"On last month's bill, you spent almost as much on material and sundries as flour, sugar, salt, and seed combined."

"They need proper clothes."

"I have never scrimped with either Emily or Eugene," Narcisse said, taking offense. "The girl does not need another new dress. They remarked on it today at Augustine's. Emily has more dresses than his girls, twice her age. You spoil her overmuch."

"You spoil her as well, Monsieur Narcisse."

"I mean it, Philomene. No more. Don't make me close off the account to you."

They sat on the porch, sewing and smoking in silence.

"I have seen your future," Philomene said after a time.

Narcisse got up and moved his chair to face Philomene, slowly, as if he were an ox being led to field, pacing himself for the full day's work ahead. "A glimpsing?"

Philomene heard the same strange blend of dread and excitement that always preceded these particular conversations, a drooping and quickening, one on top of the other. In their eight years together she had created five false glimpsings for Narcisse, including this last. She allowed a moment to pa.s.s, and then another.

"You can go out and find wives to marry, but I'm the only one who can give you babies."

Narcisse blinked away a bewildered look, then grabbed Philomene roughly by the arm. "Why do you say that?" A small damp piece of brown tobacco clung to the corner of his mouth.

Philomene shifted the weight out of her shoulders and farther down into her back, steadying her hand to continue her embroidery. She forced herself to calm, taking her time, speech measured and deliberate.

"I see you, an old man, visiting graves of two women you married. When you are through, you come back to me. There are many children surrounding you, from big to little, a mix of boys and girls. Our children. They have been brought up quality, never hungry, and they wear new clothes and soft leather shoes fit to their feet. We live in a house big enough to hold all the children, not this cabin. They call you Papa."

Philomene paused, trying to read his mood.

"What else?" Narcisse stared sharply at Philomene, as if by so doing he could decipher some word or gesture she had purposely left unspoken. His intensity threatened to unnerve her.

"I can only tell you what the glimpsing shows," Philomene said.

Narcisse leaned back again in his chair, as if dismissing her. "I come and go as I please," he said.

"You try to skip from this too lightly, Monsieur Narcisse." It was Philomene now who brought her face closer to his, but she lowered her voice to barely a whisper. She wanted him to have to strain to hear. "First one wife could not give you a child, and then another with the same result. Even your rutting with trash from the hills came to nothing. Forget about a white child. I am the only one who can ever give you offspring, but you must take care. Treat them well."

Philomene put aside her sewing, stood, and took up the lamp to go into the cabin.

"Mark my words, Narcisse Fredieu. For you, there is only one way to have children, and that is through me."

In 1872, just months after baby Nick was born, Emily stood before Philomene and Narcisse in the common room of Philomene's cabin. The old green sofa Narcisse had brought from one of his other houses sagged in the middle under his weight, the cushions almost flattened by his bulk, but he sat with great authority, a pose he didn't take often with his daughter. Philomene rocked the baby in the moonlight chair.

Emily waited dutifully for Narcisse to let her know why he had called her. At eleven she was soft-spoken but not quiet. Philomene could imagine that her daughter thought she had been summoned to entertain, for which she needed little encouragement. Narcisse loved to watch Emily dance or listen to her sing. Her girlish voice was high and sweet, with a slight unexpected trill she added to the words, and she sang constantly to her brother Eugene, who followed her everywhere. She sang to the chickens as she scattered their feed, she sang to the baby, and she sang for her father whenever he visited. Amusing people was natural to her.

A responsible girl, especially with Eugene and baby Nick, Emily went a step beyond, making everything she touched special. She was partial to colors, brought fresh, vibrant wildflowers into the house in spring and summer, and placed green potted plants in the corners in winter. She convinced her uncle Gerant to make her a small table and shelf but insisted that the carved shapes on them be a design of her own making. Emily could always talk Philomene into another new scarf or lace collar or special embroidery to freshen up an old garment.

But for all the style and charm that drew people to her daughter, Philomene was most proud that Emily could read. For a time she had studied under a tutor, the old schoolteacher Valery Houbre, widowed since the death of his wife, Oreline. Philomene thought it fitting that their old master be the one to give Emily advantage. Monsieur Houbre was now frail and in ill health, but he had always been a friend to the family. He had taken Emily as far as she needed to go in French, but Philomene and Narcisse had been discussing for some time how English had begun to intrude on their world.

"Emily," Narcisse announced, "we're sending you to New Orleans. You'll learn to read and write in English and make your first communion there."

Narcisse seemed pleased with the proclamation, but Emily grew flush. She always blushed easily. "Papa, I don't want to leave Cane River."

