Cane River Part 2

Suzette stood a moment too long, unmoving.

"Go on," Narcisse said, his voice impatient.

Girl. As if they had never played together and shared secrets. As if they had not all taken their first communion together that morning.

Suzette glanced over to where Oreline sat, but Oreline had fixed her gaze to a spot on the opposite wall, as if she couldn't hear.

Gerasime played another quadrille. Sounds of excited talk and laughter mixed with the steady patter of metered feet on the cypress planks.

Suzette turned toward the house. There was nothing to do but fetch the wrap.

They had cleared out the minor furniture and pulled up the rugs to make room for dancing inside, pushing small tables toward the wall for checkers, backgammon, dominoes, ramps, and maroc, maroc, especially for the older men whose dancing days had wound down. The guests were mostly the usual from Cane River, extended family and neighbors, but there were a few fresh faces. especially for the older men whose dancing days had wound down. The guests were mostly the usual from Cane River, extended family and neighbors, but there were a few fresh faces.

The star of the evening was Eugene Daurat, newly arrived from France. He was short and neatly dressed, had startling black eyes and the smallest feet Suzette had ever seen on a man. His dark brown hair was slicked down to one side and tucked behind his tiny ears, and he smiled at everyone he was introduced to, as if it gave him the greatest pleasure to be alive in a world that had dancing in it. He was a curious fellow, his pale skin the dull white of goat's milk. He seemed to Suzette to be a little doll man. He was some sort of relation to Francoise from the Rachal side. To Suzette, Eugene was brand new. She found herself pulled to wherever he was, to try to get another look at those eyes without seeming to look at him directly.

Louis was an impressive host, welcoming everyone, full of good cheer. Suzette circled around one more time in the front room with her tray of special hors d'oeuvres, and Louis called her over.

"You better try one of these crab cakes," he announced to the collection of men gathered around him. "Our girl Suzette makes the finest dipping sauce this side of the Mississippi River."

He turned and spoke another language to a tall, thin man with light hair and a wispy beard, a distant cousin of the Derbannes' from Virginia, and the two men had a private laugh. The bearded man could only smile and gesture to the others, and he stayed close to Louis, the only one among them who could talk with him in English. The cousin reminded Suzette of her older sister Palmire, deaf and dumb since birth, neither of them able to make themselves understood in a group except through signals or translators. Still, the man seemed to be enjoying himself, drinking and dancing with the rest.

"What other delights have you and Elisabeth cooked up?" Louis asked Suzette.

Suzette could tell by his tone, but even more by the flush in his cheeks and the color of his nose, that Louis was in the mischievous stage of his evening drinking.

The doll man looked directly at her and grinned, a white, dazzling smile that showed his square, even teeth, and he held her gaze. Suzette took her tray of crab cakes and backed out of the room to cover her confusion.

When some of the older men retired to their brandy and cigars around the backroom fireplace, Suzette followed to serve. It was less painful than going back outside where Oreline and Narcisse were. These men had done their obligatory turn on the dance floor and now were settled in for camaraderie and companionship with other French Creole planters, leaving the more active entertainment to their children, grandchildren, nieces, and nephews. Both the doll man and the English-speaking cousin had been invited to sit with them.

Louis Derbanne settled into his leather chair and called for cigars, which Suzette retrieved. Suzette lit Louis's cigar first, watching his spotted hands, always in slight motion the way the highest branches looked in the pecan tree when the trunk was being shaken to get the nuts to fall.

"You'll see the sense of our ways, the advantages of how we do things, after you've been here awhile, Eugene," Louis said, continuing some earlier conversation. "The plantation is the fulfillment of G.o.d's design."

Suzette knew what came next, having heard so many of Louis Derbanne's monologues that her mind could fly ahead to the pauses. By the tone, she knew this was his "our burden is heavy" speech, but she listened carefully anyway in case there were clues about the doll man.

"You're a merchant at heart, Eugene, too new to this country to understand our way of life yet. We have a responsibility here that we take seriously. The Lord almighty blesses our system, and we do what is best for everyone. Our black family could not survive on their own. We have to protect them, as much from themselves as from others. We feed and clothe them, and take care of all their needs when they are too young, too old, or too sick to work.

"Slavery is the only workable system for cotton production, as good for our Negroes as it is for the whites. We took them out of Africa and lifted them up. The planters set the tone for the rest. Our burden is heavy."

Louis shook his head sadly.

