Danielle Steel - Legacy (2010)

They had the largest château in the district, and extensive lands. Tristan had always taken his responsibilities seriously, and Jean suspected he would be relieved that his younger brother was coming home to settle down too. At twenty-four, it had taken him time. He rhapsodized about Wachiwi in his letter, but gave Tristan few details, only that he loved her and that they were coming home to Brittany and planned to be married in the family church on their estate. Tristan had inherited the title and everything that went with it when he had been barely more than a boy himself, when their parents died in a terrible epidemic. Tristan had been eighteen, and Jean a child of eight. Tristan had been the head of the family ever since, and as much a father as a brother to Jean. The two men had been close before Jean left France, but he had felt a yearning in his soul to travel, something Tristan had never allowed himself. He had too much on his shoulders with all their properties, landholdings, and their vast estate. They had shipping interests, their parents’ enormous house in Paris that they seldom used, and Tristan was a regular presence at court. He was closely tied to the monarchy, and now Jean wanted to be too.

Jean had grown up, and the lovely Indian woman he was bringing home with him had helped him do it. He said everything that was important to him about her in the letter, except one detail. After the fiasco with his cousins, he didn’t want Tristan making judgments about Wachiwi before he met her, so he did not tell Tristan that she was a Sioux, nor her name. He wanted his older brother to love and accept her too, and Jean felt sure he would. He told his older brother how lovely she was, how brave and kind and gentle. She was a noble woman and a dignified human being, whatever her origin or race, and worthy of respect. Jean was sure that Tristan would see that immediately. He was that kind of person, and Jean had enormous admiration for him and all that he had carried without complaint for so many years. Everyone in the county adored him, and so did Jean. He could hardly wait to introduce him to Wachiwi now. And he was determined to teach her flawless French on their long journey, so that she could converse with his brother and all their friends in Brittany when they got back. She no longer had to learn English—their home and their life were going to be in France.

Wachiwi dressed herself carefully, and Jean smiled at her in approval as they left the boardinghouse and walked down to the port. It was a busy city, with a great deal of activity around the harbor. And Jean noticed with displeasure the disapproving glances cast at them as they walked along. He would have had no greater censure if he had been strolling through the port with a naked slave from one of the plantations. Men looked at her lasciviously since she was so beautiful, and women gave him a disgusted look and turned their gaze away. All women, particularly married ones, were aware of the things that men did when out of sight of respectable people, but parading publicly with an Indian woman, no matter how pretty she was, was beyond the pale. It was almost worse because Wachiwi was so lovely—the women who saw her with him seemed to loathe her all the more. Even Wachiwi, in her innocence and ignorance of the customs of his people, couldn’t miss the hostile stares. She asked him about it once when one particularly outraged matron gathered up her children around her, said something unpleasant to her husband, and forced them all to cross the street rather than be on the sidewalk with Jean and Wachiwi. People were clearly incensed that he acted as though Wachiwi were a respectable woman, and had dressed her like one, and treated her that way. If he had put his horse in a bonnet and a dress, they would have been less upset. And it was not just the women who ostracized him, the men obviously envied him but were blatant in their disapproval too. If they couldn’t do something like that, why could he? New Orleans was very definitely not the place for them, and Jean couldn’t wait to leave. He wanted to get Wachiwi away from their ugly stares, audible remarks, and their impression that she was no better than their slaves. He couldn’t wait to get back to France now, where he hoped she would be treated like a human being, and addressed with respect.

He spoke to two ship captains that morning, with Wachiwi standing next to him. He thought it best to say that they were married, and he explained that they wanted to book passage on the first ship back to France. The first captain took a long look at Wachiwi, recognized that she was an Indian, and a few minutes later said that all the cabins were booked. He said there was not a bit of room on the boat for them, which Jean did not believe. He felt certain that the captain didn’t want to deal with the complaints of other passengers on the ship, particularly the women, who might be outraged by the beautiful young Indian girl in their midst. And even more so that he was claiming she was his wife. Their fury would have been unpleasant for the captain to deal with for the seven or eight weeks it would take to get back to France. He didn’t want the headache.

The second captain was mellower and seemed more relaxed. He also recognized easily Wachiwi’s origins, but he didn’t seem to care. Jean could smell that he’d been drinking whiskey, but he booked their passage, took Jean’s money without questions, and said his ship was leaving for Saint Malo in Brittany in two weeks. He glanced at Jean’s traveling papers and didn’t care that Wachiwi had none. He didn’t have to account for the passengers on board nor even list them, and Jean’s money was good enough for him. She was neither a Spanish nor a French citizen and had no need of papers to enter France. The young French count said she was his wife, which was possible, although the captain considered it unlikely.

The captain estimated that the trip would take from six to eight weeks. It would be late September when they set sail, hurricane season would be almost over, and with luck and good weather, he hoped to reach the coast of France in November. The seas would be rough by then on the Atlantic, but there was nothing they could do. Jean didn’t want to wait a moment longer than he had to. He just hoped that the boardinghouse would let them keep their room until they sailed. If guests complained about Wachiwi’s presence, they might be asked to leave. But they had passage on a ship now, in the best cabin, and before they left the port, Jean gave his letter to his brother to another captain, who was sailing for France on a tiny, miserable-looking ship the next day. If the ship didn’t sink before it got there, his brother would have the letter announcing Jean’s return to France, shortly before they arrived.

Jean was more determined than ever to marry Wachiwi the moment they got back to France. He would have done it before he left, but he was certain that there wasn’t a priest or minister in all of New Orleans who would have performed the ceremony. They would have to wait until they reached France.

For the next two weeks, they stayed mostly in their room. They went for long walks at night, strolling through the busy city in the still-balmy night air. It was easier for them to go out at night than brave the disapproving stares of “respectable” people in the daytime. And in their confined daytime hours in the hotel room, he spent hours teaching Wachiwi French. She was doing surprisingly well, and knew the names for many things now. It was harder expressing abstract concepts and her feelings, but she was managing that too, although awkwardly at times. But they could actually have conversations, share ideas, and laugh a lot. Wachiwi seemed totally happy with him, and they spent a considerable amount of time in bed when they had nothing else to do. It was a universal language, and their passion and deep feelings for each other knew no bounds.