Charissa leaned back in the carriage, listening as Matthew Denton spoke of the sermon that they’d just heard. From time to time, she glanced at him, noting the strong jawline and the healthy glow of his face. He was not handsome but roughly attractive, and as he spoke, she thought of how strange it was that she should be riding along in a carriage—she who had not been a Christian only a year ago—with such a devout man.
“So, I agree with the pastor that there is such a thing as election. I’m not certain that it’s quite as prominent as he seems to make it.”
“What’s your opinion of election and predestination?”
“Well,” Matthew said slowly, “I think God is sovereign. He can do anything He pleases, but I think He chooses certain people such as Paul, for example. The Scripture says that he was a chosen vessel, but the pastor seems to think that Paul had no choice at all, that God simply made him become an apostle. I can’t quite believe that.” He turned to her and smiled warmly. “I think we’ve all got wills of our own.”
Charissa agreed and sat contentedly as the horses clopped along the cobblestone streets. She enjoyed Matthew Denton’s company. He was the son of a prominent businessman, who owned a large hardware store and a plantation just north of the city. Charissa and Matthew had met after church services, and he had driven her home several times.
He was a straightforward young man; he always said what was on the top of his mind. Charissa could tell that he was contemplating something, and she asked, “What are you thinking about, Matthew?”
“I’m thinking about you.”
“That’s flattering.”
“I’m wondering if you’ve ever thought about me as a man you might marry.”
Charissa was stunned. She could see in his large blue eyes that he was serious. “Why, I never thought of it, Matthew.”
“I’m asking you now to think of it. I’ve grown very fond of you, Charissa.”
“But you don’t know anything about me.”
“I know you’re a fine Christian young woman. I know you’re smart, because you’re a nurse. I know we get along real well.”
“But that’s not enough to make a marriage.”
“I’m just asking you to think about it.” He smiled and looked very boyish. “I’d make a good husband. You’d never know meanness from me.”
Charissa took a deep breath and said, “Matthew, I need to tell you something. You may know it already, but if you don’t, you should.”
“Know what, Charissa?”
“I’m a quadroon, Matthew.”
Denton looked at her, lifting his eyebrows. “I never knew that.”
“You need to know also that I was born a slave. For a while, I was the property of New Orleans people. Their name is Madariaga.”
“Alfredo Madariaga?”
“Yes, I was his daughter’s maid for a few years.”
“No, I didn’t know anything about that.” Denton held the lines loosely in his hands as the horses pulled the carriage along at a fast clip. “You don’t look like it. Why, your skin is whiter than mine.”
“I am, though. My mother was a slave. So, you see, that makes a difference.”
“Not to me.”
His guilelessness was both amusing and sad to Charissa. “It would make a difference to your family,” she said.
Denton shook his head. “I don’t think it would, but it doesn’t matter to me.”
Charissa felt affection for the young man, but nothing more. “In any case, I don’t intend to marry for a long time—if ever. I may give my whole life to medicine.”
“That wouldn’t be good. You need to have a husband and a family.”
“I’m not sure that will ever happen to me. Matthew, please, I wish you wouldn’t speak of this again.”
Denton was silent for a moment, then shook his head. “I can’t promise that, Charissa. I’ve grown mighty fond of you.”
“I had an offer of marriage yesterday, Jefferson.”
Charissa was sipping her coffee after breakfast. Debakky had left early, and she and Jeff had lingered over the meal, talking about the work at the hospital. They had spoken for some time about the yellow fever that was relentlessly attacking the city. Charissa had not really intended to tell Jeff of Denton’s words, and now she saw that her news affected him strongly. He sat up straighter, and alarm showed in his eyes.
“An offer of marriage? Who was it from?”
“Matthew Denton.”
“Is he the one whose people own the hardware store?”
“Yes, and a very large plantation somewhere.”
Jeff began to fidget. He picked up the saltshaker and rolled it around in his hand, staring at it. He was clearly troubled.
Charissa was mildly amused. She had not cared for any of the young men who had called on her, yet Jeff put them all through a strict grilling process. Many of them never bothered to call a second time.
“I’ll make it a point to talk to him.”
“Oh, I’m sure he’ll meet all your standards.”
“My standards?”
“Yes. You interrogate all my suitors, wanting to know if they’re worthy of me or not.”
“I’m going to continue to do it!” Jeff said almost stridently. “I have to look out for you, Charissa.”
“I’m sure you’ll find Matthew qualified. He’s going to be one of the deacons in the church. He’s already been chosen. Did you know that?”
“No, I didn’t.”
“He’s very active on the mission board also. He’s always in church. Never misses a service.”
“That’s a good thing.”
“He’s a savvy businessman too. His family’s got money, and he’s a hard worker. Would that meet your standards?”
“Don’t talk as if I were some kind of a judge, Charissa!”
“That’s what you are, Jefferson. You always question those poor young fellows like an ogre.”
“I do not!”
“Yes, you do,” she said calmly. “What if you wanted to court a young woman, and her father grilled you like that?”
“I’d admire him for it,” Jeff said, holding his head up high. “It would be his duty.”
