“It looks amazing, Eloise,” I said. “And smells incredible.”
Eloise smiled as she picked up a wooden spoon and stirred. “My first husband, Senior. He taught me how to make gumbo. He was a New Orleans boy through and through. And he told me if I wanted to be with him, I had to know what a roux was. I was a country, west Texas girl. Living in my little town of Armonia, which was full of Black and Brown folks, I could make tamales just as easily as I could a pot of greens. But learning Creole cooking was something else entirely. He was so patient with me. In this very pot, I burned every roux I made at first until I got it just right. The perfect roux is a science. It takes time and patience. You can’t turn your back on it.”
Eloise stopped stirring and looked at me wistfully. “I remember the first time I went to New Orleans to meet his family. It was also the first time I had gumbo. It was fall break at Hampton Institute, as they called it back then. You went to Hampton too, right?” She barely waited for my nod before continuing. “Anyway, Senior was so proud to show me off. He got dressed in his Navy ROTC uniform. He looked so handsome. Like a movie star in uniform. I wore the best dress I had, a little yellow shift dress my mama had made. It was a little tight because I was a few months pregnant with Porter. I had pressed my massive afro with a hot comb, and it was barely brushing my shoulders. I was this scared, pregnant, almost twenty-year-old college junior trying to present my best self, just like my parents taught me. When I got to the door of this big mansion near the French Quarter, their maid, without even looking at Senior or batting an eye, said, ‘Miss, if you’re here for the catering job, you’re late.’ Shock ripped through me. Senior had grossly downplayed his family’s wealth. I was a dark-skinned, gangly country girl who grew up on a cattle ranch in Texas, working side by side with Mexican immigrants. Didn’t know a thing about high society Black folks. First off, they had a maid. I did not know Black folks had maids. That was some new stuff to me!”
We both laughed. She motioned for one of the staff to take over stirring the gumbo. Eloise put her arm around my shoulder and led me to the plush, white leather barstools in front of the kitchen island.
She continued. “Senior said, ‘No, Tilly, this is Eloise. My fiancée.’ The absolute look of horror on that woman’s face, which was, ironically, my complexion. Those looks of horror didn’t stop because, child, the good Senator Armand Pierre Honoré Harrison, and his wife looked like they wanted to pass out. I was ‘unrefined,’ his mother said. They were literally blue-veined, aristocratic folks whose ancestors were free people of color. I was a girl who knew how to steer a bull better than I knew my salad fork from my dinner fork. Mother Harrison said I was ‘sullying their legacy.’”
I felt sick to my stomach hearing how Eloise was treated. Porter told me his grandfather was still alive and healthy, nearing ninety. Would his grandfather feel the same way about me, too? Would he think Porter was sullying his legacy with a fat, Black girl?
Eloise continued. “During dinner, I think I saw the old bat wipe away tears. I kept quiet and continued eating that gumbo, which was one of the few things my pregnant hormones could handle. So, I sat there, eating delicious gumbo, and answering their questions with ‘yes sir’ or ‘no ma’am.’ His father was livid but had the good decency to show his anger in private with Senior. Senator told his oldest son that he’d disown him if he married me. Senior stood his ground. He said I was the smartest, prettiest girl he’d ever met. He would not give me or his baby up and he didn’t need their money. We were getting married, with or without their blessing.”
Tears pricked the corners of my eyes. “Wow, Senior sounds like a pretty brave man, standing up to his father like that.”
“Indeed, he was.” Eloise moved closer to me and sat two wineglasses in front of us. She poured me a generous glass of chardonnay, and then one for herself. “He lost a lot of respect for his family the day he chose to marry me. But that wasn’t even the worst part.”
“It wasn’t?” My eyes widened in disbelief, unable to imagine how the story could get worse.
“Do you know they even invited his beautillion escort to dinner?” Eloise continued. “I’ll never forget her name: Mary Lafayette. They thought for sure he’d marry that girl. She was the right pedigree, went to the right schools, was in the right organizations. Above all else, she was the right shade of Black. I had to sit through that dinner with this girl making googly eyes at my man, talking around me like I was invisible. I was sitting up there with a baby in my belly. I couldn’t exactly hide it.”