"This is for your future, Emily Fredieu," Philomene said. "An opportunity not many receive."

Philomene had never been apart from any of her children. Already she missed Emily, but the promise of her daughter continuing her studies was worth almost anything. Philomene planned for Emily to be in a position to teach her brothers when the time came. No one would ever be able to set aside the learning once taught.

The color rose higher on Emily's cheeks, the youthful bloom highlighted in her distress. "Please don't send me away," she said in a small voice.

"You must do as I say, Emily," Narcisse said.

"I'm scared, Papa," Emily said, her eyes filling with tears. "I'll be so lonely."

"There will be other girls, quality girls," Narcisse said. "You deserve better than you can get here. One year, and then you'll be back."

Philomene could see the struggle in Narcisse, even though he sounded decisive and unwavering. He had never been a match for Emily's tears.

"I'll take you down on the steamboat myself to New Orleans, and visit often. I've written a friend who will look after you there. The year will be up before you know it." A fine sheen of sweat had broken out across Narcisse's forehead. "Now go help your mother get you ready. We leave at the end of the week."

28.

N arcisse paid extra for the hired carriage and coachman to wait for him outside the convent gate. It took better than an hour and a quarter to arrange the unloading of Emily's trunk and to enroll her with the nuns. Only then could he take the next step of his journey. The steamboat trip had been fatiguing, from Cane River to the New Orleans dock, but father and daughter were more emotionally spent than physically tired. Narcisse made the trip once or twice a year, but he had never had to release his only daughter into the hands of strangers. arcisse paid extra for the hired carriage and coachman to wait for him outside the convent gate. It took better than an hour and a quarter to arrange the unloading of Emily's trunk and to enroll her with the nuns. Only then could he take the next step of his journey. The steamboat trip had been fatiguing, from Cane River to the New Orleans dock, but father and daughter were more emotionally spent than physically tired. Narcisse made the trip once or twice a year, but he had never had to release his only daughter into the hands of strangers.

"I'll be back to visit tomorrow," he told Emily. There had already been tears the week before leaving, and more tears on the boat. Narcisse felt that if he didn't leave immediately, he was likely to shed a few himself.

Narcisse usually stayed at the St. Charles Hotel, but Joseph Billes, a distant connection from his mother's side of the family, had insisted in their correspondence that Narcisse accept his hospitality. He set out for the French Quarter without quite knowing where he was going. The coachman had little trouble finding the house on a narrow side street, away from the water. It was a modest-looking building set far back behind a stunted four-foot-high iron fence, but there was handsome grillwork around each of the second-story balconies. A pleasant woman introducing herself as Joseph Billes's sister answered the front door and took him out to a lovely interior courtyard while the coachman unloaded his valises and brought them in. There he met Joseph Billes face-to-face for the first time. Joseph had a wiry, French look to him, but cheerful, and was at least fifteen years his junior.

"Welcome to my home." Joseph embraced Narcisse as if they had known each other a lifetime. "I take it you have already settled your daughter into the convent? Once we establish you upstairs, you can decide how best to shake off the dust. Certainly the completion of such a difficult task begins with brandy."

Narcisse had looked forward to an early night and a firm bed, but he got his second wind. On that first evening they talked and played cards after supper, Joseph, several cousins, and other guests who stopped by. Joseph entertained them all with stories, then brought out a handsome mandolin, a magnificent instrument with an all French polished orange front, ebony fingerboard, and rosewood-and-mahogany ribs. He accompanied himself as he sang and had a surprisingly rich, deep voice for such a thin man. Narcisse liked Joseph immediately. He laughed at Joseph's unflattering stories of his dealings with Americans and his more forgiving tales of dealing with the French-at-heart, and Narcisse recited his own reports of the planter's life along the Cane and Red Rivers. Both men embellished for effect.

Fatigue finally forced Narcisse to excuse himself. He retired to the guest room, but before drifting off to sleep, he itemized those things he needed to accomplish in New Orleans on this trip. He had his cotton to sell, his promise to Emily that he would visit her every day until he went back home, and two weeks to amuse himself while waiting for the return boat back to Cane River.

The next day proved to be overcast and drizzly, and after attending early-morning ma.s.s, Narcisse took Joseph with him when he visited Emily at the convent. Narcisse was taken aback when he saw her in her new austere setting. She seemed lost inside a coa.r.s.e gray dress that swallowed her. Not even the drabness of her new uniform in the convent, however, so unlike the way Philomene would have dressed the girl, could rob Emily of her prettiness. Again Emily looked close to tears.

The three met in the convent parlor, then went outside in the courtyard to find a seat on a wood bench in the shade of a large magnolia tree, under the watchful eyes of the patrolling nuns.

