Steve, standing beside a pilastered column and talking with a man she recognized as Lord Beaconsfield, the prime minister of England, was her fate. She had always known it, even in the darkest of times.
I just pray that whatever happens in the future, we can face it together….
NEW ORLEANS
7
It was all so familiar; a lingering sense of déjà vu hovered over her as Ginny leaned against the frame of the French doors that opened onto Royal Street below. New Orleans. A teeming city of diverse culture, gracious and bawdy, like an elegant lady clad in tattered silks.
Sunlight graced the day with soft, moist heat. It was still early; servants washed off narrow banquettes before the traffic of the day, chattering in soft tones that sounded like lilting music while soapy water washed over the previous day’s accumulation of dirt and horse droppings.
Ginny only half listened, thinking of her children and how she missed them so much already. Leaving them with Tante Celine until the unrest in Mexico was ended had been wrenching, but best for them. Still, she had wept halfway across the Atlantic until Steve had sworn softly and muttered that the ship had as much saltwater belowdecks as surrounding them.
Tante Celine had taken them on the outing to Brighton, promising them long days spent on the beach to assuage their disappointment at being once more separated from their parents. It had been a tearful farewell, though the sadness was tinged with excitement at their promised treat. They were so young that the time would not be real to them, the realization that two months was a long separation. If all went well, it would pass quickly and she would soon be with them again, though Tante Celine was not at all certain she wanted to go to Mexico.
“It is a barbaric country,” she had said with a light shudder and sigh of resignation. “I cannot bear to think of my precious Laura and Franco living there.”
“It is their home, Tante,” Ginny had reminded her gently, and then hugged her. “This is so hard, but I must go with him. I cannot be apart from him again, especially not now, when it has been so long. Do you understand?”
“Yes, Ginette, you know I do. Perhaps this is best, that you and your husband have this time of reconciliation alone, with nothing to distract you from each other. And it will not be so very long until you are reunited with the twins, after all, only a few months. I will care well for them.”
Some of the anguish at leaving them behind was diluted by the knowledge that her time with Steve would give them the opportunity to reacquaint themselves with one another. The three-week long voyage from England to New Orleans had been a revelation of sorts, for both of them.
It could not be her imagination that Steve’s wary reserve had altered to a more open acceptance, and the guarded expression in his eyes had faded almost entirely away now.
Yes, she had made the right decision to come with him, and for the first time, had confidence in their futures together. When he held her in his arms, the ghosts between them evaporated as if they had never existed.
Instead of lodging in her father’s house in the quiet section of the American district, Steve had leased a house in the Old Quarter, near the corner of Royal and Hospital Streets. Painted pink with green wooden shutters over windows and doors, the house was small but gracious.
“It’s more private,” he’d said, but Ginny thought that was only part of the reason for his wanting to be away from the scrutiny of his in-laws. Upon their arrival in New Orleans just two days ago, he had left immediately to meet someone, but would not tell her who or even where. Probably some dark place like Maspero’s Exchange, where men could meet without drawing too much attention from unwanted sources.
The situation in Mexico was even more serious than she had thought it would be. The conflict had not ended, but grew more dangerous every day. Sebastián Lerdo de Tejada was chief justice of the supreme court, a liberal and anticlerical, heartily disliked for using the power of the state to enforce his goals in Mexico. Mexicans resented his, to them, excessive concessions to the United States railway interests.
But to the United States, the potential for huge profits lay in keeping Lerdo in power, and American senators like William Brandon, Ginny’s father, had keen interests in making certain that Porfirio Díaz did not gain power.
Brandon made his position clear that night, when he and his wife Sonya met with Steve and Ginny for an evening meal at Antoine’s Restaurant in the Vieux Carré.
Leaning forward, he fixed Steve with a gimlet gaze that belied his smooth tone. “Since Juarez died, Porfirio Díaz has come out of hiding to lead the country. His revolts against Juarez failed, so now he seeks to gain control of Mexico by ousting Lerdo. It’s a goal that I sincerely hope is quickly extinguished. It would do Mexico no good to continue another revolution.”
“It’s a relief to hear you say so, Senator, especially as the United States government helped fund the French in the last revolt in Mexico,” Steve replied coolly, earning a fierce glare from his father-in-law.
Aware of Sonya’s soft exclamation of dismay, Ginny shot her a warning glance. It would be futile to become embroiled in their discussion; it always was. The man she had always thought of as her father was confident, even brash, she had heard people say, as befitted a United States senator more comfortable in the elegant drawing rooms of
