August 6th 1808
Antoine Laveau was drenched sweat. The oppressive summer heat had been steadily increasing all day and now that it was approaching late afternoon the full blast of the Louisiana sun baked everything in sight. The air, thick and still as hot molasses, was deathly silent. No sound could be heard over the steady monotonous hum of cicadas buzzing loudly over the steady din of human activity below. Looking down from the top floor of his plantation at the party below he grinned as he felt that this must have been how his distant aristocratic relatives must have lived back in France before the revolution. Those were glorious days for his noble family before it all ended in the bloody harvest of their heads by the dreaded remorseless Guillotine. That however was mercifully in the old world past. Here in America, far from the turbulent world of Europe, a man like him could live like a king and the Laveaus certainly did not hide their aristocratic origins or extravagant tastes.
Smiling smugly at the fete in progress, Antoine cut a fine figure of a man of privilege. Only twenty-seven, his wavy dark hair and extravagant, if wilted and damp, clothing shouted his status loud and clear. He was a true prince of the Old South, a young man with the world at his command. Thousands of dark hands toiled at his command, and the fine silk frock coat, ruffled imported French shirt and mother of pearl buttons, all gloriously white for the happy occasion, had him look the part. Even more grand than his person was the home playing host to the occasion, Magnolia Grove.
Magnolia Grove was just one of a series of grand manor houses Antoine's family owned up and down the lower Mississippi, but she was truly the Grande Damme of them all. Her three stories of pure white marble rising from the endless flat delta looked completely out of place when first seen from a distance, resembling a fully intact Greek temple emerging from the formless infinite spreading green of the flat country engulfing it. Forty-five enormous grand Corinthian style columns encircled the house and created three separate wrap around porches on all three floors. As a boy, many a choking and sweltering summer evening was spent on these upper verandas in hopes of catching a breeze from the river. Being the highest spot for miles, often an evening cross breeze coming off of the Mississippi, or a cool gust of air rushing up from the ocean would bring much welcome relief from the stifling cauldron that was southern Louisiana in summer.
It was for just such a hope of relief from the endless hellish swamp heat that Antoine had ascended to the top floor in the first place. The porch was just one of the highlights of the home, but it was one of his favorites. With twelve bedrooms, a full ball room, a dining room meant to seat thirty-five comfortably and endless parlors, this palace was built for entertaining on a truly royal scale. Grinning as he imagined his bright and wealthy future, his stomach fluttered knowing that it was soon to be all his, his father having gifted it to he and his new wife as a wedding present the night before. Today though, grand and palatial as Magnolia Grove was, even it was being pushed to its limits. Entering hour six was the celebration of the century and the house and grounds were packed with well-wishers for his long awaited for wedding day.
Giving the estate its name were twenty stately Magnolia trees lining the driveway from the main road to the front of the house each well over a hundred years old. Antoine had many fond recollections of those trees from his youth; from playing in their large branches in the summer heat to enjoying the Christmas wreathes the slaves fashioned out of their large waxy evergreen leaves in winter. Today however they were all especially spectacular as the heat of late summer brought their large fragrant flowers to full and glorious bloom, the wafting perfume of sweet Magnolia scenting everything on the property. Hanging like a covering of soft spun silk over the trees were long ropy tendrils of Spanish Moss, each normally swaying to the slightest puff of wind. Today however the moss hung straight and still since not a breath of air was to be felt.
His smile turned to a slight frown as he looked down at the guests and knew he had to return to the party and the stifling humidity. Standing on the upper veranda of the palatial manor house the discomfort of the hellish heat and the uncomfortable feeling of his sopping clinging thick silk shirt plastered onto his body made him briefly wish they had decided to have this party in October. No matter, he thought, the sooner the better. The quicker this charade could end the sooner he could go back to his old life.
All spread out on the acre long lawn in front of the house, the social event of the season was taking place and to his great delight it was all for his benefit. No expense had been spared to put on a party that would go down in the history of Orleans Parish for decades. Today was a true celebration and the culmination of years of planning and scheming that would have made the Medici's proud. Today was the day that his marriage to Martina del Rosa, the only daughter of the richest planter in all of the south and the only family whose blood was even bluer than his, was finally celebrated.
It had taken exactly eighteen months to reach this spot and never before in all of his life had Antoine been happier to have an ordeal come to an end. For one and a half years he had lived a charade, a fraud, a complete farce as he hid his true nature. Hidden away from view was the shallow reckless youth he had been (and still was). He concealed it behind a self-constructed mask of respectability, gallantry and piety that had fooled everyone. The Del Rosa family, whose wealth was only surpassed by their religious fervor, demanded that any potential suitor for their only daughter had to be beyond reproach. So Antoine, with significant prodding by his Lady Macbeth-like mother, had learned to play his part and performed spectacularly. Sighing as he saw the lawn filled with every social climbing bastard in Orleans Parish he prepared to go back down and rejoin his guests. As he started to leave he jumped at the feel of two soft hands gripping his shoulder from the back.
"Oh Antoine, just look, look at the crowd that has come out for you and Martina today! Why I don't think I have ever seen so many people in this house ever, nor have I ever seen it look more lovely!" his mother sighed into his ear. Seeing the same sight as he, she had to be proud as this wedding was her victory as much as it was his.
Their family roots in Louisiana ran very deep as they were one of the first settlers to exploit this colony when they had immigrated from their home country of France nearly one hundred years earlier. With land insanely cheap and few Indians to worry about, the Laveau's had done extremely well. Owning tens of thousands of acres of land, and dozens of working plantations, an army of slaves toiled at their command bringing them a constant stream of wealth. Cotton, tobacco and sugar were the pillars upon which their empire was built and the family's future never looked brighter. With the newly formed town of New Orleans only a few miles to the south and already booming in the shipping trade, they were set to rapidly increase their already considerable fortune.
