“Now tell me the truth. Why did you decide to come here?”
“My father died, and afterward I discovered that he’d stored away a sizable amount of money. So I used it to come to New Orleans. I wanted to learn the shipping business. It seemed like a perfect choice.”
“When was this?”
“Not too long after we met.”
He began to walk toward the dock, and she joined him. They crossed an area where track was being laid for the new Public Belt Railroad, then passed through an alleyway in a huge stave yard. The barrel staves—among the main products that Gulf Coast exported to Europe—were used in wine-producing countries where wood was scarce. Sometimes she wondered if there were any trees left in the northern states.
“I’m sorry about your father,” she said.
“Thank you.”
“But why the shipping business? And why Gulf Coast?”
“What business in New Orleans doesn’t have to do with shipping? And I’m used to the water, so the railroads held no interest for me. Why do we lay miles and miles of track, when we have a river running through the middle of this country? They tell me it used to be so crowded a man could walk for miles just by stepping from one steamboat to another.”
“That’s how it was when I was a child.” She moved to one side and waited as a rat ran from one pile of staves to another.
“We shouldn’t have come this way. Your shoes are getting muddy.”
“The purpose of shoes.” She lifted her skirt a little higher. “I envy you working here every day.”
“Do you?” He sounded skeptical.
“Don’t tell me you’re one of those men who thinks a woman is only interested in what she wears?”
“Then you’re on this tour because you really want to see what’s here?”
“Why else would I be communing with rats and mud?” He was walking faster now, as if he wanted to finish the tour quickly. “When you went to work for my father, did you connect our names?”
“I didn’t start out working for him. My first job was to collect wharfage from the boats along a certain route.”
“How did you move from that to this?”
“One day I was too late. A boat left before I could collect. I learned one of your father’s steamers was on its way upriver, so I offered to unload in Baton Rouge if they would take me with them. When I got there, I found the boat and collected the toll, and then I unloaded a thousand bunches of bananas.”
“And how did you get back home?”
He lowered his voice conspiratorially. “I hopped on a barge going downriver, and spent the night on a cotton bale. I got back just in time to collect my fares the next morning.”
She laughed. “But you still haven’t said how you got this job.”
“Your father heard the story and approached me. He said he was looking for someone resourceful and hardworking.”
“And did you know that Lucien Le Danois was my father?”
He hesitated. “I suspected. But it’s not something I could
discuss, particularly when I would never have met you if you hadn’t escaped to the bayous without telling your father.”
“Then you know a secret about me. And I know one about you.”
He stopped and faced her. “Do you?”
“Certainly. I know your past.”
“Do you?” he repeated.
“Yes. You’re Étienne the knife-wielding Acadian from the back of Lafourche.”
“And what shall we do with these secrets?”
“Guard them carefully.”
“Carefully?” His eyes were opaque, as if he had already started to guard secrets. “Is that necessary? You don’t come to the riverfront often. And your father doesn’t show an inclination to invite me for dinner. I doubt our paths will cross often.”
He asked questions as if they weren’t questions at all. Perhaps it was easier that way, because then he could deny his own intentions if the answer wasn’t to his liking. But Aurore wasn’t fooled. He wanted to know if he would see her again. Even as he pointed out the differences between them, the worlds that separated them, he wanted to see her again.
“I think I’ll be coming to the riverfront often,” she said. “My father has no sons. One day Gulf Coast will be mine.”
“Then we’ll have to agree to watch out for each other.”
“Yes.” She searched the face she had once found so appealing. A year later, it was even more so, stronger and more mature. “Yes, we’ll have to agree.”
“Maybe that won’t be too difficult.”
“Perhaps not.” She forgot to smile. She stared at him and measured this man against others. She had no illusions that
knowing Étienne Terrebonne would ever be easy. But she thought that it might be worth whatever difficulty it created.
Finally he turned away. “I’ll tell you about the wharves. Before the dock board assumed control, they were privately managed. Originally what structures there were along the riverbanks were built of wood, but now our sheds are made of steel. We can berth two steamers here, and more down at the next dock, with permission. When the
Danish Dowager
is launched, there’ll be room for her on our wharf.”
