Mardi Gras Madness Read online

  “And you forbid me? Does your ring give you that right?” Barbara held out her left hand and gazed with fascination at the cheap diamond which had thrilled her so when Robert had tenderly slipped it on her finger.

  “It certainly does.” Robert’s tone was that of one who knew he was in the right, yet grieved at the necessity of taking such action.

  “All right then!” Barbara exclaimed viciously. “If that’s what your ring means … take it!” Her fingers trembled as she tore at the ring and finally pulled it off. Robert watched her aghast.

  “Take your damned old ring,” she raged at him. She flung it wildly in his direction, then ran sobbing toward the house.

  Robert sat as still as a graven image in the hammock. He looked bewildered … shaken to the depths of his soul. He leaned over slowly and retrieved the ring from the grass … then stared at it stupidly.

  Finally, shaking his head, he stumbled blindly down the path to the front gate and the path homeward.

  Chapter Three

  Barbara moved nervously against the green plush seat as the lights were turned on in the coach. It wasn’t any use looking out the window any longer. It had grown too dark to see anything more than a blur of lights now and then as the train thundered past a settlement.

  She powdered her nose thoughtfully, and smoothed her dress. They must almost be there, she thought. The conductor had told her the train would reach New Orleans soon after dark.

  She had gotten on the train at noon, and it seemed to her the slowest mode of travel she had ever known. Little waves of excitement had been creeping over her all afternoon … each time she thought of New Orleans and tried to vision what she would find there.

  It was the Sunday following Ethel’s departure: The Sunday preceding Mardi Gras. There had been many objections from her father and mother about the trip, but Barbara had brushed them aside in tight-lipped silence. None of them knew exactly what had taken place between Robert and her. She hadn’t seen Robert since that afternoon … and she had convinced herself that she hoped she might never see him again.

  She thought of Robert as she leaned against the worn plush and waited for the train to reach New Orleans.

  She didn’t want to think of him but her subconscious mind had a way of tricking her. She would start thinking of anything widely removed from any thought of Robert, then, somehow, her subconscious mind would twist her thoughts so that he invariably appeared in one guise or another.

  She shook her head angrily and closed her eyes. She had defiantly left Tancipahoa Parish in order to forget Bob. She would forget him.

  She thought about New Orleans, and Ethel, and the welcome which would await her. She wondered how she would be affected by the sight of a huge city in the grip of a festive spirit. She vaguely envisioned blazing lights, streaming banners, streets thronged with masked revelers.

  How would she fit in? She longed for an opportunity to throw herself blindly into something that would make her forget Bob. Would the Mardi Gras bring her forgetfulness? Could anything do that?

  Then her teeth grated together angrily as she found her thoughts had again swung around circuitously to Bob.

  “Damn!” she murmured viciously.

  “Why’d yuh say that?”

  Barbara opened her eyes quickly to see a chubby-faced girl of about five years of age regarding her gravely. She had brown eyes, a delectably stubby nose, and a dirty chin. A fat hand tugged at Barbara’s dress.

  “What did you say?” Barbara rubbed her eyes in amazement.

  “I said why’d yuh say damn?” The brown eyes regarded her unblinkingly. “That’s uh bad word. M’mama allus said so.”

  “So it is,” Barbara assented. “And I’m a bad girl to say it.”

  “You don’ look bad,” the little girl assured her.

  “Thanks,” Barbara chuckled.

  The little girl climbed carefully up on the seat beside her. “I’m goin’ tuh Mwada Gwa,” she said happily. “You goin’ too?”

  “Yes.” Barbara pinched her fat cheek. “You’re pretty young to start going to Mardi Gras, aren’t you?” she asked.

  “I’m fi’-goin’-on-six,” the child confided. “My name’s Boots an’ my bruvver’s name’s Buddie,” she explained. “He’s on’y four an’ he’s wi’ daddy back there.” She gestured toward the back of the car.

  “Is that so? And you’re truly going to Mardi Gras?”

  “Yes,” Boots said happily. “Mammy wouldn’t let us go before, but mammy died an’ went to heaven an’ it almos’ seemed like God took her so’s we could go to Mwada Gwa.”

  “Oh no!” Barbara protested, shocked. “You mustn’t say that.”

