The Alchemist’s Bride (Excerpt and Trailer)

“Don’t you have work today?”

“No, no patients today. I made rounds at the Hotel Dieu this morning, but was going to spend the afternoon working on research at my home.”

“But instead, you’re helping me plant my garden.”

They’d spent some time riding through the city and then lunching at a small cafe on the edge of the French Quarter. It had been a relaxing interlude of light conversation as Jack slowly watched Emma Lescale begin to relax into quite an entrancing young woman. She’d even genuinely smiled a few times, making him think of many things — one being that he’d like to see her in something other than gray.

Then, a curious moment presented itself as they were sitting on the patio of the Cafe Du Monde. An area of discussion came up rather quickly that Jack had not anticipated.

“I had a dream,” Emma said somewhat out of the blue.

“Really? What was it about?”

She smiled briefly, nervously, never for too long. Guarded was a description that seemed inadequate to the barriers she appeared intent on encasing herself within. “You’ll think I’m odd.”

“Well, for my taste, I have to say that I find odd more than a bit compelling.”

She sipped her coffee, seeming tentative to continue. “All right then, it was on that first night in Nathaniel’s house.”

Whenever she referred to the Esplanade home, he noticed that it was always Nathaniel’s house — detaching herself somewhat and most definitely avoiding the word father.

“What happened?” he prodded, feeling intrinsically that this disclosure from her might somehow be significant.

“It was in the bedroom, where I sleep. But I was awake, or it felt like I was. Well, you see, a woman was standing in front of the doorway, and she was talking to me.”

“What did she say?” he asked softly.

“That’s what’s odd or part of it. I can’t remember. It seemed important, but I can’t remember now. But she looked familiar, then later I understood.” He waited, feeling it was best for her to unravel this in her own time. “I understood that she looked like me and, of course, a portrait that was at Belle Coeur. I believe it was my mother and that she was trying to tell me something important,” she laughed shortly, almost as though embarrassed by what she’d said. “Do you think that’s madness?”

No,” he answered, “no Emma, I don’t. I suppose you could say my beliefs, truths if you wish, are a bit less predictable than someone you would normally find in my profession.”

“I’m not sure I understand what you mean,” but she was eying him with curiosity.

“Beyond what could be considered empirical science is another realm of thought, vastly unexplored, at least not publicly so. Suffice to say that what you experienced, I am more than certain, was no dream. It was most definitely a contact.”

“A contact?”

“Yes, your mother was clearly reaching out to you.”

She glanced away as though she were made uncomfortable by his declaration. Quite certainly, he held many, many views that most would find unorthodox, to say the least. But then the conversation shifted to more earthly matters like his practice, his patients. He knew that he’d made her nervous, so he allowed her to awkwardly change the subject with no protestation on his part.

Their outing had culminated in a stop at the French Market, a rather eclectic bazaar in the center of the city where they’d acquired the shrubbery for her intended transformation of Nathaniel’s courtyard. “So, your father knew Nathaniel?”

“Yes, our mothers were acquainted. They were both French Creoles, you see, who came from the city here. In fact, my mother taught me French, which, it seems, is almost a necessity around here.”

“My Aunt Adeleine spoke French. I always wanted to learn but never really took the time. But your father and Nathaniel—”

“Yes, well, my father was a surgeon during the war. He and Nathaniel began to correspond. Then, when my parents died, I began corresponding with him. I expressed an interest in studying medicine, and he offered to sponsor me if I moved down here.”

“From where again?”

“Missouri, St. Louis, actually.”

“Ah, a long way to come,” she murmured. It was getting hot. They had acquired all manner of flowering plants in the French Market, and then, rather chivalrously, or so he intended, he had volunteered to help her plant them in the courtyard where the two of them had remained for some time. “What happened to your parents, Jack?”

“It was cholera. Spread as virulently as yellow fever did here. And you see, I was also afflicted, not expected to live.”

She paused for a moment as though completely absorbing what he had said. “How terrible for you, so there really was nothing left for you there.”

“No, your father became a lifeline for me. I moved here, my mother’s former home, and studied at Tulane.”

