Chapter 14 –
Kaskaskia
Highway 1 follows the Fox and then the Wisconsin Rivers south to the Mississippi. We made good time and were on the outskirts of Kaskaskia by noon. Too bad. It would have been nice to stop in one of the smaller river towns for lunch, eating in some café along the river. Instead, we arrived early and drove through miles of warehouses, getting an immediate sense of the town. This was a working city. Trucks were everywhere. I even saw a couple that said “Murphy Manufacturing.” Apparently we were making deliveries. Closer to the river we began to see grain elevators rising up into the sky. I have never seen so many. Often they were lined up in double rows that just went on and on for blocks. What was the metric, a France Feeding Day? Maybe they should have created a world feeding day.
Eventually we got to the river. There were two bridges across, one that spanned the entire river, just south of the island, and a smaller bridge that went to the island. We took the smaller bridge. I had been hoping some of the historical buildings had been kept, but this was a working city, and the first blocks we drove through were office buildings and warehouses. Only on the west end, the side away from the current path of the river, did we finally see some older buildings. There was a museum, a courthouse, a small park, and maybe a dozen houses. One of the houses had been converted into a restaurant, and that is where we went for lunch.
Did I mention how good it feels to get out of a French car? I stood and stretched for several minutes. It appeared we were in a bit of an enclave - the northwest corner of the island. Around the west side of the island, where the river had flowed before it flipped over to the east side, the land was all marsh. It extended for hundreds of years to the west. No doubt it produced a great crop of mosquitoes every evening. North of where we stood the river came right at us before taking a turn to the east, as if the island were a ship with the bow parting the water. East were docks for huge barges. South were commercial buildings and lots of traffic as people crossed the island. The traffic noise was constant. What kind of people took a vacation in a place like this? We did.
Lunch was a treat. The house-turned-restaurant had outdoor seating in the backyard along the river-turned-marsh. You couldn’t pay me to sit out here in the evening when the mosquitoes swarmed and carried off small children and pets, but with the full sun at midday, it was comfortable, and even a little quieter with the house blocking some of the traffic noises. Gustav joined us at an umbrella-shaded table. Elise and I had wine; Gustav, I was pleased to see, did not.
How do you tell someone is a tourist? They can’t keep their head still. That was us. Elise and I were looking at all the buildings in the vicinity while Gustav was looking at all the people. He paid particular attention to a group of men dressed all in white, but I looked over and it didn’t seem they were paying any attention to us. Meanwhile, while we looked, we listened. Most of the tables were full. It was lunch time, and this appeared to be a place where some of the local office crowd liked to eat. They had the classic office lunch special – a bowl of soup and half a sandwich (what do they do with the other half? Throw it out?). Some tables were close enough for us to hear conversations, while for others we could just hear the tenor of the talk. We listened for excitement or anger or fear. We did hear concern at one table, but it didn’t appear to be any more than you would hear in any office conversation. A shipment was late. It happened. Everyone else seemed to be occupied with the tedium of business.
Lunch was fine. I had soup, Elise had a salad, and Gustav broke some kind of office lunch rule by ordering a whole sandwich. I hoped the kitchen was prepared. We took our time eating. Gradually the other tables emptied as people went back to work. We stayed and had a very nice crepe for dessert and a second glass of wine. We were on vacation. Eventually we paid the check and strolled back to the car.
It was time to think about a place to stay. While President Jolliet had mentioned a home that might be available to us, I had never followed up. In my defense, I had been a bit preoccupied. As it turned out, it did not matter. Gustav had his phone out and was carrying on a conversation. Several minutes later we saw who he was speaking with, as a man and woman came out on the front porch of a home about a block away and waved to us. Elise and I decided to walk over while Gustav took the car.
I have to admit I was pretty pleased as I looked the place over. Obviously it was not one of the original structures of the town, but it appeared to have well over a century on it. It was three stories tall, white clapboard sided, and had a huge porch that ran the length of the house. It also had one of those side entrances where the horse would pull the buggy under a portico. As I got closer to the house I could see the stone step used to get down from the buggies was still there. That’s the kind of touch I appreciate. Yes, the stone is annoying to mow around, but leave it there as a gesture of respect to former times.
By the time we got to the house, Gustav had already parked the car and was on the porch talking to the two people who had waved at us. Yes, I was walking a bit slowly, but it was less than two days since I had been blown up, so I felt I was actually doing pretty well. I made it up the porch stairs without huffing and puffing too much, and shook hands all around.
