Orphan Moon (The Orphan Moon Trilogy Book 1) (10 page)

Hughes moved his plate aside and poured two cups of coffee, passing one to Leighselle. “What year was this? You were—?”
 

“Fifteen, almost sixteen. It was September of 1836. Doctor Bronstein called it ‘the month of death.’ I remember waking up, looking out the window, with the sensation of being in a very bad dream.”

*****

The sky is on fire and the sun has gone black.
Lying back on the pillow, Leighselle drifted in and out of dreams. Fiery dreams. Dreams of panic, terror, and pain. Running. Falling. Drowning. A hand over her mouth. Suffocating. Screaming. Fading to nothing. Nothing.

Big Betty walked into the room and sat a tea tray at the foot of Leighselle’s bed. “Wake up now, Miss Leighselle. Time for afternoon tea. I brung you cinnamon scones. You gonna like them scones, um-hm. I done buttered them for you.”

Leighselle sat up. “Where am I?”

“You’s at Doctor Bronstein’s house. I done told you the same thing every time you ask, but that’s fine. You been sick a good while. You bound to forget what you done ask.” Big Betty fisted her hands on her ample hips. “But today I see the ol’ Leighselle shining through them eyes. Thank you, Lawd.”
 

“I thought I heard Jacques whimpering. Is he sick, too?” A wave of panic washed over Leighselle as she looked around for her dog.

“He fine. He right here on the floor licking up crumbs.” Betty lifted the little dog onto the bed and he burrowed under the blanket. “What spread round here ain’t affecting the animals. Only the peoples.” Big Betty opened the window on the opposite side of the room. “But only some peoples. Addy-Frank and her child, Birdie, they all right, but Addy-Frank’s twin babies, they too weak and young to fight something like this. Doctor Bronstein be all right too, ’cause he say God protect him so he can treat those that be sick.”

“Mother and Father? Where are they? Are they at home? Are they all right now? I remember they were sick. I helped take care of them. I remember . . .”

Doctor Bronstein rapped on the bedroom door. “I see you are awake, Miss Leighselle. May I enter?”

“Yes, please come in,” she said, setting the empty teacup aside.

Big Betty poured another cup. “Drink more, baby, if you can. You need strength. Doctor, you want I should wait outside?”

“No. No, Big Betty. I think you should stay.”

“Yes’suh.”
 

“Leighselle,” he said, pulling a chair up to the bed, “we must have a serious discussion about your circumstance. Let me listen to your lungs first.”

After a brief exam, Doctor Bronstein patted her on the back and said, “Well, child, you are on the road to recovery. No temperature. Eyes and throat clear. A slight rattle in your lungs but much improved even over yesterday. You’ll be fit to travel within the month if you continue improving.”

“Fit to travel? Where am I going? Where are my parents?” She sat up straighter. The serious tone of the doctor’s voice caused an inner alarm to begin chiming.
 

Big Betty sat on the bed and took Leighselle’s hand in hers, Doctor Bronstein taking the other. With his free hand, he pushed his glasses back up on his nose, then changed his mind and took them off, tucking them into his coat pocket. Beads of sweat glistened on his bald head, which he blotted with his shirtsleeve.
 

“This is unpleasant, my child, but there is one way to deal with tragedy, and that is straight on. The fact is that your parents did not recover from their illness. I’m very sorry. We did all we could, but it was not to be for them to get well.”

A sob tried to form in the back of Leighselle’s throat. A tear brimmed but then settled back into place, as if the effort was too taxing for her exhausted body that had spent the last month hovering close to death. “When?” she asked, her voice a whisper.

“A month ago, just before I brought you here to my house. You were gravely ill, too. I wasn’t sure my medicine would pull you through.”

“I see. And the slaves?”

“All gone, except for Addy-Frank and her eldest child Birdie. I’m afraid that they are all you have left.” The doctor patted his forehead again, blotting the perspiration.

“All I have left? What do you mean? I have the animals—the house—the property.” That’s not logical, Leighselle thought. The doctor was making no sense to her.

Doctor Bronstein looked hard into her eyes. “Let me be quick with this. It’s best to be quick. On his deathbed, I promised your father that I would look out for you. He sent for his attorney to witness me becoming your guardian. Do you understand?”

