The Immortelles (15 page)

“I think it was his daughter's choice. Do you know her?”

“I've seen her. Good-looking woman, but proud as Lucifer—but all those Creoles are. What are you going to do, Jeff?”

“I don't know.” Jeff stood despondently in front of his friend. “If I won't be in the way, I think I'll stay for a time. Maybe an idea will come to me. Maybe I'll offer so much money, they can't turn it down.”

“That might work. And it'll be good to have you. As a matter of fact, I wish you'd make the rounds with me.”

“I'll be glad to do that, Elmo. You look tired.”

“I need an associate. Sure you won't change your mind, Jeff? We could find a good place for your father here and move your whole staff.”

“I'm afraid that's impossible, Elmo.”

Elmo sighed. “I thought it would be, but I had to ask.”

For the next two weeks Jeff found himself working as hard as he ever did at the hospital in St. Louis. The yellow fever epidemic had struck a serious blow, and Elmo saw patients from early morning until late evening. Jeff accompanied him and shared the load.

He had written his father several times during his journeys. He broke the news that Bethany was dead, but the girl was alive, and he'd found her. He told his father of the difficulties of purchasing the girl and asked if he wanted him to pursue the sale. Irving's reply by return mail stated: “Yes, pay any price, and buy the girl.”

Jeff shared the contents of the letter with Elmo, who nodded and said, “You'll have to do it, Jeff, no matter what it takes.”

On May eighteenth, late in the afternoon, a visitor surprised Señor Madariaga. He looked up from his desk in the study when the housekeeper said, “Mr. Pennington is here to see you, sir.”

“Pennington? Show him in.”

A worried look crossed Alfredo's face, and he rose to meet the man who entered the door. Asa Pennington was the vice president of the bank where he did business. His appearance at the Madariaga home was unusual, because they had always conversed at the bank. He covered his nervousness well, however, and smiled, saying, “Mr. Pennington, it's a pleasure to see you.”

Asa Pennington was a small man dressed in plain clothing. He had a thin, pale face and tight lips. Words were money to him, and he spent them as cautiously as he did his own cash. When Alfredo asked him to sit, he replied, “No, sir, I'm in a hurry. I have several calls to make, and I'm afraid I have unpleasant news.”

Alfredo licked his lips nervously. “And that might be what, Mr. Pennington?”

“We've
carried your loans as long as we can without a payment, Señor Madariaga. We must have money, or I'm afraid we'll have to take action.”

Alfredo knew then that what he dreaded was occurring. “Sit down, and we will go over the figures.”

Pennington replied, “We can go over them, but the bank must have at least ten thousand dollars at once, or we will have to foreclose on either your town house or this plantation.”

The very idea was repugnant as well as frightening. Alfredo agreed, “Of course, Mr. Pennington, you have always been most generous. The crops have been poor.”

“I know. I have had to make this sort of call to five other gentlemen. But the bank must have some assurance in monetary terms.”

“I will sell off some of my slaves, Mr. Pennington.” Alfredo shook his head and said, “You will have the money by the end of the week.”

Chapter eleven

Elena noticed that her husband had eaten little and said almost nothing during the morning meal. Her eyes shifted to Damita, and Elena thought,
She looks so tired. She's never really gotten over that terrible shipwreck, and I know she misses Juanita.

Alfredo interrupted her thoughts when he said abruptly, “Ladies, come into my study. I have something to say.”

Elena knew then that whatever was troubling her husband would soon come out. She and her daughter rose and followed Alfredo. He turned into his study and stood by the door. When they had entered, he shut the door behind him and walked over to his desk. “I have something to tell you. I've tried to keep it from you as much as possible, but that's impossible now.” Alfredo hesitated.

“What is it?” Elena asked. “What's wrong? Are you ill?”

“No, I'm not ill. But I've never talked to you much about the finances, and I have to now.” Perspiration shone on Alfredo's forehead. Taking out a handkerchief, he wiped it away, then straightened up. He looked at his wife and daughter and said, “I suppose you know that the crops have been bad. Our income has been cut more than fifty percent, but our expenses haven't. I know you've made some sacrifices, but they haven't been near enough. I'm afraid we're going to have to make some—adjustments.”

