They call her Dana (17 page)

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tightened in disdain. It was a disturbing portrait yet strangely compelling, too. I couldn't seem to look away.

"My nephew Charles," Delia said lightly. "He hates that portrait, wanted to destroy it. I rescued it and brought it in here."

"It's—quite unusual," I remarked.

"Charles to the life. He's a dear, dear boy, but he can be a mite intimidating—usually unintentionally. He demands so much of himself, you see, and he expects other people to have the same drive, the same integrity."

"I—I can see the family resemblence, but—somehow he isn't like Julian."

"You'd scarcely believe they were brothers," Delia admitted. ' 'Charles is twelve years younger, but you would think he was twelve years older. He is the guiding force, the strength. Julian is casual, compassionate, unhurried, something of a dreamer. Charles is a doer, often brusque and sometimes overbearing, though he doesn't mean to be. Do sit down, dear."

I sat down in the pearl silk chair, trying to keep my eyes averted from the portrait, but even when I wasn't looking at it I seemed to feel those eyes taking stock of me, dismissing me with cool superiority. Delia arranged herself on the sofa, looking as fragile and insubstantial as some dream creature in her lilac gown, her corona of silvery hair floating softly about her head.

"They're very close," she said.

"Julian and his-brother?"

She nodded. "You wouldn't think so—they being so different. Julian respects Charles's business acumen and judgment, his ability to make decisions and his strength under pressure. Charles respects Julian's remarkable intelligence, his kind heart, gladly tolerates his charming eccentricities. Julian wasn't always so absentminded, you understand, but after the tragedy ..." Delia again let the rest of the sentence drift away.

"Tragedy?" I prompted.

"Maryanne, his wife. She died of the fever-it must be over fifteen years ago. She was a lively, vivacious creature, full of love, full of laughter. Julian was utterly crushed. After Maryanne passed away he seemed to lose interest in everything but his plants and that book he's been compiling."

"I—I didn't know he'd ever been married," I said.

"He never talks about it. Over the years there've been other women—he's male, after all, and still in his prime—but they were merely pretty creatures to amuse himself with. He's never allowed himself to care deeply about another woman after he lost Maryanne."

That explained a great deal, I thought.

"Is his brother married?" I asked.

"Charles is devoted to the business, to restoring the family fortune. He's much too sober and serious for anything as frivolous as courtship. He's extremely eligible—Julian is, too, for that matter—and half the belles in the Quarter have tried to snare him. To no avail. When Charles needs a woman, he—I needn't go into details, dear. Certain types of women are very available in New Orleans."

In the swamp, too, I thought, recalling Jessie. Delia seemed to accept her nephews' sexual activities quite casually. Men will be men, her attimde seemed to be, so why make a fuss about it?

"Julian said his brother is in Europe," I remarked.

"There are to be several important estate sales. Charles hopes to pick up some bargains for Etienne's, and he's also exploring new markets for our cotton. I believe he'll be spending a couple of months up North when he returns from Europe. He hated to be away so long, but he felt the trip was necessary if we are to remain solvent."

Delia picked up a palmetto fan and began to fan herself, changing the subject back to Corinne and my new wardrobe, interrupting herself now and then to insert family anecdotes, her mind drifting from fabric and cut and color to memories of days gone by when Julian and Charles were boys. It really wasn't that difficult to follow her once you got used to the sudden shifts. Candles flickered, bathing the room in soft light, and all the while I was aware of that portrait, those eyes, as though there were another living presence in the room with us. It was most unsettling, and I was relieved when Delia finally suggested we retire early.

"Do you want me to show you back up to your room?" she asked.

"I think I can find my way."

"Here, take one of these candles. I'll see you in the morning, dear. We'll have a nice breakfast and then go straight to Cor-

inne's. She'll be thrilled to create a wardrobe for someone as lovely as you."

"I—I can't tell you what your kindness means," I said, and my voice trembled.

"Oh dear—you're not going to cry, are you?"

"I—I don't think so. It's just—no one's ever been so kind to me before and—"

I cut myself short, gnawing my lower lip.