It turned out the couple were caretakers of the house. Long retired (they had to be in their 80s), they lived in a back corner of the house and kept the house up for those times when members of the Jolliet clan visited. How often was that, I asked? They looked at each other and mumbled a bit, making it pretty clear the house was little used. It may have been a family heirloom, but it was still an heirloom located in Kaskaskia, three blocks from warehouses and a major highway. Not exactly a romantic getaway.
We did a bit of gender bonding at that point, with the lady – Gabrielle – taking Elise on a tour of the house to include some ladies clothes from past centuries that had been kept in storage, plus a view of the ballroom on the third floor. The man – Jean – wanted me to see the billiards room. It was also where a very large number of guns were stored in glass-fronted cases. He wanted me to know that all the guns were loaded, and the key to every case was located in one of the drawers. The way he walked me right to the key, pulled it out, demonstrated how to open a case, and then put it back, made me think he either assumed I was a moron who needed instruction in the function of locks and keys, or he had been told we had more than the average number of encounters with armed men.
Eventually, both Elise and I were led up to our bedroom on the second floor. It was massive. It took one whole end of the house. It had also been designed to be used. By that I mean, much of the room was decorated with items that might have been in the room when the house was first built, but the room also had pieces from the current century and even the current decade. This was not a museum; it was a room where people were to live comfortably. Gustav already had our bags in the room, and we occupied ourselves with putting clothes in the closet and in various dressers. Then we tested out the bed. We decided we liked the room a lot.
What do you do in the evening in Kaskaskia? Apparently you entertain. Gustav knocked on our door about six and told us the caretakers had been at work setting up a dinner for us to meet the local notables. Guests would arrive around seven. I couldn’t decide if I should be upset with the caretakers for their presumption, or admiring of their initiative. Elise’ attitude was that this would be great fun, so I decided that would be my attitude too, or at least it would be after I’d had a couple drinks.
For the next hour we scurried around that huge room, trying to remember what we had put where. How formal was an evening in Kaskaskia? We had no idea. We (Elise) decided a dark suit might be best for me, while she wore a yellow silk gown with shoulders (no, I have no idea how women refer to such a dress, but you get the idea. She wanted something on her shoulders to be a bit more conservative, since she was not sure how the other ladies would dress). She also fussed a bit with her hair. Up? Down? In
the end, up won out. And with that, we were ready to go downstairs to meet our guests.
Good thing we got downstairs when we did. Apparently seven means seven in Kaskaskia. Had they been standing around the corner checking the time before approaching the house? Four couples (Jean was kind enough to tell us that was all they invited) came up the sidewalk right behind each other. Elise and I stood out on the porch and welcomed them. Elise got hugs from all the women – and handshakes from the men. I got handshakes. Jean stood just behind us and gave us an abbreviated background on each couple as they climbed the stairs. We were getting the mayor and her husband, the head of the local hospital and his wife, the owner of a barge company and his wife, and the head of the town council and her husband, the owner of one of the grain elevators. It turned out our guess at clothing had been about right. The men were all wearing suits, although somewhat lighter in color and weight than mine, and the women were all in silk dresses with sleeves. Very conservative, but then they were also of an age. I think the youngest couple might have been fifty. The others ranged to the mid sixties.
We stood around on the front porch for a while engaging in simple chatter. We had arrived just that day, yes the weather was warm, the house seemed lovely, we had not seen much of the town yet, but we would love to see more of it, aren’t the barges amazing. Gabrielle saved us from complete nonsense by coming to the door and announcing that drinks would be served in the library. That seemed to motivate a fairly fast move into the house. Jean led the way to a room in the back of the house. It was a full two stories tall, with rows and rows of books, plus a wall of windows that looked toward where the river had been. Now the setting sun was coming through the windows, and it would have been uncomfortably hot in there, but shades covered the upper levels of the windows, and ceiling fans moved the air. It also helped that there was plenty of ice in the drinks. I know it helped me a great deal.
So far, the conversation had been the usual inane first-meeting stuff, but a second round of drinks (Jean poured fast, and our guests appreciated his skill) seemed to loosen things up pretty fast. Quickly they got around to what had probably pulled them out of their homes on a hot summer night.
“The local newspapers had complete coverage of the attack on President Jolliet’s house,” the mayor informed us. “We are all very grateful for the help you provided him.”
“We just rode with him to the hospital. It was our security forces who did an outstanding job.” Elise had decided, as I had, that descriptions of our involvement would be minimal. I was glad of that. It was just too uncomfortable describing – and reliving – what had really happened. “They arrived very quickly. There were rescue helicopters over the house in minutes.”
