The Immortelles (28 page)

“Oh, no, but I'm learning. We had to keep a cook, or we all would have starved to death.”

In the dining room, Damita served the coffee and cake. Lewis entertained them with stories of New Orleans, the balls, the latest opera, and Yancy sat back and watched the pair. He liked Lewis Depard, although the fellow was a fop, of sorts. He had no idea what Damita thought of him.

“Someone's at the door,” Yancy said. “Let me get it. Are you expecting anyone, Damita?”

“No.”

Yancy went to the door and opened it. Jefferson Whitman was there, and suddenly Yancy's ready sense of humor surfaced. “You've come to join the other suitors, have you, Doctor? Come in.”

Jeff entered, took off his hat, and put it on the hall tree, noticing that another was already there. “Other suitors? What do you mean?”

“Come in. We're just having
café au lait
.” Yancy led the way, and when he stepped in, he gave Damita a wink. “The doctor's come to call, Damita.”

Lewis turned to speak to Damita, but then his eyes fell on Jefferson. “Oh,” he said and fell silent. An awkwardness filled the room. The the last time the two had met, they had been dueling. True enough, they had shot each other with toast, but neither of them knew that.

“Jeff, won't you come in?” Damita asked. She felt as uncomfortable as Lewis, but she saw that Yancy was enjoying himself. She gave him a reproachful look and said to Jeff, “I'm glad you called.”

Lewis stood and walked around the table directly toward Jeff. Damita had a horrified thought that he was going to strike him, but instead Lewis said, “Doctor, I was too hasty at that ball. I want to offer my apologies.”

Jeff was shocked. Everyone knew that Lewis Depard never apologized.

“Of course I accept your apology. And I offer mine.” He put his hand out, and Depard shook it.

“Now, that's much better than trying to shoot each other,” Yancy said loudly.

Lewis gave him an irritated look and then turned back to Jeff. “I must tell you, Dr. Whitman, that I am very serious about Damita. I intend to marry her.”

“So do I, sir.”

For one instant the electricity in the air seemed to crackle, and then Yancy remarked, “I hope we don't have another duel. Those things are terribly time-consuming.”

“Yancy,” Damita snapped. “Of course there's not going to be another duel. Come in and sit down, Jeff. Tell us what's been happening to you.”

Despite all of her attempts, Damita could not bring the two to accept each other fully. They cast hard glances at one another, and it was obvious that neither of them had any intention of leaving. Finally she said, “I'm sorry, but I have work that must be done today. Errands to run. Would you both excuse me?”

She shook hands with both of them. Lewis said, “I will be back to visit when you have more time, Damita.”

“So will I,” Jeff said loudly.

As the two left, Yancy chuckled, and Damita stared at him coldly. “What are you laughing at, you fool?”

“At the comedy. This is better than a play.”

“I don't see anything funny about it.”

“You don't? You've lost your sense of humor. I'll tell you what you could do. You could marry both of them.”

Damita glared at him. “What are you talking about?”

“They make a pretty good pair, if you put them together. I mean, you've got Jeff, who's sober and responsible and rather boring, and you've got Lewis, who is foolish and quite a bit of fun. You'd have one husband to be serious with and the other to go to balls and be foolish with.”

“I think you're the fool, Yancy Devereaux! I never heard such nonsense!” Damita cried. She hurried out of the room, but Yancy ran after her and caught her arm. “Come along. Let's go look at the crop.” She stopped and said, “I'm upset, Yancy. That was awful, having both of them here at the same time.”

“It'll work out,” he said cheerfully. “Come on, I want you to see the fields.”

They walked along the rows, and Yancy pointed out things that she had never noticed before: the quality of the cotton, the snowy fullness of the fields. She was silent but interested. She had been around cotton all her life, but never had she watched it grow into a crop, step by step, and she still was shocked at the tremendous amount of labor it had taken. “I never knew how hard it was just to raise cotton.”

