Charissa walked quickly down the street, holding a basket in her right hand and a wrapped parcel in the other. The afternoon sunlight of New Orleans illuminated the houses on both sides. Smooth plaster covered most of them, and the Madariaga house had been painted a warm peach shade. It was one of a line of similar structures rising directly from the banquettes, as dwellers of the city called the sidewalks. Other homes were blue, some a faint purple, each fitted to the desire and artistic temperament of the owner.
She paused a moment before the house, thinking of the two weeks that had passed since she had come to live there. One of her memories was of the argument between Alfredo Madariaga and his daughter on the day she had arrived. Damita had ordered Charissa to wait in the kitchen, but she could hear the master of the house, his voice rising in anger, and had felt certain she would be taken back to the auction and sold again.
As she stood remembering that day, she thought,Well, this is better than it might have been at some other place. I just have to put up with that selfish, demanding girl. She glanced up now at the facade of the house, three stories dominated by three tall galleries, and she admired the delicate ironwork that sketched a lacelike outline of leaves and flowers on the stucco. Waist-high railings and scrolled panels of filigree marked the balcony, and on the second level, dozens of containers held geraniums, wax flowers, ferns; on the first one, a big birdcage contained a brilliantly colored, screeching parrot.
With a sigh, Charissa, wearing a simple brown dress and her long hair pinned up in a coil, passed through a large patio with a gate big enough to admit the carriage that was kept in the rear. Charissa turned to enter the door, but someone grasped her from behind so suddenly that she dropped the basket and the parcel, hearing something crack in one. She fought fiercely, but the arms were strong, and she heard a rough voice saying, “Stop fightin’! You know you like it, girl.”
Charissa managed to free one of her arms, but even as the man she knew to be Garr Odom, the carriage driver, tried to grab it back, she pulled a long pin from her hair. Without a moment’s hesitation, she stabbed the hairy arm that went around her breast and was rewarded by a loud screech. She was free. Turning quickly, she held up the pin like a dagger and glared at the big man, saying, “You keep your hands off me, Odom, or I’ll put your eye out.”
“You she-devil!” Garr Odom was not tall, but he was broad and strong. His hazel eyes burned, and the battle had loosed his long hair from its tie. He held his hand over the wound, his mouth twisted in a murderous expression. “You stabbed me!” he gasped.
“Yes, I stabbed you, and I’ll do worse if you don’t keep your hands off of me!”
“Well, ain’t you somethin’ now! You’ve had a man’s hands on you before.”
“I won’t have yours. You heard what I said. If you ever touch me again, I’ll make you regret it.” She leaned forward and swiped the pin in front of Odom’s face.
“Hey, watch out!” he yelled—the pin had passed within a few inches of his eyes. He stumbled backward and then glared at Charissa, muttering, “You won’t always have that hat pin.” He turned and stomped away, disappearing through the carriage gate.
Charissa took a deep breath, standing still until the fear dissipated. It was not the first time that Garr Odom had tried to attack her. He had come once to her bedroom, and only her threats to scream and raise the house had prevented his assault. Charissa replaced the hat pin, then reached down and picked up the basket, replacing the vegetables that had rolled out of it. She saw that liquid was dripping from the parcel. She picked it up as well as she could and stepped quickly through the door. She hurried through the corridor to the kitchen at the very back of the house. A heavyset woman with skin the color of ebony was standing over a stove, and she turned at once to ask, “Where you been so long? Miss Damita’s havin’ a fit.”
“It took me a long time to get all the things you wanted, Ernestine.” Charissa put the basket and paper bag on a counter and said, “I dropped this bag. I broke whatever’s in it.”
“You busted it!” Ernestine, who had been with the Madariaga family for years, heaved her bulky body over to where Charissa stood. She was almost as broad as she was tall. She began pulling items out of the sack. “How’d you smash this?” she asked, holding up pieces of a broken bottle.
“Garr grabbed me from behind.”
“He botherin’ you again? Why don’t you tell the master about him?”
“It wouldn’t do any good,” Charissa said coldly.
