Chapter Thirty-One

Roz woke to the sound of rain slamming against the wall of her room and a dark, gray dawn showing through the small, high window. The boarding house remained quiet, but she finally had patients to check on. Roz dressed in her midwife clothes. She wanted to look as official as possible this morning.

In the kitchen, baby Innocent rested in her basket near the gas range where water boiled in a kettle. The coffeepot sat nearby ready to drip. Widow Purdue came in from the back porch on a gust of wind. She carried the milk pail and set it in the sink.

Seeing Roz bent over the basket, she remarked, “You’re up early considering the night we had. Drip that coffee for me, dear, while I skim off the cream.”

“We need to scald some of the milk for Innocent. We’ll dilute it with some boiled water, add a little syrup, and let her suck it from a clean rag.”

“No need for that. I found the nursing bottle I used last year to feed the runt puppy in my son’s litter of German shepherds. Pup’s as big as Rin Tin Tin now. In fact, they call him Rinny. I’ve washed it clean. You want to pour some of that hot water over it and the nipple?”

Roz sterilized the baby bottle. “You know more about this than I do, and I’m supposed to be an expert now.”

“Experience, that’s all it is.”

Bernard Toomey stumbled into the room. Neither woman could recall ever seeing the man without a fresh shave and clean shirt. He’d lost the curl in his moustache, and last night’s starched shirt hung limp and crumpled.

“Faye has the dry heaves. I thought tea and crackers might help her. I can make it in my room if you’d loan me a tea bag and put it on my tab.”

“No need, Mr. Toomey. Just for today, coffee and tea are on the house. I can’t recall when I last had such an interesting group of boarders—dancing at the Barn, bringing home abandoned babies, taking poison. You were all so quiet before Rosamond moved in.”

“I seem to have that effect on people,” Roz sighed. “I’ll look in on Faye if you will keep an eye on the formula.”

The widow nodded as she finished preparing a tray for her ill boarder and handed it to Roz. Innocent began to fret, and to Roz’s surprise, Bernard picked her up. She made a small, wet spot on his already soiled shirt. “I think we need a dry diaper here.”

“Stir the formula, Mr. Toomey.” The widow efficiently unwrapped the bundle of joy on the kitchen table, held the tiny legs up as she washed the small private parts and sprinkled it with cornstarch. She had the clean diaper pinned before Innocent drew in a deep breath and began to squall. Bernard Toomey watched with fascination.

Upstairs, Roz knocked on Faye’s door and backed in with the tray. Her friend stared up pale and woebegone under the covers.

“My stomach is still unsettled. What do you think that means?” she asked Roz.

“I think it means you’re still pregnant. No cramps or bleeding?”

“None. Yesterday, after you told me where to go, I rushed right out to find Miz Senegal before I lost my nerve. She said she didn’t know what I was talking about, but since I was a friend of yours, maybe I might find a bottle of medicine to help me out on the doorstep later in the evening. I had to take it before I lost my nerve. That baby, she made me think twice. Then, Bernard knocks on my door, all nice and polite like he always is. I told him to go away, no sex tonight. He said he wanted to talk to me, just talk—about our future together. I still had the bottle in my hand, and I blurted out everything. You know the rest. I am so ashamed.” Faye looked away.

“Oh, drink your tea and enjoy the crackers. It isn’t often the widow gives anything away. Bernard was so pathetic she didn’t even charge him. Right now, he’s down there watching a diaper being changed as if the widow were teaching a class on French cookery. I think he’ll make a good father, Faye, if you give him a chance.”

“I know. It’s just that a girl always thinks she’s going to marry someone tall, dark and handsome like Lord Byron or Mr. Darcy, and Bernard is short, clean, and well-groomed.”

“There’s a lot to be said for the last two, and he can’t help being short.”

“Well, I hope this baby gets my legs, and Bernie’s nice, straight brown hair. I don’t think there’s much chance of him being handsome.”

“Does that mean there is going to be a wedding?”

“As soon as school lets out. If we do it during Lent, everyone will know. Besides, it’s against my contract. Bernie said he’d get me an engagement ring even though he doesn’t have to, and I won’t be able to wear it in public. He’s so sweet.” Faye dabbed at her eyes with a corner of the blanket and took a sip of her tea.

“I’ll send him back up.”

“No! Let me primp a little. The last two times he’s touched me, he’s been holding my head over a basin. I want to erase that picture from his mind.”

“Sure. I’ll tell him you’re getting dressed.”

In the kitchen, Bernard Toomey, patting Innocent on the back, paced the planks as they waited for the milk to cool. Finally, the widow tested a few drops on her wrist and declared the formula ready. She tickled a corner of the baby’s mouth with the bulbous nipple and watched the infant latch on like a starving Armenian.

“Cher poor heart, she’s so hungry.”

“May I feed her?” Bernard Toomey held out his arms, and the widow slipped the infant into them.