“That’s a day I want to see.”
His glance was approving. “We’re equipped with electric conveyors operated by fifteen-horsepower motors. They were installed with lifting and lowering devices to adapt to the water level of the river.”
She walked beside him and listened with interest. But most interesting were the things that had already been said.
There were days during the summer when Lucien was certain each breath was his last. There was no relief from the heat. It seared his lungs and clutched at his heart. He slept sitting up—when he slept at all—in a chair beside his bedroom window. By lamplight he wrote letters to Father Grimaud.
He went to the office in the mornings, but rarely stayed past noon. The heat seemed worse on the riverfront, as if the Mississippi trapped the highest temperatures in its murky depths. He avoided the Pickwick Club, formerly his refuge, afraid that his increasingly gaunt appearance would start rumors. Sometimes he traveled the necessary miles to the outfitting pier where the
Danish Dowager
was being completed, but most afternoons he simply made excuses and went home.
By October, the temperatures had dropped enough to give
Lucien some relief, but the summer had sapped his interest in Gulf Coast. His steamships continued to glide in and out of port, bringing bananas from Costa Rica and coffee from Brazil, carrying cotton to Italy, timber products to France and grain to England. Loading and unloading was easier and more efficient, but there was still less movement on the river than he had hoped to see.
At least he had good men working to improve Gulf Coast’s revenues. Karl, his secretary, could be counted on to protect the company’s interests when Lucien wasn’t in the office. His operating manager, Tim Gilhooley, a veteran prizefighter who had reached his peak in the last century—along with the city’s enthusiasm for the sport—could still crack a head or two if it was called for, or slip a bottle of Kentucky’s finest bourbon to any man who needed a gentler touch.
Then there was Étienne Terrebonne. Étienne had impressed Lucien from the start. He was obviously a young man of good upbringing, even if he came from the nether regions of Bayou Lafourche. His skin was too dark, his heritage too obviously Latin, but he dressed well and had a good education. Most important, he was not afraid of hard work.
At times, Étienne seemed like a man possessed. He had learned more about shipping in the months he had been with the company than most of Lucien’s employees knew after years. He had been promoted twice, most recently to traffic manager. Under Tim’s watchful guidance, Étienne was in charge of trade.
Étienne wouldn’t have progressed so quickly under ordinary circumstances, but Lucien no longer had years to carefully assess and train his associates. Where once he had expected to ease Aurore’s husband into the company, now he
was forced to find alternatives. She had no serious suitors on the horizon.
Aurore was as sought after as any of the young women who attended performances at the French Opera House. She was visited in their family box by young men as often as any of her friends. She had wealth and name. Lucien had been a duke in the court of Proteus, and the young Claire had been the queen of Comus. In New Orleans, a place in the best carnival organizations was a serious matter. The crowned heads of Europe received only a trifle more admiration—and not from the residents of the Crescent City.
So Aurore was New Orleans royalty, with the added bonus of being the heiress to a great New Orleans steamship line. There should have been multiple offers of marriage, but Aurore had discouraged them. Never before had he allowed her to resist his plans for her life. But the year was 1906, and even the sternest patriarch couldn’t force a woman to marry against her wishes.
Faced with a heart that struggled to beat and a willful daughter, Lucien had been forced to look for a man with the youth, intelligence and ambition necessary to provide leadership for Gulf Coast when he was gone. Étienne was his top candidate. An offer of stock, a promise of Tim’s job upon Tim’s retirement, a glimpse of the prestige that could be his if he made Gulf Coast his life’s work, and Lucien believed that Étienne would commit himself to the company.
One afternoon in late October, Lucien was preparing to leave the office. He had stayed longer than usual to go over some figures Étienne had given him. As always, everything seemed in perfect order. He was gathering his gloves and hat when there was a knock at his door. He called an invitation
to enter, hoping it would mean only a short delay. His housekeeper had promised him an early supper of soft-shell crabs fresh from the French Market.
