After returning to the townhouse from the duel, Jason had fallen into fitful sleep. He awoke early the next morning, Harve standing in the doorway, staring at him.
“Something the matter?” he asked.
“Yassuh,” he said. “Will you wake young master Matthieu for me?”
Harve tapped his toe in a nervous cadence.
“What’s the matter?” Jason asked.
“I do not know, Suh. I will remain outside.”
Jason dragged himself out of bed, went to the porcelain basin, and washed his face. After dressing, he found Harve waiting in the hallway.
“Please bring the young master downstairs to the kitchen.”
Jason could smell Creole coffee and chicory as it wafted up the stairway. His growling stomach caused him to remember he’d missed dinner the previous night. He wondered how Harve, supposedly the servant, always managed to give orders. He just smiled and shook his head as the old man limped down the stairs.
Jason entered Matthieu’s room without knocking and found him, under the covers, a smile on his face as if he were in the throes of a pleasant dream. Though Harve’s request had sounded ominous, Jason hated to wake him.
“Matthieu,” he said. When he didn’t respond, he patted his face with the palm of his hand. “Matthieu, you have to wake up.”
Matthieu’s eyes opened, and he looked first at Jason, and then at the curtain on his window before turning over and covering his head with a pillow.
“What is the problem? I just got to sleep,” he said.
“Something’s come up.”
Matthieu turned over and stared at Jason.
“Like what?”
“Either Harve doesn’t know, or else he wouldn’t tell me. Whichever, he was quite adamant that something is wrong.”
Matthieu rolled out of bed. “The duel last night. Patenaude has retaliated.”
“How could he have done that?”
“He is cunning and had all night to think of a plan.”
Seeing that Matthieu was up, Jason went outside to the hall.
“I’ll be downstairs,” he said. “Last night’s duel has left me famished.”
Matthieu was dressing as the door slammed with a resounding thud. Five minutes later, he joined Jason in the kitchen. No one was smiling, a circumstance that didn’t go unnoticed.
“Harve, what has happened?”
The old man shook his head. “Eat your breakfast, Master Matthieu, and then I will tell you all I know.”
Jason didn’t stop eating when Matthieu appeared. A lemon yellow tignon covered most of Sarah’s hair, a frilled apron strapped around her guinea blue dress. She handed Matthieu a cup of coffee, steam still wafting from its brim.
“Sit, Master Matthieu. I have calas and sausage for your breakfast.”
Realizing no one was going to tell him anything until he’d eaten, Matthieu dug into Sarah’s tasty cuisine. Jason didn’t have to ask for seconds, more food appearing on his plate almost as soon as he’d finished his first helping. Harve stood behind them through the entire meal, not speaking until they’d finished.
“Gaston has the carriage ready, Master Matthieu. After you and Master Jason get dressed, you are summoned back to the plantation.”
“But I was not planning to leave New Orleans until New Year’s Day,” Matthieu said. “Why must we go today?”
Harve glanced at the ceiling. “I do not know, only that it is urgent that you go immediately.”
After breakfast, Matthieu met Jason in the hallway outside their rooms.
“What’s going on?” Jason asked. “You think it has something to do with last night?”
“I do not know although there is one thing I am sure of. Harve and everyone else here do.”
Gaston was waiting for them in the phaeton on the street outside the townhouse, Harve, dressed in a winter coat and hat, by his side.
“I have also been summoned to the plantation,” he said.
Although the weather wasn’t cold, there was an extra nip in the air because of rampant humidity. Gray clouds draped the sky, geese, flying to a barrier island where they spent the winter, raising the noise level above them. Matthieu didn’t bother glancing skyward.
When a light mist began to fall, Gaston stopped by the side of the road, lifting the lid on the carriage. The horse’s hooves clattered on cobblestone as they reached the outskirts of New Orleans and headed south on the unpaved road following the river.
Jason glanced out the window, marveling at the sailing sloops, sternwheelers, and trading vessels of another era. He also noticed the lack of levees existing in modern-day New Orleans. When the river flooded, it left nutrient rich soil and made the banks of the river an ideal place to grow cotton and other crops. The fields and stately plantation homes they passed were witnesses to the importance of the giant waterway. The horse was moving the light carriage along at a spritely clip, a cold gust blowing through the open windows.
“Don’t you have a heater in this thing?” Jason asked.
“I beg your pardon,” Matthieu said.
“Never mind,” Jason said, pulling the collar up around his neck. “How far is it to the plantation?”
