They call her Dana (43 page)

"She was quite gracious," Charies told her.

"Pooh," Delia said.

"She's gained an awful lot of weight," he added. "She must be well over two hundred and fifty pounds now.''

"Really?" Delia was delighted. "Why didn't you tell me? It doesn't surprise me at all. She always was a prissy, affected little thing, forever putting on airs, and when she snared Claude Duprey of Ravenaugh you'd have thought she'd nabbed the king of England. Her engagement ring was an absolutely vulgar diamond, big as a walnut, and she flashed it around like—" Delia

hesitated, a frown creasing her brow. "Is that someone at the door?"

"Sounds like it," Julian said.

"I wonder who it could possibly be. If it's Lavinia, I positively refuse to see her. She calls at the most inopportune times. She knows full well we dine promptly at eight, and—"

Pompey opened the front door and we heard a loud, urgent voice, though actual words couldn't be discerned, and then we heard the front door closing. A moment later Pompey stepped into the doorway of the sitting room. He looked extremely upset.

"What is it, Pompey?" Charles demanded.

"Mister—Mister Charles. That was Mister Danton, th' gen'leman what owns th' shop down th' street from Etienne's. It—he's done on his way back there, said there wudn't time to speak to you hisself."

"What is it, man!"

"Dere's a fire. Mister Charles. Mister Danton, he said Etienne's was done goin' up in flames, and—"

The old man's voice broke, and Charles and Julian exchanged looks and then rushed out of the room immediately, followed by Pompey. Delia sat down on the ivory velvet sofa, her face positively white. She had taken out her fine lace handkerchief and she was quietly tearing it into shreds, not even aware of what she was doing. I went to her and put my arm around her, and she looked up at me with huge, worried eyes. I patted her shoulder.

"Per—perhaps it isn't so bad," I said, trying to reassure her. "Perhaps the fire brigade will be able to—"

My voice was trembling. I cut myself short. Delia gazed at the shreds of lace in her lap and saw what she had done and shook her head. She sighed then and brushed the shreds aside and stood up.

"I shan't go to pieces, my dear," she informed me. "I am an Etienne, and for some peculiar reason we're always at our best in the face of a crisis. I'm sure I can't explain it, but it's a fact. I'll have to inform Jezebel that dinner will be postponed, of course, and—"

"I'll do that," I said quickly.

"And then I must tell Pompey to have the carriage brought round. The boys will have saddled their own horses. We must

go, naturally. I don't intend to sit around waiting to hear. I suppose I'll need a wrap."

TVenty minutes later Delia and I were in the carriage, driving through the night-shrouded Quarter to Etienne's. She was admirably calm, silent, too, sitting beside me with back ramrod-straight and chin held high, a pearl-gray shawl around her frail shoulders. Although she didn't speak, she held my hand tightly, so tightly I felt my fingers might break. Jasper drove rapidly, the sound of clopping hooves and clattering wheels echoing in the perfumed silence of the night. My heart seemed to be racing along with the carriage.

We could smell the smoke and burning wood long before we turned the comer. There was a huge crowd gathered in the street in front of the shop. They stood back, speaking in hushed voices, watching as the men in the fire brigade continued their woric. Jasper stopped the carriage, and Deha and I climbed out. Only a few flames spluttered now, lazily licking already blackened lumber, and these were quickly extinguished. Fortunately, the fire had been contained—no other buildings on the block had suffered serious damage—but Etienne's was a yawning, smoking black hole, completely gutted from within, roof gone. The air was still hot, filled with wisps of smoke and ashes, and die night sky seemed to retain a pale orange glow.

"Please make way," I begged as Delia and I tried to get through the crowd of people. "Please let us through."

"—dead," someone was saying. "They brought him out just a few minutes ago. He's under that blanket."

"Oh God," Delia whispered. "Oh dear God—"

"Please!" I begged urgently. "Please make way."