  “Tha’s whut my daddy said,” Boots insisted.

  “I beg yo’ pahdon, miss.” A tall form loomed beside Barbara in the aisle. “I reckon Boots is botherin’,” he went on apologetically. “Come on, sugah.” He held out his arms toward the little girl.

  He was tall and lanky. With a rough mop of black hair, wide forehead, deeply lined face, and quiet eyes which gleamed from beneath bushy brows. His neck was thin and a protuberant Adam’s apple moved up and down nervously as he spoke. A loosely knotted tie was awry, and the sleeves of his black coat were too short, exposing bony wrists.

  “That’s all right,” Barbara said quickly. “She’s been amusing me. Her name is Boots and she tells me she has a younger brother named Buddie.”

  “Jest my pet names,” the tall man muttered shamefacedly. “Foolish, I reckon, namin’ ’em after the funnies that way.”

  “I think it’s darling,” Barbara assured him.

  “Mammy wouldn’t let us be named that,” Boots broke in. “Usta make her mad when daddy’d call us that on the sly.”

  The tall man moved uneasily. “Her mammy wasn’t much for funnin’,” he observed awkwardly.

  “So I guessed.” Barbara looked at him reproachfully. “Your little girl had just said something that didn’t sound very nice for a child to say when you came up.”

  “I jes’ said it seemed like God took mammy so’s we could go to Mwada Gwa,” Boots told him. “An’ you said that.”

  A shade seemed to pass over the tall man’s face. “I didn’t know it would sound like that,” he admitted. “Fer uh fact, I didn’t.” He sighed heavily and looked at Boots reproachfully.

  “Oh! There’s Buddie,” Boots said brightly.

  Buddie slipped around his father and crawled up on the other seat, facing Barbara. He was fatter and dirtier than Boots, and his smile was cherubic.

  “You might as well sit down, too,” Barbara said smilingly to the man. “I seem to be elected.”

  “Thank you, miss. But I don’t want to be uh bother.” The man spoke apologetically.

  “Sit down. They’re sweet children,” Barbara said impulsively.

  “Yes’m … I.… My name’s Simpson,” the tall man said simply. He sat down carefully beside the little boy.

  “You should teach your children not to go around saying such things about their mother,” Barbara told him severely.

  “Yes’m. I … didn’t really mean it that way,” Mr, Simpson said slowly. “But it did seem like, sorta, that God musta took Maria so’s … so’s me an’ the children could … could laugh again,” Mr. Simpson said apologetically.

  “I don’t understand.” Barbara leaned forward frowningly. “You’re a widower?” she asked.

  “Yes’m. Maria jes’ died las’ summer. Yuh see,…” Mr. Simpson hesitated and gestured vaguely. “Maria was a good woman,” he said defensively. “An awful good woman. I … I reckon maybe she was too good tuh live on this here earth.”

  “But what has that to do with Mardi Gras?” Barbara asked in perplexity.

  “Maria, she didn’t hold with havin’ no good times. She thought ’twas a sin to laugh an’ jolly. I bin layin’ off tuh take the young-uns to see uh Mardi Gras ever since they was born … but Maria, she wouldn’t hear of it. She said ’twas uh sin … an’ that ended it. But we�
�re agoin’ this year,” he ended strongly.

  “An’ daddy says maybe we’ll fin’ uh new mammy at the Mwada Gwa what won’t mind lettin’ us go nex’ year,” Boots said triumphantly.

  “Oh!” Barbara gazed at Mr. Simpson helplessly. She didn’t know whether to laugh at him or scold him.

  “I didn’t hardly mean it that way,” Mr. Simpson protested. “But they bin devilin’ me fer uh new mammy, an’ I tol’ ’em that if we found one in New Orleans that she’d be the sort that’d want tuh come back fer funnin’ every year.”

  “I’ve got uh cowboy suit.” Buddie spoke suddenly. “With uh lasso ’n’ever’thin’.”

  “He sho’ has,” Mr. Simpson beamed. “An’ Boots, she got uh fairy costume. We’ve bin plannin’ ’em for this Mardi Gras fer three years,” he went on proudly.

