A December chill had fallen on the French Quarter, vapor blowing from the horse’s nostrils as he pulled the carriage onto the cobblestone path leading to Esplanade Avenue. Matthieu and Jason were no happier to be out on a blustery night than the horse, or the driver of the carriage. It didn’t matter. Matthieu was set on visiting New Orleans’ most famous hoodoo man, and Jason bent on finding out why. At least Gaston had raised the roof on the phaeton.
They turned on Bayou Road, the oldest thoroughfare in New Orleans. The Indian path leading from the Mississippi River to Lake Pontchartrain had been there long before the city existed. The reason Jean-Baptiste Le Moyne de Bienville had chosen the area that would become the city of New Orleans. Gaston slowed the carriage when he reached a house occupying much of a large tract of land.
Gaston was old, squat, and walked with a noticeable limp from where a horse had kicked him, shattering his leg. After hitching this horse to the cast iron railing, he helped his two passengers out of the carriage.
Unlike Gaston, Matthieu looked regal with no effort. His polished boots, silk pants, top hat, and greatcoat custom tailored in France marked him as one of the city’s elite.
“Will you be long, Monsieur Courtmanche?” Gaston asked.
“I hope not, but please wait for us if we are.”
Matthieu’s comment brought a smile to the old man, knowing he was going nowhere until his young master returned no matter how long it took.
The house they approached was much larger than Matthieu’s townhouse, a replica of a Haitian plantation, complete with an encircling porch and slanting roof to protect it from spring rains and summer heat. A woman of color answered the cypress and cut glass door.
“Monsieur Courtmanche. Doctor John waits.
The turban topping the young woman’s head failed to hide the curly locks protruding from the edges. She looked almost white in the room’s faint light, her indigo dress only heightening the illusion. Lips and dark eyes required no makeup. Golden ear hoops draped almost to her graceful shoulders. Jason couldn’t stop staring at her, but her own smiling eyes were only for Matthieu as he clutched her hand.
“Latitia, is that you?” Jason finally asked, breaking their momentary trance.
“Sorry, Monsieur. My name is Elise. Please come with me.”
They followed her through the entryway, into a large, living area, burning logs popping in the brick fireplace. Matthieu blinked, his eyes adjusting to the dimness, the room lighted only by flaming logs, and the smoky radiance of a single coal oil lantern.
The temperature in the room was comfortable following their unheated carriage ride. Children were playing jacks on the polished floor in front of the fire. At least five women of various ages lounged on chairs and divans. Some were knitting and one shelling peas. They were talking, seemingly unmindful of the two men’s appearance.
Doctor John reportedly had many wives and more than fifty children. The women and children in the living room did little to contradict what most citizens probably thought was only rumor. Elise stopped outside a closed door unlike either of them had ever seen. Voodoo symbols decorated its thick glass. An ephemeral glow emanated from within.
“Wait here,” she said. “I will see if Doctor John is ready to receive you.”
When the door closed behind her, Matthieu cupped his hand, whispering something to Jason.
“Did you and Elise already met?”
“Why?”
“Your expression when she shook your hand.”
“Maybe in another lifetime.”
“I know the feeling. I am wracking my brain trying to remember if I ever met her. Though I think I have, I cannot remember where or when.”
Jason already knew where. Elise was the mirror image of Latitia Boiset. Telling Matthieu would serve no purpose, even if he believed him.
“Maybe you went to school with her,” he said.
“Not possible. She is a free woman of color, or would not be living in this house. From the lightness of her skin, she has more than a fair amount of French and Spanish blood. Most likely a quadroon.”
“A what?” Jason asked.
“Someone no more than a quarter black. Beautiful enough to be a rich man’s wife.”
“Is that allowed?”
Matthieu shook his head. “Racially diverse women are forbidden from marrying white men.”
“We need to talk about racial diversity when we return to the real world,” Jason said beneath his breath.
“What did you say?”
