THE DEMITASSE CUP OF CHICORY COFFEE

“Oh my God, it’s hot as July out in the streets!”

Betsy Marie Morgan fanned herself furiously as she momentarily stood with her back against the door her eyes closed and her ample bosom heaving before unceremoniously ripping her shawl from her shoulders and collapsing on to the nearest settee.

“Mama it is July” came the response from a shadowed corner of the room.

Betsy smiled at her beautiful daughter, Yvette, the belle of the Quadroon Ball of last night beaming in satisfaction.   Mr. Jackson Somersby had expressed his intention of acquiring Yvette as his “placee”.  Why he owned Arlington the largest sugar cane plantation on the Bayou Teche!  Through him she could advance her aspirations for living a pampered existence among the New Orleans creole gentry.  Why they’d not only have a maid but a cook!  She’d no longer have to make her living as a seamstress since she owned their present residence and would put it up for rent as soon as they took up residence in their new place. 

The contract provided a large house in the Faubourg Marigny area, recognition of any children born to Yvette, monies for household expenses and Yvette’s wardrobe and, of course, a modest allowance for herself.  She had even presented him with a doctor’s certification that her daughter was untouched.  Betsy had managed to keep her daughter hidden away until the age of 16.  An accomplishment in itself as the placees were usually around 12 or 13 years when contracted.  Of course, Yvette had been schooled in the erotic arts to insure that she would know those things that a southern white gentleman would find pleasing and pleasurable.   And from the look of Mr. Somersby he appeared most capable of providing delightful satisfaction in the bedroom.  His britches were certainly well fitting in a most manly way!

Yes, her Yvette had turned heads last night!  Betsy had planned their entrance strategically waiting until the other eager mothers and daughters had arrived and were seated so that Yvette would be seen walking across the dance floor during the band’s intermission.  Yvette in her light blue flowing ball gown, her waist clinched to a perfect 18-inch circumference, her creamy caramel skin aglow with youth and vitality.  Betsy had instructed the hairdresser to coif Yvette’s deep brown hair in an intricate design of braids adorned with small blue daisies delicately placed with curls framing her face to enhance her girlish charm.  Yvette had a unique characteristic as the only daughter born to Elias J. Morgan, which attracted second and even third glances; her flashing blue-gray eyes!  Yvette Ophelia Morgan was truly an irresistible quadroon beauty.  A beauty that didn’t want to comply with the tradition of “placage” to insure her future!  She actually wanted to venture out on her own the silly chit!  There was no cosmopolitan society here or anywhere that would accept her as a lady even with the proper education, which her father had generously provided.   The “Code Noir” was permanently affixed to all of African decent and ignored by the white male colonists who where not yet financially ready to formally marry but would take a woman of color to their beds in the interim.  “Placage” was the accepted practice there was no other alternative.  The most that Yvette could hope for would be that Mr. Somersby would keep her after he took a wife!  And that was not likely!  It was most inconvenient that Yvette had taken to sulking. Betsy was sure that it was affecting her appearance.  Plus she had admonished Yvette not to drink the chicory coffee black as it could possibly change her coloring.  She never drank it convinced that her self-imposed abstinence had kept her complexion flawless.

Yesterday evening all heads had turned in their direction as they slowly made their way to sit with Grace and her daughter Lindy.  Suddenly, there was the handsome Mr. Somersby meeting them before they’d reached their prearranged seating, requesting a moment of her time for a brief discussion!  Why she had almost lost her composure as he quickly insinuated himself between her and Yvette to adroitly steer them to his private table preset with wine glasses and other delicacies!  Oh, and the decidedly mean and spiteful glances from the other mothers who where hoping to acquire a wealthy man for their daughters was priceless.  Yes, her prayers had been answered!

^^^^^

This afternoon everything must be ready and absolutely perfect for their prestigious visitor!  They would formally sign the contract and she’d leave Yvette and Mr. Somersby alone to sip chicory coffee from her best trimmed in gold demitasse porcelain china cups!  Missy, their maid, had been instructed to prepare beignets for him to eat should he be hungry.  Of course it would be a short visit, as the contract would not be in effect until two weeks from now while they made preparations to relocate.  Plus she wanted to make sure to keep his desire just below fever pitch.  The man’s eyes had the feral look of a beast in heat!  ‘Oh well’, Betsy mentally shrugged; Yvette had that effect on men, all men, the colored and the white.

Sufficiently recovered from her temporary malady of sunstroke Betsy called for Missy.

“Wi mam!” Missy came in running barefoot and breathless from the kitchen in the back of the house.  Betsy began her tirade immediately directing her frustration at point blank range.

“Where are the shoes I gave you to wear?  I told you not to go prancing around in this house without shoes!”

“Missy, Mr. Somersby takes his chicory black with a tinny bit of sugar."  Betsy visually measured the sugar portion with thumb and forefinger to insure that Missy understood.  "Please remember that at least.”

“English Missy, English…have you been practicing?!  Yvette have you not been giving her some instruction?  You know I can’t understand her more than half the time!” 

“Yes, I have mama, Missy is an apt student.  I think she simply prefers to speak in her own language when we are alone in the house.  I’m sure she will answer appropriately once Mr. Somersby arrives.”

