Part 26 (2/2)

Not long after Elisabeth died, Joseph had awoken one night and discovered Emily's side of the bed empty and cold to the touch. He'd found her in the common room on the settee, hugging her knees to her chest, a small figure in her nightgown. ”Joseph,” she'd said, the urgency in her pleading eyes almost breaking his heart, ”I need something for my own, whatever you can spare. An allowance.”

She had seemed so fragile to him at that moment, suffering, her pain within his power to ease. Against his better judgment he had indulged her, to help her through her grief. He'd faithfully handed over two dollars in coin each month, even though he knew she simply h.o.a.rded it, hid it, even from him. Joseph had been relieved when Emily finally seemed to find herself again, thought of his needs again. He intended to put a stop to the payments, but before he could do so he was forced away to New Orleans. Now she asked outright for more.

”If you aren't here, I need to be able to take care of all of us.” Joseph noticed the hard little points behind Emily's eyes. It was becoming an old argument, repeated often. ”Our children need a future.”

Joseph bristled. He considered himself a good provider. ”I will always make sure you're taken care of, 't.i.te. We've talked about this before. I had to stay in New Orleans last year to keep us safe.”

Emily gave no quarter. ”We have no rights in the eyes of the law, not me, and not the four children I brought into the world. If you love the children, protect us now, with land and money.”

Joseph went outside to sit on the gallery, refusing to argue. More than anything, he just wanted his old Emily back.

Joseph and Emily had one last child, Mary, their fifth. Mary grew from babe in arms to a stubborn-minded three-year-old, strong and healthy, suffering only the normal childhood ailments.

On Billes Landing, the store and the family prospered. Back in the Aloha woods, where poor families white and black were dependent on his largesse, Joseph and his family were left mostly unchallenged, the level of interest in Joseph's affairs leaning more toward how much liquor and tobacco he had on hand and less toward his living arrangements. But in town, in the parish seat of Colfax, people who used to smile at Joseph or at least leave him alone grew cold and turned away. Even when his acquaintances seemed polite, Joseph read judgment in their posture, their forced tip of a hat.

”Leave that colored woman alone,” they began to urge him. ”Take care of the children, if you must. But come back to your own kind before it's too late.”

Circa 1895. LR. Mary Billes, Emily Fredieu, Josephine Billes, Angelite Billes, Theodore (T.O.) Billes, Joe Billes Jr.

One balmy Tuesday, after a brief afternoon shower cleared the air and brought relief from the late-summer heat, Joseph set out the nine miles to the Colfax courthouse to register a mundane land transfer. He thought nothing of the two ragged youngsters with the look of underfed farmboys who trailed behind him on the wide, dusty thoroughfare of the main street once he got to town. It flashed through his mind that they seemed misplaced, at loose ends, maybe too old for the schoolhouse and too young for the mill. He tethered his horse and went inside the courthouse, and when he came out, his business done, the boys were still idling near the hitching post in front of the notary's office. As Joseph turned to mount his horse, he felt the dull burst of an egg gone bad against his cheek and its long, gooey slide from the fleshy part of his ear to his chin.

”n.i.g.g.e.r lover,” he heard, but by the time he collected himself and looked around, the boys had run. There were few others out in the heat, two old men on the bench in front of the courthouse, a woman strolling on the wooden sidewalk with an umbrella open against the sun, but no one moved to help or raise their voice in either outrage or sympathy. Riding out of town toward the Colfax border, Joseph used his crisp, freshly ironed pocket handkerchief to wipe at the sticky mess. He didn't share the incident with Emily when he got back to Billes Landing, but the next week he moved a majority of his business to his New Orleans bank rather than use the local bank in Colfax. The climate in town had changed, and it was getting more difficult to know whom to trust.

Meny years ago there were several young rich white French Men left France to make their homes in the U.S.A. each one had a deference trade. Mr. Joe Billis was Timber, He had Mr. Ephenborn the LRN rail road owner to put a switch near the main track so he could s.h.i.+p His Cross Ties, Pilling, Logs for Lumber and Stave bolts away. This became a very useful flag stop, it was named, Billis La.--Cousin Gurtie Fredieu, written family history, 1975

In early spring of 1894 Joseph rode out to check on Narcisse Fredieu. Liza, Narcisse's wife, brought the two men coffee and left them to talk on the front gallery. Scanning the homestead, Joseph took in the decline in the state of the property.

”You look well, my friend,” he said to Narcisse. Narcisse's long white beard had thinned, and the milky clouding of his eyes had robbed them of color.

”I'm almost seventy, slow and tired, and most of my friends are already dead,” Narcisse said with a forced chuckle. ”But I do appreciate the thought.” He lit his cigar. ”How is Emily? She hasn't been by for weeks.”

”'t.i.te is fine. The younger children and the store keep her busy.”

