Ghost Stories of Old New Orleans

The White Althea Tree

(i866) The White Althea Tree When Denise Mercier received a proposal of marriage from Louis Augarde in the spring of 1866, she was so happy that her older sister, Georgine, knew at once that Louis must finally have made his declaration of love. "It's about time, too," she smiled to herself. "He's been sending Denise flowers and music until it has become almost embarrassing, and I do think that a box of bonbons twice a week is straining convention. He has given her three volumes of poetry—Christmas, Easter and birthday. "Personally, I think some of the Browning poems are shocking, although Lord Tennyson himself writes somewhat floridly at times. But that awful Shelley really was an atheist and had children by everybody. I noticed a kissing poem marked, and I've been meaning to speak to Denise about it. However. . . ." Denise broke the joyful news to her sister after breakfast the next morning. "I knew it would surprise you intensely," she rippled. "Louis is so sweet, and he's going to build us a new house— think of that! I told him he mustn't be extravagant. But he said he would have had to build a new house for his mother, if she had lived." "The money was hers—she could have built her own house," Georgine returned crisply. "Of course, I know Louis has inherited more from that Parisian uncle since her death. But if she had lived she would have inherited instead of Louis. Sometimes I think Louis is inclined to boast." 337 338 Ghost Stories of Old New Orleans "Oh, how can you be so unjust!" cried Denise, bursting into tears. "You do not know how tender and beautiful he is! Why, when he proposed to me he laid a beautiful white rose against my lips, and then —against his own. He said my lips were too pure for any man to touch, unless I myself asked to be kissed." "You didn't ask, I hope." "To be sure, I did! I was engaged to him by that time. It was quite correct. Doubtless you, at twenty-eight, consider kissing light and silly. But it isn't, when one is twenty-three and has just promised a lovely man to become his bride." "H'm," mused Georgine speculatively. "I dare sayhe hasn't an idea of how low in funds we are. I dread to tell him, but he must not believe us well off and then find, after marriage, that we are virtually paupers. If it were not for Mother's beautiful wedding veil and white satin gown, I don't know how we could manage clothes for the wedding." "I told him," Denise rejoined, drying her eyes. "He said he was glad—he wanted to feel that his money was providing everything for me. He loves me so, Georgine—he said he wanted to dress me in satins and velvets and load me with jewels. Isn't it beautiful?" "It sounds indecent," objected the older sister. "He is thirty years old, and I suppose he thinks of you as a child. But, just the same, you will have to direct his household. This house of ours will soon pass from our hands—there is no other way. We still occupy it, as you know, only because of Judge Jussan's kindly intervention. But everything will go. I shall, of course, find employment." "Oh, Georgine!' begged Denise. "How can you humiliate me so? Find employment, indeed, like a common workingwoman —I shall never live down the disgrace of it! You will live with Louis and me, most certainly." "Most certainly I shall do no such thing. I can do beautiful needlework, and I can support myself nicely by sewing. I have learned more rigid economy in the last five years than you suspect. The war taught me that much, at any rate." And, thought Denise, if David Allston had not fallen at Antietam, Georgine would now be happily married, with a The White Althea Tree 339 home of her own. The knowledge of her sister's great loss always softened the younger girl, even when Georgine's tongue grew bitter. She deemed it wise not to pursue the subject of sewing. Of course, Georgine would live with them in the new house. "We are going to have a large family," Denise remarked. "Louis thinks large families are beautiful." Georgine raised...