Cane River Part 31

A statement found today in the effects of Joseph Billes, the wealthy old Frenchman who last week shot and killed his wife and suicided at their home in Billes Landing, near here, indicates that the double tragedy was deliberately planned. The statement, which is signed by Billes, relates that should he be found dead at any time the end was to be attributed to an unhappy life with his wife. Billes also censured a prominent attorney of this section. The statement was written in French and dated Jan. 29th, of this year.

New Orleans TimesPicayune, March 4, 1907. March 4, 1907.

Emily's carefully h.o.a.rded reserve of energy drained away. Joseph had never destroyed his supposed suicide note, as she had done with so many others over the years. Now they used it as evidence that he'd planned to kill himself and Lola all along.

"I don't know where you got that paper," Emily said to T.O., "but I hope you have the good sense to keep to yourself and not provoke anyone. We all have to be especially cautious now."

"When the time comes, Maman, Maman, I'll get us our inheritance." There was a fever glint to his eyes that made Emily fearful of how indiscreet her son could allow himself to be. I'll get us our inheritance." There was a fever glint to his eyes that made Emily fearful of how indiscreet her son could allow himself to be.

That evening Emily brought hot sa.s.safras tea to Philomene and Suzette. Suzette was fighting her third infection of the winter, confined to her bed, and Philomene sat with her.

"You look tired, daughter. Come sit with us." Philomene smoothed a place on the bed near her chair.

"I think I will sit for a few minutes," Emily said. "I seem always so close to exhaustion or weeping these days." As if to prove the point, her eyes moistened, but she closed them for a long moment to hold back the tears.

Philomene sweetened the tea for all three of them. "Is it that article in the newspaper?"

"I suppose." Emily's thoughts were sluggish. "There's no talking back to the page. People can present truth however they like. That article today makes clear that they found two doc.u.ments. It wasn't until the second note that he censured the attorney. But they didn't mention one word of his wishes to leave half of his estate to the children. Only the suicide note."

"Someone still walking among us killed Joseph and Lola both. I am just thankful you were not a part of it," Philomene said. "That's the truth that matters. The only thing to do now is stay out of the way until the blood appet.i.te pa.s.ses. We have everything we need right here on the farm."

Emily shrugged. "It seems so hopeless. Joseph dead and T.O. with his manhood wrapped so tight to an inheritance he'll never see."

Suzette suddenly grew frantic, gesturing Emily closer. "You have family to look after," she whispered. "Throw down pride and go to the white man. It's the only way."

"To ask for what, Memere? Memere?" asked Emily.

"Freedom."

It took several moments for Emily to understand that Suzette had gone back in her mind to the past. Emily nodded weakly, patting Suzette's hand rea.s.suringly as again she fought back tears. Philomene was tight-lipped. They both stayed with Suzette until she fell into a ragged sleep.

"Keep T.O. from going into Colfax," Philomene said to Emily as they got up to go to bed. "He's asking for trouble. His is the same talk that got Joseph dead."

They couldn't get enough of the story in town. Each day brought some new speculation, some new piece of evidence that proved once and for all that Joseph Billes had gotten exactly what he deserved. They were divided down the middle on whether he killed himself or not, whether he murdered his wife. For each fact that supported one side, there seemed to be another that fed the arguments of the opposing camp. The first doctor on the scene had written a report stating that no man, drunk or sober, could have sustained so many wounds by his own hand and still have the strength to cut his own throat.

The suicide note that his lawyer produced two days after the discovery of the bodies was indisputably in Joseph's own hand. Those who knew him and those who didn't debated whether Joseph was a drunk, whether he was a violent bully or a fun-loving man, a devilish fellow full of high spirits or just a devil.

There was, however, little disagreement that whatever the instrument, he had reaped what he had sown.

There was little talk of Lola. She had come too late to the margins of the town to hold as a centerpiece for the tragedy. Her family had no strong ties this side of Red River, and she was more a curiosity, a fuzzy detail, an unwitting accomplice in her own dark fate. The most popular of all the stories going the rounds was of the wailing, ragtag mulatto family being dragged out of Joseph's home and loaded into wagons so the new wife could move into the same house the next day. With each telling the family got larger, the confrontation between white and colored more violent, the more eyewitnesses who had always known what Joseph Billes was capable of. Lola seemed to have faded from view, eclipsed by the magnitude of the lesson still to be taught, a backdrop for the real story of moral decay and depravity.