"So you are Mademoiselle Emily," Joseph said before he sat. "Such a small thing." He leaned down to kiss Emily lightly on both cheeks. "I am Joseph Billes, and once your father returns home, child, it will be up to me to bring you some fun from outside these convent walls to keep you from melancholy." He had a mischievous glint in his eye, as if he and Emily were planning an exotic journey together, but Emily looked more dejected than ever.

"I see I haven't said the right thing." Joseph made his face serious. "We must work very hard at being friends, you and I. Your father will have my head if I don't honor my promise to cheer you up while you are in New Orleans. You don't want me to lose my head?"

Emily tried to smile.

"Can you guess where I'm from?"

Emily looked at her father's friend shyly. "France, but you don't sound like any of the Frenchmen I've heard."

"What a good ear you have. I am here only two years from France, but I am told that since I grew up so close to the border with Spain, my French is not so pure. But then, neither is the Creole French most speak here."

"I like the way you sound."

Narcisse watched the two of them, relieved to see a little of Emily's spirit returning, grateful she was warming up to Joseph.

"Already I can see that we must call you by a very special nickname, and it has just come to me what the name should be."

"A name for me?" Emily was clearly drawn in, had seemed to forget for a moment how miserable she was.

"You are so dainty, I must call you Mademoiselle Pet.i.te."

This time Emily managed a full smile. Joseph had won her over.

Over the next two weeks Narcisse and Joseph discovered how alike they were in their love of fun, drink, and parties. An ambitious man, Joseph seemed full to overflowing with ideas and short-term schemes. Narcisse envied Joseph his independence and wandering, his nose for risk and opportunity, and the intensity and stamina of youth, and Joseph was clearly intrigued by Narcisse's descriptions of life in the countryside of central Louisiana.

They both visited Emily for the permitted hour each remaining day Narcisse stayed in New Orleans. Narcisse couldn't help but swell at the beauty Emily radiated. While he was a substantial man, so fond of food and drink that he found it increasingly difficult to b.u.t.ton his vests, everything about Emily was small and delicate, from her tiny feet to her slim waist, but she was neither frail nor fragile.

At the end of the two weeks Narcisse had to admit that the results of his trip to New Orleans were mixed. Although he had safely established Emily at the convent, his business dealings had been far less satisfactory. The most he'd been able to arrange was just over eight cents a pound for his meager cotton crop. When he boarded the steamship Danube Danube for the trip back to Cane River, he left New Orleans leaden with the absence of his daughter, already missing his new friend, and pessimistic about the dismal financial prospects of yet another planting season. for the trip back to Cane River, he left New Orleans leaden with the absence of his daughter, already missing his new friend, and pessimistic about the dismal financial prospects of yet another planting season.

Narcisse and Joseph began to exchange visits back and forth throughout the year Emily stayed in New Orleans. In April Joseph came for the first time to Cane River to visit, and Narcisse introduced him into both his white and his colored life. They went together to soirees, they joined several hunting parties, and they fished. Narcisse was full of pride at being able to show off the splendor of the Cane River countryside. At Philomene's, Joseph dined on crawfish stew, pig's knuckles, and black-bottom pie, and he met Eugene and Nick, Emily's younger brothers. Joseph became a favored guest in Narcisse's circle, carrying his mandolin with him everywhere and winning over audiences with his music.

But on each of Narcisse's return visits down the Mississippi River to New Orleans, he confronted the march of time. Emily was fast slipping past girlhood, more noticeable because he saw her with a fresh eye every few months. It started out as a small idea, on the porch of Philomene's cabin one evening as they talked of how much they missed Emily, but by the next day Narcisse had become determined to capture his daughter's image before she crossed over into womanhood. At his request, Joseph located a painter in New Orleans who did inexpensive oil portraits, and he secured permission from the sisters for Emily to leave the convent for the three required sittings at the artist's studio.

Emily wore her intended communion dress. Joseph's sister had sent a sketch of the current style to Cane River, along with yards of fluffy white organdy material, and Philomene spent two weeks sewing to match the picture. The dress was simple, emphasizing the quality of the material. Intricate lace decorated the scooped neck, matched by the same lace around the tips of the sleeves, and the bodice was unadorned. It was designed to fall from the cinched waist to the middle of Emily's calf.

The artist managed to capture Emily's bearing on his canvas. She appeared both serene and lively, from her long exposed neck to her tiny boot-clad feet. Her left hand skimmed the bowed crown of a small straight-backed chair, and her right was held palm inward, primly, in front at her waist. Sandy light hair fell behind her ears and down her back in ringlets, and as Narcisse had requested, she wore her new cone-shaped hat plumed with an ostrich feather.

