Lies Agreed Upon (12 page)

“But what if Ben wanted to marry and have children? W
hat about his heirs?” Tess demanded.

“Well, that’s the amazing part. Ben promised he would never marry to leave the inhe
ritance clear for Thérèse’s children,” said Lillian.

“That’s crazy. How could a young man, who wasn’t even 21 years old, make a promise like that?” exclaimed Tess.

“Well, young men join the priesthood and make that sacrifice,” Lillian noted.

“But they are doing it to serve God, not so
Daddy can get a pretty young wife!” retorted Tess.

“Maybe Ben considered his father’s life and happiness worth the sacrifice. There are people who give up their lives for those they love. What’s marriage by comparison?” replied Lillian, with
a twist of her lip that indicated marriage was no great loss to her. “Remember, he never said he was giving up sex,” she added with a sly glance.

“But marriage is also about love and companionship, and that’s a lot to sacrifice,” pr
otested Tess.

“Who says it was a sacrifice?” interjected Mimi. “Maybe Ben never wanted to get ma
rried. Maybe he didn’t want the responsibilities. Maybe he wasn’t even interested in women!”

“Gracious, I never thought of that last point,” muttered Lillian.

“Well, you never know, do you? Sometimes people disguise selfishness so well they get praised for selflessness,” smiled Mimi.

“So was his father selfish enough to accept Ben’s plan?” Tess pressed.

“Antonio jumped on that idea like a tramp on a handout,” sneered Lillian. “Anyway, Thérèse and Antonio married, and Antonio was in besotted bliss. The couple had a son Louis and then a daughter Elaine. All’s well that ends well—except for two problems. The family history of weak men and strong women repeated in Antonio’s two younger children. Louis was puny and shy, and Elaine was strong and bossy. Plus, Antonio was no match for the financial problems of war and Reconstruction.”

“So the family went downhill after the Civil War?” asked Tess, assuming this explained her paltry, undeveloped acreage.

“No, Ben Cabrera came home and rescued everyone,” Lillian replied with a shake of her head. “As I said, he was an amazing man. Think of what he faced: At the end of the war, the fields had been fallow for years, warehouses of sugar had been confiscated or destroyed by armies on both sides, and the family accounts were full of IOUs. Ben didn’t try to save the old ways. He sold land to the hateful Yankee carpetbaggers and invested in industries for the future, like railroads and lumber, which were bound to grow with Western expansion and war recovery.”

“Did the family abandon the sugar cane business?” asked Tess.

“Not completely. There was profit from Josephine’s sugar mill because it was one of the few still functioning at war’s end. But plantation life was finished, and Ben focused on smart investments. By the end of Reconstruction, the Cabreras were doing well enough for Antonio to start building a mansion on his remaining acres. He called it ‘Alhambra’ and modeled it on the Moorish palaces of his native Andalusia.”

“Do you know if anything remains of the house?” asked Tess.

“No, the house burned down in the early 1930s,” said Lillian with a shrug of disinterest, dousing Tess’s brief excitement. “My grandfather saw it in its heyday and said it was an Arabian Nights fantasy. Antonio even brought peacocks to strut around the pleasure gardens!”

“But I guess my grandfather never saw it,” murmured Tess. “Did Ben live there?”

“Ben stayed at his New Orleans townhome, overseeing ventures to fund Antonio’s lifestyle. He owned his own lumber company harvesting cypress, and he had shares in a railroad line and a brewery. Of course, he was a frequent visitor at Alhambra, and Thérèse especially relied on him. That’s why she used Ben to marry off her son Louis.” Lillian paused to put another scone on her plate. “These are good, Mimi. Give me the recipe. I suppose it’s like eating a stick of butter, but never mind.”

“How did Ben help Louis get married?”
wondered Tess.

“Well, I suppose you could say that Thérèse asked Ben to bait her hook.”
Lillian’s lips quirked in a sarcastic little smile. “When the ladies sent out invitations, they tended to forget about puny little Louis. But all the ladies adored handsome Ben. He was a prime catch on the marriage mart. Of course, no one knew he’d made Thérèse’s children his heirs and promised not to marry! So Ben started to take Louis with him to social events. He drew the ladies like flies, so even a shy frog like Louis was able to catch one. Two tragedies came from that.”