“I think you’ll have a hard time disqualifying Matthew. He’s highly sought after by many young ladies—and by their mothers, I might add.”
“What did he say to you?”
“I don’t think I should reveal any confidence.”
“Did you agree to marry him?”
“Not until after he passes his examination with you.”
Jeff flushed. He realized that she was teasing him, which she often did. “Tell me straight out. Do you care for him?”
“I like him very much, but I don’t want to marry him. Jeff, you’re funny.”
“I don’t mean to be,” he said stiffly. “The truth is, I just want the best for you, Charissa, and—” He hesitated, then smiled. “The truth is, I’d miss you if you were to marry. I’d hate that.”
Charissa was silent for a moment, then asked, “What do you think will happen to us when you marry?”
Jeff stared at her. “Why, we’d go on, just as we are.”
His remark was bittersweet. “You are so naive!” Charissa moaned, shaking her head. “I’m constantly shocked at how much you know about medicine and how little you know about people.”
“What are you talking about? Of course we’d go on as we are.”
“Jefferson, what wife would want a young woman around? I will leave when you marry.”
Jeff considered her statement. He could not think of a thing to say, and Charissa said, “Just give me plenty of warning. That’s all I ask.” She smiled and saw that he was speechless. “For once in your life, you don’t have any answers. Now I know how to handle you when you get rambunctious.”
Later that morning, before they left, Jeff waited in the kitchen for Charissa to finish dressing and join him in the buggy for the ride to the hospital. Rose was working about the kitchen as he drank his coffee, and he told her, “Charissa had an offer of marriage.”
“I’m not surprised at that. I’m just surprised she hasn’t married already. She’s such a beautiful young woman.”
“I don’t think she should marry him.”
“Is he a bad man?”
“Well, no.”
“Is he a good man?”
“From all I hear, he is.”
Rose Bozonnier, the housekeeper, was an astute woman, and she saw that the doctor was troubled. She knew why. She remarked, “She’s going to make a wonderful wife, Dr. Whitman. She’s compassionate, she’s smart, and she’s good-natured. She’s everything that a man could want. Why, she’d make a perfect wife for a doctor.”
“I thought, for a time, that Debakky might be interested in her.”
Rose looked at him with kind eyes. “He’s not the only doctor in the world.”
“She’s met all of my doctor friends. She doesn’t like any of them.”
At that moment, just as Rose opened her mouth to answer, Charissa came in, and Jeff said, “We’ve got to hurry. We’re late. Good-bye, Rose.”
“Good-bye, you two. I’ll have a good supper ready for you tonight.” She watched the pair from the window as they left and muttered, “Jefferson Whitman, open your eyes!”
In September, when the door to the Madariaga plantation house opened, Lewis Depard was surprised to see Yancy Devereaux. “Hello, Yancy,” he said.
“Hello, Lewis. Come visiting?”
“Yes. Is Damita here?”
“She’s here. Come on in.”
Depard took off his hat and put it on the hall tree.
Yancy said, “Damita told me about your taking the last of our hands and giving them a good place. We both appreciate that.”
“Oh, don’t bother yourself. We have so many, four more won’t matter.”
The two were speaking when Damita walked into the foyer. “Lewis, it’s so good to see you,” she said. She offered her hand, which Lewis kissed.
“You look enchanting as always, Señorita.”
“Come into the dining room. We’re having café au lait and a cake that I made myself.”
“You don’t do all the cooking, do you, Damita?”
“Oh, no, but I’m learning. We had to keep a cook, or we all would have starved to death.”
In the dining room, Damita served the coffee and cake. Lewis entertained them with stories of New Orleans, the balls, the latest opera, and Yancy sat back and watched the pair. He liked Lewis Depard, although the fellow was a fop, of sorts. He had no idea what Damita thought of him.
“Someone’s at the door,” Yancy said. “Let me get it. Are you expecting anyone, Damita?”
“No.”
Yancy went to the door and opened it. Jefferson Whitman was there, and suddenly Yancy’s ready sense of humor surfaced. “You’ve come to join the other suitors, have you, Doctor? Come in.”
Jeff entered, took off his hat, and put it on the hall tree, noticing that another was already there. “Other suitors? What do you mean?”
“Come in. We’re just having café au lait.” Yancy led the way, and when he stepped in, he gave Damita a wink. “The doctor’s come to call, Damita.”
Lewis turned to speak to Damita, but then his eyes fell on Jefferson. “Oh,” he said and fell silent. An awkwardness filled the room. The the last time the two had met, they had been dueling. True enough, they had shot each other with toast, but neither of them knew that.
“Jeff, won’t you come in?” Damita asked. She felt as uncomfortable as Lewis, but she saw that Yancy was enjoying himself. She gave him a reproachful look and said to Jeff, “I’m glad you called.”
Lewis stood and walked around the table directly toward Jeff. Damita had a horrified thought that he was going to strike him, but instead Lewis said, “Doctor, I was too hasty at that ball. I want to offer my apologies.”
Jeff was shocked. Everyone knew that Lewis Depard never apologized.
“Of course I accept your apology. And I offer mine.” He put his hand out, and Depard shook it.