Narcisse was pleased with the portrait, as was Emily. He personally oversaw the packing for shipment and took the painting back with him to Cane River. Keeping the portrait near softened the ache of not having his daughter by his side.

After Emily's year of study at the convent ended and she took her first communion, Narcisse went down to New Orleans to collect her and bring her home. Another bad crop year had forced him to concede that his holdings were not going well. Something had to be done soon, something bold. Both the War Between the States and Reconstruction had taken their toll, and there appeared to be no way to restore his personal fortunes of earlier, better times. He had already sold some of his land to keep things going, but the buyers had the advantage, and he didn't have much more land to sell. The condition of his homeplace and even his farm animals was deteriorating alarmingly.

Emily Fredieu.

An opportunity finally presented itself that could turn his fortune in a positive direction, although Narcisse had to admit he had neither the financial wherewithal nor the appet.i.te for personal labor required to make his scheme work. He needed a partner.

There was land to be gotten cheaply on the other side of Red River in Grant Parish, not far from his homeplace as the crow flew. It was thick with virgin pine trees that could be used for timber and turpentine and, after it was cleared, for farming. But the real advantage was its location. The land bordered huge expanses of protected government property, and for a man willing to take the risk, substantial money could be made. While the owner of the property cleared and cultivated the rightfully purchased land, he could poach the inexhaustible trees on the adjacent government land at the same time, sending them upriver to hidden sawmills. Narcisse knew he could easily find the labor. Plenty of freed men scratching out a living would be happy for the work and could be trusted not to share the details of their illegal doings. Philomene's brother, Gerant, had worked for him before on a smaller scale, for six cents an hour, and there were others who would do the same. The profit potential was enormous.

Receipt for "Jerome Rachal" (Gerant) from Narcisse Fredieu, 6 per hour.

Joseph Billes would fit the bill perfectly. Joseph was anxious to put down roots in a French-speaking community, ambitious enough to bend as necessary, smart enough to keep the undertaking going, and willing to work hard to make the project successful, and he came with money in his pocket to fund the venture up front. And he knew how to have a good time in the bargain.

Narcisse sent a letter off to New Orleans, expecting an answer by return post.

Cane River, December 22nd, 1874Dear Monsieur Joseph,I hope this letter finds you well and preparing for the joy of the holidays. We expect to spend a traditional Christmas and New Year's here, and would welcome a visit from you if you are not otherwise engaged. Your mandolin would certainly be appreciated for the festivities, as would, of course, your splendid company.There is another motive for this letter and invitation. We have talked in the past about your growing fondness for this beautiful country, away from the turmoil of New Orleans. I have an excellent proposal to discuss with you that could be of benefit to both of us. I dare not entrust it to a letter. This demands a frank discussion between two friends, and I am sure a man of your talents and ambitions will grasp the unlimited opportunity this partnership could bring. We need to act quickly, before others understand the possibilities. This could be the beginning of a solid partnership in addition to our friendship.Say h.e.l.lo to your sister and your cousins for me.Looking forward to hearing from you soon. Your committed friend.Narcisse Fredieu Christmas and New Year's came and went with no word, as Narcisse's creditors became increasingly impatient.

Finally, near the end of January, a posting came, not from New Orleans, but from Pointe Coupee. Narcisse recognized Joseph's neat hand on the envelope.

Joseph's letter to Narcisse, 1875.Point Coupee, January 27th, 1875Dear Monsieur Narcisse,I make haste to answer your letter, dated December 22nd, from last month. You will excuse me for not having written back sooner. I was gone into the countryside here with friends who had come to town. And they insisted very strongly that I come with them. I have therefore been working until now. And every Sat.u.r.day, we played music at local dances. I am quite happy with the friends here. My uncle had your letter sent to me, by an opportunity, the other day. But since you are telling me you have an excellent place for me, and that I should come, I gladly accept in order to be closer to you. As I have noted in letters I have written to you, I appreciate your company. Dear Friend Narcisse, you will see the proof of it. I will take the steamboat Bart Able Bart Able on its way north from New Orleans to come next Sat.u.r.day to give you a friendly handshake, to you, and also to Madame Philomene and to Mademoiselle Pet.i.te, and to the little boys, and to all the friends. Nothing more for the present. on its way north from New Orleans to come next Sat.u.r.day to give you a friendly handshake, to you, and also to Madame Philomene and to Mademoiselle Pet.i.te, and to the little boys, and to all the friends. Nothing more for the present.While waiting to see you soon, I am, as I take leave of you, your fully devoted friend for life.Joseph Billes In less than two months Joseph moved part-time to Red River and began to demonstrate that he had a gift of sweeping land and money to him like a broom.

