Cullen said softly, “Everybody, these are my new folks.”
No one replied.
Sable could now smell the foulness of the children’s unwashed bodies. She had to assume they had been hiding here for some time. Just imagining their loneliness and what they were forced to do to survive from one day to the next made her want to take them all home.
Cullen bent to his carpetbags and began to withdraw food from them. There were portions of hens wrapped in linen napkins, bread, ears of corn, and three peaches—food he must have taken from the kitchen at home. He didn’t have nearly enough to feed them all, but the big ones shared with the little ones, and soon each child had something to eat.
Sable knew she should be used to seeing such scenes, but knowing that children like these faced lives of hunger and hopelessness always tugged at her heart. Raimond must have sensed her mood because he came over and put an arm around her shoulders and hugged her tight.
Cullen explained, “I come each night because they have no one else.”
Sable wanted to kiss him for his caring and courage but knew he wouldn’t stand still for such a display.
Raimond looked down at this young boy he had claimed as son and felt his heart swell with pride. “I am very proud of you, Cullen.”
Cullen’s chin rose. “Thank you, sir.”
Sable had no intention of leaving the children here in the dark, dank ship while she went back to her comfortable home, so she told Cullen, “They’re coming home with us.”
Cullen stared. “All of them?”
Raimond agreed. “All of them.”
Sable took his hand and squeezed it, her eyes shining with love. He understood.
Their carriage wasn’t large enough to carry all the children on the hour’s drive back to the house, so Sable and Raimond piled in as many of the little ones as it would hold. The others were forced to walk, Cullen included, but he assured his parents that the older ones did not mind.
Raimond kept the pace slow to accommodate the walkers, giving Sable plenty of time to consider what she would do with the children once they were clean, fed, and rested. Her husband’s family was fairly well off, but not even they could afford to clothe and feed fifteen youngsters. The established orphanages were already seriously overcrowded. She could send some of the children to orphanages elsewhere, but knew she’d spend a lot of time wondering if they were being treated fairly.
Maybe she could open her own temporary orphanage. Juliana and Henri knew lots of people. Perhaps they could direct her to families who would want to call the children their own. Hester would probably assist her in a quest for good homes in Michigan and Ontario, as would Bridget and Reverend Day up in Boston. If she could find a building to house them in while she made arrangements, and secure funds to pay for a small staff, she didn’t see why she couldn’t turn her idea into reality.
She looked past the small, dirty child asleep on her lap to her husband guiding the reins. He was a very special man, indeed. She knew few individuals who would open their hearts and homes this way, but he had, and she loved him more each day.
She asked him, “Were you pleased with the final day of the convention?”
“I was. We voted to affiliate with the Republicans and to ask Congress to govern Louisiana as a territory—in addition to demanding our full rights.” He added, “Bridget and her minister send their best wishes. They left on the afternoon train.”
“I never had an opportunity to see her after the night at Henri’s ball. I wanted her address.”
“She wrote it down for you. I have it in my coat back at the house.”
“Raimond, I want to open an orphanage.”
He chuckled at her abrupt change in subject. “Oh, really?”
“Yes. Not even the wealth of the house of LeVeq can feed and clothe all these children.”
“True. So how would you begin?”
She told him her idea.
He mulled over her plans for a moment, then said, “Finding an old planter’s place may be possible.”
“Then you believe the idea is a sound one?”
“If I didn’t, would it deter you?”
“No.”
He grinned. “Then you have my full support.”
Over the next few days, Sable and Raimond worked on settling the children into their home. The Brats, Juliana, Henri, and even Little Reba all helped. It took all of one day for them to be evaluated by a physician friend of Beau. The doctor declared them undernourished but otherwise in reasonably good health. Sable winced when she learned a few of the little ones bore the scars of rat bites. When bedtime rolled around, she squeezed as many as she could into the upstairs bedrooms, the parlor, and on the floor of the upstairs hallway. Juliana and the Brats contributed bedding and nightclothes.
That night, as Raimond and Sable sat out on their bedroom verandah savoring the end of yet another hectic day, Sable said, “Now we can guess why Cullen was initially so reluctant to stay with us.”
“Yes, we can. There were others depending upon him as much as his sisters were.”
“He’s a remarkable boy, your son.”
“That he is. His mother’s pretty remarkable as well.”
“So remarkable, she’s about to add one more to the flock of children we already have.”
Raimond turned to her in surprise. “You’re planning on adding another orphan?”
“No, this child has parents, and will make his or her debut in a few months’ time.”
Raimond searched her happy green eyes, then asked excitedly, “Our own baby?”
“Our very own. Now you and Juliana can claim the rest of the old pirate’s estate.”
“To hell with the old pirate. I just want the two of you to thrive.” He placed his hand on Sable’s stomach. “In a few months’ time, you’ll feel like a pumpkin.”
“And probably resemble one too.”