  “Oh!” Barbara closed her eyes again. A vision arose before her of this family that had been waiting patiently for three years to attend a festival which the mother thought was sinful. And God had taken the mother away, and they looked forward confidently to finding another mother who would not be quite so sternly “good.”

  Barbara shivered in spite of herself. The spirit of Mardi Gras was the spirit of freedom. Was it not exemplified by this gaunt widower and his two lisping children? What would Mardi Gras hold for them? For Buddie and his cowboy suit? Boots and her fairy costume?

  In her fantastic vision she saw them swept into the whirlpool of Mardi Gras. What would they find there? And she saw an unceasing procession, wending its way with wistful faces toward the magic of Mardi Gras. Was the answer there? It was a challenge to those who have neglected to laugh. Was there something for each?

  She opened her eyes and saw that Mr. Simpson was preparing to arise. He smiled apologetically and his Adam’s apple leaped mightily.

  “We’re comin’ into New Orleans,” he said gravely. “I’ve got tuh get our truck together.”

  “Perhaps I’ll see you there,” she smiled. Then she bent impulsively and kissed Boots’ head. There was something infinitely touching in this trio who sought delayed happiness at this Mardi Gras spectacle.

  She gazed eagerly out of the window when the Simpsons had gone back to their seat. A deep-rooted thrill went over her as the myriad lights of the city gleamed close by. They seemed to beckon joyfully. There was a subtle change in the very atmosphere. The call of romance, of freedom. Mardi Gras awaited her! Her spine tingled at the thought.

  The train slowly jolted to a halt, and she was one of a joyful crowd who surged in the aisle toward the door. Men smiled when their feet were trampled upon, and women laughed as they struggled with their bundles. The station seemed full of travelers and those gathered to greet them. Barbara set her suitcase down carefully and looked about for Ethel. There were several masked figures in the throng, and all wore gay costumes as though it was against some unwritten law to appear during Mardi Gras in drab clothing.

  Barbara smiled doubtfully. She debated whether she would take a taxi to Ethel’s, or wait a little longer. Then she espied Ethel coming toward her swiftly. She wore a yellow frock, and had a yellow rose in her hair.

  “Hello, darling,” Ethel gasped. “I’ve had the most awful time getting through the mob. I’ve got a car outside.” She kissed Barbara fleetingly and picked up her suitcase.

  Barbara followed her with glowing face. Her heart was leaping gladly in response to the spirit of abandon all about. This was what she had dreamed of. She had given up Robert to seek this.

  Ethel led her to a glittering sedan outside the station. “The family bus,” she said briefly. “We’ll go straight home and grab a bite to eat. Then you can change if you wish, but you’ll have to make it snappy for we’ve a date at nine.”

  “A date?” Barbara gasped.

  “Of course,” Ethel returned calmly. “I’m going to see that you don’t regret this trip. You’re going to have such a good time you won’t have any chance for regrets.”

  She opened the door of the sedan and Barbara started to get in. Then she saw Mr. Simpson and Boots and Buddie. They were surrounded by a pile of worn bags, and Mr. Simpson’s face looked worried as he looked about for a taxi. All of the available cabs seemed to be busy taking on passengers.

  Barbara was inexplicably touched. Somehow, the Simpsons seemed her problem. She touched Ethel on the arm impulsively.

  “Would you mind giving that man and his two children a lift?” she asked”. “They were on the train with me … and they’re so pathetic.”

  “Sure,” Ethel responded. “Where?”

  Barbara pointed them out, and Ethel wheeled the sedan about to stop by them.

  “Hello,” Barbara called gayly. She opened the back door as Mr. Simpson recognized her. “Pile in,” she ordered. “We’ll take you to your hotel.”

  “That’s sure nice, miss,” Mr. Simpson acknowledged gratefully. He piled the children and bags in the back seat and got in.

  “Where to?” Ethel asked over her shoulder.

  “Why … to some hotel,” he said doubtfully. “Don’ matter which one jes’ so it’s not too highfalutin’.”

  “You haven’t a reservation?” Ethel asked as she skillfully backed away from the curb and drove out to the street.

  “No’m. We sure ain’t,” Mr. Simpson said regretfully.

