Page 19 of Frankly, My Dear

“A…a sense of humor,” he sputtered, dropping his hand from her shoulder. “Do you realize what could have happened back there, you witless wench? If Atwood hadn’t believed you, he could have put you on the auction block. There’s nothing funny about slavery, I assure you.”

“I’m sorry. I’ve just never been in a situation like this before—”

“And you think I have? Mon Dieu! You are senseless.”

“I think I take the danger so lightly because you’re at my side,” she admitted, putting a hand on his coat sleeve hesitantly. “Somehow I don’t think you would let anyone hurt me.”

“Don’t depend on it,” he said coldly.

He started to walk in the direction of their hotel once again, but he didn’t look quite so angry now.

“James, could we—”

“No! We are not going to eat again.”

“That’s not what I was going to say.”

“Oh?” He slanted her a disbelieving look. “Lady, you’d best understand one thing—the bank crash of ’37 brought me and most of the South to its knees. Last summer, a vicious storm destroyed half my cane fields. My land, my home, everything I own is mortgaged to my eyeballs. And mine are not removable, my dear. A man could go bankrupt trying to fill that bottomless pit you call a stomach.”

Selene forgot to be insulted for a moment as she gazed at his sparkling eyes, realizing for the first time that their blue color was flecked with gray. Forcing aside her odd attraction to James, she explained, “I merely wanted to ask if I was going to have to hide in Reba’s armoire when we get back to the hotel. I mean, your overseer’s wife was really nice, but that wardrobe thing was hotter than a sauna. I probably lost a pound.”

She saw his lips twitch and knew he was stifling a smile. Geez! Why did the guy insist on being so somber all the time? If he’d flash that dimple once in a while he’d have the world by its tail. Or at least, all of its women.

“No, there’s no need to hide anymore. Unless Victor comes up with some other complaint, or you do something to rile the populace of New Orleans.”

“Like what?”

“Like shed your toenails which, incidentally, looked like they were bleeding this morning. Why would you paint them red, for God’s sake? Or maybe you’ll spin your head on your scrawny neck like a wheel. Or turn your hair purple. What color is your hair really, by the way?”

The anger had disappeared from James’s face, and he was almost smiling at her. Almost. Maybe the man had a sense of humor, after all.

“What makes you think this isn’t my natural hair color?” she asked, lifting her chin in challenge.

“Because it’s darker than your other hair,” he said flatly, and Selene thought she saw a near-twinkle in his eye, especially when her face heated with embarrassment at his frank observation. As if satisfied that he’d accomplished his goal, he put his hand under her elbow and steered her in the direction of the hotel.

Your point, Rhett, Selene thought. But remember, Scarlett got the last word.

Chapter Four

As they walked silently, Selene absorbed the wonderful sounds of the old city. Everywhere she looked, black women carried large baskets or wooden bowls on their heads, singing out their wares for sale in rhythmic chants:

“Nice calas, very hot. Come buy my calas.”

“Pralines, pralines. Sweet and crisp.”

“Bel pom, patat, madam!”

“Strawberries, fresh and fine.”

“Confiture, coco.”

The normally closed shutters of the Creole homes would burst open suddenly, and the Vieux Carre housewives would lean out, inviting the vendors into their courtyards.

And bells. All around her bells pealed, and not just those of St. Louis Cathedral. The jingle of a small bell on the horse-drawn milk wagon encouraged housewives and merchants to come out with pitchers and draw their daily requirements from the spigots in the large milk cans. Still another distinctive bell on the Roman Candy wagon with its windows on all sides caused squeals from the children who raced for a taste of the chewy confections made on little burners right in the wagon bed. The water carts, the snowball man, the kerosene wagon—all had their own bells, which the French Quarter residents apparently recognized.

Selene’s head pivoted back and forth as she took in all the sights of old New Orleans. She heard James chuckle beside her, probably amused by her touristy fascination.

His amusement quickly disappeared, though, when he noticed something in a shop window, and he pulled her to a halt beside him.