Ernestine stopped removing items from the sack and turned to Charissa. Her eyes were compassionate. “That man is no good. He may be a good carriage driver, but he ain’t no good in no other ways. Did he hurt you?”
Charissa laughed. “No, but I hurt him.” She pulled the pin out of her hair. “I used this like a sword and ran it right into his arm. I’m surprised you didn’t hear him holler.”
Ernestine Brown grinned broadly and chuckled deep in her chest. “That’s good! You know how to take care of yourself. But you’d better get on up now. Miss Damita’s plumb fit to be tied. I told her I had to send you to the market. She got mad and raved at me. She say you don’t work for nobody but her.”
“She doesn’t care a pin for anybody in this world.”
“Oh, she’s spoiled and selfish, but I reckon she’s got a good heart.”
Charissa glared at Ernestine. “A good heart? She hasn’t done anything but mistreat me since I got here. She slapped me in the face just two days ago, when I couldn’t find her hat quick enough to suit her.”
Ernestine put her big arm around the girl. “You could be lots worse off, honey. Out in the plantation I’ve seen Claude Napier, the manager, whip men and women both until their backs was cut all to pieces. You just be glad he ain’t been turned loose on you yet.”
“I’d run away if he ever did that to me.”
“And then they’d catch you. Ain’t nobody can get out of bein’ what she is.”
Charissa stared at the big woman, who had proven to be her closest friend in the household. “Don’t you ever wonder what it would be like to be free, Ernestine?”
“There ain’t no sense thinkin’ about what can’t happen,” Ernestine said. “You just make the best of what you got. We got plenty to eat. We got warm clothes. We don’t have to go out in the fields. The master and Miss Elena, they ain’t cruel folks at all.”
“Damita is.”
“She’s young. She’ll outgrow that by the time she has a few knocks herself.”
“She has everything,” Charissa said bitterly. “Why is it some people in this world have everything, and some of us have nothing?”
“I don’t know, but that’s the way it’s always been, and that’s the way it’s always gonna be. Now you go on up, and don’t give Miss Damita any of your sass. No matter what she says, you just smile and say, ‘Yes, ma’am.’”
“I’ll do what she says, but she can’t make me like it. I’ll come back and help you cook when she gets through with me.”
“She ain’t likely to get through with you today. She’s gettin’ ready for that graduation of hers. Go on, and you be sweet like me.”
Charissa could never resist Ernestine. She hugged her and said, “All right. I’ll be sweet like you—to you, but never to Damita.”
Juanita Mendez sat on the balcony, watching the passersby below her. She had seen Charissa come down the street and enter the gate, and now she commented, “That new slave you bought for Damita is a rebellious girl.”
“Yes, she is,” Elena Madariaga agreed, turning to her husband. She was a small woman, shapely, and at the age of forty-five, she still had traces of her youthful beauty. “You spoil Damita, Alfredo. You shouldn’t have paid that much for another maid. We could have gotten by with Monica. She’s already paid for, and she can wait on both of us.”
Alfredo was a trim man of fifty-one. As he sat with his chair tilted back, looking at his wife and his sister, he shrugged. “I promised her a maid, and the girl will probably be a good investment. Always a good market for beautiful young mulattoes.”
“Mulatto! What are you talking about?” Juanita exclaimed. “She’s no more mulatto than I am.” A mulatto was a person half-black and half-white. “She’s not even a quadroon. She looks like an octoroon to me.” These two terms were well known to refer to the mixture of black and white blood—quadroon being one-quarter black and an octoroon only one-eighth black.
“So much the better for a sale. You know how the young bucks like the Creole girls, with their lighter skin.”
“I know it very well, but Rissa will never be one of those,” Elena said.
“She may be, if we have to sell her. I expect her mother was mostly white. The town’s full of octoroon Creole girls, and most of them wind up as mistresses to wealthy white men.”
Indeed, men in New Orleans often maintained two families. The white one society accepted, the dark one no one did. Many men divided their time between the two households, rearing two sets of children. The white wives had no choice but to accept the situation, and almost everyone attended the sumptuous quadroon balls, where tawny-skinned women displayed their charms in what amounted to a bazaar for prospective men of wealth. Among the well-to-do Creoles, the marriage of convenience was common, but often the couple had not even met, and when a young man did not get a beauty, he was quick to go to the quadroon balls and find himself a mistress.