  “You haven’t a Chinaman’s chance of finding a room at a hotel,” Ethel told him decisively. “But I happen to know of a family out near my home that have a spare room empty. They’ll take you in if you like.”

  “That sho’ is fine,” Mr. Simpson breathed gratefully. “I don’ know what I’d uh done …”

  “That’s oke,” Ethel cut him off shortly as she eased through the crowded traffic.

  Barbara leaned back with a sigh and relaxed. This was New Orleans. She was in the midst of the greatest festival in the world. She wondered, fleetingly, what her date would be like.

  Chapter Four

  “Hurry up with your primping,” Ethel called as she sauntered in to Barbara’s room. “You going to wear that green dress?” she asked judicially as her eyes went from Barbara’s lissome figure to the green frock laid out carefully on the bed.

  “Yes, I thought so.” Clad in a sheer white slip, Barbara turned questioningly. “Don’t you like it?”

  “I think it’s darling. And you’re a darling.” Ethel stepped close to her and touched her shoulder lightly. “Find everything you needed?” she asked.

  “Oh, yes. Everything.” Barbara turned to the bed and took up the frock in question. “It’s not so new,” she said regretfully. “But it does look nice on me.”

  “You’ll look swell,” Ethel assured her. She sat in the rocking chair and crossed her slim legs. “Frank won’t pay much attention to what you have on anyway,” she said composedly.

  “Frank?” Barbara slipped the gown over her shoulders and her face emerged questioningly as she shook the green folds down to cling to her body.

  “That’s your date,” Ethel said. “Frank Dupree. He’s swell. You’ll be crazy about him.”

  “Tell me about him.” Barbara peered in the mirror as she patted her hair in place.

  “He’s a bachelor. Handsome as the devil. His father left him enough money so he doesn’t have to work … but he writes a little when he’s bored with everything else.”

  “He writes?” Barbara turned with quickened interest. “How old is he?”

  “Old enough to know his way around … and young enough to enjoy showing the way to a child like you.”

  “Oh.” Barbara dropped to the bed and regarded Ethel broodingly. “He sounds interesting,” she said.

  “I hope he’ll prove interesting enough to take your mind off the plowboy you left behind you,” Ethel said tartly.

  “My mind is practically free of all burdensome memories,” Barbara assured her.

  “Come on.” Ethel arose and moved toward the door. “It’s time for them to come for us. I don’t suppose we’ll do anything but ride around and g
et acquainted,” she added. “This being Sunday night … we’re all saving up for making whoopee tomorrow and Tuesday.”

  “I’m glad we’re not going to do anything to-night,” Barbara admitted as she followed her down the stairs and out to the front porch of the Brinkley home. “I feel all relaxed … just want to sit quietly and enjoy the sensation of knowing I’m really here.”

  “Frank will love you if you’re a good listener,” Ethel assured her as they found seats on the shaded porch.

  “That’s all I want to do … just look and listen.” Barbara sat up ecstatically and peered out into the New Orleans night.

  The Brinkley home was on a quiet street near Taylor Park, not more than twenty blocks from the heart of the city. The clatter of traffic came to them faintly, bringing the muted sound of automobile sirens and the sharp voice of the bells on the street cars on Canal Street.

  Barbara was outwardly calm, though an inner chord seemed to vibrate ceaselessly as she sensed the nearness of the city. It seemed to speak to her from out of the night as she sat quietly waiting for the man whom Ethel had selected to entertain her this first night.

  Home, her life upon the farm, Robert, all the sheltered existence which was her past seemed strangely nonexistent. It was as though all that had been a dream … this the awakening.

  She shivered a little as an automobile swung up the street to stop in front of the house.

  “There they are now,” Ethel said. She arose and ran down the steps.

  Barbara followed her more slowly. She was surprised to find that her heart was thumping madly and she seemed queerly suffocated.

  Two masculine figures stood by the car when she arrived. Ethel introduced her composedly to “Joe” and “Frank,” but all she could distinguish in the darkness was that Frank was tall and Joe was short.

  Then Ethel and Joe clambered into the back seat of the car, and Frank was gravely assisting her into the front seat. She sat quietly while he went around to the other side and slipped into the driver’s seat.

  He twisted and spoke to Ethel: “Have you any particular desires?”