1853 - Chapter 6

By Jennifer Cook Purcell

James climbed up into Dr. Vickery’s carriage, settled himself, looked down and realized his hands were empty. “Hold up,” he said, jumping off. “Forgot my top hat. Back in a jiffy.”

“Well hurry…,” hollered Dr. Vickery as James launched the stairs of his boarding house two by two. “The Union Course is a good ways down Bayou Road and post time is in two hours. We’ve got to get moving.”

Most of the traffic on Bayou Road was moving in one direction and that was towards the racetrack. To James it seemed that almost every New Orleanian had abandoned their post that day. After all the Union Course was one of the most fashionable places to be seen in the City, especially if you were young and hunting for a mate. Morning dress was required, most assuredly top hats for the men and the best of the city’s lace and feathers for the ladies. To that end, Dr. Vickery’s tailor had fitted James nicely with a dark grey coat and pinstriped double-breasted waistcoat, the cost of which had diluted almost all of James’ projected earnings for November, despite the loan floated by Dr. Vickery. With mere pennies to spare, James had secured a top hat from Marc, who, the youngest of five brothers, had plenty to spare.   

As the doctors approached the fairgrounds, the grandstand rose out from the cypress swampland like a festive crown and shortly Dr. Vickery turned into the entrance gate, drawing his carriage to a stop alongside the southwest fence line. “There’s an area in between the grandstand and the track where the doctors generally meet before each race,” Dr. Vickery said, donning his top hat and removing his alligator walking cane from under his seat. He slowly climbed down from the carriage and seeing a scuff on his shoe, removed his handkerchief from his breast pocket and quickly began to wipe it away. He then looked over at James, surveyed the sight of him, and nodded approvingly. “This way,” he said, raising his walking can and pointing toward the grandstand. “It’s good you’re here, James,” Dr. Vickery said after walking several minutes at a quicker pace than would be expected of a man who carried a cane. “Most of the faculty is coming, so it’ll be a good way for you to meet everyone.” He then cut across the grounds towards a collection of spectacled older men milling about the large gate to the stables. “Hunt, my boy…,” Vickery bellowed toward a large man delicately mixing a drink on a carriage wheel. “…come meet Dr. James McFarland from Philadelphia.” The large man completed his task, took a small sip from his Sazerac, and smiled broadly. “Vickery—at long last. I wasn’t sure we’d see you today…with your absence at the school’s organizational meetings and all…” A chuckle rose from the other men. “Frankly, I was secretly hoping that you’d finally left us for England,” added Dr. Hunt with a smile.

“Hunt, why on earth would I go to a bunch of meetings when my mere presence would only serve to annoy you…well, I guess that’s as good a reason as any,” Vickery said with a laugh. “But never mind all that, as you can see, I was needed elsewhere. You see Dr. McFarland, here, arrived on our shores quite the homeless destitute. And your lap dog, Reginald, was of no help at all to him.”

“Vickery, don’t even start. We’ve had our biggest class yet this year, and as a result Reggie is allowed some latitude.” Then turning to James, Dr. Hunt continued, “James, of course. Ben Norris is your biggest fan. His letter of recommendation for you was without equal.”

James smiled, happy to hear such a familiar name. “Dr. Norris was…ummm…well, still is, I guess, my mentor. Taught me everything I know. A man of great patience.”

“Ha! Well, I doubt that,” Dr. Hunt said with a laugh. “Let’s see… McFarland…I once knew a Dr. Robert McFarland from my days at the University of Pennsylvania…I understand he teaches anatomy there now. Any relation?”

“Quite.  He’s my father.”

“Your father?” said Dr. Hunt with slight smile. “You’re Robert McFarland’s son and you chose New Orleans over Penn?”

James nodded.   

“Well,” Dr. Hunt said with a glance toward Dr. Vickery. “Isn’t that an interesting development.”

Dr. Vickery smiled. “Much like yourself, Hunt, another promising Philadelphian has smartly navigated his way down to our bayous.”