He kissed her softly and pledged, “But you will still be ma reine…”
Juliana and Henri drove over the following morning. When Sable informed them of the impending arrival of yet another grandchild, the happy news reduced New Orleans’s premier Black businesswoman to tears. Once the crying ceased, she imparted some good news of her own. A White radical business associate had graciously donated a house situated on fifteen acres of land for Sable’s orphanage. He’d given her written permission to begin occupying the house at her convenience.
He had failed to reveal the condition of the place, however, something they learned upon their arrival at the site later that day. Although the roof was intact, the old mansion was a mess. It looked to have been occupied by either Yankees or squatters, neither of whom had bothered to clean up after themselves. The fireplace was littered with the bones of wild birds and small animals. Horses had been stabled in the kitchen, as indicated by all the fouled straw they found. The six large bedrooms upstairs bore more signs of occupation: bones in the grates and in some cases scorched spots in the floors, indicating that fires had been set there either for warmth or for cooking. Further inspection turned up a few dirty pallets, a hat bearing a Union insignia, and the broken hilt of a Confederate sword.
They were all disappointed to find the place in such disrepair, especially Juliana, who had to be held back from marching right back to the city to confront the man who’d donated the place, but Sable agreed with the ever wise Cullen, who said to his grandmére, “Once we clean it, it will be fine.”
Soon the LeVeqs, the children, and a small crew of freedmen hired through the Freedmen’s Bureau were tackling the enormous task of making the place liveable. Drake’s expertise as an architect and builder proved invaluable. He instructed them on how to shore up the walls, refinish the floors, and rebuild the listing front porch.
One morning in late September, Sable and Juliana were in the kitchen shoveling out the straw and feces when Juliana announced in a wistful voice, “Henri is thinking of moving to France.”
Sable paused in tossing a shovelful of
straw into a wheelbarrow. “When?”
“After the new year.”
Sable noticed the sadness in her mother-in-law’s eyes. “I will miss him.”
“As will I.”
“May I ask you something?”
Juliana halted her shoveling for a moment. “Certainly.”
“How long have you been in love with Henri?”
She resumed her work. “I am not in love with Henri.”
“Juliana, it is unlawful to lie to the mother of your grandchildren.”
Juliana grinned. “Is it?”
“Yes.”
Sable waited for her to say more.
“Henri was best friend to my François.”
“And?”
“And that friendship and his love for my sons are what has bound us together over the years.”
“Nothing more?”
“Nothing more.”
Sable didn’t believe her for a moment but kept her opinion to herself.
The next day Sable parked her carriage in front of the small freedmen school her children were attending and waited for them to be dismissed. There were still a few minutes before they would come running outside into the sunshine, so to pass the time, she picked up the day’s Tribune beside her on the seat.
The newspaper had been paying particular attention to the increasing violence spreading like brush fires across the South. Former masters and Rebels continued to exact revenge on former slaves. Henry Adams, one of the young freedmen who’d attended the convention, was quoted as saying that two thousand Blacks had been killed near Shreveport since emancipation. A freed woman named Susan Merrit from Rusk County, Texas, told of seeing Black bodies floating down the Sabine River.
Chilled by all the killing, Sable set the paper aside. The possibility that some of the violence would reach her family was a constant worry. Just the other day, Cullen and his sisters had been accosted on the way home from school by a group of mounted riders who’d declared the children had no business going to school and should be in the fields instead. Hazel and Blythe had been terrified, but Cullen had returned home furious.
The schools were becoming such targets of Rebel violence and retribution that Sable and Raimond no longer allowed the children to go back and forth to school alone. Many of the Whites who’d come South to found schools for the freedmen were pulling up stakes and heading back North—those who were still alive. It wasn’t just the threat of violence that had intimidated so many into fleeing. A young White woman Sable had met a few months ago had gone to a teaching post in Lafayette Parish. According to letters she’d sent to the Freedmen’s Bureau officers, she’d been shot at in both the school and the room where she boarded. Her students were also being fired upon. So far none had been killed, but one old freedman had been wounded so severely, his leg had been broken by the shells. The young woman despaired over the threats to burn her schoolhouse, especially considering that the closest military help was over two hundred miles away. Still, she refused to turn tail and run. Sable silently applauded her courage and rose to greet the children now streaming out of the schoolhouse.
Work on the orphanage house continued, and by the beginning of October, Sable and her charges were ready to take possession. She hired a small staff to do the cooking and cleaning. Drake built a small schoolhouse on the property. She did all the teaching there and opened up the classroom to other children residing nearby as well.
Sable had been so intent upon seeing to the children’s care, she’d had little time to spare for her husband. Raimond suffered the neglect for more days than he cared to admit, then decided to take matters into his own hands.
His first order of business was to get rid of the children. He then arranged for a large and luxurious suite at Archer’s hotel.
When Sable arrived home that afternoon, having spent the day at the orphanage, she found her husband seated in his study looking over what appeared to be a ship’s manifest. He and Galeno were now back in the shipping business, and he’d resigned his post as a Freedmen’s Bureau agent. He looked up at her entrance. “Good afternoon, sweet wife.”
