the bedroom.

“Close your eyes,” he said. “Keep them closed until I tell you to open them.”

Jacqueline played along like a child about to get a new doll. She placed a hand over her eyes. She had an urge to peep, but she didn‘t.

“Okay, honey, you can look now.” He whirled around and let her down. Her feet hit the floor and she came to a dead stop.

“There, honey, you like it?”

She turned her face to him. Then she turned back around and looked at the magnificent rosewood Mallard tester bed. A fine white cotton gauze mosquito net hung from the bed. A rose silk cornice extended over the head of the bed and was draped with heavily fringed tassels. Silk drapery fell loose from high ceilings beneath a silk cornice and puddled at the floor. Across from the bed were French doors that opened to a wrought iron balcony. She walked out onto the balcony and from there, she had the perfect view of
Forsyth
Park
.

Jacqueline came back inside and noticed that another pair of high French doors opened to a bedroom opposite the master. There in a rocker sat two French dolls that she remembered having as a child. Casmir Bru and the House of Jumeau made the dolls. Jacqueline bent down and turned her face to them. Their eyes were large, like humans, and seemed to follow her as she walked around the room.

Jacqueline walked out into the hall. The carpet was floral. Greenish gold flocked wallpaper covered the walls. Gold sconces with sparkling prisms led the way.

The staircase was mahogany and the hardwood floors were pine. She wanted to run to see the rest of the house with childlike excitement, but instead she slowly walked down the stairs.

Jacqueline entered the kitchen. The pantry was stocked with casks of French wine, coffee from
Martinique
. She opened the back door and walked out into the French garden. There was a
garconniere
around back. She thought of the gardens in
New Orleans
and the sunny streets of Vieux Carre

.

Hesitantly, she turned and walked back inside. She crossed the kitchen and walked into the dining room. A mural of dancing cherubs was painted on the walls, a crystal chandelier hung over a huge mahogany dining table. From there she moved into the library. The walls were papered a rich red. The built-in bookcases were lined with books. The library opened to a parlor. Columns with brightly gilded square Corinthian capitals separated twin rooms.

Residing regally in the foyer, in front of a Louis XV gilded mirror, was the Three Graces of Greek mythology. Heavy damask curtains hung in every room, centered with fine white lace panels.

Light filtered through the shutters. The house was a backdrop for lavish entertaining and artistic enjoyment.

Jacqueline studied Jules’s face. “What is it you want from me?” She saw the hungry way he was looking at her. “Do you want to marry me?”

“Marry you? Honey, that thought hadn’t occurred to me.”

From the look on her face, he realized that he had shocked her.

“I thought that’s what this was all about.”

Jules slumped up against the doorjamb. “I’m sorry,” he whispered.

She looked at him and realized that all he wanted was to share her bed.
That
was what
this
was all about.

“I just want to go on making you happy, Jacqueline, give you everything you could want or desire.” There were other ways to make her happy than to marry her. Besides, he was not the marrying kind.

She thought to herself that he would change his mind; she would change his mind. Jacqueline looked away and walked into the foyer.

Jules walked up behind her and started to unbutton the back of her dress. He clasped his arms around her narrow waist. She felt a warm sensation. She placed her hand on his and moved it to her breast.

“Let’s go up to our bedroom,” he whispered.

The lifestyle, the hustle-bustle, the mystery of all that was going on in the house on Oglethorpe did not go unnoticed.

Wagons came and went. Containers of antique furniture arrived from
Europe
.
Crystal
and fine imported porcelain were packed in and around the furniture. A
New York
antique dealer had located several pieces of Rococo furniture carved by John Henry Belter. The house was filled with elaborate pieces made from rosewood with pink marble tops.

Jacqueline Rousseau’s new show of wealth would have made Philippe II d’Orleans envious. In the early morning and late afternoon, Jacqueline strolled down the boulevard of
Forsyth
Park
. She always wore the latest Parisian couture fashion with matching gloves, a magnificent bonnet, and an umbrella to shield her from the
Savannah
sun.

It was on one of these days that she met an artist and commissioned him to faux paint her dining room; the baseboards he marbleized. Cherubs that danced around the chandelier were not enough. Jacqueline requested the cherubs dance to all four corners of the dining room; holding swags of garland and roses. She demanded that the artist make the cherubs a little fatter.

Whoever heard of a thin cherub!” she had screamed.

Carriages crowded the narrow cobblestone street in front of the Oglethorpe mansion.
Forsyth
Park
seemed to draw more visitors by the day. Gossip filled the streets.

“The house is vile and vulgar!” A
New York
decorator overheard an old money
Savannah
voice whisper, as the decorator approached the house to confer with Jacqueline. The house on Oglethorpe was becoming a matter of opinion. And she had never been happier. She enjoyed the jealousy that had entwined the house. Her green eyes twinkled merrily. There was now a hungry desire to know who resided in the house on Oglethorpe. All of
Savannah
was dying of curiosity.

The most curious were Mrs. Hancock and Mrs. Baker.

Annalee Hancock lived two doors down from Jacqueline. She had lived in
Savannah
all her life. Her family had been
Charleston
bluebloods.

Mrs. Hancock could often be seen chatting with one of
Savannah
’s newcomers. She could not wait to tell the story of how she had fell victim to seeing
Sherman
and his ruthless band of heathens invade her city. Her best friend was Mrs.Baker.

Lucy Baker was of the Virginia Bakers; she claimed to be blood kin to President James Madison. Mrs. Baker and her husband
Milford
, purchased the house next door to Mrs. Hancock. The matched pair was soon to have a “matter of opinion” on all that took place in
Savannah
society.