“Of course,” Elena answered. “We understand.”

“We aren't in danger of losing anything permanently, are we, Papa?” Damita asked. She had never seen her father this troubled.

“It's more serious than usual. We're going to have to sell off some property, and we're going to have to seriously reduce our living expenses. I'm hoping that we won't have to sell the house in town.”

“Sell the house!” Elena exclaimed. She loved their peach-colored home and living in the city. The idea of staying twelve months a year on the plantation was repugnant to her. “It's not that serious, is it?”

“The banker thinks it is. We've got to make a payment right away, and a large one. We'll have to sell some of the slaves.”

Elena went to his side. “I don't want you to worry about this, dear. We'll cut back to the bone. There are many things we can do without. We have plenty of clothes, and we can give up our travel until things get better.”

“Of course we can, Papa,” Damita said. She walked to her father and kissed him on the cheek. “We'll all help with this. And the crop looks wonderful this year. Claude said so.” Claude Napier was the manager of the plantation, and he had commented on the crop to Damita only a week earlier.

“I hated to tell you, but I had to. We'll talk about the details of it later.” As the ladies turned to leave, he said, “Damita, just a moment, please.”

Damita returned to his side. He said, “One of the slaves that will have to be sold is Rissa.” He saw a stubborn look come to her eyes and said firmly, “I'm sorry, but I've got to have cash right away, and this physician from St. Louis is prepared to pay any price. It has to be.”

Damita started to argue, but she saw the set look of her father's face and knew that it was hopeless. Her anger fell on Jefferson Whitman, who had brought this upon her. She swallowed and said, “Very well, Papa. That's what we'll do.”

When Jeff went to the Debakky house for lunch that day, he was surprised when Rose Bozonnier met him, saying, “There's a gentleman to see you, sir. I had him wait in the study.”

“A gentleman? I wasn't expecting anyone. Did he give his name?”

“It's Señor Madariaga.”

Jeff instantly felt a lift of spirits. He could think of only one reason why Madariaga would come to see him. “Thank you, Rose.” He walked down the hall to the study. When Madariaga rose from his chair and bowed slightly, Jeff bowed also. “I'm glad to see you, sir. I hope you haven't had to wait long.”

“No, of course not, Doctor,” Madariaga answered. He appeared nervous and stroked his mustache with a quick motion. He was not accustomed to giving up his own way, and it had cost him a great deal of pride to come. But he had steeled himself for it and said, “I will be brief, Doctor. Are you still interested in buying the slave girl Charissa?”

“Yes, I am.”

“I have thought on it a great deal and spoken with my daughter. She's very fond of the girl, and I'm afraid I must ask a high price, perhaps more than you'd wish to pay.”

“Name your price, Señor Madariaga.”

Alfredo cleared his throat, then said, “We'll have to have five thousand dollars for her.” He knew this was much more than he could get for the girl on the market, and he was prepared to bargain—something he hated to do.

Jeff responded, “If you would care to go to the bank, I will write a draft, and they will cash it for you at once.”

Madariaga was surprised at Jeff 's unquestioning acceptance of the price, but he felt instantly relieved that it would help toward settling the crisis at the bank. “It's not necessary for you to go with me, Doctor. If you will just give me the draft, I will take it to the bank myself.”

Jeff retrieved the draft, filled it out, signed it, and handed it to Madariaga.

“Thank you, Doctor. This is quite satisfactory.” Alfredo's eyes were on the draft, but then he looked up. “You may call for the girl at any time tomorrow.”

“I will be there early, Señor. Will you have something to drink?”

“No, I must be going.” Madariaga hesitated, then put out his hand, something he rarely did and never had done to an American. He felt the strength of the tall doctor's grip and said, “I can't imagine your reasons, but they are your own. Good day, sir.”

