The Unrequited Ch. 00: Prologue

August 6th 1808

Antoine Laveau was drenched sweat. The oppressive summer heat had been steadily increasing all day and now that it was approaching late afternoon the full blast of the Louisiana sun baked everything in sight. The air, thick and still as hot molasses, was deathly silent. No sound could be heard over the steady monotonous hum of cicadas buzzing loudly over the steady din of human activity below. Looking down from the top floor of his plantation at the party below he grinned as he felt that this must have been how his distant aristocratic relatives must have lived back in France before the revolution. Those were glorious days for his noble family before it all ended in the bloody harvest of their heads by the dreaded remorseless Guillotine. That however was mercifully in the old world past. Here in America, far from the turbulent world of Europe, a man like him could live like a king and the Laveaus certainly did not hide their aristocratic origins or extravagant tastes.

Smiling smugly at the fete in progress, Antoine cut a fine figure of a man of privilege. Only twenty-seven, his wavy dark hair and extravagant, if wilted and damp, clothing shouted his status loud and clear. He was a true prince of the Old South, a young man with the world at his command. Thousands of dark hands toiled at his command, and the fine silk frock coat, ruffled imported French shirt and mother of pearl buttons, all gloriously white for the happy occasion, had him look the part. Even more grand than his person was the home playing host to the occasion, Magnolia Grove.

Magnolia Grove was just one of a series of grand manor houses Antoine's family owned up and down the lower Mississippi, but she was truly the Grande Damme of them all. Her three stories of pure white marble rising from the endless flat delta looked completely out of place when first seen from a distance, resembling a fully intact Greek temple emerging from the formless infinite spreading green of the flat country engulfing it. Forty-five enormous grand Corinthian style columns encircled the house and created three separate wrap around porches on all three floors. As a boy, many a choking and sweltering summer evening was spent on these upper verandas in hopes of catching a breeze from the river. Being the highest spot for miles, often an evening cross breeze coming off of the Mississippi, or a cool gust of air rushing up from the ocean would bring much welcome relief from the stifling cauldron that was southern Louisiana in summer.

It was for just such a hope of relief from the endless hellish swamp heat that Antoine had ascended to the top floor in the first place. The porch was just one of the highlights of the home, but it was one of his favorites. With twelve bedrooms, a full ball room, a dining room meant to seat thirty-five comfortably and endless parlors, this palace was built for entertaining on a truly royal scale. Grinning as he imagined his bright and wealthy future, his stomach fluttered knowing that it was soon to be all his, his father having gifted it to he and his new wife as a wedding present the night before. Today though, grand and palatial as Magnolia Grove was, even it was being pushed to its limits. Entering hour six was the celebration of the century and the house and grounds were packed with well-wishers for his long awaited for wedding day.

Giving the estate its name were twenty stately Magnolia trees lining the driveway from the main road to the front of the house each well over a hundred years old. Antoine had many fond recollections of those trees from his youth; from playing in their large branches in the summer heat to enjoying the Christmas wreathes the slaves fashioned out of their large waxy evergreen leaves in winter. Today however they were all especially spectacular as the heat of late summer brought their large fragrant flowers to full and glorious bloom, the wafting perfume of sweet Magnolia scenting everything on the property. Hanging like a covering of soft spun silk over the trees were long ropy tendrils of Spanish Moss, each normally swaying to the slightest puff of wind. Today however the moss hung straight and still since not a breath of air was to be felt.

His smile turned to a slight frown as he looked down at the guests and knew he had to return to the party and the stifling humidity. Standing on the upper veranda of the palatial manor house the discomfort of the hellish heat and the uncomfortable feeling of his sopping clinging thick silk shirt plastered onto his body made him briefly wish they had decided to have this party in October. No matter, he thought, the sooner the better. The quicker this charade could end the sooner he could go back to his old life.

All spread out on the acre long lawn in front of the house, the social event of the season was taking place and to his great delight it was all for his benefit. No expense had been spared to put on a party that would go down in the history of Orleans Parish for decades. Today was a true celebration and the culmination of years of planning and scheming that would have made the Medici's proud. Today was the day that his marriage to Martina del Rosa, the only daughter of the richest planter in all of the south and the only family whose blood was even bluer than his, was finally celebrated.

It had taken exactly eighteen months to reach this spot and never before in all of his life had Antoine been happier to have an ordeal come to an end. For one and a half years he had lived a charade, a fraud, a complete farce as he hid his true nature. Hidden away from view was the shallow reckless youth he had been (and still was). He concealed it behind a self-constructed mask of respectability, gallantry and piety that had fooled everyone. The Del Rosa family, whose wealth was only surpassed by their religious fervor, demanded that any potential suitor for their only daughter had to be beyond reproach. So Antoine, with significant prodding by his Lady Macbeth-like mother, had learned to play his part and performed spectacularly. Sighing as he saw the lawn filled with every social climbing bastard in Orleans Parish he prepared to go back down and rejoin his guests. As he started to leave he jumped at the feel of two soft hands gripping his shoulder from the back.