Lillian leaned forward with renewed intensity, as if the most important part of her story was beginning. “You see, Louis was attracted to my great-aunt Marie, but he was too shy to court her on his own. So when Louis took Marie to a social event, Ben would come along and bring his own, more mature female companion to chaperone and ease the socializing. As Louis and Marie became a courting couple, Ben would occasionally escort Marie’s older sister Muriel, who was a pretty 23-year-old. Ben was 38, and he made it clear to Muriel that he had no romantic interest in her. Unfortunately, Muriel was vain and emotionally unstable
. She convinced herself she had captured society’s most elusive bachelor. Muriel began to throw herself at Ben and made public scenes. She ‘stalked’ him like those crazy fans you read about. When he kindly but firmly rejected her, she had a total nervous breakdown. The family finally packed her off to relatives in Baton Rouge.

“
She was never right in the head again and never married. I recall my mother telling me how she met her aunt Muriel a couple of times as a girl. Muriel was middle-aged by then, but my mother remembers that she was still stunning. She had an otherworldly aura, ‘glowing from within like the paintings of saints,’ my mother said. But it was a terrible rage that burned in her. Anything might set her off, and she would get so violent she had to be restrained, raving about Ben Cabrera.”

“Well, you can’t hold Ben Cabrera accountable for Muriel’s mental illness, so why do I get the feeling that your family has a grudge against him?” Tess probed.

“It’s because of Marie,” asserted Lillian. “That’s the bigger tragedy. I said Louis was sickly, but actually he was mortally ill. He had ‘consumption,’ meaning tuberculosis. When he first met Marie, he had an occasional cough, fever and weakness, but the Cabreras had explanations—a change-of-season cold, or irritation from the city smoke. Within a year of marrying Marie, he was coughing up blood. No one knew the truth at first. The Haas family lived in the city, and Marie was out at Antonio’s new mansion most of the time. They should have wondered when Marie was always escorted by Ben Cabrera because Louis was ‘busy.’ But Marie didn’t complain. She seemed abnormally placid, which the Haas family thought was due to pregnancy. Imagine the Cabreras’ relief when Marie got pregnant so fast, because Louis was sinking faster! In fact, Marie gave birth only days after Louis died. Poor Marie didn’t survive much longer.”

“That’s tragic, but are you implying that Thérèse and Ben knowingly married off a dying Louis?” asked Tess with a frown.

“I’m not implying it. I’m sure of it,” stated Lillian. “Marie was frail, and Armand’s birth was too much for her. When my grandfather visited his dying sister, she roused enough to whisper a shocking accusation. ‘They only wanted the baby. I wanted to go home, but they drugged me. Now they’ve killed me,’ she told him with her last breaths.”

“Well, frankly, I think her physical state had affected her mind,” ins
isted Mimi, setting her teacup down with firm click.

“Well, I know what my Grandfather Martin believed: Thérèse and Ben married off their dying heir and kept Marie sedated and under their control. They knowingly ruined a young girl’s life. Maybe they even killed her,” Lillian declared, pointing an accusatory finger toward an em
pty chair as if one of the guilty spirits sat there listening.

“You know, Lillian, it just doesn’t jibe with the ‘noble’ Ben you’ve described,” commented Mimi with a doubting
shake of her head.

“Well, the Cabreras
always protected their ‘noble’ reputation,” sniffed Lillian. “Of course, my grandfather confronted Thérèse and Ben. They refused to ‘dignify such suspicions with a response,’ and Thérèse threatened to ruin my grandfather socially if he spread ‘wicked lies.’ The Cabreras were quite influential then, so he kept quiet.”

Mimi frowned and remarked, “I still think your personal experiences make you want to be
lieve the worst of the Cabreras.”

“Rubbish,” asserted Lillian,
with flushed cheeks and flashing eyes. “Thérèse was a ruthless woman hand in glove with that Solange witch – you know, the same one suspected in the deaths of Josephine’s babies. That Solange somehow got a hold on Antonio’s second wife, too. She used to supply Thérèse with all kinds of potions. And Ben Cabrera could be ruthless. How do you think he succeeded on the battlefield and in business? He would use people and toss them aside.” She brought her clenched fist down on the table with a dull thud. Her breath was quick and shallow like someone wrestling with a sharp pain.