“Indeed,” added Dr. Hunt. “Well, I’m glad Vickery has taken you on. You should be flattered, actually. He rarely…no, check that…he’s NEVER shown any interest in our new recruits so that alone proves you must be special. And apologies also for the confusion with Reginald. He can be…well, let’s say he can be a little set in his ways.”  

“Face it, Hunt, Ox is as intelligent as a bovine…”

Hunt shook his head. “Ease up, Vickery,” Hunt said, his tone now slightly serious. “It’s not like you’ve ever tried to help the man out…running a well-respected medical school and hospital in these remote parts is no small task. And that man is a good part of the reason we’ve been successful. So, desist, and James, kindly pay Vickery no attention.”    

“No worries,” laughed James. “Actually, I feel I owe Reginald a debt of gratitude. But for him, I would not have met the good doctor here.”

Dr. Hunt shook his head, “Something you may come to regret,” he said with a smile. “By the by, Vickery, that reminds me. There’s another—more urgent—matter we need to discuss. As you know, most of the Board members are here, along with some very important legislators. That means one wrong word from you and our next round of appropriations could be quashed. So please, Brother Quinn, I must ask you—nay, beg you—be the nice English gentleman I know your poor mother raised you to be. No cracks about Councilman Barker this afternoon, no matter the temptation. I beseech you.”

“How that man got elected, I’ll never know,” Dr. Vickery said, tapping his cane against his shoe.

“Vickery…”

“Mark my words, that American Party is dangerous. Look here, I’m an immigrant…want me to educate the Councilman on how many lives I’ve saved in his city? But he and his Know-Nothing brethren…they’d just as soon strap me to the tallest mast and sail me back to England…”  

“Vickery…” said Dr. Hunt as he scanned the crowd to see if anyone that mattered was within ear shot. “Shut it.”

“All I’m saying is the man’s dangerous….”

“Well,” Dr. Hunt said, his voice lowered. “He’s also in control of our school’s purse strings, so for today please…limit your conversation to the new specimens we need from London and leave your politics to your friends at the coffee house…”  

“Settle down, Hunt. Despite your protestations otherwise, I wasn’t actually raised in a barn. I do actually know some things,” said a grinning Dr. Vickery. “Now James, come with me. Let me introduce you around.”   

Vickery was right. Most of the medical school faculty were there, including Professor Riddell, Professor Stone, Professor Cenas, and an older gentleman who, when James was introduced, boisterously added that he had at one time been a trustee at the University of Pennsylvania and loved Bob McFarland like a son.

“One of the finest surgeon’s I’ve ever met,” the old man added, his eyes glistening. “It’s rare to meet someone of that talent who is still so easy to get on with. Do send him my best wishes when you see him next.”

James bit his tongue and nodded. “I will.”

With a decided look of boredom on his face, Vickery casually interrupted, “The dust out here is getting to me, James…let’s go get a drink.”

James nodded and once they were a safe distance away, added, “Thanks. That was getting awkward.”

“Oh, don’t mind that one. True, he can be a bit of a name dropper…he likes for people to think he’s still in the know and all that. But there was a time that that old man was one of Charity Hospital’s greatest physicians—and the only surgeon in this area. He retired some time back but still helps us with fundraising. Here we are,” Vickery said in a singsong voice as they approached a long table from which several older women were handing out glasses of iced tea. “Mrs. Wedderburn, how nice to see you today. We’d like two glasses if you please. And take this additional $15 as a donation.”    

“Dr. Vickery, you’re too generous,” said a wilting septuagenarian in a white lace and muslin cap.

“Anything for the Sisters of the Sacred Heart,” said the Anglican.

She nodded with a pierced smile and shakily began to pour the men’s drinks from an overly large glass pitcher.            

“Here, let me get that,” James said, grabbing the pitcher as tea began to dribble down the old woman’s arm.

“Oh, thank you, young man…these days I’m just as weak as a baby bird,” she said, offering Dr. Vickery his glass.

Dr. Vickery quickly took the drink from her trembling hands and then in a voice loud enough to overcome the old woman’s hearing impairment said, “Mrs. Wedderburn, let me introduce you to James McFarland. He’s a new doctor with us, just arrived from Philadelphia.”

“McFar—what’s that you said, Quinn?”