“Would you have a market basket I could carry her in?” Roz asked.

“Oh, surely she doesn’t have to go so soon. You can’t take a newborn out in a storm like this,” the widow protested.

Roz wondered if they would be so fond of the child if they knew her skin might turn darker and her tight black curls become nappy as she grew, but she wasn’t about to deprive the baby of some much-needed cuddling and attention by announcing its lineage.

“I’ll wait for the rain to stop. Then, I intend to see she gets the home she deserves. Bernie, could you drive me over to the mayor’s house around ten? I need to visit Anaise DeVille.”

By ten, the rain had slowed to a drizzle, and Roz, holding a market basket with Innocent wrapped snuggly in red flannel and covered with a light cloth, dashed through the puddles to the car. In her other hand, she clutched her birthday chocolates. Bernard held both the door and an umbrella for her and the baby.

The trip was short, just a few blocks to the brick mansion painted white from its iron grillwork balcony to its tall, fluted columns. The DeVille ancestral town house sat on an artificial rise to prevent bayou flooding from entering the home. Two live oaks, a hundred years old if they were a day, flanked the walkway. Bernard Toomey parked, opened the wrought iron gate, also painted white, and held the umbrella over Roz and the baby as they walked up the gravel path skirted with the broad green leaves of aspidistra, the iron plant that grows so well in the deep shade of the oaks. They mounted the semi-circle of brick steps that jutted out from the portico. Roz thanked Bernie and told him to go home to Faye. She rang the bell.

A colored maid in full uniform of black dress, ruffled apron, and cap answered the ring. She took a good, long look at Roz in her white uniform with a basket over her arm and said, “Deliveries to the back.”

Never had Rosamond St. Rochelle entered a house through its service entrance—unless she was sneaking in from an escapade. She raised her chin and skewered the maid with the glare honed by old French families for centuries and learned at her mother’s knee. “Mrs. Rosamond Boylan to visit Mrs. Hector DeVille the Third. Please announce me.”

The maid eyed the woman in white. “Miss Anaise jus’ had a baby and ain’t seeing nobody who ain’t invited.”

“I’m aware of that as I was her midwife. I have a small gift for Mrs. DeVille and won’t stay long. She’ll be quite upset that you kept me waiting.”

Knowing her employers would be more upset if she let a pushy stranger in the front door, the maid stared at the basket. Under the light covering, Innocent wiggled and let out a sharp cry followed by a small stinker.

“Better not be no kitten in there. Cats, they can smother a new baby.”

“It’s not a kitten. The gift is this box of chocolates all the way from New Orleans. I believe new mothers should be pampered,” Roz continued in her starchiest manner. She hoped she sounded exactly like Nurse Emory, superior and undeniable.

“Better not be no puppy, neither. We got mo’ dogs around here then we needs.”

“Emmy Lou, who is at the door?” a high voice called from the parlor.

“Says she the midwife. Got a present for Miss Anaise.”

“For heaven’s sake, let her in. The draft alone is bad for the baby.” The woman whom Roz had last seen in hysterical tears came to the door. “I’m the child’s grandmother, Clarise Olivier. Do come in, but please limit your visit.”

Lowering her voice, Mrs. Olivier added, “Anaise needed surgery to deliver, you know. She’s still very weak and shouldn’t be exposed to germs. I’ll take you upstairs.”

Roz followed a pair of narrow hips and long legs remarkably like the daughter’s up a graceful spindled staircase. Clarise Olivier tapped on a door at the far end of the hall. “Are you awake, dear? You have a guest, the midwife who attended you.”

“Come in,” Anaise answered in a remarkably strong voice. She lay propped up in a feather bed old enough to have been used by Jefferson Davis, covered with lace-edged sheets and a half canopy of pale blue and gold. Little Lionel DeVille sucked vigorously at one of her plump, blue-veined breasts protruding from a quilted silk bed jacket edged with ecru lace. The elder Mrs. Olivier averted her eyes from the sight.

“How are you, Anaise? Any problems? Any questions I can answer? I see you did decide to nurse. Good for you.”

“Mama and Mother DeVille aren’t too happy about it. I had to ask one of the nurses at the clinic to show me what to do since neither mother breastfed. Did you bring me chocolates?” Anaise’s eyes turned greedy. “My appetite is simply voracious, and I feel sublime except for the sore tummy. They won’t let me out of bed. I do tire easily, but it’s nothing an afternoon nap won’t fix.”

“You look wonderful. Here.” Roz opened the golden box, selected a morsel topped with a candied violet, and popped it into the mouth of the nursing mother.

“Yummy!” Anaise DeVille plucked Lionel from one breast with a small pop and gave him the other before he could whine.

“Don’t eat too much at one time. Chocolate can have a laxative effect on babies.”

“I’ll try to restrain myself.”