“The girl could pass for white easily enough,” Alfredo remarked. “We won’t have any trouble selling her.”
The two women stared at Alfredo; the subject was usually taboo. But Elena was not finished and repeated harshly, “You spoil Damita terribly. Her husband’s going to have an awful time with her.”
As a matter of fact, Alfredo Madariaga was himself still somewhat angry over Damita’s buying the slave without his permission. “I’m going to whip that girl,” he said loudly.
Both women smiled at each other grimly. They were well aware that he had never struck Damita in his life and never would. “Well,” Juanita said, “I think you’d better sell the girl quickly. She’s not a good maid.”
“No,” Elena agreed. “She’s headstrong.”
“So is Damita,” Alfredo murmured. A gloomy look crossed his face, and he shook his head. “I may have to sell Charissa and some others from the plantation as well. I’ve got a payment coming due on the loan, and the crop was terrible this year. The drought nearly ruined us.”
Neither his wife nor his sister paid much attention to this statement. It was a common enough plaint from Alfredo. Most of the plantation owners lived on credit, and no one considered owing money a sin in any way.
Changing the subject, Juanita said, “I want you to let Damita go with me when I make my visit to Savannah.”
“I don’t have any objection. Does she want to go?”
“I haven’t asked her about it yet, but the trip isn’t until November. I think she’d enjoy it. Besides, there may be some suitable young men there for her.”
“That’s very important,” Elena said with a nod.
“Indeed it is.” For once, Alfredo agreed with his wife and sister. “She needs to marry someone with a bank full of money. Somebody who could help pay these debts off.”
“She’s a beautiful girl, and she won’t have any trouble marrying,” Juanita said. She had other nieces in Savannah, but she had made a pet out of Damita. “It’s essential that she not only marry money but that she marry someone socially acceptable.”
“What do you expect her to do—marry a monkey?” Alfredo laughed. “Of course he’ll be acceptable.”
“I don’t know. Young girls are willful these days,” Elena said. “When Fannie Metlous married that awful American, it nearly killed her parents.”
“It certainly did,” Juanita agreed. “He was like all of the other Kaintocks: little more than a beast.”
The white men who came down to New Orleans from the west, mostly on the Mississippi, were known as Kaintocks. They had reputations for fighting and drinking and were coarse to the genteel members of New Orleans.
“Damita’s got more sense than that,” her father said firmly.
“Yes, she has,” Juanita said quickly. “I’d better go see if she’s dressed. We don’t want to be late for the graduation.”
Damita stepped out of the brass tub and stood while Charissa dried her off with large, fluffy towels. This was an everyday ceremony and one that took up a great deal of Charissa’s energy. She had to heat the water in the kitchen, then bring it up, two heavy pails at a time, to fill the tub. It was one of the tasks she hated, and now, as she dried Damita off and powdered her, she thought, She’s never paid me a single compliment. Not once has she said a simple thank-you.
“Hurry up, Rissa, I’m going to be late.”
Charissa had learned never to respond to such useless comments. She was working as quickly as she could, and it did no good to protest. All she would get was a sharp word or sometimes, even a slap. She helped Damita into her undergarments, then slipped the snow-white dress, the color all the girls were wearing for graduation, over her head. She buttoned it up, and Damita said sharply, “Go down and get me some wine. Make sure it’s been cooled.”
“Yes, ma’am,” Charissa muttered, turned, and went downstairs. She found the wine, poured a glass, and carried it carefully back up the stairs. Entering the room, she walked over to where Damita was standing before the mirror. “Here’s the—”
She had no time to finish the sentence. Damita suddenly turned, and her hand struck the glass that Charissa was holding out to her. The dark red liquid splashed onto Damita’s bosom, and for one moment, she just stood with a shocked look on her face.
Charissa’s heart sank when she saw the hideous red blot. She had no time to speak, however, because Damita screamed, “You’ve ruined my dress!”