”Every one of my children still visits the old man,” Narcisse bragged.

Joseph knew how much time Joe F. and Matchie, Narcisse's two youngest boys by Philomene, put into his farm, providing their labor, helping the old man out. Even Narcisse's wife didn't complain about his colored children being so visible, they were of such benefit.

”The boys brought Angelite over Tuesday. They heard I was feeling a little poorly, and Angelite made a Sarah Bernhardt. Thoughtful girl. She knows my favorite cake, and stuffed it with double helpings of ollenberry jam.” Narcisse gave a fond pat to the broad mound that had become his midsection. ”She has her mother's beauty and spirit, that one does, and I detect a mischievous streak from you. Did she tell you she met Jacques Andrieu here last Tuesday? We had a little party for him, as welcome to the community. A delightful fellow, fresh off the boat this month from Perpignan. Jacques has interest in Angelite. She dazzled him. He hasn't stopped talking about her yet.”

”Angelite is only fifteen,” Joseph said.

”And how old was Emily when the two of you came together?”

This wasn't a conversation Joseph wanted to pursue. He changed the subject. ”Are you prepared to part with that little piece of land we talked about near Monette's Ferry?” Joseph asked. ”I am ready to buy.”

”I hear you struck a deal with Louisiana Railway and Navigation for your own switch off the main track, that you have a flagstop named after you now.”

Joseph enjoyed the easy camaraderie of men, sliding effortlessly between business and social matters. ”The steamboats haul in the materials to build the railroads that will put them out of business. The flagstop makes it easier to s.h.i.+p my timber away. We have to change with the times.”

”The times seem to have left me behind,” said Narcisse. ”I know you buy my land out of loyalty, not need, and I appreciate it, my young friend.”

Joseph laughed. ”Young indeed. Fifty-four this summer.” He turned sober. ”Don't be absurd about the land, Narcisse. It is located perfectly for my needs.”

”Not a promising beginning to a conversation where we need to talk truth, Joseph.”

”Monsieur, not again.”

”Yes, again. You'll always be my dear friend, like a son, but face facts. You cannot hold back every hothead in Grant Parish. You have enemies, Joseph, and they grow in strength and number. This is not only about you. Emily is my daughter. Those are my grandchildren. You cannot go on under the same roof. I am not so influential as I once was. There's a new crop of men around here now, and the talk is ugly. Local and statewide pet.i.tions are being circulated to get cohabitation between the races declared a felony. Not that the locals need law on their side. If you care about Emily and the children, you have to protect them. Provide, yes. Love them, yes. Joseph, you need to move them somewhere safer.”

Joseph's face was hard. ”That I will not do.”

”Keep them close, but marry white,” Narcisse said. ”It is the way of things.”

”My position in Aloha is stronger now than in '88 when you convinced me to run,” Joseph said. ”We keep to ourselves, we don't go together to town, we don't provoke. We just want to be left alone.”

For his fifty-fifth birthday Joseph gave himself a small party, bringing out his mandolin for the first time in months. They laid in large quant.i.ties of food and liquor and invited only his closest friends, the ones who accepted him and Emily together. It was a small and lively group, old women, young men, children, white, Negro, colored. Emily enlisted the help of Philomene and Suzette in the kitchen, and Gerant came, too; and Joseph invited Narcisse Fredieu, Joseph Ferrier, Antoine Morat, and Jacques Andrieu, Angelite's beau. The children were allowed to stay up late, even Mary, and everyone danced while Joseph played. Emily and Joseph sang several songs together, their high and low voices complementing each other well.

Old man Narcisse Fredieu and white family.

”More, more,” called Narcisse, clearly enjoying both the homemade wine and the singing, and Joseph began to play ”Danse aux Ma Mamselle.”

The music and voices were so loud at first that Joseph did not hear the horses outside. Jacques, who stood closest to the window, began to quiet everyone and motioned for Joseph to stop playing.

”Come on out of there, Joseph Billes.”

The gay mood of the evening evaporated at the sound of the deep voice.

”Take everyone to the back,” Joseph whispered to Emily, and handed her his mandolin. Emily, Philomene, Suzette, Gerant, Angelite, T.O., Josephine, Joseph, and Mary all slipped quickly into the kitchen, near the rear door.

Joseph picked up his Winchester. He strode boldly out the front door beyond the gallery, and Narcisse and the other white men from inside the house followed.

”What do you want? What are you doing on my land?” Joseph said loudly to the men on horseback. There were three of them. ”Alphonse, is that you?”

”Joseph, we came to talk to you quietly, no need for the gun. We didn't know you were entertaining.”

”Then go on now and we'll talk over any business later in town,” Joseph said.

”This is personal,” the lead man said. ”What's going on here isn't right. It would be best for us to get down and discuss this calmly now.”

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