“McFarland. James McFarland. He’s a new doctor, from Philadelphia.”

“A doctor you say!” cried the old woman. “Well, isn’t that most agreeable. And from Philadelphia, is that what I heard?”

Dr. Vickery nodded.

“Well, then don’t be shy, Quinn. With so many young ladies needing an escort at Carnival you just must introduce him around.”   

Dr. Vickery smiled. “Oh, Mrs. Wedderburn,” he teased. “You know we keep our young doctors working so hard they hardly ever have time for foolish things such as Carnival balls and dancing.”

The ever-single and increasingly lonely James, meanwhile, was beginning to side with the old woman.

“Hush your mouth, Quinn,” Mrs. Wedderburn countered. “Don’t you dare go on with such foolishness. A young, handsome man like this one…why, I know a dozen girls who would just love to be introduced to him. I, myself, have a granddaughter who I know would be interested. Just turned eighteen this summer…wonderful girl. Lovely dancer. Quite ready for a match…”

“Oh Mrs. Wedderburn, you’re as fast as those trotters out there. If we’re not careful, you’ll have him married off before today’s race even starts,” Dr. Vickery said with a loud laugh. He reached down for the old woman’s hand, gave it a gentle kiss, and smiled. “As always, a delight Mrs. Wedderburn. And thank you for all you are doing for the Sisters. Now come along, James. We must find our seats in the grandstand before Mrs. Wedderburn goes hunting down the mayor to officiate your wedding.”

James turned back around and bowed gently to the old woman. “I enjoyed meeting you,” he said, placing his glass on the table.

“Come back for more,” she cried. “In the meantime, I’ll try to find Victoria. She’s here you know….”

James laughed and jogged a bit to catch up with Vickery. After a few minutes walking he just decided it was time to ask. “I have a question.”

“What’s that?”

“What’s Carnival?”

Vickery stopped abruptly. “What’s Carnival!” he said, twirling his cane. “Lord, boy, it’s a good thing you picked me to ask such a silly question. You’d be shunned by anyone else in this town. Carnival is a creature of Catholic calendar, but its liturgical leanings end just about there. The season opens on Twelfth Night in January and ends on Shrove Tuesday or the last day of Mardi Gras. And in this town, Carnival season is the time for the best soirées and balls, the most magnificent feasting, and on the whole, weeks of unadulterated flirting between all the belles and beaux in town. What you just experienced, James…that’s nothing compared to the hunting that takes place during Carnival and Mardi Gras.”

“What’s that?”

“Mardi Gras?  Mardi Gras or ‘Fat Tuesday’ as we speakers of the King’s English say, is the exclamation point on Carnival season. It’s when parades of carriages and masked revelers take to the streets to celebrate their piousness with oftentimes ill-conceived debaucherous behavior that goes on well into the wee hours of the night. The next morning is Ash Wednesday and that’s when the fasting begins and the same people are commanded to atone for the sins they just committed. Are you Catholic?”

James shook his head. “Episcopalian. My family helped build Christ Church. My great grandfather Penn is buried there. Henry VIII was more catholic than me.”

“Ha! The mighty Church of England…no wonder we get along. Well, New Orleans is a French Catholic town and here the church sets the social calendar, so you’ll come to know it well.”

James shook his head. “This place is really nothing like Philadelphia.”  

Vickery laughed. “No, it isn’t. You’ll see, son. The Purchase didn’t change too much around here. The politicians…they like to say we’re part of America now…but they’re wrong. In this town, it’s still only the Pope and Emperor Napoléon that carry any weight.”

The crowd swelled as they approached the grandstand, and James and Dr. Vickery slowed their gate as they began to climb the stairs. And as evidenced by the feathers adorning the ladies’ hats, each stair step guided the men into a new social stratum. In the best seats mostly white, showy egret feathers were worn, wispy and tufted high above a lady’s crown, or occasionally some sophisticated peacock plumage could be seen, flared daringly across a lady’s brim. But as he climbed, James saw that the feathers turned more common and easier to obtain. In these seats, James spotted a number of turkey feathers, some pheasant feathers, as well as the downy soft feathers of someone’s pet goose. One lady’s hat in particular stood out due to its spectacular black feathers, the likes of which James had never seen. And thus, based on her station in the grandstand and the panache of her headpiece, James could only assume the woman owned and regularly plucked tail feathers from a particularly handsome rooster.