“Nothing.”
Matthieu ignored Jason’s comment. “I wonder if Elise is one of Doctor John’s wives.”
Elise opened the door before Jason could answer. “You may enter,” she said.
As she held the door to Doctor John’s office for them, she glanced one last time at Matthieu before shutting the door behind her. The room was dimmer than the rest of the house. The hoodoo man waiting for them.
“You like Elise. I can tell,” he said.
“She is dazzling,” Matthieu said. “Your wife?”
“Daughter.”
New Orleans’ most powerful hoodoo priest, sat on the floor in front of them. Ceremonial scars on his forehead, neck and shoulders seemed to guarantee he was telling the truth about being a Senegalese prince.
“When my Cuban master set me free, I came to New Orleans on a ship,” he said, answering their unasked question. “I worked as a longshoreman until people began noticing my other skills. Now, the wealthy citizens of New Orleans pay serious money for my services.”
“We can tell as much from the size of your house and all your valuable possessions,” Jason said.
The room was like a voodoo museum, animal and human skulls occupying space on the walls, bottles of unlabeled herbs and pickled scorpions populating shelves and tables. A live scorpion caught Jason’s eye as it crawled up the wall. Doctor John didn’t seem to notice. Several black candles burned on the voodoo altar dominating the far wall. A giant boa constrictor coiled around his master’s arms, its tail draping the floor.
“Don’t be afraid. This is my baby.”
“I’ve never seen a snake quite so big,” Matthieu said.
The voodoo man grinned. “She won’t eat you.”
“I hope I never have to find out,” Matthieu said.
“You are from New Orleans. Your friend is not.”
“I told you, I’m visiting from Paris,” Jason said.
Doctor John gazed into his eyes. “I suspect you are from someplace other than Paris. Monsieur Matthieu, you want gris gris to protect you and your family from Yellow John. I think there are other reasons.”
Wondering if the voodoo man could read minds, Matthieu said, “Such as?”
“You are curious about your future.”
“Aren’t we all?” Jason asked.
“Sometimes the future is best untold.”
Doctor John stroked his pet snake when Matthieu said, “Then maybe you can just tell us the good news.”
“The future often holds good news. Knowing what is about to happen in your life does not come without consequences, sometimes dire. You have something for Doctor John?” he said, holding out his hand.
Matthieu took a leather pouch from his greatcoat, handing it to the hoodoo man. When Doctor John loosened the leather strap and dumped the contents into his hand, coins flashed in the light of the ceremonial flame.
“For my services, I require only one gold coin,” he said, returning the rest to the pouch. “But I need something else from you. Bend down.”
With a knife, he sliced a snippet from Matthieu’s hair. A colorful African rug lay in front of the altar, and he motioned them to join him on it. Taking Matthieu’s hair, he attached it to a straw doll with a piece of twine. Adding aromatic wood to the pyre, he placed the figure in a cup carved from ebony. After pouring a secret concoction over the hair, he voiced a magical incantation, and then lighted it with sparks radiating from the tips of his fingers.
Fire and smoke snaked toward the ceiling. From a pouch retrieved from the altar, he poured a handful of small bones into his hand, topping them with ashes from the charred voodoo doll. After shuffling the bones and ashes in his palms, he tossed them on the rug. He didn’t speak as he stared intently at the bones.
“What do you see?” Jason asked.
“Tell us,” Matthieu said.
Doctor John rested his head on the snake before answering. “The threat of death lurks in your shadows. By tomorrow, your family will be cursed.”
“How can you be so sure?” Matthieu asked.
“The bones never lie.”
“Then what can I do?”
“Nothing. Your destiny is sealed. Forget the gris gris. You won’t need it now.”
“Has Matthieu been cursed?” Jason asked.
“I know nothing of a curse,” the hoodoo man replied.
Doctor John extinguished the black candle on the altar, and then returned the bones to their pouch. The python slithered off his shoulders, disappearing into a dark corner. Seeing their meeting was ended, Jason pulled Matthieu to his feet and pointed him to the door.