She went over and gave him a kiss on the cheek. “Hello, brave knight.”
The silence of the house caught her attention instantly. “Where’s Mrs. Vine?”
“I gave her the weekend off.”
“Generous man. And Cullen and the girls?”
“Gone to pay a two-day visit to their lovely grandmére. She promises to bring them back by Sunday. I, of course, told her she can keep them until they reach old age.”
Sable grinned. “You know as well as I that neither of us could stand being without them for so long.”
“Speak for yourself,” Raimond drawled.
She laughed, knowing he was teasing. He had established a strong bond with all three of his adopted children and would be bereft if they were absent from his life. “So what shall we do in this blessedly quiet house for two full days?”
He waggled his eyebrows. “How about we make some noise of our own?”
Sable felt desire rise of its own accord. “What do you have in mind?”
He eased her down onto his lap and kissed her softly. “Oh, a little of this and a little of that.”
“Sounds interesting…” she breathed, returning his sweet kiss with a sweet kiss of her own. “Where shall we begin?”
“Right here suits me just fine.”
So while the children were away, the parents played.
By the time he carried her upstairs, she was already flowing with desire. Her outer clothing had been sensually discarded during the opening stanzas and she was left wearing only a paper-thin shift and her drawers as the symphony began in earnest.
He laid her tenderly atop their bed and shed his own clothing. His passion for her was displayed in all its ebony glory, and she reached out and stroked it with her hand. “Perfect time for another magic trick, I do believe…”
He grinned as he came closer, but as she began performing her wizardry, his eyes slid closed and all thoughts of humor fled. He had no idea where she’d learned such skills, and he somehow managed to put the question into words.
“Bridget,” she replied.
“Bridget?” he echoed hoarsely while she continued to weave her spell.
“Yes,” she whispered. “She said I should pay particular attention to the tip, as that will give the most pleasure…”
She proceeded to show him just how well she’d listened to Bridget’s instructions during those nights back in the camp, and he stood there on shaking legs, reaping the benefits of his wife’s sensual education.
Eventually he had to ease away, lest his pleasure culminate right then and there, and he joined her on the bed. Keeping her growing child in mind, he made love to her slowly, so slowly she was fairly begging by the time he eased himself into the warm, sweet place he favored most. They’d been away from each other for so long it didn’t take long for le petit morte to claim them both or for their cries of pleasure to fill the silent room.
While she lay atop the bed throbbing and pulsing in the aftermath, he went down and brought up cauldrons of water he’d been simmering on the stove. He emptied them into the big bathtub. She stepped in and let the glorious warmth revive her, then stood so he could wash her clean. It took a while; his wandering hands kept dillying and dallying. When she was finally deemed clean again, she stepped out, her brain hazy with desire. He dried her leisurely, scandalously, then laid out her clothing.
She asked dreamily, “Why am I putting on clothes?”
“So we can go pick up a dress I had made for you,” he told her as he washed himself in hot clean water from the last cauldron. “Of course, I’ll only have to undress you later, but that’s later…”
“And suppose I prefer not to dress or go out?” she queried brazenly, her eyes sultry.
“Then I can’t give you a reward tonight for being a good girl…”
She smiled with the same sultriness. “Then I suppose I will h
ave to comply, because I am a good girl, and I do enjoy rewards.”
As Sable stood in the shop wearing the dress Raimond had commissioned for her, she understood why Archer had warned her never to let Raimond choose her dresses.
“Do you like it?” he asked.
Sable looked at his expectant face and then at herself in the mirror and wondered if she should lie to the man she loved more than anyone else in the world. The dress was hideous, the cut and design as horrid as the color. “I certainly don’t have anything like it in my wardrobe. Thank you, Raimond.”
While he went off with a smile to pay the shop’s proprietress, Sable ducked into the small dressing room to remove the gown. She’d just stepped out again with the dress over her arm when she was stopped cold by the sight of the man and woman who’d just entered the establishment. She didn’t recognize the young woman, but the man was Henry Morse.
Sable immediately looked to Raimond, but his back was turned as he spoke to one of the clerks.
Morse’s gaze brushed hers, then his eyes widened and he smiled. He will be the jackal and you the antelope until his death.
After excusing himself from his lady friend, Morse strolled over to Sable. “Sable, is that really you? Look at you in your fine clothes.”
She didn’t reply.
“What’re you doing in Louisiana?”
“I was just about to ask you the same thing,” Raimond said as he joined them.
“Well, if it isn’t Major LeVeq. How are you, boy? Lots of folks I know are talking about you.”
“I doubt it is flattering talk. I probably don’t have a lot of friends in your circles.”
“No, you don’t.”
Raimond smiled like a tiger playing with his meal. “What brings you to New Orleans, Morse?”
“You know,” he said in his thick Georgia drawl, “the hardest thing about emancipation is getting used to the lack of respect some of you show now. Before the war, you’d’ve addressed me as Mr. Morse or Marse Morse.”