As Dr. Vickery pointed toward the box for Charity Hospital, James heard a familiar voice rise up from behind him. “Look who’s all clean and dolled up in my best top hat. I swear it looks better on you than it ever did on me,” Marc hollered from one of the more prominent boxes, as evidenced by the crystal decanters being freely passed about.

“Marc! My only friend in this god-forsaken town,” James yelled with audible relief. “Dr. Vickery, come meet my only friend Marc.”

Dr. Vickery stopped his climb and turned back toward the box. “Monsieur Lacroix, good to see you again,” he said doffing his hat to the young Frenchman.

“Dr. Vickery…hello,” said Marc, with a nod in kind.

“Oh, you know each other?”

“Most certainly, James,” replied Dr. Vickery. “Quite intimately. I birthed this young man.”

“Really?” laughed James.

Marc nodded and smiled. “Dr. Vickery attended to the birth of most of my friends actually… strange for this town given he’s an Englishman, but the mothers trusted him, and as such, the fathers had no choice in the matter.”

“Yes,” laughed Dr. Vickery. “And if memory serves, yours in particular was not an easy birth. Your poor mother was in labor for hours and when you finally did arrive, you came screaming out like castrated billy goat. Poor woman, how is she?”

“Still wailing, I’m afraid. She desperately wants grandchildren, a duty to which I have not yet obliged.”

Dr. Vickery nodded, “Of course. Well, there’s still time. Who knows, maybe someone will catch your eye this year at Carnival.”

At which point a hush swept across the grandstand revealing that Madame Isabelle Ursin had arrived, along with her aging husband, both married daughters, and, to James, a most stunning looking creature, all in tow.     

James looked at Marc and nodded in Sophie’s direction. “Who’s that?”

Seeing Sophie in his line of sight, Marc immediately shook his head. “Don’t even think it, James. You have no chance with her. She’s the daughter of Monsieur Dubois and you are an American. I’m telling you now, don’t waste your time.”

Genuinely surprised, James could not help but laugh, “Come on now…you can’t really mean that.”

Marc glanced at Dr. Vickery, who nodded in agreement. “I’m afraid that on this point Marc is right,” Dr. Vickery said bluntly. “You’d be better off not pursuing the matter and certainly not the girl.”

James watched as the Ursin company took their seats in their box, all arranged in order of importance, with Monsieur and Madame Ursin having the best view of the racetrack and Sophie seated toward the far back of the box, to the left of the youngest daughter.

“Do you know them?” James asked.

“Of course. You forget, I’m French. Those are the Ursins. Their son, Louis, is one of my great friends. He’s away at school in Virginia.”

“Then don’t you want to say hello?” asked James with a pleading glance.

Marc looked at Dr. Vickery and rolled his eyes. He then turned back toward James. “I don’t know James. Do you want me to say hello?” he said with a sigh.

“Well, I wouldn’t be opposed to it,” James said matter-of-factly.     

“Oh, when are you going to learn,” Marc said under his breath, and then offered to Dr. Vickery. “Care to join us, Doctor?”

Dr. Vickery laughed a quiet laugh and started back up the stairs. “Heavens no Marc, I learned my station amongst the fine French families in this town quite a long time ago. Apparently, James feels he must come to it the hard way. Well, if you must James, go ahead. And afterwards, if you’re not too singed, come join us lowly doctors in the hospital’s box.”

Marc and James nodded goodbye to Dr. Vickery and began to fight the crowd downstream for several paces. Finally, upon approaching the Ursin box, Monsieur Ursin let out a hearty laugh. “Bon jour Marc! Comment allez-vous?”

Marc reached to shake Mr. Ursin’s outstretched hand. “Bon jour Monsieur Ursin! Laissez-moi vous présenter mon ami, James McFarland. Dr. James McFarland. Il est nouveau à la Nouvelle-Orléans.”