“It wasn’t my fault. You’re the one who hit the glass!”
“Don’t you talk back to me! It was your fault!”
Ordinarily, Charissa would have had sense enough to keep quiet and let Damita have her fit, but she could not always control her quick temper. She responded loudly, “You’re the clumsy one, not me! You knocked the glass right out of my hand and spilled the wine all over yourself!”
Damita’s face turned pale. She slapped Charissa and said, “You come with me. I’m going to break you of this habit of talking back!” She whirled and stormed out of the room.
Charissa followed her mistress through the hall, down the stairs, and out the side door. As soon as she stepped outside, Damita saw Garr Odom, leaning against the iron gate. “Garr,” she said, “come here.”
“Yes, ma’am. What is it?”
“I want you to take this girl and whip her.”
A chill ran through Charissa. Garr’s brutal face broke into a smile. “You mean really whip her with a stick?”
“Yes, and make sure you’re harsh. She’s a clumsy, insolent girl, and I want her broken. You hear me?”
“Yes, Miss Damita. I’ll do what you say.”
Damita glanced at Charissa and said with satisfaction, “A beating is just what you need.” She turned and rushed into the house without another word.
Charissa stared at Garr Odom.
“Well, well,” he said. He grabbed her by the arm. “You come on back. You and me got a little business.” He was a strong man, and although Charissa struggled, she had no chance against him as he dragged her back and entered the darkness of the barn.
The faculty of the Ursuline Convent had gathered on a small platform erected in the courtyard. The black robes of the priest and the nuns, highlighted by blinding white collars and hats, and the graduates in their white dresses made a startling contrast to the colorful and stylish dress of the family and friends.
The date was May 15, 1831, and as Damita moved forward in the line, she felt a fierce sense of exultation. She heard Chantel’s name called out, followed by the words “summa cum laude.” She felt no jealousy for the applause because Chantel was, by far, the best scholar in the class. She reached out and accepted her diploma from Sister Agnes, who did not smile. “You never thought I’d get it, did you, Sister?” Damita whispered. The nun gasped and Damita giggled, then turned and flashed a smile at her family.
She strode back to her seat, thinking, This is the last day I’ll have to spend in this place. She watched as her classmates received their diplomas, and when the ceremonies came to an end, she stood to her feet with all the others while the bishop said a brief prayer. As soon as he spoke the amen, the graduates broke ranks and joined their families.
Damita’s father was waiting for her, and when he put his arms out, she threw her arms around his neck and kissed him soundly on the cheek. He smiled at her and said, “I’m proud of you, daughter. There were times I thought you’d never make it.”
Damita smiled and said, “I don’t think I could have, if it had gone on another day. But now I feel as if I’ve been let out of prison.” She turned and embraced her mother and aunt, then walked over to Chantel. The two girls hugged, and Damita said, “You’re the best in the class!”
Chantel smiled. “You could have been, if you had tried.”
“I can’t waste my time learning useless things. Have you asked your parents if you could make the trip to Savannah with us in November?”
“We’re going to be out of the country. I can’t go.”
“That’s too bad. You’re going to miss seeing a lot of good-looking men, from what I hear.”
They mingled for the last time with their other classmates, especially with Simone d’Or, with her long, blond hair and dark-blue eyes, and Leonie Dousett, who was smaller than the other girls and the poorest of them all. She was a charity student, and perhaps this was the reason she was the humblest of the four.
“We’re the Four Musketeers, and we’ve got to stay in touch,” Damita said. “I’ll tell you what. Let’s get together early this week and go to a party.”
“What party?” Simone asked.
“I don’t know, but there’s bound to be one somewhere.”
Simone commented, “That’s not the dress you bought to graduate in.”
“No, that stupid maid of mine spilled wine all over it, but she won’t do it again. I had her punished.”
“She didn’t do it on purpose, did she?” Leonie asked quietly.
“I have no doubt she did. She never did like me. I’ve been as nice as I can be, but she’s a stubborn, rebellious girl. We may have to sell her. It would do her good to go out in the cotton fields and put in some time there. Maybe she’d appreciate me then.”
