Property(50)

“It’s so hot,” I said.

“I’ll bring you some water,” my uncle said, turning to the sideboard.

Joel got to his feet and came to my side. “Shall I help you to the chaise longue?” he said.

“She must rest in my room,” my aunt directed. “It is cooler there.”

“I think I would like to lie down just for a few minutes,” I said, pushing back my chair. My aunt displaced Joel, who was left fretting as she guided me back through the dining room to her bedroom. As she had predicted, it was cooler, dark and quiet. I sank down on the bed and pulled off my shoes while she poured water into the washbasin, dropped a cloth into it, and carefully wrung it out. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me,” I said, falling back upon the pillow.

“Your nerves are destroyed,” she said.

I smiled, thinking of my nerves. What were they, exactly? My aunt brought the cloth and laid it across my forehead. It was marvelously comforting. “You must go back to your guests,” I said.

“They won’t require me. Your uncle will take over my hand. He has been wanting to all evening.”

“Joel is betting recklessly,” I observed.

“As well he might,” my aunt said huffily. “He is about to come into a great deal of money.”

How was this possible? Everyone knew Joel’s father had gambled his fortune away. Had some distant relative remembered him? If Joel were rich . . . I hesitated to finish this proposition. It was as if I stood with my hand upon a doorknob, too timid to turn it and discover what might be on the other side, for, oh, what vistas might be there! “What’s happened?” I asked my aunt.

“He has proposed to Alice McKenzie and her father has accepted him, though not without serious reservations, as you can imagine.”

The imaginary door swung open and I found myself teetering at the brink of a black abyss. “Oh,” I said.

“It was only settled yesterday, though they have been going back and forth for a month now.”

The McKenzies were a numerous family and a wealthy one. Their house in the American section was famously ostentatious. There were four or five sisters, several boys. The mother was known to admire Creole society. “How old is Alice?” I asked.

“Not a girl,” my aunt said. “She may be twenty-five. She’s rather plain, I’m told, and of course she has no manners.”

It was bound to happen, I told myself. Joel couldn’t go on indefinitely without money. “Where will they live?”

“That’s not settled. John McKenzie has an envie to make something of Rivière, the mother wants Alice in a house in the Carré, if she can find one big enough, which isn’t likely. Joel doesn’t want to leave town, of course; he loathes the country.”

That’s two of us, I thought. Joel’s visits might be quite regular. A plain wife wouldn’t object to his maintaining a friendship with an unfortunate widow. Yet this thought gave me no comfort. Joel married, I thought. I sighed and closed my eyes, wishing my aunt would leave me.

But she expanded upon her topic. “Though if he insists on spending entire evenings at the gambling tables and the Blue Ribbon Balls,” she said, “he may find his mother-in-law perfectly willing to pack him off to Rivière for the rest of his days. I think John McKenzie unlikely to tolerate the expense of a little house on the Ramparts.”

“That’s absurd,” I said. “Joel would never do such a thing.”

My aunt gave me an indulgent smile. “You are an innocent,” she said.

“I can’t bear to hear another word,” I complained.

“No,” my aunt said. “It’s better that you don’t. I’ll leave you to rest. When you are ready, your uncle will walk you home.” Then she went out, leaving the door ajar so that the light from the hall lamp made a flickering band across the carpet.

Was it true? I thought. Did Joel spend his evenings at those obscene dances where the women were all light-skinned courtesans whose mothers sat fanning themselves in the shadows and anticipating offers? Would he, as my aunt believed, set up one of these dreadful quadroons in a house of her own and use his wife’s fortune to provide for whatever children she might bear him? It wasn’t possible. Joel never looked at the servants; he hardly noticed they were there.

I had seen one of these women once, when Mother and I were visiting a neighbor, Mrs. Perot. We were sitting in her drawing room drinking coffee and talking about wall covering when there was a ruckus at the door, a woman shouting. Mrs. Perot’s servant rushed in, disclaiming any power to forestall the advance of the visitor, who was hard on her heels. The woman stopped at the doorway, looking from one of us to the other, uncertain which to address. It could not be denied that she was an impressive figure. Her features were fine, though her lips were too thick, and her posture erect. She was dressed to perfection in the latest fashion: a morning dress of pale lavender silk with deep purple velvet edging at the sleeves and throat, and a satin bonnet of the same dark hue edged in black. She was in a state of great agitation. Her black eyes settled on our hostess, who rose from her chair with admirable calm and said, “May I help you in some way?”