Monsieur Ursin smiled and moved to shake James’ hand. “An American, I presume,” he said in a euphonious French accent.

“Yes,” James said, smiling broadly. “I just joined Charity hospital as a doctor. I’m from Philadelphia originally.”

“Qu’a t’il dit?” Monsieur Ursin asked, leaning toward Marc. Marc repeated James’ words in French, and the old Frenchman nodded, looking at James. “Oui. Charity Hospital. Merveilleux.”

Noticing her husband’s idiomatic struggle, Madame Ursin turned quickly to Sophie. “Sophie, ton anglais est plutôt bon. Allez aider M. Ursin, s’il vous plait?” She then turned back to Marc and said in her own broken English. “Sophie’s English is much better than my husband’s, Marc. Let her come speak with your friend.”

Both James and the old Frenchmen looked noticeably relieved at the offer.

“Oui, Madame Ursin,” Marc replied. He looked at James, who had a bright smile across his face, and sympathetically had to admire his friend’s naiveté. “Sophie, it’s good to see you again,” Marc said as Sophie drew closer. “I was just introducing my new friend James to Monsieur Ursin. Sophie, this is Dr. James McFarland. He’s a wonderful doctor who has joined the staff of Charity hospital. He’s just moved here from Philadelphia.”

James was particularly appreciative of the fact that Marc so readily identified him as a doctor. As Mrs. Wedderburn had said earlier, young doctors are prized in New Orleans, and to James, this was starting out well.  

James, however, had misinterpreted his perceived cachet in this town.

“Hello,” Sophie replied grudgingly without offering her hand, and then with a self-conscious laugh, added. “Another American, I see. Marc, we have so many Americans in New Orleans these days. Don’t you agree? I do miss the old days when their presence was few and far between.”

“Well, Sophie, we can never have too many doctors in New Orleans,” Marc responded adroitly. “Afterall, we’re fortunate to live in a town with such a fine hospital.”

James nodded in agreement and waited for Sophie to acknowledge such an obvious point.

“Yes well…” she sighed. “That’s true, but why can’t at least some of them come from Paris?”

Despite the fact that he was fixated on her beautiful almond eyes and the long curve of her delicate neck, James took immediate offense to her all-around lack of conversational prowess. “I’m sorry,” James said, despite himself. “Are we not in America? Aren’t you an American yourself?”

Taken aback by his assertiveness in such a public place and most especially, amongst these people, Sophie quickly scanned the faces around her for any harm done and nervously added under her breath. “You are mistaken, sir. New Orleans was originally a territory of France. Yes, technically the politicians want the world to think New Orleans is a part of America now, but I assure you, this community is not American and has nothing in common with…where did you say you were from?”

“Phil-a-del-phia…,” James responded with pointed sarcasm. “I know it’s tricky to say. The ‘ph’ actually is spoken like an ‘F’”

“Oui, Philadelphia,” said Sophie, completely ignoring his tone. “I mean I would feel more comfortable in Bordeaux, certainly more comfortable in the salons of Paris, than I would in a place such as that.”

James looked at Sophie quizzically. Yes, he thought, she’s beautiful and, god help me, I cannot take my eyes off those lips. But… “Miss…”

“Mademoiselle Sophie Dubois,” whispered Marc.

“Yes, Madmwah…I mean…well, Miss Do-Boice. You do realize…” started James, who then paused to collect himself. “You do realize it’s been nearly fifty years since New Orleans has been a French territory. How old are you? Nineteen?”

“Twenty-one,” responded Sophie, somewhat flustered.

“Twenty-one. Well, that’s fine. So, at the age of twenty-one that would make you…” James tilted his head as he began to do the math. “…five minus two is three so that would make you born in, let’s see, 1831, yes?”

“Oui.”

“Oui, right,” James repeated. “Yes…then you were born after the Louisiana Purchase and thus on American soil. And that makes you as much of an American as I am. And for that, let me just add, you are most welcome.”

Marc looked at James and then at Sophie and could tell from both of their expressions that this conversation could not be salvaged. He reached down to smooth out a wrinkle in his left cuff and smiled a knowing smile. “Well, like I said, Sophie. James is a new doctor in town, so I thought it was important for me to introduce him around…” and as he turned to say goodbye to the Ursins, a silvery voice beckoned his attention.