“Well, then, I’ll let you two have a nice visit.” Mrs. Olivier twisted her fine-boned hands together. She couldn’t seem to take her dark and beautifully made-up eyes off the exposed breast that still dribbled milk. Finally, she handed Anaise an embroidered hankie and retreated from the room.

Anaise put the hankie over the leaking breast. “It is a messy business. Hector isn’t too pleased about having the baby in the room, either, though he couldn’t be prouder of his son—the next governor of Louisiana, he says—after the boy plays football for Tulane, of course.”

Roz nodded her understanding. Her father had said similar things about his lost sons. His girls were going to be queens of the Mardi Gras. She didn’t wish it on Roxie.

“Anaise, I need your help with a small problem.” Roz took a seat on a little gold and white boudoir chair and lifted the basket onto her lap.

“I delivered this child last night to one of the girls out at Broussard’s Barn.” Roz parted the covering so the tiny, delicate face and tight curls of the baby could be seen. “Her name is Innocent DeVille.”

Anaise’s glowing color drained from her face. “Is it Heck’s child? Did he betray me so soon?”

“No. I’m sorry I blurted it out that way. The baby belongs to Denny. The mother is colored, very light-skinned, barely eighteen. Her name is Kitty Brown. If I don’t do something fast, she’ll end up prostituting herself out at the Barn, and the child will have to go to the Children’s Home. The mayor must have influence with old Wally Broussard. Could you ask him to find them a place? Every socialite needs a good cause to support, my mother always said.”

“Couldn’t mine be eradicating polio or some other awful disease?” Anaise shifted Lionel to her shoulder and patted his back until he released a manly belch.

“Young women forced into prostitution because they had an illegitimate child are worse than a disease. And, you might do something for Eloise Elmo, too, while you’re at it. I think she’d like to get out of the business, but doesn’t know how.”

“How could I possibly help Eloise or this Kitty?”

“Didn’t you say your father-in-law and husband would give me anything I asked right after your son was born? Are you going back on that?”

“No, of course not. The Oliviers and the DeVilles never renege on a promise,” Anaise said with a hint of the old imperial attitude in her voice.

“Good. Then, here’s something that will help them to do the right thing. Dennis DeVille was named as the father of this child, and that’s the name I plan to file on the birth certificate. You know how gossip like this gets around in a small town. The sooner they settle Kitty and the baby elsewhere, the sooner the talk will die down. Now, I will leave Innocent here with you. There is a jar of formula and her nursing bottle in the basket. If you need more, call me.”

“That won’t be necessary. If the men balk, I’ll threaten to nurse the child myself. I bet they won’t be able to get out to the Barn fast enough to retrieve the mother.”

“Why, you cunning rebel, you. I can just see it now—The Anaise DeVille Home for Unwed Mothers.”

“How about the Anaise DeVille Sanctuary for Reformed Prostitutes?”

Roz threw back her head and laughed. The release of tension felt so good after the events of last evening. “That’s the spirit. Call if you need reinforcements.”

Roz left the DeVille mansion empty-handed. Feeling light and happy, she bounced along in her sensible white shoes and barely turned her head when a car stopped next to her. Pierre Landry leaned across the front seat and opened the door. “May I offer you a ride somewhere?”

“No. I’m only walking back to the boarding house, and the rain has stopped.”

“I thought you might need to take that baby you delivered last night over to the Children’s Home in Lafayette. I heard you cheated me out of a fee.”

“Already? My, word does spread fast in Chapelle. Who told you—your favorite hooker, Eloise?”

“Get in the car.”

“I think not. I have my reputation to consider.”

“Get in the car if you want an explanation.”

“No need to explain to me. Men have their needs is what I’ve always heard.”

Pierre glanced up and down the street, empty on this dreary April day. He lowered his voice. “Yes, they do, and I was taught early to take mine to the kind of woman who got paid to take care of them after Papa caught me with Susu Theriot. If her baby hadn’t been the image of Otto Muller when it was born, I might have been the youngest married man in all of Chapelle. As it was, I worked extra hard for Doc Spivey to earn a little pleasure money. As my mama said, any decent girl that gives it away is looking to trap a husband.”

“Is that so? Then, I couldn’t possibly ride with you. What would people say?”

“Forget I ever offered. Wally called me out to the Barn to examine the mother. He wanted to know when she would be fit to work.”

“I hope you told him never.”

“You did a good delivery, Roz. No tearing. No sign of infection.”

“The baby was small. I’m arranging a home for her and the mother.”

“That should cause a stir. The girls rarely escape from Broussard’s Barn. I gave Eloise train fare once, and she returned it to me when I was called out to set her broken arm. Be very careful, Roz.”

Roz shivered though the day wasn’t particularly cold. “I don’t think that’s in my nature, Pierre, but thanks for your concern.”

She slammed the door decisively and watched the doctor drive away without his knowing how much she had wanted to accept that ride.