At that moment Juanita appeared and said, “Come along, dear, it’s time to go.”
The girls embraced, and each felt the poignancy of the moment. They had spent many years together at the convent, and now each girl knew that a new life lay before her. They made their promises to stay together and to keep in touch, but knowing how things change, all four of them felt that this was the end of something.
Damita chattered all the way to the house, filled with excitement. As soon as the family entered the front door, Charles Devere, the butler, appeared and said, “I must speak to you, sir, if you don’t mind.”
“Why, what is it, Charles?”
“I’d better tell you alone.”
The two men left, and Elena looked at her daughter. “What was that all about, do you suppose?”
“Oh, some problem with the household, I suppose. You know Charles. He’s a worrier.”
Damita went to her room and started to change out of the white dress, but a loud knock on the door sounded and she said, “Come in.”
Her father stepped inside, and Damita saw that he was upset. “What is it, Papa? What’s wrong? Somebody sick?”
“Damita, come with me.” Her father’s tone was cold, and the look in his eye chilled her. She had seen him angry at others, but never had he looked at her with this expression. “What is it, Papa?” she asked again.
Alfredo turned and walked out of the room. Damita followed, and he led her up the staircase to the third floor, where the servants’ rooms were. He opened one door, stepped inside, and Damita followed him. She stopped dead still. “This is Rissa’s room.”
“I know whose room it is. Come in here.”
Again his voice was cold, and fear grabbed Damita. She stepped inside and saw that Rissa was in bed, but she was lying facedown. Her black hair had come down loosely, and her arms lay outside the sheet covering the rest of her body.
“What’s wrong?” Damita whispered.
“This is wrong.” Her father reached out and lifted the sheet. For a moment, Damita could not speak. Charissa’s back was crisscrossed with welts, all of them blue, and some of them oozing blood.
“Did you order this done, daughter?”
“I . . . I told Garr to punish her, but I didn’t mean this.”
“You’re a fool to let that man beat this girl! Don’t you know his reputation?”
Indeed, Garr was known as a cruel man, and that was why her father took him out of overseer’s work and restricted him to the barn and carriages. But in her fury at having her dress soiled, Damita had forgotten that. “I didn’t intend this.”
“I could shoot that man! In addition to being barbaric, he was just stupid to mark up a valuable girl like this. And you should have known better.”
Damita could not bear to look at the lacerated back. She saw Charissa glaring up at her and met her eyes. Hatred flared in them. Damita could not speak anymore and turned away, sickened by the sight.
“I’ll have to send for Dr. Morton. Ernestine has done what she could and given her something that will ease the pain.” Turning to the figure on the bed, he said, “I’m sorry this happened, Rissa.”
The beaten girl made no sound, and Alfredo left the sheet off of her back. He stepped outside the door, saying roughly, “Come out of there, Damita.”
As soon as they were outside, he grabbed her arm and led her down the hall, where he stopped and faced her. “You’re a fool, Damita, and inhumane besides! I know you’re not kind to underlings. You never have been, but I never expected anything like this. I’m so ashamed of you, I can’t speak.”
Her father whirled and left the hall, and Damita began to tremble. Tears came to her eyes, and she pulled her handkerchief out of her reticule and held it over her face. She stood there for what seemed like a long time, then turned and looked at the door. I’ve got to go back and tell her I’m sorry.
She walked to Charissa’s room and entered. The young woman had not moved. Damita could not face those eyes that seemed to bore into her, nor could she bear the look of the bloody back. “I’m—I didn’t mean for this to happen,” she whispered.
Charissa merely responded, her voice like steel, “Yes, you did.”
Damita turned and fled the room. She ran down the two flights of stairs and found her mother in the hall near the kitchen. Elena said, “Your father’s told me what happened.”
“It wasn’t my fault. I didn’t tell him to beat her that savagely.”
Elena knew her daughter very well, and she put her hands on her shoulders. “You must learn to be kind, Damita,” she said. She turned and walked away, leaving Damita alone in the hallway.