Chapter Twenty-Three

By Christmas Eve, Loretta’s home overflowed with people. Her three youngest girls came home on holiday from the Academy, and her married daughters returned to the nest with their prosperous husbands and six assorted grandchildren for the celebration. Henri was, as promised, up and running. All but the youngest noticed that Cousin Roz slipped out quietly for the Methodist service and hymn sing at eight and remained at the house during midnight Mass.

A few family members raised eyebrows when Roz wore her newly dyed crimson dress at Christmas dinner, but on the whole everyone remained pleasant and convivial with the exception of two cranky babies whom Roz took a turn at rocking. She gave pairs of movie passes to the younger sisters, doled out four more to the grandchildren old enough to attend a flicker, and gave the last two to Ethel and Willie. In return, she received the last minute gifts of the unexpected guest—cruciform lace bookmarks tatted by the nuns at the Academy, a box of good but plain stationary, and from Loretta’s eldest daughter, a beautifully and sometimes gruesomely illustrated Lives of the Saints because she’d heard Roz liked to read.

After a filling meal, Cousin André took his box of cigars and his sons-in-law out to the porch. Loretta thanked Roz again and again for the lovely scarf, running it through her fingers, and saying “all the way from Paris” as if it were that long ago ball gown she’d worn to Mardi Gras. Henri was happy with his marbles but hinted that a knife to play mumbletypeg with would have been even more welcome, and he did have a birthday coming up at the end of January. The boy rose up on his tiptoes and pecked his cousin on the cheek.

“Why, thank you, Henri.”

He pulled Roz’s head down near his mouth and whispered, “When I asked him what you’d like Dr. Landry said you needed a kiss for Christmas. It don’t cost nothing, but would mean a lot. I think he’s sweet on you. Oh, and I’m sorry that Whitman’s Sampler I got you had some of the chocolates missing. See, I met Tubbs and Boozoo on my way home, and you know how it goes. You can’t stiff your pals.” Henri kissed her cheek again.

Roz went smiling up to her room to get two packages from New Orleans still wrapped in their brown paper and string. Roxie hadn’t sent a gift, but somehow, having Henri around made up for that. Had that small kiss really been sent by Pierre to soften his harsh words, or was she making of it what she wanted? Still clinging to that little sign of affection, Roz heard the voices coming from the bedroom next to hers and recognized the sharp, cultured tone of Loretta’s eldest, Janelle.

“How could you give her my room, Mama!”

“Dearest, you’ve been married and living in Lafayette for six years. You’re the mother of two. It really isn’t your room anymore.”

“Everyone knows Cousin Roz is as scarlet as that dress she has on, and I don’t like her sleeping in my old bed or being around Henri and your grandchildren.”

“Janelle, who is everyone?”

“I heard some of the women gossiping after Mass. You know she’s gone over to the Methodists, too.”

“Well, shame on women who gossip after Mass. The girl reads, mopes some, and plays with Henri. She could be more formal with the servants and less interested in—never mind all that. Except for taking Henri out in the rain without an umbrella, she’s been good company for him.”

“Mama, women who are getting divorced are always on the lookout for another husband. What if she goes after mine or Lois’ husband or even Daddy because he has some money?”

“Believe me, Roz is not interested in your father or any of your husbands. She—Oh, here she is, out in the hallway. Roz, dear, I have a special favor to ask of you. The Harkriders are having a New Year’s Eve party, and I wondered if you would mind staying home with Henri. You’re so good with him, and I really do trust you with his care.”

“Sorry, Loretta. I believe I’ll be out looking for my next husband. After all, if a girl already has a certain kind of reputation, she might as well enjoy it. Oh, and I’ll try to find another place to stay after the holidays.”

Roz turned on her heel, went into Janelle’s old room, and shut the door. Did Pierre think that, too—that she was so weak and helpless she needed another man to take care of her? She buried her face in her hands.

“See what you’ve done! I promised Emmaline I’d watch out for her, and now things will be worse than ever,” Loretta moaned in a voice that could be heard clear through the keyhole.

****

Roz stayed in her room, or rather Janelle’s room, for most of the week between Christmas and New Year’s Eve. She worked the large tablet of crossword puzzles her mother had sent to pass the time, using the little wrist dictionary that came with them to look up clues she couldn’t solve. She returned the Hemingway and Fitzgerald and checked out more murder mysteries that suited her mood. She ate chocolates using the guide on the lid to avoid flavors she didn’t like and shared them with Henri when he was sent to coax her downstairs.

