Winds of the Storm (12 page)

“On a very slippery slope. Just like in Memphis, the rioting here in '66 is not far from our minds.”

The New Orleans riot of July 30, 1866 began when thugs, many of them Confederate veterans, descended on the city's Mechanics Institute to oppose a convention of Blacks and Whites called to amend the state's harsh Black Codes. Aided by firemen and police, the Rebs shot at delegates marching to the meeting then broke into the building to attack the attendees already inside. Thirty-seven of the delegates were killed, three of them White. During a hearing on the event, the 39th Congress determined that in addition to the deaths, hundreds more had been injured.

Archer continued, “The fact that the city's police force is more than one-quarter Colored shows there has been positive change, and many of the sheriffs in the parishes are also men of color, but Governor Warmoth is trying to reinstitute segregation on all levels—transportation, the schools,
lodging. He probably would be impeached by now but for the death of our Lieutenant Governor Dunn back in November.”

“How did Dunn die?” Zahra had read bits and pieces in the city's newspapers, but she wanted to hear his view.

“That's the question of the day.” He then explained to her as much of the mystery as he knew personally.

“So do you believe he was poisoned?” she asked.

He nodded. “The evidence so far points to arsenic, but whether it really was or not, only an autopsy would tell.”

Zahra found the story of Dunn's death very interesting. “But you said Dunn was originally a supporter of Governor Warmoth.”

“Yes, he was, much to the chagrin of many of the Radicals, but Dunn refused to support the man my circle supported.”

“Who was?”

“Francis E. Dumas.”

“Why wouldn't Dunn support him?”

“Dumas was one of the state's largest slaveholders before the war.”

“Ah. Was he a man of color?”

“Yes. Officially, an octoroon, but he supposedly treated his slaves well.”

“Not well enough to give them a wage or set them free?”

Archer could tell by her tone that he was tipping in quicksand, so he didn't address that; instead, he asked, “where were you born?”

Zahra met his eyes. “Baltimore,” she lied.

“Fred Douglass is from Maryland.”

“So I hear.”

He smiled, and Zahra found herself charmed. “What's the smile for?”

“You. So mysterious.”

“You may not be interested if I reveal everything.”

Their gazes met long enough for them both to be touched, then he drove her back to the house.

As they sat out front, Zahra said, “Thank you for the drive. I know much more about the city than before.”

“Make sure you take that giant with you when you're out and about. Supremacist thugs are becoming bolder and bolder. They're not above targeting a woman.”

“Thank you for the warning.” Zahra was indeed glad for the advice, but she rarely left the house without her pistol or the razor strapped against her thigh, and she was well trained in the use of both.

“Will you have dinner with me this evening?”

The request caught her off guard. “Where?”

“My hotel.”

Zahra studied him for a long moment. In spite of her previous vows, she wanted to spend more time with him. The morning ride had been quite enjoyable. “What time should I be ready?”

He gave her that easy smile. “Seven?”

“Seven, it is.”

He came around to help her out, and as her hand met his, the warmth slid up her arm and spread. “I had a wonderful time, Mr. Le Veq.”

“Name's Archer.”

“Archer,” she replied, softly smiling. “I'll see you this evening.”

“I'm looking forward to it. Is there something you wish for Aristide to prepare for this special occasion?”

“Surprise me.”

“Oh, I plan to.”

With that, Zahra left him and moved gracefully to the door. Even though she was tempted to look back at him, she didn't.

That afternoon, Alfred came up to the office. “How did it go?” he asked.

“Fine. No problems. Did you know that Lieutenant Governor Dunn may have been poisoned?”

“I read the rumors in the newspapers, but I assumed they were just that—rumors.”

Zahra then told him what Le Veq had told her.

Alfred said, “Very interesting.”

“I thought so as well. And I think we should send a note to all the Loyal Leagues letting them know. This is the kind of information I'm sure Araminta would want us to share.”

“I agree.”

