Villere House (Blood of My Blood) (5 page)

CHAPTER FIVE

W
hen Amanda wanted to stop at the hotel room to pee before meeting up with Sam, Lottie knew it was the perfect opportunity for her to bail on the evening.

"You're kidding me? You want to stay in?"

"I'm exhausted. And my hand kinda hurts."

"Alcohol will take care of that."

"And the exhausted part?"

"Caffeine," Amanda said with a shrug. "Oh, wait. I think I have a couple Adderalls in my purse."

She started to dig through the bright red bag when Lottie's look stopped her.

"Right. You sure you don't want one? Just this one time? Adderall is harmless. Shit, they prescribe it to kids."

"I think sleep would probably be better for me. I'll party tomorrow night I promise. But I just can't tonight. I don't have it in me."

Amanda sighed. "All right." She held out her hand. "Give me your nail file."

"What?"

"I know you said you weren't trying to hurt yourself, but still, I'd feel better if you weren’t armed. Just in case you go all wacko again or something."

Though the request was somewhat shocking, it certainly wasn't unreasonable. "Sure." She handed it over.

The file went into Amanda's purse and her arms went around Lottie's neck. Amanda was a confirmed hugger but Lottie never minded the sometimes awkward displays of affection. Especially not now.

"Hey, thanks for everything, Amanda. And if you and Sam need a designated
walker
, call me. You know, like if you get lost…" She grinned.

"Will do." Amanda started for the door. "And if you change your mind and want to hang, text me."

She wasn't sure what could possibly make her want to brave the dirt and grime of Bourbon Street, but agreed anyway.

Once alone, the room seemed eerily quiet. She turned on the TV and then every light in the suite. Plopping on the couch, she tried to push the day's events from her mind. If she thought about them, even for a second, she was afraid she might lose her mind.

It was an impossible task. Nothing on the television was working. She sifted through boring show after show, finally settling on the pre-recorded live cable feed from New Orleans Historical Homes City Council. One woman's plea to keep her not quite historically accurate shutters kept Lottie's attention for a few minutes. It wasn't enough.

She was invariably brought back to the incident on the street, or the shower
talking
to her, or the weirdest point of the day where, in some sort of daze, she'd sliced her wrist in the cemetery. Then to top it off, she kept going back to her dreams. Élise, Rosette, Henry, Amélie, Sanite Villere… It made her want to slam her head into the wall until there was nothing but pudding inside.

There was really only one shining spotlight on the day. One thing that made her head spin in an entirely different direction: Xavier Villere.

Meeting him was the one highlight of her day that was welcome, that felt good, that…she wanted to do again. Maybe she should be frightened of the spark she felt with him, but unlike the rest of the hoopla she was dealing with, at least being attracted to a man who happened to be gorgeous felt normal…real…natural. Dreaming about an early nineteenth century woman did not.

In spite of wondering whether the Historical Homes City Council would approve the current resident's desire to keep his recently installed vinyl windows, Lottie clicked off the TV with a sigh.

She needed to get to bed. She was just a little afraid of what was waiting for her when she closed her eyes. Would she dream again of Élise? Of Amélie? Would she hear strange voices again? Would she be compelled to hurt herself—maybe throw herself off the bed…into the pool…stuff her head into the oven…?

On cue her bandaged palm and wrist throbbed.

She groaned out loud and she hefted herself off the sunken couch and headed for the back bedroom.

Maybe it was all just alcohol withdrawal fueled delusions, but she left the lights on in the common room anyway. Just in case. Of course, Amanda and Sam would probably be pretty intoxicated when they stumbled through the door later, so she could mentally justify leaving the lights on for their benefit.

Knowing she'd never sleep with the bedroom light blazing, she clicked it off and then leapt from the door to the bed and under the covers in a single, Olympics worthy bound. At least the open doorway provided allowed enough light to seep in it wasn't pitch-black.

In spite of her racing heart and throbbing arm, it wasn't long before her exhausted thoughts drifted into blackness.

~

"Mama!" Amélie called just as Élise reached the door to her room.

"I'm here, darling."

Amélie's room was dark and cool, but even in the dim light of a single lamp, Élise could see that she glistened with sweat.

"Il fait chaud, mama," Amélie whimpered, twisting in her soaked nightgown.

Élise sat on the edge of the small, feather stuffed mattress. After peeling back strands of Amélie's fine blond hair from her forehead, she placed the back of her hand against the child's skin. "Oh, mon petit chou, you are warm." Amélie hadn't had the fever when she left to retrieve the calomel. It was alarming that it could appear so quickly. "Rosette," she called toward the open door.

Within minutes the petite servant was standing in the doorway. Backlit from the brighter light in the hall, all Élise could make out was the white of her apron. "Please bring in some cool water and a fresh cloth."

"Yes, Madame."

"And the medicine," Élise added as Rosette turned to leave.

They spent the night alternating between trying to soothe Amélie's fever and holding her over the bourdalou as the calomel caused her to retch nearly every hour. Getting her to take the medicine took both of them—Élise held her arms while Rosette forced the liquid into her. Even though it was mixed with sugar water, Amélie still resisted, screaming and twisting in Élise's grasp.

She hated it all. Couldn't stand watching her youngest child so miserable.

After hours of retching and still no reduction in fever, she was beginning to question giving Amélie the medicine at all. Especially after what the stranger on the street had said. The doctor assured her it was necessary, but it didn't seem to be helping. In fact, the child only seemed worse, finally collapsing from exhaustion sometime after midnight. Élise quickly followed.

By morning the fever had deepened. She refused to give her daughter any more of the calomel, sending Rosette for the doctor instead. The boys were thankfully at school, so they didn't have to see her cry.