"Etienne—yeah, that's who he is. Name's same as the store. Burned to a crisp, though Alan—he's my cousin, he's with the fire brigade—Alan said he musta been overcome by the smoke and already dead before the flames—"

I stopped begging. I started shoving, forcing my way through the tightly packed mass of people, using shoulders and elbows and hips, panic swelling inside, gripping me with icy fingers. I smmbled, falling against a burly stevedore. He grabbed me and gave me an angry look. I shoved him aside, knocking him against a redhead with painted face and flashy green dress. She called me a name. I forged ahead, finally reaching the front of the crowd. Delia was right behind me. The heat was intense, but I

seemed to be freezing, icy cold fingers gripping me as I stared at the scattered pieces of smoke-stained furniture that had been salvaged, at that mound stretched on the ground with a heavy blanket covering it.

The fire brigade was still busily at work, hurrying to and fro, moving in and out of the smoking ruin that had been Etienne's. They passed huge buckets of water and wielded large axes and shouted orders and warnings to each other, faces soot-stained and pouring with sweat. Some sections of burned wood were still glowing a fiery red-orange, popping and crackling and sending up showers of sparks, sizzling loudly as buckets of water sloshed over them. A partially standing wall of black charcoal tumbled, crashing loudly as the men scrambled. Delia stood beside me. Her face was waxen. She didn't move a muscle. People behind us murmured, whispered, pointed.

One of the men working wore a badly singed frock coat. He passed a bucket of water and turned, and I saw that it was Julian. I cried out. I rushed toward him. His hair was wet with sweat. Sweat poured from his brow, and one cheek was completely black with soot. He looked startled when he saw me tearing toward him. He hurried forward, catching me before I actually entered the smoldering ruin.

"Thank God!" I cried. "Oh, thank God you're all right!"

"You shouldn't be here," he said. "It's still extremely dangerous. How did—Jesus! I see Delia's here, too. You shouldn't have come. There's nothing—"

"You're all right! Oh, Julian, I was so—"

Julian put his arm around me and held me tightly, leading me over to where Delia was standing. His face was very grave. Delia looked up at him, and when she spoke, her voice was hollow.

"Charies," she said.

"He's all right, Delia."

"They said—" She took a deep breath. "They—someone said—an Etienne. In the fire—the—under the blanket."

"Raoul," Julian said gently.

He released me and took his aunt's hands in his.

' 'Apparently he'd come to the store for something—we'll never know what—and the fire started accidentally—perhaps he left a cigar burning. He tried to put it out himself, apparendy, and—"

He cut himself short, squeezing her hands.

"He—he can't have known what was happening," he said gently. "He can't have had any pain."

"Someone will have to tell Lavinia." Her voice was still hollow. "I suppose Id better go to her—"

"Charles and I will take care of that, Delia." He gave her hands another squeeze. "We'll take care of everything. Did Jasper bring you? I'll take you back to the carriage. You and Dana go on back home. I—Charies and I probably won't be back until late tomorrow morning. We'll have to finish here, then see Lavinia and make—arrangements. You don't worry, love. Everything is going to be all right."

Delia didn't reply. He put his arm around her shoulder and started leading her through the crowd. People stepped aside, making way. I didn't go with them. Tbming, I happened to see Charles coming out of the blackened ruin carrying a still-steaming metal box, using his frock coat as padding. He set the box on a scorched table and dropped the ruined frock coat onto the ground. His face, like Julian's, was streaked with soot. His neckcloth was gone, his white lawn shirt wet with sweat and plastered to chest and shoulders, one sleeve badly torn. Damp, dark locks spilled over his brow, and his eyes were filled with stoic resignation. He looked ten years older.

I went to him. I touched his arm.

"I'm sorry," I said.

He looked at me as though I were a stranger.

"It wasn't an accident, was it?"

"It wasn't an accident," he said. His voice was flat. "He set the fire deliberately. You and I know that. You and I know why. Apparently it got out of control before he could get out."

We had to step aside to make way for four men in the fire brigade who carried more buckets of water. There was a crash as another section of wall fell. Ashes swirled in the air like gray snowflakes. Charles shoved damp locks from his forehead and looked at me with weary, desolate eyes.

"Everything—everything gone," I said. "All those priceless paintings, the porcelain, the furniture—what will you do?"

"The family will survive," he said.

"Charles—"

"Go away, Dana. Just go away. There's nothing you can do here. You've already caused enough damage."