“Marc! Oh, one of my oldest and dearest friends…I was so hoping you would be here,” cooed the young woman as she offered up her gloved hand. 

Marc, ever the gentleman, obliged and lightly kissed her fingers. “Séraphine,” he said with genuine surprise. “It’s a surprise to see you back in town.”

“Just back,” she said, piercing her lips. “Charleston is such a bore after a while. So, lacking in New Orlean’s je ne sais quoi,” Séraphine replied, glancing over toward James. “I so long for a good laugh, Marc. And who is this?”

“This is my friend, James. He’s a doctor at Charity. New in town from Philadelphia. James, I’d like to introduce you to Madame Séraphine Baudelaire. And Séraphine, of course, you already know Sophie.”

Sophie offered a forced smile and nodded her head at Séraphine. “Bon jour, Séraphine,” she said and then quickly added. “Pardon, but I must return to my hosts.” As she turned, Sophie and James’ eyes locked once more and then Sophie’s abruptly dropped from James’ line of sight.

“A doctor,” Séraphine interjected. “Well, that’s wonderful. My late husband and I were so supportive of the medical school here. Huge benefactors in our day. Not a cent went wasted though. I mean just look at yourself—would you have ever traveled so far if the medical school and Charity were not so well regarded?”

James shook his head.

“Of course, not—that’s what I mean. My dear dear husband, how I do miss him. Such a generous spirit.”

“I was sorry to hear of Monsieur Baudelaire’s passing,” Marc added. “So unexpected.”

“Oh, come Marc, please refer to him as Henri. You say, ‘Monsieur Baudelaire’ and it makes me sound like an old worn out widow.”    

“Oh, was he young?” James asked.

Marc shook his head.

“Oh, he was not as old as all that,” added Séraphine with a nervous laugh.

“Well, he and my father were friends,” replied Marc evenly.

“Oh fine, but your father is such a relic. Henri was not like that at all…he was so young in spirit. The whole time we were married, I tell you, I hardly noticed the age difference.”

“Well, my father had his family’s business to manage. That sort of stress can cause any man to age. As I remember it, Henri’s older brother attended to their family fortune, leading your husband to lead a mostly stress-free lifestyle on the back of his brother.”

“A generous life-style, you mean,” Séraphine said, stiffening. “And you’re wrong…Henri certainly helped out Armand with the mill. Especially after Armand fell ill.” Then abruptly turning her attention to James, she continued. “Do tell me if I can help the medical school at all. I’d so love to do something in Henri’s name.” Just then Séraphine looked out over the racetrack and loudly began to clap. “Oh look, they’re finally bringing out the horses. I must return to my seat. Bon jour to you both…and do get back in touch, James.”

James and Marc each bowed to Séraphine and watched her take her leave. “What a marvelous lady,” James said. “Such a nice antidote to our earlier conversation with Miss Dubois. Her departure was especially abrupt didn’t you think Marc?”

“It was. And nice pronunciation of ‘Dubois’ by the way.”

“Oh, I can speak a little French. I just wanted to get under her skin.”

“Well, it worked,” said Marc, smiling broadly. “Curious thing though about her leaving like that… we all grew up together I’ve never heard of any bad blood between Sophie and Séraphine. But who knows, maybe it was you that upset her.” Marc smiled and then in an animated voice he exclaimed loudly, “Are we not in America!!! Aren’t you an American yourself?!!!”     

“Fine, fine,” James said. “I admit it—I can be a blowhard. But really…she acts like the Louisiana Purchase just happened yesterday and she’s still taking time to adjust. Meanwhile, she has never actually lived in New Orleans when it was not an American city.  You have to agree, it was all a bit much.”

Marc nodded. “Yes, I agree, but I assure you, she comes by it naturally. If I were you, I’d steer clear of both Sophie and her father.” And then pointing up towards the Charity box he added, “So can you find your way to Dr. Vickery?”

“Yea, pretty sure I can handle it.”    