"Oh Antoine, just look, look at the crowd that has come out for you and Martina today! Why I don't think I have ever seen so many people in this house ever, nor have I ever seen it look more lovely!" his mother sighed into his ear. Seeing the same sight as he, she had to be proud as this wedding was her victory as much as it was his.

Their family roots in Louisiana ran very deep as they were one of the first settlers to exploit this colony when they had immigrated from their home country of France nearly one hundred years earlier. With land insanely cheap and few Indians to worry about, the Laveau's had done extremely well. Owning tens of thousands of acres of land, and dozens of working plantations, an army of slaves toiled at their command bringing them a constant stream of wealth. Cotton, tobacco and sugar were the pillars upon which their empire was built and the family's future never looked brighter. With the newly formed town of New Orleans only a few miles to the south and already booming in the shipping trade, they were set to rapidly increase their already considerable fortune.

To Margarite Laveau, Antoine's mother, this was not enough. She not only wanted to have her family be rich but she wanted it to be outright Imperial in its wealth and power. Her plans and schemes to increase their fortunes had started several years earlier through her keen feminine observations. At a lavish gentry garden party, she noticed that the lovely, and even richer, Martina del Rosa was obviously admiring her son and this observation sent her mind went into devious overdrive. The joining of their two families would create a family dynasty that none could ever surpass and it became her compulsive mission to see this union come to fruition. Their wedding today was her ultimate victory and she basked in the glow of her ultimate victory.

Martina's admiration was well placed as Antoine was extremely handsome; tall, well built and very masculine. He had turned many a girl's head and Martina's was no exception. He definitely had a way with women, as few girls escaped his attentions if her focused on them. His prodigious libido had created a very long trail of broken hearts in almost every fine home on the bayou, and quite a few slave cabins, from New Orleans all the way up river to Baton Rouge. His appetite was a complicating matter to his mother's plans no doubt, but it is a foolish mother who does not know her own son. Knowing that his endless lust was only matched by his equally infinite greed, she successfully convinced him to keep his penis temporarily tucked away in his well-tailored silk pants. Well, until the wedding at least.

The Del Rosa's were in fact much wealthier than the Laveaus, with scores of plantations as well as mines and shipping companies at their command. They too had aristocratic origins, albeit from Spain, but nonetheless, they definitely had a tinge of purple in their blood. Imagining the status of her family immensely empowered by a fusion of the two fortunes, she worked her magic and convinced her son to pitch his woo and play the saint. She knew he was a hopeless womanizer, but he was smart enough to restrain himself at least until the wedding. Then all bets would be off, and it would be too late for the del Rosa's to object, as divorce was unheard of. Yes, her ultimate goal was so close she could almost taste it, and if she could just keep Antoine on the straight and narrow until the first child the prize would be theirs. Seeing the distant look on his face, and knowing his mind better than he did, she did have one worry and her name was Justine.

Smiling, she massaged her son's sweaty neck as she purred. "Just a few more months' son and you can see her again."

Stiffening at her words, he snapped back. "See WHO mother?"

"Please son, you are such a fool. Do you not think a mother knows these things? My own breasts nursed you as a baby and my womb grew you inside me. I know you better than you know yourself boy. I know all about your Copper Colored Love Goddess in New Orleans, and like I said, once you sire a child with Martina you can go back to her all you like."

Antoine grimaced but nodded, angry that he was unable to keep any secrets from his mother. He could not argue with her though, as she was absolutely right, Justine was on his mind. Once that rich bitch Martina was shackled to him in the bonds of motherhood he would return to his beloved Justine just as soon as the midwife cut the umbilical cord.

Justine was his Placee (or "other wife") and she was like many former slaves caught in the trap of perpetual sexual servitude. Having a dark beauty on the side was a very common practice among men of his class, a sign of prestige and Antoine took full advantage of this ancient tradition. He, like so many of his contemporaries, had a separate home in the French Quarter built especially for their dalliances and his thoughts constantly were flooded with his memories of their time together. Her smooth flawless brown skin, achingly round womanly hips and full luscious breasts, combined with her obvious enthusiasm in the arts of love made Justine the perfect belly warmer for his prodigious appetites. Having snatched her away from a slave auction when she was only fifteen he had spent considerable time and money crafting her into the perfect lover to satisfy his lusts. Taught to read and write, unheard of for a slave at that time, he wanted someone to talk to as well as bed. Being apart from her gorgeous body these last eighteen months had been torment but his mouth salivated at the thought of once again feeling her long ebony legs wrapping around his ass as he plunged into her. Yes, their reunion would be most momentous.