"There are some who do not exercise good sense, treating their Negroes worse than their oxen, but that's just a handful, ignorant enough to damage their own property. Not one of mine ever gets more than twenty lashes without my permission. Not like on McAlpin's place, where one of his boys almost bled out from the beating he gave him last month. The church teaches us they have souls, and they have to be faithfully led."

They talked as if Suzette were not in the room, refilling gla.s.ses, stoking the fire, emptying spittoons. She felt Eugene Daurat's bold eyes on her, so she made herself small, careful not to make any response or acknowledgment of his stare.

A little before midnight Eugene called for the wine he had brought for his host. Suzette carried the gift bottle and eight fresh gla.s.ses on a silver tray to the circle of planters, placing them in front of the doll man. Earlier in the evening he had uncorked the bottle with great fanfare, and now he waved her away, choosing to do the pouring himself.

It was an 1825 Bordeaux, Chateau Lafite Rothschild, a vintage wine of early harvest that he had brought from France. Eugene poured, and Suzette took the silver tray around to the men in the room until each held a winegla.s.s.

"To new beginnings in a land of opportunity," Eugene toasted, and they all raised the wine to their lips.

Suzette turned to tend the fire as they once again fell to casual conversation.

"So, Eugene, as a well-traveled man, what do you think of this wine?" Louis Derbanne asked contentedly, balancing the half-empty winegla.s.s in one hand. "I confess to being more of a bourbon man myself."

Eugene directed his attention to his host, raising his eyes from twelve-year-old Suzette's back as she poked at the red embers of the fire and added another log to the failing flames.

"This Bordeaux caused a great deal of excitement in France," the doll man said. "Look at the lovely color." He held the winegla.s.s closer to the lamp, allowing the flame to bring out the intensity of the crimson liquid.

"It has a ravishing bouquet, and a flavor to match. I confess an 1825 Lafite may still be a bit young, but sometimes it can be difficult to wait," he said.

3.

C hristmas Day was dry and chilly. The crop had been a good one this year, in a succession of very good years, and the talk of the quarter for the prior two weeks had turned to what the gifts would likely be. It was certain that there would be the big contest for the best cuts of beef, and one bottle of liquor for each man, and new blankets, but they couldn't guess the surprise. They speculated that whatever it was would be store-bought since no one from the house or the field had had a hand in its preparation. Maybe broadcloth for new trousers or seed for their gardens. hristmas Day was dry and chilly. The crop had been a good one this year, in a succession of very good years, and the talk of the quarter for the prior two weeks had turned to what the gifts would likely be. It was certain that there would be the big contest for the best cuts of beef, and one bottle of liquor for each man, and new blankets, but they couldn't guess the surprise. They speculated that whatever it was would be store-bought since no one from the house or the field had had a hand in its preparation. Maybe broadcloth for new trousers or seed for their gardens.

The week between Christmas and New Year's would pa.s.s without any heavy fieldwork. Only music and food, singing, dancing, and drinking. Visiting, fishing, courting, and sleeping-in until after the sun was already up. Friends and family gathering in the light of daytime. Mothers nursing their babies according to the baby's need instead of the plantation bell. Traveling to other plantations to see family. The luxury of planning. Planning the flow of each day for one full week.

No cotton would be planted, hoed, or picked. When the plantation bell sounded, it would mark the pa.s.sage of time, but it would not begin the march to the north field before sunrise. No backs stooped over this week except to work a personal patch or bend over a checkerboard. No long sack hung around the neck to drag between endless rows of cotton plants. No weighing of each basket at twilight to measure performance against quota. No bold script recording one hundred and seventy-five pounds next to the name Palmire Palmire in the big plantation book. Two hundred and three for Gerasime. Forty-six for Solataire, just starting out at the age of eleven as a one-quarter hand. in the big plantation book. Two hundred and three for Gerasime. Forty-six for Solataire, just starting out at the age of eleven as a one-quarter hand.

Suzette wiped her forehead with the back of her sleeve while she threw pine chips into the cookhouse fireplace. The flames spat and burned hotter.

"Christmas morning, and we're the only ones working," she grumbled under her breath.

"Don't try to match up one misery against another," Elisabeth said. "Field or house, we're all in the same web, waiting for the spider to get home."

Elisabeth never broke her rhythm as she stirred the batter for griddle cakes. She had spent the night down in the quarter with Gerasime and was in a very good mood. "Besides, that's no talk for Christmas," she went on. "This is the Lord's day."

If Suzette was cheerful, her mother's response was likely to be full of gloom. If Suzette was sulky, it would be something full of false hope and cheer. But even as she was complaining, Suzette's heart wasn't really in it. Tonight was the big quarter Christmas party at Rosedew.