Delia smiled, squeezed my hand tightly and led me back to the main foyer. I told her good night and started up to my room, wondering what Julian was doing, still feeling a bit neglected. Most of the candles had been extinguished, and my own flame danced, casting wavering golden patterns on the dark walls. The house was full of soft, whispering noises—the gentle flutter of drapes, the rustling of leaves from the enclosed courtyard—and there were creaks and groans as well, as though, like an aged being, it was settling down for the night.

I found my room after only one wrong turn. The yellow satin counterpane and thin yellow linen sheets had been neatly turned back. A single candle bumed beside the bed. There was a carafe of water, a glass of milk, a plate of tiny iced cakes. I smiled, thinking of Jezebel and her promise to fatten me up. Removing my clothes, I placed them carefully in the wardrobe and, completely nude, slipped on the wrapper someone—Kayla?—had draped across the bed. Sipping the milk, nibbling one of the cakes, I felt I was in the middle of a dream. Four days ago I had been living in the swamp, my emotions numbed by Ma's death, Clem a constant threat, life a bleak expanse of endless days, and now here I was in New Orleans, in this marvelous old house, with people who genuinely seemed to care about me. I was still overwhelmed, still disoriented, not at all certain I wouldn't wake up to discover it was all a product of my imagination.

Removing the wrapper, slipping under the covers, I blew out the candle. The room was immediately filled with violet-black shadows that gradually lightened as moonlight sifted in hazy rays through the opened French windows. I listened to the splash-splatter-splash of water in the fountain and the raspy crickle-crackle of leaves in the breeze, and I smelled the heady perfumes of the garden. Was I awake, or was I dreaming? I closed my eyes and velvety darkness slowly engulfed me and time passed, time had no meaning, and I saw the mist and the man, and the

great river was there nearby, I could hear its murmur. He came to me and looked searchingly into my eyes, and then he took my hands and squeezed them and pulled me to him, as always. That wonderful feeling began, warm and kind of itchy, and sweet, flowing through my veins, delicious, tormenting. The dream was the same, but this time I could see his face. It was the face in the portrait in Delia's sitting room.

Chapter Seven

EVERY SINGLE CRYSTAL PENDANT of the hugc chandcIier glittered, sparkling with a shimmering diamond brightness, shooting off rays of rainbow color as the morning sunlight touched them. It hung at waist level, and I moved around it with a critical eye, looking for the least little smudge or speck of dust. Finding none, I nodded, and Elijah scampered away to pull the concealed rope that would lift the chandelier back up to the ceiling. I stepped back, watching it slowly rise. The pendants swayed, tinkling loudly, and I gave a little gasp as Elijah heaved too violently and the whole chandelier swung wildly, threatening to come crashing down.

"Gently!" I called. "Cardiilly!"

"Yes'um!" he shouted back.

"Fasten the rope securely!"

"Yes'um!"

Finally in place, the chandelier swayed gently for a few moments before it finally steadied and grew still. Elijah scurried back into the foyer, grinning merrily, quite pleased with himself.

"I told-ja I could do it, Miz Dana. I told-ja we didn't need Pompey helpin' us."

"You did an excellent job, Elijah. For a moment there I—I thought you were going to let it fall, but—"

"I jerked th' rope too hard," the boy confessed, "but I never let loose uh it. Tied it real right, too, with that special knot Pompey learned me."

"Taught," I corrected, "not 'learned.' "

"Taught me," he said, testing the words. "Lawdy, Miz Dana,

since you've been havin' all dem lessons, we's all gettin' smarter. Whatta ya want me to do next?''

"You can help with the rugs. They've all been carried out behind the carriage house, and I want them properly aired and dusted."

"I gets to beat 'em with dat big swatter?"

*'You can take mms with Job and Elroy."

"Dem boys, dey ain't worth much, Miz Dana. Dey's older'n me, sure, but dey ain't got der heart in it. Shore am glad dey's just helpin' out and ain't part-a th' family."

I smiled. Elijah and the other servants were openly resentful of those we had employed to help out with the major cleaning. Jezebel refused to have them in her kitchen and resented cooking for them, and Kayla was haughty as could be when she had to deal with any of them. Pompey resented their presence most of all and resented me even more. Since I had taken over the housekeeping shortly after I arrived, he somehow felt I was trying to usurp his position. No amount of kindness on my part could make him unbend.

"You want me to carry dem cleanin' things back?" Elijah asked. "We's all finished with all th' chandyleers, ain't we?"