Martina, his bride, was attractive enough with her dark Spanish good looks and full womanly figure, but he could tell already she was going to be a lousy lover. It might take months just to consummate their marriage as he doubted whether she had even seen a naked man before, much less knew what to do with one once he was in her bed. He knew that to fill her womb with a child was going to be a tedious unsatisfying chore. No matter, he thought, their union was based on greed not lust. Lust he reserved for his sable Goddess Justine alone and the sooner he planted his seed in Martina, the sooner he could return to his lover.

As he pondered this future coupling he grinned as he thought of the irony. His father several years earlier had built this enormous house right on the edge of tiny village of New Orleans, and often he would bring Justine from the town to the country for a weekend of sexual bliss when the family was at one of the numerous other estates. Now that he knew that this palace was to be his sole property, he knew he would be taking many visits to New Orleans, both for business and for other activities. Antoine, unbeknownst to anyone, had already christened this house for years with Justine, as it sat empty most of the time. Alone the two had used the chateau as their own pleasure palace away from prying eyes and all sexual restraint. "How delicious" Antoine chuckled to himself, imaging finally blowing the cobwebs free from his new wife's legs in the same bed where he and Justine had so often engaged in their own horizontal activities.

"What is delicious?" his mother asked to which Antoine remained silent. Pausing, she continued "Son, I think we should return to the party now. People are already asking where you are and besides, they are about to start bringing out the gifts." She grinned as she saw her son perk up at the word "gifts". He was such a shallow boy, greedy in the extreme, but she knew that this would get him to come back downstairs. Sure enough, within minutes the two were descending the long curving staircase into the foyer and out the front door to the lawn.

"There is the lucky man!" cried Sebastion Cavolet, a neighbor and rival planter who was seething in jealousy. "Come, we have a special table set for you and Martina and the toasts are just about to start."

Forcing a smile on his face he joined his new wife at the head table on the lawn as the first of a seemingly endless number of long rambling speeches began. Knowing that their union was going to create such a financial powerhouse, the brown nosing and panegyric groveling that took place bordered on nauseating. Finally, a tall older house slave began to bring forth the wedding presents and the couple reveled in the loot that rapidly began to accumulate. There were silver services imported from England, and fine silks shipped from China that began to lay upon the table in a growing pile of treasure. Each family in attendance, wanting to outdo the other as well as ingratiate themselves with the powerful new couple, spent thousands of dollars on their gifts.

As the presents accumulated and the champagne flowed and the orchestra played all had a marvelous time, none having ever attended a more lavish spectacle in their lives. Martina, her heart filled with love for her new husband looked over at him in awe. She felt so fortunate. So many of the beaus she had had in the past were mousy girly men, or such obvious fortune hunters, she had dismissed them all. Now sitting beside her was the man of her dreams and looking at his profile, and studying his thick wavy black hair and impeccable style, she saw a golden future before her. Even the weather was now cooperating as it began to grow dark and the slaves lit torches in the garden, the cooler evening breeze refreshing them all. As she sat lost in her own thoughts, one of the house slaves stepped forward.

"Pardon me Mistress Martina and Master Antoine, but there is one last gift for you. It must be extremely valuable as the rider gave me strict instructions to present it last." Handing a small ivory box to Martina and an envelope to Antoine he continued. "I was told that you should both open them together.

Martina giggled like a schoolgirl, intrigued at this mystery and salivating at the prospects. Fumbling with the box, she looked over to Antoine and said "Dear Heart, you open yours first. I am very curious as to what new bounty awaits inside these packages after we have been so blessed all day."

Antoine smiled as he tore open the envelope, his mouth salivating in expectation of finding a deed to some new property, or perhaps even better, cash. Instead he found a note which he instantly began to read.

Dear Joues de Miele,

Reading the first line, Antoine's blood froze. This term, Joues de Miele, which means Honey Cheeks in English, was only used by one other person on earth when referring to him, Justine. Reading on quickly, his fear grew steadily with each word.

I return to you that which is not mine. Your wife deserves to have this gift as do you. May your lives together reap the harvest that your hand and tongue hath sewn.

Your unrequited love,

Justine

As he finished reading the short ominous words, the shrill shrieking scream of his wife pierced the air. Martina, having just finished opening the box was hysterical, her face pure white, her eyes opened wide in horror. Tossing the box to the table, the macabre contents spilled out on the surface. There in a pool of blood lay the disembodied left hand of Justine, the ring Antoine had given her years earlier as a symbol of their love still tightly bound on her lifeless finger.