Leighselle nodded her understanding.

“Both your father and your mother loved you very much. It was their final wish that you should not have to worry about the future, if you survived. They asked that I sell the ranch and put the funds in a trust for you. Do you recall your neighbor to the north, the man whose plantation borders your property?”

“Yes, I know him. My father called Misseur Baptiste a bragger and a crook and a cruel excuse for a man. Father said he once beat a horse half to death for sucking in air and refusing to be saddled.”

 
“Yes. He has a reputation for being rough. But he offered a fair price for your property, including the cattle and horses.” Then, looking at Big Betty, he said, “Please bring me a glass of water, Betty.”

“Yes’suh.”
 

Doctor Bronstein tapped his pocket as if remembering where he put his glasses, and then slid them back onto his face, nudging them into place. “Misseur Baptiste’s one stipulation was that the buildings be set afire. I could not convince him that the air in your home was not tainted, that this disease did not come from bad air. But, he insisted.”

Leighselle looked out the window. “The sky was on fire this morning. I saw it from my window. I thought I was dreaming. That was my—”

“Yes, that was your house. The carriage house and the slave’s quarters, too. He sent his men over. I had no choice. Besides the money from the land, you’ve retained ownership of Addy-Frank and Birdie.”

“Ownership? I don’t know the first thing about taking care of slaves. I’ll set them free. I recall Father tell Mother that others are doing so.” Hearing clearly her father’s voice in her head speaking to her mother seemed surreal.
They’re gone now. I’m all alone.

“In some northern states, yes. But it’s against the law in Louisiana to emancipate a slave. You could go to jail right along with the slave you were trying to free.” He reached for the glass of water. “Thank you, Betty.”

“Yes’suh,” nodded Big Betty as she moved to the side table and began her preparation of medicinal tea.

“Besides,” the doctor continued, “you’ll need Addy-Frank as your hand maid to help you with personal, day-to-day requirements. I’ve enrolled you in school up in Shreveport.”

Leighselle’s stomach lurched. “What kind of school? I’ve never been to
school
. Mother hired tutors.” A cold sweat began to form on her brow. She reached for the cup of tea Big Betty offered, her hands unsteady and weak.

“I understand this is a shock, so much information to take in at once. But this is best. You’ll not be tied to a place of bad memories. The ranch would be impossible for you to undertake on your own. You’ll be going to school at the Medical Hospital in Shreveport. That’s where I studied to become a doctor. It’s one of the finest facilities to learn medicine outside of Virginia Military Institute, which doesn’t allow females. Shreveport will allow female students in their nursing program.” The doctor emptied the glass of water, refilling it.

“But I don’t like to be around sickness,” Leighselle protested, trying to keep her voice even despite the adrenaline pushing it higher. “The smell of vomit gags me. The sight of blood makes me swoon. The sound of pained wailing terrifies me. I—I cannot.”

“Don’t be afraid, child. You’ll be fine. It’s all settled. I’ve paid your tuition with the proceeds from the sale of your property, and you have a tidy sum remaining in a trust fund that I’ve set up for you at the National Bank in New Orleans. Once you are out of school, you can open a clinic of your own. Of course, you’ll have to hire a doctor to run the clinic. But, technically, he would work for you. Now, is that not a fine idea?”

Leighselle lay back on her pillow, staring at the ceiling. “Mother and Father dead. The ranch sold. Mammy Hannah, Johnny Boy, Esther, all the others gone, too. Me in nursing school with Addy-Frank and Birdy? I need time to think this all through.”

“Of course, my dear. When you awake tomorrow morning, I trust that you’ll see that I have done my best for you. You’ll have an education, money in the bank, and you can leave this sorrowful place and put your sadness behind you.” Doctor Bronstein stood up, steadying himself against the doorframe.
 

“My sadness will come with me. It’s stitched to me like my own skin.”
 

“In time, that sadness will diminish. Your heart will find ways to refill itself with other joys. Rest, drink the medicine Betty prepared, and continue getting stronger.”
 

“Yes, Doctor. Thank you.”

Leighselle rolled over, scooping Jacques up from where he’d burrowed under the covers, placing him on the pillow next to her. Looking out the window, she tried to envision this red land without her parents, without the slaves who had always been a part of her life, without her home, her horses, where nothing remained but red death.
 

