Monsters & Angels

Bon Voyage

The morning of the last full day in New Orleans dawned cloudy and stormy, but at least it wasn't sweltering.

After posting a copy of the group picture to Doris in New York, there was very little to do beyond waiting to board the ship and attending Dr. Banitierre's farewell celebration. Sorcha had worked with him on several occasions since their first awkward meeting. His mesmerizing voice put even the most anxious patients at ease. She had to force herself to pay attention or risk looking like a speechless idiot in front of him.

"Aren't you ready yet?" Zelia asked.

"Almost." Sorcha straightened her skirt, which fit like the day it was made, and spun around. "Ta-da!"

"Healthy and happy is stunning on you, chèr." Zelia shoved an umbrella in her hand. At the curb, a line of cars waited to carry the well-dressed group to dinner.

"This is a relief." Sorcha touched the comb in her hair. "Spent forever getting it perfect."

Their destination was a restaurant on the corner of Rues Dauphine and Ste. Anne.

"So, we need to cross Bourbon?" Sorcha craned her neck to see as much of the forbidden road as possible. Rain may have been a convenient excuse to keep us from poking around.

"Nothing here for a proper young woman," Zelia warned.

"Maybe I'm not that proper." Sorcha rolled her eyes. "I understand the birds and the bees. I'm a nurse, after all."

"Welcome to Karen's! Please follow me." A maître d' in a tuxedo escorted them through the elegant dining room, to a hidden staircase. At the top of the stairs, waiters drew back velvet curtains to reveal a chandelier-lit hall.

"I love the flowers and this china." Sorcha gravitated to a mural of historic New Orleans, horse-drawn Mardi Gras floats and masked revelers tossing beads. Candles floating in crystal centerpieces reflected emerald walls and silver accents. "Breathtaking."

Dr. Banitierre slipped in while everyone was occupied with the setting. His three-piece suit was midnight blue—almost black, impeccably tailored and accented by a deep crimson cravat. "Good evening, ladies."

Butterflies took flight in Sorcha's stomach. I feel underdressed. Drink, please? Like a mind reader, the waiter appeared carrying a tray of sparkling glasses, a slice of strawberry floating in each one.

Dr. Banitierre offered a flute. "Nurse Alden, champagne?"

"Please, call me Sorcha." She forced herself to take a ladylike sip.

"Very well, Sorcha. Enjoy the evening." Each word he spoke floated in the air like a feather. With one hand casually in his pocket, he flashed the signature smirk and turned his attention to a room full of guests.

"There are seating cards with our names on them!" Angela gestured toward the long table. "I love fancy."

"Pfft." Zelia swept past Sorcha. "We need to find you a man your own age. Proper lady or not, that is never going to work."

"I don't have time for a man." She assumes I have a crush on Banitierre—totally ridiculous. "I live in a convent, work non-stop, and we're leaving town in twenty-four hours." Sorcha didn't mention becoming paralyzed whenever the medical director spoke to her.

Dinner started with a choice of crawfish bisque or seafood gumbo. Whiffs of exotic spice wafted through the room as waiters hand served guests from plates of trout amandine, blazing red Creole shrimp, Andouille sausage, beef with Béarnaise sauce and a steady flow of pale champagne.

Dr. Bantierre offered a simple toast. "To a fine medical staff. It's my honor to embark on this trip with each and every one of you."

The room raised their collective glasses, and Sorcha shot a quick glance around. Sometimes these nuns do drink.

"To the Sisters of the Peace."

A fleeting chill shot up Sorcha's spine. Must be getting tipsy. She shook her head clear, reinforced her smile and sipped more champagne.

Dessert was bananas and vanilla ice cream in a sauce of sugar, rum and liqueur. As part of the event, wait staff prepared the dish in the dining room. Sorcha flinched as the dishes ignited, burning off the alcohol.

"Zel, I'll be right back." Sorcha's uneventful trip to the restroom ended when she rounded the corner and tangled her feet in the fringe of a rug. Twisting backward she struggled to regain her balance. She expected to feel the hard floor against her face, but instead strong hands caught her and returned her squarely to her feet.

"Careful." Dr. Banitierre stomped down the curled edge of carpet.

Where did he come from? Sorcha gasped for air and leaned on a narrow table for support. The hallway was empty a second ago.

"Maybe you've had enough to drink. Did I hurt you?" The doctor reached out to straighten Sorcha's disheveled blouse, brushing the skin under her collar. He snapped his hand back as his eyes shot around the corridor.

"No, sir, I'm fine." He smells like cinnamon with a touch of vanilla...or maybe it's just leftover dessert? Sorcha coughed to hide the blush creeping into her cheeks. "No more champagne, promise. I don't want to ruin your lovely party."

"Well, as long as you're all right. Did you eat enough?"

"Plenty." Sorcha rubbed the twinge in her neck. "You barely touched your dinner, though."

"Don't worry about me, mademoiselle." Dr. Banitierre swept his hand out to usher Sorcha back into the banquet room. "I rarely go hungry."

Sorcha rejoined her friends for coffee as the party began to break up. As they piled into the waiting cars, the sky opened up with a deafening crack of thunder.

"Holy!" Sorcha hauled Zelia into the backseat by her sleeve.

"It's just the New Orleans rain, chèr. Relax."

Relax? A last glance out the car's rear window revealed the cathedral, fully illuminated by a lightning bolt cutting the sky like the sword of a god.

After checking that the shutters of their room were securely shut for the third time, Sorcha lay in bed grasping her locket, trying to push the nagging feeling of dread away. It's already tomorrow and I have the worst headache—ever. Sorcha closed her eyes and prayed for a sleep without nightmares.

Raimond Banitierre makes my hair stand on end.Dream about that instead.