“Fine…there’s a standing card game at the St. Louis Hotel on Thursday. Care to join?”

“Of course.”

“Then, I’ll send my carriage to the hospital around 6:00 to fetch you.”

“Mighty gracious of you, Marc. See you then.” And as James watched Marc turn to leave, he suddenly decided it was time for a stiff drink. He asked an usher, who directed him toward a collection of tables just outside the centermost boxes covered in crystal glasses and white linen tablecloths. “Just be sure to act like you’re supposed to be there,” the usher warned. “Them tables are just for the first-class guests and they’ll sure-as-the-sunrise kick you out if they learn any different.” He looked James over and shook his head. “But you’ll pass, I guess, as long as you keep that mouth shut.”

“Easy enough. Thanks,” James said with a smile, and began making his way down the aisle. The line was long and crowded, and moreover, not moving particularly quickly, but James, normally an impatient man, enjoyed the respite from small talk. Even the people milling in and out of line did not necessarily agitate him, so long as he maintained sight of the scotch bottle directly ahead of him. In fact, he was happily puzzling about what exactly he would order when a familiar voice rose up from behind him.

“It was good to see Marc just then,” remarked the young woman. “He has always been the kindest of all of Victor’s friends. My parents do adore him.”

“Indeed,” replied Sophie.

“And his friend seemed quite nice. He’ll be nice to know at the balls this year…assuming he is a good dancer.”

“I assume…”

“You disagree, Sophie?”

“Oh Angélique, really…you can’t mean the American?”

“Of course, I do. He was quite handsome and these days no one in New Orleans would think twice if you were courted by an American boy. Look at all the prosperity they’ve brought this city.” Angélique took a few steps forward and continued, “You’re too much like your father, Sophie. Your dear departed mother had no animosity towards them; in fact, my mother says she was quite friendly with Dr. Vickery before she died. Look to her example for guidance, not to your father, sweet dear. He is far too caught up in his own prejudices.”

“Angélique,” Sophie cried. “First, Dr. Vickery is English. Not American. And second, I’m quite aware that my position is not particularly fashionable these days. And I’m comfortable with that. I mean you have to agree, Americans…they’re not of good breeding…so dirty and unsophisticated. Just look at all those men and boys arriving off the Mississippi riverboats. Why they haven’t had a bath in days and seem perfectly happy to remain roasting in their squalor!”

“Oh Sophie, you couldn’t be more wrong,” countered Angélique Ursin. “In fact, some of my dearest friends are American and many do not have an ounce of French blood in them. Besides why would I—or you—count them out if we’re American too?” 

“Oh, don’t say such things. We have nothing in common with those men. And besides, even if we did—why would I waste my time. To what end, Angélique? As you just said, Papa would never allow it. No, I know, my mother, were she alive, would prefer me happily married off to anyone, even if it was to a loathsome American. But I do not seek such a future. I’d much rather marry a Frenchman who I could trust to know what society and my father expects from him. Not a sow that has just stepped off a riverboat and doesn’t even know, nor care to learn, a word of French.” At this point Sophie stopped and looked around. “Oh, this crowd is just gruesome. We’ll never find the washrooms at this pace.”

James’ eyes remained focused on the bartender as he reveled in the ridiculousness of Sophie’s pronouncements. Upon reaching the table, he silently pointed at the scotch bottle, and then with his drink finally in hand, turned around and leveled his eyes on Sophie.    

“Greetings Sophie. Always lovely to see you. Do let this sow step aside and allow you to pass. I understand that the stairs to the washrooms are quite close, actually,” he added playfully as he watched her face fall white. “Would you like me to show you the way?”  

Sophie stood by silently, trying to recall all that she’d said and completely unable to mask her mortification.

“Well then,” said James. “By your silence I will take it as a ‘No.’” He then doffed his hat toward both ladies and added with a slight laugh, “Mademoiselle Sophie, Madame Angélique, do have a wonderful time at the races this afternoon. Lovely to see you again.” And as he stepped away, past the throng of people surrounding them, he took a long sip of his scotch and water and marveled at the lack of breeding shown by a woman whose countenance was otherwise so sweet.