“Should I be frightened?” Matthieu asked.
“I think he’s full of hot air,” Jason said as the voodoo door closed behind them.
Elise was waiting for them, taking Matthieu’s hand.
“Are you coming to the ball tonight?” she asked.
“I know nothing about it.”
“The Quadroon Ball,” she said. “Mother wants to find a suitable gentleman for me to enter into a plaçage agreement with. It would please me immensely if you attended.”
“What time and where?”
“A large building near Rue Bourbon and Orleans. The ball has started. I am late.”
Matthieu kissed her hand. “Then look for me. I will be there.”
Gaston was asleep in front of the carriage, jumping when they awakened him. After unhitching the horse, he headed towards Esplanade Avenue.
“We must return to the townhouse and change clothes so we can attend the ball,” Matthieu said.
“But what about Doctor John’s prophesy?”
“What about it?”
“Aren’t you even the least bit worried?”
Seeing the unease in Jason’s eyes, Matthieu tapped his shoulder.
“I am not a superstitious person. It does not matter because Elise is the most beautiful woman I have ever met in my life. I am going to the ball, and you are coming with me.”
Jason gripped his hand as the city’s gaslights loomed ahead. “Pal, I’m with you all the way.”
###
Gaston drove them to the townhouse where they changed into tight pants, ruffled silk shirts, and tailored waistcoats. Jason’s boots were new and stiff, and he groaned as he pulled them on his feet.
“Hope we don’t have to do any dancing,” he said.
“Stop complaining. Those boots are of the finest leather. Within an hour, they will fit your feet perfectly.”
“Promises,” Jason said. “You’re looking forward to this.”
Matthieu smiled and stared at the ceiling. “I feel I have known Elise all my life.”
“What exactly is plaçage?”
“White men cannot marry a woman that has as much as a taint of Negro blood. It does not, however, prevent them from taking a free woman of color as a mistress.”
“This is condoned?”
“Plaçage is the contractual agreement between parents of the woman and the person taking her as his mistress.”
“But you don’t need a mistress. You’re not married,” Jason said.
“No, but most of the men attending these balls are.”
“What’s in it for the women?”
“Home, money, a place in the community, and their children often prosper in the local society.”
“So plaçage is a contract?”
“A written agreement stating what each party will provide in the relationship.”
Jason straightened his silk shirt. “Sounds like marriage to me. Bet the men’s wives aren’t enamored with the arrangement.”
“I do not have a wife and perhaps never will. If I had one, I would never take a mistress.”
“Are you thinking of taking Elise as a mistress?” Jason asked.
Matthieu finished straightening his own tie. “Who knows? The ball sounds like fun, and there is at least one beautiful woman waiting to see me. Can we not just go and enjoy ourselves?”
“I’m with you, pal,” Jason said. “And I hope you’re right about these boots because right now they feel like hell.”
By the time they reached the ball, Jason had forgotten he was wearing boots. The street was jammed with carriages, picking up people and letting them off.
“I will park as close as I can, Master Matthieu.”
“Thanks, Gaston. I have no idea how late we will be.”
“I will be waiting.”
A man at the front door smiled when Matthieu handed him the fee charged to enter the ballroom. Music from a string quartet wafted out the door. Young men dressed in their finest, many brandishing swords, filled the lobby, smoking, drinking, and laughing as they took a break from the festivities. Matthieu and Jason walked past them. The spectacle inside the ballroom was more than Jason had anticipated.
Dozens of eloquently dressed men and women occupied the high-ceilinged ballroom illuminated by crystal chandeliers. Every man in the room, with the exception of the waiters dispensing drinks, was white. Skin coloration of the young women ranged from cafe au lait to pearly white. Each was vying as the belle of the ball, their fancy coifs decorated with plumes, tiaras, and jewels. Matthieu glanced at Jason with a smile.