“It's not a business for lazy men, but it's a fine crop.”

“It is beautiful, isn't it? Do you think the price will hold up?”

“I hear that it's good. We'll hope so.”

Damita reached out and plucked a bowl, then pulled the white fibers apart. “Who would have thought that something so light could bear the weight of saving a family from ruin?”

“We could lose it all, Damita.”

Damita glanced up and saw that Yancy was staring at her in a peculiar fashion. “Don't talk like that.”

“That's the way life is. Nothing's certain in this world.”

“Nothing's going to happen,” she said quickly. “It can't.”

“I thought that about the ship I bought into, but it went down. We like to fix things so that they don't change, but they do.” He resumed walking, and she joined him. “You remember the immortelles, those decorations that you put on graves?”

“Yes.”

“That's just an attempt to fix things. I don't think those immortelles are really immortal. They'll wear out someday, too. You've seen them, old and broken. We're the only thing that's immortal.”

“You really believe that? You never talk about religion.”

“But
I think about it.”

“I remember you told me one time you were afraid of some things, of growing old, of being alone, and you said you were afraid to face God.”

“I'm still afraid of those things, but sometimes I think making peace with God is the easiest thing. Nothing we can do about growing old, but we can do something about God.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean we can honor Him and love Him.”

Damita was silent. She had never heard this sort of talk from Yancy before. She remembered the story about his mother and realized his faith had grown, though it was hard for her to understand what form it took.

Then he said, “But there's something else I'm afraid of.”

“What's that?”

“I'm afraid of missing out on what's important in this life.”

She stopped. “What do you mean?”

“A woman is important to a man—and children are too.”

She saw that he was waiting for her to speak. “Family
is
important,” she agreed quietly.

“It's important for a woman to find a man, too, isn't it?”

“Of course it is.”

Yancy stopped walking and took her hands in his. “You have nice hands,” he said. “Strong, smooth. Some women have ugly hands, but not you.” He paused. “Be sure, Damita, that you desire the man you choose. Forty years in bed with a man you don't love would be a misery.”

Damita pulled her hand back, her face reddening. “Don't talk to me like that.”

“All right, I won't.”

Damita did not know how to take his words. She felt angered that he would speak so inappropriately, and yet she was curious. “Why do you say a thing like that to me? It isn't nice.”

“Because I know that at one time you felt something for me.”

“That wasn't love,” she said quickly. “It was . . . it was just wickedness on my part. You knew it—you turned away from me, Yancy.”

“I didn't want to spoil things,” he said simply. “If I hadn't felt something for you, I would have accepted your offer immediately.”

Damita could not think how to answer him. He had put his finger on the thing that had troubled her for years. “Don't confuse me, Yancy!” she cried. She turned quickly and walked away, leaving him to stand alone in the cotton field.

The stalks blew lightly about him, and he watched her go. “You're already confused, Damita Madariaga.”

Chapter twenty-one

Looking over the rim of his fine china cup, Elmo Debakky studied Charissa for a moment, then remarked, “It's amazing how men can make fools of themselves, when they really set out to do the job.”

Charissa and Debakky had lingered after breakfast, and now Charissa looked steadily at the physician. “I suppose you're referring to Jeff.”

“Yes. He and Depard are making fools of themselves, chasing after Damita. They've provided a mint of entertainment for the upper crust of New Orleans. People don't go to the opera anymore; they just gather to watch those two circle around each other.” He sipped his coffee, then shook his head and said more soberly, “I hate to see Jeff chasing that woman.”

“I'm just thankful he and Depard haven't had another stupid duel.”

“Maybe it's just a matter of time. I don't know what makes men behave like that.”

“At least the cotton crop was good this year, so Damita's safe from losing her plantation.”

“That was good news, all right.” Debakky glanced out the window and shook his head. “What's the date?”

“December twenty-eighth.”