She felt vacant, hollow, as untethered as a free-floating balloon. There was nothing left for her in Vermillion Parish. She must find her own way.

A plan began to piece itself together in Leighselle’s mind. She knew she was not suitable for nursing—she didn’t have what it must take to be a good nurse. There stood a high probability that she might harm her patients, if for no other reason than for desertion. Surely there were laws against that.
 

Jacques scooched closer and whimpered, then poked his nose into the palm of Leighselle’s hand, his signal for more attention. As she stroked his silky, triangle ear, she considered her future. With a quiet reckoning, it came into soft focus, like fog gradually lifting over the Vermillion River, so that the red dirt banks and bends and ocher shoals grew into something definable.
 

“I’ll be damned, Jacques, if we’re going to Shreveport. My money is in a bank in New Orleans. By God then, that’s where we shall go.”

*****

Hughes studied the frail woman sitting across from him. “I’m trying to imagine you as a frightened yet determined teenage girl embarking on such a journey. It would take gumption for an adult to undertake what you were considering. You were just a child.”

Opening her parasol, she rose to her feet. “I was a girl with gumption. I just didn’t fully realize it yet. I’m getting a bit stiff, sitting. Let’s take a walk, shall we?”

“Of course. And so you set off for New Orleans.” As they stepped away from the table, Hughes waved at Jameson, indicating they’d be back soon.
 

It wasn’t pleasant, the leaving, Leighselle recalled. There had been other deaths to contend with first. “By the time I was well enough to leave Vermillion Bay, both Doctor Bronstein and Big Betty had succumbed to the typhoid, too.”
 

So much death in such a short period of time had left only a few remaining souls who were able to help bury the dead. “Addie-Frank sent for help from the neighboring plantation, but the only help available was a skinny, eight-year-old boy. The graves dug for the doctor and Big Betty were shallow and inadequate, but it was the best we could do.”

As they rounded the hotel, Hughes opened the gate to the patio, ushering Leighselle inside. “I can imagine how terrified you must have been.”

“Terrified, yes, but the strange part,” she recalled, a smile warming her face with the memory, “was that I began to feel stronger and more self-assured than I had ever felt before.”

“We’re molded by our adversities.” Hughes motioned for Jameson and requested coffee service, noticing that he’d appeared at the patio. “Was that a long enough walk?”

“Yes, perfect.” She took the seat Hughes pulled out for her. “And if you allow, adversity will mold you into a better, more enlightened version of yourself.” She sipped the cup of black coffee Jameson had poured from the sterling silver service.
 

“When I left Vermillion Parish behind, all I had were the two letters of introduction from Doctor Bronstein, one for the school in Shreveport, which I had no intention of using, and the other for the banker who held my trust in New Orleans, which I had every intention of using.”

“How did you get to Orleans?” asked Hughes, his curiosity bending him forward.

“I helped myself to the doctor’s buggy and cart horse. First, I went through his desk and bureau. I was penniless until I could get my hands on my trust. I knew the good doctor wouldn’t mind me taking whatever I could find. There was no one left alive for him to give it to. He had almost eight hundred dollars hidden in the back of his shaving toilet.”

“You were a very brave girl,” said Hughes with admiration. “You grew up in a hurry.”
 

“Yes. In the blink of an eye, I went from being the very spoiled only child who never wanted for anything to having two people and two animals who depended on me. I didn’t have time to be a puddly, teary mess. I had to get us to New Orleans, despite the fact that I had at best only a vague idea of where New Orleans was.”

*****

Early November 1836

Addy-Frank’s thin, gray shawl hung limp around her bony shoulders; her dark brown eyes, sunken and vacant, stared off into the distance. “Just keep on a heading this buggy south, Miss Leighselle. I know I heard folks say N’Awleans be south.”

Five-year-old Birdie lay curled in her mother’s lap like a sleeping kitten, while her mother stroked the child’s soft, light brown cheek with her finger. Addy-Frank had wept for an hour when they left Vermillion Bay. She’d cried until her body was limp and empty of tears from having to leave her twin babies behind in the red dirt grave that held the other Beauclaire slaves.