Notes of J. L. Woodall, first doctor on the scene.

By the second week the murder had been replaced as the front-page story of the Colfax Chronicle Colfax Chronicle, but within the inner sections of the thin tabloid, beside the main advertis.e.m.e.nts and land sale notifications, T.O. found an editorial and brought it back to Cornfine Bayou. He read aloud to the family.

"According to this paper, Joseph's crime wasn't in having a colored family, it was in raising them," Philomene said when T.O. finished reading. There was more disgust and acknowledgment than anger in her voice. Her eyes darted from face to face. "We put this behind us today. We keep to ourselves, hold on to the land we have, and go about our business."

"He wanted us to have his property," T.O. shouted, almost a pure bellow of pain at the end. He slapped his open hand on the table so hard that the newspaper slid to the floor. "It says so right here. They admitted it."

"T.O., let it go," Emily said gently.

T.O. faced his mother directly, breathing hard. "You said to let it go when he moved us out of our house. You said there was plenty of time for me to be a man. That time is now. We can't just let him go like this."

"Don't be foolish," Emily said harshly. "Why do you think Joseph is lying in the cold ground? As soon as he started the talk about inheritance, it was set. This isn't over yet. The white folks will fight over that land, but there won't be anything more for us. You want to do something, T.O., find out Antoine Morat's plans. He's the one speaking for the estate."

T.O. quickly drew his hand to his face, but not before Emily saw the muscle below her son's left eye begin to twitch uncontrollably.

Colfax Chronicle, March 9, 1907. March 9, 1907.

43.

T .O. was the protector of his family now, and it was his place to go. He found Antoine at the mill. .O. was the protector of his family now, and it was his place to go. He found Antoine at the mill.

"Can I speak to you, Monsieur Antoine?" T.O. asked above the noise of the grinder.

"Not now, boy," Antoine yelled back. His bland face was composed, as if there were no surprise in the request. "Come around to my house after supper this evening."

T.O. waited for over an hour in Antoine's backyard before he heard the approaching crunch of boots on soil.

"That's too bad about your papa," Antoine said. "What is it you want to talk to me about, boy?"

T.O. backed away a small step and took a deep breath. "Joseph Billes wanted us to have the land, Monsieur Antoine. He told us it was our inheritance. They say you're the one looking over it. That's all we want."

Antoine laughed, a long, loud laugh. "That's all you want? Two thousand acres of timberland, or what's left, that's all you want? Your papa was a murderer, and your mama raised a fool who doesn't know his place."

"He didn't kill anyone," T.O. said. "They can say whatever they want, but somebody else was there that night."

Antoine's smile faded. "You can be a smart boy, and turn around and go on back home to your mama, or you can end up like Joseph Billes. It isn't in you to be brave, boy. I'll see to it you come out of this just fine, you and your family. h.e.l.l, I'm G.o.dfather to your brother. I have your best interests at heart. It's what Joseph would have wanted." Antoine spat a stream of tobacco juice into the dirt at his feet. "You'll never go hungry. But you put aside this loose talk about inheritance and land. You don't know what you're up against, boy. n.o.body wants to see you or your family hurt. It's over now. Closed."

"I saw you," T.O. said.

Antoine didn't change expression but turned to face T.O. squarely. "Just what is it you think you saw, boy?"

"I saw you going up to Billes Landing that night." The admission tasted strange on T.O.'s tongue. He had told no one about what he had seen in the woods before now.

"n.o.body is interested in what you think you saw, boy."

"I heard you with another man," T.O. said, light-headed.

Antoine considered T.O. carefully. "Let's say you did see me that night. What of it? If you're trying to say I'm the one who killed Joseph Billes and his wife, you're crazy. A white man could testify against me in court, even though he would be mistaken. But now, that's not you, is it?" He sounded almost curious. "What has gotten into you?"

T.O.'s stomach burned. He knew the smart thing to do but couldn't make himself retreat. "He wanted the land to go to us."

Antoine didn't try to hide his disbelief or his anger. "It's your choice now. You repeat what you just said to anyone else, and I promise the whole lot of you will go. That's a promise. From the old lady to the baby. Fire burns hot and hides everything. I don't want to hear one more word about where I was that night. You don't have any rights, boy. I'm all that's standing between you and sure disaster. Now I'm tired of this. I'll tell you what you're going to do. You're going to go back to your mama, and you're going to praise me for not taking away the little bit you already have. I still have to straighten out Joseph's affairs in court. I'll do right by you, and you'll do right by me. You will never talk about that night again to anyone, including me. Is that what you plan to do next?"