“Mr. Le Danois.” Étienne waited politely in the doorway.
Lucien motioned him inside. “I went over the papers. Everything’s in order. You’re doing an excellent job.”
“Thank you. Do you have any thoughts on the new insurance plan I suggested?”
“Gulf Coast has always done business with Fargrave-Crane. I hesitate to make changes now.”
“I can understand that, sir. I only thought you might be interested in saving a considerable amount of money.”
There had been a time when Lucien wouldn’t have considered Étienne’s suggestion. There was an unwritten code among the owners and management of the larger companies on the riverfront. The men all moved in the same social and political circles. They demanded loyalty, even if sometimes it was costly. In return, they supported each other by looking the other way when times were difficult. Often a personal guarantee for funds was as good as money in a bank vault.
But Étienne was not bound by the ethics of the inner circle. With Tim’s consent, he had entertained estimates from new insurance companies after discovering the large sum that Gulf Coast paid to insure its fleet and cargo. Lucien had only allowed the search to progress because he was concerned about finances. He was sure he had been correct in building the new facility and in making a substantial loan to the dock board. He was sure that the SS
Danish Dowager,
Gulf Coast’s newest and largest ship, had been a good decision. But his own progressive outlook had put operating revenue at a premium.
He decided to take a gamble. “Have Tim thoroughly check out Jacelle and Sons. Then we’ll discuss it again.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Are you enjoying your work here, Étienne?”
“Very much.”
“Are you finding time for a personal life, too? I don’t want you to exhaust yourself. There must be hundreds of young women who would be happy to show you the pleasures of the city.”
“I’ll remember that, sir.”
Étienne smiled, and Lucien read all the easy confidence of youth on his face. The smile made Lucien feel older and closer to death. He envied Étienne the years ahead of him. “Do you miss your home? I know you said your family is gone, but don’t you sometimes wish you could go back?”
“Yes.” Étienne was no longer smiling. “But as a boy I used to long for this day. Now I’m determined to make the most of it.”
“So you were always ambitious.” Lucien pulled on his gloves. “Generally I’ve found Acadians to be an easily satisfied lot. Why are you so different?”
“Different? Or unfortunate? Who’s to say that devotion to achieving my goals won’t ruin me?”
“I was different, too.” Lucien didn’t know why he suddenly felt so inclined to share his story with Étienne, but there was something compelling about the young man’s barely leashed vitality, his dark-eyed intensity.
“How so?”
“How many Creole families held on to their fortunes?” He didn’t wait for an answer. Both men knew that the Creoles of New Orleans were a dying breed. Many of the old names
existed still, but they had been grafted onto sturdier, more resilient stock.
“And do you know why not?” he continued. “Because they didn’t believe in work. Even my father-in-law, Antoine Friloux, found it distasteful, if necessary. The war destroyed most of our Creole families. They didn’t know how to take the little that was left and make something out of it. But I did. And now I control an empire, because hard work didn’t repel me.”
“An example for any man to follow,” Étienne said.
“You’re young.” Lucien allowed himself a sigh. “You still have so much to learn. I always hoped to have a son of my own to teach someday.”
Étienne didn’t reply. Obviously he respected a dream unrealized. “Don’t stay here all night,” Lucien said. “Go home and have a good meal. I’ll see you in the morning.”
“Thank you, sir.”
Lucien nodded his goodbye. In the carriage, he closed his eyes and let the peaceful clack of the wheels on the granite-block roadway soothe him to sleep.
Étienne watched Lucien’s carriage weave through the riverfront traffic. His driver was an elderly Negro who had been with the family since before Aurore’s birth. She had told Étienne that she was very fond of the old man, Fantome, who had often lied gallantly for her when she had disobeyed her father. Étienne didn’t know where the name had come from, or if it had any relation to the one he had been born with, but Fantome was indeed a phantom. He existed in the shadows of Lucien’s and Aurore’s lives, a tall, stiffly formal specter who gazed at Étienne with knowing eyes.