“How is President Jolliet doing?” The mayor continued.
“He is recovering, but very slowly. He is seventy eight, so these things take time.”
“Those Louisiana nuts need to pay for what they did.” This was from the barge tycoon, or was he the bank guy? I wasn’t sure I had the names and jobs straight, but I wasn’t surprised that this was the guy who wanted to start a war with a drink in his hand. He just had that look – shorter hair, bigger shoulders on his jacket, a chin held just a little higher than normal. Our other guests were now all looking at Elise to see her response, before they either piled on with their own declarations of war, or backed off.
“The Ministry is still investigating the attack. So far it is not clear who is responsible. None of the attackers survived, so there is no one to question. Until the investigation is complete, there will be no response.” Those were Elise’ words, but the way she said them might have been more important. There was no hint of irony or impatience in her voice. It was clear through the pace of her wording and the volume of her voice that she was in complete agreement with the process currently underway. Barge guy decided he would focus on his drink, and the rest of our guests seemed satisfied that now would be a good time to talk about other matters. Score one for Elise.
Eventually, well-oiled but still well-mannered, we were called to dinner by Gabrielle. She had to lead us to the dining room. I had no idea where it was. It turned out to be at the opposite end of the house, and like all the other rooms in the place, it was huge. It had also been decorated in wood paneling with two large chandeliers hanging from a wood-paneled ceiling. Why two chandeliers? Because the table was about thirty feet long. Since spreading the ten of us out evenly around the table would have been ridiculous – there would have been four or five feet of space between each person – Gabrielle had set the table to that all the places were set in the middle of the table. The last six or so feet on each end was left for flower decorations and such. Even so, we still had plenty of elbow room.
There was a moment’s hesitation as we entered the room, but then Elise directed each person to a seat. She had remembered their names! She placed couples opposite each other at the table, and put the two of us pretty much in the middle, one on each side, so we could engage in conversation with all. Very nicely done, except I had barge-guy to my right and the mayor to my left. Well, at least I knew which direction I would take my conversation.
Dinner was pleasant but predictable. We didn’t know each other, so conversations stayed at the superficial host/guest level. I hope you will stop to visit X, and please see me at Y, and while you are here we will have to get together to do Z. I have to admit it didn’t take long for me to only be half listening, but that is when I made a friend. I was nodding vaguely in response to one invitation or another, when the hospital head – Jean Pierre – caught me out. I was looking at the wall paneling and occasionally stealing a glance at the ceiling.
“Those are all Louisiana hardwoods,” he told me from across the table. “And none of them are veneers. Each board is at least two inches thick. Claude Jolliet started bringing them up in 1712.” I had nothing to say in response. Had he just mentioned the Claude Jolliet? Jean Pierre must have seen the surprise on my face. “I am a shirt-tail relation. As a child we sometimes came over here to play. On rainy days we played inside. We had the run of the house, but this is the room that always attracted me. It is a dark room, and could be a little scary to a child, but they usually kept some candles lit on the table. Maybe it was the candles that attracted me, or maybe just the size of everything. You can imagine what a table like this looked like to a nine-year old. One day I came in and my great aunt was sitting at the table writing something. I started backing out of the room, but she invited me to stay. She had to be well into her eighties, and she had shrunk with age. She wasn’t down to my size, but she was small enough not to scare me. She motioned me to a chair next to her, and I sat down. That was the start of conversations that lasted the next two years, until she died. She knew every board in this house, and every piece of furniture. And it turns out there is a story that goes with pretty much every board.” In the course of his description I noticed that all the other table conversations stopped.
“The joke in the town is that running the hospital is Jean Pierre’s hobby.” The mayor told us – and the rest of the table. “His real job is town historian.”
“There may be some truth to that,” Jean Pierre replied. I was pleased to see he did not seem embarrassed by the “joke.”
“I think I have a new friend.” I announced to one and all. And I was certain I was telling the truth. I didn’t push for more stories right then and there, and the conversation turned in many directions, largely back to - you should see X and be sure you meet us for Y. I was fine with that. Time passed. Gabrielle and Jean cleared plates and brought out coffee and cognac. Dinner passed as all French dinners do. Eventually it was time for folks to go. We did our final greetings out on the front porch shaking hands and dodging mosquitoes. As you can imagine, my longest exchange was with Jean Pierre. He would be happy to return tomorrow afternoon to describe the house and its history in greater detail. Elise made sure to in
vite his wife as well, and with that, the last of our guests hurried to their cars, and we got back inside and away from bugs as quickly as we could. Not a bad first day, bugs and all.