“Not far. Less than an hour by carriage.”
“What’s it like?”
“Big, pretentious expensive trappings imported from Paris. Objects of art.”
“Your words are a bit facetious. Surely you love something about the plantation.”
Matthieu smiled as he glanced at the ceiling. “My mother’s garden of roses. When the weather is hot, and roses are blooming, the fragrance sends you to another place and time.”
“You must really love your mother,” Jason said.
“She is a kind, caring, and beautiful individual.”
“And your father?”
“You glimpsed him at the slave market. He is an uncaring pig. My mother does not deserve his constant abuse.”
“If she had not married him, you wouldn’t be here.”
Matthieu closed his eyes before answering. “She loves him in a way I cannot understand.”
“He must have some good qualities,” Jason said.
“He has no regard for human suffering. He cares only for himself.”
“Did he hurt you?”
“Only by his lack of attention. I once craved it. It never came, and I learned to live without it.”
When the carriage slowed to negotiate a low-water bridge, a snowy egret lifted out of the water, rising in a billowing of wings. Matthieu grew silent as he stared out the window.
“You’re worried, aren’t you?” Jason said.
“Something is wrong.”
“How can you be so sure?”
“Harve, Sarah, Arlette, and Gaston. I could see it in their eyes, and Harve has never traveled to the plantation on my carriage. He and Arlette always come later,”
“If they know something, then why didn’t they tell you?”
Matthieu turned away from the window, his long hair blowing in a sudden draft of chilled air.
“It is cold,” he said. “Good thing we are nearing the plantation.”
“I apologize for asking so many personal questions. I sincerely hope there’s nothing wrong.”
Matthieu patted Jason’s hand. “You are a loyal friend. I did not thank you for saving my life last night. I would not be here if it were not for you.”
“We are both lucky Raynard had the dueling pistols. I was impressed with your fencing skills.”
“I told you I studied in Paris,” Matthieu said. “Last night was the first real duel I ever fought.”
Jason nodded. “And almost your last.”
A riverboat, loaded with cotton, passed on the river, blowing its horn when Gaston and Harve waved. Its wake disturbed a flock of geese swimming near shore.
“I know it rarely gets cold in south Louisiana. Is cotton still growing?”
Matthieu shook his head. “Texas cotton, stored in warehouses until riverboats arrive to purchase it.”
“Riverboats can travel to Texas from the Mississippi?”
“Up the Red River to the Port of Jefferson, in eastern Texas. Some say Texas cotton is better than ours.”
“That must not make you very happy.”
“I am not involved in the family business, though it has my father worried. He spends money as if he were the richest person in New Orleans.”
“And he isn’t?”
“Not anymore.”
Their dialogue finally drew into silence, Jason dozing, opening his eyes when he sensed the carriage was no longer moving. A man opened the gate for them to pass. The path wound through giant oaks, their bare branches draping to the top of the carriage. At the slave shanties, people gathered on the front porches. When they rounded a bend in the road, a two-storied mansion appeared before them. Gaston stopped the carriage in front of a large house.
“Welcome to the Willows, the largest and most opulent plantation on the Mississippi River,” Matthieu said.
“Magnificent!” Jason said.
It seemed as if the whole plantation had showed for Matthieu’s homecoming. Kitchen staff, butlers, maids, and field hands alike, all dressed in their Sunday best, occupied the covered veranda and the yard around it. The arrival quickly became a hug fest, Matthieu embracing almost everyone in the crowd.
Jason noticed that more than a few people had tears in their eyes. A well-dressed black man finally grabbed Matthieu’s arm, leading him across the veranda to the front door. When they reached it, he turned to the crowd, speaking in a booming voice.
“Thank you for welcoming young master Matthieu back home.”
Before the ornate doors shut behind them, Jason heard the hymn they had begun to sing. Matthieu embraced the man.
“Royce, this is my good friend Jason Fasempaur.”
Royce’s hand gripped Jason. “It is a pleasure to meet you, Monsieur Fasempaur,” he said.
“The pleasure is mine. But please, it’s just Jason.”
Once beyond the ornate entrance to the house, Jason saw how vast and magnificent it was. Two beautiful crystal chandeliers hung from the tall ceiling. Oriental rugs topped polished mahogany floors, and French art hung from frocked wallpapered walls.
A winding staircase led to the second story. Fully a dozen wait staff of both sexes greeted them with tears. Matthieu was in his own little world, apparently looking for his mother or father. Neither was present, and his concern was palpable. Harve had joined Royce, and they exchanged a passing glance when the young man spoke.