Some of the slaves owned by their smaller neighbors would be coming, including the three from Francois Mulon's farm. Suzette wished that Nicolas would come, but the gens de couleur libre gens de couleur libre kept to their own for social occasions. It seemed to Suzette that Nicolas saved his smiles for her since their communion cla.s.ses, and she certainly saved her thoughts for him. She still kept the sc.r.a.p of cowhide he had given her close at hand, most times in her ap.r.o.n pocket or hidden beneath her pallet. Nicolas had dreams, planning to have his own place along Cane River by hiring himself out. But Nicolas or no, Suzette intended to have fun tonight. kept to their own for social occasions. It seemed to Suzette that Nicolas saved his smiles for her since their communion cla.s.ses, and she certainly saved her thoughts for him. She still kept the sc.r.a.p of cowhide he had given her close at hand, most times in her ap.r.o.n pocket or hidden beneath her pallet. Nicolas had dreams, planning to have his own place along Cane River by hiring himself out. But Nicolas or no, Suzette intended to have fun tonight.

Only thirteen, Suzette had already sold some of her baking along Cane River. She had even been rented out once to the Rachal place for one of their big parties. She sometimes sneaked her cooking to her family, but tonight they could enjoy their treats out in the open, without the risk of being caught.

Determined to make this Christmas feast the best yet on Rosedew, she and Elisabeth had been cooking for days. They would serve up portions for the Derbannes separately, but the rest was for the tables that had been set up in the barn, where the entire quarter would gather. On Christmas Day everyone could have as much to eat as they wanted.

Suzette did a few sample steps of the waltz with an elaborate dip at the end in her mother's direction. Elisabeth laughed, and peace was restored.

"Can I wear my first communion dress for the party?" Suzette asked.

"I hope it still fits," Elisabeth said. "You're growing more curves every day."

"I heard M'sieu Louis talking to M'sieu Eugene Daurat," Suzette said. "He said the week off between Christmas and New Year's is just a way to make the hands more manageable the rest of the year. To let them blow off steam so they don't get ideas about running."

"Let us us blow off steam," Elisabeth corrected. "We're all in the same web." blow off steam," Elisabeth corrected. "We're all in the same web."

"Anyway, he invited M'sieu Eugene to come to the big contest."

"Suzette, I want you to stay away from that little man as much as you can. Try not to be alone with him."

"He means no harm, Mere. Mere."

"The man already struts around this place like he owns it. Like everything here is his for the taking. Tell me you'll take care."

Eugene had been nice to Suzette, always had an easy smile for her.

"Yes, Mere. Mere."

"We're ready," Elisabeth said, making one last inspection of the griddle. "Let's go on up to the house."

There was a small crowd from the quarter outside of the big house. Gerasime, hair wild and eyes alert, drew his jacket tighter around his body against the chill. He had chosen a place nearest the front door to stand, and his children, Palmire, Apphia, and Solataire, flanked him. Suzette and Elisabeth headed toward them.

"First light come and gone," Gerasime said when he saw Elisabeth. "They're starting late."

As if on cue, Louis, Francoise, and Oreline came out onto the front gallery still in their nightclothes. Louis rubbed his eyes and yawned.

"What are you all doing here?" he asked gruffly.

"Christmas gifts," they shouted back in one voice.

"Surely it isn't Christmas already?"

Gerasime spoke up. "M'sieu, it surely is."

Louis looked doubtful and slowly drew his fingers through his hair.

"I may have something I could find to give," he said at last, and with a great flourish he drew the cover off the makeshift table set up against the front of the house.

Underneath were forty-eight Christmas stockings, each filled with nuts, oranges, apples, pecan candy, and a ten-hole harmonica for each hand over the age of five. As they came forward to receive their stocking, Louis greeted each by name. All men got a jug of whiskey, each woman a length of muslin and gabardine, and everyone received their new blanket for the year.

Suzette and Elisabeth slipped away while Louis was still handing out gifts and began to serve up the breakfast of scrambled eggs, smoked ham, flapjacks with cane syrup, and cafe noir. There was to be an uninterrupted flow of food of every description all day long, and it would be considered a sad failure if anyone left the tables hungry.

By the time Louis, Francois, Oreline, and Eugene Daurat made their appearance at the annual celebration in the quarter, dressed in their finery, the party had been going for some time. By custom they knew not to stay too long. Heaping platters of meat, vegetables, breads, and sweets were arranged on makeshift tables. Gumbo waited in the heavy black kettle steaming over an open fire. Old Bertram carved pieces from the crackling porker barbecuing in a deep pit.

