"They will allow it over my dead body!"
The ferocity of Beau LaConte's angry declaration, accompanied by flailing of arms that set the carriage to wobbling, made me take fright. The LaContes had been our Mississippi delta neighbors for more than a century, but I should have known better than accept his offer for transport to the Hallow's Eve masked ball at the Cabildo. It wasn't just that I couldn't fully trust myself around Beau. It also was because the LaContes were sadly inbred and had not taken to the recent shame at all well. In fact, all legitimate LaContes but Beau had promptly died from embarrassment upon hearing of General Lee's surrender. And Beau showed no signs of adjusting to the new realities either.
"Careful, neighbor," I said, laying a soothing hand on his arm. "You'll split that rich brocade of your French Court costume and be the talk of the town." Indeed, that might very well be true. In his vanity, Beau, must have literally been sewn into that costume of his. I could discern every curve and crevice of his finely sculpted body. I would be suspicious that he had invited me to share his carriage simply to make me pine for him—if I had any notion that he was aware of anyone but himself to the extent of realizing that I did, indeed, pine for him and had done so since we were lads.
"Anyway, it's inevitable, Beau. We lost, and they are in control now. They have the government in their hands; there is no denying them entry to our masked balls. By the Christmas Ball they will be in control of the governing committee for that as well."
"Over my dead body," Beau cried out again, setting the coach to rocking again. In response to this, he took his silver-headed cane and pounded on the roof of the carriage. "More care up there, I say. A smoother ride or you won't be driving me ever again."
I had a twinge of regret for poor little Dexter at the reins atop the carriage. He'd been out there in the elements for the two-hour cold and clammy ride along the banks of the lower Mississippi to New Orleans. And I had seen how poorly clad he was from the beginning. He'd catch his death of cold, surely. But Beau wouldn't care. He didn't recognize the word "emancipation," let alone accept that it had actually been put into force. And his people had no place else to go other than the plantation. It wasn't as if they could suddenly learn new trades and how to meet life as free men. But here we were on Chartres St. and entering the Faubourg Marigny district. Within minutes we'd be pulling past St. Louis Cathedral on Jackson Square and arriving at the ball, one of the last vestiges of gaiety left in this city mourning the stripping away of its once-grand way of life.
I made one last stab. "We will not be alone at the ball, Beau. You must try not to make a scene. We must adjust. It's only right."
"Only right?" Beau blustered as the carriage drew up to the torchlit entry of the government building-turned ballroom for the evening. "I'll never adjust to this. I'll have nothing to do with them. Ever. My family has existed completely apart from them for a hundred and fifty years and will continue to do so."
Apart from them, I thought bitterly. Everything your family has was built on their backs. And then, as the carriage door opened, Dexter was there, folding the steps down and standing close by, hands at ready to help Beau out of the carriage. But he was brushed aside without a look from Beau, and I saw a grimace flash across Dexter's face. Beau had stepped on his foot—without realizing or caring that he had done so.
I couldn't help myself. I laughed. A laugh deep in my throat, more in bitterness than in mirth. But it wasn't because Beau had stepped on Dexter's foot. It was something entirely different.
"What's so funny?" Beau grumbled, pressing out the few creases in his tight, silken breeches that had the audacity to mar the perfection of his persona.