"This was the last," I said. I had elected to clean all the chandeliers myself, and I never wanted to polish another crystal pendant as long as I lived. "Yes, Elijah, you may take the things away, then run on out and help with the rugs."

"Yes'um."

He gathered up the bucket of suds, the rags, the polish.

' 'And don't get into any scraps with Job and Elroy,'' I warned.

"I won't, Miz Dana, but I ain't takin' no sass from 'em either."

Elijah left, and I sighed, looking around at the foyer. Everything seemed to shine, not a speck of dust in sight. The faded, mellow charm was still very much in evidence, but now the parquet floor had a rich, dark sheen, and the white paneled walls had the gleam of old satin. The graceful white spiral staircase gleamed, too, each banister individually polished, the faded pink runner covering the stairs newly cleaned and tacked back into place. I savored the smell of lemon oil and polish, and I took pride in my handiwork. The entire house had a new sparkle, and I intended to see that it stayed that way. It was the least I could do in exchange for all Julian and Delia had done for me.

'"Here you is!" Kayla exclaimed. "I thought you was out back, supervisin' the rug cleanin'."

"I wanted to finish the chandeliers this morning."

"My, that one sure looks different. Dazzles you, it does.''

"What did you want, Kayla?"

The girl made a face, looking petulant.

"Well, Miz Dana, I saw that all the silver was brought out and carried into the dinin' room and put on the table, just like you told me to, and I herded them girls into the dinin' room and put them to polishin', like you said, but /ain't supposed to help polish it. I'm supposed to supervise."

"That's right."

"That Ruby, she keeps givin' me lip. Says I can get my black ass to work, too, or she ain't polishin' a piece. I told her I was a ladies' maid and I was just supervisin' as a special favor to you 'cause you were busy elsewhere, an' I told her if she didn't watch her mouth, I'd have her black ass booted out without a penny of pay.''

"Oh dear," I said.

"I ain't havin' any lip from th' likes of that Ruby, I can tell you right now. Trash, they is, havin' to hire out by the job. Lucky to get work. Me, I got my position to think of."

"Be generous, Kayla," I said, humoring her. "They're just jealous of you because—because you have such an important position with such a fine old family.''

"Reckon they could be," she said thoughtfully.

"And because you're so pretty and have so many beaux," I added.

"Reckon you're right.''

"You can afford to be tolerant."

"Reckon I can," she said, "but I still ain't polishin'."

"I'll speak to the girls," I promised.

"You're gonna have to speak to Jezebel, too. She's balkin' at cookin' for that lot, says she ain't got the provisions to make lunch for twelve extra niggers."

No wonder Delia couldn't handle them, I thought ruefully. They're all as temperamental as those opera singers in that novel Delia loaned me. Prima donnas? Yes, they're all prima donnas.

I went to the dining room and chatted with the girls and sat down and polished a candlestick myself and told them how grateful I was to have them helping out. When I left they were

all smiling and all working industriously with nary a complaint. It was a bit more difficult to win Jezebel over. She was ftissing and fuming mightily, slamming things around in the kitchen and carrying on just like one of those silly opera singers. I agreed that it was a terrible imposition on her, that it wasn't fair for her to have all this extra work and said I certainly wouldn't want her to waste her great skills on hired help. Why, simple stew and combread would be good enough, and I could make that myself. Jezebel said she wasn't about to let me get all hot and sweaty slavin' over an oven, and reluctantly agreed to make the meal.

"You're a darling, Jezebel," I told her.

"An' you thinks you is pretty smart, don't-ja, missy? Think you done hoodwinked ole Jezebel an' got th' best of her. I'se on to your tricks, an' the only reason I gives in is 'cause you is such an angel."

"I'm hardly an angel, Jezebel."

"You is, too, an' don't try to tell me different. You is still too skinny, missy, after all dis time, an' you is workin' too hard. You is supposed to be a proper young lady, leamin' things from all them tooters Mister Julian hired for you, an' you works like a nigger yourself."

"I have to make myself useful," I told her.

"You is supposed to make yourself smart, an' Mister Julian's gonna have hisself one fit when he learns you is polishin' fur-nimre an' cleanin' window glass 'stead of readin' them books."