Lies Agreed Upon (14 page)

He pulled
to a stop in front of a small Creole cottage. Set close to the street on a raised foundation, the house’s wood siding had once been sunny yellow, accented by the bright blue paint of long window shutters, front door, and roof dormers. But time and storm had bleached and blistered the cheerful façade, and it was patched by large areas of white-primed repair. Portions of the gabled roof also looked to have been newly replaced.

“You’ll have to forgive the state of this place,” Jon said, chewing his lip in an absently di
stressed way as he removed his sunglasses and surveyed the little cottage. “It was damaged during Katrina, but my grandfather won’t move. This is the Tremé neighborhood in the Sixth Ward by the way. It’s the oldest African-American neighborhood in the country. Creoles and free people of color like Solange Beauvoir began to settle here in the early nineteenth century.”

He spoke
as if he expected disinterest. He doubtless assumed her only reason to contact nonwhites was to shed light on her white heritage, and Tess felt embarrassed at how close he was to the truth.

Tess looked around curiously and noted that Katrina recovery seemed further along here than in the Lower Ninth Ward
, where you could still see empty lots with the weed-covered tombstones of foundations and steps. On Sam Beauvoir’s block of modest Creole cottages and shotgun houses, there was only one dilapidated building not under renovation. Beneath a heavily damaged roof, plywood-boarded windows still bore the spray paint of rescue hieroglyphics, of life and death. Tess turned her gaze away with an involuntary shudder.

“My grandfather’s in back. It’s cooler there,” said Jon as he held open the front door. “This old place only has a window air unit in his bedroom, but he’s used to it. In fact, he won’t let us force more air-conditioning on him. He says it makes him fall sick.” Jon shook his head in exasperation and led her rapidly through the dim interior.

The entry led directly into a small parlor, which in turn opened on an antique kitchen with a green linoleum floor and white-enamel stove. As she followed in Jon’s wake, Tess had a quick impression of crowded, mismatched upholstery and a fireplace blurred by generations of paint. The fireplace mantel was topped by an odd statue of a cross-bearing, prettified Roman centurion—the quick-fix St. Expedite as Tess realized with a start.

When curiosity briefly slowed Tess’s pace, Jon cleared his throat and held open the rear kitchen door with an impatient frown
. She could give only cursory glances at the rooms on either side of the parlor as she hurried forward, glimpsing a lumpy brown bedspread at left and a scarred old dining table at right.

She and Jon exited onto a small brick patio embraced by room extensions with missing siding and boarded windows. Beyond the patio was a patch of dirt enclosed by a dilapidated fence overwhelmed by rank vines. The only landscaping was a
gnarled old chinaberry tree, which cast its fluttering shade over a wizened figure in a molded-metal lawn chair.

“
Where y’at, Grampaw!” called Jon, and the colloquial style startled Tess.

“Awright,” wheezed the figure in the lawn chair.

Jon quickly returned to his more formal speech pattern. “Let me introduce you to Therese Parnell, the young lady who wanted to ask you about the Cabreras and Solange.”

Sam Beauvoir was wearing large dark sunglasses and a crisply ironed, short-sleeved white shirt. His pressed navy pants showed their age in shiny knees and pale knife-edge pleats. At Jon’s greeting, the old man rose slowly, and Tess thought in confusion he was bowing
until she realized that age had bent his spine into a permanent forward curve. He smiled broadly and extended a surprisingly large and steady hand.

“Happy you can stop by, Miss Parnell. I’m sure hopin’ I can help,” he said. “Jon, bring a chair by me for the young lady. Make sure to pass a cloth over it for the dirt.”

Tess shook his hand firmly and smiled back. “So nice to meet you, Mr. Beauvoir. Thank you for your time,” she said as she studied the old man curiously. His skin was wrinkled chamois speckled with dark raised keratoses and flat tobacco-colored age spots. Bright-white false teeth shifted and clicked slightly as he spoke. Tess had to make an effort to grasp his accent and to school herself to patience with the slow pace of his speech, which came in telegraphic breathy bursts to conserve air and energy.

Sam smiled as Tess sat
opposite to him in the white plastic chair placed by Jon. “Now brew some coffee for us, Jon,” he ordered and shooed his grandson back toward the kitchen. “You take regular coffee, Miss Parnell?”