“Now as to Le Veq and myself. I appreciate your concern, Alfred, but I will be fine. I need you to stop growling at him whenever he comes around.”

“Man like him is accustomed to women eating out of his hand.”

“I'm aware of that, but I can take care of myself.”

He didn't look convinced.

She decided to change the subject. “Tell me about you. You were a boxer during slavery?”

“Yes, I fought other slaves, and I was owned by the family that once owned Tom Molineaux back in the 1780's.”

“And he was?”

“Probably the most famous slave to be a boxer.”

“I'm afraid I've never heard of him.”

“He earned his freedom boxing.”

“So were you freed, too?”

“Nope. Ran soon as the troops came through. Since I'd traveled all over Alabama boxing and knew the area, the army made me a scout.”

“Are you married?”

“Not anymore. Had a wife during slavery, but when I went back for her after the war, found out she'd taken off with a man headed to Ohio.”

“I'm sorry.”

“Me, too. She was a fine cook.”

Zahra smiled. She now knew a bit more about her giant right-hand man. “Well, no boxing Le Veq, you hear?”

“Yes, ma'am, but if you need me, I can make his nose look just like mine.”

Zahra chuckled, “Let's hope that won't be necessary.”

“I'll go over to Wilma's and have her send the messages on to the Leagues and to Mrs. Tubman.”

“Thank you, Alfred.”

Zahra watched him go, glad he was on her side. She definitely wouldn't want him rearranging her nose.

When Alfred returned, he brought Zahra a message sent to Wilma by Araminta. Zahra read the short note, then asked, “Who is Henry Adams?”

“No idea.”

“She wants me to meet him tomorrow evening.” Zahra handed him the note. “Do you know where that address is?”

“No, but it shouldn't be too difficult to find.”

“Tell your cousin I'll be needing the coach tomorrow then.”

“I will.”

“I'm having dinner with Le Veq tonight at his hotel. If there's anything to report, I'll let you know when I return.”

He didn't look happy but he nodded, then departed.

Zahra spent a few more moments wondering about the man named Henry Adams. How was he connected to Araminta, and what role might he play in what she and Alfred had been sent here to do? In the end she decided to let the matter rest. She'd know more when they met tomorrow. In the meantime she decided to go downstairs and join the girls for their afternoon game of dominos. The time had come to enlist their aid in her search for information.

While watching Naomi and Salome, who always played as a team, go up against Lovey, Zahra said casually, “Ladies, I need a favor.”

“What is it?” Stella asked while looking over Lovey's shoulder.

“I need to know who is who in this town, and I want you all to help. If you can, find out what our
customers do for a living and what their politics are. With the election coming up, I don't want us to be caught in a cross fire.”

“That doesn't sound too hard,” Chloe responded.

“But be sly about it,” Zahra warned. “We don't want them to know we're nosing around.”

“Of course,” said Adair. “As much as men like to brag in bed, it should be easy.”

“Good, because I need you to tell me everything. Even if it doesn't sound important, tell me anyway.”

“Will do,” Matilda replied.

Pleased that enlisting their assistance hadn't been difficult, Zahra spent a while more watching the game, then told them, “Le Veq and I are having dinner tonight.”

“You could do worse,” Stella said with a knowing grin.

“Yes, like that Etienne Barber,” Lovey declared. “He wanted me to do the Dance of the Seven Veils last night before I took him to bed. I made him pay me an extra twenty greenbacks.”

“Good for you,” Zahra replied.

“Afterwards, he tried to ask me a lot of questions about you. I told him he wasn't paying me to be your biographer, too.”

Zahra smiled. “Thank you.”

“Man's a pest,” Lovey pointed out, “but a wealthy one, it seems. Maybe I'll send him to the twins next time.”

“Please do,” they offered while studying their bones. “Once we're done with him he won't have the energy to ask anyone anything.”

“Amen to that,” Matilda testified, and everyone laughed.

 

“Do you plan to make New Orleans your home?” Archer asked.