29.

"I wonder what Monsieur Joseph will do with the land he bought over in Grant Parish?" Emily began at dinner one rainy afternoon in June. There was hardly s.p.a.ce enough at the table in the common room to move without having to slide a chair forward or b.u.mp elbows with someone, but they gathered here every Sunday for family dinner. There seemed to be more family to squeeze into the cramped cabin every month. wonder what Monsieur Joseph will do with the land he bought over in Grant Parish?" Emily began at dinner one rainy afternoon in June. There was hardly s.p.a.ce enough at the table in the common room to move without having to slide a chair forward or b.u.mp elbows with someone, but they gathered here every Sunday for family dinner. There seemed to be more family to squeeze into the cramped cabin every month.

"Unless he was the one to put the food on this table, we are not talking about Joseph Billes again today," Philomene said.

"A man, after just the one thing," Suzette mumbled, and quickly lowered her eyes.

Emily felt herself blush furiously, but it was to Nicolas that her grandmother Suzette sent an apologetic look when she lifted her head again. Since she had married and moved in with Nicolas Mulon, Suzette had become looser in her speech when the pair came to Sunday dinner. Nicolas gave Suzette an indulgent return look. An easygoing husband, he fit in well, and it had sealed the collective family opinion unanimously in his favor when he'd crafted each of them a pair of custom shoes from his cobbler's bench.

"The Frenchman is older than I am," Philomene said. "I have no intention of allowing any more child mothers in this family."

"Let the girl be," Elisabeth brokered, but then turned to Emily. "You might want to talk about something else until you have some fresh news. It has been almost two months since any of us even saw the man."

Emily had been overjoyed to come back home to Cane River. She hadn't really seen too much of the city of New Orleans, tucked away as she had been most of the time behind convent walls, and what she had seen had made her miss her home even more. Too many harsh sounds, vendors yelling along the street, people close together and in a hurry, not enough soil where things could grow. The other girls were nice enough, but it was temporary, and she had missed her own people more than she'd thought possible, even her younger brothers. But being delivered back safely into the arms of family meant she saw less of Joseph, and she could hardly bear it.

Emily had been intrigued with Joseph Billes from the moment he'd appeared alongside her father in the New Orleans convent parlor. He carried more of France than Louisiana in speech, outlook, and bearing, clearly a newcomer to a foreign land. His visits to the convent helped ease that lonely year in New Orleans, even though she knew his attentions were at her father's request, merely looking after a friend's daughter. He had a side-by-side shyness and self-confidence in his manner, and even though he was a white man, he conducted himself toward her with unaffected acceptance. Emily found it dizzying.

At the New Orleans convent Joseph had been polite yet playful, treating her in the affectionate but offhand way an adult treats a child. The first time he called her Mademoiselle Pet.i.te, his eyes danced. From his eyes to her heart. By the time she left the convent a year later, each breath she drew, every thought she held, took Joseph Billes into consideration. She was almost fourteen, a woman now. Joseph Billes just didn't realize it yet.

Emily's high spirits and optimism could turn in a moment to an irritable restlessness, and she seemed powerless to stop it. She lashed out at her younger brothers then, the way she would not dare with the old women. Emily could see how baffled her brothers were, no longer as eager to be around the moody, sullen girl. She was sulky when Joseph was gone away from Cane River and snappish when he returned but didn't come to visit. Sometimes she spilled over, stalking off, furious at how tightly everyone hung on to her. She got into the habit of taking long walks by herself, staying away for an hour or more with no explanation, and because she came back in a quieter mood, the household tolerated her disappearances. Emily was the first generation they could afford to pamper.

Most times Joseph came around to pay his respects to Philomene's family, he did so with Narcisse. Whenever he came alone, Emily was a.s.signed chaperones. As if she could get Joseph to think of her in that way, Emily thought. She glowed in his presence and wasn't coy about showing her delight with his company. She wore only her best dresses, pinched her cheeks to redden them, and spent hours practicing in the mirror, piling sandy brown hair on top of her head in styles that made her look older. But someone-siblings, uncles, aunts, mother, grandmother, or great-grandmother-always had a vigilant eye out. If Emily retrieved her long-billed bonnet so she and Joseph could take a walk, Philomene or Elisabeth would call, "Eugene, Nick, go with them." Henry, the latest baby brother, was too small, or he would have been a.s.signed to watch, too. It seemed that everyone except Joseph thought she was in danger of his advances.