She smiled at him a little sadly, and he was shot deeply with the emotion of her suspected thoughts. He had received all the attention and devotion that her father had withheld from her. “Well, it is good that he could be there for you.”

“You know winter is coming. You’ll have to protect those plants, so they’ll bloom in the spring.”

“Yes, yes, you’re right,” she said with some preoccupation. It was clear that his revelations had dimmed her mood a bit. “Maybe Mattie can help me find something to make coverings with.”

“Perhaps I can find something at my house.”

She looked up with a little distraction. “Your house? Where is that?”

“Bienville Street,” and then he added thoughtfully, “I’d like you to see it soon.”

Jack Fallon had a curious way about him. He made her forget things, in particular that things were difficult for her and that she faced an uncertain future. He had a peculiar way of exuding a confidence in life that was contagious and insidious. And his belief in, now how did he put it, another realm of thought left her a bit unsettled and yet intrigued at the same time. In so many words, he’d implied that her mother’s ghost was trying to speak to her. That didn’t sit well with her pragmatic nature. But at times, she wondered if she was really that pragmatic or if it was just a ruse that she’d possibly played on herself. In any case, Jack Fallon was having a strange effect on her. She felt like a different Emmeline around him, perhaps this new persona, this Emma everyone seemed intent on making her into. Clearly, during the course of the afternoon, he was lulling her into a different mindset. Distantly and less than comfortably, she wondered if this was what it felt like to be seduced.

The afternoon sun had warmed everything, including the brick-laid pavement of the patio, but she knew well by now that a chill would enshroud all her efforts in the evening.

“What sort of house is it?” she asked as she began to plant the first row of chrysanthemums along the garden bed.

“In size, a bit larger than your father’s, I believe, although quite different in floor plan. It’s a townhouse, three stories, nearly a hundred years old, I’d imagine, but with a carriageway along the side and stable beyond the courtyard.” She had been on her knees bending over the new flowerbed, but now sat back on her legs, looking up at him intently.

“Such a substantial house for a single gentleman. Are you planning to have a large family one day, Dr. Fallon?” In the moment completely forgetting her promise to call him Jack.

He stood up from kneeling, dusting off his pants in the process. She glanced up at him. Perhaps it had been rude of her to ask such a personal question. But she didn’t care. It was a sunny day, and she felt oddly hopeful that pleasantness was possible for her.

He pulled up one of the black wrought iron chairs closer to them and sat for a moment. “Yes, Miss Lescale, one day I would very much like a family.”

She responded softly, “Yes, I imagine you would like that, given how you have lost your birth family.”

“And what about you, Emma? Would you like a family of your own?”

His gaze was forthright in the inquiry, making her think perhaps this went beyond idle conversation. But that couldn’t be true as they barely knew each other, so she looked away, firmly patting the warm earth around the freshly planted flowers. In general, however, it was an uncomfortable question because the idea of a family was comforting to her in some ways. Still, of course, other considerations came with it. “No, Dr. Fallon, I never intend to marry.”

He stood and walked over to her, holding his hand out. She took it, allowing him to pull her easily to her feet. She noted the streaks of dirt all over her good skirt. No doubt she should have changed it before attempting this endeavor.

Looking up, she suddenly realized that he was still holding her hand. She peered into his gaze with question. “Why?”

“Why what?” she answered.

“Why do you never intend to marry?” She gently tugged at her hand, but he held it still somewhat firmly, making this a peculiarly intimate moment. His touch was warm and undeniably was sending sensations through her skin.

“Women lose all sense of freedom when they marry. I don’t want to lose myself in someone else’s life.”

He smiled briefly. “That seems unlikely to me, Emma, particularly for you.”

She pulled her hand back abruptly in a somewhat fierce tug. “I’ve been witness to it often enough.”

He looked at her with some measure of contemplation, then said thoughtfully, “I wouldn’t be so presumptuous as to try to talk you out of your beliefs, but I would very much like you to see my house. It is unique in some respects, and I certainly would like to know what you make of it.”