“Know what, Cousin Roz?” he told her on the last day of the year 1926. “I’m going out to Tubbs’ grandma’s place to spend the night. We’ll be able to hear the music from the Barn and watch the fireworks old man Broussard is going to set off at midnight in his field. Well, it probably won’t be him setting them off ’cause he’s so fat, but some of Tubbs’ uncles will do it. Ma didn’t want to let me go, but when I told her Leroy Mouton was going, she couldn’t say no. His daddy is on the Police Jury. We call Leroy “Lamb” because Mouton means ‘pretty lamb,’ and he hates that. Boozoo is coming, too, but don’t tell Mama. She always wants me to play with Mayor DeVille’s kids, and they’re no fun. Where are you going tonight?”

Henri knuckled some marbles across the hardwood floor of the bedroom and managed to hit two others and knock them under the bed where he had to wriggle to get them back. Setting her makeup case on the night table, Roz sat applying a little more rouge to her cheeks than usual. She checked to see that her red lacquered nails matched her lips and the scarlet wedding dress laid out on the bed. Slipping on the brow band, she turned the vermilion plume downward to frame one side of her face. After all, why not look the part of the scarlet woman?

“What’s the hottest place in town, Henri? That’s where I’ll be.”

“Broussard’s Barn. Like I said, there will be fireworks and a really hot jazz band. Mama says Mr. Broussard puts all his ill-gotten gains in Daddy’s bank, so we have to be nice to him. She still doesn’t like when I go over there.”

“Thanks for the information, pal. Maybe I’ll see you there.”

“Naw, I can’t go in ’cause there’s hooch and bad women. You aren’t a bad woman are you, Cousin Roz?”

“Time will tell, Henri.”

Loretta came looking for her son. “There you are, Henri Phillipe St. Rochelle. Get your overnight bag and toothbrush. Sammy will drop you off first at Mrs. Broussard’s place before he takes your father and me to the Harkriders.”

“I don’t need a bag or a toothbrush, Ma. We’re going to stay up all night and eat wieners we cook outside for breakfast.”

“Go get your bag and toothbrush, or you stay home, Henri.”

The boy gathered up his marbles and went dragging his feet to his room. Frowning at the red dress, Loretta sat on the edge of the bed. “I still can’t believe you dyed this lovely gown that awful color. Well, that’s neither here nor there. Roz, please stay home tonight. Making a scene in public won’t help matters. Just ignore what Janelle said. I’m afraid I’ve raised her to be somewhat of a snob.”

“How about sanctimonious and judgmental, too? I’m a married woman, and my husband is not around to tell me what to do, thank heaven. I’m not your responsibility. As I said, I’ll be moving out as soon as I can find a place. Right this moment, I want to have some fun before I go mad.”

Loretta rose and put her hands on Roz’s shoulders. She placed a gentle kiss on her forehead just below the platinum blonde spit curl. “Take care, dear child. Take care.”

****

Loretta hadn’t left her any transportation, but Roz didn’t worry about that. She sat on the front porch steps, her sheer-hosed legs stretched out before her, the streetlight glimmering off her patent leather shoes. Roz threw the black Spanish shawl over her shoulders to keep off the damp of the misty evening and took another drink from the silver hip flask with her name engraved on the side. Filled with Cousin André’s secret stash of brandy, the flask was just another way of shaking off the cold. The house faced the main drag of Chapelle, and she’d watched the restless youth of the small town troll it in their jalopies every weekend she’d been here. Someone would come along. If Pierre did not want her, some fella would.

Not ten minutes passed before a red convertible ornamented with raccoon tails and overstuffed with young men pulled up in front of her. “Hey, pretty lady, all dressed up and nowhere to go?”

Roz capped her flask, raised her skirt to the sound of wolf whistles, and replaced it in her garter. “I’m Roz, and I’m going where you’re going.”

“I’m Dennison DeVille. Call me Denny. Home from Yale for the holidays. Bobby, you get up on the back and make room for Miss Roz here. We’re going to Broussard’s Barn where the liquor flows, the band is hot, and all the women are fast.”