Zahra looked up from the bowl of flavorful crab bisque she'd been enjoying and met his eyes through the wavering flames of the candles centering the beautifully set table. “I haven't lived here long enough to decide either way. My original plan was a two-year stay.”

“Why only two years?”

“My feet begin to itch if I stay in one place too long.”

He showed the soft, engaging smile that undoubtedly had been snaring females since his nursery days. “Personally, I can't imagine residing anywhere but New Orleans.”

“Really?”

“I was born here and hopefully will be put to rest here.”

Zahra was reminded of thinking the same thing about the Carolinas. “It is a very vibrant city. One of the most lively I've ever visited. I've never heard so much interesting music, either.”

“We are most proud of that.”

Zahra was wearing a low-cut gown of black satin and her matching rhinestone mask. She had hoped he would be too busy staring at the tops of her bosom to notice that she wasn't offering much information about herself but was having trouble concentrating; not that he'd said or done anything overtly forward, but she kept remembering his kisses. “Do you have family here?” she asked. Al
though she already knew the answer, she wanted to keep him talking about himself.

He told her about his brothers, mother, nieces, and nephew, Cullen. He then asked, “And you? Any siblings?”

“No,” she replied truthfully. “I am my parents' only child.”

“Where do they live?”

“I'm not sure. We've been out of touch for some time.”

“I see.” By nature Archer was a curious man, but he decided not to dwell any further on her parents. Having no idea what had caused a family schism, the last thing he wanted was to offend her again or make her angry.

While they savored their bisque, Zahra discreetly watched him from behind her mask. As Lovey had waxed so eloquently this morning,
Lord, the man was easy on the eyes.
From the well-cut lines of his black coat to the shine on his expensive boots, Archer Le Veq was the epitome of the
gens de coleur;
wealth, breeding, privilege. Zahra knew that were it not for her fancy clothes and mysterious persona, a man of his class wouldn't spend two minutes with a woman of her class, let alone invite her to his private suite for an intimate candlelit dinner. Having posed as a house slave in Southern mansions on numerous occasions during the war, she knew all about fine furnishings, crystal, and the like, but she'd never imagined she'd see such equally fine things in the house of a man of color. There were Brussels carpets on the floors, elegant lamps, and beautiful brocaded upholstery. Framed artwork decorated the walls.
An upright piano stood across the room, and the table they were eating on was topped with marble. She tried not to gawk but felt like the proverbial rube at the fair. “How long have you owned the hotel?”

“Almost eight years.”

“Do you enjoy it?”

“I do. I get to meet a variety of people from a variety of places, and I like that.”

Mindful of her mission, she smoothly led him in another direction by saying casually, “Some think the elections this year will be as violent as '68. What do you think?”

“I hope not. Many freedmen were killed in the days leading up to the one in '68.”

“And many more were so terrorized they didn't vote at all,” she added.

“Every city in the South is experiencing it, but how about we discuss something lighter.”

“Such as?”

“Who you really are. Why you wear the mask and when you'll let me make love to you.”

That last part jolted her. “You are direct if nothing else, Archer.” Steepling her fingers, she assessed him through the flickering flames of the candles on the table. “You want to make love to me.”

“Very much so.”

“Of course I'm flattered. But if I say yes, all of the mystery you find so intriguing will vanish and in the end you will return to your young mistress and I will be forced to take my morning drives with Etienne Barber.”

Archer laughed. “Your wit is equal to your beauty.”

“Thank you.”

The banter pleased Archer because she seemed to be softening a bit. When Arisitide O'Neil entered the room pushing a wheeled cart topped with silver-covered dishes, Archer was not pleased with the interruption.

“Did you enjoy the bisque, madame?” Aristide asked Zahra.

“I did indeed.”

“Good. The rest of the feast is just as wonderful. And why are you scowling?” he asked his employer while removing the soup bowls from the table and replacing them with the dishes for the main course. “Your face reminds me of your brother, Raimond, when I created the lovely Sable's dessert.”