American Blood by Jason Manning Read Free Book Online

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    As they passed by on the lane, Brent Horan seemed to notice them for the first time. Recognizing Delgado, his expression turned ugly. Perfectlymiserable, Delgado saw that the octoroon called Naomi was watching him, too, as though in some extrasensory way she knew what was in his heart, and he only prayed that he was imagining the hopelessness in her eyes as she watched her salvation pass by.
    3
    The Bledsoe house stood at the corner of the Rue St. Eglise and Laurel Avenue, a spectacular house set in the midst of immaculately groomed grounds, and built in the popular Greek Revival style. Fluted Doric columns flanked the door, which, with pilasters on either side, supported a broad, flat entablature. A full three stories above ground, the structure lacked the pitched roof and dormer window arrangement common of the Federal style. The simplicity of its form gave the residence added dignity. The exterior was composed of superbly cut and fitted native limestone. The iron perimeter fence, set in limestone columns crowned with whitewashed lintels, was adorned with the fashionable anthemiom, a stylized honeysuckle motif.
    Inside, the high basement housed a huge kitchen and the servants' quarters. A formal dining room, study, and two parlors occupied the first floor, while bedrooms were found on the two upper floors. The first-floor rooms that met Delgado's admiring gaze had wall-to-wall carpeting and twelve-foot ceilings augmented by boldly detailed cornices and centerpieces. More fluted columns flanked the double doors of dark paneled wood, which gave access to each room off thewide central hall. In the rear of the house an open gallery, three stories high, accommodated the stairwell. In the same area was a windowed porch, commonly called a tearoom, filled with potted plants. As soon as he stepped inside this American palace, as stately as any private residence he had seen in New York City, Delgado felt far removed from the wild and woolly frontier that lingered, not a mile away, on the outskirts of St. Louis.
    Delgado and Falconer were admitted by a Negress wearing a white apron over her calico dress. She smiled pleasantly and escorted them to the front parlor, exiting soundlessly to find the master of the house and announce that his guests had arrived.
    "Is she a paid servant or a slave?" Delgado asked Falconer as soon as the parlor doors had closed behind her.
    "I guess you'd call her a slave," replied Falconer. "But in truth, Clarisse is much more than that. She's got Creole blood in her veins and speaks French better than she does English. She's well-mannered and highly educated. She was the showpiece on a Louisiana sugarcane plantation before Jacob bought her. That was shortly after Jacob's wife died, giving birth to his daughter, Sarah. Jacob needed someone to care for his two children. Clarisse has done a handsome job of that. She's more like a member of the family. But she's still a slave."
    "Good Lord," said Delgado, slumping, slack and weary, onto a velvet sofa. "I didn't know Jacob Bledsoe was a slaveholder. I see now why you advised me against buying and freeing the octoroon. I thought he was a Northerner . . ."
    "Doesn't necessarily mean he's against slavery.There are quite a few Southerners who don't like the business at all. Jacob's not really for it or against it, far as I can tell. He just wishes the problem would go away. Bad for business, you see."
    "How, I wonder, does he feel about the war with Mexico?"
    Even as Delgado posed the question, the parlor doors swept open and their host entered the room. "The war with Mexico?" echoed Jacob Bledsoe, striding forward with beaming face and outstretched hand. "Regrettable, but unavoidable. Welcome, young man! Welcome! My word, but Angus is right. You are your mother's spitting image, and you cut a fine figure, son. How is she? How is your father?"
    "Quite well, sir." Standing, Delgado found his hand pressed vigorously by the effusive Jacob Bledsoe. "I bring