“Marie, she has a right to know. The first people she should hear it from is us, not from gossip. Certainly not from Paul himself.”
“I still do not believe this is the time. It is only Paul’s second visit. There may not be more, and then whatever the reason, it is no longer even significant.”
“We both know, short of a miracle, one part of that will not change. I am going to tell her,” Grand-père said.
He explained about the financial panic in 1837, how land prices had become inflated, people bought on speculation, and the bottom fell out. “People all over the country suffered, so we weren’t the only ones hit hard by this. Your grandmother and I lost a significant amount of money, but we managed to hold onto this house and certain comforts to which we had become accustomed. Having a real-estate business was a nightmare. Land was overvalued and then, after the panic, wasn’t worth half as much, but people borrowed on the inflated price.”
“So even if you sold the property, you still owed the bank?”
“Exactly. Over the past four years, we found ways to muddle through. Then the yellow fever hit the city, and we had to climb out of that hole.”
“Grand-père, I truly do not mean to be disrespectful, but I’m not understanding how Paul or his family is important.”
“Sometimes your grandfather finds it difficult to simply state the facts. The truth is, we are on the verge of losing almost everything. Even Agnes and Abram. We have mortgaged our home and sold every piece of land except for one. It is a large swath of riverfront property. By the grace of God, we have been able to keep it.”
“But you spent so much money on gowns and my party. Why didn’t you just tell me then?”
“We saved some money by having you share some of your classes; then we finally had to discontinue them. But a family with our background must have their daughter or, in our case, granddaughter, make a debut.”
Grand-père continued, “Girls bring a dowry into the marriage, most often cash. That would not be possible for your grandmother and me. All we own is that one piece of land, and it would only be valuable to a person who truly wanted it. As your dowry, it would be a gift to the man marrying you. But we need a portion of that money to pull ourselves out of trouble.
“So, why Paul? His family wants that land for warehouses for their cotton, and they have shipbuilding plans. Other families were interested, but not nearly to the extent of the Bastions. The weekend of the plantation party, his father agreed to an option to buy the land, for which he has already paid. Then, as part of the wedding settlement, he will purchase the land and I will retain a sufficient share so as not to lose our home.”
Lottie gave herself time to assemble the pieces of information into a frame, and when she did, the picture shocked her. All these weeks, she had tried to create meaning, understanding, from the wrong picture. She had been looking at herself. But it wasn’t about her. It was about a piece of riverfront property. She couldn’t help but laugh at her own foolishness and naïveté. What a couillonne.
* * * * *
Henri arrived, unannounced as usual, for Paul Bastion’s second visit. Paul entered through the front door. Henri found a sliver of space to squeeze through in the open French doors of the dining room, and they both entered the parlor at the same time. Henri wasted no time in finding the woman he came to see and conquered thirteen yards and five feet of crimson velvet to claim her.
Paul cut a wide circle around Lottie on his way to the corner of the room and stared at the cat like he were a carcass. Henri seemed to understand and returned the glare then yawned before settling into his lounging position. Lottie suspected Paul would have yawned as well, given the opportunity.
Her grandparents were not yet in the room, so Lottie was unsure of the protocol in this situation. She had no recollection of Miss Leslie having a chapter on lap cats and courting etiquette, but she was certain it would be improper to abandon her guest in the parlor. She was equally certain that Grand-mère’s expression when she entered would be one she hoped she could burn into her brain and access whenever she needed to laugh.
“Is it yours? The cat?” Paul’s tone clearly indicated he hoped not, as he brushed the sleeves of his black frockcoat.
“No. I don’t think he belongs to anyone in particular. He simply shows up,” Lottie said, scratching behind Henri’s ears. “Sometimes he follows Madame Margaret Haguarty, the milk lady.” But Paul had lost eye contact after the word “no.”
“Good. I do not understand why anyone would want an animal in the house. It is entirely unsanitary.”