He turned and walked back into the ruin. I watched him for a moment, and I felt dead inside. I stood there in my silvery-gray and emerald striped satin gown and long gray velvet gloves, ashes floating around me, the air filled with the acrid smell of smoke and desolation, and finally I turned and moved blindly through the milling crowd toward the carriage. Delia was already inside. Julian was waiting for me with a worried expression.

"Here you are," he said.

He took my hands and looked into my eyes.

"We must all be very strong," he told me.

I nodded. He let go of my hands.

"See that Delia gets to bed."

"I will."

He opened the carriage door for me. I didn't climb in.

"Julian-"

He looked at me, waiting.

"I—I do love you," I said. "There will never be anyone else in my life as—as fine as you are. I'll always be grateful for all you've done for me. I—want you to know that."

I stood up on tiptoes and kissed him on the lips and clung to him for just a moment, and then he helped me into the carriage, smiling a gentle smile. He squeezed my arm and closed the carriage door, and as we drove away I looked out the window and saw him standing there with his soot-stained face and damp hair. Tears welled up, but I refused to let them fall. I took Delia's hand and held it tightly. She gave me a brave smile. Both of us were silent during the ride back home.

"I think I'll go right up to my room, dear," Delia said as we entered the house.

"I'll go with you," I told her.

"No—no, I don't want you to fuss over me, dear. I'm going to be perfectly fine. Tomorrow is going to be a difficult day for everyone, and they're all going to need me. I intend to be a paragon of strength.''

"I'm sure you will be," I said.

"Good night, Dana dear."

"I love you, Delia. I—I'll always remember your kindness, and I'll always remember how you took me in and treated me like—like a daughter. You'll always have a place in my heart."

"And you'll always have a place in mine, dear."

I kissed her on the cheek and took her arm and walked with her to the foot of the stairs. Kay la came into the foyer, and I signaled for her to go up with Delia. She nodded, understanding. I watched the two of them go up the stairs, and then I went into the library and, sitting at the desk, wrote two brief letters. I asked Delia to forgive me. I told her that I was doing what I was doing for the good of everyone, and I repeated that she would always have a place in my heart. I told Julian that I would always remember him and I would always love him in a very special way. I told him that I would always be honored that he had asked me to marry him and that one day, perhaps, he would understand and be grateful to me for leaving. I sealed both letters and left them on the desk, and then I went upstairs.

The old worn leather traveling bags were still in the storage closet where I had replaced them weeks ago, a lifetime ago. The brass buckles were a little more tarnished, the limp, supple leather covered with a fine layer of dust. I carried both of them to my bedroom and dusted them and put them on the bed, and I spent a long, long time packing, carefully selecting the clothes I would carry with me, those I would leave behind. I stood for over five minutes holding the embroidered rose brocade gown I had worn the night Charles first came to my bedroom. I didn't cry. r couldn't. I couldn't feel anything but the emptiness inside. I hung the gown back up and sat down on the bed, careftilly folding undergarments, placing them in one of the bags. It was after three o'clock in the morning when I finally finished packing.

I had taken ofl" the long ^ray velvet gloves earlier, and now I removed the elegant striped satin gown. It smelled of smoke and soot. So did I. I washed myself thoroughly and put on a white petticoat with several ruffled skirts, and then I undid the coiffure Kay la had so artfully styled. I shook my hair loose and brushed it until it gleamed. I still felt empty inside. I felt incapable of emotion. I took down a simple, beautifully made frock of thin yellow linen and put it on, spreading the skirt out over the underskirts. I put out all the candles and sat down, staring through the open French windows at the night sky. When the first streaks of pink and amethyst dimly appeared, I stood up and took the bags and left the house.

It was a long, long walk to the waterfront, but no one molested me, no one paid the least attention to me. Even though it

^as not quite seven, the waterfront was bustling with noisy activity. I located the ticket office, and there I was lucky indeed. I discovered that a steamboat was leaving for St. Louis at eight o'clock. I was able to get a cabin. It was quite expensive, but I had over $130, the majority of it my commission for selling the commode to Mrs. Louella Kramer. I prayed her husband would remember his offer of a position at his emporium when I arrived. I found my way to the steamboat and boarded it. Forty minutes later I was standing at the railing of the lower deck as it puffed and chugged and pulled away, the huge paddle wheel turning slowly.