She waited all morning, desperately applying as much cool water to Amélie's forehead as she could. By the time the doctor arrived, shortly after noon, her nerves were so frazzled it was all she could do to keep from snapping at him for being so late. Nor did she care that her hair was loose and she still wore her dressing gown.

He sat in the chair Élise had vacated upon his arrival to examine Amélie's pale, listless body. After a few moments he turned to Élise. "You gave her the calomel?"

"Yes. She was sick all night."

"Hmm." He leaned back in the chair and stroked the short gray hairs on his chin. "You'll need to take her to the Barber. A pint should be enough to remove the tainted blood."

"I can't take her anywhere. Look at her!" She pointed at her daughter. The doctor barely turned. "Isn't there anything you can do now…?"

He grimaced.

"Please," she begged. "She must get better."

"Children often don't recover, Madame Cantrelle. You know that."

Bracing against the dresser, Élise closed her eyes and tried to keep her breath and tears in check. He was right, she knew. She'd been lucky that all of her children had been healthy thus far. She lost one child to miscarriage, but that was it.

She couldn't lose Amélie. She'd finally gotten over Nathanael's unexpected death, to lose her little girl…

She swallowed. Hard. Hard enough the doctor probably heard it.

He sighed. "Very well. I'll do it." He sighed again, retrieving his bag from where it rested on the floor. "I'll need a pail and some clean water."

Scurrying from the room, she retrieved the items and with Rosette in tow, rushed back up the stairs.

Sleeves rolled up, the doctor had his tools on the chest and a pail at his feet. For a man so recently unwilling to perform the bloodletting, he certainly was prepared.

"I'll need your help with her." He gestured roughly toward the bed.

Sitting Amélie up, Élise held her shoulders while Rosette held her legs in case she struggled. It was unnecessary. Amélie barely flinched when he pierced her vein with the lancet, only moaning a little.

Élise had been bled several times in her life, most recently when she started having debilitating headaches. And it never bothered her. But watching the stream of red pour from her daughter's tiny, pale arm made her nauseous. And the more the pail filled, the sicker she felt until she finally had to turn away.

She squeezed Amélie gently, resting her cheek against the soft, blond hair. Kissing her head, she murmured, "All will be well. All will be well."

By evening, it was apparent neither the bleeding nor the calomel had helped. Fever continued to ravage Amélie's body, sweat soaking through three sleeping gowns and two sets of sheets. Élise refused to leave the room, not even when Rosette begged her to get some rest in a proper bed, promising the keep watch while she slept.

Finally, Rosette quit asking. The boys returned from school and she tended to them. Élise didn't know what she'd do without her. She was more like a sister than a servant. They'd been together since Nathanael's death. Presumably an ex-slave, Rosette had arrived in New Orleans with little more than the clothes on her back and desperately seeking work.

Seven months pregnant and trying to figure out how to simplify her household without a man to provide a steady income, Élise took an instant liking to the petite, wide-eyed woman.

The arrangement was perfect for both. Rosette provided almost all the assistance she needed, and maintaining one live-in servant was financially more feasible than an entire household.

The companionship she provided was priceless.

Élise smiled gratefully, if not a bit wearily, when Rosette brought a small baguette, some meat and cheese, and tea.

"You need to eat," she said, setting the plate on the dresser.

Even though her stomach turned at the sight of the food, she said, "Thank you. Are the boys in bed?"

"Yes. Washed and fed."

Élise sighed. "I should tell them goodnight, at least."

Rosette smiled reassuringly. "Don't worry Madame, they will be fine. They are strong young men." She stooped over Amélie, whose heavy breathing made her chest rise and fall like a set of billows. Gently, she rested her hand on the girl's glistening forehead, the dark skin looking even darker against Amélie's colorless complexion. Rosette kissed her forehead and then turned to Élise. "I am not so sure about this one's strength."

Élise felt her heart slide into her feet. "Don't say that," she whispered hoarsely, fighting the tears as they rushed to her eyes. She couldn't break down now. She needed to stay strong.

"I must say it." Rosette sat beside her and took her hand. "Just as I must say I know someone who might be able to help."

"The doctor—"

"Not a doctor," Rosette interjected. "Not a white one anyway."

Élise immediately knew she was speaking of a Voodoo healer.

"Before you think to refuse," Rosette said. "Know that I love this child as if she were my own. I helped deliver her. I've helped raise her. I wouldn't suggest the magic man unless I thought it would work."

She only had to look into Rosette's deep brown eyes for a moment to know the woman was sincere. It wasn't uncommon for French and Spanish Creoles to use the Voodoo healers for tonics and other various potions, but for something this serious…?

But Amélie was so weak and she was desperate. Rosette might be her servant but she was also a friend. A trusted friend.

Gently, she pulled her hand from Rosette's and turned to place a delicate kiss on Amélie's forehead. Her skin was so, so hot, the decision was instantly made. She turned to Rosette. "Send for your man. And please hurry."

The last sentence was unnecessary. Rosette was already hustling out the door.

~

Lottie felt like she'd barely slept at all even though the clock read two a.m. and she'd been asleep for four hours. She was as exhausted as the woman in her dreams. Both physically and mentally. Like she was the one who'd been up for hours with her sick daughter, watching her health continue to weaken.

What was even more baffling than the realism of the dreams and the fact that they were in French even though she'd never spoken a word of it, was the way they were being played out. Like someone had pushed play the moment she stepped foot in New Orleans, but it was a movie she could only watch while asleep. She had little doubt the next time she closed her eyes, the dream would pick up right where it had left off.