At Tess’s confused look, Jon explained
impatiently, “Regular coffee is coffee with milk and sugar, or café au lait. Black coffee is an unusual request here.”

“Oh, then coffee with cream but no sugar,” responded Tess.

“Don’t get huffy, Jon. You don’t unnerstan’ me, Miss Parnell, you tell me,” chuckled Sam. “Now go make coffee, Jon.”

He wa
ited until Jon’s stiff back had disappeared through the kitchen door and then turned to face Tess. “Now tell me why you axed to see me,” the old man commanded. “Not countin’ the chance to meet a gen-u-ine Nyoo Awlins antique.” He gave a self-deprecating chuckle.

Tess explained her inheritance and the visit by Dreux, and he listened attentively. “Phil Dreux,” murmured Sam Beauvoir. “A troublemakin’ character from way back.”

“You know Mr. Dreux?” asked Tess in surprise.

“Oh, I know him. I had dealin’s with lotta Cabreras, Donovans and their frien’s,” said Sam with a slow nod.
“Phil Dreux was Desmond Donovan's pal. But firs’, tell me what you know about your family here.”

Tes
s repeated what she had learned: her grandfather’s murder; the various versions of Josephine’s suicide; Solange’s role with the Arnoults and Cabreras; and the stories of Benjamin, Thérèse and the unlucky Haas sisters supplied by Lillian.

“Well, Lillian Vanderveld’s word ain’t gospel. That Haas family is all kinda crazy, and that goes for Lillian,” he responded calmly when she concluded, his expression unreadable b
ehind his sunglasses. “F’sure, I gotta set you straight on Grammaw Solange.”

He reflected for a moment more and then leaned forward and fixed his dark-masked gaze directly upon her. “You heard the Cabrera side, so lemme give you the Beauvoir side.
F’true, I’m tellin’ you Solange never hurt no babies. Josephine’s firs’ two chirren left this world soon as they come in, but it ain’t from evil-doin’. Dyin’ young was common then. Yeah, Josephine didn’ mourn for all to see. But folks grieve in differen’ ways. She jus’ eased her sorrow by workin’.”

“So what about the drama with baby Benjamin? What do you say happened on that night? Why would Josephine kill herself?” pressed Tess.

“Well, you gotta know Antonio and Josephine’s fightin’ for control of the plantation, and so it’s natural to fight for control of baby Ben. He’s the heir and the only good thin’ lef’ from that marriage. So Josephine kep’ the baby close, even nursed him herself ’steada usin’ a wet nurse. At the same time, Antonio got busy puttin’ suspicion in peoples’ minds about her and the dead babies. Here’s what I heard Solange always figured: Josephine’s done nursin’ and is puttin’ baby Ben down to sleep when Antonio sneaks in. She’s leanin’ over the cradle holdin’ a pillow, prob’ly the one the baby been restin’ on to nurse. Antonio runs and snatches up that baby like pullin’ it outta the lion’s teeth. He shouts for somebody to get a doctor, that the baby ain’t breathin’. Lotta folks run in, and Antonio points at the pillow in her hand and yells, ‘You devil, I won’t let you take one more chile from me.’ Josephine sees the judgment in peoples’ faces. She knows Antonio’s won claim to the boy to ‘keep him safe’ from his bad momma. So she walks out and jumps in the river.” Sam waited for Tess’s reaction.

Of course, he would deny his grandmother’s role in any infant deaths, thought Tess cyn
ically. “So, during the pregnancy, Antonio took away control of the plantation, and then he framed Josephine as an unfit mother to take away control of the child. Josephine sees she’s lost property and baby, and she kills herself,” she summed up.

“Yeah,
love for that chile was the only reason she got for livin’. Then Antonio took away the chile,” nodded Sam.

“
It seems to me it was all about power not love,” Tess retorted. “I don’t have any sympathy for Josephine. How could she kill herself and abandon her baby if she truly loved him?” Her voice rose, and her eyes were suddenly moist with angry tears.

“I hear that,” agreed Sam, his voice gentle
. He trained his masked gaze on her. “You seem mighty mad at Josephine. Why you gettin’ so upset?”