“It seems as if 1835 just sped by.” He glanced at Charissa. She was wearing the simple gray dress that she always wore to work at the hospital. She seemed subdued. Debakky had learned long ago her secret, that she loved Jefferson Whitman, and had considered shaking Jeff to make him realize what he was missing. But he was not a man to interfere. Now he said, “I'll tell you what we ought to do. The society of New Orleans is getting up a New Year's Eve ball. The governor will be there, the mayor, and all the bigwigs. Why don't you let me take you?”

Charissa glanced up from her coffee and studied the doctor. He was not handsome in the least, but he was intensely masculine and one of the wittiest and smartest men she had ever known. “That would be nice, Elmo,” she said. “I'll look forward to it.”

Elmo grinned at her. “Why don't you fall in love with me, Charissa? It would make your life a lot simpler.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, you could stop mooning around about Jeff. The man hasn't got good sense. He can't even see you.”

“No, he can't. He never could.”

“Not your fault. He's one of the best doctors I've ever seen. Too bad he's not as smart about women as he is about medicine.” He saw that Charissa did not want to discuss it and said, “If you'd just fall in love with me and we got married, you wouldn't have to worry about anything.”

“I'd have to worry about you.”

“No, you wouldn't. Tell you what: Just give me a list of all the things you want in a husband.”

Charissa laughed. Elmo always had the ability to lift her out of her mood. “And what would you do with such a list?”

Elmo looked at her with mock surprise. “Why, I'd convince you of how you could get along without all those things.”

Yancy poked the fire and watched the sparks fly in myriad, tiny fragments up the chimney. He kicked a large chunk of firewood with his boot, and Damita said, “One of these days, you're going to catch yourself on fire. Take your foot out of there. You'll ruin your boots.”

Yancy put the poker down, turned, and backed up to the fire, soaking in the warmth. “I love fires. I love everything about them—cutting down the trees, splitting the wood.”

“You don't like carrying out the ashes all that much, I noticed.”

Yancy grinned at her. “You're right about that. But for every pleasure, there's always a penalty to go with it.”

“Is that some more of your deep philosophy, Yancy?”

“Oh, yes, I'm going to write a book one day. I'll call it
Yancy Devereaux's Guide to Perfect Living.”

“That'll solve a problem for a lot of people,” Damita said. She was sitting in an overstuffed chair directly across from the fire, sewing. Her hands moved nimbly.

Yancy asked, “What's the nicest dress you have?”

Surprised, Damita looked up. “What are you talking about?”

“Tomorrow's the fancy New Year's Eve ball. I've decided we're going.”

Damita shook her head. “I told Jeff and Lewis I wouldn't go.”

“Don't you want to go?”

“To tell the truth, I'm a bit tired of their attentions.”

“I thought a woman liked that sort of attention.”

“Oh,
Yancy, it's foolish! I don't care for either one of them—not for a husband, at least.”

“We're going to take in that ball. We've worked hard, and we deserve a break.”

“I'd rather not.”

“I'm not asking, Damita,” Yancy said. “I'm telling you we're going to do it. Don't you remember? When I agreed to come here, you agreed to do everything I commanded.”

Damita was so surprised she poked her finger with the needle. “Ow!” she said and stuck her finger in her mouth. “I didn't promise to go to balls with you!”

“Yes, you did. You said I could make every decision. My decision is that we need some foolishness.” He pulled up a chair opposite and faced her. “I haven't mentioned it, but you've done a wonderful job of adjusting to this life.”

Damita stared at him. “Why—thank you, Yancy.” She never expected compliments from this man who had suffered so in his own life.

“I know it was hard for you. I was used to tough living, but you weren't. And you've helped keep your mother from being miserable as well.”

“You're the one who's had to do all the hard things.”

“No, that's not so. But let's not argue about that.”

Damita felt warmth at his praise. Only rarely did he offer it, although she often felt his eyes on her. “All right,” she said. “Do you really want to go to the ball?”

“I think it would be fun. We'll go late,” he said.