Yvette spoke from her sequestered corner on the chaise lounge by the bay window.  She knew that Missy knew her mother understood her perfectly.  Betsy chose to pretend ignorance as if that would eradicate her half black creole linage.  Even at 47 years of age she was a beautiful mulatto.  Her long hair had prematurely turned white which was striking enough; however, she had the decided features of one who descended from a noble bloodline.  This she suppressed by applying power mixed with henna to disguise her almost white complexion.  Actually, she was too white for blacks and too black for whites!  Passing for a white woman, in 1803, particularly in New Orleans, could ultimately lead to a lynching!  She always kept her hands covered in lace gloves and never wore gowns that exposed too much bosom particularly since the applied powder might get pasty if she, God forbid, perspired.

“And Yvette please take tea not the chicory as it may…”

Yvette interrupted with an exasperated sigh. “Mama that’s an old wives tale and you know it!  My coloring is permanent.  I will not suddenly become black by drinking chicory just as I won’t turn whiter by putting cream in it!  Ou gen yon fou notions!”

“Young lady did you just tell me that my notions were crazy?”  Yvette was spared an answer by Missy’s most opportune interruption of assured readiness.

“Tou sa se pou pare madam.”  Missy curtseyed and returned to the safety of kitchen to prepare the luncheon for Mr. Jackson Somersby’s visit.  Missy was a voodoo practitioner and had a special concoction to add to the chicory brew.

Miss Yvette had been crying before her mother had returned to stir up the tranquility of the house and its spirits.  Missy had tried to comfort the girl but her tenderness and concern seemed to upset her even more.  Yvette was dreading having to leave her home and submit to the lustful demands of her so-called protector.  She had lofty aspirations for herself, which may or may not come to pass but she sure as hell wasn’t going to live a happy life if she was forced into this unwanted union.

Everyone knew about Mr. Somersby and his penchant for violence.  Yes, even Miss Betsy who pretended not to know! Everyone knew about his brutality toward his slaves even the ones working in the big house.  He usually beat one to death on a monthly basis over some small infraction.  It really didn’t matter as he had the wherewithal to replace them quickly.  Missy was fearful for Miss Yvette’s safety.  Just recently Miss Renee Dubois, the daughter of a wealthy creole merchant, had been found raped and strangled her body dumped in the Treme section of New Orleans.  Her family had buried her this past Sunday at the Negro cemetery near the church house.  Renee’s spirit had spoken to Missy the following night.  It revealed to her what the murderer had done and where the deed had taken place.  That same night Missy had gone to collect the fresh graveyard dirt for the spell.  She also had the dead flowers from Renee’s grave, which she had replaced today with fresh ones.  The other ingredients were ready: dried chicken bones, 3 dead bees, cat hair and vinegar.  She even had the required miniature picture painted by one of her friends to insert the small rusty nail into once she began to chant the spell.  The spell would cause sickness of the mind.  She had decided not to include the reversal of the spell in three days times so he would be permanently mind sick.  His next home would be the city insane asylum.

Missy heard the commotion outside through the open window in the kitchen.  It had to be Mr. Somersby on the damnable black stallion he call Hellion.  That horse needed to be put down.  It had bitten several of its handlers and stumped to death one of the slaves that had been brushing him down after a long ride.  He was a mean cuss and aptly named!

Missy took the chicken bones, dirt and flowers and added them to the brew chanting as she stirred…

“The dead I beg and plea help me bring my sorrows down upon thee!”

She then added the bees saying…

“Grasp this plea their minds feel the sting of the bee!”

Taking the cat hair she added it to the chicory brew whispering softly:

“When all is said and done, the screech of the cat will make them run!”

Finally poring the vinegar into the brew then taking the picture of Mr. Somersby and sticking the rusty nail through his head she chanted:

“There now mine to add to the unfree, blast of vinegar for the unseeing flee, there now sick with dismay so mote it be!”

Missy felt the pulsing of the magic as it gathered to comply with her spell.  When she felt its agreement she strained the spell and the chicory coffee into the demitasse cup decorated with hand painted pink and yellow flowers.  Just as she had finished arranging the remaining refreshments on the serving tray Missy heard the tinkle of the drawing room bell which was her signal that the contract had been signed and Miss Betsy was ready for fresh brewed Louisiana chicory coffee served hot and black.

No one knew the exact circumstances of Mr. Somersby’s passing two days after his visit to Miss Betsy Morgan’s house.   He had left an hour after arriving at the home with a look of satisfaction on this face as he rode Hellion at a gallop to get to his club for drinks, smokes and cards.  Gossips had speculated that he’d planned to visit a well-known courtesan in the French Quarter later that night.

He was found on the road leading out of the city.  It appeared as if his horse had bludgeoned him.  The official testimony was that he had been kicked in the head and his body appeared to have been trampled upon by his horse, which was found placidly grazing near the body.  The horse had a multitude of welts from the application of a riding crop having been applied to its hindquarters with vicious regularity.  The investigating constable had concluded that Hellion had gone crazy after receiving the blows from the riding crop, threw his master in an attempt to stop the blows from the crop and trampled him to death.

Miss Betsy had a conniption fit and was confined to her bed for a week so that she might recover from the shock.

Miss Yvette was certainly sadden by Mr. Somersby untimely demise but was happy to have a reprieve from her mother’s schemes to get her “situated in comfort”.

And

Missy…well she was glad that the spell had worked and the demitasse cup decorated with hand painted pink and yellow flowers was now secreted in the back of the china cabinet just in case.

                                                            Li Fini!