“Good day, Señor Madariaga.” Jeff felt a surge of happiness as he watched the man leave. He went to the window and watched the man get into his carriage, then motion the driver to leave.
I don't know what changed his mind, but I'm grateful for it.
Jeff turned away from the window, and a more somber mood fell on him.
Father may be disappointed by this young woman. We have no way of knowing how this will all work out.

Charissa stared at Damita. She had been polishing the silver when Damita entered and said abruptly, “I've got some news for you, Rissa, news you won't like. The American doctor, the one that wanted to buy you? Father has sold you to him.”

For a moment, Charissa could not speak. She had put the matter out of her mind, feeling that she was secure. She saw that Damita was disturbed, even angry. “The master has sold me?”

“I'm afraid so.”

Charissa felt panicked. Although she had no love for Damita, she had found a place of safety. The male servants in the Madariaga household left her alone—with the exception of Garr Odom, whom the master had finally fired. What she feared most was a return to the life she had had before. On the plantation, she had been in constant danger of being raped. Quickly she sought some sort of assurance from her mistress. “Where will I be living?”

“I have no idea. I don't know anything about this man except that he's a doctor.” Damita tried to offer some hope. “He seems to be a respectable man.”

Rissa had had some experience with “respectable” men, and her feelings of apprehension showed in her face.

Damita could see the girl's discomfort. For one moment, she was on the verge of apologizing again for the whipping. She well understood that Charissa had never forgiven her for it, but her pride forbade her to speak. Damita considered what it must be like to be someone's property: no rights, no say in where she would live or what she would do. Damita had been insulated from the worst aspects of slavery. Now she saw the fear on the girl's face and awkwardly said, “I wish you well, Rissa.”

“When will I be leaving?”

“Sometime tomorrow. Here, I want you to have this.” Damita handed her four gold coins. “We've had our differences, but I wanted to reward you for your service.”

Charissa stared at the coins and then lifted her eyes. “Thank you, Miss Damita,” she whispered.

Damita turned and left the room, leaving Charissa alone with her worst thoughts.

Charissa had slept little; throughout the night, she found herself growing tense as she thought about what lay ahead of her. She said little during the breakfast she ate with the servants of the family, and when the others had left, she began to help Ernestine with the dishes. The old cook was chattering as she always did when Charissa said, “I'm leaving here, Ernestine.”

“You're leaving! What do you mean, child?”

“I've been sold to another family.”

Ernestine saw the dread in the young girl's eyes and put her arms around her. “I'm so sorry to hear that,” she said. “I truly am. But maybe it'll be good.”

“No, it won't. That man, that doctor, he's the one who bought me. He's so big and strong, and he can do anything with me he wants to.”

Ernestine hugged the girl with real affection. She felt the tremors in Charissa's body and said, “God's gonna take care of you, honey. Don't you ever doubt it.”

“You expect me to believe in God?”

“I know you don't, but someday you will.” Ernestine stroked the girl's smooth black hair and said, “Don't you remember that story about Joseph in the Bible? Everything went wrong with that man. His own brothers threw him in a pit and sold him for a slave. Then, later on, people lied on him and he went to prison. Everything was a defeat, but when they was all over, he came out of it fine. That's what I'm askin' the Lord for you.”

Charissa wiped her eyes. She rarely cried, but her world seemed to be falling apart. She clung to Ernestine and whispered, “I'm afraid!”

Ernestine knew that Charissa had good reason to fear. Masters often used attractive young slaves for immoral purposes. Ernestine prayed silently, “Oh, Lord, help this young girl. She don't believe in You yet, but You take care of her, and one day she will.”

Charissa was sitting silently in her room when Elena entered. “It's time for you to go. Dr. Whitman is here for you, Rissa.”

Charissa had said her good-byes to the family and the servants, and now she stood and picked up the bag that contained her few belongings. Elena put her hand on the girl's shoulder and said, “I'm sorry you won't be with us, but things will be fine. Dr. Whitman seems like a good man—for an American, of course.”

Charissa could not answer, her heart was so full. She and Elena walked down the three flights of stairs to the first floor. There she saw the tall man, who said, “Good morning, Charissa.”