“What’s so funny?” Jason asked.
“Every female here is breaking the law. Women of color are prohibited from wearing anything in their hair except a tignon.”
“Tignon?”
“Headscarf. Arlette and Sarah were both wearing one.”
“So much for the law,” Jason said. “Do you see Elise?”
“Not yet.”
“Let’s hit the refreshment table. We can look for her on the way.”
As they waded through the crowd, a young woman in a burgundy dress winked at Jason and then hid her smiling face with a decorative fan. Jason nodded as they continued through the noisy crowd. Matthieu paid no attention.
“I see her,” he said.
Elise also saw them. Pulling away from the young man she was talking to, she hurried through the crowd toward them. Dressed in a baby blue gown, her dark curls draped to her bare shoulders as she kissed Matthieu.
“I was afraid you would not come,” she said.
“No chance of that happening. We would have been here sooner, but Jason was complaining about his boots.”
Elise turned and curtsied. “I’m thankful you brought Matthieu, despite your tight boots.”
“Actually, they feel fantastic. I’ve never worn such a comfortable pair.”
“For that I am happy. Would you like to dance, Monsieur Matthieu?”
“Of course,” he said.
Jason watched the enamored couple move through the crowded throng toward a group of couples dancing in front of the ensemble. Taking a glass of wine from a passing waiter, he tried to keep from making eye contact with the many flirtatious women. He wheeled around when someone behind him spoke.
“Afraid you will see something you like?”
It was Raynard, one of the musketeers. Like Jason, he was dressed to the nines.
“Good to see you, Raynard. Where are your two comrades?”
“They prefer the looseness of tavern wenches rather than committing to an arrangement with a woman of color, no matter how beautiful and beguiling.”
“Maybe I should join them,” Jason said. “I’m only here for a short stay and can’t afford to get too attached.”
“Then you came to the right place,” Raynard said. “You will have to sign a contract before you bed any of these fine ladies.”
“Is that your intention?”
Raynard smiled. “I have had my eye on a particular damsel for quite some time now. I think I am ready for a commitment.”
“You and Matthieu both. He’s dancing with the most beautiful woman at the ball and looks as if he is already committed.”
“When did he meet her?”
“About an hour ago.”
“Time spirals when you are in love,” Raynard said.
When the song ended, Matthieu pulled Elise to him, venturing a kiss to her forehead. She didn’t protest, pressing even closer to him. Matthieu’s smile disappeared when he saw a man staring at them across the crowded room. He thought he recognized the frowning man but couldn’t put a name to his face. When he returned his gaze to Elise, he saw she was crying.
“What is the matter?”
“My mother just informed me that a gentleman has inquired about me and that they have entered into a plaçage agreement.”
Matthieu continued holding her hands, staring into her dark eyes.
“Tell her no. We need time to explore our feelings for each other.”
“I have no control over the matter.”
“Of course you do. It is your life.”
“In that respect, Monsieur Matthieu, I am afraid you are wrong. I have no choice except to enter into the relationship. Unless...”
“Unless what?” Matthieu asked.
Elise drew closer to him. “Unless I have already lost my virginity.”
“Have you?”
“Not yet, but you could help me accomplish that task.”
She nodded when he said, “You mean right now?”
“There is an empty room upstairs. If we hurry, no one will pay any attention to us.”
###
“The quartet is taking a break, everyone going out to the lobby to smoke and talk,” Raynard said. “Join me?”
Jason glanced at the crowd on the dance floor, not seeing Matthieu and Elise.
“I better wait for Matthieu.”
“He will be along shortly,” Raynard said. “These breaks offer suitors time to talk with mothers and decide on their plaçage terms.
Jason didn’t seem convinced.
“You sure?” he said.
The two sexes had begun separating, young men heading toward the lobby to the rustle of the departing women’s flowing gowns.
“Trust me,” Raynard said. “He will join us soon.”