T.O. felt hollow. "Oui, Monsieur Morat." Monsieur Morat."

"I didn't hear you, boy."

"Oui, Monsieur Morat." Monsieur Morat."

"That's better. Go on, get on off my property, while I'm still feeling generous."

44.

A lthough Emily seldom left Cornfine Bayou, visitors brought word of the strange unfolding of testimony as one court proceeding followed another for months. Witnesses swore to Joseph Billes's temperament, his drinking, his intentions, his treatment of Lola, his colored family, and an earnest parade of supporters and detractors canceled each other out. As far as Emily was concerned, it was only the land they fought over. The two challengers in the courtroom were Antoine Morat on one side and Lola Grandchamp's heirs on the other. lthough Emily seldom left Cornfine Bayou, visitors brought word of the strange unfolding of testimony as one court proceeding followed another for months. Witnesses swore to Joseph Billes's temperament, his drinking, his intentions, his treatment of Lola, his colored family, and an earnest parade of supporters and detractors canceled each other out. As far as Emily was concerned, it was only the land they fought over. The two challengers in the courtroom were Antoine Morat on one side and Lola Grandchamp's heirs on the other.

In recent memory, from Montgomery to Colfax, there had been no story this exciting, no events firing so much speculation. Most had heard of the old Frenchman back in the woods who for so many years lived openly with his mulatto family, bringing them under his own roof, in the end coming to his senses to marry white. As the trials wore on, Joseph Billes became an object lesson, useful when parents lectured their children about the consequences of race mixing or the inevitable aftermath of giving in to temptation. He became the topic of sermons on reaping and sowing and the subject of a series of editorials in the Colfax Chronicle Colfax Chronicle on the evils of miscegenation. on the evils of miscegenation.

Eventually on Cornfine Bayou they lost touch with the daily proceedings from the courthouse and settled back into farm life. Everyday issues crowded out the unreality and distance of the trials in Colfax. Suzette fell into ill health again in the worst of the season's heat and developed a deep cough that wouldn't ease. She hovered between sickness and recovery all summer, and they all did their best to make her comfortable.

Six months after Joseph was killed, late one muggy evening, Emily dragged her rocking chair out to the front gallery to join Philomene. They sat and rocked to the hypnotic clicking of crickets' music carried on the still air.

"I loved him, Maman, Maman," Emily said out of nowhere.

"I know," said Philomene. She crocheted a white lace doily for the whatnot table, looping thread around her hooked needle and pulling it through itself in quick, expert motions. "He was all you ever knew."

"If they had just left us alone," Emily said. "We weren't hurting anyone. First they killed the us in him and me and then they killed him to make a lesson of it. All he wanted was to settle into old age surrounded by his children. He never would have left them, no matter how much he threatened, no matter if he wrote a thousand notes." The weight of the ongoing trials had exhausted Emily, although she'd played no part. "They took him away twice."

Philomene stilled the rocking of her moonlight chair and lowered her crochet needle to her lap. "Daughter, flesh-and-blood men killed Joseph, not 'they.' It gets too hard to figure out what you need to do next unless you bring it back around to particulars." She took up her crocheting again. "No one was ever strong enough to kill what the two of you shared."

Emily nodded, but the shadows of the night wouldn't release her thoughts of Joseph and all they had lost. "What people say about him at the trials, that he was fun or nervous or devilish or stingy, each one got it right and got it wrong, too. They saw him from the outside and offered up one piece of the man at a time, like it was the whole cloth. He was more than that."

"We need to get this family pointed to the future," Philomene said. "There's no bringing Joseph back. You're still here, safe, and that's a blessing."

The lone screeching of a hoot owl filled the night and then fell quiet.

"I can't speak of him anymore," Emily whispered, and the admission hurt her. "I can't speak his name out loud."

"Whatever allows you to get up and go on another day. You were left with more than you think. The children have his name, and that matters," Philomene said. "And there's the money."

Emily collected herself. "Almost two thousand dollars in cash, hidden safe around the house and yard. The Colfax bank refused Joe's pet.i.tion for a loan to expand his lumber operations, and I've been thinking about backing him, but by rights, T.O. as the oldest should come first."