“So how did your family end up with the portrait of Josephine?” Tess asked quickly, ho
ping to defuse the emotions that inexplicably threatened to explode.

Mimi also swiftly reached a small hand across the table and covered her friend’s angry fist. “Yes, let’s get back to what generated this meeting with Tess, Lillian. Tell her about the po
rtrait.” The eyes of the two friends met, and Lillian slumped back. Avoiding Tess’s eyes, she coughed, composed her features and resumed her tale in a flat tone.

“After Marie’s death, Thérèse packed up Marie’s belongings and shipped them to the Haas family,” Lillian explained. “The shipment accidentally included the portrait of Josephine and a box of old love letters
to her from Antonio. Martin tried to return Josephine’s things, but Thérèse told him he could ‘burn the cursed stuff.’ He didn’t, and it was eventually handed down to me. I donated the portrait to the 1850 House. So Josephine reigns in a museum, and Thérèse is a name on a crumbling crypt. I think my grandfather would have enjoyed that,” Lillian finished with a tight, malicious smile.

“I bet you were contacted by Philip Dreux regarding Josephine’s portrait and p
apers,” exclaimed Tess in sudden inspiration. “He’s a lawyer who traced ownership of my Cabrera property for a potential purchaser. He had a lot of information about Antonio, Josephine and the portrait.”

“
He came sniffing around,” said Lillian, with a brief shrug of apparent dislike. “Phil Dreux was a friend of Desmond Donovan, who was a descendant of Antonio’s and Thérèse’s daughter Elaine, so old Phil knew the gist of the stories because of that. He claimed he was checking potential claims on the property. Josephine’s papers included old deeds and contracts, but nothing relevant. I think he was just snooping. I bet he enjoyed the letters. It’s mushy stuff about how Antonio lost his heart the first time he saw Josephine’s face framed by ‘a white lace parasol like an angel’s halo.’ Her letters to him are like business ledger entries, all signed with a big mannish J.”

That solved the minor mystery of Dreux’s knowledge of early family history, thought Tess, and it revealed that Dreux had deliberately avoided mention of a personal connection with her family. The old lawyer had some explaining to do when they
next met. But for now, Tess needed to keep the discussion focused on her family history not Dreux.

“You know, I wonder if my mother and grandmother knew a lot about Thérèse when they named me,” she mused.

“Well, she was quite the matriarch in the Cabrera clan. And she was said to be very beautiful and charming—when she wanted to be,” said Lillian.

“What did she look like? Do you have a picture or photo?” asked Tess, leaning forward eagerly.

“No, the Haas family didn’t keep reminders of the Cabreras. The photo I showed you survived because it is one of the few of the young Martin, Muriel and Marie. Josephine’s portrait was kept to annoy Thérèse, I think. All I can offer is my grandfather’s description of Thérèse. He said she had dark curly hair, olive skin and beautiful green eyes,” said Lillian.

“Like your eyes, Tess,” cried Mimi. “No wonder you’re named for her.”

“Well, I don’t think it’s because I’ve inherited her beauty,” Tess said with little grimace.

“Oh, you do yourself an injustice, dear,” soothed Mimi.

“Or maybe your mother sensed Thérèse’s iron in your soul,” added Lillian, giving Tess an assessing gaze.

“Lillian, I suppose you think that’s a compliment,” sighed Mimi and reached out to pat Tess’s hand reassuringly.

Tess smiled at Mimi’s kindness but shifted the conversation to a more important mystery. “You know the important family tragedy for me is a more recent one. My grandfather Guy Cabrera was murdered here in the Garden District back in 1958, over on Coliseum in fact. Do you know anything about that?”

Mimi’s eyes widened and her mouth rounded into a little pink circle. She looked down at her empty plate with a frown. “Oh, my, I’m afraid I was not a part of the Cabrera social circle, and I didn’t live in the Garden District then. What about you, Lillian?”

“Sorry, but our interaction with the Cabreras went sour back in 1884, so I’m not the person to ask,” responded Lillian, looking away and hunching her shoulder to express either disinterest or defensiveness.