“Royce, where are my parents?”
“Your mother waits upstairs.”
“Then take me to her.”
The slave hymn continued as they climbed the stairs, the group entering a large bedroom. A woman was lying in the four-poster, canopy bed, three women positioned around her.
“Royce, what are these women doing?”
“Watching your mother, Master Matthieu.”
“For what reason?”
“To prevent her from harming herself,” he said.
“Why would she do that?”
Harve backed out of the room. “I am sorry, Master Matthieu. You must ask her that question yourself.”
“Jason, this is my mother Mathilde.”
Seeing her red eyes, Jason only nodded. Mathilde was a woman of about fifty years of age, not fat but big-boned. Beneath her knitted sleep cap, she had her son’s dark hair. She also had his blue eyes. Jason could see the resemblance and realized why Matthieu was six inches taller than his father was. When Matthieu clutched her hand, she began to weep, and it was several minutes before she could speak.
“Mother, what has happened?” Matthieu asked.
“Your father,” she said. “He has killed himself.”
Seeing his mother was too distraught to explain, Matthieu glanced at Royce for answers.
“Please, you must tell me what happened. Did my father commit suicide?”
Royce nodded. “Yes sir, he did.”
“Where?”
Royce glanced at the far wall of the bedroom. Seeing his eyes, Matthieu touched a smear of blood.
“The wallpaper will have to be changed,” Royce said.
“Was my mother here when he did this?”
Royce nodded again. “She will not tell us what he said to her.”
Matthieu returned to his mother’s bed and took her hand.
“Why would he do such a thing, and why do it in front of you.”
Her tears began flowing again. “I did not know your father was so deeply in debt. The bank in New Orleans had a mortgage on the plantation. This morning, they informed him they had called the note. We have only thirty days to vacate the property.”
“What about the money in the bank? Was that not enough to cover the debt?”
Matthieu’s mother hung her head, mother and son embracing for what seemed like an eternity.
“I will talk with the banker,” he said. “There must be a reason for them to call the loan. This plantation has always been profitable.”
Mathilde stared at the bed. “That is not all.”
“Tell me.”
“He said he had never loved me, and had only married me because of your grandfather’s name and fortune. He said he hated the sight of me, and the idea of touching me made him sick. He blamed all his untimely luck on me, and then put the gun to his head and pulled the trigger.”
Matthieu embraced her until her tears subsided.
“The man was a pig,” he said. “If he had not done the job already, after hearing what he said to you, I would have killed him myself.”
“Please, Matthieu,” she said. “Do not say such things about your father.”
“My father no longer. From this point in time, I condemn him. Will you be all right?”
“I will never again be all right.”
Matthieu pulled away from her grasp. “I must return to the city and put our affairs in order. Prissy will stay with you until I return.”
“No!” she said, grabbing his hand. “I have something I must show you and everyone else must leave the room.”
Matthieu turned to Royce. “Can you give us a moment alone?”
“Of course, Master Matthieu,” he said, nodding for everyone to follow him.
“Jason can stay,” Mathilde said.
When everyone left the room, Mathilde got out of bed, proceeding to the far wall to the picture of a man. Matthieu touched the frame.
“It is nailed to the wall,” he said.
“No, it isn’t,” Jason said. Grabbing the portrait, he gave it a push, and a counter-clockwise twist. The painting came loose in his hands, revealing a small safe. “A French wall safe. The combination?”
“10 right, 30 left, and 21 right,” Mathilde said. “Your birthday.”
When Matthieu nodded, Jason turned the dial, watching as the door opened effortlessly. Mathilde reached into the safe, withdrawing a large stack of money.
“Prissy and Royce helped me hide this from your father. Now it is up to you to save the plantation, and all those that love you.”
“I will do my best.”
Royce opened the door as if anticipating the exact moment to do so.
“Are you okay, Madam Mathilde?”
Mathilde returned to her bed. “I am now, Royce. Son, travel with God.”
They exchanged a wordless embrace. Jason and Royce followed Matthieu to the door, Harve waiting for them on the other side.
“I am sorry we could not tell you what had happened, Master Matthieu,” he said. “Gaston awaits with the carriage and fresh horse.”
Matthieu patted his wrist. “Saddle two fast horses. Jason and I have no time for the carriage.”
Harve grabbed his wrist and squeezed. “Master Matthieu. Please do not forsake us.”
“Only if my heart ceases to beat before I succeed. Take care of my mother until I return.”