Philomene stopped the motion of her rocker again. "We have to be careful how we spend the money. Joe has a gift with timber, men, and numbers, same as Joseph, and big dreams. Six men already and more work than he can handle. Use a piece of the money for him now, and in due time it will come back to us. As for T.O., money isn't what he needs."

Emily sighed. "These trials are eating him up, following each detail night and day like a man possessed. He's lost so much weight that his clothes hang on him. I want to help him past this, but T.O.'s hiding something. And the truth is, I can't bear to hear any more about the proceedings."

"T.O. will find his way in time," Philomene said. "But he can't put himself into anything now but the idea of bringing back a lost inheritance."

"I'll give Joe the money tomorrow," said Emily.

"It can't seem to come from us," said Philomene. "We have to make it look like he gets his backing from outside the parish. Joe can go to New Orleans and open a bank account with the cash, and then come back talking about a white partner from down there."

"I get so tired of fighting," Emily said.

Philomene clucked her tongue softly. "You fight just by drawing breath and sitting on your own property on Cornfine Bayou. The important thing now is the battles you choose. The one that makes a difference is keeping the family together and giving the children a better chance." She pulled a plug of tobacco from her ap.r.o.n pocket and shook her head thoughtfully. "Once, I thought I was bringing you into an easier time."

"You did fine, Maman. Maman." Emily smiled a tight smile. One of their farm cats jumped into her lap and she stroked its short, sleek fur.

"I bore ten children, and you had five," Philomene said, lightening her tone. "Bet has given me eleven grandchildren already, and from you only Angelite's two. What are your children waiting for? All of them should have settled down to start their own families by now." She leaned back and closed her eyes. "Josephine came crying to me about you running off that dark-skinned boy from Aloha trying to court her."

"Josephine understood her responsibility," Emily said primly. "His people had no standing. It is better to take these things in hand before they have a chance to go too far."

"Sometimes while you wait for what you think is better," Philomene said, "what is good enough slips away."

Summer gave way to fall, and Antoine Morat was named administrator for Joseph's estate while the case dragged on. He came one windy Sat.u.r.day afternoon to Cornfine Bayou to give them fresh news of the trial, pulling a small sack of salt out of his saddlebag as a gift. They were all home and a.s.sembled in the front room. Only Suzette was absent, napping.

As Josephine served tea cakes and coffee, Antoine began to complain. "The Grandchamps have the money from the estate tied up. Madame Lola's relations have more interest in her dead than when she was alive, fighting us every step of the way, but I'm looking out for you." A small martyr's smile played at Antoine's lips, and Emily waited for the real purpose of his call. "There are many hards.h.i.+ps in the duties of administrator, but justice triumphs in the end."

Suddenly Antoine slapped both palms flat on the table, rattling the teacups. The sound made Emily start. "We found Joseph's last will and testament," he said, grinning widely. "He wrote to my son Antoine Jr., and the letter makes his intentions for the estate clear." He looked very satisfied. "Everything we've been telling the court for months is borne out. A.J. has had the doc.u.ment in his possession for almost a year without realizing the importance of it."

They looked questioningly at one another around the table, Philomene to Emily, T.O. to Joe, Mary to Josephine.

"A.J. thought the letter the fond musings of a troubled old man, of no importance to anyone but himself, but when he told me, I grasped immediately its significance." Antoine touched his own temple lightly, as if he were reliving the discovery of that moment. "The letter was written three months before poor Joseph performed those desperate last acts of a disturbed man."

He leaned in to visibly convey his rea.s.surance to his audience on Cornfine Bayou. "My strategy," he said, his voice barely above a whisper, "is to bring these affairs to conclusion, something you can't do for yourselves because of your ... circ.u.mstances. The court would never seriously consider any pet.i.tion from you directly, so you need someone working for you. Our settlement is your settlement."

"What is it you ask us to do?" said Philomene.

"Nothing, nothing at all," Antoine said. "I just came by to read the letter to you myself, in case you hear of it from others and do not understand the meaning. You know how fond Joseph was of my A.J., like a son."

Emily glanced sidelong at T.O., his face rigid under the reference, and then at the letter Antoine held. Antoine allowed the paper to linger under her nose before pulling it back and adjusting his reading lens over the characters. Emily recognized Joseph's handwriting, the right-hand slant, the cramped letters in French, the signature.