"Time for the big contest," Louis announced, leading the way to one side of the barn. "Who's first?"

"Old Bertram's the oldest," came the shout back.

They cleared a path, and Old Bertram came forward. Louis handed him a bow and arrow.

Outlined on the side of the barn in charcoal was the crudely drawn picture of a cow, and Old Bertram drew back the arrow and let it fly. The point made a soft thunk, thunk, landing near the top of the cow image's tail. landing near the top of the cow image's tail.

"Looks like Old Bertram gets tail stew," Gerasime said, laughing.

"I call that close enough for rump roast," Louis said.

Old Bertram looked very pleased with himself. He would get to keep a piece of the meat from that section of the cow to be slaughtered the next day.

"See if you can do better," Old Bertram sniffed, giving up the bow and arrow to Gerasime.

Gerasime took aim, and his arrow tip landed squarely in the center.

"Short loin!" Louis called out, and the crowd whistled and cheered.

Some of the men had gotten such a head start on the whiskey, they had trouble hitting the target at all on the first try.

After the big contest, Gerasime picked up his fiddle and the dancing began. Suzette watched her mother with delight. Elisabeth danced in the clearing with the others, her good lace scarf pulled across her shoulders and tied neatly in front of her ample chest, first flying up and then falling down with each movement. Eyes wide and full of spirit, she picked up her long skirt to give her feet more maneuvering room, looking at her partners but more often over at Gerasime, playing his fiddle under the oak tree. Elisabeth smiled and winked at Gerasime, broadly, in front of the entire quarter, in front of the Derbannes and their guests, and Gerasime winked back.

Suzette found herself responding to the gaiety of the music, finally getting her chance to dance. She pulled first one and then another into the center of the dance floor, teaching anyone who didn't know the steps and wanted to learn. She danced the quadrille waltz and the fais do do, fais do do, while her father played the fiddle. The while her father played the fiddle. The fais do do fais do do was her favorite, with six couples taking the lead from Gerasime as he called the figures in French faster and faster in a contest between dancer and musician. was her favorite, with six couples taking the lead from Gerasime as he called the figures in French faster and faster in a contest between dancer and musician.

The dancers leaned on one another in exhaustion when the number was over, laughing and panting, hearts racing, adrenaline left over. Suzette closed her eyes, and she could see herself in her white dress in the chapel at St. Augustine with Nicolas beside her. When she opened her eyes, Eugene Daurat was staring at her fixedly, familiarity in his gaze, as if there were some secret between them. Suzette pulled her eyes away from his, her confusion laced with a trace of shame, although she knew she had done nothing wrong. The music started up again, and her little brother, Solataire, tugged at her hand to dance.

After the set finished she decided to take herself away from the noise and closeness for a moment. The party would go on until almost dawn.

"You are a wonderful partner, brother," she said to Solataire with a fond smile. "I am counting on another dance as soon as I return." She had not felt so free since she was a child.

It was a crisp December evening, cold enough for Suzette to see traces of her own breath on the frosty air, but she had worked up a sweat. She headed off dreamily through the woods to cool off and to think in peace about the things tugging at her mind. Her family. Nicolas.

It was a relief not to be under the watchful eye of so many masters in the big house, and for once Suzette felt grateful to be surrounded by people who looked like her. Living in the big house had made her forget this other self. She had been ashamed by the way her mother talked, the coa.r.s.e clothes her sisters wore. All the distance and embarra.s.sment had been forgotten tonight, until she'd looked over Solataire's shoulder and caught herself in the mirror of Eugene Daurat's eyes.

She walked sure-footed through the thick ma.s.s of pine trees, all the way down to her thinking rock on the bank of Cane River, a place she had found a few years past, after Oreline grew into more confidence and stopped pulling at her every minute.

As Suzette looked off across the river, standing by her rock, she heard the soft squish of boots against mud, signaling a man's approach. Someone had followed her to her secret place.

"Ah, ma chere, ma chere, I thought you would never stop walking," Eugene Daurat said as he emerged from the woods, slightly out of breath. I thought you would never stop walking," Eugene Daurat said as he emerged from the woods, slightly out of breath.

"I'm going right back." Suzette glanced nervously in the direction of the party, as if she could wish herself back to the center of the dance floor, surrounded by other people. "I just came away from the party to cool off."

"And are you so cool already?"

"It felt good to walk, M'sieu Eugene."

"Better for the young than for those of us who are older, I'm afraid," he said. "That's a pretty dress. A little thin for this time of year, but you make it look just right. If you are cold, I could lend you my coat."