Tess glanced toward the kitchen where she could hear Jon closing cupboard doors and running water. She could feel words rising acidly in her gorge, words she did
not want Jon to hear. Yet all at once they were words she wanted to expel, a poison she wanted to drain. Who better to hear than this ancient stranger, his face as blind and eroded as the Sphinx? She lowered her voice, “My mother…” She swallowed against a sudden lump in her throat.

“My mother killed herself, too,
” Tess finally spit out. A swift surprise washed over Sam’s face, but he made no comment.

“She was smart and beautiful and independent, just like Jos
ephine. One evening she drank wine, swallowed a sedative, and shot herself in the head. Her cleaning lady found her the next day. Obviously, her love for me wasn’t enough, or my love for her wasn’t enough…” Tess roughly swiped away tears.

Sam waited until Tess regained her composure. “You angry about the way she died or the way she lived?” he finally quizzed.

Tess’s first instinct was to respond with angry denial, but she looked into his mirrored gaze and saw the pain of her face reflected back at her. “I really don’t know,” she sighed. “My mother wasn’t easy to understand, but I thought she was honest at least. But then I found out that she purposefully hid her family’s past from me. Why all the secrecy? Why was my grandfather murdered? Why did my grandmother change their last names from Cabrera back to Reid? Maybe you can shed some light on it for me. It’s why I’ve come to see you. You know, on the very day she died, my mother met with someone, probably Dreux, about selling the property here, the land that I’ve now inherited. I don’t know why there would be a connection between her suicide and the past, or the property, but I think there is.”

“She met with someone about sellin’ the Cabrera property? With Dreu
x? Well, well,” murmured Sam. He seemed to withdraw into thought, his mouth pursed. He shook his head and sighed. “I hate to hear Joanne been unhappy. I recall how Emily and Joanne useta come by my restaurant ever’ week—”

“Are you saying that you knew my mother?” interrupted Tess in shock. “I thought my grandmother left New Orleans right after my grandfather’s murder.”

“Oh, no, Emily stayed by Dad Donovan and his wife Cee after Guy passed. Emily didn’ leave for Texas till your momma was aroun’ 6,” said Sam.

Tess sat in stunned silence. Finally, she asked in a small voice, “Do you know what ha
ppened to my mother and grandmother here after the murder? Why did they leave? Why did they change their names?”

“Well, I guess Emily wanna get away from grief and bad memories, away from ever’thin’ reminds her of Cabreras, even the name,” Sam answered with a sad nod.

“So why did my grandmother go to live with Dad and Cee? Was there a money problem so she couldn’t afford to keep her house?” puzzled Tess.

“
No, money ain’t Emily’s problem. Guy passed on Cabrera money to her, ’nough for Emily and Joanne to live comfortable for a long spell. Emily rented out her house to stay by the Donovans ’cause she’s ’fraid to stay alone after the murder. Dad and Cee was beggin’ Emily to stay by them, too. I think they axed her for loneliness. Their twin boys Desmond and Dylan had a bad boat accident the year ’fore your grampaw’s death. Dylan got kilt, and Desmond got crippled up,” sighed Sam.

“You’re saying the Donovans wanted my widowed grandmother to stay with them, but from my one
childhood meeting with Cee and Dad, I felt there was a lot of tension between the three. Are you sure something didn’t happen to cause my grandmother to leave?” Tess asked.

“
Well, the Donovans and Cabreras was always feudin’,” acknowledged Sam after a brief pause while he seemed to ponder her question. “It started way back with Antonio’s daughter Elaine. She poisoned the minds of her chirren Dan—the one ever’body called Dad—and Gloria. Elaine claimed she got cheated outta what she’s due since Ben and her own momma Thérèse was old-fashioned and lef’ most of the Cabrera property to the male Cabrera line. It didn’ help when Elaine married that Yankee carpetbagger Donovan.”

“A Yankee carpetbagger!” exclaimed Tess.

“That’s jus’ what Thérèse called him, sayin’ Elaine wed a crippled-up old Yankee to spite her. The Donovans is all jealous, bitter souls to my mind. But you should get the story straight from Elaine’s daughter Gloria. She’s still alive and stayin’ over by Metairie. I got her address and phone number by the kitchen phone. I’ll get Jon to write it out for you ’fore you go.”

“Oh, thank you. But can we get back to what my mother was like as a girl?
What was my grandmother like then?” pressed Tess, noting the boat accident and feud sidebars but more interested in her loved ones’ tragedies.