“Now, that’s much better than trying to shoot each other,” Yancy said loudly.
Lewis gave him an irritated look and then turned back to Jeff. “I must tell you, Dr. Whitman, that I am very serious about Damita. I intend to marry her.”
“So do I, sir.”
For one instant the electricity in the air seemed to crackle, and then Yancy remarked, “I hope we don’t have another duel. Those things are terribly time-consuming.”
“Yancy,” Damita snapped. “Of course there’s not going to be another duel. Come in and sit down, Jeff. Tell us what’s been happening to you.”
Despite all of her attempts, Damita could not bring the two to accept each other fully. They cast hard glances at one another, and it was obvious that neither of them had any intention of leaving. Finally she said, “I’m sorry, but I have work that must be done today. Errands to run. Would you both excuse me?”
She shook hands with both of them. Lewis said, “I will be back to visit when you have more time, Damita.”
“So will I,” Jeff said loudly.
As the two left, Yancy chuckled, and Damita stared at him coldly. “What are you laughing at, you fool?”
“At the comedy. This is better than a play.”
“I don’t see anything funny about it.”
“You don’t? You’ve lost your sense of humor. I’ll tell you what you could do. You could marry both of them.”
Damita glared at him. “What are you talking about?”
“They make a pretty good pair, if you put them together. I mean, you’ve got Jeff, who’s sober and responsible and rather boring, and you’ve got Lewis, who is foolish and quite a bit of fun. You’d have one husband to be serious with and the other to go to balls and be foolish with.”
“I think you’re the fool, Yancy Devereaux! I never heard such nonsense!” Damita cried. She hurried out of the room, but Yancy ran after her and caught her arm. “Come along. Let’s go look at the crop.” She stopped and said, “I’m upset, Yancy. That was awful, having both of them here at the same time.”
“It’ll work out,” he said cheerfully. “Come on, I want you to see the fields.”
They walked along the rows, and Yancy pointed out things that she had never noticed before: the quality of the cotton, the snowy fullness of the fields. She was silent but interested. She had been around cotton all her life, but never had she watched it grow into a crop, step by step, and she still was shocked at the tremendous amount of labor it had taken. “I never knew how hard it was just to raise cotton.”
“It’s not a business for lazy men, but it’s a fine crop.”
“It is beautiful, isn’t it? Do you think the price will hold up?”
“I hear that it’s good. We’ll hope so.”
Damita reached out and plucked a bowl, then pulled the white fibers apart. “Who would have thought that something so light could bear the weight of saving a family from ruin?”
“We could lose it all, Damita.”
Damita glanced up and saw that Yancy was staring at her in a peculiar fashion. “Don’t talk like that.”
“That’s the way life is. Nothing’s certain in this world.”
“Nothing’s going to happen,” she said quickly. “It can’t.”
“I thought that about the ship I bought into, but it went down. We like to fix things so that they don’t change, but they do.” He resumed walking, and she joined him. “You remember the immortelles, those decorations that you put on graves?”
“Yes.”
“That’s just an attempt to fix things. I don’t think those immortelles are really immortal. They’ll wear out someday, too. You’ve seen them, old and broken. We’re the only thing that’s immortal.”
“You really believe that? You never talk about religion.”
“But I think about it.”
“I remember you told me one time you were afraid of some things, of growing old, of being alone, and you said you were afraid to face God.”
“I’m still afraid of those things, but sometimes I think making peace with God is the easiest thing. Nothing we can do about growing old, but we can do something about God.”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean we can honor Him and love Him.”
Damita was silent. She had never heard this sort of talk from Yancy before. She remembered the story about his mother and realized his faith had grown, though it was hard for her to understand what form it took.
Then he said, “But there’s something else I’m afraid of.”
“What’s that?”
“I’m afraid of missing out on what’s important in this life.”
She stopped. “What do you mean?”
“A woman is important to a man—and children are too.”
She saw that he was waiting for her to speak. “Family is important,” she agreed quietly.
“It’s important for a woman to find a man, too, isn’t it?”
“Of course it is.”
Yancy stopped walking and took her hands in his. “You have nice hands,” he said. “Strong, smooth. Some women have ugly hands, but not you.” He paused. “Be sure, Damita, that you desire the man you choose. Forty years in bed with a man you don’t love would be a misery.”
Damita pulled her hand back, her face reddening. “Don’t talk to me like that.”
“All right, I won’t.”
Damita did not know how to take his words. She felt angered that he would speak so inappropriately, and yet she was curious. “Why do you say a thing like that to me? It isn’t nice.”
“Because I know that at one time you felt something for me.”
“That wasn’t love,” she said quickly. “It was . . . it was just wickedness on my part. You knew it—you turned away from me, Yancy.”
“I didn’t want to spoil things,” he said simply. “If I hadn’t felt something for you, I would have accepted your offer immediately.”
Damita could not think how to answer him. He had put his finger on the thing that had troubled her for years. “Don’t confuse me, Yancy!” she cried. She turned quickly and walked away, leaving him to stand alone in the cotton field.
The stalks blew lightly about him, and he watched her go. “You’re already confused, Damita Madariaga.”